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𝓓𝐎𝐍’𝐓 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄

❝ BABY, CRY BECAUSE IT’S OVER. ❞

💋 short n’ sweet track #11

tags : f!rea x jeongin. breakup angst. toxic relationship. hurt no comfort.

“well don’t look so happy.”

he hasn’t been able to stop hearing it — the way you clawed into his chest and tore up what he held for you in his heart. the bitter lace in your voice, eyes burning with contempt like he was nothing more than gum stuck to the bottom of your shoe.

he knew you wouldn’t take it well. that in hurting you, you’d just return the favour tenfold.

he knew that the breakup would be even harder to recover from than losing the entire relationship itself. but you spoke to him as if he’d taken joy in it — like hurting you had been the goal. and that’s not jeongin. you know that’d never be him. it was just another scar to leave him with as a reminder. a punishment for walking out on you. you were cruel like that.

his friends keep telling him to keep his head up, that he should smile because it finally ended. to be grateful he’s “free” — because all you ever did was have him stressed or anxious or drunk sobbing into his sleeves. but it’s not like they could understand what it was like loving you.

just the memory of your soft kiss on his forehead, the sound of your voice cooing that it was all gonna be okay… it’s enough to drag him back under. and it all was lies. every last word. none of it is okay. he’s not okay. he doesn’t know when or if he’ll be okay.

it’s cruel irony that you’ve already been keeping yourself busy — and your bed warm — with someone new. if he was that quick to replace, then jeongin supposes it couldn’t have meant anything. your entire relationship, nothing more than filler until something more worthwhile came along.

the ravine across his chest splits open a little wider when he routinely checks your account. it’s the closest thing he can get to seeing you these days. he’s already exhausted all the photos and videos taken over the course of your relationship, from when you were still his. except now, any new glimpse of you comes with a sour taste: you wrapped in someone else’s arms.

jeongin hopes it’s him you think about every time you’re with the new guy. every time he holds you like he’s terrified you’ll leave. every time he tells you he’s sorry and you laugh in his face. every time you make him cry just to get off.

and still, if you ever wanted to fall back in, he’d be there to pick right back up. always.

he should really ask chan to block your number from his phone. block even the mention of your name in a text. but he just can’t.

he told himself he did this to feel better. to learn how to smile again without checking for your permission. but like an old dog, he can’t learn new tricks. he’s still waiting for you — waiting to tell him that it’s okay to move on.

only, you won’t. he knows he won’t be hearing from you ever again. it’s for the better. and it’s his own fault.

mlist · taglist 〃

@lightinbug @sherrayyyyy @ttturnitup @rafesbunniebby @strhwa @orphicarchive @breakmeoff @lightinbug @pinkpunkdynamite @hydeonysus @velvetmoonlght @shinygubbins @ateez-atiny380 @sunnysidesins @nervousaggressive @madebybec @estella-novella @felixlsworld

@aizshallnotbefound @gdinthehouseee @flymetothexmoon @moonqz @emmiesoverthemoon @mashtatosworld @loveesiren @stlllle @jiuewy @moontabi @lovemepartly

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save a horse, ride a cowboy

chan’s look in the new bleep trailer has you thinking things that are far less than appropriate.

pairing: bang chan x reader wc: 1.4k tags: established relationship. porn without plot

🩷: you already know i had to hop on this as soon as i saw it. literally i RAN to google docs to make this as fast as possible

you’re curled up in bed, phone in your hands, trying to keep your face neutral—trying not to let your boyfriend know that the second he appeared on screen in a cowboy hat and layered chains, something in your brain short-circuited.

(it doesn’t work).

chan steps into the room—wearing exactly what’s making you lost it, much to your chagrin—just as you’re biting your lip, pausing the clip like that will somehow make you look innocent.

“what’s that?” he asks casually, dropping onto the bed beside you.

“nothing.”

he tilts his head. “mm. really?”

you shake your head quickly, but your cheeks are warm. you can feel his eyes on you, the way they linger, the little knowing curve of his mouth.

“play it,” he says, voice soft but leaving no room to argue.

your thumb hesitates, then taps the screen.

there he is again. thick silver chain dangling from where he has it caught between his teeth. the frame bears kind of look that should come with a health warning.

you glance at him. “it’s just the bleep teaser.”

“and you’re flushed because..?”

“shut up.”

he laughs quietly. “oh, i see. you like the cowboy thing.”

“i didn’t say that.”

“you didn’t have to.” his voice drops, and he leans in until his lips brush your ear. “you want to ride a cowboy, sweetheart?”

you swallow. hard.

he doesn’t wait for your answer—just shifts back against the headboard, spreading his legs a little, the faintest challenge in his gaze. “go on then.”

“chan—”

“hat stays on,” he adds, smirking while he slides off the cable knit. “so do the chains. i know you like them.”

your pulse trips over itself.

you straddle him, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips. the rough denim of his jeans brushes your thighs, the cold weight of his belt buckle pressing between you as his hands settle low on your waist.

“look at you,” he murmurs, voice dipping into something almost fond—but laced with amusement. “so eager to climb on and use me.”

you flush. “i���m not—”

“mm, but you are,” he cuts in, squeezing your hips just enough to make you rock forward over the ridge of his cock. “but it’s cute. my pretty girl, getting all worked up over a hat.”

he tips it lower over his eyes, the gesture slow, deliberate, infuriating. “go on, then. show me how badly you want it.”

your hands find his shoulders for balance, but chan’s grip on your hips is firm; controlling just how far forward you move, how much friction you get.

“don’t rush,” he says, voice almost a purr. “let me feel you get desperate for it.”

you bite your lip, shifting against him, and he tilts his head like he’s studying you. “already are, aren’t you?” his thumbs press slow, tight circles into your hips, guiding you into a slow grind over the outline of his cock.

the brim of the hat dips lower, shadowing his eyes, and the chains resting against his chest sway faintly with every movement. you can’t stop staring at them.

he notices. “what’s got you more worked up, sweetheart? the hat, the chains… or the fact you’re sat right on me like this?”

you try to answer, but it comes out as a breathy sound instead. chan chuckles. “aww, can’t even talk now? and we’ve barely started.”

with an easy shift, he unbuttons his jeans just enough to free himself, the heat of him pressing against your centre through thin fabric. his voice dips lower. “go on. sink down on me. you wanted the cowboy—now ride him.”

your breath hitches as you take him in, the stretch making your thighs tremble. his hands move up your sides, not to help, but to hold you in place once you’re fully seated.

“look at you,” he murmurs, smirk curling. “all snug around me, sitting pretty. you’re using me just like you wanted, aren’t you?”

you glare at him, but it’s weak—your hips already starting to roll.

chan leans back, watching every movement like it’s a performance made for him alone. “that’s it. take what you need, baby. you’re adorable when you’re this greedy.”

he lets you set the pace at first, soft praise slipping out between low groans—until your rhythm falters, and he catches your hips, taking control. the bed creaks as he drives up into you harder, the brim of his hat still tipped low.

“mm, there’s my girl,” he breathes, thrusts sharper now. “use me all you want. just remember—” he pulls you down until your chest is pressed to his, the chains branding a cool sting against your skin—“i’m the one letting you.”

his thighs flex beneath you, each upward snap of his hips stealing a breath from your lungs. you brace your palms against his chest, fingers curling into the skin stretched over his muscles, but it does nothing to steady you. chan is relentless now—driving into you with the easy confidence of someone who knows exactly how much you can take.

“that’s it,” he hums, voice honey-sweet even as his thrusts make your body jolt. “ride me like a good girl. make it worth my time.”

the praise sinks into you, but the mocking lilt in his tone lights something hotter. you try to match his rhythm, but the power is his—the grip on your hips makes sure of it.

“aww,” he drawls when you shudder around him, “my poor thing. you look so messy already… and we haven’t even started properly.”

the hat tips forward again, hiding the half-smile that tells you he is enjoying this far too much. “thought you wanted to use me. hm? now you’re just letting me fuck you, aren’t you?”

your nails drag down his chest in protest, but it only makes him laugh. “cute.”

he shifts, angling his hips so the next thrust has you gasping. he slows, teasing you with deep, measured strokes until you are whimpering into his shoulder. “say it,” he murmurs, “say you like being my pretty little cowgirl.”

you shake your head, embarrassment biting back the words.

his hand moves from your hip to your throat, tilting your chin up so you have to look at him under the brim of that damn hat. “say it, or i stop.”

the threat has you caving. “i like—i like being your… cowgirl.”

he grins, wicked and proud, and rewards you with a sharp upward drive that has your eyes fluttering shut. “good girl,” he breathes. “now, ride me properly.”

your thighs are burning, the ache in your muscles nearly matching the ache between your legs, but chan does not slow. the brim of that damned hat hides his eyes, yet you can still feel the weight of his gaze—steady, calculated, indulgent.

“look at you,” he drawls, tone dripping with mock-sympathy, “all worn out and you’ve barely done anything. thought my little cowgirl wanted to ride me.”

you try to keep moving, try to prove him wrong, but his hands clamp tighter on your hips. “mm… no,” he hums, holding you in place like you weigh nothing, “you’ve had your turn. now i’m going to show you how it’s done.”

the first upward snap of his hips knocks the air from your lungs. the next has you clinging to his shoulders, fingers slipping over his skin.

“ohhh,” he teases between thrusts, “so that’s what you needed? me doing the work?” his voice dips lower, his breath hot against your ear. “pathetic little thing. you’re only falling apart because i’m using you properly.”

you can’t even answer—each deep, brutal drive has you gasping, nails dragging down his chest. the chains at his neck bite cold against you when he pulls you flush against him, his chest rising with the effort of keeping his pace.

“that’s it. take it,” he murmurs, his tone softening but never losing that edge. you’re barely holding yourself together now, the pleasure flooding too fast to resist. you try to move, to do something, but his grip holds you exactly where he wants you.

“shh… let me,” he says, voice almost sweet, though the smirk curling his lips betrays him. “you just sit there and let your cowboy fuck you stupid.”

the brim of his hat dips forward again, shadowing the wicked glint in his eyes as he slams up into you one last time—hard enough to send you tumbling over the edge of your orgasm, shaking in his lap while his hands keep you exactly where he wants you.

your body sags against him, every muscle trembling, head lolling against his shoulder. the brim of his hat brushes your temple when he tips his head, voice dropping into something softer—still thick with satisfaction, but gentler now.

“there we go… all done,” he murmurs, one broad hand smoothing up your spine, the other still holding you secure in his lap. “look at you. all used up. barely even breathing properly.”

you make some faint, broken noise in reply—nothing coherent. it earns you a quiet laugh, warm against your hair.

“my poor little cowgirl,” he hums, pressing a kiss to your temple. “all that big talk about riding me, and now you can’t even sit up straight.”

his hand drifts down, stroking over the sore curve of your hip, grounding you. “just stay here for a bit,” he says, easing his tone into something like a lull. “i’ve got you.”

the catalogue

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brat seungkwan | 18+

being on the rocks w seungkwan all day, unable to talk to each other without disagreeing or bickering. every eye roll or scoff in your direction just drives you further up the wall but you don’t engage. you wait patiently. it’s not until you’re laying next to each other in bed that night, boo refusing to touch you out of spite, that you pay him back for all of the lip.

you roll over, ignoring his confused grumble, and wordlessly place your palm over the front of his boxers. he has a full-body jolt against where the curve of your chest is pressing into his back, too stunned to speak when your hand starts to rub up and over him.

any snide comments dissolve on his throat with the feel of your hand on his heat. maybe he’d been acting out because he’d been missing this. maybe he was just trying to rile it out of you. well, he’s got it. the deadpan look he gave you earlier flashes across your face as you wrap your fist tight around him, revelling in how he whines about how he’s too sensitive, you’re moving too quick for him.

it does nothing to deter you. just spurns you on to jerk him without remorse, the room filling with the slick sounds of you pumping him and boo’s strangled whimpers still complaining about god knows what now. with your freehand you tug his head back by the scruff of his hair, allowing yourself access to the curve of his neck where you start sucking bruises onto the skin. the harsh sensation has his hips stuttering, hands fumbling like he’s unsure whether to push you off or pull you closer.

“still mad at me?” you purr, thumb pressing over the slit at the head of his cock and eliciting a filthy moan from your boyfriend.

“stop, hah—bein’ mean,” he pouts. like it doesn’t get him all hot and bothered when being thrown around by you.

your hand slows on his length, stopping at the base to clench your fist impossibly tighter. he gasps, cock twitching like crazy in your hand like he’ll cum from the pain of it. you keep him anchored in place with a firm arm draped over his stomach.

“okay, i’m sorry, i’m o—” boo’s voice is all wrecked and adorably pathetic and you just can’t stand to bully him any more, even if he’s deserves it for the attitude today. so you grace him with something he’d much prefer to cum to: quick twists of your wrist at the tip of his cock, sucking on that sensitive spot below his ear he likes. it’s only a few seconds before you’ve got him borderline in tears, spilling all over his stomach and your fingers with a loud cuss.

it’s a sweet reminder to both of you that you can still get along, emotionally and physically, despite all the arguing today. as well as the fact that you’re still very much the one in charge. you snicker to yourself at the sound of boo chasing his breath, gasping like he’s in disbelief as if he wasn’t practically asking for this while pissing you off.

you rub his back. “you’re forgiven.”

mlist · taglist 〃 note. cracked my bf then wrote this afterward

@lightinbug @sherrayyyyy @ttturnitup @rafesbunniebby @strhwa @orphicarchive @lunaryoongie @sanakiras @babycaratdeul @sseungcheols @sunnysidesins @livelaughloveseventeen @nezhamoment @nervousaggressive @madebybec @aaronwarners69thwife @gyuguys @macherizz

[ttturnitup]

R𝒰SH

── two best friends who’d rather die than lose you to the other settle for an interesting middle ground.

tags : joshua x f!reader x jeonghan. 4.1k wc. porn w bare bones of a plot. threesome / cucking. homoerotic tension. which could mean nothing. 18+

JOSHUA and JEONGHAN liked to fight for the same things.

since the dawn of their friendship, everything’s been a competition. which crayon scribble got more praise from teachers. which academic achievements made their parents prouder. which of them had the better build, the prettier face — and garnered the more attention from girls as a result.

only one mattered, though. because when it came to crushes, joshua and jeonghan only ever went after the same girl. and yes it was personal. 

they say you win some and you lose some. joshua’s yet to see the truth in that. attempting to rival jeonghan’s lazy grins and smooth tongue for a girl’s attention was always a sinking ship.

there’d been a few times when joshua had made the first move — taken the girl out, kissed her under the moon and left her eager for more — all for jeonghan to swoop in while she’d been waiting and fill the absence joshua left.

it’s not fair, just building off of the care and effort joshua already put in, and it sure as hell shouldn’t count as besting him. but at the end of it all, it’s jeonghan who gets to call her mine. and that’s what they’re competing for.

you weren’t just the same old story, though.

maybe it’s because you weren’t some other high school hook-up or college fling that they were competing to have in their bed. they’re grown now, you’d think they’d matured out of wanting a girl only if the other did. but you entering their lives proved that they were far, far off.

you’d been the first one to pick up on their rivalry, too — but that can be attributed to both of them being more forward and downright desperate than they’d ever been for a girl before.

what was it about you that had joshua’s voice cracking, jeonghan’s hands trembling? they could feel like they just hit puberty again. and it was serious this time — losing meant failing for life. because you had them wrapped snug around each of your pointer fingers, and they had no intentions of letting go. forever was nonnegotiable.

you knew this. you indulged in it. and watching them fall over their own feet trying to win you over the other was the most alive you’ll ever feel.

it’s nothing, compared to how joshua felt when you ended up choosing him, though.

months of not-so-friendly competition and foul play had somehow landed in joshua’s favour. joshua could play it smart, but jeonghan played it dirty, and brains never bested a total absence of morals. jeonghan always won in the past for that reason. but this time, it’s why he didn’t. 

joshua almost cried in relief when you confessed your love to him. being a gentleman instead of a schemer had finally paid off. and when you took him into your bed that night, he could’ve sobbed into your hair as he fucked into you.

because all of his losses up to this point are meaningless. they all built up to this: holding your hand, moaning your name as your pulsing heat sucked him in.

it’s the only win that matters — knowing jeonghan can only dream of what you feel like.

“joshua, are we—okay?

you don’t usually use his full name. not unless there’s a real issue. but he doesn’t flinch at it, since what he asked was so out of left field.

“as far as i’m aware.” he replies coolly.

“so why are you asking me that?” 

since joshua bested jeonghan for your love about half a year ago, you hadn’t seen the latter since. not if joshua could help it. partly due to fears that you might change your mind, that jeonghan might even coerce you there with his forked tongue.

of course, they didn’t stop being best friends. you don’t just give up a friendship that started in diapers over one girl — except you can, and they very well did for a few weeks. it wasn’t until joshua’s mother started asking about the other that he texted him, asking how he’s been like nothing happened. like the girl they were mutually lusting over wasn’t sucking his dick an hour earlier while jeonghan had been left in the dust.

but regardless, jeonghan texts him back, and it’s as if nothing really did happen when they meet up at their favourite fried chicken spot an hour later.

things start to click back into place, into routine. jeonghan didn’t ask about you, and joshua didn’t mention you either. maybe this could just be a blurry patch in their shared history, and you’d have to squint to remember why they were mad at each other. maybe this could be a funny story to laugh about when they were wrinkled and grey, once jeonghan had fallen for another.

except it can’t be. because jeonghan holds onto grudges like they’re his beating heart.

joshua made the mistake of inviting jeonghan to drinks, where the older of the two was much keener with his alcohol. jeonghan was properly wrecked within an hour, swaying in his seat and chasing his own words.

when jeonghan admits that he’s hated him ever since, joshua just blinked at him, in disbelief that he heard that right.

jeonghan went on: saying that it’s only grown worse with each passing day, and he’s at his wits end. he can’t take it anymore. he still wants you and he’s not sure it’ll ever pass.

rage surged in joshua like a tidal wave, and his knuckles were kissing jeonghan’s jaw within the next second.

for a good five minutes, jeonghan had managed to rip the sheets off of joshua’s usual gentlemanly composure. he berated his best friend until his throat ran raw, and only when he stopped to catch his breath did jeonghan interject — proposing an idea that could’ve full-well earned him another punch in the face.

but joshua was tired. the adrenaline comedown left him lightheaded, his voice was almost gone, and his hands hurt from clenching them into fists. so he listened. tossed it over in his head. but then left his best friend without an answer. not like he deserved one anyways.

still, it clung to his thoughts like smoke.

“just let me have her,” jeonghan had spat out while joshua caught his breath. it was the most shameless he’d ever seen his best friend. “just one time and i’ll never bring it up again.”

the more he thought back on it, the more he considered it, and the less he.. felt bothered by it. he’d even caught himself envisioning it one night as he laid in a cold bed while you were showering — you mounting jeonghan, riding him till he was in tears, all the while watching joshua for his approval.

with the way his dick pulsed in his boxers over the scene, he figured it was about time to bring it up to you.

which brought him to now: you gawking at your boyfriend like he just confessed to murder, when really he had admitted that jeonghan begged him to fuck you, and joshua wasn’t opposed. not that far off in terms of shock factor actually.

“aren’t you upset?” you ask him, perplexed on why he seems so composed saying this when he’d been so adamant on keeping you on the other side of the earth as jeonghan.

“oh baby, you didn’t see me.” joshua perches on the bed next to you, pulling the covers down where you’re holding them to your chest. he rubs little circles onto the skin of your arm, perhaps to ground you or himself.

“he’s got an ugly bruise on his face from where i hit him. i was fucking furious. but,” he sighs, large hand coming to hook around your fingers. “i thought on it. haven’t been able to stop, actually.”

you hold joshua’s hand back, reassuring him that you’re listening.

“i already came to terms with it, a while back. before you chose me. i was expecting jeonghan to win again, so i thought, if it came down to it: i’d ask him if he’d be up to sharing.” 

“sharing me.” 

“you’ve got me wrapped around your pretty finger, babe. i wanted you in any way that i could get. i’m more than grateful it’s this, don’t get me wrong.” he presses a chaste kiss to your lips. “i was just preparing for the worst.” 

“so why this? and now?”

he smiles with a slow exhale. “because i want you forever. and unfortunately, i’m stuck with jeonghan for forever too. if he hasn’t come to terms with it now, i’d rather it be sooner than later. before he gets really desperate and does something i can’t forgive.” 

“you think he’ll just stop after having me the one time?”

“of course not. but doesn’t that make it all the more satisfying? one taste of what he could’ve had, yet he lost. you’re mine, and he can never have you unless it’s on my word.” he smirks. clearly he’d already thought it through. it’s cruel, cruel in a way that could rival jeonghan. and you.

“what if i prefer him?” 

joshua’s eyes darken, smirk tilting into something sinister. he’s missed this.

missed chasing you, trying to run faster than jeonghan. missed putting his dignity on the line for a girl with no guarantee he’d even get her. the possibility of giving his all and more only to watch you choose his best friend instead. it was exhilarating — the rush, the fear.

you love him, you really do. you chose him. but this whole thing, it’s like he’s got something to lose again. and he still can’t get enough of the feeling.

“well, we haven’t gotten there yet, have we?” 

then he’s kissing you, tongue teasing yours the moment your lips meld together. you give a pleased hum when his hand dips down, knuckles brushing your clothed crotch.

“will you be there?” 

when jeonghan walks through the door of joshua’s house, he’s carrying an air of insufferable pride with him. his face is plastered with a shit-eating grin as he greets you, hands snaking around your waist and chin dipping to your collarbone.

he and joshua lock eyes, and for a second, it looks like jeonghan’s about to kiss your neck before you’re moving off of him. joshua can’t tell if it’s a gesture more directed to you or at him.

you all share glasses of dark wine on the massive C-shaped couch. you sit first, with each boy perching close on either side — leaving a laughable amount of room on the rest of the couch.

jeonghan’s only really here for the one thing. joshua had set the details of how tonight will play out, such as what’s on and off the table. with how joshua’s been talking about this, you can’t imagine there’s much jeonghan isn’t allowed to do with you.

this is supposed to be the only chance he’ll ever have. the more freedom jeonghan gets, the more he’ll want you again — meaning the more joshua wins, because you still belong to him and only him.

jeonghan’s unapologetically handsy. he’d always been, especially when they were both courting you since jeonghan was a lot more daring with his advances. but tonight it’s as if he’s making up for the lost time. one glass of liquor down and his palm’s glued to your thigh, body slouching against yours, head lolling onto your shoulder. he even absentmindedly leaves a few pecks on the skin there.

instinctively, you glance at joshua whenever you think jeonghan’s being too pushy. but your boyfriend’s features remained firm, certain. even curious. it all feels like a show put on just for him. so if he’s daring you to not hold back, then what else to do than your worst?

you lean in to jeonghan’s touches. you guide his hand to slink around your back, palm coming to hold his head upright as he tells you about a particularly shit day he had at work about three months ago.

your attention gradually hones in on jeonghan solely, and he can tell when the shift happens, because he starts acting different too. it’s not just about provoking joshua with what he’s allowing to happen anymore. his pupils swallow the light, lips parting in bated breaths as he gazes at you. now, it feels like it’s just you, him, and your shared desire. what he’s been waiting to happen since the damn day he met you.

it’s soft when you lean in to kiss him. he could’ve just leaped at you and been hard enough to fuck you within seconds, but jeonghan’s got all night to take his time. to engrave your entirety into his memory: your body, your noises, your heat wrapped around him.

you slide your tongue against his, hand resting flat on his thigh, and it’s enough to pull obscene noises from jeonghan. you’d think he was already close to cumming with how vocal he was being, and from just kissing you. it’s cute. and you can’t wait to keep pushing him further down the deep end.

you stay soft and restrained as you kiss him — while jeonghan’s practically eating your face. he’s moving his body so much that your hand rides dangerously high, and he starts mindlessly bucking to the feel of your fingers on his clothed crotch.

he’s needy and whiney and you don’t know how he expects to last even just one round. maybe this’ll work in joshua’s favour and jeonghan makes a pathetic mess of himself.

speaking of which, he’s so caught up in the feeling of your tongue hot in his mouth that he literally forgot where he was. you have to still jeonghan with gentle hands on his shoulders, and he pouts as you pull away from the kiss.

