cupidsonly

[cupidsonly]

the weak hero class 1 reference in tastefully yours

“…which high school did you go to?”

[cupidsonly]

yes in every way imaginable

━━━ TEACH ME, TOO

ㅤsypnosis ⁝ㅤㅤa curious question turns into something much more intimate — with su-ho being surprisingly good at teaching.ㅤㅤ〝 cw.ㅤㅤprotected sex, oral sex ( f & m rec. ), light praise kink, best friends to ??ㅤㅤ﹪ㅤㅤ𝖺𝗁𝗇 𝗌𝗎-𝗁𝗈 × 𝖿!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

you met su-ho during orientation week — he was late, loud, and still somehow the most magnetic person in the room. you were the opposite. quieter, awkward, unsure where to stand, too anxious to even hold your own schedule right-side-up.

you remember it clearly: him crashing into a folding chair, laughing too hard, calling your name like he already knew it. he made you feel like you belonged in a room you had just started shrinking away from. and that’s all it really took.

from then on, it was you and su-ho. always in the same frame. your classmates joked about it constantly — if they saw one, they expected the other. he became your person, the one who waited outside your labs, the one who shared earphones on the train back, the one who’d text ‘yo dummy u eat yet’ at ungodly hours like it was part of your daily survival.

you were different, but you got each other. he’d distract you during exams, you’d calm him down before presentations. it just.. worked. and maybe that’s why no one ever suspected anything deeper. not even you.

you were used to being mistaken for the girl who liked si-eun — he was the calm one, the smart one, the one people admired from a distance. and truthfully? you did admire him.

it was hard not to. but it never made your stomach flip. not like the way su-ho looked at you sometimes. not like the way he’d lean back on his arms, grin at you sideways, and say things like “what, you thinking dirty thoughts or something?” just because you zoned out for two seconds.

you laughed it off like always. he joked about everything. teased like it was his default language. but lately — lately, it’s been harder to ignore how warm your face gets. how your chest does that annoying twisty thing when he slings an arm over your shoulder. how you catch yourself wondering if he actually knows more than he lets on.

because the thing is — you don’t know anything. not really. not when it comes to sex. not beyond vague textbook definitions and secondhand stories from friends. you never bothered asking before. it always felt far away, not something meant for you.

until you realized you didn’t want to be left behind.

until you realized you wanted to understand.

and more than that — more than anything — you wanted to ask him.

you weren’t sure why at first. maybe it was because su-ho always made you feel safe, even when you were dumb or confused or too flustered to speak. maybe it was because he never made you feel stupid for not knowing.

maybe it was because part of you, deep down, knew he’d be honest. or maybe it was just the way he said your name sometimes. like he was waiting for you to ask something — anything.

you don’t know when exactly it started. the way your eyes would linger on his lips when he laughed. the way your heart did that unexplainable flutter when he licked honey off his thumb one morning during breakfast. it wasn’t about romance. it wasn’t about being in love. it was about wanting to know. about needing to understand.

and su-ho.. su-ho was the first person that came to mind.

it’s little things, really. the things you used to ignore. like how su-ho always sprawls himself out across your bed when he visits, like it’s his own. he’ll toss his phone aside, prop himself up on one elbow, shirt riding a little too high, and say, “you’re not gonna fail your midterms if you lie down for five minutes. c’mon.” and you’ll cave. you always do. you’ll end up beside him, shoulder to shoulder, his knee brushing yours.

he never moves away. there’s no reason to panic, you tell yourself. you’re friends. he’s like this with everyone. maybe he just doesn’t care about personal space.

maybe the way his voice dips a little when he calls you “baby” is just a joke. he says that to strangers too, doesn’t he?

but then there are the nights he talks quieter. like when you’re both half-asleep after cramming for exams, the light from your desk still casting a soft gold against the room.

he’ll mutter something like, “you’re too cute when you’re sleepy, y’know that?” and you’ll freeze. because it doesn’t feel like a joke. not then.

and maybe he doesn’t realize the effect he has on you. maybe he doesn’t see the way your breath catches when he leans over your shoulder to check your notes, the warmth of his chest ghosting your back.

maybe he doesn’t notice the way your thighs press together when he lounges back and pats the space between his legs with a casual, “you can sit here, dummy. I don’t bite.”

but you notice.

you notice everything now.

you notice how he smells — like warm fabric softener and that faint trace of cologne he probably thinks you don’t recognize. you notice the way his hands look when he’s typing or fiddling with his rings.

you notice how low his voice can drop when he’s serious — or when he’s annoyed, like that time someone tried to flirt with you at a party. he got quiet. didn’t say anything for ten minutes after.

just passed you your drink and stared across the room like he was trying to set something on fire. and yet, even with all of that — with how aware you’ve become of him — you still don’t know how to bring it up. not the way you want to.

not the way it’s started echoing in your head at night, in the quiet moments between being awake and asleep.

you’ve had dreams. not always clear, not always intense — but enough. enough to wake up and feel heat between your thighs, confusion in your chest. enough to leave you sitting there, alone in your sheets, wondering what it would feel like.

to be touched.

to be wanted.

to be taught.

and for some reason, you can’t imagine anyone else doing it but su-ho.

not si-eun, not a stranger, not someone from a checklist. just him. the boy who knows your favorite drink and the password to your phone. the one who holds your wrist when you’re walking through crowded streets. the one who grins like he’s never met someone funnier than you, even when you’re not trying.

you’re not in love, you don’t think. but you do think about how it would feel to be touched by someone who already knows all your soft parts.

who’s already seen you at your most unguarded. who calls you “trouble” in the same breath he offers you his last bite of food.

you wonder — if he touched you, would it still feel like friendship? or would it finally feel like the answer to everything you’ve been too scared to ask?

it happens on a thursday. nothing particularly special about it — your classes ended early, your hair’s still a little damp from a rushed shower, and su-ho’s on your bed again, hoodie sleeves pushed up, legs stretched long like always.

he’s scrolling through something aimlessly on your phone, and you’re sitting at your desk, pretending to be preoccupied with your laptop, but mostly just staring at nothing.

there’s something different in the air today. maybe it’s just you. maybe you’ve been holding it in too long. you’ve gone through every possible version of this in your head: how to say it, how he might react, what it would mean.

maybe he’d laugh. maybe he’d tease you for the rest of your life. or maybe — just maybe — he’d say yes. and it’s that maybe that makes your stomach twist.

that makes your fingers tighten around your mug and your tongue feel too big for your mouth. you don’t look at him when you finally say it.

“can I ask you something?”

your voice comes out smaller than expected. like you’re already regretting the thought. he hums lazily, doesn’t look up. “you just did.”

“no, like—seriously.”

that gets his attention. he shifts, sits up a bit straighter, and turns to you, brows raised. “you good?”

you nod, too fast. “yeah. yeah, just—”

the words feel heavier in your mouth than they did in your head. this felt easier when it was 1am and you were half-asleep and desperate. now, with him actually looking at you, it feels like you’re about to step off a cliff with your eyes wide open.

“can you teach me?”

he blinks. “teach you what?”

you don’t really know how long you sit there, legs tucked under you on the edge of your chair, while su-ho stays crouched in front of you like he’s not even thinking about how awkward that must feel for his knees.

there’s something in his eyes that you haven’t seen before — not even when he’s being overly gentle, not even when he’s drunk and slurring jokes and leaning his weight on you like he trusts you to carry it..

“so,” he starts again, voice low, a little careful. “when you say ‘teach,’ what exactly do you mean?”

you hesitate, then — in the quietest voice you’ve ever used — you say, “about sex.”

the silence that follows is unreal. like the air thins, like time stalls for a second too long. you want to hide. maybe crawl under your desk. maybe vanish entirely. but then you hear him shift again, a soft rustle of fabric, and when you finally glance at him —

his expression isn’t mocking, it isn’t judgmental, it’s just still. quiet, a little wide-eyed, like he’s trying to make sure he heard you right.

“wait,” he says, voice low. “you’re serious?”

you nodded, your throat is dry. his brows furrow slightly, but there’s no laughter, no teasing. just something unreadable flickering across his face. he leans forward, elbows on his knees, eyes searching yours.

you swallow. “I mean—like, I know what sex is, obviously. I just…” you trail off, scrunching your face. “I don’t know what it’s actually like. or how to do it. or what’s supposed to feel good. i’ve never done anything. not even with myself.”

his brows lift, surprised — but not in a mocking way. if anything, he looks more thoughtful. his voice stays quiet, almost too gentle.

“you’ve never?”

you shake your head. “no.”

“not even kissing?”

“not really. maybe like… dumb little pecks in high school. never something serious.”

su-ho exhales slowly through his nose and leans back a little, settling cross-legged on your rug now, chin tilted up to still meet your gaze. “okay. wow. okay.”

“is that bad?”

“no,” he says quickly, firmly. “not bad. not at all. it’s just—” he runs a hand through his hair, a little stunned. “i didn’t know. you never seemed like someone who’d be shy about stuff like this.”

you shrug, suddenly very interested in your desk lamp. “I guess I just never trusted anyone enough. or cared enough. until…”

you don’t finish the sentence. you don’t have to. he looks at you for a long moment. and then his expression softens.

“okay,” he says again, slower this time. “so you’re not asking me for a hookup. you’re asking me to… guide you?”

you nod.

“and this is what you want?”

you glance at him, then down at your hands. “I think so. but I don’t want to regret anything. I don’t want it to feel like… just a lesson. like you’re doing me a favor or something.”

he shakes his head, almost laughing under his breath. “believe me,” he mutters, “if I didn’t want it, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.”

you look up. “you’d want to? with me?”

he rolls his eyes a little, teasing now. “you’re cute, you know that?”

your heart jumps stupidly.

but he’s already reaching for your hand, holding it between both of his like it’s nothing — like it’s something he’s always wanted to do but never got around to.

“look,” he says, thumbs brushing slow circles into your skin. “if we do anything, I want it to be because you feel safe. because you’re curious and I get to help you understand your body. not because you think you’re behind or missing out.”

you nod again, slower this time. “I just want to feel close to someone. and I… I guess I trust you the most.”

his smile turns soft, so soft it feels like a hug.

“then we’ll take it slow,” he murmurs. “you set the pace. we talk through everything. and we stop whenever you feel weird, no questions asked.”

your chest tightens in the best kind of way. not scared. not shy. just warm. like you’re really being held, even without his arms around you.

“can I ask things?” you say. “like, stupid things?”

“you can ask me anything,” he says. “even if it’s what that little flap on condoms is for.”

you laugh, a little too loud. “you know I almost asked you that once.”

“I know. I saw you hovering over the search bar in incognito mode.”

you groan, tossing your head back, but su-ho’s grinning now, bright and proud like he lives to make you flustered.

“so, okay,” he says. “i’ll answer stuff. we’ll go slow. and we’ll make it, y’know… a learning experience. a good one. no pressure. no tests at the end. just…” he pauses. “just me and you. figuring it out together.”

you squeeze his hand back, and when you finally look up again — his eyes are still soft. still watching you like you’re something rare and good. and for once, you believe it.

the first time his mouth finds its way between your legs, it’s nothing like what your imagination tried to prepare you for.

there’s no rush, no hunger, no mess of fingers fumbling to strip you bare all at once. just su-ho, kneeling at the edge of your bed, coaxing you to lie back while his hands trail slow up your thighs, his eyes never leaving yours.

“i’m gonna teach you how to enjoy this,” he murmurs, thumbs pressing softly at the inside of your knees to spread them apart. “and how to tell me what feels good. okay?”

your voice comes out small. “okay.”

he leans down, kisses your knee. then a little higher. then a little higher than that.

you’re already wet — he makes some low, surprised noise when he slides your underwear down and sees it for himself — but he doesn’t tease. doesn’t smirk or comment or make you feel like this is some joke.

instead, his hands keep you open, warm and steady, while his mouth lowers between your legs like it belongs there. the first press of his tongue to your slit makes you twitch.

“oh—”

“it’s okay,” he says, voice muffled but soothing. “just relax. tell me if anything feels too much.”

and then he starts again.

soft, slow licks at first, more about getting you used to the feeling than chasing anything. you feel like you’re floating — like your whole body’s pulling taut, breath catching every time he flattens his tongue against your cunt and draws a long stripe up through your folds. when he finds your clit, you nearly jolt again, gasping.

“there?” he murmurs. “that sensitive?”

you nod quickly. “yeah—y-yeah.” he hums, and the vibration makes you arch slightly.

“good,” he says. “it’ll get more sensitive the more turned on you are. it’s not about pressure—it’s about rhythm. like this.”

he circles it gently with the tip of his tongue, again and again, unhurried, careful not to overwhelm you too quickly. his hands stroke over your thighs, calming you as your body stutters and writhes. the sounds coming from you are soft, unsure, breathy little moans that escape before you can stop them.

he lifts his head only briefly. “you’re doing so good, baby. i’m proud of you.”

that single sentence makes your heart squeeze, makes your hips lift up for more. he smiles, then goes back in — and this time he’s firmer, more purposeful. you can tell he’s been holding back, and now that he knows you’re okay, he gives in a little more.

suckling your clit between his lips, tracing his tongue in slick circles, pausing every few seconds to hear how your breath catches, to listen to what makes you moan.

you’re not even thinking when you whisper, “I feel something—i think—”

“let it happen,” he whispers against you. “don’t be scared. let it build.”

and when it does — when the knot inside you snaps and everything floods hot and sharp and overwhelming — you feel his hands hold you down, grounding you, his mouth never leaving you until it all ebbs and your legs are shaking.

you don’t even realize there are tears in your eyes until he’s crawling up your body, wiping them away gently.

“too much?”

you shake your head. “no. that was… that was so good.”

he kisses your forehead. then your lips. “told you.”

you laugh breathlessly. “you’re actually a really good teacher.” he smirks at that, but it fades into something softer. more thoughtful.

“wanna try something now?” he asks, settling beside you. “you don’t have to, but if you want, I can show you what I like too.”

you nod. “yeah.. I want to. teach me, I asked for this, remember?”

he breathes out slowly, like he wasn’t expecting you to say yes so quickly.

“okay,” he says. “c’mere.”

he guides your hand down first — shows you how to unbutton his jeans, how to ease them down. his cock is already hard, flushed, leaking at the tip, and when your eyes widen, he grins.

“it looks big,” you mumble.

“it won’t hurt,” he promises. “not if we go slow. and besides, i’m not asking you to take it all. not yet.”

you swallow. “so… what do I do?”

he leans back slightly against the pillows, voice a low rumble now.

“start with your hand,” he says. “wrap your fingers around it, gentle. just like that—yeah. perfect.”

you’re fascinated. it’s hot and heavy in your grip, pulsing a little when you stroke up. su-ho groans, a quiet sound that sends a jolt straight between your legs again.

“use your thumb,” he pants. “over the tip. fuck—that’s it. damn, you’re a fast learner.”

you watch his face as he reacts to every little thing you try, how his jaw clenches when you squeeze a little, how his chest rises when you lick a tentative stripe up the length of his cock.

he guides you without pressure, encouraging you softly, telling you what feels good, what he likes.

“use your mouth,” he breathes. “just the tip. go slow, baby. just like that—fuck.”

his hand settles lightly at the back of your head but doesn’t push, just rests there, as you wrap your lips around him. it’s warm, salty, a little overwhelming — but the way he moans your name makes you want to keep going.

he’s so vocal, breathy and praising between gasps. “you’re doing so good,” he whispers. “so pretty like this. your mouth feels so fucking nice—shit.”

you hollow your cheeks, experiment with your tongue, and when you glance up at him, when your eyes meet his while you suck slowly, he curses under his breath and pulls you off with a shaky hand.

“if you keep going,” he says, voice wrecked, “i’ll come. and I don’t wanna come yet.”

you smile, dazed, lips slick with spit. “was i good?” he laughs, short, breathless, affectionate.

“you’re perfect.” and then he leans in to kiss you again, deeper this time.

“you okay?” su-ho asks again, quieter now, brushing your hair away from your face. his thumb strokes your cheek while his other hand rests over your waist, the heat of his palm grounding you, still holding onto the last of your breathless high from before.

you nod. “mm-hmm.” then softer, “more than okay.”

he smiles, then leans in and kisses you gently — slow, like he’s giving you time to change your mind, even now.

but when you kiss him back with that same neediness you’ve been carrying since you first asked him to teach you, his hand slides lower, resting on your hip.

“you wanna keep going?”

you nod again. “yeah. I… I think I want to try.”

his gaze scans your face. you know he’s checking for nerves, doubt, fear — but all he finds is a quiet kind of trust. something that makes his voice go softer when he speaks again.

“okay,” he says, “but we talk first. that’s part of it too.”

you blink. “talk?”

he nods. “before sex. especially your first time. communication makes everything better. safer. and honestly?” he grins a little, “hotter too.”

you bite your lip. “what do we talk about?”

“a few things,” he murmurs, kissing down your jaw. “protection first.”

he shifts away for a moment, reaching for his backpack on the floor. he pulls something out — silver foil, crinkly — and raises his brows at you like he’s been waiting to use it for this exact moment.

“su-ho,” you say slowly, “why do you have a condom in your backpack.”

he snorts. “remember the frat party? si-eun and I saw it in the cr, he didn't want it so I picked it up.”

you roll your eyes. “you guys are idiots.”

“probably,” he shrugs. “but at least i’m a responsible idiot.” you watch as he sets the condom gently on the nightstand, not rushing to open it.

“we use this,” he says, “every time. unless we both get tested and talk about it first. cool?” you nod. “cool.”

he smiles. “good. next topic: positions.” you blinked, “there’s more than one?”

his laugh is soft, affectionate. “there are a lot. but for your first time, we should pick one that feels safest and lets me see your face. missionary’s the classic. I can also be on my knees with your legs over my thighs. or we can spoon. slow and close.”

you flush, trying to picture any of them. “you choose. I trust you.”

his gaze warms at that, softening again in that way you’ve only ever seen in rare moments.

“then we’ll go slow. missionary. but we can adjust anything if it gets uncomfortable. just tell me, alright?”

you hum a quiet okay, and then he leans in closer. “next,” he says, voice lower now, “I wanna know what turns you on.”

your eyes widen. “I—I don’t know yet?” he nods, unbothered. “that’s fine. that’s what this is for. we’ll find out together.”

his fingers trail up your bare thigh again, light and thoughtful. “some people like rough. some like being praised. some like being told what to do. or doing the touching. or slow teasing. you reacted to my voice earlier, when I praised you.”

you flush, remembering.

“I think you like being talked to,” he murmurs, his voice dipping, lips brushing your ear. “you like feeling good and hearing how good you’re doing. am I right?”

you breathe out shakily. “yeah…”

he smiles, kisses your neck. “good. that’s a start. anything you don’t want to try?”

you think. then shake your head. “i’ll tell you if something feels off.”

“perfect,” he says, then kisses you again. this time, his body presses more firmly into yours, and you can feel him — his cock heavy against your thigh through his boxers, thick and pulsing with restraint.

“last question,” he murmurs. “do you want me now?”

you meet his eyes. “yes.”

he nods once, slowly, and then everything moves like a softened blur: his fingers easing between your legs, gently checking, making sure you’re still wet, still relaxed. then him rolling the condom on with practiced care, breath hitching when your hand lingers on his hip.

when he kneels between your legs, you shift beneath him, legs opening, heart thudding in your chest.

“you sure?”

“yes,” you whisper again, this time steadier. “please.”

he exhales slowly — then reaches to guide himself to your entrance. “deep breath,” he says softly. “just relax.”

you did, and the first push is slow, barely there, until your body stretches around him. it’s strange, at first — tight, full, unfamiliar — but he holds still, whispering praise, letting you adjust.

“you feel amazing,” he breathes. “so warm, so tight. doing so good, baby.”

he kisses you through the sting, rubs your clit gently to distract you, and only when you nod again — wordless, aching — does he move. slow. so slow.

you feel him first, hovering over you, his body heat settling around you like a blanket, his fingers brushing your cheek so gently it almost makes you shiver.

the moment feels quiet, almost suspended in time, as if the air around you recognizes the shift — how the weight of what you’re doing finally lands between your ribs and expands there, soft and all-consuming.

su-ho’s gaze, as always, is steady and sure, but there’s a kind of reverence in his expression now, something new that makes your heart skip.

his hands are careful, so careful, as he rolls the condom down the length of his cock, fingers trembling slightly despite how composed he always seems. he aligns himself to your entrance, his eyes not leaving yours even once.

“tell me the second you feel uncomfortable,” he whispers, voice already low and thick. “and if you want to stop—”

“I won’t,” you murmur, fingers curling around his wrist where he steadies himself beside your head. “I just… want to know what it feels like. with you.”

he breathes out through his nose. closes his eyes for a second. and when they open again, they’ve darkened, not with lust alone, but something deeper. a kind of hunger laced with restraint. a kind of want that you know he’s held back for a while.

his hips move slowly, guiding the tip of his cock to your entrance, where you’re already soaked for him, eager and warm and open. he pushes in slowly, inch by inch, stretching you gently, pausing when he feels your breath hitch.

“okay?” he asks again, jaw clenched tight, the muscles in his forearm straining as he holds himself still.

you nod, voice barely a whisper. “keep going.”

so he does. gradually. so slow that every bit of him feels distinct as he slides into you — the stretch, the burn, the fullness of it. you gasp softly, head tipping back into the pillow, one hand flying to grip the sheets while the other stays pressed against his chest, feeling the thrum of his heart.

he doesn’t move for a long second once he’s fully inside, buried in you to the hilt. you can feel him shaking slightly, his breath warm against your shoulder, a soft groan vibrating in his throat as he tries to stay still.

“you’re so tight,” he finally breathes, and it sounds like a confession. “feels like you’re made for me.”

you feel yourself clench at his words, and he groans again, deeper this time. you nod, giving him permission, and that’s all it takes — he starts to move, slow and steady, each thrust a gentle press of his hips against yours, a roll rather than a sharp snap. the drag of him inside you is like nothing you’ve ever felt, so overwhelming and yet addictively good, like it lights something up inside you you didn’t know was there.

your legs wrap around him without thinking, pulling him closer, and the new angle has him hitting a spot that makes your mouth fall open. he notices immediately, adjusting again to make sure every thrust brushes right there.

“right there?” he asks, voice strained, lips brushing your ear.

“yeah,” you gasp, arms wrapping around his back now, clinging. “feels so—su-ho, please—”

“fuck,” he breathes, hips pushing deeper now, grinding down just enough to make your entire body tremble under him. “you’re so warm. you’re doing so well, baby.”

the endearment makes your stomach twist in the best way, and when his thumb drifts between your legs again, circling your clit in slow, practiced movements, it pushes you closer to the edge so fast your vision blurs.

he watches your face the entire time. every expression, every sound. he’s studying you with the same intensity he brings to everything else, but this time, it’s just for you.

“look at you,” he murmurs, watching the way your face twists with every grind of his hips. “taking all of me. like you were made for it.”

you moan, and he groans in return — like he’s feeling how much you want this. his pace picks up a little. not rushed, just deeper. more deliberate. your walls pulse around him and he curses again, biting back the urge to just let go.

“you don’t even know what you do to me,” he grits out, pressing his forehead to yours. “every sound you make—every little gasp—it’s fucking perfect.”

you can barely answer him, too focused on the slow roll of his hips and the weight of him inside you. but your hands move on their own, clutching his back, your nails dragging lightly across his skin.

he gasps. “shit—do that again.” you did, and he thrusts deeper. you whimper his name, and his rhythm stutters.

“you close?” he asks, thumb still moving, his cock grinding into that perfect spot over and over again.

“so close,” you manage, hips bucking up against his. “su-ho, i’m—”

“cum for me,” he whispers, his thrusts picking up, still deep but just a little faster now. “let me feel you.”

and you do. everything tightens, your legs locking around his waist, your walls clenching down on him so hard he groans your name like it’s a prayer, his forehead falling to your shoulder.

you tremble under him, your climax washing over you in waves, and it’s only a few thrusts later that he follows, hips jerking forward as he cums deep inside the condom with a low, desperate sound.

for a moment, the only sound in the room is your breathing, tangled and uneven, in sync. he stays there, bodies still connected, his weight resting gently over you, careful not to crush you but unwilling to pull away just yet.

he presses a kiss to your temple. then your cheek. then your shoulder. “you okay?” he asks again, softer this time. almost reverent.

you nod slowly, arms still holding him close. “yeah. better than okay.”

he exhales, and you feel the tension drain from him all at once. “you were… incredible.”

“you too,” you murmur, smiling into his neck. “best lesson ever.”

he laughs softly, and you feel it echo in his chest. “we’ll have to review next week, then.” you roll your eyes but kiss his jaw anyway.

you’re both still wrapped up in each other, limbs tangled and breathing gradually slowing down, the quiet hum of the night pressing in around you like a gentle lullaby. you didn’t move for a while, just letting his body settle over yours, the weight of him heavy and warm and safe.

his chest rises and falls in slow, even breaths right against your back, and you can’t help but feel a kind of calm you didn’t expect — like all the noise inside your head has finally quieted down. it’s strange how something so simple as just being held could feel like the most important thing in the world.

his fingers begin to roam gently, tracing soft, aimless patterns on your arm. the touch is featherlight, like a whisper, but it grounds you in a way nothing else can. you let your hand find his, fingers curling around his palm instinctively, and he squeezes back, the pressure steady and reassuring. no words are needed right now — the silence between you is comfortable, filled with understanding and something close to reverence.

“you did really well,” his voice is low, thick with a tenderness you haven’t heard from him before. “better than I expected.” there’s a pause, and you can hear him swallow the hint of vulnerability in his own admission. “i’m proud of you.”

you smile softly, your breath catching when he presses a gentle kiss just below your ear, the warmth of his lips lingering there like a promise. “you made it easy,” you say, voice barely more than a breath, but you mean it. it’s not just his skill — it’s how careful he is, how present, how much he respects you.

he shifts slightly, pressing another kiss against your temple, then your cheek, slow and deliberate like he’s memorizing every inch of your face. “we’ll go at whatever pace you want,” he murmurs, fingers weaving through your hair, the touch light and soothing. “there’s no rush here. this is your time. your experience.”

you close your eyes and lean into him, letting the softness of his words and the warmth of his skin wash over you. there’s no pressure, no expectations — just this quiet bubble of safety and trust you never knew you needed but always wanted.

your fingers trace lazy circles on his forearm, feeling the taut muscle beneath his skin and the steady beat of his pulse. “thank you,” you whisper, meaning more than just the moment. for the patience, for the care, for being the first person who made you feel like you could explore this without fear or shame.

he hums softly, lips brushing the nape of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. “I want you to feel comfortable. to know that with me, it’s always okay to ask, to say no, to take a break—whatever you need.”

you nod against him, the trust between you deepening with every word. “i’m glad it’s you,” you say quietly. “I don’t think I could’ve done this with anyone else.”

he smiles against your skin, the movement gentle and full of warmth. “and i’m glad it’s you.”

time stretches around you both, slow and easy. you talk in hushed tones about everything and nothing —

about your favorite music, the dumb jokes he made that morning, su-ho’s surprising seriousness when it comes to protecting the people he cares about. your voices blend together like a quiet symphony, filling the room with something real and alive.

eventually, he shifts, pulling you closer into a warm embrace, your faces mere inches apart. “class tomorrow together, yeah?” he asks softly, thumb stroking along your collarbone. “i’ll walk you to every lecture. maybe we can grab something after.”

you smile, heart fluttering in a way that feels new but right. “i’d like that.”

it felt easy, honest. like something real could start from this, not because you were rushing into anything, but because there was trust here. because with him, it didn’t feel scary. it just felt right.

