#seduction 101 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

leriexoxo · 2 months ago

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KISSING 101

Bff! Seungmin x Reader

Tags: smut, first kiss, first time, unprotected sex (i cant help it), lots of kissing, seduction, feelings realization, bestfriends to lovers

Word Count: 7.2k

Summary: It was supposed to be a kissing lesson , just a friend helping his best friend out. What you didn’t know was that no one else’s kisses could be like seungmins, and that automatically switched everything up…

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

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Min, I’m serious. I don’t wanna mess this up.”

You sat on the floor, legs crossed, back pressed against the side of your bed as you stared at him—Kim Seungmin, resident menace, relationship cynic, and unfortunately, your best friend.

He was sprawled across your mattress, long legs hanging off the edge, hoodie half-rumpled from how many times he’d rolled his eyes and flopped around like you were torturing him with this whole conversation.

“You really want me to teach you how to kiss,” he said flatly, his voice dipped in disbelief. “Like, actually kiss. Lips. Tongue. That whole deal.”

“Yes.” You hesitated. “I just… I don’t wanna screw it up. He’s cute, and I’m nervous, and if I freeze or, I dunno, bite his nose or something—”

Seungmin snorted. “Bite his nose?”

“I panic!”

He sighed, sitting up, arms resting over his knees. For a moment, he just looked at you—long enough that you started to regret even asking. Then he rubbed the back of his neck and muttered, “This is so weird.”

“I know,” you groaned, dragging a hand over your face. “You don’t have to—”

“—But I will,” he cut in.

You blinked. “Wait, really?”

“I mean, yeah. I’m not gonna let you bomb your first kiss on some random guy who probably wears too much cologne and says ‘vibe check’ unironically.”

A soft laugh escaped you, but your chest was tight. This was Seungmin. Your ride or die. And now you were asking him to kiss you like you were… anyone else.

“Okay,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

Seungmin shifted, sliding off the bed to sit in front of you. It was quiet—too quiet—until he cleared his throat and gave you the most serious look you’d ever seen on his face.

“I’m not gonna make this a thing,” he said, like a warning. “We’re not making it weird, alright?”

“Right. Not weird. Totally educational.”

He raised a brow. “Kissing 101 with Professor Kim.”

You laughed nervously, and he didn’t. He was watching you again, eyes flicking down to your mouth for just a second—barely long enough to catch.

“Okay, first—breathe.” His voice had dropped an octave. “You’re tense.”

“I’m literally about to kiss you, of course I’m tense!”

“Fair,” he murmured. Then he leaned in, slow and deliberate. “So I’m gonna go in—just a little. You don’t have to do anything yet. Just follow my lead.”

Your heart was in your throat as he tilted his head, his hand coming up to cup your jaw gently. His touch was careful. Measured. You could feel the heat of him, the scent of his cologne—clean, warm, familiar.

“Close your eyes,” he whispered, so soft you barely heard it.

And then… his lips brushed yours.

It wasn’t a kiss—not fully. Just a featherlight press. Testing. Patient.

He pulled back the tiniest bit, eyes scanning your face.

“You okay?” he murmured.

You nodded, breath shaky.

This time, he closed the distance fully. His mouth met yours, firmer now, and you felt his fingers flex slightly at your jaw. The kiss was slow, almost too slow—each second stretched like he was making sure you absorbed every movement, every shift of his lips against yours.

When your mouth parted slightly, unsure, he made a soft sound in his throat and tilted your face a little more.

“Good,” he whispered against you. “Relax your lips—don’t overthink. Just feel it.”

You mirrored him instinctively, letting your lips follow the rhythm he set—soft, exploratory, unhurried.

Your hands had somehow found their way to his hoodie, clutching it lightly. You didn’t even realize until he broke the kiss, just a few centimeters away, his breath brushing your lips.

“That,” he said, voice husky and quiet, “was your first real kiss.”

You blinked, dazed, still holding onto him.

He let his hand fall away and cleared his throat like he was resetting his entire soul.

“Next lesson’s gonna be about tongue,” he added, glancing away like he wasn’t dying inside. “If you don’t chicken out.”

But neither of you moved.

Neither of you said the part out loud—that something had shifted, cracked open just a little.

But it hung there.

Between you.

Heavy and undeniable.

⸻

You didn’t talk about it.

Not that night, not the next morning, not even after he left your place with a dumb excuse like “I have to go reorganize my playlists.” You both pretended it hadn’t happened—even though it definitely had. Even though your lips still tingled, and every time you touched your face, you could feel the ghost of Seungmin’s mouth there.

It was just a kiss.

Just a favor.

Just a lesson.

Totally normal best friend behavior.

Right?

The next few days were… weird.

Seungmin was still Seungmin—still teasing you, still stealing your fries, still sending you TikToks at 3AM. But there was something different now. Like something was sitting between you, invisible but very present. A pause too long. A glance that lingered. A laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

And maybe you were overthinking it.

Or maybe he was doing the exact same thing.

But neither of you brought it up.

You tried. Once. Sort of.

You’d both been hanging out in your room again, him scrolling through his phone while you fidgeted with the edge of your hoodie. You opened your mouth to say something—you didn’t know what—and then he looked at you and said, “You’ve got that face.”

“What face?”

“The face you make when you’re about to overthink yourself into an aneurysm.”

So you shut your mouth.

And the moment passed.

But it didn’t go away.

It settled—simmering quietly under the surface, waiting.

And then—a few days later—you snapped.

It was late. Too late to be texting anyone but Seungmin. You stared at your phone, thumbs hovering over the keyboard for a solid minute before you typed:

you up

His response was instant.

Always. What’s up, panic princess?

You chewed your lip. Then:

I want lesson two

You sent it before you could back out.

The typing dots popped up. Disappeared. Popped up again.

And then—

You’re joking

You rolled your eyes.

Dead serious

This time, the dots stayed.

…be at your place in 10

Your heart plummeted. Spiked. Did a triple backflip. You suddenly regretted everything.

You barely had time to throw on something semi-decent before your doorbell buzzed.

And when you opened the door, Seungmin just stood there, hoodie up, face unreadable.

“You really wanna do this?” he asked, voice low.

You swallowed. Nodded.

His jaw tightened—just for a split second.

“Alright,” he said, stepping inside. “Lesson Two. Let’s make it count.”

And for the first time since you’d known him, he sounded nervous.

“Sit.”

Seungmin’s voice was steady, but his hands were shoved into the front pocket of his hoodie like he didn’t trust what they’d do if he let them hang free.

You sat down on your bed, heart hammering so loud you were sure he could hear it. You tucked your legs under you, back straight, trying to look composed even though your stomach was doing somersaults.

Seungmin stayed standing for a second too long. Like he was deciding whether to bolt or go through with it. And then, with a quiet sigh, he moved to sit in front of you again—closer this time. Too close.

He rubbed his hands together like he was warming up for a test. “Okay. So, Lesson Two.”

You nodded, unsure if you were breathing right.

“We’re covering tongue today,” he said flatly, like he was announcing the weather. “Pacing. Pressure. How to read the other person. And, y’know… not slobber all over them.”

You let out a nervous laugh. “Great. Just what I needed. Anti-slobber tactics.”

But he didn’t laugh this time.

His eyes met yours, and something in his expression flickered—like he was feeling it, too, whether he wanted to or not.

“You sure you’re good?” he asked, voice quieter now. “Because once we do this… it’s gonna be hard to pretend it doesn’t mean anything.”

You paused. Swallowed. “I trust you.”

That got him. You saw it in the way he blinked—once, slow. Like your words knocked the wind out of him.

He nodded once. “Okay.”

Then, slowly—so slowly—he leaned in again.

You expected it to be like last time. Soft. Easy.

It wasn’t.

This kiss was different the second it started. Still gentle—but deeper. More sure. His mouth moved against yours with that same maddening control, but this time, there was a thread of tension under it. Strained. Taut. Like he was holding back something.

You felt it when his hand came up again, cupping your cheek with a featherlight touch. His thumb brushed along your jaw as he shifted closer, chest almost brushing yours.

“Open your mouth a little,” he murmured against your lips. “Let me lead, yeah?”

You did as he said, nerves buzzing like live wires.

And then you felt it—his tongue, tentative at first, just a soft flick against yours. Testing. Inviting. He pulled back slightly, giving you space to follow, and when you did, he let out the quietest sound—half a hum, half a sigh—like he hadn’t expected you to match him so easily.

“Good,” he breathed. “You’re a fast learner.”

He kissed you again, deeper this time, tongue gliding slowly against yours—exploring, guiding, teaching. You weren’t just kissing—you were listening to him through every movement, mirroring the way he tilted his head, the way he used just the barest hint of pressure, never too much, never too fast.

It was intoxicating.

He broke the kiss gently, but didn’t move away. His forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing a little harder now.

“That’s how you kiss with tongue,” he said, voice husky, still close enough to taste his breath. “Controlled. Intentional. Not messy. You listen to the other person.”

You nodded slowly, dazed. “Got it.”

You were still breathless when he pulled away.

Seungmin’s hand lingered against your jaw for just a second longer than necessary, before he finally dropped it like it burned him. He cleared his throat, ran a hand through his hair, and shifted back a bit—not far, just enough to pretend like there was still space between you.

“That’s, uh…” His voice cracked slightly. He tried again. “That’s pretty much it for Lesson Two.”

You could feel your heart pounding. Your lips were still tingling. And somewhere deep in your stomach, something uncoiled. Something bold.

You stared at him for a beat, and he avoided your gaze, blinking down at the floor like it had suddenly become the most fascinating thing in the room.

And then, softly:

“Can I try?”

He looked up fast.

“What?”

You wet your lips. “Can I try it again? Initiate this time. I want to see if I learned anything. I mean… if that’s okay.”

There was a flicker of something in his eyes—panic? surprise? hope? He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple visibly bobbing.

“I—uh…” he rubbed the back of his neck, clearly thrown off his axis. “Yeah. I mean. Sure. Yeah. That’s—you can. It’s just a lesson. It’s fine.”

But he didn’t sound fine.

His usual sarcasm was gone, replaced with something unsure, guarded. You could tell—Seungmin was fighting a war in his own head. Trying to stay still. Neutral. Unaffected.

You leaned in slowly, giving him the same caution he’d given you. Testing.

His eyes flickered down to your lips—and this time, they stayed there.

When your mouth brushed his, he inhaled sharply, his body going rigid. But he didn’t stop you.

You kissed him—soft, slow, learning the curve of his mouth, the way he responded when you tilted your head a little, when you brushed your tongue lightly against his.

You felt it—him—tense under your touch. Like he was holding back everything in him not to grab your waist, not to pull you in closer, not to deepen it like he wanted to.

Because this was a lesson, right?

Not a real kiss.

Except it felt real.

Too real.

And when you pulled back, just a little—just enough to breathe—his eyes were still closed, lips parted like he didn’t want it to end.

You whispered, “How’d I do?”

He exhaled shakily. “Dangerously well.”

Your heart skipped.

And then, he opened his eyes, looking right at you.

“This was a mistake,” he said, barely above a whisper.

But he didn’t move away.

Neither did you.

Because even if he said it was a mistake—he wasn’t stopping it.

⸻

You stared at yourself in the mirror.

Lips glossed. Heart pounding. Breath shaky—but this time, not from nerves.

You were thinking about him.

Not your date.

Not the guy waiting for you in the living room with his too-white sneakers and perfectly tousled hair.

You were thinking about Seungmin.

Again.

You shoved the thought away.

This isn’t about him. This is about me. About confidence. About finally doing this.

So you walked out, smile practiced, and let yourself fall into the rhythm of the evening—small talk, laughter, the occasional graze of a hand that should’ve made your stomach flip but… didn’t.

You kept waiting for the click. That moment where your heart would stutter, where your skin would buzz like it had in Seungmin’s room. But it never came.

Still, when the night started winding down, he leaned in, eyes warm and expectant.

And you didn’t pull back.

You let him kiss you.

His lips were soft. His hand found your waist. He moved like he knew what he was doing.

But the second his tongue brushed yours—

Nothing.

No butterflies. No sparks. No breath stolen from your lungs.

Just… static.

You tried to match him. Tried to remember what Seungmin taught you. The rhythm. The pressure. The way he’d murmured “Good. Relax your lips.”

You tried to feel anything.

But it felt like going through the motions of a dance you didn’t want to be performing.

The guy pulled back, smiling. “You’re a really good kisser.”

You blinked. “Oh. Thanks.”

You smiled too, because you were supposed to. Because this was what you’d wanted, wasn’t it?

But inside, your brain was in freefall.

Why didn’t it feel the same?

Why did it feel like I was kissing a stranger when I was trying to recreate something that came from someone I’ve known forever?

You excused yourself shortly after.

And the moment the door shut behind you, you leaned back against it, heart racing for all the wrong reasons.

Because now you knew the truth.

You’d kissed someone else.

But all you could think about was Seungmin.

The way he’d held your face.

The way his breath hitched when you kissed him back.

The way your name had sounded on his lips when he whispered, “Dangerously well.”

And worst of all?

You realized it wasn’t just a lesson.

Not for you.

⸻

You were curled up on the couch, pretending to scroll on your phone while Seungmin half-watched something on TV. Just like old times. Normal. Comfortable.

Except it wasn’t.

Because every time your eyes flicked to his profile, every time you caught a glimpse of his fingers drumming against the couch cushion or the way his lips parted slightly in thought, your chest tightened.

You were trying to be chill. So chill.

But your brain was still stuck on that kiss from two nights ago—and the complete lack of anything it made you feel.

And the one that still haunted you every time you closed your eyes.

Seungmin glanced over suddenly, like he’d caught you staring.

“So,” he said casually, “how’d the date go?”

You stiffened.

He smirked. “You’re making that face again.”