“where do you want it?”

you have to give jeonghan a second to buffer, remember that this isn’t his home where he can just fuck you wherever he pleases. he’s still the guest here.

“upstairs, the bath.”

“no. it stays down here.”

you both crane your necks towards joshua — who was leaning back into the couch with a topped-up glass in hand, watching it all intently. he’s serious. jeonghan scoffs.

“in front of you?” he near whines in annoyance. it sounds like this wasn’t in the deal. joshua must be changing his mind in real time.

“this is my house,” joshua reminds him with a scowl over his glass. “and my girl.”

jeonghan just rolls his eyes. it’s tough talk for someone who’s a spectator to his best friend playing tonsil hockey with his girlfriend.

you softly cooing to jeonghan is enough for him to turn his attention back to you and stop trying to explode joshua with his mind. you plant his hand on your breast, and it’s like neuron activation with how he’s back to looking up at you with a watery mouth and doe eyes.

“wanna taste you,” jeonghan whimpers when you press your palm over where he’s hard and leaking. “please,”

“okay.” you hum, pressing a kiss to his hair. you shift in your seat and catch sight of jeonghan smiling. it’s cute. no sly intentions. it feels soft — it’s almost like you’re not basically cheating while your boyfriend watches from the sidelines.

you’d worn this dress for the sole purpose of easy access. you only have to flip the skirts up, jeonghan watching your every move as you lean back for him, and you only get your panties to your knees before jeonghan’s springing forward. he pries your legs apart enough to slot himself in the gap between, breath hot and heavy on your cunt as he lowers himself to lay flat on the couch. your core pulses as he licks his lips, pressing a shaking kiss to your clit before diving in.

there’s no patience in how jeonghan takes you. he laps at your wet heat like a dog, an obscenity of squelching noises filling the room as he bobbed his head. you bite your own fingers to muffle yourself, overcome with embarrassment and arousal in equal amounts.

jeonghan’s head dips, tongue fucking into your hole while his nose keeps your clit occupied. your thighs tremble around his head, and you can feel the saliva and arousal leaking down your legs. what’s more is he moans right into you, the pretty noise reverberating on your cunt, and your eyes fucking roll back — mouth clamped tight on your fingers.

until there’s a hand prying them out, cocking your head backwards. you’re met with an upside-down view of your boyfriend, mouth parted in a breathless smile, thumb tracing over your bottom lip.

“i wanna hear it,” he tells you softly, hand snaking down your neck and to your chest, slipping under the hem of your dress. he finds your nipple with ease, pinching the bud between his fingers. it has your hips rocking up into jeonghan’s face, and you’d think he’s almost too caught up in your cunt to care about what’s happening up here.

“yah, you fucking mind?” jeonghan turns your attention back to him when he splits you open with two of his slender fingers, wasting no time before starting to piston them in and out. joshua rolls your nipple under his thumb in retaliation, and you could almost scream from how much and how good it all feels.

“she’s my girlfriend.” joshua says, the smirk in his voice audible.

“yeah, about to cum on my damn mouth,” jeonghan bites back, flattening his tongue on your pussy to lick up a hard stripe. you glance down and realise he’s rutting furiously into the couch cushion, and you clench around his fingers, earning another moan from jeonghan that rumbles on your clit.

you roll your head back, staring up through your lashes at your boyfriend while his best friend swirls little eights around your clit, fingers curling ruthlessly inside you. you fumbles with the top of your dress to find joshua’s hand, and then hold it tight. he snickers at the gesture. you can barely keep your eyes open from all the sensations, but you still wanna hold his hand as you hit ecstasy. his heart swells, as debaucherous as the circumstances are.

except you don’t even get there before the cold air’s hitting your cunt, jeonghan pulling off of you with a wet pop. your brain’s still catching up when you see jeonghan’s arm stretch out above you, shoving joshua back on the couch.

“fuck off,” he snaps, hooking his arms around your legs to pull you away from joshua and flush against his lap.

his belt knocks your thigh as he unbuckles it hastily, not even waiting to get his pants off fully — just pulling the waistband of his boxers down enough for his cock to spring free, slapping his stomach and leaving a string of precum.

jeonghan catches you staring, and he snickers to himself, sitting his palm on your stomach as his thumb comes to prod at your clit.

“what? haven’t seen a dick this big before?”

you can’t even quip back at the comment, let alone deny it — not as you’re being launched right back to the edge of bliss, your orgasm rearing its head again as jeonghan draws slow, lazy circles with his thumb. the head of his dick nudges at your core, all the beaded precum barely even noticeable once he’s coated in your slick, and if jeonghan thought he was about to cum from just kissing you then he knows he’s not gonna last now.

it just means he’ll have to make up for it with many, many more rounds. he has till sunrise to do whatever he pleases with you: joshua’s orders.

you distantly hear a strained noise leave you when jeonghan finally pushes in, tuned out by his own louder moan. he spends a second still, cock twitching inside of you with his heavy pants at your ear. but once he’s found himself again, he sucks in a big breath to his chest before he starts ramming into you, just like how he does in his wet dreams.

you’re not sure if the moaning and borderline sobbing is you or him anymore. jeonghan looks rabid as he fucks into you: hair sticking to his forehead with sweat, eyes blown wide open with a hand roaming over every curve of your body like he’s committing it to memory. he replaces his thumb with his pointer and middle, and you’re about to be hit by your almost orgasm in tenfold. and from what you hear, jeonghan’s having just as much trouble holding back as you are.

you hear your neck crack as you turn your head to stare at the man behind you, only to see nothing but an empty couch. you then catch sight of joshua moving beside you — kneeling in front of where your head’s lolling back on the cushion. your eyes flutter shut when jeonghan thrusts up into a particularly sensitive spot, and when you open them again, you’re met with the view of your boyfriend smiling at you with heart-eyes, a hand shoved beneath his slacks and stroking himself.

“doin’ so well,” joshua coos, lips ghosting close to your forehead. “my pretty girl.”

you can only whimper in response. jeonghan starts drawing out his thrusts, hammering his hips periodically. you take notice of how joshua’s hand movements slow down to match the pace — pumping himself to the sight of you getting fucked.

a sharp pulse of his dick deep inside tells you he’s about two seconds from letting loose, and you squeeze down on him in kind. jeonghan’s fingers stutter on your clit, head falling onto your chest with a strangled groan.

“oh fuck, please don’t do that, ah,”

you can hear a faint chuckle from joshua under his breath. “keep on going, baby,”

jeonghan lets out a guttural noise — irritated over joshua interfering yet again with what’s his for the night — before he’s raising himself up on his palms, one of them shooting out to wrap around your neck. it’s not hard enough to hurt, but the dizziness hits you instantly.

jeonghan grits his teeth, anchoring his weight into the hand at the base of your throat when he starts fucking into you like a madman. this time, his sole purpose is chasing both of your orgasms.

“baby, ah. ‘m not ready just yet, just hold out for me, fuck,” joshua’s voice at your ear is strained, and you can hear the slick sound of him pumping himself in tune to the squelching of your pussy getting rammed by jeonghan. it’s so incredibly lewd and your brain’s fuzzy from all the blood rushing to your head at this angle and jeonghan’s hand on your neck and all the overwhelming sensations.

“look at me,” jeonghan growls, hand coming to snatch your jaw up into his direction. his face dips close to yours, breath hot on your neck — but when you’re looking up at him, you realise that it’s joshua who his gaze is directed towards instead. 

“if you love shua,” he pants out, hand coming to rub his palm on your clit — other hand keeping your thrashing legs pried open. “you’ll moan my name.” 

you’re literally right there, one exhale away from cumming, but you hold your breath. you wait to hear joshua’s voice in response — and yet, nothing. just more grunting and all the wet noises of your arousals. he’s not refuting it. he’s waiting.

you don’t want to. it’s wrong. it’s so fucked up and yet so fucking hot and you’ve never felt this turned on in your life. 

you let yourself go, cumming with a loud cuss broken with a cry, and you do it. you call out his name. not your boyfriend’s. but the boy who he called his best friend.

“f-fuck—hannie!” 

you don’t know when their orgasms started and when yours ended. you just know that it went on for what felt like minutes, pleasure so good that it delved into pain, and you’ve never felt so sweaty and sore in your life.

in the aftermath, you all lay there heaving and limp. there’s body odour, spit and cum in the air, along with some skeletons in the closet you’ll definitely have to discuss with joshua tomorrow. or maybe you’ll agree to never speak of what just happened again.

you finally crack open an eye, glancing towards where your boyfriend’s still sitting on the floor. he’s tucking himself back into his pants, and he’s not looking at you. you whip your head the other way, catching jeonghan mirorring him, and realise the boys had been staring at each other. sizing the other up, you think at first. but then on second glance it looks more like they’re eye-fucking.

you sigh loudly, which has their heads turning back to you.

“still need me here or what?”

mlist · taglist 〃 note. can u tell i stopped being medicated🤔

@lightinbug @sherrayyyyy @ttturnitup @rafesbunniebby @strhwa @orphicarchive @lunaryoongie @sanakiras @babycaratdeul @sseungcheols @sunnysidesins @livelaughloveseventeen @nezhamoment @nervousaggressive @madebybec @aaronwarners69thwife @gyuguys @macherizz

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Taste: KANG DAESUNG x READER

summary: your little situationship with daesung comes to an end as he finds somebody that does want to commit, unfortunately you're too prideful for that...

word count: 1675

tags: angsty, reader is toxic, situationship - PART OF SHORT N SWEET CHALLENGE

ao3 link

You’ve never been the type to make promises you can’t keep—mostly because you don’t make promises at all.

Not the romantic kind, anyway.

Daesung learned that early.

He learned it when you showed up at his door at midnight with a bottle of wine and that smile that meant trouble, sliding past him before he could even invite you in. He learned it when you told him you didn’t want labels and he said he didn’t mind. He learned it every time you pulled on your coat before the sun came up, tossing a casual goodbye over your shoulder like it was a joke.

The thing is, it wasn’t a joke.

It was the rule.

You thrived on the game—the slow burn, the push and pull, the way his eyes darkened whenever you leaned too close in public but never crossed the line. You’d text him out of nowhere at 2 a.m. asking if he was still up and, every time without fail, he always was. 

Tonight is no different.

You’re curled on his couch, wearing one of his hoodies that hangs off your frame like it’s meant to, sipping a drink while he flips through music channels. You don’t even remember what the conversation was about when you say it; the smirk is there before the words leave your mouth.

“You know you’d miss me if I stopped coming around.”

Daesung glances over, a small laugh slipping out. “You’re awfully sure of yourself.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” You tilt your head, eyes locking on his. “You like me exactly like this. No strings. No drama. Just… fun.”

You watch him breathe in like he’s about to argue—but then he shakes his head, smiling like you’ve just beaten him at a game you both know you’re playing. And you have but he turns back to the TV, pretending to look for a channel, but his hand is still resting along the back of the couch—close enough that you could lean into it if you wanted. You don’t. Not yet.

Instead, you stretch your legs out, nudging his thigh with your toes.

“You’re ignoring me.”

He huffs out a laugh, glancing down at where your foot is pressing into him. “I’m trying to watch something, but someone won’t let me.”

“Then maybe you should pay more attention to the someone.”

You say it like it’s casual, but there’s a glint in your eyes that makes him pause. It’s always like this: you say something that could be innocent, but the way you look at him turns it into something else entirely. He sets the remote down, shifting so he’s facing you. 

“And what exactly would you like me to pay attention to?”

You smile, slow and smug, and pluck at the drawstring of the hoodie you’re wearing letting the fabric slide just far enough off your shoulder to expose bare skin.

“You’ll figure it out.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it.”

He doesn’t answer that. He just studies you for a moment, that soft, almost disbelieving smile on his face like he can’t decide whether to kiss you or call you trouble. You lean in, close enough that your breath stirs the hair at his temple, and whisper.

“Admit it, Dae. You’re addicted.”

His eyes flick to yours, and for a second, you swear he’s going to say it — the thing you’ve always dodged, the thing you don’t want to hear. But then he leans back, shakes his head, and mutters something about you being unbelievable. You grin like you’ve won.

Because you always do.

It’s been a couple weeks since that night on his couch, but nothing’s changed. At least, you don’t think so. You still text him when you’re bored, you still show up without warning, and he still answers the door every single time. Tonight’s no different—except you’ve decided to really lean into it.

He’s in the kitchen when you arrive, hoodie sleeves pushed up, hair messy like he’s been running his hands through it. You don’t even say hello before slipping onto the counter, letting your legs swing.

“Miss me?”

Daesung looks up from the pan on the stove, the tiniest smile tugging at his mouth. “You were here like last week.”

“So that’s a yes.”

He shakes his head, chuckling under his breath, but he doesn’t argue, and just like always, you feel that little jolt of victory.

You watch him work for a moment, then reach over and steal a piece of whatever he’s cooking, popping it in your mouth before he can stop you. He gives you a look, but it’s half-hearted at best.

“Careful, Dae,” you tease, licking sauce from your finger, “keep spoiling me like this and I might start to think you actually like me.”

Usually, that’s the moment he’d throw something back—a sarcastic comment, a smirk, something. But this time, he just glances at his phone on the counter. It buzzes, screen lighting up with a name you don’t recognize. He picks it up quickly, reads the message, and smiles: not the crooked, boyish one he gives you when you’ve gotten under his skin, but something softer.

“Give me a sec,” he says, tapping out a reply before sliding the phone into his pocket.

You tilt your head. “New friend?”

He doesn’t answer right away, just stirs the pan and says lightly, “something like that.”

It’s nothing, you tell yourself. 

But for the first time since this started, you feel that dangerous flicker in your chest—the one you’ve spent months pretending doesn’t exist.

It doesn’t happen all at once. At first, it’s just little things — a text that takes a couple hours instead of a couple minutes, a night where he says he’s busy instead of letting you come over. You don’t ask questions, because that’s not what you do. You’re not the clingy type. You’ve built this whole thing on being untouchable, and you’re not about to let a few unanswered messages make you slip.

So you play it cool.

You still send him flirty texts when the mood strikes, still drop by unannounced like nothing’s changed. And when he hesitates—even for a split second—you just smile wider, lean in closer, act like you don’t notice the space he’s starting to put between you. If he’s pulling away, fine. 

You’re not chasing him.

At least… not where he can see it.

You’re not looking for him when you see it happen. It’s an industry event—one of those big, glittering things where everyone pretends they don’t notice the photographers in the corner. You’re mid-conversation with someone when you catch a glimpse of him across the room.

Daesung.

He’s laughing at something, head tipped back just the way you’ve seen a hundred times before. But it’s not the laugh that makes your stomach drop—it’s her. You know her. Everyone does. She’s the one he dated a couple years back, the one the fans loved because she was “so good for him.” Sweet. Steady. The kind of girl who probably remembers his coffee order and asks about his mom.

She’s standing close, her hand brushing his arm like it belongs there, and you can tell by the way he’s looking at her that he doesn’t mind. 

That he likes it.

It’s just a conversation. You know that. But the air shifts in your chest all the same.

You don’t move toward them—you’re too proud for that. Instead, you turn back to whoever was talking to you, smile like nothing’s wrong, and take a long sip of your drink. You don’t stare. You don’t even glance. But the sound of his laugh carries across the room, curling under your skin until you can’t tell if it’s pulling you back to him… or pushing you away.

Later that week, you’re sprawled across your couch, phone in hand, half-distracted scrolling when the photo stops you cold. It’s all over social media, originating from that same girl’s account. 

Your thumb hovers over the screen, like maybe if you don’t move, it won’t be real.

It’s a selfie. She’s curled into his side on what looks like his couch, the same one you’ve spent too many nights on. He’s not looking at the camera, he’s looking at her, both of their smiles are soft and easy like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The caption is simple. Just two words.

“We’re back.”

The comments are already flooding in. Fans crashing out, mutual friends scolding them 

Your chest tightens, but you force yourself to breathe slow. You don’t double-tap. You don’t even open his profile, even though every muscle in your hand is itching to. You toss the phone onto the other end of the couch and lean back, letting your head fall against the cushions.

It’s fine. 

You told him from the start you weren’t his girlfriend. You set the rules. You played the game.

You just never expected him to win.

And you certainly weren’t expecting to run into her. 

The café smells like fresh espresso and cinnamon, a small refuge from the chaos of the industry. You step inside, casually scanning the menu, trying to ignore the dull ache you’ve been pushing down for weeks. Then you hear the voice — light, effortless, the kind of voice that belongs somewhere safe and warm.

You turn, and there she is.

The girl. His girl.

Her eyes catch yours before she even realizes who you are. There’s a flicker of something unreadable before she forces a bright smile. Polite. Controlled.

“Hey,” she says softly, like this meeting is a coincidence that could be nothing but civil. “Aren’t you friends with Daesung?” 

You tilt your head, letting that slow, confident smile spread across your lips—half amused, half dangerous. “Something like that. You can have him if you like…” 

She laughs nervously before you cut her off, not wanting to hear anything more from her, refusing to let your mask slip.

“Just know… you’ll taste me when he’s kissing you.” 

thank you zenny for inviting me to be part of this challenge <33

taglist: @loveesiren @aizshallnotbefound @mashtatosworld @modzmadness @flymetothexmoon @moontabi @riddlerloveb0t @crashmunson @gdoddity @xxxicddbr88 @nsainmoonchild @sherrayyyyy @breakmeoff @raynamorono23 @moonqz @lilshu65 @ttturnitup @sherxoo @ninnys @kuntix @carrotheadedtoast @rememberbackintheday @madzzz0707 @bettelaboure @mattsturniolosbabymama @shieraseastarrs @madebybec @starrgirll444 @steponupbabe 

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can't wait to share! <3

SHORT N' SWEET || writing challenge !

hello my lovelies ! i’m excited to announce a new writing challenge !! from the 4th till 31st of august, i’m holding a collaboration AND celebration event w some of my gorgeous & talented writer friends !! Thank you guys so much for 241 followers i really appreciate each and every one of you guys <33. ♡ every track on sabrina carpenters SHORT N' SWEET album (including the deluxe version) will be adapted to fics by a different writer each day! the list can be found below ❀ i hope you all enjoy <3

Best viewed in dark mode ~

~ TRACKLIST ~

1: taste - {daesung} | @gdinthehouse

2: please please please - { t.o.p } | @wcnderlnds

3: good graces - {seunghyun} | @sevendaysummer

4: sharpest tool - {seunghyun} | @flymetothexmoon

5: coincidence - {g dragon} | @moonqz

6: bed chem - {felix} @emmiesoverthemoon

7: espresso - {g-dragon} | @mashtatosworld

8: dumb and poetic - {hyunjin} | @emmiesoverthemoon

9: slim pickins - { } |

10: juno - {g dragon} | @loveesiren

11: dont smile - { I.N } | @makeitworse

12: 15 minutes - {jungkook} | @stlllle

13: couldnt make it any harder - {g dragon} | @jiuewy

14: busy woman - {daesung} | @moontabi

16: bad reviews - {seunghyun} | @lovemepartly

Please use the tag “short&sweetwritingevent!” When the fic is released <3

Taglist:

𓊆 @sherrayyyyy , @ldydeath , @eru-vande , @tulentiy , @infinetlyforgotten , @moonqz @gdinthehouseee , @mashtatosworld , @loveesiren @breakmeoff @kwomikailea @heartubeatusalon @sylviavf @flwerangii @wcnderlnds @ttturnitup p @ilovethe141 1 @pinkpunkdynamite @nbjch05 @evangeline3 @idknunsadly @moontabi 𓊇

Im revamping my taglist again so lmk if you wanna be in it in the comments <3

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𝒯ASTE

── only he can get you, no matter what it takes.

tags : f!rea x jeongin. 2.6k wc. slight age gap (~3 yrs). obsession. resolved tension. ginger innie🤤. oppa kink?. suggestive. 18+

♬ : taste - stray kids,, hallucination - i.n

notes : for angel’s bday bash! 🧁 thank you for trusting me w innie, have the happiest birthday <33

JEONGIN was in over his head.

he knew it well. drowning in it, actually. suffocating in this sharp, all-consuming craving for the one girl he had no business even glancing at twice.

you were like intravenous drugs draped in a dress — specifically the little black one that’s been haunting him since the night he saw you in it — carved right into his bloodstream with no hope of getting clean. withdrawals hit whenever you were gone too long, and yeah, he wishes that was an exaggeration. but it’s not. it’s a sick and embarrassing and a bad fucking joke.

you’re the forbidden fruit after all. untouchable, holy. and yet simultaneously the serpent — smug and enticing, knowing full well what you’re rousing in him. watching him fight a war within himself to not give everything else up for just one taste.

god, did he want to bite.

the punchline? well, of course it was you. had to be you. the funniest, smartest, prettiest damn girl he's ever met — the one person he’s wanted this bad ever in his life. the one person he shouldn’t want in any way beyond passing smiles and brief catch-ups, such as: "nice to see you again, chan says you’re well.”

because you weren’t just any girl. you’re his leader’s baby sister. and jeongin was so impossibly, helplessly fucked with no solace in sight.

the line wasn’t just clear — in fact it was lit up in neon signage, outlined in barbed wire, and tattooed across chan’s knuckles. from the start, he’d been firm with the group to behave when it came to his sisters. it’s important to him to keep family and work as seperate lives. can you imagine if you came crying to him about some idiot breaking your heart, and the guy chan had to kill was one of his own??

so sisters: off-limits. anyone looking for a quick, accessible death would just have to click follow on your instagram. but it’s not like jeongin was gross about it, right? chan’s watched him grow up. he’s not some pervert.

well, in the strict definition of it.

it doesn’t help when you walk into a room and your eyes find jeongin first every single time, wearing that damned smile like you know just what he was dreaming of last night. when you greet him with a hug that he’s not allowed to return, hands roaming all over his back like it’s your right while he’s been fossilised in place.

and especially when you tilt your head and call him oppa, giggling it off when heat rushes to jeongin’s face (and other places). it should be studied just how hard he gets just from that word in your mouth.

he’s the youngest in the group, used to being babied and teased. but you flip everything he knows on its head. you glance at him with those sweet eyes, all sugar and bad intentions, and suddenly he was some creepy oppa ogling a younger girl. and you just knew, didn’t you? you had to. literally no one calls him that. especially not like how you do.

it was a maddening game of push and pull, a standstill at what are we? — at least, on his end. you’d throw him a bone to keep him hooked: like laugh extra loud at a joke he made even when his voice cracked. to keep his heart, among other parts, confused and starving and pumping with blood.

one day you were curled up next to him on the couch, knees and shoulders bumping his, any polite space he tried maintaining gone in the second after. and by the next, you were barely looking his way, laughing with one of the others like he wasn’t even there.

he couldn’t figure you out even if there was a gun to his head. and that’s what made this dangerous. because if this was all him — just hopelessly drooling over his leader’s little sister, and you didn’t feel a thing in return — then what did that make him?

and you know what’s worse? he chooses to risk it all and still want you tomorrow. and the day after. and over and over until the running in circles makes him crash out. he hopes you make the first move or perhaps chan just takes him out before it reaches that point, though.

he watched you with the others once: with hyunjin and felix. laughing, nudging, leaning in way too close like you do all the time with jeongin. you were just being friendly, sure. that’s what you’d say if your brother came storming in. but it gnawed at jeongin’s chest all the same.

because who’s to say you weren’t like that with all of them? with anyone? who’s to say that if any of them leaned into it the way jeongin thinks about — snagging the bait and flirting right back — you wouldn’t let them have you? they were taller, older, cooler. more collected in ways jeongin was still learning how to be. maybe chan would even approve of one of them. felix seemed a good fit: a mature guy with a clean track record, sensible enough to keep his hands to himself until he had a ring on it.

so suddenly, everything jeongin thought you shared started to feel small. that maybe what you had wasn’t special, but rather some passing game you play when you’re bored — when none of the better options were around.

that’s when it occurred to him. he wasn’t going to let it be anyone else.

even if it hurt. even if it utterly ruined him. even if it meant sobbing at your feet while you crushed him over and over again with a soft smile that said try harder. whatever it took, jeongin would make you his. you’d look at him and only him, even if he had to bleed for it. especially if he had to.

for weeks now, jeongin’s been acting like a moth to the sun. hovering you like a flame he doesn't have the balls to touch, close enough to feel the heat but not get burned. he pursues you in the only ways he can without crossing the bewared lines; polite compliments, glances that linger too long, brushing his knuckles on your hand when no one’s looking. not too forward. never enough to be obvious. but enough to make him feel like he’s doing something with these feelings, to channel all of the pent up energy he’s too ashamed to release in the night by himself.

and apparently, it’s too much. because the others are starting to notice.

one afternoon in the practice room, he overheard seungmin telling hyunjin about a funny tiktok you had sent him. he didn’t think they were allowed to talk to you outside of in person. it had him sulking for the rest of rehearsal, short with seungmin specifically, until they wrapped up for the day and he cornered jeongin.

