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⭑.ᐟ MAKE HIM SNAP: LEE FELIX (NSFW / 18+ ONLY)

: ̗̀➛ pairing: lee felix x brat fem!reader (a bit of seungmin x reader) : ̗̀➛ word count: ~8k : ̗̀➛ content: fluff, smut, felix is the sweetest thing but so mean, reader actively tries to make felix mad, minor injury in the kitchen

you make a bet with seungmin: you've got one week to get your boyfriend, felix—who seems completely incapable of getting mad at you—to finally snap. after a series of failed attempts, you figure if anything’s going to work, it might as well be in bed.

author's note: i’ve been on a writing grind lately so here’s a second fic in one sitting because apparently i have no self-control. i’m shitting my balls. i need felix like yesterday. enjoy! ♡

smut warnings below the cut!

: ̗̀➛ smut warnings: hard dom!felix, explicit sexual content, oral (f. receiving), reader has the biggest degradation kink, brat taming, slight edging, light bondage, power play, unprotected piv (don't), missionary, doggy style, semi-voyeurism

you’d always thought of him as sunshine.

everyone did.

even when he wasn’t smiling, felix had that glow—warm and unbothered, with freckles that danced across his cheeks like constellations and a voice that made people turn around just to hear him speak again. he was soft. gentle. sweet in that quiet, domestic way. the kind of boy who folded your laundry before you even remembered you’d done it.

even in bed—he was gentle. worshipful. like every touch was a question and you were the only answer. he was all murmured praise, soft sighs, slow hands. he loved you softly. every time.

which is probably why no one—including you—had ever seen him mad.

not truly.

you were perched on the edge of the couch in the boys’ dorm, nervously fidgeting with the sleeve of your hoodie. it was felix’s, naturally—oversized and warm and still faintly smelling like his laundry detergent.

you were here because you’d accidentally taken something you weren’t supposed to. a usb, to be exact. felix had handed it to you earlier in the day along with your own, and in your rush to leave, you’d pocketed the wrong one.

“i just feel so bad,” you groaned, glancing toward the hallway. “he said he needed it for something tonight. like, deadline-needed.”

seungmin was sprawled across the other end of the couch, legs kicked up, eyes on his phone. he barely glanced up as he responded.

“you’re being dramatic.”

“no, like—really bad. i shouldn’t have—”

“honestly?” he cut in, finally looking at you, a smirk tugging at his lips. “i don’t think he’s even capable of getting mad at you.”

you blinked. “what?”

he chuckled, flipping his phone over. “i mean, come on. you could probably punch him in the face and he’d apologize for getting in the way of your fist.”

you laughed despite yourself. “that is so not true.”

“isn’t it?”

you opened your mouth to argue—but then the front door opened.

felix stepped in, hoodie sleeves pushed up, hair slightly damp from the drizzle outside. his eyes found you immediately.

“hey,” you said, standing. “i brought it—sorry again, i seriously didn’t mean—”

“shh.” he was already moving toward you, gentle hands coming up to cradle your arms, thumbs brushing soothingly against the fabric of his hoodie—the one you were wearing. “don’t stress, angel. it’s okay.”

“but you said you needed it for tonight,” you mumbled, guilt creeping up your spine. “i should’ve double-checked—”

“and i should’ve labeled mine.” he gave a small laugh, pulling you closer, tucking your head under his chin with that easy warmth that always made your chest flutter. “it’s not a big deal. really.”

you swore you saw seungmin choke on a laugh in your peripheral vision.

your eyes flicked sideways—just in time to catch him turning away, phone suddenly so interesting he might’ve been reading the terms and conditions. his shoulders were shaking, just barely.

felix either didn’t notice or chose to ignore it.

“i’m gonna head out again to drop this off,” he said, voice still soft, fingertips lingering at your elbow for a second longer before letting go. 

you nodded, brushing your hair back behind your ear. “right. of course.”

“thanks for coming all the way back,” he added, gaze warm and fond, like you’d just done something heroic instead of, you know, returning the thing you accidentally stole. he gave your arm one last squeeze. “text me when you get home, yeah?”

“i will.”

then he was gone—door shutting behind him with that soft click that always left the room feeling quieter somehow.

and the very second it closed, seungmin’s voice rang out from behind you.

“god, that was disgusting.”

you turned.

“excuse me?”

he didn’t even look up from his phone. “you took his drive and somehow walked away with a hug, and a thank you.”

you opened your mouth to argue.

then closed it.

“okay, but—”

“nope. don’t justify it.” seungmin pointed his phone at the door.

you rolled your eyes, hoisting your bag over your shoulder, but the words stuck with you. warmed you a little too much. annoyingly so.

still, you couldn’t help yourself.

“he’s still a person. he’s not, like… impervious to irritation.” you muttered, half to yourself, half to the room. “if i pissed him off enough, he’d crack,”

seungmin didn’t even flinch. “tell me when that ever happens.”

you groaned, dragging your hands down your face. “you know i’m gonna try to, just to prove you wrong.”

“mhm,” seungmin said flatly, not even looking up. “60 bucks. you have a week.”

“60 bucks,” you repeated. “i’m gonna find his limit,” you said, dead serious. “he has to have one.”

“good luck.”

you’d been thinking about it for days—how to do it, how to gently prod at the edge of felix’s emotional limits without actually hurting him. you weren’t trying to be cruel. you just wanted to see something other than that unwavering calm, that endless warmth. you wanted to prove he could feel sharp things, too. that he wasn’t made of clouds and soft blankets and chamomile tea.

jealousy. that was your angle.

was felix ever jealous? you genuinely didn’t know. he’d never so much as blinked when people flirted with you—though to be fair, you’d never exactly flirted back. you never had a reason to. you didn’t want to.

but now, you needed a reaction.

just enough to light a spark. not enough to burn the house down.

so when your company hosted a casual dinner event—open to significant others and friends—you didn’t hesitate to bring felix. he looked unfairly good that night, dressed in soft black slacks and a black button up that hugged his frame a little too well. his hand found yours under the table the second you sat down, thumb stroking slow, lazy circles against your palm like always.

you were seated at a long table with a mix of coworkers and guests, plates being passed around, wine glasses clinking gently, soft laughter filling the room.

he was beside you, of course—close and warm and always tuned in to you.

but the guy on your other side?

friendly. talkative. a little too charming in that “business casual” way. you leaned into it. not too obvious. just enough to let felix notice.

you laughed at something the guy said—tilting your head just slightly, touching his arm in that way that could maybe be seen as flirty. maybe. you were careful. just close enough to the line to toe it, not cross it.

felix didn’t say a word.

he was smiling, even. still soft-spoken. still squeezing your hand every now and then. still brushing your thigh under the table with his when he shifted in his seat. he even leaned in at one point and murmured, “you okay?”

you nodded, playing it cool. “mhm. just chatting.”

felix grinned. that same soft, sunny smile that always made you feel like you were the only one in the room.

“alright,” he said, brushing your cheek with his knuckle before pulling back like nothing was even slightly off.

he went back to being quiet and polite. still engaged in the conversation going around the table, nodding at someone’s story, chiming in with a laugh when appropriate. he didn’t stiffen. didn’t narrow his eyes. didn’t even glance at the guy beside you like he might be competition.

you sat there smiling and nodding at whatever work guy was saying about his vacation to bali, but your stomach was knotting. tighter by the second.

because you knew what you were doing. you knew exactly how much you were leaning. exactly when you let your laugh ring just a little louder, your fingers trail just a little longer.

but felix wasn’t reacting.

or at least—he wasn’t reacting the way you expected.

he was just… him. gentle. warm. steady. and he could’ve been using this moment to get back at you.

there were plenty of chances. the woman across the table who complimented his accent. the one seated diagonally, sipping wine and laughing just a little too brightly at his jokes. one even asked him how his skin was so clear and if he worked out—which, in fairness, was a valid question.

felix didn’t take the bait. he was polite, as always. gracious, even. gave small answers. thanked them with a nod and a soft smile. but he didn’t engage.

didn’t lean in. didn’t flirt. didn’t offer even a flicker of attention that could be mistaken as anything more than manners.

and slowly—almost like he was aware of your internal panic creeping in—he started leaning in closer to you. gradually, without showiness. his knee pressed against yours beneath the table. then reached for his water glass and poured some into yours before you could even realize it was empty.

this wasn’t going to work.

you weren’t going to rattle him. you weren’t going to get that flash of possessiveness, that glint of sharp jealousy in his eyes.

because felix didn’t play games.

not with you.

he loved you out loud, completely, and without keeping score. he didn’t need to punish you or mirror your actions to prove a point. he didn’t flinch under pressure. he didn’t crack under quiet provocations.

he just was. wholeheartedly. constant. grounded.

this wasn’t going to work.

it had been a few days since the whole work dinner experiment—since felix had gently, unknowingly, demolished your plan by doing absolutely nothing except love you the way he always did. respectfully. consistently. infuriatingly.

but you weren’t done.

not yet.

jealousy didn’t work, sure. but irritation? that had potential. everyone had a limit, and you were determined to find felix’s.

you were at his place now—well, technically his and seungmin’s—kitchen lights warm, sleeves rolled up, and flour already dusting the countertop like early snow.

the goal today was mild sabotage. nothing irreversible. nothing that would actually ruin the cake. just… enough sugar to make it way too sweet. enough to maybe make him sigh. maybe scold you a little. maybe just something.

you waited until he stepped away to grab a new mixing bowl, and then—quickly, quietly—you dumped in an extra quarter cup. maybe a little more.

by the time he came back, you were standing innocently with the spatula, “gently folding” the batter like you hadn’t just committed a culinary crime.

he paused. looked at the bowl. then looked at you.

“…did you add too much sugar?”

you blinked up at him. “no?”

he hummed. scooped a bit of batter on his finger. tasted it.

and then—smiled. not annoyed. just… amused.

“if you wanted it sweeter, you could’ve just told me,” he said, voice playful, handing you a towel to wipe your fingers off. “i’m gonna balance it so it doesn’t taste like pure syrup.”

you sighed loudly, dramatic, flopping back against the counter. “this is so annoying.”

he laughed and leaned past you to grab a lemon from the fruit bowl.

“go chop up some of the fruit, okay? i’ll deal with this.”

you looked at seungmin, who hadn’t said a word. he gave you a look that screamed pathetic.

you stuck your tongue out at him and turned back to the cutting board, muttering under your breath.

great. jealousy failed. chaos failed. sugar sabotage failed. what were you supposed to do now? bake the cake upside down? hide the eggs?

you didn’t know.

you really didn’t know anymore.

your plan—whatever it had been—was unraveling, slipping through your fingers like flour dust in the air. and the worst part? you kind of… didn’t want to push anymore. felix had been so patient, so kind through all of it, and suddenly, you just felt silly. immature. you had something good, and you were trying to poke holes in it just to see if it would leak.

lost in thought, you didn’t even realize how close your fingers were to the blade until it was too late.

the knife slipped.

there was a sharp sting.

you yelped, the sound cutting through the warm haze of the kitchen as the knife clattered onto the counter and fruit scattered everywhere.

“ah!” you gasped, clutching your hand. blood was already rising.

felix’s head snapped up instantly. “what happened?”

you stepped back, breath shallow. “i—i cut myself—”

he was already there. crossing the kitchen faster than you’d ever seen him move, his hands reaching out to check your fingers—but the moment he saw the blood, something in him shifted.

“what were you even doing?” he snapped, voice sharper than the knife that slipped. he grabbed a towel with jerky, frustrated movements, wrapping it around your wound with practiced precision but no softness. “were you even paying attention?”

your lips parted, stunned. “i—i don’t know, i was just—”

“you weren’t thinking,” he cut in, tone clipped.

his voice rose, not yelling, but full-bodied, biting. that low, velvety rasp he usually used to whisper sweet things into your ear was now slicing through the air like it had teeth.

“for fuck’s sake,” he muttered, shaking his head, “i asked you to do one simple thing. not play with the goddamn knife.”

you stared at him, completely disarmed. not just by the tone. but by how he looked.

chest rising and falling under his fitted sweater, sleeves pushed back just enough to show the flex of his forearms. his jaw clenched, eyes dark with something deeper than just irritation. he looked… furious. unshakable. and so hot it was almost insulting.

your mouth went dry.

you couldn’t stop staring—at the way felix was breathing, his tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, like he was trying to bite back whatever else he wanted to say. his hands, still stained with flour, flexed at his sides. every muscle in his jaw was tense.

seungmin stood up, crossing the kitchen to the cabinet.

he grabbed the first aid kit, crouching beside the chair you’d sunk into. he opened it like this wasn’t the most charged atmosphere he’d ever stood in. like felix hadn’t just snapped for the first time in recorded history.

“here,” he said, pulling out some antiseptic and a few band-aids. “don’t bleed on the tile. it’s ugly enough already.”

you gave him a weak glare, but he just smirked.

felix hadn’t moved. he was still standing there, looking at the floor now, his expression twisted with something like regret.

seungmin didn’t let up.

“you got really worked up there, man,” he said, tone light but clearly pointed.

that finally made felix move. he blinked like he was coming out of something, then turned toward you—eyes wide now, softer, voice quiet.

“i’m sorry, baby” he said.

you didn’t say anything for a second. just stared at him, still a little stunned by the whiplash.

but even now, with his shoulders slumped and his tone apologetic, he still looked good. still had that raw energy simmering just under the surface. still had you simmering.

you swallowed hard.

“it’s okay,” you said slowly. 

seungmin raised a brow but said nothing, silently peeling the wrapper off a band-aid.

felix crouched in front of you, his hand ghosting over yours. his voice was soft again, almost too soft.

“i won’t yell like that again,” he murmured. 

you blinked at him, and for a second—just a second—you wanted to say don’t promise that.

because god, the way his voice had cracked when he was angry. the way he looked at you like your carelessness hurt him. the way he shook with something that wasn’t just rage, but deep, desperate concern—you hadn’t expected it to do something to you. 

but he was still doing everything out of love.

even when his voice rose and his hands tightened and his eyes darkened—he was still the same felix. still checking if you were okay. still apologizing even though you had started this whole mess.

and somehow, that made it worse.

you hadn’t even pissed him off correctly. not really. he didn’t yell because you were annoying. he yelled because you were bleeding and he didn’t know how else to handle the sudden fear curling in his gut.

and now he was kneeling in front of you, shame written in every line of his face, like he had done something unforgivable.

you wished he hadn't come down from it so fast.

you wished—maybe more than anything—that he knew he didn’t have to keep being perfect for you to love him.

you didn’t know what else to do.

jealousy had failed. sabotage had failed. even blood hadn’t done it right. every attempt chipped at something inside you—your confidence, your ego, your grasp on what you were even trying to prove. and yet…

seungmin had texted you the evening of the baking incident: [ that was a close one ] [ but it didn’t count. try harder. ]

you'd stared at it for a long time. not because he was wrong—but because you agreed.

so now? one last attempt.

if you couldn’t get felix to be mad at you, then maybe—just maybe—you could make him lose control somewhere else.

which is why he was between your thighs right now.

you were sprawled across his bed, hips twitching, sheets clutched in your fists.

felix was eating you out like it was a mission. like you were something sacred, and he had all the time in the world to worship every inch of you.

his mouth was obscene—lips slick, tongue working you open so slowly you wanted to scream. and he kept murmuring things between licks, low and reverent.

felix’s tongue traced a slow, reverent line up your slit, lips closing over your clit with a tenderness that made your hips twitch. he groaned softly into you, the sound vibrating through your core like a low hum of devotion, and his arms curled tighter around your thighs, anchoring you in place. every motion was soaked in patience, in worship. you were trembling, half mad with need already, and all he’d done was kiss you like he loved you—which, of course, he did.

“taste so good, angel… always so sweet for me, aren’t you?”

“f-felix…” your voice broke on his name, hands knotted in the sheets. he just hummed again, content like he could spend the rest of his life here, lips gliding over your clit, tongue flicking in slow, perfect circles that had your thighs quivering. he was gentle, god, so gentle. like you were the only thing in the world worth touching delicately.

and maybe that was the problem.

you were panting, already so close—too close—and he hadn’t even slipped a finger inside yet. you could feel your orgasm mounting fast, could feel the heat blooming in your belly, the ache curling in your spine, and you knew what would come next. he’d hold you through it. he’d kiss your thighs, murmur praise, make you feel like you were the center of the universe.

you were already trembling, one hand fisting in his sheets, the other tangled in his hair, breath coming in staggered whines. he didn’t speed up. didn’t deviate. tongue curling soft and hot over your clit again and again until your hips twitched and a ragged moan slipped out without your permission.

and then he paused. just for a second.

his eyes lifted to yours, warm and glassy, lips shiny with you.

“shhh, darling…” he whispered, and the way he said it made your stomach flip. “seungmin’s in the living room, remember?”

your chest heaved. right. right—he always told you. always so careful to remind you, not because he was annoyed, but because you’d confessed once—embarrassed and flushed, the sheet pulled up to your chin after a particularly loud session—that you hated the idea of his roommate hearing. and since then, felix had always made sure to keep things quiet. to warn you. to soothe you when your voice got too high, your cries too desperate. he’d press a kiss to your throat, a hand to your mouth, shushing you.

but tonight, something twisted in you.

you weren’t going to hold back.

so when his mouth dipped again, lips closing over your clit in a slow, gentle suck, you let it out—a high, shaky moan that cracked on the end, followed by a breathless, “fuck, felix—!”

he froze.

lifted his head.

his mouth was still glistening, chin slick with you, flushed and beautiful in that way that always made your stomach twist. but his brows were drawn, just slightly, and his voice—when it came—was low and firm, not scolding but edged with something new.

“hey.” his thumb stroked up your inner thigh, slow but deliberate. “quiet down.”

it wasn’t a question. wasn’t a soft reminder like before. it was a command.

and it did something to you.

your breath hitched, thighs twitching around his shoulders as the authority in his tone settled in your chest like a stone dropped into water—rippling outward, stirring everything.

still, something in you bristled.

not in defiance. not exactly.

but you couldn’t stop yourself.

you pouted. just a little. “why?”

his eyes narrowed. there was a flicker of disbelief there, a tension that rippled beneath the surface like he didn’t quite believe you were pushing this boundary.

“because seungmin’s out there,” he said, slower this time, more deliberate, as if you’d forgotten. “and you hate being overheard.”

you shrugged, arching your back slightly, enough to grind your hips closer to his face again. “maybe i changed my mind.”

his eyes flicked to your cunt, glistening and swollen and shamelessly on display, then back up to your face. his expression had shifted. no longer just disbelief. something darker had crept in now—possessive and sharp, curling like smoke at the edges of his voice.

“well i don’t want him to hear you.”

the words were quiet. flat. measured.

you blinked, breath catching.

“i don’t want anyone hearing what you sound like when i’ve got you like this,” he continued, leaning in until you could feel the heat of his breath against your inner thigh. 

you bit your lip, the heat rising in your face. in your chest.

“but…” you started, trying to keep your tone airy. “you always do what i want.”

that did it.

you watched his jaw clench tighter, watched the tension rise in his shoulders, watched the composure crack. just a little.

felix rose—slowly, smoothly, like a tide pulling back before it crashes—and settled over you, forearms bracketing your head, chest brushing yours as he leveled his face just above yours.

you felt it instantly.

that shift.

gone was the usual ease in his posture, the warm, pliant softness you always leaned into. what loomed above you now wasn’t your sweet, sunny felix—it was the part of him he always held back, the part that simmered under the surface like magma, always contained, until you poked at it.

and tonight?

you’d done nothing but poke.

he leaned in again, slow, like a tiger in tall grass, and planted his palm flat against the mattress beside your head. his voice was soft now, but laced with something that made your spine arch—authority, finality, control.

“you really think i don’t know?”

you swallowed hard.

“that you’ve been bratty for days,” he said, like it was fact. like it was math. “flirting with that guy at dinner. cutting your hand because you couldn’t stand that i didn’t break. ”

your cheeks flamed, breath catching, but you still held the edge in your smile.

“i was just distracted—”

his hand moved fast, gripping your jaw—not hard, just enough to make you stop talking.

“don’t,” he said. “don’t give me that look.”

your heart kicked up behind your ribs. he’d never grabbed your face like that before. never interrupted. never spoke like that.

it made your thighs press together. instinctive.

and he noticed.

he dipped closer, forehead brushing yours, and you could feel his heart beating in time with yours—hard, steady, controlled.

“you think i haven’t been watching you push?” he hissed. “every little act.”

you whimpered, lips parting—but he kept going.

“you’ve been begging for this,” he said, biting out the words. “not out loud. but with every goddamn thing you’ve done.”

you shivered.

“and you think i don’t see you?” he growled. “you think i don’t know exactly what that look means?”

his hand grabbed your jaw, fingers firm, tilting your face toward his—close enough to kiss, but he didn’t. he just held you there, breath brushing your lips, eyes burning through you.

“tell me the truth,” he said, voice a warning, a promise. “tell me what you want.”

you could barely breathe.

your voice came out thin, cracked around the edges. “you, like this…” your eyes were wide, lashes wet, trembling as you looked up at him. “this is what i want.”

felix didn’t flinch.

didn’t soften.

he just stared, his grip on your jaw unrelenting, eyes dark and unforgiving as they searched your face—saw the way you shook beneath him, the way your thighs pressed together, the way your chest rose and fell in shallow, panicked little gasps.

“of course it is,” he said flatly.

you blinked.

he tilted your face up a little more, enough that it hurt your neck to hold the position. his voice dropped, hard and disgusted. “look at you. shaking like a leaf, soaking the fucking sheets—just because i stopped being nice.”

you winced.

but your cunt clenched hard.

the words cut. not because they were cruel—but because they were true. and he knew it. you weren’t just turned on. you were unraveling. dripping and desperate, your body buzzing from the tension, your shame crawling over your skin like fire ants—but still, the burn felt good.

“you’re pathetic,” he said, letting go of your jaw like your skin burned his fingers. 

he pushed you back roughly, your bound wrists catching against the bed as your shoulders hit the mattress. his hands were already on your thighs, spreading them open without care. not reverent. not gentle.

like you were his and he was sick of pretending otherwise.

“you want to be hated, don’t you? love isn’t enough for you?” he muttered, gaze locked on your slick cunt as he stroked two fingers through the mess between your legs. 

your hips bucked.

“well,” felix said, voice like gravel dragged slow across glass, “if that’s what you want…”

his fingers sank into you—two at once, fast, merciless. your body jolted, a high cry tearing from your throat before you could stop it. he twisted his wrist, curled just right, and you felt the tremble start in your toes.

“i’ll give it to you.”

you gasped, back arching. “y-you don’t mean that,” you choked, words splintering on a sob. “you love me—”

he laughed.

dark. sharp.

“i’m gonna fuck you like i don’t.” he said, without softness. 

his fingers pulled free. you barely had a second to breathe before he shoved your thighs wide, leaned over, and pressed his cock to your dripping cunt—still wet from your own need, from the tears and the shame and the way his voice had stripped you bare.

he held there.

right at your entrance, the head of his cock teasing just enough to make you squirm, to make your hips buck in desperate little jerks that only dragged the moment out longer. he could’ve slammed in. could’ve torn the rest of you open in a single thrust, left you breathless and sobbing.

but he didn’t.

because under all that dark fire, under the roughness and anger and heat, he was still him. still sweet. still good. still felix.

his jaw was tight, the muscle ticking as he looked down at you—ruined and trembling, legs spread wide, wrists bound and face flushed with lust and tears and something more fragile. he blinked, and for a second, just a second, you saw the question flicker through his expression.

“is that what you want?” he asked.

his voice had dropped low. he was still offering you a way out. still giving you that choice.

you knew it for what it was.

you nodded, frantic. fast. moaning as you tried to roll your hips, tried to force him inside again, but his grip on your thigh only tightened.

“talk to me,” he rasped, a thread of control still clinging to him.

you blinked at him through the haze, a smile curling on your lips—half brat, half breathless.

“yes,” you said, voice thin and greedy. “yes, i want it. i want you to fuck me like you’re sick of me. like i finally got under your skin.”

he cursed.

low and vicious.

you saw it—the moment that final wall crumbled, the way the storm in his eyes finally spilled over. his cock pushed in deep, slow at first, like he wanted to draw it out, make it last.

but then your cunt clenched—tight and wet and fluttering around him—and he snapped.

“you did,” he growled, pulling back and slamming in hard enough to make the bed jolt, your cry piercing the room. “you fucking did.”

his hips snapped forward again—louder this time, harder, brutal enough to knock the air from your lungs, the rhythm punching out soft, choked sounds from your throat with every thrust. not words. not anymore. just ragged little whimpers, helpless and high, your whole body jostling beneath him as he used you—fucked you—with none of the gentleness you’d always known.

“you wanted this,” he spat, chest heaving, sweat dripping from his hairline onto your chest as he folded you tighter, pushing your thighs up toward your shoulders to drive in even deeper. “you fucking asked for it.”

you sobbed—quiet at first, then louder, messy and wet as the tears finally spilled. they streaked hot down your cheeks, dripping into your hair, your jaw slack with pleasure too sharp to feel good and too good to survive. your wrists twisted uselessly in their binds, fingers curling tight as your whole body tried to keep up with the pace of him.

it was too much.

it was everything.

he growled—an actual growl, raw and guttural—as he looked down at you, at the tears rolling over your cheeks, at the way your mouth opened and closed, begging silently for something neither of you could name.

his rhythm never faltered.

not once.

even as your body broke beneath him—hips arching, wrists straining, cheeks soaked with tears that burned like proof—he kept going. kept fucking you with that same relentless pace, hips slamming against the backs of your thighs, the sound obscene, wet and cruel in the dark.

he watched your face twist with every thrust—watched you come apart, watched the edge of pleasure curdle into panic and drag you right back down into need.

and even then—you didn’t stop.

you couldn’t stop.

your lips trembled open around another sob, your voice half-hoarse, but still you met his glare with a shaky smirk, eyes glazed and bratty to your last breath.

“i never knew you were capable of being mean,” you gasped, voice cracking as you arched under him.

he snarled, something between pain and disbelief, and slammed in so deep you screamed, your entire body jolting up the bed from the force of it.

“because i love you,” he growled, voice so low it scraped the inside of your chest. “i’ve only ever tried to treat you well. like you matter. like you’re everything to me.”

he leaned in closer, one hand pressing hard into your hip, the other curling around your throat.

“but that’s not what you wanted, was it?”

you sobbed. not an answer. just a broken, keening sound.

he dipped lower, lips barely brushing yours. “you wanted this. you wanted me mean. you wanted me to use you, and now you’ve got it.”

his cock dragged out slow, thick and aching—and then drove back in so hard your moan broke on your tongue.

“you never wanted soft.”

you blinked up at him, tears hot and sticky down your temples, your mouth quivering.

“i was—” you panted, a hiccupped cry catching in your chest, “i was trying to prove a point—”

he sneered, not stopping, not relenting, pounding into you like he wanted to fuck the brat right out of your soul.

“to who, y/n?” he hissed, words snapping like whips.

you moaned—high and messy and wrong, because you were still so turned on, because the way he said your name made your body sing even while you trembled.

“who?” he shouted again, voice rising with disbelief and something deeper—something unspoken that cracked open in his throat like it hurt to say.

and you said it.

whimpered it.

half-mindless, but not mindless enough.

“seungmin.”

felix went still.

then he laughed.

it was low. bitter. a hollow bark of disbelief as his hand slid up the length of your thigh, slow and mocking, his cock still throbbing just barely inside you.

“fucking knew it,” he muttered, more to himself than you, jaw tight as he gave a small, almost deranged shake of his head. “you and him. the way you bicker. the looks.”

his hand curled around your throat again, thumb dragging over the mess of tears smeared across your cheek. not to wipe them.

just to feel them.

“and of course you’d moan his name out while i’m balls deep in you.”

you gasped, breath stuttering under the press of his palm, legs twitching around his hips.

he laughed again—sharper now, teeth flashing in the low light. “fucking pathetic.”

you whimpered.

“here i am,” he snarled, voice dropping to a whisper, “treating you like you’re mine—spending months giving you everything. folding your laundry. holding you when you cry.”

he slammed into you again, cruel and sudden.

you screamed, head snapping back.

“and you’ve been pushing me,” he said, voice quiet, almost calm—but beneath it, something was cracking. something brittle. 

another thrust, hard and fast, punching a choked cry out of your lungs.

“all of that just to prove a point to kim seungmin?”

your mouth dropped open—useless, silent, your head lolling on the pillow as his cock hit that deep, devastating spot again and again, your body unable to hide how badly you were still enjoying it.

he sneered. “do you even understand what you’re doing?”

your eyes flicked to him—blurry, swimming, lashes soaked—and your lips moved, trying to form a denial. but you couldn’t lie.

not with your cunt sucking him in so greedily. not with the moans that still clawed up your throat even when you bit down on them. not with the guilt chewing holes through your stomach while your body begged for more.

“i—i wasn’t trying—” you whispered, but he cut you off.

“you weren’t trying?”

he laughed. dark and sharp and filled with something that sounded like it hurt his ribs to release.

“god, you’re worse than i thought,” he spat, pulling out just enough to let the next thrust slam in deeper. “you don’t even know what game you’re playing. you’re playing me, you’re playing him—”

you didn’t know anymore.

if he was really mad. if this was just another version of his anger wrapped in arousal, or if something had actually shattered under the weight of everything you’d done. you couldn’t tell if he meant the things he said—or if he was just saying them because it was what you’d asked for, begged for, pushed for until something inside him snapped.

all you knew was that your head was spinning, your lungs barely worked, and your body couldn’t stop trembling around him.

“i’m close,” you whimpered, your voice a rasp, broken and high and soaked in panic, “felix—please—”

he didn’t slow. if anything, he fucked you harder.

you were sobbing now, face sticky with tears, wrists straining in the binds as your body shook from the pressure curling tighter and tighter in your belly.

“i don’t think you deserve to cum,” he hissed, biting the words like they tasted foul. “not after what you did. you little bitch.”

the word slapped.

“i’m sorry,” you cried, the words tumbling out, raw and hoarse and true. “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean—i didn’t—felix, please, i’m sorry—”

and for a second, just a second, something shifted in his face.

his brow twitched. his grip faltered. his eyes—not all the way, but just a little—softened.

he looked down at you, at your flushed face, your tear-soaked skin, your body trembling and still trying to push back against him, even through the guilt, even through the shame. begging for him.

he cursed under his breath. a low, ragged sound.

then he pulled out.

you whined—sharp and instinctive, your whole body lurching, chasing him.

“no—please—”

but he grabbed your hips and flipped you, fast and rough, until you were flat on your stomach, then dragging you up to your knees with no gentleness, no care. 

he leaned in, lips at your ear, voice back to that quiet, dangerous whisper.

“all fours.”

you scrambled to obey, tears still dripping from your chin onto the sheets, your ass high, back arched, your pussy swollen and dripping and empty.

he stared for a long second.

then, flatly:

“prove it. prove your sorry.”

he didn’t move.

not even a little.

just knelt behind you, one hand resting heavy on your lower back, the other wrapped around the curve of your ass—fingers digging in, spreading you open so wide the air hit your cunt like ice. his cock stood thick and flushed against your thigh, glistening with everything he’d already taken from you. close. so close.

but he didn’t move

“you want to cum so badly?” he said, voice low and flat, unreadable, like it didn’t matter either way. “then do it yourself.”

your breath caught.

you blinked, stunned.

he gripped your ass harder, a sharp squeeze that made you jolt forward, but he didn’t move to stop you. 

“come on,” he said, the cruelty now bitter instead of sharp. “you were so good at playing games earlier.”

your whole body shook.

you whimpered once—just one broken sound—and then moved. slowly. shamefully.

you rocked your hips back. tentative at first. your slick folds kissed the head of his cock and you moaned, soft and strangled, before pushing further, inching down onto him until the stretch began to burn again.

it wasn’t graceful. it wasn’t like when he took care of you.

it was work.

every inch felt like a trial. your legs trembled under the weight of it, thighs threatening to give out as you lowered yourself onto him, your breath coming in ragged sobs, your cunt pulsing with how close you were, how desperately your body wanted him to take over.

but he didn’t.

“make yourself cum,” he snapped, voice tighter now. 

you nodded, rocking your hips again—sliding down fully this time, burying him inside, your body jerking as your sob turned to a long, high cry. your knees were slipping, your arms too bound to help you balance, and every time you moved your hips, your body twitched with the effort.

he just watched.

watched you ride his cock without rhythm, without grace—just need. just ruin. his hands stayed on your ass, holding it open, holding you wide for him to see.

but he didn’t help.

you were doing it alone.

“felix, i can’t—”

“you wanted this.”

and so you kept going.

kept fucking yourself back on him, over and over, your movements messy and broken, your body trembling with the weight of everything you’d done—everything you’d wanted.

and as you cried, he gripped your ass harder, dragging his thumbs over the skin, watching your hole stretch around him like it was all you were good for.

your thighs were giving out.

completely.

each roll of your hips got weaker, sloppier—your knees buckling inward, your movements more tremble than thrust, the sheer weight of him inside you unbearable. 

your arms were still bound, chest pressed into the sheets, your cries muffled now—raw and constant, more sob than sound—as you tried to keep going. but your body wouldn’t move. 

you shook your head, weakly, voice cracking as you rasped, “i—i can’t… i can’t do it…”

you felt his exhale first—long and deep. then the weight of his hands on your hips shifted. and his voice followed, low and so done.

“of course you can’t.”

you shivered.

“you couldn’t even fuck yourself properly,” he muttered, hands gripping your hips with new purpose. “you begged for this. cried for it. ruined both of us trying to prove something—and now you can’t even finish what you started?”

you sobbed but that was all he gave you time for. because he snapped his hips forward. you screamed, head slamming into the pillow, the thrust knocking your whole body up the bed.

and then he didn’t stop.

he fucked into you from behind, deep and punishing, dragging you back onto his cock with every stroke, the sound of skin on skin wet and violent, your cries rising in pitch until you couldn’t hold anything in anymore.

“isn’t this what you wanted?” he growled, voice right at your ear now, one hand on the back of your neck, the other gripping your waist so tight it burned. “to get used like this? to cry on my dick and act like you’re sorry?”

your throat was raw, your eyes stinging, your body screaming with the oncoming wave, your orgasm building so hard it almost felt like pain.

“felix—fuck—i’m gonna—”

his pace didn’t stutter.

didn’t falter.

“yeah?” he breathed, his voice a rasp, full of hate and heat and something so possessive it twisted your stomach. “that’s right.”

his thrusts turned vicious, his cock pounding into you, his voice ragged and shaking.

“cum then.”

and you did.

you came with a scream—full-bodied, wrecked, your spine arching like it was trying to tear free from your skin. it hit so hard you thought for a second you might black out. your pussy clamped down around him, fluttering and pulsing in rhythmic spasms, gushing slick down his cock in hot, wet waves that soaked your thighs and his lap and the sheets beneath you.

felix groaned—a sound ripped from the very pit of his chest, primal and deep, his pace faltering for the first time as he felt it. felt you soak him. felt you break.

“fuck—” he hissed, slamming into you again—chasing it now, rutting through the mess of your orgasm, the loud slap of his hips against your soaked skin. “you’re dripping, baby—fuck, you’re making such a mess—”

you sobbed into the sheets, body twitching, overstimulation crawling up your spine like static. but he didn’t stop. wouldn’t let up. not now. not after all of it.

and then—slowly, like the fire had finally started to burn itself out—his rhythm began to falter. just a little. his groans turned heavier, strained, his thrusts rougher but less precise. his body hunched forward, chest heaving, cock throbbing inside you as he buried himself one last time.

he shuddered against your back, hips twitching as he came inside of you, the warmth of it spilling deep and raw, filling you in heavy bursts. he stayed there for a moment, his hands slowly loosening their grip on your hips, breath ghosting against your shoulder.

then, gently, slowly, his body folded over yours.

his forehead pressed to the space between your shoulder blades. his chest to your back. one hand slid forward—shaky, tentative—and rested just beneath your ribs.

he stayed there, breathing with you.

then, without a word, he eased back.

his chest lifted off yours, his grip on your hip released fully, and for a moment, the loss of contact felt colder than the air in the room. he slid one palm down the arch of your spine, a soft, absent stroke. then came the slow shift of his hips—his cock slipping out, careful and deliberate, so tender in contrast to everything before.

you whimpered from the loss and the mess—his cum already spilling out of you in lazy drips, sliding down your thighs, thick and warm, clinging to the backs of your knees as gravity pulled it down. you twitched from the sensitivity, your body still trembling in little aftershocks, your hips useless, your arms limp where they lay tangled and bound under your chest.

you heard the faint shuffle of a drawer, the rustle of fabric, the hiss of warm water being poured. your eyes fluttered closed, head sinking into the pillow, your whole body too loose to lift.

you barely registered the soft wet cloth between your thighs until it was there—warm, soothing. he held you gently, one hand under your hip to tilt you, the other cleaning you with slow, careful strokes, wiping away the slick, the sweat, the release still dripping out of you.

he then settled you on clean sheets, wrapped a new blanket over your shoulders.

still nothing.

not a single word.

but he lay beside you, close but not pressed in, his fingers brushing soft through your hair, over your temple, down the curve of your jaw. you blinked slow and you opened your eyes.

and there he was.

your felix.

bathed in the low light of the room, hair a tousled halo of gold against the pillow, freckles blooming soft across his cheeks, lips pink and parted just barely. he looked tired. beautiful. like something that shouldn’t exist outside a dream.

you loved it. all of it. the softness now. the brutality before.

the way he made space for every version of you. the way he let himself be more than just the sun.

“i love you, felix.”

his hand stilled, resting against your cheek. his eyes softened then blinked, and they turned glassy.

“i love you too,” he whispered, his voice low, husky, still thick with the weight of everything.

you gave a little smile, lids already starting to droop again, your limbs heavy under the blanket he’d wrapped around you.

“i wouldn’t want you any other way,” you murmured.

that made him laugh—quiet, breathless, a sound like surrender.

and then you laughed too. barely a sound, more breath than voice, your smile curling into the pillow as your eyes slipped closed again.

he stayed beside you.

his fingers returned to your hair, softer than ever now, smoothing it back from your face as your breathing evened out, your body finally letting go.

and when you fell asleep, it was in silence.

the next morning, you woke slowly—warm, sore in all the right places, and still tangled in the soft scent of felix. the sheets around you were a little crooked, the pillow beside you empty.

you blinked blearily and reached for your phone, but it wasn’t the screen that caught your eye.

there was a note. folded and sitting neatly on the nightstand.

recording right now, but i’ll be back soon. pour yourself a cup of coffee. i love you! – lix ♡

you smiled—small, sleepy, still a little ruined from the night before. the words made your chest ache and flutter all at once. he hadn’t said anything heavy. no apologies. no over-explanations. just soft and simple. just felix.

you stretched out your limbs, wincing slightly at the ache before dragging yourself out of bed and into one of felix’s oversized sweaters and boxers. 

barefoot and quietly smug, you padded down the hallway into the kitchen.

and there he was.

seungmin.

leaning against the counter in sweats and a hoodie, eyes fixed on his phone, coffee half-drunk on the table beside him. he looked up when he heard you—expression unreadable—and you did what anyone would do after getting absolutely obliterated in the next room over by his bandmate.

you pretended nothing happened.

“morning,” you said, voice light, moving straight to the coffee pot. “didn’t think you’d be up.”

“i’ve been up,” he said simply.

you nodded and reached for a mug—felix’s, the pale blue one with the tiny chip in the rim—and poured yourself a cup. steam curled up around your face, and you focused on it like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

and then you felt it.

his presence. he stepped closer. closer.

you didn’t dare turn around.

then, casually—like it was nothing—he reached over your shoulder and set something on the counter in front of you.

sixty bucks in cash.

you stared at the bills for a second.

then turned.

slowly.

seungmin was already taking a sip of his coffee, eyes flicking to yours over the rim of his mug.

“congrats.”

your mouth twitched, the corner pulling into the smallest smile.

you looked down at the cash again and without saying anything, you plucked the bills off the counter and shoved them straight into the front pocket of felix’s hoodie like you’d just been handed your trophy.

“you really thought i wouldn’t pull it off?” you asked, turning back to your coffee, tone breezy.

“i hoped you wouldn’t,” he deadpanned. “i was rooting for the soft boy.”

you huffed a laugh, lifting the mug to your lips. “he’s still soft.”

seungmin gave you a long, dry look.

you shrugged, eyes twinkling over the rim. “...just not all the time.”

he snorted.

then leaned back against the counter, sipping slow from his mug. “so,” he said casually, “how’d you do it?”

“do what?”

“make him snap.” 

you licked your lips, fighting another smile. “i might’ve… slipped your name in there a few times.”

his eyes narrowed, slow. “yeah?”

“just—it got him pretty worked up.” you said, laughing as you set the mug down. seungmin stared for a beat.

then—he rolled his eyes. “of course it did.”

there was a long pause. not uncomfortable. just tension.

he said, quiet but clear, “tell him he doesn’t have anything to worry about.”

you nodded.

“i will.”

you stepped back slowly, letting the silence hold, and turned toward the hallway—when the front door clicked open.

both your heads turned.

felix stepped in, hair tied back, hoodie sleeves bunched at his elbows, a little windblown from the walk. his eyes lit up the moment he saw you.

“hey, angel,” he said, smile so warm it melted straight into your ribs.

you crossed the room in a few slow steps, rising onto your toes to meet him halfway. your hand curled around his jaw, thumb brushing the skin just below his cheekbone, and you kissed him.

his other hand found your waist immediately, like muscle memory, pulling you in as he smiled against your lips. he pulled away just enough to wrap his arms around you, tucking you into his chest. his chin rested lightly on top of your head, breath warm as it fanned through your hair.

you melted into him, your hands slipping under the hem of his hoodie, fingertips grazing the bare skin at his waist. his heart beat steady against your cheek, and you let yourself breathe him in.

then, behind you, a shift in the air.

felix’s gaze lifted—over your shoulder.

met seungmin’s across the room.

you didn’t see what was unraveling between the two of them.

after a moment, you pulled back slightly, enough to tilt your head and meet his eyes.

felix looked down at you with a smile. and that was all you needed.

[flippedccc]

𝖪𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝖻𝖾𝗋: '𝖫𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝖱𝖾𝖽' ༄࿔ 𝖡.𝖢.

⤷ Size Kink | Stomach Bulge | Teratophilia (Wolf-Hybrid)

♱ word count: 1.8k

♱ warnings: fem!reader, Red Riding Hood reader x Wolf Hybrid Chan, I never specify body type but this has stomach bulge & Chris is described to be bigger than the reader so read at ur own discretion, size kink, teratophilia, knotting, kinda corruption?, bribery/coercing, lowkey kinda mean chris (everyone act surprised. Sian wrote mean dom), rough sex + big dick chris with no mentions of prep, biting, public sex? Its in a forest but nobody is around, 1 use of “good girl’

sorta proofread

Kinktober Schedule

DO NOT republish or translate+post my work!

“Tsk tsk tsk… You should know better than to be this far out in the woods, Red. You know this is my territory.”

“C-Chris! Listen… I’m really sorry but I need that plant over there. Grandma isn’t doing well and the only remedy that will help needs just a few of those flowers…” The tall man looks over his shoulder, eyeing the purple-colored flowers that you had pointed out.

“Hm… Okay, you can have a few.” The bright smile that grew on your face was almost enough to let you take it for free. Almost.

“Thank-” “On one condition.” 

“C’mon, sweet girl. You know I don’t do things for free~” His rough fingers stroked your cheek and he couldn’t help but grin as your smile dropped. The canines that peeked out from behind his plump lips were enough to bring you back to reality and remind you that he was in fact still a wolf hybrid and not so much your “friendly” neighbor.

“What exactly do you want…?” His grin seemed to get wider before he took his bottom lip between his teeth. A predatory glint took over his eyes as he slowly looked you up and down.

“I have something in mind…”

“Open the fuck up.”

His growl rumbles from deep within his chest and he thrusts his hips forward aggressively, causing you to cry out. Your thighs ache from the action, along with your swollen pussy thanks to the big dick that was currently tearing your insides up. You lost count after the first 5 inches, and now the seemingly never-ending length was quickly becoming too much for you.

He knew this all too well. But that didn’t stop him from forcing you and your little human body to take every last inch of his thick cock inside of you.

“C’mon Little Red, you can take it. You need to, remember?” He chuckles and pushes your thighs further apart. “You need those pretty little flowers, so you need to take my fucking cock.” His smile drops at the end of the sentence and he pulls out just to roughly thrust back inside. You moan out in surprise and his fingers dig further into your thighs, leaving crescent-shaped divots in your skin. 

“P-Please…” He clicks his tongue and leans forward more, shoving his face into your neck with another growl. With this, he manages to push another inch or two into your puffy hole, but your mind is so foggy that you don’t even notice it right away. The feeling of him breaching your walls so aggressively, all while he growls and huffs about how he needs to be all the way in for it to “count as payment” makes your head spin.

Even more so as a sob rips from your throat when he finally bottoms out. Your jaw drops and you squeal as his hips grind against yours, causing him to feel deeper all while he rubs against your G-Spot so perfectly. He throws his head back at the feeling of you completely wrapped around him and groans deeply when you clench subconsciously.

“There we go~ Good job, baby.” He licks a stripe up your neck before placing kisses all over it, letting you take a few seconds to breathe. He wasn’t that much of a brute- he did still care for you after all. Plus, what good is a new toy if you break it so early on!? So he takes a few seconds to himself, backing away and fixing his posture, allowing him to get a good look at you. And God do you look exquisite.

He licks his lips and looks over your body multiple times, doing everything in his power to burn this image of you into his head. He starts with your pretty lips, swollen and shiny with drool, and then your flushed cheeks that are wet from the fat tears that fall down them.

His eyes glance at your arms, smiling to himself at the army of goosebumps that have littered your skin as your body shakes deliciously with what he can’t decipher if it’s pleasure or pain. Your chest catches his eyes next; the way it heaves with each breath you take makes his chest swell with pride. But the thing that took the most of his attention, was the not-so-little bump on your tummy.

His lips were slightly parted and his breath was quickening as he lightly traced the outline of his dick. It’s at this point that he realizes just how large and wide he is compared to you. He’s always noticed- it’s quite hard not to. But when he has you like this, below him and completely at his mercy, he finally realizes just how much bigger he is. The sun only urges him further, casting a giant shadow over you that completely covers you and some of the ground you lay upon.

It makes his instincts go absolutely crazy and he can’t hold himself back from experimentally thrusting, moving at an angle that makes the bulge more prominent. The squeak you let out causes his eyes to flicker back up to your face, essentially snapping him out of the daze he was in. And when he meets your confused face looking up at him, he realizes how long he has been staring.

“Haha… Take a look at this, baby.” He wipes some of your tears and tilts your chin to help you look down. The desperate moan you let out sends his ego to the moon, causing him to twitch against your walls. He huffs out a laugh in disbelief and begins to move his hips, thrusting into you slowly yet roughly.

“I’m so deep… You feel that, baby?” His hand moves from your thigh and pushes down on your lower stomach, right on top of where the bulge popped out each time he bottomed out. “Fffuck.. ‘S my fat cock in your tummy?”

“God- Fuck, shut up Chris-” You clench tightly at his words despite your words and he ignores you in favor of picking up his pace, groaning when your walls flutter around him even more.

“You feel so fucking good. It’s almost like this pretty pussy was meant for me.” You swear you almost see his eyes roll into the back of his head, but he immediately brings your attention away by folding you in half. Pushing your knees to your chest and letting your ass hang in the air as he completely hovers over you, fucking into you with carnal need.

This new position makes you see stars and he uses it to his advantage, pounding into you and not allowing you time to think straight. He chases this brutal pace until your legs begin to ache, the pain of it overpowering the pleasure and making you hurriedly tap on his shoulder and push him back, “Fuck, wait- my legs.”

He huffs in annoyance but responds immediately, sitting up straight and allowing your legs to fall to his sides. His hips continue to thrust shallowly as you breathe deeply and try to rub the ache away, but this break doesn’t last long. You owe him payment, and he wants it now.

So he pulls out, opting to quickly flip you onto your knees and push your chest into the ground. You’re given no time to object before he’s shoving his entire length back inside with a groan. Your body shakes at the feeling of being absolutely filled to the brim. The back of your throat even itches as if his tip was poking it. And god, did it genuinely feel like that.

It’s not hard for him to find his previous pace, especially now that you’re seemingly more pliant for him. The only disobedient action from you is your cries for him to slow down, but he has no plans to. Not when you look absolutely ruined below him.

He shushes you and leans forward, holding you down with his chest against your back as he continues to fuck you as if his life depends on it.

“Shhhhh… It’s ok, it’s ok. You’re gonna be good and take it right? You're gonna let the big bad wolf fuck your brains out? Yea?” Your fingers dig into the ground and you nod as best as you can with your cheek shoved against the floor.

He’s unhappy with the silent answer and bares his teeth, sinking them into your shoulder with a growl to “Use your words.”

“Y-Yes! Please, Chris!”

“Goood girl. Just sit there and take this fucking dick. Let Wolfy use you like the good chew toy you are.” The new name makes you clench tightly around him and he groans as you cum, causing the squelching noises to become even louder. He moans and nuzzles his face into your neck, leaving small kisses before he chomps down again.

The overstimulation is starting to hit and you cry out, desperately pushing against the ground in hopes of pushing your torso up and off the floor. But that’s not what good toys do. So he growls against your neck and pushes you down, wrapping a hand around the back of your neck to keep you in place as he fixes his posture.

“No. You’re gonna sit still. Good toys don’t fucking move. I can’t knot you if you’re misbehaving.” As if to prove his point, his other hand digs into your waist, holding you even more still as he rams into you.

Thanks to his thick tip incessantly knocking into your cervix, you don’t process what he says right away. At least, not until you feel an extra mass pushing against your swollen folds. “W-Wait, your knot?!?”

You hear his earrings jingle as he tilts his head and you can almost hear the shit-eating grin on his face as he mocks you. “Yes, my knot. You’re gonna take it inside of this tight. little. cunt. And you’re going to take every last drop of my cum.” You go to disagree but your body reacts on its own, clenching around him and trying to suck him in impossibly deeper.

“F-Fuck- feels like you do like that idea, baby.” He grits his teeth and starts to focus on sharp thrusts. Once his knot finally breaches your hole, you sob into your arm and bite into it to hold back a scream.

He whines and grinds into you, rubbing against your G-spot roughly as he pushes himself over the edge. You can feel his breath on your neck, heavy and heaving as he pumps you full of his seed. His body shakes with each spurt of cum he releases, and the overwhelming movements are enough to push you over the edge again; the needy grinding from him mixed with the mind-numbing feeling of being overfilled, yet forced to hold every last bit, pushing you towards another orgasm.

“Mmmm… Hold it there, yeah? Keep my pups nice and safe in their new home, and I’ll let you take as many plants as you want. Deal, Little Red?”

Taglists: (red=can't be tagged)

@valkyriexo @lunearta @jabmastersupriseee @rylea08

@yaorzu-blog @amararosesblog @jiminssluttyminx @clemissleepy

@miss-daisy04 @kittyxnoa @dwaekkiiracha @bubblerizz

@mariteez @fun-fanfics @honeyybbuubblleess

[flippedccc]

( skz reaction ) how he makes you cum .ᐟ

🖇️📂 how skz go through the trenches to make you cum

genre: smut, minors dni, warnings: unprotected sex, oral (male and female receiving), fingering, degradation, semi-public sex, car sex, somnophilia, overstimulation, sub!hyunjin, note: this was completely self indulgent, just wanted an excuse to write about how big changbin and jisung have gotten 😮‍💨

방찬. BANG CHAN

gets such a kick out of making you cum while simultaneously refusing to give you his dick - you can beg, plead, throw all the tantrums you want, he won’t give in. he just wants to see you get all cute and desperate and greedy for his cock before he gives you it. absolutely loves how easy it is to get you off when you’re in this state and will have you drooling on him like a bitch in heat in no time with simply just his fingers and pretty praises, curling deep against your snug walls while cooing down at you, “you’re already so fucked out honey, haven’t even given you a taste of cock yet. think you can handle it?” all you can manage is a stupid little nod and whimper, hips grinding down to meet the thrusts of his fingers, cunt hungrily sucking them in and he just wishes it was his dick instead. chan truly loves to take his sweet time with you and can’t help but think you look soso pretty after he’s fucked you dumb on his fingers, pussy all sticky and stretched and just begging for him to bully his fat cock in. but he can be a tad cruel sometimes and honestly thinks its the funniest thing ever to ignore your gasped begs, a mean grin on his otherwise gentle face as his digits continue to spread you open, hardly giving his neglected dick a second thought. 

calls you all the pretty names in the book - angel, sweetheart, honey - and they all sound a little too sweet falling from his lips when he’s abusing your little nub. really enjoys watching you work for your orgasm too, its no fun if he’s just gonna hand it to you!! lays between your legs and rubs his fat cockhead up and down your folds, drenching it in your warmth before accidentally fucking it in just an inch then pulling back again, eating up all the frustrated whines you let slip. but god, when he finally does push in and rips one last orgasm out of you its so worth it, and you can barely find it in yourself to care about the way he tormented your poor pussy earlier when he’s stretching you out real good, cock pumping into you so deep it has you slack jawed and teary eyed. fucks you through your orgasm, the familiar heat in your body traveling down in warm spurts of slick cum coating his dick. and he just can’t stop running his mouth when you’re clamping down on him, “that’s it baby, cum on my cock…god, this tight little pussy will be the death of me,” and, “pretty girl, you did so well for me.” he’s so pussy whipped. might even get nasty with it and bury his face between your thighs after, lapping up the mess of cum and sweat pooling onto your thighs. good luck prying him away <333

리노. LEE MINHO 

a true menace at heart. his favourite way to make you cum is when you’re not even aware that it’s happening - you’ll be knocked out cold and you still won’t be safe from this sick, sick man. you couldn’t even count the amount of times you’ve woken up to him pumping into your cunt in the dead of night, shushing you back to sleep cause, “you’re okay sweetheart, just couldn’t stop thinking about your pretty pussy all night. just go back to sleep.” just can’t help himself. especially when he wakes up before you and you’re beside him looking all vulnerable and cute wrapped up in his sheets, legs looking so empty without his head between them and what’s a man to do? doesn’t even give it a second thought before he’s working his mouth against your cunt, testing how many orgasms he can pull from you before you catch on and finally wake up. can only bury his face further into the messy heaven that is your pussy when your sleepy whimpers perk his ears, brows furrowing in pleasure and pretty face all screwed up, mind toting on the line between sleep and the slick tongue working you up. such a tease and will pull away just to watch in amusement as your back arches slightly off the bed, hips subconsciously rutting up to chase after his mouth, missing the warmth and practically begging him to fuck his tongue deeper into your inviting pussy. and he’s so fucking mean to you that he’ll fucking laugh to himself, mumbling something about how much of a cock whore you are even when you’re deep asleep. 

minho is a messy eater, spit and drool mixed with your arousal dripping from his chin - not letting up his abuse until your nub is raw and pulsing against his tongue. he’s quick to rest a hand on your tummy when you start to come around, legs closing in around his head and eyes blinking sleepily down at him and he would’ve thought you were so cute if he wasn’t so busy making out with your pussy. doesn’t even give you a second to figure out what tf is going on before he’s trying to coax more of those adorable gasps out of you, teeth tugging on your folds and fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs, keeping them spread wide open for him until you’re complaining that your muscles are sore and tired, but he still won’t let up - continuing to eat you out like a starved animal. likes when you just can’t help yourself from tangling your fingers in his hair, tugging his face even closer to your dripping cunt to the point all he can see, feel, taste is you. and you’re grinding down on him like a desperate little pup, nose bumping against your clit in the most delicious obscene way, all sloppy and messy with your cum and you’re just left wondering why your boyfriend is so mean to you at 8 in the goddamn morning. he won’t stop until you’re begging him to either, pussy left raw and swollen before he’s leaving one last spit fuelled kiss against it. forces you to kiss him after too, shoving his tongue down your throat so you can taste how sweet you really are.

“morning sweetheart.”

창빈. SEO CHANGBIN

likes showing off his strength to you, especially in public when you can do nothing but drool over him - his eyes going straight to the way you press your pretty thighs together when he wears a tight fitting shirt or has his arms on show and he can practically smell the arousal dripping off you. pretends to be surprised when he finally corners you into an empty dressing room, flipping up your skirt and getting a good look at your damp panties and you can hardly stand the embarrassed flush that takes over when he swipes a fat finger over the drenched fabric. makes some sarcastic quip like, “jesus baby, did watching me work out make you this wet? i haven’t even done anything yet.” and nearly loses his goddamn mind when he feels you gush even more at his words, wetness starting to drip past the seams and he can almost taste it. but you don’t even have time to apologise for being the cock hungry whore he always likes to tease you are before he’s nudging your stupid frilly underwear to the side and bumping his digits past your folds, pumping and stretching them so deep inside you it has your toes curling and nails breaking the skin of his biceps, looking for something, anything, to hold onto. and he’ll have you creaming on his cock in a matter of minutes, muscles tensing in his back and jaw straining as he fucks you full. 

you best believe he’s gonna put those muscles to good use, he’s big and strong, strong enough to put you into any position he wants. loves seeing that dumb look on your cute little face the second he gets his hands on you. with the strength comes the stamina, he can go until you’ve completely milked him dry - having fucked you until you were empty headed hours ago but he’s still determined to force just one more out of you. as soon as he feels you go limp on him he’s all over you, tangling a hand in your hair to tug your head back, sweaty chest pressed tightly against your back as he pumps into you from behind, buried so deeply it’s no wonder he has you cumming on his dick again and again. loves the way you lazily clench around him despite tapping out long ago, his strong arms holding you to fuck up into you like you’re nothing more than a hole to him. istg one of the main factors this man works out so much is to see you lose your absolute mind the bigger he gets. 

현진. HWANG HYUNJIN 

despite being such a brat, he knows how much you get off on having him sub for you. so he might just let you take control now and then if you’re being extra good for him. and he expects you to take full advantage of the opportunity cause he can go back to being a brat in a matter of seconds if you’re not careful. nothing quite gets you going like reducing this man to a blubbering mess of cute tears and whimpers, cock all swollen and neglected and just itching to finally sink into your inviting pussy. he sometimes hates how nasty you can get when he’s in such a state, edging him towards orgasm again and again and he can’t miss the way your pussy dampens at the sounds of his whiney groans. tries to hold himself back a lot for your sake, veins in his neck almost popping while his fingers twist and curl into the bedsheets, resisting the urge to fuck his hips up when you’re smothering his dick with your glossy lips. nearly loses all sense of control when you take his fat tip between them, tongue pressing down around him and he can hardly focus on anything but the mess of drool and precum slipping down your chin, it’s such a pretty sight. he’s so fucked out that he almost misses the way your fingers dip into your pussy, fucking your fingers into your hot cunt in time with the bobs of your head and he has half a mind to force you off him and replace them with his cock.

hyunjin swears he wants to be good for you, he really does, but he’s so greedy and soso close to cumming that he can’t help but think with his dick and buck his hips up slightly to force himself further down your throat, the lewd sounds of your choked gasps only spiralling him closer. he can only let out a series of pathetic apologies that don’t really mean anything cause he’s still humping your mouth like a dog. post nut regret is real cause as soon as he empties himself down your throat he’s letting out a series of excuses, “but baby, you just feel so good!! how am i meant to help myself 🥺” and nearly crashes tf out when you don’t buy it for a single second - he can only beg, hope, pray you’ll go easy on him. but then you’re grabbing his jaw in your hand, spitting something vile about how much of a selfish bastard he is, sinking your slippery pussy down onto his softening cock and sitting all pretty. making him watch as you get yourself off over and over without offering him the slightest bit of relief - he almost believes your biting words that he’s good for nothing but a dick for you to pleasure yourself with, trying to ignore the fact that deep, deep down he loves when you use him like this. 