[cupidsonly]

EEEEEEKKK THIS WAS SO GOOD I LOVE IT

━━━ SMART BOY, SHOW ME

ㅤsypnosis ⁝ㅤㅤif you were going to learn anything, why not ask the smartest person you know ?ㅤㅤ〝 cw.ㅤㅤprotected sex, mentions of virginity ﹢ sexual curiosity, light body worship / praise, best friends to ??ㅤㅤ﹪ㅤㅤ𝗒𝗈𝗈𝗇 𝗌𝗂-𝖾𝗎𝗇 × 𝖿!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

you met si-eun when you were sixteen. he sat alone at the back of the classroom, a thin shadow against the window, always half-lit by grey skies and never once acknowledging the chatter around him. he was the type of person who didn’t seem real at first. quiet in a way that wasn’t shy, just detached. still. not like a boy, but like a blade, folded cold and sharp.

you, on the other hand, were always a little too soft. not dumb. not loud. just… curious in a way people didn’t always understand. you liked to ask questions no one else thought to ask. and si-eun, for all his silence, never once ignored you when you did.

the first time you spoke to him, you asked if he liked the rain. he looked at you for a long moment, eyes unreadable, and said, “i don’t like or dislike things. they just happen.” you nodded. then sat beside him the next day. and every day after that.

friendship with si-eun wasn’t simple. he didn’t laugh much. didn’t talk unless there was something to say. but you learned to read the space between his words. how his fingers twitched when he was thinking hard. how he always bought two bottles of water and silently handed you one without asking. how he walked you home when the sun went down, even if he never said why.

you got used to it — his silence, his stares, the way he always seemed like he was calculating the world and choosing you anyway.

people didn’t get it. they said si-eun was scary. too smart. too closed off. and maybe he was. but not with you.

with you, he listened. when you asked about physics, he explained. when you forgot things, he remembered. when you cried over a bad grade, he let you sulk in his room and only rolled his eyes once, before quietly pushing a packet of snacks your way.

you admired him. that was the simplest truth of it all. not in a puppy love way. not like those girls who whispered about him in the halls. you admired the way he always knew what to do. how he seemed immune to everything that confused you — emotions, impulses, the mess of being young. si-eun had answers. you.. had questions.

you always thought si-eun was a little unreal. not in the dramatic, daydream kind of way. more like he didn’t seem to belong to the same world as everyone else. while your classmates stumbled over themselves, trying to be liked or seen or chosen, si-eun just existed. unbothered. untouched. like the rules everyone else followed didn’t apply to him, and maybe they didn’t.

he was too smart, too fast, too aware of everything. not just in class — though his grades made teachers swoon — but in fights too, the kind that happened in empty stairwells or behind buildings when someone pushed too far. he always won. but to you, he was just si-eun.

you, who couldn’t punch a wall without crying. who didn’t understand half the formulas written on the board. who walked through the world like it was full of things you hadn’t figured out yet. and somehow, for reasons you never fully grasped, he liked being around you.

sometimes you wondered why. you talked too much. you asked questions that made other people look at you funny. once you asked si-eun if he believed in ghosts and spent the next fifteen minutes rambling about the difference between spirits and shadows. he didn’t interrupt. didn’t laugh. just listened, completely still, until you trailed off with a sheepish “…never mind.”

“I think you’re more interesting than a textbook,” he said after a beat and hell you didn’t stop smiling for hours.

the others noticed it, of course. “why does he only talk to you?” su-ho once asked, mouth full of snack crumbs and voice full of suspicion. “like, what do you even do to him?”

“is he maybe into weird girls?” he snorted, dodging a soda can you threw at his head. “it’s kinda funny watching him look at you like that.” he added.

you had no idea what su-ho or they meant. you weren’t doing anything. si-eun was just your friend. your weird, closed-off, unnaturally competent friend who let you fall asleep on his shoulder during movie nights and always stood a little too close in crowded places.

who handed you napkins without being asked when you spilled something. who once got a nosebleed during a fight and still texted you right after: you need help with physics tomorrow?

you didn’t overthink it. you admired him, sure. everyone did. but your admiration was different.

you liked how he remembered small things. like how you hated seafood and couldn’t drink coffee without sugar. you liked how he never tried to make you feel smaller for being confused or slow. even when you whined and said things like “i’m gonna drop out and open a flower shop,” si-eun just nodded and said, “you’d be good at that.”

he didn’t say things unless he meant them. and that made you want to believe every word that came out of his mouth. he wasn’t as expressionless as people thought, either. you learned how to read him.

when he was annoyed, he’d tap his fingers — short, quick movements like he was trying not to snap. when he was amused, he’d blink a little slower, the corners of his mouth twitching like he was trying not to smile.

and when he looked at you, sometimes — just sometimes — there was something different in his eyes. not fondness, exactly. something heavier. softer. you didn’t know what to call it, but it made your skin feel too warm.

si-eun wasn’t much of a talker, but he never shut you out. not really. once, you asked him if he liked being your friend. it was a stupid question. you regretted it the second it left your mouth.

but he looked at you and said, “you’re the only person who makes me feel like.. i’m not just good for fixing things.” you didn’t say anything back. just leaned against him and hoped he could hear your heartbeat. it was loud. embarrassingly so.

and now, you were in si-eun’s room again, the one place that never changed. the curtains were still half-drawn, the light outside dim enough to make everything inside feel like it was holding its breath.

his desk was organized like always — books stacked in perfect columns, black pens lined in a row, a digital clock ticking too quietly. you were on the floor, stretched out on your stomach, chin propped up on your arms, your phone somewhere nearby but forgotten.

si-eun sat behind you, back against the wall, legs stretched long beside yours. he was scrolling through something on his tablet, probably notes you wouldn’t understand even if you tried. you didn’t know why your heart had been beating too fast all day.

maybe it was because you’d started noticing things you used to ignore. like the way his hair had grown just a little longer over his ears. or how his sleeves were pushed up, exposing veins and wrist bones and that thin scar on his forearm that you’d once touched without thinking.

or how his voice sounded different when he talked to you — slower, quieter, like he didn’t need to say much at all to keep you listening. you couldn’t focus. your thoughts were loud in your head, tangled up and restless.

you were thinking about how you’d never kissed anyone before. not seriously. not properly. and you weren’t embarrassed, exactly — it just felt strange. like you were missing something that everyone else seemed to understand instinctively. like you were too far behind, and eventually someone would find out.

but the real problem wasn’t the kiss. it was that you kept thinking about what it might be like if si-eun was the one to teach you. the thought had been creeping in lately. quiet, uninvited. the way his mouth would feel. the way his hand might tilt your jaw.

the way he’d look at you after. it didn’t make sense — you weren’t dating. he wasn’t flirty. he wasn’t even particularly gentle. but there was something in the way he always noticed you. something that made your stomach twist and your fingers curl.

so you said it. you didn’t even mean to. it just slipped out, too casual, too soft, like a pebble dropped into still water.

“hey… can I ask you something?”

si-eun hummed. not looking up yet.

“it’s gonna sound really dumb.”

he glanced at you then. his face was unreadable, but you could feel his attention sharpening. he always listened like that — completely, like he was watching a wire for signs of tension.

you hesitated. your skin prickled.

“…do you know how to kiss someone?”

the silence hit you immediately. thick. loaded. you almost regretted saying it — almost laughed it off, ready to cover it up with a joke, but then he sat forward slightly, tablet lowering to his lap, and your breath caught in your throat.

“why are you asking me that?” his voice was calm. too calm. not teasing, not annoyed, just.. still?

you swallowed, suddenly aware of how close you were to him, how the space between your knees and his was barely wide enough to fit a thought.

“I don’t know,” you said, your voice smaller now. “I guess… I was just wondering. you always seem to know everything. and—” you paused. “I haven’t. not really. I mean, I’ve never done it properly.”

si-eun stared at you for a long time. his eyes weren’t cold, but they were heavy, like he was holding something back. something sharp and coiled and dangerous, sitting quiet just under the surface.

“and you want me to teach you?”

you blinked, he didn’t sound surprised, more like he was trying to confirm it. like he’d already run the calculations in his head and was now trying to decide if he should press the button.

you sat up slowly, heart pounding so hard you thought it might echo. “I just thought… if anyone could explain it, it’d be you.”

he let out a breath. not a laugh. just an exhale, low and almost bitter. “you really think kissing someone is something you can explain?”

your mouth opened. closed. “you’re smart,” you tried again, weakly. “you’re good at things.”

“i’m not good at this.”

you tilted your head, trying to read him. “you’ve kissed someone before, right?”

he didn’t answer, which meant yes. you nodded, trying to play it cool, trying to stay where the air wasn’t burning.

“i’m just curious,” you said, softer now. “i’ve never done it. I don’t know what it’s supposed to feel like.”

si-eun didn’t move for a long time. then, quietly: “what do you want it to feel like?”

you blinked. “I… don’t know. warm, I guess?” his jaw tensed. his hands stayed in his lap, fingers laced together, like he was trying not to reach for something. you. the air. anything.

you didn’t say anything else. just watched him. waited. the way you always did when he needed time to think. and finally, si-eun looked up. looked at you.

“come here.”

your chest squeezed. you didn’t know what he meant, not exactly — but you moved anyway. toward him. slow. unsure. your knees touched his first. then your legs slid between his. your hands hovered. you didn��t know where to put them. he fixed that for you.

si-eun reached out, and gently — like he’d been imagining this for a long time — he cupped your face. his palm was warm. steady. your skin lit up under his fingers.

he looked at you like he was memorizing you. like he didn’t know whether to pull back or fall forward. and maybe, for the first time in all the years you’d known him, he looked a little unsure.

but his voice didn’t shake. “i’ll show you once,” he said, low. “but after that… you don’t get to pretend you don’t know what you’re doing anymore.” you nodded.

his mouth met yours slowly, at first. like he was testing it — testing you — making sure you wouldn't flinch, wouldn’t pull away once you realized this wasn’t just about helping you anymore. this wasn’t about being smart, or useful, or your reliable best friend. this was him giving in to a thought he shouldn’t have had in the first place.

you didn’t move for the first second. you just felt it. how warm his lips were. how firm. how careful he was, like he was afraid one wrong angle might make you disappear. and then he tilted his head just slightly, hand still cradling your cheek, and kissed you deeper.

and you made a sound — a soft, breathy sound in the back of your throat — that made him freeze. just for a moment. like hearing you respond flipped something in him he hadn’t meant to turn on.

his other hand came up, resting at the side of your neck, and his thumb brushed over the pulse there. and you didn’t even realize you were leaning into him until your knees were bracketing his thighs and your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt.

“you’re shaking,” he murmured, against your mouth.

“you kissed me,” you breathed back.

he huffed something between a laugh and a groan, thumb dragging lightly across your bottom lip as he pulled back a fraction — just enough to look at you.

“this was your idea.”

“you said just once.”

“do you want me to stop?”

you stared at him, he looked calm, too calm. again. but his eyes — his eyes were glassy, his breath unsteady, and you could feel it in the way his hands stayed on your skin like he didn’t want to let go.

you shook your head, slow. “no.”

his jaw flexed, and then he kissed you again, hungrier. no more holding back. no more waiting. the second his mouth opened over yours, you felt your whole body react — your stomach tightening, thighs pressing in, heart stuttering out of rhythm.

his tongue slid past your lips, coaxing yours to move, to respond, and gosh — gosh — the low sound he made when you kissed him back with more pressure, more curiosity, more want —

you’d never heard that from him before.

your hands were in his hair before you could think about it, fingers digging in as he pulled you closer, mouth hot and desperate now. he shifted beneath you, letting you settle fully in his lap, your knees on either side of his hips — and when your bodies pressed flush like that, you both gasped into the kiss at the same time.

his grip tightened on your waist. “fuck,” he muttered, lips dragging down to your jaw, your neck. “you don’t even know what you’re doing to me.”

“then show me,” you whispered. “teach me.” he let out a shaky breath. like he was barely hanging on.

“you have no idea what you’re asking for.” but his hands were already sliding beneath your shirt, and you weren’t stopping him.

his fingers slid under your shirt, slow and tentative, careful not to make any sudden movements as if you were something delicate. you weren’t sure why your body trembled at his touch — it was barely anything, just skin grazing skin, the slightest warmth over your waist — but somehow it made you feel stripped raw.

like you were finally standing on the edge of something you’d only ever dared to imagine. you didn’t stop him. you tilted your head instead, offering more of your throat, and his mouth found the hollow there — gentle, reverent, teeth barely brushing.

his palms flattened, spanning across your hips, feeling the rise and fall of your breath like he was memorizing it. “you okay?” he asked you softly, voice lower than usual, hoarse at the edges.

you nodded. “yeah.” he paused, like he was giving you space to change your mind. “you’re sure?” your fingers curled around his wrists, holding him to you. grounding him. “I trust you.”

and that must’ve been all he needed. because something in him cracked. a quiet breaking, not a loud one, like ice melting, like something long-contained finally spilling over.

his mouth was back on yours with a hunger that hadn’t been there before, lips parting yours open, tongue licking into your mouth with purpose. he kissed you like he’d been waiting a lifetime. kissed you like this was all he’d ever wanted but never believed he could have.

and when his hips rolled up against yours, you felt it — him. hard beneath his sweats, thick and undeniable, pressing right where you were already aching. your breath caught. your legs tensed around his sides. you whimpered, just a little, and his forehead dropped to your shoulder with a guttural sound.

“fuck,” he muttered, voice low and shaken. “don’t do that.”

“what?” you breathed.

“make sounds like that. I—” his hands gripped your waist tighter. “i’m trying to go slow.”

you could feel your pulse everywhere now. your thighs clenched again, instinctively, seeking friction. “you want to stop?” he asked, a final out, even now, even with the way his body trembled.

you shook your head. “no. I don’t want to stop.” he lifted his head. his eyes were dark, lashes fluttering slightly like he was holding back something deeper. “do you want me to be your first?”

your answer came in a whisper. “yes.”

he kissed you once more, slower this time. then reached beside the bed, into the drawer, and when he pulled out a condom, you blinked.

“you just… have that?”

his mouth twitched. not quite a smile. “su-ho gave it to me.”

“as a joke?”

“he said something stupid. like, about how I need to ‘get laid before I die cause my pen doesn't work anymore’ or something.”

you laughed, despite yourself. and si-eun’s eyes softened.

“but now,” he said, voice turning quiet again, “i’m glad I have it.”

he rolled it on carefully. you watched, heart pounding, seeing him fully now for the first time. long and thick, flushed at the tip, already leaking. your mouth went dry.

you hadn’t seen a guy naked before, let alone like this, aroused, ready. you swallowed hard, thighs tightening. your whole body ached with nerves and want.

“you okay?” he asked again, brushing hair from your face. “yeah,” you managed. “just… new.”

he leaned down and kissed your temple. “then we’ll go slow.”

he pulled your shorts and underwear down in one motion, so gently it felt like a question. you lifted your hips, let him slide the fabric away, suddenly aware of the cool air on your exposed skin, the vulnerability of being bare in front of someone for the first time. but he didn’t leer. didn’t stare. he looked at you like you were something to be honored. something sacred.

his fingers slid between your legs, testing. your whole body jerked at the first touch — light pressure over your clit that made your thighs twitch.

“you’re already wet,” he said, breath catching. “fuck. you’re soaking.”

your face burned. “sorry—”

“don’t apologize,” he said quickly. “that’s good. that’s so good.”

he dipped one finger lower, easing it into you slowly. you gasped at the stretch. even that was new. he stilled, letting your body adjust, whispering, “breathe,” as he stroked your inner walls gently.

once you relaxed, he added another, curling his fingers, spreading you open with deliberate care. the sound of your slick filled the space between you — wet, soft, real. when he pressed his thumb back to your clit, circling it gently, your hips jolted, and you whined.

“you’re doing so good,” he whispered. “so fucking good.”

your eyes fluttered shut, body rocking helplessly against his hand. when his fingers finally slipped away, you felt empty. needy. but then he was positioning himself, cock brushing against your entrance.

“deep breath,” he murmured. “i’ll go slow.”

and he did.

the first push was the hardest. you tensed without meaning to, your cunt clenching, breath hitching — but he paused, whispered to you again, and let your body guide him.

once you opened up, he eased in deeper. your fingers clawed at his shoulders, trying to hold onto something. the stretch burned. it was full, unrelenting, almost too much.

he was big. bigger than you’d expected. and still he moved gently, carefully, until his hips were flush with yours and you’d taken all of him.

“jesus christ,” he breathed, shaking. “you feel—so tight. so fucking perfect.”

you exhaled shakily. “you’re big.”

he chuckled softly, forehead pressing to yours. “you’re doing amazing.”

he didn’t move right away. just kissed your cheek, your collarbone, brushing his nose against your skin like he was grounding himself.

your walls fluttered around him, already adjusting, and when he finally started to thrust — slow and shallow — it knocked the air from your lungs.

each movement was controlled. each drag of his cock inside you purposeful. he hit deeper with every rock of his hips, and it didn’t take long before your body began to want it.

your breath hitched. your fingers dug in. you let out a moan — small, involuntary — and si-eun groaned. “fuck. that sound.”

you tilted your hips toward him instinctively, seeking more, and he took the cue. he rolled his hips, found a rhythm. and when he shifted slightly — angled deeper — you cried out.

“right there?”

you nodded helplessly. “si-eun—please—”

his hand found your clit again, rubbing you just right while he fucked you through slow, deep strokes. your head fell back. the tension was building fast now, tight, molten, dizzying. your cunt squeezed around him with every thrust, every perfect touch.

and then you broke. your orgasm hit like a tidal wave, rushing through your body, stealing your breath, leaving you writhing beneath him. your cunt fluttered around his cock, milking him, and that’s what pushed him over.

he groaned your name, voice wrecked, and fucked into you one last time, deep and hard. you felt him twitch, felt the heat of him spill into the condom as he came, hips stuttering, body pressed tight to yours, jaw clenched.

you collapsed into each other, breathless and shaking, his arms wrapping around you like he couldn’t bear to let you go. neither of you spoke for a while. but eventually, he kissed your shoulder and whispered, “you’re mine now, you know.”

and you smiled, because you already were. you didn’t know how long the silence stretched between you after it was over, only that you didn’t want to move from the warmth of his body or the way his arms had circled around you so tightly, like he was afraid you’d slip away.

his breath was still a little uneven against your skin, his chest rising and falling against your back now that he’d pulled you into a side hold, your legs tangled under the sheets and your heart still thudding softly in your chest.

he hadn’t said anything more since the last kiss he’d pressed to your shoulder. hadn’t asked how you were. hadn’t pulled away or shifted like he was finished with you.

he was just holding you.

you weren’t sure what came over you, but your fingers reached out and curled lightly into the soft fabric of his shirt, he’d pulled it on again after discarding the condom and wiping you up with the gentlest hands, like it was the most natural thing in the world to clean and dress you himself.

you hadn’t even realized how shy you felt until that part, but he hadn’t teased. hadn’t smirked. just murmured, “tell me if anything hurts, okay?” and you remembered thinking then, he really did think everything through. even now.

“you’re really quiet,” you whispered, voice still hoarse.

his arm tightened around your waist. “thinking.”

“about what?”

he paused for a beat, and then his voice came out low. “how lucky i am.”

you blinked.

your heart stuttered in a different way now, softer, almost painful. he wasn’t the type to say things like that. si-eun didn’t do grand confessions or obvious declarations. he always kept his feelings close to his chest. but now, lying here in the dim warmth of your room, the words felt like they’d slipped out before he could stop them.

you didn’t say anything back. just nudged your head gently under his chin and curled into him more fully.

and for the first time, you felt his lips brush your hair. not in a lustful way. not in a way that tried to start anything again. just quiet affection. soft. steady. like he didn’t want the moment to end either.

you don’t remember when you fell asleep, only that you woke up the next morning still in his arms.

he was already awake when you opened your eyes, blinking blearily against the sunlight seeping in through your curtains. his hair was a little messy, eyes on you like he’d been watching you for a while now, but not in a way that made you nervous. he looked.. calm. at peace. like maybe sleeping beside someone had made him rest easier than he had in years.

“morning,” he murmured, voice rough.

you smiled sleepily. “hi.”

he looked like he wanted to say something, then settled for brushing your cheek with the back of his hand. “you still good?”

“mmhmm.” you stretched slightly, muscles sore but not unpleasantly so. “better than good.”

he looked relieved. and then, like something clicked in his head, he muttered, “wait—class. what time is it?”

“we have plenty of time,” you said, laughing softly. “I always set an early alarm.”

he groaned and flopped back beside you, an arm thrown over his eyes. “you’re too responsible.”

“well, you need me to keep you on track.”

you hadn’t meant it to come out so naturally, but the second you said it, you felt his hand drop from his face and his eyes meet yours again. and not that heavy, unblinking stare you used to catch him slipping into when he thought no one noticed.

his eyes had always carried something haunted in them, ever since the day you met. something fractured, a little hollow, like he’d learned too early that the world could betray you if you weren’t ready for it.

but this morning, it was different. you didn’t notice it right away. it was in the tiny shift. the way his gaze warmed instead of hardened. how he blinked slower, more at ease, like the knots in his chest had loosened overnight. you stared at him for a long second, trying to trace what had changed — and then you realized.

the sadness was still there. maybe it always would be. but it wasn’t all-consuming anymore. not sharp. not cold. there was something softer behind his eyes now.

something that bloomed quiet and tender, like spring cracking through frost. and for the first time, he didn’t look like he was fighting himself just to be here. he looked like he wanted to be.

you leaned in, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek. “you’re different today.”

he raised a brow. “already?”

“I mean it in a good way,” you said. “your eyes don’t look sad.”

he was quiet for a second, then laughed under his breath. “maybe it’s because you kissed me back.”

“maybe it’s because I let you fuck me.”

he turned to face you fully, lips twitching into a smirk now, but not cocky. still fond. “both.”

you rolled your eyes and shoved at him lightly. he caught your hand. and then he said, “can I take you somewhere today?”

you blinked. “what do you mean?”

“after class. I wanna take you out. just us.”

your heart flipped a little. “a date?”

he nodded.

“okay,” you whispered. “i’d really like that.”

the walk to campus that morning felt strangely new, even though it was the same sidewalk you took every morning. the sun was a little too bright, your bag slung too casually over your shoulder, and si-eun was right beside you — hands in his pockets, that unreadable expression on his face that made most people wary of him.

but not you. not anymore. not with the way his pinky kept brushing yours on purpose as you walked. not with the way he leaned in to murmur, “you’re sure you’re not sore?” while your classmates were still ten feet behind.

and definitely not with the way you glanced up and saw it again — that look in his eyes. no longer cold, no longer cracked, still intense, still si-eun.

but clearer, softer, like he could breathe a little easier. like you were the first thing he’d ever let soften him. and god, you wanted to protect that softness for as long as he’d let you.

[cupidsonly]

pure beautifulness

Jealousy | Seong Je X Uni Reader

Summary: His girlfriend pulls up at the bowling... Dating a beautiful foreigner isn't for the weak. Seong Je's about to learn that lesson the hard way.

Notes: Back on that bullshit. Wrote this for me, but then i figured might share it as i do the rest of my stuff so, here we are. ;)) I got a little carried away... but hey, i hope y'all enjoy it anyway.

Warnings: cursing, smut in the second half, cunnilingus, p in v, fingering and that's about it. Everything's consensual because consent is hot.

Word count: 2.6k

The air is thick with smoke, fried food, and testosterone. Pins crash in the distance. Laughter, sharp and cocky, rattles through the building.

Seong Je pushes through the door, expression unreadable behind his usual calm mask. His hands are in the pockets of his bomber jacket.

He stops cold.

Why the hell does it smell like my girl in here?

It’s subtle, your perfume, coconut and vanilla with that warm undercurrent of something darker, familiar. A scent that clings to his hoodie after you’ve worn it. It’s here.

Then he sees you.

You’re perched on the edge of one of the cracked, plastic benches, legs crossed. That mesh-knit sweater clings to you like a whispered promise, layered over a tank that doesn’t quite hide your curves. Mini skirt. Plaid tights. A pendant at your chest. And that look in your eyes, half amused, half daring, as a couple of the younger Union guys hover too close, trying to act slick.

Their mistake.

They assumed you'd be a high schooler like Seong Je. Instead they got a uni student.

Foreign. Confident. And completely unbothered by the way they orbit around you like moths drawn to a flame.

Seong Je’s brows knit tighter.

He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t raise his voice. Simply walks up, quietly, and stops right in front of one of the guys leaning in too close.

“Yo, Seong Je, this your girl? She’s a dime, bro. Why didn’t you tell us she—”

The guy freezes mid-sentence.

Seong Je doesn’t even glance at him. His eyes are on you, and you, completely unfazed, just raise a brow, sipping your drink like this is exactly the kind of chaos you expected.

“What are you doing here?” His voice is low, not angry. Just... intense.

"You told me to meet you here at 9pm. It's 8:55pm."

"I meant upfront, Y/N."

You chuckle. “Quiet one over there saw me waiting outside. Asked who I was here for. When I said your name, he waved me in. Real gentleman.”

Seong Je follows the line of your finger to Do Seong Mok. A flicker of gratitude surfaces, at least the kid didn’t leave you waiting outside. But right behind it comes the heat: that sharp, familiar urge to knock his teeth in for bringing you in here, into this room, with these guys.

"씨발(Fuck).."

"미안해(Sorry..)" Seong Mok says.

She rises, smooth and unbothered, adjusts her bag and walks over to Seong Je. She slips her hand in his and begins leading the both of them towards the exist before stopping and turning.

"Seong mok," She says softly.

Seong Je watches as that motherfucker turns around.

"감사합니다(Thank you)." She adds.

"에요 천만해요..(You're welcome.)"

Seong Je watches the tip of his ears go red. This motherfucker must want to die. But before he can say anything she's tugging him along and exiting the bowling.

---

The clink of silverware and soft jazz hum through the softly lit dining room. Velvet booths. Gold trim. The kind of place where the waitstaff wear gloves and the water has a lemon slice in it.

Seong Je hasn't said a word since they sat down.

You’re stirring your mocktail with the straw, watching him out of the corner of your eye. He’s leaned back in the booth, shoulders taut beneath his button-down, arms crossed like he’s holding himself in place. His glasses sit slightly askew on his nose.

“You're pouting,” you say, voice light, teasing.

He scoffs, tilts his head, then slowly pulls off his glasses and rubs his eyes with both hands. His jaw clenches.

“Are you mad because I pulled up at the bowling alley?” You ask it like you already know the answer.

He shakes his head. “I’m not mad at you.”

“But you are mad.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but that’s when the waiter appears at your side.

“Evening,” the guy says smoothly, not even glancing at Seong Je. His eyes are all over you, drinking in your outfit, lingering just a second too long on your neckline. “Can I start you two off with something to drink?”

Your lips twitch, about to speak, when Seong Je leans forward.

His voice is calm. Dead calm.

“Can I help you, motherfucker?”

The waiter freezes. Blinks. Glances, finally, at Seong Je, who is now leaning his elbows on the table, hands folded in front of his mouth, eyes dark and unreadable.

The kind of look that says I might just kill you.

“I...uh...sorry, sir. Just...taking your order.”

"Nah, you were staring at my girl like she's a piece of meat. And i don't fuck with that."

The waiter stumbles through the rest of the interaction, avoiding both your gazes as he scribbles down your orders and walks off in a blur of shame and panic.

---

The two of you eat your meal, have dessert, and eventually head up to the counter to pay. Seong Je pulls out his card, taps it against the machine, and slips it back into his wallet in one smooth motion.

His hand finds the small of your back as he gently guides you forward to walk in front of him.

It’s protective, instinctive, like he’s still on edge, still simmering just under the surface.

---

The cab ride is quiet. His hand rests on your thigh, thumb drawing slow circles as the city hums past the window. He doesn’t say much, but his silence is loaded. Dense. Like he’s still biting down on everything he felt back at the restaurant.

When you unlock your door and step inside, you kick off your platforms with a soft sigh. He follows, loosening his collar and sliding off his shoes, gaze fixed on you.

You reach for his hand.

“Come here.”

You guide him to the couch, your fingers laced through his until he's seated. Then you climb into his lap, knees bracketing his thighs. One arm drapes around his shoulders; the other curls behind his neck.

Your noses brush.

You kiss him once, it's soft, barely there.