You tried to shrug it off. “It was… fine.”

“Fine?” he teased, raising an eyebrow. “That’s not very convincing. You kissed him, right?”

You looked away, heat rushing up your neck. “Yeah.”

“And?”

You didn’t mean to say it.

But it came out before you could stop yourself.

“It wasn’t the same.”

The smirk disappeared. His face stilled. “What?”

You swallowed. “I mean—it was fine, technically. Good, even. But it felt… off. Like I was doing everything right and still nothing clicked. Like I was kissing him but thinking about—”

You cut yourself off.

Shit.

Silence.

Seungmin just stared at you. Eyes unreadable. Chest rising and falling with something you couldn’t name.

You panicked. Backpedaled. “Can I—can I show you?”

His brows furrowed. “Show me what?”

“How I kissed him. I just—I want to compare, I guess. See if I’m crazy or if it really was that different.”

His whole body went still. You could feel the tension suddenly pulsing off him like heat.

He opened his mouth. Closed it.

And then—quietly—“Okay.”

You moved closer. Slowly. Carefully.

Your heart was thudding so hard it hurt.

You leaned in—soft, hesitant—and kissed him. The way you had the guy on the date.

No passion. Just technical. Controlled.

And still—even like this—your body betrayed you.

Because the second your lips met Seungmin’s again, everything tilted.

Your fingers twitched. Your breath hitched. Your lips parted without thinking, already chasing more, instinct pulling you in like gravity.

Seungmin didn’t move at first. But then—he kissed you back.

Just a little.

Just enough to shatter your nerves.

Because the moment your mouths slid together, it was everything.

Warmth.

Electricity.

The pressure you didn’t know you were holding finally releasing.

You gasped against his mouth, overwhelmed by how different it was. How real. How right.

And that’s when it hit you.

The problem hadn’t been the guy.

It was the connection.

And the only one you wanted it with…

Was him.

You pulled back, breathless, lips parted, eyes wide.

Seungmin stared at you like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

You didn’t say anything. Neither did he.

Because now you both knew.

This wasn’t about lessons anymore.

And maybe it never was.

⸻

The silence was deafening.

You were still close enough to feel his breath on your lips, the ghost of the kiss hanging between you like a spark that refused to go out. And Seungmin?

He wasn’t moving.

His jaw was clenched so tight, you could see the tension rippling under his skin. His eyes were locked on yours, dark, stormy, confused as hell. Like he was trying to convince himself this hadn’t just happened. That this wasn’t real.

But it was.

And every second you sat there, not saying a word, the weight of it got heavier.

You could feel it in the way his fingers twitched against his knee. In the way his lips stayed parted like he was still tasting you. In the way his chest rose and fell—too fast, too uneven.

Your breath caught.

You could practically see the war happening behind his eyes.

And then—

He lost.

Without a word, without warning, he reached for you.

His hand slid around the back of your neck and he pulled you in—hard, needy, like he’d been holding back for weeks and couldn’t anymore.

His mouth crashed into yours, nothing like the slow, calculated kisses from before.

This one was different.

Feverish. Starved. Real.

His lips were hot and rough against yours, his tongue sweeping in deep, hungry, taking what he wanted without hesitation. He kissed you like he meant it. Like he’d been dying to. Like he’d thought about this—wanted this—dreamed of this every second since Lesson Two.

His hands weren’t teaching anymore.

They were claiming.

One curled at the base of your neck, the other gripping your waist, dragging you closer, like distance itself was offensive. Your body melted against him without question, instinct kicking in, your hands fisting into the fabric of his shirt as your mouths moved together, in sync, like your bodies had always known each other better than your minds did.

When he finally pulled back, it wasn’t because he wanted to.

It was because he had to.

His forehead pressed to yours, breath ragged, lips swollen.

You could feel his heart pounding through his chest.

And when he spoke, his voice was hoarse, rough, wrecked.

“That—” he rasped, eyes still closed, “—was not a lesson.”

You nodded, unable to speak. Still dazed. Still burning.

“No more pretending,” he said.

You didn’t even argue.

Because you didn’t want to pretend anymore, either.

⸻

You didn’t talk about it.

Not the kiss.

Not the way Seungmin kissed you like he was on the edge of burning alive.

Not the way you kissed him back like you wanted to be the one to set him on fire.

The next morning, he was already in his kitchen when you came down, acting like nothing happened. Like he hadn’t dragged you into him and kissed you senseless on the couch just hours earlier.

“Want toast?” he asked, like his hands hadn’t been on your waist. On your neck. Like his tongue hadn’t been in your mouth.

You blinked. “Sure.”

He nodded. “Cool.”

And that was it.

He didn’t look at you. Not really. Not for longer than a half-second at a time. But his jaw kept clenching. His fingers were tapping the counter like a metronome ticking faster than the silence could fill.

You pretended you didn’t notice.

You pretended the toast was the most interesting thing in the room.

But you could feel it—his eyes on you when he thought you weren’t looking. Heavy. Hot. Confused.

Days passed like that. Tiptoeing. Dancing around the moment like it wasn’t still echoing in every glance, every brush of your arms when you walked too close.

And then—finally—he cracked.

You came over after he texted you and found him in his room, pacing.

“Can we talk?” he asked, voice tight.

You nodded. Heart pounding.

He didn’t meet your eyes.

“That kiss… it shouldn’t have happened.”

Your throat tightened. “Oh.”

“It just—it got out of hand. That was my bad. I wasn’t thinking. I shouldn’t have—” He broke off, swallowing hard. “We’re best friends. You’re—you’re not supposed to be…”

His eyes finally lifted to yours.

And froze.

You’d been sitting cross-legged on his bed, shorts too short, one of his hoodies swallowing your frame. It should’ve been harmless. Should’ve.

But it wasn’t.

Not to him.

You weren’t doing anything. Just breathing. Just being.

But in that moment, Seungmin saw you differently. Felt you differently.

And something inside him snapped.

He stepped closer.

“You’re not supposed to be…” he repeated, voice lower now. Tighter. “So fucking hot.”

Your breath caught.

His eyes dropped to your lips.

He clenched his fists like he was holding himself back with everything he had. “You’re my best friend. You’re not supposed to look at me like that.”

“Like what?” you whispered.

He stared at you—eyes dark, full of conflict, full of want.

“Like you want me to ruin you.”

Your stomach flipped. Heat bloomed low in your belly.

“I don’t want to want this,” he said, each word shaking loose from his throat like it hurt to admit. “But fuck, I can’t stop thinking about you.”

His eyes dropped lower. “About that kiss. About your lips. About the sounds you ma—”

“Seungmin—”

He stepped closer again. “I can’t unsee it. I keep trying to look at you like before. Like just my best friend.”

His voice cracked.

“But all I see now is someone I want to devour.”

You were quiet for a moment.

Seungmin stood in front of you—shoulders tense, chest heaving, eyes blown wide with everything he didn’t want to feel but couldn’t escape.

He’d just said it. All of it.

Every word you’d been too afraid to speak out loud.

And that power? That admission?

It made something in you shift.

You reached for him—slow, deliberate—and placed your hand gently on his chest. Felt the frantic beat of his heart beneath your palm.

“I’m not trying to ruin us,” you said softly. “I don’t want to lose you.”

His jaw flexed. “Then don’t do this.”

“But I haven’t even done anything,” you whispered.

And you watched him break again.

His eyes shut tight like he was trying to will away the image of you sitting there, loose-limbed and unbothered, voice soft and sinful. Like you weren’t right there, fingertips now trailing slowly down the center of his chest.

“Seungmin,” you said, voice lilting, teasing. “You think I want you to ruin me?”

He opened his eyes—barely.

“Maybe I just wanted to know if it was you feeling it too.”

He swallowed hard, backing up half a step, like distance would protect him.

It wouldn’t.

You followed. Just enough.

“You kissed me first,” you reminded him. “And you kissed me like you meant it.”

“Don’t,” he warned, voice a low growl now.

“Why?” you asked, cocking your head. “Because I liked it?”

His breath hitched. You saw it.

“Because I’ve been replaying it in my head every night since?” You leaned in slightly, just enough for your breath to graze his throat. “Because the date kiss was nothing compared to you?”

“Stop,” he hissed, but his hands had curled into fists at his sides. White-knuckled.

You smiled—just the slightest twitch of your lips.

“You don’t get to say all that and expect me to sit here like it didn’t fuck me up, too.”

Then—because you couldn’t help yourself—you reached up and brushed his hair off his forehead, fingers lingering.

“I’m not going to kiss you again,” you whispered. “Not yet.”

Seungmin exhaled, a sound that was half frustration, half relief, all pain.

“But I’m not going to pretend I don’t want to.”

You stepped back. Just one step.

Watched him chase the space you left behind with his eyes, like he hated the distance and needed it all at once.

“Go back to calling me your best friend if you want,” you said softly, voice like a promise and a threat. “But you and I both know it’s not that simple anymore.”

And with that, you turned.

Left him standing there.

⸻

Seungmin was spiraling.

He didn’t show it, of course. On the outside, he was calm, composed—maybe a little quieter than usual. But nothing out of the ordinary.

Except for the way he couldn’t look at you for more than three seconds without losing his grip on reality.

You were ruining him, and you didn’t even seem to realize it.

Or maybe you did.

You had come to his place to stay the weekend like you usually did, nothing out of the ordinary.

You wore his hoodie again that morning. That stupid, oversized hoodie that always used to mean safe and familiar and best friend.

But now?

Now it was just soft fabric stretched over bare legs he couldn’t stop fucking looking at.

You’d bend to grab something off the floor and he’d have to look away so fast his neck cracked.

He found you in the kitchen that afternoon humming to yourself, licking a little bit of jam off your thumb.

And he had to leave the room.

Just left, no explanation.

Because his brain? His brain didn’t see his best friend anymore.

His brain saw you on your knees in that hoodie with nothing underneath, lips slick and inviting, waiting for him to cross the damn line again.

He barely spoke to you that whole day. You noticed.

That night, you cornered him.

“You’re being weird,” you said, standing in the doorway of his room, arms crossed. “You won’t even look at me.”

“I’m not—” He sighed. “I’m trying to keep my distance.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re dangerous now,” he muttered, finally meeting your gaze.

And the look you gave him?

Sweet. Curious. So fucking inviting.

“I’m not trying to mess with you,” you said softly. “I just… I liked what happened. I liked what you said.”

“That’s the problem.”

Your head tilted.

He groaned, rubbing a hand through his hair like he was seconds away from combusting.

“I used to see you as this untouchable little idiot who couldn’t even flirt without blushing,” he muttered.

You smirked. “And now?”

“Now I look at you and all I can think about is pinning you down and making you forget every single lesson we practiced.”

Your breath hitched. You didn’t expect that.

“Seungmin—”

“I dreamt about you last night,” he said, voice suddenly low. Raw. “And I woke up hard as hell and so fucking pissed off because it wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

You stared.

He took a step toward you.

“You think it’s funny to tease me like this?” he said, eyes flashing. “Walking around in my clothes, whispering shit to my face, telling me you think about the kiss, then pulling away like you’re not doing anything wrong?”

Your lips parted.

“I’m trying so hard to hold it together, but you’re not helping.”

And then you smiled. Innocent. Sweet.

“I could help.”

That was it.

His self-control?

Gone.

Seungmin grabbed the doorframe over your head, caging you in without even touching you.

His voice was a warning and a plea all at once. “If you’re gonna keep playing with fire…”

You looked up at him, unblinking. “Then what?”

His jaw tightened.

“Then don’t blame me when I finally burn us both.”

—

Sunday night…

It was late.

Too late.

The apartment was quiet, the only sound the soft hum of the fridge and the patter of rain outside. You’d both been watching a movie on his laptop in his bedroom, your backs against the headboard, but Seungmin was stiff beside you, arms crossed, eyes locked on the screen like it owed him money.

You didn’t say anything.

Not until you shifted—just enough that your bare thigh brushed his.

You felt him freeze.

“Still trying to keep your distance?” you asked, voice low, teasing.

His jaw flexed. “Don’t start.”

You turned your head, smiling, chin resting on the back of the couch. “What if I want to?”

He didn’t answer.

So you leaned in.

Slowly. Carefully. Eyes never leaving his face.

You were close enough now that you could feel the warmth of his breath, see the way his lashes trembled when your hand ghosted over his wrist.

“Hey, I’m not trying to ruin anything,” you whispered.

“Then stop playing with me.”

“I’m not playing.”

You moved your hand again—this time over his chest, fingers tracing the edge of his collarbone through the soft cotton of his shirt.

Seungmin exhaled sharply.

Your touch dropped lower.

And that was it.

He snapped.

One second you were teasing him, and the next?

You were flat on your back, Seungmin hovering over you, hands on either side of your head, eyes wild with something dark and deep and so far from platonic it made your pulse skyrocket.

“You really want to know what happens if I stop holding back?”

Your breath caught.

He leaned in—so close your noses brushed. “Because I don’t think you understand what you’re asking for.”

You stared up at him, completely still, heart hammering against your ribs.

“I do,” you whispered.

His lips twitched—something between a smirk and a snarl. “No, you don’t.”

Then he kissed you.

Hard.

Nothing gentle. Nothing careful.

This wasn’t a lesson.

This wasn’t even a mistake.

This was everything he’d been dying to do wrapped in heat and teeth and hunger. His mouth crashed into yours like it had been waiting for permission for years. And now that he had it?

He wasn’t stopping.

Your fingers clawed at his shirt, dragging him closer, and he groaned into your mouth—a sound that vibrated through you, dark and needy and possessive.

He shifted, pressing his body against yours, and fuck—he was hard. So hard. You felt it grind against your core, slow and deliberate, and you gasped, breaking the kiss for air.

But Seungmin wasn’t done.