한. HAN JISUNG

sometimes he likes not giving you what you want. he’s normally all over you to the point it was pathetic, not able to keep his hands to himself for even a second and you just love teasing him about how well trained and pussy-whipped you have him. he hates it. so now and again he likes to remind you how much you relay on him to keep you sane by dicking you down almost daily. makes you suffer for a few days just to see you slowly lose your mind, and he thrives on how desperate you are to have him buried inside you. he knows you’re apprehensive, especially when he starts making up some excuse you clearly don’t buy when you reach for his underwear, or when he pushes you away and whispers “later baby” when you grind down onto his cock but later never comes, and whenever you finally do coax him to fuck you he’ll pull out just as you’re about to cum, claiming he was just too tired. he’ll have to keep himself busy, late nights in the studio so he doesn’t have time to think about how much he’d rather be buried balls deep in your warm pussy, canceling your plans to spend it at the dorms just begging to some god, whatever god, that you’ll finally break and just force him to fuck you. and when you finally do, it’ll almost be worth blue balling himself the whole week. 

jisung just knows you’re planning something when you so sweetly offer him a ride when he’s running late to practice, your doe eyes hiding a mean glint and the obnoxiously tiny skirt you’re donning not fooling him in the slightest. doesn’t even question it when five minutes into the ride you take a wrong turn into an empty street, stalling the engine and clambering into his lap from where he sat in the passenger seat - so desperate that you don’t waste any time, nudging your flimsy panties to the side to sink down onto his fat dick, he has to hold everything inside of himself back from busting a load just from the feeling alone. and he’s been so pussy depraved the past week that he can do nothing but give in, letting you ride him like he was nothing more than a cock for you to use. he just HAS to keep his mouth busy when he’s fucking up into you, anything to keep him from losing himself in the hold your cunt has on him. “you’re so needy, you know that baby? almost worse than me. what? you don’t like being told the truth? you were losing your mind without my dick inside you, it was cute.” and he just can’t ignore the way you seem to wrap even tighter around him, he didn’t even know it was possible with how you were suffocating his cock already. he gets you there in seconds, the stench of sex and sweat fogging up the windows and he swears your cum has never tasted sweeter than when he has you reduced to the mess you are now. 

필릭스. LEE FELIX 

felix is usually so sweet and gentle with you during sex, spoiling you with pretty praises and the stretch of his cock fucking you so lovingly it’d make you feel embarrassed sometimes. but he just can’t stand it when you take advantage of that and act like a brat, it makes him want to bend you over the nearest surface and fuck you in front of everyone whenever you give him the slightest bit of lip in public, forcing you to apologise on his dick for being such a little bitch. he won’t go that far though. no, he’ll just sit back and watch as you get yourself off, every passing second making your need for his cock even more obvious - might not be your favourite way to get off, but its definitely his. ignores your meek apologies when you know you’ve went too far, deep voice cutting you off and telling you to strip as he sits comfortably against your headboard, hands undoing his belt and you’re practically dripping in arousal - foolishly thinking he’s gonna give in and fuck the attitude out of you. but he can be so nasty when he wants to be, cock leaking and red and you suddenly feel so empty looking at it. fucking laughs at how eager you are when you rush to sit on his lap and just when you’re about to sink down onto him he’s stopping you, a mean glint in his pretty eyes. “grind on it.” loves wiping that hopeful look on your face and if you even think for a second about complaining he’ll just make you sit in the corner and watch as he gets himself off over and over again. 

he likes to see you work for it, leaning his head back and gazing at your through bored eyes, acting like the warmth of your pussy dragging against the length of his cock wasn’t driving him absolutely insane. he’ll try his hardest to not give in, at least until he sees those cute tears line your lashes. and you never thought your sweet little boyfriend could be so mean with how he just refuses to fuck you. normally he’s wrapped around you pretty little finger, and god do you know it. deliberately bumping your pussy against his tip with every rut of your hips, hands clawing at his chest just begging for even an ounce of pity. but he wants to watch you make a mess out of yourself for just a bit longer, your whines going straight to his cock as spurts of warm precum spill out of his swollen tip, nudging it just an inch past your pussy to rub his stickiness against you. probably cums along with you when you finally do, and it’s so unsatisfying that you’re sobbing and sniffling into his chest, gasping out how much you need him inside you and he’s so proud you’ve finally let go of that bratty attitude of yours.

“that’s it pretty girl, let it all out.”

승민. KIM SEUNGMIN

when he’s so pussy whipped that he’s completely consumed by you. the only thing he can think, taste, feel is you. to the point that nothing else matters and his only goal is to make you cum. nothing quite gets you off like it. he notices it first when he’s fucking you like he usually does, like he hates your guts, the stretch of his cock almost painful with how deep he was pumping into you, sweat dripping from his hairline and his pretty lips tainted with vile words. but the moment you hear a little pathetic whine leaving them instead you’re clamping down around him so snugly it has him letting a few more out without even thinking. he’ll try to ignore it, tells you to shut the fuck up or he’ll stop. but he won’t be able to shake the feeling of you spilling onto him in floods the second you registered the noise and the slight stutter of his hips, his usual harsh demeanour slipping for just a second. he’ll lose himself in the feeling of your warm cunt just see how you’d react, being a little pathetic in the way he talks you through it, mean words turning to pretty begs and he loves the way you gush around him from the complete 180. sometimes, only when you’ve been extra good for him, he’ll let you use his cock until you’ve completely milked him dry, just to coax more of those pretty whimpers out of him but he’ll genuinely break up with you if you dare bring it up to anyone. LOVES eating you out when he’s in this space, stuffing his face so far between your thighs he’s almost being suffocated with your pussy, letting out the greediest little moans just from the taste alone, making you cum again and again until he’s covered and dripping in your cum. 

seungmin eats you out like a man starved, spit lubing up your cunt and your sore nub relentlessly abused by his tongue - nose nudging your clit a few times, only adding to the sloppy way he was kissing your pussy. but you just don’t have the heart to tell him to back off when he’s subtly humping the bed for some kind of release and his eyes are rolling into the back of his head, wet groans of, “tell me how good i’m making you feel, please,” being breathed out against your cunt everytime he reluctantly pulls away for a gulp of air, almost as if he’d be happier dying with his mouth on your cunt right then and there instead of pulling away. he’ll make himself cum just from eating you out, his name falling off your lips like it’s a prayer and back arching to fuck your pussy up into his mouth has his heavy cock twitching, warm spurts of cum leaking past his tip and leaving a sticky, wet patch on the bedsheets. has to overcompensate when the post-nut regret hits him though and will probably push your head into it, telling you to clean it up or some shit. gets soso cocky when you can’t get enough and start feeling up his softened cock, tutting something about, “just made you cum, you really are a greedy girl.” acting as if he hasn’t just spent the last hour eating you out like a animal. 

아이엔. YANG JEONGIN

likes to get you off by riling you up. he just thinks it’s so funny - especially when he’s performing. he’ll play into it  when he knows you’re backstage watching on one of the monitors, just itching to get your hands on him and fuck the tease out of him. loves the thought of you drenching through your panties while watching him work the crowd, sweat dripping down his body and smiling all cocky when the audience goes wild for him, just knowing you’re right there along with them. he’ll make you wait a bit when he finally meets you in his dressing room, claiming he’s too tired but really he just wants to see you beg a little. and as soon as everyone clears out and it’s just you and him, you’re on him in instant - wanting so desperately to slap that smug grin on his face when your hands reach for his belt but also needing nothing more than to feel his thick cock breaking you open. and before you know it he has you bent over the armrest of the little shitty sofa he shares with the members, nails breaking the skin of your hips and ass as he loses himself in the snug walls of your fluttering pussy.

jeongin loves being needed, and he especially loves when you tell him how much you need him. but he doesn’t necessarily appreciate when you’re moaning like a whore with his members standing right outside the door. constantly hisses through clenched teeth for you to be quiet, slowing the grind of his cock down until he’s completely still inside you, hips snug against your ass and chest pressed tightly against your back to whisper in your ear, “you better shut the fuck up baby, what are you gonna do if chan hyung walks in and sees you getting railed like the little slut you are?” and he really can’t bring himself to ignore the way you clench around him at the thought, almost laughing at how much of cock whore you really are if he wasn’t so focused on filling you up with his cum until you could practically taste it. he’ll settle for a hand muffling your sounds, cause you just seem to get even louder the second he slams his dick back inside you, muffling your slutty whimpers when he hears faint voices carry through the thin walls. and he’s so desperate to make you cum before someone walks in, telling you to take it like a good girl when he’s filling you up and before you know you’re making a mess of the sofa and his cock. he’s so mean to you that he’ll make you explain to his hyungs what the weird stain left on the couch was just to embarrass you even more.

© seungisms - all rights reserved. reposting/modification of any kind is not tolerated.

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Sugar

Bang Chan x AFAB! Reader Synopsis: Chan takes care of his baby girl. Warnings: SMUT, unprotected p in v (wrap it before you tap it! Be safe!) Oral (both receiving), fingering, mutual masturbating, teasing, car sex, use of pet name (kitten, baby girl, daddy), sex outside, aftercare. A/N: I hope you enjoy. Y/D/C = Your dream car. Requests are OPEN just slow due to life. 🎬Please do silence your phones, grab some popcorn🍿 and a fluffy blanket and enjoy the chapter📖

You wake up, the feeling of soft Egyptian cotton wrapping around your body along with the warmth of the sun shining in through the window. The clock reads eight a.m. and the soft snoring of the man next to you is indicator that Chan wasn’t going into the studio today and that meant one thing.

It’s pickup day!

You roll to your side, weaving your freshly light pink manicured nails through his dark hair; watching him sleep was one of your favorite things. The way his mouth would lay slightly open, a little bit of drool dripping hanging down from his soft plump lips, the way his eyes flutter when he dreams, the way he just looked like an angel when he was finally sound asleep.

He stirred slightly under your touch, your hand stopping its movement briefly until he was still again. You may have been Chan’s baby, but he was yours right back, even if you did call him Daddy. Most days he took care of you, per your agreement and something he expressed he wanted to do. But there were moments you took care of him. Running him baths, rubbing his aching back after a particularly grueling show or video shoot, sucking him off after a hard day and hearing him purr your name; those nights were your favorite.

His eyes flutter open, as he hums at the way your nails slightly massage his scalp. You smile at him, a look of devotion and bliss evident in your gaze.

“Good morning, beautiful,” he says leaning over to capture your sweet lips in a kiss.

“Morning, Channie,” you kiss his lips affectionately. The morning is still, calm, and the two of you feel as though you have nothing but time. Chan rolls you onto your back, lips still connected and you can feel him pressing into your thigh. You giggle against him as his hands find your hips and his tongue swipes your bottom lip. You moan against him as he smirks against your lips.

Your nails lightly scratch down the front of his bare toned chest.

“We need to get to the dealership by 10,” you mumble against his lips. Chan pulls away reluctantly.

“We got over an hour,” he smirks before attacking your neck. You let out a full-blown laugh as his lips tickle your neck.

“I need to shower, Daddy,” you mumble as his lips hit the top of your cleavage with your hands weaving through his hair. Chan bites the inside of his cheek at the name. Calling him daddy was never about being a child; it’s because of how he takes care of you and cherishes you. He makes sure you have the finest things in life. Makes sure you’re taken care of above all else, even himself.

You want new clothes, say the word. A new makeup product, just tell him how much it is and you’ll have it as soon as he can get it to you, or a new car? Just mention the make and model and he’ll be on his phone within the hour looking them up.

His only rule? That he gets to see you wear it or in it while he fucks you dumb.

That’s what you’re doing today. You had mentioned a couple months ago how you wanted a y/d/c since you were a teenager. And like the good daddy Chan is, he made it happen; even had it customized to everything you wanted.

You hop in the shower, Chan not far behind you. Thankfully, the shower is big enough for two shower heads so no one freezes.

“Are you excited?” Chan asks as he peppers kisses down your neck onto your shoulder as the water hits your naked bodies.

“Very, I can’t wait to see the lights and the interior.” He hums against your skin. The man can’t help it; he’s obsessed with you.

Your skin tingles in his wake, your turn around in his embrace, kissing his lips again, as your arms go around his neck, his arms around your waist.

“Quickie before we go?” He asks.

“Ah, ah, ah, you’ll get all the time you want with me in the new car.” You tease. Chan knows the money isn’t the only thing keeping you around, however when the two of you first entered the arrangement, that was a big part of it. Chan was always a gentlemen, paying for your meals or things you mentioned you wanted, but when one drunken kiss turned into a night of mind-blowing sex, he propositioned you for the role of being his baby, his sugar baby.

While you didn’t technically live with Chan in name, you basically did. He had more of your things in his mansion than what you downtown apartment did. Clothes, make up, appliances, etc. were all neatly stored around the house. Chan made the comment it would be easier since you were there constantly anyway.

Chan lathers the soap onto the cloth, washing over you back and the backs of your arms, the soap gliding onto your skin and staining it with the fragrant smell.

“Turn,” he instructs and you do so, closing your eyes at the way it feels to have the soap lathered onto your body, the steam from the shower rising up and the feel of Chan’s hands being on your body, taking care of you. He drags the rag down your torso, carefully scrubbing at your legs and feet to wash them thoroughly.

Once he’s finished, you grab his rag and repeat the actions, washing him clean, his neck, down to his broad shoulders, over his chest and abs, feeling him up a little as you do so, his muscles tensing under your touch. Bending down to his somewhat hard member you carefully place a chase kiss to it, just to tease him, before running the cloth of over it, then continuing down his body.

“Turn,” you instruct as you’re crouched, his ass coming into full view. You smirk before you get a bright idea.

You sink your teeth into the flesh before placing a kiss over the mark and wipping the cloth over the swell of his ass.

He jumps, sucking in a harsh breath as he feels a slight sting from the mark. You chuckle to yourself.

“You’ll think it’s funny when it’s my turn,” he smirks cockily. You gulp, a small rush of heat flooding to your core.

You stand up, both of you rinsing the soap off your bodies and washing your hair.

You get yourselves dressed, Chan growling lowly in approval over your outfit of choice. He insists you wear skirts, something you don’t mind doing one bit, especially when you know it’s because he wants access to the lovely garden between your legs.

 You get into the uber Chan set up for you and your legs shakes with excitement. Chan’s hand places itself over your thigh, not to stop you, but just to touch you. To be near you. You smile at him, butterflies in your stomach as the anticipation builds.

-

At the dealership the salesman takes you to the back, you squeal as soon as you see it.

The light pink car of your dreams before you.

“Oh, Daddy it’s perfect!” You fling yourself onto him, arms wrapping around his neck. He stumbles just a tad from how hard you hug him.

“I’m glad you love it baby. Check out the inside,” he smiles as you detach   yourself, watching as your heels carry you to the car, the sway of your ass causing him to bite his lip.

You open the door, the full pink interior causing you to gasp.

“Come here!” You call him over in child like excitement. He smiles shaking his head at how adorable you are right now. He goes to the opposite side of the car, opening the door. You grin at him from ear to ear from the driver’s side. He looks around, taking in the vivacious interior.

“It’s beautiful baby. Is it what you wanted?”

“Everything and more,” your eyes are big and wanderlust.

“The lights!” you gasp as you notice the little twinkly lights installed in the roof.

“Channie, they’re beautiful!” you say as you inspect them.

“Let’s get in, see how it feels.” He smiles. You hop into the driver’s seat, pressing the button to start the car. The windows are tinted so no one can see in, making the lights on the roof shine just a little brighter.

You both buckle up, and you put your foot on the gas, pulling out of the dealer ship. What you don’t see is the look of pride on Chris’s face as he watches you drive the very thing he could buy to make you happy. He’s not proud of himself, no, he’s proud of you. His baby, his precious girl who has worked so hard to take care of him and love him even when it’s not been easy. Even when he’s away for months at a time for concerts. You didn’t complain, while you did pout that you missed him, it wasn’t to make him feel bad. It was just you expressing yourself and how much you missed him and desired him, and not just for the sexual aspect. You genuinely enjoy spending time with Chan, with the close age range you share a lot in common and share many similar interests. He hooks up his phone to Bluetooth, playing soft music for the background noise before he takes a couple pictures of you driving the car. You giggle as you hear the camera noise on his phone. He makes the picture the wallpaper on his home screen, proudly.

You get to a red light and Chan’s hand sneaks it’s way to your thigh. You feel heat flood straight to your stomach as you glance down. It’s idle, sweet, comforting even, but you know him. He’s not always a patient man and he loves to tease. The light turns green and you’re pressing the gas pedal, feeling Chan’s hand move up your thigh until it’s at the top of it.

You bite your lip as his fingers ghost over your clothed core.

“Daddy,” you mumble out.

“Just keep driving baby.” He chuckles. His fingers gently rub you over your underwear, little shock waves of pleasure already being felt.

“Daddy, I can’t focus,” you whine as your hips shift.

“Yes, you can,” he says seductively. His fingers press harder, a moan slipping from you lips in reaction as your body slumps forward a bit. He chuckles as his fingers move your underwear aside. He spreads your folds open, collecting a little bit of your slick from your entrance.

“Been thinking about fucking you in this car since I woke up,” he says. You bite down on your lip harder. He slides his fingers back up, lubing the area of your clit to rub tight circles.

“Oh fuck,” you gasp as his hand moves.

“Feel good, baby?” Chan asks cockily; he already knows the answer.

 You whimper in response as your hands white knuckle the wheel.

“So good,” you breathe out.

“You wanna cum while you drive?” Chan’s leaning over the console, whispering your ear, kissing on your neck.

“I’ll crash,” you whimper out as he sucks and licks over the spot below your ear.

“Put it in self-driving mode,” he whispers darkly.

“H- fuck, how?” your hips grind against his hand.

“It’s a button on the wheel.” You glance down as you come to a red light. You press the button, hands still on the wheel for safety.

“Fuck I can’t wait to bury myself deep inside your pretty, tight, pussy. Feel you squeeze me, hear you moan my name like it’s the only thing you know.” He groans as he feels his erection grow, reaching his other hand down to palm himself. You watch as the car drives itself, pleasure firing off at every spot of your body.

“Hands off, sweet girl,” he instructs before licking the shell of your ear. You gently let go, riding along smoothly as the car takes over.

Chan moves your chair back, allowing him just enough room to slip down between you and the wheel.

He places kisses to the inside of your thigh.

“Eyes on the road, baby.” He playfully scolds with a light smack to your hips. The slight sting catching your attention.

“The driver must remain alert.” He instructs before flipping your skirt up, and tapping your hips for you to raise them. He slides your panties off, throwing them in the seat beside you.

He moans at the sight of you, the faux leather seat beneath you a cold contrast to your warm skin. Chan takes his time, kissing and teasing around your wet cunt, feeling you push your hips to him ever so slightly. He flattens his tongue, spreads your folds and licks a wet stripe up your pussy, using the tip of his tongue to flick your little bundle of nerves.

“Oh, fuck,” your eyes flutter shut. Chan smacks your hip.

“Eyes open, or you have to drive,” he commands.

He knows you too well.

You force your eyes open as he sucks your bud into his mouth, sucking harshly as you choke out another gasp mingled moan, hands flying to his shoulders as you arch forward.

“Fuck, daddy,” you breathe out. You undo the seat belt allowing our pelvis to move a little more freely.

You stop at a red light, cars on either side of you, you get a little embarrassed.

“They can’t see you, kitten,” he says sensing the emotion in your body with how stiff it becomes. How does he read you like a book? He laps at your clit, inserting a finger. Your back arches off the seat as your head falls back, feeling him hit that spongey little spot in side your entrance that causes nothing but pure bliss to explode within you.

“Oh fuck, faster, harder,” you say as your hips shift to meet his thrusts.

“Aww, baby, we’re just getting started. You think you’re gonna cum all ready?” He coo’s mockingly.

“Daddy please, I’ve been good.” You whimper as you can feel him slow his thrusts.

“Oh, have you?”

He pulls his face from you, causing you to whine as he flips your skirt back down.

“I think you deserve a little bit of a punishment, after all, you’ve left a little mark on me.” He smirks and you pout.

“But Daddy,” you whine as he slips into the passenger side seat. He pulls your panties to his nose, inhaling your scent before a growl erupts from his throat.

“Fuck you make punishing you so hard.”

Your thighs squeeze together.

“Ah,” he tuts, “Don’t even try it, if you earn it, I’ll make sure you cum.” He promises.

You sit in the seat, aching between your thighs, eyes glancing over to his crotch, the outline of his cock noticeable. Chan smirks as he see’s your eyes looking at him, your tongue darting out to wet your lips. Chris decides to tease you a little more.

You watch as his hand moves to unbutton the button on his vest, exposing his abs. Your mouth parts slightly as he reclines the seat just enough to show you his abs, his hand palming his cock through his pants. His eyes shut as he moans and your thighs squeeze together, unfortunately not offering any relief. Your hands twitch at your sides, desperate as you continue to ache and the sounds of your boyfriend only make your core tingle and drench more.

Chan’s mouth parts his head digging into the headrest some as he continues his assault. He can feel your eyes on him. He sticks his hand down his pants, teasing himself. You whimper in response, his head angles towards you as he unbuttons his pants.

“Aww, does my baby want my hard cock?” he mocks. You nod sheepishly, thighs once again rubbing together.

“Touch yourself for me then.” He instructs and your brows shoot up. Usually, Chris is the one who gets you off, he rarely lets you do the honors, half the time you’re punished if he finds out you touched yourself. Your hand snakes down and flips up your skirt, slowly rubbing quick little circles on your bud.

“Ah, slowly,” he says as he pulls his cock out. You do as he says, moving your fingers torturously slow.

“I want more,” you groan.

“Be patient,” he tuts as his finger teases his slit and he growls.

“Fuck,” he shouts, hand going to the head rest gripping it with white knuckles.

You whimper, your hips rocking at the movement from your finger. Chan’s hand speeds up, and you feel your core pulsing as your heart beats in your chest, breathing shallow. He whimpers, body twitching in pleasure. His breathing becomes shallow, pants as he chokes out moans before his stomach is painted white. He groans as he comes up down from the high.

“Stop,” he commands letting himself go as the car turns into the driveway of the large home.

“Finally,” you sigh. You get the car door opened, only to have Chan reach across you to shut it.

“Back seat. Now.” He commands and his eyes are dark. His voice dripping with need, causing your sweet garden down below to become drenched. You climb back first, his hand slapping your ass causing a slight sting. You yelp as your sit in the spacious back seat of the car. You watch as Chan climbs in behind you, caging your body in.

Your hands automatically reach for his cock; you lick your lips as it’s practically dripping with arousal.

He slaps your hand away and you pout.

“Ask nicely,” he smirks.

“Daddy, please, I wanna taste.” He pretends to think about it for a minute.

“Do you deserve my cock?”

“Yes,” you nod enthusiastically  

“Yes, what?”

“Yes sir,” you whimper out, hips grinding down against the seat.

“Aww, my poor baby,” he mocks, “So desperate. To think I bought you a car and it’s still not enough,” you close your eyes embarrassment evident on your face.

“Being greedy isn’t healthy,” he teases but he see’s as your hips keep digging down into the seat, aching for relief.

“Ok, come here,” he says as he positions himself against the light pink leather and the back door. You lick your lips in anticipation. Your heart is already beating out of your chest as you sink down.

“Spit,” he commands. You gather it up in your mouth, spitting on the tip before licking a stripe up his shaft.

“Oh fuck,” he groans. You whimper as your thighs clench so hard they hurt. You wrap your pretty glossed lips around his head, swirling your tongue over it, teasingly.

“Fuck you look so pretty like that,” he breathes out as he looks down at you. You look up at him through your lashes just before sinking down slowly. Chan lets out a guttural moan, his cock already twitching. You begin to bob your head slowly using the one hand that isn’t used for bracing to massage his balls.

“Oh fuck, baby, yeah just like that, don’t stop. Hollow out your cheeks for me,” he breathes, a hand finding the back of your head as a guide.

You do as he says, hollowing out your cheeks, picking up the pace as you taste more and more of the saltiness on your tongue.

“Fuck I’m gonna cum,” he whimpers out eyes screwed tight. You breathe through your nose as you sink down completely taking him in. His hips shift upwards to meet you, a slight gagging being heard.

“Fuck baby, ‘m sorry.” He apologizes but the pleasure is too good, he’s too far gone.

“Fuck, keep going, I’m so close. Fuck you’re doing so good. Be my good girl and make me cum, fuck make me cum,” he instructs as his head hits against the window. The windows of the car are beginning to fog; Chan’s breathing coming out in harsh pants. You go as fast as you can, trying to push him over the edge.

His body tenses with one last swirl of your tongue over his slit, the salty taste of his cum shooting coating your throat, you continue to pump slowly, helping him ride the wave of aftershock, his legs slightly trembling. You swallow every bit that he gives you, and you let go of him with a little ‘pop’. You wipe your lip with the back of your hand and after a swift moment of catching his breath, Chan’s pulling you up to him, kissing your lips fervently.

“Fuck you’re such a good girl, did so good for me,” he says against your lips and you blush against him. You whimper in response, a whimper falling from your lips as your body feels like it’s on fire.

“Lay back,” he says and helps you adjust, so your head is on the seat. Chan moves his body to the floor once he scoots the seat up giving him extra room down on his knees.

“Smell so good,” he mumbles as he nears your dripping cunt.

“Aww, my baby needs me, doesn’t she?” You nod as you watch him.

“Take off the top.” He points to it and you do so, slipping it over your head. He helps you take off the bra that matches your discarded panties.

“Fuck you’re so pretty,” he breathes. You slip the skirt off, fully bare before him. He kisses your lips once more before immediately trailing hickies down your neck and collar bone, teeth sinking into the flesh, tongue lapping at the newly forming bruises.

“So pretty when I mark you,” he moans.

“So pretty,” he murmurs again before forming his lips wrap around one of your pebbled buds, flicking his tongue over it, the pleasure shooting straight to your core. You wine as your fingers travel to his hair.

“Fuck,” your hips attempt to grind against him, but he holds them down.

“I’m gonna make you feel good, I promise. Just let me take my time.” He smiles before attaching to the other one, giving it the same treatment. Your body arches into him as you tug on the ends of his hair.

He captures the bud between his teeth, applying just the slightest amount of pressure and you gasp as your eyes roll back in your head. Chan smiles to himself as he lets his hand run down your side.

“You want my mouth, pretty girl?” He asks; as if it’s a real question.

“Yes, please, daddy. Want you to make me feel so good,” your voice is weak, almost wrecked already and he chuckles before kissing your sweet lips.

“Already babbling and I haven’t even made you cum once.” He teases before getting on his knees. He licks a stripe up your leaking hole collecting your arousal on his tongue before mercilessly lapping at your button.

“Oh fuck, not so fast!” you gasp as you hold onto his hair like an anchor.

Chan slows his movements a little, not wanting to hurt you, but continues with fairly brisk movements.

“Oh fuuuhuck,” you moan out as you’re your knees bend up slightly. Your thighs squeeze his head, he takes it an encouragement to continue.

“I’m gonna cum,” you whimper as you feel the coil tightening.

“Fuck, please don’t stop,” you pant out. Chan adds two fingers, curling them and making the ‘come hither’ motion hitting your g spot.

“Ah, shit, baby. Fuck, Daddy please, harder,” you gasp between words as your back arches off the seat as your hips desperately try to chase the high Chan wants to provide.

You pant harder as it approaches.

“Fuck, ah,” you gasp as your walls clamp down around his fingers.

“Cum for me, princess. Let me taste it.” He coos. That’s all it takes, your body reacts, euphoria bursting through you as your muscles go stiff body shaking from the velocity of the explosion. Your toes curl in your heels as your body arches off the seat once again, thighs trembling as they become earmuffs for Chan’s head. Your thighs release his head, as he continues his assault with his tongue, the over stimulation causing your hips to jerk in response and whines to fall from your lips.

“Ah, fuck, too much, Daddy,” you whimper, tears in your eyes from the pleasure.

“Fuck, please,” you try to push his head away.

“One more for me princess, one more, you can do it. Be my good girl and give me one more.”

Your chest heaves.

“yes sirrr- fuck!” you shriek as his tongue moves lightening quick, your thighs shaking as your orgasm builds quickly. Your gasping deep and hard, your breath escaping your lungs as your body begins to feel light and reality becomes a little blurry.

“Ah, ah, fuck, I’m cumming,” you whimper as your body locks up and shakes underneath his tongue. Your face is scrunched, mouth agape, a sight Chan wishes he could photograph and keep in his wallet.

Finally, after a moment, your body releases you, your thighs release Chan’s head once again and you heave as you try to catch your breath.

“So good for me,” he coos as he kisses your torso; feeling it grow as you take deep breathes.

“Felt so good, so so good, Daddy, want more, want more of you, wanna be your good girl,” you mumble, slightly gone and he shushes you.

“Shh, baby. I’m here,” he smiles as he holds you close for a minute.

“You want my cock? Hmm?” he mumbles in your ear. Too overstimulated for words, you nod, your body becoming tired.

“Come on,”

He helps you out of the car, this is a moment where you’re grateful for the small forest in front of his house; no one can see you. Chan sets you up on the hood of the car, the metal warm from the sun.

“Not too hot is it?” He asks, ready to pick you up at a moment’s notice.

You shake your head no, still exhausted. He kisses your lips, tongue massaging yours as your chests are pressed flush against one another.

“One more? If you want it,” you nod as he lays you back on the hood of the car, pumping himself a few times to get ready. He lines himself up, your mouth parting as he slides in.

“Oh, God yes,” you moan, Chan echoing your sounds as he feels your walls slick and tight around him.

“Fuck you’re so tight.” He groans. He stills for a moment, making sure you’re ok before slamming his hips into yours, your body bouncing up against the paint from his thrusts.

“Fuck, you feel so good, gonna fill me up,” you moan out, delirious from pleasure. Chan grunts, a sense of pride being found within him at the way he’s got you melting beneath him. He slams his hips into you harder, hitting your sweet spot with each thrust, his own orgasm coiling quickly.

“Shit, shit, shit, Daddy,” you whimper, “harder, faster,” you beg, tears in your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you. Chan speeds up, his body begging to give out, but he won’t stop until his baby is satisfied. He lifts your legs, wrapping them around his waist, your baby pink heels slightly digging into his back.

You choke out another moan, your eyes screwing shut so tight they hurt.

“Fuck,” you scream so loud you would swear you scared the birds in the trees. Your last orgasm rips through you hard and fast.

Your nails are grasping at the paint on the car, and at the moment, neither of you care if you scratch it. Afterall, Chan would just pay to have it fixed anyway.

The pleasure is mind numbing, body shaking, and life changing. You finish together, hot loads of Chan spilling out into you. You two of you are panting, covered in sweat as you try to catch your breath. You look up at Chan, dazed and satisfied with a lazy smirk. He sits pulls out, fastening his pants around his waist, before he pulls you up, your breast once against flush with his chest.

He smirks back at you before helping you down off the car; your legs buckle beneath you and you almost go down. He picks you up carrying you inside bridal style. He takes you to your shared bedroom where he lays you on the bed.

“I’m going to run us a bath, ok? Stay here,” he says before kissing your forehead. You smile at him letting your hands meet before he pulls away letting it fall. You hear the sound of the water rushing into the tub.

Chan grabs some candles and he leaves the room to grab some rose petals, a bottle of champagne with two flutes, and a box of chocolate covered strawberries. You quirk a brow noticing the contents but your mind is just too tired to ask questions.

You hear your boyfriend walk back into the room, he helps you sit up, tying your hair up into a messy bun for you, and he picks you up once again to carry you to the bathroom, the candles lighting the room in a warm glow with the lights out. He cracks the bathroom door behind you before he sets you down into the water, the warmth enveloping you. You move your arms a little, smiling at the flowery petals and noticing the delicious treat.

You sigh before humming content. He slips in behind you wrapping his arms around you, holding you against him.

“So you like the car?” He asks against your ear.

“It’s perfect.”

“You’re perfect, baby.” He smiles and kisses the back of your head. He pours the two of you a drink before grabbing each of you a strawberry.

“To us,” he cheers and you clink your glasses. Each of you take a bite of your strawberry, you giggle a little at each other as you do. You sit in the water, the warmth comforting, both from Chan and the bath. He always knew exactly how to take care of you.

“You ok? You need anything?”

“Just for you to hold me,” you smile at him as you relax against him, “And maybe another strawberry,” you smirk as he feeds it to you. He smiles as he’s more than happy to be of service. You sigh content, before another idea pops into your head.

“And maybe a nice dinner to replenish my energy,” you hint. He chuckles.

“We’ll take your car, how’s that sound?”

“Oh yay! I can show it off.” You quietly squeal as the water laps at your bodies.

“You’re not sore, are you?” His voices laces with worry, noticing how little you’re moving against him.

“I’m fine baby, really. Just a little tired.” You yawn as your head falls back against his chest into the crook of neck. You close your eyes for a moment, knowing you’re completely safe.

“I love you baby.” He says quietly, cheek resting against the top of your head. Your stomach knots but your grin is present nonetheless. He’s never said those words before.

“I love you, too.” You say before placing a sweet kiss to the bottom of his neck.

Tags: @breakmeoff @thelovelybireader

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[flippedccc]

More thoughts about han eating you out like that jijiji

wc: 1.3k

cw: oral fixation, pussy drunk Han, crack, praise, unhinged behavior.

note: hehe i loved it loll. its kinda short, but i think its good... i hope ya like it :3

It all started completely normal, just the two of you lying in bed watching some series on tv, him with his head lying between your legs, simply enjoying the warmth and softness of your thighs between his head, everything normal, comfortable even, until out of nowhere, like a girl ovulating Han began to grow a need... a dirty need to be between your legs, but not lying down, but with his face buried in your pussy, maybe that need arose from nowhere, from a memory, from a fantasy or from a scene from the series, you don't know exactly because the truth is you weren't even paying that much attention to him or the serie, you preferred to keep yourself entertained with your phone and play with his soft, wavy hair that occasionally tickled the inside of your thighs and part of your lower abdomen.

"babe" he said as he turned around to be lying on his stomach.

You looked at him curiously at the sudden act

"i want to eat you out" he said seriously but with an easily identifiable desire in his eyes.

"what?" you said trying to hold your smile.

"let me eat you out" he repeated without a hint of shame while you felt that familiar twist in your stomach, which more specifically was beginning to have some repercussions in your lower area.

"Hannie, baby... You're so annoying..."

was the first thing that came out of your mouth at the same time that you settled yourself to sit up straight, away from the danger of having his face so close to your most intimate parts, obviously trying to annoy him, although deep down that shameless and ultra horny attitude of his ignited something in you.

"And hungry." He patted your legs and grabbed them, giving you a little tug to get you closer again. "Bon appétit, baby. I'm ready."

You laughed and settled back down, maintaining eye contact and trying to act sexy, just to mess with him. Just to make him shut up. Just to watch his cocky grin flicker.

But the second your core got closer enough to his face, Han changed.

His hands came up and gripped your thighs hard, nails digging in, and he looked up at you with wide, reverent eyes like he'd just seen God.

“Holy shit.”

His voice dropped, hoarse with awe.

“You're not joking. You're actually gonna let me?”

Before you could tease him, before you could say you were just playing around— he closed the distance between his mouth and your pussy.

Mouth open.

Tongue out.

Eyes fluttering shut like it was a holy experience.

At first, you yelped—because Jesus Christ, you weren’t ready for that.

He moaned as your thighs settled around his head, a deep, guttural sound that vibrated right against your core. His tongue wasted no time, everywhere at once—sliding up your slit, dipping inside, curling messily around your clit like he was starving.

“Fuck—Jisung—!”

He groaned again. Arms wrapped around your thighs tighter. Hips shifting beneath you humping the bed. You felt his legs lift—his feet kicking up into the air—and when you glanced down, you nearly laughed.

There he was.

Shoes on.

Legs bent, feet in the air like a damn cartoon character, munching like his life depended on it.

“Oh my god,” you laughed breathlessly, hips twitching. “You’re so fucking stup—"

You didn't even have the chance to finish that little word when an unexpected moan escaped your lips.

He hummed in response. Hummed. On purpose. His whole head shook side to side like he was trying to devour you from every angle, and the vibration of his moan shot straight through your spine.

“Sh’fuckin’ good,” he slurred into you. “Tastes so fuckin’ good, baby, I’m—I’m losing it—”

With one hand you tightly gripped one of your stuffed animals that was left to the side trying to have some kind of grip with the ground, while the other gripped the back of his hair pulling him impossible closer as your thighs trembled against his head. His tongue flicked wildly over your clit, messy and fast, his nose pressing tight against you, and every time you squirmed or gasped or tried to lift off his face, he moaned louder and yanked you back down.

“Nuh-uh.”

His voice was wrecked, drunk with it.

“Don’t run. you stay.”

You looked down and saw him again—completely pussy drunk. Lips soaked, cheeks flushed, eyes barely open as he blinked up at you like you were the sun and the moon, eating you like you were his breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

His feet were still up. Kicking absently.

His tongue was still working—so fast, so messy.

And you laughed again, delirious.

“Jisung, you look so pathetic right now.”

He whined into you, pulling back for just a second to breathe, face glistening with slick.

“Why would you say that?”

His voice cracked.

“That’s so hot.”

You tried to speak again, but he dove right back in. This time slower. Sloppier. Savoring you.

He moved his head in lazy circles, tongue swirling around your clit in drawn-out, wet spirals. The kind that made your toes curl and your thighs shake. You felt him mumble something again—something incoherent—and his fingers squeezed your thighs like he was holding in a full-body shiver.

“Fuckin’ heaven, baby,” he muttered. “Like candy, no, li—like melted sugar—fuck—I could live here. Just move in. Put up curtains and shit—”

You choked on a laugh.

“You’re seriously—talking right now?”

He moaned, shameless.

“Can’t help it. Tastes too fuckin’ good..."

Brain’s gone. All gone. It’s just pussy now. Pussy thoughts only.

You rolled your hips into his face out of pure instinct, and the second you did, his whole body jerked. He let out a sharp cry against you, sucking your clit into his mouth and holding it there with such desperate greed that you almost blacked out.

That was when you realized—he wasn’t teasing anymore.

He was gone. Eyes rolled back, tongue twitching, head tilting side to side, up and down in slow, pussy-worshipping movements while his feet kicked rhythmically in the air.

You reached down to touch his cheek and he shuddered violently, grinding his mouth against you like he was getting off on it.

“You’re gonna make me cum just from this,” you gasped.

His whole body stiffened under you—and then he moaned so loudly it echoed through the room. You felt the deep guttural sound shake through your clit, and your orgasm slammed into you so hard your thighs clamped around his head.

He kept going.

He didn’t even flinch.

He just held you there, face buried, tongue licking you through every pulse and aftershock like he was drinking the orgasm straight from the source.

When you finally get off him, your legs barely working, Han was a wreck.

His face was red. Mouth shiny and swollen. Hair a disaster. Hoodie drenched at the collar. And he was smiling like he’d just seen heaven and was still tasting it.

He blinked up at you dreamily, chest rising and falling with uneven breaths.

“...That was so good I think I blacked out.”

You laughed, collapsing on the bed.

He rolled over and immediately nuzzled into your side, face still damp, arms wrapping around your waist like a koala.

“we should do this more often.”

You snorted. “You’re insane.”

He grinned, sleepy and wrecked.

“Insane for you, baby.”

And then, as if it were the most casual thing in the world—

“...Round two after a snack?”

[flippedccc]

Wait, Aren’t You Gay?

Bestfriend! Leeknow x Reader

“You crossed a line, He burned the rest”

Tags: Smut, groping, Mutual pining, phone sex, oral (f , m receiving), unprotected sex, dirty talk, fingering, begging, praise, soft dom Minho, tension snapping like a wire, domestic fluff, aftercare, post-sex vulnerability, tit play, friends to lovers

Word count: 8k

Summary: You always thought Minho was gay—so you never held back. Tiny tops, unfiltered stories, late-night cuddles… harmless, right?Until he sees you soaked through one day and finally snaps. And suddenly, your best friend isn’t looking at you like a friend anymore. Until one late-night phone call changed everything. Now you’re at his door—no bra, no excuse—buzzing from the sound of his voice and the filthy things he made you do. He opens the door. He sees you. And just like that, it’s over. The line is crossed.

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You’d known Lee Minho since you were barely old enough to walk without holding onto his shirt.

Back then, he was just that loud kid who shared his snacks and shoved you into mud puddles. Now? He was your best friend. Constant. Loyal. Always down to pick you up when you were drunk or kill spiders or fake-boyfriend you out of awkward situations.

And also—totally not into girls.

At least, that’s what you’d always assumed.

He never talked about hookups. Never ogled girls. Never so much as blinked when you pranced around in your tiny shorts or ranted about your latest sex-related disaster. You figured he was either the most respectful man alive—or playing for a different team.

So you got reckless. Comfortable.

And today?

You were about to find out just how wrong you’d been.

It started with the kitchen sink.

You were washing dishes, half-dancing to your playlist, wearing nothing but those soft cotton shorts and an oversized white tank with no bra underneath. Your wet hair clung to your neck, and you were humming through a verse when the faucet burst—literally—spraying a jet of cold water straight at your chest.

“FUCK—shit, fuck—” You stumbled back, grabbing at the handle, slipping on the tile as water drenched you from neck to stomach.

And that’s when Minho walked in.

“Yo, I got the charger you—”

He froze.

You blinked at him, soaked and panting, hair plastered to your cheeks.

Water trickled down the front of your now see-through top. The fabric clung to every inch of your skin. And your nipples? Standing out like full spotlight, front row through the sheer cotton. You had no idea though, no time to even think about it before he had appeared.

“Oh.” You laughed, awkward. “Um—hi. Broken faucet. Don’t mind the wet t-shirt contest.”

He didn’t answer.

Just stood there.

Eyes glued to your chest, jaw clenched, nostrils flaring like he was trying to hold his breath.

Your smile faded.

“Min?”

His gaze finally snapped to your face.

Too late.

You saw it—the tension. The fire.

The unmistakable flicker of hunger.

And suddenly your stomach flipped.

“…Minho?”

He swallowed hard, voice low. Rough.

“Put something on. Now.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I said—” His eyes dropped again before yanking back up. “Go change. Now. Before I do something really fucking stupid.”

Your heart skipped.

Because that? That didn’t sound like your best friend.

You stood there in wet silence, your soaked top clinging to your skin like a second damn layer, Minho couldn’t meet your eyes.

He turned his back to you—turned his back—and gripped the edge of your countertop like he was grounding himself. His shoulders rose with each breath, tense as hell, like someone trying not to explode.

You’d never seen him like this. Not with you.

“I wasn’t—Min, I didn’t mean—” you stammered, brain short-circuiting. “I didn’t know you were coming over yet.”

His voice was clipped. “You knew the faucet was broken.”

“I didn’t know it was gonna blast me in the tits!”

Silence.

A beat.

Then, quietly—so quietly—you heard it:

“Jesus Christ…”

That’s when something finally clicked.

You looked down at yourself—at the sheer fabric sticking to your breasts, nipples hard, outline of your curves totally exposed. And for the first time in all the years of being this careless around him, you suddenly felt self-conscious.

You reached for a dish towel and held it over your chest.

“…Are you mad at me?” you asked, voice small.

“No,” he said quickly. Too quickly.

You stepped closer.

“Then what’s going on?”

He shook his head, still facing away. “You wouldn’t get it.”

“Try me.”

He let out a breath that sounded more like a growl, and when he finally turned around, you caught it again—that look. Raw, unfiltered restraint. His gaze flicked down to the towel you’d pressed to your chest, then back to your face.

You watched him like he was someone else.

Like the Minho you grew up with had peeled off his skin and left something sharper underneath. His jaw was tight, arms folded, eyes still avoiding yours—but you felt it now. That edge. That static charge that had been humming under the surface for who knows how long.

“I’ll fix the faucet later,” he muttered, stepping past you—carefully. Like you were made of glass. Or fire.

You turned as he moved, towel still clutched to your chest.

“You didn’t answer me,” you said.

“About what?”

“Why you told me to change.”

He stopped at the door.

Didn’t turn around.

For a long second, you thought he wouldn’t say anything at all.

Then, quietly, he replied:

“Because if I’d kept looking at you, I don’t think I would’ve kept my mouth shut.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

And when he walked out of the kitchen, just like that, it was like the whole room shifted.

The air changed.

Everything felt warmer. Tighter. Thinner.

You didn’t move for a while. Not until the cold in your soaked top finally made your skin sting.

⸻

The rest of the day passed weirdly.

Minho didn’t leave, of course. He stayed like he always did, lounging on your couch, bickering over what to order for dinner, side-eyeing you every time you grabbed your phone.

But the energy between you?

Completely different.

He didn’t look at you the way he usually did. Didn’t tease you like normal. Didn’t even touch you when he passed you the remote—just tossed it like it might burn him otherwise.

And you couldn’t stop thinking about his voice in the kitchen.

“I don’t think I would’ve kept my mouth shut.”

Kept it shut about what, exactly?

What he was thinking?

What he wanted to do?

You were still thinking about it when you came out of your room later in a sleep shirt that barely skimmed your thighs. No bra. Nothing underneath. The usual you-in-your-element vibe.

Except… this time?

You caught him looking.

Not accidentally.

Not briefly.

He looked—and kept looking.

From your legs to your hips to the faint hint of nipple under the thin fabric, straight to your face.

Your breath caught.

He didn’t apologize.

He didn’t blink.

He just raised a brow—almost like a dare—and said, “Your sink’s still fucked.”

You nodded, slowly.

“So are you gonna fix it?”

He stood up.

And as he passed by, way too close, his hand brushed the curve of your lower back.

Just a touch.

Too casual to be called a grab. Too deliberate to be innocent.

And then he was gone again, heading into the kitchen.

Like it hadn’t just happened at all.

⸻

He always crashed in your bed. That wasn’t new.

Late movie nights, sleepy arguments, limbs tangled and breathing synced—just best friends, just comfort.

Except tonight?

You felt everything.

His warmth at your back. The heaviness of his arm draped around your waist. The intentional silence of him pretending to be asleep, even though you could feel how tense he was.

You’d turned off the lights twenty minutes ago, but your body was still buzzing. Hyperaware of every inch of skin not covered by your flimsy sleep shirt. Every inch of him pressed against you in the dark.

And you knew—you knew—he hadn’t stopped thinking about earlier.

About how you’d looked dripping wet, nipples hard, shirt transparent and clinging to your curves like a second skin.

You should’ve felt awkward.

But instead, your thighs were clenched.

And then—His hand moved.

Just a little.

At first, it was nothing. A small adjustment. His fingers splayed over your stomach like they were stretching in his sleep. But then his palm drifted higher.

Slow.

Barely grazing the underside of your breast through your shirt.

Your breath caught.

His did too.

Like he just realized what his body was doing.

He didn’t pull away.

Not immediately.

His fingers twitched, tips brushing right beneath the curve of your boob—soft, tentative. Still pretending it was nothing. That he was asleep. That this wasn’t completely out of bounds.

Your chest rose and fell faster now.

He still didn’t speak.

But his hand stayed there.

Hovering. Teasing. The edge of a full touch, like he was testing himself. Or punishing himself.

And you?

You didn’t stop him.

You didn’t even breathe.

You just pressed back into him slightly—so slightly—and felt the undeniable shape of him, hard and restrained against the swell of your ass.

He exhaled shakily behind you.

Shit.

You’d never heard him make a sound like that before. Not around you.

Not around anyone.

You didn’t move for a while.

Didn’t even blink. Not when his fingers hovered beneath your breast, not when you felt his cock pressed firm and restrained against the curve of your ass. You just stayed still—heart hammering, skin burning—like your body was listening for his next move.

But when none came…

You shifted.

Just a little. Barely a breath of movement. Just enough to arch your back, push your chest forward, and guide the soft swell of your breast right into his palm.

His fingers twitched again.

But he didn’t pull away.

He didn’t say your name. Didn’t jerk back in shock or guilt. He just stayed there—completely still behind you, breathing shallow and slow like he was holding onto sleep as a defense.

Your nipples were hard beneath the thin cotton, the heat of his palm sinking through the fabric like an electric brand. It was barely a touch—but it felt filthy. Loaded. More intimate than anything you’d done with someone you were actually sleeping with.

And still, you stayed quiet.

Still.

Sleeping.

His thumb brushed the soft curve below your nipple. Just once. Barely there. Like a reflex.

And this time, his hips shifted too.

The press of him against your ass sharpened—more deliberate now. Less restrained. Like his body had stopped asking for permission and started taking what you weren’t stopping.

His hand tightened—slightly.

He was pretending to be asleep, you realized.

Just like you were.

If either of you acknowledged it, the world would crack open.

So you didn’t.

You just let it happen.

Let his hand cup your breast like it was meant to be there. Let his hips roll forward in the slowest, tiniest grind. Let your legs shift apart just enough that your thighs stopped brushing—and instead, welcomed.

He let out another one of those breaths—low, shaky, wrecked.

You smiled into the pillow.

Still not breathing.

Still “asleep.”

And behind you, your best friend since diapers was losing his last scrap of composure.

—

The morning came too fast.

Sunlight crept through your curtains like it knew what happened. Like it saw every second of that not-a-dream moment where his hand cupped your breast and his hips rolled into yours like it wasn’t the first time he’d imagined it.

He was already in the kitchen when you woke up.

Hair messy, hoodie wrinkled, acting like everything was normal. Like he hadn’t spent the night wrapped around you with his cock pressed to your ass and his hand full of your tit.

You padded out barefoot, keeping your face unreadable.

He handed you a mug. “You were out cold.”

Liar.

You took it, fingers brushing his, watching him too closely.

“So were you.”

A flicker—barely there—but his eyes twitched toward you for a split second. Like he was trying to see if you meant something more.

You let him sit with the tension.

You drank your coffee slow.

“You ever think…” you began softly, “maybe I’ve just been really fucking stupid?”

He looked up from his cereal. “Since when?”

You tilted your head. “Since assuming you weren’t into girls.”

He blinked. Slowly. Carefully.

That… got his attention.

He didn’t smile. Didn’t laugh it off. Just sat there—silent—and then brought the spoon to his mouth like nothing had happened.

But his voice, when he finally answered, was low. Controlled.

“What makes you ask that?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. You never dated any. Never flirted. You never reacted when I walked around like—” you gestured vaguely at yourself—“this. So I figured, you know. Must be the reason.”

Another pause.

His eyes dropped to your thighs.

You were wearing the same sleep shirt.

No bra still.

Of course he noticed.

But he didn’t give you that satisfaction. He set the spoon down and leaned back in the chair, stretching lazily like his body hadn’t betrayed him eight hours ago in your bed.

“Maybe I’m just good at not talking about certain things,” he said.

That hit harder than it should have.

You stared at him.

And for the first time in a long time—you didn’t see your best friend.

You saw a man who’d been holding himself back for years.

You’d never stared at his crotch before.

That was the first red flag.

You weren’t even trying to. Just sitting across from him on the couch while he scrolled through his phone, hoodie riding up slightly, grey sweatpants loose and slung criminally low on his hips. You weren’t supposed to notice the shape beneath. The outline. The fact that you recognized the pressure of it against your ass last night because it had left an imprint on your nervous system.

You blinked away quickly.

Jesus.

You sipped your water like it could douse whatever fire had started in your chest—and your thighs.

He didn’t notice.

Of course he didn’t.

Lee Minho was the king of unreadable faces. That man could watch you strip naked and probably wouldn’t flinch. It was part of the reason you’d always felt safe around him. And the same reason you were losing your mind now.

You needed to know.

If you were wrong. If he’d just been hiding in plain sight. If that touch last night had been a fluke. A dream. Or something darker.

So you tested it.

That evening, while he sat on the floor building a shelf you couldn’t be bothered to finish, you leaned in behind him.

Loose tank top. Braless as usual. Intentional bend.

He turned slightly. Saw your chest from the side—too close, too exposed, one nipple practically peeking through the armhole.

His jaw clenched.

But he said nothing.

Strike one.

You tried again.

Pulled your hair up messily, exposing your neck, your back. Made small, breathy sounds when you stretched. Loud enough to hear. Soft enough to pass as innocent.

Still nothing.

Strike two.

You were practically writhing at this point. Trying to piss him off or fluster him, something.

But Lee Minho stayed quiet.

You weren’t sure what exactly you were trying to prove anymore.

That he wasn’t gay? That he wanted you? That you could still control this friendship even when everything was shifting beneath your feet?

Maybe it was all of it.

But you were already halfway in his lap before you had time to second guess it.

“You’re not good at building shit,” you teased, voice sweet as sugar while you hovered close, brushing imaginary dust from his shoulder. “Lucky I’m cute enough to get away with watching instead of helping.”

He grunted—low, disinterested. But his eyes betrayed him. You saw the flicker—straight to your chest, to the deep dip of cleavage you’d made extra sure he’d notice.

Bingo.

You leaned closer. Pretending to inspect a screw on the shelf. Your tits brushed his upper arm.

He went still.

“You okay there, Min?” you asked softly. Coy.

He cleared his throat. “Don’t start.”

“Start what?”

“This,” he said. He didn’t look at you. “Whatever game you’re playing right now.”

“I’m not playing anything.”

“Yes, you are.”

You tilted your head. “What are you talking about?”

Silence.

Then, quieter: “I’m warning you.”

Oh, that did something to you.

He sounded like he meant it. Like he was afraid of himself more than you. And maybe he should’ve been—because you were reckless now. Hyped up on the taste of your own power, drunk on the image of him with your tit in his hand last night.

You pulled your tank top aside from the arm hole just a little. No bra. Just the soft swell of skin—more than enough to tempt. His eyes snapped to it instantly.

“Go ahead,” you whispered. “Touch me.”

He swallowed.

Didn’t move.

So you took his hand yourself—slowly, deliberately—and pressed it to your breast.

Flesh to palm.

He exhaled sharp. Visibly flinched. But he didn’t pull away.

You arched into his touch.

“You’ve never been curious?” you asked, voice lower now, almost daring. “Never once wondered what they felt like? You’ve known me your whole life, Minho…”

His thumb twitched. Brushed the underside like he didn’t even know he was doing it.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath.

“What?”

“You have no idea what you’re doing, do you?”

You smiled faintly.

But then he tightened his grip—just slightly—and your breath caught.

“You think I’ve been ignoring you all these years?” he asked, voice dark now. Steady. Dangerous. “You think I don’t notice when you walk around half naked? You think I don’t see the way your tits bounce when you laugh?”

You froze.

Oh.

Oh shit.

“You think I don’t feel them when you’re sleeping pressed against me?” His thumb brushed up now—barely grazing your nipple. It stiffened instantly. So did you.

“Minho…”

His hand dropped away suddenly, like he was snapping out of it.

“You need to stop,” he said, standing up too fast. “Before you push me too far.”

You stared up at him from the floor, dazed.

For the first time… you realized you might’ve already pushed too far.

—

It was hours later when you finally crawled into bed.

He was already in it—lying on his side, facing away, blanket riding low on his waist and exposing the tight line of muscle up his back.

Your heart was still pounding.

He hadn’t said a single thing after storming out earlier. Not during dinner. Not while you cleaned the mess from the half-finished shelf. Not while you avoided looking at him like he hadn’t cupped your tit like a stress ball.

And now you were lying beside him again, like nothing had changed.

You couldn’t tell if you were relieved or disappointed.

You turned your back to him, the usual position when you shared a bed, but the air felt different tonight. Dense. Stifling.

“Hey,” you whispered in the dark. “Are we… okay?”

His voice came low. Controlled. “You tell me.”

You swallowed. “You seemed… upset earlier.”

“I was,” he said. “I’m not anymore.”

“Oh.”

Silence.

Then, casually:

“You looked at my dick today.”

You choked. “What?! No I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.”

You rolled onto your back, flustered. “You can’t prove that.”

“I don’t need to. I know your face. I’ve known it since you had baby teeth.”

You blinked at the ceiling. Your face was burning.

He shifted then—closer. The bed dipped behind you. His chest met your back.

And something else pressed against your ass.

Hard. Solid. Undeniable.

You gasped.

His lips brushed your ear. Calm. Evil.

“That’s payback,” he said softly, “for putting your tits in my hand.”

You forgot how to breathe.

He didn’t move.

Neither did you.

The air between you was molten now, and his cock—fuck, that was his cock—was still heavy and pulsing against your ass like he was proud of it.

“Minho…”

“You wanted to know,” he said, voice silk and fire. “You’ve been trying to get a reaction out of me all day. So now you’ve got one.”

You felt him smirk.

“What’s wrong?” he murmured. “Too much?”

You couldn’t answer.

Not when your thighs were squeezing together like they had a mind of their own. Not when your heart was a drum and your skin burned where it touched his.

You didn’t say anything at first.

Just stayed frozen in place, his cock pressed thick and solid against the soft curve of your ass, your entire body vibrating with heat.

Your lips moved before your brain could stop them.

“…Can I touch it?”

Silence.

Not even a breath behind you.

Then— “What?”

You swallowed, your voice weirdly calm now. “I just… I wanna feel it. Like—actually feel it. With my hand.”

A sound escaped his throat. Sharp. Choked.

“You’re kidding.”

You turned around slowly, facing him in the dark. His eyes locked on yours—blown, stunned, like you’d slapped him with a brick made of sin.

You didn’t wait for another answer.

Your eyes dropped straight to his crotch.

And your hand followed.

The blanket shifted just enough as you slipped beneath it, and your palm found him right where he’d pressed up against you before—still just as thick, still painfully hard, straining beneath the soft fabric of his sweatpants.

You cupped him gently.

Minho jerked.

“Holy fuck,” he whispered, face twisting. “What the hell are you doing…”

“Just curious,” you murmured, gaze fixed on the shape of him under your hand. “You’re so… big.”

He groaned, head dropping back into the pillow.

Your fingers squeezed lightly. You were sure you felt him twitch.

“You’ve been like this all night?” you asked, eyes wide.

He hissed through his teeth. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Why not?” you teased, still stroking. “It’s not like I’m doing anything serious.”

“That’s the fucking problem,” he gritted out, hips twitching into your hand.

You explored him like you were learning something new, weighing the heft of him through his pants, tracing the long, thick outline up and down.

He was breathing heavier now. Jaw clenched. Eyes shut.

“You can tell me to stop,” you whispered.

He didn’t.

So you slipped your hand inside.

No warning.

Just fingers beneath the waistband, sliding inside until you were wrapping your hand around bare, hot skin.

Minho choked.

“Fuck—fuck—”

You stroked slowly, palm tight around the base, sliding up to the head and back again. He was massive. Velvet over steel. Already leaking a little at the tip.