Then again, lingering, just long enough to feel him breathe into it.

The third kiss is slower. A little deeper. It pulls a quiet sound from the back of his throat, one he tries to swallow down, but your fingers tightening at the nape of his neck make him stay present.

His hands are still on your hips. His forehead rests lightly against yours now, eyes closed like he’s trying to keep the world out for just a minute longer.

“I dont want to get you involved in my shit,” he murmurs, voice low, rough.

You’re studying. Working your ass off. Doing things by the book, by the law. And him? He’s waist-deep in the kind of mess that stains you just by being near it.

If something touched you because of him.. He wouldn’t survive that.

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, searching your face for any sign you don’t understand.

"Aren't I already?" She asks, her tone playful.

"The bowling's a front. We use it to launder money." His tone is serious.

You nod, slowly. A small motion. But it hits like a knife.

“Okay then,” you whisper. “I won’t come by the bowling anymore.”

It’s not spiteful. It’s not even sad. Just quiet. Resolute.

But it makes something twist in his chest anyway.

He presses his lips to your temple, breathing you in like maybe that’ll be enough.

“…Thanks,” he says. It’s barely audible.

And it means everything.

He doesn’t say anything right away.

Just looks at you for a long, loaded beat. Eyes tracing your face like he’s memorizing it all over again. Then his hands slide from your hips to the backs of your thighs, gripping, guiding.

In one slow, steady motion, he shifts the both of you until you’re lying back against the couch cushions, the soft knit of your sweater brushing against the upholstery. His body settles above yours, weight heavy in all the right places, but his touch?

Gentle.

Worshipful.

He slides his palms down your legs, smoothing over the tights you wore just to mess with him, fingertips caressing up, until he’s cupping your thighs and easing them apart.

His hand finds its way between them, pressing against the heat at your center. Still clothed, but soaked in tension. He runs two fingers along the seam of your slit, back and forth. Back and forth. Teasing. Testing.

You suck in a breath. He watches your face for every reaction like it’s gospel.

Then his eyes drift down.

His other hand tugs at the loose hem of your knitted pullover, slow and deliberate, until the fabric shifts just enough. One nipple slips free.

He doesn’t hesitate.

His mouth is on you before you can exhale, tongue flicking, lips sucking, devouring like he’s starving. Like this is the only way to stop himself from breaking in half.

Your fingers twist into his hair, pulling, grounding.

And still, his hand continues moving in that same rhythm.

He wants you to feel it all. Wants to hear it in your breath, see it in your eyes, know it in the way your body arches toward his.

This isn’t just lust.

This is possession. Reverence.

This is him, finally letting go.

“Don’t tease...” you pant, even as your hips buck up into his hand, body arching off the couch in search of more.

He groans softly at the sound of your voice. Breathless, needy, laced with something that sounds like trust. Like surrender. And just like that, the tension that’s been coiled so tight in his chest finally snaps.

He shifts lower between your legs, hands steady, movements sure. But before he does anything else, he looks up at you, glasses slightly crooked on his nose, breath hot against your thigh.

A question, silent and tender, sits in his gaze.

You nod, chest rising and falling fast. Permission granted.

And then he slides your panties down your thighs with aching slowness, lips brushing your skin on the way.

He dives in.

The dessert at the restaurant was decent.

But this? This is a different kind of indulgence.

He groans against your heat like he’s been starving for you, like this is the only thing that’ll settle the hunger. His tongue licks a long, deliberate stripe through your folds before he locks onto your clit, sucking, then lapping, alternating between both until your thighs are trembling around his head.

And then his finger, just one at first, presses into you. His middle finger curls, coaxing you open, learning your rhythm, matching it to the movements of his mouth.

His glasses are fogged now, barely hanging onto the bridge of his nose, but his eyes..

Locked on yours, are dark and intense.

The sight of him between your thighs, glasses askew, eyes burning with focus and want, pulls a whimper from your lips before you can stop it.

And he smirks against you.

Because he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

He keeps going. Unrelenting.

Before you, he hadn’t thought he’d enjoy eating pussy. The idea had never done much for him.

He’d been so fucking wrong.

Because this, your thighs trembling, your breath stuttering, your fingers clawing the couch like it’s the only thing grounding you, it's become one of his favorite things in the world.

Nothing compares to tasting you. To making you fall apart on his tongue.

Every soft moan you let out, every sharp inhale, every desperate grind of your hips has him throbbing in his pants. Rock hard. Hurting. And when you get squirmy, when you try to twist away from the overwhelming pleasure, he lets out a low, disapproving noise and tightens his grip on your thighs.

“Stay still,” he mutters against your clit, voice hoarse, almost pleading.

And then he moans. Full-throated. Shameless.

Your essence on his tongue, your heat, your scent, it’s all too much and somehow not enough.

When you finally come, with shaking thighs, gasping his name like it’s the only word you remember, he still doesn’t stop. He can’t.

You try to pull away again, too sensitive, too wrecked. But he doesn’t stop. Not until he can’t take it anymore. Not until the throbbing between his legs is so sharp it feels like he might fucking die if he doesn’t get inside you.

He tears himself away with a groan, reaching under the couch for the small box of condoms, breath ragged, lips wet, glasses hanging low on his nose.

But before he can rip one open, your hand is on his wrist.

Stopping him.

You sit up, flushed and glowing, an absolutely sinful smile curving your lips.

“Let me,” you whisper.

He watches, mesmerized, as you take the condom from his hands, your fingers brushing his.

Then you’re unzipping his pants with calm, practiced ease, and slipping your hand inside. Your palm presses against the shape of him through his boxers, your fingers gentle, teasing.

He moans, louder than he means to. Head tipping back slightly as your touch sends sparks up his spine.

You pull him free, hard and heavy in your hand, and then slowly, carefully, you roll the condom onto his length. He shudders at the contact, hips twitching slightly.

He watches you the whole time, eyes glazed with lust, mouth parted, chest rising and falling fast.

And when you're done, his hands are already on your waist, pulling you back into his lap, into his arms, into the fire you both built together.

She takes the hint.

Straddles him again, this time with purpose, knees planted on either side of his hips, the heat between you thick and pulsing. His hands rest on your thighs, thumbs brushing circles against your skin, but he doesn't guide you.

He lets you lead.

You reach down, wrap your hand around the base of his cock, and guide the tip to your entrance but you don’t sink down. Not yet.

Instead, you tease him, slide his length between your slick folds, letting him feel how wet you are, how ready. You coat him in it, slowly dragging the head of his cock up and down, rubbing against your clit just enough to make you both twitch.

He groans. deep, guttural.

Then, softly “Y/N..Come on..Please..”

You smirk. You live for that sound. That low, reverent beg from a man who doesn’t beg for anything. Except for you.

And finally. Finally. You start to lower yourself.

Slowly. Torturously slow.

You feel the head breach first, then inch by inch he slides inside, and the stretch steals the breath from your lungs. He’s thick, and you’re so wet, he sinks in easily, but the intensity? Still overwhelming.

You watch his jaw clench, eyes dark with restraint. His hands tighten around your waist, fingers digging into the plush of your hips before he forces himself to let go.

He doesn’t want to hurt you. Not even by accident. You know that.

And that tenderness, it only makes you fall harder.

You start to move. Gentle at first. Hips rising, then pressing back down, finding your rhythm. Riding him slowly, like you’ve got all the time in the world. Like you want to make him feel every second of it.

He’s buried so deep, you swear you feel him in your throat.

His cock throbs inside you, twitching with every roll of your hips, and you respond in kind, tightening, fluttering around him with every grind, every bounce. Like your body knows exactly how to milk him, how to make him lose control.

“Fucking hell,” he hisses.

It doesn’t take long.

She’s already so close, hips grinding, rhythm faltering, chasing that high with a kind of desperation he feels all the way in his bones.

He meets her halfway, thrusting up to match the movement of her hips. One hand tight on her waist, the other slipping between her legs, fingers finding her clit.

He rubs slow, deliberate circles—just the way she likes it.

That does it.

She cries out, head tipping back, thighs trembling as she comes hard around him. Her walls clench down, fluttering wildly, and the feeling rips a groan straight from his throat.

Watching her fall apart.. Feeling it.. It’s too much.

He buries himself deep one last time and comes with a sharp gasp, his head dropping to her shoulder as he spills into the condom, body shuddering with release.

Then… silence.

No words. No movement.

Just the sound of their heavy breathing in the quiet room, the low hum of the city beyond the window, and the way their bodies slowly start to come down from the high, still pressed together, still tangled.

Still choosing each other.

He stays inside her for a moment longer, chest rising and falling against hers, the last tremors of release settling in his limbs.

[cupidsonly]

so basically

[cupidsonly]

this was so beautiful i’m gonna cry i love you for this

all my heart | geum seongje

summary: a glimpse into what loving geum seongje looks like—messy, soft, deeply yours. and after all these years, he still has all of your heart.

pairing: geum seongje x fem!reader

genre: romance, slice of life

word count: 5.1k

first.

you and seongje had been together for a while now. you'd somehow made it through that rocky stretch hand in hand, and now here you were, college students at different schools, in completely different rhythms of life, but still orbiting each other.

at first, everyone had an opinion. they had plenty to say when you started openly seeing the mad dog of ganghak high. but after a few months, the noise died down. there was simply nothing left to say. you weren't going anywhere, and neither was he.

your parents had been the hardest. not surprised, really. they weren't strict about dating, never hovered too close. but the night they saw him for the first time, walking you home, eyes dark, cheek split, knuckles raw, it was written all over their faces. alarm. disappointment. a hundred questions they didn't want the answers to.

he looked like every bad decision a parent warned their daughter about.

still, they didn't try to tear it apart. maybe because you've never given them a reason not to trust you. you were a good daughter. they hated the idea of him, hated the way he looked at you like the world owed him blood, but they didn't interfere. not yet. not unless they had to. you could feel it hanging in the air though. one day, they'd say they wanted to meet him officially. and when that day came... well. you'd deal with it.

college life came with its quiet perks. one of them being the blessed indifference of your peers. no whispers. no curious stares. no one cornering you to ask what you saw in "that guy". people mostly kept to themselves, and for the most part, you liked it that way. you were finally able to like him without feeling like you owed the world an explanation for it.

which is why it threw you completely off when he showed up. out of nowhere. again.

you had told him you were going out with your friends, just a casual hangout after class. you hadn't bothered to mention where, because you didn't think you needed to. it wasn't like you were hiding anything. but it turned out you didn't even need to tell him. somehow, seongje always found you. like he had a sixth sense for when you were around other guys. or a tracker. you still weren't sure which one it was.

and this time, he didn't just lurk from afar like he sometimes did. he walked straight into the middle of your day and picked a fight. literally.

he didn't like the look of the guys in your group. or maybe it was just the fact that there were guys. you could tell he had already made up a story in his head about who they were and why they were there, and that was enough for him to square up like it was high school all over again. you tried, really tried to pull him aside, to talk him down, to tell him that he was blowing things out of proportion, but he didn't even look at you. like your voice didn't matter once his temper had already started rolling downhill.

and to make things worse, it turned out the guys in your group did have some kind of history with the union. not deep, but enough to make seongje grin like he'd just been handed an excuse on a silver platter.

the tension cracked. words were exchanged. chairs were scraped back. and you stood there, stuck, watching the day spiral while your friends looked at you with wide eyes and quiet apologies.

one of the girls leaned over to whisper, "sorry... the guys shouldn't have egged him on."

but all you could do was shake your head, eyes still fixed on seongje like you were trying to make sense of how quickly things had unraveled.

"no," you muttered, jaw tight. "i should be the one apologizing."

because he came uninvited. he started it.

and it wasn't just the fight, it was the way he completely brushed off your voice when you told him to stop. like your presence wasn't enough to make him pause. like your boundaries came second to whatever score he thought he had to settle. you knew how seongje was, violent, impulsive, always bristling with the urge to break something, but he wasn't supposed to treat you like noise in the background.

he didn't need to protect you from anything today. he just needed to respect you. and right now, he didn't.

the doorbell had been ringing for ten minutes straight.

you'd muted your phone after the fifth message. then came the calls. then knocking. then the doorbell again, rhythmic like he was playing a game. you didn't have to check to know who it was. no one else was that annoyingly persistent. eventually, your patience snapped, and you stormed to the door just to shut him up.

he barely looked relieved when you opened it, like he expected you to slam it in his face instead. his phone was still clutched in one hand, unread messages stacked like unfinished apologies. his hair was a mess, his jacket crooked, but his eyes were locked onto yours.

"...can i come in?"

you didn't answer. just stepped aside.

you didn't say anything as you walked back in either. didn't acknowledge the way he followed you like a puppy that didn't know where to sit. his mouth opened, maybe to try something stupid, but when you shot him a look over your shoulder, he shut up for once.

he settled on the couch. quietly. which was almost suspicious.

you turned, intending to retreat to your room, but the second you passed him, he hooked a lazy finger into your belt loop. the tug was gentle, but it halted your escape. you huffed, glaring down at him, but he didn't even look fazed. he just pulled you in.

you didn't resist, though you did sigh in disbelief as he shifted you onto his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. his arms wrapped loosely around you waist, then his forehead came to rest against your shoulder.

no smirk. no cocky remark. just stillness. he stayed quiet, but it wasn't peace.

it was tension. his arms were around you, but his jaw was clenched. you could feel it, he was holding back, like if he spoke, the wrong words would come out. again.

you sighed and stared straight ahead. "we already talked about this."

his fingers tightened a fraction around your waist. "...i know."

your throat tightened. "i already told you not to pull that shit again, seongje."

"...i know."

you pulled back, just enough to look at him, and he didn't meet your eyes. that alone annoyed you more than the words. it was like he was agreeing just to make it stop. like this whole thing wasn't serious, like he hadn't embarrassed you in front of your new friends, ignored you when you told him to stop, acted like you didn't matter in the middle of it all.

"if you're gonna talk like that," you said, voice sharpening like a blade, "then don't talk to me at all. and don't bother showing up if you're just gonna ignore everything i say."

that landed.

you felt it immediately, the way his arms stiffened around you, the sudden cold edge that cut through his expression. his head lifted slightly, and when he looked at you, his eyes had lost that sheepish desperation.

not angry at you, not quite, but he was frustrated. at the situation. at himself. at the fact that this wasn't going his way. seongje never liked not getting what he wanted. and right now, what he wanted was you to forgive him without making him feel small.

but he wasn't stupid. he knew what would happen if he pushed you again.

you'd gone silent on him before. days of unread messages, no answers, no sightings. it drove him halfway mad.

he'd sworn to himself he wouldn't let that happen again.

"...fine." his tone came sharp, his voice clipped. "i won't do it again."

you narrowed your eyes. that tone—like he was doing you a favor.

you stood up.

he grabbed your wrist before you could walk away, firm but not forceful. he didn't pull, just held.

then, in a voice that barely registered above a breath, he said, "i'm sorry."

you froze. he didn't look at you when he said it. his head was lowered again, gaze locked somewhere near the floor. his grip loosened slightly, as if expecting you to pull away. as if he'd already braced for the worst.

you didn't say anything.

you were still pissed. but still... there was something about the way he said it.

he did not apologize. not to anyone. he didn't believe in it. thought it was dumb. weak. but ever since he met you, he'd been doing a lot of things he never thought he would. giving in. holding back. trying.

and right now, it was written all over him, the struggle, the resentment, the need.

you didn't melt, not entirely, but something in you softened. just a little. because you knew what it took for him to say that word. and how much it killed him to be the one begging to be forgiven.

you stayed still. not because you didn't hear it, but because you did. because it sounded so unlike him that you needed a second just to let it settle in.

then with a quiet motion, his hand slid gently around your wrist, then your waist, coaxing you toward him until you were standing between his knees. he wrapped his arms around your hips, slow and steady, and leaned his head against your stomach.

not a word. just his arms, warm and solid. his forehead pressing into your shirt like he was waiting. not demanding, not begging. just waiting for you to forgive him.

you let out a long sigh, loud enough for him to hear. you weren't ready to let him off easy, not when you had every right to be upset, but you also weren't cruel.

your hand moved slowly to the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair, rubbing at his scalp in small, deliberate strokes. that was all he needed.

seongje exhaled deeply, almost in relief, and pulled you into his lap again without a second's hesitation.

his forehead met yours, eyes locked on you with something softer than guilt. apology. maybe even gratitude. you could feel it, the way he was turning soft for you, even if he didn't know how to hold it. his rage never vanished, it just curled its way into something quieter.

your hands came up to cradle his face, fingers pressing gently into his cheeks. "i'm serious." you said, tilting his face toward yours so he couldn't look away. "you don't get to pretend like nothing happened. you have to actually try."

he didn't answer. didn't agree, didn't joke. just leaned in closer, and closer, waiting.

you didn't make him wait long.

the kiss wasn't rushed or hungry, it wasn't sharp like most of what existed between you. it was slow and careful. his mouth brushed yours like he still thought you might pull away. you didn't.

he sighed into your lips like he needed the kiss to steady him. and maybe he did.

when you finally pulled away, the kiss still warm on your lips, you let out a breath. not with frustration this time, but something gentler. something that settled deep in your chest.

you stared at him, eyes tracing every detail like you were trying to memorize him all over again. the dark lashes that curled a little too perfectly, the stubborn cut near his cheekbone, the beauty mark under his eye.

"you've got such a pretty face," you murmured, brushing a thumb across his cheek. "makes it easier to forgive you."

that was all it took. seongje flushed so fast it was almost impressive. his whole face went red, the color kept crawling down his neck and all the way to his ears.

"fuck off," he blurted and shoved you off his lap.

you stumbled backward with a yelp. but he was just as quick to shoot his hand out, fingers curling tight around your wrist to yank you right back in.

"fucking—stay still," he muttered, flustered beyond repair. he crushed you against his chest like a feral cat with its prey. his heart thudding hard against your ear, giving away everything he wouldn't say out loud.

you wriggled a little in protest, not really trying to escape. "you are so infuriating," you muttered, breathing out a laugh despite yourself. "you're lucky i love you."

you felt him stiffened. he didn't respond right away. just slumped forward, pressing his forehead against your shoulder like he couldn't take it. like those words short-circuited something inside him.

every single time you said it, he folded like a paper.

his breath faltered against your skin before he bit you. sharp and sudden, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make you gasp. you jerked against him in surprise, only to feel the swipe of his tongue over the spot like an apology.

"fuck," he rasped, voice rough. "stop saying shit like that."

"like what?" you asked, breath catching. you were still reeling from the bite.

he scoffed, but it was weak. almost like he choked on it. "you know what it does to me."

"so you want me to stop?" you tilted his chin up, forcing him to meet your eyes. "really?"

he didn't answer, didn't have to. because the look on his face said everything. the ache in his eyes, the way his mouth pressed into a tight line, the way his hands were still gripping your shirt like he was terrified you'd slip away if he let go.

"we're getting sidetracked. you can't just bite me and hope i'll forget."

he scowled. "worked last time."

"it didn't," you lied.

he narrowed his eyes. "then why aren't you yelling anymore?"

you rolled your eyes, shaking your head. "you are the worst."

eventually, he leaned in again. pressed his forehead to yours like he didn't know how else to be close. like saying sorry with words still felt foreign, but this, this closeness, he could do. you smiled.

"you're so adorable sometimes."

"shut up," he hissed through clenched teeth, burying his face into your neck to hide what little pride he had left. his arms coiled tighter around your waist, every inch of his body pressed close like you were the only thing anchoring him to the moment.

god, he belonged to you in ways even he didn't understand.

you ran your fingers through his hair, rubbing slow circles until his breathing evened out. he melted further, practically boneless in your arms. it would've been funny if it weren't so stupidly endearing.

it was that time of the month again. and like clockwork, seongje was at your beck and call.

it was funny, really, how he responded to your cramps like it was a code red emergency every time. he didn't hover exactly, but he was always there. like a shadow. like a guard dog. like someone who had once made a silent promise to never let you suffer alone, even if the enemy was just your own hormones.

it was during the early months of your relationship, back when everything still felt too new. seongje had texted you one saturday morning, casually demanding your presence like he always did. as usual, he expected you to say yes.

instead, you replied with, 'not in the mood'.

it was short, not your usual way of responding to him. well, unless you were upset.

his call came seconds later.

"what the hell do you mean, not in the mood?" his tone sharp, offended, as if the very idea of you turning him down was a personal attack.

you didn't even flinch. just lay there in bed, clutching your stomach. "i'm on my period. i have bad cramps," you answered, voice flat, tired, unbothered.

then there was silence. total silence.

you pulled the phone away from your ear to check if the call had ended.

"hello? still there?"

"...yeah." his voice was lower now. unsure. "i'm here." he paused. "is there... anything i can do?"

you would've laughed, only if you weren't doubled over from pain. it was obvious he didn't know how to react, probably regretting all his impulsive dramatics from three minutes ago. his brain spiraling now that you dropped a truth too real and too biological for someone like him to handle without mentally imploding.

"no, you don't have to do anything. i'll see you next week once i stop dying."

you had imagined him on the other end, slack-jawed and helpless. no cocky comebacks. no pushback. just stunned silence as he tried to process that there were some things he couldn't fix by throwing fists.

but it turns out he had a way of surprising you.

later that same day, he'd shown up at your doorstep. no warning, no messages. just him, standing there with a plastic bag in one hand, a pint of your favorite ice cream in the other, and the most unconvincing attempt at indifference painted across his face.

you blinked at him, confused. "what are you doing here?"

"well," he muttered, eyes darting away. "didn't say i couldn't show up."

his tone was clipped, almost sulky, but you could see the way his eyes flickered nervously, scanning your face like he was bracing himself for rejection. he stood there stiffly, shifting his weight from foot to foot. ready to bolt if you said the word. instead, you let him in.

you spent the afternoon on the couch. he kept his distance, which was weird, suspiciously well-behaved. seongje didn't like giving you space. physical contact had been his default setting ever since he stopped feeling awkward about it. but that day, he was stiff as a board, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the tv like he was forcing himself to focus on the movie.

you didn't comment. just accepted the ice cream and slowly ate it beside him in silence.

and after a while, once the worst of the cramps dulled, you quietly shifted closer and tucked yourself against his side.

"thanks," you murmured, lips brushing the sleeve of his shirt.

he didn't say anything. just exhaled, and finally let his arm wrap around you. not possessively, not urgently, just enough to keep you close, careful not to press where it hurt.

it was the first time he took care of you like that. the first time he showed that he could. it became a routine ever since.

and now, he was still at it.

seongje was sprawled on the floor in front of you, leaning against the coffee table with a bag of heating pads and snacks. he reached up to hand you a warm bottle wordlessly, brows furrowed like he was the one in pain.

"you look like a kicked dog," you mumbled from your cocoon of blankets.

"i feel like one," he grumbled. "you act like you're dying and i'm just supposed to watch?"

"i am dying."

he rolled his eyes but didn't argue. instead, he sat back and stared at the tv, clearly bored. his leg bounced. his fingers drummed.

"wanna fight?"

you didn't even look at him. "no."

"not even verbally? i could call you something mean."

"you could leave."

"or i could stay and be annoying."

"you already are."

he smirked because you were talking. which meant you weren't mad at him for hovering. slowly, he crawled onto the couch, ignoring your half-hearted attempts to push him off. when he finally wedged himself beside you and laid his head in your lap, you sighed.

"i didn't forget your favorite dessert this time."

"that's called being decent."

"it's called caring, brat."

you snorted. "say that again. i dare you."

he sat up halfway, looking like he might say something bold, but thought better of it and flopped back down.

"don't die. i'll get bored." he muffled.

you laughed quietly. when you leaned down to press a kiss to his temple, his eye twitched, like his brain malfunctioned.

"what now?" he asked suspiciously.

"nothing," you said, lips curving into a soft smile. "i just really like you."

he grunted, annoyed. but the red tint in his ears said everything else.

you both weren't doing anything particularly special. just walking. trees lining the path had turned shades of amber, rust, and gold. seongje walked beside you, hands in his coat pockets, shoulders loose, completely at ease.

it was nice. quiet. comfortable.

and maybe that was why it hit you.

you blinked up at the sky, pale and moody in that late-autumn kind of way, and suddenly felt it settle in your chest—that ache. the one that always came with change.

"we're graduating soon," you murmured without meaning to.

he glanced at you, squinting against the sun. "yeah?"

you hummed. there was no need to elaborate, but your brain wouldn't stop there.

soon you'd walk across that stage. soon you'd be holding a degree in your hands. and what then?

what would you be without exams, without early morning classes, without the label of student tied neatly to your identity like a tag?

what would you do?

what would you be?

would everything change?

you didn't mean to spiral, but—

your eyes flicked toward seongje again. he was half a step ahead now, kicking at a stray pinecone. wind caught the ends of his hair, curling them against his cheek. his profile was all sharp lines and shadows, beautiful in the way he always was, aggressively so.

and just like that, it steadied you.

there was a time you thought you wouldn't make it past the first year. too different. too messy. too much history clinging to his name, and too much doubt hanging in the air.

but now, years later, here he was. still beside you. still loud and reckless and impulsive, but softer. only for you. not always, not overtly, but in the little ways that mattered.

he was still him. but somehow, better.

you didn't notice when your steps slowed. he did.

"you good?" he asked, brow quirking.

"yeah," your voice cracked on the word, embarrassingly emotional. you cleared your throat. "just thinking."

"that's dangerous," you let out a breathless laugh.

"do you ever think about how far we've come?"

he stared at you like you just asked him to solve a math equation. "from where?"

"from where we started."

he rolled his eyes. "you hated me when we met."

"you deserved it."

"no arguments there."

you smiled. "but still. you're here."

something passed over his face then, brief, unreadable. but then he was looking away, jaw shifting like he didn't know what to do with the way your words made his chest feel tight.

you reached out and took his hand.

"thank you," you said.

"for what?"

"for everything."

"you're acting like i'm gonna die tomorrow."

you huffed. "you're impossible."

"and you're sappy."

"only when it comes to you."

he made a face, looked away quickly. you caught the tips of his ears turning pink.

maybe it was the way the sunlight filtered through the orange leaves. or maybe it was just the clarity of a moment where nothing else seemed to matter. but you felt it again.

the weight in your chest. but this time, it wasn't fear. it was peace.

with him, the world felt a little less terrifying. a little more manageable. like no matter what the future threw at you, how uncertain, how intimidating, how vast, he'd still be beside you. loud and annoying and occasionally stupid, but there.

yours.

you linked your arm with his, casual like it meant nothing. then you leaned your head against his shoulder. he didn't say anything. just bumped you gently with his arm.

you two kept walking.

but that was everything you could have asked for.

you were making something simple for the two of you, moving around the kitchen with that quiet ease he'd grown used to. the soft clinks and rustles of your movements, it filled the room like background noise he never wanted to lose.

it was the way your presence still settled into his space like it was meant to be there. even after all these years, it still caught him off guard sometimes. how much of his life had quietly shaped itself around you.

he'd never tell you this, wouldn't even admit it if you pried it out of his skull. but somewhere between the convenience store runs and moments he found you sleeping on his shoulder, something in him had slowed down.

he knew then. fuck, he knew. that this was it for him. that there was no one else, and there wouldn't ever be.

and if he wanted to keep you, if he wanted to deserve that kind of peace, then he couldn't keep living like none of it mattered. something had to give.

not because you asked him to. you didn't, even when he was at his worst. you never looked at him with disappointment, never threw his mess in his face like you could've. you saw him. took him as he was, back when he was still half-feral and too wild to sit still for anything except your voice. that was the thing. you loved him without conditions. and that's what made it worse.

because no one ever asked him to be better. and now he wanted to be. just for you.

so he started small. stopped smoking around you the second he realized you didn't like the smell. you never said anything, but then he noticed the way your nose crinkled slightly when he leaned in too close. you still held his face, kissed him like nothing was wrong. but that was enough. he wanted you to want to be close.

he stopped picking fights for the thrill of it. started actually thinking ahead. he still cracked jaws if someone touched you or looked at you the wrong way, but he wasn't out for blood just to feel alive anymore. not when he had you. not when you made him feel alive more than anything else.

he had something better, something real.

he didn't say anything at first. just watched you from the couch, arms draped across the backrest, hair messy, shirt still wrinkled from sleep.

you were just making breakfast like you sometimes did when you stayed over.

but goddamn, he could barely breathe just watching you move.

there were some moments, fleeting and unpredictable, when the weight of how much he loved you knocked the air straight out of his lungs. when his body didn't know what to do with the feeling, and his heart felt too small to hold it all.

this was one of those moments.

he got up without thinking.

you didn't notice him watching. you were too focused, hands moving with quiet intent, your eyes fixed, lips set in that soft line you always wore when you were busy doing something.

he hovered nearby, restless, pacing, almost like he didn't know where to put himself. until finally, he reached for you, curling his fingers gently around your wrist.

you looked up, and there it was again.

the second your eyes met his, the entire world silenced. your lips parted, breath hitching, because that look in his eyes, it always made you want to cry.

he was looking at you like you were the whole damn world.

and you were.