His lips moved to your jaw, your neck, teeth grazing just enough to make you squirm.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he growled. “How hard it’s been trying not to touch you, not to taste you—”

You whimpered, and he groaned, rolling his hips against yours again.

“Is this what you wanted?” he rasped. “Me like this?”

“Yes,” you breathed. “Seungmin—yes.”

He pulled back just enough to look you in the eye, thumb brushing your lower lip.

“You’re not just gonna be my best friend anymore,” he whispered. “You’re gonna be mine.”

His thumb was still pressed against your bottom lip, his chest rising and falling like he couldn’t catch his breath.

“I’m yours,” you whispered, voice trembling.

That broke something in him.

He kissed you again—deeper this time, slower, but with the kind of hunger that made your head spin. His tongue slipped past your lips, exploring you like he was learning, memorizing, branding every inch.

You moaned into him, and he felt it—groaned back, like the sound lit something inside him.

His hands slid down your body, pausing at the hem of the hoodie—his hoodie, still hanging off you like a sin. He pulled it up just enough to touch your waist, thumbs skimming your bare skin.

“You wore this just to mess with me, didn’t you?” he murmured against your lips. “Knew what it would do to me?”

You blinked up at him, breathless. “Maybe.”

He huffed a laugh, low and dangerous.

“Yeah. That tracks.”

His hands moved to your thighs, spreading them with a quiet urgency. You felt the weight of his hips press between them, and your whole body arched at the contact.

“Fuck,” he muttered, “you feel too good.”

His lips returned to your neck, dragging down to your collarbone, sucking just hard enough to leave a mark. A claim.

You gasped, nails digging into his back, and he growled against your skin.

“I’ve been patient,” he murmured. “I’ve been trying to be good.”

“But you don’t want to be good right now,” you whispered, daring.

“No,” he breathed, voice wrecked. “Right now I just want to be bad.”

Then—his hand dipped under the hoodie again, sliding over your stomach, up—up—until his fingers brushed the curve of your breast.

You shivered.

“Can I?” he whispered.

You nodded, too breathless to speak.

He slipped his hand beneath your bra, groaning the moment he felt your skin. His thumb brushed over your nipple, slow and deliberate, watching the way you reacted—how your hips lifted, how your lips parted.

“You’re so sensitive,” he murmured, eyes flicking down. “God, I barely touched you.”

You tried to speak, but all that came out was a breathy whimper.

He smirked, then leaned down to kiss the swell of your chest, open-mouthed and filthy.

“I want to take my time,” he said, every word pressing into your skin. “Want to learn every part of you. What makes you squirm. What makes you beg.”

You were already there. Already trembling.

His hips ground into yours, slow, delicious friction making your brain go blank.

And then—his voice again. Low. Rough.

“Let me take care of you,” he whispered. “Let me be the one who teaches you everything.”

You nodded again, breathless, desperate, eyes wide and wild.

“Seungmin, please.”

His forehead dropped to yours, breathing heavy. “Then don’t stop me now.”

And just like that, his mouth was on you again—kissing, tasting, claiming—

Ready to show you exactly how long he’s wanted this.

Exactly how much he’d held back.

And how there was no going back now.

His lips were on your neck again, tongue dragging slow, reverent patterns while his hands mapped your body like he was memorizing it cell by cell.

You were panting now, arching into him, needing more.

“Still with me?” he murmured against your skin, voice thick and low.

You nodded—barely. “Please.”

That word. That voice.

He kissed you again—this time softer, slower, almost reverent. “Okay, baby. Let me take care of you.”

His fingers dipped beneath your panties—finally—and when he felt how wet you already were, he groaned.

“Fuck. All this for me?”

You whimpered, cheeks flushed, thighs already trembling from just his touch.

“You’re so warm,” he murmured. “So soft. So ready.”

His fingers moved gently at first—testing the waters, dragging through your folds with aching precision, just enough to make your breath hitch.

“Relax,” he whispered. “Just feel me.”

He circled your clit with maddening patience, lips never leaving your neck, and your hips bucked instinctively.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “There you go.”

Then—a finger. Slowly easing inside you. You gasped, back arching, and he kissed your cheek.

“Just one for now,” he soothed. “Gotta get you ready.”

His voice—soothing, tender—was at complete odds with the way his hand was working you open. He curled his finger just right and you moaned, gripping his wrist.

“That feel good, sweetheart?”

You could barely speak, but you nodded, breath caught in your throat.

He added another.

And another.

Soon you were writhing, panting, clinging to him like he was the only solid thing in the world. He kissed your lips—slow, deep, filthy—while his fingers fucked you open.

“I want you to remember this,” he breathed. “Every second. Every touch.”

You were soaked now, hips moving against his hand, whimpering his name over and over like a prayer.

And when he pulled his fingers out, you whined at the loss—until you saw the way he licked them clean, eyes locked on yours.

“You taste so good,” he said. “Can’t wait to fuck you and have it all over my cock.”

You shivered.

He reached for his sweats, pulling them down, and your breath caught when he revealed himself.

Thick. Hard. Heavy.

Bigger than you expected.

He noticed your reaction and chuckled, a low, sinful sound.

“I’ll go slow,” he promised. “I’m gonna take my time.”

He lined himself up, pressing the tip against your entrance, and waited.

“Ready?”

“Yes,” you whispered. “Seungmin—please.”

And with one slow, careful thrust, he pushed into you.

Your whole world snapped.

He filled you, inch by inch, your walls stretching around him, and you gasped—full. So full.

He groaned, burying his face in your neck.

“You’re so tight,” he growled. “So fucking perfect.”

He stayed still, letting you adjust, kissing your shoulder, whispering praise into your skin.

And when you finally moved your hips—giving him the okay—he started to thrust.

Slow. Deep.

Each stroke dragging against your most sensitive spot, each one pulling little moans from your lips.

“You’re doing so good,” he whispered. “Taking me so well.”

Your hands clung to him, legs wrapped around his waist as he rocked into you, slowly building a rhythm that had your toes curling.

But then—you rolled your hips.

And Seungmin snapped.

“Shit,” he cursed. “You want it harder?”

You nodded, desperate.

He grabbed your thighs, spreading you wider, and slammed into you.

You cried out, stars dancing in your vision as he fucked you—properly fucked you—his grip bruising, his breath ragged.

“This what you wanted?” he growled. “Me ruining you? Making sure no one else gets to touch you like this?”

“Yes,” you whimpered. “Only you—only you.”

He lost it.

His pace turned brutal, hips snapping into yours with every thrust, and all you could do was take it.

He reached between your bodies, fingers finding your clit again, rubbing tight circles until your body clenched.

“Come for me,” he whispered. “Come on, baby. Let me feel it.”

And you did—with a cry of his name, your whole body trembling as you shattered beneath him.

He fucked you through it, chasing his own high, moaning your name like it was salvation.

And when he came—deep inside you, hips pressed hard to yours—you felt it.

All of it.

The heat. The weight. The absolute claim.

You got it.

Let’s take it home—soft, sweet, utterly wrecked but in the best way possible. No more pretending. No more lines.

Just Seungmin and you, tangled in sheets and breath and something dangerously close to love.

⸻

The room was quiet.

The only sound was your breathing—slow, heavy, uneven. The aftershocks still rolled through you in waves, little shivers making your muscles twitch as Seungmin collapsed onto his forearms above you, chest heaving.

You stayed like that for a moment.

Still joined.

Still trembling.

Still barely believing what just happened.

And then his forehead dropped to yours.

“You okay?” he whispered, voice raw. “Did I hurt you?”

Your fingers found his hair, soft and messy and damp with sweat. “No,” you whispered back. “You were perfect.”

He sighed—relief, guilt, and something else all tangled up in one sound.

“I didn’t mean for it to go that far,” he murmured. “Not tonight. I just—once you started touching me like that I—” He broke off, lips brushing your cheek. “I lost it.”

You smiled, turning your head to catch his mouth in a gentle kiss. “I wanted it.”

His eyes flicked open—wide, dark, and full of something he was too scared to name. “Yeah?”

You nodded, thumb brushing along his jaw. “I wanted you.”

His whole body softened.

He kissed you again—slow, warm, with none of the hunger from earlier, just something quiet and vulnerable. When he pulled out, he moved carefully, like you were something precious, something fragile.

And maybe you were.

He cleaned you up without a word, stealing one of his old shirts from the floor and tugging it over your head with the softest smile you’d ever seen on him.

Then he climbed back into bed, pulling you into his arms, tucking you right under his chin like it was instinct. Like you’d always belonged there.

Your fingers traced lazy lines across his chest, your legs tangled with his under the sheets.

It was comfortable.

Safe.

But it was new, too. Raw. And real.

You could feel the way his fingers kept twitching where they rested on your hip, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to hold you like this now. Like maybe he was still scared he’d crossed a line he couldn’t uncross.

So you whispered, “Seungmin?”

“Yeah?”

You looked up at him. “We’re not pretending this didn’t happen, right?”

He stilled.

Then—slowly—his lips curved.

“No,” he said softly. “We’re not.”

“Good,” you whispered.

He pressed a kiss to your temple. “But I need you to know something.”

Your heart jumped. “What?”

“That wasn’t just sex for me,” he said. “That wasn’t just… helping a friend. That was me giving you everything I’ve been holding back.”

You swallowed hard.

“And I don’t want it to be a one-time thing,” he added. “Not if you don’t.”

You didn’t even hesitate.

“I don’t.”

He exhaled—shaky, like you’d just lifted a thousand-pound weight off his chest.

“Then I guess we’re not just best friends anymore,” he said with a grin.

You smiled. “Guess not.”

He tightened his arm around you, pulling you closer until your head was on his chest, your body curled perfectly into his.

“Go to sleep,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

And you did.

For the first time in forever, you fell asleep with a full heart—warm, safe, his—wrapped up in the arms of the boy who taught you how to kiss, and ended up showing you what love feels like instead.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Authors note: That was a lot of kissing 😍 also i think its cute how seungmin was her first everything!

If you loved this, give it a like and comment and REBLOG!!

#skz imagines #kim seungmin #han x seungmin #seungmin x reader #seungmin angst #seungmin fluff #seungmin drabbles #seungmin stray kids #seungmin smut #skz seungmin #seungmin #straykids #straykids reactions #stray kids smau #straykids fanfic

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dakusan · 8 days ago

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How The y Court You (Vampire Seduction 101)

Vampire!SKZ OT8 x Reader | eight vampires. eight courtships. and every quiet, calculated way they make being chosen feel like fate.

🌹synopsis: Welcome to Vampire Seduction 101. This isn’t a love story. It’s a field guide for how they choose you, study you, orchestrate you. Not all vampires hunt with fangs. Some use flowers. Letters. Custom playlists. Some knock. Others already have your keys. Every profile begins with a courtship style. They don’t fall in love. They fall into you. And build the cage from inside your chest. You call it seduction. They call it already done.

💌a/n: okay. LISTEN. first of all—i’m sorry for the first version. i don’t know what spell i was under. i thought i was writing vampire seduction and somehow ended up with ✨vampires but make it porn✨. it didn’t fit. it didn’t breathe right. this version? better. because vampire courtship actually is not sex. not chaos. it is ritual. precision. obsession dressed in quiet affection. i wanted to make it NSFW originally but that’s not what this is. i really hope this version is much better and you enjoy it more. thank you for being patient. i hope it lives in your chest cavity the way it’s living in mine 💋🦇. p.s. if this one hit different—slower, sharper, deeper—reblog it. let me know the ritual worked. p.p.s. tell me your favorite vampire. i’m collecting data. for science. or stalking.

📍credits: dividers by @cafekitsune

🎧 » Paradise — EXO « 0:58 ─〇───── 3:37 ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

🩸 𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍 // Abnormal | The Leader

Composed. Relentless. Devotion built like a fortress around you.

Courtship Style: Chan doesn’t flirt. He fortifies. He doesn’t chase. He chooses. And once you’re chosen—everything changes.

You don’t notice it at first. The second cup of coffee on your desk. The way your groceries never seem to run out. The warm hoodie folded on your couch that you swear you didn’t leave there.

You start dreaming of him before you ever see him. And when you do? It’s in passing. At night. Always near a streetlamp. Always watching.

He never says too much. Never touches. But his voice? Low. Measured. Gentle like a lullaby made of steel.

“Let me walk you home.” “You shouldn’t be out this late.” “I noticed your lights were off for three days. Were you sick?”

He calls it concern. You call it comfort. But it’s ownership, waiting to bloom. Chan learns you like a blueprint. He catalogues your sighs, notes your routines, tailors his presence to your loneliness. And when he finally touches you—just a brush of knuckles, a hand at your back—you lean in like you’ve been waiting your whole life.

Mini Ficlet:

You don’t remember when it started. Maybe it was the day someone left orchids on your doorstep—your favourite, though you’d never told a soul. Maybe it was the night a man’s silhouette walked you home from the shadows—always just far enough to not be real.

Or maybe it was now. Now, when he stands in front of you, dressed in charcoal wool and midnight silence, placing a velvet box in your palm like it weighs less than his restraint.

“It reminded me of you,” he says.

Inside is a necklace—simple, but devastating. A dark garnet set in a delicate rose gold setting, the stone carved with your initials.

You’ve known him for three months now. Or rather, he’s let you know him. Bit by bit. Hour by hour. He speaks slowly. Moves gently. But you’ve never doubted the force beneath it. When he takes you out, it’s always somewhere quiet. expensive. safe. Private rooftops. After-hours galleries. Candlelit corners of museums you didn’t know opened at night.

“I booked the entire floor,” he said once, when you gaped at the empty hall of mirrored sculptures. “I wanted it to be just us.”