He bucked into your hand before he could stop himself, hips twitching under the weight of your touch.

“Is this payback too?” you asked, lips barely moving.

His eyes flew open.

“Keep talking and I’ll fuck your throat instead.”

Your hand froze.

Your heart flipped.

Your thighs clenched so hard it hurt.

But then, you looked up at him. Still holding him. Still stroking him.

His cock twitched in your hand, thick and aching, as you slowly dragged your fingers up the shaft and back down, your touch featherlight—teasing.

Minho’s eyes were glassy now, dark and stormy and wild, like he was barely keeping himself together. His jaw clenched. His chest rose and fell in shallow bursts.

You felt powerful. Dangerous.

So you looked up at him—bold, daring—and said, “So? Still want me to stop?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just blinked at you like he was seeing you for the first time. His voice came hoarse and wrecked.

“Are you crazy?”

You tilted your head. “Maybe.”

“This is—” He swallowed. “We’re—”

“Friends?” you offered, sliding your hand again, slower now. “Childhood besties? Practically siblings?”

He winced. “God, don’t say that.”

You smiled.

And then, without another word, you sat up on your knees and tugged your oversized sleep shirt over your head—bare underneath. Just skin and heat and those same soft breasts he’d felt in his hands earlier.

They bounced slightly as you moved, and the room went still.

His breath hitched. His eyes dropped—dragged—to your chest.

It was the second time he’d seen them that night.

“I’m sure,” you said simply.

Something broke in him.

He sat up so fast the mattress shook, one hand grabbing your wrist, the other threading hard into your hair. He yanked you forward, his mouth crashing into yours with so much heat it knocked the breath from your lungs.

You gasped into the kiss, and he devoured it—biting, claiming, groaning into your mouth like he’d been starving for years.

“This what you wanted?” he growled, lips trailing down your neck, teeth dragging over your collarbone. “You really wanted to see what I’d do?”

You whimpered, nodding, fingers already clawing at the waistband of his sweats.

“Too late to take it back now,” he muttered against your skin, before ducking down and wrapping his lips around your nipple—hard.

Your back arched. His tongue flicked, sucked, bit.

“Minho—”

“I’ve dreamed about these,” he groaned, switching to the other breast, kneading the first one in his palm like he was worshiping it. “You don’t know what the fuck you’ve done to me.”

Your whole body was trembling, his hands now everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding down your back, yanking you flush against his chest as he rutted up into you, his cock still trapped in his sweats, still throbbing.

“Need to feel you,” he rasped. “Need to have you.”

“Then take me,” you breathed. Without even thinking about it.

And for a second, Minho froze.

Not because he didn’t want to—his hands were already sliding lower, gripping your hips with bruising force—but because the way you’d said it… so open, so needy, so real… it shook him.

“Don’t say that unless you mean it,” he whispered, forehead pressing against yours, his voice raw, trembling. “Because if I start, I won’t stop this time.”

Your chest heaved against his, nipples dragging over his skin, and his self-control nearly snapped again right there. You could feel him under you, thick and hot through the fabric of his sweats, the tip pressed right against your soaked panties. One shift of your hips and—

“I’m not asking you to stop,” you whispered back.

He groaned, low and guttural, like the sound had been buried in his chest for years. You kissed him again—slow, deep, your tongues tangling like this wasn’t the first time. Like your bodies already knew the steps.

And maybe they did.

His hand slid between your thighs, pressing the heel of his palm right where you were aching most. Your hips jerked.

“Already soaked,” he rasped, biting down on your lip. “Fuck—have you always been like this around me?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. His fingers dipped beneath your waistband, brushing over your soaked folds through your underwear—just enough to make you moan.

“You’re playing with fire,” he warned, mouth now at your ear, voice shaking. “You keep tempting me like this, and I swear—”

“Then burn me,” you whispered, grinding down on his hand.

He snapped again—grabbing your ass and flipping you onto your back like he’d been holding back all his life. The sudden dominance in his movements made your breath hitch.

Minho hovered over you, both of you half-naked now, tangled in sweatpants and damp underwear and a thousand repressed thoughts.

His hand moved with purpose now, cupping your mound, rubbing slow circles over your clit, lips pressed to your neck.

You whimpered, bucked.

“Don’t tease,” you begged.

He chuckled darkly. “Says the one who’s been waving her tits in my face for years.”

You gasped—half embarrassed, half turned on—and he pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes.

“Tell me to stop,” he said softly. “Or I’m going to ruin your sleep.”

You stared at him, panting. You wanted him. Needed him. But something inside you whispered—not yet. Not like this. Not while everything was still unraveling too fast.

“Not tonight,” you murmured, heart racing.

His expression shifted, softening in a way that made your chest ache.

He nodded slowly. “Okay.”

But his fingers didn’t move right away. He gave you one last teasing brush, slow and aching.

“For the record,” he added, voice like gravel, “this is me trying to behave.”

You giggled, breathless.

“I can tell.”

And then he pulled you into his chest, kissed your forehead, and let the fire between you simmer.

You didn’t have sex that night.

But neither of you slept much, either.

⸻

It had only been three days.

Three days since Minho had slipped out with nothing but a cryptic, “I’ll see you later,” and a soft kiss to your temple. Two days since you’d almost let your best friend finger you into oblivion under the safety of your shared covers. And now he was gone.

Well, not gone-gone. Just back at his apartment. Just out of reach. Just far enough to not risk really doing what your bodies had been begging for.

He hadn’t ghosted. Not exactly. Just a little space, a few texts. “Sorry, been busy.” “Work’s a lot this week.” “I’ll come by soon.”

But soon wasn’t now. And now… was when you were sprawled out on your bed, fingers between your thighs, a familiar silicone toy buzzing softly inside you—desperate to chase that same friction you almost got from him.

It wasn’t the same. Nothing could be. But the thoughts in your head? Those were filthy enough to get the job done.

Your mind kept flashing back to the night before he left: his voice in your ear, his thick cock pressed to your core, the way he’d looked at you like he’d been starving. You whined as your hips rolled, tightening your grip on the toy buried inside you.

Then your phone lit up.

Minho calling.

You froze, heart skipping. Fuck.

You hesitated just long enough for it to ring again—and then answered, trying to level your breath.

“Hey,” you managed, voice just a bit too airy.

“Hey,” he said, voice casual, low. “Were you sleeping?”

“Nope.” You exhaled hard through your nose, the vibrator still inside you, pulsing away like it knew your secrets. “Just… relaxing.”

“Mmm.” His voice dropped, curious. “You sound out of breath.”

You swallowed. Hard. “Tired day. I was just—y’know. Lying down.”

The vibrator kicked up just a notch, and your thighs jerked. He kept talking.

“Sorry I’ve been MIA. Been thinking about you, though.” His voice was warm, familiar. God, his voice. “A lot, actually.”

A sharp breath escaped you. You hoped it sounded natural. It didn’t.

“…You okay?” he asked, his tone shifting just slightly. “You sound—off.”

You could barely think anymore. Your head was buzzing. Your thighs were trembling. And you didn’t dare stop.

“I’m fine,” you rasped.

But then you whimpered. Barely. Just a little hitch in your throat.

He paused. “Wait. Are you—are you doing something?”

Your whole body froze.

“No,” you lied, voice high.

He went quiet. Too quiet.

“…Are you touching yourself right now?” His voice came low, dangerous. “While on the phone with me?”

Silence.

Then, another breathy whimper.

He growled. “Fuck. You are.”

You felt heat shoot up your spine.

“Keep going,” he said, voice gravel now. “Don’t stop. You started this.”

Your hips rolled again—slower this time, more deliberate—as you listened to him breathe, listened to the weight behind his words.

“Tell me what you’re thinking about,” he demanded. “While you fuck yourself to my voice.”

You bit down on your lower lip, squeezing your eyes shut as his words settled under your skin like molten honey.

“Tell me,” he said again, voice a touch lower, rougher now. “What were you thinking about?”

You whimpered. “You.”

He chuckled. Dark. Breathless.

“Yeah? What about me?”

You hesitated, hips twitching as your toy nudged just right inside you. “The way you felt that night,” you gasped. “The way you pressed into me from behind… the way your cock felt against me, even through the sheets—”

“Fuck.”

His reaction was sharp and immediate, a barely controlled groan through clenched teeth. You knew his hand was probably fisting the sheets or his thigh right now, trying to stop himself from touching the one thing he couldn’t have—yet.

“Are you still touching yourself?” he asked, voice thick.

“…Yes.”

“Good. Faster.”

The single command shot straight to your gut. Your fingers moved in rhythm with the toy now, chasing the heat blooming deep in your belly. You didn’t even care if he heard your wetness or the whines building in your throat anymore.

“Wish I could see you,” he breathed. “Wish I could have my hand over your mouth. You’re too loud, babe. You’d wake the whole damn building if I fucked you right now.”

“Minho—”

“Not yet,” he cut in. “You’ll come when I say so. Not a second sooner.”

You squeezed around the toy, aching, desperate, toes curling.

“Keep going. Just like that.” His voice was pure sin now, molten and slow. “You’ll come with my voice in your ear and my name on your lips, just like you should’ve that night.”

You whimpered.

“Say it,” he demanded. “Say my name.”

“Minho—”

“Louder.”

“Minho.”

“Good girl,” he rasped. “Now come.”

You shattered.

Your back arched off the bed, thighs quaking, moan spilling raw and unfiltered from your lips as your body pulsed around the toy. You didn’t even try to hold it in anymore—he needed to hear it. He deserved to.

Silence stretched on the line after, only your wrecked breathing and the distant rasp of his own breath filling the space between you.

When he finally spoke again, it was with the voice of a man barely holding back his hunger.

“I’m going to ruin you,” he said softly, deadly. “Next time I get my hands on you… I’m not stopping until you forget anyone else ever made you come.”

The call ended.

You blinked at the screen, dazed, thighs still trembling.

But you didn’t sleep.

You changed into the first half-decent outfit you could find, tugged your hoodie over your head, and grabbed your keys with your heart hammering in your throat.

If he wasn’t going to come to you?

You’d damn well go to him.

—

You almost turned around three times. Once at the stoplight. Again when you parked in front of his building. And one last time while standing at his door, staring at the stupid number you’d memorized when you were ten.

You shouldn’t have been here.

But your body didn’t care. Not when it was still buzzing, still throbbing from the orgasm he commanded out of you through the phone not ten minutes ago. Your thighs were sticky, your bottom lip sore from how hard you’d been biting it in the car, nerves coiling in your belly like a wire about to snap.

Showing up like this—unannounced, in shorts that barely passed as clothing, no bra under your thin hoodie—wasn’t just reckless. It was deliberate. Dangerous.

You raised your hand and knocked before you could talk yourself out of it.

Footsteps came quickly. Heavy. The door flew open seconds later, and there he was.

Minho.

Still shirtless.

Sweatpants slung low on his hips. Hair a mess like he’d been pacing. His jaw was tense, chest rising like he hadn’t calmed down since the call ended. His eyes found yours and locked in like he could see through you.

He didn’t say a word.

Just looked at you.

Slow. Hungry. His gaze dragged from your flushed face to the zipper of your hoodie and lower—lingering on your bare thighs.

You shifted, suddenly feeling way too exposed.

“Say something,” you whispered.

His voice came out hoarse.

“You’re insane.”

“I know.”

Another pause. The air between you tightened.

He stepped forward. Just one step—and you backed up, your breath hitching.

“No bra?” he muttered like it hurt him. “You show up like this after what just happened—fuck—”

“I didn’t know what else to do.” You bit your lip, heat crawling up your neck. “I didn’t want to wait.”

That was it.

He snapped.

You didn’t even see him move—just felt the door slam shut behind you as he pushed you up against it, one arm shooting out to lock it without looking. His hands came to either side of your head, bracing himself like he was seconds away from self-destruction.

His breath hit your lips.

Every muscle in his body was coiled tight, like he was holding back something feral.

“Last chance,” he growled. “If you tell me right now you’re not sure, I’ll let you go. I’ll jerk off in the shower until my knees give out and pretend you never begged to come in my ear.”

Your throat tightened.

“I’m sure.”

That was all it took.

His mouth crashed into yours. Hungry. Deep. Unapologetic. It hit you like a wave—his tongue sliding in, his grip tightening, his body pressing flush against yours with an intensity that made your knees buckle.

One hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head, while the other found your waist and gripped—like he was claiming territory.

A moan escaped into his mouth as you clung to his shoulders, pulling him closer, anchoring yourself to the storm that was him.

Minho’s mouth was still glistening with you when he picked you up—one arm under your thighs, the other around your back. He didn’t even blink. Just carried you down the hall like it was nothing, your head pressed to his neck, body boneless from how hard he’d made you come.

His bed was unmade.

Sheets tossed. Pillows scattered. And you were in them seconds later, back hitting the mattress with a bounce.

Minho stood at the edge of the bed and looked at you.

Like he’d waited years for this moment. Like you were a fantasy come to life and he was deciding whether to kneel at your feet or tear you apart.

“You still want this?” he asked, voice low—gravel and smoke.

You didn’t answer. You showed him—legs spreading wider, hips tilting, your hand sliding down to part your slick folds. His eyes darkened.

“Fuck, okay,” he breathed, like he was short-circuiting. “Okay, baby.”

He crawled over you like a shadow, slow and heavy, his mouth finding your jaw first—then your neck, then your collarbone, biting as he went.

“You’ve been mine since we were kids,” he murmured into your skin, tongue flicking over a mark he’d just left. “You just didn’t know it.”

You gasped when his hips rolled against yours, his cock rubbing through your soaked folds, huge and leaking and so hot against your cunt.

“You feel that?” he asked, dragging it up and down—your body arching, chasing it. “You’ve had me like this for years. All those skirts. All that attitude.”

He gripped your jaw, making you look at him.

“You think I didn’t notice the way you got careless around me?”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out—just a broken breath as he lined up, pressing just the tip in.

Your nails dug into his arms.

“Minho—”

“Shh,” he whispered. “I know, baby. I know.”

Then he pushed in.

Slow. Deep. Relentless.

And holy fuck.

Your eyes slammed shut, jaw dropping in a silent scream as he stretched you open. He didn’t stop until he was fully inside—until his hips were flush with yours and your cunt was full.

“Jesus Christ,” he groaned into your neck. “So fucking tight.”

You could barely breathe. Could barely think.

He pulled back just enough to drive back in—and again—again—building a rhythm that knocked the sanity right out of your head.

Minho fucked like he was carving his name into your body.

He was everywhere—teeth on your throat, hands on your tits, hips snapping hard and deep like he needed to ruin you.

And he was talking, too. Filthy. Possessive. All in that growly voice that made your toes curl.

“You gonna let me fill you up, baby?”

“Gonna fuck you so full you feel me for days.”

“You were made for this. For me. For my cock.”

You cried out when he grabbed your thigh and folded you in half, slamming deeper, finding that spot that made your entire body lock up.

“Right there?” he growled, eyes glued to your face. “That’s it, isn’t it? That’s your spot.”

You were sobbing now—wet, broken sounds as your second orgasm raced up your spine.

“Minho, please—I’m—fuck—I’m gonna—”

“Come for me,” he snapped. “Right now. All over my cock. Let me feel it.”

And you did. Harder than before—louder, messier, more intense.

You clenched around him like a vice, and he lost it—groaning loud as he slammed in one final time and spilled inside you, hips jerking, body trembling above yours.

He stayed like that—deep and twitching inside you, sweat dripping down his temple, lips ghosting over yours as you both tried to come down.

You didn’t know how long you laid there—legs trembling, his cum leaking out of you, your fingers tangled in the sheets like you were afraid of floating away.

Minho hadn’t moved much either.

He was still inside you, chest to chest, your noses brushing each time he inhaled. His hand cupped your cheek, thumb stroking softly along your jaw as he watched you with those warm, sleepy eyes—eyes that held none of the fury or possessiveness from before.

Just softness. Almost guilt.

“You okay?” he asked, voice husky but gentler now.

You nodded, but your throat was tight. And when you blinked up at him, he leaned down to kiss the corner of your mouth. Then your nose. Then your temple.

“Did I go too far?” he murmured.

“No,” you whispered, your voice small. “I liked it. I liked all of it.”

That made his lips twitch.

“Yeah?” he said, brushing his knuckles across your tits—lingering when your breath caught. “Even when I told you to shut up and take it?”

You swallowed hard. “Especially then.”

He chuckled under his breath and finally pulled out, making both of you hiss. You whined at the emptiness—at how sore and stretched you felt—and Minho’s gaze immediately dropped between your legs.

“Shit,” he muttered, almost reverent. “Look at that mess.”

You flushed, shifting your legs, but he pressed a hand to your thigh to stop you.

“Don’t hide,” he murmured. “You look so good like this. All ruined because of me.”

Then, to your surprise, he slid down the bed and kissed your inner thigh. Just once. Then again. Then right next to your sensitive center.

You flinched. “Minho—too much—”

He smiled and looked up at you from between your legs.

“Alright, baby,” he said. “I’ll be good.”

And he was.

For about two minutes.

Then he kissed his way up your body—lingering on your nipples, dragging his tongue across them until they stiffened again. You whimpered as he sucked softly, then bit gently—making your hips buck.

“I just wanna taste them,” he murmured. “You kept arching for me earlier like they needed attention.”

“They still do,” you whispered before you could stop yourself.

He smirked. “Then don’t move.”

He licked and sucked until your chest was wet with his spit and your thighs pressed together again—need building back up in the pit of your stomach like a slow flame.

“Fuck,” you mumbled. “You’re gonna break me.”

He pulled back to look at you.

“Not yet,” he said, voice low. “But you did say you liked sucking cock, didn’t you?”

You blinked. “I—yeah—why—?”

He rolled off you and onto his back, cock already hard again—thick and flushed, still glistening from earlier.

“Then get over here.”

You didn’t need to be told twice.

You crawled down the bed and straddled his thighs, eyes locked on the way he stroked himself, slow and heavy.

He tapped the tip against your lips. “Open up, baby.”

You did.

And he groaned the moment you took him in—just the head at first, tongue swirling around it, your lips tight and wet. He filled your mouth so easily, and you loved the way he shuddered when you gagged on him.

“That’s it,” he breathed, hand sliding into your hair. “So fucking pretty when you’re drooling on my cock.”

You moaned around him, and he twitched.

“You gonna swallow it all?” he asked, voice breaking a little. “You want me to come in your mouth this time?”

You sucked harder, nodding with tears in your eyes, and that was it.

He cursed—hips jerking, cock thickening—and seconds later he was spilling down your throat, one hand on your head as his other clutched the sheets.

You swallowed everything.

Every drop.

When you finally pulled off, eyes glassy and lips swollen, Minho reached for you and pulled you into his chest, kissing your forehead like he hadn’t just fucked your mouth like a man possessed.

“Now,” he whispered, pulling the blanket over both of you, “lets get some sleep.”

⸻

The morning light slipped in through the blinds in soft gold stripes, painting lazy patterns across the room.

You blinked awake slowly, body aching in the most indulgent way, wrapped in the scent of skin and sweat and fabric softener. The hoodie you had worn here last night was still crumpled somewhere on the floor—probably next to your shorts, your underwear, your dignity.

Minho’s arm was heavy around your waist. His chest was warm against your back. His breath ghosted over your shoulder in quiet puffs, slow and steady.

It didn’t feel real. It felt like one of those fantasies you used to jerk yourself off to in the dark, flushed and breathless, thinking about what it would feel like to fall asleep tangled up in him like this—after.

You stayed still as long as you could, just… absorbing it.

And then, of course, he ruined it by murmuring against your neck, voice still thick with sleep.

“Your thighs are twitching.”

You groaned. “Maybe because you almost broke them last night.”

He chuckled, low and pleased, then slid his hand over your hip and gave your inner thigh a light squeeze. “You came here cause you wanted me to do exactly that.”

Your cheeks flushed instantly. “Don’t remind me.”

“Why not? It’s my favorite memory now.”

You rolled over to face him, hair a mess, eyes still sleep-fogged. He looked unfairly gorgeous in the morning. Hair tousled. Eyes soft. The roughness from last night completely gone, replaced by something almost too gentle to be him.

He looked at you like he was thinking way too hard.

“What?” you asked quietly.

He reached up, brushed some hair from your face, fingers lingering at your jaw.

“You know this isn’t just sex for me, right?”

Your breath caught.

“I mean…” he licked his lips, eyes searching yours. “It can be, if that’s what you want. But I don’t think I can go back to just being your best friend. Not after this.”

You didn’t answer right away. Just stared at him, trying to collect your heart off the floor where it had just dropped.

Finally, you whispered, “I don’t want to go back either.”

Minho exhaled slowly, like he’d been holding that breath all night.

Then he leaned in and kissed you—soft and slow and sweet, like the question was already answered.

You melted into it. Into him. Into the shift.

Later, you’d get up. He’d make coffee. You’d steal one of his shirts. He’d tease you about the bite marks on your thighs. And you’d both pretend not to notice how domestic it already felt.

But for now, you stayed in bed—best friends turned something more—with his arms around you and your future somewhere in the spaces between his kisses.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Authors note: hi guys! Ok so the poll results from the Leeknow angry boy fic came out and it was a really close one. So instead of changing whats already written i decided to upload this to make it up to you guys! This is not an angst story or the angry boy replacement but this is a story for my romantics ❤️ Thanks alot for all your feedback really love you guys!

Taglist: @tsunderelino @innieandsungielover @inlovewithstraykids s @reignessance @jeonismm @sttnficrecs @herejusttemporary @krssliu @kenia4 @miilquetoast @thackery-blinks @leeminho-hall @suga-is-bae @butterflydemons @inejghafawifesblog @malunar28replies @minchanlimbo @mal-lunar-28 @breakmeofftbr @itvenorica124 @slut4junho @deepblueocean97 @thequibbie @yaorzu-blog @imagine-all-the-imagines @just-bria @mischievousleeknow @universeyuto @ifyxu @melanctton @thelostprincessofasgard @binniebb @sillylittlecat1 @darkwitchoferie @m-325 @headfirstfortoro @imseungminsgf @ihrtlix @vernorica123 @hwangjoanna @swordswallower2000 @niki007 @yxna-bliss @firelordtsuki

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reader is ovulating and is needy for changbin, starts with riding his thigh bc thats what she is comfortable with but by the time its over, she NEEDS more.

Title: Desire, My Darling Genre: Smut, fluff Pairing: Seo Changbin x f!Reader Word Count: ~ 2,000 words Warnings: Sexual Content (minors DNI), ovulation, thigh riding, p in v, unprotected sex, praise, soft dom!Changbin, needy reader, aftercare A/N: This request had me melting, I would literally die for this man's thighs tbh. Thanks for the request 😊 I've got a few more to answer, so to the readers who submitted an ask, please hold on a little longer! Requests Masterlist

You’d been restless for hours.

Changbin had noticed it — the way you kept fidgeting in your seat across from him, thighs subtly pressing together, lip tucked between your teeth. You’d barely touched your food at dinner, distracted and dazed, eyes lingering on his arms, his neck, the solid line of his chest beneath his hoodie.

You didn’t even try to play it cool anymore.

By the time you both collapsed onto the couch, the ache between your legs had grown into a low throb, deep and demanding, your whole body warm with the need you could no longer ignore.

Changbin was sprawled out next to you, legs spread wide, scrolling idly on his phone with one hand while the other rested on his thigh — the one you couldn’t stop staring at.

That thigh. Thick. Powerful. Perfect.

You shifted closer, your breath catching slightly as your bare leg brushed against the denim stretched over his muscle. He looked up from his screen, brow lifting.

"You good?"

You hesitated. Swallowed. Then crawled into his lap without another word, straddling his thigh and sinking down slowly until your clothed core met him exactly where you needed.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Oh,” he said with a little laugh, clearly amused, clearly knowing. “Is that what’s been going on with you today?”

Your cheeks flamed, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look away from his face. “I… yeah.”

You started to rock against him, just a little. The pressure — even through your panties — was delicious, a cruel relief that only made the ache inside you worse. Your breath hitched as your clit rubbed against the denim, and you moaned softly.

Changbin’s hands found your hips, steadying you. He grinned — soft, teasing, but filled with affection.

“Baby, are you ovulating again?”

You gave him a pitiful little nod, whining as you ground down more firmly. “I can’t help it. I just… I need you.”

“I can tell,” he murmured, dipping his head to press a gentle kiss to your jaw, then another beneath your ear. “You’ve been squirming all day. Didn’t think you’d last much longer.”

You whimpered and buried your face in his neck, moving faster now, the friction so good but still not enough. He flexed his thigh under you, giving you more to grind on, and chuckled when you gasped and clutched his shirt.

“God, you’re soaked,” he muttered, voice warm and fond. “Making a mess all over my jeans.”

His words made your hips stutter, the pleasure building fast but just shy of that final high. You needed more — more pressure, more stretch, more of him.

“Changbin,” you whined, voice trembling. “I can’t—I need—”

He tilted your chin up so you’d meet his gaze, his thumb stroking your flushed cheek.

“Tell me.”

“I need you inside me,” you blurted, shameless now. “Please, Bin. I need your cock. I feel so empty. I just—can’t take it anymore.”

His eyes softened at your desperation, but his smile didn’t fade. If anything, he looked even more endeared. Like he loved seeing you fall apart like this, loved that it was him you came to when your body demanded to be filled.

“You poor thing,” he whispered sweetly, brushing hair out of your face. “Is my baby aching that bad?”

You nodded, breathless. “Yes—please—”

“Okay,” he said gently. “C’mon. Let me take care of you.”

He stood with you wrapped around him, carrying you to the bedroom like you weighed nothing. The moment he laid you on the mattress, his hands were all over you — undressing you slowly, carefully, kissing every inch of skin he revealed like you were something to be worshipped.

By the time he pushed your panties down your thighs, he groaned at the sight of you.

“You’re dripping,” he murmured, running his fingers through your folds, teasing you with a lazy touch. “Fuck. Your body really wants me, huh?”

“It needs you,” you gasped, hips lifting. “Please, Bin.”

He leaned down to kiss you, slow and deep and soft, even as his fingers finally pushed inside you. You gasped into his mouth, clinging to him, but it still wasn’t enough.

“I want your cock. Please, no more teasing—need to feel full, I need to—”

“You’re so needy,” he murmured, kissing down your throat. “So sweet. You know I’ll give it to you. Always.”

And then he was there — thick and hard, the heat of him pulsing against your entrance. He pushed in slow, giving you every inch, and your back arched as a broken sob left your lips.

“Yes,” you cried. “Oh my god—yes, yes, yes—”

He groaned, eyes fluttering shut as he bottomed out. “Fuck. You’re so tight. Gripping me so good, baby.”

You clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders as he started to move. Every thrust was deep, deliberate, slow — designed to hit every sensitive spot and make your eyes roll back.

“Feel better now?” he asked softly, brushing your hair back from your face.

“Yes,” you moaned. “More, please, Bin—don’t stop—”

“I won’t,” he promised, kissing your forehead as he fucked you deep and slow. “Gonna give you everything. Gonna fill you up so good, baby. Just relax and let me make it better.”