“is there something going on?” seungmin asked, tone flat like he already knew the answer. jeongin doesn’t answer, pretending to look for something in his bag, which gets an eye-roll from the older of the two.

“okay, you’ve been acting like some guard dog whenever someone says her name.” seungmin crosses his arms with a sigh. “you do realise we’re all not allowed to do anything, right?”

jeongin shrugs it off, giving a snicker that comes out hollow. he’s already been mulling it over — obsessively, relentlessly — and the guilt doesn’t stop him. hasn’t, won’t. not when it looks like he’s making progress. or maybe he’s hallucinating it all.

because lately, you’ve grown bolder and somehow colder all at once.

you’ll catch his eyes lingering and raise a brow, like you’re daring his gaze to drift lower. and sometimes it does. you’ll sit beside him, thigh brushing his and hand landing on his leg for a millisecond, only to face away like you didn’t feel him tense up under your touch. you even whispered that damn oppa in his ear once, around the corner and out of sight, then darted back into the room with everyone before he could even respond — leaving him flushed and half-hard and furious at himself.

tonight, he can’t take it anymore.

there’s too many people crammed into the living room of this damn house. he’d been pouting in the corner since changbin left him to go take a shit (seriously, who does that at a party?). bass was thumping through the walls, music drowned out by all the laughter and drunk chatter. jeongin hadn’t gotten there yet. he’d only had enough to feel warm, loosened at the edges. buzzing from two beers and the rush of knowing you were here, somewhere else in this house, probably charming the hell out of some guy who wasn’t him.

and like some pussy-whipped idiot, he downs the rest of his drink and pushes through the crowd in search of you. changbin can find some other company.

he wades his way to the kitchen, stumbling in on hyunjin kissing some girl sitting on the counter, and he looks twice only to make sure she’s not you — thank god.

it’s not long before he does find you: catching sight of your hair through the window near the bathroom, standing outside on the porch. you’re leaning on the railing, red cup in one hand and phone in the other; and he can make out enough of your screen to tell that you’re texting someone.

something in jeongin snaps.

maybe it’s just because you’re alone, which he really didn’t think he’d find you as — but he doesn’t spare himself a second to think. just slides open the screen door, heavy eyes landing on you as you turn to the noise. there’s hot needles prickling under his skin as steps to the railing, tongue buzzing with the taste of all the words he’s been swallowing for far too long.

he mimics your lean beside you. not quite touching yet. “didn’t expect to find you out here,” he says casually, like it’s not a lie and he was checking the whole house for you. “got tired of it?”

you hum. “meh. just needed some quiet.”

you don’t even glance at him. jeongin points to your phone, gaze flicking down to make out any words. “who’re you texting?”

you swiftly shut off your phone. it’s enough to get your attention, at least — as you stand up straighter, facing jeongin with a smirk. “why? jealous?”

jeongin lets out a dry laugh, cracking his knuckles as a nervous fidget. “should i be?”

you don’t answer. just keep staring at him with that crooked grin.

he shifts, voice seeping lower. “where’s chan? i saw him with you earlier,”

you shrug, glancing back into the house. “talking to minho, i think.”

something claws at his chest, jagged and desperate. it’s meant to ease him, knowing chan’s not in the vicinity. but it only makes his pulse come quicker. you’re here, alone, and your brother’s not looking for you.

you sit your drink on the railing and start to pick at your nails, bored. “is that all you came out here for?”

jeongin’s jaw flexes, and he knows you catch it in your peripheral because he can see your smirk edging wider. you’re living for this shit. instigating, prodding. always waiting to see how far he’ll go.

“i can’t do this anymore,” his words come out breathless. you blink at him, face stilling.

jeongin soldiers on through his conscience screaming at him to shut the hell up.

“i don’t care if this messes everything up. chan. the guys. all of it. i don’t care.”

your lips part slightly, whether in disbelief or anticipation. he steps closer.

“either you kiss me or hate me,” he goes on, fist involuntarily tightening from the adrenaline. “but i can’t keep doing this fucking middle ground where you pretend you don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

there was something raw in his eyes — unfiltered, devoted. it almost hurts to look at. seeing the effect you’ve got on him in full force without any polite restraint. you could just walk away, decide it’s too much for you. you could’ve laughed in his face and left him there in his shame. he would’ve let you.

but instead, you step into his space.

you fist his jacket collar, tugging him towards you until his body’s almost pressed flush against yours. your breath fans jeongin’s cheek, and you’re close enough for him to clock the wild flicker in your eyes.

he’s driving you just as mad.

your voice comes as barely a whisper. “really want me that bad, huh, oppa?”

jeongin swallows hard, gaze darting between your eyes and lips. “didn’t you know?”

his mouth is dry and his voice is shaky but he can’t find it in him to care. especially not with how you’re looking at him through your lashes like you could eat him up.

your lips come to the shell of his ear, and he audibly gulps when you breathe him in there, the cologne scent mixed with the alcohol making your head foggy.

“i won’t tell,” you whisper, extending a pinky to his chest. his brain short circuits, and he’s frozen still for a second while he realises you’re literally giving him permission to go ahead and chan won’t find out. initial shock over, his pinky’s hooking around yours, and in the next breath you’re closing your lips around his.

it’s immediate and heated — a crash of mouths, teeth, hands all over bodies. no pause or teasing anymore. just hungry and frantic movements like you’ve been thinking about it just as long.

jeongin whines onto your lips when your fingers thread into his hair, when you parted your thighs to wedge his knee between your legs. his hands gripped your waist like he’s anchoring himself, or maybe holding you in place like he’s still scared you might not want this.

you pull soft noises from jeongin as you kiss him, but when your tongue slides past his lips and against his, he groans down your throat.

things heat up real quick after that. you ground yourself down on his knee, and he gasps as your thigh rocks against the painfully hard tent in his pants.

jeongin’s been a patient man. he didn’t rush, even when he was close to begging you for one chance. but now, now that he’s gotten to taste you — tongue swirling on yours, his hands under your clothes — he realises that it’s still not near enough to satisfy how starved he’s been.

he’s thought about kissing you, of course. wanted to lean in and press his lips to yours whenever you found yourselves alone in a room together. and while this is hot, and he’s insanely hard for how you’re rutting against his thigh right now, this isn’t what he’d been losing sleep over thinking about. what he’d been barely restraining from fucking his fist over in fear of disrespecting you.

with a one track mind, jeongin’s guiding you back into the wall, far enough from the glow of the lights inside, your bodies concealed by the night. he breaks the kiss only momentarily, pressing a kiss to your jaw, your neck, hiking your shirt up to pepper kisses onto your bare tummy.

and before you register it, jeongin’s already on his knees, fingers twitching at your hips and chin sitting on your abdomen — big, glossy eyes looking up at you. for permission, you realise.

because this is what he’d been fantasising about. this taste.

and when you nod, he smiles like he’s fallen in love on the spot. maybe he has.

“please be my girlfriend,” he pleads hoarsely, fingers hooking around your waistband.

you just chuckle, planting a hand in his hair and ruffling it.

“i’ll have to ask my brother.”

mlist · taglist 〃

@lightinbug @sherrayyyyy @ttturnitup @rafesbunniebby @strhwa @orphicarchive @lightinbug @pinkpunkdynamite @hydeonysus @velvetmoonlght @shinygubbins @ateez-atiny380 @sunnysidesins @nervousaggressive @madebybec @estella-novella @felixlsworld

@fenya-scribbles @emmiesoverthemoon @skzophreniic @leriexoxo @breakmeoff @pixie-felix @angel-writes-skz-here

[ttturnitup]

THE LOVER⠀⠀⠀ ( 𝓽wo. )

things are heating up beyond your control, but you don’t intend to stop now that you feel this alive.

𝓬ontains: f!reader x felix. 7.8k wc. infidelity. fluff. felix being the chillest other woman ever. smut. 18+

𝓷otes: taking over a month to update a miniseries is insane and i am sorry, this is now the longest fic i’ve posted on here yet and i hope it lives up to the wait😭 for everyone still tuning in i love and appreciate you

PREV. ❀ CONT.

𝓨OU RUN THE BATH hot enough to just about boil you alive. as you slip into the water, a searing sting coating your skin, you just take it. tell yourself you deserve it.

when you slid into the passenger seat beside your fiancé, his hand landed heavy on your thigh — right over the spot where felix’s mouth had been moments earlier. panic shot up your spine like a bolt of lightning.

you needed a cleanse, a detox. to burn off all the remnants of felix that still clung to your body like smoke. although, he’s left you with patches of red blooming on the skin that’ll be a bitch to hide.

you’ll have to freeze spoons, buy some military grade concealer, maybe even start praying that your fiancé won’t suddenly start taking actual notice of you, only to see where someone else had marked you.

you weren’t about to fuck around and find out.

was this close enough to a baptism? maybe you could DIY some homemade holy water. skull it in a flask. cleanse yourself from the inside out.

… you’ve never felt more shame in your life.

after the shitshow that was today, you’re putting your foot down. there’ll be no more. your bed’s all made for you — yes, you can feel the pea at the very bottom, but there’s no use rolling around or thrashing about like it’ll change what’s already set in stone. what’s already sitting on your finger.

you hold your hand up to the ceiling, watching the light refract on your ring. this little gold band that dictates the trajectory of your life.

is it worth giving up the first human connection you’ve found in what felt like forever when your fate’s already predetermined?

it’s not like felix could stop it all. it’s not like he’d even want to go through the trouble. you just happened to make him a nice looking coffee. he’s not your soulmate. he’s not your forever. that titleholder is beyond the bathroom door, dozing on the couch watching some boring 90’s sitcom.

at least that’s what you’ve been told. that he’s supposed to be. isn’t that what marriage is?

you sit on the thought for a while.

you scoop water onto your chest, the droplets run tears down your skin. you blow bubbles across the surface and watch them pop. you think of your swan, what she must be up to at this hour. you think of your coworker emmie and how you’d die to have another friend. you think of felix and then you cry.

shoulders shuddering, throat constricting, you cry and you cry. you just can’t stop the tears. maybe they’d been backed up for months.

you let it all out. how badly you wish you could’ve chosen your own life. how badly you want it to be felix. how you can’t do anything about it but ugly cry in a now lukewarm bath.

you don’t want to let him go — to just abandon the spark of life he ignites within you, in a way this ring and this man and this life has never come close.

the foot you put down has just been amputated (didn’t take long), because you know you’ll see felix again. he’s bound to swing by the café again, regardless of what conclusion you draw in your head right now. you did leave things unfinished, after all…

but that was only a shared moment of weakness, between two friends. that’s all he’ll be. a friend. nothing more, nothing less. nothing that your fiancé can fuss over if you behave yourself.

you catch your reflection in the mirror: eyes red-rimmed and cheeks puffy. you sniffle.

liar.

⠀

⠀

ten minutes into your usual routine on the job and you were thinking of ways to stage an accident to hurt yourself.

felix hadn’t come by — not yet. if he even does. what do you care? he’s just a friend, of course. a friendly friend…

is burning your hand on the coffee machine enough to get sent home?

was an empty house and a burn mark, which you’d have to think up a viable excuse for, better than just facing felix?

maybe.

the doorbell jingles, and your heart nearly gives out until you’re faced with a very confused emmie.

she steps in out of the breeze, bag slung over her shoulder and brows raised at you standing there, stiffly alert.

“did i walk in on a ghost?”

you exhale, untensing your shoulders. “just thought it was someone else.”

she hums, but that’s not the answer she was looking for. “someone else like... the guy from the other morning? lean, blonde, acting like a puppy?”

you turn your gaze to the floor, pretending to notice a nonexistent smudge to clean. “he’s just a regular.”

emmie snorts a laugh. “yeah, okay. maybe a regular in your bed.”

you glance up sharply. “no he’s not.”

she shrugs, but there’s that pointed look again — the one that’s connecting dots. she sets her bag down on the counter and leans her elbows against it, watching you with more concern than teasing now.

“you okay?” she asks gently. “did something happen with your... boyfriend?”

there’s that word again. like a bruise she keeps pressing just to check if you’ll flinch.

this time, you admit it meekly. “he’s not my boyfriend.”

emmie’s face doesn’t shift much — just a flicker of the eyes, like she’s filed that away. “alright,” she nods. “well, if you ever want to talk about it... i’m great with secrets.”

you trade smiles.

but then bell rings again. and this time when you look, it’s actually him.

felix steps through the door, hands in his jean pockets like he’s unsure if he’s welcome, windblown hair tumbling into his eyes. once his sights land on you, his whole face lights up: soft, uncertain, but unmistakably hopeful.

you forget to breathe.

“i’ll be in the back,” emmie assures, already nudging you forward. “go on.”

you didn’t have much time left before the morning rush. your legs are moving before your brain can catch up.

you meet him halfway by the pastry case, half-shielded from the window and out of the camera’s line of sight.

felix’s eyes roam your face, as if searching for the version of you he saw last — bright, giggling, alive in the sunlight. but now you were schooling your face to give away as little as possible.

“are you okay?” he asks gently, like the wrong words might send you running for the hills.

you try for a smile. “i am, yeah. are you?”

felix runs a hand through his hair, then laughs quietly to himself. nervous. “agh, i don’t know. i’ve been wondering if i messed it all up.”

“what?”

“you ran off so fast. and you didn’t call,” he says, voice dropping an octave. “i left you my number, but maybe i shouldn’t have. was i pushing too far?”

“felix, no—”

“i don’t want to make this weird, i swear. you can tell me if i came on too strong or if i misread—”

“—you didn’t.”

he pauses. you watch his eyes soften, pupils expanding as they swallow the light. and then his face splits into a smile — that sun-warm smile that makes you weak in the knees; chipping away at the last shred of your resolve.

you hold your hand up, sunlight refracting off the gold ring on your finger. “this isn’t what it looks like. it’s complicated, but i’m still going to be married—”

“happily?”

you freeze, the words dying in your throat. you swallow when you meet felix’s gaze — soft eyes searching yours.

“doesn’t matter. but it is real, and i can’t change that.”

“it should matter if you’re happy or not—”

you shake your head, grabbing hold of felix’s hand to shush him. you can’t answer that in a way he’ll be okay with.

you exhale shakily. “i didn’t call because i was.. scared. i didn’t know if i should..”

“i know, i’m sorry. i get it,” he says, though you’re not entirely sure he does. “but you don’t have to pretend, you know. if this was just something fun, a little distraction, then i’ll back off.”

your hold around his hand tightens, and you feel him tense under your touch. “it’s not that.”

felix sounds breathless as he asks, “then what?”

you force yourself to hold his gaze — heart pounding, throat dry. you owe it to him to not run away again.

“this, you. you’ve been the only brightness in my life lately. the one thing that makes me feel like i’m not isolated. trapped.”

felix huffs, stepping closer. “you’re not.”

you give him a sad smile, silently disagreeing. you already figured he wouldn’t get it.

his breath hitches, hesitant, before he says lowly: “i don’t care what this is. if this is just me showing up every morning and making you laugh, i’ll do it. if you only want me to walk you to the lake, feed the swans with you — you’ve got it. i’ll be your friend. your distraction, your secret, whatever. just let me be what you need.”

“felix,”

“i like you,” he blurts. “probably too much, more than i should. i know. but i do.”

you’ll admit, he does drive a hard bargain. if felix keeps making you happy in this little bubble, and you leave it all behind the moment you go your seperate ways — then where’s the real harm in that? as long as the lines don’t blur, and no one gets hurt. right?

so much for just a friend.

your hands find his denim jacket, tugging him down to you.

and you’re not sure who moves first, but then you’re kissing him.

it’s not like before. not tentative and shy, but not hurried and needy either. it’s just warm. heavy. your lips move slowly, then it deepens, mouths moulding to one another like you’ve kissed a hundred times before this.

felix’s hands stay respectful, but his body leans to press into yours, aching with held-back tension and everything he didn’t get to do last time.

you pull away only to breathe, his forehead resting atop yours.

“what are we doing?” you whisper.

his tongue darts out, licking the taste of you from his lips. it makes you shiver. “i don’t know. i just know i don’t want to stop.”

you exhale with a smile. “okay.”

“i’ll come back for you,” he murmurs, brushing his nose against yours. “after your shift. we’ll walk. or chat. or just sit in silence. whatever you want.”

you nod, letting him know your finish time and leaving one last peck on his lips before you part with his hold.

you both go your seperate ways, you walking back to the counter and felix to the door — and when you look back to him, he’s already looking at you. you smile at each other once more before you round the corner, then almost run into emmie.

she’s stood there with an all-knowing grin. you can’t help but duck your head shyly. “so, is mister not-my-boyfriend getting some?”

you pick up a cloth and throw it at her.

she catches it easily, laughing as you blush and scamper off to the kitchen.

⠀

⠀

you spot a glint of that familiar blonde hair through the glass, posted up outside just over an hour before your shift actually ended.

after your initial confusion, and shooting felix a raised brow through the window while he just smiled like it’s nothing, you’re already asking your supervisor to clock off early before you can talk yourself out of it.

she doesn’t look the least bit convinced when you tell her a family emergency’s come up, but she doesn’t pry either.

you push open the door and find him leaning against the short stone wall — now his waiting spot of choice — with a hand tousling his hair and grin already blooming as he greets you. it makes your stomach flip in the way it always does, and yet somehow worse this afternoon. there’s more than just nerves.

you’re blunt as you ask: “you are aware i had another hour left, right?”

felix shrugs it off, eyes soft. “figured i’d rather wait where i get to see you than waste time anywhere else.”

you give a half roll of your eyes which he just chuckles at. the noise makes you feel all clammy. each time you’re around him, it’s harder to ignore just how gorgeous he is. you wanted to count the freckles on his face. trace the veins on his arms. wanted to do a lot of things.

felix nods his head toward the path leading into the deeper part of campus. “c’mon. i wanna show you something.”

you follow without asking where. and once you’re out of open view, tucked between the shadows of buildings, you let felix reach for your hand without protest — softly hooking his fingers around yours as he led the way.

the band room is tucked into a corner of one of the older college buildings. felix lets you walk in first as he unlocks the door, and you take notice of the equipment lining the walls: amps, guitars, tangled cords stretching likes vines across the floor.

“it’s usually livelier,” he flicks on a dim overhead light. “chris and the others packed up early.”

“you come here often?”

“yeah,” he shrugs, leading you toward a worn couch near the far wall. “sometimes i mess around with beats. write some lyrics here and there. nothing serious.”

“you’ll have to sing one for me someday.”

he laughs under his breath as he shakes his head, clearly flustered. it has you leaning closer to him.

“why not? don’t you think you’ll ever do something with them?”

“that’d be the dream. i’m paying a helluva lot to learn about it.” he exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “but nah, i dunno. i’d like to, if i could. my mate chris talks about starting a band.”

“you should take him up on that. you’ve got the talent, i can tell.” the compliment comes effortlessly. “i could totally see you being in a boy band.”

he squints at you, tilting his head. “what, like BTS?” he hums. “don’t think i’ve got the build for that.”

you nudge his knee with yours. “that’s nonsense. but you’ve gotta admit, you definitely have the face for it.”

felix’s grin widens. “maybe for a girl group.”

you both burst into quiet laughter, your shoulders brushing as settle closer into the couch. the growing thrum in your chest is a spotlight on the silence that follows.

it’s a quiet pause that seems to thicken the air. it’s like everything unsaid is sudden bubbling to the surface.

you start. “about last time,”

he glances away, almost seeming ashamed. “ah, you don’t have to say anything about—”

“—i want to.”

you look down at his hands, playing with his shirt hem in his lap. he audibly gulps. “i just— i didn’t mean to push. i didn’t want you to feel like… like i expected anything.”

“you didn’t.” the words come without effort. your hand glides over to his tentatively, and his fingers curl around yours. “i wanted it too.”

you’re amazed he’s managed to doubt his effect on you this much — just the other day he was so eager to pry your legs apart. guess that’s what the heat of the moment will do to a guy.

felix fidgets with your fingers. you smile softly. “everything with you is moving so fast and also too slow at the same time. i don’t know what that means for us, or where the line is, or if there even is one anymore.”

felix shifts closer, voice seeping lower. “i don’t care about the rules. i just care about you and what you want.”

you can’t remember the last time you heard anyone tell you that out loud.

you’re already moving before you think twice about it — one hand coming to his jaw, the other fisting in the denim of his jacket as your mouth finds his. felix groans on your lips like he was at his wits end waiting for this.

each of your kisses with felix so far have been different, and each time you learn something new. this kiss is warm, open, a little desperate. the caution of his hands is fleeting before he’s pulling you towards him with firm hands at your waist.

he exhales your name into your mouth like it hurts to say it. not because he doesn’t want this — but because he’s been holding his breath for too long, and now that you’re kissing him he can finally breathe. because the girl he has to restrain himself from falling to his knees over is engaged — and still she’s here in his arms, wanting him just as bad, kissing him just as hard.

he’s grateful it’s him you chose.