"something up?" you asked in a quiet voice.

he didn't answer. instead, he gently took your hand, fingers a little clumsy, a little too tight, and interlaced them with his own, like it was the only way he could keep the feelings from spilling out of his chest.

and then, with a quiet breath, he brought your joined hands to his lips.

he kissed your ring finger.

slowly. tenderly. reverently.

not like someone touching skin. but like someone touching a vow.

your breath caught.

he held your gaze. "i don't want anything that doesn't have you in it."

his voice was low. rough. not quite steady. his eyes flickered, not with fear, but something close to desperation. like the feeling was too big, too much, and he didn't know how to bleed it out except through touch.

and you understood.

it was all there. in the way his fingers clung to yours, in the way his lips trembled slightly as they brushed your skin, in the way he looked like he'd shatter if you even thought of letting go.

his face became blurry, but you blinked it away.

you just smiled softly and pressed your forehead against his. "good," you whispered. "you're the only one i want to do this life with."

he exhaled, slow and uneven, like your words reached somewhere deep in him that he didn't let anyone else near.

being with him was never easy. there were days he'd withdraw into himself, frustrated with things he couldn't name. times when you wouldn't understand why he shut down, or lashed out, or made things harder than they had to be.

there were arguments, silence, sometimes it hurt, and it took time to come back from that.

but love like yours and his was never meant to be easy.

it was raw. unforgiving in its honesty. and undeniably real.

you never regretted a second of it. not even the ugliest parts.

and maybe—

maybe he didn't have a ring now. maybe it was still hidden in a drawer, still waiting for the perfect moment.

maybe he'd already gone to your parents, awkward and twitchy and sweating like a fucking idiot, asking for your hand even though the very idea of "asking permission" made his skin itch.

maybe it was the first time in his entire life he had ever felt that afraid.

maybe they'd said yes.

they'd seen it, eventually. what you saw. what he'd become for you. what he would always be.

and maybe, just maybe, he was going to give you that ring on your graduation. when the future is right in front of you, when you'd already proven to the world and each other that you could survive it.

but for now, this was enough.

your forever didn't need a clock.

because he knew that he'd keep loving you like it was still the beginning. like every day was the first time you made his chest hurt just by looking at him.

even when life got dull. even when things slowed down. you'd still have all of him.

always.

[cupidsonly]

i forever love your work

habit | choi su-bong (thanos)

pairing: choi su-bong (thanos) x f!reader warnings: smut, fwb to lovers, oral, fingering, face-sitting, spanking, spitting, face-fucking, fluff, some body worship, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, choking, slight angst, body image/weight issues (reader is intended to be curvy/plus size, but no mentions of specific body type) note: whoops! i hope this is good. (i didn't proofread again)

Su-bong didn’t like horror movies. Well, you always assumed he didn’t like them because on any occasion you suggest the idea, he shuts it down immediately. Usually, you let it go without complaint, but other times you whine and ask him for a reason why he doesn’t want to indulge in one of your favorite pastimes. He never gives you an answer, not really, but he either mutters something about not being in the mood for it, or he changes the subject altogether.

But Su-bong has never been one to overshare or give too much detail about most things. You’d been friends for nearly ten years, living together for five, before he kissed you for the first time. While you didn’t expect it, you welcomed it, as well as the quick hook-ups that came with it. Su-bong never addresses it directly, not giving a real definition to whatever you two are, but unlike the horror movies, you never push him for an answer.

Sometimes, he tips the relationship into serious territory, specifically when he calls you his girl, or when he tries to convince you to get matching tattoos of each other’s names. It’s your turn to avoid the conversation, because no matter what your feelings may be towards him, you still don’t have a clear idea of what you are to him. There’s no way of knowing if you’re the only one he’s talking to like this, the only one he’s sleeping with. You have your own reasons why you think he won’t fully commit, but you’d never say it to him. Instead, you decide that you like where you are with him, between the little possessive moments and the extra level of tenderness that he shows you, it doesn't need a name. It’s usually good enough.

Tonight, you’re in your feelings, and maybe you do need more. With too much on your mind between work and life, tension has formed in your neck and shoulders that triggers a migraine you’ve lived with for too long. Su-bong had been on a small tour of clubs in the city, and you were on opposite sleep schedules, passing each other like ships in the night for two weeks. Now that the tour has ended and you’re going into a three-day weekend, all you want to do is unwind with one of your favorite films and you’d like Su-bong to join you. The only snag is that he will not listen to reason – but you’re nothing if not relentless and maybe a little needy, so you intend to argue until he folds.

“It’s a psychological thriller, not horror.”

“You’re just using big words to describe a horror movie,” he retorts, climbing into your bed to rest his back against the headboard. “It all means the same thing.”

“It literally doesn’t.” You want to cross your arms over your chest and stand firm because now your built-up frustration is ready to present itself as anger, but you know, realistically, you’re not going to get what you want if you’re mean. “I’ve been having a really tough time,” you say, slipping your hands into the pocket of your hoodie and slumping your shoulders. “Not being able to hang out with you the last couple of weeks has been weird. I thought we could both unwind.” You wonder if Su-bong can hear the small whine in your tone – judging from the smirk on his lips, he can.

“So, you want to fuck?”

“That’s not what I said.” Your cheeks flush a little, because while it’s not what you had in mind, you wouldn’t be opposed to it. “I want to relax and watch this movie, preferably with you.”

“How can a horror movie help you relax?” It’s a fair question, and he knows that, based on the amused glint in his eye. As he awaits your answer, he brings his vape to his mouth, slowly pressing the mouthpiece between his lips when he notices your eyes following his motions.

“It’s not a horror movie.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Are you scared?” you laugh, and you can see his jaw clench at the accusation. “I’ll keep you safe, Thanos.” He rolls his eyes in response, dropping his eyes to the vape in his hand as he mindlessly scrapes his nail over the edge to distract himself.

“I’ve never seen one that I enjoyed. Simple as that.”

“Maybe you’ll enjoy this one.”

“I won’t.”

Su-bong is stubborn, though sometimes you would call it annoying. Thankfully, those situations are interwoven with the sweet, sexy, goofy sides of him that makes him easier to bear. You’d never let on, but it makes it easier for you to fall in love with as well, as much as you try to fight it. This mood that Su-bong is in, however, locked in to a decision with a smirk on his lips, is one you usually relent to, too annoyed to push back. But tonight, you want to try something new.

“I’m going to put it on anyway,” you say, scooping up the remote from the bedside table to power on the television. “You can leave my room if you want to.”

“I thought you wanted to relax with me?” Su-bong’s tone is slightly surprised, confused even, but you don’t look at him, focusing on finding the movie you want to watch.

“I do,” you say. “But if you don’t want to relax with me–”

“Are you trying to guilt me into watching it with you?” He’s amused again, catching on to your new plan, and you can’t stop the grin from spreading across your lips. “You are,” he laughs. “My tricky girl.”

“Either you want to or you don’t, Su-bong. It’s not that serious.”

“Fine,” he groans. “I’ll do this for you if you do something for me.”

“Yeah, but the stuff you want me to do is way more hardcore, like getting your name tattooed on my chest…or dancing naked in your video. I’m not–”

“No, it’s nothing like that,” he interrupts. “First of all, your body belongs to me, no one else is allowed to see it.” 

It’s another comment in a long line of possessive yet off-handed claims that he makes regarding you, but this one makes a blush creep up your neck. Su-bong grins, watching you try to hide the shy grin on your lips.

“But I still think you should get the tattoo, though,” he shrugs. “I asked very nicely. I’d like to be able to see my name right there by your tits when you wear those low cut shirts–”

“Su-bong.”

“Fine,” he groans, rolling his eyes. “I want you to put on that pretty little lingerie set I bought you that you still haven’t worn yet.”

“I’ll be cold.”

“I can keep you warm.”

“Okay,” you say, sighing as you try to keep the grin from spreading across your lips. “Find the movie, and I’ll go change.” You toss the remote to him, taking a moment to give him the finger as well, which he purses his lips into a kiss in response.

The lingerie set Su-bong got you is purple – of course – lacy and sheer, a push-up bra and some cheeky panties. You’d avoided putting it on, not quite comfortable with putting your body on display, even if it was just for him. Truth be told, you’ve never been completely naked in front of him. Sure, you’ve had sex with him a few times, but you always keep something on, usually a t-shirt, and you turn the lights down low. Su-bong always does as you ask, but even with the limitations you’ve silently set, he’s never made you feel like there was anything wrong with your body, or like he was unsatisfied. You did notice that he seems hesitant to touch you too much, though you chalk that up to him not knowing what would make you uncomfortable – another conversation you should have.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Su-bong grinds out, his eyes drinking you in as you reenter the bedroom wearing the lingerie. “Fuck the movie, come sit on my face.”

“No, Su-bong,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest in part to be stern but also to hide how vulnerable you feel. “You promised we’d watch it…I’m wearing the lingerie, like you asked. Can we just…watch the movie?” Your voice is whinier than you meant for it to sound and Su-bong pulls the material of his jeans away from his crotch, adjusting his hips.

“I like when you whine.”

Su-bong smirks, pressing play on the movie and widening his legs and patting the space between them. As soon as you take your position between his thighs, Su-bong wraps his arms around you to pull your back against his chest, taking hold of one of your hands so he can bring it to his lips. The kiss he presses to your knuckles feels uncharacteristically sweet for the way he’s been acting so far, and when doesn’t try to make any other moves, you’re suspicious but also excited.

Twenty minutes into the movie, Su-bong’s fingers gently rub from your sides around to your stomach, and when you tense in his arms, he places a small kiss on your shoulder. You can only recall one occasion where he touched your stomach and when he noticed a flash of uncertainty in your eyes, he stopped immediately.

“Is this okay for me to touch you like this?” His deep voice gets caught against the skin of your shoulder where he still plants small, hesitant kisses, awaiting your response.

“Yes.”

When his hands slide between your thighs, gently prying them open and squeezing the thickness hard enough to cause you to pull in a sharp breath between your teeth. A chuckle rumbles in Su-bong’s chest, sending vibrations through your body, straight to your core.

One of his hands leaves your thigh, grabbing your breast instead, fingers catching the lace edge of the cup to pull it down to touch your already hard nipple. Your legs spread instinctually, hooking over his jean clad legs so that his hand that lingers around your panties can have more access. As soon as his fingers trail over the lace of your panties, finding the material wet already, he laughs, gently biting your shoulder.

“You’re so sexy in this lingerie,” Su-bong mutters against your neck. “I should make a rule that the only clothes you’re allowed to wear in the house are a bra and panties.”

“That’s not–”

Su-bong cuts you off by slapping your inner thigh, not too hard, but enough to make your body arch, your hands fisting the thighs of his jeans. He’s aware of your self-conscious tendencies, and he’s never done anything to make you feel uncomfortable. But he’s also never touched you like this before, never slapped you or spanked you before, but the contact makes you noticeably wetter.

“I wasn’t joking earlier,” Su-bong whispers, his hand moving from your breast to your throat, gently tipping your head back onto his shoulder. “I want you to sit on my fucking face.” You whimper, and Su-bong’s fingers tighten around your throat as he still gently teases along the seam of your damp panties. “I’ve never eaten your pussy before,” he continues, his thumb pressing against your pulse.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” You say it quickly and quietly, but Su-bong grabs your jaw to angle your head to look at your face. His eyes quickly take in your expression in the pale lavender glow of your room; he looks frustrated, like he’s struggling to keep from saying something.

“You won’t,” he says firmly, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “I want to make you feel good, my girl. You can relax and be yourself around me. I promise you can trust me. Will you let me? I’ll even lay where you can watch your movie while I’m licking your pussy.” He kisses your lips gently, a softer expression on his face as he awaits for your answer. His expression is sincere, mixed with a desirous hunger that you haven’t seen from him before; you bite your lip, and throw caution to the wind.

“Okay.” Su-bong is eager to start, painfully clear to you when he slips from behind you and tugs his hoodie from his body, discarding it to the side. He settles on his back with his head to the foot of the bed, and then looks back at you expectantly. “You’re trying to get out of watching the movie, that’s all this is,” you quip, and Su-bong smirks.

“I’d much rather feel you dripping down my chin.” He holds your hands to help support you as you straddle his head, keeping your weight on your knees and pressing your hands to your thighs to help keep some balance. Looking down at Su-bong, you watch him lick his lips, his eyes cutting from your panties to your face.

Su-bong leaves a trail of kisses and bites along your inner thighs, stopping before he reaches your panties. You shudder when he blows a breath against your core, but he doesn’t stop there, dragging his tongue along the lace to get a taste of you through the fabric. A breathy moan catches in your throat, but Su-bong only licks again, not relenting for a moment.

“Don’t tease,” you beg.

“My little needy girl.” Su-bong uses both hands to tear open the panties, causing you to gasp, then whine in disappointment. “Don’t worry, I’ll buy you new ones…in every color.”

Su-bong’s arms lock over the top of your thighs, his fingers digging into your skin as he presses his mouth to your clit, giving a small kiss. The smile is clear in his eyes, staring up at you to watch every reaction you give, making a mental note of what you like the most. His tongue is soft and explorative to start, dipping into your entrance before travelling back to your clit, circling it and flicking it. Your thighs jerk involuntarily when he focuses on your clit for a moment, the tip of his tongue rubbing rapidly in short flicks, his breath coming out heavy against you.

“Fuck,” you whimper. “Sorry.”

“Mmm,” Su-bong hums, sucking your clit in between his lips now, surprising you. You whine, leaning over to press one hand to the mattress for support while your other hand grasps his hair, fingers softly twisting the strands you brush away from his forehead. “Yeah, pull my hair, baby,” he mutters, pressing quick kisses to your clit. “Tell me where you want my tongue…” Su-bong circles his tongue around your entrance, dipping in for only a moment to make you whimper. “Do you need it here?” he asks. “Or here?” He repeats the quick flicks of the tip of his tongue over your clit, his eyes fixed on your face to watch.

“Right there, right there,” you pant, closing your eyes and sitting up again to tip your head back. He keeps tonging without stopping for what feels like an hour, but is likely only a few moments. “Fuck, that feels so good, Su-bong,” you breathe.

“Yeah?” He softly sucks on your folds, watching the way your body trembles when his mouth claims a new space. His hands roam up your stomach, featherlike touches all the way to your ribs until he reaches your bra.

You tense when his fingers rub across your nipples through your bra, the nubs still hard from his gentle touches and the cool air that blows through the room. He pinches your nipples through the lacey material, rolling them between his thumbs and forefingers so the coarse fabric can add some extra friction to your tender skin. Your thighs twitch on either side of Su-bong’s head, and he realizes he was so distracted with your breasts, he was neglecting your wetness.

Su-bong presses his face between your thighs, slipping his tongue into your entrance and letting the tip of his nose nuzzle against your clit. You gasp and start to slowly rock against his face, needing more friction, but your hips stutter to a stop, glancing down at him to check if you’re doing the right thing.

“Uh-huh,” Su-bong breathes, probing his tongue deeper inside of you and nodding his head furiously.

With both of your hands pressed to the mattress and the rest of your weight still resting on your knees, you slowly begin to roll your hips against Su-bong’s face, feeling him panting hard, hot breaths against you. Each roll of your hips, Su-bong matches, ensuring that he’s rubbing your clit with his nose and his tongue is getting as deep as it can inside of you. You can feel yourself dripping into his mouth, and it makes your cheeks flush, never getting this wet before – never having someone so hungry for you like this.

Su-bong’s reaction to you gives you a boost of confidence, so sit up again, making sure that his eyes are on you. Dragging the straps of your bra down your shoulders, you falter for a moment because Su-bong starts sucking on your clit again, moaning against you. You tug the cups of the bra down to your nipples, and Su-bong’s hands reclaim your breasts, cupping them roughly and rubbing his thumbs over your nipples.

“Oh, God,” you gasp, when Su-bong’s teeth softly nip at your clit. You grasp his forearms for leverage to rock your hips against his mouth again, and he moans deeply, the sound getting lost between your thighs.

“Fuck,” Su-bong hisses, pulling back a little, and you worry that you may have somehow hurt him. “No, no, no.” He rushes out the words when he sees the panic flash across your eyes. “I’m so fucking hard right now, it almost hurts.”

“You’re that hard from eating my pussy?” You say it like you’re surprised, and Su-bong looks mad that you’d ask this – so you try something different. “My pussy tastes that good, baby? Are you going to come in your fucking pants just from licking your girl’s pussy.” The frustration in Su-bong’s eyes shifts quickly to something more fiery, and he reaches behind you to slap your ass with both hands. You gasp, and start to lose your balance, but Su-bong takes advantage of it, locking his arms over your thighs to pull you flush against his face.

This time, he’s relentless, his face buried in your wetness to devour every inch of it. You sit up straight again, your head reeling from the sensation of how quickly and passionately his mouth works you, like he’s been dreaming about it as long as you have. With his eyes closed, he’s focused on getting you off, his fingers pressing so hard into your thighs that you’re sure he’ll leave bruises and indents from his rings.

You grasp his wrists to support yourself as you grind against his face. Su-bong moans deep, releasing his grip on your thighs onto to take hold of your hands, locking them firmly together with his as you feel climax beginning to snap inside of you. The grip you hold on his hands could leave bruises of their own, the rush of your orgasm causing you to lose focus on anything else except the feeling of Su-bong’s torture of your clit. He releases groans against you, sounds of encouragement as he watches from between your thighs as you ride his face.

“Fuck, fuck,” you gasp, your thighs clenching around Su-bong’s head, and he moans in response, his eyes fluttering closed and his mouth now sucking harder on your clit. You haven’t even come down from the waves of your first climax, and he’s chasing another one. “Su-bong, I’m f-fuck, you’re gonna…I’m–oh, fuck! Please!”

You wiggle your hands free from his grip and he immediately hooks them over your thighs to lock you against his face. The rocking of your hips is quick and short, your words coming out in a jumbled mess, feeling the second climax already rapidly making its way through your body. Your eyes water from the overstimulation, your hands grabbing Su-bong’s forearms again.

“I’m gonna come again, baby, don’t–” You cut yourself off with a whiny moan that you don’t expect, your legs quaking, your nails digging into his arms. Your second orgasm hits your body hard, spreading rapidly from your core to the tips of your fingers, sending a tremble through your body that makes you feel like you could collapse. Su-bong growls against you, not stopping until you beg him. “Please, I can’t take it,” you whine, prying his hands away from you. “Please!”

“Mmm,” he hums, detaching his mouth from your clit and loosening his grip on your thighs so you can lift up and rest your weight on your knees again. “Fuck! That was so hot.” Su-bong closes his eyes, licking the taste of your clean from his lips, though as you try to catch your breath, you notice your juices on his nose and dripping down his cheeks and chin. “I could eat you every day,” he pants, a dazed smile spread across his lips. “I think I might.”

“I’d never leave the house,” you breathe.

“That’s fine with me.” You laugh breathlessly and lean over again, resting your hands on the mattress, still trying to regulate as the aftershocks of your climax still punctuate each movement. Su-bong gently strokes his hands along your thighs, then up your sides before they rest there, the contact against your skin creating a static shock that bolsters your already heightened senses. “Was that good, my girl?” he asks, gently, his voice soft and curious as he angles his head to look up at you.

“Yeah,” you nod. “It’s never felt that good before.”

“I think I want another one,” he mutters, kissing your inner thigh. His tone is innocent, shy, and you know it’s intentional when he sticks his bottom lip out in a faux pout. “Please? Will you come in my mouth one more time, my sweet, yummy girl?”

You’d be stupid not to say ‘yes’, but an idea forms in your head as you try to make him wait. You climb from on top of him, not missing the shocked and slightly offended look he gives you, but  you straddle his head again but this time facing in the opposite direction. Your hands gently tug the hem of his shirt up his stomach so you can reach his belt, your mouth leaving quick kisses along his stomach just above his jeans.

“Fuck yeah,” he breathes, his hands rubbing over your ass soothingly as he waits for you to unfasten his jeans. “We should have done this years ago.”

You waste no time pulling him free from his boxers and jeans, pushing the material away so you can see all of him. You press your lips to the head of his cock, sucking softly to get a taste of his precum, and Su-bong’s fingers tighten on your ass in response, one hand giving a small smack. The moan you let out feels overexaggerated, but you’re caught up, giving in completely to every sensation that you can.

“You moan like a little slut every time I slap your ass or your thighs,” Su-bong mutters, his teeth coming down on your inner thigh hard enough to make you moan again. “They must be really sensitive…but judging from the way you’re dripping as I speak…I think you just like me to make it hurt a little, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you reply. “I like your hands all over me. I’ve been waiting for you to touch me like this for so long.” 

“You’re going to get tired of me touching you all the time now that I know how much you love it. Now that I know what your body needs, my girl, I can take real good care of it.” His voice wavers slightly, but you chalk it up to the way you’re touching him. You can tell from how much precum has leaked from his tip that we had been trying to get a little bit of friction by shifting his hips to grind against his jeans. You drag your tongue over the head of his cock again, licking up the taste of him, hungry for it.

Just as Su-bong had never gone down on you, you had never had the pleasure of tasting him either, so you don’t waste time with teasing. You spit carefully over him, stroking to coat his length and feeling the way his breathing changes as your hand works over him. With a few more strokes, you start to twist your hand with each pump, moving from tip to base to hear the way his breath shudders.

When Su-bong teases one of his fingers around your entrance, you clench out of anticipation, and he notices, groaning deep in his chest at the sight. He uses his thumbs to spread your folds, baring your entrance to him so he can spit into it. It’s dirty in a way he hasn’t shown you yet, and you’re sure he sees the way you clench again at the feeling of him spitting on you. As soon as you wrap your lips around the head of his cock, his index finger circles your entrance one time before pushing its way inside of your tightness. You whine, around him, your hand gripping him just a little tighter.

“Fuck, baby,” Su-bong hisses when you grip the base of him, bobbing your head over him slowly. “Fuck, that feels good.” You hollow out your cheeks, moving just a bit faster, your hand slipping to cup him lower, and the moan he releases in response is almost enough to make you come again with almost no contact. “You’re squeezing my finger…” He stops short, nudging his hips against your face, trying to get deeper into your mouth. “I think you can take two.”

When Su-bong slips a second finger inside of you, he starts thrusting them in time with the bobbing of your head, pulling a groan from your mouth that rattles around his length. He thrusts up again, this time harder and pushes his tip to the back of your throat. You have to pull back, for a moment, surprised by his movement, but you keep your hand stroking over him.

“Can I…take you down my throat?” It feels strange to ask him, and though you can’t see his face, when he responds with a moan of your name that sounds both desperate and intoxicated, you know it’s the right choice.

“Are you asking for my permission to deepthroat me?”

“Mhm,” you him, kissing the head of his cock again as you continue to stroke him. “You can thrust, too. I’d like to feel you fucking my throat. Please?”

“I almost came when you said ‘please’, so I don’t think I’ll last long…do you really want me to fuck your face?”

“Yes. You said that my body belongs to you, and that means my throat, too. So, you’d better make it yours.”

“Jesus Christ.”

Su-bong bites your thigh hard enough that you’re certain there will be a bruise around the mark for the next few days. When he hooks one of his around you, pulling you towards his face again, he keeps pumping his fingers into you, flicking his tongue over your clit now. Even though your body still thrums with the residual waves of your first two orgasms, you try to stay focused on Su-bong, taking him halfway into your mouth. You bob your head at the same pace he sets with his fingers, your hand stroking the rest of him that you’re not ready to take into your mouth.

You try something different, scraping your teeth very softly over him, just to see if he likes it. Of course, Thanos moans against your clit, his fingers thrusting harder in response, trying to get even deeper. You gradually take him deeper and deeper into your mouth, until he hits the back of your throat. Su-bong groans quietly against you, trying to stay focused on your pleasure, but you bob your head faster and twist your hand with each of your strokes.

You feel your third orgasm of the night beginning to swirl in your stomach, building faster than you expect, and when you begin to whimper around Su-bong’s cock, he only thrusts his fingers faster, sucking on your clit now. It makes you lose focus, and you pull him out of your mouth, using your hand to stroke over him swiftly.

“I’m gonna come,” you moan, closing your eyes. “Fuck, you’re so good, Su-bong.”

He thrusts his fingers faster, the rough motions along with the harsh sucks on your clit tipping you over the edge into climax. You rock your hips against his face and hands, squeezing your eyes shut to allow the sensation to flow over you. With your thighs clenching around Su-bong’s head, you can still hear him moaning, sending extra vibrations through your clit to make each and every burst of pleasure more intense.

Su-bong slows to a stop, and you shift your hips from his face, resting on your knees again so you can take him back into your mouth. You brace your hands onto the mattress on either side of his hips to brace yourself as you bob your head over him. Su-bong moans your names, muttering under his breath as his hands squeeze your thighs. When he hits the back of your throat, you don’t stop this time, you push him deeper and swallow him.

“Oh, fuck,” Su-bong gasps, a ragged groan tearing from his throat. He thrusts his hips against your face, testing what you can handle at first, but he quickly bends his knees and plants his feet against your bed so he can get the leverage he needs. Su-bong thrusts hard and fast, forcing himself deeper into your throat each time. “That’s my good girl,” he pants. “Take it just like that. Take it my cock down your throat, baby.”

You keep your jaw slack, drool pouring from your mouth and onto the fabric of his boxers and jeans. It’s enough to make your eyes roll back in your head, loving the way he stretches your throat, pushing you to your limits – your baser, lust-filled, less logical thoughts have you wondering how you could quit your job and do nothing but deepthroat Su-bong all day. You’re pulled from your fantasy when he gives a deep thrust upwards and stays, keeping himself buried as deep as he can in your throat.

“Oh, my girl,” he moans, his voice deep and shameless, not worrying about what he might sound like. “Fuck, this throat was made for me. You were made for me.”

You whine, but it’s strangled, and you gag around him for a second as your eyes begin to water from your struggle to maintain him. When Su-bong nudges his hips forward, settling in just a little bit more, you groan and pull off of him, pulling in a gasping breath. Su-bong releases a shaky breath, his thighs spreading as he relaxes his legs, stroking his hands over your thighs.

You can tell from how tense his body feels that it won’t take much longer, so you hurry to take him back into your mouth again, sucking on his tip and jerking your hand over the rest of him. Su-bong moans your name again, a desperation you’ve never heard from him as he nudges his hips up to meet your movements. You hollow out your cheeks and twist your hand with each stroke, humming around him to help coax his orgasm out, determined to feel him come down your throat.

A few more quick pumps of your hand have Su-bong falling apart beneath you, filling up your mouth as fast as you can swallow it down. You keep stroking, listening to his stuttered moans and helpless breathing as he gives you everything he has. When he’s finally spent, you pull him from your mouth and drop your head against his thigh so you both can try to calm yourselves. It’s quiet for a few moments, only your gentle panting breaths mixing with the sounds of the long forgotten movie playing on your television.

“You know that I mean what I said, right?” Su-bong asks.

“Mean what?”