And he did. Until your body went limp beneath him, legs trembling, mind completely blank except for his name.

~~~~

Your body felt like melted wax.

Limbs loose, lungs still catching up, mind blissfully blank except for the lingering imprint of his name on your tongue. Changbin stayed inside you for a long moment, his body warm and heavy against yours, chest rising and falling with each breath. One of his hands gently stroked your thigh, the other cradling your face like you were fragile glass.

“You okay?” he whispered, lips brushing your cheek.

You nodded slowly, too relaxed to speak just yet. Instead, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and pulled him closer, your nose nuzzling into the curve of his neck. He smiled, kissed your forehead, then carefully slipped out of you — drawing a soft whimper from your lips as you clenched around nothing.

“Shh, I know,” he soothed, kissing your temple. “You’re so sensitive.”

You watched through half-lidded eyes as he padded to the bathroom. He returned moments later with a warm, damp cloth and his most ridiculous level of concentration, gently cleaning you up like you were something delicate and precious.

“You’re always so sweet after,” you murmured, voice still hoarse from moaning. “Dangerously good at this whole boyfriend thing.”

He huffed a laugh. “Well, if my girl’s going to hump my thigh like she’s about to combust, I figure she deserves a little pampering after.”

You blushed, hiding your face in the pillow, which only made him laugh harder. He tossed the cloth aside and climbed back into bed, pulling the blankets over you both before wrapping his arms around your waist. He pressed his lips to your shoulder, his nose nuzzling your skin.

“You really were desperate, huh?” he teased, whispering against your neck. “Didn’t even ask. Just climbed into my lap like a girl on a mission.”

You turned your head just enough to meet his gaze. “Can you blame me? You in that hoodie, looking all broad and comfy? You were practically inviting me to use you.”

He grinned, eyes crinkling. “I’ll remember that next time I wear it.”

There was a quiet beat. Then, with a playful little smile, you wiggled your hips back against him under the blanket — just enough to grind lightly into his still-bare thigh.

Changbin groaned softly. “Baby…”

“Still ovulating,” you said sweetly, looking up at him through your lashes. “And you did say you weren’t stopping until I couldn’t think anymore…”

He shook his head, laughing, but there was no hiding the way his eyes darkened again. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re still hard,” you said innocently, glancing down between your bodies.

He huffed out a slow breath, running a hand over his face. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You rolled onto your back and reached for him, pulling him close again. “Guess I need another round to make sure.”

Changbin looked down at you, smiling in that soft, adoring way that made your heart ache. He kissed you — slow, deep, with no urgency, just overwhelming affection — before murmuring against your lips:

“Anything you need, baby. Round two it is.”

Tags: @jehhskz @true-queen-of-mischief @necrozica

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Taglist is open.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ © @changbinniescurlyhair

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Bangchan x reader / personal trainer x gym girl / smut / dom!chan

**Involves!!** cursing, dirty talk, strong language, tension, inappropriare touch, sex, multiple rounds, sex in 'public places', detailed smut part

enjoy xx (open for request)

Bang Chan was supposed to be the solution to your fitness plateau.

Instead, he became the very reason your heart rate spiked the moment you stepped foot into the gym—even before you touched a treadmill.

You met him on a whim. Signed up for a new gym. Thought it’d be cute to get your life together. But when you walked into your first session and he turned around—tight black shirt stretched over cut muscle, hair curling just slightly with sweat, dimples flashing when he smiled—you knew you were in trouble.

“Hey,” he said, voice smooth, warm. “I’m Chan. Ready to work?”

You hadn’t been ready for anything since.

★.•☆•.★★.•☆•.★¸.•☆•.¸★ skzstarl0ver ★⡀.•☆•.★⡀.•☆•.★¸.•☆•.¸★

Every session blurred the line between professional and something else entirely. He was hands-on, but not too hands-on. Just enough to make your brain short-circuit. His fingers grazed your skin when he adjusted your form. His breath ghosted against your cheek when he spoke close. His laugh—God, that laugh—echoed in your chest hours after you left.

He called you champ sometimes. Other times, he called you by your name, voice low and rough in a way that made it sound like a sin.

You started to perform for him. Pushed harder. Wore tighter tops. Leggings that hugged just right. You weren’t sure if he noticed... until one day, you caught him staring. Just for a second. But it was there—the flicker of heat, of restraint unraveling at the edges.

You started craving the tension. The tease. The brush of his hands, the way his gaze would drop to your lips when you were panting from exertion. How he lingered a little too long when helping you stretch.

Weeks passed like that. Sweat, breath, glances. Nothing crossing the line, but always dancing right on top of it.

Until tonight.

The gym was quiet. Late. Just you and him, bathed in low lights and soft music. Your final set done, you collapsed on the mat, muscles aching.

Chan knelt beside you, towel slung around his neck. His eyes were darker now. Less coach, more man. “Let’s stretch you out,” he said, voice low. “Can’t have you walking out stiff.”

He guided you onto your back. His hands on your thigh, lifting your leg to rest over his shoulder as he leaned in, stretching your hamstring. It should’ve been innocent. Professional.

But nothing about it felt that way.

Not with his hands gripping your calf, not with his face so close you could feel his breath on your skin. His hips brushed against you with every subtle shift. His eyes flicked to your mouth, your chest rising and falling beneath him.

“You okay?” he murmured.

You nodded, but your voice betrayed you. Just the tiniest sound.

A whimper.

His gaze snapped to yours.

The air changed.

Thicker. Hotter.

He didn’t move. Neither did you.

“This isn’t professional,” he said quietly, eyes searching yours, voice thick with restraint.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked.

“…Did I say that?”

And that’s all it takes.

Chan doesn’t hesitate.

One hand moves behind your neck, lifting you into his kiss as his mouth claims yours—hot, hungry, devouring. His lips are soft but insistent, tongue sliding past yours like he’s been waiting weeks for this moment.

Because he has.

You feel it in the way he groans low in his throat when your hands fist in his shirt. In the way his body presses into yours—hard muscle, impossible warmth, and the solid, undeniable weight of his desire grinding subtly into your hip. He kisses like he trains: focused, relentless, and in complete control.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he breathes against your mouth, voice hoarse.

“I think I have an idea,” you murmur, arching into him.

His hands are suddenly everywhere—gripping your waist, your thighs, sliding beneath your top to stroke the heated skin of your stomach. You feel his fingers twitch at the soft moan that escapes you when his thumb brushes the underside of your breast.

He breaks the kiss just enough to yank your top off, eyes roaming over you like you’re the only thing he's ever wanted. “So fucking perfect,” he growls.

You tug his shirt over his head, and your mouth goes dry.

Pictures didn’t do him justice. He’s sculpted. Shoulders broad, chest taut and golden under the gym lights, abs rippling with every breath. You reach up, dragging your nails lightly down his stomach, and the sharp inhale he lets out makes you throb.

He leans down again, this time trailing kisses down your throat, your collarbone, the swell of your breasts. He takes his time—kissing, licking, gently sucking until your back arches off the mat.

Then he slides down your body, eyes locked on yours the whole time.

“You know,” he says, voice like sin, “when I said I’d help you stretch, this wasn’t what I meant.”

You smirk, breathless. “I’m flexible.”

That earns a dark chuckle.

“Good. Because I’m not stopping.”

He hooks his fingers into your leggings, pulling them down slow—so. fucking. slow.—eyes drinking in every inch of bare skin. He presses open-mouthed kisses to your hipbones, your inner thighs, teasing you until you’re writhing.

Then finally—finally—he slides his tongue over you.

Your head drops back with a gasp. He doesn’t hold back. His mouth is hot, wet, devastatingly skilled, tongue flicking and curling and dragging in maddening patterns. His hands grip your thighs, keeping you spread and trembling as he devours you like a man starving.

You can’t think. You can’t speak. You’re so close, pulsing, teetering—

And then he stops.

Your eyes snap open. “Chan—”

He’s already kneeling between your legs, undoing his joggers with a look that should be illegal.

“Patience, baby,” he says, voice wrecked. “I’m not just gonna make you come with my mouth.”

You barely have time to catch your breath before he’s on top of you again, lining himself up, dragging the thick, velvety head of his cock through your slick folds with a hiss between his teeth.

Then—he pushes in.

Slowly. Deeply.

You swear the air gets knocked out of your lungs. He’s big, and every inch stretches you in the most addictive way. Your fingers dig into his back as he bottoms out, chest pressed to yours, groaning against your neck.

“Fuck… You feel even better than I imagined.”

He starts to move, and it’s over for you.

Every thrust is deep and deliberate. He rolls his hips like he knows how to ruin you—grinding just right, tilting your hips to meet him again and again until your body is shaking beneath him. His mouth is on yours, then your neck, then your chest, as he takes you apart piece by piece.

“You’re mine,” he growls, snapping his hips harder. “You understand that?”

You whimper, clinging to him. “Yes—Chan—yes, yours—”

He hooks one hand under your knee, pushing it up as he drives in deeper, and the new angle has you seeing stars.

The coil inside you tightens, your moans climbing with each stroke, your nails raking down his back.

“Come for me,” he grits out. “I wanna feel you lose it.”

You do.

With a cry muffled against his shoulder, your body convulses around him, heat flooding you as pleasure crashes like a tidal wave. Your orgasm rips through you, intense and unstoppable, and he groans at the feel of it, thrusts becoming erratic.

“Fuck—gonna come—where do you want it—”

You can barely breathe, can barely speak, but the only word that comes out is: “Inside.”

That’s it.

He growls your name like a prayer and a curse, hips jerking as he spills into you, pulsing hot and deep, his body shuddering above you. For a long moment, you’re both still—heaving, trembling, pressed so close you can feel his heartbeat slamming against yours.

Then he kisses your forehead.

Soft. Sweet.

“Definitely not professional,” he says with a crooked smile.

You laugh weakly, stroking his hair. “Guess you’ll have to book me in for another… private session.”

He leans in again, voice warm and low in your ear.

“Baby… we’re just getting started.”

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⍣ ೋ cw: explicit sexual content, neighbors to lovers, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), reader first orgasm, soft dom Han Jisung, emotional vulnerability, praise kink, mention of toxic relationship, slight exhibitionism (thin walls), slight degradation of ex-boyfriend, aftercare, fluff, soft angst (parental neglect), mdni

notes: in which han jisung hears you faking your orgasms through the walls of your apartment--and things spiral from there.

The walls in this building are a joke.

Half an inch of drywall. That’s all that separates his shitty one-bedroom from yours. He’s counted.

It’s not like he meant to know so much about you. He’s not trying to eavesdrop on every late-night argument, every hungover FaceTime call, every time you drag your heavy Econ textbook across the floor.

He just lives here.

And unfortunately, so do you.

Jisung never asked for the proximity. He never asked to know the way your voice rises when you're tipsy or how you only sing when you thinks no one can hear. But he does. He knows. He knows you eat too many frozen waffles and tha tyour microwave beeps twice before you remember to take shit out. He knows the name of your boyfriend, the sound of your laugh when you’re trying too hard, and worse—

The exact pitch of your moans when you’re faking it.

Because you fake it. Every damn time.

And he would know. He’s had the misfortune of being hard at 2AM with your paper-thin walls pressed against his back and that sorry excuse for sex filtering through his second-hand studio monitors like a mockery of porn.

It’s always the same: breathy gasps, your boyfriend’s awkward grunting, the bed springs squeaking like hell, and then—

“Oh my god, yeah, just like that...”

Flat. Perfunctory. The kind of moan that sounds practiced. Rehearsed. Completely unconvincing.

Jisung rolls his eyes and turns the volume up on his mix.

Not because it bothers him. Not because he cares.

It’s just distracting.

He’s got better things to do than think about the pretty girl next door faking orgasms like it’s a part-time job.

Like finish this track. Like land an actual gig. Like figure out how the fuck he’s going to keep affording rent in a city that eats people alive and doesn’t even burp after.

He’s not interested.

He’s not.

Except—

Sometimes he wonders what it would sound like if you meant it.

What you’d sound like if someone took their time. If someone made you come for real, dragged it out of your with fingers in your hair and lips on your neck and the kind of steady, brutal rhythm that doesn’t stop until you’re shaking.

What you’d sound like if it were him.

Jisung curses under his breath and drags his headphones off.

His eyes are dry. His dick’s half-hard. His track’s going nowhere.

Cool.

Maybe he just needs to… do something. Anything. Something mundane. Something that reminds him he’s a functioning adult with a trash bin and a spine and better things to focus on than the soft moans of the girl next door and the way they don’t sound quite right.

He grabs the overstuffed trash bag by the door, ties it with too much force, and makes a beeline for the hallway before he can talk himself out of it.

The fluorescent lights hum. The elevator’s broken again. Everything smells vaguely like burnt toast and someone’s fruity shampoo.

This building is hell.

He loves it.

Jisung drops the bag down the chute, lingers a second too long just to feel the rush of cold air against his face, then heads back.

He’s barely two doors away from home when he sees you.

You’re standing outside your apartment, arms crossed over your chest, loose sweatshirt slipping off one shoulder like it’s been a long night. Your boyfriend—Jason? Jared? Justin?—is leaning in too close, his mouth moving fast. Jisung can’t make out the words, but the tone’s familiar. Sharp. Defensive.

The boyfriend tries to kiss you.

You turn your face away.

Jisung doesn’t mean to stop walking. His feet just… do.

“I said I’m tired,” you mutter.

“Oh, you’re tired?” the guy snaps, way too loud for this dingy little hallway. “You weren’t tired twenty minutes ago when you were riding my dick, were you?”

Jesus.

Jisung should keep walking. Should disappear into his apartment and mind his business like he always does.

But instead, he just—

“Hey.”

His voice comes out cracked around the edges, like it hasn’t been used in a while. Which is accurate. He hasn’t really spoken to anyone in three days. Not unless you count the talking he does into the mic when he’s laying down verses at 3AM.

You both turn to look at him.

Jisung tries to smile.

It’s more of a grimace.

“You, uh…” he clears his throat, glancing at you instead of the walking ego next to you. “You okay?”

You hesitate.

The boyfriend doesn’t.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Jisung shoves his hands deeper into his hoodie pocket. “Neighbor.”

The guy blinks, then laughs. “Oh. So you’re the one blasting that emo SoundCloud shit through the wall every night?”

Jisung winces. A breath stutters out of him like he’s been lightly slapped.

Then he notices it—you wince, too. The tiniest flicker of guilt flashing across your face, so fast he almost misses it.

And yeah. Okay.

That stings more than it should.

“I didn’t say it was shit,”you mumble under your breath, clearly meant only for your own conscience.

“Don’t worry,” Jisung says quickly, forcing a light tone as he scratches the back of his neck. “It’s fine. Totally fair. Some of my stuff is… uh. Kinda dogshit.”

The boyfriend grins like he’s just won something.

“Glad we agree. Thought I was gonna have to explain how sound works to a wannabe DJ.”

Jisung opens his mouth—then closes it again.

Not worth it.

Definitely not worth it.

Except you’re still looking at him. Still standing there with your arms folded tight, sweatshirt slipping down further. And your face—

There’s something in it. Not pity. Not sympathy.

More like… regret.

He hates that it softens him.

The boyfriend, oblivious, barrels on. “Anyway, next time you feel like giving a concert at four in the morning, maybe wait until someone asks.”

“Next time you feel like giving headboard percussion lessons at two,” Jisung mutters, “maybe make sure you actually comes.”

The words leave his mouth before his brain catches up.

Instant silence.

You gasp. Cover it with your hand, like you’re trying not to laugh—or scream.

The boyfriend just stares at him.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

Jisung shrugs, already stepping toward his apartment door. His hands are shaking a little, but he keeps his voice light.

“I mean, the moaning’s impressive. Real Oscar-worthy shit. But you’d think a guy who talks that much would at least know when he’s not doing it right.”

“You little—”

“Hey, man.” Jisung turns back for half a second, nodding at him with a crooked, tired smile. “If I can tell through the wall that she’s faking it, that’s not on her. That’s on you.”

He shuts the door behind him before the guy can even finish winding up his insult.

Click.

Deadbolt.

Silence.

Except for the thundering in his chest.

Jisung exhales hard, forehead thunking against the door. “What the fuck did I just do?”

He sinks down to the floor like his legs have given up. Which, to be fair, they kind of have.

This isn’t him. This isn’t what he does.

He doesn't talk back. Doesn’t mouth off. Doesn’t insert himself into other people’s messy lives—especially not yours. He barely speaks to delivery guys. Half his social life happens through a pop filter.

And yet.

“You’d think a guy who talks that much would at least know when he’s not doing it right.”

God. It was kind of funny.

But still—Jesus.

Jisung scrubs both hands over his face, embarrassment curling in his gut like a hangover.

Across the wall, he hears footsteps. Muffled shouting. The boyfriend’s voice, sharp with wounded ego. And then—

The unmistakable slam of a door.

Silence.

No more voices. No more fake moans. No more anything.

Jisung doesn’t move.

Eventually, when the silence stays long enough to feel safe, he hauls himself up off the floor. Brushes dust from his sweats. Tries not to replay what he said out loud like a greatest hits compilation of shit he absolutely should not have said out loud.

____________________________________________________________________________

He sleeps like shit.

Of course he does.

And when morning comes, it hits in a wave of cheap sunlight and neighborly noise.

He hears your usual routine unfold with near-perfect familiarity: fridge door opening, kettle clicking on, cabinet slam (twice—you always forget which one holds the instant coffee). Muffled cursing. Zipper. Then keys jingling against the lock.

He listens as you step out, lets the door fall shut behind you, and walks down the hall toward the stairs.

Everything is the same.

And none of it is.

Because this time, when you leave,your footsteps pause right outside his door.

Just for a second. A breath.

Then gone.

He groans and pulls the blanket over his face.

The rest of the day moves in its usual haze. Jisung does what he always does: noodles with a half-finished beat, eats instant ramen over the sink, ignores three texts from Chan asking for an update on the mix. His headphones stay around his neck most of the day, never quite getting used.

By sunset, the hallway is quiet again.

The beat he’s working on is shit. He knows it’s shit. He keeps tweaking it anyway.

It’s not even music anymore. Just sound. A bunch of clunky, disjointed loops that won’t glue together no matter how many times he messes with the tempo.

He’s just about to scrap the whole thing when—

Knock knock.

He freezes.

It’s soft. Measured. Hesitant.

He doesn't move right away—just sits there in his desk chair like someone just rang the doorbell in a horror movie. Then he leans back slightly, just far enough to peek over the edge of his laptop.

Another knock.

His heart does something stupid.

He stands. Pads barefoot to the door. Checks the peephole.

Of course it’s you.

You’re standing there in leggings and an oversized hoodie, arms cradling a plastic container like its armor. Your hair's pulled back, face bare. You look—

Small.

Unsure.

You lift one hand and knock again, even softer this time.

He hesitates a second longer, then opens the door.

Not all the way. Just a crack.

Your head jerks up. You blink. “Hi.”

He blinks back. “Uh. Hey.”

You shift your weight. “Can I—uh, are you busy?”

He opens the door a little wider, eyes flicking down to the container you’re holding. “No. I mean. Just… failing at music.”

That gets the faintest smile out of you.

“Right. Yeah. I, um…” You hold out the container. “These are for you.”

He stares. “Cookies?”

“Apology cookies.”

There’s a beat.

Then:

“I didn’t bake them,” You admit. “But I did walk two blocks to the overpriced organic place to get them. So. Effort was made.”

He blinks down at the container again, like it might disappear if he stares hard enough.

“Effort noted,” he mumbles.

You shift again, hugging your arms tighter. “You don’t have to eat them. I just—felt weird not saying thank you. Or sorry. You didn’t have to do what you did last night.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, well. Felt weird not saying something. So.”

You stand there in the doorway for a second, both of you clearly unsure of what to do now that the thing you came to say has been said. He should probably invite you in. Or take the cookies. Or smile, or make a joke, or something.

Instead, he clears his throat.

You jump in to fill the silence. “Also, just so we’re clear—I didn’t actually mean the SoundCloud thing. That was… low-hanging fruit.”

He raises an eyebrow. “So you’ve listened?”

That earns him a flush, bright and instant. “Not on purpose.”

“Wow.” He presses a hand to his chest. “What a glowing endorsement.”

“I’m just saying—I wasn’t trying to be a bitch. That wasn’t fair.” Your gaze softens. “Your stuff is good. Better than good, actually. The one with the—uh—strings and that lo-fi beat underneath?”

His eyebrows raise. “Track twelve?”

She nods.

His stomach flips. It’s ridiculous. But that track had been sitting unfinished for weeks, like something he wasn’t sure anyone but him would ever care about. And now she’s standing here—face bare, voice quiet—quoting it back to him like it meant something.

He doesn’t know what to say.

For someone who spends hours arranging syllables and syncopation for fun, it’s laughable how words immediately bail on him when they might actually matter.

“You, uh…” He shifts the container to one hand. “You’ve got a good ear.”

You smile. It’s small. A little sheepish. “I’ve got shit walls.”

That makes him laugh—quiet and surprised.

“I should let you hear more sometime,” he says, before he can talk himself out of it.

You tilt your head. “Yeah?”

“I mean—only if you want to. No pressure. I just thought…”

He trails off, scratching at the seam of his sleeve.

“I’d like that,” You say.

And he doesn’t know what to do with the warmth that blooms in his chest. It’s not huge. It’s not loud. But it’s there—steady and unexpected, curling under his ribs.

“Cool,” he says, voice softer now. “I’ll, uh. Let you know next time I make something new.”

You nod, then shift your weight backward—just enough to start retreating. But not before your eyes flick to his again, briefly, like you want to say something else.

He thinks might.

But all you do is smile—small and real—and take one step back towards your door.

“Goodnight, Han.”

His name on your lips feels like something it shouldn’t. Like a secret.

He nods. “Night.”

And then you turn. Cross the narrow hallway back to your apartment, keys already in hand. you hesitate at the door for half a second—he notices that, because of course he notices that—then slides the key in, disappears inside, and lets the door fall shut behind you with a soft click.

He watches the empty hallway for a beat longer.

He stares at his own door for a moment after he closes it, forehead pressed against the wood like the words you left behind are still floating in the air.

Goodnight, Han.

He hadn’t realized how nice his name could sound until you said it like that.

It echoes in his chest. Warms something that’s been cold for a while.

When he finally moves, it’s slow. He sets the cookies on the kitchen counter, grabs a pen, and flips open the nearest notebook—one he’s barely touched in weeks.

And he writes:

Track idea: starts quiet. Voice sample, maybe hers? Lo-fi beat behind it, soft keys. Let it build. Don’t let it rush. Let it breathe.

He underlines let it breathe three times.

Then he puts his headphones on.

And for the first time in a long time—

The music comes easy.

______________________________________________________________

You never planned on being friends with Han.

The boy next door with the quiet mouth and loud headphones. The recluse who only seemed to exist in studio beats and half-heard melodies through the wall. You knew his name before you knew his face—Han, printed on a mailbox slot too narrow.

Now he nods at you in the hallway. Smiles, even. You’ve learned that they’re rare, his smiles—crooked and shy, like they’re still trying to figure themselves out. You’ve started waiting for them.

Some mornings, you catch him in the elevator, hoodie pulled over messy hair, a takeout coffee in one hand and sleep in his eyes. You say hi. He says hey. He always holds the door for you.

It’s nothing. But it’s not nothing.

And then, one night—it’s something.

It starts with your friend’s voice, high and nervous. “I swear I had your keys. I swear they were just—fuck, okay, check your bag again—”

You’re too drunk to care. Or think. Or stand up straight

Your bag is wide open on the hallway floor, a war zone of receipts, gum wrappers, lip glosses with no caps, and an unopened pack of hot sauce packets you swear you didn’t steal from Taco Bell. Your friend is crouched beside it, frantically digging like she’s searching for buried treasure.

And that’s when the elevator dings.

You don’t even bother turning around. You’re too busy trying to balance one heel on top of a rogue pack of gum like it’s a tightrope.

Your friend, however, freezes. Then straightens sharply, whisper-hissing, “Oh shit—it’s your neighbor.”

You blink. “Which one?”

“The hot one.”

That gets your attention.

You turn—wobble—and there he is: Han. Grocery bag in one hand, hood halfway off, hair a little windblown. His eyes flick from your friend to you, then to the scene at your feet: your life in full chaotic display.

He pauses. Then says, with the softest little blink of disbelief,

“Uh… everything okay?”

You blink right back at him.

Then lean toward your friend—not subtly, not gracefully, and definitely not quietly—and whisper at full volume:

“You’re right, he is hot.”

It echoes.

Down the hall. Into the vents. Probably into the next dimension.

Your friend claps a hand over her mouth.

Han stares at you, frozen mid-step, grocery bag dangling like it no longer belongs to him.

You sway slightly. Flash him a winning, drunken grin. “Hi.”

His ears go pink.

He recovers with a cough and a quiet, “Hey.”

Your friend steps in, trying to salvage the moment. “She, um… lost her keys. And maybe her filter. And maybe also her last three brain cells.”

“I have at least five brain cells,” you argue, eyes still locked on Han like you’ve just spotted the last bottle of tequila on Earth. “Maybe six.”

“Okay,” your friend says sharply, grabbing your arm before you can say anything worse. “She’s drunk. She needs to sleep. You’re right next door. I trust you, I think. Will you—can you—?”

“I’ve got her,” Han says, voice gentle. Too gentle. Like he’s trying not to laugh but also trying not to die of second-hand embaressment.

He steps forward, freeing his hand long enough to steady you when you stumble again. His grip is warm, careful. You immediately lean into it like he’s a weighted blanket.

“Wow,” you murmur. “Strong and polite. A dangerous combo.”

He just smiles—shy and crooked, the way he always does when he doesn’t know where to put his face. “You good to walk?”

“No promises.”

“I’ll take that as a ‘maybe,’” he says, easing your arm over his shoulder.

Your friend sighs, already backing toward the stairs. “If she tries to seduce you, just tell her she cries at Disney movies and once got drunk and tried to fistfight a traffic cone.”

“I won, though,” you shout after her.

Han chuckles.

Your friend throws one last suspicious look over her shoulder, mouthing to Han, text me from her phone if she throws up, before disappearing down the stairwell.

And now it’s just you and Han.

And the heat of your skin pressed to his side.

And the wild, buzzing thought in your brain that you’ve never been this close to him before.

He shifts his weight. Glances down at you.

“You seriously okay?”

You nod. “I feel great.”

“You say that while using me as a crutch.”

“Yeah. But like—a sexy crutch.”

He laughs, head ducking slightly like he’s embarrassed for both of you.

But he doesn’t let go.

And he doesn’t stop smiling.

Han’s arm stays steady around you as he unlocks his door, grocery bag still dangling awkwardly from one wrist. He guides you inside carefully, flicking on the lights with his elbow and nudging the door shut behind you.

You blink, taking it in through a haze: tiny apartment, warm lighting, a bunch of wires and gear by the desk, no couch in sight.

He catches you swaying and steers you toward a plain padded chair by the wall. “Here, sit for a sec.”

You plop down like a ragdoll.

Han crouches in front of you instantly, gently tugging your heels off one at a time like he’s afraid you’ll tip over trying. “You good?” he murmurs, setting your shoes aside neatly. “Anything feel weird? Dizzy?”

You grin at him. “You’re so worried.”

He flushes instantly. “I just—yeah. I mean. You’re really drunk.”

“Yeah, but like, in a fun way.”

“Still,” he mutters, already handing you a bottle of water from the counter. “Drink this. Slowly.”

You take it. “You’re like a… a boyfriend. But like, a really responsible one. Like—tax-paying, call-my-mom-for-me energy.”

Han snorts and gets up, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, you’re done talking now.”

“I’m not!” you call after him as he sets the grocery bag down. “I’m very interesting!”

He just shakes his head, trying (and failing) to hide his smile.

When you blink again, he’s in front of you, holding out a hand. “C’mon. Bed’s this way.”

You pause. “You only have one bed.”

His ears go pink. “You can take it.”

You squint. “Where are you gonna sleep?”

He shrugs, awkward. “Floor. I’ve got blankets.”

“That’s tragic.”

“I’ve survived worse.”

You pout but don’t argue as he pulls you gently to your feet again. You’re warm, wobbly, still clutching the water bottle like a security blanket, and when he steers you toward the bed, you barely resist at all.

He helps you sit, then hands you a second pillow and adjusts the blanket like he’s not trying to combust over how soft you look there. He’s halfway to standing up again when you tug the edge of the blanket higher and murmur:

“Thanks, Han.”

He’s still standing near the edge of the bed, half in the dark, blinking at you like you’ve just short-circuited every single brain cell in his head.

His voice is a little uneven when he says, “Y-Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

You smile at him, all cozy and soft, limbs draped across his sheets like you belong there.

He doesn’t even know where to put his hands.

“I, uh—” He scratches at the back of his neck. “I still have a bit of work to do. Just mixing something. I’ll, um. Be over here.”

You blink up at him. “What kinda work?”

“Music stuff.” His voice cracks a little, and he clears his throat immediately. “I won’t bother you. You can—yeah, you can just pass out. All good.”

“You don’t mind me on your bed?”

Han stares at you for a second too long.

Then jerks his gaze away. “No. I—I mean. No, definitely not. Like, at all.”

He fumbles over to his desk, nearly knocking over a pair of headphones, and drops into the chair like his legs have forgotten how to bend properly.

You snuggle deeper into the mattress, dragging the blanket over your legs with a dramatic sigh. “This is comfy. You have good taste in sheets.”

“Thanks,” he mutters, clicking around on his laptop even though the track’s already loaded. 

You giggle.

He pretends not to notice.

You don’t see it—but his eyes flick to you constantly. Quick little glances when you shift, or sigh, or tuck your face into the pillow like it’s your new favorite thing. He can’t not look.

You yawn, cheek squished into his pillow. “You smell nice.”

He makes a sound that’s somewhere between a cough and a quiet plea for mercy. “You should, uh. Try to sleep.”

“Mhm.”

You don’t move.

Just keep lying there. All sweet and sleepy and tangled up in his blankets, on his bed, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

And even though he should be focusing—he really, really should—

Han can’t stop smiling.

He turns back to his screen and presses play, the familiar beat fills his headphones, looping low and steady.

It’s not done—not even close. The layers are uneven, the bass too soft, the melody still fighting to find its place. But it’s something. And tonight, it’s the only thing keeping his hands busy while his mind refuses to stop thinking about you in his bed.

You’re quiet for a while.

He thinks maybe you’ve finally fallen asleep. You haven’t said anything in minutes, and your breathing’s slow, almost even. He lets himself glance over his shoulder.

You’re still awake.

Eyes open. Watching him.

You shift slightly under the blanket, cheek still pressed into his pillow. Your voice is soft, drowsy. “Can I hear it?”

He blinks. “What?”

“The track you’re working on,” you murmur. “Can I listen?”

Han’s heart does a somersault. Or maybe a backflip. Hard to tell through the static in his chest.

He turns fully in his chair. “Now?”

You nod, slow and lazy. “You promised. You said I could listen next time you made something new.”

Right. He had said that.

But not this one.

Not track twelve.

He fidgets with the headphone wire. “It’s not that one.”

You blink at him, confused.

“The one with the lo-fi strings,” he explains, voice quieter now. “Track twelve. I still haven’t finished it.”

“Oh.”

You don’t sound disappointed. Just curious.

He rubs a hand over his face, then offers a crooked little smile. “But you can hear this one. If you want.”

You nod again, eyes fluttering half-shut like the night is finally catching up to you.

He hesitates.

Then gently unplugs the headphones from the jack, letting the soft sound of the track fill the room.

It’s quiet. Dreamy. Bare bones but beautiful—slow, pulsing synth layered under a simple piano loop. There’s a vocal sample buried under the mix, something wordless and airy, like a breath that never ends.

You close your eyes fully this time, listening.

And Han watches you—watches the way your body relaxes into the sound, how your lips part just slightly, like the music is pulling something from you even in sleep.

He turns back to the screen, fingers hovering over the trackpad.

You speak again, barely above a whisper.

“It’s sad,” you murmur.

He doesn’t answer.

“Not in a bad way,” you add quickly. “Just… it sounds like it’s missing something. Like it’s looking for something.”

Han swallows.

Yeah.

That’s exactly what it is.

He stares at the waveform on his screen and says, very softly, “I think it’s trying to say something I don’t know how to say yet.”

You don’t reply. Not right away.

When you do, your voice is already trailing off into sleep. “You don’t have to say it. It’s already in the music.”

And then you're still.

Breathing even. Eyes shut.

Han doesn’t move for a long time.

Just sits in the soft blue glow of his screen, heartbeat slowing down to match yours, wondering how the hell he’s supposed to finish a song when the thing it’s missing is falling asleep five feet away.

______________________________________________________________

It’s been months since that first night.

Since the couchless sleepover, since the drunken key fiasco, since you fell asleep to the sound of his unfinished song.

And in that time, Han has come out of his shell in the slowest, sweetest way possible.

At first, he was shy. Still the hoodie-wearing recluse with his eyes glued to Ableton and his words tucked somewhere behind clenched teeth.

But then he started showing up more. At your door with takeout. With headphones and half-finished demos. With quiet, tentative smiles that stretched wider the more you smiled back.

You got to know him.

He told you about Malaysia—about sticky summers and midnight noodles and the way his parents still call twice a week even though they’re oceans apart. He told you how he moved to Korea for college, studied for a year, and then dropped out when he realized his brain was wired for sound, not textbooks.

You told him about your life, too—your parents and their ever-shifting conditions for love, the apartment they still pay for, the degree you’re grinding out just to prove something. To who, you’re not even sure.

And Han—turns out he’s kind of a chatterbox. Once he’s comfortable, the boy talks. About anything. About everything. With his hands, with his whole face. About samples and synths and the absolute travesty that is powdered parmesan.

Now, it’s like this: casual, constant, inevitable.

You crash at his place sometimes—not because you're locked out, but just because. Sometimes you bring your laptop and do homework on his floor. Sometimes you nap in his bed while he works. You keep a toothbrush there now. A hoodie of his has quietly migrated to your closet.

You even invited him to your graduation this spring. “It’s not like my parents are coming,” you’d shrugged, and Han had just blinked at you, then said okay, like it wasn’t the biggest fucking deal.

He still blushes when you call him hot. Still won’t take the bed when you stay over. Still treats you like you might disappear if he lets himself want too much.

And today, you’re at your place—your couch this time, legs tangled together on either end, killing time the way only two people who are too comfortable with each other can.

Lazy game of truth or dare. No real stakes. Just soft laughter and shared snacks and the kind of questions that teeter between teasing and tender.

Han’s fingers are brushing against your ankle, casual and unthinking. The popcorn bowl is somewhere on the floor, long forgotten. You’re both half-reclined, cozy and loose, a tangle of limbs and friendship that’s been threatening to become something else for weeks now.

You’ve already dared him to do his worst celebrity impression, and he’d made you sing a jingle from one of your old childhood commercials. The kind of dumb, lazy game that only works when you trust someone enough not to twist the blade when things get close.

Now it’s his turn.

“Truth,” you say, yawning, stretching like a cat in the sun. “I’m feeling vulnerable.”

He gives you a look. One brow raised, fingers tapping thoughtfully against his thigh. “Okay. What was your best orgasm?”

You blink.

Then laugh.

He flushes instantly. “Shit—was that too far? I thought we were in the spicy round.”

“No, no,” you say, waving a hand, trying to keep your smile light. “It’s fair.”

But you don’t answer right away.

You sit there for a second, fiddling with the hem of your oversized sleep shirt. His question settles somewhere low in your stomach—not uncomfortable, just… exposed. Like a truth you’ve learned to laugh off before anyone can look too closely.

You glance at him, then say it—half-teasing, like a joke you’ve told a few times before.

“I wouldn’t know.”

Han blinks. “You wouldn’t—?”

You shrug. “Never had one. Not a good one. Not any, actually.”

There’s a pause. His brows lift, lips parting slightly, but you beat him to it with a raised hand and a crooked grin.

“I know, I know. Tragic. I’m either defective or cursed. It’s a toss-up.”

He doesn’t laugh.

You thought he might—just to lighten the mood. Maybe roll with the joke, keep it casual.

But Han’s expression softens instead. Slowly. Like he’s putting something together.

But Han’s expression softens instead. Slowly. Like he’s putting something together.

“That’s not funny,” he says, voice quiet. Barely a wrinkle of sound between you.

You blink. “It’s kind of funny.”

“No, it’s not.” He leans in a little, eyes searching yours. “And it’s definitely not true.”

You hold his gaze for a beat longer than you mean to. “Tell that to every guy I’ve slept with.”

He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t flinch. Just says, soft but certain, “They don’t count.”

Something in your chest pulls tight.

You sit back, let out a soft exhale through your nose. Try again, lighter this time. “I mean, at some point, you start to wonder if it’s just you, right? Like maybe I missed a biological memo.”

“You didn’t,” he says, firm now. “You just haven’t been with someone who cared enough to figure you out.”

You snort softly, eyes dropping to his lips before flicking back up. “What, and you do?”

His breath catches, just slightly. But he doesn’t flinch.

“Yeah,” he says. Simple. Sure. “I do.”

You go quiet.

It’s not the answer that surprises you—it’s how steady he is when he says it. Like it’s not even a question in his mind. Like he’s already imagined it, already decided what he’d do if you ever let him.

That steadiness makes your throat go tight.

“Okay,” you say, voice quiet. “Then what would you do?”

Han shifts slightly, eyes locked on yours, his expression unreadable. Focused.

“I’d start slow,” he says, and it doesn’t sound like a line—it sounds like a plan. “Let you get used to being touched in a way that’s not… performative.”

You blink.

He leans in, just a little. Not close enough to touch. Not yet.

“I’d watch your face,” he continues, softer now, “and actually pay attention. I’d figure out what makes you squirm. What makes your breath catch. What makes you ask for more.”

Your pulse thrums at your throat, hot and sharp.

“I’d talk to you,” he murmurs. “Tell you what I’m doing. Tell you how fucking good you look while I’m doing it. Make sure you know every second that it’s about you.”

Your pulse thrums at your throat, hot and sharp.

You don’t say anything. You can’t.

Because Han is looking at you like he already has you spread out in his mind. Like he’s memorizing every microreaction, storing them away like he might need them later. Like he’s already tasting the sound you’ll make when he finally breaks you open.

Your voice comes out low. Barely there.

“That’s a lot of attention for one orgasm.”

Han’s mouth twitches. Not a smile. Not quite yet.

“I’m not aiming for one.”

You feel it in your chest—in your spine—the way his voice sinks into you. Low. Purposeful. Like he’s already in your skin, like the words themselves are a touch.

You can’t breathe.

He’s so close now, and still—still—not touching you. He could. He should. Your body is already leaning into the heat of him, legs still curled beneath you, the hem of your sleep shirt brushing high on your thighs. But he doesn’t move.

“Have you… done this before?”

He blinks. “Made someone come?”

You nod, quick, almost shy.

“Yeah.” His mouth lifts at one corner. “Why?”

You hesitate, eyes flicking over his face. “I… thought you were a virgin.”

Han blinks. Then he laughs—a soft, breathy thing that curls low in his throat.

“Wow,” he murmurs, rubbing the back of his neck, his cheeks already going red. “That’s, uh… new.”

You’re not teasing anymore. Not really. Not with the way your eyes keep flicking over him—his mouth, his hands, the pink creeping up the slope of his neck. Not with how you’re sitting up straighter, how your thighs squeeze just slightly together without meaning to.

He notices.

And it flusters him, of course it does—he’s Han, after all. All nervous energy and soft-spoken charm. But there’s something else underneath it too. Something steady. Something you didn’t see before.

“You really think I’ve spent this much time listening to you fake it through the walls and didn’t fantasize about doing it better?”

Your breath catches. Hard.

His gaze doesn’t drop. Doesn’t falter.

And suddenly, you’re seeing him for what he is—really seeing him.

The slightly older boy next door. The dropout with big hands and bigger dreams. The quiet music producer who hides behind humor but notices everything. The same Han who always opened his door, always gave you the bed, always walked on the street side of the sidewalk—but now you realize he’s been wanting you the whole time.

And you missed it.

You look at him now—and you feel it.

The shift.

Because he’s still Han. Still hoodie-clad and sweet and overly cautious.

But he’s also a man.

And god, it’s hitting you all at once.

The way his eyes haven’t left your mouth. The way he says things like I’m not aiming for one with such quiet, devastating confidence. The way he can be so careful with you and still make your skin burn like he’s already touched you everywhere.

You swallow hard.

“So,” you murmur, voice dipping low, “you’ve done this before.”

His fingers twitch where they rest against his thigh. “Yeah.”

“How many girls?”

He blushes harder at that. Clears his throat. “I mean, not a lot.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“I’m not—” he fumbles, flustered now, voice high-pitched with embarrassment, “—like, I’m not some sex god, okay?”

You giggle. Can’t help it.

He glares, weakly. “Don’t look at me like that.”

You lean in. Let your voice soften. “Like what?”

He shifts under your gaze, eyes flicking down again before returning to yours. “Like you’re surprised.”

“I am,” you whisper.

And you are.

Surprised by the heat in your belly. Surprised by the tension in his jaw, the way he’s not looking away now. Surprised by the fact that the Han you thought you knew—the one who panicked over burnt rice and once apologized to a houseplant—is sitting in front of you, cheeks flushed, voice low, practically thrumming with restraint.

And the restraint is unraveling. You can see it. You can feel it.

His hand is still resting on his thigh. Tense. Useless.

You want it on you.

He must know, must feel the shift in the air, because he breathes out through his nose—shaky, controlled—and finally moves.

Not to kiss you.

Not yet.

Just slides closer, knees brushing yours. Hands braced on either side of your thighs like he’s holding himself back from climbing into your lap. Like if he gets too close, he won’t be able to stop.

His voice is soft when it comes. Careful.

“I don’t wanna mess this up.”

You blink. “What?”

“This,” he says, eyes darting between yours. “You. Us.”

Your heart kicks.

“I’m serious,” he adds. “If you want me to stop, I will. Even if I’ve already started. Even if you change your mind in the middle. I need you to know that.”

You just look at him.

At his flushed cheeks, his trembling fingers gripping the couch cushion, the way his eyes won’t stay still—darting to your mouth, your thighs, your eyes again.

You don’t know how to say what’s clawing up your throat. Don’t know how to explain that you’ve never felt like this. Like you could fall apart and not have to put yourself back together alone.

So instead, you reach for him.

You thread your fingers through his, bring his hand to your thigh—bare skin under the edge of your sleep shirt—and press it there, warm and waiting.

His breath stutters.

“Okay,” you whisper.

His breath stutters.

That’s all it takes.

His fingers flex against your thigh—just a twitch, nothing urgent. But the heat of them sinks in deep. You can feel how careful he’s being, how tightly he’s holding the leash on himself, like he doesn’t trust what’ll happen if he moves too fast.

You tilt your hips slightly. Just enough.

He moves.

Slides his hand higher, beneath the hem of your sleep shirt. Knuckles grazing soft skin, the inside of your thigh, and you’re already trembling. The anticipation is thick—so much thicker than anything that’s come before it. Your body’s aching and he hasn’t even touched you where you need it yet.

Han breathes out slowly. You can hear the effort it takes not to rush.

His fingers reach your panties.

They’re soaked. Clinging to you. And he makes a sound in the back of his throat when he feels it—somewhere between a sigh and a groan, like it’s hurting him, how wet you already are.

“You’re shaking,” he whispers.

“I’m trying not to.”

“You don’t have to,” he says, and leans in to kiss the corner of your mouth. “You can just let me take care of it.”

And you do.

You sink into the cushions and let his hand keep climbing. Let it trail over skin that’s already too hot, too tight, too aware. The hem of your shirt rides up over your hips as he moves, exposing soft skin and damp fabric.

He touches you through your panties first. Just a single stroke—up and down, slow, deliberate.

You jolt.

Your thighs twitch. Your hips tilt into his hand before you even mean to.

His fingers are steady. Gentle. No fumbling, no testing limits just to say he did. He strokes over the soaked cotton with maddening patience, slow enough that your body’s buzzing before he even slides them aside.

He strokes over the soaked cotton with maddening patience, slow enough that your body’s buzzing before he even slides them aside.

When he does, it’s with a breathless little sound—almost like awe.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, voice low and tight. “You’re so wet already.”

You shiver.

He doesn’t ask permission again. He doesn’t need to. Your legs fall open on instinct, your body already offering itself up like it’s been waiting for this. For him.

He dips his fingers into you with quiet care—just the first two, slow and unhurried, and it’s so much. Not just the stretch, not just the slick slide of it—it’s the way he groans like he can feel how good you feel around him. Like your body is turning him on just by existing.

“Holy shit,” he breathes. “How has no one made you cum?”

You whimper.

“Seriously,” he says, fingers curling slightly inside you, rubbing against that spot that makes your toes curl. “You’ve got the prettiest fucking pussy I’ve ever seen. Wet and warm and just—fuck, baby.”

Your hips jolt when he says it—baby—and he notices. His mouth quirks.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, watching your face like it’s giving him instructions. “You like that. Being talked to while I fuck you with my fingers?”

You moan—helpless, high-pitched—and your hand shoots down to grab his wrist.

He stills immediately. “Too much?”

You shake your head. Or maybe you nod. You don’t even know anymore—your brain’s barely holding on, your body dragging you under, soaking up everything he gives like it’s the first drop of water in a drought.

He watches your reaction like it’s gospel. Like every twitch and gasp is holy.

“Thought so,” he says, and starts to move again—slow, controlled pumps of his fingers, careful not to lose that rhythm now that he’s found what works. The way your walls clench when he curls. The way your hips chase him when he retreats. The way your breath hitches when his palm drags across your clit just a little too hard.

And god, he uses it all.

“Fuck,” he mutters, eyes glued to where he’s working you open. “If this pussy was mine, I wouldn’t be able to leave you alone.”

You gasp.

“I’d keep you like this every night,” he says, voice thick now. “Stuffed, dripping, begging for it. Just like this.”

You keen, head falling back against the cushions, thighs straining around his wrist. Another twist of his fingers, another filthy curl, and you’re spiraling again—clenching, grinding, chasing something you’ve never actually caught before.

But it’s still not enough.

Close, so close. You can feel it in your gut, in the burn behind your eyes, in the way your whole body draws tight like a wire about to snap. But then it slips, slithers away like it always does, leaving you aching and wrung out and panting like you’ve been running in circles.

Han doesn’t stop.

He slows, sure. Eases off that pressure like he knows—like he felt the way you were peaking and watched it fall apart all over again.

Your breath stutters. Your hands tremble where they’re gripping the couch cushions. Your whole body shakes with the frustration of it.

Han looks fucking thrilled.

“Shit,” he whispers, eyes glued to the slick mess between your legs. “You’re gonna be a fucking problem, huh?

You whimper—shaky, half-desperate—and try to pull your legs closed, but his free hand slides up your thigh and keeps them open. He’s still panting, still hard in his sweats, and yet somehow entirely focused on you.

Your voice comes out broken. “I can’t—fuck, Han, I was so close—”

“I know, baby,” he murmurs, leaning over you. His fingers finally slip free, soaked and shining, and he brings them to his mouth like it’s nothing. Like tasting you is just a thing he does between breaths. “You’re so fucking pretty can’t believe no one’s ever made you come.”

He sucks one finger between his lips, humming low in his throat, and your entire body jerks.

He grins around his knuckle. Blushy. Sweet. Still Han, somehow—except his eyes are dark now, slow-burning, locked onto you with intent.

And when he speaks, it’s not teasing. It’s reverent.

“I knew you’d taste good,” he murmurs, dragging his hand down your thigh again. “Didn’t think you’d ruin me this fast, though.”

You squirm, still reeling from the touch of his fingers, still aching from how close you came—how it slipped just out of reach. Your panties are somewhere around your knees now, tangled and damp, and your thighs are trembling despite the warmth of the room.

But Han doesn’t give you time to settle.

He drops back down between your legs like it’s instinct.

Like he belongs there.

You brace for it—his mouth, his tongue—but nothing prepares you for how intentional it is.

Because when he licks you, it’s not just lust. It’s devotion.

The first press of his tongue is slow, hot, drawn out like he’s tasting something forbidden. It drags through your folds, slick and maddening, before he pulls back just slightly and exhales a shaky breath against your cunt like it’s worship.

“Fuck,” he whispers, voice wrecked. “You’re so fucking sweet. So wet—dripping for me, baby.”

Your hips jerk. A soft moan tears from your throat, helpless and startled.

He hums at the sound. And then his tongue is on you again—lapping, curling, sliding in lazy circles around your clit, not rushed, not rough. Patient.

But it’s overwhelming.

Too much and somehow still not enough.

You gasp, spine arching. Your thighs twitch against his shoulders again and he presses his hands there—holding you open, keeping you still. His grip is firm, grounding. Gentle only in contrast to the way he eats you.

He groans low when your hips roll, when your slick coats his lips and chin. Like it turns him on more than anything else. Like this is the part he needs.

He devours you like he’s starved for it.

Like he’s been thinking about this—you—for longer than he’s willing to admit. Tongue slow but deliberate, savoring every stroke, every gasp you give him. He doesn’t speak now, doesn’t need to. The sounds alone—your moans, the wet suck of his mouth, the way your breath stutters every time he flattens his tongue against your clit—say enough.

But it’s your reactions that do it. The way your body jumps every time he moves just right. The way your hands scramble for the couch cushions, for him, like you don’t know what else to hold onto. The way your thighs clamp around his head when he groans into your cunt.

That’s when he realizes.

You’ve never been eaten out before.

It hits him all at once—in the way you shiver, in the way your body doesn’t quite know how to take the pleasure he’s giving. There’s something raw about it. Uncharted. Holy.

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t tease. Just lets the knowledge settle deep in his chest like a vow.

So he slows down. Not to drag it out—to care. To guide you through it.

He pulls back just slightly, presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, then another one, lower, softer. You can feel his breath against your skin, shaky and uneven, like you are unraveling him just by letting him do this.

He kisses down, worshipful, open-mouthed presses of tongue and lips trailing toward where you’re slick and trembling—until he’s back on you, groaning deep in his chest like he needs this to survive.

He laps at your cunt like a man obsessed. Messy, wet, obscene.

His tongue flicks fast over your clit, sloppy and relentless, and when you whimper—high and panicked—his hands tighten on your thighs, dragging them wider, pushing you open like he can’t get enough. His nose presses into the soft swell of you and his mouth won’t stop.

And god—god, the noises.

The slick suck of his mouth, the soft wet licks between your folds, the broken, wanton moans he keeps letting out like your taste is fucking euphoric.

Your thighs are trembling against his cheeks, toes curling against the cushions, hands fisting in the fabric like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to this plane of existence. Every time you start to come down, he drags you right back up—tongue flicking, then flattening, then sucking.

You’re soaking him. You know it. Can feel the slick mess coating his lips, his chin, now—but he doesn’t care. Doesn’t even flinch. Just dives in deeper, grinds his mouth against you like it’s the only thing that matters.

And maybe it is.

You’ve never made sounds like this before. Never felt anything like this. It’s a full-body unraveling—pleasure so raw and high-pitched it’s almost unbearable. You can’t even find words anymore. You try—gasp out his name, maybe a plea, maybe a warning—but it’s just breath. Just noise.

He hears it anyway.

Groans in response, and the vibration shoots through you—tightens every nerve, every muscle. You feel it everywhere. In your spine, in your belly, in your fucking teeth.

He licks through your folds like he’s trying to commit the shape of you to memory, tongue dragging over your clit in slow, hard laps now—intentional, devastating. One hand lets go of your thigh to slide underneath you, to lift your hips, tilt you toward his mouth like an offering.

Like you’re his altar and he’s ready to worship.

You don’t even realize you're crying until the tears hit your cheeks—silent and sudden, overwhelmed by the sheer weight of it, the depth of it, the relentlessness of him.

Jisung doesn’t notice.

Or maybe he does and just thinks it’s holy.

Because he’s still moaning against your cunt like you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Like this is salvation. Like this is his first time, too.

The warmth is unbearable. Sharp and sweet and all-consuming, climbing up your spine in thick, molten waves that won’t stop—won’t let you go. Your muscles are locking up, your breath catching in your throat, your fingers cramping from how tight you're clenching the cushions.

You’re going to break.

You know it.

You want to.

And he just keeps going—tongue pressed flat and firm against your clit now, dragging in slow, filthy circles while his lips suck softly, reverently, like he’s trying to love you apart piece by piece.

You feel it snap somewhere deep inside you.

The heat—the ache—the need—it peaks.

And then it bursts..

Your thighs clamp around his head, your hips jerk off the couch, your moan rips loose from your throat like you’ve been silenced your whole life and this is the only language your body ever needed to speak.

You’re cumming. Hard. Helpless.

Everything pulses—your cunt, your chest, your fingers. Every nerve is alight, every inch of you clenched and shaking, your whole body seized in the grip of something so big you can’t name it.

And Jisung doesn’t stop.

Not when your legs twitch.

Not when your body tries to squirm away.

Not even when you sob his name, high and wrecked, too sensitive to breathe.

He eats it up. Literally.

Groaning low in his throat, nose pressed to your mound, tongue still working your clit like he wants to wring another orgasm out of you before this one’s even ended. You try to stop him, legs trembling, fingers pushing at his hair with barely any strength behind them.

But he just moans again, long and loud and ruined, the vibration shooting straight through your core.

“H-Han—” you gasp, voice cracked and teary.

But he can’t stop. He won’t.

You’ve broken open for him—shattered for him—and it’s like something inside him snapped too. His mouth keeps moving, lapping through your folds like he’s addicted, like he needs the taste of you to live, sucking every drop from your body like he’s trying to memorize it.

You try again to push him off. This time with real effort. A desperate shove, your fingers fisting in his hair and yanking—not hard, not mean, but urgent.

“Han, please—”

He finally pulls back.

Gasps.

His chest is heaving. His mouth is slick and swollen, the lower half of his face soaked in your release, and he blinks up at you like he forgot where he is.

“Shit—fuck, I’m sorry, I—” he pants, voice wrecked, dazed.

Then he looks down.

And groans.

Because you’re still dripping.

Slick pooling out of you, slow and obscene, catching the light as it runs in glistening streaks down the curve of your pussy and the swell of your ass, soaking the couch beneath you.

And he can’t help himself.

His hands slide up your thighs again—possessive, reverent—and before you can stop him, he leans back in.

One long, filthy lick—from your entrance to your clit—slurping up everything you spilled. He moans as it hits his tongue, deep and satisfied, and swirls it around like he’s tasting honey.

He pulls back just far enough to look at you.

Face flushed, lips swollen and slick, chin glossy with your release. His eyes are glassy—fucked-out and starving and soft in a way that shouldn’t match the filth of what he just did to you. But somehow it does.

Somehow, it makes it worse.

He’s panting like he just ran miles. Sweat dampens his curls, his hoodie clings to his chest, and his cock is still straining hard against his sweats—visibly aching. But he doesn’t even look at himself. Doesn’t even care.

He’s still looking at you.

At the mess he made.

At your cunt—pink and soaked and fluttering with aftershocks, spread open on the couch like he carved you out just for him.

And he fucking smiles.

“Jesus,” he breathes, dragging his thumb along your inner thigh, slow and lazy, eyes still locked on the slick between your legs. “You’re unreal.”

You’re still trembling—wrung out, flushed, completely silent now except for the shattered sound of your breath.

But he isn’t done.

Not really.

Because then his thumb moves—trails closer, closer, until it’s swiping through the slick seam of you, collecting it, spreading it.

You flinch, hips twitching, breath hitching on a wrecked little gasp.

He freezes.

“Sorry—shit, sorry,” he murmurs, voice gone soft in the edges. “You’re probably so fucking sensitive right now.”

You nod, dazed. Barely. You’re not even sure you meant to.

But his eyes drop back down—and the sight of your cunt twitching under his touch, the way slick is still dripping out of you, slow and shiny, pooling where your thighs meet—

It short-circuits whatever restraint he had left.

“Can I…” he starts, already leaning in again, lips parted, breath ragged. “Just—one more taste, baby. Please.”

And before you can answer, he’s there again.

Licking into you.

Tongue flat and greedy, slow and deep, sliding through the wreckage he left behind like he needs it to breathe. He moans—loud—when it coats his tongue, when it drips down his chin, when he presses another kiss to your clit like he’s thanking it for everything.

You can’t stop shaking.

From how tender he’s being while still devouring you like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. From how overwhelmed your body feels—stretched between too much and not enough, oversensitive but still wanting.

He doesn’t rush now. Doesn’t try to make you cum again.

This is different.

It’s reverent. Like he’s cleaning you up with his mouth, dragging his tongue through every slick drop, pressing soft kisses into the mess like he’s trying to soothe the tremble in your thighs.

You whimper, just once—raw and hoarse.

That’s when he stops for real.

You sigh into his mouth, quiet and trembling, the kind of sound that only comes when everything inside you is raw—peeled back, exposed, open. He swallows it like it’s precious. Like it matters.

His hand at your waist shifts, pulling you gently forward until your chest brushes his. You’re still bare from the waist down—thighs sticky, breath uneven—and he’s still clothed, still hard, still aching beneath his sweats.

But he doesn’t grind against you.

Doesn’t ask for anything.

He just holds you.

Your knees fall around his hips, lazy and loose, and his thumb strokes the hinge of your jaw—slow, absent, like he needs the contact to stay calm.

The kiss deepens. Not with hunger. With heat. With reverence. His lips move against yours like he wants to memorize the shape of your mouth, your breath, the taste of your tongue mixed with your own arousal.

You break first—pulling back just a fraction to breathe, eyes fluttering open.

He’s already looking at you.

And there’s something in his gaze that wasn’t there before. Something stunned. Struck. Soft.

He whispers, “You okay?”

You nod. Maybe too fast. You feel stripped down to something small and shaking, something new—but his hand doesn’t leave you. His thumb still brushes your cheek. His chest still rises and falls like he’s feeling everything with you.

You whisper back, “I didn’t know it could feel like that.”

Jisung exhales a laugh—wrecked and wrecking.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, leaning forward again to press a kiss to your cheek, then another to your temple. “Then I guess we’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

You don’t even realize you’re smiling until he kisses it. Presses his lips right there, at the corner of your mouth, so gentle it makes your eyes sting all over again.

There’s a beat of silence—thick and golden, warm between the ruined rhythm of your breathing.

Then he asks, quieter this time, “Can I hold you for a while?”

And god. You’ve never wanted anything more.

______________________________________________________________

The crowd pours out of the auditorium like a tide—caps slightly askew, diplomas clutched tight, families gathered in little clusters of congratulations and cameras. Laughter. Shouts. The click of heels and the flutter of gowns. You scan the crowd, heart racing, eyes darting.

And then you see him.

Leaning awkwardly against a tree, holding a slightly crumpled bouquet of grocery store flowers and dressed in the nicest outfit you’ve ever seen him wear. Still a hoodie—because he’s him—but it’s black and clean and zipped halfway up over a plain white tee. His hair’s been pushed back, curls tamed, face soft in the sunlight.

Like he wanted to look good.

For you.

You run.

Full sprint, no hesitation. Laughing, radiant, the hem of your gown flying behind you. And Jisung barely has time to react before you crash into his arms—legs wrapping around his waist, face buried in his neck.

He catches you without thinking. Arms locked tight around your back, holding you like the whole world could fall away and he’d still have you.

“Jesus—hi,” he breathes, stunned, grinning into your shoulder. 

“You came,” you whisper, pulling back just enough to look at him, eyes glassy and sunlit.

“Of course I came,” he murmurs, brushing a thumb over your cheek. “I wouldn’t miss this.”

You swallow, smile trembling just a little. You’re still holding your cap too tightly. Still searching the crowd behind him, over his shoulder, behind trees and between cars—hoping.

And Jisung sees it.

Sees the flicker in your expression when you realize no one else is coming. No familiar voices calling your name. No parents weaving through the crowd, late and disheveled but here. Nothing.

Just him.

You try to play it off—force a smile, tilt your head.

But Jisung just exhales, jaw tight, eyes warm and sharp.

“Hey,” he says softly, tipping your chin up. “Fuck ‘em.”

Your breath hitches—more from the way he says it than what he says. No apology. No pity. Just truth, blunt and biting and yours.

“Fuck ‘em,” he says again, firmer this time. “They don’t get to take this from you.”

And something in you cracks. Not the kind that breaks—the kind that lets light in.

Your cap slips from your hand to the pavement. You don’t even notice. You just lean forward and let your forehead rest against his, eyes fluttering shut as the noise of the world fades away.

“I thought it wouldn’t matter,” you whisper. “That I didn’t care.”

He nods like he already knew. Lets his hand fall to the small of your back, thumb tracing slow circles through the fabric of your gown.

“But it does,” you admit.

“Of course it does,” he murmurs. “You deserved more than this.”

You pull in a shaky breath. Exhale. Nod against him.

And then you laugh—quiet, almost startled. “God, you look nice.”

He pulls back just enough to give you a crooked smile. “You noticed?”

You sniffle, wiping under your eyes. “You did your hair.”

“I used product and everything,” he says solemnly, and that makes you laugh for real this time. His face lights up at the sound. Then, like he remembers something, his eyes go wide and he fumbles for something in his pocket.

“Wait—here. Got you something.”

You raise a brow as he pulls out a pair of slightly beat-up white AirPods and holds them out like they’re wrapped in silk.

“Your... earwax?” you tease, voice still thick, but lighter now.

Jisung groans, face going red. “Just put them in, smartass.”

You give him a look, lips twitching like you’re holding back another laugh, but you take them. Slip them in with practiced ease, still smirking, still sniffling a little.

And then—

You hear it.

Soft at first. A low, warm hum of synth. That familiar piano progression you’ve heard a hundred times echoing from his bedroom speakers, half-finished and always evolving. A quiet heartbeat of static underneath, the sound of something personal, unfinished—

But not this time.

Now it’s whole.

The bass comes in slow. The melody rises. The rhythm finds its footing like it’s been waiting for you.

Then his voice.

His voice.

Low. Raw. Stripped back and unfiltered, like he recorded it in the middle of the night, barefaced and half asleep. It’s not polished. It’s intimate. Each lyric laid out like a confession, like he’s pressing it directly into your chest.

You freeze.

Your mouth parts, but no words come out. You just stare at him—eyes wide, breath caught, the world suddenly nothing but him and the song in your ears.

Jisung watches you closely, fidgeting, clearly trying to read your face.

“I, uh… I finally finished it,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Track 12. I—kind of stayed up all night working on it. Wanted you to be the first to hear it.”

You swallow hard. “You—wrote this… for me?”

He nods, sheepish. “Well, yeah. Who the fuck else would it be for?”

You blink at him, still stunned, still half-floating somewhere between the melody and his smile.

The music wraps around you like a secret, like sunlight through a window. His voice in your ears. His eyes on your face. His hands fidgeting at his sides, picking at the edge of his hoodie sleeve, suddenly nervous like he didn’t just lay his heart bare in a three-minute track.

And then he says it.

Quiet. Almost like it slips out.

“I’m in love with you.”

Your breath stutters.

He panics a little, eyes going wide, hands gesturing now like he’s trying to physically catch the words and shove them back into his mouth.

“I mean—not in like, a weird, ‘I wrote you a song and now you have to marry me’ way. I just—I’ve been in love with you for a while, and I didn’t know how to say it. And then I kept not saying it, and then you let me eat you out on your couch and I was like, oh cool, guess I’m definitely in love with her—”

You stare at him.

Mouth slightly open. Ears still ringing with his voice from the track. Face flushed from the heat of him and the way he’s unraveling in front of you, hands flailing, words tumbling out too fast, too honest, too him.

“And now I’m saying it,” he rushes on, breath hitching. “And maybe it’s too soon or maybe it’s stupid but—fuck, I don’t care. I love you. And I don’t just mean in the afterglow, post-head, 'wow-she’s-so-pretty-when-she’s-cumming' kind of way—which, like, you are—but I mean in the real way. In the way where I think about you all the time and you’re in my music and my coffee and my fucking laundry detergent because you smell like it now—”

You cut him off with a laugh—soft and stunned, the kind that comes from something blooming too fast in your chest. Your hands reach for him instinctively, palms pressed to his chest like you’re trying to slow his heart down, or maybe match yours to it.

Then lean up and kiss him.

He melts into it—hands landing on your waist like he’s afraid you’ll float off if he doesn’t hold you down. His mouth is soft, a little shaky, like he still can’t believe this is happening. Like he’s kissing you with both hands behind his back, offering up his heart like a truce.

When you pull back, your forehead rests against his.

You’re smiling. He is too, in that breathless, stunned way—like you’ve both finally exhaled.

“I’m in love with you too,” you whisper.

He chokes out a sound. Somewhere between a laugh and a gasp. “No shit?”

You nod. “No shit.”

Jisung blinks, then grins—slow and wide and boyish.

He just stands there, still holding you, like his body hasn’t caught up with what just happened.

Like he's trying to memorize this moment—your smile, your closeness, the soft heat of your hands resting over his heart.

He opens his mouth like he wants to say something else. Closes it again.

Then settles for a quiet, breathless, “...Okay.”

You raise an eyebrow, amused. “Okay?”

He nods, dazed. “Yeah. Just… okay. Everything’s okay now.”

You lean into his chest, let your head fall to his shoulder. He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for months. His arms wrap around your waist again, this time more certain. More steady.

And for a moment, neither of you says anything.

The crowd is still bustling in the background. Cameras flashing. Tassels swinging. Parents calling names that don’t belong to you. The sound of it used to sting—but not now. Not with him holding you like this. Not with the song still echoing in your ears, a private chorus written just for you.

You glance up. “So what now?”

He looks down at you, still smiling like he doesn’t know how to stop.

“We go home,” he says. “Order too much food. Fall asleep on the couch. Pretend we’re not both crying during The Office reruns.”

You snort. “That’s your big plan?”

He leans in, nudges your nose with his. “No,” he murmurs, softer now. “My big plan is to love you for a really, really long time.”

Your heart stutters.

And it’s so simple—so quiet, so uncomplicated—but it wraps around you like warmth, settles deep in your bones like something you forgot you were allowed to want.

You tip forward and kiss him again, just once. Just enough.

“Sounds like a good plan,” you whisper.

He grins. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Eventually, your fingers find his, threading together as the crowd begins to thin. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze, grounding and sure.

You glance down at the flowers, still clutched in your other hand—slightly crushed, petals soft and folding in from the heat. But they’re yours. Someone showed up. Someone stayed.

You’re walking away with his hand in yours, the sun dipping low behind you, the final track still playing softly in your head.

It ends the way all good songs do.

Quiet.

Certain.

Yours.

[flippedccc]

His Spoiled Bunny

───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───────୨ৎ───

Pairing: Idol!Seo Changbin x fem!reader

Summary: No one spoils their girl like Changbin does. No one eats like he does either.

Warnings: Oral fixation. Gym sex. Tiffany. Dolce. Strength kink. Breeding Kink.

A/N: THERE YOU GO CHANGBIN GIRLIES PLEASE BE HAPPY. HAN WILL BE THE FINAL SPOILED PART !

୨ৎ Felix ୨ৎ Hyunjin ୨ৎ Bangchan ୨ৎ Jeongin

୨ৎ Seungmin ୨ৎ Leeknow ୨ৎ Han

───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───────୨ৎ───

He liked her pretty.

Not just in the way other men meant it. Not in the bare-minimum, tight-dress, perfect-lips sort of way. Seo Changbin liked her cute—bows in her hair, soft ruffles on her sleeves, frilly collars, little heart buttons she thought no one noticed. But he did. He noticed everything.