“i told myself i’d stop this,” you whisper out between felix’s hurried movements. “that i’d be good.”

felix parts with you at that, pulling only an inch away, and your face burns hot from the eye contact at this proximity. you go to turn away until his hands cup your face — slender fingers caressing your cheeks so gently, eyes looking at you so reverently you could cry.

“you don’t have to be anything,” he murmurs, all breathless from the flurry of kisses. “just… be here. if you want to be.”

you can’t nod fast enough. of course you want to be here with him. it’s all you ever wanna be, and it’s all the more reason why you shouldn’t. but when felix smiles against your lips, nothing else matters. and in the next breath, they’re on his again.

felix’s movements are sweet; politely restrained. he won’t do more than you’re willing to. but he’s still just a guy, you know? you can tell he’s thought about this way more than he should. you can tell just how excited he is, how he’s intentionally keeping his crotch away from bumping into you. you’d find it adorable, if you weren’t getting more worked up by the minute.

you’ve never wanted a person quite like this before. you could almost think that the feelings were reserved for felix. or maybe you’re just so horny that you’re thinking unrealistic.

it’s unbecoming of a lady the way your tongue slides against his, teeth nipping at his swollen lips, hands grabbing him everywhere like you just can’t get enough. biblical amounts of greed even. felix just giggles onto your lips, matching your energy by trailing his hands up your shirt. his warm touch on your bare skin makes you shiver even though you’re burning up.

his hand rests just below the swell of your tits. you rock your body to force his touch upwards, but when his hand stays stubborn where it is, you take it upon yourself to place your own hand over his and move it. it’s him who gasps as you close his palm around your bra, guiding him to give a firm squeeze of your breast. it’s all so much so quickly and it’s not enough.

you don’t care how desperate you sound as you whine his name — a wordless plea for him to do something, anything. but you care even less once you hear felix’s voice in response.

“can i?”

his voice is hoarse and strained, like a rubber band stretched thin. he might want this even more than you, which is surprising that he’s even asking for permission first.

his hold loosens on your chest, uncertain. his other hand lingers at your thigh, thumb brushing circles into the skin like he’s trying to ground himself. he exhales softly onto your lips, thinking. breathing out the last of his restraint.

“is it okay if i touch you?”

you nod hurriedly, fingers curling tight around his palm on your chest. “yes, felix— please.” you could sob it.

“okay,” his adam’s apple bobs, eyes trailing lower down your form as he takes you in. all of you, all for him. “you tell me when to stop.”

when. you’re so breathless you can only huff a laugh. felix’s expression is genuine as he eyes you.

“won’t wanna,” you murmur, leaning back on your elbows to an easier angle for felix. after unclipping your bra and guiding felix’s hand underneath your shirt, you lay back and let him take the initiative.

his hand plied at your bare breast, pulling soft hums from you as the other moved tentatively up your waist. his fingers twitched at your waistband, skimming lower to right where you wanted them. his thumb swipes hard over your nipple, and you can’t help yourself to rocking your hips up — clothed heat dragging over felix’s palm.

it’s no question how bad you want him.

he tugs your shorts to your hips, careful not too expose too much — still being respectful, even as he intends to literally fingerfuck you — and they sit low enough for him to get a hand in.

his eyes stay on yours the whole time as his touch grazes downward. checking, asking, waiting. his pupils dilate to about twice the size once he finally touches you, fingers dipping into your slick as a whimper leaves your throat. you’ve never felt a touch that wasn’t your own before — and you’ve got a hunch it’ll take you half as long to get off as it does on your own.

felix gathers the wet arousal on his index and middle, swiping upwards to where your nerves are tingling. it elicits a jolt from your cunt through to your whole body, and you moan nastily when felix’s fingers starts drawing circles on your clit. you catch him mutter a deep “fuck” as if he’s the one being touched.

you throw your head back, clenching down on nothing as his hand works at you. it’s like he’s read your mind about aching to feel full — his fingers slide easily into your wet core, pumping you slowly as his thumb fills their absence on your clit.

you can’t tell if he must’ve google searched how to pleasure a woman or if he’s horrifically ran through, because he’s making you see fucking stars and you could cum right this second if you stopped trying to hold it off.

your hand claps over your mouth as you become suddenly aware of the downright pornographic moans that’d been coming from you. but it doesn’t muffle you for long before felix’s hand is prying yours away, tilting your chin downwards to face him. you feel way too seen. and it’s more than just the sex.

“please let me taste you.” his deep voice cracks, eyes almost entirely black. you’d kill to see how hard he must be in his jeans right now.

you let out a strained noise as a reply, something between a laugh and a moan, your head tipping back into the couch cushion while his fingers slowed their pace. you’d let him do absolutely anything if he asked like that. that heavy breathing lust. he’s not even trying to be sexy — he just exists and is, in the way honesty can be. desperate and patient and full of hope as if it’d be anything but a yes.

“am i allowed to?” he asks again, uncertain. he has to hear your consent in words.

“yes, felix.” you breathe out, hand threading through his blonde locks in anticipation.

he pulls his hand out from under the fabric, fingers hooking around your waistband to give a stronger tug this time. you even raise your pelvis upwards for felix to slide them down your legs. he gently places your clothes on the armrest of the couch, thoughtful — then he’s getting down on his elbows himself, face at level with your heat. you gulp at the exposure.

“wanna make you feel good,” his arms hook around your legs to pull you closer, breath hot on your cunt.

“i do, felix,” you manage to pant out, fist twisting in his hair.

guilt twists deep in your chest as he hovers there, a phantom of a ring still heavy on your finger — yet your body leans into him like it has no doubt at all. like it’s certain about what it wants, who it needs. and once his lips pucker to press a soft kiss to your clit, tongue darting out to lick a stripe with curious precision, all reason melts into heat.

you gasp, hips twitching before his arm’s draping over your stomach, keeping you in place as he leaves kitten licks on your buzzing cunt. it’s not long before he’s flatting his tongue against you, fingers coming back to prod at your damp entrance.

you’re crying out as three digits slip inside you, felix’s tongue swiping quick over your clit.

“is this good?” he stops to asks, too concerned for someone who already has you on the fringes of an orgasm. “am i doing good?”

you nod, biting your lip hard to keep from letting out a particularly filthy moan. words are beyond you now, all focus channelled into lasting as long as your body will allow. you just hope felix can tell the last thing you want is for him to stop.

and he doesn’t (because he’s not blind). if anything, he grows bolder, cheeks hollowing to suck tight on your clit, undeterred by your fist about to rip the hair out of his scalp. and when his fingers curl to hit that soft spot of flesh, you’re gone.

your thighs shake around his head as you cum, overwhelming pleasure washing over your whole body as felix steadily holds you through it.

you know you’re going to think about this moment every time you lie in bed under the same roof as your fiancé. you’re going to feel felix’s hand knuckle-deep in your pussy, his tongue relentless on your clit, his breath bated like he’s unraveling at the same time as you.

you don’t know how long you were even cumming for once you’re finally coming down from it, eyes screwed shut as you catch your breath — body lying limp in felix’s hold. he just peppers the inside of your thigh with soft pecks as he waits for you to gather yourself.

and when you finally glance down at him, he’s smiling like you hung the stars.

and you decide you’ll give him the whole damn galaxy.

you reach for him, pulling him up by his jacket collar until his body’s hovering over your chest. he watches as your hand reaches down, knuckles brushing over the bulge in his jeans. his breath hitches, and he nods, unable to speak.

you consider teasing him — asking him to say it in words like he made you do before, but you just can’t find it in you to postpone touching him any more than this.

he keeps himself propped up with his arms resting by your head, a hand cradling the side of your facez you unzip his pants, and he shudders under the attention — just barely restraining a buck of his hips into your hand.

“i haven’t.. done much.” your palm cups the outline of him over the fabric, uncertain.

“me either.” he admits, voice cracking. you’re surprised — but not complaining. the thought of being his first like he was to you makes your core pulse.

you’re too impatient to get his pants all the way off, instead settling on shoving your pants under his boxers and wrapping your fingers around his length.

you stroke him slowly, the way you imagine he might like it. the way he started with you before you riled him up. your fist sets a steady pace as you pump his length, adding a twist of your wrist at the top that has his hips stuttering.

you don’t take your eyes off him, watching the way his face scrunches and his mouth parts in beautifully deep moans. it doesn’t take long before he’s panting above you, forehead falling to your shoulder as he finishes in your hand — a groan rumbling at your ear as his hips jerk one last time, cum spilling across his stomach.

you both just sit there for a moment. let the room fill with the scent of your bodies and the noise of your breathing in sync. finally, felix laughs breathlessly.

“i’m sorry,” he mutters, lifting his head. “that was quick.”

you just smile, still dazed. “that was perfect.”

he kisses your cheek. “you’re perfect.” then he kisses your temple, your jaw, before smothering your face with kisses. you lay there like that for a moment, giggles and sweat in the air.

you help felix clean up with whatever stray tissues you can scavenge from your bag. he hikes his shirt up his chest for you, shyly facing away as he exposes his toned stomach splattered with his mess. you take notice of the happy trail peaking out from his waistband, and you swallow down the urge to leap at him and go for round two.

it aches, how domestic it could feel. felix holding your hair out of your face as you wipe his stomach, pulling your pants up for you and brushing the creases out of your shirt. it’s all tender and quiet and so terribly forbidden.

you both know that this is only going to get harder to stop.

by the time you both make it out to the lake, your cheeks still ache from how much you’d been smiling.

felix walks beside you, back of his hand brushing yours every so often. on purpose, you think, though he pretends not to notice. the sky’s soft and pink now, dusk spilling its colours in pastels lazily across the water. there’s a breeze through your hair, and the swans drift slowly across the surface when they take notice of the audience.

you both sit down on the same bench from before, legs still a tad unsteady. it comes from something deeper than just what happened in that quiet little band room.

felix nudges your arm, chin jutting towards the lake. “see that one? the one with the lopsided feather on its wing?”

you squint, spotting the swan in question. “hm?”

“that one’s mine.”

you huff a laugh. “yours? what makes you think you get a swan?”

he grins, seeming glad you asked. “because it’s got no clue where it’s going, swims in circles half the time, and looks a little too soft for its own good.”

“are you calling it a mess?”

“i’m saying it’s chillin’,” he says, a little more seriously. “even if it’s kinda lost. like me, i guess.”

your smile falters for a second. then grows. “so that’s the one you’re claiming, huh?”

he shrugs, eyes warm. “well, someone already claimed the pretty one.”

there’s a faint blush dusting his cheeks as he watches the lake again. “i think yours is over there.” he snaps his fingers, pointing towards a lone swan preening its feathers by the reeds. “she looks like you. all elegant. might be plotting something.”

you snort. “i’m plotting now?”

“mhm, plotting how to steal my heart and then leave me for dead,” he teases, eyes flicking over to meet yours. “too late though. first part’s already done.”

you roll your eyes, trying not to show how your stomach flips at that. “you’re such a sap.”

“only for you.”

the words hang between you, light and heavy at the same time. he means it in jest — kind of. but the dip of his voice gives him away. there’s a truth tucked in the centre of it that neither of you can really ignore.

you hug your knees to your chest, eyes following the swan. she’s so pretty. effortlessly unbothered.

you wonder what that might feel like.

this is only going to get harder. harder to stop, to justify. the more he touches you like that, makes you laugh like this — the more you feel like the girl you used to be, before all the duties of the adult world started strangling the life out of her.

the more felix looks at you like he’s already yours, even when you know you can’t be his.

you don’t speak any of it out loud. if just for a moment, maybe nothing outside of this exists if you stop thinking about it all. you just lean your head on his shoulder and let him take your hand.

felix doesn’t say anything to fill the silence either. he just holds on — until the sky fades to a dusty orange and your time for the day has come to an end.

⠀

⠀

felix starts showing up more often, enough to be considered part of the furniture. not just at opening, when you’re groggy and spacing out the hum of the espresso machine — and not just at closing, when the place quiets and you sneak him pastries on their way to the bin.

now he comes in halfway through your shift. sometimes multiple pop-ins a day. he’s started a bad habit of leaving his classes early just to watch you from a corner booth: hoodie pulled up, laptop open on some document he’s not even touching, pretending to work while he waits for you to glance his way.

you always scold him for it. warn him that he’s going to fall behind, that the term finals are coming up so he’s supposed to be serious about this.

“and i am,” he simply says every damn time through a cheeky grin. “i’m just more serious about you.”

you roll your eyes, might toss a balled up napkin in his direction. but you’re smiling. always are with him.

there’s a rhythm to the sneaking around now. an art even. the stolen kisses in the camera’s blind spots. texting him when your coworkers turn their backs. felix’s “accidental” touches inching higher — palm brushing your back, fingers hooking yours — riskier.

you’ve accepted the affair. not out loud, and maybe not fully. but you’ve made peace with it in your own, quiet way. told yourself that it can be your little guilty pleasure — a last gasp of rebellion before you marry and seal yourself into a life that was decided for you. a life that, truthfully, isn’t all that bad.

except felix makes it increasingly difficult to wave it off as just a fling. you see it in the way he looks at you — no longer in a rush to memorise you, like he’s certain he’s got forever to now. you hear it in the way he talks about “someday” like it’s a real place. a future where you don’t have to go home to someone else. a world where he can be the one waiting for you.

and sometimes, you start to think it too.

you haven’t told him the full story yet — if there even is an at all. you’d only ever alluded to it: the engagement, the man behind the gold ring, the empty house you so often arrive to.

it started long before either of you. with your families, friends for generations. business intertwined. it was a good match on paper. he’s only a little older, successful, made a name for himself. and you’re meant to be the cherry on top of it all: a beautiful, young fiancé.

you didn’t have to love each other. just serve to honour the fellowship of your families, benefit his image.

you hadn’t known what you were doing with your life at the time. aimless, you’d offered yourself up to the proposition. it gave you a purpose, you figured. something that made you matter. while other people your age were diving into full-time work or studying for degrees, you’d be playing the sweet housewife — all the while you figured out what the hell you wanted to be when you grow up.

it’s not like he’s cruel — some tyrant keeping you locked up in his tower. he really hasn’t forced you into doing anything. but it’s not like any of it holds any weight either. you’re getting married, sure. but it’s a show put on. you could be replaced by any other girl and nothing would change. the only time you get to choose anything is in odette’s. when you make silly little doodles in coffee cups and when you exist around felix.

he doesn’t know all of that. but he knows enough.

one afternoon you’re curled together in the music room again, listening to one of his friends’ demos crackle through his old laptop speakers, when felix randomly decides to get deep. he admits to you why he came back that second time. why he couldn’t stop coming back.

“i think i felt invisible before you,” he murmured, twisting a string of your hair around his pointer. “like i was there, but no one really saw me. y’know?”

you glance at him, listening. he turns his gaze at the ceiling like it might offer him courage. he continues:

“that first day, you didn’t just take my order and forget me after. you took the time to draw that little swan, like you somehow knew i feed them. and knowing you now, you probably would’ve remembered my face if i had just kept my darned head up that first time.” he chuckles.

you don’t have to say anything. just reach out and take his hand.

“it might be dumb, but i think i needed it at the time. you made me feel like i had a place here. like i mattered.”

“of course you do,” you give a reassuring squeeze of his fingers.

he squeezes back. “then let me take you to see your family sometime. even just the one day. just to remind you of where you come from. of who you are.”

days ago you had only off-handedly mentioned the fact that you hadn’t seen your family in a while. the only common face in your days was your husband-to-be, your supervisor at work, and now felix.

you don’t answer. just put your head on his shoulder until your phone alarm goes off — meaning it was time to go your separate ways once again.

his hugs linger for a little longer, touch a little tighter each time. you’re worried that one day, he won’t have the heart to let go.

⠀

⠀

you promised felix you'd meet him at the usual time. the same as always after your shift: meet him by the bike racks, share a quiet walk before sunset, swing by the band room for a quick stop if you had the time.

but today, odette’s had been short-staffed, so you found yourself under the watch of your supervisor more often than usual. and it’s not even because they were less workers — it felt like she was intentionally hovering over you, too attentive over what you were doing. 

you started to worry in the silence. when did she start suspecting you? had someone told her about a blonde boy coming over far too often? or perhaps someone had spotted you in a comprising way with felix and full-well snitched? 

you couldn't risk finding out just what that is. not when you've already been pressing your luck far too much. 

you just needed a moment to cool down. to convince yourself your supervisor’s curt orders and lingering glances meant nothing. so you stalled. stacked boxes in preparation for tomorrow, deep-cleaned the sink drain because why not. you told yourself he’d understand if you needed a few more minutes — which ticks by to over half an hour without you realising. 

when you finally make it out, slipping your apron off and hurrying down the back stairs, he's still waiting. hands tucked in the pockets of his hoodie, walking lazy circles around the racks, scuffing the toe of his sneaker against the pavement.

and he looks up when he hears the door. smile. that gentle, sun-bleached smile that always steals your breath away.

“hey,” he calls, relieved. “thought you might’ve forgotten about me.”

before you can answer, he’s reaching out instinctively, maybe to brush your hair away or drag his knuckles down your cheek. but whatever it’s meant to be, you flinch — a subtle step back, and his hand drops mid-air. that smile falters and you want to just die. 

“i— sorry,” he murmurs, quiet. unsure. “i didn’t mean to— are you okay?”

you don’t answer right away, too busy berating yourself for making him feel bad over nothing. his hand falls back to his side. “i’m sorry.” 

you shake your head quickly, reaching for him. “no no, it’s not you— felix, please,” your voice is close to begging, but you don’t care. “i swear, it’s not. i just—”

you sigh, frustrated, and he just watches you for a moment. the silence between you grows heavy on your shoulders.

“you sure?” he treads lightly. “because you’ve never—”

“i’m fine,” you affirm, a little too sharp at the edges. “just tired.”

he nods slowly, flashes a quick smile that doesn’t quite reach the eyes. you can tell he doesn’t believe you.

you want to speak your truth — that little voice in the corner of your mind still reminding you that this can’t last, so you’re trying to keep your heart from getting too attached. and yet, still failing.

you want to tell him that you’re fucking scared.

but instead of any of that, you just ask, “walk me to the lake?”

and he nods, settling on burying his hands back in his pockets instead of reaching for you again.

back inside, your supervisor watches the back window with her arms crossed. emmie’s stacking cups behind the counter, trying too hard not to look up.

“emmie — a word?”

she reluctantly turns.

“she’s been leaving in a rush lately. and that boy — i’ve been seeing him outside too much. you remember who her fiancé is, don’t you?”

emmies stays quiet. the supervisor narrows her eyes.

“you need to tell me if there’s something going on. because it’s not just her job on the line. you realise that, yes?”

emmie meets her stare. “i don’t know anything.”

“you’re certain?” the supervisor deadpans, not the slightest bit convinced.

“she’s not stupid.” emmie states, and leaves it at that before walking off. adding a quiet “neither am i” under her breath.

and unfortunately, it’s not enough.

the late afternoon settles over the town like a sigh. the sky’s blue bleeds into an orange, light seeping between the tree leaves and onto the concrete of your usual path. the campus is a nice quiet, save for the breeze and distant cars as students and staff leave the grounds.

there’s enough of a chill in the air to be an excuse for felix to stay close, shoulder bumping yours every so often like he’s gauging you. when you finally face him with a smile, having grown tired of beating yourself up, it’s when he speaks.

he nudges your arm. “so, i’ve been wondering..”

you glance at him, curious.

“that first time,” he continues, tone careful, almost shy. “in the band room. how’d you know how to do that?”

you scoff. “i should be asking you.” in comparison, you barely even touched felix — while he had reached depths your own fingers couldn’t.

he just chuckles, looking away with a faint blush on his cheeks. “well, i.. uh, did my research.”

you squint at him, suggestive. he groans.

“no, it’s not what you’re thinking— well, maybe not exactly, but— look, i just didn’t want to screw it up, alright?”

you laugh, fond. “of course you didn’t.”

he peeks at you from under those long lashes. “well that’s good. ‘cause i’ve got a second chance now, don’t i?”

“says who?”

you both stop in your tracks, felix backing you off the path. your feet land on soft grass. “you’re walking with me, aren’t you?”

you roll your eyes. you plant a hand on his chest, giving a light shove. it’s meant to be playful. but the words that follow are what had been weighing on your mind.

“you need to be less careless, felix. we both do.” you sigh. “we can’t be acting like this out in the open.”

he nods, serious now. “i know. c’mere,”

“no.” your lip curls at the corner, watching his expression drop. “there’s not enough time for the band room.”

for a moment, he stills as he thinks silently, before he’s taking you by the hand.

felix pulls you gently towards a dirt trail — a desire path winding behind science block and down to a patch of overgrown greenery, shielded by a thicket of trees. one of these days you have to remember to ask how he knows all these spots.

felix lays his jacket down on the grass, patting the spot like a gentleman inviting you to sit. you raise a brow.

“here, felix? really?”

he grins. “not out of the open enough for you?”

despite your sarcastic reluctance, you sit anyway, brushing a few stray leaves as felix settles in front of you — crouching between your legs. his hands are finding yours in the next breath, mouths meeting the millisecond after you nod as permission.

you laugh quietly onto his lips as he kisses you, still caught on him admitting to researching in preparation of getting physical with you. it’s so cute and thoughtful and damn was he a great learner.

the noise catches in your throat when his fingers find the home they’ve made at your waist, hot mouth latching onto the curve of your jaw.

right there under the canopy of leaves, you let him take you on the grass. spread your legs like you’ve made a bad habit of doing lately. fell apart under him as he made paintings with his tongue, naturally returning the favour with an eager hand.

⠀

⠀

the front door clicks shut behind you. you toe off your shoes and toss your bag with no regard for noise, already mapping out what you want to do around the place before you’re not home alone anymore. you’re always coincidentally tired and not in the mood to talk the instant he comes home.

except, when you turn the corner into the kitchen, those thoughts hightail.

your fiancé sits at the dining table, hands clasped, sleeves rolled up neatly like he’s just come from work — or like he’s been waiting. no television murmuring in the background. no phone in hand, rather placed faced down on the table.

your pulse kicks, but you try to smile like you’re surprised. pleasantly, should be.

“didn’t expect you back so early.”

he gestures to the chair across from him. “sit.”

you don’t even attempt to protest.

he waits until you’re settled into your seat before he moves, sliding something across the table. a folded scrap of paper bumps your fingers.

your fiancé watches you with cool, unreadable eyes as you unfold it. and then, your heart’s beating in your throat.

eight digits in smudged ink stare back at you.

mlist · taglist 〃

@lightinbug @sherrayyyyy @ttturnitup @rafesbunniebby @strhwa @orphicarchive @lunaryoongie @breakmeoff @pinkpunkdynamite @hydeonysus @velvetmoonlght @shinygubbins @ateez-atiny380 @sunnysidesins @nervousaggressive @madebybec @estella-novella @felixlsworld

@maddy24207 @chiaki-nanami-aesthetic @boldlycruelcatalyst @starstruckdreamlandkitty @bestboileeknow @juskz @plus-ultra0

[ttturnitup]

devil-may-care

you finally get to see hyunjin after his return home from tour. seeing his new messy, grown out buzz in person just hits different. let’s just say, you really like how a mullet looks on him.

pairing: hwang hyunjin x reader wc: 2.9k tags: established relationship. smut/tiny fluff. dry humping, unprotected sex, slight overstim, breeding kink if you squint.