“You’re my girl. You belong to me.” You sigh, really letting the words sink in, but Su-bong continues. “And I’m yours,” he adds. “If that’s alright with you, I mean.” He speaks like he didn’t plan his words before he said them, and you’re sure his cheeks are flushed from how silly he thinks he sounds. You chuckle quietly, and Su-bong sighs in response. “I’m not good at this shit, okay?” he says, clearly frustrated. “Give me a break.”

“I’m not good at it either,” you admit, climbing off of him and sitting on the bed next to him so you can see his face now. With the glow of the television and the dim light of your room, you can still see the way his face glistens with your juices, but the smile is clear on his lips. “You’re mine,” you say, picking up his hand and toying with his fingers between both of your hands. “My man.”

“Well,” Su-bong begins, watching your hands. “Let’s get cleaned up, and then we can sleep in my bed tonight. I think maybe your sheets might be a little messy.” You groan, covering your face with your free hand, but Su-bong yanks you towards him, sitting up to meet you halfway for a kiss. “Don’t be embarrassed,” he whispers against your lips. “I love you just like you are.”

“You love me?” You’re surprised, but you grin as you watch the way he rolls his eyes, feeling at his side for his vape so he can take a hit.

“After the head you just gave me, I don’t have a choice.”

“Su-bong,” you laugh, slapping his chest playfully. “I love you, too.”

“Good.” He kisses you one more time, then takes another hit from his vape. “Get your ass in the shower so I can clean you up. The sounds of this movie are starting to freak me out.”

“Aw, don’t worry, baby,” you coo. “I’ll keep you safe from the scary movie.” Su-bong rolls his eyes, but you notice the smile on his lips, so you give him one more kiss. “I still want new lingerie,” you whisper, and Su-bong kisses the corner of your mouth in response.

“Anything my girl wants, she gets.”

═════════════════════════

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[cupidsonly]

(⁠ ⁠ꈨຶ⁠ ⁠˙̫̮⁠ ⁠ꈨຶ⁠ ⁠)

For real

[cupidsonly]

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ride | bang chan

pairing: bang chan x afab!reader

synopsis: you’re ovulating and want to ride chan.

genre: straight smut homie

word count: 3.2k

warnings: [MDNI!] explicit sexual content, softdom!bangchan, pet names (baby, sweet girl, angel), mating press (for like 2 secs, no intercourse), oral (f rec.), piv sex, unprotected sex (don’t try this at home!), allusions to STI testing and birth control, creampie, the slightest amount of breeding kink + overstimulation in the end, chan wants to play, he’s so in love, ugh he’s such a sweetie, a feral sweetie

reader notes: written with afab reader in mind. reader has breasts and a vagina (more like wap). all characters are consenting and over 18 yo.

۶ৎ  𝑙𝑒𝑒'𝑠 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑢𝑑𝑒  ࿐  wrote this bc i’m also ovulating and want to ride chan.

“Already so hot for me, hm?”

  Yes. You were. And you were nearly bare beneath Chan’s heavy gaze if not for your cute, little panties, the crotch soaked through, practically translucent, enough to wet the touch of whatever—whoever—dared to feather over the fabric adorning your sacred, seeping hole.

  Chan has you spread before him on his sheets at the edge of his bed, one leg stretched out to rest delicately on his naked shoulder, the other pushed to your chest, your foot dangling over his hand pressing into the plush back of your thigh.

  You were a dream come to life below him, the wettest dream composed only for the eyes of a man like him, too far past the pathetic cognitive confines of a teenage dirtbag. You were a fallen angel on his sheets, and all Chan could do was relish in how gone you were, how hot and wet and desperate you were, just for him.

  He licks his bottom lip and lets his heavy, barely open eyes wash down your body, drinking in the mess he’d made of you—he hadn’t even touched you yet.

  You’re basked atop the luscious pool of sheets, eyes dark and chasmic, begging into his dark chocolate orbs for his hands, mouth, and cock to ravish you. Your cheeks are flushed, hot with need, and your lips swell, pink and wet from what felt like centuries of making out before Chan had you in your current state. Your mouth parts to let the string of quick, deep breaths wisp out of your thoracic limits, heightened from the soft arch of your back. Your breasts heave with respiration, nipples pebbled against the comfortable coolness of the room, pleading to be pinched and sucked.

  Chan’s eyes wander down to the cloth between your legs, and the sight wreaks him. Your panties are ruined, lucid with slick that seems to gush out of you sans constraint, the never-ending patch diffusing throughout the cotton.

  God, Chan loved you like this, loved your desperation and obedience and wetness for him the few days a month you were in heat. It gave him a chance to really provide for you, give you everything and anything you needed to cool you off until you were whining to go again. Every month, he was ready, aching to make his baby feel so, so good.

  He feels searing blood pump into his cock, hardening his rod against the already taut fabric of his sweatpants. He slowly peers back into your eyes and catches a familiar glint that tells him you can’t wait any longer. There’s a mellow smirk accompanying his heavy-lidded eyes, a simple mask to help him ignore how all he wants to do is fall to his knees and pout his lips over your clit for the next hour.

  “This is okay?” He’d already asked more than once, but it was never enough for Chan.

  You writhe beneath him and softly moan. “Yes, Chan.”

  The fingers dancing over your ankle leisurely feather down your leg. “What do you need, baby?”

  Your hips writhe, and you whine. “Need you inside, Chan, please.”

  He hums, the pads of his fingers now running across the back of your thigh, leg still stretched out near his head.

  He’ll give it to you, and gosh did he want to do you in good. He wanted you gushing under him, mumbling incoherently from the luxurious pressure of his thrusts, but Chan also wanted to play, just for a little. He wanted to see how far he could string out his sweet girl’s desperation until she was begging for exactly what she needed.

  He pushes down on your leg, rendering it a matching pair with its twin, and leans into you. His hands cage you under him near your waist, the heat of your supple skin fogging over his fingers. The back of your legs rest against his hard, broad body, sculpting you into a mating press.

  Chan nuzzles his nose against yours. Both your eyes have succumbed to the weight they bear, whispering to a close before your lips mold into the other.

  He kisses you softly, granting you just enough pressure to push you into overdrive. Your hands fumble up his shoulders, finding purchase in his hair, gripping tight. You tug him closer, greedier. A groan, low and guttural, vibrates out of him and trembles down to your core.

  His hot mouth sucks up your bottom lip, lets it swell in his mouth, coats it with his spit. It rolls back out when he feels your heat squirm against the curve of his cock.

  Chan pulls himself from the warmth of your face. He wants to watch your brows scrunch, watch your wet lips pout when he grinds the hard curve of his length into your clothed cunt.

  It’s too much and not enough, like the first breath of air when you resurface from underwater. He’s so hard, and his cock rubs just right, deliciously over your clit. You press your head into the mattress, your hands clutch at his hair as you try to meet the agonizing motion of his hips. You pout and mewl up at him.

  He smiles, wicked and smug. Then kisses you, slow and sweet.

  Chan’s plush lips flutter down your jaw and neck, ghosting over your breast before he sucks your hardened nipple into his blazing mouth. You moan, bucking up against the ghost of his now absent hips. 

  His tongue flattens over your peak, covering it with a glistening sheen. He sucks and circles and flicks before he sucks hard off of you with a pop, wasting no time fastening his lips back to your skin to kiss down to the only clothed part of your body.

  Chan wants to play, wants to take his time pushing you to a release, but he feels a ticking in the pit of his own abdomen, and he knows he won’t last much longer without giving you exactly what you needed, so he slings his thumbs into the waistband of your panties and tugs.

  The lacey band slides past your hips, past the level of your cunt when the crotch latches off with a resisting damp stick. A thin string of your slick stretches out to the wet splotch on your panties, drooping down onto the sheets when the fabric raises too far up your thighs and clears your feet.

  Chan’s hand smooths your thigh onto his shoulder, while the other works near the base of the bed to bunch your panties into a ball of fabric that is soon to never return to your underwear drawer.

  You're a sight for the books, art fit for museums beyond human capability. Now that you were completely bare beneath his gaze, slick, glistening proof of your arousal drooling onto the plush cotton towel he’d (thankfully) laid out just for you, Chan thinks—no, he knows—he’ll have to ravish you. And he’ll do it by fucking all of the pretty thoughts he has about you straight into your core.

  Your seeping pussy coaxes him in, the sight calling his lips to gently kiss over your thigh, each press a brand of affection seared into your flesh. He’s already half-drunk on the scent of you.

  And God, the scent. It’s divine. Heady and thick and achingly familiar. It wraps around him, makes his head light, his cock throb against the too taut seam of his pants. His tongue darts out to taste the air, to imagine what you’d feel like on it, and the moment his mouth finally hovers over your heat, he has to exhale a slow, ragged breath through his nose to keep from burying his face in you like a starved man.

  “Look at this mess, baby,” he mumbles, heavy eyes flickering up to catch yours through the haze. “Gonna suck it all out of you, yeah?”

  And then, he licks.

  The flat of his tongue starts from your dripping entrance and slides up to your clit in one long, sinful drag. You jolt with a sharp inhale, thighs twitching on his shoulders as your head falls back with a low moan. He hums against you, savoring every inch of the taste, the warmth, the overwhelming slick. His nose nudges your nub, lips parting to suck your clit into his mouth like it’s the sweetest fruit.

  Your are threading into his hair, tugging without thought. Chan groans deep into you, the vibration making your spine curve off the bed.

  He eats you like it’s the only thing that matters. His tongue flicks and flattens and circles and dips, teasing your entrance just enough to taste the flood of slick before returning to your swollen, needy clit. His soft lips wrap around it, suctioning onto you so hard, pulling cries and whimpers from your throat like he’s conducting you with every movement of his mouth. Your angel voice serenades him with a melodic blend of pleas and his name.

  “Mmm, please, Chan—please please please.”

  He moans at your voice, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he lets himself sink into the rhythm. Suck, flick, lap. Over and over. Every sound you make is a reward, every roll of your hips a command he obeys. And when your thighs start to clamp around his head, twitching, your hips trying to rock into his face, he succumbs to your needs.

  He wants you to ride his mouth. Wants to feel you fall apart against his tongue.

  His hands slide under your ass, tilting your hips up, and he dives in deeper. His tongue thrusts into your soaked hole, curling, then returns to your clit. His spit mixes with your slick, a wet, messy potion painted across his chin and lips.

  Your sound is broken, wreaked, gasping out his name, your moans pleading for a release. Delinquent hips roll into him, chasing after a high that was just one step out of your reach.

  He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow. Because he knows he has you right where he wants you. So, he just groans low and needy into your cunt and tightens his grip as you finally writhe into bliss.

  Your thighs lock around his head, your entire body bowing into the orgasm that crashes through you in high tides. You’re clenching, fluttering wildly as your slick gushes against his tongue, and Chan drinks it down, groaning like he’s in heaven.

  He is in heaven.

  He holds you there through every aftershock, licking you gently now, soft and slow, kissing your clit with the kind of affection that makes your thighs quiver and your core clench again, helplessly sensitive.

  When he finally pulls back, your slick adorns the lower half of his face, glistening in the low light. He kisses your inner thigh one more time, eyes still heavy with his own desperation.

  “Did so well, angel, so perfect,” he murmurs, voice thick and ruined.

  And you? 

  You're his masterpiece of a mess, panting like you just surfaced from the deep.

  Eyes dark and dazed, Chan hovers above your body. He’s not sure if he should crawl away or curl into you. 

  But you make the decision for him, because even through the waves of release, the high hadn’t ebbed. Not fully. Not with the excruciating stretch of his sweatpants still tented between your legs. Not with the weight of his adoration still anchoring you both to the bed.

  You find the edges of his jaw with your fingertips, still quivering from how he wrecked you, and Chan leans into your touch, a planet to the sun.

  “I want to ride you,” you whisper.

  It’s not a question. It’s not even a request. It’s a tethered need, soft but unrelenting, looped around both your hearts and tugged tight.

  Chan’s breath halts.

  He swears something stutters in his chest. His eyes flutter open, and for a second, he’s a man stripped of every coherent thought. Just nerves lit like fire and a heartbeat so loud it rattles in his ears.

  “You…” he starts, then trails off, his voice wrecked and low. His throat bobs. “You wanna be on top?”

  You nod slowly, brows knit like this is something fragile. Sacred.

  It is.

  Because it’s not just about wanting control—it’s about trust. And Chan has never felt so honored to give and receive it.

  He presses a kiss to your wrist. Then your palm. Then the center of your chest, where your heart still dances from the work of his mouth.

  “Okay,” he murmurs. “Okay, baby. Take me.”

  He shifts under you, careful, soft, pulls off his sweatpants and boxers in one go, leaving his thick, aching length pulsing and flushed and glistening against the lower valley of his stomach. 

  You crawl into his lap, straddling his thighs, and Chan’s hands instinctively settle on your hips. His head falls back against the pillow, the cords of his neck tight with restraint. He looks at you, his angel made of moonlight and the answer to every unnamed prayer he’s ever breathed through grit teeth in lonely hours.

  “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he swoons, a mellow confession. 

  Your fingers trail down his chest, feeling the way his abs twitch under your touch. His cock jumps when you slide your slick folds along the base of him, and Chan swears under his breath, knuckles blanching as he grips your hips tighter.

  The glide is slow, indulgent. It was your way of savoring him. You rub against him, your clit catching the ridge of his tip each time you rock forward, and Chan’s breath punches out of him in stuttered gasps. His eyes never leave your face—kiss-swollen lips, dreamy dropping eyes��even as his hips buck helplessly under you.

  “Fuck,” he groans, eyes fluttering. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

  With tests negative and your eggs surrendered to the control of coloured pills, you brace your hands on his chest, and he watches you—every breath, every flicker of pleasure across your face—as if it’s the most exquisite art. 

  And when you finally sink down, slowly, divinely, the bare heat of you enveloping him inch by tremoring inch, Chan moans so deeply it sounds torn from his soul.

  His eyes sew shut. His hands grip your thighs like he’s afraid he’ll float off the earth if he lets go.

  He doesn’t speak at first. Just breathes. Shudders.

  Then, softly, “Fuck—please.”

  You move, slow at first, and Chan meets each motion with a gentle rock of his hips. 

  It’s consuming, the way your warm, gummy walls slide against his hardened rod, the way he disappears into you with each grind of your hips. The remaining potion of your arousal and his spit gush over his bare tip and dribbles down his length

  And your face—fuck, it was going to ravish him, ruin him far past the limits of your cunt. Pretty pout merged into an oh, eyes barely open before they shut tight. You were godly.

  You ride him like you’re claiming him, and Chan surrenders to you.

  His hands roam your body, thumb brushing over the curve of your breast, then gripping your waist. His gaze stays locked to your being and nothing but, drinking in the little gasps you spill, the arch of your back when you angle just right, the way your walls flutter around him when he groans your name.

  There’s nothing more beautiful than this, than you above him, owning him, loving him, making him unravel piece by piece.

  The way you move on him is poetry turned to flesh.

  Each roll of your hips is a verse, each sigh a stanza, and Chan is completely spellbound, caught in the cadence of your body, unwinding the syllables of your name under his breath.

  He’s close.

  Gosh, he’s been close since the second you sank onto him, but now, the pressure wraths tight and hot at the base of his spine, every nerve lit like a fuse, and Chan knows he doesn’t have much longer until he’s helplessly falling apart for you.

  So, he brings a thumb to your nub and presses a slow circle into it.

  You mewl and clench around him, soft and fluttering, and his hips jerk. His head presses back against the pillow with a low, desperate groan. 

  “Baby,” he pants, voice rough, thumb still working into you, “I’m not gonna last—”

  “I want it,” you whisper, almost boarding on a breathless mewl. “Want you to come inside.”

  And it’s over.

  Chan’s mouth falls open in a silent moan, his whole body tightening beneath yours. His fingers dig into your hips, anchoring himself to the moment, his thumb coaxing you into your second orgasm until you're twitching above him, eyes shut tight, mumbling his name in a high sob.

  And then, he’s spilling into you, hot and thick and endless.

  His mind whites out. His breath stutters. He feels like he’s burning and being saved all at once.

  You don’t stop, not yet. 

  You keep moving, riding him through every wave of it, milking him with slow, deep grinds that draw out his pleasure until it teeters on overwhelming.

  “Fuck,” he chokes out, his voice wreaked, “just like that—oh god, angel, I’m yours—”

  His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you flush to his chest as you finally still. He’s still twitching inside you, still pulsing weakly, his cum leaking out in slow, sticky drips that smear where your bodies press together.

  It’s messy. Intimate. Utterly undone.

  And Chan has never loved anything more.

  His lips, find your shoulder, your neck, your temple. Kisses soft as the air after a storm, trying to say everything his tongue is too ruined to form.

  “Thank you,” he murmurs, dizzy with adoration.

  You hum, cheek nuzzled into his hair, and Chan closes his eyes, his whole body still twiching, but grounded now by the feel of your heartbeat against his.

  “I mean it,” he whispers, thumbing lazy circles into your spine. “You’re everything.”

  When you finally shift off him, Chan’s hands follow you instinctively, always touching, always holding. He props himself up on his elbows, watching with simmering greed as his cum slowly drips from between your thighs, glossy and slow.

  He almost can’t stop himself when two of his fingers scrape his hot seed back up, pressing the coated pads against the opening of your hole. You squirm with a soft mewl.

  “It’s spilling out of you,” he breathes, his voice is threaded with awe. “Wanna stuff it back in you, baby. Can I?”

  You nod, eyes hooded, pout parted with wisping breaths.

  “Words, angel.” His own are broken, eyes so soft, so full of all the love and admiration known to humankind.

  “Yes,” you breathe.

  And that’s all Chan needed to hear before he’s gently laying your precious body against the sheets and leisurely replacing his fingers with himself, pushing into you softly, grazing your walls slowly, fucking his cum back to your core with love for your surging through his vessels and bones and nerves.

  Both your bodies twitch, overstimulated, your eyes glassed over with threatening tears pooling at each of your squinting corners.

  Yet, Chan wouldn't have wanted it any other way, simply because it was with you.

৬ৎ  𝑙𝑒𝑒'𝑠 𝑝𝘰𝑠𝘵𝑙𝑢𝑑𝑒  ࿐  whoever you are reading this, you look beautiful.

© chanifesto ── may 2025

[cupidsonly]

read this while ovulating .

ᯓᡣ𐭩 mr. fix it | yeon sieun

pairing: yeon sieun x afab!reader (weak hero)

synopsis: yeon sieun was notoriously known as your program’s tech handyman. when he wasn’t hunched over calculus problem sets, sieun was busy fixing his peers' laptops, for a price of course—one that was nonexistent for you because you seemed to make his software hard.

genre: another smutty university au

word count: 6.9k

warnings: [MDNI!] explicit sexual content, grinding, making out, oral (f rec.), pussydrunk!sieun, piv sex, protected sex, many consent checks, sieun is so so gone for you, you are literally his pretty little angel, if devotion was a person it would be him, sieun can’t figure out his goddamn integral

reader notes: written with afab reader in mind. reader has breasts and a vagina. reader is described to look ‘small’ at one point. all characters are consenting and over 18 yo.

this fic was requested – thank you so much, i loved coming up with the concept .ᐟ

۶ৎ  𝑙𝑒𝑒'𝑠 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑢𝑑𝑒  ࿐ park jihoon uggghhhh need need need him. had the most exquisite time picking out the concept pictures.

“You broke it again?”

  His voice sounds flat, but there's a tinge of hope, a sense of subdued anticipation perking his last few syllables.

  Sieun stares at the half-solved integral on his desk, phone pressed to his cheek, screen cold against his skin, fingers loosely gripping the sides. The warm glow of his lamp casts a nimbus over the mess made of a barely punched in calculation and his calculus textbook, pages worm from flipping back and forth between the chapter problem sets and appendix answers. Outside his window, the campus sky is dim, too gray for six in the evening.

  “I didn’t break it!” Your voice crackles through the line, scratchy with frustration. Sieun can hear your breath over the receiver, rough and rushed.

  “It just won’t turn on,” you continue, “I don’t know what happened. I just opened my tabs, and then—dead.” 

  He exhales. “And you tried plugging it in?”

  “Yes, Sieun. I tried everything you taught me—nothing worked,” you huff, “I have an essay due Monday, and everything I need to write it is on this damn laptop.”

  You sound slightly breathless, your voice hoarse with the kind of air that clings to lungs on chilly evenings. Wind rushes past the speaker, muddling your words with static. Sieun’s ears pick up on this.

  “Where are you,” he asks, dull, but more abrupt than intended.

  You’re silent for a few beats.

  “Outside.” Another gust of wind bleeds through the receiver.

  He feels the warmth of perspiration prick across his palms. “Where?”

  The brisk, hollow rustle of plastic, and then, “Walking to your dorm.”

  Sieun feels his breath dissipate in the back of his throat.

  “I’m sorry,” you start. Sieun squeezes his eyes upon hearing these words in your soundwaves, words he thought were too unnecessary when masked in your voice.

  “I saw the forecast, there’s going to be rain—shoot, I forgot my umbrella, I knew I was forgetting something—anyways, I figured I'd head over to yours before it hit,” there’s an unmistakable sincerity in your voice, “I really need you right now, Sieun.”

  Need to murder him, he thought. Clearly, that was more fitting for the illusive objective of your last sentence, one that roused his hand to the back of his neck, called his fingers to smooth over his golden skin, wailed for them to curl against his flesh in hopes of helping him get a grip of himself. Literally.

  He sighs, half flustered, half enlivened. “You’ll be here soon?”

  “Yeah, just five minutes more.”

  There’s a pause. “Okay.”

  A quick exhale breaks past your lips, a restrained puff of air that had been trapped in the back of your throat, waiting for a green light to let it loose. “Thank you, Sieun.”

  He can still feel the ghost of icy plastic against his cheek when you cut the call. Unfocused eyes cloud over the sheets and pens and smudged writing lazing atop his desk.

  Of course. 

  Of course you’re coming over. Because why wouldn’t you? Your laptop’s dead, and he’s the tech guy, and this is just what happens. He fixes things.

  And right now, you need him to fix your things. He couldn’t help but feel his heart jump at the idea, an eagerness creeping into his chest, fogging up his lungs and grabbing hold of the air that dared to escape up his trachea.

  Sieun, as cold as he seemed, felt warmth fixing your things, like he’d swallowed the sun and it dissolved into his blood. Unlike the peers on your campus, he does it for you free-of-charge—hell, he thinks he’d pay you just to let him fidget around with your laptop’s battery that burns to touch or the program functions you can’t seem to figure out even after using the ‘help’ tab. He’d never admit to it though.

  Not yet, at least.

  His eyes flicker to the unfinished problem adorning his notebook, numbers and symbols half-formed, abandoned mid-line. The solution sits just out of reach.

  Much like you.

  His unfinished integral mocks him.

  ⊹₊⋆✩⋆₊⊹

  Your cheeks are flushed, supple and radiant, the dermal symptom of cool drizzle and dewy autumn air. Sieun’s eyes surf the strands of your hair, glinting from subtle rain droplets that catch even in the dim fluorescent light of his dorm hallway.

  You look small like this in his doorway, backpack straps sagging over your shoulders, your sweater sporting little wet spots that are sure to smell like petrichor. Your hands tightly clutch a white plastic bag to your abdomen, the vertices of a cardboard box poking out at him.

  You smile at him, small and sweet and a little flustered. “There was some drizzle when I turned onto your lane.”

  Sieun’s gaze, currently traveling across the ridges tenting your plastic bag, snaps to your face.

  “Oh.” It’s a soft expression, a barely-there phoneme he manages through concern for you—how dare the clouds cry over your angel face?—and some muffled curiosity.

  Sieun just can’t help the fall of his gaze. He stares blankly at the bag in your hands. He’s not surprised when you take notice.

  “It’s brownie mix!”

  He peers at you again.

  “Brownies?”

  You grin sheepishly, fiddling with the plastic handles. “Yeah, I thought, well– you work so hard, you deserve a fun break, one you can get a sweet treat out of!” You pause. “And, I guess it’s also thanks for my laptop. You’ve saved me a lot of money I already don’t have, more than once now.”

  He’s still staring at you, face blank, unreadable, lips sealed in a line, but his eyes gleamed. Whether it was annoyance or humour, you weren’t sure, but his dreamy, tired eyes gleamed.

  Your eyes go wide. “Oh gosh, I should’ve asked you if brownies were okay. They looked so good on the box, I just had to pick them up. You could be allergic to chocolate, or maybe you don’t even like brownies–”

  “Brownies are cool.”

  Sieun watches your lips halt their rambling, configured mid-sentence, before they slowly spread into a toothy grin, one that radiates a warm feeling into his bones and almost—almost—makes his lip twitch up to match yours.

  ⊹₊⋆✩⋆₊⊹

  All you needed to do was force start.

  That’s all.

  No hardware to trifle with, no delinquent software meddling with your computer programs.

  All Sieun had to do was press a couple buttons in tandem before your screen lit back up to life, resurrected from its cry of wolf.

  Your cheeks had heated, bashful from your ignorance, but also a little humoured.

  They blazed further when you caught sight of the calculus massacre on his desk, hurried apologies spilling past your pretty lips to wash out the guilt that crawled up your chest.

  Sieun reassured you all was well—It’s fine, I was almost done anyways—with a look in his eyes that had you capitulating to his sincerity.

  “Can I repay you with brownies?” you had prompted, fingers twiddling behind your back as if it would have subliminally helped rouse the answer you sought after.

  Sieun slowly flattened your laptop to a shut before his Bambi eyes peaked at you and whispered exactly what you needed to know, exactly what you wanted to hear.

  So, you’d both clambered in his tiny, cozy dorm kitchen, ingredients and bowls and utensils scattered across granite, instructions serenading the walls in your voice, Sieun’s hands working to mix the dark sea of cocoa batter.

  You had assumed the role of a conductor but managed to pull a mess over you like a magnet. Whatever hadn’t been mixed into the warm batch of brownies basking atop Sieun’s countertop had found consolation on your being—cocoa powder and melted butter and drying batter decorated your skin and sweater.

  Sieun thought it was the cutest thing he’d ever seen.

  Of course, Sieun had missed any defiant ingredient attacks entirely.

  You’d both picked up a piece each, melted chocolate furnishing your mouths while Sieun, starry-eyed and attentive, listened to you babble about your stress baking and how, no matter the many times you made something, you’d always be left with a bit of a messy souvenir from the process.

  It was during this instance when the rain had hit.

  Hard and harsh and pattering ferociously against the window of his measly living room. You and Sieun had snapped your heads at the sound, sticky embellishments of chocolate coating your fingers.

  You’d looked so worried, so consumed in the thought of how you’d walk home through what was practically a typhoon. You hadn’t checked for a storm warning, all you’d known was a chance of rain. Your umbrella wouldn’t have stood a chance.

  You’d looked so worried, so it felt almost natural when Sieun suggested you just stay over.

  “...Really?” Your eyes were breaking past their sockets, and Sieun had nerely felt the weight of his words crash over him until your orbs softened and he saw the ghost of a smirk brush past your lips.

  “Yeah, you can’t get home through that,” his voice had been tinged with his radiation of care for you. His eyes swept over your chocolate-covered frame. “You can use my shower if you want. I’ll give you some clean clothes to wear.”

  You’d obliged. Quite happily.

  And now, Sieun sat at his desk, unfinished integral staring up at him, the muted sound of his shower silking through the wall, almost louder than the merciless storm outside his window. 

  Sieun hadn’t touched his sheets or pens since he’d retreated to his room, changed into his own set of nightwear, and lowered himself into his desk chair. He couldn’t focus.

  How could he? When you were just a dozen feet away, naked and wet under the rush of his shower.

  He knew he shouldn’t think about it, begged himself not to, but when his mind slipped over the way you had chocolate powder flowering your neck and underneath your sweater, he couldn’t help but let his mind run, just a little.

  Run over the way your fingers probably tucked under the bottom of your sweater, dragging it up along your beautiful body and over your head. What had you worn underneath? Had you even worn anything? 