He’d buy the bows himself—silk, velvet, ribboned in his favorite colors. He’d frown if her hair wasn’t pinned back just right. He’d adjust it with careful fingers, always murmuring, “There. My pretty girl.”

And when he shopped, it was never random. Never thoughtless.

He didn’t just spoil her. He curated her.

A body-hugging Dolce & Gabbana dress for her wardrobe—he’d had it delivered with a handwritten note: Wear this for me next time we fight so I can forgive you faster.

A silk robe, pale pink with “Bin’s Bunny” embroidered in champagne thread across the back—she wore it when waiting for him to come home from practice, curling up on the couch with his cats.

Two floors of her apartment slowly filled with handpicked things—ruffled skirts, lace-trimmed blouses, designer slippers, glass teacups shaped like blossoms. Things he’d never seen on anyone but her, things he wanted only her to wear.

Even her favorite rose tea wasn’t safe from his affection.

She’d mentioned it once—once—and now, every Thursday, a box appeared. New blends from quiet Parisian brands. Seoul boutique exclusives. Ones with handwritten notes from the tea house owners addressed to Mr. Seo’s fiancée.

But her favorite gift?

The necklace.

He hadn’t said a word when he gave it to her.

Just placed the blue box in her hands one soft evening, while she was sitting cross-legged on his bed in one of his old shirts.

Her fingers trembled as she lifted the lid.

Inside—simple, but so intimate—a fine Tiffany gold chain, so delicate it shimmered with every breath. At its center, two tiny initials, crusted in diamonds: S.C.

He took it from her before she could speak, hooked it gently around her neck, then tilted her chin up with one strong finger.

His eyes were soft. Melted. Full of something heavier than lust.

“Now they know who you belong to.”

She didn’t even get the chance to answer.

Because he kissed her.

Slow. Deep. Like he meant it. Like he’d always mean it.

And later, when he pulled away, her bow had come loose and his name sparkled at her throat—and he looked at her like he was never letting go.

  ────୨ৎ────

He loved the way she fit against him. Small, pliant, perfect. Like she was made to be lifted.

And in his private gym, no one could see them. No cameras, no mirrors except the full-length one bolted to the wall. Just him, her, and the sound of skin meeting skin.

“1… 2… 3—good girl.”

He had her hoisted up, legs locked around his waist, her back pressed to the mirror hard enough to fog the glass behind her. Her skirt was bunched around her hips, Dolce lace panties long discarded, and her heels still dangling prettily off her toes. She’d gasped when he lifted her—by now she knew the routine—but the way he moved inside her still left her breathless every time. Deep, controlled, possessive.

Sweat glistened on his temples, dripping down the curve of his neck, his chest flexing with every thrust. She whimpered when his biceps tensed, his grip tightening just a little more under her thighs as he slammed her down on his cock, hard enough to make her cry out. The weights on the floor clinked as he stepped back, bracing her against the wall like she was nothing.

“Fuck,” he groaned, voice low and ragged. “You look so good like this—look, baby.”

She forced herself to look. In the mirror, it was obscene: her hair a mess, her lips smeared with Chanel gloss, her body trembling from the force of each roll of his hips. But there was also Changbin… thick arms around her, his other hand sneaking down between her thighs—greedy, relentless. The sight of him—sweaty, flushed, thick cock splitting her open while he held her up like she weighed less than a barbell—it pushed her right to the edge.

“You gonna come, bunny?” he panted, his breath hot against her neck. “Come with me, yeah? Show me how good I spoil you.”

And she did. Shaking. Eyes locked on his. A doll for him to play with, and he loved her just like that.

  ────୨ৎ────

But none of the gifts compared to this.

Not the limited edition handbags.

Not the Tiffany diamonds.

Not even the gym.

Because nothing could beat the way Seo Changbin ate.

He loved food. The whole world knew that.

But only she knew how much he loved her.

He had her laid out across sheets he had flown in from Italy—deep red silk that pooled under her like wine. Candles flickered in the corner. She was bare, thighs already trembling, chest rising and falling too fast as he pulled her knees over his broad shoulders and looked up at her like she was dessert.

“Stay still,” he whispered, voice rough, almost reverent. “Be good and let me taste.”

And then his mouth was on her.

His hands stayed firm on her hips, fingers digging into her like he was afraid she’d float away. He groaned into her pussy like he was fucking starving, tongue lapping at her in slow, deliberate strokes that made her eyes roll back. She was soaked—dripping for him—and he loved it. Loved how she squirmed. Loved how she tried to clench her thighs around his head and he pushed them wider.

“I want it all, bunny,” he murmured. “Every sound, every drop.”

Sometimes he moaned louder than she did.

Sometimes his cock was so hard it throbbed untouched.

But he wouldn’t stop. Not until she came all over his tongue—once, twice, again. He knew her body too well. He tasted every twitch. He knew how to ruin her.

“B-Bin—ah—don’t stop—”

“I won’t,” he growled, lips dragging up her inner thigh. “I’m starving.”

And then he buried his face deeper, like he could live there.

  ────୨ৎ────

Later, she couldn’t move.

Not even enough to lift her head from the silk pillow. Her lips were puffy, her eyes dazed, thighs sticky and open beneath the crumpled sheets.

Changbin came back from the kitchen, shirtless, with a tray in hand.

Strawberries.

Warm cream-filled bread.

A bowl of soup, still steaming.

He placed the tray beside her, and knelt at her side like she was royalty and he the most devoted servant. She made a soft, sleepy noise—but her mouth didn’t open.

He smiled. Picked up a spoon.

“Eat for me, pretty girl.”

She obeyed. Bite by bite. Spoon by spoon.

And when he fed her the first strawberry—held between his fingers, gently pressed to her lips—he kissed the juice from her chin and whispered, “You know I’d give you the whole world, right?”

The necklace glittered against her collarbone. Her bow was still crooked in her hair.

And in his arms, she looked like the only thing he’d ever chase.

 ────୨ৎ───

She’d fallen asleep on the couch again.

Half on her side, one leg dangling off the edge, the throw blanket barely covering her thighs—and not the fluffy blanket he told her to use either. The TV was still on, some rom-com playing in the background, and her phone lay face-down on the floor like it had slipped from her hand mid-scroll.

He sighed softly. Then smiled.

“You’re gonna get a cramp like that, bunny…”

But he didn’t wake her.

He set down the bag—the bag, the one with the fluffy pink cardigan she mentioned once in passing while shopping. He’d had it sent from Japan because they sold out in Korea. The matching slippers were in his backpack. And tucked in the crook of his elbow: her favorite dinner in takeaway boxes, still warm.

Carefully, like he was lifting something sacred, he scooped her up. Thick arms around her back and knees, her head naturally tipping into his chest. She stirred but didn’t wake, just blinked blearily and hummed, nose nudging into the soft black fabric of his shirt.

“Smells like gym,” she mumbled.

He chuckled. “Rude.”

But his voice was so gentle. So stupidly soft for her.

He carried her into the bedroom like nothing. His arms didn’t even shake. Laid her down on the duvet and pulled the cardigan from the bag, helping her into it like she was made of glass. She blinked again, eyes sleepy-sparkly, lips pouty.

“Were you out?”

“Yeah,” he whispered. “Got your stuff. Dinner too.”

“…You’re always buying me things.”

“Because I love spoiling you.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “And you always look so cute in the things I pick.”

She tried to argue, but her yawn cut her off.

So he sat at her bedside, opening the boxes and gently scooping up a bite of warm rice, lifting it to her lips.

“Eat for me, pretty girl.”

She blinked, took the bite. Then a second. And a third.

“You didn’t eat yet?”

“I’m eating now.” He smiled. “Watching you counts.”

And later, when she was full and warm and fuzzy in her new cardigan, she laid against him, one palm on his chest, fingers tracing his muscle like it soothed her.

“You’re so big,” she mumbled.

He grinned, cocky—but his voice betrayed how shy he got when she touched him like that. “Yeah?”

She nodded. “Feels safe…”

And he tucked the blanket tighter around her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Good. ‘Cause I’m never letting you go.”

 ────୨ৎ────

She was already breathless, legs trembling around his thick waist, hands gripping the slope of his shoulders like she could hang onto sanity through him.

Fuck he made her a fan of Missionary. He Loved gift giving, even if it was just his cum.

One hand beneath her thigh, the other braced beside her head, all of him wrapped around her. His biceps caged her in, his chest pressed firm to hers, and his voice—deep, wrecked—growled right into her ear.

“You feel that, baby?” he whispered, thrusting up again. “How deep I am?”

She whimpered, back arching.

He was so strong like this. Like she weighed nothing. Like her body was made for this—for him. Every movement made her feel owned, spoiled, ruined by the boy who treated her like treasure in daylight and like his personal plaything at night.

“You take me so well, always do,” he murmured, kissing down her jaw, her neck. “Fuck—I might just give it to you for real.”

Her eyes fluttered open. “Bin—”

“You want it, don’t you?” His hand slid between her thighs, rubbing gently where she needed him most. “You want me to fill you up, make you mine forever.”

She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. Could only nod as he grinned, so smug, so in love.

“My pretty little wife,” he breathed, kissing her again, messier this time. “Gonna look so good with a bump. All soft. All mine.”

She moaned, clinging tighter, and he laughed—ruined and breathless himself.

“I’ll take care of you,” he promised. “Like I always do. You won’t lift a finger. Just let me love you, spoil you, fuck you full.”

And when he finally came—deep, with a gasp of her name—he didn’t move. Just wrapped her tighter in those stupid, beautiful, strong arms of his and kissed her forehead like she was the most precious thing he’d ever held.

Because she was.

And even if she never did end up full of him, he’d still treat her like she was carrying his whole world in her belly.

 ────୨ৎ────

But it wasn’t just that he gave.

It was how much he loved.

He never let her walk on cold floors.

He kept a box of warm socks just for her in his car, in case she forgot hers.

He called her bunny all the time.

He picked her up from every schedule with her favorite snacks in the cupholder.

He massaged her legs when she was tired, made her protein smoothies, ran her bubble baths. He was softer than he looked.

And when he was tired—really tired—

She took care of him too.

She tucked him in when he fell asleep on the couch. She kissed his calloused hands and told him he was the best man she’d ever known. He never said much when she did that, only blushed, blinked, and held her tighter.

He came home once, late.

And there she was, curled up, waiting for him in one of his old shirts.

“Binnie,” she whispered sleepily.

His chest cracked open with warmth.

He leaned down and kissed her forehead.

“You really are my best gift.”

[flippedccc]

Wrong Movie Ticket

Bestfriend! Chan x Reader

Tags: smut, bestfriends to lovers, cinema porn, fingering, semi public inappropriate acts, oral (m,f receiving), unprotected sex, dirty talk, riding, choking, confessions.

Word count: 6.5k

Summary: It was supposed to be a harmless retro movie night with your best friend Chan. Then the film started… and it was porn. Now you’re stuck in a dark adult cinema, horny, flustered, and sitting way too close to the man you’ve never seen that way—until now. What follows? Stolen touches, filthy tension, crossed lines, and the slowest and fastest descent into “we probably shouldn’t be doing this.” Too bad neither of you wants to stop.

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You didn’t think twice about asking Chan.

It was a throwaway message — a random, impulsive moment while scrolling your phone. The kind of thing only your best friend would say yes to without making it weird.

Got two free tickets to a retro film screening lol. Come with me?? Apparently it’s a surprise title.

You didn’t expect him to reply three seconds later with,

Say less. I’m already choosing snacks in my head.

And now here you were.

Shoulder to shoulder in a darkened theater that smelled like old velvet and warm popcorn, curled up in plush, oversized recliners that felt suspiciously luxurious for an indie cinema. You’d joked about it when you walked in — called it “bougie-arthouse-meets-grandma’s-living-room.”

Chan had laughed, soft and bright, and dropped his head to your shoulder for a second.

“You and your weird luck,” he’d said. “Only you would win tickets to a mystery movie night in a place that looks like it doubles as a jazz bar for ghosts.”

And you’d smiled. You always smiled when he touched you.

Now, the lights dimmed fully, and the film began with a crackle of film grain and a vintage soundtrack humming over the speakers.

At first, everything felt normal.

Old cars. Sepia tones. Awkward, exaggerated acting from a woman in a silk slip and a man with a mustache too big for his face. You sipped your drink. Chan occasionally leaned in to whisper dumb commentary in your ear, and you had to cover your mouth to keep from laughing out loud.

Then the silk slip hit the floor.

You blinked.

Onscreen, the woman dropped to her knees.

“…Wait,” you said under your breath.

Chan leaned forward slightly. “Is she…?”

She was. Very much.

The theater stayed silent, but you could feel it now — the strange atmosphere. The intentionality of the recliners. The lack of teenagers. The fact that everyone was sitting in pairs. Close. Intimate.

You glanced at Chan.

He was frowning a little, eyes still fixed forward.

And then she moaned.

Loudly. Lewdly. Wet and raw.

Chan inhaled sharply, then turned to you — eyes wide with disbelief.

“Is this—?”

“Porn,” you whispered. “I think it’s porn.”

You both stared forward again.

The camera cut to the man’s face — all clenched jaw and labored breathing as she took him deeper into her throat.

You sat frozen, drink in your hand, heart suddenly thudding like you were caught watching something you shouldn’t.

Chan cleared his throat. Shifted in his seat.

“We should… we could leave,” he said, but his voice was strained.

You couldn’t look at him. “Mhm. Could.”

But you didn’t move. Neither did he and the screen only got filthier.

There was something hypnotic about it — not the porn itself, but the setting. The heavy quiet of the room. The creak of recliners. The small, breathy gasps from one or two corners of the theater where other pairs sat just a little too close.

Chan shifted again beside you, and this time you felt it — his thigh brushing yours.

He wasn’t pulling away. Neither were you. And your chest was rising faster now. You didn’t say anything.

You couldn’t.

Not with the screen soaked in moans and movement and sweat, and the awareness of him sitting right there, warm and silent and way too close.

You didn’t look at him.

But you wondered If he was feeling it too. You didn’t dare move.

Not because you were afraid — but because you weren’t sure what might happen if you did.

The screen lit up with flesh. Grainy but real. A woman on her back now, legs spread wide, breathless under a man twice her size. He fucked her slow and deep, long strokes that made her back arch off the mattress.

The audio was soft but obscene.

You swallowed hard.

You hadn’t meant to watch porn with your best friend. Hadn’t meant to sit this close, thighs touching, breaths syncing like your bodies had somehow started responding to the same rhythm pulsing through the room.

The theater was still mostly quiet, but… not entirely.

There were sounds. Small, barely-there ones. A stifled moan from the far right corner. A squeak of leather from behind you. Someone shifting in a way that didn’t sound like they were just trying to get comfortable.

Your skin prickled.

And beside you, Chan exhaled. A little shaky.

You finally turned your head toward him. He looked… tense. Eyes fixed on the screen, jaw tight, one hand braced on his thigh like he was deliberately keeping it there.

You whispered, “Chan…”

He blinked, tore his gaze from the screen, and looked at you.

His eyes were darker now.

His lips parted, breath shallow.

“I didn’t…” he said softly. “I didn’t think it would actually be—”

“I know,” you breathed. “Me neither.”

A beat passed. Neither of you looked away.

The sounds from the movie grew louder — wet, rhythmic, raw. Her moans echoing, punctuated by filthy dialogue that made your stomach flip.

Chan’s eyes dropped to your lips for just a second.

Just long enough to make your breath catch.

And when they lifted again — slowly — his tongue darted across his bottom lip.

“You okay?” he asked. Quiet. Gentle.

You nodded before you even thought about it.

But he didn’t look convinced.

Your knees were still touching. Bare skin brushing denim. The air between you was thick enough to chew.

You tried to shift your attention back to the screen — to pretend none of this was happening.

But all you could think about was the way Chan was not moving away.

The way your skin still tingled from that single look.

The way your body had started to thrum in time with the soundtrack.

You heard her moan again — a long, high cry that made your thighs clench instinctively.

Chan noticed. You knew he noticed.

His fingers twitched against his own leg. And then he let out a quiet, almost silent laugh — like he couldn’t believe what was happening either.

“This is insane,” he muttered.

You bit your lip. “Mhm.”

And then — softer — he added, “You’re warm.”

You turned to look at him fully now. “What?”

His eyes were on your bare thigh, where it pressed against his. His hand hovered just above it.

“You’re warm,” he said again, like it meant something else. Like he wasn’t just talking about skin temperature.

You held his gaze. And for the first time all night, something shifted. Your pulse spiked but he didn’t touch you.

Not yet.

But his hand stayed there. Hovering. Close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his palm. Like he was waiting for permission he didn’t know he needed.

Your breath hitched.

And Chan’s jaw clenched again — like holding back was costing him something.

“I should…” he started.

But he didn’t finish the sentence. Because neither of you really knew how this was supposed to go anymore.

You tried to shake it off.

The porn, the glances, the way Chan looked at your thighs like they were saying something. You told yourself it didn’t matter. That best friends had weird moments sometimes — and maybe you’d laugh about it tomorrow over coffee.

But then you went to dinner.

Just a casual spot near the theater. Dimly lit bar-slash-restaurant, exposed brick, candlelight on the tables. The kind of place where your friend group could cram into a long booth and pass menus around like nothing was vibrating under the surface.

Chan slid in next to you without a word.

You were hyper-aware of it. Of his shoulder against yours, the brush of his denim jacket sleeve. His thigh pressing against yours again like he needed it. Like he hadn’t gotten it out of his system earlier.

Your friend across the table said something — you didn’t catch it.

You laughed anyway. Too loud. Too bright.

Chan didn’t say much at first. He drank his beer, leaned in for the occasional snarky comment in your ear, but you could feel it — the way his hand stayed in his lap, twitching sometimes like he wasn’t sure what to do with it.

And then.

You reached for a napkin. Your legs shifted. And his hand landed on your knee.

Accidentally — at first.

At least, you thought it was accidental. But he didn’t move it.

You froze.

Looked down.

He was staring straight ahead, nodding at something one of your friends was saying — like nothing was happening.

Like his fingers weren’t slowly brushing the bare skin just above your knee, under the hem of your denim skirt.

You inhaled sharply.

He heard it. You knew he did, because his fingers paused, then curled just a little.

Your stomach dropped.

You flicked your eyes sideways at him.

Chan was still looking at the others. Still pretending. But his hand was now fully on your thigh — warm, heavy, steady — and slowly sliding higher.

Your breath caught.

He was doing it on purpose. And you… You weren’t stopping him.

He leaned in then, head tilted toward yours like he was about to whisper another joke — but his voice was low this time. Quiet enough that only you could hear it over the ambient music and clinking glasses.

“You’re not moving,” he murmured. “You’re letting me do this.”

You bit the inside of your cheek.

“You’re the one touching me,” you shot back, voice tight.

His thumb brushed higher.

Your skin tingled.

“Yeah,” he said, barely audible now. “And you’re letting me.”

Your legs shifted under the table, parting just a little — not on purpose, not really — but it didn’t matter. Because his fingers slipped right into that space. Hot and deliberate.

You felt the pad of his middle finger slide up the inside of your thigh.

Slow and Dangerous.

And you snapped your knees together instinctively — not in rejection, but because it was too much.

He stopped. Froze.

You looked at him but he was already looking at you. Eyes blown wide, jaw tight. Like he wasn’t sure who he was right now. Neither were you.

Your voice came out a whisper. “Chan…”

“I’ll stop if you tell me to,” he said.

Silence stretched between you.

The others were still talking. Laughing. Existing in some parallel universe where you weren’t seconds from being fingered under a dinner table.

But you weren’t in that universe.

You were here. You were wet.

And Chan’s fingers were moving again.

You should have told him to stop.

There were too many people. Too many eyes. Your friends were right there — sharing food, sipping drinks, cracking jokes across the table like this was just another Thursday night.

And under the table? Chan’s hand was under your skirt.

Fully.

You didn’t know how it had happened so quickly — or maybe you did. Maybe it was always going to happen, after what the movie did to the both of you. After the way your thighs touched and neither of you pulled back.

But this? This was insane.

His fingertips brushed the edge of your underwear, and you inhaled sharply — too sharply — so you faked a cough and reached for your water.

Chan’s body shifted subtly beside you. You felt his breath near your ear as he leaned in to pretend he was saying something casual.

“Still not stopping me,” he murmured.

You clenched your thighs again, but this time it was too late. His fingers had already slipped past the edge of your panties.

Your hips twitched. And his knuckles pressed against your core.

You were soaked.

Like your body had been waiting for this since the cinema. Like it had been aching for him in the most humiliating, undeniable way.

Chan froze.

And then — low enough that no one else could possibly hear — he let out the smallest, most desperate sound.

“Fuck…”

You looked at him, panicked — your voice a whisper. “Chan, we’re in public.”

“I know,” he breathed, barely glancing at you. His hand didn’t move. “Tell me to stop and i will.”

You didn’t. You couldn’t.

And that was all he needed. His middle finger slipped inside you in one slow, hot push.

Your thighs tensed. Your mouth fell open.

You grabbed your drink like it was the only thing tethering you to reality — fingers white-knuckling the glass as you tried to keep your face normal, blank, anything but wrecked.

Above the table, someone asked you a question. Something about dessert. A menu. It didn’t matter. You didn’t hear it.

Because Chan curled his finger inside you.

Your hand shot to your lap, gripping your thigh to keep yourself from squirming. You couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t look at anyone. You just nodded blindly and mumbled something noncommittal, hoping it passed.

Chan didn’t let up.

His finger moved in and out slowly, and your entire body flushed with heat. He had the audacity to smirk — just the tiniest bit — eyes still fixed on his drink like he wasn’t currently fingering his best friend under the table while people laughed and talked around them.

“This is so fucking wrong,” you hissed under your breath.

“I know,” he said. Another finger joined the first. “But you’re not telling me to stop.”

Your eyes fluttered shut for half a second.

You tried to breathe through your nose. Stay quiet. Act normal. But every subtle movement of his hand made your legs twitch, your core clench, your heartbeat crash against your ribs.

You glanced at him again.

He looked flushed now too. Like he was seconds from losing his mind, but still holding it together because it was you. Because this wasn’t just lust, it was something older, deeper — something that had been crawling under both your skins for months.

“Chan,” you whispered, like a warning.

“Say the word,” he said, voice tight. “Say stop. I will. But you don’t want me to.”

And you hated how right he was. Because instead of pulling away, you shifted forward an inch — just enough that his fingers sank deeper inside you.

Chan sucked in a breath. And you both went still.

A sharp laugh cracked from across the table, drawing attention — and you had to force a smile, nod along, pretend you weren’t sitting there with your best friend’s fingers knuckle-deep inside your body, massaging a spot that made your eyes blur.

Your thighs trembled and Chan leaned in, lips brushing your ear like a secret.

“You’re gonna cum,” he whispered. “Right here, aren’t you?”

You shuddered. Your breath hitched.

And he smiled — not cocky, not cruel. Just in awe. Like he couldn’t believe how beautiful you looked with your cheeks flushed and your teeth digging into your lip to keep a moan from slipping out.

You felt your orgasm build — fast, frantic, terrifying.

You grabbed his wrist under the table.

He stilled instantly. “Too much?”

You shook your head. “Not enough.”

And that was it.

His fingers moved faster, deeper, his palm nudging your clit just enough to send you over the edge in a quiet, trembling crash of heat and pleasure. You came with your teeth pressed into your fist, staring hard at a candle on the table like it could anchor you, keep you grounded while your body shattered in silence.

And when it was over, you sat back—Breathless. Shaking.

His fingers slipped out of you slowly, carefully — like he respected what he’d just done to you, even if it made no sense at all.

Your eyes met his and the panic set in.

What the fuck are we doing?

But you were still wet. Still aching.

And you knew — without a doubt — you weren’t done.

You bolted from the table the second your legs worked again.

Something about needing the bathroom. A brush of your hand on your friend’s shoulder as you excused yourself, voice a little too high-pitched, smile a little too tight.

You didn’t look at Chan.

Couldn’t.

Your body was still pulsing from what he’d just done to you — in public, surrounded by friends, like it was the most natural thing in the world to slide his fingers into his best friend and make her come in silence while everyone else debated dessert.

Your heart thundered.

You didn’t think. You just ran.

The bathroom door swung open and you staggered inside, gripping the sink, trying to catch your breath. Your panties were still wet, your thighs sticky, your reflection in the mirror pink-cheeked and glassy-eyed and wrecked.

“What the fuck,” you whispered to yourself.

And then the door opened behind you. Your stomach dropped.

“Chan, don’t—”

But it was too late.

He stepped in, locked the door behind him, and turned to face you — eyes dark, breathing shallow, like he’d sprinted the whole way.

“I had to,” he said. “I couldn’t just let you leave like that.”

You backed up a step. “We’re in the bathroom.”

“No one saw me come in.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?” His voice cracked on the edge of something— desperation, maybe. “Because I just made you cum under the fucking table and you didn’t even look at me.”

“I couldn’t!” you hissed, voice sharp and low.

He flinched. Just slightly.

You swallowed, heart pounding.

“It was too much,” you added. “You— that— fuck, Chan.”

He moved toward you. Slow. Careful. But you didn’t step back.

“You liked it,” he said softly.

You blinked. “That’s not—”

“You liked it,” he repeated. “Your body loved it. You soaked through my fingers.”

Your lips parted.

He stopped right in front of you now, eyes flicking down to your mouth, then back up.

“You didn’t even know you were grinding against my hand until I curled my fingers and you almost choked on your drink.”

“Chan—”

“You’re still wet, aren’t you?” he asked, voice wrecked. “Still aching.”

You stared at him. And you didn’t deny it. A beat of silence passed.

Then: “I don’t know what this is,” you whispered. “I don’t know what’s happening to us.”

His hand rose — not to touch you, but to rest against the wall behind your head. Caging you in. Close enough that his breath hit your lips.

“I do,” he murmured.

Your stomach flipped.

He leaned in just a little more. “I can’t stop thinking about the way you looked in that theater. The way you breathed. The way your thighs trembled.”

You swallowed hard.

“I shouldn’t want you,” he said, forehead nearly touching yours now. “You’re my best friend.”

“Then stop,” you said. It sounded like a challenge.

He looked at you.

“You don’t want me to stop.”

Your silence was answer enough.

And then he kissed you.

Hard. Hungry. Like every second you’d known each other had been leading here, and he was done pretending. His hands gripped your waist, and before you could catch your breath, he had you backed against the stall door, mouth trailing fire down your neck.

“I need to taste you properly,” he whispered against your throat. “But I can’t wait.”

You whimpered as his hands slid under your skirt again, rougher this time — no hesitation. He shoved your panties down with practiced fingers, lifted your leg over his waist and slide two fingers back inside you like they belonged there.

You moaned — couldn’t help it.

His free hand clamped over your mouth immediately.

“Shhh,” he whispered. “You’ll get us caught.”

His eyes burned into yours — wild, wrecked, possessive.

And he fucked you with his fingers like he meant it. Like he needed to make you feel it. Wrist twisting just right, fingers rubbing the spot that made your eyes roll back, and all you could do was cling to his shoulders and take it.

You came harder this time.

Biting into his palm. Hips jerking against his hand.

And even after your legs gave out and your body sagged against the door, he didn’t pull away. He held you there. Pressed his forehead to yours. Breathing you in.

“I’m not sorry,” he whispered.

You shook your head, eyes still glazed. “Me neither.”

—

Neither of you said anything on the way back.

You walked side by side, hands in your pockets, your face still flushed from the bathroom, heart still pounding in your throat.

The streets were quieter now, warm with the scent of summer and distant traffic, and the occasional brush of Chan’s arm sent shivers crawling down your spine.

You couldn’t look at him.

Because if you did…

You might ask for something neither of you could ever come back from.

Your thighs still ached. Your underwear still clung damp to your skin. And between your legs — Jesus. It was like your body had been switched on and couldn’t shut off.

You were still feeling his fingers inside you.

And he kept glancing sideways. Like he wanted to say something. But didn’t know how.

You finally reached his building. The stoop was dim and familiar — how many nights had you sat there together, late-night snacks and dumb conversations and sleepy yawns on each other’s shoulders? You could still see the ghost of those moments hovering in the air, but they were dissolving fast.

Chan turned to you at the door.

Hands in his pockets.

Voice rough.

“Do you wanna—” He swallowed. “Come in?”

Your heart stuttered.

You should’ve said no.

But instead you nodded.

His apartment smelled like his cologne and roses.

You stood in the middle of his living room, heart hammering. Your skin felt too tight, your legs still shaky. And Chan — god, Chan — locked the door behind you, then leaned back against it like he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands.

Until he looked at you.

Really looked at you.

And you felt your breath catch.

“You’re driving me fucking insane,” he said quietly.

You blinked. “What?”

“I can’t stop thinking about you. Your thighs, your mouth, the way you looked at me when I touched you. I’ve never seen anything that turned me on more in my life.”

Your throat went dry.

He pushed off the door and stepped closer.

“I want to fuck you so bad I’m shaking.”

Your lips parted.

“Chan—”

“I want to pin you down,” he continued, voice wrecked. “I want to have your wrists in one hand, your neck in the other, and just ruin you.”

You made a small, helpless sound.

He reached for you then — slow, giving you time to pull away — but you didn’t.

He brushed your hair back. Tilted your chin up.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” he said. “How many nights I’ve had to jerk off in silence after hugging you goodbye.”

You stared at him. Speechless.

“I think about you when I fuck my fist. I imagine you beneath me, half-undressed, legs open, begging.”

You gasped — one hand flying to cover your mouth.

But he wasn’t done.

“I want to pin you to the bed,” he whispered. “Hold you down while you squirm. Make you cry my name while I fuck you like you owe me something.”

Your legs buckled.

He caught you instantly.

“You like that?” he breathed.

You nodded, stunned.

“Good,” he growled. “Because I’m not done.”

He backed you toward the bedroom, eyes locked to yours.

“And after that?” he said. “I’m gonna cum all over you. Your stomach. Your face. Wherever I want.”

You whimpered.

“I’m gonna fuck you in your clothes, with your skirt bunched around your waist and your panties pushed aside, because I can’t wait to take them off.”

He licked his lips.

“And you’re gonna take it, baby girl.”

You stared at him, heart pounding. Breathless. Speechless.

So fucking turned on.

And then, softly you said:

“Show me.”

—

The bedroom door clicked shut behind you.

And it was like your body knew.

Your heart was a live wire. Your breath shallow. You took two slow steps into Chan’s room — familiar walls, familiar scent — but it didn’t feel like home tonight.

It felt like danger. It felt like him.

Chan followed behind, slow and steady, letting the silence stretch until you couldn’t take it anymore.

You turned around to face him.

He looked wrecked already — hair tousled, chest heaving, hands flexing open and shut at his sides like he was fighting the urge to grab you and ruin you.

You didn’t say anything.

You just looked at him — wide-eyed, breathless — and reached for the hem of your skirt.

He caught your wrists before you could tug it up.

“Let me,” he said.

And that voice — god, that voice — low and dark and possessive, made your knees tremble.

He walked toward you, slow like a wolf circling prey. You expected him to strip you, to yank your clothes off with that filthy desperation he’d whispered about.

But he didn’t.

He kissed you.

Soft, at first and then not.

His hands slid down to your thighs, gripping the backs with practiced heat. And when he pulled your skirt up — when he saw your ruined panties again — he let out a sound so deep it rattled in your chest.

“Still wet for me,” he said.

You couldn’t speak.

“You came twice and you’re still soaked.”

He dipped his head — not to kiss your mouth, but to press his lips to your throat. You tilted your head back with a gasp as he sucked at your pulse, teeth grazing, mouth open and hot.

“I’m gonna fuck you just like this,” he growled. “Skirt up. Panties in the way. Legs spread for me.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair as he dropped to his knees in front of you.

“Chan—”

“Shh.”

He kissed your inner thigh, lips dragging dangerously close to your center, but not touching. Not yet.

“You have no idea how many times I thought about this,” he said against your skin. “How many nights I imagined tasting you.”

And then his fingers hooked your underwear and tore them down.

You gasped.

He looked up at you from between your thighs, eyes dark and blown.

And then — finally — his mouth closed over your core.

Your knees buckled.

You moaned his name, loud and desperate, and he growled into you, arms locking around your thighs as he dragged you closer. His tongue was everywhere — licking, curling, sucking your clit in a rhythm that was absolutely obscene.

You lost time.

Lost sense.

You gripped his hair and ground against his face, your body taking what it needed because he wouldn’t stop, he wouldn’t let you breathe, and when his fingers slipped inside you, you came so hard your vision blacked out for a second.

“Fuck— fuck—” you sobbed, hips jerking.

He rode it out. Held you through it. Slowed down only when you begged him to.

And then he stood.

Still fully clothed.

Hard as a rock behind his jeans.

You couldn’t think. Could barely stand.

“Take it off,” you breathed, grabbing the hem of his shirt.

But he was already on it — pulling it over his head, tossing it aside, eyes locked to yours.

And fuck.

He was beautiful. He had always been.

His body was all sharp muscle and light skin and hunger, abs flexing as he worked his jeans open, breath stuttering like he couldn’t believe this was real.

And when he stepped out of them — hard, flushed, huge — you choked on your own gasp.

He grinned.

“Scared?”

You shook your head.

“Good,” he murmured. “Because I’m not gonna be gentle.”

You moaned.

He pushed you back until the backs of your knees hit the bed.

Then shoved you onto it.

Climbed on top of you, hands bracketing your head, knees parting your thighs.

“Hands up,” he said.

You obeyed instantly, arms stretched above you on the pillow.

He leaned down, kissed your lips like they were sacred.

“Keep them there.”

You nodded.

He lined himself up — and hovered for just a second.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he whispered. “If I start, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

“Then don’t stop.”

And he thrust in.

Hard.

You arched up with a cry, nails digging into the sheets as he filled you to the hilt. He groaned above you, head falling to your shoulder, arms shaking with restraint.

“You feel like fucking heaven,” he breathed.

He gave you a moment.

And then he started to move.

Fast. Deep. Merciless.

The sound of skin slapping echoed through the room, and your gasps turned to cries, your hands fisting the sheets as he pounded into you like a mad man. Like he needed it. His fingers tangled with yours above your head, pinning you in place as his hips slammed into you again and again and again—

“Fuck—! Chan—”

“You’re mine,” he growled. “You’re so fucking mine.”

Your fourth orgasm tore through you like fire, and Chan groaned when he felt you clench around him, hips stuttering as he chased his own end.

And when he pulled out last-second and came all over your stomach, hot and messy and shaking, you felt like your soul had left your body.

You both collapsed.

Silence.

Only breath and heat and the soft whisper of, “Holy shit.”

You turned your head to look at him.

He looked at you. And he smiled.

—

It was the sun that woke you.

Bright and slow, bleeding through the gap in the curtains and painting gold across the bed. You stirred, eyes still closed, your body humming with a dull ache — sore thighs, tender hips, a deep throb between your legs that made your breath catch.

And then you felt it.

Warm skin at your back.

A chest rising and falling slowly behind you.

An arm, heavy and wrapped around your waist, fingers splayed possessively just under your ribs. His scent still clung to your skin — sweat and something darker, heady, him.

And that’s when the memories crashed in.

The bathroom.

The restaurant.

The bed.

The way he’d pinned your hands above your head and fucked you like he meant to wreck you.

Your cheeks burned instantly, eyes flying open.

Holy shit.

You slept with your best friend.

You slept with Chan.

And not just slept. You let him possess you— He had you on his face. His fingers, his mouth, his everything, and then he’d whispered things that should’ve made you run for the door but instead made you soaked.

You swallowed thickly.

And then the arm around your waist pulled you closer.

You yelped.

Chan groaned softly behind you, voice gravelled from sleep.

“Mm… what time is it?”

You didn’t answer. Because you didn’t know what to say.

He blinked his eyes open, peeking over your shoulder. “You okay?”

You turned to face him — slowly, hesitantly.

He looked wrecked. Hair a mess, voice hoarse, lips kiss-bruised and sleep-swollen.

Your stomach flipped.

“I’m fine,” you said. Then added, “Sore.”

He grinned — and you hated that your thighs clenched at the sight of it.

“Good sore or bad sore?”

“Chan—”

He slid his hand down to your hip, voice low.

“Because I can fix it.”

You stared at him. He wasn’t teasing. He meant it.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you whispered.

He quirked a brow. “Like what?”

“Like I’m still the same girl you— you—”

“Fucked six ways from Sunday?” he offered, smug.

Your face burned.

But then he leaned in, nuzzled his nose against yours.

And whispered: “You’re not.”

You blinked. “I’m not?”

He shook his head.

“You’re completely mine now remember?”

Your stomach flipped.

Your brain melted.

“Chan…”

“I’m serious,” he said. “Last night… that wasn’t just sex. That wasn’t just me losing my mind. That was me finally doing what I’ve wanted for months.”

You stared at him. He was serious.

“I thought this would ruin everything,” you whispered.

He tilted his head.

“And now?”

You took a breath.

And admitted it: “I don’t want to stop.”

He grinned. “I never was gonna let you.”

He pulled you into him, kissed you — slow, lazy, warm — and you melted right into his arms.

The morning didn’t feel awkward.

It didn’t feel scary.

It felt like the beginning of something new.

And then—

“I meant what I said last night, by the way,” Chan murmured against your mouth.

You blinked. “What part?”

“The part where I pin you down and fuck you like you stole from me.”

Your mouth dropped open. “You already did—”

“And the part where I cum all over your face.”

“CHRISTOPHER—”

“Just letting you know what’s on the schedule.”

You slapped his chest, flustered beyond belief.

He just laughed.

And kissed you again.

“Cum on my face, huh?”

Your voice came out soft. Dangerous.

Chan blinked. His grin froze on his lips. “…Uh-oh.”

You rolled onto him. Just like that. Bare skin on bare skin, straddling his hips while he stared up at you with those huge, still-sleepy eyes.

But sleep was over.

You rutted your hips once, slowly, deliberately—feeling the way his cock stirred between your thighs—and he made a sound.

“Y’know,” you said, sweet and sharp, “you’re not the only one with fantasies.”

His hands gripped your hips instantly. “Oh?”

“Mmhmm.” You leaned down until your mouth brushed his ear. “You’re not the only one who thinks about pinning someone down.”

He hissed.

“And I know you like control, but imagine this—” you rolled your hips again, voice turning breathy, “—imagine me riding you so hard you beg me to let you cum.”

He groaned.

“Imagine I keep going… and don’t let you. Just to see how long you last.”

“Fuck—”

“And I’ve thought about your mouth too. Not just eating me out—though, Christ—” you shuddered, “—I still don’t think i can walk right, thanks for that—”

He smirked proudly.

“But I’ve thought about your whimpers too. What you sound like when I suck you so slow you start losing your mind.”

You kissed down his chest, dragging your nails across his abs, feeling him tense and twitch beneath you.

“I wanna leave marks,” you whispered. “Wanna make you look wrecked for me.”

Chan was flushed now. Practically trembling under you.

“Baby girl,” he rasped. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You smiled.

And slid down between his legs.

“I haven’t even started.”

He wasn’t ready, but you took your time.

You teased him with your mouth first — slow licks up his shaft, tongue circling the tip, only enough suction to drive him insane. You had your hands braced on his thighs, nails biting into skin just enough to own him.

“Jesus—” he gasped, head thrown back. “You’re—fuck, that’s good—”

You moaned around him and watched his hips twitch up, his hand flying to your hair like instinct, fingers tightening in warning.

“Babe— I swear—if you keep going like this, I’m gonna—”

You pulled off right before he came.

And smirked.

“Oh, we’re doing this now?” he asked, breathless.

“Damn right we are,” you said, climbing back on top of him. “I’m getting mine now.”

You lined him up, braced yourself—

And sank down in one slow, maddening slide.

Chan’s eyes rolled back.

You didn’t even move for a full ten seconds. Just sat there, gripping his chest, clenching around him until he was panting.

And then you rode him. Like a woman possessed.

You weren’t slow. You were relentless. Skin slapping, sweat slicking your bodies together, his hands scrambling for purchase on your hips as you bounced with wild, desperate rhythm.

“Fuck—fuck— you’re insane,” he groaned.

“Say you love it,” you panted.

“I fucking love it—!”

You leaned down and bit his shoulder.

And that was it.

He flipped you over without warning, slammed back into you hard enough to rattle the headboard, and locked your wrists above your head like he had something to prove.

You moaned his name so loud it echoed.

He looked down at you — hair in his eyes, lips parted, body dripping sweat — and whispered, “I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t talk.”

“Try me.”

So he did.

You lost count of how many times you came. How many times he made you scream. The sun climbed higher outside and you never even noticed.

He had you on your back.

Then on your stomach.

Then on your side with one leg thrown over his hips while he pounded into you, growling your name like a prayer he didn’t deserve to say.

And when you came again — thighs shaking, back arched, eyes fluttering — he pulled out and came all over your chest, jaw tight and groaning like it destroyed him.

You lay there for a second.

“Holy… fuck,” you breathed.

Chan flopped beside you.

“Yeah.”

Silence.

Then:

“…I want pancakes,” you whispered.

Chan turned his head, eyes still blown wide. “How the fuck are you thinking about pancakes right now?”

You smiled lazily.

“I burn calories fast.”

He groaned into the pillow.

“You’re gonna kill me.”

You rolled onto your side and kissed his cheek.

“But what a way to go.”

—

You were wearing nothing but Chan’s shirt and a pair of socks.

And it was doing things to him.

He stood at the stove, shirtless, trying to focus on flipping pancakes while you leaned over the counter, hair messy, skin glowing, humming some made-up song about how much you deserved “carbs and cuddles after all that cardio.”

“You’re just using me for my protein,” he muttered, hiding a grin.

You stretched dramatically, popping a strawberry into your mouth. “Technically, you used me for your protein.”

Chan nearly burned the pancake.

You laughed when he choked on air, stepping over to whack his back. “Careful, old man. I still need you alive for round– wait, how many rounds now?”

He turned his head, gave you a look that could scorch.

“Keep talking like that and we’re not making it to breakfast.”

You kissed his shoulder. “Then hurry up. I’m starving.”

He flipped the last pancake with a little more urgency.

A few minutes later, the two of you were at his mini kitchen table, knees brushing under the surface, your plate stacked high like a kid at a sleepover.

“You know,” you said through a mouthful of syrupy goodness, “this is dangerously close to looking like a real relationship.”

Chan froze.

You blinked. “What?”

He tilted his head. “Is that… a bad thing?”

You paused.

Fork halfway to your mouth.

“…No.”

He watched you carefully. “Because I was kinda hoping it was.”

You squinted. “Hoping it was bad?”

“No—” he laughed, raking a hand through his hair. “No, I mean—I was hoping it was a relationship. Or that it could be.”

Your heart thudded.

Hard.

“Chan…”

He looked nervous for the first time since he’d had you straddling him in bed the night before.

“I don’t wanna go back,” he said. “Not to pretending. Not to brushing this off. That’s not what last night was for me.”

You set your fork down gently.

“It wasn’t for me either.”

The tension cracked open—just a little—and he reached across the table, linking your fingers together.

“I’ve wanted you for a long time,” he said quietly.

You nodded. “I think I have too.”

“And I know we were reckless and a little feral and probably woke my neighbors up—”

“They applauded, Chan.”

He laughed.

You smiled.

But then—his eyes softened.

And his voice turned sincere. “Can I take you out?”

Your brows lifted. “You always do”

He smirked. “Like, properly. Date you. Buy you dinner. Try to behave myself.”

You leaned your chin on your hand, pretending to think. “And if you fail miserably?”

“Then I’ll behave badly… respectfully.”

You grinned.

“Okay,” you said. “I’m in.”

He looked so genuinely happy you felt it in your bones.

You finished breakfast in a daze of syrup and laughter, tangled limbs and coffee stolen from each other’s mugs. And when he pulled you back onto the couch, wrapped around you like he couldn’t get close enough, you let him.

Because somehow, this—this—felt more dangerous than anything that happened last night.

Not because it was wild. But because it was real.

And you both knew? You were in trouble.

The best kind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Authors note: GUYS!!! WE HIT 1K FOLLOWERS!!!! 🤩 wowwwww, thank you so much for always reading and indulging my delulu 😭❤️ i love you guyssssss! I think i will be doing a new series since Angry Boys did well, but ill make a poll to know what direction to go next and until then, please leave nice comments, likes and a reblog if you enjoyed this!

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[flippedccc]

the way I loved you

── .✦ content warning : SMUT! MDI!! fem!reader; academic rivals; enemies with benefits; one bed trope; angry love confession in the rain; explicit sex; oral (f and m receiving); dry humping; unproteced sex; litgh degratation; public sex; kinda sub seung;

✮⋆˙ pairing: academic rival seungmin × fem!reader

✮⋆˙ word count: 14,4k

✮⋆˙ synopsis: “We were academic rivals — until we weren’t. Now I can’t tell if I want to outscore him or ride him until he begs.”

✮⋆˙ A/N: heyy!! I had so much fun writing this one cause I kinda reunited all my fav tropes together, so I hope you guys enjoyed it!! please reblog it and lmk what you think ૮ ․ ․ ྀིა

I hated him. Absolutely hated.

Hated those stupid, wide puppy eyes that tricked everyone into thinking he was harmless. Hated the way his hair flopped perfectly over his forehead like he was in some damn shampoo commercial. Hated those stupid, plump lips that probably got away with too much just by existing.

But most of all — I hated that smile. That pretty, cocky smile he flashed like he knew something I didn’t.

Every time he looked at me with that skeptical little tilt of his head, the one that screamed “I'm better than you haha” — yes, I could hear the cartoon villain laugh — I knew, deep in my soul, that I could strangle him.

Still debating tho if I’d prefer to do it with my hands or my thighs.

The worst part? It wasn’t just rage pooling low in my stomach.

It pissed me off how he could make me hate him and want him at the same time.

Fucking disgusting.

When Professor Lee handed back our essays and Seungmin’s stupid name was sitting pretty at the top with a shiny gold “A+”, I didn’t even think.

I whipped my head around, caught his eyes across the lecture hall, and mouthed: “Rigged.”

His mouth curved into that slow, infuriating smirk, the kind that crawled under my skin and set it on fire.

He leaned back in his chair, arms folded behind his head like he owned the goddamn place, and mouthed back, exaggerated and slow: “Don't be mad just because you’re second best, sweetheart.”

Complete with a wink.

A goddamn wink.

I could feel the heat rising from my chest to my ears. Rage. Or something dangerously close to it.

Seungmin tilted his head, still watching me like I was a particularly amusing science experiment. His eyes glinted, and I knew — I knew — he wasn’t going to let this go.

When class ended, I shoved my notebook into my bag and bolted for the door, hoping he’d get the hint. Of course he didn’t.

He caught up easily, his steps lazy, hands shoved in his hoodie pockets like he hadn’t just declared academic war ten minutes ago.

“Rough day, princess?” he asked, voice dripping mock-sympathy.

I didn’t even look at him. “Bite me, Seungmin.”

“Careful,” he said, his voice dropping half an octave. “Might take that as an invitation.”

I stopped walking and turned to him so fast he almost collided with me. He did collide, his chest bumping into mine with a low thud that made both of us stiffen on reflex.

For a second — a stupid, reckless second — we just stood there. Breathing the same air. Close enough that I could see the tiny mole in the middle of the bridge of his nose. Close enough that I could smell the faint hint of mint gum and something warm and boyish underneath.

His eyes flickered down to my mouth — fast, involuntary. My heart hammered against my ribs. Not from fear. From something far worse. He caught himself a beat too late and pulled back a step, but it was already too late.

I smirked.

“Problem?” he asked, trying to sound bored, but his voice was rougher now. Edgier.

“You wish,” I snapped, shoving his chest lightly with my hand.

It wasn’t enough to move him, but it made him smile — that crooked, infuriating, I-know-you-want-me smile. I wanted to punch him. Or grab him by the hoodie strings and crash our mouths together. Maybe both.

“Tell you what,” he said, hands sliding casually into his pockets, pretending like his pulse wasn’t visible on his throat. “Winner of the next project challenge picks a punishment for the loser. No rules.”

I raised an eyebrow, chest still rising and falling too fast. “You’re serious?”

He nodded, slow, like daring me to back down. “Afraid to lose?” he teased, voice pure poison wrapped in honey.

I narrowed my eyes. “You're on.”

His smirk stretched wider — a flash of sharp teeth and gleaming mischief. “Try not to cry when you lose, princess.”

“Worry about your own dignity first, loser.”

He stepped closer again — not touching, but close enough that my body registered the heat pouring off him. “Oh, princess…” he murmured, low and deliberate. “You’ll be begging me for mercy by the end of it.”

Then, without waiting for my reply, he turned on his heel and walked away, hands in his pockets, whistling some stupid upbeat tune like he hadn’t just detonated a bomb between us.

I stood there, heart pounding, palms sweating, fists clenched at my sides. Already plotting how I was going to destroy him.

Or how I was going to let him destroy me.

Maybe both.

If working in the same room as Seungmin was supposed to be a punishment from hell, it was starting to feel a lot more like slow torture.

The worst kind. The kind where you like it.

We weren’t even officially working together — our articles were separate — but somehow, like roaches or debt collectors, he always managed to appear wherever I was: library, café, empty classrooms.

And every time, the same thing: Provocations. Smirks. Stupid bets.

We sat across from each other now, laptops open, papers strewn everywhere. My screen glowed under the cheap library lights, reflecting the blank document I hadn't touched in twenty minutes.

Because Seungmin was there. Existing. Breathing. Tapping his stupid pen against his stupid mouth like he had no idea how distracting he was.

I chewed the end of my pencil, glaring at my thesis statement like it was all its fault.

“Need help, princess?” he drawled, spinning lazily in his chair.

“I'd rather set myself on fire,” I muttered, not looking up.

He chuckled under his breath — that soft, infuriating laugh that always made my skin prickle.

I refused to glance at him. Refused to notice the way his sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, veins visible on his forearms. Refused to notice how he tapped his pen in an unconscious rhythm that somehow matched the way my heart stuttered when he leaned back and stretched like a smug little shit.

Focus. Focus.

I bent lower over my keyboard, typing harder than necessary.

He reached across the table to steal my highlighter, and his fingers brushed mine — quick, electric. My body jolted before my brain could catch up.

He smirked. Saw it. Filed it away for later.

I hated him. Absolutely hated.

If hating him included wondering what his hands would feel like pressed somewhere else, well — that was between me and my rapidly deteriorating sanity.

Three hours, five insults, and two coffee runs later, we submitted our articles

I stood stiffly at the front of the lecture hall, arms crossed, waiting for the verdict. Seungmin stood next to me, too close. His shoulder brushed mine once. I moved. He moved closer again.

Asshole.

Professor Lee shuffled through the papers, humming thoughtfully.

Finally, he smiled — a slow, proud smile. “Excellent work from both of you.”

I exhaled. Barely.

“But…” He held up one article.

And I saw it. My name. Bold. Clear. Victorious. I blinked. Once. Twice. I won.

The shock punched through me, followed by something molten and dizzying: triumph. I turned slowly to Seungmin, ready to gloat.

His face was unreadable — that blank, impassive mask he wore when he didn’t want anyone to know he was losing his shit inside. Which meant he was furious.

I smiled sweetly. Sickeningly. “Aw. Better luck next time, loser.”

He tilted his head, mouth twitching like he was fighting a smirk.

“Don’t get too cocky. One win doesn’t make you better.”

“No, but it makes you worse.”

He stepped closer, enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. Enough that I could feel the heat coming off his skin again.

His eyes dropped to my mouth — quick, instinctive — and I hated how it made my pulse jump.

Before either of us could say something, even dumber, Professor Lee cleared his throat. “Both of you — a word, please.”

We turned, startled, as if remembering there was a whole room watching.

He led us to his desk, his expression serious.

“You two have been selected to represent our department at the International Academic Congress next weekend.” He paused for effect. “An honor. Only given to our best.”

My brain blanked.

Congress? An entire weekend?

With Seungmin?

I felt my stomach flip in the worst way.

Beside me, Seungmin shoved his hands in his pockets, feigning boredom — but I caught the twitch of his jaw. He hated surprises. Almost as much as I hated liking the idea of being trapped with him somewhere far from rules and reputations.

“You’ll be presenting your articles separately, of course,” Professor Lee continued. “But you’ll be traveling together. Hotel accommodations are arranged.”

I nodded, tight, pretending not to panic.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Seungmin turn his head, studying me carefully. Like he knew exactly what I was thinking. Like he was already plotting how to use this against me.

I gritted my teeth and forced a tight smile. Seungmin smirked, slow and lethal.

This was war.

And I was already losing.

The conference was supposed to be an exciting opportunity. At least, that’s what I told myself when I boarded the plane. A few days away from the usual routine, presenting my research for relevant people, making connections—sounds like a dream, right? In theory. The reality? Well, the idea of spending two days in close proximity to Seungmin was a *little* less appealing. But hey, I was here for the experience. And because I didn’t have much of a choice.

The flight was long, and Seungmin had already made himself an expert at finding ways to annoy me.

He sat one row behind me, but naturally, he ended up next to me when the seatbelt sign was switched off. Classic Seungmin move. “Mind if I join you?” he asked as if I had a say in the matter.

I didn’t even bother to look at him. “Please, make yourself at home.” I said, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in my voice.

Seungmin didn’t waste any time. He slid into the seat beside me like we’d been lifelong friends, his shoulder brushing mine in the process. "You know,” he said, stretching his legs out a little too far into my space, “I actually enjoy these long flights. So much time to read, think, or just bother you.”

I pretended to focus on the screen in front of me, but it was hard to ignore him when he practically moved in. “Lucky me,” I muttered, trying my best to be invisible.

He grinned, clearly unfazed. “You could at least pretend to enjoy my company. I’m doing you a favor, really.”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. “Oh, I’m sure you are.” I said dryly.

Seungmin leaned in closer, like he was about to share a deeply profound thought. “I think you’re just afraid of my charm.”

“I’m not afraid of your charm,” I said flatly. “I’m just trying to survive the flight without having to throw you out of the window.”

“You'd kill all of these people if you opened that window, you know that, right?”

Of course I knew, who whe thought I was?

I could practically hear him smirking, even though I refused to look at him. He was annoyingly good at finding ways to make my blood pressure rise with minimal effort.

By the time we landed, I was exhausted—not from the flight, but from keeping my cool around him. The conference itself? That was going to be cakewalk compared to this.

We finally made it through the airport and to the hotel. The city was exactly what I expected: bigger, louder, and more chaotic than I needed. I then with that all my excitement died and I was so ready to be done with everything.

The lobby was eerily quiet, the kind of place where every sound felt exaggerated. When we approached the reception desk, the receptionist greeted us with a smile so practiced it almost looked fake. I wasn’t in the mood for polite exchanges. The way she glanced at Seungmin—almost too interested—made my skin crawl.

She typed something on her keyboard while keeping her eyes on the screen, then lifted her gaze to us with that same, professional smile. “Good afternoon. How can I help you?”

I stepped up first, handing over my conference credential with a formality I didn’t really feel but was trying to project. It made me look like I had my life together, something that wasn’t going to be ruined by an unexpected trip with my academic rival.

“Hi, we’re from the Department of Social Sciences at National University. We're here for the research congress.”

She glanced at the screen for a moment longer, tapping away before meeting our eyes again. “Ah, of course. Everything’s set for you.” She grabbed a key from behind the desk, placing it on the counter with that same pleasant smile. “Here’s your key. You’ll be in room 325.”

I grabbed the key, but something felt off. The way she handed it to us made me stop, the words almost caught in my throat.

“Just one key?” I asked, raising an eyebrow, hoping the confusion I was feeling didn’t show too obviously. It didn’t make sense that she was giving us a single key for both of us, especially since I knew the rooms were supposed to be separate.

The receptionist looked at me like my question was perfectly normal. “Yes, one key for each couple of participants.”

I blinked, mouth slightly open. A couple? Did she just assume…? I glanced over at Seungmin, who was casually leaning against the counter, an eyebrow raised.

He caught my look and immediately let out a low chuckle. Of course, he found this funny. “What? You didn’t think we were a couple?” He gave me a wink, his voice dripping with that infuriating confidence.

I felt my face flush with a mix of annoyance and… something else. I wasn’t about to let him have the upper hand, but honestly, why was the receptionist so sure of that? Was I really giving off those kinds of vibes?

I couldn’t suppress my irritation.

“We’re not a couple,” I snapped, a little too harshly. “We’re just… two students who happened to be presenting at the same event.”

The receptionist merely nodded, completely unfazed. She didn’t seem to think anything was out of the ordinary about the situation. “Oh, I see. Well, the rooms are all prepared. Would you like me to change the key?”

Before I could open my mouth to say anything, Seungmin was quicker. He grabbed the key off the counter with an air of ease that only made me more frustrated. He was enjoying this, I could tell.

“No, it's okay,” he said smoothly, his eyes flicking to me with that self-satisfied gleam. “We’re fine with it.”

He turned to me, the smugness on his face practically radiating. Of course, this would be his idea of a good time.

I shot him a death glare but said nothing. He was always so quick to take charge of situations that were inconvenient for me. It annoyed the hell out of me.

The receptionist, apparently oblivious to the tension, gave us a polite nod. “Enjoy your stay!”

I didn’t bother replying. Instead, I grabbed my bag and turned away, trying my hardest to ignore Seungmin’s amused expression as I walked to the elevator.

“I can’t believe you’re okay with this,” I muttered under my breath, trying to sound angry, but I knew I wasn’t fooling anyone.

Seungmin followed behind me, taking his time.

The elevator ride up to the third floor was a quiet one, and as we stepped out into the hallway, I could already feel the weight of the situation sinking in. The reality of having to share a room with Seungmin was a lot less fun when you were actually facing it.

Seungmin, still as calm as ever, walked ahead of me toward room 325. His hand was already on the doorknob when I caught up.

I hesitated, then turned to him. “I seriously don’t think this is a good idea.”

Seungmin paused, his back to me, then slowly glanced over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. For a second, there was no hint of a smirk. “What’s the worst that could happen?” he asked quietly.

I wanted to answer— everything —but he was already opening the door.

The door swung open, and I stepped inside, Seungmin trailing right behind me. The room was… fine. Clean, neat — boring in the way all conference hotels were. But then my gaze hit the bed.

One. Single. Bed.

A king-size, sure. But still — one bed. No second mattress tucked in a corner. No pull-out couch. Just that massive betrayal sitting right in the middle of the room like it knew exactly what it was doing.

I froze, dread pooling in my stomach.

Seungmin bumped into me from behind and cursed under his breath. “Wait. Are you fucking serious?” His voice was low, disbelieving.

I didn’t even look at him. I just stared at the bed like it had personally betrayed me.

I turned to him slowly, my face blank with disbelief. “Well, unless you’re planning on summoning another bed out of thin air, yeah, we’re serious.” I waved my hand dramatically toward the offending mattress.

Seungmin stepped around me, eyeing the bed like it had personally insulted his family. “They expect us to sleep in the same bed?” he asked, incredulous.

“Apparently ‘academic excellence’ comes with complimentary sexual tension. Maybe they'll even throw in some rose petals and a bottle of champagne while we're at it too.” I muttered, folding my arms.

He snorted, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I didn’t sign up for this.”

“No shit. You think I did?” I snapped. The sarcasm was practically a second language between us at this point.

The room already felt too small, the air too charged.

He looked at me, his expression sharpening into something defensive. “Don’t flatter yourself, princess. I’d rather cuddle a cactus.”

I gave him a slow, sarcastic smile. “Cute. I was about to say you could sleep outside with the stray dogs. You’d fit right in.”

He threw me a sideways look, half a smirk playing on his lips. “If it’s that unbearable, I can sleep on the floor. Wouldn’t want you losing sleep over me.”

I rolled my eyes so hard I practically saw my brain. “The floor’s probably cleaner than whatever germs you’re carrying anyway.”

The tension crackled between us — electric, unbearable. We both stood there, stubbornly glaring at the bed, as if sheer willpower would make it disappear.

Seungmin shook his head, glancing once more at the cursed bed like it might suddenly sprout another mattress. “This is unbelievable. Who the hell organizes a conference like this?”

“Maybe it's a new academic technique.” I deadpanned. “See who survives forced proximity without committing murder.”

He actually snorted at that, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He shook his head, still clearly pissed off. “This is ridiculous. What’s next, sharing a toothbrush?”

I snapped back, my sarcasm sharp as a knife. “Oh, I’m sure that’s exactly what’s going to happen. They’ll give us matching PJs next, too.”

We stood there for another long, heavy beat, neither of us moving.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Seungmin exhaled sharply and said: “We’re not gonna survive this if we keep acting like kids.”

I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt. “Screw it. We'll put a damn pillow wall in the middle. Switzerland rules: you stay on your side, I stay on mine.”

“Fine. But if you snore, I’m suffocating you with a pillow.”

“If you steal the covers, I’m kicking you onto the floor.” I shot back.

He met my glare with one of his own, but there was something else beneath it now.

Something heavier. Thicker. Neither of us said it, but we both felt it. The heat. The pull.

I slung my bag over my shoulder, already moving toward the door. “Let's just get through the conference first. We'll deal with... this trainwreck later.”

Seungmin didn’t argue this time. He just muttered under his breath, low enough that I almost missed it: “Yeah... easier said than done.”

We step off the elevator and into a wide, polished corridor leading to the conference rooms. The air smells faintly of burnt coffee, new carpet, and desperation. The walls are covered in generic modern art — squares inside of other squares — like they were trying very hard to seem sophisticated without actually having a soul. I already feel the weight of expectation pressing down on me like a headache.

Seungmin walks beside me, hands shoved deep into his pockets, looking unimpressed with life itself. His hair falls messily into his eyes, but he doesn’t bother fixing it. Typical.

His eyes dart around the hallway, scanning faces like he’s already categorizing who’s worth ignoring. “Ready to pretend we care?” he mutters, voice pitched low enough just for me.

“Thrilled,” I deadpan, not even glancing at him. “Can’t wait to have my brain melted by endless talks about sustainable quinoa farming.”

He snorts, biting back a laugh. “Sounds like your dream date.”

“Yup. Right up there with tax seminars and dental surgery.”

We keep walking, moving with the flow of the crowd. I can see the bright lights of the conference rooms ahead, and it's all I can do to not roll my eyes at the sheer formality of it all. The event feels more like a display of ‘look how important we are’ than anything else.

He grins — a real one, small and crooked — before drifting off toward a group near the front, already blending in like a professional social chameleon. I roll my eyes and slink toward the back, sinking into an empty chair, pulling out my phone just to avoid making small talk with strangers who all think they’re smarter than everyone else.

The speaker drones on about something to do with regenerative soil or whatever. I zone out, letting the words wash over me like white noise.

That’s when I notice him — a guy standing near the refreshment table, dressed casually enough to look out of place among all the tight blazers and forced smiles. He’s got a lazy grin, a coffee cup in one hand, and the vibe of someone who definitely isn’t taking this seriously.

Our eyes meet by accident. I immediately look away, pretending to be fascinated by my own shoes.

Too late.

Footsteps approach, and a moment later, he’s there, leaning on the back of the chair next to mine like he owns the place, like he’s got nothing better to do.

“Hey.” he says when he’s standing in front of me, offering a slight, disarming grin. “I don’t know if you’re as bored as I am, but I swear this place feels like a corporate zombie apocalypse.”

I glance up at him. His voice is light, teasing, and there's a mischievous glint in his eye that reminds me — alarmingly — of someone else I know. He's charming, but not in the typical, obnoxious way.

I can’t help a small smirk. “I’m pretty sure zombies would be more interesting. At least they’d be honest about their intentions.”

“You look about as thrilled as I feel,” he says with a grin.

“Is it that obvious?” I say, tilting my head. “I thought I was hiding it so well.”

“Subtle as a brick to the face,” he deadpans, smiling wider.

I snort before I can stop myself. Okay, he's funny. Dangerous.

“Chan,” he says, holding out a hand like we’re not at the most painfully formal event on earth.

“Y/N,” I reply, shaking his hand briefly before pulling back.

Chan smirks. “So, Y/N... what's your poison? Boring keynote speeches or awkward networking attempts?”

I fake think about it. “Mmm... death by boredom sounds slightly less painful.”

He chuckles. “Agreed. I’m just here for the free coffee and questionable snack trays.”

“You’re brave. I think those pastries have been alive longer than some of the speakers.”

He laughs — a real, full laugh — and leans closer like we’re already conspirators. “Survival of the fittest. Or the most caffeinated.”

I smirk, feeling a little lighter despite myself.

“Guess I’ll see you at the coffee table battlefield later, then.”

“Only if you’re prepared to fight dirty.” He winks. “I swear, if they put any more bland hors d'oeuvres out there, I might start questioning why I even left my house for this.”

I can’t help it—I actually laugh at that. “Yeah, I’d rather be at home, in my pajamas, eating cereal. At least I know it’s not going to taste like cardboard.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Oh, so you're one of those people. Respect.”

There's a beat of silence, and for a moment, we just stand there, awkward in the best way. But I don’t mind it. It's kind of refreshing to talk to someone who isn’t immediately making small talk about "networking."

Chan shrugs, his eyes glinting with a bit of humor. “So, what’s your take on all of this? The conference, I mean. I’m assuming you’re not here for the food production knowledge either.”

I think about it for a moment before responding. “Honestly? It’s not exactly what I expected. I thought it’d be more... engaging, that I'd have a great opportunity to talk about my research, but it’s mostly just people trying to sound important.”

Chan nods knowingly, looking amused. “Yeah, that’s pretty much the vibe I’m getting too.”

I’m about to fire back something sarcastic when the temperature of the room shifts. I feel it before I see him — that tightening sensation in the air.

I turn slightly, and there he is.

Seungmin.

Standing a few feet away, arms crossed tight over his chest, shoulders rigid. His mouth is pressed into a thin line, but it’s his eyes — sharp, dark — that give him away.

He's staring at Chan like he’s a mosquito buzzing too close.

Chan notices too, casting a casual glance over his shoulder. “Didn’t realize you had company,” Chan says easily, raising an eyebrow at Seungmin.

Seungmin’s smile is a weapon — all teeth, no warmth. “Yeah. She’s with me.”

She’s with me.

My eyebrows shoot up, but I say nothing.

Seungmin’s jaw clenches, and he steps forward, his gaze still fixed on me, but the edge to his voice has softened slightly as he addresses me. “Y/N, we should go.”

Chan shrugs like he couldn’t care less. “Right. I’ll catch you later, Y/N.”

“Yeah,” I mutter, feeling the weight of Seungmin’s presence beside me. “Later.”

He flashes me one last grin before wandering off, utterly unbothered.

The second he’s gone, Seungmin steps closer, his body language screaming tension. His glare burns into me, his jaw flexing as if he’s chewing on all the words he can’t say out loud.

The air between us is thick, but I can’t help it. I need to poke at him, need to let him know that I see right through his little act.

I cross my arms, matching his posture. “You gonna tell me why you look like you’re about to start a bar fight?” I ask sweetly.

He huffs through his nose, looking anywhere but at me.

We head back toward the front, the noise of the conference around us feeling a hundred times louder. The tension doesn’t seem to let up, and I know this is just the beginning of whatever this is between us, the silence between us thick enough to choke on.

I can’t help myself.