🩷: if i said mullet hyunjin was probably my favourite hyunjin hairstyle would u call me crazy

you were not expecting the sound of his keys attempting to breach your door’s lock.

hyunjin’s return home from tour wasn’t supposed until tomorrow. not until tomorrow evening, in fact—you remember having plenty of time to clean, to wash the sheets, to rehearse exactly how composed you would pretend to be when he walked through the door.

but then the aforementioned keys hit the bowl by the entrance.

and the rolling of suitcases echoed through the hall.

and an excited, familiar voice calls out, soft and slight scratchy from exhaustion—

“baby?”

you don’t allow yourself to even think. you just run.

your socks sliding over the floor, arms already halfway raised, you catch him just as he’s pulling off his hoodie—warm skin, tense forearms, and the dizzyingly real weight of him all at once, as you throw yourself into his arms like gravity never existed.

“oh my god—” you breathe into his shoulder, “what the hell, you’re a day early—!”

he laughs against your neck, breath hot, arms wrapping tight around your waist as your feet lift off the floor slightly. “surprise?”

you pull back just enough to look at him—and then you freeze.

because there it is. in front of you, for real. the hair. the mullet.

short, blunt ends at the base of his neck, shorter by his ears and temples. soft flyaways, flicking out at the ends. messy enough to look like he slept in it, still sexy enough to make your stomach flip.

when he puts you down, you rake your fingers through it on instinct, threading from the crown down to the base of his skull, curling into the ends—tugging, just a little. he hums, pleased by your ministrations. you don’t mean to do it again, but you do. it’s a subconscious action at this point. and when his eyes drop to your mouth, you melt.

“you’re obsessed.”

he says it with a smirk, but there’s a lowness in his voice. a strain. because you aren’t just taking it in. you’re devouring. hungry eyes tracing his silhouette like you could etch him into your teeth.

“you like it that much? this isn’t really a surprise, you’ve seen it already, many times,” he teases.

“only on facetime.”

“it still counts.”

instead of replying with a typical quip, you kiss him.

the first, fast and grinning. a gleeful ‘welcome home’. the second, slower—still excited—but taking the time to experience him. the third, deeper, more intimate. because you have to—because something about this moment feels like it will end you if you don’t taste it right.

his hand finds your jaw. your grip tightens in his hair. you kiss until your breath comes ragged and the space between you dissolves completely—hips flush, chest tight, your back arching under the press of his hand.

his mouth parts against yours. his tongue meets yours—slow, deliberate. he kisses like he’s been starved. and you moan like you might let him devour you.

you pull away just barely, lips wet, voice trembling. “this fucking haircut…”

he chuckles when you say it—low, rough, like gravel laced with smoke—and you hardly have time to catch your breath before his hands shift beneath your thighs and he lifts you properly.

you yelp, clinging to his shoulders, legs wrapping around his waist. you take a second to shamelessly feel his muscles up—he’s definitely gotten bigger since he left. you’ll have to thank changbin later.

“bedroom?” he says, already walking like he already knows the answer.

your arms cling to his shoulders, fingers not leaving the hairs on his nape, mouth pressed to the curve of his jaw. you nod frantically, eagerly. “bedroom.”

the hallway blurs, all wood and light and the heady scent of him, travel-worn and masculine, fresh and sharp like airport cologne and him. his hair brushes your cheek, his breath is hot in your ear, and his grip on you is tight, like he will not be putting you down for a long, long time.

the bedroom door bumps open with the kick of his foot, and then—softness. the bed, the scent of clean linen, the familiar shape of home all around you as he lays you down.

not gently. like he wants to watch it—all of it—your chest rising, thighs parting, hair splaying across the pillows.

“look at you,” he murmurs, crawling over you, knees bracketing your hips, one hand already slipping beneath the hem of your shirt. “missed this. missed you.”

you try to say something, anything, but he dips down before you can—and kisses you again, deeper this time. slower. his body sinks against yours, all heat and weight and muscle, and you groan as his hand smooths over the plushness of your stomach, fingers skating the edge of your waistband like he is debating whether to be sweet or selfish. or both.

your hands find his hair again. it’s worse here, worse up close, worse now that it is real—thick, soft, just long enough to curl into your fist when he starts rocking against you with a barely-there grind that makes your toes curl.

“this hair,” you whisper, dazed, pulling at it just to see him shudder. “you know i love all your hairstyles, but jinnie, i swear to god—”

“what?” he breathes, grinning. “you gonna lose your mind over a few inches?”

you moan, rolling your hips up into him. “i already have.”

he growls. actually growls. and then he kisses you hard, like he wants to see how far gone he can get you before he even takes your clothes off. he manoeuvres you both so that your legs are now wrapped around his hips.

you feel the shift of his weight, the flex of his thighs, the way his body rocks into yours—not subtle, not teasing, but needy. a low grind that makes your breath catch and your knees fall open, thighs framing his sides like your body has been waiting for this rhythm since the second he left.

he swears against your mouth. “fuck, baby…”

his voice is thick. guttural. his hand slides beneath your shirt and spreads over your ribcage, fingers splayed like he is memorising the shape of you, like he forgot how soft you are and now he needs to map it with his palm.

you arch. he groans.

your legs wrap tighter around him, and when your hips lift, the friction is blinding in the best way—just his denim against your cotton, rough and unbearable. he feels huge like this, clothed and pressing down with slow, delicious weight, like every thrust is a threat to your sanity.

“been dreaming about this,” he breathes, forehead pressed to yours. “about you. every night.”

you whimper, dragging your nails up his back. “then take it off. take it all off—”

“no,” he says low, grinding harder, jaw clenched. “not yet.”

you cry out softly, back arching as the pressure brushes on you just right. again. and again.

“feel that?” he pants, hips circling slow, his cock in his jeans grinding perfectly against your soaked core. “you feel what you do to me? just from this—just from seeing you, hearing your voice, touching my fucking hair—”

his mouth crashes against yours, tongue deep, messy, uncoordinated like he needs the taste of you to stay sane. your moans slip between kisses, high and broken, and he shudders when your fingers tug at his short, tousled hair again.

“shit, baby—keep doing that,” he groans, thrusting harder now, rutting into you like he might lose his mind if he stops. “you keep pulling my hair like that and i swear i’ll cum in my pants before i even get to see you naked.”

you whine—helpless, breathless—and the friction only grows sharper, hotter. he is full on humping you now, desperately, mouth on your neck, hand sliding lower—

“hyune—,” you gasp, voice cracking. “please—”

he pulls back just enough to look down at you—eyes wild, lips wet, hair a mess, his voice wrecked.

“you want me that bad?”

you nod, frantic.

“then beg for it,” he says. “say you missed my cock more than anything.”

you hesitate just a moment too long.

and that—that—makes him smile.

not the soft smile that you know, that you fell for. not the sweet, lovesick one that says i missed you.

no. this one is dangerous. dark. teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he slows his hips, grinding in lazy, devastating motions now, just enough friction to ruin you and not nearly enough to let you cum.

“what’s wrong?” he murmurs, voice low, mocking. “shy now?”

your hands are fists in his shirt. your thighs are trembling. he leans in so close you feel his breath on your mouth when he says, “say it.”

your lips part, nothing comes out.

his hand slides between you, cups you through your underwear—and presses. your back arches instantly, a high, broken moan ripping out of you, and his eyes darken.

“say it or i’ll stop. right now. i’ll get up and go take a fucking shower while you lie here soaking on our sheets.”

you whimper, desperate, your hands flying to his wrist.

“i—i missed you,” you gasp, but it is not enough. his eyebrow lifts.

“missed me?” he repeats, tone all mock-affection. “missed what, sweetheart?”

you squirm under him, panting. his fingers stay right there. no movement. just pressure. taunting.

“your cock,” you whisper.

he leans closer, nose brushing yours. “louder, i can’t hear you.”

you whine. your whole body burns from embarrassment.

“i missed your cock,” you say again, louder, clearer. “i missed how it feels—how you feel inside me.”

his breath catches—just for a second. you feel it.

then he growls.

“good girl,” he mutters. “fuck, you’re perfect.”

he crashes down to kiss you again, deeper than before, and this time his hand moves—dragging your panties to the side, fingers finally slipping through your slick, teasing your entrance.

you cry out into his mouth. he swallows every sigh.

“god, you’re so fucking wet—did that make you wet?” he pants. “just begging for it?”

you nod desperately, hips rolling against his hand.

and then he pulls away, fast. stands up at the edge of the bed, breath heavy, eyes wild as he yanks his shirt over his head in one fluid motion, shoves down his jeans with barely restrained urgency.

“stay still for me,” he commands, voice gone hoarse. “legs open. and keep begging.”

he drops between your legs like it is second nature.

not rushed. not sloppy. just that slow, dangerous confidence—the kind that comes from his practice, from knowing exactly what you need and exactly how you like it.

he presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh first, then another, then another—until your hips are twitching and your fingers are tangling in the sheets, already desperate.

and then he looks up at you through his lashes.

his hair is a mess. strands falling over his forehead, curling just past the tops of his ears, a few sticky from sweat where his shirt used to cling to his nape. tousled and flattened in places like he has been running his hands through it all day—he probably has—but up close, like this?

lethal.

“this?” he says, voice low, head tilting just a little to emphasise his black mop of hair. “this what had you whining on the phone?”

your thighs clench around him involuntarily.

he grins.

and then he licks one long, slow stripe up the centre of your soaked panties—pressing in with the flat of his tongue, just enough to make your back arch and your mouth fall open in a gasp.

“fuck—jinnie—”

“what?” he teases, mouthing over the fabric, eyes still locked on yours. “just want you to admire the hair while i ruin you.”

and then he pulls your underwear down. slow and torturous. kisses every inch of exposed skin like he is reminding you that he belongs here—between your legs, head shoved between your thighs, hair wild and entirely yours.

he licks again. bare now. straight to your clit, slow and warm, his tongue lingering there before he wraps his lips around it and sucks.

you cry out—loud, helpless, one hand flying to your mouth while the other goes straight to his hair, gripping onto each strand like they’re your last earthly tether.

he groans. actually groans into you, because your hand fisting in his hair is his favourite thing, and you’re doing it without even thinking.

“that’s it,” he rasps against your pussy, breath hot. “fuck, pull on it, baby—show me how much you like it.”

and you do. god, you do—twisting the strands, tugging just enough to make him moan again, and when you feel the vibration of it in your core, you nearly come undone from that alone.

he flattens his tongue, licks slow and deep, then seals his mouth around you again, suckling, slurping, devouring—and all you can do is moan his name, over and over, louder every time his hair brushes your thighs, every time his tongue finds that perfect rhythm again.

“i missed this so fucking much,” he growls between licks. “missed you. missed having your thighs around my face, your hands in my hair, this fucking pussy on my tongue—”

you sob, hips rocking against him helplessly. and he lets you.

lets you ride his face. encourages it. pulls you closer with his arms wrapped tight around your thighs and his mouth never relenting—not even when your legs shake, not even when you cry out his name one last time and fall apart all over his tongue.

he eats you through it, groaning like he’s tasting the pure essence of life itself.

and when your hand falls from his hair, limp and shaking, he finally pulls back—chin wet, lips swollen, hair even worse than before.

“so you like the haircut?” he asks, breathless, smug.

you just whimper.

he grins. “good. now turn over.”

he does not wait for you to answer. he just climbs back up the bed, grabs your waist, and flips you over like your body is weightless—like he needs to be the one in control again, after losing himself between your legs.

your cheek hits the pillow. your hips lift upon instinct. you hear his breath stutter behind you, feel the way his fingers grip your ass like he’s not sure whether to praise you or break you.

“fuck,” he growls, more to himself than to you. “look at you—”

you start to turn your head, but he presses a palm to the small of your back.

“stay there.”

you do. trembling. wet. waiting.

and then you feel him—his cock, hot throbbing, and heavy, dragging through your folds. he’s not even in you yet and you already feel full.

“been thinking about this for what feels like a lifetime,” he mutters. “jerking off in hotel showers to the sound of your voice. fucking myself into my hand just trying to remember what it feels like to be inside you.”

he presses the tip in—just enough for you to cry out, high and broken.

“hyunjin please—”

his hand slips up your back, tangles into your hair. “you still like it, huh?” he grits, yanking your head back just enough to hear you moan. “still obsessed with this messy fucking haircut while i ruin your pussy?”

you whimper. nod.

“tell me.”

“yes,” you choke out. “i love it, love how it looks while it’s messy—i love feeling it when your face is between my legs, i love pulling on it when you’re—ahhh—fucking—”

he thrusts in fully, hard and deep, cutting you off with a strangled scream into the pillow.

“there she is,” he groans. “that’s what i needed. that fuckin’ voice.”

he sets a brutal rhythm from the start—deep, fast, needy. his thighs slap against yours, his fingers digging into your hips like he’s trying to brand you with his name. the bed creaks. the air is hot. and all you can do is take it—hands fisted in the sheets, jaw dropped open, hair clinging to your damp forehead.

“missed this so bad,” he pants. “this pussy. these sounds. you.”

every thrust hits something devastating inside you. every slap of skin on skin sends another whimper tearing out of your throat.

“so fucking good for me,” he grits. “so fuckin’ perfect. you want me to fill you up, baby?”

you sob. “yes— please—hyunjin, please—”

he growls and leans down, chest to your back, hand slipping around to rub your clit in tight circles as he fucks you even harder.

“then cum for me,” he hisses in your ear, hair falling into your face like a curtain, breath all over your neck. “cum on this cock and let me feel it. then i’ll give you what you want.”

you cum hard. the kind of orgasm that rips through your spine like a strike of lightning, clenching around him so tight you hear his breath punch out of his chest. you hadn’t gone entirely without orgasm while he was away by any means—you two weren’t strangers to phone sex—but anything your hand could do can never hold a candle to the effect hyunjin has on you.

“oh my god, baby—fuck, fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight—shit—”

but he doesn’t stop.

he slows just enough to feel it—feel every twitch, every shake of your thighs, every gasped moan into the pillow as he fucks you through the aftershocks with the kind of precision that borders on reverence. his cock drags through your oversensitive walls, wet and relentless, and your moans turn messy, unfiltered, wrecked.

“still with me?” he pants, voice shaking, hand coming up to grip the back of your neck.

you nod—barely—cheek pressed to the pillow, drooling, delirious.

“good,” he breathes. “stay there. i’m not done.”

his hips pick up again—faster now, rougher. not frantic, not rushed—but that perfect kind of desperation that only comes from weeks of fantasising, of building it up, of missing you so badly his body aches for it.

“you feel that?” he growls, moving his hand to press your lower stomach. “feel how deep i am?”

you nod again, crying out from overstimulation as he grinds into you—just once, hard, slow, his cock buried to the hilt.

“your pussy’s so fucking wet, baby. made for me. just mine.”

your legs shake beneath him. he moans when your walls flutter around him again, like your body is trying to give him another orgasm without you meaning to.

“fuck,” he leans forward, chest to back. he pants, almost delirious himself now. “please pull my hair again.”

your arm reaches back blindly, fingers sliding through those soft, sweat-damp strands, tugging them back into your fist—and the way he thrusts in response, the noise he makes—

you swear it makes your vision go white.

“atta girl” he gasps, fucking you harder now, hair tangled in your grip, eyes shut tight. “you want it? you want me to cum inside you? to fill you to the brim?”

“yes,” you whimper, sobbing it now, “want it—need to feel it, please—please, hyune—”

he groans. “fuck.”

one more thrust. then another. and then he buries himself deep—hips locked, body trembling—and cums.

hot. thick. endless. he moans your name like a chorus of sirens, forehead falling to your shoulder as his whole body jerks and shudders against yours.

you both stay there. panting. sweating. tangled.

his cock twitches inside you once more before he finally breathes out a long, wrecked sigh.

“…shit.”

you laugh. a breathless little thing, muffled by the sheets. “you sure you don’t wanna shower first next time?”

he chuckles—low, still dazed—then leans in and presses a slow kiss to the back of your shoulder.

“no,” he murmurs, lips dragging up to your ear. “i like this better. sweaty. messy. hair ruined. you full of me.”

you whimper.

his hips roll again.

“round two?” he whispers, already hardening inside you. “you’ve got more in you, right? we’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for.”

the catalogue

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[ttturnitup]

headache | kang daeho

pairing: kang daeho x reader warnings: heavy angst, set during the games, death, violence, blood, trauma note: i'll go on record now saying i'm sorry for this one and i love you all very much. i promise to make it up to you some day soon (maybe).

Everything with Daeho has always been complicated. Never intentional, he would always get himself into situations that were too sticky to get out of, leaving you to clean up the mess. Of course, you never found it a hassle – you were in love with him, after all, though you could never bring yourself to say the words.

Thinking of it, you can pinpoint the moment you fell in love with Daeho. You were ten years old, drawing pictures together at a restaurant around the corner from his house, when a group of boys approached. After the leader of the group threw out a handful of schoolyard insults, Daeho shoved him away, only to be bombarded with punches from the other three boys. It was the first time you stepped into a situation to help him, both of you walking home afterwards with a few bruises and a funny story. The wide grin on his face as he recounted a particularly powerful punch that you threw made you laugh, staring at him with hearts in your eyes.

From that day on, everything would play out the same way. Daeho would camouflage himself in a situation that he wasn’t equipped to handle, and you’d have to step in to help him. For a long time, it was harmless enough: you’d even the odds in a fight, make up excuses to a teacher when he skipped class, be his stand-in for a school play he changed his mind about. Until the day he turned nineteen.

At the behest of his father, Daeho intended to start his military term upon completion of his examination when he turned nineteen. While he’d always been active and fit, you worried the most about the mental exam. You’d never say Daeho wasn’t bright – holding strong in the top of all of his classes was proof of his intelligence. Your concern was the psychological examination and the impact his father’s tyrannical nature had on Daeho’s mental health.

Growing up with four older sisters, Daeho spent a lot of his time playing games, which his father felt made him too weak. Though his mother assured his father that there was nothing wrong with a child playing games, Daeho felt every hurtful word that his father threw at him, allowing it to fester beneath the surface, building a fear within him from an early age. Daeho would never admit that his father was unkind to him, and try as you might to voice your concerns, he was quick to dismiss them with a few optimistic words and a wide smile.

You were the first person Daeho saw after completion of his examination – grade five. In the passenger seat of your mother’s car, a look of fear and uncertainty flickered in his eyes as he described the supplemental service path he’d be forced to take once he finished his training. He couldn’t make eye contact with you, looking at everything else in the car, tears brimming his eyes: helpless.

It was the first time you couldn’t get him out of a situation – not by any legal means. With each detour he directed you on, in both the roads and the conversation, you knew he was stalling. All you could do was listen as he laid out the hypothetical path in front of him, but when he suggested the two of you running away together to avoid the shame he’d brought upon his family’s name, you laughed.

It was clear that Daeho flinched at your amusement, though you hadn’t realized it until later. He lamented to you for two hours before you needed to be home, and you watched the way his shoulders dropped when you pulled up outside of his house. Daeho dragged his feet as he took the walk to his front door to meet his disappointed father on the other side.

After that, you didn’t see or hear from Daeho for three years, only catching a glimpse of him at a club with some friends. You were there to lament a job loss, he was likely there to celebrate the end of his service. At first glance, you thought he seemed more confident than when you last saw him, but you could see it on his face when he thought no one was looking: it was only camouflage. He stayed silent when he wasn’t talking, drifting into the background as he’d always done when you didn’t pull him out of his shell. You opted not to talk to him, fading into the crowd to let him exist how he saw fit.

You’d think of him now and then, but as the years passed, your memories faded, only to be replaced with ones of sadness and loss. After fifteen years, you lost your family, your friends, your money, and your dignity, ending you inside the walls of a nightmare, watching your old friend Daeho affix a blue patch to his jacket. 

It felt surreal. When you saw him, the memories flooded back, along with the love. It was like things hadn’t changed, but when Daeho walked past you, only sparing you a small glance before looking at the ground again, your heart sank. Fifteen years is a long time — maybe things have changed.

It took him several hours to approach you after that. You sat on your bunk, staring down at the food you were provided, your stomach too upset to think about eating. Daeho took his time to get to you, moving like a child avoiding the ire of their parents, but when he finally reached your bunk, he stood at the end and waited, as if he expected you to talk first.

“Hey,” he said, simply, stooping enough to peer underneath the top bunk to see you. His tone was aloof, too friendly for someone you hadn’t spoken to in fifteen years.

“What do you want?” You tried to keep frustration from your tone, but you couldn't, and you were certain Daeho heard based on the way he sighed.

“I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“‘Okay’?” you asked, still not bothering to look in his direction. “From when I was running for my life or from when you voted for us to do it again? Or maybe from when you disappeared?” You stopped to scoff before continuing. “You’re just crawling over here now because you saw the look I gave you at the vote.”

“I didn’t see you at the vote.”

“Oh, so you’re a liar now?” Your eyebrows raised and you finally cut your gaze towards him, watching the way his eyes shifted around nervously. “As long as you’ve known me, you’ve never lied to me,” you added. “Took advantage of me, sure, but never lied to me.”

“I didn’t–”

“Didn’t what?”

Daeho sighed, and you saw the flash of fear in his eyes you’d seen many times before. Part of you felt bad for talking to him this way, but the hurt had built up for so long that you couldn’t stop the way it came out. You looked back at your food in your hand, pushing the egg around with your fork, hoping Daeho would take the hint and leave, but you caught him from the corner of your eye, shifting his weight between his feet.

“There’s enough people here that you and I don’t have to worry about each other,” you said, shrugging your shoulders. “You’ve done a good job of avoiding me for eighteen years, so this should be easy.”

“The next game is dalgona," Daeho said quietly, rushing the words out as if he was afraid of who would hear him.

“Great. Anything else?”

“Is he bothering you, señorita?”

A player whose bunk was near yours had found his way over, standing nearby with his arms crossed and what you assumed to be an intimidating look on his face. You couldn’t help but be amused by the man’s confidence, and when you looked between him and Daeho with a smile on your face, you were tempted to fan the flames.

“No, he was just leaving,” you said, giving Daeho one last look before he finally walked away.

The following day, you found yourself in another oversized room, painted to look like a playground and equipped with two circular tracks. As the voice rang out over the loudspeaker, you looked around for people to align with, spotting your purple haired neighbor making his way towards you with a determined grin. Before he could reach you, however, Daeho slid in front of you, giving a quick bow.

“I’m only joining your team to avoid that guy,” you muttered, following Daeho to the rest of his group. “He tried to talk to me the whole night.”

Along with Daeho’s group, you watched the other teams follow the course, cheering them on as they went. You noticed the way Daeho would flinch with each failure and your kinder side tried to convince you to comfort him, but you kept your distance, opting to watch him practice for his game.

“I guess all those games with your sisters finally paid off,” you muttered, not sure you’d be heard over the noise of the surrounding players. Daeho laughed, sparing you a quick glance before returning to his practice.

“Only if we survive,” he said, quietly.

“If we don’t, then…” you trailed off, trying to come up with a threat but falling short. “Well, it won’t matter, because we’ll be dead.”

“Why are you talking to me right now?” Daeho asked.

“You’d prefer I didn’t?”

“No, no, it’s not that,” he hurries, shaking his head. “I’m surprised…that’s all. After yesterday—”

“My options are limited.”

You were mostly joking, but Daeho didn't laugh — of course you couldn’t tell him the truth that being near him again felt right, not right now anyway. So the day went on, and you survived another game, but you were privy to a few conversations that gave you insight into Daeho’s new technique for fitting in: lying.