  In Sieun’s little fantasy, you hadn’t. You’d been bare for him under your clothes, and he’d been ready, quick to ravish you, to kiss and suck and bite at your warm skin.

  But, that was just a fantasy.

  In reality, it didn’t matter whether or not you’d worn anything underneath your sweater. Sieun had just helped you out, made things a little easier for you, eased your anxiety by offering an innocent sleepover so you wouldn’t have to sacrifice yourself to what was the making of an ocean outside his dorm.

  It didn’t matter, just like his integral, still unfinished. Deferred. Mocking.

  The blood had barely made it to his cock before it was rushing back to his brain.

  A couple minutes more of unsuccessfully undressing the math symbols littering his half-blank page and you were padding your way into his room, feet bare, heels marginally lifted off the cold floor of his dorm. Your clothes were folded, carried atop your forearms, and your cute body was swallowed in his t-shirt and shorts, sleeves too long, neck hole too wide, fabric swaying just over your knees with each of your scampered steps.

  You gaze at Sieun from the edge of his bed, clothes now tucked away in your backpack, the hem of his shirt twirling in your fingers. 

  God, Sieun thought you looked ethereal, bare-faced and in his clothes. The warm, mellow glow of his desk lamp illuminates your face like a halo. Your sweet angel eyes are drowning him far past the storm outside.

  Sweet oblivious angel eyes. If only they could see the mess he’d made of you in his head.

  “Are you ready to sleep, or do you want to study some more?” Your voice is so soft, so melodious bouncing within the confines of his skull, and your eyes twinkle just right, brightened from his lamp and the mere cast of moonlight simmering through his window.

  “I’m done,” Sieun starts, “You take the bed. I’m going to sleep in the living room.”

  He’s about to push himself up when you cross your cute arms, defiant and determined. He watches your eyes narrow, eyebrows dip with a scrunch.

  “Absolutely not!” you chide, your squint piercing. Sieun stares, half stood. He sits back down.

  “It’s not fair to you! I showed up, practically unannounced, had you press a couple buttons on my laptop because I was too incompetent to figure it out myself, then made you make brownies with me against your will since you don’t take any economic compensation! And I know you’re not done with your problem set, I can see it from here. It’s exactly how you left it before we made those godforsaken brownies! I completely butted into your evening and messed up your studying, so you best believe you’ll be sleeping in your own bed and getting a good night’s rest!”

  You puff at the end, like you’d said it in one breath, forearms glued to each other, fingers digging into your biceps.

  Sieun is still staring at you, face blank, eyes gentle.

  “You’re not incompetent.”

  You blink.

  “That’s not the point, Sieun.” You huff, pointing to his blankets. 

  “Now, get to bed.”

  His eyes flick, your attention on his bed now shared. There’s an ease in the air, one that helps to hoist Sieun from his desk chair, click his lamp off, and carry himself over to the side of his bed. He lifts the corner of his duvet, slides underneath, and lets it fall over him. All without a peep.

  His eyes scan to your frame, still at the edge of his bed, still in his too-baggy clothes, still looking too ethereal for him to indulge below the moonlight’s gaze, even in your quarrelsome stance.

  You stare back at him.

  “Okay… good.” You sound stifled, almost suspicious of his obedience.

  Your arms unclasp, a little dazed at how fast he’d listened to you. With a hesitant scratch to your neck, you shuffle to what would be your side of Sieun’s bed, just for tonight.

  Even though Sieun wishes it could be a less transient arrangement.

  But he was doing this to help you. 

  Afterall, you’d looked so worried.

  Sieun watches your warm body roll onto his mattress, feels it dip with your added weight from across. You shamble to face him, the duvet bunching in your hands, a relaxed, content tilt gracing your lips. Your cheek presses against the pillow, eyes squinting with warmth and kindness and gratitude and what Sieun could describe as a fatally contagious ray of tranquility.

  You look so sweet like this, cuddled into his bed in clothes—his clothes—that swallow your body whole. The rain had slowed, granting permission to an even larger crowd of moonlight to flow over your face.

  Sieun thought you were unreal, a mythical being from a dreamy world far beyond the current celestial limits.

  A mythical being who saw him only for his technological abilities.

  You were only here for tonight. Sieun was just helping you.

  Because you had looked so worried.

  So, he rolls onto his side, nearing the edge of the bed, hands tittering close to an abyss.

  “Goodnight,” he grumbles. He doesn’t bother to pull the duvet to his front, lets it hang just over his side, as if any extra movement would make him appear more visible to you.

  You gape at his back.

  “Sieun!”

  Sieun closes his eyes. Perhaps the world around him wouldn’t see him if he couldn’t see the world.

  You puff, a frustrated push of air that has Sieun squinting his eyes shut further. He feels the duvet minutely ruffle behind him, feels the dip of the mattress sink gradually.

  “I don’t get it, are you actually upset?” Although you were quiet, you sounded so disgruntled, confused. Sieun could only wish he was better at this so he wouldn’t have to bear your honey-like voice convey such emotion, like thrones stuck in a cloud.

  But, Sieun was Sieun. A man of minimal words who spoke the truth and nothing but—until now.

  “No, just trying to get a good night’s rest.” Just trying to keep my mind off you, so close, for just one night.

  “Ugh! Will you just turn around so I can talk to you?”

  Your hand reaches out and grips the collar of Sieun’s shirt, a tight grip pulling him towards you, a gentle grip to avoid attempted murder.

  His eyes pop open, a hand catching onto the taut fabric around his neck. If there was the slightest chance Sieun’s conscious was to succumb to strangulation tonight, he thinks he’d only remember the warmth of your fingers fogging over the back of his neck.

  Sieun yields to your force, falling onto his back. Why are you so damn strong?

  With a hatch of his neck, his eyes find yours in the dark room, the patch of moonlight from his window dimmed from the roar of thunder and familiar strikes of heavy droplets against the glass.

  There’s light provocation simmering through your face, playful like a child in a game of tag.

  “Talk about what?” His voice is quiet but firm, his body a statue sandwiched between the mattress and sheets, daring not to move a millimeter.

  You peer at him, words hanging along the tip of your tongue, as if debating whether they were worth speaking into the medium shared between your beings.

  You decide they are.

  “I know you take a fee from others when you fix their laptops.” There’s a quirk in his neck, a twitch at the corner of his lips that urges you further. “You’ve never taken one from me, even when I mention it. Why is that?”

  Sieun feels a gradual quickening of his heartbeat at this concoction of your voice, and, like the start of a tornado, the thoughts in his head rampage into a whirlwind.

  To be or not to be? Sieun, who previously seemed to lack any cognitive resources to solve his monster integral, was now calculating his next move with rigorous intricacy.

  Maybe it was the kick in adrenaline that had him instigating your little game.

  Sieun chose to be.

  “Why do you think?”

  Your eyes narrow in an instant, the entire play a chain reaction. Were you also debating your next actions, words? Were you also aware of the string snapping taut between you, tense and nearing a strong, sudden tear?

  Sieun definitely was. Like always, he knew what he was getting himself into, knew he was igniting something far beyond repair, unlike the many laptops he’d resurrected.

  Sieun knew what he’d started. He’d calculated it, perhaps from the very beginning, from the moment he uttered the word “stay.”

  He was just helping you, for one night. Just one night.

  You’d looked so worried, of course.

  Perhaps Sieun had wanted your eyebrows to furrow from another force of nature—him.

  Say something.

  A quirk to your lips. Dark shadows in your eyes.

  And a hand reaching out for his neck, this time to pull him to the plushest centre of your visage.

  His lips graze the fullness of yours when you whisper in a breath.

  “I knew to force start.”

  Sieun isn’t spared a chance to retaliate his sockets stretching back when you press into him.

  The dense pressure molds his own lips flush against yours, an electric fog swarming your face and down the flanks of your neck.

  It’s a reflex, an abrupt, consuming, greedy reflex, when his arm curls over your back, big hand hastily grazing along your spine to knot into your hair.

  Had Sieun fallen asleep?

  This has to be a dream.

  But your lips were too soft against his, too warm.

  And your back curved so well along his forearm, strands so luxurious curled around his fingers.

  Your hand on his chest, basking down his torso… Sieun believes he doesn’t possess even a speckle of the imagination required to muster a feeling as heavenly as that.

  Definitely not enough to muster a feeling as heavenly as your hand sliding over him through his thin flannel pajamas.

  You were a fallen angel who had come to play unsacred games.

  And Sieun proved to be a worthy opponent.

  His fingers grip around the base of your skull to pull you from his lips.

  His eyes are heavy with a murmur of inquisition, flitting over your lips before boring into your own with words unspoken. You mirror his gaze with equal weight, savouring his quiet inhale when you push further down over his hardening curve, feathering your hand up to rest against the supple part of his abdomen.

  “You know where this is going.” It was a statement, a quiet, breathless, almost restrained mutter carrying all the responsibility and uncertainty and anticipation littered within Sieun.

  You gaze, knowing, unbothered.

  “This is what you want? This is what you came for?”

  “Yes,” you whisper, “Take it as part of my thanks.”

  “I thought the brownies were your thanks.”

  You smirk. “That was just the appetizer.”

  Sieun scoffs quietly, a humble pfft to accompany the fingers gently rubbing over the bottom of your scalp, a means of easing into his next utterance.

  You were drowning in his milk chocolate orbs, a velvety sea full of nothing but care and adoration and awe for you.

  “Are you sure you want to go further?” Any quieter and the storm battering upon his window would have drowned his sound completely.

  “Yes, Sieun.”

  That was everything he needed to hear.

  A gentle push to your neck has your lips pressing back into the plushness of his own.

  It’s a slow kiss, chaste but blazing with the need you’d both been bearing for months. You move against the other, the ghost of anticipation urging you further into it.

  Sieun definitely is not dreaming.

  All his prior frustration, graced from his still unsolved practice set and the many long, agonizing weeks of indirect contact with you, melts away, leaving a tender warmth to dry in its place. Your lips feel as soft as—no, they were softer, so much softer, and warm like sun rays on cold skin—the many times he’d imagined the ghost of them wisping against his.

  A transient ghost, barely lasting a mere tortuous ten seconds. He’d stop himself from savouring it, pry the ghost away before his hopes shot higher than the sky above him.

  But now, you were here, tangible, with your mortal lips on his. They were so supple, so plush and warm and real. And they were flush against his. No one else but him.

  Sieun had spent so long denying your fabricated being, the one who would distract him from his problem sets, urge him to isolate from the many gadgets his peers would throw his way in times of technological misfortune.

  Sieun decided it was finally time to show you what your ghost had been doing to him.

  He sucks in your bottom lip, hands grazing over your hips to pull you over his growing hardness with a delicate hold, treating your vessel like original vintage artwork. Fragile. Authentic. Godly.

  The duvet shifts against your back while you shift over him, the core of your heat finding solace over his own. The hem of his borrowed t-shirt rides up your torso like it knows what’s coming.

  It’s an abrupt, consuming, visceral feeling when you first connect with the stiff rod bulging against the stressed material of Sieun’s pajamas.

  It’s the same for Sieun, so when a small groan muses from the depths of his throat at the feeling of your heat radiating along his length, he remains basking in its aftermath.

  Lips still working into each other, you almost don’t acknowledge the slow, tantalizing roll of your hips.

  Sieun does, and it drives him crazy.

  Sieun, who was always so cool, composed, and distant was now growing hot and undone, all while pressing himself further into you, meeting you at an undefined middle, ridding any and all separation from your heating bodies from the insufferable vexation of need.

  His hands knead into your hips, bearing your heat further along him, before they configure to push himself up while embracing you flush against his chest.

  You’re consuming him, physically and mentally. Your lips on his, your body wrapped tightly around his own, hot cunt slowly grinding over the hard curve of his cock, a barrier of too much fabric plastered between your beings and pushing you both into frustrated desperation.

  Your name, your scent, the suppleness of your skin, they all fog his head, conquer it with the ghost of you.

  Both your mortal and immortal forms had possessed him, consumed him whole until he was nothing but a spec of utter devotion to you and you only.

  Your hips grind again, slow, sinful, and Sieun’s breath stutters against your mouth.

  You feel the shiver that rebounds through him like a tremor, feel the tight grip of his hands at your waist falter before steadying again, tighter this time, as if he needs to anchor you, or maybe himself.

  His lips leave yours only to trail hot, desperate, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, your neck, your crescent of skin beyond the shirt’s collar, the devotion in each press of his mouth turning you molten.

  “You feel…” he murmurs, barely audible, like he’s speaking to himself, “…too good. Too good to be real.”

  You tilt your hips forward again, slower this time, answering him with equal desperation, and Sieun’s head tips back, a ragged exhale pulling from his throat. The sight strikes you—his lashes trembling, his brows knit together in pleasure so raw it borders on pain. He looks ruined.

  Kiss-swollen lips and flushed cheeks, shades of pink colonizing his visage in the shower of eventide luminosity.

  You don’t realize you’ve gasped until his gaze finds you again, pupils blown wide and gleaming with disbelief. His thumbs rub along your hip bones, a fragrant sensation even through the fabric of his shorts you adorned.

  Your hands glide under his shirt, pushing up until he’s reaching for the edge himself, prying the shirt past his head and letting the fabric fall to the cold hardwood beneath his bed.

  His hands slip beneath the hem of your own, and his touch is hesitant, wavering, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he reaches too far.

  “Can I…?” he asks, voice husky and threadbare, already tugging at the fabric.

  You nod. His hands glide up, slow and reverent, brushing over the curves and valleys he’s only ever imagined, each touch leaving heat in its wake. 

  He drinks in the sight of you like he’s been thirst-starved for days, gentle eyes falling over your face and down to your taut peaks. You weren’t a ghost anymore—you were a dream, glowing and radiant beneath the muted haze of damp moonlight.

  And when your bare chest presses to his, skin to skin, nothing between you but the thundering pace of your hearts, Sieun chokes out a soft, desperate moan.

  The ghost of you has vanished.

  What remains is you—real and soft and warm and all his.

  And he’s no longer a boy haunted by longing. He’s a man who’s finally allowed to feel.

  Your fingers find the nape of his neck, weaving into the soft strands of his hair, and the sound he lets out—broken, hushed, completely unguarded—settles somewhere deep in your chest.

  Sieun’s lips return to yours with more urgency now, less caution, the kind that only comes when desire and restraint blur into the same overwhelming thing. His tongue traces your bottom lip before slipping inside, gentle, exploratory, worshipping, like he’s memorizing you.

  Every movement of his hips under you is hesitant but needy, as if he’s still trying to slow himself down, still trying to process that you’re not slipping away.

  “You’re driving me insane,” he whispers against your mouth, voice hoarse and cracking like lightning behind the storm-glassed windows.

  He kisses you again, softer now, almost like an apology for how his hands are now gripping at the swell of your thighs with mounting desperation.

  Then, with a breath that shakes against your lips, Sieun pulls back. Only just.

  “Lie back,” he murmurs, voice low, thick with something you’ve never heard from him before. Anticipation, maybe. Hunger, definitely.

  You do, painfully unlatching from his warmth and sinking into the pillow behind you.

  Sieun follows, crawling down the length of your body like a man crossing sacred ground, his drowsy gaze never leaving you. It lingers on the slope of your neck, the lines of your collarbone, the tender stretch of skin bare to the cool air of his bedroom. Each inch he memorizes like scripture, utterly fascinated and unspeakably enamoured.

  “You’re…” he begins, almost too quiet to even comprehend, but trails off, like no word quite fits what you are to him.

  And then you see it. The way adoration turns to ache.

  A valley of creases between his brows, a marginal slit parting his pout, the quickened wisps of air trailing out of him. He’s wrecked, far past.

  And you had barely touched him.

  Sieun’s hands slide up your thighs, calloused fingertips brushing along the waistband of the very shorts he lent you, the ones riding too low on your hips, the ones he's dreamed about you in far too many nights to count.

  He kisses the inside of your knee.

  Then your thigh.

  Then the soft dip just above your hip bone.

  His hands move, thumbs hooking into the waistband. There’s a beat—one last, wordless check—and then he draws them down.

  And stops breathing.

  You’re bare beneath them. No panties. Just slick, glistening proof of how long you’ve wanted this too.

  “Fuck,” he breathes, like it’s been torn from him. His jaw goes slack, eyes shadowed with affection and disbelief. “You didn’t wear—?”

  He doesn't finish. He can't.

  His hands twitch.

  You’ve rendered Yeon Sieun speechless.

  Sieun blinks once, twice, like he’s trying to process the sight before him, trying not to let it undo him entirely.

  But it does.

  It does.

  He swallows hard, jaw flexing as his eyes drag along the slick sheen glistening between your thighs, warm and glimmering and pooling out of you sans constraint.

  His hands settle on your hips again, firm, needy, desperate.

  “You’ve been like this this whole time?” he whispers, voice hoarse, eyes flickering up to meet yours, the question half-shattered already. “Wearing my shorts… like this?”

  You don’t have time to answer.

  Because Sieun leans in, drawn like a man starved, mouth ghosting just above your heat and breathing you in.

  His composure fractures there.

  A low, guttural sound breaks from his throat as he presses a slow, devoted kiss to your core. Just one.

  Then another. Then again, deeper, wetter, until his tongue slides through your folds with a trembling groan of restraint and craving colliding all at once.

  Your hips twitch and Sieun’s grip tightens instinctively, his fingers digging into your waist to anchor you to him like you might vanish otherwise.

  His tongue moves again, slow and patient, still trying to worship even while losing his mind.

  But you’re so wet, and he’s so gone.

  Each soft moan that slips from your lips draws another shaky exhale from him, each roll of your hips a crack in his control.

  He tries to keep it measured. Gentle.

  But then he hears you gasp his name, all broken and raw, and something inside him snaps.

  His pace quickens.

  He licks into you deeper, more desperate, tongue flicking, flattening, circling like he’s chasing a high that stubbornly runs just a step out of his reach. His nose brushes your clit and he doesn’t even think to pull back.

  He wants it all.

  You feel his moan against you, deep and wrecked, and you realize:

  Sieun isn’t composed anymore.

  He’s hungry.

  Possessed.

  And completely, unbearably devoted to the taste of you.

  You’re gasping now, each breath shallower than the last, and Sieun can feel you trembling beneath his palms.

  It spurs him on, wrecks him in ways he never knew were possible.

  His thumbs rub slow circles into your hips, as if to soothe you, steady you, but his mouth is relentless, nose tirelessly working into your nub. His tongue is languid one moment, then firmer the next, lapping through your folds with aching, focused precision, memorizing all that makes you fall apart.

  You roll into a nimble arch, head tipping back, and your thighs quiver where they rest over his shoulders.

  “Sieun—” you whimper.

  His name breaks in your throat, and that’s what crumbles him.

  He groans into you again, the vibration shooting straight through your core as he licks you harder now, deeper, more rhythmic, mouth coaxing you right to the edge, right to the place he’s been aching to take you.

  His hands are cradling your hips now, keeping you spread open, helpless, vulnerable, his.

  And then he whispers it, barely audible, a prayer into your skin.

  “Come for me.”

  Your breath catches.

  “Let me taste all of you,” he mumbles again, like he’s asking for divinity, like your pleasure is holy.

  And when you finally do, when your body tenses and your thighs clamp tight around his head and that beautiful cry of his name leaves your lips, Sieun doesn’t stop.

  He groans into you, licking you through it, drinking it in like he’s never tasted something more sacred.

  Like he’s never belonged more to anything—anyone—than he does to you in this moment.

  And even after the tremors still, even when you’re limp and gasping and glowing beneath him, he keeps kissing you softly, as if he can’t bear to let you go just yet.

  As if this is how he says I’ve wanted you like this forever.

  You’re still panting when he pulls back, lips slick and pink, eyes hooded and blown wide with awe. He looks stunned. Disheveled. Like a man undone by worship.

  But you, trembling and aching and desperate to have all of him, manage to find your voice.

  “Sieun,” you whisper, reaching for him. Your fingers trail along his jaw, coaxing him up until he’s hovering over you again. “I want more.”

  His breath hitches.

  Your palm slides over his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath his ribs. “I want you inside me.”

  Sieun stills completely.

  And then his eyes close, jaw tightening as if your words alone could undo the last shreds of his composure.

  “Fuck,” he breathes, voice rough with disbelief.

  He kisses you, not hard, not hurried, but slow and deep, like it’s all he can do to keep from losing control. You savour the heady taste of your slick coating his lips. He presses his forehead to yours, and mutters shakily, “One second.”

  You watch as he reaches for the drawer beside his bed and pulls out a condom from the crumpled blue box Hu-min had shoved at him weeks ago with a stupid grin and no explanation.

  He’d meant to throw them out. He hadn’t.

  He tears the foil open with controlled fingers and slides his flannels and boxers off his body, finally bearing himself free.

  He’s thick, flushed, already leaking from the tip. He hisses under his breath as he rolls the condom on, fingers twitching like he’s barely holding it together.

  When he settles between your thighs, eyes drowning in your sight, the air changes.

  Gone is the boy who’s too quiet, too closed off, too powered from the urge of indignation.

  What remains is Sieun drowned in passion, eyes wide and dreamy and dazed by the sight of you spread open for him, the warmth of your body beckoning his own.

  “You sure?” he asks again, voice almost too tender.

  You nod, pulling him down into a kiss, and guide him with a soft whisper, “Yes. Please, Sieun. I want all of you.”

  He exhales shakily.

  Then he lines himself just beyond your heat, and with a leisurely push of his hips, he slides inside.

  You both gasp.

  You’re hot and wet and hug onto his inching cock, and he sinks in like he’s always meant to belong there. 

  “God—” he grits, arms trembling on either side of you as he tries not to lose it too fast, forehead dropping to your shoulder.

  “You’re…” His voice cracks. “So good. So—gosh, I don’t—”

  You wrap your legs around him, anchoring him to you, and moan when he rocks forward again, deeper this time. You feel everything, every inch, every pulse, every lazed drag.

  He starts slow, shallow, testing your fit, his own restraint. His hips roll into yours with a tender kind of ache, like he’s afraid to break you, like each inch of him inside you is a miracle he can’t fully comprehend.

  But your body answers with desperate softness, clinging to him like silk caught in wind. You tilt your hips, chasing more friction, and whimper at the way his cock presses deeper, fuller, perfectly where you need him.

  Sieun moans, a sound so broken and quiet it nearly guts you.

  “Please,” you breathe, clutching at his back, your voice hitching with each movement. “Don’t hold back.”

  His jaw clenches. His eyes flutter shut.

  And then he moves deeper, hips rocking into you with a fluid rhythm that makes your breath stutter and your legs tighten around him.

  The friction is delicious. The stretch, overwhelming yet cosmic.

  Sieun presses closer, burying his face further into your neck, panting softly against your skin.

  “You’re so—” He chokes on a groan as your walls flutter around him. “You feel unreal.”

  You drag your nails lightly down his spine, whispering back between moans.

  He fucks into you slowly, like it’s sacred. Each thrust is a vow, a prayer, an unraveling. His hands are everywhere—one gripping your thigh to anchor you to him, the other cradling your jaw like you’re too precious to let go.

  Your body sings for him. You meet each movement with your own, hips rising to greet him, rolling and shifting to take him deeper, to keep him close.

  Your moans mingle with his gasps, the heat between you building with every thrust, until there’s nothing left of restraint, only the desperate, languid drag of two bodies finding rhythm in devotion.

  Sieun lifts his head to look at you—really look—and what he sees makes his hips stutter.

  Your face, flushed and shining, lips parted, still pink and swollen, eyes glassy with bliss and admiration.

  You’re breathtaking. And right now, you were his.

  He moans again, broken and stunned, and leans down to kiss you like he’ll fall apart if he doesn’t, slow, messy, teeth grazing lips, all while his hips begin to move faster, harder, chasing something he’s never dared imagine before you.

  Your bodies are slick with heat and need, the world around you reduced to nothing but the way he fits, the way he fills, the way he worships you with every thrust.

  Sieun is whispering your name like a lifeline, like it’s the only word he knows, murmured into the skin of your throat, your jaw, your lips, as if it can tether him to reality while he teeters on the edge of something vast and consuming.

  “You feel so good,” he rasps, voice hoarse and reverent. “So perfect—you’re perfect.”

  Your back arches, body shuddering as he angles his hips just right, deep and slow and precise, hitting that spot inside you that makes gush over his length.

  Your moans turn high and breathless, desperate.

  “Sieun—” you gasp, legs tightening around his waist, pulling him in deeper. “I’m close—oh my god—”

  He knows. 

  He feels it, the way you start to flutter and squeeze around him, the way your breaths collapse into whimpers. And even through the haze of his own rising pleasure, Sieun slows down just enough to draw it out for you, to feel every trembling second of it.

  “I’ve got you,” he whispers, breath stuttering. “Come, please.”

  And you do.

  It rushes over you in waves—white-hot, pulsing, unstoppable—your climax washing through your entire body with a strangled moan, your limbs tightening, your voice shaking as you cry out his name.

  Sieun swears under his breath, something desperate and soft, and then he loses it.

  The way you clamp around him, slick, pulsing, so warm, is all it takes to send him spiraling. His rhythm falters, hips stuttering, muscles trembling as the pressure finally breaks. He groans, deep and guttural, and spills into the condom with a few last shallow thrusts, his whole body curling into yours like he’s trying to fuse the two of you together.

  And when it’s over, when the tremors in both your bodies begin to subside and your chests press together in exhausted, blissful rhythm, he stays. 

  Buried in you, breathless, consumed. His forehead pressed to yours, his lashes fluttering, lips ghosting your cheek.

  And finally, his lips quirk at the corners, gracing his features with a small, gentle smile.

  Because he decides he won’t be washing his shorts.

  And he thinks he’ll get you to ruin another pair when you bring your laptop over for him under the guise of fixing it again.

৬ৎ  𝑙𝑒𝑒'𝑠 𝑝𝘰𝑠𝘵𝑙𝑢𝑑𝑒  ࿐  i decided for a soft, feral rendition of sieun’s university au. this will be the last weak hero fic i write before i move onto skz and atz! need more? you can read hyuntak’s version over here  ⌯⌲  smart girl

───── how do we feel about starting a taglist?

[cupidsonly]

i can’t wait to see this scrumptious man in june💔

Dangerous Obsession

warning : public sex, car sex , squirting, female&male giving & receiving, dirty talk. fluff + smut mdni.

Genre : smut & fluff a bit of angst

The first time you met Hwang Jun-ho, you knew two things about him: he was the best bodyguard money could buy, and he had no patience for people like you.

You weren’t royalty, but you might as well have been. Being the daughter of one of the most powerful men in the country meant your life wasn’t your own. It belonged to security teams, political expectations, and a father who measured love in protection, not affection. And now, it belonged to Hwang Jun-ho—a man who looked at you like you were the most frustrating part of his day.

His sharp gaze assessed you from the doorway of your father’s estate, where he’d just been introduced as your new bodyguard. He was tall, lean, and deadly in the way only men like him could be. Trained, disciplined, dangerous. A man who never smiled, at least not in your direction.

“Miss,” he greeted, his voice clipped.

You arched a brow. “No first names? Not even a ‘nice to meet you’?”

His lips twitched, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he turned to your father, awaiting instructions.

Yeah. This was going to be fun.

The first week was tense. Jun-ho didn’t just watch over you; he studied you. Every move you made, every glance you threw his way, he cataloged with unnerving precision. You tested him in small ways—walking slightly ahead to see if he’d speed up, lingering too long in certain places just to see if he’d get impatient. He never did.

One evening, you attended a gala hosted by your father’s associates. You wore a backless gown that shimmered under the chandelier lights, the kind that turned heads. Including his. For the first time since he’d been assigned to you, you saw something flicker in Jun-ho’s eyes—something dark, something dangerous.

He recovered quickly, standing rigid by your side as you sipped your champagne.

"You're staring," you murmured over the rim of your glass.

"Your dress is impractical," he replied coolly.

"It wasn’t meant for practicality."

His jaw tightened. "It certainly wasn’t meant for security."