“You know,” I say, tilting my head toward him. “you’re acting like I committed a crime by talking to someone with a better haircut than you.” I lied, Chans's haircut isn't better than his long bangs that falls onto his eyes.

Seungmin’s jaw tightens, his eyes flickering toward me, but he says nothing. His lips are pressed together in a thin line, and the way his fingers flex against his crossed arms doesn’t escape me. He’s annoyed.

I grin to myself, enjoying this just a little too much. “I mean, it’s not like I invited him to a romantic dinner or anything,” I continue, my tone teasing. “But I did notice your death stare. If looks could kill, I think I’d be six feet under right now.”

Seungmin's head snaps toward me, eyes narrowed. “You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” I tease. “Because from where I’m standing, it looked a lot like jealousy. Like… borderline ‘punch a guy over a coffee joke’ levels of jealousy.”

He stops walking abruptly, forcing me to stop too. He steps closer — too close — and lowers his voice so only I can hear.

“I’m not jealous.”

I tilt my head, giving him a sidelong glance. “Really? Because it kind of seemed like you were about to challenge him to a duel or something.”

Seungmin glances at me, his expression unreadable, but I can tell he’s getting more irritated by the second. He stops walking again, and his eyes narrow in that way he does when he’s not sure whether to get sarcastic or serious. “I don’t care, okay?” he finally says, voice sharp. “But you could’ve at least told me you were—whatever—you know, talking to him.”

I can’t help but laugh at that. “Oh, so I’m supposed to run my social interactions past you now? Got it, boss.”

Seungmin’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t smile. “It’s not about that.”

“Then what is it about, exactly?” I prod, stepping closer to him. “You sure you’re not feeling a little... territorial?”

“Territorial?” He glares at me, clearly trying to keep his cool. “What, like some caveman marking his territory?”

I raise an eyebrow, smirking. “More like a chihuahua, actually.”

Seungmin glares, his ears pinking. “You’re impossible.”

“You’re adorable when you’re angry,” I shoot back, my grin widening.

He lets out a short, frustrated laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Keep pushing, princess. See what happens.”

I arch an eyebrow, leaning closer, letting my shoulder brush his for just a second longer than necessary. “Maybe I’m counting on it.”

For a heartbeat, we just stare at each other — the conference noise fading into the background — locked in this stupid, electric standoff.

Then he huffs, muttering under his breath as he turns to walk ahead of me: “You’re gonna drive me insane.”

I smile, slow and wicked, before following him back into the crowd.

The second the door to the hotel room clicked shut behind us, the weight of reality hit again — one bed.

Still just one.

I sighed loudly, dropping my bag near the dresser.

Seungmin tossed his hoodie onto a chair and stretched his arms above his head, way too nonchalant for someone about to sleep three inches away from their mortal enemy.

“Guess we’re really doing this,” I muttered, staring at the bed like it was a battlefield.

“What’s wrong, princess? Afraid you won’t survive one night without jumping me?” he teased, kicking off his shoes.

I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt.

“Please. I’m more worried about you crying because I stole all the covers.”

He laughed, short and sharp. “In your dreams.”

We stood there for a second, facing the bed like it killed someone of our family.

“Truce?” I offered reluctantly, lifting a pillow.

“Temporary ceasefire.” He smirked. “Until you start snoring and ruin my life.”

I flipped him off without ceremony and started building a pathetic little wall of pillows down the middle of the mattress.

He watched, arms crossed, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. “Very professional. I feel safer already.”

“Good. Now if you so much as breathe on my side, I’m kicking you out.”

“Looking forward to it.”

I grabbed my pajamas and locked myself in the bathroom before I could throw something at his smug face. Changing into my satin slip felt almost ridiculous. It wasn’t even that revealing — thin straps, low neckline, cut just short enough to be a problem if you looked too long — but somehow, the second I caught my reflection, I hesitated.

Why the hell did it feel like I was getting ready for something? I shook off the thought and stepped out.

Seungmin was sprawled across his side of the bed, now wearing only a pair of gray sweatpants, no shirt. His skin caught the soft hotel lighting, warm and distracting. He was tapping away at his phone, pretending not to notice me.

He looked up when he heard the door click.

And froze.

Just for a second.

Eyes raking over me in one quick, betraying sweep before he schooled his face back into something vaguely unimpressed. “Nice pajamas,” he said casually. “Planning to seduce the minibar?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Planning to murder you in your sleep, actually.”

He grinned — wide, wolfish. “Kinky.”

I gave him my middle finger again and climbed into my side of the bed, tugging the covers up to my chest like armor.

Seungmin tossed his phone onto the nightstand and settled against the pillows, arms behind his head. The faint glow of the bedside lamp carved shadows down his chest, and I hated — *hated* — that my eyes kept betraying me, sliding over the lines of his collarbone, the dip of his stomach.

I turned off the light with an aggressive click. The darkness didn’t help.

We lay there, stiff, silent, breathing the same charged air. The pillow barrier might as well have been made of tissue paper.

Minutes stretched. The kind of minutes where you feel everything — the brush of fabric, the shift of weight, the tiny creaks of the bed under him.

I couldn’t sleep.

Neither could he.

I could hear his breathing, shallow and uneven. The bed felt too big and too small all at once.

The shitty pillow wall between us was a joke now — some flimsy excuse to pretend there was still a line we hadn’t crossed.

Neither of us spoke for a long moment. The air was thick. Every shallow breath I took, I swore I could taste him on my tongue. The silence wasn’t peaceful. It was tense. Ticking. Waiting.

I couldn’t see him clearly in the dark, but I could feel him — every shift of weight on the mattress, every small movement that jolted straight through my body like static.

Finally, Seungmin’s voice broke the stillness — low, rough around the edges: “You keep fidgeting.”

I scoffed quietly, turning onto my side to face the vague outline of his body. “Maybe because I’m stuck sharing a bed with my worst enemy.”

“You flatter yourself,” he muttered, and even in the dark, I could imagine that insufferable smirk of his. “You’re the one who built a wall of pillows like I’m going to jump on you or something.”

He shifted closer, just enough that the mattress dipped between us, erasing another inch of space.

“Well, I've heard of your uncontrollable violent behavior, Kim Seungmin.” I lied, I heard nothing, but anything, now I might just witness it.

He laughed under his breath, sharp and derisive. “You're so full of yourself, it’s a miracle your head fits in this room.”

He didn’t say anything else immediately. Instead, he let the silence stretch — heavy, charged — until I was practically vibrating from it.

Then, almost too casually: “Bet you think about it though.”

I blinked, my heart stuttering. “Think about what?” I asked, my voice coming out sharper than I meant.

“This,” he said simply. “Us. Fighting, fucking... whatever.”

I opened my mouth to snap back — some scathing insult on the tip of my tongue — but nothing came out.

Because the worst part? He wasn’t wrong.

The silence between us roared.

Seungmin shifted again, close enough now that the heat of his body seeped through the covers. “What’s the matter, princess?” he teased, voice dangerously low. “Cat got your tongue?”

I hated him. I hated how my skin burned under his words. I hated how badly I wanted to wipe that smug tone off his mouth — preferably with my own.

I swallowed thickly. “You’re delusional.” I said, but it lacked bite.

He laughed quietly, a deep, rumbling sound that curled low in my stomach. “Am I?” he challenged, voice pure sin.

Then, the tension snapped.

I pushed the stupid pillow barrier away with one aggressive swipe, grabbed a fistful of his face and yanked him toward me.

Our mouths crashed together like a fucking car wreck — brutal, messy, unstoppable. We kissed like we were trying to prove something. Or maybe like we were trying to forget something.

He groaned into the kiss, grabbing my waist like he’d been waiting for permission he was never going to ask for.

I gasped when he rolled over me, pinning me down into the mattress, his hips pressing between my thighs with a hunger that sent a shudder straight through me.

His mouth was everywhere — jaw, neck, collarbone — as if kissing me could somehow make up for all the weeks of tension we’d spent pretending we didn’t want this. His hands gripped my thighs, my waist, like he couldn’t decide where he needed me most.

His hips pressed down, slow and firm, and I felt the friction hit just right — enough to make me gasp into his mouth. He did it again. Purposefully this time. Pressing against me like he wanted me to feel just how hard he was. Like he needed me to know what I was doing to him.

Then he started grinding.

Desperately.

There was nothing careful about it. It was all friction and hunger, his sweatpants dragging against my panties, the pressure building every time our hips met. He was breathing heavily now, panting into my neck, his hands gripping my waist like he was trying to keep himself from losing it completely.

I arched against him instinctively, my hands sliding up his back, under his shirt, nails digging in just a little when our hips met again. The fabric between us was too much and not enough at the same time — the pressure maddening, delicious, torturous. Heat pooled low in my stomach, and I hated how easily he made me feel like I was unraveling — so I did what I always did when I felt too much.

I smirked. “Wow.” I whispered, my voice low and venomous as my lips brushed his ear. “I couldn’t imagine grinding was your way of begging.”

He groaned — like the sound had been ripped out of him — and ground harder, sharper, until I could feel all of him pressing against me.

Hard. So fucking hard.

And that’s when I laughed — breathless and wicked — dragging my nails down his back just enough to make him hiss. His breath was shaky against my collarbone, his lips dragging a trail of heat along my skin. He was already panting, his hips grinding into mine like he couldn’t stop himself, like he needed the friction just to stay sane. I felt him — hard, throbbing against my center — and it only made the smirk on my lips grow sharper.

“You’re really down bad, huh?” I murmured against his ear, dragging my nails slowly up his back. “You barely touched me and you're already losing it.”

He groaned, a sound that came from deep in his chest, and buried his face in the crook of my neck. “You’re not helping.” he muttered, grinding against me again, slower now, desperate.

“Then beg better.” I whispered, my voice deliberately calm, teasing. “Maybe I’ll take pity on you.”

He pulled back just far enough to look at me, eyes wild, jaw tight, completely wrecked.

“You think this is funny?” he asked, his voice a growl now. “You think I can fucking control myself when you're like this?”

“No.” I whispered, rolling my hips up slowly, deliberately. “That’s the fun part.”

Something snapped in him after that. He thrust against me again, this time rougher, more desperate, and I swallowed a moan as his mouth found mine once more. I felt him everywhere — in the way his body moved, in the way his hands clutched at me like I was something he couldn’t hold onto fast enough, in the way our hips met again and again, friction making it hard to think, hard to breathe, hard to do anything but feel.

My fingers slipped into his hair, yanking just enough to make him hiss, and I couldn’t help the smug little grin that curled at my lips. He pulled back just enough to look at me, flushed and breathless, pupils blown wide.

“You're dangerous.” he whispered, his voice low and reverent.

“You love it.” I shot back.

He crushed his mouth back onto mine, swallowing my gasp, and his hand slipped down between us to pull at my panties like he couldn’t stand one more second without being inside me. The kiss deepened, teeth clashing, tongues tangling, hands roaming recklessly.

Seungmin kissed like he fought — relentless, stubborn, like he had something to prove.

And fuck, I loved it.

His hands slid under my nightgown, fingertips dragging up my sides, rough and needy. I arched into him, desperate for more contact, for anything to ground me against the chaos exploding under my skin.

He pulled back just enough to mutter, breathless: “Still think I'm delusional?”

“Shut up.” I gasped, dragging him back down to me.

He grinned against my mouth — cocky, victorious — and then kissed me even harder.

“This is purely academic.” I said, smirking into the dark. “Data collection. Stress relief. Killing time.”

“What, like a science experiment?”

“Exactly.”

“Uh-hum, of course.” he agreed mock-seriously.

Clothes became obstacles. His hands found the hem of my slip, pushing it up, bunching the silky fabric at my waist.

He kissed down my neck, slower this time, like he was trying to savor every inch of skin. My shame was long gone, and so were the layers of sarcasm I wore like armor. His mouth trailed lower, over my chest, down my stomach — and when he reached the waistband of my panties, he paused. Looked up. Eyes dark. Lips swollen. Breath unsteady. Like he was about to kneel at an altar. And I was the altar.

“Don’t look at me like that.” I muttered, trying to hold onto some control.

“Like what?” he said, voice low, his fingers already sliding down my panties.

“Like I’m the answer to a question you didn’t know you were asking.”

He smirked — not his usual cocky kind, but softer, full of want.

He kissed down my stomach slowly, like he wanted to memorize every inch of skin. There was something almost reverent in the way he did it — not rushed, not greedy — just hungry, in a quiet, desperate kind of way.

When his fingers hooked under my panties and slid them down, he didn’t say a word. But his eyes — God, his eyes were wrecked. Like he’d been waiting for this since the day we met and couldn't believe it was finally happening.

I let my head fall back against the pillows, biting my lip, trying to stay composed. But the second I felt his breath on my inner thigh, I knew I was in trouble.

And then his mouth found me.

The first lick was slow. Soft. Testing.

He groaned like he was the one being touched, and the vibration made me shiver.

I grabbed a fistful of his hair on instinct, trying to ground myself. He didn’t stop.

His tongue moved in careful, messy circles, as if he was learning me — like every stroke was a question and every moan was an answer. He sucked gently, then harder, switching rhythms like he wanted to see what would make me break first.

I hated how good it felt. Hated how easy it was to melt under his mouth.

So I did the only thing I could do — I mocked him. “You’re really putting your whole heart into this, huh?” I breathed, voice shaky but laced with sarcasm.

He pulled back just enough to look up at me, lips already wet, face flushed. “I’ve been dreaming about this since the first time you yelled at me in chem lab.” he said, voice rough. “So yeah. I’m not fucking around.”

Then he went back in, hungrier than before. His hands slid under my thighs, pushing them further apart. He moaned into me like I was something he couldn’t get enough of — and maybe he couldn’t.

I gasped without thinking, barely able to form the words. He looked up at me with a crooked grin and shook his head before diving back in. And I couldn’t stop myself anymore. My hips rocked against his face. My hands tangled in his hair. My breath stuttered and caught.

My body arched. My breath stuttered. My control cracked. “Fuck—” I gasped, rolling my hips into his face. “You’re gonna make me—”

He sucked harder. His tongue flicked just right. And I did. I came with a whimper I tried to swallow, thighs trembling around his head.

Still, he didn’t move — didn’t stop — not until I was squirming away from the overstimulation,

‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

dragging him up by the hair and breathing like I’d run a marathon.

He looked wrecked. And so fucking proud of himself. “You should’ve insulted me earlier.” he whispered, kissing the inside of my knee. “I think I’m kinda into it.”

“Shut up.” I said, pulling him into a kiss.

I pulled him up by the hair, still panting, and crashed my mouth into his. Tasting myself on his lips only made it worse.

My hands roamed his bare back — warm, solid, lean muscles flexing under my touch — and I scratched lightly down his spine, earning a low, broken noise from deep in his throat.

He retaliated by sucking a bruise into the hollow of my throat, making me gasp and tangle my fingers in his hair, yanking just hard enough to hear him groan again.

Somehow, he managed to shove his sweatpants down just enough, the condom appearing – from God knows where – clumsily between kisses, torn open with shaky fingers. Even stoned on adrenaline and lust, we managed — barely.

When he finally slid inside me, it wasn’t gentle. It was desperate. Raw.

We both gasped — harsh, ragged — the sudden connection knocking the breath out of our lungs. Seungmin pressed his forehead to mine, breathing hard.

“Fuck.” he whispered. “You're gonna be the death of me.”

I laughed — sharp and breathless — grabbing his hips and rolling mine up to meet him, forcing a groan from his mouth.

He moved inside me — slow at first, testing, then harder, deeper, each thrust sending little shocks of pleasure ripping through me. I clutched at him, nails digging into his shoulders, my body meeting his rhythm without hesitation.

The world blurred around the edges — just his breath against my neck, the creak of the mattress, the wet, filthy sound of skin on skin.

The tension in my stomach coiled tighter with every rough drag of his hips, every filthy word he muttered against my skin when he thought I couldn’t hear.

“So fucking tight.”

“So good like this.”

“Mine tonight.”

I whimpered, burying my face against his shoulder, biting down just enough to make him hiss and drive into me harder. The buildup was brutal — slow and fast at the same time — until I was clinging to him, gasping his name like a curse.

He felt it too, I could tell — the way his thrusts became uneven, ragged, the way he cursed under his breath when my nails raked down his back.

I shoved him away, straddling him. “Lie down.” I climbed on top of him, straddling his hips, letting my thighs press against his bare skin.

He looked wrecked — eyes glazed, mouth parted, like he couldn’t believe this was real. He obeyed instantly. Hair a mess, chest heaving, lips red. Completely at my mercy. He lifted his head, eyes wild, completely wrecked — pupils blown, lips parted. He looked at me like he didn’t know whether to kiss me or cry.

“Please.” he said, barely a breath. “I need you." He whimpered. “You're so fucking beautiful.” he whispered, almost like he hated himself for saying it. “Like a dream I shouldn’t be allowed to have.” His fingers brushing my hair.

The words made something flutter in my chest, but I ignored it. Instead, I pushed him down by the shoulders, forcing him to lie back on the mattress. He obeyed instantly.

“That's right, pretty boy.” I said, straddling his hips slowly, my fingers dragging over his chest.

His breath hitched at the praise.

I leaned down, lips brushing over his ear. — “You’re gonna keep your hands to yourself.” I said softly. “Just for a while. Got it?”

He nodded quickly. Too quickly. His restraint was paper thin.

I rolled my hips down against his again, this time without any barrier. His sweatpants were already low on his hips, and I could feel how badly he wanted it — the way his whole body arched up, chasing friction, chasing me.

“Fuck, Y/N…” he gasped, trying so hard not to move.

I shifted down slowly, kissing along his stomach, watching the muscles tense under my lips. When I reached the waistband of his boxers, I heard him whisper my name again — like a prayer. Desperate. Soft. Shaky.

But instead of going lower, I came back up, hovering over him again. His hands clenched at his sides. He was trembling. He looked like he was losing his mind.

And I loved it.

“You want me to fuck you?” I asked, voice still soft, like I was offering something sacred. He nodded again, eyes locked on mine. “No, Seungmin.” I said, smile sharp. “I want to hear it.”

He swallowed hard. “I want you.” he said. “Please. I want you so fucking bad.”

Only then did I slide down onto him — slow, torturously slow. We both gasped. His hands flew to my hips on instinct, gripping tight, but he didn’t move — like he remembered my words. His head fell back. A sound tore from his throat — low, desperate, guttural. — “Fucking hell…”

I started moving, hips rolling in deep, slow circles. He looked wrecked — eyes fluttering, head tilted back, mouth open.— “Shit.” he choked out. “You’re gonna kill me.”

I leaned down, brushing my lips over his. “You’re lucky I like you needy.”

He grabbed my wrist, eyes locking with mine again — glassy, overwhelmed. “You’re in fact a dream.” he whispered. “You’re a fucking dream, I don’t wanna wake up.”

He was completely under me — wide-eyed, overwhelmed, needy. I rode him slow and deep. He reached up, fingers trembling as they gripped my thighs. “Fuck… you’re unreal.”

I leaned forward, dragging my lips down his jaw. And I kept going. Until he couldn’t speak. Until he was all moans and gasps and praise whispered into my skin. Until the only thing either of us knew was this — us — messy, out of control, too much and never enough.

And this time, I didn’t tease. I kissed him — slow and deep — as I kept moving, feeling him tremble beneath me, completely undone

It hit me like a wave — hot, violent, overwhelming.

I came with a cry I couldn't bite back, my body clenching around him so hard it ripped a guttural moan from his mouth. A few more frantic, desperate grinds and he followed, coming with a rough, broken sound against my ear.

We collapsed together, sweaty, shaking, our bodies tangled messily in the sheets and in each other.

For a long moment, we just lay there — breathing hard, the air heavy with sex and everything we weren't saying.

He didn't move away.

Neither did I.

I woke up tangled in the sheets, the faint light from the window cutting through the darkness of the room.

The room was cold, but the heat of his body next to mine made it almost unbearable.

I shifted under the covers, blinking against the soft morning light bleeding through the curtains.

Seungmin was lying on his side, facing me. His hair a mess, his mouth slightly open, his arm carelessly thrown over the invisible line that we had so dramatically ignored the night before. He looked criminally good for someone who had completely ruined my ability to think straight.

For a second, I just stared at him. At the peaceful rise and fall of his chest. At the faint scratch marks I’d left on his skin.

It should’ve made me feel guilty.

It didn’t. It made my stomach flip in a way I refused to name.

I shifted under the covers, careful not to wake him. Not because I cared. Because I didn’t feel like dealing with the smugness that would explode across his stupidly handsome face when he realized he had officially broken my sanity.

But of course, the bed creaked, and his eyelids fluttered open. He blinked slowly at me, his mouth curling into a lazy, dangerous smirk. “Good morning, sunshine.”

I rolled my eyes hard enough to sprain something. “You drooled on my pillow.”

“You moaned on my neck.” He said it so casually I almost threw the remaining pillow at his face.

I rolled over with an exaggerated huff, pulling the blanket up to my neck.

The bed shifted a second later, and a raspy voice muttered: “You're staring. Creepy.”

I snorted without turning. “Dreaming. About how much I regret this.”

“Sure.” He stretched, the covers sliding lower on his body, revealing way too much bare skin for a casual glance.

I refused to give him the satisfaction. Instead, I tossed a pillow at his head.

It hit him square in the face. He grunted. “Assault. That's how you say good morning?”

“You should thank me. I could’ve done worse.”

He laughed, low and rough. God, that laugh should be illegal before 9 a.m.

“You already did worse last night.” he teased, flashing that stupid grin that made my chest tight for no good reason.

“Delusional much?” I snapped, pushing the blankets away and standing up, my satin slip sticking to my thighs.

His eyes dropped — quickly, involuntarily — and when he realized, he immediately smirked wider.

“If I'm delusional, at least it's a nice view.”

I threw another pillow at his face and stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door harder than necessary.

Behind me, his laugh chased me like smoke under the door.

The last day of the conference loomed over me like a thundercloud. People buzzed around the lobby and corridors, all polished shoes and stiff blazers, pretending not to be nervous while clutching folders a little too tightly.

I sat at the back of the auditorium, my hands cold and clammy around my notes. My stomach twisted itself into knots. My brain, usually so quick and sharp, felt sluggish and heavy.

What if I mess up?

What if they laugh at me?

What if I open my mouth and nothing comes out?

A quiet nudge at my side snapped me out of my spiral. I turned sharply — already defensive — only to find Seungmin sliding into the seat next to mine, a crooked grin on his face. “You look like you're about to pass out” he said under his breath, eyes glinting with amusement.

I scowled. “Thanks for the support, Seungmin.”

He smirked, unbothered. His arm brushed mine as he leaned back casually, like he didn’t have a care in the world. Meanwhile, I was over here two seconds away from vomiting.

He studied my face for a moment, his smile fading slightly. “You’re gonna kill it.” he said, voice lower, more serious.

I blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity. “Wow. High praise coming from my archnemesis.” I said, raising an eyebrow.

Seungmin snorted. “Don’t get used to it.” He tapped my folder with the back of his hand. “But seriously. You’re smarter than half the people in this room. Probably smarter than me, too. Not that I'd ever admit it out loud.”

My chest tightened strangely at that. I tried to cover it with sarcasm. “Aw, how cute. If I didn't know better, I'd think you actually cared.”

He rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. “Don't flatter yourself. I just don't want to be associated with someone who faints mid-presentation.”

I let out a shaky laugh despite myself, some of the weight on my chest easing. I glanced at him sideways, heart hammering for a different reason now. “You think I can really do it?” I asked, my voice smaller than I intended.

Seungmin’s gaze softened. He didn’t tease this time. He didn’t smirk.

He just nodded once, firm and certain. “I know you can.”

Something in me cracked a little at that. Before I could embarrass myself further by actually tearing up or something equally pathetic, the coordinator called my name.

I stood up too fast, my knees almost buckling. Seungmin reached out instinctively, grabbing my wrist lightly to steady me. His touch was brief, casual — but it set my skin on fire.

“Go show them why you scare the shit out of me.” he murmured, just loud enough for me to hear.

I managed a breathless laugh, clutching my notes like a shield as I walked toward the stage.

His gaze followed me the whole way. I could feel it — hot and unwavering, like a tether pulling at me even across the room.

And somehow, because of him, my hands steadied. My voice, when I finally spoke, didn’t shake.

When I finished my presentation and stepped off the stage, heart still hammering, my eyes found his immediately.

Seungmin sat casually slouched in his seat, arms crossed, looking every bit the cocky bastard he always was. But when he caught my gaze, he gave me the smallest nod. Barely there. But it hit harder than a standing ovation.

I looked away quickly, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling too wide. I shouldn’t have cared. But fuck — I did. More than I wanted to admit.

By the end of the last presentation, I was vibrating with tension from the happenings of today and yesterday. I couldn't help myself but let my eyes wander to him every second.

Then suddenly, Chan — the guy from the day before — found me again, appearing with a crooked smile and two cups of coffee. “We really survived it, huh?” he said, handing me a cup. "Yeah..." I took it automatically, forcing a smile.

But my eyes weren’t on him. They were locked across the crowd, watching Seungmin sling his backpack over one shoulder, heading toward the exit without even glancing back.

Something inside me twisted violently.

I barely heard Chan say something else. I just shoved the coffee back at him with a muttered excuse and slipped into the crowd, my body moving on instinct.

I followed Seungmin. Out of the conference center. Down the hall. Toward the elevators.

He didn’t turn when he heard my footsteps. He just stepped inside the elevator. Waited.

When I caught up, panting slightly, I saw the look in his eyes. Tense. Dark. Dangerous.

He hit the button for our floor, and the doors slid closed with a soft ding. The elevator was filled with nothing but heavy breathing and electricity.

Neither of us spoke. Neither of us had to. As soon as the room door closed, I acted on pure instinct. I shoved him. Hard.

Seungmin stumbled back against the wall, his eyes widening in shock — and something hotter — before narrowing with a slow, dangerous smile.

I didn't wait. I closed the distance, grabbed the front of his hoodie, and yanked him into a kiss.

This wasn’t soft. It was furious, messy, teeth and tongue clashing as I pressed him back harder against the wall, claiming him. He grabbed my hips, hauling me closer, but I was faster — shoving him backward until he hit the bed.

I pushed him down, climbing on top of him with a wicked grin.

He stared up at me, breathless, pupils blown wide.

“You like being bossed around, huh?” I teased, grinding down on him mercilessly.

“Only when it’s you.” he rasped, his hands gripping my thighs like he was seconds from losing it completely.

Fury and need and regret crashing together in a way that didn’t make sense but at the same time felt like the only thing that did.

Campus looked the same. Gray, busy, loud.

But everything felt different.

We didn’t talk about what happened. We didn’t even look at each other.

Pretend. Pretend. Pretend. Pretend we weren’t carrying around the memory of each other’s bodies burned into our skin

In class, he sat two rows behind me. I could feel his eyes burning holes into my back, searing a path down my spine. Every. Single. Second. By the end of the lecture, I was practically shaking with frustration.

I grabbed my notebook, marched out into the hallway — and waited.

When he passed, I grabbed his wrist and dragged him into the nearest empty classroom, slamming the door shut.

For a second, we just stood there, staring at each other, the tension so thick it felt like drowning.

“Problem, princess?” he asked, mock-innocent.

I shoved him lightly. “Yeah. You're breathing again. What the hell is your problem?” I hissed, arms crossed.

Seungmin leaned against the wall, lazy, unbothered, like this was amusing. “Problem? I don't have a problem.”

I stepped closer, glaring. “You stare at me like you want to burn me alive and then act like nothing happened.”

He shrugged. “Maybe I do want to burn you alive.”

I shoved him hard. He didn’t even flinch.

Just smiled — slow, infuriating — and let his eyes drag down to my mouth.

My chest heaved with fury. “Stop looking at me like that!” I snapped.

“Like what?” he said innocently, gaze dropping to my lips again.

I groaned and rolled my eyes before grabbing the front of his hoodie and kissed him.

Hard.

He responded immediately, hands sliding to my hips, slamming me back against the door.

The kiss was brutal, messy, full of months — maybe years — of frustration detonating all at once. Starved. Wild.

We stumbled back against the teacher’s desk, knocking over papers and god-knows-what, neither of us caring.

When we finally broke apart, panting, he whispered against my mouth: “You’re fucking annoying.”

“Takes one to know one.” I whispered back, yanking him down for another kiss.

And somehow...

It became a habit.

It wasn’t supposed to become a habit. It wasn’t supposed to mean anything.

But suddenly, he was everywhere. In my bed. On his bed. In the backseat of his shitty old car, the windows fogged, the gearshift digging into my thigh as he moved inside me, rough and desperate. In the abandoned book storage, under a dusty skylight, where he bent me over an old desk and muffled my moans with his mouth. And now, in the farthest corner of the library.

He had me pinned against a bookshelf, one hand gripping my hip, the other tangled in my hair as he fucked me from behind. The worn wooden shelf rattled with every thrust, the sound obscene in the silent library.

My skirt was bunched up around my waist, panties forgotten somewhere on the floor. His jeans pooled around his ankles.

I couldn’t hold back a shaky moan when he lifted my leg higher, the new angle making me see stars.

His mouth was pressed to my shoulder, muffling his moans against my skin, teeth grazing whenever I clenched around him. He grabbed my wrist, guiding it to his mouth, biting the heel of my palm, making me gasp, as he fucked me harder.

Seungmin growled low in his throat, and I smirked wickedly, whispering breathless: “Can't handle it, can you, baby?”

He growled low in response, fucking into me harder, faster, more desperate, making it clear who was really in control.

And it wasn’t him.

The orgasm hit so fast it almost knocked the breath out of me, my forehead pressed against the dusty shelf to stay standing.

He followed a second later, groaning my name like a curse, collapsing against my back for a few shuddering breaths before pulling out, carefully, his hands trembling slightly as he tucked himself back into his jeans.

We straightened ourselves quickly — or as quickly as two wrecked, sweaty people could in the middle of a goddamn library.

He grabbed his backpack, slinging it over one shoulder like nothing had happened. I smoothed my skirt down, pretending my legs weren’t shaking.

As we walked out of the library, Seungmin shoved his hands into his pockets and said, almost casually: “I... bought that soju you said you liked once.” He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “Was thinking... maybe you could come over. Study. Drink a little. Then…” He shrugged, pretending nonchalance. “You know.”

I blinked at him, caught off-guard.

“Wait. That soju? How the hell did you even find it?”

He scowled, defensive. “I just found it, alright?” he muttered, like he hadn’t spent two hours scouring online stores for it.

I raised an eyebrow. “You scoured the internet for it, didn’t you?”

He rolled his eyes, ears pink. “Whatever. Just... if you want to come over later. Study. Drink. Maybe…” He shrugged.

I grinned wickedly. “I'd love to drink myself into a coma with you.”

He grumbled something under his breath but didn’t hide the way the corner of his mouth tilted up.

And maybe...

Maybe I was already too far gone to care

When I stepped into Seungmin’s apartment, a gust of cold air followed me inside, swirling around my ankles and raising goosebumps along my arms. The windows rattled faintly, and somewhere in the distance, I could hear the low rumble of thunder, soft but persistent, like a warning. The faint smell of clean laundry and takeout lingering in the air.

It was neat, tidy — almost aggressively so, like he had scrubbed it just to have something to do with his hands.

Seungmin closed the door behind me a little too quickly, shutting out the cold — but not the tension that immediately filled the room.

He didn’t even bother with his usual sarcasm. He just moved toward the kitchen, hands stuffed in his pockets, shoulders stiff. In that brief moment, I could tell something was off.

I kicked off my shoes and shook the chill off my skin, frowning slightly as I watched him.

Something was wrong. Something more than the storm brewing outside.

“Hey.” I said, having him help me take off my coat and eyeing him suspiciously.

He gave a grunt of acknowledgment and motioned toward the living room, where the bottle of soju sat already open on the coffee table.

We moved to the couch, cracking open our notebooks, pretending we were actually there to study. At first, we did — sort of.

I read over a few pages. He pretended to make notes. We sipped soju in between, the alcohol smoothing the edges of the tension, but not erasing it.

It only grew heavier, thicker. He barely looked at me. His jaw clenched every time I shifted closer.

After nearly half an hour of fake studying and awkward silences, I slammed my pen down dramatically.

“Okay.” I said, turning fully to face him. “Spill it. What the hell is going on with you?”

He didn't answer immediately. Just scribbled something meaningless in his notebook, avoiding my eyes like they were lethal weapons.

“Nothing” he muttered.

I snorted. “Bullshit. Come on, Min. You’re a lot of things, but a good liar isn’t one of them.”

I reached across, closed his notebook slowly, deliberately, and stared him down.

“You’re acting like someone kicked your puppy. You’re moody. You’re stiff. And not even in the good way.”

His lips twitched slightly at that, but he still didn’t meet my gaze. “I said it's nothing.” he repeated stubbornly, but his tone cracked halfway through.

It was almost adorable.

Almost.

I leaned in closer, so close that our knees bumped. “You’re not getting away with it.” I said in a mock-sweet voice. “Not tonight.”

I let my hand trail up his thigh slowly, watching the way his breath hitched. He didn’t stop me. Didn’t move.

“If you're not going to talk…” I murmured, holding his gaze, sliding off the couch and kneeling between his legs, “then I'll just have to loosen you up another way.”

His eyes widened slightly, but he still didn’t say a word — stubborn even now.

I tugged the drawstring of his sweatpants loose, my fingers moving with slow, calculated intent. He was already half-hard — a clear sign that no matter how much he was pretending to be unaffected, his body wasn’t lying.

I freed him with a slow, deliberate motion, my hand wrapping around him. He groaned, low and desperate, his head falling back against the couch.

I leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the sensitive tip, tasting the faint saltiness of his skin. He shuddered, his hand immediately sliding into my hair, not pushing, just... anchoring.

When I took him into my mouth, slow and deep, his head fell back against the couch with a broken groan.

“Fuck, Y/N…” he gasped, voice already wrecked.

I set a slow, torturous rhythm, hollowing my cheeks, dragging my tongue along every inch of him, savoring every helpless sound he made. His thighs trembled under my palms, and the way his hand tightened in my hair made me smirk against his skin.

His free hand came up, brushing the hair gently away from my face so he could see me — see everything. And then, in the middle of a particularly deep stroke, he whispered it — raw, desperate.

“I saw you…” he rasped, pushing the hair gently away from my face, his thumb brushing my temple tenderly. “At the library... talking with that asshole… laughing… looking so fucking pretty”

I hummed around him, and he let out a strangled sound, his hips bucking slightly.

“Fuck, Y/N... I hated it, it made me crazy.” he admitted, his voice cracking as he stroked my cheek. “Wanted to punch him.” he gasped. “Wanted to drag you away... claim you…”

The words sent a sharp pulse of heat through me. I pulled back just enough to look up at him, my hand stroking him lazily. My heart pounded at his raw honesty, but I didn’t let up. If anything, I doubled down — moving faster, stroking the base with one hand while my mouth worked him expertly.

He was unraveling. Completely. And he didn't even try to hide it anymore.

“Fucking jealous.” he muttered, his head tipping back, exposing the long line of his throat.

I felt him tense, his thighs trembling slightly. Before he could lose it completely, he tugged me up by the shoulders, pulling me into his lap with a growl.

“Get up here” he ordered, voice rough, desperate.

Without another word, he pulled me up by the arms, yanking me onto his lap. I straddled him, sliding my body against his, feeling the heat of his skin under my fingers. Our faces inches apart, both breathing hard.

The soju had given him a slight flush — his cheeks pink, his chest heaving — and it made him look almost innocent. Almost. He wasn't.

I could feel his eyes on me, his gaze dark and filled with something I wasn’t sure I was ready to acknowledge. His hands were on my hips, gripping me so tightly it almost hurt, and for a moment, I let myself savor that — the way he was barely holding on, like if he let go, I might slip away from him.

I pulled my sweater off slowly, teasing him with every inch of skin that was exposed, the fabric sliding over my shoulders and down my arms, before I tossed it carelessly aside. His breath caught when my bra followed, and I couldn’t help but smile at the way his eyes devoured me, like he was trying to memorize it, the hunger in them making my pulse race.

I stood up, feeling his gaze track every movement as I slowly unzipped my skirt and let it fall to the floor, leaving me in nothing but my lace panties. Seungmin was breathless now, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths as he reached out to touch me, his fingers brushing against my bare thighs, reverent, sending a wave of shivers through me.

“Fuck, you're killing me…” he whispered, voice hoarse.

I leaned in, kissing him slow and deep, feeling the desperation vibrating through him. Without breaking the kiss I slid my hand between us, guiding him to my entrance, and slowly, excruciatingly slowly, I sank down onto him.

The feeling of him inside me was overwhelming — I could feel every inch of him, stretching me, filling me completely. Both of us gasped at the same time, my body shaking slightly from the intensity of it.

I stayed still for a moment, letting the sensation settle, trying to focus on the way his hands gripped my waist, his fingers digging into my skin as if he was trying to keep me grounded.

“You feel so fucking good.” he groaned, his voice low and strained. “I can’t even…”

His hands moved from my waist to my hips, his thumbs pressing against the sides of my ribs, and then he helped me move, his body matching the rhythm I set. I leaned back slightly, letting him fill me deeper with every movement, my hands resting on his chest for balance as I rocked against him. He reached up, running his hands over my waist, my stomach, my breasts, like he couldn't get enough.

His eyes never left me, watching the way my body moved over his, the way I controlled the pace, the way I made him feel like he was losing his mind. I leaned down, kissing him hard, desperate, letting him taste the hunger that had been building between us.

His hands slid up my back, pushing my hair away from my neck, and he kissed me there — soft at first, then with more urgency. The contrast between his gentleness and the rawness of our bodies crashing together made my breath catch.

“You’re fucking perfect.” he muttered, his lips against my skin. “God, you feel so perfect.”

I increased the pace, rolling my hips faster, harder, the friction between us driving both of us to the edge. He was moaning now, his hands moving to my breasts, squeezing and massaging them as I continued to ride him.

I could feel him getting closer — his movements more frantic, more desperate — and I loved the way he was losing himself in me.

“Y/N... Fuck, you’re incredible…” he groaned, his hands slid under my ass, guiding me, helping me move faster, deeper.

I felt my own orgasm building — the pressure, the heat, the way our bodies were in perfect sync, like we were both caught in the same storm.

I leaned down, kissing him again, this time slower, more tender, as I continued to move on top of him. He pulled me closer, his hands sliding up my back, pulling me into him as if he couldn’t get close enough.

“God, you’re beautiful.” he praised me again, his voice cracking. “You're a fucking dream, Y/N.”

That broke me. The words, the way he said them with such vulnerability, the way he couldn’t hide how much he cared — it was too much.

I came first, my body shaking as the pleasure coursed through me, and Seungmin followed right after, his whole body tensing beneath me as he groaned my name.

We collapsed together, both of us gasping for air, trembling from the intensity of it all.

Seungmin’s hand found my face, his thumb brushing over my cheek as he pulled me into a slow kiss, still out of breath but somehow still wanting more. He pulled back after a moment, his forehead resting against mine as we both tried to catch our breath.

I smiled, my fingers tracing the lines of his jaw as I looked down at him.

The slow kiss between us deepened, his forehead pressed against mine, so close I could feel the soft flutter of his eyelashes against my skin, his arms still cradling my waist, his body still warm and heavy inside me. Seungmin's hand traced slow, lazy circles along my spine, as if he had no intention of letting me go.

As if I belonged there.

With him.

The world outside blurred into nothing — just the soft rumble of thunder far away and the faint tremble of Seungmin's breath against my lips.

And somewhere, in the middle of all that… my heart stuttered violently. But it wasn’t like before — not the rush of lust, not the usual reckless thrill.

It hurt.

A sharp, aching kind of pain that made my chest tighten and my lungs forget how to breathe.

And that was when it hit me.

I loved him.

The realization knocked the air out of me, heavier than the storm clouds gathering outside the window. Panic flared instantly in my chest, hotter than anything I had felt that night. The thought sliced through me with terrifying clarity.

I tried to breathe, tried to ground myself, but my mind betrayed me — flooding with every moment, every memory that led me here.

The way he encouraged me before the presentation and said — in the most nonchalant way possible — “You’re gonna kill it.” and “You’re smarter than half the people in this room.” Like it was the most normal thing to say to the girl you're supposed to hate.

The way he used to sit across from me in the library for hours, flicking tiny crumpled paper balls at my forehead every time I started to lose focus, pretending it was just to annoy me — but never leaving until I finished every last page.

The way, after the first time at his house we crossed the line, he wordlessly pulled me up from the messy bed, his arms steady and sure, carrying me straight to the bathroom. No teasing, no smirking — just warm hands steadying me under the shower spray, his fingers gently untangling my hair like I was something precious.

The way he disappeared into the kitchen afterward, reappearing fifteen minutes later with a grilled cheese — tragically burnt, awful grilled cheese — because he thought I might be hungry.

The way he always had some sarcastic comment ready to throw at me — just to see me roll my eyes and smile.

The way that when we were alone his fingers always found my wrist, my waist, the small of my back — little touches so casual they could have been accidental, but they never were. Like he needed the reassurance that I was real and still there.

The way he never once made me feel like I owed him anything in return.

The way he just... stayed.

All of it crashed into me at once, a kaleidoscope of moments that I hadn't realized mattered so much until now.

I opened my eyes, searching his face. He looked so peaceful. So real. His hair messy from my fingers, lips swollen from my kisses, a faint pinkness staining his cheeks from the soju we’d shared earlier. He looked like something I could never deserve but stupidly still wanted. No — needed.

The love sat heavy in my chest, raw and suffocating.

I love him.

I loved his stupid sarcasm. I loved his soft touches hidden behind gruff words. I loved his messy hair, his crooked smile, his smartass mouth. I love his little mole on the bridge of his nose. I loved the way he fought me, pushed me, infuriated me — and still made me feel seen in ways no one else ever had.

Panic clawed at my throat. This wasn’t part of the plan. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

No.

No, no, no.

I wasn’t supposed to feel this. I wasn’t supposed to love Seungmin.

Reality slammed back into me.

I shifted slightly, pulling away just enough for the space between us to feel vast again. Seungmin's brows furrowed, his hand tightening instinctively on my waist.

Leaning away from him, my body trembling as I scrambled off his lap. I could feel the sudden chill on my bare skin as I grabbed my discarded clothes, pulling my sweater over my head with frantic, clumsy hands, avoiding his confused, sleepy gaze.

“Y/N?” he called softly, his voice was thick, confused, still hoarse from our kisses. “Where are you–”

I didn't answer. I grabbed my skirt, slipping it back on quickly, reaching for my bag like the room was on fire.

“Where are you going?” he asked, standing up, his brows furrowing.

I didn’t even look at him. I needed to get out. Out of that room, out of the weight pressing down on my chest. I needed to breathe.

Before I did something irreversible. Before I begged him to love me back.

He moved toward the window and then froze. Outside, it had started to pour — sheets of rain hammering against the glass, the sky flashing briefly with distant lightning.

“It’s's raining.” he said, voice cautious. “Why don't you just... stay tonight?”

I shook my head frantically, shoving my feet into my shoes, my fingers trembling. “I can't.” I choked out, barely able to breathe, my throat closing.

He reached for me but I bolted, slamming the door behind me, running down the hallway, the sound of my footsteps echoing against the walls, my heart breaking with every step.

I ran down the stairwell, skipping steps as I sprinted downward, my heart racing, my vision blurring. The sound of rain getting louder, closer, until I burst through the front doors into the storm.

The moment I pushed the exit door open, the cold rain hit me like a wall, instantly soaking me to the bone — I had forgotten my coat —. I stumbled forward blindly, tears and raindrops blurring together on my face.

I barely made it a few steps before I heard him.

“Y/N!”

His voice, sharp, desperate, cutting through the downpour.

I ignored it. Kept walking. And then suddenly —A hand grabbed my arm and yanked me back, spinning me around.

Seungmin stood there, drenched, hair plastered to his forehead, chest heaving like he had just run a marathon, anger and hurt twisting his face into something almost unrecognizable.

His other hand fisted in my hair, yanking my head back slightly so I had to look at him. We were soaked, trembling, our breaths steaming in the cold night air.

His face was wild with frustration, with something deeper, something raw and terrified. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” he shouted, his voice cracking with anger and something else — fear.

I shoved him. Hard.

My hands slamming against his chest, tears spilling from my eyes. “This is your fault!” I screamed, my voice raw, breaking. “Your stupid hair– your fucking smile– your goddamn eyes–”

I shoved him again, sobbing now, my fists hitting his chest uselessly. “I wasn't supposed to feel this! I wasn’t supposed to love you!”

Seungmin grabbed my wrists, holding them tightly, forcing me to stop hitting him. His hands were rough but not cruel — desperate. “You think this was easy for me?!” he shouted back, his voice cracking. “You think it didn’t fucking kill me to see you every day and pretend you weren't everything I wanted?!”

I struggled against him, tears streaming down my face, mixing with the rain.

“You think I didn’t want to scream every time someone else looked at you like you weren't mine?!” he gasped, voice hoarse with the weight of everything he had been holding back. “I wanted to tell everyone. I wanted to grab you and say— she’s fucking mine.”

The rain pounded harder, soaking through our clothes, making our bodies slick against each other.

I tried to pull away again, but he gripped my shoulders tighter, pulling me closer, locking his burning eyes to mine. “You felt it too.” he whispered fiercely. “Tell me you felt it too, Y/N.”

I shook my head weakly, trying to pull away from him, the rain blinding me, my heart pounding so loud I couldn’t think. “I can't–” I gasped, my voice barely audible.

But he didn’t let me go. He stepped closer, almost shaking with the effort of keeping himself together. “Look at me.” he demanded. “Look me in the fucking eyes and tell me it wasn’t real. Tell me you don’t feel anything. Tell me you don’t love me.”

I opened my mouth. Tried to speak. Tried to lie.

Nothing came out, not a single curse or remark. Nothing except a broken sob.

“Tell me you don't feel it, Y/N.”he shouted. “Tell me you don't love me.” His voice broke on the last word, and for a second, the world around us went silent except for the rain pounding against the pavement.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. My throat closed up, the words stuck somewhere between terror and heartbreak. “I don't– I–” I tried, but I couldn’t finish. I couldn’t lie.

The pain on his face when I faltered nearly broke me in half. He saw the truth in my eyes before I could even say it.

We crashed into each other. The kiss was brutal, angry, full of tears and frustration and all the love we were too scared to admit. Full of every unspoken word, every feeling we were too terrified to say out loud.

His hands tangled in my hair, yanking me closer, desperate, like he needed me to breathe. My fists clutched his soaked shirt, pulling him down to me as if I could tear him apart and rebuild him at the same time.

Tears mixed with the rain on both of our faces, the salty taste of heartbreak on our lips as we clung to each other in the storm, drowning in everything we had tried so hard to deny.

We kissed like we were drowning. Because maybe we were.

We were soaked. We were shaking. We were real. And for the first time, we weren't hiding anymore.

He pressed his forehead against mine, rain soaking us, his hand trembling on my waist, his breath was shaky against my lips.

“You're messy, infuriating, impossible — no one never would wreck me the way you do. But I'd let you, a thousand times over, cause that's the way i love you.

[flippedccc]

The Secret Step

Pairing: Bang Chan x Hyunjin x fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Genre: Smut

Warnings: sexual tension, threesome (m!x m! x f!), oral (m! + f! receiving), fingering, praise, hair-pulling, face-fucking public risk, dirty talk, overstimulation, unprotected sex (wrap it irl!), multiple sex scenes.

Summary:You're hired to choreograph a new stage for Chan and Hyunjin’s upcoming duo performance, but the lines between professional and personal begin to blur in the most intoxicating way. The tension builds day by day as forbidden touches become impossible to ignore. One practice session turns into something more, and soon, the heat between the three of you is something neither of them can control.

You pressed pause on the track, the studio suddenly going quiet except for the ragged sound of three sets of breaths.

“Reset,” you said calmly, but your pulse was anything but steady.

Hyunjin dropped his head back, sweat dripping from his temple down his neck, chest rising and falling under his loose tank. Chan was behind him, jaw clenched, abs flexing as he steadied his stance.

You’d been choreographing for years — this wasn’t your first dance routine — but Escape was different. The song itself had an aching pull, a seductive undertone that bled into every beat. And despite there being no physical contact in the routine, the way their bodies moved to it made your skin feel too hot.

Hyunjin's isolations were too fluid. Chan's control was too sharp. And every time you stepped forward to adjust a hand angle or correct a hip placement, it felt like touching a live wire.

Your fingers brushed Chan’s wrist. “Drop it lower—there,” you murmured, adjusting the tension in his forearm. His eyes flicked to you, dark and unreadable.

Then to Hyunjin. You stepped behind him, fingers ghosting over his waist. “This roll should be slower, more grounded,” you said, and he shivered under your touch. You felt it.

Neither of them said anything. But they didn’t need to.

You caught them watching you in the mirror — eyes on your mouth when you spoke, on your hands when you moved. That first day ended with your throat dry and your thighs pressed together in bed, memories of their stares clinging to you like sweat.

You told yourself it was just in your head. Just choreography. Just training.But the way your body ached said otherwise.

By the fourth day, something had changed.

You felt it the moment you walked into the studio. The air was thicker. The silence between songs stretched a little longer. And the way their eyes followed you — like they were waiting for something to snap — made your chest tighten.

You ran the choreography again. Same sharp movements, same controlled rhythm. Escape’s melody poured through the speakers, pulsing with longing, with want. They moved like professionals — every line clean, every beat precise. But underneath that, there was something primal brewing.

You stepped toward Hyunjin first. He was breathless, strands of hair sticking to his jaw, a subtle sheen glistening on his neck.

“Keep your weight centered,” you said, and without thinking, your hand slid over the small of his back. His body stiffened. His eyes locked on yours through the mirror.

You didn’t move away. Neither did he.

“Like this?” he asked, and his voice dropped — lower than it needed to be, softer. Just for you.

You swallowed hard and nodded.

Then to Chan. He was rolling his neck, arms flexed as he reset his stance. You walked behind him, hand grazing his shoulder blade as you spoke. “Hit the glide slower this time. It’s not just a move — it’s meant to feel like you’re… releasing control.”

The words came out more intimate than intended, and the silence that followed made it worse.

“I can do that,” Chan murmured, head still turned away, but his voice warm and close, like he could hear what your body was thinking. “But you’ll have to show me what that looks like.”

Your breath hitched.

There was no teasing smile, no smugness. Just that deep, velvety tone. That look.

Your fingers grazed his elbow as you passed. You could feel your heart thudding in your chest.

You took a step back. “Again from the top.”

They moved. You watched.

But all three of you were no longer just dancing.

You were circling something, slowly, deliberately. And none of you knew who’d make the first move… only that it was inevitable.

Two weeks of practicing Escape, and neither Chan nor Hyunjin had crossed the line. But they were standing right on the edge of it now, teetering, daring. Your touch had become part of their muscle memory. The way they tracked your every move? That had become instinct.

Hyunjin’s jaw was locked, his lips parted as he panted, pushing through the final beat of the choreo. He dropped to his knees on the last count, head hanging low, sweat dripping from his lashes.

Chan was behind him, shirtless now — claiming the heat was too much. You knew it wasn’t about the heat.

You hit pause. The silence was immediate, almost oppressive.

Chan looked up first, eyes dark. “We doing another run?”

Hyunjin didn’t move. You saw the way his fingers flexed on his thighs.

You stepped forward, trying to stay professional, pretending your heart wasn’t racing. “One more. Just to lock it in.”

They got into position again. You stood between them for a moment, watching their bodies rise and fall with their breathing. Then—

Your hand landed on Hyunjin’s waist, adjusting his angle. He tensed, chest rising sharply.

You turned to Chan, placing a palm against his abdomen. “Engage this more,” you said quietly.

But your voice was shaky. And he noticed.

“You alright?” Chan asked, voice low. Careful.

You nodded too fast. “Fine.”

You were lying. Everyone knew it.

The music started. Their movements were sharper now, more aggressive, more deliberate. You watched them roll their hips and snap into waves, not for the song — for you. Their eyes never left your reflection.

Hyunjin bit his lip mid-verse, then let it go with a soft sound that made your knees nearly buckle. Chan exhaled a curse between counts when your fingers brushed his shoulder too long. This wasn’t choreography anymore.

It was foreplay.

The track ended. No one moved.

“Good,” you said, voice barely there. “That’s enough for today.”

You turned, grabbing your bag too quickly, hoping to escape before the tension swallowed you whole. But before you reached the door—

“Wait,” Chan called out.

You paused. Didn’t turn.

“We’re not the only ones feeling this… right?” His voice wasn’t teasing. It was husky, serious. Honest.

Hyunjin’s eyes met yours in the mirror. Something raw passed between you — something that had been building for twelve days straight.

Your mouth opened. Closed.You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.Because if you said it out loud, there would be no going back.And part of you already didn’t want to.

--

It was the day of departure for the concert.The day started early. Barely five hours of sleep, and yet you were buzzing the moment you arrived at the airport.

You shouldn’t have been this keyed up. It was just another city, another concert, another hotel check-in — you'd done this a hundred times. But this time, something felt… different.

The guys were quiet in the plane. Hyunjin sat next to you, headphones in, head leaned against the window. Chan was across from you, scrolling on his phone — but every now and then, his eyes flicked up to you. And stayed there just a little too long.

After landing, the team was ushered to the hotel by staff. The lobby was beautiful — tall glass panels, warm lighting, polished floors. Luxury, as expected.

You were assigned your own room on the 14th floor. Chan and Hyunjin were on 15. The others were scattered throughout, staff buzzing around coordinating wardrobe, soundchecks, stage rehearsals.

Once everyone settled in, a team dinner was held in one of the hotel lounges. You sat across from Hyunjin, next to Chan. The food was good, but you barely tasted it — your body was too aware. Of their knees brushing yours. Of how Chan's hand stayed a second too long when he passed you a napkin. Of Hyunjin’s dark eyes watching your mouth every time you took a sip of water.

Later, after dinner, the group moved to a conference room to go over concert logistics. The discussion was long — setlists, camera angles, emergency exits, timing. You focused hard, trying to bury the tension simmering in your veins.

But the moment the meeting ended, you stood and turned — only to see both of them right behind you.

“We’ll walk you to your room,” Chan said casually, but there was a quiet tension in his voice.

“Yeah,” Hyunjin added, tongue poking against the inside of his cheek, “can’t have our choreographer getting lost.”

You knew what this was. Knew what it meant. But still, you let them follow you.

The elevator ride up was silent. The kind of silence where your skin buzzed with anticipation.

You reached your room. The door clicked open.

And they didn’t hesitate to step in behind you.

The door closed with a soft thud.

For a second, none of you moved.

Then Chan was in front of you, hands gently cupping your face, voice low.

“Tell us to stop,” he said, breathing unsteady. “And we will.”

Hyunjin’s fingers brushed the side of your arm, soft and slow. “But if you don’t…”

You didn’t say a word.

Instead, you pulled Chan in first — lips crashing into his, all the restraint of the past two weeks crumbling in an instant. He groaned into your mouth, deep and rough, arms locking tight around your waist as he walked you backward toward the bed.

Hyunjin’s hands were on your hips now, slipping under your top, pushing it up and over your head. His lips ghosted along your neck, hot and hungry, as Chan kissed you harder — deeper.

Clothes came off in frantic touches. Fingers tugging, mouths searching. Chan's shirt hit the floor. Your bra followed. Hyunjin dropped to his knees behind you, lips trailing fire down your spine as his hands squeezed your thighs.

You gasped when you felt their hands move in sync — one at your front, one at your back — touching, teasing, exploring.

“Been thinking about this since day one,” Hyunjin murmured against your skin. “The way you touched me. Told me to move slower…”

“And that damn look in your eyes,” Chan growled, voice thick with lust, “like you knew what you were doing to us.”

Hyunjin’s fingers worked at your jeans, slipping inside with a smooth ease that had you moaning. “Already wet,” he whispered in your ear. “She wants us, hyung.”

Chan growled low in his throat. “Then let’s give her what she’s been begging for.”

They stripped you down slowly, worshipping every inch of skin like they had all the time in the world. Hyunjin was the first to drop to his knees, spreading your legs at the edge of the bed while Chan guided you down gently with his hands on your shoulders.

“Relax,” he murmured, watching you with dark eyes as Hyunjin's mouth found your core.

Your thighs trembled instantly — Hyunjin didn’t tease. His tongue was relentless, licking deep, curling and flicking until your head fell back against Chan’s chest. You writhed between them, hips bucking into Hyunjin’s face while Chan whispered filth into your ear.

“You hear how wet you are for him? That sound is driving me fucking crazy.”

Your moans came louder now, higher, your breath hitching as Hyunjin sucked your clit just right, two fingers slipping inside, curling and pumping.

“I want her like this every night,” he mumbled against your heat. “She tastes like sin.”

Chan’s hand cupped your throat as he pulled you up to straddle him, eyes hooded. “Then make her scream, Jinnie.”

And oh, they did.

Hyunjin flipped you over onto your stomach, dragging your hips up, sliding inside with one smooth thrust that knocked the air out of your lungs. You cried out into the mattress as he started pounding into you, deep and controlled, groaning every time you clenched around him. “Fuck, you're so tight.”

Chan kneeled in front of you, hand in your hair, thumb brushing your lips. “Let me see that mouth, baby.”

You opened wide — and he slid in. Slowly. Deeply.

The rhythm between them was perfect. Hyunjin slammed into you from behind, angled just right to make your whole body quake, while Chan’s cock moved in and out of your mouth, both of them groaning your name like a prayer. You were wrecked — tears slipping down your cheeks, moans muffled, hands gripping the sheets so hard your knuckles went white.

“Gonna cum all over Hyunjin’s cock, aren’t you?” Chan whispered. “And then you’ll take mine next. Every drop.”

You came hard — body convulsing, screams swallowed around Chan’s cock as Hyunjin fucked you through it, praising you breathlessly.

Then Chan took his turn.

He didn’t go easy. He bent you over, hands firm on your waist, thrusting hard and deep, watching himself disappear inside you again and again while Hyunjin kissed your spine, soothing your shaking body.

“Two holes, one girl,” Chan groaned. “You were made for us.”

When Hyunjin slid into your mouth next, you welcomed him hungrily, barely able to breathe between moans and thrusts. It was endless. Raw. Addictive.

You came again. And again. They did too — Chan deep inside you with a growl, Hyunjin spilling over your chest with a gasp of your name.

The room went quiet. Heavy breathing. Sweat. Shaky limbs.

Chan leaned down, kissing your temple. “You okay?”

You nodded, barely managing a hoarse, breathless, “Yeah.”

Hyunjin helped you under the covers, pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder. “Rest, sweetheart. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

And then they were gone.

Leaving behind the burn of their touch…

And a craving that wouldn’t let go.

Middle of the night.

The silence was deafening.

You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The sheets still smelled like them. Your thighs were still sticky. Your body ached in all the best ways… but your heart throbbed too.

You missed their hands. Their warmth. The way Chan’s voice dropped low just before he came. The way Hyunjin whimpered your name when he couldn’t hold back anymore.

Your hand slipped between your legs again, it wasn’t just to touch yourself — it was to remember. To feel them again.

But it wasn’t enough.Nothing would be — not until they were with you again.

--

The stadium was buzzing with crew, lights, and muffled music as you arrived early, hours before the show. You were supposed to run through the final blocking, check lighting for the choreo, and make sure Chan and Hyunjin were physically ready after last night’s sinful high.

You weren’t expecting to see them this early.

But the moment you pushed open the dressing room door, they were there — both already changed into black stage pants, shirts half-buttoned, eyes glinting with mischief.

"Morning, pretty" Hyunjin purred from where he leaned lazily against the mirror. His voice was syrupy smooth, but his eyes dropped instantly to your throat, then lower, drinking in the skin he’d devoured just hours ago. "Sleep well?"

"Like shit," you muttered without thinking.

Chan's lips twitched into a dark smirk. "You miss us already, baby?"

Your throat went dry. You hated how easy it was for them to see through you. You were their choreographer, the one supposed to maintain control. But that line had long since blurred. Shattered, even.

“Stop,” you whispered, eyes darting to the hallway. “You can’t—someone could walk in any second.”

Hyunjin stepped forward with silent grace, one hand grazing the door. Click. Locked.

"I don’t think you really want us to stop,” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Not after last night.”

Chan was behind you before you could turn. One hand on your hip, the other smoothing up your spine until your body arched for him.

“Last night was just the beginning,” he whispered, voice so low it vibrated through you. “You think we could watch you walk into this room and not want more? You think we’d let you go back to being just our choreographer?”

You tried to breathe, but Hyunjin was tilting your chin up, those long fingers tracing your lips. “Say the word, and we’ll stop. Say it.”

You didn’t.

Hyunjin kissed you first — hot and deep, his mouth tasting like sweet coffee and sin. Chan didn’t wait. His hands slid down your sides, gripping your thighs, hiking you up onto the vanity table as he settled between them, mouth instantly on your neck.

“Take this off,” Chan murmured, tugging at your zip-up hoodie, his voice already ruined by lust.

Clothes melted away. Touches turned frantic.

Hyunjin knelt first, pushing your thighs wide with slow, reverent hands, licking a stripe up your center with a groan like he’d been starving for it.

"Still so fucking sweet," he whispered against you, fingers digging into your thighs, keeping you right where he wanted.

You let out a soft cry, hands flying back to the table behind you, hips jerking as he buried his face deeper, tongue working you with maddening precision. Wet, loud, filthy sounds filled the room.

“Gonna cum already, sweetheart?” Chan’s voice teased from beside you. He leaned in, brushing his thumb over your nipple, watching it pebble beneath his touch. “You’re so responsive for us.”

You gasped, legs trembling as Hyunjin sucked hard on your clit, fingers sliding in deep and curling until your eyes rolled back.

"Fuck—Hyunjin—Chan—"

Chan kissed you hard to muffle your moan as you shattered on Hyunjin’s tongue. Your whole body arched, trembling, lips shaking.

But they weren’t done.Not even close.

Chan lifted you like you weighed nothing, spun you around on the vanity so your ass faced the mirror. He gripped your hips as Hyunjin stood behind him, both watching your wrecked expression in the reflection.

“Watch yourself,” Chan murmured in your ear as he slid in deep, thick and slow. “Watch how good we fuck you.”

You moaned as he filled you completely, pace slow and devastating, rolling his hips like he wanted to fuck the memory of every other man from your body.

Hyunjin didn’t wait long. He stood in front of you now, stroking his cock slowly, dragging the head across your lips.

“Open up for me, baby. Be good.”

You obeyed, tongue wrapping around him, eyes watering as he fucked your mouth slow, gentle but relentless. Every time you moaned around him, Chan groaned behind you, hips slamming harder.

The vanity shook. The room echoed with slick sounds, breathy gasps, and broken whimpers.

Chan bent lower, one hand wrapping around your throat from behind as he fucked you deeper. “You’re perfect like this. Letting us use you. You fucking need it.”

You nodded weakly, Hyunjin gripping your hair with one hand, fucking your mouth with slow thrusts that made your eyes flutter.

It was dirty. It was dangerous. But it was so good.

“Cum again,” Chan growled in your ear. “Right now.”

His fingers slid down, rubbed your clit fast as he pounded into you. The pressure snapped — your second orgasm hit like a wave, making your body seize and cry out against Hyunjin’s cock.

That sent them both over the edge.

Hyunjin pulled back just in time, stroking himself until hot ropes spilled across your chest and neck, gasping as he came. Chan cursed under his breath, hips stuttering as he spilled inside you, riding it out with deep, slow thrusts, filling you to the brim.

The dressing room was dead silent — just the sound of panting, your body trembling between them, legs weak and heart racing.

Hyunjin chuckled low. “That’s one way to prep for a concert.”

Chan helped you down gently, brushing your hair back with those soft, post-orgasm eyes of his. “You okay, baby?”

You nodded, dazed and breathless. “Better than okay.”

They helped you clean up — sweet, gentle, like they hadn’t just ruined you ten minutes before.

And as you adjusted your clothes, heart still hammering, Chan leaned in with a smirk.

“You’re ours now. You know that, right?”

You didn’t argue.

Because deep down, you knew you weren’t just their choreographer anymore.

You were theirs.

A/n : Guys this is pure delulu and my first time writing a poly member fic so I was nervous to post this but here it is <3

[flippedccc]

thinking about idol!skz making their cute little stay sign an NDA

wc» 4k (APPARENTLY???)

cw» fem & STAY!reader, orgy (9), multiple rounds for reader but all of skz goes once each, both mean & soft dom skz, fingering/finger fucking, recording with a phone, 1 protected & 2 unprotected p in v, oral (f briefly & m fully receiving), face fucking, facial, light cum play?

an» i reread this like 10 times but i still hate it idk why lol, but anyways pls note that im using their STAGE names, this is really unrealistic imo but im indulging for once in my writing career bc im a weak, weak woman

shes so excited and has the biggest smile on her face, despite the fact that she knows there's mostly dirty stuff in the agreement. their manager stands nearby in the conference room, watching over every move from everyone. 'just in case'

and little does she know that the second she's done signing, they agreed to show her just why they're known for being one of, if not THE rowdiest idol group ever.

and then that sweet little smile pops up again and she pushes the signed form towards their manager. they wait patiently for a confirmation before even making the tiniest move. once they witness a nod and a bow in farewell from their manager, they smile to themselves.

lee know is the first to pounce, not even giving their manager time to walk out of the room.

the manager throws a plastic bag onto the middle of the conference table and heads to the door with some comments to the boys, and she watches as something thumps as the bag falls over and she faintly sees the shiny, square wrapper of something peeking out

lee know gives her a sickeningly sweet smile and helps her to her feet. she's confused as to why but doesn't exactly question it. she just assumes they're going to another room. and, well, it's not like she has the chance to really question anything.

not when her whole world spins and her cheek aches from the way shes all but slammed onto the conference table. and sure as hell not when her short, thin sundress is pulled up and bunched around her waist. and he wastes no time either!! it's like he's been waiting for that stupid piece of paper to get signed.

he knows it's all for the group's safety and that it was necessary for a "situation like this" or whatever crap his manager said. but that won't stop him from making you pay for it.

he's ruthless as he finger fucks you into oblivion right off the bat, leaving little comments here and there as his free hand digs into your neck, holding you down against the flat surface.