Daeho the Marine with his chest puffed and a wide smile on his face was able to convince everyone of his farce by getting a tattoo. If it wasn’t so sad, you’d laugh. Having seen firsthand the treatment he received from his own father, you knew the kind of pressure he was under, the amount of stress and doubt he’d instilled in his only son. You assumed it was the only way he could get by, but you rolled your eyes as you kept quiet.

When the lights went out that night, Daeho was assigned to have first watch over the group, and you opted to join him, still too wired from the day to get any meaningful sleep. At first, you both sat in silence, looking out over the other bunks filled with sleeping players, until you decided to finally ask him the question you’d been thinking of for years.

“Why didn’t you call me after you finished your service?” you asked, rubbing your hands over your knees to avoid looking at him.

“I was scared.”

“Of what?”

“I thought things would have changed between us.”

“Hm, well,” you muttered, glancing around the dark room at the rows of bunks. “You could have talked to me about it, though. You were my best friend; I don’t think I’ve ever done anything to make you feel like–”

“I know,” he interrupted.

“You…you had to know that I was in love with you, right?” you asked, your voice cracking as you tried to force the words out before you lost your nerve. Daeho was quiet and it only worsened the ache in your chest as you waited for an answer.

“I did,” he said, before falling back into silence. The hum of the piggybank that hung overhead became deafening with Daeho’s lack of follow up, and you felt tears begin to sting at your eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said, simply. “That’s all I can say.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” you hurried, sniffling and wiping the tears from your eyes with the sleeve of your jacket. “You can’t force yourself to feel something for someone.”

“I tried—”

“I think I’m going to get some sleep,” you interrupted. “Wake me up in two hours so we can switch.” You crawled into the nearby bunk, pulling the blanket over your body, ducking your head underneath to avoid being seen as the tears began to flow.

Deep down, you knew you couldn’t be upset with Daeho for not having the same feelings for you that you felt for him. However, it didn’t soften to blow when he finally admitted the truth. You felt used, having spent so many years in your youth protecting him, so many years thinking about him, loving him. It brought a twisting sensation to your stomach that made you sick. In part of your mind, you wouldn’t take it back, because you enjoyed the time and company, but feeling so hurt in the moment, you wished you could go back and change it all.

You avoided Daeho for two more games before his group attempted a revolt. Though you wanted to join, both in support and to keep Daeho from doing anything foolish, you were convinced to stay behind by an older woman that had been part of the group. When you watched Daeho walk out of the room, fumbling with the gun, you expected to never see him again, but you hoped you were wrong.

It seemed like hours before Daeho finally returned to the room, scrambling to gather the remaining magazines from the guards, but as he tried to leave he froze and dropped the ammunition to the ground. Years of fear and disappointment finally came to the surface, and Daeho ran to his bunk, cowering in a way you’ve never seen before.

You wanted to go to him, to calm him down from his tears, but you worried it was no longer your place; would you still be able to help him in the way you used to? But the revolt failed. More players died, and the games were to continue. Many put the blame on Daeho for the deaths, and you could only watch him hide in his bunk, ignoring the words as he still shook with the aftershocks of his panic attack.

The dormitory was dark, only lit by the piggybank overhead, when you decided to check on Daeho. He sat at the edge of his bed, facing away from everyone with his shoulders slumped, but he didn’t bother looking up when you approached. You tried to talk to him, keeping your voice quiet and soft as you spoke, but the moment you placed your hand on his shoulder, Daeho shoved you away.

“Get away from me!” he snapped, his voice loud enough to alert players nearby. You took a stumbled step back, your eyes wide in surprise but your cheeks flushing in embarrassment from the attention that he had drawn. “What do you want from me?!” he yelled. “Why do you always think I need you? Go away!”

Tears stung at your eyes and you kept your head down as you returned to your bunk, avoiding eye contact with everyone for the rest of the night. Daeho had never yelled at you before, never disrespected you. Of course, you could write it off to the tensions and the genuine fear that everyone is going through, but his tone burrowed into your brain, replaying over and over again. You couldn’t stop seeing his face, red with anger as he yelled, eyes wide but still glassy with shame. You were certain you’d see it clearly for the rest of your life, however long that would turn out to be.

The next day, as you pulled on your red vest, you looked around at the remaining players, trying to find the most deserving target for the new game. You’d avoided harming any other players up until that point, and the idea of taking someone’s life was enough to make you sick. As your eyes scanned the room, you spotted Daeho, clad in his blue vest, trudging towards another player from his group. You tried your best to ignore the conversation, though you were reminded of Daeho’s response to you the night before; was this the real Daeho, or is this what the fear had done to him?

Screams echoed through the maze as you kept your focus on finding the player who you’d decided to kill. A much older man, Player 100 had been the main instigator throughout the games, and he was selfish enough to continue with no thought to how many lives were lost. You couldn't fully convince yourself that you’d be able to sleep again after killing someone, no matter how much he would deserve it, so you opted to keep your thoughts clear, walking faster in search of the man.

On your journey, you ran directly into Daeho, cowering in a stairwell, eyes wide and full of panic. He backed away from you like a wounded animal, like he was afraid of you. It made you laugh, a sour and tired laugh that could have turned into tears if you had it in you. Daeho held his hands up towards you in a sign of surrender, and you shook your head.

“You can’t think I’d actually hurt you,” you said, in disbelief. Daeho’s hands shook but they stayed up, his gaze breaking from yours for a moment to check his exits. You scoffed and threw your knife to the ground beside him, holding your own hands up to show your intentions.

“Have you seen him?” Daeho asked, breathing heavily as he looked back at you.

“Who? 456?” Daeho nodded in response, nearly wincing at the mention of the other man’s number.

“He’s after me.”

“Because he thinks you got his friend killed.”

“That wasn’t my fault!”

Daeho’s voice was different; it returned to the frightened tone you recalled from your youth but more frantic. You shrugged your shoulders, unsure of what else to say in response to Daeho, because a part of you sympathized with Player 456; he’d watched his best friend die in front of him while Daeho was hiding. If it had been you who watched someone you loved being killed, you’re certain you’d feel a similar rage inside of you. But this was Daeho, and you knew his heart.

“He was on another floor the last time I saw him,” you told Daeho. “Stay out of the stairwells.”

“Do you think you could–?”

“I have to find someone,” you interrupted, taking a step away from the door to clear the path for Daeho. “I can’t waste time or I’ll get myself killed."

Daeho’s shoulders dropped and his expression shifted to something unreadable. You stood there for a moment in silence, staring at each other, before Daeho finally hurried past you, pausing at the door to give you one more look before ducking out of sight. You picked up your knife, and leaned against the wall to take a few deep breaths before you continued your search for your target.

Which brings you to now. Sneaking up behind Player 100 with your knife at the ready. You stab him below his ribs, aiming for his kidney; he yells, grabbing his wound when you retract the knife. As he tries to run, you trip him, sending him face first to the ground with a thud. Before he’s able to collect himself, you drop to your knees on his back, pinning him down and applying pressure directly on his wound. He screams in pain, but you bury the knife in the side of his neck, closing your eyes when you press it in all the way.

The man struggles against you for a moment until you pull the knife out and fall onto the ground, landing on your backside. You can’t bring yourself to look at him and try your best to block out the sounds, until finally you’re met with silence. The robotic voice rings out over the loudspeaker, declaring you safe and Player 100 eliminated. You let out a shaky sigh, mixed with relief and shame as you look at the blood on your hand; you take a moment to collect yourself.

When you’re finally composed enough, you exit the room and begin to wander through the maze, having to duck down a hallway to avoid other players chasing one another. At the far side of the hallway, you catch a glimpse of green, the grotesque hue of the track suits you’ve spent the last several days living in. More specifically, you can make out what appears to be someone’s legs, the rest of their body just out of view in one of the maze’s many alcoves. You squint to get a better view, the exhaustion manifesting in your tired eyes enough to keep you from being able to make out much detail.

Your legs tremble as you walk, heavy with the exertion of the day and the terror that has yet to relent since your first day in these walls. The blood on the soles of your shoes has dried now, mixed with the dirt and grime of the floors enough to stop the rubber from sticking. Still, you keep your empty hand against the wall as you go, giving you some extra balance in your wobbly steps. 

As you near the body, you first notice they’re only wearing one of their shoes; you add it to the list of degradations this place has perpetrated on its victims. On the ground on the other side of their body you notice a trail of blood that leads towards them, as if they lost it along the way, limping to find refuge. The pang of sadness in your heart at the thought of another lost life keeps you from stopping, wanting to pay your respects to this person who lost their dignity in their final moments.

When you reach the corner of the alcove, your steps slow to a halt, an icy sensation starting at the base of your neck that cascades down your spine. For a moment, you can’t bring yourself to move any closer, your eyes focusing on the blood on the ground beneath his leg. The tension that had been in your shoulders subsides, not from relief but from resignation, the last of your energy draining from your body when you finally see the number on his vest.

Breaths leave you in stifled sobs, huffs that begin to border on panting as tears prick at your eyes. You let out a shuddered breath that ends in a whimpered, involuntary sob, when you see his blood covered tracksuit. You inch yourself deeper into the alcove until you finally see his face: eyes open, mouth filled with blood, head tipped back to hang from the open door.

“Oh, Daeho,” you whisper, your words getting caught in a shaky whimper.

The agony takes over and you have to pull your gaze away from him, unable to handle the expression frozen on his face. You look at everything else that you’re able to, the painted sky ceiling, the cracks of the walls, the blood in the hallway, but it all leads back to Daeho, lifeless at your feet.

The knife sticks to your blood drenched hand as you unwrap your fingers from the handle, letting it clatter on the ground. Losing control of your breathing, you let out a whine that catches at the back of your throat, a hopeless whimper – a sound you’re certain you’ve never made before because you’ve never felt this degree of heartache in your life. The tears continue to fall from your eyes, trailing down your cheeks, but you only stay silent as they fall.

Unable to stay standing any longer on unsteady legs, you press your back to the wall and slowly sink to the ground, pulling your knees up to your chest with both hands. You can’t help but look at Daeho’s face again, taking in the blood that has begun to dry on his skin and the streaks of tears that had stained his cheeks. A sudden quick huff of breath escapes your lips when you notice the finger marks around his neck, and you can only cover your face with both hands to muffle your sobs.

Sorrow wracks your body, weighing you heavily into the ground as you think of how scared Daeho must have been. You wonder if he begged for them to stop, or if he called for you to help him like he had so many times before. You wonder how long it took for him to fade – how long he had to stare up at his murderer before everything went black. You scream into your hands, your fingers curling to dig your nails into your skin as you weep.

“I’m so sorry,” you sob, the words getting lost in the palms of your hands until you finally drag them away so you can hug your knees closer to your body again. Your lips tremble as you speak through heaving breaths. “Oh, my god,” you lament, rolling your head back against the wall. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to will the tears away, but they only come harder. “No, no, no,” you mutter, wiping your nose with your jacket sleeve. You rub your hands up and down your shins when you look at him again, pleading with him for something he can’t give you. “This can’t…I can’t do this. Please don’t do this to me.”

In your desperation, you hurry onto your hands and knees towards Daeho, crawling through his blood to reach him. Slipping one hand behind his neck, you lift his head up from the edge of the doorframe and press one of your hands to his chest.

“Please wake up, Daeho,” you beg, your voice cracking with desperation. “Please don’t leave me alone.”

Part of you expects him to suddenly take a deep gasping breath like in the movies, blinking the life back into his eyes before he wraps his arms around you for a hug. But he doesn’t. He already feels cold and lifeless, his glassy eyes giving no sign of the playfulness you used to know, not even the fear – simply nothing.

“I can’t be alone,” you rasp, laying slowly onto the ground beside him. You rest on your back, staring up at the painted stars of the ceiling as you slip your hand into his. His hand feels still, but maybe it’s only in your mind, as you expect him to clench his fingers around your hand in response. “Please wake up,” you plead one last time, your voice getting lost in your throat as you realize the futility of the words. “I can’t do this alone; I’m too scared. Please don't leave me.”

As the words leave your mouth, you realize the truth. You were the one who left. You'd abandoned Daeho, not just in the stairwell, but when you dropped him off at his house eighteen years ago, and again three years later as he sat in silence with his friends. For years, you’d told yourself you saved Daeho dozens of times, and that he was the one who left. But you weren’t there for him when it mattered the most. And now it’s your turn to be afraid.

If you had run away with Daeho like he suggested or if you’d talked to him that night at the club, would it have made a difference? You could have gone anywhere in the world, starting fresh without the fear that sat below the surface waiting to boil over. Maybe Daeho could have loved you like you loved him, but maybe that wasn’t meant to be. Somewhere in your heart, you think it was inevitable: you both were destined to end up exactly where you are right now.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, the tears falling from your eyes, trailing down your temples to your ears. “I should have kept you safe. I'm so sorry, Daeho.”

At some point, you roll onto your side facing Daeho and close your eyes, focusing on the quiet electrical hum from the lights. The tears don’t stop, but you try to stifle your sobs, catching them in your chest to leave you trembling from the effort.

Time escapes you, with Daeho’s cold hand still clasped in yours, a part of you still hoping to will him back to life as you whisper how sorry you are. The sounds of scurrying steps blended in with the screaming, the female voice from the loudspeaker announcing who is safe and who is eliminated, until it all blurs into one shrill ringing in the back of your head.

It feels like hours that you stay there before something bumps your foot. At first it doesn’t register until the canned voice of a guard pulls you from your trance. You lift your head just enough to see three guards standing in front of you, two of whom are setting down a large black box with a pink ribbon on top.

“No,” you rasp, shaking your head. “Please.”

“Make your way to the exit,” the guard answers.

“Please, I’m begging you, don’t take him,” you implore, wrapping both of your arms around Daeho’s to pull him closer to you.

The guard speaks again, but you can't understand them, the sound drowned out by your own nonsensical pleading. When a set of hands grab you by your bicep, pulling you away from Daeho, you scream louder, trying to cinch your arms around Daeho’s body. The guard wraps their arms around your midsection, using more force now to tug you away from Daeho.

“You can’t take him!” you yell through sobs. “He can’t be alone! I can’t leave him alone again.” You thrash against the guard as he lifts you from the ground, your legs kicking to hit whatever you can find. All of your efforts are now focused on breaking from the guard’s grasp as they drag you out of the way, until you notice the two guards lift Daeho from the ground. “Get your hands off of him!” you scream, trying to pry the guard’s hands from around your body. “Don’t fucking touch him!”

You wind your elbow back again, connecting with the guard’s head hard enough to daze them, giving you the opportunity to break from their hold. As soon as you take a step towards Daeho, another guard appears, standing in your path with their gun drawn; you stumble to a halt, holding your hands up.

“The game is over,” the guard says. “Return to the dormitory.”

You watch past the guard as Daeho is placed into the box; with his pale skin, stained with blood, he’s nearly unrecognizable as you look at him in this light. Another involuntary sob hits you, and you make another attempt to reach him, not before you’re caught by the guard from before. Another guard comes to your side, both of them locking their arms with yours to drag you down the hall.

“Someone has to tell his mom!” you scream. “You don’t understand: he has sisters! They have to know what happened! Please, you can’t take him!”

You watch the final two guards place the lid atop the box, sealing Daeho in darkness – alone. You continue to use all of your strength to fight against the two guards that pull you away from the scene, but you’re lightheaded, sick, exhausted from the events of the last few days. So, as the guards carry Daeho’s box out of your sight, you finally relent, allowing the two men to drag your limp body towards the exit as you continue to sob.

The rest of the games don’t matter. As you think of it, the guard could have killed you in the hallway with Daeho, and it would have been better than this: sitting on a bunk all alone, staring at Daeho’s blood dried on your clothes. You don’t feel anything, all thoughts left your head as you watched your best friend be carried to an unknown location.

Maybe the only way out is through. Finish the games so you can tell people what happened here, tell Daeho’s family how he died. That's what you'd like to think Daeho would tell you, anyway. You find it hard to muster the strength to even stand as a guard calls for the vote, and you stand amongst the remaining players, your body swaying as you struggle to stand.

When your number is called, you slowly make your way to the front and press the blue button without hesitation. A few players let out frustrated groans, but you ignore them, dragging yourself back towards your bunk without waiting for the end of the vote.

You didn’t do it for the money, or the chance of survival. Not because it’s what you deserve, or because nothing is waiting for you outside of this place. No, you voted to die here so Daeho doesn’t have to be alone ever again.

tag list: @infinetlyforgotten, @wcnderlnds, @ldydeath, @ttturnitup, @breakmeoff, @cupidsonly, @bettelaboure, @multi-craze, @seungttttop, @florathewriter, @tenaciousstarfishfun, @youlikeex, @thelovelybireader, @sherxoo, @enidths, @carrotheadedtoast, @cyanidealice11, @tabibabib, @hydeonysus, @ilovethe141 , @s4intkwon, @thedeafdane, @szonyix6277, @crashmunson, @millytugby, @divinefeminineeeee, @look-attthe-moon, @jenni-wilk, @raynamorono23

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[ttturnitup]

temporary fix ★ choi su-bong (thanos)

・❥・ summary: thanos is your best friend and roommate and he frustrates you to no end and after one particulary hard day, truths come out. ・❥・word count: 2.6k ・❥・warnings: 18+. mdni. shower sex, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, a little overstimulation. mentions of drugs. swearing. ・❥・authors note: ok i'm back, maybe. ive been having a little writers block so im hoping this helped me work through it. i was too scared to proofread it back so im sorry for any mistakes 😭

“I thought I told you to stop leaving your towels on the bathroom floor!”

“I didn’t.”

“Subong, it’s right there!”

An exasperated sigh left your lips, your fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of your nose in frustration. Living with this man was a nightmare. He was the messiest person you knew. No matter how many times you told him something whether it was to put the toilet seat back down, pick his towels up or wash his dirty dishes, he just didn’t listen. It was like he wanted to make you mad and, knowing the type of person he was, it wouldn’t be a surprise. Anything Thanos could do to get on someone’s nerves, he’d do it happily. It was almost like he lived to make your life hell. Why on Earth you’d agreed to let him live with you, you couldn’t remember. So what if he was your best friend, he was a complete and utter menace to live with.

The only times when he actually did listen to you were the days after the two of you hooked up. It had all started after an argument where you, once again, had to tell him to stop leaving his clothes lying around the place. It had blown way out of proportion, the two of you both yelling and, at one point, Thanos had got so frustrated with you that he’d kissed you to shut you up. It escalated from there. Clothes had been pulled off, he had you up against the wall, legs wrapped around him as he fucked you with a fiery passion. After that, it had been a regular occurrence. Neither of you ever really talked about it, it just happened. After it did, he’d be the perfect roommate – always cleaning up after himself, cooking you breakfast the next morning (more like making burnt toast but it still counted). He was like a whole other person, someone who actually gave a shit. It was like he was the Su-bong you’d known when you’d first met him, before the drugs had taken hold of him.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I have to go. I’ve got a g-” He started to rattle off his excuse but you cut him off before he could.

“A gig, yeah, I know but that’s no excuse to be a messy slob,” you huffed, crouching down in front of him to pick the towel off the floor. When you glanced up, you noticed the smirk on his face, knowing exactly what smart ass comment was about to come out of his mouth.

“Maybe I can spare a few minutes if you’re getting down on your knees like that for me.”

“Shut. Up.” You hissed, hitting him with the towel when you got back to your feet. “Get out of my sight.”

Subong only chuckled, taking a puff of his vape and giving you a salute before he walked off leaving you to clean up after him like usual.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The apartment was quiet without Subong around. The days he had gigs and was out late were some of your favourites because you didn’t have to deal with him or confront the myriad of feelings you were holding inside. Subong wasn’t the type of person you should fall for but you couldn’t help it. You knew him better than anyone else, knew the type of person he really was behind the facade he put up. When you’d first met him all those years ago, he’d been a broken boy, someone who just wanted attention and someone to care about him. You had been that person but as the years passed, he’d changed. His career had introduced him to the type of people you were usually told to avoid. That was when his drug addiction had started. The pressure of the fame and expectations that were thrust upon him in such a short amount of time was too much for him to handle. He went from a sweet, anxious boy to a loud, obnoxious, frustrating man. Underneath all that, he was still that man that you met years ago but it was rare he was vulnerable enough to show it. Those days after you hooked up were the only times you got glimpses of the real Subong. That was why your heart clung to him. It had only jolted into action and made you realise when you’d started sleeping with him. Never had you wanted to be that girl that caught feelings for the person you were casually hooking up with but unfortunately you were. He could never know. A relationship with him wouldn’t work out, not with the way he was these days. So, they’d have to be kept under lock and key.

Placing your empty glass of wine back down on the coffee table, you picked up the remote, turning the TV off and headed to the shower. You needed a clear head for when he came home and inevitably annoyed you again. You turned the shower on, letting the water heat up while you got undressed. Stepping inside, the warm water hitting your body, you instantly felt more at ease.

Too lost in your own world, you didn’t hear the front door slam shut, the water drowning out any and all noise. You didn’t even hear when Subong called out your name, your eyes closed as you relaxed under the water. It was only when you finally opened your eyes and saw his purple head of hair through the fog of the shower glass did you realise he was home. Before you could utter a single word, he was pulling his shirt off, followed by his jeans and boxers and stepping into the shower. There wasn’t a chance to get a word in as he grabbed your wrist, pulling you into his body and claiming your mouth with his. It took you by surprise but you soon melted into it as his lips moved furiously against yours, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips begging for entrance. He nipped at your lower lip causing you to gasp and that was the opportunity he took to slide his tongue into your mouth. One of his hands tangled in your wet hair, angling your head so he could kiss you better. It was all consuming, every nerve in your body lighting up as he claimed your mouth.

When he finally pulled away, his lips trailed along your jaw, down to your neck, sucking and nipping at the skin there. His hand slid down your back, resting on the small of it to press you flush against him as the water cascaded over both of you. 

“Rough night?” You managed to ask slightly breathless, one of your hands coming up to tangle in his hair now.

“Don’t wanna talk,” he mumbled against your neck. He bit down lightly, his tongue darting out to soothe the skin, leaving a trail of hickeys along the side of your neck and collarbones.

He was swift in his movements as he pressed hot, open mouthed kisses along your chest, across the top of your breasts. He took one of your nipples in his mouth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud. It caused you to arch into him, your fingers tightening in his hair as you held him against you. A breathy sigh escaped your lips as he moved on to your other breast, making sure to leave a hickey there, too. Once he was done there, he moved down onto his knees, his lips pressing across your stomach until they reached the apex of your thighs. You watched with hooded eyes as he pressed a light kiss to the top of where you needed him most.

“Subong, please,” you said breathlessly. The teasing was driving you insane.

His tongue licked a long stripe along your slit, a deep moan coming from him as he tasted how wet you were for him – it had nothing to do with the water still falling on you both. He did it again, this time his tongue found your clit, flicking it to bring out a moan from you. His lips wrapped around the sensitive bud and in turn you bucked your hips into his mouth. Needing, wanting, more. He swirled his tongue, alternating between licking along your folds and teasing your clit. It was too much but not enough at the same time. He was purposely trying to drive you crazy and it was working. He dipped his tongue inside you and you could feel your release barreling towards you but he pulled back, getting to his feet again.