You smiled. "Relax, Mr. Hwang. No one’s going to kill me at a party."

"That’s what they all think. Until they do."

The way he said it sent a chill down your spine.

Every day was a battle of wills. You pushed; he resisted. You tested; he remained unshaken.

One afternoon, you ditched your assigned schedule and slipped out through the back entrance of the estate. It was a game to you, seeing how long it would take before Jun-ho found you. You made it three blocks before you heard the unmistakable sound of his footsteps behind you.

"Going somewhere?" His voice was calm, but his eyes held a storm.

You turned, smiling sweetly. "Just for a walk."

His jaw tensed. "You know that’s not how this works."

"I don’t recall asking for a babysitter."

"Too bad. You got one anyway."

Before you could argue, he closed the distance between you, standing so close you could feel the heat of his body.

"Try that again," he warned, "and you won’t like what happens next."

A slow grin spread across your lips. "Careful, Mr. Hwang, or I’ll think you actually like me."

His mouth curled into a grin. “Darling, we’re way beyond like.”

Your breath hitched, but you refused to let him see the effect he had on you. He was a bodyguard, and you were his job. That was all. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

Tension coiled between you in the weeks that followed. It was in the way his eyes lingered when he thought you weren’t looking, the way his fingers brushed against your lower back as he guided you through a crowd. He was careful, so careful, but the cracks were beginning to show.

One night, you were caught in a press ambush outside a charity event. Flashing lights, shouting voices, the frenzy of people pressing in too close. Jun-ho’s hand found your waist, firm and steady, as he maneuvered you into the car. But he didn’t let go, even when the doors shut and you were alone.

For a moment, you just breathed.

Then he realized his mistake and pulled away like he’d been burned.

"You okay?" he asked, voice rough.

You exhaled slowly, meeting his gaze. "You tell me."

His fingers curled into fists, tension radiating from his frame.

The first time Jun-ho touched you without the excuse of protection, it wasn’t soft. It was possessive, desperate, wrong. And you let him. you started at him for so long to the point that he indulged in your games

A muscle in his jaw ticked. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

“I think you like it.”

His eyes darkened. "well then..." You barely had time to catch your breath before he had you pinned you , his hand curling around the back of your neck while his thumb grazed your lip.

“ you're Mine to fight with. Mine to protect. Mine to fuck.” His voice dropped to a rasp. “Mine to love.”

After he said things shifted between the two of you including the position you guys are in because before you knew it you found yourself being eaten out by him..

“i-i don’t wanna mess up the car, Jun-ho,” you grit your teeth, because you’re worried about soaking the leather.

Jun-ho murmurs, voice hushed against your inner thighs. “seats are waterproof, did it myself.”

“trust me, sweetheart. just relax, and enjoy yourself.” Jun-ho's reassurance has your limbs loosening, once racing mind finally slowing down. his large fingers push inside you, and all you can do is whine his name.

 he ate you out, you squirted all over the place. when he’d practically ripped off your skirt and panties after you finished playing your games, you realized what could happen. the seats are leather, in pristine condition. you wouldn’t want to destroy them by squirting all over, right?

“squirt all over me, and the car.” Jun-ho demands, lightly slapping your fluttering pussy.

you moan, pushing a hand into his unbound hair and pulling as you push his face into your pussy. your heart’s pounding in your ears when he moans into you, fingers curling deep as he sucks your clit roughly.

“Jun-ho, harder!”

Jun-ho obliges, scalp tingling from how hard you’re yanking on his hair. his free hand rests on your thigh, tensing slightly as he keeps your trembling legs open.

the car is warm, and you feel dizzy as your orgasm builds beneath his harsh tongue. your tits jolt when your back straightens, white hot pleasure zapping through you like lightning. Jun-ho stops curling his fingers against your g-spot, and starts to scissor them in and out of you.

“Jun-ho!” you squeal above the squelching, wet sounds of your fluttering pussy, “mmmh, i think ‘m gonna—”

“do it for me, baby,” Jun-ho groans, looking up at you from where he’s positioned himself at your pussy.

all you can do is moan, head falling back when the tension and pressure inside you finally reaches its limit. liquid gushes out of you, spraying all over Jun-ho's face and dampening his hair, along with the leather of the seats around you.

your chest heaves as your eyes open, gasping at the sight before you. your boyfriend and his seats are covered in your squirt, and he’s leaning towards your pussy again to lick up the mess.

“mm mm,” Jun-ho’s fingers traced down your arm, slow and deliberate, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. His eyes searched yours , hesitation warring with something deeper, something darker.

"Perhaps…" His voice was barely audible, roughened with restraint. His touch skimmed down your neck and over the curve of your shoulder. you felt goosebumps all over your body "I was always meant to find my way to you." you

His words sent a thrill through you, dangerous and intoxicating. You barely had time to process them before his lips ghosted over yours again, lingering just long enough to make you ache. “Forget a skipped beat. My heart skipped a whole song. If it skips any more, it’ll have no playlist left.”

Jun-ho’s laugh was quiet, almost disbelieving. “Then I guess we better make every song count.”

And then he kissed you—fully, desperately, like he had nothing left to lose. Like you were his rule to break, his sin to commit.

Like you were his.

The next morning, everything was different. You were different. The quiet between you was uncomfortable. It wasn’t peaceful. It was heavy, thick with unsaid words and unresolved feelings. You didn’t know how to look at him anymore, how to talk to him like it hadn’t happened. Like he hadn’t ruined you with just a kiss.

You couldn’t focus. You couldn’t think.

Later, after a tense silence, you found yourself in the kitchen with a cup of coffee, staring at the steam rising from the mug. Your phone buzzed with a text. It was from one of your best friends—Joo-ri. She had no idea what had been happening, no idea about the man who had been messing with your heart and your head. But you needed to talk to someone, and she was the only person you trusted.

“Let’s meet up,” the message read.

You sat across from her at a small café, the city’s bustle muffled by the quiet comfort of the café. Joo-ri sipped her coffee, watching you carefully as you fidgeted with your cup.

“What’s going on with you?” she asked, her voice soft but probing. “You’ve been off lately.”

You shrugged, taking a sip of your own drink to avoid meeting her gaze. “I don’t know. Just… things.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Things? Don’t give me that vague crap. You look like you’ve been run over by a truck. What happened?”

You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. The words felt stuck, like they were too heavy to be said aloud. Instead, you tried to change the subject.

“You know Jun-ho, right?” you finally asked.

Joo-ri’s eyes lit up. “Oh yeah, he’s hot.”

“He’s also my bodyguard,” you said flatly, taking another drink, avoiding her gaze.

She smirked, leaning in a little. “You two have been spending a lot of time together. He’s definitely good-looking, but… he’s kinda old.”

You laughed, the sound coming out a little more strained than you wanted it to. “He’s not that old. Besides, I love older men.”

Joo-ri’s eyes widened. “SAMEEEE!” she practically squealed.

You rolled your eyes, feeling a little embarrassed. But then, Hye-jin, your other friend, chimed in from the corner, her voice full of mock disapproval.

“You guys are hopeless.”

And just like that, the weight of everything you were feeling shifted for a moment. It was nice to laugh, even if it was just for a little while.

But when the day ended, the storm within you raged again. The emotional distance you had with Jun-ho became harder to ignore. There was too much heat between you, too much desire, and the forbidden nature of it was suffocating.

Later that evening, when you were alone again in the mansion, you found yourself face to face with him in the hallway. His gaze locked onto yours, and for a moment, the world fell away. His words from earlier came rushing back—how he had claimed you, how he had kissed you like you were his. How you had let him.

You couldn’t stay away anymore.

“Jun-ho, I’m sorry, we can’t do this,” your voice trembled, the words catching in your throat. You took a step back, trying to distance yourself from him, as if that would make the pain go away. “This isn’t right, and besides…” You paused, your breath hitching, a lump forming in your throat. “I’m hard to love. I can’t promise you anything. I can’t even promise myself anything.”

Your eyes welled up, tears threatening to spill, and you fought them back with every ounce of strength you had. The emotion was too much.

Jun-ho’s gaze softened, but he didn’t move. He didn’t try to stop you. His silence was more painful than any words could have been, but you couldn't bring yourself to face him any longer.

“I don’t want you to make promises you can’t keep,” he said, his voice low, tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to walk away.”

Tears finally escaped, streaking down your face, betraying your resolve. You wiped them away angrily, unable to control the flood of emotions that seemed to overwhelm you every time he got too close.

Jun-ho’s expression faltered for just a second, and it was then that you realized something—he wasn’t going anywhere.

“I’m sorry someone let you believe you were hard to love, because, Darling, it’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done,” Jun-ho said, his voice low but full of emotion. His eyes softened in a way you hadn’t seen before.

You blinked, feeling something twist inside you.

“Jun-ho…” you whispered.

He stepped closer, his fingers brushing the side of your face gently. “You think you’re hard to love? You’re not. You’re just scared. But I’ll never hurt you.”

The tension between you was unbearable, but this time, you didn’t pull away. Instead, you leaned in slightly, giving him the unspoken permission he was waiting for.

“I’ll only kiss you when you ask me to. When you're breathless with how much you need me to kiss you. Then, and only then, will I kiss you,” Jun-ho teased, his lips hovering close to yours.

Your heart pounded in your chest. The air between you was thick with promise, and you knew, deep down, that you were both dangerously close to crossing a line you couldn’t come back from. But you wanted it. You needed it.

“Please,” you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of everything you had been avoiding.

And then, he kissed you.

The world didn’t matter anymore.

a/n : can u tell I'm shit at writing angst? id rather jump off a building than write it but I had to for the sake of the story.

[cupidsonly]

want to fuck him raw, every night every day until the holes know it's size and fit perfectly, until the neighbours know his full name, until I can't walk until my bed break

[cupidsonly]

i need this engraved in my heart.

What loyalty gets you

Pairing: Na Baek-jin x female reader x Geum Seong-je

Summary: After a brutal fight, Baek-jin rewards Seong-je’s loyalty by offering him the one thing he’s always wanted—his girl—for one night only.

Warnings: explicit sexual content, voyeurism, praise and degradation, power dynamics, possessiveness, jealousy, mentions of violence, mild emotional manipulation.

You swab gently at the gash on Baek-jin’s cheekbone, heart heavy with worry even as he sits still under your touch. The dim lamp in the corner of the apartment casts a low, golden glow over the cramped living room, illuminating the dried blood on his skin and the fresh bruises blooming along his jaw. It’s well past midnight by now, and the silence is thick—broken only by the quiet hiss of your breath and the occasional drip of antiseptic onto cotton. Each time you dab at his wound, his dark eyes stay trained on your face, unreadable but calm, as if your presence alone numbs the sting. You can feel the tension coiled in his muscles from the fight, see it in the rigid line of his shoulders, yet he softens just enough to let you tend to him. In this moment, he’s not the Union’s fearsome leader, he’s simply your Baek-jin, hurt and exhausted, leaning subtly into your careful touch.

Across the room, Seong-je lingers by the wall, watching in silence. You’re keenly aware of his presence—his heavy breaths still evening out from the adrenaline, the scrape of his shoe on the floor as he shifts his weight. He hasn’t said a word since the three of you staggered into the apartment after the brawl. He insisted that Baek-jin take the only armchair while you fetched the first-aid kit, and he’s been standing guard nearby as if the fight might burst through the door after you. You steal a glance at him from the corner of your eye. He’s got a split lip and a darkening bruise under one eye; blood mats a portion of his dark hair to his temple. But he seems oblivious to his own injuries. Instead, his gaze is fixed on you and your lover with an intensity that makes your skin prickle with heat.

You know that look. That look—hungry, almost predatory, yet reined-in by deference. He isn’t even trying to hide it at this point; his eyes follow the movement of your hands as you tilt Baek-jin’s chin to dab at a cut on his lip. You catch the faintest twitch in his jaw, the way his battered hands clench and unclench at his sides. In the quiet, you can nearly hear how his breathing deepens whenever your body leans closer to your man, as if he’s imagining himself in his place, receiving your gentle care. It sends a subtle thrill through you—a mix of power and excitement that pools low in your belly.

It wasn’t always this way. There was a time he barely met your eyes at all, treating you with a polite distance as “Baek-jin’s girl.” But somewhere along the line, things changed.

⸻

You remember the first time you caught Seong-je staring at you like he wanted you—truly wanted you. It was a few months ago, on another long night much like this one. Baek-jin had called a small gathering of his most trusted at a secluded rooftop to strategize union business. You had accompanied him, as you often do, lingering at his side while he delegated tasks in his cool, measured tone. The summer air was sweltering, humidity sticking your blouse to your back. You recall fanning yourself with a file and noticing him leaning against the ledge, eyes fixed not on his leader as usual, but on you.

At first, you thought you were mistaken. Seong-je was known for his brutality in fights and his unwavering loyalty, not for openly ogling women—certainly not his boss’s girlfriend. But that evening, in the haze of neon city lights, his gaze had wandered. When Baek-jin shrugged off his school blazer and rolled up his sleeves mid-discussion, you stepped forward instinctively to take the discarded jacket from his hands. It was a simple, familiar gesture. He rewarded you with a small nod of thanks, and you couldn’t help a fond smile in return. That’s when you felt it: a prickling awareness along your spine. Seong-je’s eyes were on you, dark and intent.

You glanced over and caught him squarely in the act. He didn’t look away. For a heartbeat, he held your gaze, and the raw yearning in his expression made your breath catch. It was as if the mask had slipped from his face. His eyes dipped, almost of their own will, tracing the curve of that smile still on your lips, then lower to the line of your throat where a sheen of sweat clung, then lower still—to the light swell of your breasts beneath your thin summer blouse. The air felt charged, heavy between you. A slow, hot flush crept up your neck at being looked at like that—like you were something to devour. And oddly, you didn’t feel offended. If anything, you were intrigued, heart thumping faster with an excitement you pretended not to recognize.

Then Baek-jin spoke again, pulling everyone’s attention back, and Seong-je finally tore his gaze away, face hardening back into impassivity. But you had seen the crack in his armor, however brief. That night, as you and your boyfriend walked home, you found yourself replaying his expression in your mind—the dark heat in his eyes, the way his lips had parted slightly as he watched you. You wondered if Baek-jin had noticed it too.

He had.

Later that same night, curled up in his bed, you mustered the courage to mention it. “I think your right hand was staring at me earlier,” you murmured. Your head rested on his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart.

His fingers paused their soothing stroke through your hair for just a moment. “Mm,” he acknowledged noncommittally. But you heard a hint of something in that sound—amusement, perhaps. As if he wasn’t surprised.

You lifted your chin to study his face in the dark. “You noticed?”

His arm around your bare waist tightened subtly, possessively. “Hard not to,” he replied, voice low. A sardonic half-smile curved his lips. “He looked like a dog eyeing a steak right off my plate.”

A startled laugh bubbled from you at his analogy. It was crude, but not wrong. You expected him to be angry, or at least annoyed at his friend’s lapse in discipline. But instead, he just shook his head, a soft snort leaving him. “I can’t exactly blame him.” With that, he rolled over swiftly and pinned you beneath him, stealing your breath with a sudden, fierce kiss. When he pulled back, his eyes gleamed with a mix of pride and hunger. “You’re exquisite,” he murmured, thumb brushing over your kiss-swollen bottom lip. “Any man with a pulse would look. Seong-je’s just particularly bad at hiding it.”

Heat flared in your cheeks. You arched a brow in playful challenge. “And you don’t mind? Should I start buttoning my blouses up to the neck around him?”

Baek-jin’s answering grin was sharp. “No. Let him look.” He lowered his head, teeth grazing your jaw as he growled, “He can look all he wants, as long as he knows you belong to me.” The claim in his voice sent a thrill through you. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and surrendered to the possessive press of his body. That night, he took you rougher than usual, spurred on, perhaps, by the memory of his right-hand man’s persistent stare. And to your secret delight, at one point he actually mentioned Seong-je. As he drove into you, hand in your hair, he hissed against your ear, “This what he was fantasizing about? Seeing you like this? Too bad for him—” His fingers tightened on your hips, “—you’re mine.”

From then on, it became a private game—one you and your boyfriend played without ever explicitly planning it. If Seong-je was going to silently yearn, then you would give him something to yearn for. At first it was little things: you’d wear a skirt that was just a touch shorter on days you knew he would be around, or casually apply lip balm during meetings, noting how his gaze darted to the shine on your lips. You weren’t bare enough to be disrespectful—just enough to make his eyes linger and his throat bob as he swallowed hard. The real kicker was that Baek-jin encouraged it in his own subtle ways. He’d smirk knowingly when he caught the other man staring, or drape an arm over your shoulder in front of him, fingers idly playing with the ends of your hair—flaunting what Seong-je couldn’t have. It was all done under the guise of normalcy, but each shared glance between you and him carried the electric crackle of conspiracy. And each time you saw his composure slip—just for a split second, a flash of desire quickly masked by a blank face—you felt a heady rush of power… and, yes, arousal.

Once, you even made him blush. It had been raining and the three of you ducked into Baek-jin’s car. Soaked to the bone, you complained about the cold and he immediately offered you his jacket. In the back seat, pressed between the two men, you shed your wet blouse right then and there to shrug into Baek-jin’s dry jacket. It wasn’t meant to be a show—at least not entirely—but out of the corner of your eye you saw Seong-je’s neck snap rigidly forward, his ears turning red as he fixed his stare on the dashboard. You could practically feel the heat radiating off him when your bare shoulder brushed his arm in the cramped space. Later, when you recounted in a whisper how poor Seong-je had gone mute and red as a beet, your lover had laughed under his breath. He traced his fingers along the curve of your shoulder and murmured, “Maybe I should really give him something to blush about next time.” The mischievous gleam in his eyes left you speechless—and aching for him.

At the time, you thought it was just dirty talk, a little fantasy fodder for the two of you to spice things up. The idea that Baek-jin would ever share you for real seemed far-fetched. He was possessive to the core; even the thought of another man kissing you would normally have him seething. But with Seong-je, it was different. Seong-je was loyal, practically a trained attack dog at Baek-jin’s command. Perhaps that’s why he never saw him as a threat, even as he noticed the way his eyes devoured you. In his mind, you suspected, Seong-je would never dare betray him or cross that line without permission. And he was right— the boy never so much as uttered a flirtation your way. He kept his yearning on a tight leash, thinking no one could see. But you both saw. And in the privacy of your love, you and Baek-jin toyed with that knowledge mercilessly.

⸻

Now here you are, months later, with that very tension thrumming in the air, stronger than ever. As you finish taping a bandage over your lover’s cheek, you chance another look at Seong-je. He’s standing rigid in his corner, one shoulder braced against the wall, his hands now shoved into the pockets of his blood-stained school uniform pants. The cut on his lip has dribbled a thin line of crimson down his chin, but he doesn’t seem to notice or care. He’s too busy watching the delicate way you cradle Baek-jin’s face as you tend to him. There’s open longing there—raw and undisguised in this unguarded moment. Perhaps the exhaustion from the fight has lowered his defenses. Or perhaps he thinks neither of you can see him in the low light. Either way, his desire is plain as day to you.

And Baek-jin certainly notices too. A soft hum escapes his throat, drawing your focus. He’s been following your gaze; as you set aside the bloodied cotton, you see the hint of a smirk tug at his lips. His eyes flick past you toward his friend. Assessing. Even injured and tired, his mind is always working, plotting. You’ve learned to recognize that calculating spark in his expression—and it’s there now. He reaches up, capturing your wrist lightly before you can withdraw completely.

“You missed a spot,” he says, voice low and gentle. He guides your hand back to his mouth, to the cut on his lip. Obediently, you dab the last bit of dried blood from the corner of his mouth. His gaze remains locked on yours, but you know this performance is as much for Seong-je’s benefit as anything. Sure enough, from the corner of your eye you see Seong-je shift, taking half a step forward as if on impulse, maybe to offer help. He stops himself short. His hands jerk out of his pockets, then freeze at his sides, fingers flexing helplessly. The poor guy looks like he doesn’t know what to do with himself—torn between duty and the ache drawing him toward you.

A sliver of compassion twists in your chest. He really gave everything tonight. The fight had been brutal—an ambush by a pack of some thugs intent on cornering Baek-jin. You remember the chaos: the flash of knives in the alley, the thunder of fists; your man and Seong-je back to back as dozens of them swarmed. Outnumbered, the two of them still fought like hell, protecting each other with near-suicidal resolve. If Seong-je hadn’t tackled that one guy who lunged at him with a steel pipe, his ribs might be shattered now… or worse. He took that blow instead, and many more. He’d bleed himself dry for Baek-jin’s sake—that much has always been clear.

You chew your lip, regarding Seong-je’s wounds again. The adrenaline of battle has long faded, and now he looks just tired and hurt, a man sagging on his feet. Under the smear of blood and dirt, his sharp features are drawn in fatigue. He catches you looking and quickly averts his eyes, as if embarrassed to be caught in weakness or in desire, you’re not sure which. Sympathy wins over your teasing impulses; you can’t in good conscience ignore him.

Gently, you extricate your wrist from Baek-jin’s hold and rise from your crouch at his feet. “Stay still, Jin,” you murmur to your boyfriend—using the tender nickname you’d never utter around others. Only Seong-je is here, and he’s family enough. “I’ll get you some water in a second.”

He tilts his head curiously as you stand. He doesn’t protest, simply leaning back in the armchair and watching as you cross the small space to where Seong-je stands.

He straightens up the instant you approach, eyes widening slightly. “You should sit,” you tell him softly. You nod toward the edge of the low coffee table. “Let me take a look at you.”

“I’m fine,” Seong-je rasps, his voice rough from hours of shouting and fighting. Up close, you can see the fine tremor in his arms from the comedown of adrenaline. His knuckles are split and raw, his white dress shirt spattered with blood—some his, some not. Stubborn as always, he insists, “It’s nothing. You don’t have to—”

“Sit,” you repeat firmly, placing a gentle hand on his forearm. His muscles tense under your touch, as if your fingertips sear him through the blood-soaked sleeve. For a second, he looks over your shoulder, toward Baek-jin, as if seeking permission. When Baek-jin gives a slight nod, he finally relents. He lowers himself onto the wooden table, wincing as he bends his bruised midsection.

“Good,” you say, offering an encouraging smile. You reach for the clean cloth in your hand, wet with antiseptic, and hold it up. “This might sting.”

His dark eyes flick to the cloth and then to your face. He swallows. “I’ve had worse,” he manages, attempting nonchalance. Yet when you step between his knees to get a better angle, he inhales sharply. You can tell it’s not pain that causes the reaction—it’s you, standing so close that your knees nearly brush against his thighs.

With a steadying breath, you take his chin in your free hand. His stubble scrapes your palm; he hasn’t had the chance to shave since yesterday. Tilting his face up towards the light, you inspect the damage. The cut on his bottom lip isn’t deep, but it’s still bleeding sluggishly. A purplish bruise is already swelling along his strong jawline. You gently dab at the blood on his lip, and he hisses softly through his teeth.

“Sorry,” you whisper.

He shakes his head minutely. “I’m okay.” But his voice comes out strained. His gaze darts upward, meeting yours. The air between you feels charged again, that familiar crackle intensifying with each brush of your hand. You clean the cut as best you can, conscious of how his breath is fanning warm across your wrist. He’s so close now; you can see a tiny faded scar across the bridge of his nose, catch the subtle scent of smoke and sweat clinging to him from the fight. His eyes are fixed on you unwaveringly, pupils dark and dilated.

You realize then that your positions have shifted the power dynamic, even if just for this moment. Here you are, standing over the gang’s most notorious enforcer, coaxing obedience out of him with a mere touch and a word, where others only get curt compliance through Baek-jin’s orders. His knees bracket your legs—whether intentionally or not, you’re effectively between his thighs. The proximity sends a flush through you. One of your hands rests on his chin, thumb just shy of his mouth; the other dabs at his lip carefully, slowly. It’s intimate, unmistakably so.

From behind you, you hear the soft creak of the armchair. Baek-jin shifts, but he doesn’t interfere. He simply watches. You can almost feel his gaze burning into your back. Is he amused? Protective? Or something else entirely? Your pulse quickens at the thought that this is turning him on—that seeing you tend to Seong-je, seeing him practically tremble under your gentle care, might be affecting Baek-jin in the same dark, twisted way it affects you.

“There,” you murmur as you finish cleaning his lip. It’s puffy and red, but at least no longer smeared with blood. Your hand lingers, fingertips unconsciously tracing the sharp line of his jaw where purple bruises bloom. “You should really put some ice on this.”

He doesn’t reply. He’s too busy searching your face, eyes roaming over every detail as if committing this rare closeness to memory. His chest rises and falls in shallow, controlled breaths. When your thumb sweeps lightly over his uninjured upper lip—wiping a last smudge of blood—his eyelids flutter, a tiny falter in composure that makes your stomach flip.

He wants to kiss you. The realization slams into you as powerfully as any fist from earlier tonight. You can see it in the way his gaze drops to your mouth, the way his tongue darts out just briefly to wet his own cracked lips. The tension between you spirals taut. For a crazy moment, you wonder what he’d do if you leaned in, closed that scant distance. Would he give in and press his lips to yours, damn the consequences? Would he finally take something for himself?

Your heart thuds. The mere thought of his mouth on yours sends a forbidden jolt of heat down your spine. You recall all the times you caught him staring, all the nights you imagined—privately, guiltily—what it would feel like if those intense eyes of his ever burned into you without restraint. Despite knowing it’s wrong, despite your unwavering devotion to your boyfriend , a part of you does wonder how Seong-je’s touch would feel. You’ve wondered ever since the teasing game began, and each time Baek-jin growled in your ear that you were his, some secret corner of your mind envisioned Seong-je roughly pinning you in some dark alcove, acting out those lustful looks in heated, stolen moments.

It was all fantasy, though. You never truly intended to cross that line. Neither did he—he wouldn’t dare betray Baek-jin. And Baek-jin… well, Baek-jin would never allow it.

Or so you thought.

You clear your throat, stepping back slightly to regain some equilibrium. His hands hover as if he had the urge to hold your hips when you were close but resisted. Now he settles for curling them into fists on his own thighs. “Thank you,” he mumbles, voice huskier than before.

You offer a small smile, trying to lighten the charged atmosphere. “We take care of each other, right?”

At that, his eyes flick past you again, toward where Baek-jin sits. “Of course,” he says quietly. “Of course we do.” There’s a world of promise in that simple statement. For both of you he would bleed himself dry, as he proved tonight.

Baek-jin’s voice cuts through the quiet, smooth and authoritative. “Seong-je.”

You both turn to look at him. He is leaning forward in the armchair now, forearms braced on his knees despite what must be sore ribs. His tie has been loosened, the first few buttons of his shirt undone where you had checked his chest for bruises. Even battered and bandaged, he exudes control. His eyes flick from Seong-je to you and back. In them, you detect not anger, but a contemplative darkness.

“You did well tonight,” he says. It’s simple praise, but in his world, such words are rare and precious. Seong-je straightens further, spine snapping taut with pride at his leader’s commendation. “You protected me without hesitation. Fought better than any ten of those bastards combined.�� His lips curl faintly. “I owe you my life, perhaps.”

Seong-je immediately shakes his head, winces at the pain that movement causes, and bows it instead. “Just doing my job,” he grunts. “You know I’d do anything for you.” There’s a tremor of emotion in his voice—earnest, absolute truth. You believe it; your man believes it. Everyone knows his loyalty is ironclad.

Baek-jin regards his right-hand man for a long moment, fingers steepled as if considering something weighty. Then his gaze slides to you. A chill of anticipation skates over your skin at the look in his eyes. It’s the look of a man who has made a decision—a dangerous, irrevocable decision.

The next words that fall from his lips make your heart skip into your throat.

“I reward loyalty,” he says softly, leaning back. “And you’ve been nothing if not loyal.” He tilts his head, appraising the younger man before him. “You’ve bled for me. Time and again.” There’s an undercurrent to his tone that makes your pulse thrum. He is building up to something. You hold your breath without meaning to.