he curls both fingers directly into your g-spot and your orgasm takes you by surprise. you had no chance to warn him- or any of them- before you moan loudly and gush around his fingers. your legs kick up behind you in overstimulation, but he still doesn't let up right away. only once he remembers his other members are still there, he finally slides them out of you.

he's quick to get a taste and shoves his fingers past his lips, licking them clean as you attempt to catch your breath. you manage to shake off some of the surprise just in time for the sound of a chair scraping against the floor meeting your ears.

then you feel hands on your hips and youre spinning again. this time though, you're folded into a chair. lee know holds you against him and pulls your legs up to your chest, letting you sink down just the slightest bit and causing your head to rest against his pecs.

you're not sure what to expect until you notice i.n hovering over you. he runs the back of his fingers against your folds and laughs at the way your legs twitch from sensitivity. then he uses his free hand to stroke up and down your thigh before settling by your ass and using his thumb to spread you open.

he sits there for a moment and just takes in the sight of you just barely glistening and makes a noise of delight, as if he were eating his favorite meal.

he runs his fingers through your folds again, this time with more pressure, and teasingly dips the first few centimeters of his fingers into your hole before popping it back out and tracing little circles around your clit

eventually, amidst your whines and little hole twitches, he indulges you and sinks two of those long fingers into your walls. your legs twitch against lee know's hold and the elder squeezes your legs tighter before making some crude comment in your ear that you can't completely pick up behind the squelching of your pussy </3

i.n smiles to himself and moves his fingers roughly right off the bat. his fingertips dig meanly into your g-spot and you cry out loudly. your eyes focus on the maknae above you, taking in the crazy look in his eyes as he coos down at you in mockery of your whines.

and thanks to that, you miss the way a phone gets set up right where you just signed your life away. it's almost comedic the way they use the same tripod they use in their lives. but, again, you completely miss it.

and nobody can really blame you because the first orgasm that gets caught on the camera, literally seconds after the recording started, was enough to make your legs snap out of lee know's grasp.

i.n laughs and slows his fingers, letting you ride out that high for a moment and waiting for your legs to unclasp to pull his fingers out completely.

you think you understand now, and maybe it's onto the next, but that's not happening. not when this spoiled little brat doesn't move away from you. a few people even stand to claim their turn but, much to their dismay, i.n only sits in the same spot. in fact, he runs his fingers through your folds again, ready for a round 2- or... 3, i guess you could say.

and who are they to deny their little brother! after all, they are the ones who made him so spoiled in the first place. if they let him walk all over them without any punishment, you can't imagine the things he has planned for you.

a cry is ripped through your throat as his fingers dive in again at the same time that lee know hooks your legs over his, spreading you nice and wide for the room. the fingers just as mean as before and you can see his arms flexing as he tries to find another, deeper angle. one that he finds rather easily thanks to the telltale shivers from your body.

though, he's not really given much time to play with it as you cum again suddenly. you gasp loudly and he can tell it caught you off guard too, so he laughs and helps lee know hold your legs down and apart as he finger fucks you through this orgasm. he pulled his fingers out at the perfect time, right before it had actually became too much.

buuut, like stated earlier, they are the rowdiest group around. so did you actually think you would get a second to breathe? lol. maybe with one of the others, yes. but seungmin? yeah.... no. he actually pushes i.n out of the way, to the point where the youngest almost falls on the floor.

he then lands a brisk slap to your folds and wastes no time in shoving his fingers in, 3 of them to be exact. your eyes roll into the back of your head and one of your hands desperately digs your nails into his arm. he responds by pushing it away and landing another slap to your folds.

lee know laughs from behind you and hooks his forearm under your knee, hugging that leg to your chest and using his other hand to grip your wrist tightly. seungmin takes the chance and uses his free hand to push your other leg away, spreading you open while also pinning it up and away from you. the action makes you fall back against lee knows chest again.

his fingers are somehow rougher than the other 2 before him. you thought i.n was bad, but seungmin shows you no mercy. he even puts on a show for the others and leans down, sinking his teeth into the fat of your thigh thats just under lee know's arm

the action makes you whimper and clench around his fingers, taking him by surprise. he tests the waters and bites again, but harder. you clench yet again and the boys watch as your eyes roll to the back of your head

your mind is becoming foggy as you are forced to take everything the second youngest gives. and when you finally come for the 4th time, he pushes it even further and lands a sudden smack to your ass.

he pulls away slightly, his fingers drawing sticky shapes into your folds as mumbled chatter is heard. lee know pushes you to your feet and helps you stand up as a set of steps are walking towards you.

felix takes lee know's seat on the chair and pulls you onto his lap. you feel his hands on your hips, dragging your cunt back and forth along his cock, before you notice the man in front of you. han smiles sweetly, but when you blink you catch on to the menacing message behind it. even more so when he drops to his knees, eyes never leaving yours, and licks a long, slow stripe up your thigh.

felix giggles to himself when you shiver at the feeling and digs his fingers into your hips. he lifts you just enough for han to slide his cock inside of you. then he drops you down suddenly and hugs you to his chest.

you cry out at the suddenness and the room erupts in husky chuckles, some of them pulling their cocks out to jerk off at the sight of you getting broken in by their sunshine.

you get manhandled a little further, specifically felix positioning you so that he can fuck into you while giving han some space to work with. once they find the position that works, the pair give you no time to think.

han latches onto your clit immediately, sucking harshly and running his tongue in messy shapes against it. felix groans into your ear from the way you clench around him, but he uses it as motivation to start fucking into you.

the two hover you slightly above felix and give him space to start lifting his hips slowly- trying to find a rhythm that works for the awkward position. once he finds it, he digs his hands into your waist and starts fucking you harder, his tip hitting an angle similar to the one i.n had found earlier

your moan gets caught in your throat and you feel han smile against your mound at the sound. felix reads you like a book and fucks his hips in the same position, making sure to roll his hips slowly once he was sure that he found the right spot.

han nips at your clit softly one final time before standing to his feet again. he backs up and unbuckles his belt, never breaking eye contact with you, and smirks when he pulls his cock out.

the two move almost in sync and you're helped back onto your feet only to get pushed forward and shoved towards han's length. they hastily spit roast you and fuck you like there's no tomorrow- han's hand fisting your hair while the other holds both your wrists up and out of the way for felix, who squeezes your ass firmly before landing a playful smack to your thigh.

they take turns pushing you back onto the other, seesawing you like it's some sort of game until felix slows suddenly and finishes inside the condom you hadnt even realized he put on. he pulls away with no warning once he's done and you drop to your knees at the loss of your main support system.

han laughs and slaps his tip along your lips, then against your tongue when you poke it out obediently.

somebody on your side whistles at the sight and you feel your cheeks burn, only for it to fade once two hands rest on either cheek and use that grip as leverage to start fucking your throat.

its so sloppy, but thankfully isnt as rough as you'd have expected. he still fucks your throat roughly, but it's just enough for you to be able to look up at him under your lashes and run your tongue along his underside.

he groans and bites his lip at the feeling, eyes rolling until theyre closed as a drunk smile breaks out on his face. 'dirty girl.'

once han has you swallow his release, he crouches down in front of you and gives you a sweet peck on your cheek alongside a soft massage to your hips. he throws in a comment about how good you've been so far, only to get interrupted by one of the older boys.

but he can't really blame hyunjin for being impatient for his turn. i.n got two turns against everybody else's will so he's a little cranky that they're behind schedule.

he stalks towards you, a smirk painting his face as he helps you to your feet. hyunjin giggles as he pulls you into him and you stumble from your shaky legs. his pillowy lips push against your neck and you melt at the feeling, closing your eyes momentarily and forgetting about the other men surrounding you.

its short-lived, though, and hyunjin quickly releases your neck to spin you around and help you jump onto the table. his hand sneaks into the base of your head, grabbing onto what hair he can manage in a few seconds, and tugs your neck backward.

while he does that, his other arm wraps around your waist and holds you against his chest, making sure that you dont go anywhere.

he holds your head in a way that forces you to keep eye contact, and for a moment you’re confused as to why. but then he empties your head the second the thought comes to mind thanks to the way his cock slides through your folds

it makes your jaw drop and he mocks your expression, smiling at the end of it when you whine in embarrassment. he's so long. cock tearing up your insides already and he's not even started fucking you yet.

he starts off strong, his balls smack against your ass and the hand in your hair tightens, using the hold as leverage to hold you still so he can fuck into you even harder.

the hand on your back moves to your thigh, pushing one of them up and out of the way to give him more space to fuck you deeper. between your tightness nearly suffocating his cock and watching so much build-up, hyunjin already feels like his orgasm is close by.

and he’d be completely right, especially when your cunt makes so much of those gooey goodness noises and you leak around him like a faucet.

the hand in your hair tugs and angles you to the side. once he’s happy with the skin he can see, he leans forward and bites down on your collarbone. he leaves a few marks there before his hand releases your neck in favor of yanking your sundress over your tits. he would have half the mind to just take it off, but with his orgasm so close, he has something else on his mind.

he kisses your boob once and then kisses your nipple, he stays there just a moment before biting down on it softly and sucking harshly. your nipples were so sensitive from not being touched at all and it triggers your next orgasm. he rides it out by continuing to eagerly fuck into you and chase his own orgasm.

he finds it after leaving a few bite marks against your collarbone and groans into your ear as he fucks you through it, his hips stuttering each time you feel a warmth filling you.

he pulls away after some time passes and pulls out slowly, eyes glued to the sight of your cunt leaking his cum. he smiles and continues to stare at it for a moment, even going as far as to tease his tip through your folds and draw shapes into your clit with his messy tip. he dips it back in your hole one last time to get a reaction out of you before he’s pulled away by a hand on his shoulder.

your pussy is behind puffy at this point, but what do they care? this is what you agreed to, after all. and as much as changbin wants to feel bad for you, his cock aches so badly from something that only you and that pretty pussy of yours could fix.

he drags you off the table by your hips and flips you around, pushing you down against the table forcefully exactly like lee know did earlier. the only difference is this time, changbin shoves his cock in you all at once.

the sheer thickness of it makes you choke on your spit and dig your nails into the table. you push up to try and get a second to breathe, but he wraps his hand around your neck from behind and pulls you flat against his chest.

he mumbles something into your ear about how you need to stop running away from him, and how you need to take it or else he’ll give it to you 10 times harder.

and at first you listen perfectly! your body shakes and moves a little too much for his liking, but you obey rather nicely as he fucks you thoroughly.

you listen just fine until he lifts your hips just the slightest bit and a second pair of hands slides a folded-up sweater under your stomach, giving him a new, much better angle to ram into.

thats when you start to push back against him and disobey him.

he rolls his eyes and slams his hand against your ass, making you twitch farther away from him. he huffs under his breath and pulls you all the way onto his cock by your shoulders.

it makes him bottom out and your legs shake when he sits still, making you feel every last inch of him and every last throbbing vein along his length.

you clench around him unintentionally and it makes him loosen his hold on you, giving you some leeway to try wiggling away again. but he’s not gonna have any of that!! you’re supposed to be good.

so he drags his hands down your shoulders and down your arms until he gets to your wrists. once he wraps his hands around them, he pulls you up and forcefully arches your back as he holds your arms back near his stomach.

the new position gives him enough leverage to fuck you deeply while simultaneously preventing you from getting away from him, and with his rough eagerness, it's not a surprise that the both of you cum in the next few minutes.

he bottoms out one last time as he releases into you, emptying what feels like actual buckets into you and taking well over 15 seconds until his balls are done draining into you.

the feeling of being overfilled from multiple loads, one of which felt like gallons worth, and being bullied by his thick cock made your legs finally give out. changbin pulls out of you all of a sudden and neither of you has much time to react before your legs wobble and you fall to your knees.

he catches you as your knees hit the floor and he laughs to himself when you try to use the table to stand up, only to stumble again.

instead of helping you up, he grins smugly and watches as your legs tremble from your spot on the floor. even once he’s done, he still doesn’t help you up. he just backs away and leaves you to screw your head back on.

you really felt like you were finished, your brain was so fogged that you genuinely lost count of how many of them had brought you to an orgasm. not to mention you had no idea how many orgasms you even had.

but thankfully, it technically was the last- at least for your cunt (for now).

bang chan clears his throat to catch your attention and smiles sweetly at you from across the room when your eyes meet. he doesn’t move more than an inch, only tilting his head slightly and raising his eyebrow at you in a way that makes you ache with need.

his eyes glance to his feet before returning to your face and you take a moment to process what he wants, your brain still foggy from the onslaught of orgasms you had to suddenly endure, but it clicks fast enough for him to smile even wider when you begin crawling over to him.

your face burns in embarrassment from the others watching, but chan’s thumb stroking your cheek once you settle between his thighs makes it worth every second.

“i’ll be the nice one and give you a break.” a few sounds of disapproval come from behind you, but inevitably die down when he glances towards them. he teases his thumb along your bottom lip and continues.

“that being said…” the thumb on his other hand pushes down on his cock through his pants before dipping under his hem. “i still deserve a turn, don’t ya think?” he pulls his pants and boxers down before you can say anything and you find yourself drooling at the sight of him. “i had to sit here and watch my boys break you in. it’s only fair”

he slaps his tip against your cheek a few times, laughing to himself at the action, then pushes himself past your lips. he groans quietly with a smile painting his face as you take him deeper on your own- all the way until you feel him in the back of your throat.

his hand pushes down against your head, making you deepthroat him. he revels in the feeling for a moment before loosening the pressure and helping you pull off.

he easily falls into a rhythm like this, lifting and pushing your head onto himself. his groans were enough to get you to push your legs together, the ache between your legs somehow coming back as you pleasure the “head of the house.” between his praises and pet names, you only felt more eager to suck him harder and cause his orgasm.

you completely forget everything around you until i.n. walks into your peripheral vision with a phone on a small tripod in his hand. your eyes snap to him, staring at the smile that's partially hidden behind the phone, before staring directly into the camera lens.

you can tell it affects him from the way his smile falters and he takes his lips between his teeth.

“eyes on me.”

your eyes immediately snap back to chan and you circle your tongue around his tip in apology. he smirks and furrows his eyebrows when your tongue traces the most prominent vein on him, a more sensitive spot for him.

he already felt close enough from that, but when you pull off him momentarily and stroke him so that you can run your tongue between his base and his balls, he completely loses it.

ropes of cum paint your face and you have to close your eyes to prevent any injury, and chan only groans louder at the sight, seemingly cumming even more from unintentionally painting your face.

once he’s finished and only your eyes are cleaned off, i.n walks up to you and grabs a handful of your hair, forcing your neck back to present your dirty face to the phone that was still recording.

somebody reaches from behind you and gathers some of chan's release on their finger only to shove it past your lips. you hum and the taste and shut your eyes in satisfaction.

all 3 men laugh and hyunjin speaks up as the mystery man, squeezing your cheeks together: "say cheese~"

they know they found the perfect toy when you smile drunkly into the lens <3

“now that that's out of our system... let’s go to a different room and talk more specific details through. this room reeks of cum-”

Taglist: (red=can't be tagged)

@valkyriexo @lunearta @jabmastersupriseee @rylea08

@yaorzu-blog @amararosesblog @jiminssluttyminx @clemissleepy

@miss-daisy04 @kittyxnoa @dwaekkiiracha @honeyybbuubblleess

@mariteez @fun-fanfics @honeyybbuubblleess @kittycatkrissa

@nicora04 @chuuyaobsessed @moonlightndaydreams @velvetmoonlght

@aeri-skzver

[flippedccc]

﴾ insane in the brain

pairing: ghostface!kim seungmin & ghostface!yang jeongin x f!reader

genre: one-shot, horror au, smut

word count: 17,1K

warnings: yandere!seungmin & yandere!jeongin ⋆ dom!seungmin & dom!jeongin & sub!reader⋆ mention of a violent act! ⋆ story is set in the 90s ⋆ obsessive behavior ⋆ stalking! ⋆ little!mxm action ⋆ threesome! ⋆ phone sex ⋆ dirty talk ⋆ mask!kink ⋆ voice!kink ⋆ biting! ⋆ hair!pulling ⋆ marking ⋆ overstimulation ⋆ squirting! ⋆ ass!slapping⋆ small!degrading ⋆ 69!position ⋆ f!masturbation ⋆ oral (f. and m. receiving) ⋆ cunnilingus ⋆ face sitting! ⋆ mating press!position ⋆ unprotected!sex ⋆ multiple creampies! (and yeah…that’s all i think…)

summary: a masked killer returns to the town, leaving you terrified, paranoia seems to follow you everywhere you go, along with two of your classmates, who seem to grow very fond of you…

main masterlist

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His chest heaved, nose flaring as he pushed away the strands of hair from his eyes. His gaze was glaring, piercing, eyes formed into slits, watching the pair, just a few feet away from him. The look of disgust was unmistakable on his face and his glasses, along with his longer, blond hair thankfully shield him from the view of anyone passing by. He blended into the background, like always — unseen. He didn’t have to worry about anyone hearing his screaming thoughts. He was almost sneering, teeth gritting against each other, when he saw the guy pushing your hair behind your ear and he had to dig his nails into the wall by the act — disgusting.

You didn’t feel the immense stare, attention fully on the guy infront of you as you listened to his every word. Your lips stretched into a smile, leaning on your still closed locker, fingers playing with the strap of your bag. You didn’t know much about the guy infront of you, not that much like the person peaking from behind the corner...You were so unaware of your surroundings sometimes. You just came from your last class today, boring and to be honest quite unnecessary, but it gave you some time to perfect the text on the papers that were peaking out of your bag.

You said a small goodbye to your friends after your last class, already putting on your headphones on your ears, not wanting to hear any conversation around you as you pushed the button on your Walkman. Today was overstimulating, like any other, since you transferred to this school, but those fliers in your hands really helped you keep your mind off things. You made your way straight to the bulletin board, putting up on of the papers in your hands and in your state of unconsciousness, you were quite surprised by someone tapping you on the shoulder. Jake — one of the football players, quite sweet, giving the big smile on his face.

He was charming in a way and you found yourself not caring too much, when his tone of voice became deeper, huskier, not really looking like the party you were putting the fliers up for was the thing, why he started the conversation. However when you walked a few steps back to your locker, you were stopped by him, not being able to maybe cut the conversation short as he blocked it with his own body. It was no use to fight him. Your eyes drifted back from him to your locker and then back the nearly empty hallway, as the man before you finally stepped back a little. “See you at the party.” You said, smiling up at him, nodding.

There was no way that anyone could have missed the obvious glimmer in his eyes, when he gave you a one last smile, before leaving your side. A puff of air left you at that, turning to your locker to finally get your things. It wasn’t that long ago since you transferred in to this small town, already making couple of good friends. The party, which you were putting up fliers up for wasn’t your idea at all. You were just manipulated by your dear friend and her boyfriend to help them set this thing up, but in some way it could really help you settle down in a way…

You slammed your locker’s door shut, turning swiftly, but you only bumped into something — someone. “Oh, my god–“ You were startled for the second time, your books becoming slippery in your full hands, before they all fell to the ground with a loud slap! Your eyes immediately darted to the person you had bumped into, but you were surprised by them instantly kneeling down to pick your books up. “I’m sorry.” You said, sheepishly, kneeling down before them to pick up your things.

“It’s okay.” You looked up at the quiet sound of their voice. You recognized him — Jeongin, a quiet guy in your class. Black, rimmed glasses frame his eyes, sharp, just like his high cheekbones. You have never seen him outside of the classroom and definitely haven’t heard him talk before either. You lips parted a little, eyes going over his shaggy, blond hair, not even realizing him gathering your last book, only his own stare shaked you from your trance.

Something about his stare made shivers run down your spine, it was so…different from his whole body language and behavior. “Thank you–“ You trailed off, tearing your eyes away from his to the books in his hold. You grabbed them, missing how his long fingers reached after yours, like he wanted to graze his naked skin over yours. Your cheeks flushed still, embarrassed a little by your clumsiness and also because you could still hear the soft sound of music coming from your headphones. Your hand fumbled with the cable, shutting the suddenly embarrassing song off, before standing up. He didn’t follow your move immediately, like he was struck, glaring up at you for a few seconds, before slowly pulling himself up. “Jeongin, right?” You didn’t even know where the sudden need to talk came from and it was clear by your furrowed eyebrows.

He nodded after a few seconds, shakily pushing his glasses up his nose. “Yes…” He said, looking at you with big eyes.

You really didn’t know what came over you — just few minutes before that you were screaming to be taken from the conversation with Jake. It was probably, because you thought you would maybe safe this awkward situation, but you only seemed to make it worse. Your eyes went to the paper on top of your books, turning it for him to see. “You going to the party?” You asked, trying to diffuse the unbearable tension.

He didn’t even look at the flyer, eyes fully on your face and it made you tremble. His stare was tense, not even blinking, so he wouldn’t miss your micro expressions. “Not really my style.” Jeongin stated, eyebrows twitching and taking unnecessary amount of time to voice out the full sentence. You were almost scared by what he was going to say, with the deep breaths he took between each word.

Your lips parted, before pressing them into a tight smile. Even if you knew from your short glances that he was quite shy, you were really the one fidgeting in your spot at that moment. “Oh, okay then…see ya-“ You said, heart beating suddenly so fast at the sudden drop in his expression that you thankfully didn’t see much off as you darted away from him.

────

You really do have to take a deep breath at the memory. The more you thought of it, the more you realize what a weird vibe he had. So tense, eyes so piercing and the way they didn’t shift away from you — it was like he was tearing you apart, calculating your every move and twitch. Other than these few specks of memory, you didn’t think much about it. You only thought of it, because you thought of Jake — the guy that was supposed to be here, at this time and place, right here with you. How could you possibly be so naive to think that he would actually appear, because of you? With your eyes trailing over the room, it is obvious that you truly aren’t standing out, but maybe it is a good thing. Though…that is just yourself telling you that.

The cheap, plastic cup in your hand was already empty, your mind fuzzy enough to let you know that it was enough of the liquid gasoline. You saw multiple people pouring many different types of liqueur in the punch and you hope that you won’t be lying on the floor by the end of the night. Your good friend handed you the drink with a sweet smile, only grimacing with you at the awfully strong taste of alcohol. It wasn’t even sweet anymore, just pure bitterness and only one cup of it was enough — that can’t be said the same for your friend.

Your eyes go to the small dancefloor, small, drunken laugh falling from your lips at your friend, who spins wildly. Her boyfriend didn’t look much different from her, eyes already teary and heavy, looking back and forth between her and his friend, dressed as their team’s mascot. You can’t imagine the heat in that thing, you yourself sweating just in your miniskirt and tank top. The whole room was foggy and hot from the few people smoking in the back of the room and the heavy bodies grinding against each other. The party for sure turned out pretty well in a sense of attendance.

You scrunch up the cup in your hand, so out of your body that you even lick of the small bits of alcohol left around the rim. You were so thirsty, sweaty and gross that you somehow didn’t even care anymore. You surely weren’t looking the worst, you think, while looking across the room again. You weren’t even bored that much, enjoying your time analyzing the room that swirled wildly around you. Your gaze finds your friend again, her body now hanging lazily on her boyfriend who rubs her back softly, while laughing with the guy in the costume. Though by being so drunk and the room being so dark, you didn’t firstly register the dark clothed figure in the corner of the room.

The white, outline of what you think was its face stands out in the dark corner. The figure was clad in a black cloth, hood on its head and it even more emphasized its ghoulishly, big eyes and gaping mouth. Its face looks so out of place you can’t do anything, but stare into its eye sockets. Your whole body stills as you see it tilt its head. You know that it was definitely a person under the mask, but the simple gesture made you tremble. You feel uneasiness creep up onto you, the feeling of its glare making your skin crawl. The way it — the person just stood there, with around people who were laughing, dancing and simply happy, made the whole mood in the room change into something sour and bitter.

Your mind is probably playing tricks on you, maybe you are even imagining the whole thing. However even if you can’t see the person’s face, you just know they are staring right back at you. You have to wonder for how long. Maybe it was spying on you since the moment you stepped inside the house. Your eyes trail painfully over the figure, swallowing the lump in your throat. No one other than you seem to notice the figure. Maybe it is someone they all now, no need to introduce you.

You are suddenly startled, when a pair of hands touch your arm, jumping immediately in your spot. Your heart beats faster as you turn your head to the direction of the owner’s hands, only meeting the messy state that your friend was. The relief that washes over you is big, your hair thankfully blocking the masked figure, letting you take a full look at your friend. “I wanna go home–“ She pouts at you, whining, while digging her long nails into your arm.

You think you have never actually been happier to hear those words. “Okay, let me just use the restroom and I’ll be right back–“ To be honest you don’t want to go anywhere alone right now, but you are in desperate need of washing away the fright and sweat off your face.

Your friend is already nodding, turning back to her boyfriend like a lost puppy and you didn’t even have a chance to possibly ask her to come with you. She can’t even walk, it being really nearly impossible in her state and high heels. You slowly turn your head to the direction of the figure, their stare so hard you don’t even have to wonder if they went somewhere. Only now it seems somewhat closer to you, even if it’s still standing in its original spot. You shake off the weird feeling, head hanging low, while you walk past the people to the staircase to the second floor. Not even an inhale of breath leaves you, eyes staring at the wall, not wanting to look at its face any longer, fearing that it might imprint in your mind.

The whole world swirls around you, grabbing the railing of the staircase in a tight grip. You are thankful that the lights were dimmed, because only the blue hue makes your incoming headache worsen. Making your way up the stairs you slither around the couple that literally blocked the whole middle part of the staircase, ignoring the nasty smacks of their lips and sighs. You meet a lot of pairs like that on the second floor — grinding against each other in the hallway, sneaking in one of the rooms and you really don’t look forward to maybe accidentally catching someone in the act, while searching for a bathroom. The house seems obscurely big, the hallway going into a big circle. Then you suddenly hear the sound of toilet flushing, before a guy stumbles around the corner. You don’t waste your time, picking up your pace and zooming around the corner only to bump into someone.

In your drunken state, your whole body is jelly, legs wobbly and you are thankful that the person you had bumped into puts their hand on your lower back to stabilize you. You huff, blowing your hair out of your face, looking up at your so called savior and you instantly wished you didn’t. Staring at you so blankly and almost deadly is the same ghostly, white mask you saw just moments ago. You don’t want to think much about it for your sake, because you already can feel yourself shaking at the thought that it followed you up here. However that wouldn’t be possible, it was a dead end, no other way up here than the one you came from. It must be someone else — maybe it was a popular costume, that you didn’t know of yet.

The hold the person had on you was soft, though you can feel their covered fingertips digging into your naked back. The two black holes instead of its eyes made you want to curl up into a ball the more you looked at them, making you wiggled yourself out of its hold. The music in the background was too quiet to your liking, not to mention that there was one other you and this person in the hallway. You mumble a small apology, too quiet to even reach your own ears, before literally running to lock yourself in the nearby bathroom, but not with its eyes staring you down the whole time.

You breathe heavily, fumbling with the lock, before pressing your back to the sink. You are scared. You are terrified to even walk out of the bathroom, reminiscing the ghost haunting the hallway. However you spend a lot of time in this small, safely locked bathroom to know that your friend might not wait for you that much longer. It makes you slowly opened the door, hinges creaking and a sigh of relief leaves you, when you look into the hallway. No one was there. Maybe it truly was a ghost and you imagined all of it.

You were thankful that night for your friend not leaving without you, clinging onto her just as tightly as she was, while you made your way home. Though even if you left that house and also the last bits of the alcohol in your system, you couldn’t quite forget it. The way the simply mask sparked something in you, making you shiver in wonder and fright, thinking about what might have been going on inside their heads when they looked at you.

────

The evil and bad feeling left behind by the whole occurrence left a spot however. Just few days after the party, while you were hanging out with your now completely sober friend in the living room changed your whole mood together. Your eyes snapped to the television, stopping the scribbling of your pen as your heart only beated faster by the sudden news coming from the reporters mouth. “A sense of dread has once again found the small town Sunny Dale after a body was found inside a local home last night. The victim body was discovered with multiple stab wounds. The only evidence left behind was the victim’s phone, found beside the body. Authorities are concerned this could be linked to a string of unsolved murders from months ago, leading many to fear the return of the same killer. As the investigation unfolds, police are urging anyone with information to come forward–” Your stomach turned at the news, looking at your equally horrified friend.

A lump formed into your throat, heart jumping in your chest at the newsy “Again?” You wonder out loud, shaking your head in disbelief of what you were hearing.

“Yeah, there’s been some couple of these things showing up in the news for the past year. Everyone just thought that they maybe stopped…” Your friend’s voice was little, also looking at the television, with fearful eyes.

Moving here, you would have never thought that you would be terrified to go out of the house. Your aunt never said a word about these events, maybe to not scare you and if she didn’t tell you about it, it must have been very bad. You understand that she herself is scared to talk about such things happening here in her hometown. Maybe she thought that telling you would only bring a bad omen.

The news spread quickly and into every corner and place. You couldn’t escape it and your own deadly curiosity led you to look through few months old newspapers. The things you read made your stomach turn. Even after reading through them shortly, throwing them away from your reach right after, the whispers and gossip wouldn’t let you live. You were normally paranoid — an overthinker. Of course you were scared, just as anyone, because with you can never now if you will be next. Your aunt wasn’t much better than you, being older and all, alone here in this house till you moved here, didn’t make her feel that much safer. She needed a deep breath of fresh air, but still when she came to you with the news of spending the weekend with her long life friend — you weren’t really happy.

You tried to beg your friend to stay with you, almost embarrassed by how much paranoid and scared you were to be left alone the whole weekend. She’s couldn’t make it — she herself was going away for a small family holiday. Everyone was leaving you and your overthinking only became worst. A tragic thing happened just few houses away from yours, horror filled your every sense and since then you can’t remember the last time you slept soundly. Only more horror could keep you up at night, so you decided to go to the local Blockbuster store. Maybe it wasn’t a very good idea — looking at such movies, when the very same things were happening around you, but you are just so scared of falling asleep alone, like a child scared of the boogeyman under their bed. The only time of the day, when you can rest your eyes will have the be the moment sun rises.

You push the heavy doors to the store open, bell ringing over your head as you make your way inside. Your eyes scan through the aisles, not meeting many people in your way, tugging at the bottom of your short sleeve shirt, lip pouting at the big selection the store had for you. You really haven’t rented a movie before, just going over your friend’s house, who probably had just as a big of a collection in their house, but tou your luck she wasn’t home to lend you something. The new excitement in you is bright, a little lost of words at few of the names you come across off. You can’t really help yourself by going over to the romcom section first and strangely it was right next to the genre of movies you were here for — how funny.

Though your heart aches for a sweet romantic movie that would leave you with butterflies in your stomach, it still wouldn’t be enough for you to not fall asleep. You have to wonder if you aren’t just torturing yourself at this point, but you can’t ignore the fact that maybe someone might get inside your house, when you would happen to fall asleep. You visibly shiver at the thought, looking away from the section of old horror movies. Though you liked the vintage filmography, you think that not even a single one could make you shiver in fear.

Your fingers trail over the row of paranormal horror movies, watching them slowly turn into more slasher. You stop at a particular one, known and already seen by you, but you can’t lie that you weren’t terrified the first time you had watched it. Pulling out the cassette, you stare down at the bold name, completely unaware of your surroundings and the shadow looming over your hunched up figure.

“Looking for something?”

You jump back at the sudden voice, stumbling just a little and bumping into the movies before you. Turning to the owner of the voice, you sigh a little at the familiar face. “Oh, hi Seungmin.” The dark, longer hair on him can’t mask away the obvious glimmer of amusement in his eyes. Your surprise doesn’t flatter, when your gaze falls down to the tag on his blue shirt. “Not really-“ You trail off, shaking your head at your own thoughts.

The whole situation that happened felt you overthinking nonstop — however you don’t really recall hearing anything about him working here. Almost everyone goes here and everyone likes to talk, though you don’t know what they would even talk about, when it comes to Seungmin. He was quiet, always in the corner with the bothered look on his face, never talking to anyone if not needed, other than…the dirty, bleached blonde you come across off just few days ago. Maybe these are just accidents, maybe it’s the universe pushing you to them to finally make more friends — you are definitely overthinking.

Being so lost in your thoughts, you are startled again by Seungmin reaching over your shoulder to tap at the paper, cover on the cassette. “Evil dead, huh?” You can hear the smile in his words, smelling his minty breath from the gum he is chewing. “You like scary movies?”

You frown a little and mainly by his try of making a conversation — you ignore it. “A little.“ You shrug, looking at the cover one last time before deciding to put it back. “Just trying to find something to keep me up at night.” You answer, turning around to look at the other side of the aisles only to be blocked by his taller frame.

You breathe in his cologne, his stare making you fidget as your back falls lightly back on the aisles to make some space between your bodies, but he didn’t even move an inch by the sudden proximity. “Why?” His voice is softer than you expected, eyes widely looking up at him as he tilts his head down at you. “You like being scared?”

Your lips parted at that question, lost for words for some reason. “No, it’s just–“ Your own eyes save you from answering, when you see a flash of red on the small television in the corner of the store. Even here, in a fairly empty Blockbuster store the news can’t seem to leave you alone. You can fear the obvious stare on your sudden change of expression and it makes you feel embarrassed by the very clear face of fear on your features. Glancing back at him quickly, you want to laugh at your whole situation. “I just don’t want to fall asleep that’s all.” You say, stepping away from him to finally rest your eyes on the new selection.

“That’s understandable.” Seungmin nods, eyes turning away from the television back to you, watching your own eyes skim through the movies.

You then thankfully see the next person walking up at you from the other side, giving your pour heart a rest. “Heard that the guy was stabbed 37 times.” Says the person and you do a double take at the familiar voice, your small assumption being only being proven correct, when you see the shaggy, blonde next to you. The horrible words don’t particularly move you, because you are somehow very intrigued by Jeongin’s own work uniform. Have you really not noticed them until now?

You hear Seungmin click his tongue at his friend’s words. “Oh, really, Jeongin?” You don’t see the looks being shared behind you, because when you stop trailing your hand over the multiple choices for your cinema night, you just notice how much the two of them are close to your body. A small silence rings in the air, your eyes falling on Seungmin’s hand right next your head. You can feel his breath on your cheek, when he boldly stretches his arm to touch a one specific film in the shelf. It wouldn’t be considered bold if he wasn’t so close to you, not when his fingers brush your thigh. Your eyes watch his hand and the same fingers, playing with the paper case a little too specifically. You nearly gasp at how he trailed his fingers across the movie’s cover, this whole thing happening just right before your pubic bone. Instinctively you move back a little to give him room, but you only feel your arm graze Jeongin’s chest. “If you don’t want to fall asleep…” Straightening his back, your gaze meets Seungmin’s with bashfulness. “Watch Nightmare on Elm Street–“ He says, waiving the movie at you.

“It’s not that scary for me.” Your throat is dry, voice scratchy and you really want to dive into the pile of horror right now. Trying to ignore the even more unbearable stare from the other, you try to distract yourself by looking through the selection, picking up the very familiar one.

You hear the scoff on your right side right when you grab it, feeling their intense stares momentarily flicker to the movie in your hand. “Really?” Seungmin exclaims, definitely judging your choice and taste.

Shrugging your shoulders, you tap your fingers on the paper, going over the outline of the small, red words — You’ll wish it was only make-belief. “Yeah — I mean dolls are sometimes scary.” You say, truthfully and you hear the blonde next to shuffle a little.

“It’s funny.” You look up at him, confused by such word and you now truly realize how close he is to you. You want to back away, but you are cornered — no one can safe you from their claws.

“What?”

Tilting his head, you can see his sharp eyes shimmer under the light, that reflects lightly in his glasses. “The movie?” He said it so obviously, like your question was so stupid to be even spoken.

Your eyebrow’s furrowed, looking up at him. “Well, if you find slashers funny…” You trail off, not really sure what to say back.

The look you received is so sharp that it makes you shiver, feeling Seungmin staring the same way at the back of your head. The air around you three is suffocating, but you seem the be the one most effective by it. The way they stand so close to you, surrounding your body not just with their own by also with their whole beings is nerve racking — and somehow not in a bad way. They both seem to be really comfortable in getting into your personal bubble, their hands already tearing it away from your own hands. This whole interaction is unusual for you and it is only weirder, because you know about their dislike towards people at your school. So, why are they so interested in picking up a small and quite pointless conversation — why are their so interested in you?

You are lost in thought, though still highly aware of the two bodies on either side of you. You found it hard to breathe, throat closing, so aware of everything around you — their breathing, the smell of their cologne, the rustle of their clothes when they tried to move even closer to you and even the soft sounds of footsteps coming behind you. “Y/N!” You are pulled out of your thoughts by the sound of your name and somehow that made the pair move too, twisting their bodies to see, who saved you from their hold.

“Jake!” You gasp out. You didn’t plan to sound so excited by his appearance, but it felt like you could finally breathe calmly.

You can see his attention shift a little, looking over your shoulders at the pair and you can basically see the small uncomfortableness in him from their behavior. Taking a one step closer to the brunette in reflex, your feet stumble over one another. It felt wrong to do that. “Hi!” Jake greets you, already feeling the awkwardness of this situation. Normal people would’ve left right? Or maybe just give you two some privacy, but Jeongin and Seungmin don’t move an another inch, silently staring at the both of you.

“Hi…” Your lips lift up into a small, that falls quicker than anticipated, your nails slightly digging into the paper case in your hand. There’s small beat of silence between you two, hoping that he might talk first as he was the one that approached you, but he seemed very interested in the two men behind you. Coughing little into your hand, seems to get his attention back, but he still looked a little…uninterested. “You weren’t at the party?” You ask, nearly cringing at the reality of being stared down, when talking to him.

Jake is little taken back, blinking at you. “Hm, yeah — no, I was.” He says and you frown at his words.

“Oh! Okay…”

“Yeah…” He scratches his neck, jumping in his spot a little, before a sudden, wide smile breaks off on his face. You watch his hand, way before he puts it on your shoulder, tugging you into him rather than coming to get you, like he was intimidated to approach you . You do let him put his arm around your shoulder, taking you to walk a few steps forward, away from your past companion. His touch feels a little heavy, but the small brush of your arm, when you pass Seungmin, makes you look at him, catching his eye, before you are being turned back to the guy next to you, who you realize was talking your ear off the whole time. “Y/N…I was wondering, if you want to come over to my place tomorrow.”

You froze in your spot, just few steps in your small walk. “I don’t know…” You heard the hidden meaning in his words, but you are not so sure if you want to go to an unknown guy’s house at the moment.

“It will be fun.” He says, almost whining, looking like a small child not being given his favorite toy. His arm falls off your shoulders thankfully at that, only to tap at the movie in your hands. “We can watch–“ He tilts his head sideways to read the title and his lack of movie knowledge makes you stunned. “Child’s play.”

Shaking your hand, you pull the movie from his fingers to your chest. ”No, Jake. I kind of already have something.” You say, wanting to end this conversation short, because you can feel the heat of two pairs of eyes on your head.

The look on your face definitely is clear enough for him to realize that you are not changing your mind — or was it the judging eyes of the two friends behind you? “Alright then…see you around.” He says, smiling lightly, making his eyes wrinkle and you want to almost stop him from going away from you for a split second.

However you only watch his disappearing figure, trailing your eyes over his body and you know that under different circumstances you might have maybe come to his house, but right know you do not want to leave your house and go somewhere you haven’t been before — you don’t even feel completely safe in your own home to begin with. You sigh at yourself, gaze still staring blankly before you, till you practically feel the seeping pressure of eyes on you again. You don’t even turn around, not even trying to walk away to maybe just disappear and find a different store to satisfy you, because it felt like you wouldn’t be able to get away from them anyway.

“Your boyfriend?” You recognized Jeongin’s voice and you are a little taken back by the rough edge it had to it.

You turn to the side just a little, looking at him, before glancing at Seungmin behind him. “What?” You are not sure if it was meant for his question again or for the sight of the dark haired, brunette leaning casually on his body. You are met with silence at that, realizing how your eyes were going between the two of them, till they meet Jeongin’s again. So dark — he doesn’t even blink, while looking at you, also noticing his lips that formed into thin line. “We are just talking–“

“Yeah, like back at the lockers?”

Frowning at the harsh tone, the glare send your way is blocked by his friend, who steps before him. Standing before you with his back straight, you only know can feel the true effect he has — confident, yet unbothered, but definitely thriving in your face, when he gently puts his hand on the movie in your hands. It is still laying on your chest and your lips fall apart as he wraps his hand around it, fingers grazing the skin of your chest. You let him grab it, watching him put it behind his back, before he pulls out a different case that instantly hands to you. “Pick this one.” Seungmin says, grinning a little as you look a the second part of the Chucky series. “It’s more gory.”

You don’t want to look ungrateful, so you grab it, smiling a little at him, though you are not sure really what to say to that. “Thanks, I like the first one the best though…” You awkwardly mention him to give it to you, thinking that maybe he would just hand it to you, but you basically have to lean over him to grab it from behind his back. You know that he does it on purpose, playing with you, but it still feels so new from him to do that. You think you have never heard him talk this much before, not to mention his friend behind him. When you go grab your desired movie from his hands, you learned that they are empty, awkwardly wrapping your hand around his. Sucking in a breath at the quite intimate touch, you feel Jeongin poking you with the case you were searching for, showing you that he was the one holding it the whole time. A short, dry laugh leaves you at your and theirs doings, not missing how the blonde basically shoves the case in your hands, separating you from his friend. “Thanks…I think this will keep me busy this weekend.“ You say pulling the two first Chucky movies to your chest, taking a step back from them.

They both look you over, completely without any shame dragging their eyes over your body and it makes you tug a little at the edge of shirt that has ridden up. You watch Seungmin tilt his head slowly, turning back to his friend who hands him a new cassette from behind his back. You actually wanted nothing more than to escape this unbearable tension, but you become curious about the movie being handed to you. “We have this new movie.” He hands it to you, making you glance at the cover. “Check this out-“

“Just got released-“ Says Jeongin, taking a few steps closer to you, joining his friend’s side, while they take in your reaction.

With your eyebrows furrowed you look at the name — Fear: Together forever. Or else. Flipping it over you read quickly through the summary, before looking back at the front, eyes scanning the face of the man on the cover and you nod in realization. “Oh, yeah. I heard about it.” Glancing at the two of them, you try to keep your cool at their unblinking stares. “Some kind of psycho boyfriend–“ You say your own version of the movie’s plot, playing with the cassette in your hand to distract yourself a little.

“Oh – so the spoilers got to you-“ Jeongin doesn’t seem particularly sad about that, but you can see the small pout on his face.

Shrugging, you look down at the movie. “Well, it’s kind of obvious you know…” You put the movie together with the other two in your hands, not really against of seeing something new and you also don’t, for some reason, want to let them and their small help down. You didn’t plan to finish your sentence, as it was to you kind of obvious, but when you look up at their faces, they only stare at you more longingly, waiting. “I mean — look at him.” You flip the cassette to let them take a look at the man on the cover. “You can see the crazy in his eyes.” You say, before nodding at them. “I’ll take it.”

You want to almost ask them what’s up with them, see if they maybe had a problem with you by their nonstop glares — but you are not sure if you are reading the emotion on their faces right. They don’t say anything, only turning around to lead you back to the counter. Seungmin takes the lead, making you walk up next to him, while Jeongin keeps himself behind you. They don’t seem to be quite fond of being away from you for some unknown reason and you don’t want to say that relief washed over you, when you hand the dark brunette the three movies you picked.

As he scanned them, each peep reminded you that you will be free of their presence, till you will have to return them. “How much?” You ask, realizing you didn’t even look at the rent money even once, digging through your bag, hand grabbing the scrunched up money.

“It’s on the house.”

Your eyebrows shoot up to your hairline, looking up at Seungmin, who stands behind the counter. “Oh! Oh, no that’s okay, it’s just like ten dollars-“ You say, waving awkwardly at him to know you are completely fine paying for yourself, but the man before you only shoves the movies to you. Staring at him for a second, blinking, your heart skips a beat at the sudden change of emotion on his face. It makes you nervously mumble a small thank you, somehow knowing that there was no use to argue with him.

Hands falling on to the pile of movies, your fingers graze his, staring with wide eyes as he swipes his ring finger over the back of your hand. His touch feels hot, leaving a tingling sensation in your lower tummy and you sigh out shakily at such bold move. You basically rush to pull the cassettes to you, but you can’t take your eyes off his, even when you back up. However you are unaware of your surroundings once again, because you only bump into the blonde who’s been standing behind you the whole time. Your back meets his chest for second too long, shock striking you at how quietly he was able to be unspotted by you. Mumbling a small apology, which you don’t even hear yourself, you turn on your heels, legs quick to run of the store, so you can escape their eyes and their hold. And you finally took a deep breath you so needed, ignoring the obvious and familiar feeling in your chest and lower tummy.

────

Sweat drips down your temple, short puff of air leaving as you close your eyes at the feeling of the night’s cold breeze fanning over your face. You take in the smell of wet grass, mixed with the humid air. You can feel your tank top sticking to your flushed, hot skin, your shorts gathered between your thighs as you lean out of your bedroom window. The night was quiet, no sound other the few rustles of trees and crickets — it reminded you of how alone you now were. The shower which you took just minutes was cold, but it did nothing against the awfully hot, spring night, though the few whiffs of colder breeze reaching you felt blissful.

You expected for it to be worst, but somehow the worst thing of being alone right now was that you couldn’t distract yourself from the awful heat. Your room’s window was unopened for the whole day and it was basically unable to breathe in it, so you decided to rather sleep downstairs in the living room. You take a one last breath, before pushing your window shut, taking your light, fluffy blanket with you before walking out of your bedroom.

The sound of voices coming from downstairs made it a little easier for you to ignore your thoughts that you tried so hard to keep locked. With a breathless sigh you walk up to the couch, plopping yourself on it and whining almost as the cushions sticks to your skin. You were somewhere else right now, lost in thought, gazing up at the ceiling, imagining a night sky over you — imagining being somewhere else. The commercial playing on the television ends, hearing the happy background music cutting short.

Your head tilts forward, eyes falling on the movie recommended to you on the top of the pile on the coffee table. The eyes of the actor stare at you from behind the woman’s blonde hair and you can’t help, but get lost in them. Your mind goes back to the pair helping you, looking quite excited — well, you only had a feeling, because they didn’t truly show any emotions on their face. Your own curiosity makes you pick up the case, pulling out the cassette. You for a second just flip it in your hand, expecting it, before you shuffle down the sofa, not even bothering to get and walk to the television.

The voice of the reporter is quiet, getting louder as you crawl up to it and the change of volume makes your ears pick up the words leaving her mouth. “Authorities are still investigating the recent resurgence of a killer, who terrorized the small town Sunny Dale a few months ago. While there has been no trace of evidence leading to the identity of the person responsible, the latest update to this cases is deeply disturbing.” You freeze in your spot, eyes unblinkingly looking at the humming television before you. “Authorities now confirmed that investigators have found a new, unused Ghostface mask near a victim’s house. The mask, which is widely available in stores selling horror-themed merchandise, was likely placed there intentionally by the perpetrators. Police are urging the public to stay vigilant — if you see anyone acting suspicious and wearing this mask contact—“ A choked sound leaves you, watching the screen cut to a picture of said mask — the one which you have seen, the one you saw a week ago.

You shakily turn off the television, not wanting to hear another word. The quiet that follows after is deadly — pinching you, making goosebumps appear all over your body. You have seen it — you were so close to it…you touched it. Nausea rises in your gut, looking back at the house phone next to the couch, contemplating. Should you call the police or not? Maybe it was really just a coincidence that you happen to see someone wearing that mask. Maybe the police are already getting calls from others — were they really that desperate that they needed help to catch this person? You know that even if you called, it wouldn’t be any use. Literally everyone was there at the party and not just people from your school — it can be anyone.

Then your doorbell rings, a small yelp leaving from you, making your hand fly to your mouth to silence it. You need to calm down…the thought of the killer being at the party was really unlikely, because they were people present — nothing happened at the party, nothing. It was just…someone. In your state of shock which you slowly, but surely get out of, makes you jump back to present, eyes turning to the main door. You completely forgot that you ordered a dinner.

However you are still cautious, standing up and making your way to the front. The cold floor helps you wake up a little, feet paddling across the hallway, before leaning on to the door to look through the peephole. No one…even if that made you feel better, you are highly aware of how weird it is that the delivery man you anticipated isn’t there. You glance down at the keys in the door, still locked and safe from the outside world. It’s such a stupid thing to do and you really think about it, but soon enough you are unlocking the door and pushing it open just a little to see what’s waiting for you on the other side.

No one is standing there, nothing, but the pitch black night, till your eyes drift slowly to the doorstep where surely your food was. Confused, you slowly become more curious than afraid, opening the door a little more to kneel down and inspecting the box of pizza. It is almost funny how such thing could make you fear for your life. Because of the small light coming from the inside, you catch the small note on top of the box just before it could fly away. ‘Sorry for leaving your food on the ground, had to go!’ A deep frown falls over your face, because in what world would a delivery man give you your food, without even letting you pay for. Must have been in a real rush to let you have your food for free…

You don’t want to put much thought to it. It was just few dollars and maybe there was a party somewhere going on, where they would definitely get their money’s worth back. Taking the box with you, you are not that angry of not paying as your hand touches the bottom of the cold box — you are too unbothered to go and heated up right now. Shutting the main door, you lock it, before finally going to the living room to watch the movie waiting for you. Putting the box down on the table, you put one slice of the cold pizza in your mouth, fumbling with the cassette and television for a second, before you flop back onto the couch.

The movie — well, it does in sort of way have you on the edge just few minutes into it. It is interesting and almost realistic in some way, making you get real deep into it. You lay in the corner of the couch, biting down on your fingers, watching the main characters interact with each other in a dark lit club. The lead, the main antagonist has a specific maneuvers that you find quite interesting — charming, yet in his eyes you can see something hidden in them…something dark. As you are so into the movie, eyes staring dead straight on the television, the ringing of the house phone right next to your ear certainly startles you to death.

A soft gasp flies past your lips, putting your hand over your racing heart and turning to the ringing phone next to you. You grab it without any hesitation, thinking that maybe your aunt is trying to check up on you or maybe it was your friend ready to talk your ear off — definitely not silence. “Hello?” You ask, gripping the phone in your hand and pressing it right against your ear tightly.

“Hello?” Says a voice on the other side of the line.

You shake your head a little, not recognizing the voice. “Yes?” You say, eyes still on the movie.

“Who’s this?”

You press your lips together, straightening your back a little. The voice is scratchy, yet deep, an unusual small hum every time it speaks. “Y/N.” You say, not really wanting to say your name, but what harm can it do? Maybe the person just delayed a wrong number.

There’s a small shuffling on the other line, before a small click follows. “Oh, Y/N–“ The person says your name sweetly, making goosebumps rise on your skin. It was whiny, so familiar, like the person knew you.

“Jake, is that you?” You ask, sitting up a little. His voice today sounded a little different than you remembered, but maybe it was just the phone distorting it. “How do you know my number?”

“Oh — got a friend, who asked your friend…” A small pause follows and you don’t know why but the way he speaks to you in this voice strikes something in you or maybe it was just the scene playing in the movie. “Want to talk to you–“

“Okay…what do you want to talk about?” You ask, eyes still on the television, yet your attention is now completely on him. Did your friend really give him your number? But it is a little unusual that she would be able to keep it secret — maybe she just wanted you to have fun on your weekend.

“What’s your favorite scary movie?”

You smile a little at the question. “Oh, but you already know that one — Child’s play.”

A long sigh leaves his lips and it is almost like you can feel it on your ear. “Sorry — I seem to forgot.” This whole unexpected moment makes you tingle a little in excitement, distracting you from everything around you and you can’t help but feel effected by the change of voice.

“That’s okay.” You say. “What’s yours?”

“Guess.”

Humming lightly, you truly think about your answer. Jake’s face flashes in your mind, but it somehow is so blurry that you can’t think of a movie that would fit him — so, you focused on the voice in your ear instead. “I don’t know…I fear you have to give me a hint–“

“You are smart girl, Y/N, surely you can think of killer in a white mask–“

The words strike you a little too deeply, because your mind firstly shows you the ghostly mask. The two black holes it had for its eyes, before you quickly shut down your thoughts. “Halloween?” You say, uncertain as an another slasher with a similar mask flashes before your eyes, but this one spoke to you mostly.

You hear a click of a tongue on the other line at your answer. “Clever girl.” The nickname makes you unusually warm, your legs moving against each other, shifting the thin blanket down your thighs. “What are you doing right now?”

“Ehm — nothing much, just watching a movie.” You just now glance back to the said movie, already a little confused what the characters were doing and why— you are getting a little distracted.

“Alone?” The raspy voice sends chills down your spine. “Want me to come over? I don’t want you to be scared–“

“I’m not scared…right now.” You say, frowning a little, trying to defend yourself and thankfully your voice is steady.

You hear a sound then, close to a coo, before there is more shuffling. “Is it because of me?” There is obvious teasing tone in his voice, but you can’t help yourself, but feel amused by his tactics.

“Yeah, your voice is…soothing in a way.” You can’t quite find the right word to describe it, but you definitely can think of a word which is even closer than the one you said.

Small silence fills the line, listening closely to the static, ear trying to pick up any noise you could. This small pause only highlights the tension rising in the room, making you fumble with the left strap of your tank top and just as you did that — like he could see you, he speaks up again, but now there is not so much amusement. “Y/N, tell me…” You can’t even make a sound, so he continues, a little nervous about what he might say — but you certainly wouldn’t have guessed it right. “What are you wearing?” He asks, breathing into the speaker, the sigh making your pure heart skip a beat.

Your eyes widened, mouth hanging open. “What? I-I–“ This definitely wasn’t part of your plan for the night, neither getting a quite firstly innocent call to only lead to this. Your body responses truthfully the moment those words are spoken, thighs rubbing against each other, feeling the hem of your shorts digging into your center. You battle a little, wondering if you should play along and maybe enjoy this call or if you should just hang up. You definitely wouldn’t care if you did, you wouldn’t care that you basically would chicken out of phone sex, but — the way your bottom half starts to tingle, you tell yourself to relax and simply enjoy. “Not much?” You cough out as your voice becomes strained.

A low, long hum echoes from the other side, spreading tingles across your slicked skin. “Not much…” He repeats and you hear the fake pout in his voice. “Describe what you are wearing.”

You know where this conversation is leading to, but you are still careful with your words, a little self conscious, like he could just see your barely covered body. “Just a tank top and shorts…there are hearts on them.” Biting your lip at the last sentence, you wait for his reaction and maybe next request.

“How cute.” He almost whispers and you can basically feel his every breath in your ear. “Wish I could see you–“ You think you hear a small mumble at the end, but you don’t pick up what it is — probably just something in the background.

You close your eyes for a second, the movie still playing long forgotten as you slowly pull down your blanket to pool at your feet. Air hits your hot skin, damp in sweat and something else. You pick your courage, licking your dried lips, before speaking. “And what would you do if you did?” Your voice is no longer collected and cool, it’s breathy and whiny and you feel heat rushing to your face at your own voice.

You seem to catch him off guard — or so you thought, only to be reminded that you might not be that seductive as you thought you. “Do you really want to know, Y/N?” There’s an edge to his voice, giving you the last chance to back away, but you know that it is too late for that, because you can already feel slick forming between legs.

“Yes.”

Shakily responding you let the phone fall down shoulder, pressing your ear to it, while your fingers tug at the cushion beneath you. Waiting, though not so patiently, your eyes drift around the room, like it is the first time ever, your mind empty and fuzzy. Another click is heard in your ear, before a sigh is heard, making your hands tighten around the leather couch. “Pull your hair off your neck…” Your eyes close ever so slightly at those words, ear becoming numb from how much you try to feel his small breaths across your skin. “Then kiss down your neck, teasing you, just a little, till I would get a little lower–“ Your breath hitches, rubbing your legs together, unshamefully aroused and you really don’t seem to care anymore. “Do something for me Y/N.” You nod your head, like he could see you, eyes blinking open. “Follow my voice.”

Your white knuckles, that grip the cushion turn into their natural color, as you slowly trail your hand over your body to your hair. You do just as he said, gathering the strands of your hair and pushing them off your shoulders, fingers dancing across your neck. “Okay…a little lower–“ You are quiet, bashful from the fact that only a voice and words could make you feel like this. The more your hand travels lower, the more your nails scratch at your skin — going over your neck, collarbones, till they pinch on the swell of your breasts.

“Yes–“ You gasp at the moan leaving him, whimpering softly to yourself, while you play with the hem of your tank top. “Lower.” You follow his word, fingers getting caught a little in the cleavage of your top, dragging the fabric down with your movements, till it snaps back. “Lower.” His voice suddenly becomes rougher, hearing the shuffling of fabric on the other side as your hand meets your stomach. “Right there Y/N — yeah, there we go–“ You sigh sharply, head tilting back a little as your hand meets the waistband of your sleep short, stopping just over your mound. “Tell me…how do you feel.”

“I — hot, I feel hot.” You say, sighing breathlessly. You do not move your hand and touch yourself, the build up making you feel so much better than you thought it would and you do not want to disobey him. “I–I can’t-“

“Can’t what, sweetheart?”

“Wait – please, I need it.” You don’t recognize yourself — so needy and ready to burst at any moment. You can feel your nipples hardening, goosebumps appearing on your sweaty skin, thighs already slick with your cum.

“Touch yourself.” You can hear the words, but you for second can’t hear hear anything else other than the low hum in your ears. Your hand trails lower, pushing the material of your shorts to the side before you dip just a little into your leaking cunt, moan ripping out of you. “Just like that, Y/N. Keep going–“

You frown in pleasure, two of your fingers swiping across your folds, spreading your legs to fully touch your already puffy clit. “Oh, my god…” You have never been so swollen like this before, the hood of your clit puffed up, hips jumping, when you finally push down on it. You circle your fingers across it, smearing your juices across your whole bottom fall and the nasty wet, smack can definitely be heard through the speaker, when a groan fills your ear.

“You sound so good–“ Something rattles on the other side and you through out the noise hum in delight from such praise. “Come one, baby, put those little fingers inside your pussy — you sound like you need it–“ Curse falls your lips, whining a little when your hand leaves your clit, but as you put your hand lower, fingers just dipping inside of you, your palm grazes you, making you grind down greedily. “Fuck that pretty pussy – want to hear it.” Your mind is all over the place, too lost in the pressure, because you only hear a click of a tongue again, when your fingers slide hallway inside you. “I want to hear it.” He voices out each word, making your eyes screw shut at such filthy demand.

However your other hand is already moving to the phone, before you can even stop yourself, losing power over your own body. Grabbing it in your shaking hand, you want so desperately to lift your hips so your fingers would go deeper, but you wait till the phone is placed right on your upper thigh. The fact of hearing you so closely — how each inch of your fingers disappear into you, makes a wet sound and it should be embarrassing, but it only makes you moan louder, hoping that he can hear you.

When your hole meets the back of your knuckles, you scissor your fingers, spreading yourself open. Your slick is already pooling down your ass, creating a wet spot on your blanket, with the first curl of your fingers. You chase after the pleasure, clit bumping into your palm as you pull out your fingers a little to only push them back in, hitting the small squishy spot inside you. Gripping the phone tightly, it shakes from your strong hold, mouth falling open. You are dripping wet — so slippery that you fuck yourself just a little harder to feel more of the sickening pleasure. You are letting yourself go, moaning loudly, head tilting back, feeling your tummy rumble and when a small crack of the floor is heard you realize that you almost forgotten the phone in your hand.

Your hand doesn’t stop, when you put the phone back to your ear, whimpering at the quiet moan from the other side. “Fuck — you sound even better than I imagined…” Your whimper mixes with his own sound of pleasure, wondering if he might be doing the exact same thing as you, but hearing him becoming so whiny and quiet is really making you lose it. “Keep going–“

“Please talk more…I’m close.” Gasping sharply, when the tips of your fingers graze the one sweet spot, your hips hump your hand wildly. Your eyes are shinning with small tears of pleasure, ready to plead if he asked you to.

“Yeah?” You can hear the amusement in his voice. “Gonna come all over yourself? Just from hearing my voice? Fuck, you are such a slut Y/N–” Nodding dumbly, the name only makes your eyes squeeze tightly shut, concentrating on the pleasure, ignoring your numbing hand. You place the phone to your shoulder again to only sneak your now free hand to your breast. The extra stimulation almost too much, pinching a little at your hardened nipple. “Yeah, keep squeezing your tits just like that–“

You pause, slowly realizing the words he had spoken. Your hand releases your breast, now laying flat across it, the other still moving a little. “H-how do you know?” You ask, voice quiet, but you know it’s not that much from the pleasure anymore.

“I can see you, silly girl.” The deep chuckles makes your heart stop, freezing in your spot, eyes staring wildly across the seemingly empty living room.

“Where?” Your breathing becomes heavy, pulling your fingers away from your center and sitting up slowly on the couch.

“Come and see — should have locked your window–“ Your eyes widened at the words, hearing the sound of beeping, signaling the call has been ended. You wanted to scream, cry, but in your state of shock and in this fight or flight situation, you don’t think twice and rush to pull yourself on your feet, throwing the phone somewhere, not really caring about the crack you hear, when it hits the floor. You are shaking, chest tight as you run on your trembling feet to the front door only to be met with a sight that almost makes you fall in despair.