“I want to feel you cum on my cock,” he whispered in his deep, gruff voice, tugging at your earlobe. “I need to feel you fucking squeezing the life out of me.”

He spun you around, your hands resting on the tiles, your ass facing him. His hands ran along your spin, teasingly until they reached your ass, giving it a light smack. “You’re so fucking sexy.”

He pressed down on the middle of your back, making you arch a little. His hips ground against you, his hard cock sliding between your folds, making him hiss. You were so wet, so ready for him. Grabbing the base of his cock, he positioned himself at your entrance, his free hand holding your hip, making you stay in place. Then, without warning, he thrust into you with one hard thrust to the hilt. You moaned loudly, Subong groaning as your walls enveloped him. God, this was exactly what he needed right now.

No time was wasted as he pulled back, leaving the tip in before thrusting back into you. His hands were gripping your hips, his fingers digging into your skin hard enough to leave bruises as he set a hard, fast pace. “You feel so good.”

You could feel every drag of his cock as he pistoned into you, your hands almost slipping down the wet tiles but he grabbed them, his hands holding yours against the wall as he kept thrusting into you. His chest pressed against your back, his breath heavy against your ear. His grunts and panting were sending you closer and closer to another mind blowing orgasm.

“I’m… I’m gonna cum,” you managed to say between moans but he didn’t let up. In fact, it only spurred him on, angling his hips to hit that special spot inside you. Within seconds, your second orgasm crashed over you. Immediately, Subong wrapped an arm around your stomach to hold you up, never relenting in his movements. He fucked you through your orgasm, his name falling from your lips loudly in what could only be described as Subong’s favourite sound.

With your head foggy from yet another release, you didn’t realise that he’d pulled out, moving you around so you were pressed up against the steamed up glass of the shower. He grabbed your thighs, wrapping your legs around him and slammed back into you. His lips found yours again, swallowing the high pitched moan you let out as his tongue danced with yours. He slowed his hips down only for a brief moment just to speed right back up.

“Come on,” he panted against your lips. “I know you’ve got another one in you.”

His fingers found your clit, circling it in time with his frenzied thrusts. The overstimulation was driving you insane, your body squirming. Subong watched, transfixed, as your breasts bounced with every brutal thrust. His movements were becoming erratic but he was determined to make you cum again before he even thought about his own release. 

“Please, please,” you begged, the overstimulation almost bringing tears to your eyes. His thumb swiped over one of your sensitive nipples before moving up along your body to wrap around your neck. He squeezed slightly, only a little bit of pressure to try and throw you over the edge. He’d found out weeks ago that you loved the feeling of his hand around your throat and was using that to his advantage.

“Cum for me, senorita. Now.” He demanded with a harsh pant. He pressed down hard on your clit and that was all you could take. You screamed his name, your hips bucking wildly against his as your third orgasm washed over you. The feeling of your walls tightening around him was too much for him and with one more hard thrust, he stilled inside you, hips flush against yours as he came.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his eyes squeezing shut as he filled you up. His hips thrust shallowly, making sure that his release stayed inside you, his body relaxing.

All that could be heard was his harsh pants and the sound of the water falling. Coming out of his dazed state, he reached a hand out to turn the water off. And, then, very reluctantly pulled out of you with a hiss. Grabbing a cloth, he cleaned you up then picked you up bridal style, carrying you to his bedroom. He made sure to grab a towel, wrapping it around you once you were in the comfort of his room.

Laying in the bed in silence, Subong took a hit of his vape, one of his arms resting behind his head as he passed it to you. Happily, you took it, tasting the blueberry flavour he so often favoured.

“...what happened?” You finally asked, handing the vape back to him.

“They didn’t fucking pay me. Said not enough people showed up for them to be able to. Fuckin’ bullshit if you ask me. They keep doing this shit. You’ve seen the crowds I get. They’re ripping me off,” he ranted.

“They don’t deserve you,” you said softly, turning on your side to look at him, propping your head up with your hand.

“Nah, they probably realised I’m a piece of shit like everyone else does.”

“You’re not a piece of shit.”

He gave a hollow, self deprecating laugh. “Yeah, I am. Don’t kid yourself.”

“Do you really think I’d be in love with a piece of shit?” The words tumbled out of your mouth before you could stop them, your eyes widening in realisation.

He looked at you with equally wide eyes then shook his head. “You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“Well, I do so for once in your life just accept that someone does actually love and care for you. I don’t even care if you don’t feel the same but I’m sick and tired of you acting like you don’t deserve it,” you sat up now, slightly frustrated at him that he was trying to deny your feelings.

He sat up too, narrowing his eyes at you. The vape had now been forgotten, resting on his bedside table. “Who the fuck said I don’t feel the same? Why the fuck do you think I cook you breakfast and get on your nerves all the time?”

“You make me breakfast because you got laid and you get on my nerves because… that’s who you are,” you raised a brow at the puzzled look on his face.

“...you really think I make you breakfast just because we fucked? I ain’t never cooked for anyone other than you. And, I get on your nerves because it’s hot when you’re mad at me. Of course I love you, dumbass. I’m not crazy. I just don’t know how to do this… so, that’s my way of showing it.”

“It’s a stupid way,” you huffed but curled into his side, Subong wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

He laughed. “Yeah, but you wouldn’t have me any other way.”

“I suppose not… but I would really like if you did start cleaning up after yourself more.”

“Didn’t I just do that in the shower?” He smirked at you, his fingers running over one of the hickeys he’d left on your neck.

All you did was roll your eyes but the smile on your face gave you away. He might not be the best guy in the world, he might not have the best ways of showing his feelings but you really wouldn’t have him any other way.

taglist (ask to be added!): @ldydeath @infinetlyforgotten @berfgrimm @loveesiren @justsisse @sherrayyyyy @aizshallnotbefound @fleabagspurplewife @bettelaboure @breakmeoff @babyrvis @flymetothexmoon @ttturnitup @szonyix6277 @riddlerloveb0t @youlikeex @septywitch @melanatedhorrorqueen @l5byrinth @tabibabib @thanosspills @moontabi @pinkpunkdynamite @zaaraaax0 @pepsicolapussi @charlenethecattt @smokingblossoms

[ttturnitup]

Bullshit Part 2 | Kwon Ji-yong (G-Dragon)

Summary: Jiyong isn’t jealous of your professional relationship with Ateez, but that doesn’t mean he can’t tease you while you’re on the road with them. Word Count: 2.8k Warnings: 18+ MDNI., teasing, fingering, unprotected p in v, jealous Jiyong, fluff Author’s Note: I wasn’t going to do a part two of this, but I was inspired by events that have happened since falling into the Ateez rabbit hole. You do not need to read part 1 to understand anything happening in part 2. If you want to read it you can check it out here, though! This is my first time writing for any of the Ateez guys so please be gentle. 

After the events of Head in the Clouds, Jiyong had flown back to Korea to continue his tour while you had stayed in the States to prep for Ateez’s North American tour. Long distance was something you and Jiyong were familiar with, having done it off and on for years. It never made it easy to be apart from each other. Especially now that you were going on nearly two months of only seeing each other though FaceTime. 

You were currently editing some tour footage from Chicago, on your way to the Washington stop when your phone buzzed. Jiyong’s name lit up the screen and you smiled as you picked up the phone. He was back in Korea in between tour stops which meant more texting despite the time difference. 

Miss you Jagiya. 

Miss you more.  

What are you doing? 

Editing some concert footage.  You? 

Getting ready to go to bed. Just got home. 

I’ll call you as soon as I get this video posted, ok? I love you. 

Love you too. 

With the video edited and posted, you slid your phone into your pocket and made your way to where the guys were. Seonghwa and Yeosang sat talking quietly while everyone else finished getting ready for rehearsals. Seonghwa spotted you and gave you an excited wave, one you returned with a smile. 

Your phone buzzed in your pocket and you quickly slid it open when you caught the notification. It was a story on Jiyong’s very public instagram. To the normal eye it was just a mirror selfie, he’d posted them randomly throughout the past few months, driving fans wild in the process. But you knew this one was meant for you. 

The way his shirt hung low, the smirk only you could see that his phone was covering up. The timing of it, even. You knew Jiyong hadn’t just gotten home, he’d been home for hours. You groaned in frustration before finding the video you’d uploaded, confirming your suspicions that he’d seen the edit. Jiyong was jealous. 

You didn’t know what had caused this sudden jealousy in Jiyong, but you were benefiting from it greatly. First with his show in LA and now with this. 

“You ok?” Hongjoong was by your side, brow raised and you blinked, closing out of instagram quickly. 

“Yeah…yeah I’m good.” You nodded a smile on your face. 

“And Jiyong Hyung is good too?” He teased, a smirk plastered on his face. 

“Yeah…” you paused, turning to face him fully. “Go away, Hongjoong.” 

“We can all see his story, you know.” Hongjoong laughed, sliding his hands into pocket before walking away.

You rolled your eyes, waiting until he was gone to take your phone back out. You clicked on his story again, relieved that it was still there. You didn’t bother to like it, you knew he’d see your view. He’d probably been waiting for it. You closed the app, hitting your messenger app and clicking his name. 

You’re the worst.

Maybe. But you were supposed to call me. 

And now I’m not. Go to bed Jiyong. 

Night Jagiya. 

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

It was show day which meant lots of running around to make sure the eight guys had everything in place for their costume changes, waters were in place, really everything they needed to have an easy time on stage was done. Soundcheck would be starting soon and you hadn’t had a chance to talk to Jiyong at all. Which wasn’t a surprise, you both had an understanding that tour days usually meant a late night chat in someone’s time zone at some point that day. 

You pulled out your phone sending him a quick text, knowing he was likely still asleep at this hour and turned your attention to Yeosang, who was currently eating a bowl of ramen. 

“Hey buddy, you doing ok?” You moved to sit next to him. 

“Yeah.” He held his bowl closer to him and he raised a brow. “You’re not going to steal these are you?” 

“No.” You laughed, leaning back in your seat. “I’m not Hongjoong.” He relaxed next to you, eating a bit slower. “Sound check is in five though.” 

You two sat in comfortable silence as he finished his meal and made his way to the stage for sound check. You really enjoyed working with Ateez, all eight of them had become younger brothers to you. They could be a little much sometimes, but that was part of their charm. They’d become your family and if there was any group of people to be around when you couldn’t be around Jiyong, it was them. 

After soundcheck you gathered the guys, posing for a photo. It had become a pre show ritual at this point that you would post something with them before each show. 

See you soon Tacoma! ✌️ you captioned it and hit post, making sure to tag the guys and the official account that you also ran. A few minutes later your phone buzzed, hoping for a text from Jiyong you looked down as frowned. Why was he posting a story and not texting you back? 

You clicked the notification and let out a laugh when you saw the story. It was simple, just his hand curled to show off her nails. But you knew it was another meant for you story. You rolled your eyes but before you could close the app another picture came in and you gasped.

He had his face hidden, the camera panned down to only show his arms, torso and legs off. He was wearing a simple outfit, red shorts showing off his thighs perfectly and you had to check to make sure you weren’t drooling. 

“Are you okay?” Seonghwa’s voice broke your thoughts and you realized you’d been staring at your phone for much longer than necessary.

“Hm? Yeah…never better.” You slid your phone into your back pocket. “You look great. Trying to kill the fan girls tonight?” 

Seunghwa nodded, his glittery makeup shimmering in the lights as he moved. “Always.” He winked as your phone buzzed. “I’ll leave you to that then.” He turned, a smirk on his lips as he walked off. 

You reached for your phone, seeing another story notification and hesitated before opening the notification. Thankfully, it was just a chaotic story about the cats. You replied to it with a heart and frowned when the story changed to another one of his. You hadn’t realized he’d posted two. 

Pony started blasting and eight heads turned to face you. You face a sheepish smile in response, turning the volume down and walking out of the room. He was going to pay for this one. 

“What the fuck Jiyong.” You hissed into the phone as soon as you saw his face appear. 

“What?” 

“Using Pony with a story of your face looking at me like that is dirty work.” You glared as you made your way to a more private area backstage.

“Just reminding you that you can jump on it anytime.” He smirked. 

“Jiyong!” You groaned. “You’re a whole lifetime away. Stop being a tease.” 

“I’ll be there in a few hours actually.” He leaned back in his seat, a pleased look on his face. 

“What?” 

“I miss you Jagiya. And it was supposed to be a surprise, but I’m off for the next week and I can’t wait until New Jersey to see you. So I’m coming for the weekend.” 

“You better be resting up on that flight then. Because I’m making you pay for these stories.” You saw the guys lining up and checked the time with a sigh. “I have to go. I’ll see you soon.” 

“Bye Jagiya.” 

The call disconnected and you grinned as you made your way over to your friends. San raised a brow at your mood change and you looked away, folding your arms. 

“Have a good show, boys!” You grinned before sending them on their way. 

Jiyong managed to sneak into the show unnoticed, hiding in the green room until the show was over. He didn’t mind sitting in there alone with Jaeho while you worked. As he watched the show on a small TV he realized he’d never actually seen an Ateez show in person before. He had to give it to them, they were killing it out there. 

Hongjoong led the guys and you back to the green room, San had an arm resting playfully on your shoulder as you all walked. Excited conversations about a job well down filled the air as Hongjoong opened the door stopping in his tracks. 

“Hongjoong, what?” Seunghwa asked in confusion but Hongjoong didn’t answer.

“G-Dragon? Holy shit.” He shook his head trying to contain his excitement, Sans arm falling off your shoulder and you popped around him brows raised. “I mean, Jiyong, Hyung, hello….welcome.” He bowed his cheeks tinted pink in embarrassment.

The guys all followed suit and Jiyong smiled politely, bowing back. “Thanks for arranging this.” He nodded at the leader of Ateez and you looked between the guys before finally making your way to Jiyong. “Surprised?”

“Yeah. Kinda figured I’d just see you at the hotel or something tomorrow.” He shrugged, wrapping his arms around you. 

“Yeah but then I couldn’t do this.” His lips were on yours instantly and you practically melted into him as you returned the kiss. 

Seonghwa cleared his throat from his spot at the doorway and you pulled away from Jiyong with a sigh. Jiyong smirked, wrapping an arm protectively around your shoulder, a brow raised at San playfully. He offered up a sheepish smile and scratched the back of his head. Now that he had you in his arms he didn’t want to let you go. The guys made their way inside, offering handshakes and thanking Jiyong for being there. 

“You were all amazing. Truly.” Jiyong smiled. 

Your eyes fell on Hongjoong who you thought might pass out from the compliment and you snorted. Hongjoong looked over at you and glared before grabbing a bottle of water and excusing himself. 

“You guys fine on your own for send off?” Seonghwa nodded and you picked up your purse. “Ok, I’ll see you in the morning.” You waved goodbye and led Jiyong out of the room. 

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

“I can’t believe you came all the way to Washington just to see me.” 

“I’d go anywhere for you.” Jiyong pulled you closed, planting a kiss on your cheek. 

You weren’t sure how you’d gotten so lucky to have Jiyong as your partner. Despite his crazy schedule and the fact that he could use this week off to rest, he’d chosen to fly to the states to see you. 

The truth was, Jiyong would do anything for you. Did he enjoy teasing you? Absolutely. But that was just because he loved you so much. He may have misunderstood Jackson back in May but he trusted you, and he trusted Ateez. That didn’t mean he couldn’t have fun reminding you of what you were missing while you were away. 

He held you close the rest of the ride back to the hotel, neither of you wanting to be too touchy with Jaeho in the front seat. One you were alone in the hotel room though all bets were off. 

The door had barely closed before your lips were on his. It had been two months since you’d been able to kiss him, to hold him, and you wouldn’t be able to see him again for a couple more weeks after this. You were fully prepared to savor this night for as long as possible.  

Jiyong’s tongue darted out licking your lip, begging for access. You happily obliged parting your lips, your tongue meeting his. His hands moved from your face down your side and stopped at the hem of your shirt before he pulled it up roughly, only breaking the kiss to pull it over your head. 

You followed his lead, removing his shirt and licked your lips at his exposed chest. He’d been putting in work all tour and was more toned than he ever had been. Something you’d been enjoying. Jiyong noticed your stare and smirked, his hand cupped your cheek dragging your attention back to him and his lips captured yours once again. 

He walked you backwards, laying you down on the bed gently, his lips finally leaning yours to kiss down your jaw, to your collarbone and down to your breasts. He removed your bra, and moved his mouth to your nipple, licking your nipple before biting down gently while his hand gently massaged your other one. 

As his hand lowered to your panties, you made quick work of undoing the button on his shorts, pushing them down. His lips moved back up your body towards your lips and he kissed you slowly as he slid a finger into your slick folds. You moaned in his mouth, cupping his growing erection through his boxers. 

Jiyong’s fingers massaged your clit slowly, your hips bucking against his hand and he smirked against your lips before stopping his movement. You let out a whine and Jiyong started moving his finger again before sliding it down to your entrance. He began pumping inside of you slowly, too slowly for your liking. 

He added a second digit, his eyes locking on yours as he moved his fingers in and out of you. You moved your hips trying to get him to move faster and the smirk widened on his face. 

“There’s no need to rush, Jagiya.” He whispered into your ear. “We have all night.” He bit down on your earlobe gently before moving his mouth to your collarbone. 

He bit your skin gently, just hard enough to leave a light mark, one that would be gone in a couple days and easily covered. His hand stopped moving again and you opened your eyes, meeting his with a flare. 

“Ji please.” You whined. He shook his head kissing you slowly. 

“Be patient, Jagiya. Good things come to those who wait.” 

You groaned, moving your hand to pull his boxers down, stroking his erection slowly. Jiyong let out a low groan, his fingers pumping inside of you again, curling at just the right spot. You curled your toes, your legs falling further apart and Jiyong’s thumb found your clit, rubbing quick circles. Your hip bucked into his hands and you matched his rhythm as you pumped him quickly. 

You could feel yourself getting closer, your breaths coming out in shallow pants and Jiyong shook his head, stopping his movements. 

“I don’t think so.” He smirked, his arm wrapping around torso before he flipped you so you were on top of him. 

He helped you position yourself above him, his hands holding your hips tightly as you lowered yourself on him slowly taking him inch by inch. You rocked your hips against him and let out a moan at the feel of him inside of you.  Jiyong lifted you slightly and you slammed back down on him quicker. 

“Fuck, Jagiya.” He moaned his hips bucking into you.

You moved against him quickly, your hands resting on his chest as you moved against him. Your nails digging into his skin with each movement. You were close, so deliciously close to coming undone and you moved quicker.  Jiyong matched your movements, his hands digging into your thighs, leaving little marks to match the ones you were leaving on his chest. 

“Come for me, Jagiya.” He demanded. The steadiness in his voice was your undoing. 

You rocked against him quickly a few more times before you came undone, Jiyong’s thrusts slowed as he let you ride out his orgasm, his following close behind yours. He released, filling you up, your hips rocking against his as he finished. 

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, him inside of you as you both caught your breath. You let go of him moving to push your hair back before you slowly pulled yourself off him. He pulled you to his side, kissing you gently. 

“I missed you.” He mumbled against your lips. 

“I missed you too.” You looked up at him with a smile. “You have to stop with the stories though. I’m not going to make it to the end of August if you keep doing that.” 

Jiyong laughed, pulling you to him tightly and nodded his head. “I make no promises.” 

“You’re the worst!” You laughed.

“You love me.” 

“I do, very much so.” 

The rest of the night was spent with you wrapped in each other's arms, talking about everything and nothing. Just savoring every bit of time you had together before you’d both have to get back to your respective jobs. The distance was hard but it wouldn’t be forever. Jiyong could wait a few more weeks, and he’d have fun teasing you along the way. Especially if it meant more nights like this when he did get to see you again. 

tag list, ask to be added: @wcnderlnds @infinetlyforgotten @berfgrimm @ttturnitup, @aizshallnotbefound @loveesiren @tulentiy @petersasteria @flymetothexmoon @mashtatosworld @alosss-blog @sooyasya @dprvivi @mirahyun @breakmeoff @1950schick @sherrayyyyy @bettelaboure @allthoughtsmindfull @sylviavf @makotocrys @lilshu65 @crvshedpetals @jiraiyathehokage

[ttturnitup]

Heaven Sent You To Me

Thank you @steponupbabe for including me in your writing challenge 🥹 Congrats on 400+ followers! I hope you all enjoy this 🩷

Pairing: Choi Seunghyun x Fem!Reader

Summary: Seunghyun realizes he’s in love with you while you help him prep for his first Netflix interview

Word Count: 2.1 K

Trigger Warnings: nothing really, just a lot of fluff

Seunghyun wasn’t entirely sure when he fell for you.

Was it when he came home to find his favorite take out on his kitchen counter, with a note that said “I made sure they took out the cucumbers. Ice cream is in the freezer x”?

Or was it when you discreetly whispered the names of the many influential people that came up to him during a press release; he had stayed up all night trying to memorize names and roles that he had gotten no more than 3 hours of sleep. He began to panic as people walked up to him, but there you were, smiling beside him as you covered your mouth with your glass and listed off names.

Perhaps it was whenever you were over at his penthouse, sitting cross legged on his spacious couch like you were now, with your iPad in front of you, laughing at the tiktok trends that were inspired by his squid game character. You were effortlessly beautiful in that moment, comfortable in his space and glowing in a way Seunghyun was unable to explain.

One thing was for sure: Seunghyun couldn’t contain how his heart fluttered when you were around and he never wanted that feeling to stop.

“Wait, you have to see this one. I can’t breathe!”

You giggled as you paused the tiktok, waiting for Seunghyun to return. The sound of your laughter made Seunghyun let out his own chuckle as he walked back, dressed in a hoodie and sweat pants, his hands holding two glasses full of wine. He sat down next to you, offering you your glass before looking over at the iPad.

You had come over to help prep him for his first round of interviews with Netflix; as his personal assistant, Seunghyun trusted you explicitly. He knew you had his best interest at heart and he knew you’d help keep him up to date with all the memes and videos he was sure to be asked about.

But something about this particular night felt different. Yes, you were there to help but you also seemed content in just hanging out. At some point over the course of the last four years, the lines between a professional work relationship and friendship blurred. Seunghyun often wondered if you felt the same. But with Squid Game coming out and preparation of his long awaited solo album, he was afraid of losing everything all at once.

Seunghyun never expected his character to gain such attention from fans across the world. Thanos was a loser rapper, as Seunghyun often described him, so he never understood why the people loved him so much. Seunghyun saw himself in Thanos; his failures and short comings hit too close to home and there were plenty of nights where you listened to Seunghyun express his fears of being misjudged by everyone, especially by you.

That was another thing Seunghyun loved about you: your ability to listen to him without judgement. You never tried to console him or offer him veiled advice. You just listened as he ranted and vented, and eventually you gave him your opinion when he asked for it. You told him that he could use Thanos as a way to connect with his past self; the side of him he wished never existed. You helped him work through his darkest thoughts and his sleepless nights.

You kept him in line when he strayed, and encouraged him to loosen up when he felt too trapped in his own mind.

You helped him come out of his shell, out the obscure corners of his mind, and for that alone he would love you always.

Love?

Is that what this was?

Seunghyun didn’t realize he was smiling softly at you until you spoke up.

“Don’t look at me, look at this,” you laughed, showing him a video of a dentist who pretended to be Thanos. Seunghyun chuckled, taking a sip of his wine as he listened to your laugh.

“I still don’t understand how TikTok works. So people just make short videos?” He asked, watching as you scrolled.