It should be too much. Too fast. Too intense. But he never touches you without asking. Never pushes. Never forces. Still, every time you wake up, there’s something new: — your favourite pastry waiting at your desk — your name whispered in a stranger’s dream — a tailored coat in your size, already broken in with your scent

You never see him do these things. But you know it’s him. Always him.

There’s something devastating about how deliberately he loves. He never hides that he wants you. He just refuses to take without invitation. He never kisses you first. But he watches your mouth like it’s a sacrament he’s not yet holy enough to touch.

He sends letters, sometimes—written in ink so rich you’re sure it was pressed from crushed roses and wine. Folded into parchment that smells faintly of smoke and sandalwood. Each one signed with his name.

On one of your dates, he brings you to a vineyard. Not a restaurant—the entire vineyard. It’s winter now, barren and beautiful, trellises skeletal under silver clouds.

He lights a fire. Pours wine he says is older than most empires. Then he tells you something no one else has.

“You don’t have to give me anything,” he says, voice low, eyes locked to yours. “Not your blood. Not your time. Not even a kiss.”

“Then why all this?” you ask.

He smiles. “Because if I’m to be damned by desire, I want it to be desire I earned.”

The silence between you shifts. Thicker now. Softer. You look at him. Really look. The broad shoulders draped in black wool. The hand curled around his glass—barely suppressing the tremble when your knee brushes his under the table.

He’s not pretending to be calm. He’s just choosing to be.

You realize, suddenly— He’s not waiting for you to fall in love. He’s waiting for you to realize he already has.

And when you kiss him that night—finally, breathlessly, fingers in his curls—he sighs like a man who’s been underwater for centuries, and just now remembered how to breathe.

Because Bang Chan courts like a vow. And you? You’re already his holy thing.

🩸 𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 // Abnormal | The Prince of Teeth

Elegant. Ritualistic. Lethal devotion wrapped in silence.

Courtship Style: Minho doesn’t fall often. But when he does—he falls decidedly. No games. No glamours. No guessing. He won’t flood you with gifts or whisper pretty nothings just to hear himself speak. He won’t show up where you are by chance—he’ll ask to see you. And if you say yes, he shows up on time, dressed well, and holds the door open like he was born to. He doesn’t love loudly, but he loves deliberately. He watches what matters to you—and shows you that he saw. You like cats? He donates to a local shelter in your name. You’re learning to cook? He handwrites his family’s jjigae recipe and includes a box of the exact spices he uses. You wore a necklace once and never again? He asks why—and listens to the answer. He doesn’t flirt with words. He flirts with consistency.

Mini Ficlet:

You don’t expect flowers from Lee Minho. But he brings them anyway. Not roses. Never anything cliché. Today it’s blue thistles and white tulips—sharp and quiet and unexpectedly lovely.

“They reminded me of you,” he says, handing them over with a half-shrug, like it’s no big deal. Like your heart didn’t just knock against your ribs.

Your second date is simple. Thoughtful.

A tucked-away gallery filled with black-and-white photographs. He barely speaks—just watches you wander, nodding occasionally when your eyes light up.

“You like architecture,” he says after. “You kept staring at the lines.”

You blink. “You were watching me?”

“Of course I was,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “How else would I know what to give you next time?”

Your third date? A quiet, high-windowed café. A sketchpad set on your seat. You didn’t tell him you draw.

“I saw the graphite on your fingers,” he explains. “I figured you ran out of pages.”

Minho’s romance isn’t chaotic or grandiose. It’s intentional. He doesn’t drown you in affection. He builds a place for it. One you can trust. One you can return to. Again and again and again.

He never makes promises. He makes patterns.

Wakes you up with a morning message—dry, short, often sarcastic. But always sent at the same time. Asks how your day went every evening. Remembers the answer. Brings you lunch when you forget to eat. Doesn’t scold. Just puts it in front of you and says, “Try the soup.”

Minho is steady like a tide. Silent when you need it. Fiercely present when you don’t know you do. Not a whirlwind. Not a fantasy. He’s the man who waits outside your building with a paper umbrella when it rains and says, “Took the long way. Needed the walk.”

Your fourth date? He teaches you how to make dumplings.

The kitchen smells like sesame and steam. Your hands are messy with flour, your braid keeps slipping loose. He rolls his sleeves up, doesn’t complain once when you ruin his shirt with soy sauce.

You ask him why he’s doing all this.

His gaze is unreadable for a second. Then he says: “Because I like you. And I’m not going to pretend I don’t.”

“So this is… what? Wooing?”

“If that’s what it takes.” He leans against the counter, eyes sweeping your face. “I don’t want almost. I want you. Properly.”

No one’s ever said that to you so plainly before. No hunger hiding behind it. No game. Just truth, dressed in clean hands and sharp cheekbones.

That night, he walks you home without touching you once. Doesn’t kiss you at the door. Just looks at you for a long moment—like he’s memorizing the way the light hits your face.

“Tell me when,” he says.

You nod.

And the next morning, there’s a single white tulip waiting on your windowsill.

Because Lee Minho courts you like he means it. And when he loves, he does so with silence, surety, and the kind of care that turns staying into a sacred act.

🩸 𝐒𝐄𝐎 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐁𝐈𝐍 // Normal | The Enforcer

Fiercely Devoted. Tenderly Observant. Worships the ground you walk on.

Courtship Style: Changbin doesn’t flirt to impress you. He adores you from day one—and you know it. He’s the type to fumble his words when you smile too hard, then spend all night writing a letter that says what he really meant. He respects space like it’s sacred, but still makes sure you feel chosen. Every second. Every step. You mention you’re cold once? He shows up the next day with a custom hoodie embroidered with your initials. You say you’ve never been to a concert? He books VIP tickets. And gets a seat that faces the stage and lets you lean on his shoulder. He doesn’t overstep. He doesn’t assume. But he makes it clear—he wants you. Not for a night. Not for a thrill. For always. He listens better than anyone you’ve ever met. Recites your favourite quotes back to you when you forget how to believe in yourself. Cooks for you when you’re too tired. Asks permission before touching you, even just to brush your hair behind your ear.

Mini Ficlet:

You don’t notice it at first. The extra protein bar in your locker. The umbrella left leaning by your door on a rainy night. The playlist you found on your phone one morning—filled with songs you’d mentioned once, offhand, at dinner.

But then there’s him. Seo Changbin. Big smile. Bigger heart. Eyes that track you like you’re gravity.

“You okay?” he asks, every time you look the tiniest bit off. “Need anything? Water? Snack? A nap and a forehead kiss?”

You laugh the first time. He doesn’t.

“I’m serious.”

He takes you to the gym on your second date—not for a workout, but because he wants to see what makes you strong. Between sets, he grins every time you beat your personal best. Offers his water bottle like it’s sacred. Wipes a bead of sweat from your temple with a reverent thumb.

“You’re amazing,” he says, voice low and proud. “Do you know that?”

Your third date is homemade bibimbap at his place, candles flickering, your favourite show queued up. He wears an apron. It says “Simpire Chef” in stitched red thread.

You ask if it’s a joke.

“Nope,” he says. “It’s a lifestyle.”

The fourth date is a quiet walk through a night market—he buys you a moonstone ring from a stall you barely glanced at. Later, when you ask how he knew your size, he only winks.

“I have good instincts. And maybe I borrowed one of your rings when you weren’t looking.”

You roll your eyes. But your chest is glowing.

It’s never about the money. It’s about how much he notices.

He remembers your deadlines. Sends silly voice notes when you’re stressed. Brings your favourite fruit to your apartment with your name carved into the peel like it’s a ritual.

“I don’t want to rush you,” he says once, when you pause before reaching for his hand. “You don’t have to rush anything. Just let me stay close.”

And you do.

Because Changbin courts like a man who believes love is a promise. Not a prize. Not a performance. Just a steady hand held out, palm up. Waiting. And when you take it—finally, fully—he laces your fingers together, brings them to his lips, and whispers against your knuckles: “I’d wait another lifetime just to do this right.”

🩸 𝐇𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐘𝐔𝐍𝐉𝐈𝐍 // Abnormal | The Siren

Romantic. Expressive. Devoted like a disciple.

Courtship Style: Hyunjin doesn’t date you. He paints you into his world. Everything becomes about you—from the brushstrokes on his canvas to the songs he hums when he thinks no one’s listening. He doesn’t just fall. He descends, feather by feather, like an angel surrendering to gravity. He brings you flowers, yes. But they’re always arranged by meaning. White gardenias for secret admiration; Purple hyacinths for deep sorrow you never told him about; A single red camellia when he’s ready to say “I love you” without speaking. He writes you letters. Not just love letters—devotional scrolls. He doodles your initials in the margins, signs them with wax seals, and never asks if you’ve read them. He leaves them tucked in books, under your pillow, slipped inside your coat pocket. His love doesn’t demand. It offers. He’ll take you to art museums and stand behind you, barely touching, whispering how the light catches on your hair. He’ll draw your silhouette a hundred times before ever daring to kiss you. Hyunjin courts you like you’re a divine secret.

Mini Ficlet:

You find the sketchbook before you find the courage to ask.

It’s filled with you—your eyes in the morning light, your smile caught mid-laugh, your hand reaching for something just out of frame. Each page is dated. Some are smudged. Some soaked at the corners, as if he wept while drawing you.

You’re not even dating.

Not yet.

Hyunjin walks you home every time you stay out too late. Buys your favorite pastries without asking. Sends you poems at 3AM with a “This reminded me of you. I hope you’re dreaming something soft.”

Once, you told him you liked the stars.

So he brought you to a hill just outside the city, wrapped you in blankets, and traced constellations onto your palm with his finger.

“This one,” he said, guiding your wrist, “I’ll name after your laugh.”

Another time, you cried in front of him—something small. Stupid, you said.

He didn’t speak. Just knelt in front of you, pressed his forehead to your knee like a knight surrendering, and whispered: “Nothing that hurts you is stupid.”

“I look awful,” you mumbled.

Hyunjin tilted his head, resting his cheek on your knee now, grinning up at you with that infuriating, heart-melting sparkle.

“You look real. I like real,” he said. “Also, your nose gets pink when you cry. Very cute. I might draw that next.”

You shoved his shoulder, half-laughing through your tears. “You’re a menace.”

“Your menace,” he said immediately—then paused. “I mean. Hopefully. Someday. Pending approval. From HR. Which is... you.”

You broke into full laughter then, the kind that shook your shoulders and made your ribs ache. And Hyunjin—Hyunjin looked at you like he’d just witnessed a miracle. Like you’d cracked open a world he’d been painting blind, and now there was colour.

He never rushes you. Never asks for more than you’re ready to give. But he offers—daily, hourly, like a love letter folded into time.

On your birthday, he brings you a cake he baked himself. It's lopsided. Icing smudged. He’s got flour on his cheek and a candle stuck in crooked.

“Is this edible?” you tease, raising an eyebrow.

“No promises,” he grins. “But it’s made with love. And too much cinnamon. And possibly one egg too many. You like protein, right?”

You eat the whole thing. Together. Off paper plates, sitting on the floor, laughing so hard you forget what loneliness tastes like.

And when he kisses you again—weeks later, on a rainy morning under a café awning, fingers laced tight in yours—he does it laughing. Giddy. Like a boy who just found out magic is real and has your name.

“I loved you before I met you,” he murmurs after, pressing his forehead to yours. “But this? You choosing me back? This is my favorite version of fate.”

Because Hyunjin doesn’t just romance you. He reveres you. He cherishes you. He makes you feel like being loved by him is both sacred and silly—a sacred thing with jelly on its chin and glitter in its pockets.

🩸 𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐉𝐈𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆 // Normal | The Shadow Walker

Clingy. Chaotic. Loves you louder than anyone ever has.

Courtship Style: Jisung doesn’t court you in the traditional sense. He adopts you like a stray thought he can’t put down. One day you’re acquaintances, the next he’s texting you twenty memes a day and showing up with bubble tea “just in case you were sad or bored or hungry or slightly thirsty or missed me a little.” He doesn’t confess. He accumulates. Your Spotify wrapped suddenly has his favourite songs; Your fridge always has his weird snack combos; Your phone background mysteriously changes to a photo of you two (he swears it “just glitched”). He’s the loudest thing in your life—and the softest, too.

Mini Ficlet:

One day, Han Jisung was your loud, chaotic friend who kept showing up with a second sandwich. Now? He's asleep on your couch in a hoodie that smells like you, mumbling your name into a pillow like it's a prayer wrapped in drool.

You don't even fucking remember when you agreed to go on a date with him. But, here you are, him always in your space, on your couch napping and drooling.

“Did we… start dating?” you ask one day, halfway through a Netflix binge, your head on his shoulder.

He pauses. Blinks at you. “We’re not??”

You laugh. He doesn’t.

“No seriously, babe. I’ve been in a committed relationship with you for, like, seven months. I made you a playlist called ‘She Could Punch Me and I’d Say Thank You.’ That’s not something I do for friends.”

You do start dating officially after that. Or maybe you just start acknowledging it. Either way, nothing changes—and everything does. He still texts you in all caps. Still fake-cries if you don’t answer in five minutes. But now? He kisses your cheek when he drops off food. Holds your hand when you walk. Shouts “THAT’S MY GIRLFRIEND” any time you do literally anything, including sneeze.

You tell him he’s embarrassing. He tells you you’re hot when you’re annoyed. You throw a pillow at him. He pretends to die.

But beneath all that chaos is something startlingly serious. Like when you’re stressed and he reads to you until you fall asleep. Or when he shows up at your workplace during a late shift, holding your favourite drink, eyes all soft and worried.

“I just wanted to see your face,” he says, quieter than usual. “It makes the noise in mine stop.”

And when he finally tells you he loves you, it’s not loud. Not a joke. Just whispered against your neck after a long day, arms around you like armor.