Ghostface — it is standing right in front of you, right before the door leading to your freedom. It stares at you, listening how your naked feet squeak on the polished floor, making you stumble from your sudden pause. The way you fall a little forward makes him jump at you, but you quickly dodge his hands, turning around to run to the opposite side and away from him. However as you ran through the hallway, passing the staircase, you notice someone standing in the middle of the stairs.

A cry leaves you, thinking firstly you have lost your mind, when your eyes meet another person dressed as the ghostly figure. Your first thought of going up the stairs to maybe jump of your window, which you knew was definitely now opened was forgotten. This one seems to be even faster as he runs down the stairs, hand shooting through the wooden railing to grab your passing form, but he was only able to graze your shoulder with its leather glove. You can’t catch your breath properly, feet sliding across the floor when you turn the corner to the kitchen. The thought of maybe grabbing a weapon was there, but seeing the other door to the kitchen seemed as a safer option.

Your body slams onto the door, sliding through the small gap, before slamming it in their faces. Your eyes stare around the living room and the couch which you were pleasuring yourself on to its voice just minutes ago — you don’t want to reminisce it. Your feet drag you back to the main door, turning the knob, only to stupidly realize you have locked it. However, when your eyes fall down the keyhole, your keys were not there. The window is your only option now…

You can taste blood on your tongue, adrenaline pulsing through you, when you turn around to the staircase, catching a glimpse of the two figures closing the distance between you. The carpet scratches you, burning, like your already strained muscles as you jump onto the stairs, nearly falling to your knees by the reckless move. That also almost gets you caught — dragging yourself up your feet before one of them can catch your ankle. The loud, creaking stairs, makes you wonder if you truly are being haunted, because how long have they been here with you? The stairs never seem to end, their incoming stumps making you cry out, rush pulsing in your veins. Your foot just barely touches the carpet of the second floor, before you feel a cold hand on your other. You can’t even blink — it already drag you to its body.

Your hands save you from the fall, a loud thud! echoing in the hallway. You can’t anymore — you can’t…You feel the hand leave you — you hear the slow footsteps coming up the stairs, the two figure’s watching you desperately try and crawl away from them, but you are only flipped onto your back. Hands find your shoulders, pushing you to you to the ground and you gasp loudly at the close proximity of the masked person. You can almost see an emotion behind the darkness…

You don’t fight back anymore, excepting your fate that you still have to guess, because you can’t find any weapon in their hands. The one holding you releases you suddenly, standing up to its fully height. You whimper softly, staring through you eyelashes at the pair looming over your shaking body. The more you look at them, the more you feel nauseous, afraid, tears quickly gathering in your eyes — but at that reaction they pull their hands up to their faces, making you momentarily quiet and still. With shock you watch them wrap their hands around the back of their masks, before pulling them off their heads.

Your whole word turns dark, heart stopping at the familiar heads of hair, thinking you must be out of your mind, but then they reveal themselves fully — Jeongin and Seungmin, staring down at you with crazed smiles, breathing heavily from your small fight. “Oh, my god–“ You hiccup a little, shaking your head in disbelief. Your body shakes, looking at them. Their hair is a mess, noticing the blonde without his glasses and wonder if he ever needed them to begin with. Seungmin takes just a one step closer, making your eyes snap to him, backing up a little. From the corner of your eyes you can see your open bedroom door, but you are not dumb enough to try your luck and also, even with just a small glance, the brunette noticed it. “You killed all of those people–“ You are horrified, disgusted, but you couldn’t take your eyes off them.

They cooed — they cooed at you like they were seeing a small injured puppy, the familiar sound unwillingly making heat go over you. Your lips fall shut, watching how they shake their heads at you. “Those weren’t people, Y/N — we did this for you.” Their voices blend into each other, the last sentence making shivers go down your spine. The way they are not phased, looking normal about this whole situation, makes your head hurt.

“W-what?” You can’t cry, only sniffle in confusion. Your eyes trail over their figures clad in long drape of black cloth, nothing, but their masks in their hands. You can’t believe it — you would have ever guessed it. Though maybe your body responding to their stares and need to press their bodies to yours just few hours ago told you enough. They had no weapons, remembering how they only tried to catch and not physically harm you, but how can you be sure of their intentions? Maybe they are hiding their knifes under their cloaks, maybe trying to scare you and play with your mind, before they do it. How can you trust their words right now, when they lied to you the whole time?

Because of the way they appear so calm, it makes your chest stop heaving so hard and fast, catching your breaths that you didn’t take when you were being chased. You watch them both lower themselves to crouch before your layed out form and in reflex your legs you try to kick them down, but you are not fast enough. Both of them wrap their hands around your legs, pressing them down as you trash. Their holds are strong, yet you don’t feel big pressure, only the small scratch of their leather gloves.

The act makes you stop, deciding to regain the small strength left in you, if they decide differently about your fate, but looking back at their faces — now without both of their masks, raw and real, they show you a small spark of warmness in their cold eyes. “Jake–“ Jeongin says his name with displeasure, sneer match Seungmin’s and you listen their confession with choked breath. “The man that was this close to kidnapping you back in winter–“ You shake your head, trying to remember and they see the fight against your own memories from the look on your features. “You weren’t paying attention — like always. Scratching off at your shopping list, completely unaware of the near danger.”

You don’t want to believe their words, but they sound so real. You vividly remember the day, feeling like any other — were they really there? Watching, spying on you, keeping you safe. You realize at that the obvious truth that they have been watching and following you all along. Your mind goes back to the day at the lockers — how you bumped into Jeongin, thinking it was just an accident. It makes you go back today, how his lips formed into a snear, when Jake showed up. ‘Like back at the lockers?’, he said with disgust, eyes trained on the leaving figure of the football player.

“But — I only know you for half a year!” You fire back, almost spitting in their faces and you for some reason don’t talk against the thought of them saving you — they really looked and sounded believable and what use would it be to lie to you now? “What about the other people?” You whisper, trying to push away from their hold, but they only pull you back to them.

“Just a small practice…” Says Seungmin, sniffing a laugh with his friend and you look at them completely horrified. “Though they surely will not be missed, I give you that–“

“Do you really think that we did those things only out of pleasure?” The blonde continues, not letting you have your word. “Those things you called people were nothing more than a waste.” Venom drips from his mouth, eyes glaring into yours.

You don’t know what to say. Again they could be just lying to your face, but why would they? They already showed you how much trust they had in you by pulling of their masks. The news didn’t say anything about the victims, it was always the same — the victim was a residence of the town. Not telling the public what the victim might have done to deserve such punishment, maybe to seek fear in order for the public to began their own search. If the people knew that the killers — Jeongin and Seungmin were targeting only bad people, it would only turn on the authorities. You know that some fanatics would say that they are saviors and in a sense they are. They both saved you from that man which you didn’t even know off, they were taking care of you. No…you can’t be thankful for them, they still hurt people.

“You think that makes you better?” Even the words felt heavy on your tongue, trying to fight back the obvious — they saved you. “You think you will redeem yourself of what you both did?”

The brunette shakes his head instantly, smiling with the other, just as he wraps his hand around your chin. “No…you will redeem us.” His breath fans over your face, lips tingling at the familiar smell of mint. The tone of his voice makes a small sound escape your mouth, screwing your eyes shut in embarrassment.

You hear Jeongin leaning closer to you, the soft fabric of his cloak falling over you. You don’t open your eyes immediately, stilling when his breath hits your ear. “Sweet, Y/N.” He says, voice dripping with honey and you gasp softly, not able to move your mouth properly by the hand on your face.

“Do you think we are going to hurt you?” You have a feeling that the sadness in Seungmin’s voice is mocking, however when your eyes blink open you see the truth. You know — but still your mind overpoweres your heart, logically nodding in agreement at such question and surprisingly they don’t look too taken back or offended.

They actually cooed at you more, shushing you softly and it calms you just a little “We would never.” Still you shake a little in their hold, trying to find the pieces of your shattered sanity. “We did this all for you, so you can be safe-“ Jeongin argues, feeling his covered thumb brushing across your naked skin. You really are crazy to trust them with their words.

Seungmin pulls you closer to face him again, gazing down at you. “Don’t you feel saver knowing we saved you and your dignity?” He says and you gasp in sudden realization.

“You killed Jake-“

“No, no, no-“ Seaungmin stops the small cry leaving you and you feel Jeongin leaning to dig his nose in your hair, basically rubbing the side of his face into you — you can’t do anything other than inhale sharply at his closeness. “Even if we would prefer that…we just really let him learn his lesson.” Smile creeps up onto the brunette’s face and you can feel the other smiling just as wildly on your temple.

“You are both crazy!” Your voice is broken, trembling at the feeling of the blonde’s lips pressing lightly on the side of your face.

“Oh, really?” Every word bounces of your skin, feeling his spit smear over you and at his tone of voice, your bottom lip quivers. “Hear that, Seungmin?” You can hear the amusement in his voice, while he turns his head to glance at his companion and you do nothing, but the same.

A low hum comes from him, looking down your body shamelessly and you self-consciously squeeze your thighs together and that move particularly seems to make his eyes sparkle. “Weren’t you the one fucking yourself to our voices?” Teasing you, the smile in his voice makes you shake, embarrassed at the memory of them seeing you at your most vulnerable.

“I didn’t know it was you!”

“Yeah, but you definitely didn’t think of the fuckface-Jake either.” Spits Jeongin, turning his head to look into your eyes and you can see every small wrinkle and invisible blemish on his skin.

Then a voice is heard and it makes your heart stop for a moment, a familiar knot forming in your stomach as you turn to Seungmin. With wide eyes you glance at the small box in his hand, watching him press down the button on the side of it. “You like it.” He states the obvious and you can’t do nothing, but agree silently in your head. You can hear both his normal voice and his changed one, the reality of the situation crushing over you. His hand on your chin tugs you closer to his face, hearing the click of the button again, crisp hum coming of the voice changer. “You, like that, Y/N?” Fuck you do….

“I-I-“ You try to justify yourself, fight against the rising desire in your gut. Maybe it is because of your ruined orgasm, but you seem to almost lean into his hold.

A deep laugh rings in your left ear, making you look from the corner of your eye at Jeongin who holds his own voice changer in his hand. “Want us to finish the job, huh?“ He says, eyes flickering down your body, hand tightening around you. “I can see the wet spot on your little shorts from here.” Your lips fall apart, whimper leaning you, knowing that Seungmin must feel the blood rushing to your face. You see your legs tremble from how much you were pressing them together, making you calm down your strained muscles. You can feel your upper thighs stick together, the cold air kissing you, realizing you haven’t even put your shorts back to their place.

The hand on your face leaves you, letting you turn to look up at the brunette, watching his every move. A sense of Deja vu washes over you, when he pulls your hair off your shoulder, eyes staring at the naked skin of your neck. Their hands on your legs trail up, the extra stimulation already too much to handle all at once as Seungmin lowers his head to your neck, hand stopping just at your higher part of your thigh — but Jeongin doesn’t.

Breath fans over your skin, making it tingle, before you feel a press of Seungmin’s lips on the part where your neck meets your ear. Mind completely fuzzy, you sigh out a silent gasp, when Jeongin’s fingers lightly graze over your exposed center. It makes your hand shoot to his, gripping at his wrist and it makes him stop momentarily. He meets your wide gaze, quietly asking. You can feel the other kissing your skin again, your hand on the blonde’s softening its grip a little, but not internally letting go. Giving you one single look, his leather covered fingers finally dip into you.

The unknown material on your most sensitive area sends sparks down your spine, gasping lightly, grip around his wrist tightening a little, when he pushes his fingers harder against you. “Fuck, I can feel how wet you are even over my glove–“ The blonde opens his mouth, mimicking the whimper you let out at lewd words. Your other hand flies to grip Seungmin’s shoulder to brace yourself when you feel the small flicker of his friend’s finger on your clit, but you only receive a bite on your neck.

Your yelp makes them both laugh, suddenly pulling away from you to look at you fully, all three of you trying to catch your breaths. Their hold leaves you, challenging you, maybe to see if you would run, but to your own surprise you do nothing other than rubbing your legs together. “Stand up.” You nod after a split second, crawling back a little so you could stand up on your shaking legs, just like they asked you to.

They immediately follow your lead, making you nearly double over by their looming height, gasping when they both grab you, picking you off your feet. The embarrassment of feeling your cunt quiver is quickly forgotten as you swing your feet in the air, till you are pulled into your room. Your eyes glance at your window, cracked open, like you carelessly left it. When you feel them put you down on your carpet the memory is thrown out of the window, when they manhandle you, turning you around, before pushing you down on the bed.

The pink duvet wrinkles under your weight, watching them slowly lower themselves on either side of you. Your eyes firstly meet Jeongin’s, his gaze unnaturally soft for a moment, eyes half lidded, flickering down to your bitten lips and you can’t help, but do the same. He leans ever so slightly towards you, but you are swiftly pulled away from him by his friend, who gives you a long, deep look, before smashing his lips to yours.

His tongue breaches your lips immediately, swirling around yours and you desperately try to keep up with his pace. Drool — his and yours mix together, rolling past your lips. He swallows the small sounds you let out, hand gripping at your leg tightly. It seemed way more possessive, fingers digging into you so deeply, you know it will bruise permanently. Seungmin breathes through his nose heavily, fucking your mouth with his tongue and it must be considered anything, but a kiss at that point. Then you however feel a hand sneaking its way up your back, till it buries itself into your hair, tugging harshly. It makes you pull away from the brunette, who bites down at your lip, almost like tugging you back to him. A small hiss leaves you, but it is torn away from you hallway when Jeongin pulls you by your hair to his own lips.

His kiss is a little softer, more precise, not overly using his tongue right away to build up the tension. Spit is literally rolling down your neck, pooling at the valley of your breasts, leaning into the blonde just a little more, when his own hand meets your thigh. Another lips travel up your neck, kissing your jawline, cheek, till you feel Seungmin swiping his tongue across yours and Jeongin’s. “Fuck-“ Your small curse isn’t even heard, both of them pressing their bodies to yours, tongues licking into your open mouth.

The sighs from all of you melt into one, your heart hammering against your chest, letting them both kiss you messily. You don’t even know who is who at this moment. Who is biting down on your lower lip, who is swiping their tongue across your gums and teeth — you don’t even register one of them pulling away from you. Your mind is completely empty, so soaked that you can feel your shorts and your duvet sticking to your pulsating pussy. You are drunk of a simply kiss that felt so much more than anything that you left, when you were pleasuring yourself downstairs in the living room.

When you are pulled away from the mouth latching onto yours, it makes your eyes flicker open, only meeting Seungmin’s crazed eyes. His lips shine, puffy and red, swiping his thumb across yours to clean up the drool across your them. “Sit on his face, baby–“ Your eyes momentarily widened at such words, just noticing the shifting on your bed behind you, making you turn around and see the blonde laying on his back horizontally on the mattress. “Maybe, you can finally shut him up–“ Seungmin laughs, ignoring the glare on Jeongin’s face, it melting when meeting your eyes.

You bite your lip, already raw, trailing your eyes over his lean body, that is still covered completely. Your body moves on its own, sitting up, reaching to touch him. Being on your hands and knees, you feel Seungmin’s hands finding your hips, squeezing and grabbing a handful. It makes you tremble a little, crawling your way up to the blonde, eyes staring down at his sharp cheekbones and plush lips. But when you go to swing your leg over his body, facing him, you only receive a nasty smack on your cheek.

Another startled yelp leaves you, feeling your skin ripple and burn from the slap, turning around to glare at Seungmin, but he only finds the expression on you was adorable. “Turn around.” You frown a little, confused, turning back to look at man laying before you and when he taps his lips with his index finger your eyebrows raise in realization.

Too much — it was all so much for you, but your body acts on its own, turning around on your knees, your backside facing the blonde, before you finally swing your leg over his body to straddle his chest. You needed a moment to breathe, to calm yourself down, but he doesn’t let you even fully settle in this new position. His hands fly to your hips, squeezing just like his friend did, who now faces you, before roughly pulling you closer to his face. A gasp leaves you, falling forward, back arching, your chin hitting the bulge covered by his cloak, stilling when his flattened tongue licks over your barely covered cunt.

Moaning, your eyes glance at Seungmin whose eyes go back and forth between your body and your contracting face which you bashfully hide in the dark cloth beneath you. You try to move just a little, to sit up maybe, legs not strong enough in this position, but Jeongin doesn’t seem particularly against in sticking his whole face in to you. You can feel him everywhere — tongue licking over your slicked slit, mouth sucking in your lips, teeth grazing over your pulsating clit, nose digging in hole. “Too much — fuck!” Your legs already shake, face smushed against his leg, grazing his twitching cock.

Jeongin pulls away from you with a sharp inhale, chuckling at your trembling legs, hands running over the swell of your ass. “Come on, baby. We know you can take it.” You moan, not sure if it’s in agreement or disagreement, spit covered lips soaking his cloak. You only whine more, when he suddenly lifts his hips effortlessly, even with you being on top of him.

While trying to catch your breath a little, letting the man under you play with you — sqeezing your flesh, sucking meanly at your thighs, you didn’t even notice the other getting off the bed. The blonde pulls your lips apart, groaning at the sight of your dripping hole. “Fuck, look at that–“ A familiar long hum echoes around the room, making you tilt your head, gaze only meeting Seungmin’s. You don’t even know how he got behind you, but that doesn’t seem as important as the sight of his cock in his hand.

With wide eyes and blurry vision you watch his hand go up and down the length, smearing his own precum over himself and you whimper softly at the veins running from the base all the way to his flushed tip. Your small noise only breaks in a loud mewl when you feel the blonde’s tongue licking you up again, long and rough, before you are left speechless when he shuffles a little more to the edge of the bed. “You are dripping, baby — gonna fuck you nice and good right now, okay?” You look at him with big eyes, feeling Jeongin, sliding under you, latching right on your clit.

You can’t move an inch from the growing pleasure, shaking again already, freezing for a second when you feel the tip of the brunette’s cock kissing your entrance. Jeongin doesn’t seem to be put off, actually nibbling a little at you, while Seungmin starts to bottom out. The sweet burn from the sheer thickness melts away with the tongue moving your clit from side to side, making you grip tightly onto Jeongin’s legs, face bumping into his own cock that twitches all the same like the one now kissing your cervix.

Your walls suck him right in, back arching even more, grinding down on the cock inside you and the tongue licking your cunt. “Hear that?” Your ears perk up at the words, feeling Seungmin pull out his cock, before fucking back into you with a filthy, nasty smack! as your skins meet. “You are a fucking slut — greedy for a cock and a mouth at the same time–“ You hum dumbly in agreement, face hot at the sound of Jeongin spitting and slurping at you. “That asshole wouldn’t even know what to do with this hungry cunt of yours — would he Jeongin?”

His friend unlatches from you, though his tongue still licks at your folds, letting the man over him snap his hips back into you, before picking up pace that makes you see stars. “No.” You don’t even make a sound for a second there, mouth hanging open at the way Seungmin’s cock kisses the spot inside you that you have trouble reaching yourself. The lack of answer from your side gives you a sharp bite on your right thigh, Jeongin teeth breaching the sensitive skin with a wide smile. “Answer us — would he be able to make you feel like this?” Another smack lands on your ass, Seungmin’s now naked hand grabbing a handful of your bouncing flesh.

“No!” You cry out, sobbing almost when the blonde suck your clit into his mouth, gripping at your trashing hips. “N–never–“ Your whole face rubs against Jeongin’s cock, making a wet spot appear right over his tip from your drooling .

“Fuck, yeah, he wouldn’t.” Seungmin is cocky and you can hear the proud smirk on his face from the way your hips start to meet his. You don’t even want to move — can’t even, your muscles and nerves doing it for you. It only makes you back up into Jeongin’s nose, moaning as it hits your clit perfectly. “So good–“ Praises the brunette, slapping his palm over your already bruised skin, his eyes fighting to stay open when your insides starts to pulse around him.

“I am — I-I–“

“Gonna cum, huh?” He is mocking you, but the sight of your ass bouncing on his cock and his friend’s tongue just lightly grazing over him, makes his own hips shutter. “That soon?” The blonde under you response by pushing the tip of his tongue hard against your poor clit.

“Please-” You whisper, mind a mess from the burn coming from your clit and stretched out hole.

“What do you think, Jeongin?” You want to moan in protest, pleading quietly to the man under you, who has been torturing with his tongue for the longest time. “Should we let her cum?” Seungmin asks, though not stopping thrusting into you.

The named man nods firstly, the move with his mouth latched on you, nearly taking you over the edge, but he separates from you just as you felt the first spark of your peak. “She’s been good — so responsive–“ You hate how even now they are playing with you, not knowing that they are doing it just to spite you — to completely ruin you for anyone else…there will not be anyone else. “I want you to cum all over my mouth.” Mumbles Jeongin in your pussy, swirling his tongue hard over your tingling clit.

“Fuck, please…yes–“ Loud gasp leaves you when you feel the tip of Seungmin’s cock hitting the plushy spot inside you. “Don’t stop.” Your words die on your tongue, falling forward, the only thing keeping you somewhat up were their hands digging into your soft skin. Your lower tummy rumbles, the sudden burn coming from your clit is so much that you want to escape the feeling, but they are too strong.

The incoming pleasure is so close — so sharp and intense, that you feel your whole body being set on fire. You shake, sobbing and moaning loudly, muffled by your mouth digging into Jeongin’s cock that twitches under you. Seungmin buries into you deeper, his hand finding your hair to pull your head back so they both could hear what they were doing to you. With a single last suck of lips, cock ramming into you in a delicious pace that makes you almost black out, you finally cum, coating the brunette’s cock and the blonde’s face in your juices.

You see white for a second, feeling your hole push out the cock still moving in you, giving Seungmin no choice, but to pull out of you. A flow of your juices and pleasure come leaking out of you and straight to Jeongin’s face and you in exhaustion flop down on him. “Holy shit— didn’t know you were a squirter.” Your features would have shown shock at the words, but you are completely drained from energy, whimpering, because you can’t seem to ride down this mind shattering orgasm.

You feel someone flipping you around, the blonde shuffling away from you, letting you flop down back on the bed. The ceiling dances in shapes, your chest rising heavily, stretching your hand to push your hair off your face only to met plastic in the way. Turning your head to the side you only find one of their masks right next to you and you find yourself trailing your fingers over the sleek white face. “Baby…” You tiredly look down the length of your body, meeting their gazes that spark with a new emotion. “You like it?”

You genuinely think of a right answer, turning to look back at the mask, that right now didn’t seem so scary. You hate yourself — you know that it isn’t because they fucked you so good, you truly can feel your pussy fluttering at the memory of them wearing it. Then you only nod, not trusting your own voice and they both melt a little at the cute wonder on your face. Seungmin is the first one to move, hands trailing up your thighs, meeting with the waistband of your shorts. You help him take them off, the garment completely unnecessary. Jeongin on the other hand goes a little higher — firstly just grabbing a handful of your tits, nipples digging into his palms, before he as well helps you take off the last piece of clothing.

Their sweet behavior makes your chest fill with warmth, but you can’t ignore the darkness in their eyes, that drink in your naked body. Hands are everywhere on you — mostly groping the new exposed flesh of your tits, pinching meanly at your nipple, each giving you a harsh suck on the swell of your breasts, marking you. You take your chance to finally touch them, running your hands through their hair, gripping their shoulders, feeling their muscles spasm under your fingers. Your legs are spread open, Seungmin’s cock rubbing against your thigh, while Jeongin fumbles with something behind you.

They detach their mouths from you, making you look down your body, noticing hickeys, blotches and bruises covering you. A ruffle of clothing catches your attention, noticing firstly how the blonde kneeling beside your head uncovers his lower half. You inhale, staring at the bulge in his pants, before looking up at him, only to be left speechless again. He is wearing the mask…you don’t how he was able to put it on so quickly, but you are still drowsy of your orgasm, vision a blur.

Watching him undo his belt and zipper you instantly go to sit up on your arms, only to be pulled down a little on the bed. Seungmin tugged at your ankle, just like on the stairs and now even with the same mask on his face. The feeling of having not the privilege to see their pretty faces, making you instead stare at the Ghostface mask makes you oh, so needy. You can just feel their grins on you — the blonde tugging at your roots to turn your head to face his now uncovered cock.

“Will you be good and take both of us?” You bite your lip, eyes going from the long veiny cock with deliciously flushed tip to his masked face, air getting caught in your throat at the use of the voice changer.

Nodding, you blink slowly, trying to unstick your teary eyelashes to fully imprint this view in your mind. You feel hand trail over your stomach, squeezing at your soft tummy, while the cock before you pokes at your lips, smearing precum all over you. “Gonna fuck my cum right here–“ Says the brunette, pressing down on your tummy. “You’ll be mine.”

“Ours.” Hisses Jeongin through his teeth, when you wrap your lips around his tip, sucking the salty taste of him in your mouth. The sneer is obvious in his tone and as response the older snaps his hips into yours, burying his cock in you in one go.

Your squeal is muffled by the cock in your mouth, hand smoothing down your messy hair, but the sweet gesture doesn’t match his or his friend’s movements. You almost choke around him as he hits the back of your throat, because Seungmin started to chase quickly and roughly for his own orgasm. You can tell by the way he rolls his hips into yours — humping you more and more than fucking you, gasps and curses flying out his mouth that he definitely won’t last that much longer like before.

Drool rolls down face again, eyes filling up with tears, while you still look at the man fucking your mouth. He is slow with it, yet hard, keeping in mind that you might not be able to catch up with him when his company is so busy with molding your pussy into the shape of his cock. You are already over the line of overstimulation, your cunt swallowing hungrily Seungmin’s cock and when he suddenly presses his thumb over the top of your clit your eyes roll back into your skull, legs shaking around his hips. “You, slut — look at you swallowing my cock, bet you are about to cum again, hm?” You grip his hips tightly between your legs, trying to get much needed oxygen through your nose, head swirling from the incoming pleasure.

“Look at me — when I’m fucking-“ The low, rough voice makes you look at its owner, moaning around Jeongin, when you notice the desperation in Seungmin’s movements. “Yes, yes — keep squeezing me like that — fuck!” You whimper loudly, hand stretching to make the brunette slow down a little as you feel the second orgasm of the night creeping up on you. The blonde pulls out his drenched cock from your mouth, making you instantly moan breathlessly, eyes on Seungmin, who throws the voice changer somewhere to grab your hips to fully fuck into you, . “Cum for me — cum with me, come on, baby — yeahhh-“

No sound leaves your lips, when you hit the peak of your pleasure, body shaking violently as you feel Seungmin’s cock twitch. His warm cum fills you right after, pressing his whole cock so deep inside you, that you fear for a second that he breeched your cervix. Groaning, he falls on his knees before you, head hanging low, only to realize as he pulls his down his mask, that he is staring at where your bodies meet, watching his cum leak out of, forming a creamy ring around his cock. “Still not full?” Says Jeongin and you watch him tore his own mask off, running his hand through his messed up hair.

“I can’t no more–“ You plea, but the sight before you makes your cunt only clap down on the cock still inside you. The younger one eyes the older, looking into his eyes before wrapping his hand around the base of his cock to pull him out of you. You don’t know if it was because of his orgasm or the mesmerizing sight of your hole leaking his cum, but he lets Jeongin shove him off you to fill in his position.

He crawls up your body, kissing your left nipple, before meeting your lips in a sweet kiss. “You can — just hold on, I got you.” You moan tiredly, twitching, when he puts his cock to your clit teasingly. “Have to fill you up too.” You look up at him with big eyes, the intimate position making your chest swell and it seems like it does it for him too.

You let him grab your legs, a little shocked by him pushing them all the way to your ears, but you are a complete mess to care anymore, muscles jello. His cock breaching your stuffed pussy, makes a nasty wet sound echo around the room. Whimpering, while the blonde moans, long fingers digging into the cushion on each side of your head, you lock your legs together behind his back. You watch — mesmerized by the sweat dripping down his face, hair sticking to his forehead as he rams his cock into you, not even letting you breath for a second.

Your eyes shoot open again, fighting against your tiredness, wildly staring into his eyes, mewling at each snap of his hips, the sticky release of his friend smearing across the both of you. “Fuck, you are so right, Y/N.” You hum between each snap of his hips, head rolling back, when his happy trail scratches your completely bruised clit.

“Ah! Ah — Jeongin, can’t–“ Your whole bottom half burns, but it still was so good that you found yourself drowning in the pleasure.

Your head is turned back, vision nothing, but small black spots, but you recognize the hand holding you. “Cum for him, Y/N-“ Seungmin says, laying beside you and your eyes meet the blonde’s at the words. It was like a command — they had the complete power over your mind and body. “Just one more…” A sob breaks out of you, gasping then when Jeongin hits your spot particularly hard. You need to feel something more — so, you lean in to press your lips to his and the unexpected gesture leaves his thrusts shattering into a stop, groaning into your mouth.

This one takes you completely out of your body, feeling yourself squirt ones again, so hard you swear you could hear your orgasm dripping out of you. But the thing you do feel is the cum filling you, mixing with yours and the other’s. You can feel the light kisses on your skin — you can hear the words both degrading and encouraging. Your ringing ears are filled with sweet nothings, your eyes not able to tell apart the room and faces before you — but you do see the obvious.

You are insane in the brain.

[flippedccc]

is that a bet? • stray kids ot8 x reader

M D N I 18+

Synopsis: at some point of playing ‘never have I ever’, you make a bet that you could make all eight of your best friends cum within 10-15 minutes…and well, you did.

WC: 3.7k (I have issues)

Tags: PURE SMUT, afab!reader, softdom!chan, dom!minho, dom!changbin, softdom!hyunjin, sub!jisung, sub!felix, dom!seungmin, switch!jeongin, switch!reader, piv, unprotected sex (wrap the eggplant yall), same hole double penetration, ass smacking, squirting, begging, overstimulation, hair pulling, spitting, oral (f. receiving), lwk gangbang, praise (pretty, good girl), degradation (slut, whore), light dacryphilia, breeding kink, creampie, biting(?), grinding, pet names (baby, babe, princess, hun, darling, kitten, bun, etc), marking/hickey, probably forgetting some…sorry :P

a/n: this is so smutty i am so sorry…but yw 🫠

You don’t remember how exactly you ended up in this position…something about a bet, yet here you are, half-naked spread out on the floor with eight pairs of eyes burning into your body.

8 minutes earlier

“Never have I ever,” Minho pauses in thought, “nutted before my partner.”

“What the actual fuck Minho.” Seungmin grimaces, though he takes a swig of soju. “What?!” Minho shrugs defensively, “It makes the game more interesting.”

“That’s a fucking lie though.” Jisung snorts as he also takes a shot of soju. “And how would you know that?” You ask with a sly smirk.

“I’ve seen him watch porn,” He deadpans, which sends everyone into a fit of laughter.

“You wanna bet Ji?” Minho challenges.

“Y’all seriously aren’t about to jerk off right here…right?” Chan looks at them in disgust and then at the white shag carpet underneath them, “Why, you wanna join?” Minho pokes.

“I bet none of y’all virgins can stop yourselves from cumming as soon as someone touches you.”

“You wanna make that bet.” Changbin chimes in. You groan at them which catches their attention, “Do you have something to say princess?” Jisung raised his brows teasingly. You groan yet again at the nickname before saying, “I bet I could make all y’all cum in fifteen, maybe ten minutes.”

“You really wanna do this?” Hyunjin lifts your chin with his finger. “Hmm,” you hum, “if you guys cum before I do, a hundred…from each of you.”

“That’s eight hundred bucks!” Jeongin blurts out, you nod slyly. “And if we win?” Felix tilts his head. “Y’all can decide on that.” you state.

You move to get up, dragging your hoodie over your body and exposing your oversized shirt underneath. You turn around looking at the eight boys. “Are we doing this or not?”

Everyone unanimously agrees. It went so fast, the soju from the previous rounds probably getting to everybody’s heads and letting you carelessly make these decisions.

“Oh and rules-“ “RULES?!” Minho, Seungmin and Jisung cried out. “Guys it’s her body, she can make rules.” Felix interrupts their protests. “Thanks Lix,” You smile before continuing, “no touching…well to be more clear no touching me or yourselves…but I can touch you.”

“What?!” They all exclaimed in disappointment.

“It makes the game more interesting.” You shrug, spewing Minho’s previous words at them, the said boy shoots you a playful glare.

You glanced over at the digital clock that hung from the wall. 12:48.

Present

And well, that’s how you ended up here.

Your hand trails down your body stopping at your soaked panties before circling over your clit, toes curling at the feeling.

You stare up at the eight boys, their eyes dazed on your leaking cunt that stains your panties. You let out a moan as you hook your fingers around the material and slip it down your legs, exposing your now bare glistening cunt. You let a finger plunge into your heat, biting your lip. You lock eyes with Changbin, his knuckles gripping at his sweatpants, the outline of his cock bulging through the material. You bite your lip as you stare at his bulge.

The sound of a small whine prompts you to look over at another flustered and painfully hard boy. Jisung looks at you, his eyebrows furrowed and his lower lip is caught between his teeth. “Please, Y/N.”

“Well since you asked so nicely.” You coo, pulling your fingers out of your cunt and crawling ever so slowly towards the round cheeked boy. As you settle by his side, you purposefully arch your back and push your ass out so that the guys sitting criss crossed on the floor behind me have a nice view. You trail your fingers up his knee and towards his thigh

He shivered under your touch as you made your fingers dance along his inner thigh. A desperate whimper left his mouth as you pulled back teasingly and went back to your original spot on the shag carpet.

“Fuck,” Hyunjin breathed out, “you’re ethereal.” His usually perfectly sculpted face contoured into a needy look- yet through his desperation he still looked as beautiful as ever. You moan softly as his praise. “Oh, does our little slut like to be praised?” Minho said to your right, you turned to him and bit your lip, your legs instinctively closing as his degradation surged throughout your body. “Fuck and degration too.” Seungmin hums as your eyes trail to him.

The hot touch of a hand on your lower hips snapped you out of the trace that Seungmin had basically pulled you into. You look towards your right, and there Minho is, smirking as his hand squeezes at the curve of your ass. “Hey!” You slapped his hand away, “No touching!”

“You never said what would happen if we did though, kitten.” The stupid pet name had you squeezing your legs together even more, “Aw, such a filthy slut for us.”

“Shit he’s right,” Felix breathed out, “what happens if we do touch you?” Shit, you didn’t think this far ahead- fuck you don’t even remember what the prize of the bet was…or if there even was one. Why are you guys even doing this again? “Fuck,” Chan groans gently, “does this pretty little cunt of yours want to be filled, love?” You feel his rough hands cup your bare cunt, jerking at the sudden touch. “Y/N?” Jeongin’s soft voice cracked as he whined out your name. You hummed in response as you fought the urge to grind against Chan’s large hand. “Can we touch you now? Please.”

“Oh God,” You throw your head back with a moan as Chan teasingly slips a finger inside your glistening pussy, “fuck yes! Please Innie!”

With that Jeongin springs up to his feet and quickly makes his way towards you. At the corner of your eye, you see the other five move from their spot to get closer to you. “Fuck,” you moan, feeling Changbin’s hands run under your tshirt, lightly teasing your pebbled nipples, “why did we do this again?” A small chuckle resonated from Seungmin’s sweet lips, “Because you wanted to win a bet, right pup?”

You bite down on your lower lip, Jisung’s lips attaching themselves to your clit next to where Chan’s fingers are plummeted inside. Felix helps you out of your shirt as Hyunjin and Changbin each take one of your breasts into their mouth. It all happened so quickly and at the same time, you feel your climax nearing faster than ever. And just like that your release is stolen from you as the four boys pull away from your body. You whine out desperately, “I swear to fucking God if y’all do that again I’m leaving and finishing by myself!” You threaten, sitting up onto your knees.

“Okay, okay princess.” Jisung purrs as he tilts your head up by hooking his knuckle under your chin.

You whimper as he nears your face, “This okay?” you gulp and nod quickly and to that he just clicks his tongue, pulling back slightly. “Words babe.”

“Yes.” you sigh breathlessly, Jisung attaches his lips to yours ever so roughly, a pair of soft hands grab at your hips, placing you down onto their lap. Your legs slotted against your chest being held by the man whom you’re laying on, while the said man leaves butterfly kisses along the nape of your neck.

Chan slipped his fingers out of your cunt prompting you to whine but the feeling of something warm and wet poking at your clit causes the whine to turn into a gasp, Jisung takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth.

Your thighs instinctively clench around the head that’s propped between them.

“So sweet.”

Jeongin muttered against your folds before slotting his tongue alongside it yet again. “Holy fuck Innie!” you throw your head back, lips detaching from Jisung’s, with an erotic moan, your head now resting on the shoulder of the man behind you. At this angle you catch a glimpse at the the man- fucking hell.

He sinks his teeth into your neck, though the action seems so rough he doesn’t bite down to the point where it hurts. “Fuck, keep her making those faces.” Felix bites his lip, his hand rubbing himself through his shorts. You whine, shutting your eyes as Jeongin continues to assault your throbbing cunt as Changbin moves into massage your breasts. “Look at you,” Minho purred into your ear as he started grinding his hardened cock against your ass, “being so obedient and submissive for everyone, just like the little slut you are.” You moan out at the overwhelming mixture of sensations; Hyunjin nibbling at your nipple, Jeongin’s tongue running up and down your folds, and Minho breathing dirty words into your ear while peppering your shoulder with kisses and love bites.

The cat eyed boy sneakily brings his hand to your cunt and smacks it slightly, not too hard but enough that it stung a little. “Fuck you,” you groan out as Minho massages your core, his fingers dipping further down towards where Jeongin’s face is buried. “No,” Minho tsked, “I’ll do the fucking.”

“Don’t be too rough on her Min.” Chan spoke, you glance over to him and he had his hand shoved down his pants. “She likes it.” Seungmin said confidently, “Right, whore?” You do nothing but whimper at his words meanwhile your body starts to shake slightly. “Answer with words pup.”

“God, fuck yes! I love it- please don’t stop.” You can feel Jeongin smirk against your heat.

Your eyes wandered to the boy next to Seungmin, his eyes stuck on mine as his pretty face scrunched up, his shorts rustling while his hand too was shoved inside, and his freckled cheeks flushed so very red. “Lix,” you gesture for him to move closer, almost immediately the freckled boy quickly rushed down from his spot on the couch and next to you on the floor. He looks at you with pleading eyes, “take it off.”

You grab at the hem of his shirt, he swiftly pulls it over his head awaiting your next instruction. You were about to ask him something but the feeling of a harsh bite on your inner thigh caused you to squeak out instead. Your head whips down to see Hyunjin licking at the skin he just bit. They’re moving so quickly you can barely keep up with who’s doing what.

“Can we fuck you already?” A voice said from your left, your head instinctively turning towards the source. Seungmin stared at you with prying eyes. “Kim Seungmin!” Chan lightly smacked his shoulder, “Let her choose, remember?” The oldest shakes his head at the younger. “Min,” You whimper from the stimulation. “Yeah?” Both Seungmin and Minho responded. “Lee.” Seungmin pouted as Minho leaned in closer, hooking his chin on your shoulder.

Though your senses are so overloaded, you snake your hands down the space between your bodies, shifting your hips up to grab at his hardened cock. Minho’s brows furrow as you stroke his clothed dick. “Desperate are we?” He smirks, “You want all eight of us tonight? Or just a few?” Chan questions, he’s so thoughtful and that makes your heart hammer in your chest. “All.”

”Fuck.” Each boy’s voice sounds throughout the room, they all stare at you with lust-filled eyes.

Your hand that’s still wrapped around Minho’s cock, begins pumping it. Minho hisses at the feeling, precum leaking from the tip. You tease his slit before shifting your hips in his lap. Lifting your hips, you grind down on his cock, your arousal coating his shaft.

“Oh, fucking hell.” Minho throws his head back erratically as his tip pokes at your clit, he could feel as you throbbed against him. He wanted nothing more than to slip inside you already. Unbeknownst to Minho, you gesture with your head for Hyunjin to move closer.

The taller boy obeys, moving into your space, sealing your lips against his. Hyunjin’s hands moved to your hips, gently- yet quickly- pushing you down onto Minho’s cock. Both you and Minho moan out as you clench around his girth.

“Fuck, you’re squeezing me so well, yeah slut.” Minho grunts before he slams his hips into you roughly, not even allowing you to adjust. “Min, not too rough.” Chan warned as you dug your nails into Hyunjin’s shoulder as he continued kissing you.

“Yeah, she’s still got all of us!” Jeongin whined from Chan’s left. You clench at Jeongin’s words, the thought of you having all eight of them tonight makes you spiral towards your climax. “Not yet kitten. Hold it off.” Minho snarled into your ear, his cock continuously hitting your gspot.

“Hyune.” You whined, reaching down to pump his cock, jerking him towards your pussy that is getting pounded into by Minho. “Shit, you want me too darling?” Hyunjin smirked, his eyes gazing down towards where you and Minho are connected, where you’re pulling him towards.

You hastily nod, nothing but whimpers and moans spilling out from your mouth. Hyunjin shoots Minho a look over your shoulder, the latter smirks at him, taking your thighs and pushing them farther back to give space to Hyunjin.

Hyunjin’s tip pokes at your entrance before he pushes in. The stretch didn’t hurt too bad, but it was enough for tears to prickle in your eyes. As Hyunjin and Minho fucked into you, tears finally fell, cascading down your cheeks from the mixture pleasure and pain.

“Aw, don’t cry bun.” You hear Changbin coo. The built man moving over to you, kissing the tear stains on your cheeks. “They making you feel that good?” He gives a sly raise of his brow, his bottom lips jutting out. “F-Fuck Binnie.” You moan, you can feel both Minho and Hyunjin twitching inside you.

A harsh slap stings on your ass as Minho rubs at the now red spot. “I’m so close princess, can I fill you up?” Hyunjin grunts against your neck. “Yes, God, please, Hyune.” Your body begins to shake as Hyunjin spills into you, Minho following close after at the feeling of your clenching and Hyunjin’s cum coating his cock.

Jisung pushes Changbin out of his way before helping you up off of Minho and Hyunjin’s sweaty bodies, greedily taking you towards the sofa, sitting down and playing you on his lap. Jisung’s cock slips in with ease after being stretched out by Minho and Hyunjin.

You melt into Jisung touch as his hands guide you to roll your hips. His hands make their way towards your ass, spreading your cheeks apart revealing your swollen cunt to the boys behind you.

“Fuck you’re so warm baby.” Jisung groans into your ear. Suddenly another pair of hands are on you, massaging at your hips before rutting his cock between your ass. “Can I have a turn hun?” You hear Felix hum behind you.

You turn your head and give him a weak smile as a go ahead. With that Felix slips his cock alongside Jisung’s, both boys moaning at the feeling. Having almost orgasmed earlier, you feel it build up quicker than last time. Your thighs began quaking as Jisung bucked his hips and Felix thrusted into you.

Your hands shoot up to Felix’s blonde hair, tugging at it when the two boys hit your gspot directly. Felix released a low whimper, “Darling please, I won’t- last long if you do that.” He stumbled over his words, his freckled cheeks a deep pink hue.

You decide to tease the boy, clenching down on his (and Jisung’s) cock, pulling at his hair. You feel as he twitched inside of you before unexpectedly releasing. The freckled boy’s face scrunched up in pleasure as he leaned his forehead against yours as Jisung thrusted into you a few more times before emptying himself into you as well.

“Holy shit.” Felix shook, biting his lower lip before slowing his thrusts, robbing you from your orgasm again. “Save it for me, yeah love?” You heard Chan chuckle to your right. You turn to look at him, flinching when Felix and Jisung ease out of your clenching cunt.

Jeongin helps you off of the other’s bodies. He holds you up when your legs threaten to give out on you. Holding you by the waist, his pretty brown eyes flicker down to your lips, hesitant to lean in. You chuckle before cupping his cheeks and pulling his lips towards yours.

Jeongin groans into the kiss as he grinds his clothed erection into your hips. He pulls away, an embarrassed flush taking over his cheeks. You chuckle before setting him on the sofa like the other had been previously positioned.

Throwing your legs around his lap, you straddled the flustered boy under you. “This okay Innie?” You asked, even though you’ve already crossed that friendship line with him having already eaten you out, you still wanted to make sure he was okay with this.

“Oh fuck yeah I’m okay.” Jeongin grinned, his hands immediately roaming your breasts, squeezing and massaging at the flesh. You hastily undo the zipper of his jeans before tugging his cock out of the slacks. Jeongin hissed at your touch.

Suddenly a hot sting spread through your ass. You whimpered at the slight pain, turning over to see Seungmin glaring down at you. “Bend.” Jeongin stared up at the elder and you in a daze. You leaned as much as you could onto Jeongin before another slap landed on your ass.

A moan echoing from your mouth. With you moaning into his ear, Jeongin grew impatient, grabbing his cock before pressing inside of you. The mixture of the slaps and Jeongin’s cock filling you up made your back arch.

Before you could even begin to process what was happening, Seungmin rammed his cock inside your sopping cunt. You practically scream from the sudden intrusion, nails digging into Jeongin’s shoulders.

The two youngest boys out of your friends absolutely railed you, both stopping whenever your moans would pitch and you would start squeezing their cocks uncontrollably. “Minnie, Innie- let me please, I’m so close.” You cried, that knot in your stomach so tight that it almost hurt.

“You think you deserve it, after driving us all into this stupid bet, you whore?” Seungmin snarled, grabbing your hair and pulling your head backwards, “Open.” You oblige, parting your lips, lolling your tongue out as you understood what the man was hinting at. Seungmin let a drop of saliva fall from his mouth and into yours before harshly pushing your head back towards Jeongin’s neck.

The two boys continued using your cunt until they were spurting out warm ropes into you. Yet again you were robbed from your orgasm as the two roughly filled up your cunt.

“Fuck, you did so well pup.” Seungmin panted against the nape of your neck, leaving a small kiss there before slipping out of your pussy. When you pulled away from Jeongin’s sweaty body, he stared up at you with a wide grin and a dazed look, he looked absolutely fucked out.

Changbin helps you off the boys before pushing Jeongin off the couch and getting comfortable in that same spot, pulling you onto his lap. “You wanna take a breather?” Chan asked, crouching down to your seated level. “No…just…please, I’m so close.”

Changbin chuckled from behind you, guiding you to straddle him in reverse. You sink onto Changbin’s thick cock, the built man’s hands flying to your tits, holding and squeezing them as they bounce with your movements.

You peer through your eyelashes, raising your brow at Chan, insinuating for him to hurry up and fuck you. The oldest of the eight chuckles before slipping his cock out of his pants. “Gonna fill you up so good, yeah baby?” He says before sliding right inside your stretched out pussy.

“Holy mother of fuck!” You cursed, the stretch of Changbin was already overwhelming- but now adding on Chan’s way above average length…you don’t think you’ll be able to walk tomorrow.

Changbin thrusted harshly from underneath you, roughly pinching at your nipples. “Fuck bun, your squeezing us so much, might just bust right now.”

You loll your head back into his shoulder, “Bin…fuck- Binnie please.” You beg, your arms moving to tug at his wavy hair.

“Shit,” he huffed, his cock twitching inside you as he fastened his speed. Chan just watched as Changbin rammed into your cunt alongside his. The intense feeling of Changbin railing into you from underneath had you reeling, though the sudden circling of your clit made your orgasm finally hit you.

Liquid squirting out of you as you cried out, before Changbin released inside of you, Chan now picking up his pace, edging towards his climax.

“I know love, I’m sorry…just a few more.” Chan cooed as you whimpered from the overstimulation, he continued railing into you, not stopping when Changbin had pulled out of you.

Chan nuzzled his face into your neck, leaving kisses and sucking at the skin there. “Almost there love, gonna fill you up so good, yeah. You’ve been such a good girl for us.” His praise had you crying out, squeezing around his cock. At that Chan finally came, filling you up with his warm release.

Chan slowly eased out of you before gently moving you to lay on the less dirty part of the couch.

“Imma go get the towels.” A voice you’re not even sure who’s said. “I’ll get her some water.” Another stated.

Sometime later, Felix returned with some damp warm towels. As he wiped your lower region, you flinched at the sensitivity. “I’m sorry darling, almost done.”

A sudden hand gently raised your head from the back, supporting you to sit up. “You okay? We didn’t go too rough on you, right?” Seungmin asked as Minho handed you a glass of water. You took the glass with an appreciative smile.

“You guys were fine- oh.”

“Oh?” Hyunjin smiled in confusion. “The time.” You said pointing at the digital clock. 1:03. Exactly fifteen minutes.

“I win.” Some of the boys groaned while some chuckled, a bet is a bet after all.

taglist: @katsukis1wife

[flippedccc]

The Secret Step

Pairing: Bang Chan x Hyunjin x fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Genre: Smut

Warnings: sexual tension, threesome (m!x m! x f!), oral (m! + f! receiving), fingering, praise, hair-pulling, face-fucking public risk, dirty talk, overstimulation, unprotected sex (wrap it irl!), multiple sex scenes.

Summary:You're hired to choreograph a new stage for Chan and Hyunjin’s upcoming duo performance, but the lines between professional and personal begin to blur in the most intoxicating way. The tension builds day by day as forbidden touches become impossible to ignore. One practice session turns into something more, and soon, the heat between the three of you is something neither of them can control.

You pressed pause on the track, the studio suddenly going quiet except for the ragged sound of three sets of breaths.

“Reset,” you said calmly, but your pulse was anything but steady.

Hyunjin dropped his head back, sweat dripping from his temple down his neck, chest rising and falling under his loose tank. Chan was behind him, jaw clenched, abs flexing as he steadied his stance.

You’d been choreographing for years — this wasn’t your first dance routine — but Escape was different. The song itself had an aching pull, a seductive undertone that bled into every beat. And despite there being no physical contact in the routine, the way their bodies moved to it made your skin feel too hot.

Hyunjin's isolations were too fluid. Chan's control was too sharp. And every time you stepped forward to adjust a hand angle or correct a hip placement, it felt like touching a live wire.

Your fingers brushed Chan’s wrist. “Drop it lower—there,” you murmured, adjusting the tension in his forearm. His eyes flicked to you, dark and unreadable.

Then to Hyunjin. You stepped behind him, fingers ghosting over his waist. “This roll should be slower, more grounded,” you said, and he shivered under your touch. You felt it.

Neither of them said anything. But they didn’t need to.

You caught them watching you in the mirror — eyes on your mouth when you spoke, on your hands when you moved. That first day ended with your throat dry and your thighs pressed together in bed, memories of their stares clinging to you like sweat.

You told yourself it was just in your head. Just choreography. Just training.But the way your body ached said otherwise.

By the fourth day, something had changed.

You felt it the moment you walked into the studio. The air was thicker. The silence between songs stretched a little longer. And the way their eyes followed you — like they were waiting for something to snap — made your chest tighten.

You ran the choreography again. Same sharp movements, same controlled rhythm. Escape’s melody poured through the speakers, pulsing with longing, with want. They moved like professionals — every line clean, every beat precise. But underneath that, there was something primal brewing.

You stepped toward Hyunjin first. He was breathless, strands of hair sticking to his jaw, a subtle sheen glistening on his neck.

“Keep your weight centered,” you said, and without thinking, your hand slid over the small of his back. His body stiffened. His eyes locked on yours through the mirror.

You didn’t move away. Neither did he.

“Like this?” he asked, and his voice dropped — lower than it needed to be, softer. Just for you.

You swallowed hard and nodded.

Then to Chan. He was rolling his neck, arms flexed as he reset his stance. You walked behind him, hand grazing his shoulder blade as you spoke. “Hit the glide slower this time. It’s not just a move — it’s meant to feel like you’re… releasing control.”

The words came out more intimate than intended, and the silence that followed made it worse.

“I can do that,” Chan murmured, head still turned away, but his voice warm and close, like he could hear what your body was thinking. “But you’ll have to show me what that looks like.”

Your breath hitched.

There was no teasing smile, no smugness. Just that deep, velvety tone. That look.

Your fingers grazed his elbow as you passed. You could feel your heart thudding in your chest.

You took a step back. “Again from the top.”

They moved. You watched.

But all three of you were no longer just dancing.

You were circling something, slowly, deliberately. And none of you knew who’d make the first move… only that it was inevitable.

Two weeks of practicing Escape, and neither Chan nor Hyunjin had crossed the line. But they were standing right on the edge of it now, teetering, daring. Your touch had become part of their muscle memory. The way they tracked your every move? That had become instinct.

Hyunjin’s jaw was locked, his lips parted as he panted, pushing through the final beat of the choreo. He dropped to his knees on the last count, head hanging low, sweat dripping from his lashes.

Chan was behind him, shirtless now — claiming the heat was too much. You knew it wasn’t about the heat.

You hit pause. The silence was immediate, almost oppressive.

Chan looked up first, eyes dark. “We doing another run?”

Hyunjin didn’t move. You saw the way his fingers flexed on his thighs.

You stepped forward, trying to stay professional, pretending your heart wasn’t racing. “One more. Just to lock it in.”

They got into position again. You stood between them for a moment, watching their bodies rise and fall with their breathing. Then—

Your hand landed on Hyunjin’s waist, adjusting his angle. He tensed, chest rising sharply.

You turned to Chan, placing a palm against his abdomen. “Engage this more,” you said quietly.

But your voice was shaky. And he noticed.

“You alright?” Chan asked, voice low. Careful.

You nodded too fast. “Fine.”

You were lying. Everyone knew it.

The music started. Their movements were sharper now, more aggressive, more deliberate. You watched them roll their hips and snap into waves, not for the song — for you. Their eyes never left your reflection.

Hyunjin bit his lip mid-verse, then let it go with a soft sound that made your knees nearly buckle. Chan exhaled a curse between counts when your fingers brushed his shoulder too long. This wasn’t choreography anymore.

It was foreplay.

The track ended. No one moved.

“Good,” you said, voice barely there. “That’s enough for today.”

You turned, grabbing your bag too quickly, hoping to escape before the tension swallowed you whole. But before you reached the door—

“Wait,” Chan called out.

You paused. Didn’t turn.

“We’re not the only ones feeling this… right?” His voice wasn’t teasing. It was husky, serious. Honest.

Hyunjin’s eyes met yours in the mirror. Something raw passed between you — something that had been building for twelve days straight.

Your mouth opened. Closed.You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.Because if you said it out loud, there would be no going back.And part of you already didn’t want to.

--

It was the day of departure for the concert.The day started early. Barely five hours of sleep, and yet you were buzzing the moment you arrived at the airport.

You shouldn’t have been this keyed up. It was just another city, another concert, another hotel check-in — you'd done this a hundred times. But this time, something felt… different.

The guys were quiet in the plane. Hyunjin sat next to you, headphones in, head leaned against the window. Chan was across from you, scrolling on his phone — but every now and then, his eyes flicked up to you. And stayed there just a little too long.

After landing, the team was ushered to the hotel by staff. The lobby was beautiful — tall glass panels, warm lighting, polished floors. Luxury, as expected.

You were assigned your own room on the 14th floor. Chan and Hyunjin were on 15. The others were scattered throughout, staff buzzing around coordinating wardrobe, soundchecks, stage rehearsals.

Once everyone settled in, a team dinner was held in one of the hotel lounges. You sat across from Hyunjin, next to Chan. The food was good, but you barely tasted it — your body was too aware. Of their knees brushing yours. Of how Chan's hand stayed a second too long when he passed you a napkin. Of Hyunjin’s dark eyes watching your mouth every time you took a sip of water.

Later, after dinner, the group moved to a conference room to go over concert logistics. The discussion was long — setlists, camera angles, emergency exits, timing. You focused hard, trying to bury the tension simmering in your veins.

But the moment the meeting ended, you stood and turned — only to see both of them right behind you.

“We’ll walk you to your room,” Chan said casually, but there was a quiet tension in his voice.

“Yeah,” Hyunjin added, tongue poking against the inside of his cheek, “can’t have our choreographer getting lost.”

You knew what this was. Knew what it meant. But still, you let them follow you.

The elevator ride up was silent. The kind of silence where your skin buzzed with anticipation.

You reached your room. The door clicked open.

And they didn’t hesitate to step in behind you.

The door closed with a soft thud.

For a second, none of you moved.

Then Chan was in front of you, hands gently cupping your face, voice low.

“Tell us to stop,” he said, breathing unsteady. “And we will.”

Hyunjin’s fingers brushed the side of your arm, soft and slow. “But if you don’t…”

You didn’t say a word.

Instead, you pulled Chan in first — lips crashing into his, all the restraint of the past two weeks crumbling in an instant. He groaned into your mouth, deep and rough, arms locking tight around your waist as he walked you backward toward the bed.

Hyunjin’s hands were on your hips now, slipping under your top, pushing it up and over your head. His lips ghosted along your neck, hot and hungry, as Chan kissed you harder — deeper.

Clothes came off in frantic touches. Fingers tugging, mouths searching. Chan's shirt hit the floor. Your bra followed. Hyunjin dropped to his knees behind you, lips trailing fire down your spine as his hands squeezed your thighs.

You gasped when you felt their hands move in sync — one at your front, one at your back — touching, teasing, exploring.

“Been thinking about this since day one,” Hyunjin murmured against your skin. “The way you touched me. Told me to move slower…”

“And that damn look in your eyes,” Chan growled, voice thick with lust, “like you knew what you were doing to us.”

Hyunjin’s fingers worked at your jeans, slipping inside with a smooth ease that had you moaning. “Already wet,” he whispered in your ear. “She wants us, hyung.”

Chan growled low in his throat. “Then let’s give her what she’s been begging for.”

They stripped you down slowly, worshipping every inch of skin like they had all the time in the world. Hyunjin was the first to drop to his knees, spreading your legs at the edge of the bed while Chan guided you down gently with his hands on your shoulders.

“Relax,” he murmured, watching you with dark eyes as Hyunjin's mouth found your core.

Your thighs trembled instantly — Hyunjin didn’t tease. His tongue was relentless, licking deep, curling and flicking until your head fell back against Chan’s chest. You writhed between them, hips bucking into Hyunjin’s face while Chan whispered filth into your ear.

“You hear how wet you are for him? That sound is driving me fucking crazy.”

Your moans came louder now, higher, your breath hitching as Hyunjin sucked your clit just right, two fingers slipping inside, curling and pumping.

“I want her like this every night,” he mumbled against your heat. “She tastes like sin.”

Chan’s hand cupped your throat as he pulled you up to straddle him, eyes hooded. “Then make her scream, Jinnie.”

And oh, they did.

Hyunjin flipped you over onto your stomach, dragging your hips up, sliding inside with one smooth thrust that knocked the air out of your lungs. You cried out into the mattress as he started pounding into you, deep and controlled, groaning every time you clenched around him. “Fuck, you're so tight.”

Chan kneeled in front of you, hand in your hair, thumb brushing your lips. “Let me see that mouth, baby.”

You opened wide — and he slid in. Slowly. Deeply.

The rhythm between them was perfect. Hyunjin slammed into you from behind, angled just right to make your whole body quake, while Chan’s cock moved in and out of your mouth, both of them groaning your name like a prayer. You were wrecked — tears slipping down your cheeks, moans muffled, hands gripping the sheets so hard your knuckles went white.

“Gonna cum all over Hyunjin’s cock, aren’t you?” Chan whispered. “And then you’ll take mine next. Every drop.”

You came hard — body convulsing, screams swallowed around Chan’s cock as Hyunjin fucked you through it, praising you breathlessly.

Then Chan took his turn.

He didn’t go easy. He bent you over, hands firm on your waist, thrusting hard and deep, watching himself disappear inside you again and again while Hyunjin kissed your spine, soothing your shaking body.

“Two holes, one girl,” Chan groaned. “You were made for us.”

When Hyunjin slid into your mouth next, you welcomed him hungrily, barely able to breathe between moans and thrusts. It was endless. Raw. Addictive.

You came again. And again. They did too — Chan deep inside you with a growl, Hyunjin spilling over your chest with a gasp of your name.

The room went quiet. Heavy breathing. Sweat. Shaky limbs.

Chan leaned down, kissing your temple. “You okay?”

You nodded, barely managing a hoarse, breathless, “Yeah.”

Hyunjin helped you under the covers, pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder. “Rest, sweetheart. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

And then they were gone.

Leaving behind the burn of their touch…

And a craving that wouldn’t let go.

Middle of the night.

The silence was deafening.

You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The sheets still smelled like them. Your thighs were still sticky. Your body ached in all the best ways… but your heart throbbed too.

You missed their hands. Their warmth. The way Chan’s voice dropped low just before he came. The way Hyunjin whimpered your name when he couldn’t hold back anymore.

Your hand slipped between your legs again, it wasn’t just to touch yourself — it was to remember. To feel them again.

But it wasn’t enough.Nothing would be — not until they were with you again.

--

The stadium was buzzing with crew, lights, and muffled music as you arrived early, hours before the show. You were supposed to run through the final blocking, check lighting for the choreo, and make sure Chan and Hyunjin were physically ready after last night’s sinful high.

You weren’t expecting to see them this early.

But the moment you pushed open the dressing room door, they were there — both already changed into black stage pants, shirts half-buttoned, eyes glinting with mischief.

"Morning, pretty" Hyunjin purred from where he leaned lazily against the mirror. His voice was syrupy smooth, but his eyes dropped instantly to your throat, then lower, drinking in the skin he’d devoured just hours ago. "Sleep well?"

"Like shit," you muttered without thinking.

Chan's lips twitched into a dark smirk. "You miss us already, baby?"

Your throat went dry. You hated how easy it was for them to see through you. You were their choreographer, the one supposed to maintain control. But that line had long since blurred. Shattered, even.

“Stop,” you whispered, eyes darting to the hallway. “You can’t—someone could walk in any second.”

Hyunjin stepped forward with silent grace, one hand grazing the door. Click. Locked.

"I don’t think you really want us to stop,” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Not after last night.”

Chan was behind you before you could turn. One hand on your hip, the other smoothing up your spine until your body arched for him.

“Last night was just the beginning,” he whispered, voice so low it vibrated through you. “You think we could watch you walk into this room and not want more? You think we’d let you go back to being just our choreographer?”

You tried to breathe, but Hyunjin was tilting your chin up, those long fingers tracing your lips. “Say the word, and we’ll stop. Say it.”

You didn’t.

Hyunjin kissed you first — hot and deep, his mouth tasting like sweet coffee and sin. Chan didn’t wait. His hands slid down your sides, gripping your thighs, hiking you up onto the vanity table as he settled between them, mouth instantly on your neck.

“Take this off,” Chan murmured, tugging at your zip-up hoodie, his voice already ruined by lust.

Clothes melted away. Touches turned frantic.

Hyunjin knelt first, pushing your thighs wide with slow, reverent hands, licking a stripe up your center with a groan like he’d been starving for it.

"Still so fucking sweet," he whispered against you, fingers digging into your thighs, keeping you right where he wanted.

You let out a soft cry, hands flying back to the table behind you, hips jerking as he buried his face deeper, tongue working you with maddening precision. Wet, loud, filthy sounds filled the room.

“Gonna cum already, sweetheart?” Chan’s voice teased from beside you. He leaned in, brushing his thumb over your nipple, watching it pebble beneath his touch. “You’re so responsive for us.”

You gasped, legs trembling as Hyunjin sucked hard on your clit, fingers sliding in deep and curling until your eyes rolled back.

"Fuck—Hyunjin—Chan—"

Chan kissed you hard to muffle your moan as you shattered on Hyunjin’s tongue. Your whole body arched, trembling, lips shaking.

But they weren’t done.Not even close.

Chan lifted you like you weighed nothing, spun you around on the vanity so your ass faced the mirror. He gripped your hips as Hyunjin stood behind him, both watching your wrecked expression in the reflection.

“Watch yourself,” Chan murmured in your ear as he slid in deep, thick and slow. “Watch how good we fuck you.”

You moaned as he filled you completely, pace slow and devastating, rolling his hips like he wanted to fuck the memory of every other man from your body.

Hyunjin didn’t wait long. He stood in front of you now, stroking his cock slowly, dragging the head across your lips.

“Open up for me, baby. Be good.”

You obeyed, tongue wrapping around him, eyes watering as he fucked your mouth slow, gentle but relentless. Every time you moaned around him, Chan groaned behind you, hips slamming harder.

The vanity shook. The room echoed with slick sounds, breathy gasps, and broken whimpers.

Chan bent lower, one hand wrapping around your throat from behind as he fucked you deeper. “You’re perfect like this. Letting us use you. You fucking need it.”

You nodded weakly, Hyunjin gripping your hair with one hand, fucking your mouth with slow thrusts that made your eyes flutter.

It was dirty. It was dangerous. But it was so good.

“Cum again,” Chan growled in your ear. “Right now.”

His fingers slid down, rubbed your clit fast as he pounded into you. The pressure snapped — your second orgasm hit like a wave, making your body seize and cry out against Hyunjin’s cock.

That sent them both over the edge.

Hyunjin pulled back just in time, stroking himself until hot ropes spilled across your chest and neck, gasping as he came. Chan cursed under his breath, hips stuttering as he spilled inside you, riding it out with deep, slow thrusts, filling you to the brim.

The dressing room was dead silent — just the sound of panting, your body trembling between them, legs weak and heart racing.

Hyunjin chuckled low. “That’s one way to prep for a concert.”

Chan helped you down gently, brushing your hair back with those soft, post-orgasm eyes of his. “You okay, baby?”

You nodded, dazed and breathless. “Better than okay.”

They helped you clean up — sweet, gentle, like they hadn’t just ruined you ten minutes before.

And as you adjusted your clothes, heart still hammering, Chan leaned in with a smirk.

“You’re ours now. You know that, right?”

You didn’t argue.

Because deep down, you knew you weren’t just their choreographer anymore.

You were theirs.

A/n : Guys this is pure delulu and my first time writing a poly member fic so I was nervous to post this but here it is <3