“Basically, you can make a video about anything. Some people make funny content, some make recipes, some use it as a diary; people like what they find interesting and the algorithm curates a “for you page” that shows you what you like. For example, I like a bunch of different things so my FYP is chaos,” you snorted as you swiped to prove a point.

“What happens when you like a video?” Seunghyun asked, squinting as you scrolled. You clicked on your profile and went into your liked videos.

“They get saved into your “liked” videos and you can check them out whenever. Your mom actually sent me a few funny ones I meant to show you,” you said before taking another sip from your own glass.

Seunghyun looked at you adoringly as you tapped away on the iPad.

That’s right. His mom loved you. His sister and nephew did too. He couldn’t remember a single ex girlfriend who captured the hearts of his family in the way you did. You called his mom every week, keeping her updated on his schedule and organized dinners with the whole family whenever he was free. You never forgot to bring a present for his nephew and when you and his sister got a few drinks in, the two of you were inseparable. You had him and his loved ones wrapped around your finger.

Unbeknownst to the rapper, the feelings were not completely one sided. You were smitten with Seunghyun in the worst of ways. You had never connected with someone the way you’ve clicked with Seunghyun. You went from being his shy personal assistant who was afraid to embarrass herself on the job to being Seunghyun’s confidant.

You were so comfortable around him that you were able to be yourself and that was a major indication how wonderful he was as a person. You teased each other endlessly, laughing at inside jokes and the sheer stupidity of life. You were full of corny jokes and Seunghyun matched your energy tenfold.

You became someone Seunghyun could rely on. You were the person who knew him better than he knew himself. You knew his go to lunch order, even when he was feeling picky; you knew his comfort movie, his favorite snacks. You knew how to get him to giggle when he was down. You were there for him when he felt his loneliest and you were there in the vibrantly lit, crowded karaoke suite, laughing at his exaggerated rendition of your favorite song.

You held his hand through the toughest moments of his life but also poked fun at him when he least expected it to help raise his mood. Seunghyun never asked you to take on his burdens, but you always did your best to remind him that he wasn’t alone. Not anymore.

You knew you’d eventually have to tell him about how you felt. You just never thought it’d be on a random Friday night while you at on his couch in a pair of old galaxy leggings and a tshirt you had stolen from him years ago.

You pulled up your liked videos and Seunghyun reached forward, scrolling through them. It was in that split second that you realized that lot of your liked videos were videos of Seunghyun. Edits of Thanos, videos of past interviews, and embarrassingly even some “thirst traps”. You leaned forward immediately to place your wine glass on the coffee table in front of you.

“Shit, wait,” you choked out with a laugh and Seunghyun immediately grabbed the iPad before you could with an unintelligible sound. His eyes were wide as he scrolled and you already started to formulate a list excuses in your mind: “I’m your assistant, I have to stay current on all the edits people make” or “I saved these to show you so that you could reference them” or “I’m lowkey completely in love with you and I can’t stop staring at your fucking face”.

Each one of those was worse than the other so you just sat in silence as Seunghyun scrolled.

He clicked on what seemed to be a compilation video of his funniest moments. At the sound of him shouting “BANANA!” the two of you began to laugh.

“I’ll never understand why you did that,” you snorted and Seunghyun laughed as he continued to watch, moving to perch his glasses on his head.

“I haven’t seen these clips in so long. It seems like forever ago,” he sighed with a smile, his voice full of something that could only be described as yearning. The TikTok ended and began to play again before Seunghyun paused it.

He typically avoided videos from past, the self placed burden of feeling like he was the cause of his brothers’ pain always too much to carry. But of course you would be the one to remind him of the good times in a way that made him smile. He wished you could have been there back then, because maybe he wouldn’t have felt so isolated even in a crowded room.

Your heart warmed at the wistful expression on his face, and you moved to place a hand on his knee. It was a friendly gesture but it felt more than friendly to the both of you.

Seunghyun cleared his throat and put his glasses back on before placing his hand on top of yours. He said nothing, only handing the iPad back to you with a playful smile.

“So, you really like watching videos of me huh?” He teased and you wished the world would swallow you whole. You playfully shoved him away, but Seunghyun laughed, in a way that you could only describe as a giggle, and adjusted himself to face you completely.

“Shut up,” you chuckled. “I’m your assistant, I need to keep tabs on what your fans are saying,” you huffed and Seunghyun raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Mhmm, and what are the fans saying about that video of Ham Daegil shirtless with “Daddy’s Home” by Usher playing in background?” He couldn’t help but laugh at the way you turned the ipad screen off.

“Enough of that,” you said reaching for your glass. Seunghyun responded by humming the tune of Usher’s song and you couldn’t help but laugh, not actually embarassed.

“You’re so annoying,” you groaned playfully as you turned to face Seunghyun on the couch. He gave you a smile, his dimples making an appearance. His gaze softened and he cleared his throat before he spoke up.

“I just want to say thank you,” he said kindly, moving his hand to gently grab yours. In a moment of boldness, you intertwined your fingers with his and Seunghyun smiled at the gesture before looking back to find you smiling.

“I don’t know what you’re thanking me for this time, but you don’t have to,” you said sweetly, squeezing his hand in yours.

“I don’t know what I did, but heaven sent you to me,” Seunghyun murmured, keeping his gaze on your hands to avoid your eyes. Your heart fluttered but you let Seunghyun continue.

“You’re too good to be true, honestly,” he breathed and his gaze finally met yours. His eyes were soft, and full of what could only be described as love and pure adoration.

“Seunghyun—“

He squeezed your hand in response, stopping you.

“Let me finish, please?”

You nodded, your breath catching as your eyes locked with his.

“I’m so grateful for you. For everything you’ve done and do for me. I’d actually be lost without you, I think,” he chuckled softly, bringing your hand up and pressing his lips gently to the back of it.

“Would it be okay if I took you out to dinner some time? You can say no, and I’ll stop right here and we can forget this happened,” he said genuinely. Your comfort was his top priority and if you didn’t reciprocate his feelings then he was more than happy to remain friends.

“I’d actually really like that,” you smiled back. “The dinner part, not you taking back what you said,” you chuckled and you could see the way Seunghyun’s chest relaxed as he let out a breath.

“Really?” He said, trying to keep his excitement at bay. In that moment he looked like an angel, eyes shining bright and smile so sweet you felt your heart melt. You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Seunghyun’s cheek.

“So are we going to dinner as friends, or as a boss and his personal assistant?” You teased softly. Seunghyun pretended to ponder your question before grinning.

“How about as a guy and the girl he’s falling in love with?”

With a flushed face and a smile that could cure the world of all its issues, Seunghyun looked at you hopefully. It was in that moment that you realized nothing mattered as long as you were with him.

And you planned to be.

For the rest of forever.

gif credit to my baby girl @wcnderlnds 🩷

Taglist: @berfgrimm @ldydeath @wcnderlnds @ttturnitup @loveesiren @petersasteria @pinkpunkdynamite @sherrayyyyy @jackielouuu @breakmeoff @seungttttop @thanosspills @szonyix6277 @pepsicolapussi @raynamorono23 @bettelaboure

[ttturnitup]

make your username out of songs you like - tag game!

thank you for the tags mates <3 @makeitworse @emmiesoverthemoon @moonqz

t - turn it up by t.o.p

t - truman by han & felix

t - take me by g-dragon

u - untouched by the veronicas

r - red lights by bang chan & hyunjin

n - nightmare by nathan sharp (natewantstobattle)

i - i'm ready by jess bush (star trek - subspace rhapsody)

t - teeth by 5 seconds of summer

u - universe by daesung

p - pink pony club by chappell roan

that was fun! no pressure tags if you want to! <3

@wcnderlnds @ldydeath @goorjian @infinetlyforgotten @loveesiren @gdinthehouseee + anyone else who wants to!

[ttturnitup]

my hair

here, where your hands unwind the day from my hair, is where i call home

pairing: gdragon x reader tags: pre-established relationship. domestic fluff. 💿 track 7 of @steponuupbabe’s positions challenge

he doesn’t say a word when he walks through the door—just slips off his shoes, drops his jacket over the couch arm, and sinks into the cushions like gravity suddenly remembered he can be affected by it’s pull.

you watch from the kitchen doorway. he doesn’t look sad, per-se. just... unguarded. unmasked. the version of jiyong the world never gets to see. your jiyong.

“long day?” you ask gently, already knowing the answer.

jiyong nods, then leans his head back against the couch and exhales through his nose. it sounds like surrender. “come here,” he murmurs, voice low, tired. “please?”

you move to him without hesitation, crouching behind the couch and resting your chin against the top of his head for a beat. he closes his eyes at the contact, lashes dark against his cheeks.

your fingers move on instinct, slipping into his hair.

it’s still styled from the hard working day, but slightly rumpled—like he’s run his hand through it a dozen times since the end of whatever performance, meeting, shoot he dragged himself home from. you kneading your fingers start at the crown, gently working loose the product and tension together, slow and patient.

he tilts his head forward with a little sigh, giving you more access, trusting your movements entirely.

“you never let anyone touch your hair,” you murmur.

“except you,” he replies, barely audible. “you never pull. you’re soft with it.”

your fingertips scratch lightly at his scalp, and he shivers— not from cold, but from the safety of it. from being touched like he’s just some man, and not the image he wears for the world.

you comb through it with your hands until the strands fall freely, and then begin braiding the short strands lazily— half for practicality, half for play. he makes no move to stop you. he never does. sometimes you braid tiny flowers into it. once, he wore it like that to rehearsal.

“thank you,” he says quietly, sometime later, head bowed, voice nearly broken with gratitude. “for taking care of me even when i don’t ask.”

you kiss the top of his head and lean forwards to dig your face into the side of his neck.

“you do not have to ask,” you whisper into his skin. “i know how to love you quiet.”

and he leans back into you like you’re his home.

the braid has come undone by now—your fingers lazy and unfocused, more concerned with being near him than with neatness. his head rests in your lap, cheek nestled against your thigh, one arm curled loosely around your waist like he’s afraid you might vanish if he lets go.

he is warm. so warm. skin soft and relaxed, breath deepening with each passing minute.

“you falling asleep on me, love?” you whisper, brushing a stray lock from his temple.

his lips twitch into the smallest smile. “just resting my eyes,” he mumbles. “you make everything feel slow. soft.”

your heart folds in on itself a little at the honesty in his voice—the kind of confession that slips out only when eyelids are heavy and hearts are wide open.

you shift, carefully, slipping off the couch to the floor beside him. he stirs, instinctively reaching for you as you tug a blanket over both of you, the woven cotton cocooning your bodies in shared warmth.

he ends up behind you, one arm draped across your waist, his face buried in the back of your neck. you reach back without looking, threading your fingers through his hair once more—no braid this time. just gentle strokes, like waves lapping at shore.

“stay like this forever,” he says into your skin, not quite awake, not quite dreaming.

you smile, letting your thumb trace little circles against the back of his hand.

“we’ve got all night,” you whisper. “let’s start with that.”

his breathing evens out. yours follows. and somewhere between the tangle of his golden hair and the lull of your fingers, the two of you drift into sleep together—silent, safe, and wrapped up in nothing but love and the rare tranquil hush of a loud world that can wait until morning.

the catalogue

em’s taglist (join here): @burlesquerade @makeitworse @petersasteria @gdinthehouseee @aizshallnotbefound @floofeh-purpi @ldydeath @wcnderlnds @ttturnitup @breakmeoff @sherrayyyyy @ricecake9999 @leni111 @scream-queen-25 @spiritualgirly444 @fairyprincesslvr21 @uuchii @sherxoo @m-325 @slut4junho @galgal-egg @queenofdumbfuckery @lezleeferuson-120 @loveloveloveloverrrr @cherr-y-eji @jinniesgirl @cozypaint @madebybec @allaboutsan @skzbyemmy @skyearby @leeknowsimpstay @lomllino @starlostjisung @xitsjeonglix @nightshadeblooming @btch8008s @professionalcaratdeobi @hanjisrockstar @pochacco-baby @kissesmellow21 @carrotheadedtoast @simpqueen2025 @loonybunny1 @carrotheadedtoast @usernamejjk

[ttturnitup]

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐄 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃

꒷꒦ f!rea x daeho. 1k wc. pwp. dubcon. degradation. rough sex. kinda sadist reader. pathetic dae. 18+

note. requested (surprise i actually did it). for those who hated daeho, you can also enjoy this! lol

it’s only after lights out do you finally slip from your bunk. the air’s thick with sweat and snoring, the only light being the overhead piggy bank. your focus is honed in on the one thing you’d been avoiding like the plague since the sad attempt of an uprising — daeho.

he flinches when you sharply whisper his name, mouth twisting in disgust as if just the word tastes bad. daeho’s already awake, curled up like a puppy that’s preparing to get kicked.

you hadn’t even so much as turned your head in his direction, not since he scampered back to the bunks with his tail between his legs. your group pinned their hopes on him. he’d dangled the prospect of freedom right in front of you, promises of being your knight in shining green tracks. but he lied. he let you all down.

you weren’t about to risk being lumped in with him, not when survival meant staying on the right side of the crowd. you liked him, sure. you’d kissed once or twice during lights out. brushed up against each other in the halls. but that’s all it was — an attraction forged from proximity. in the end, he was still just a stranger, a distraction. whatever passed between you in the walls of this hellscape wouldn’t hold any weight in the real world.

you crouch beside him, watching his large frame shudder in your presence.

"look at me," you rasp. and he does: wide, watery eyes brimming with shame. just what you came for.

“i can’t believe you came back,” you shake your head, lips pursing. “you really thought you were gonna be the hero? that you’d save us all? you made a fool of yourself. and of me.”

daeho doesn’t argue. can’t, really. he’s well aware of the gravity of how badly he fucked up. daeho just nods, biting down on a whimper while you carve him open with your words.

your voice is laced venom as you berate him, quiet and harsh. you say you should’ve known better than to waste time on someone like him. that the kisses meant nothing. that you’d rather die alone than be dragged down with a nobody like him.

and he just listens. breath bated, cheeks flushed. glassy eyes never leaving you. but then mid-sentence, you realise what’s really going on. you notice the hand trembling over his lap — pathetically trying to shield the obvious bulge beneath the thin blanket.

“are you fucking serious?” you scoff, voice curling with disgusted amusement. “you’re hard right now?”

he squeezes his eyes shut. his shoulders shake like he might break. and for a moment, you just stare; let him writhe in the weight of your silence.

you want to be cruel, to walk away and leave him with the shame. but what’s crueler is how you lean in closer.

“you’re goddamn pathetic.”

you climb onto his lap wordlessly — ignoring his full-body jolt and frantic apologies — and pin his wrists to the mattress with full intent to take what you want from him.

what you’ve wanted to do since the first day he bounded up to you with that big, stupid grin like a dog presented with a bone. what could have full-well been his but he ruined. 

“hands stay there,” you warn. “you move and i’m gone.”

“i won’t,” he breathes, voice shaking. “please— don’t go,”

you tune out any more noise from him as you pull both of your pants down enough, coating your fingers in a gob of spit as you prepare yourself for him. you don’t even touch his cock — not until you’re already sitting down on him, filling yourself to the hilt while he fails to stifle a cry. you hook your fingers in his mouth to shut him up, and it’s barely effective when you start actually moving as he only gets even louder. 

“shut up.” you hiss, fingers shooting to the back of his throat as a warning, forcing a gag out of him. he nods around your fingers with a choked whine. 

once again, daeho’s found himself as nothing more than a trembling mess — only this time it’s under your weight as you ride him, your one concern being your own pleasure. 

daeho’s unraveling embarrassingly quick beneath you, hands curling into the sheets like he’s drowning. you’re relentless as you fuck him, the cot squeaking beneath the force of your anger. daeho’s a blabbering, teary wreck, words spilling out between choked gasps.

“i’m sorry, fuck—fuck, i’m so sorry, i’m—”

you slap your hand over the top half of his face, nails digging into his forehead, blocking his view of you. he doesn’t deserve to see you lean in to crush his lips with your own.

you kiss him rough, tongue and teeth crashing — all to shut him up. so he doesn’t wake anyone up and they catch you with the shame of the players. 

he’s still fucking apologising into your mouth, so your teeth catch his bottom lip and bite down, hard enough until you taste copper. 

your hand snatches his neck, fingers pressing down enough to make his voice choke in his throat. “stop it,” you hiss. “i don’t want to hear you.”

you don’t want to be reminded who it is you’re doing this with. you don’t want to see his face, or the pathetic way his tears glisten in the dim light. you just want to take what you need and be done with him for good.

daeho cums too soon like you knew he would. shaking and gasping as he tries to plea your name but you don’t stop. you’re tugging on his lip with your teeth again and letting blood fill your palate. you’re not satisfied. not nearly close.

his body thrashes, overstimulated and begging, but you just keep moving — keeping him pinned with your hand still tight around his throat until he lets up. cock twitching inside you, tears dripping from his face to run over your fingers, daeho just lets you have at him. broken voice whimpering onto your tongue like he knows this is all he’s good for. 

mlist · taglist 〃 note. gihun just watching this all happen

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[ttturnitup]

Love Language | Kwon Ji-yong (G-Dragon)

Summary: Jiyong is always showing you how much he loves you, so you decide to show him how much he’s loved once he gets back from a tour stop. Word Count: 1.3k Warnings: Fluff, but that’s about it. Author’s Note: This is part of @steponupbabe 's 400 follower celebration! I had Love Language and I hope I did it justice. Congrats on the follower, my love, you deserve it! 

Sometimes it surprised you how normal life with Jiyong could be. He was one of the biggest superstars in the world and still found time to make you coffee every morning when he was home. After long flights and sold out shows you were always his top priority. 

It had taken time, of course, for you to believe that Jiyong really did love and care about you. At first you thought it was an act, something he did for all the ladies. But as the years had gone on you’d realized he had just always been very good at reading you. 

Loving you had always come easy, he’d known since the first time he’d met you that you were someone special. Someone he could easily fall for. And he’d been right, realizing he was in love with you a few months after you’d gotten together. You were his safe space, the one person who kept him going while he was on the road. He would do anything to show you just how much he loved you. 

You’d been busy preparing dinner when you heard the front door unlock. Iye ran towards the door, always the first to greet Jiyong while Zoa looked unbothered laying on one of her many cat beds. 

“Jagiya?” Jiyong’s voice rang out down the hall and you grinned as you poured the noodles into two bowls. 

“Kitchen!” You called out. 

“You cooked?” His brow raised, a smile covering his face as he stood in the entryway of the kitchen that was illuminated only by various candlelight.

“Of course. Figured it was time for a home cooked meal.” 

Jiyong’s smile widened, masking how tired he was as he made his way further into the room. His arms wrapped around you tightly and he leaned over planting a kiss on your cheek, his chin resting on your shoulder as he watched you garnish the soup bowl. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a home cooked meal, not that he minded. You both lived such busy lives, it was rare to be home at the same time let alone have time to cook. 

He grabbed the bowls from the counter and headed towards the living room. All he’d wanted to do since he’d gotten off the plane was come home, scoop you up and cuddle on the couch for a while. The soup was just an added bonus. The living room matched the kitchen, candle lights lighting a path all over the penthouse. Who needed overhead lighting? Jiyong deserved to come home to calmness and battery operated candlelight was the best you could do for mood lighting at this hour. 

You followed behind, a bottle of soju in hand. You knew Jiyong well enough to know that a good night cap would help take the edge off his typical travel day. You didn’t know how he did it but he always seemed to be so calm at the airport despite being surrounded by so many fans.  You handed him the bottle, not bothering to bring shot glasses and he smirked before taking a swig. 

“You’re spoiling me, Jagiya.”

“You deserve it, Oppa.” You leaned over, placing a soft kiss to his lips. “My hard working superstar gets whatever he wants.”  

His hand moved to your face, cupping your cheek lightly as he held you in place. He kissed you again, slower, softer, savoring the feel of your lips on his before he broke away, kissing down your jaw. 

“I love you.” He whispered in your ear before he pulled away completely to pick his soup up.

You ate in silence, the warmth of the soup soothing his throat. The bottle of soju being passed back in fourth like a silent agreement had been made to finish the bottle. The pineapple flavor adding a sweetness to balance out the spice of the soup you’d made. If Jiyong didn’t know better he’d think you were trying to butter him up. 

Once the food and the soju were gone, Jiyong pulled you to him, positioning you both so you were laying comfortably on the couch. A movie had been turned on in the background but neither of you were paying attention to it.

Jiyong had spent the majority of the movie telling you all about his most recent shows, a wide grin on his face. It warmed your heart to see him so happy, so content. You of course would watch fan uploads while he was gone to check in. You weren’t sure you’d ever fully recovered from his last tour, how worried you’d been about him back then. But this was a whole new Jiyong and you were so glad he was finally happy on the stage. 

“I saw you break your mic stand and call it baby.” You teased, giving him a pointed look. “I’ve been begging for years for you to call me baby. And the mic stand gets it first.” Jiyong laughed, pulling you closer. 

“Baby doesn’t have the same ring to it. You’re Jagiya. I can’t change it now. And she's a she, not an it. Respect my mic stand wife.” 

“You’re the worst.” You teased, your head burning into his chest, which was still shaking with laughter. 

“I’ll call you baby if you really want me to.” Your head shot up, your eyes wide.

“Really?” He nodded. “Go on then.” 

“I love you, baby.” Your heart fluttered and you fell back on him with a content sigh.

“What do you want in return?” He shrugged, his hand absentmindedly running up and down your back. 

“I have everything I could ever need or want, right here.” 

He always knew exactly what to say to make you melt. This was supposed to be your night to give him everything he needed, show him how much you loved and cared for him and yet here he was making sure you knew how much he loved you too. 

“I love you too, by the way. I feel like I haven’t said it since you got home.” You looked up, your chin resting on his chest and he smirked. 

“You have, though. Maybe not outloud, but I know you love me. It’s in the way you take care of me.” 

“Yeah, but. I do love you. More than I’ve ever loved anyone else.” 

“I know, Jagiya, I know. I love you too.” 

Your gaze turned to the movie, deciding to finally give it some attention. Jiyong had picked it out so you knew it was going to be good, even if you’d missed half of it. Jiyong’s eyes stayed focused on you, though. As much as he loved being on that stage, he loved coming home to you more. He smirked as he watched you fall asleep, his arms tightening around you, not wanting to move you yet.

You awoke to the feeling of Jiyong lifting you. Not wanting to wake you, he’d opted to just carry you to bed but the sudden movement had woken you in the process.

“Where are we going?” You mumbled as you snuggled into his arms.

“Bed.” He whispered, kissing the top of your head gently before making his way to your shared room. He placed you in bed gently before stripping off his shirt and pants and crawling into bed with you. 

He pulled you to him, your lips finding his even in your sleepy state, kissing him softly before sleep took you again. You’d had plans to stay up all night, knowing how lonely it felt for him post show. But Jiyong didn’t feel alone anymore, not when he had you to come home to. He watched you sleep for awhile, a content smile on his face. 

As he watched you sleep, his heart full of love and adoration, he knew he could do this forever. Loving you had always been easy, he knew that would never change. He also knew that there was nothing he couldn’t do with you by his side. 

“I love you.” He whispered before he finally allowed himself to fully relax next to you.

You’d spoiled him today, which meant it was his turn tomorrow. And as he drifted off to sleep with you in between his arms, he knew just what he was going to do.

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