“I know I’m a lot,” he murmurs. “But I’ll love you right. Every version of you. Loud or quiet. Messy or magic. Just let me stay, okay?”

Because Han Jisung courts with friendship, laughter, and loyalty. You don’t fall in love with him. You trip—face first—and he’s already there at the bottom, holding out a juice box and saying: “Took you long enough, baby.”

🩸 𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐗 // Abnormal | The Dreamer

Gentle voice. Corrupt touch. Dangerous devotion.

Courtship Style: Felix doesn’t ask for your attention. He radiates until you can’t help but turn toward him. He’s warmth incarnate—smiling like a sunrise, touching your arm just a second too long, laughing like the two of you already share a secret. He burns easy, but never recklessly. His affection is loud, his intentions louder, and his desire? Always hiding behind a wink. Or a lip bite. Or a murmured: “Tell me to stop flirting and I will. You won’t, though… will you?” Felix courts like he’s falling and loving it. He brings you coffee with your name written in hearts. He sends voice notes just to say he missed your voice. He insists on “sun days”—your private tradition of skipping responsibilities just to stay in bed with the curtains open.

Mini Ficlet:

You swear you’re not imagining it. The way his gaze lingers. The way he always finds you, no matter where you are. The way his hand always settles just above your knee under the table, like a promise he’s not quite ready to cash in.

He brings you sunflowers one day. Not roses. Not peonies. Sunflowers—loud, bright, unapologetic. Like him.

“They reminded me of your laugh,” he says, grinning as he sets the bouquet in your arms. “All sunshine and kind of… illegal. In a good way.”

Your cheeks burn.

“I should arrest you,” you mutter.

“Oh please do,” he purrs. “But be gentle. I bruise easy.”

You shove him. He laughs. But then—he looks at you. All warmth gone. What’s left is molten.

“I’m serious, you know,” he says softly. “About you.”

Later, he takes you on a date that isn’t a date (Except it is. He’s just waiting for you to call it that). Rooftop blanket. Takeout. Shared earbuds. His pinky hooked around yours like a pinky promise. The stars are out. So is the moon. So is his heart, apparently.

He leans in and murmurs, “Y’know… if you ever wanted to, we could just stay like this forever.”

You laugh. “What, on a roof?”

“No,” he says, smile curling. “On you.”

You roll your eyes. He doesn’t mind. You always roll them—and you always blush after.

He starts showing up more. With snacks. With games. With that stupid grin. You say you’re not in the mood to hang. He offers to just sit beside you, “for atmosphere.” Then somehow you’re tangled on the couch, your head on his chest while he scrolls for a movie you’ve already seen.

He insists you bake something together one night.

“I’m not a baker,” you warn.

“I am,” he says. “You just stand there and look cute.”

You throw flour at him. He retaliates with sugar. It escalates fast. You’re breathless, covered in powdered sweetness, half-laughing, half-melting when he pins you to the counter with dough-covered hands.

“You’ve got something on your face,” he whispers.

“You do too.”

He kisses you anyway.

You burn the cookies. He calls them love-blasted shortbread disasters. Eats six.

He writes notes. Sticky ones. Slips them into your jacket, your bag, your favourite book. One night, you find him humming in your kitchen—wearing your apron. Cooking something elaborate. With candles already lit.

You blink. “Did you break in?”

“I used the key you pretended not to give me.”

“…That’s not how pretending works.”

He grins. “Neither is love, apparently.”

He doesn’t ask to stay over. He just does. He doesn’t ask to hold you closer. He just fits. Like the spaces between your fingers were always waiting for his rings. Like your nights were always meant to end with him whispering: “You know I’m falling, right? Faster than I should. Not that I’m gonna stop.”

And maybe it’s the way he never lets you doubt it. Not in the way he kisses your temple after you’ve fallen asleep. Not in the way he carries you to bed when you refuse to move. Not in the way he holds your face like you’re the sun—and he’s the vampire stupid enough to burn for you (not that he'd burn, given he's an Abnormal, but go with it). Because Felix courts with warmth, with chaos, with craving— but above all, with clarity.

🩸 𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐌𝐈𝐍 // Normal | The Beloved

Dry wit. Reluctant softness. Secretly yours before you even know it.

Courtship Style: Seungmin doesn’t court like a romantic. He courts like a realist who accidentally fell too hard and refuses to admit it. He won’t say he likes you. He’ll just roast your taste in music. Then send you a playlist. Labeled: “Fix your standards. Start here.” He won’t compliment your outfit. He’ll say, “You wore that? On purpose?” Then immediately take a photo when you’re not looking and make it his phone lockscreen. His flirting is all sharp edges and sidelong glances. If he calls you annoying, you’re already halfway to being his. And still—beneath the banter, Seungmin shows up. Remembers how you take your coffee. Waits until you’re home safe. Asks how your day was and actually listens. Buys your favourite gum. Takes you on dates disguised as “hangouts” and grumbles when you call it cute.

Mini Ficlet:

You’re fighting again.

Over something stupid. Probably the last donut or your tragic Spotify history. He’s smirking. You’re pouting. The usual.

“I honestly don’t know how someone with your taste functions in public,” Seungmin says, shaking his head like a disappointed tutor.

“Keep talking,” you shoot back, “and I’ll block you on everything.”

He blinks. Then grins. “Cute. Like you could go five hours without texting me.”

You go quiet.

Because, well. You can’t.

Later that night, there’s a knock at your door. You open it to find—

A box of your favourite snacks. A hoodie you thought you lost. A note.

“Thought you’d be dramatic and sad. I’m not doing this because I care. I just don’t want you crying on my hoodie.”

You roll your eyes. Smile anyway.

He’s not big on grand gestures. But he shows up when it counts. You mention your favourite childhood show once? The next week, he has the full DVD set in his bag. “Stumbled across it. Don’t flatter yourself.” You say you’re too tired to go out? He drags you to the convenience store. Buys two drinks. Tosses a jacket over your shoulders without looking at you. “I needed air. You just happened to exist nearby.”

One day, you fall asleep on his couch. You wake up warm. Covered. Music low. The lights dimmed. He’s in the kitchen, quietly washing mugs.

You say nothing. Neither does he. But when he turns to glance at you—his eyes soften like he’s watching a sunrise he doesn’t want to end.

You catch him smiling. He scowls instantly. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m soft.”

You laugh. “You are soft.”

He groans. “Ugh. I knew I should’ve let you freeze.”

You start noticing it everywhere. The way he always buys an extra snack, then pretends he “accidentally” got two. The way he adjusts his walking pace so your steps line up. The way his sarcasm slows down when you’re quiet—like he knows when to tease, and when to just… be there.

One night, he calls you without a reason.

“You good?” he asks.

“Yeah. Why?”

“You didn’t send me a meme today. Thought maybe you died.”

You snort. “Would you miss me?”

“No,” he says flatly. “I’d just have to find someone else with horrible taste in music. Tragic.”

But the next day, your favourite drink shows up at your door. No note this time. Just a sticky tab on the bottle that says:

You better not be sad again. I’m busy this weekend and can’t deal with your feelings until Monday.

And then:

...Unless it’s serious. In which case, tell me now so I can cancel.

That’s how he does it. Quiet commitment. Unspoken loyalty. Sarcastic devotion. You’re not dating. Not officially. But you’ve already become a habit to him. You realize it the day he gets genuinely mad—not fake-annoyed, not teasing. Someone hurt your feelings. And when you tell him, he goes silent. Dead quiet. Then he asks, low and sharp: “What’s their name?”

You blink. “Why?”

“Just curious. No reason. Definitely not going to curse them.”

“…You’re not serious.”

He tilts his head. “You think I wouldn’t? For you?”

You freeze.

Because his voice doesn’t sound sarcastic anymore. It sounds deadly. And suddenly, it’s so clear: He’s been choosing you. Every day. In every way. Not with grand declarations. But in the spaces between arguments. In the silences after laughter. In the way he always remembers where you left your phone, what song calms you down, and when to stop joking—just to wrap you in the quietest kind of love.

So you lean against his shoulder. He doesn’t say anything. But he lets you stay there. All night. And when you wake up? There’s a note stuck to your forehead.

I like you. Don’t make it weird.

🩸 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐉𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐈𝐍 // Normal (Evolving Abnormal) | The Smile with Fangs

Soft charm. Hidden heat. A smile that sneaks under your skin.

Courtship Style: Jeongin courts like he’s been planning it forever—but wants you to think it’s spontaneous. A mix of Chan’s old-school romance and Felix’s sunshine flirtation, he leaves you laughing and breathless in the same moment. He’ll bring you flowers “because they looked lonely without you,” but hide a note inside that reads like a love letter. He buys matching rings, shrugs when you notice, then blushes when you wear yours. He’s all easy banter and eye contact that lasts a second too long. He doesn’t just listen—he memorizes. The way you sip your drink. The songs you hum. The one day you said you hated rain—and how he always shows up with an umbrella. With Jeongin, the courting is gentle until it isn’t. Until the teasing falls away and he’s looking at you like he already belongs to you. And he does.

Mini Ficlet:

It starts with a dare.

“I bet you won’t show up to our next hangout in something that isn’t tragic,” he says, eyeing your hoodie with mock disdain.

So you show up in a dress. And he chokes on his drink.

“You look—” he starts, then stops. Tries again. “That’s… illegal.”

You raise a brow. “So I won?”

“No,” he grins, cheeks pink. “I did.”

Later, he tugs you by the wrist into a photo booth, insists on five different poses, and refuses to give you the strip. “Evidence of your crimes. It’s safer with me.”

You roll your eyes. But when you get home, the photos are in your bag. You have no idea when he managed to do that so quick, but he did.

He doesn’t mention it the next day. Just sends a text.

jeongin 🦊: u look better in those pics than me. rude.

you: you insisted on five poses.

jeongin 🦊: exactly. more chances to suffer.

You laugh. But your fingers linger on the photo strip anyway. Especially on the third one—where you're both laughing so hard his eyes are almost closed, and your head’s tilted toward his like it belongs there.

From then on, the courting becomes a quiet game. He sends you videos of cute animals with captions like “you when I look at you”. He wears that one cologne you complimented—then pretends not to notice when you lean in a little closer. He starts showing up to your classes, "coincidentally" holding your favourite drink. Leaves your favourite snack in your bag with a sticky note: “bribery. stay cute.” He draws hearts on the fogged-up café window and denies it. Blames the barista.

He randomly brings you keychains from vending machines. Ones that make no sense—tiny frogs, a plastic spoon, a lopsided heart. “This one’s you.” he says, handing you the spoon. You start collecting them on your bag.

He buys a small sketchbook and fills it with dumb little doodles: you as a cat. You as a villain. You as the reason he’s broke because “someone eats too many croissants.”

He doesn’t say I like you. But he wears the bracelet you made him from string and beads. Keeps the wrapper from the gum you shared in his wallet. Asks your friends what kind of earrings you’ve been looking at lately, then acts surprised when he “randomly found” them on sale.

One evening, he takes you to a rooftop arcade. You win every game—barely—and he pretends to be devastated.

“You’re cheating,” he accuses.

“Am not.”

“Then marry me,” he blurts.

You freeze. So does he.

“…That was a joke,” he says immediately.

It wasn’t.

The next week, he gives you a hoodie. Custom-made. Embroidered over the heart: fox boy’s favourite.

Jeongin’s courtship isn’t loud. It’s a slow-burn playlist. A silent “text me when you get home.” A bag of snacks he swears he didn’t buy for you—but somehow match your exact cravings. It’s teasing that feels like touch. Laughter that feels like safety. Looks that linger too long.

He courts you like a secret he doesn’t want to keep anymore.

🏷️ taglist: @cybergracie , @jupitermarss , @basicginn , @dhvnigvil , @emkvlixsx , @collin-thegreat , @somuchpanicverylittledisco , @emilyywhyy

#stray kids #skz #stray kids fluff #stray kids x reader #bang chan x reader #lee know x reader #changbin x reader #hyunjin x reader #han x reader #felix x reader #seungmin x reader #jeongin x reader #vampire!skz series #wreck me wednesday #skz fluff

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ash-says · 1 year ago

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Survival 101 :

Buckle up your seatbelt darling because this is going to be triggering and one hell of a ride. Don't expect mushy from me. Might do it when tapped in my soft girl era but today I feel like a Villain.

1) Keep your mouth shut where you don't hold the power. No power no expressed opinions that can put you in trouble.

2) Learn manipulation and seduction skills. This will help you to detect when someone is trying to manipulate and seduce you. Saves a lot of drama and heartache.

3) Fight back strategically. We don't want to lose a job, a degree certificate, a bruise on your body,etc depending on your situation.

4) Facts over emotions. Always.

5) 90% of older men are creepy. Speaking from experience here. Play with them by ear. Get what you want by being polite and respectful but if they try to harass you or take advantage we turn Medusa on them or if you are not in a position to fight and walk out safe just play cutesy and shy and dumb. Ask him what he means and do not take a word said by him seriously. Dodge his advances like your life depends on it until you get an opening to run for the hills.

6) Snap out of delusions and pay attention to reality. People are not what you make them out to be they are what they show you. Stop making excuses for them.

7) Anxiety can be crippling. Panic attacks are the worst but no matter what happens try your level best to never show them publicly. Men are vultures and vulnerable women are easy prey for men.

8) That one friend who is all sweet to you and is your bff but anything positive happens in your life and suddenly starts becoming passive aggressive. Not your friend. Don't share any secrets. Best to be kept as an acquaintance.

9) Develop sarcasm and don't be afraid to put self entitled bitches and bastards in their place. Better being called a 'Mean Girl' over a 'Doormat'.

10) Bully back the bullies. It's 2024 sweetie we don't wait for an opportunity for revenge we fucking create it.

11) No matter how tough your life is going everyone shouldn't be getting a broadcast about it. At least not by your own mouth. Try to act as put together as you can.

12) Kindness is virtue but being apathetic saves you. Don't be the fool who bleeds through the stabs of the same knives again and again. "Because I can't see them in pain. I have a heart." Babygirl you have a life too. All that emotional stress is going to result in some serious problems in the upcoming years.

13) Learn when to quit. The most emotionally intelligent people I know are great quitters. They know when it's the end of an era.

14) Never disclose your family issues to outsiders. Until and unless a person has proved their loyalty to you year after year only those selected one or two people should know your domestic issues. Anyone else knowing it is like having a good gossip for tea time.

15) Lastly, there are no fucking saviours in real life. You are your own saviour.

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wyuovvia · 1 year ago

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— BRAT TAMING 101!

Kento Nanami x Male Y/N || Content Warnings: minor writing smut, nsfw, idea/request from my old account (@ballsinyojaws2000), anal, blowjob, nudes, sending nudes while at work, semi-semi-public(??), rough, creampie, cum swallowing, throatfucking, married y/n + kento, subbot y/n & domtop kento, rest of writing under cut || Word Count: 2,212 || Followers When Posted: 95 ||Author's Note: told you guys a fic would be posted tonight || property of ©wyuovvia . all rights reserved . do not plagiarize , repost , or translate any of my work without my permission .

ALBUM ENTRY!: Being home alone without your husband is boring, so why not spice things up by sending him nudes while he's at work? Who knows what'll happen! You'll only find out if you try it!

Kento is busy at work, stuck doing what seems like an endless amount of paperwork because his co-workers couldn’t finish it. It was currently 11:56 PM. He better be getting paid more for this. Kento is on the verge of just leaving the building right here, right now, but of course, he can’t do that because then he would probably fired. The job has adequate pay anyway. It’s enough for him to get good money if he works enough. When Kento is about to start yet another portion of work he had, his phone buzzes on the desktop near him.

He checks his phone, and it was [Y/N]. But out of all things, he didn't expect [Y/N] to send him nudes while he was working at all. In the picture, [Y/N] was laid out on the bed with a dildo in his ass and a vibrator pressed against his cock. The message that [Y/N] sent after that was "Miss you Kento <3"

Kento's heart skipped a beat as he gazed at the explicit image of [Y/N] lying seductively on the bed, the dildo firmly planted inside him and the vibrator teasingly touching his erect member. A mix of shock and excitement coursed through him. Without thinking twice, he quickly locked his office door, pulled his phone closer, and replied to the message, "You're such a bad boy, playing with yourself while I'm stuck here." He closed his eyes, trying to imagine himself in the dildo’s place, feeling the sensations of [Y/N] squeezing around him and begging him for more.

After a few seconds, Kento continued, "But you know what they say - bad boys deserve even better punishment. Once I get home, I'm going to spank that cute little ass of yours until it turns bright red. And then, I'll slide into you nice and slow, reminding you who owns you, you horny brat." With each word, his grip tightened around his phone, and his jaw clenched as thoughts of dominating [Y/N] consumed his mind.

A few seconds later, [Y/N] sends a picture of his cock dripping cum. The message [Y/N] sends after says "you should come home soon" Kento nearly dropped his phone as he saw the fresh wave of explicit content from [Y/N]. His husband's cock glistening with cum against the soft sheets, the messy aftermath of self-indulgence. His pulse quickened, and he swallowed hard, trying to maintain his composure amidst the carnal images. Taking a deep breath, he texted back, "You naughty little thing, already cumming without me? Fine, I'll see how much more you can handle when I get home. You'd better clean up before I arrive, or I might show you just how much worse it could get."

With a final, smug grin, Kento shot one last message before shoving his phone back into his pocket. "And don't think you're off the hook yet. I'm bringing a surprise for you tonight - something to remind you of our little arrangement. Get ready to feel every inch of it, my dear husband.", he whispered to himself, a wicked smile spreading across his lips. He couldn't wait any longer; he grabbed his jacket and headed towards their apartment, eager to claim his prize.

As he walks to his car and turns on the engine, his cock starts to throb in his pants. He can barely focus fully on the road due to his mind thinking of all the things he's going to do to [Y/N] as punishment. Kento's grip on the steering wheel tightened as his throbbing cock strained against his pants, an unwelcome distraction as he focused on navigating the busy streets back home. The thought of punishing [Y/N] for his impudence was both enticing and arousing, filling him with a primal sense of dominance. He knew [Y/N] was enjoying this game, and so was he. But he couldn't let it affect his driving.

With a deep breath, Kento tried to redirect his thoughts to the road ahead, his mind racing between visions of [Y/N]'s eager body and the need to safely transport himself to their apartment. Though his heart pounded in anticipation, he managed to keep his focus and eventually pulled into the parking lot of their building. As he exited the car, he took one last deep breath and reminded himself that he was the one in control. Once inside, he would show [Y/N] just who wore the pants in their marriage, and he couldn't wait to sink into his husband's tight warmth.

Kento quickly made his way up to their room as fast as he could. He pulls out his keys, unlocks the door, and immediately rushes to the bedroom where he finds [Y/N] teasing his cock with the vibrator still, and the dildo that was in him before was next to him on the bed. In between [Y/N]'s legs, there was still cum on his cock and the bedsheets below. [Y/N] only had one of Kento's shirts on and he looks up when Kento enters the room as he blushes and smirks at him.

Kento's blood ran hot as he caught sight of [Y/N], still teasing himself with the vibrator, the dildo lying beside him on the bed. His eyes immediately locked onto the residue of his husband's earlier climax, a testament to his naughty behavior. His heart raced, and his cock twitched at the thought of taking [Y/N] right then and there.

Stepping into the room, Kento's eyes never left [Y/N]'S smirking face. "You're lucky I'm in a good mood, otherwise, you'd be punished already," he hissed, his voice thick with desire. "Get up, and get the rest of your clothes off. We have a lot to cover tonight."

As he spoke, Kento's fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, unbuttoning it and shrugging it off his shoulders. He made quick work of his tie and unzipped his pants, revealing his hardened member. "I'll teach you a lesson you'll never forget, my naughty husband."

[Y/N] takes Kento's shirt off of himself and after that, Kento lays on the bed and [Y/N] lays across him with his head laying on Kento's lower abdomen. [Y/N]'s bold move caught Kento off guard, but he found himself liking the initiative his husband had shown. With a smirk, he patted the spot on his abdomen, beckoning [Y/N] to settle in comfortably. As [Y/N] lay across him, Kento felt a surge of power, his gaze lingering on the curve of his husband's ass. Kento grabs one of the pillows and places it so [Y/N] laying on it, and it's under [Y/N]'s waist.

"Spread your legs, boy," Kento commanded, his voice stern as he adjusted the pillow beneath [Y/N]. "You're going to get exactly what you deserve, so be ready." As his husband complied, he couldn't help but admire the view before him. He reached for one of [Y/N]'s plump cheeks, giving it a sharp smack. "Keep your legs open, or I'll make sure your ass is red by the time I'm done with you."

With that, Kento's eyes locked onto [Y/N]'s eager mouth as it engulfed his cock. He groaned, his hand tightening on the sheet as [Y/N]'s skilled tongue and lips worked their way down Kento's cock.

Nanami puts his hand on the back of [Y/N]'s head and slowly moves him up and down his cock. As Nanami starts to make [Y/N] go lower onto his cock, [Y/N] gags a bit and moans around his dick each time his head moves back down. While Nanami's one hand moves [Y/N]'s head up and down, the other is reaching over and spanking [Y/N]'s ass.

As [Y/N]'s gagging moans echoed in the room, Nanami couldn't help but smile. The sight of his husband's face contorted around his cock, the feeling of [Y/N]'s throat muscles pulsating around him - it was all too much. He leaned back, his hand tightening on the back of [Y/N]'s head as he guided him to the tip, letting him catch his breath before plunging back down.

The spankings continued, his palm meeting [Y/N]'s ass with a satisfying slap. He felt the sting, the heat, the mixture of pain and pleasure that only he could provide. "That's right, take it all, you little brat. I'll decide when you can breathe." Nanami's voice was firm, his control over this situation absolute.

[Y/N]'s moans grew louder, his body bucking with each spank, his cheeks flushing a deep red. Nanami continued to thrust into [Y/N]'s mouth, the sensation of his husband's warm throat surrounding him almost too much to bear. He was close, his release building with each thrust; but he wasn't done yet.

[Y/N]'s moans washed over Nanami like a tidal wave, each one pushing him closer to the edge. With a final, powerful thrust, he felt his orgasm approaching. "That's it, my boy, make me cum. Make me spill my seed down your throat," he growled, his grip on [Y/N]'s hair tightening.

His orgasm hit him like a freight train, his hips bucking involuntarily as he filled [Y/N]'s mouth with his seed. [Y/N] gags as his eyes widen and he tries to swallow the cum, but some of it drips down his chin. He gazed down at his husband, his chest heaving, his breaths ragged. "That's for teasing yourself without me," he whispered, his voice thick with satisfaction.

Once he had caught his breath, Nanami pulled out of [Y/N]'s mouth, his cock still dripping with cum. He leaned down, brushing his lips against [Y/N]'s ear. "Now, it's your turn," he murmured, his voice laced with promise and desire. Nanami's fingers traced the curve of [Y/N]'s ass, lingering on the red marks he'd left behind. "Turn over, and get ready for me."

[Y/N] whimpered and then turned away from Nanami, and then he got into a position where his ass was up, and his head was pressed into the pillows. [Y/N]'s hole was practically clenching around nothing, begging to be stuffed.

Nanami's heart swelled with pride at the sight of [Y/N], eager and ready for what was to come. His husband's neediness was intoxicating, and he couldn't help but feel a surge of dominance. He reached for a bottle of lube on the nightstand, slicking his fingers before slowly sliding one inside [Y/N]'s eager hole.

[Y/N] gasped, his body trembling as Nanami prepared him for what was to come. "You're so ready for me, aren't you?" he purred, his voice thick with desire. With a second finger joining the first, he felt [Y/N]'s muscles clench around him, a testament to his arousal. "I bet you can't wait to feel my cock inside you, can you?"

Nanami gently stretched [Y/N]'s hole, knowing he had to be careful. He didn't want to cause any pain, only pleasure. When he was satisfied with the preparation, he removed his fingers, slicking his cock with more lube. He was already hard again. Lining himself up at [Y/N]'s entrance, he paused, looking into his husband's eyes. "Ready?"

"M-mhm... p-please Kento.. 'need your cock..." Nanami couldn't resist the pleading look in [Y/N]'s eyes. With a slow, deliberate motion, he pushed into [Y/N]'s tight heat, groaning as his husband's muscles clenched around him. He hesitated, allowing [Y/N] to adjust, then began to thrust, setting a slow, deep rhythm.

Each thrust brought a moan from [Y/N], his hips bucking to meet Nanami's advances. "Fuck, you're tight," he growled, his hands gripping [Y/N]'s hips, guiding their movements. "Even after getting yourself off while I was at work you aren't prepped enough for my cock?~" The feel of [Y/N]'s ass wrapped around his cock, the way [Y/N]'s body responded to his every touch, it was pure ecstasy.

Nanami's grip tightened, his thrusts becoming more forceful as his arousal climbed. "You like this, don't you? Being taken by me, like this?" he asked, his voice thick with lust. Sweat dripped down their intertwined bodies, the scent of sex thick in the air. He leaned down, his lips brushing against [Y/N]'s ear. "Soon, I'm going to fill you up with my cum, my good boy."

"Ah!~ Ngh- Kento!~ Slow- Ah~ Slow downngh!!~" [Y/N] clenched around him as he desperately tried to adjust to the speed and roughness of his thrusts. Nanami couldn't help but laugh at the sight of [Y/N]'s struggles. "Not tonight, my pet. Tonight, you're going to take it however I give it to you." He continued his intense pace, watching as [Y/N]'s body began to adjust, the clenching becoming more rhythmic.

[Y/N]'s moans grew louder, mingling with the slap of their bodies connecting. Nanami felt the familiar build-up, his release nearing. "You're doing good, [Y/N]. Keep taking it." He leaned down, his teeth grazing [Y/N]'s neck as he whispered, "Soon, my dear, you'll be mine completely."

With a final, powerful thrust, Nanami's orgasm tore through him. He groaned, his seed filling [Y/N] as he held onto his husband's hips, not wanting to let go. They stayed that way for a moment, Nanami's breath ragged, his heart pounding. "Are you satisfied now?" he asked, his voice thick with aftershocks. He slowly pulled out, watching as [Y/N]'s hole slowly closed around the absence of his cock and how his semen slowly dripped out of his twitching hole. Maybe [Y/N] would send him more nudes if it always ended like this.

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storyofyourlife-withavengers · 25 days ago

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A Fox Among Heroes (Fox Tales) Masterlist

📜 About the Series

In every tale, there’s a little bit of truth, and in this one, the truth has nine tails and a wicked smile. You, a centuries-old gumiho with a habit for teasing and seducing, have found yourself tangled up with the Avengers.

[The Avengers x Gumiho!Reader] Vignette Series

Romantic | Smutty | Mythical Mischief | Marvel AU

↳ Ongoing | Soft Seduction | Reader-Insert

🐾 Fox Tales

1. Tail Pulling 101 — Curious Bucky pulls one of your tails.

2. The Shirt Incident — Bucky sees you wearing his shirt.

3. Do not Feed the Fox — Feeding you should’ve come with a warning sign.

4. Stop Looking at me Like That — You get hit with Aphrodisiac during a mission.

5. Operation: Fake Date — Bucky can’t seem to differentiate fake and real.

6. Nine-Tailed Menace — Someone gave you Red bull. The Avengers were not prepared for what awaits.

7. Fevered Fox — You catch a fever and Steve tried to take care of you without knowing the consequences.

8. Who Let the Fox Out? — Your inner Fox took over you during a game of cards with the avengers—bolder, more cunning.

9. Just One Arm-Lending, Please — You and Rocket annoys Bucky to lending you his vibranium arm

10. Lovely Banters — You and Loki banters a lot, but it's not the typical banters the avengers are expecting.

11. The Den of Mischief — You build a nest on Bucky's room because he smells "safe" you say.

#loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki x reader #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki fluff #loki fanfic #the avengers

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nayeoniiz · 2 months ago

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INFATUATED (1)

pairings ❥ jungwon x fem!reader

genre ❥ angst, smut

point of view ❥ third person, omniscient

synopsis ❥ y/n was just a young woman from new york, who thought she struck gold when meets and marries jungwon, the son of one of the biggest chaebols, and gets to live out her trophy wife dreams. but once the news reaches south korea, her fairytale is under threat as his parents set out for brooklyn to get their marriage annulled.

warnings ❥ maybe drinking smoking?

word count ❥ 5,516

taglist: @cristy-101 @nyxtwixx @elairah @meowwwon (just comment!)

author’s note: sorry for the wait, yall. i’ve been so exhausted with work & there’s just a lot of stuff going on in my life so i haven’t really been thinking about writing in a while. i hope yall enjoy the first chapter to this story, because it’s only gonna get better from here! also check out my collaboration story with @cinnawonbabe i will be posting chapter 2 in a little bit!

NOT PROOFREAD PLS IGNORE ANY TYPOS. i will be editing this later to add italics and such for language switches but i gotta get this posted asap before i forget again!

masterlist | chapter 2

the nightclub was bursting with a pulsing, chaotic array of energy. led lights danced across the smoky air in hypnotic patterns of reds, greens, yellows, and blues, blending into a kaleidoscope that matched the energy of the scene.

the bass throbbed through the floors, setting the tempo for the night. on the main stage, dancers moved with practiced grace, their silhouettes outlined by the flickering lights. each step was a promise of seduction, every sway an invitation to lose oneself in the night.

in the dressing room at the back of the club, y/n sat before the mirror, her gaze sharp as she studied her reflection. the air was thick with the artificial scent of hairspray and the sweet, lingering vapor from the geek bar she delicately held between her fingers. she exhaled slowly, the mist dissipating into the dim light while her eyes scanned the image before her—her face, her body, every detail framed by the soft glow of the bulbs.

she wasn’t just looking at herself. she was assessing her creation, the flawless work of art she had become. every stroke of blush, every shimmer of highlighter, the perfectly placed strands of hair, they were all tools of trade. her appearance wasn’t an afterthought; it was the performance, the persona, her money maker.

contrary to popular belief, even her clothes weren’t as important as her face was, albeit being a great boost. she’d learned this concept from her boss, mark, when she was just starting out 2 years prior: “i need your face to look so good, that you could walk out in nothing but a potato sack and still make heads turn.”

to this day, his words had stuck with her. and with the way she was his highest earning employee, every night without fail, she could truly care less about how anything else looked. the black bodycon two piece she wore clung to her like a second skin. the halter-style top was held together by 2 star shaped metallic clasps, revealing tantalizing cutouts across the torso. the shorts mirrored the same vibe, with a clasp drawing the eye to a small peekaboo opening. it was simple, but sexy in a teasing way, covering all the vitals, but showing just enough skin to draw attention.

she crossed her legs, the tap of her vape against the table synced with the distant hum of music just beyond the walls. she inhaled deeply, a smirk curling her lips. when she stepped out of this room, she wouldn’t be y/n. she would be crystal sin, every man’s guilty pleasure, obsession, and unattainable dream.

letting out a sigh, she tilted her head, part pout, part smile as she wondered why she was so pretty. she was grateful but unsure. it felt like her beauty was the only redeeming quality about her because in all honesty, y/n wasn’t sure if she could truly consider herself a good person. her personality wasn’t ideal— she wasn’t the “girl’s girl” type and often butted heads with the others. all she really cared about was making money. and that meant by any means, regardless of who she had to betray to do so.

amidst her thoughts, the dressing room door burst open with a loud thump banging against the wall, a sound that made everyone’s head turn. there, yunjin stormed in, her footsteps heavy with anger. each one thudded against the floor like a warning. her eyes burned with fury, her jaw was tight as she closed the distance between herself and y/n, who sat still with an air of calm detachment.

“y/n,” yunjin spat, her voice sharp and venomous.

y/n didn’t flinch. she turned her head slowly, meeting yujin’s glare with a cool, collected expression. her reaction, or lack thereof, was almost surreal, a complete opposite to yunjin’s. y/n already knew where this was headed, but she just couldn’t bring herself to care.

“wassup?” y/n replied, her tone almost bored.

yujin’s nostrils flared as she leaned closer. “did yeonjun come here the other night?” she questioned, her voice low but brimming with accusation.

y/n fought the urge to roll her eyes, a flicker of amusement lighting up her features. “yeah,” she said flatly, as if the question wasn’t worth her energy.

yujin’s fists clenched as she let out a sharp exhale. “and did you dance for him?” she pressed, her voice elevating.

y/n leaned back slightly, her fingers tapping her vape against the table. she tilted her head, feigning innocence. “yeah?” she replied, her tone so nonchalant it was almost mocking.

the truth was, yeonjun had been one of her biggest tippers that night. his attention—and his wallet—had followed her every move. if he hadn’t been so generous, y/n might not have even remembered him. but she did. again, it was never personal. business is business, and yujin’s fling could never be worth her time beyond that.

yujin’s jaw tightened as she inched closer, daring y/n to flinch. but y/n only stayed cool, her lips curling into a half-smile that was more amused than intimidated. “what?” she said lightly, her voice laced with quiet laughter.

yujin’s eyes narrowed, her expression flickering between rage and disbelief. she was torn between trying to decide if she should let her emotions take over and actually do something about this, or if she should take the high road and just let it go.

for a moment, y/n thought the girl might actually throw a punch. but instead, yunjin straightened herself up, and without another word, she spun on her heel with heavy footsteps as she stormed further back, going into the locker room.

y/n chuckled softly, shaking her head. “girl, get over it. it’s not that deep,” she muttered, rolling her eyes before turning back to the mirror. she glanced at her best friend, destiny, and they both laughed.

“what a bitch,” destiny said, leaning back in her chair with a smirk, her tone dripping with amusement as she carefully adjusted her lashes.

y/n snorted, leaning forward to swipe on more lip gloss. “don’t be mad at me. you should be mad at your dude,” she said, dragging out the last word with a teasing smirk. the girl couldn’t help but laugh, in all honesty, the whole thing was a joke to her.

destiny’s grin widened as she glanced over. “right? her man’s the one out here throwing bands like it’s vegas, so why is she mad at you?” she shifted her focus back to the mirror, slowly dragging the wand of her mascara through her lashes.

“exactly,” y/n replied, with a sigh. “its not like i told yeonjun to make it rain. i just did my job.” her attention briefly drifted to her phone as she scrolled lazily on instagram, taking another brief hit from her vape.

destiny let out a low chuckle, shaking her head as she capped her mascara. “and you must’ve done it too damn well. she’s over here fighting for a man who doesn’t even respect her. embarrassing.” she said it so lightheartedly, the truth landing with a casual finality.

y/n raised an eyebrow, her reflection meeting destiny’s in the mirror. she bit back a smirk. “if anything, she should be thanking me for keeping it professional. i could’ve done more if i wanted to.” her voice dipped slightly, a subtle edge of suggestion in her tone, not because she cared but because she knew the idea alone would make yunjin go feral.

“period,” destiny said, snapping her fingers in agreement. she swiveled slightly in her chair, “but nah, she just needs someone to blame for her man’s wandering eyes. like, girl, that’s a you problem.”

“it really is,” y/n said with a shrug, stretching her legs out and crossing them at the ankles. she tapped her heel rhythmically against the chair leg. “besides, if your boyfriend’s my top tipper, maybe the real question is why you’re not the one out here getting all his money.”

destiny burst into laughter, her glossy lips parting as she leaned back, clutching her stomach. “stop! you’re so mean! but for real, she better figure her shit out. no one needs her drama here.” (lisa if there’s a better response for me to put here lmk)

y/n smirked, flipping her hair over her shoulder with careless confidence. “man, she can come at me all she wants. i’ll just keep smiling while her man pays my bills.”

“and that’s why you’re the baddest,” destiny said, turning back to her mirror to inspect her reflection once more.

mark was the second one to barge into the room, a clipboard clutched in his hand like it was an extension of himself. he was a man on a mission as he stormed through the room, his eyes scanning the space with laser focus. when his gaze locked on y/n, his shoulders eased just enough to show he’d found what he was looking for. he tucked the clipboard under his arm and bellowed over the bass of the music, his voice rough with impatience. “scratch the dance, toots. we’ve got a custo asking for a korean speaker.”

y/n frowned, her confusion quickly giving way to irritation. “but you promised me the pole tonight!” she whined, flinging her arms in a dramatic display of resistance. but mark didn’t seem phased in the slightest, his tone remained firmly in command.

“yeah, and now you’re doing bottle service,” he replied bluntly, “you look ready already, so let’s go. hurry up.” he waved his hand dismissively, leaving no room for negotiation.

“do i have to?” y/n groaned, dragging out the words like a petulant child as her glare followed him across the room.

mark, already making his way toward the door, didn’t break stride. “if you like having a job, yes. you want money, don’t you? he’s a spender!” he paused in the doorway, turning back for one last jab, his voice cutting through the air. “i’ll only wait five minutes. if you’re late, just clock out for the night—and don’t bother showing your ass back here tomorrow.”

y/n huffed, muttering a sarcastic, “yes, sir,” under her breath and as soon as the door closed behind him, she threw her head back with another groan, kicking her feet against the floor in a bratty outburst. “he’s so fucking annoying,” she said, her voice drenched in irritation as she vented to destiny, who was now taking selfies. “he’s lucky i like making money. but to demote me for the night? he’s crazy.”

before destiny could respond, a sharp voice cut through the air. “get him to a private room then. since you’re so good at your job, right?” yunjin’s words came from across the room, her tone biting as she adjusted her neckline in the mirror. both destiny and y/n’s turned towards each other sharing a concerned look that clearly reflected the same question: when did she even get back in here?

yujin’s word hung in the air, like a gun aimed and pointed at y/n’s temple, a test daring her to rebuttal. y/n rolled her eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t get stuck. she let out a huff, clearly unimpressed. “shut up, bitch,” she shot back, her voice thick with irritation.

“skank.”

“oh yeah, i’m so skanky,” y/n drawled, her voice laced with mockery, a laugh almost slipping out. “your boytoy must’ve loved it, huh.”

yunjin stiffened, her eyes narrowing as she met y/n’s gaze in the mirror her lips curling slightly in irritation, but she kept her composure. “i don’t have time for you tonight,” yunjin said, her voice cold and clipped before strutting out once again, this time her head high and her back straight with forced dignity.

y/n smirked to herself, adjusting her outfit and running her fingers through her hair. she knew she’d hit a nerve. “yeah. that’s what i thought, bitch,” she yelled after her, adjusting the strap on her hips before she stood to step into the chaos of the club.

as she walked, she shook her head, ridding herself of the remaining tension of the situation. once she was in her element, the noise, the lights, the crowd— it wouldn’t matter anyways. this was nothing more than an occupation. and she wasn’t about to let anything or anyone get in the way of her money.

y/n walked over to mark once she spotted him, the sharp click of her heels nearly cutting through the noise of the room. as she approached, she caught his eyes flickering over her, sizing her up from head to toe. his nod of approval was tight-lipped. “i know you haven’t waited tables in a while, but trust me. you’ll be fine, just do what you do best,” mark said, his voice firm but not unkind.

y/n gave a slight roll of her eyes, brushing off his attempt at reassurance. “yeah, yeah. this better be worth it,” she muttered, her tone dripping with sarcasm. still, she followed him, already shifting her mindset to the grind of the night.

as they neared the table, her eyes locked onto the first young man she saw seated there. her jaw almost dropped in awe. he was stunning. he wore a sleek black jacket that added a sharp, sophisticated edge to his otherwise effortless look. beneath it, his style was polished and minimalist, a combination of youthful energy and quiet maturity.

his blonde hair framed his face in a way that softened his sharp features, the contrast highlighting his jawline and cheekbones under the dim club lights. he looked like the kind of man who could run a boardroom in the morning and dominate a dance floor by night—the perfect blend of business and pleasure.

leaning back in the booth, he had one arm draped over the cushion behind him as he talked to his friend. he exuded an aura of relaxed confidence. he wasn’t trying to be noticed, yet somehow, he commanded the room’s attention effortlessly. and every so often, the light caught the curve of his jaw, giving him an almost ethereal look. a calm smile played at his lips, giving off a sense of mystery and ease.

y/n couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes followed her as she approached, dark and unreadable but brimming with intent. his posture shifted, ever so slightly, the kind of adjustment that only someone attuned to body language would catch. you didn’t need to be a mind reader to know he was assessing her just as much as she was assessing him. there was tension in the air now, something palpable, a charge that made the noise of the club feel distant.

“hey guys, this is the beautiful y/n i was telling you about,” mark said, his voice smooth and rich with just the right touch of playfulness. he motioned toward her with a casual wave of his hand, like he was presenting her to his friends as part of an elaborate show. “she’s gonna take care of everything you need tonight.”

y/n’s smile came naturally, a practiced move that exhibited her charm seamlessly. “pleasure to meet you,” she said, her voice light but carrying a hint of intrigue. she gave a small wave, her eyes lingering on him just a second too long. without thinking, she threw in a playful wink, though she wasn’t sure if he caught it—or if he was just pretending not to.

“y/n,” he murmured, her name rolling off his tongue making it felt like the word held more weight than just her name. the way he said it sent a ripple of awareness through her. she smiled again, this time slower, more suggestive, her lips curving in a way that felt like both an invitation and a challenge.

from the corner of her eye, she caught mark watching the interaction. he gave her a subtle thumbs-up, his expression unreadable but carrying an unspoken message: don’t screw this up. “make me proud,” he said simply before disappearing into the crowd, leaving her alone at the table.

as the club’s noise swirled around them, the energy at the table shifted—it felt heavier. she’d never been physically attracted to a customer before. that’s what made it so easy; she always knew how to play pretend. but now, she wasn’t sure how to navigate something that felt… real.

“hi,” y/n spoke again, the word coming out more tune like. jungwon’s eyes stayed on her as she sat beside him, his gaze filled with more than curiosity. her scent, sweet and intoxicating, wrapped around him, clouding his senses. he couldn’t focus on anything but her, his thoughts a tangled mess. for a moment, it felt like everything he thought he knew about confidence and conversation had slipped away.

“hi, i—yeah,” he muttered, heat rising to his face. finally, the words tumbled out, low and sincere. “you’re very beautiful.” his eyes traced her silhouette, and for a fleeting second, y/n noticed the hunger behind them.

“thank you, you’re very beautiful yourself,” her soft laugh filled the air between them, her lips curving into a teasing smile. the way she reactedㅡ her confidence, so effortless and undeniable, only made him feel more disoriented.

“i’m, uh—jungwon, but everyone just calls me wonnie,” he said, his voice even quieter now, almost shy. his eyes never left hers. no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t tear his gaze away. every detail about her—the curve of her lips, the way her hair framed her face, even the sparkle in her eyes, pulled him in.

“wonnie, okay, it’s nice to meet you,” she responded with a warm smile, her eyes briefly flicking to the man across the table. jungwon noticed the glance and mentally facepalmed. just a few minutes in her presence, and it felt like he’d forgotten the world around them entirely.

“and this is my best friend, jay,” jungwon continued, gesturing toward him. jay extended his hand, and y/n shook it with the same poise as she met his gaze.

“hi jay, nice to meet you,” she said smoothly. even jay couldn’t help but admire the effortless ease with which she carried herself.

jungwon’s voice, tinged with curiosity, brought her attention back to him. “i heard you speak korean, right?” he switched languages mid-conversation, testing the waters to understand where they stood in terms of communication. his eyes locked onto hers, waiting for her reaction.

she understood perfectly, of course, but shook her head. “well, no. i don’t speak korean, but i understand it,” she said with a nervous laugh, her tone light but carrying a hint of uncertainty.

jungwon frowned, confused. why would mark bring her if she didn’t meet the requirements? and how could she respond to korean if she didn’t speak it? how could she understand without being able to speak it back? it made no sense to him.

“what do you mean?” he pressed.

“i can speak it, but i prefer not to,” she explained, her eyes sparkling with a hint of playfulness. “but you can speak korean. i’ll understand.” she couldn’t outright admit her insecurity about her accent—it felt silly. being born and raised in new york, korean wasn’t something she used in her daily life, and the skill had slowly begun to wither away.

“i don’t understand,” jungwon tilted his head, still confused. “so you do speak- or you don’t?”

“i mean… i guess i can speak it for you,” she sighed, closing her eyes briefly to collect herself. “hello, jungwon. my name is y/n. this is how i sound in korean. are you sure you want me to continue?”

his expression softened as a smile spread across his face. he let out a laugh, clapping his hands in delight. his earlier frustration melted away, replaced with relief.

her laugh was soft, almost nervous, as she hid her insecurities behind a playful pout. “see? my accent is so bad!”

“no, no, it’s really good,” he said, switching back to english. his face lit up, and something about him shifted. the earlier shyness faded, replaced with an ease that seemed to come from the ability to switch between languages.

“i disagree, but thank you,” she said with a soft chuckle, leaning forward when she noticed the way he kept sneaking glances at her.

“how do you know korean?” he asked, leaning closer. his arm rested lightly around her waist as he toyed with his weed pen. taking a slow drag, he exhaled the smoke to the side, his eyes still locked on hers.

she didn’t mind, though. it wasn’t often that she actually wanted a man to get closer. “i went to an international school,” she explained lightly. “my grandma insisted i learn as many languages as possible.” her voice softened with fondness at the memory, and jungwon nodded, genuinely intrigued.

“but enough about me,” she said, steering the conversation back. “you two are from korea? are you on vacation or…?” her voice trailed off, hesitant yet curious, trying not to overstep.

“yeah, something like that,” jungwon replied with a grin. “but… do you mind if i switch back to korean?” he asked, mid-sentence, struggling to find the right english words.

“ i don’t mind!” she answered quickly, leaning closer.

“yes, because my english is terrible,” he admitted with a laugh. his doe eyes locked onto hers with a gleam she couldn’t quite place.

“no, it’s really good,” she reassured him, her smile warm and genuine. for a moment, they just stared at each other, the club’s music filling what would have otherwise been silence.

“well anyway,” he said, clearing his throat and reaching for his drink, his tone suddenly more serious. “i want to make a toast—to our terrible accents. with… a bottle?”

y/n’s ears perked up, his invitation was impossible to ignore. leaning in closer, her voice dropped to a sultry whisper. “yeah? and you wanna go to a VIP room, maybe?” her words were teasing, her smile all too knowing.

regardless of the attraction, this was business. mark had told her jungwon was a spender, and she wasn’t about to miss her shot at securing her spot as top earner. if her attraction made the job easier, so be it.

jungwon’s eyes widened in surprise before darkening with anticipation. he’d forgotten how intimate things could get at clubs. alone time with someone as sexy as y/n didn’t seem like a bad idea. “yeah, excellent. i want!” he exclaimed, his voice brimming with excitement.

without hesitation, y/n stood up and reached for his hand, her fingers curling around his with just enough firmness to guide him through the crowd. the ambience of the club seemed to fade as she led him away from the main area, pulling him toward the back. the air between them felt charged. every step they took was heavy with the promise of something unspoken, yet thrilling.

the vibrant, chaotic lights from the front gave way to softer, deeper reds and purples, casting an intimate, sensual glow over everything. the crowd of drunken bodies blurred into the background as they weaved through, their movements naturally in sync, the pull between them undeniable.

as they entered the secluded area, the music pulsed with a hypnotic rhythm that matched the tension building between them. the bass thrummed softly through the floor, and the dim purple light played across the room, casting shadows that highlighted every inch and curve of y/n’s figure.

she turned to face him, her back arching slightly as she stood in the center of the space. her body swayed in rhythm with the music, and she let her hips move in slow circles as the fabric of her skirt shifted higher to reveal her gold lace thong. and with each motion, the shimmer of the material caught the light, adding to the allure of her movements. she could feel his eyes locked on her, the intensity of his gaze making the space between them feel heavy with anticipation, his mouth slightly parted in awe.

she took a step closer to him, her fingers brushing against his chest as she leaned in just enough to tease, her breath warm against his ear. the scent of her perfume lingered in the air, mixing with the soft scent of the smoky, intimate space they occupied.

without breaking eye contact, she lifted her arms and removed her clothes to reveal her slutty golden threads disguised as a bikini, guiding his hands to her waist, and slowly, she began to move again. now her body pressed against his, grinding to the tempo of the song in the background. with each twist of her hips, each roll of her body, she made sure to leave him wanting more. the space between them grew smaller with every movement.

his hands slid around her back to her ass, pulling her closer, his touch was firm yet gentle as they both leaned into the rhythm of the song. the music seemed to fade away as their focus zoomed entirely in on each other. jungwon couldn’t hold back the smile forming on his lips, the admiration clear in his eyes as he looked up at her. “you’re very good, really,” he said breathily, a moan almost escaping his lips. he fumbled with his wallet, taking out his hundreds to put along the hem of her thong. “and one more..”

“mmm, thank you,” she ran her hands up his chest, trailing her fingertips lightly over the fabric of his shirt, feeling the muscles beneath. her body moved in a fluid, unhurried way.

y/n couldn’t deny it—she was really getting into it now. pulling away, she bit her lip as she stood. noticing the way his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, though the smile never left his lips, “where are you going?” he asked.

“oh, i’m not going anywhere,” she replied, her teasing tone making his dick jump. kneeling in front of him, she looked up and batted her eyelashes. “can you sit on your hands for me?”

“what?”

“hands under your legs?”

“like this?” he asked, lifting himself to place his hands flat on the couch under his thighs. she nodded and got up again.

“this is not allowed, but i like you so,” in a swift motion she turned around, her ass now the main focus in his gaze as she pulled her panties down agonizingly slow. she lowered herself on top of his lap and started grinding slowly against his erection, a sense of pride growing from the way he immediately whimpered out a moan as he threw his head back. “god bless america.”

——————————

jungwon raised his shot glass, a playful grin lighting up his face. “here’s to hard dicks and lots of money.”

y/n smiled, lifting her own glass. they wrapped their arms around each other, intertwining to seal the toast. the moment felt oddly intimate despite the chaos of the club around them.

“cheers,” she said softly, her voice barely audible over the music, and they downed their shots in perfect sync. the sharp burn of alcohol spread throughout their chests, but neither seemed to mind as their eyes met over the rims of their empty glasses.

setting his glass down, jungwon leaned in, his voice low as if afraid someone might overhear. “i want to ask… do you work outside this club?”

she paused, caught off guard by the question—not because she hadn’t heard it before, but something about the way he asked felt different. maybe it was the look in his eyes or the way his cologne lingered in her nostrils just a little too long. whatever it was, it made her want to answer differently, made her consider breaking a rule she’d never bent for anyone before.

she leaned in just enough so that her lips were at his ear, her voice only loud enough to cut through the music, she said, “give me your phone.”

he wasted no time fishing it out of his pocket and handed it to her without a word. she quickly typed her number, adding a heart and heel emoji next to her name before sliding the phone back into his hand.

“there,” she said with a teasing smile, watching as he looked down at the screen, a grin spreading across his face. “don’t lose it.”

——————————

the train ride back home, was a struggle for y/n. she could barely keep her eyes open. she’d been awake for almost 24 hours and by now, she could feel the exhaustion deep in her bones. the remnants of the night lingered like a haze but she couldn’t afford to fall asleep, the fear of missing her stop made her pulse quicken, so she clung to the music playing in her ears, letting the beat try to keep her alert but it wasn’t enough to drown out the heavy exhaustion weighing on her. her body ached for rest.

as soon as she stumbled into her apartment, she was almost too tired to even take off her shoes. she dragged herself to the bathroom and stripped for a quick shower, the hot water hitting her skin like a shock. it didn’t help much, but it was the only thing that could force her into some semblance of alertness.

after quickly washing off the night, she collapsed onto her bed, burying herself under the sheets. she didn’t even bother to put any clothes on, the towel would just have to suffice for the night. the moment her head hit the pillow, sleep overtook her with such intensity as her mind and body faded into the blackness of sleep.

——————————

“yo.” it felt like she had only just closed her eyes when the sound of her sister’s voice shattered the quiet in her room. “yo!” y/n groaned, squeezing her eyes shut as the sound grew louder. “did you pick up milk?”

y/n barely stirred, her voice thick with frustration as she rubbed her eyes and squinted at her sister. “do you see milk in the fridge?” she asked, deadpanning as she barely lifted her head off the pillow to meet her sister’s gaze.

“no?”

“then i didn’t pick up the fucking milk,” y/n snapped, as if the answer was so painfully obvious.

a beat of silence passed before her sister rolled her eyes, the annoyance radiating off of her. “wonderful, thank you,” she said before walking out of the room, the sharp snap of the wooden pieces connecting making y/n flinch, but it wasn’t enough to shake her from the exhaustion that still clung to her like a second skin.

she let out a low groan, pulling the blankets over her head, trying to escape the reality of the morning and shut out the unrelenting sunlight seeping through the thinness of the fabric. sadly, the one thing she craved wouldn't come. she tossed and turned, trying to will herself back into slumber, all of her movements working to no avail as she only grew more and more awake.

with an exasperated sigh, she threw off the covers and dragged herself out of bed. the cold air outside her room felt like a slap to the face, but it was grounding. she didn’t want to get up. hell, she didn’t want to be anywhere but in bed. but there was no use lying there when she could make something of the day, even if she was running on less than five hours of sleep.

she pulled on an old blue hoodie that displayed itself as moreso a greyish green color, and some loose sweats that played peekaboo through its holes and tears. she barely paid attention to what she was wearing as she made her way to the porch. the fresh air was a calming touch to her senses, grounding her in a way she hadn’t realized she needed.

she reached in her pocket, pulling out a pack of malboro. she brought the orange end to her lips and lit it as she drew in a long, steady breath, letting the smoke fill her lungs. the sharp sting of the nicotine was like a kick to her system. she leaned against the railing, staring out at the street below. the city felt alive, even if it was still early and the streets weren’t at their fullest occupancy. the only sounds were the soft chirping of birds perched on the power lines and the distant hum of car engines. everything felt a little too calm, a little too still.

and for a moment, she was lost in thought, letting the weight of the past few hours catch up with her. she didn’t even notice the vibration in her pocket until it buzzed a second time, and then a third before it finally pulled her back to reality. she glanced at her phone and felt her heart stutter when she saw the message.

come over?

x sent $800

x has started sharing his location

masterlist | chapter 2

#enhypen x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen x you #enhypen smut #enhypen scenarios #jungwon x y/n #jungwon x female reader #jungwon x you #jungwon angst #jungwon imagines #jungwon x reader #jungwon smut #enhypen jungwon

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