Seong-je frowns slightly, clearly unsure how to respond. “Seeing you safe is reward enough,” he says carefully. He means it too—ever the dutiful soldier.

Baek-jin chuckles—a low, dark sound. “Humility… fine. But I insist.” He pushes himself up from the armchair with a grunt, gingerly testing his balance. Immediately, you step forward on instinct to help, but he holds a hand up. He stands under his own power, if a bit stiffly. Even banged up, his presence looms large in the small living room. He’s only a couple of inches taller than the other man, but in this moment he seems to tower over both of you as he takes a few measured steps forward.

Your heart is hammering wildly now. Because you think you know what he’s about to say. You can sense it in the charged way his eyes meet yours—a silent question, a warning, and a promise all at once.

He stops in front of you and Seong-je. You realize you’re still standing between Seong-je’s knees, and he is facing the two of you like an appraising general. A mirthless smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “What kind of leader would I be,” he says lightly, “if I didn’t repay such devotion?”

Seong-je opens his mouth to protest that no reward is needed, but Baek-jin raises one finger, silencing him. The authoritative gesture makes him snap his jaw shut, obedient out of reflex.

A hot, nervous flush crawls over your skin. Is this really happening? Is he truly going to do what your gut says he will?

His hand reaches out and settles on your shoulder. His palm is warm and firm; the touch makes you realize how tense you’ve become. He gives the slightest squeeze, a reassurance and a claim all at once. Then, meeting your eyes, he speaks calmly, as if proposing something as simple as a change in plans. “Tonight… I’m giving you something special.” His gaze drifts from your face to Seong-je’s wide, disbelieving eyes. “You’ve been watching her for a long time, haven’t you?”

The air in the room evaporates. All the color drains from Seong-je’s face even as his cheeks flare red. “B-Baek-jin—” he starts, the stutter of panic and guilt obvious. His eyes dart to you in horror, then back to Baek-jin. “I— I never—”

“Don’t lie.” His voice is dangerously soft. He slides his hand from your shoulder to the back of your neck, fingers threading gently into your hair. The gesture is protective, possessive. You feel a faint shiver go through you at the show of dominance. “We’ve both seen it. The way you look at my girl.”

Seong-je’s throat works. He looks as though he might leap up and throw himself at Baek-jin’s feet in apology. “Respectfully.” he croaks, anguish threading through his tone. “I would never lay a hand on her—”

Baek-jin hushes him with a simple sound, a “tsk” of his tongue. “I know you wouldn’t. You’re far too loyal for that,” he says. Then, in a shocking turn, his lips curl into a true smirk. “But you forget—I don’t blame you for wanting to.” His hand on your neck slides around to cup your jaw, tilting your face upward. He leans in and presses a slow, deliberate kiss to your forehead. The tenderness of it makes your chest ache even through the storm of anxiety and excitement swirling inside you.

He pulls back slightly, his face now close to yours. “Beautiful, isn’t she?” he murmurs, almost in reverence, though the words are directed at Seong-je. You realize your entire body is trembling subtly beneath Baek-jin’s touch. Every nerve stands on edge.

Behind you, Seong-je releases a shaky breath. He doesn’t answer out loud, but the answer is plain in his eyes. He’s staring at you as if transfixed, the conflict on his face stark—guilt warring with desire and disbelief.

Your lover’s thumb strokes your cheek absently. You turn your head just enough to meet his gaze, silently asking if he’s truly sure about this. In response, he gives you an almost imperceptible nod. His eyes search yours, checking—always checking—that you trust him, that you’re okay. And God help you, you are. You are terrified and thrilled all at once. Your heart feels like it might burst out of your chest, but underneath the nerves, molten arousal is already unfurling. This is a line you never thought you’d cross in reality, but here you are, toes on the precipice, with Baek-jin himself offering to push you over.

His voice drops, thick with authority and something darker. “Tonight,” he declares, “Seong-je gets what he’s been craving.” He holds your chin firmly, eyes blazing into yours. “Tonight, I’m letting him have you.”

A soft gasp escapes your lips. Even knowing it was coming, hearing it said so bluntly is electrifying. You feel Seong-je jerk behind you as if struck. The silence that follows is thunderous.

He is first to break it, stumbling over his words. “Baek-jin… what are you—?” He looks at you, frantic and unsure, then back at his boss as if searching for any sign that this is a cruel joke or a test of loyalty.

He merely raises an eyebrow. “You heard me.” His tone is calm but carries an edge that says he won’t repeat himself. “One night. Just this once.” His fingers flex against your jaw, tilting your face slightly from side to side as if showing you off. “I’m feeling generous.”

Seong-je’s breathing has gone ragged. You glance at him over your shoulder; he’s shaking his head, eyes wide with disbelief and—yes—pure hunger that he’s struggling mightily to contain. “I can’t,” he rasps. Yet even as he says it, you notice his gaze dropping to your lips, your neck, the slope of your shoulders, like he can’t help himself. “She’s yours, I— I can’t…”

Baek-jin lets out a low laugh. “You can,” he corrects, almost cheerfully. “Because I’m telling you to. Consider it a reward. For everything.” His smile fades, replaced by a fierce seriousness. “Take it, or are you refusing my gift?” There’s a subtle challenge there.

“No, I—” Seong-je swallows hard. “I would never refuse you. I just… are you really ok with this?” His voice cracks on the last word, sounding so painfully vulnerable that your heart squeezes. He’s caught between loyalty and longing, afraid one will betray the other.

Baek-jin’s expression softens a fraction. He slides his hand from your jaw to the back of your neck again, then down along your spine in a slow caress. You unconsciously arch into his touch, your body responding to him automatically. He notices—of course he does—and his eyes darken with approval. He speaks, addressing Seong-je but also reminding you both who orchestrates this. “It’s okay. I’m in control.” A ghost of a smirk crosses his face. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”

Your knees nearly buckle at his words. I’m in control. Yes, he is—and paradoxically, that’s what makes you feel safe enough to go through with this insanity. You trust him with your life, with your heart, with your body. If he says this is okay, if he wants this to happen, then you will obey. Not just for him, but because deep down, beyond the layers of taboo and nerves, you want this too. The truth crashes over you with sudden clarity: you want to feel Seong-je’s touch, want to taste the forbidden desire you’ve stoked for months. And you want to see Baek-jin’s face as it happens, to know that he’s watching every second of it, owning it, owning you, even in this.

Heat floods between your thighs at the thought. You bite your lower lip, eyes flicking from your partner to his right hand. Both men are looking at you now—their attention combined is almost overwhelming, like standing in the center of a raging fire.

Baek-jin’s hand comes up to your chin, gently freeing your captured lip from your teeth. He runs his thumb over it, soothing the bite mark. “Baby,” he says softly, only for you to hear. The pet name sends warmth through you; he rarely uses such endearments, and when he does, it melts you. “Do you want this?” He searches your face intently. Even now, even holding all the power, he seeks your true consent.

Your throat is dry. Desire wars with anxiety inside you, but desire is winning by a landslide. You could say no—he would drop the idea in an instant if you showed the slightest discomfort. But you don’t want to say no. The aching dampness in your panties is evidence enough of your arousal, and the thrill pounding through your veins is unlike anything you’ve ever felt. Still, your voice comes out a trembling whisper, laced with honesty, “I… I do. If you’re sure, Jin, I— I want it.”

He exhales, and you see something flicker in his eyes—a mix of pride and arousal and possessive satisfaction at your answer. “Good girl,” he praises quietly, the words rolling over you like honey. You nearly preen at the affirmation, cheeks heating.

Seong-je makes a strained noise, somewhere between a groan and a sigh, as if hearing Baek-jin call you that affected him too. You glance back at him; his face is flushed, chest rising and falling in quick pants now. He looks at you with open wonder, as though he can’t believe you agreed, can’t believe this is about to be reality.

Baek-jin steps aside, creating a space directly in front of Seong-je—and guiding you subtly into it. You turn fully to face him, your knees nearly brushing his again. He’s still seated on the low table, which positions you standing between his spread legs. The height is perfect—your hips level with his. Your heart leaps into your throat as you truly take in his expression: he looks like a man on the verge of madness, holding himself rigid to keep from reaching for you. There’s fear in his eyes—fear that one wrong move might shatter Baek-jin’s permission and end this before it starts.

Behind you, Baek-jin’s presence is a reassuring shadow. He hasn’t moved far; he’s just off to your right, close enough that you feel the heat radiating from him. You’re hyper-aware of every detail—the soft swish of his slacks as he shifts, the ragged way Seong-je exhales, the roaring in your own ears.

“Relax” Baek-jin says, almost kindly. He places a firm hand on your lower back, nudging you another half-step toward the trembling man on the table. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

Seong-je’s eyes flick up to yours, tortured. “I never— I didn’t mean to—”

“Shh.” You surprise even yourself by raising your hand to press a finger against Seong-je’s lips, halting his faltering apology. His lips are warm and slightly chapped under your touch. He freezes, shocked into silence, eyes widening at your boldness. It’s the first time you’ve willingly touched his mouth—something deeply intimate about that realization sends a thrill along your arm. “We know,” you whisper, giving him a gentle smile. “We know.” That simple assurance holds volumes: we know how you feel, we’re okay with it, you’re not doing anything wrong now.

Slowly, you remove your finger from his lips. Seong-je’s breathing is shallow and fast; you can see the rapid thrum of his pulse at his throat. His hands hover uncertainly in the air near your hips, as if he wants to grab you but doesn’t dare.

You decide to make the first move. After all, Baek-jin’s given the green light, and he clearly needs another push to believe this isn’t some cruel mirage. You reach down and take one of his hands in yours. He inhales sharply, eyes darting to where your fingers entwine with his. His hand is larger, rough and calloused from countless fights, but it trembles in your gentler grasp.

“It’s okay,” you murmur, guiding his hand upward. You flatten his palm against your waist, just above the curve of your hip. His fingers twitch, then curl, gingerly holding you. Even through the fabric of your thin tank top, his touch feels hot, searing into your skin. “You can touch me.” The permission leaves your lips in a sultry murmur you barely recognize as your own voice.

He makes a strangled sound deep in his throat. He splays his other hand at your opposite hip, still moving as if any second he expects to be rebuked. When no rebuke comes—when instead Baek-jin hums in approval behind you—his grip firms, pulling you closer between his thighs.

The first press of his body against yours is exhilarating in its newness. Where Baek-jin is all coiled restraint and calculated strength, Seong-je feels like a barely contained storm—every muscle in him taut, trembling with need he’s denied himself for so long. He’s warm and solid and alive against you.

Your hands find his broad shoulders to steady yourself. “Hi,” you manage to tease breathlessly, a faint smile on your lips to ease his nerves.

A short, incredulous huff of laughter escapes him. “Hi,” he echoes, voice wrecked and disbelieving. His eyes roam your face like he’s seeing you clearly for the first time.

Baek-jin’s hand on your back slides up to the nape of your neck, fingers curling possessively around it. You feel him step closer, his chest almost touching your shoulder. When he speaks, his voice is liquid fire: commanding and dark. “Kiss her, Seong-je.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. The last thread of hesitation snaps. He surges forward, capturing your lips with a needy groan, years of pent-up desire pouring into that first kiss.

The force of it sends you stumbling back a half-step, but Baek-jin’s hand on your neck holds you steady, even as Seong-je’s hands now grip your hips tight. He kisses you like he’s starving, mouth hot and desperate against yours. The coppery tang of his cut lip mixes with the taste of him—smoke and spearmint gum and something distinctly him that makes your head spin. You gasp against his mouth at the sheer intensity. His tongue skims your lower lip, seeking entrance, and you part for him, a soft moan escaping as he delves inside, licking deep with a fervor that leaves you dizzy.

It’s not a refined kiss by any means—he’s clumsy with urgency, teeth clicking against yours briefly, breath ragged—but it’s so damned genuine it makes your knees weak. You feel his reverence in the way one of his hands slides up your back, bunching your shirt as if to pull you closer still, and in the almost broken whimper that vibrates in his throat when you tentatively suck on his tongue in welcome.

Behind you, Baek-jin’s fingers tighten on your neck. “That’s it…” he murmurs approvingly, his breath ghosting hot at your ear. He hasn’t touched him, but his presence is all around, an unseen puppeteer guiding the strings of this encounter. “How does she taste, Seong-je?”

He tears his mouth from yours at the question, panting. His eyes flutter open, glazed with lust. For a moment he looks embarrassed, but then, locking eyes with Baek-jin over your shoulder, he answers in a voice hoarse with honesty, “Sweet… fuck, she tastes so sweet.” His fingers flex at your waist as if emphasizing the point.

A dark, pleased chuckle rumbles from Baek-jin. “Good.” He brushes your hair aside and, to your surprise, presses a kiss just below your ear. You shiver, caught between two flames now—the heat of Seong-je’s desire and the simmering dominance of your boyfriend at your back. “Don’t be gentle,” he purrs, though who he’s talking to, you’re not certain. Maybe both of you. “She likes it rough.”

A whimper escapes your throat at his lewd encouragement. He isn’t wrong—you do like it rough, a fact Baek-jin has taken full advantage of in your personal life. But hearing him tell Seong-je that, essentially giving Seong-je permission to unleash himself on you, sends a bolt of raw lust straight between your legs.

Seong-je’s eyes search yours at Baek-jin’s words, as if seeking confirmation. His face is still mere inches from yours, his lips red and slick from your kiss. You nod almost imperceptibly, voice trembling but sure: “It’s okay. I… I won’t break.” A teasing glint sparks in your eye despite the shakiness in your limbs. “Don’t hold back.”

Something primal flashes across his face. He grits his teeth, and for a beat you think he might actually cry from sheer relief and desire. Instead, with a low growl, he swoops in to claim your mouth again—this time even more ferocious. You gasp into the kiss as he stands from the table in one fluid motion, arms banding around you. The sudden movement startles you, but Jin’s hand stays firm on your nape, keeping you grounded.

Now Seong-je is towering over you, one arm around your lower back pressing you flush to his front. You feel every hard line of him: the ridges of muscle beneath his battered shirt, the pounding of his heart, and lower—oh. Oh. A thick bulge straining against his pants, grinding against your stomach as he pulls you into his hips. The realization of how aroused he is sends a hot flood of moisture to your core. You can’t help it; you roll your body subtly against that hardness, a tiny mewl muffled by his lips.

“Fuck,” Seong-je hisses at the friction. He breaks the kiss, breathing hard. Without warning, he ducks his head and latches his mouth onto your neck, sucking and biting with an unrestrained hunger. You cry out, head tipping back. Pain sparks where he nips at your sensitive skin, but it only fuels your desire. He soothes each bite with his tongue, then moves to mark a new spot, clearly intent on leaving evidence of himself on you.

Your eyes flutter open in the haze of sensation—and meet Baek-jin’s steady gaze inches away. He hasn’t moved from your side. If anything, he’s drawn closer. You’re effectively sandwiched: Seong-je’s broad form in front of you, Baek-jin’s solid presence to your right, curving slightly behind. His hand on your neck tilts your head his way, exposing more of your throat to Seong-je’s ravenous mouth. But Baek-jin’s eyes remain locked on yours. They are dark, nearly black with arousal. Yet beneath that, you see a flicker of emotion—control, possession, and a flicker of pride. Pride at how you moan, at how Seong-je groans against your skin as he feasts on you.

It’s all too much and not enough. Your hands claw at Seong-je’s back, needing more contact. “Jin…” you whimper, not even sure what you’re pleading for—maybe reassurance, maybe more.

Baek-jin’s response is to claim your mouth in a sudden, searing kiss of his own. You gasp into his lips, not having expected it. He hasn’t kissed you since this began; the shock of it now—right in front of Seong-je—sends your mind reeling. This kiss is different from Seong-je’s. Baek-jin’s lips move against yours with confidence and ownership, his tongue sweeping in to tangle with yours in a show of dominance. He tastes of copper from the cut on his lip and the familiar bitterness of black coffee that he downed earlier after the fight, and underlying it all, the taste that is uniquely him—intoxicating and addictive. You whine softly as he steals your breath, his fingers tightening in your hair.

Seong-je’s mouth stills at your neck as he realizes what’s happening. He pulls back just enough to watch. You can feel his panting breaths against the damp marks he left on your skin. The low curse he utters tells you he’s witnessing Baek-jin kiss you, and it’s turning him on. Baek-jin keeps kissing you deeply, almost as if reminding both of you that he is the one you belong to—this kiss a stark contrast to the ones you just shared with Seong-je. It leaves you lightheaded and clinging to the front of Baek-jin’s shirt with one hand to stay upright.

When Baek-jin finally pulls away, your lips are tingling, swollen from the combined force of two men’s passion. He runs a thumb over your bottom lip, smirking as it comes away red with the smear of your lipstick and a tiny dot of blood from where either Seong-je or he bit you. “Beautiful,” he murmurs, possessive satisfaction dripping from the word.

Seong-je’s hands flex on your waist, drawing your attention back to him. His eyes are half-lidded, fixated on your mouth and the string of saliva that briefly still connects you and Baek-jin. He looks utterly wrecked by the sight: the two people he most obsessively devotes himself to, kissing each other fiercely right in front of him. And now that same mouth—your mouth—is turned back toward him, inviting him to claim it once more.

You give him a sultry, reassuring look. The desire blazing in his expression has burned away any last hesitance. When you lean toward him, he meets you eagerly, crashing his lips to yours with a groan. The kiss is hungry and messy; he sucks on your tongue, then your lower lip, as if trying to consume you. A growl vibrates deep in his chest, the vibration transferring to you and making you whimper.

While he devours your mouth, Baek-jin’s hands start to wander. He slides the hand at your nape down along your spine, over the curve of your ass. With a swift motion, he gathers the fabric of your skirt—oh, when had your skirt ridden up so high? You only notice now that his fingers are skimming the bare skin of your upper thigh. He rucks the skirt up to your waist in the back, exposing your panties to the cool air. Instinctively, you tense, breaking the kiss with Seong-je in a gasp. You glance around in surprise—somehow it hadn’t fully registered that in all your teasing foreplay, you’re still largely clothed .

Baek-jin looks down at the expanse of your ass now on display and hums appreciatively. “These are cute,” he remarks, snapping the waistband of your black lace panties against your skin lightly. “But they’re in the way.”

Before you can respond, you hear the unmistakable sound of fabric tearing. Your heart stutters—he has hooked his fingers into the delicate lace and simply torn your panties apart at the seam with one harsh tug. The shredded remains fall from your hips, fluttering to the floor.

A shocked moan escapes you, both at the sudden exposure and at how blatantly filthy it was for him to rip them off. The slight sting of the elastic snapping against your skin only heightens your arousal. You’re naked under your skirt now, bare and wet and throbbing.

“Fuck,” Seong-je curses, voice thick as he stares down. He can’t see everything from the front, but he definitely saw Baek-jin toss aside the torn scrap of lace that was your underwear. The realization that only a thin skirt separates him from your most intimate parts has his eyes turning nearly black with lust.

You instinctively press your thighs together at the sudden exposure, but Baek-jin’s knee nudges between them from behind, forcing them slightly apart. “Don’t hide, babe,” he murmurs into your hair. “Not tonight.”

One of Seong-je’s large hands abandons your waist to slide down, fingers trembling as they brush the front hem of your skirt. Hesitantly, he lifts it, and your breath hitches as you permit him to see. A strangled noise tears from his throat when he realizes just how wet you are. The dim light catches the slick shine on your inner thighs. You flush with embarrassment and excitement—there’s no hiding how aroused this has made you.

He drags his fingertips up your thigh, tracing through the moisture there in awe. “She’s… soaking,” he reports in a ragged whisper, as if Baek-jin might not believe it without confirmation.

Your boyfriend groans softly behind you. “I can see that.” He slides his hand around your hip, then down between your legs from behind, cupping your sex possessively. Two of his fingers slip between your folds, spreading them. You jolt, a gasp catching in your chest as he deliberately exposes your most sensitive flesh to the cool air—and to Seong-je’s ravenous eyes. “Look how ready she is for you,” he practically purrs, running his fingers through your slick without mercy. He doesn’t enter you—just glides them back and forth, gathering your arousal and presenting it. “This all for him, baby?” he asks, nipping lightly at your earlobe.

You choke on a moan as his fingertips circle your clit teasingly. “I—it’s f-for both of you,” you manage to whimper. “I… I can’t help it.”

Seong-je looks like a man on the verge of losing any shred of sanity. Watching Baek-jin touch you so intimately, hearing the wet sounds of your arousal on his fingers—he’s transfixed. His own hand has moved of its own accord to join Baek-jin’s. Tentatively, Seong-je brushes the backs of his fingers over your bared mound, feeling the slickness there. When he makes contact with your swollen clit, you keen, thighs trembling.

Baek-jin withdraws his hand, leaving you to Seong-je’s touch. “Go on,” he urges lowly. “Make her feel good. She’s yours to please tonight.”

If his words are meant to encourage Seong-je, they succeed. Seong-je slides off the table to kneel on the floor in front of you in one swift movement, ignoring any pain it causes his battered body. Suddenly, you have the Union’s most feared member on his knees, face level with your hips—and the sight is utterly intoxicating to all three of you.

You can hardly breathe as Seong-je’s hands firmly grip the backs of your thighs, just below your ass. He nudges your legs further apart, eyes flicking upward to meet yours briefly. His pupils are blown, face flushed; he looks almost worshipful and utterly depraved at once. “Tell me if… if I go too far,” he says, voice rough and trembling with restraint. It’s clear he’s on the brink of devouring you alive.

You bite your lip and nod, sliding a hand into his hair without realizing. His hair is damp with sweat, silky between your fingers. You tug gently, and the last thread of his resolve snaps.

With a guttural groan, he buries his face between your thighs. His broad shoulders push your legs further open as he presses in. The first hot swipe of his tongue against your cunt has you crying out, hips jerking forward. He licks a broad stripe through your folds, tasting you properly, and the feral noise he makes against your flesh sends vibrations thrumming into you.

“Oh God—” you gasp, hand tightening in his hair. The sensation is overwhelming; he’s licking and sucking with no hesitation now, as though he can’t get enough of your taste. He closes his lips around your clit and suckles, and your knees nearly give out. Only his strong grip on your thighs (and Baek-jin’s steadying arm that quickly circles your waist from behind) keeps you upright.

Baek-jin curses softly near your ear. “That’s it… eat her pussy good.” he encourages filthily. His crude words make you moan louder. His lips find your neck, kissing and nibbling at the marks Seong-je left earlier. All the while, his arm around your middle holds you firm, like an anchor in this tempest of sensation.

Seong-je devours you like a starved man. He alternates between plunging his tongue into your entrance—fucking you with it with sloppy eagerness—and sucking your sensitive clit between his lips until you’re seeing stars. The room echoes with the wet, obscene sounds of him lapping at you, slurping up every drop of your arousal as if it’s ambrosia.

Heat coils and tightens low in your belly at a breakneck pace. You realize with a thrill of disbelief that you’re hurtling toward orgasm embarrassingly fast—his raw enthusiasm and skill (however unpolished) are undoing you. It’s never been this quick for you normally, but the cocktail of circumstances—his mouth, Baek-jin’s voice and hands, the sheer depravity of being shared—has your body hurtling to the edge.

Baek-jin seems to notice, because he releases your neck and moves that hand down to join the fray. His fingers find your clit just as Seong-je’s tongue spears deep inside you, and he rubs in tight, knowing circles, effectively teaming up to destroy you. “Go on, baby,” he murmurs in your ear. “Come on his tongue. Let him taste how sweet it is when you cum.”

His words push you over the precipice. With a wail, you shatter. Pleasure detonates, radiating out from your core in violent, ecstatic waves. Your thighs clamp around Seong-je’s head as you buck against his face, your hand fisting in his hair. He growls in delight and holds you in place, latching onto your clit to prolong your climax, licking and sucking frantically as you writhe.

White-hot ecstasy surges through every nerve. Your vision whites out; you’d collapse completely if not for Baek-jin supporting you against him. You hear him whispering praise—“That’s my girl… so fucking gorgeous when you cum…”—his voice thick with arousal. And beneath that, Seong-je’s labored groans as he drinks you down, evidently in heaven as you soak his mouth and chin with your release.

It feels endless and all too brief at once. Gradually, the convulsions subside. You slump back against Baek-jin’s chest, panting, little aftershocks making your muscles twitch. Seong-je finally eases up, releasing your oversensitive flesh from his relentless mouth. He rests his forehead against your lower belly, still holding your trembling thighs. Both of you are catching your breath.

He’s panting as hard as if he ran miles, and when he pulls back enough for you to see him, the sight is downright debauched: his face is glistening with your arousal, lips swollen and chin wet. His eyes are heavy-lidded, utterly drunk on you. “So good…” he mumbles hoarsely, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh, almost in gratitude. “You taste… fuck.”

His unabashed reverence sends a flush of pleasure through you. Instinctually, you stroke his hair, brushing damp strands back from his forehead. He leans into your touch, closing his eyes briefly as if starved for that affection.

“Enjoying yourself?” Baek-jin asks, voice laced with dark humor. You feel the hard evidence of his own enjoyment pressing against your back—he’s rock solid beneath his slacks. The fact that he got fully hard just from orchestrating this, from watching his friend ravish you, makes you clench with renewed need.

Seong-je tilts his head up to look at Baek-jin. Some of the nervousness returns to his expression as he wipes the back of his hand across his wet mouth. “Yes, boss,” he says quietly, respectfully, though his voice still shakes with lingering hunger. “Thank you… that was…” He trails off, apparently unable to find words for what that meant to him.

Baek-jin’s hand pets over your belly, then lower, making you jolt as he cups your still-sensitive sex possessively. “She’s delicious, isn’t she?” he says, almost conversationally, but there’s an unmistakable pride there—as if he deserves credit for how good you taste.

Seong-je’s gaze drops to where Baek-jin’s fingers are now lightly playing through your soaked folds once more. His tongue peeks out to lick his lips, as though he can’t get enough of your flavor. “Yes,” he admits roughly. “She is.” The way he says it—almost reverently—makes you keen in embarrassment and arousal.

His chest vibrates with a pleased growl behind you. “Stand up, Seong-je,” he orders, a hint of anticipation in his tone. “You’ve earned a bit more than just a taste, haven’t you?”

Seong-je obeys instantly. He rises from his knees, wiping his slick chin with the back of his hand. As he stands to full height, you’re suddenly very aware of how imposing he is—broad shoulders and lean muscle, his chest heaving beneath that open school shirt speckled with blood. There’s something wild in his eyes, even as he stands awaiting further instruction. And then there’s the not-so-small matter of the straining tent at the front of his trousers.

Your eyes drop almost involuntarily, and your breath catches. The outline of his erection presses hard against the dark fabric, looking almost painfully constrained. A rush of heat floods you at the realization that you’re about to feel that inside you.

Your boyfriend follows your gaze and clicks his tongue. “That looks uncomfortable.” The teasing lilt in his voice makes your cheeks burn. “Why don’t you help him out, darling?” He releases you from his supporting arm and steps aside, allowing you to move freely. “On your knees,” he adds, a razor’s edge of command under the smooth words.

Your stomach flips at what he’s suggesting. You drop to your knees on the carpet without hesitation, settling in front of Seong-je’s feet. He sucks in a breath, and his hands flex at his sides as if unsure where to put them. Eye level with his hips now, you reach up with trembling fingers to unbuckle his belt. The metal clasp is sticky with half-dried blood, and it takes a moment to undo with how your own hands are shaking in anticipation.

He looks down at you with astonishment and raw desire. “You don’t have to, doll.” he begins, voice strangled, but Baek-jin cuts him off.

“She wants to,” Baek-jin drawls, confidence in every syllable. He slides to sit on the edge of the armchair directly to your right, clearly deciding to enjoy the show from a more comfortable position. “Don’t you, baby?”

You glance to him. He’s leaning back, one hand lightly massaging the obvious bulge in his slacks as he watches you and his right hand. The sight of Baek-jin palming himself through his pants while he observes you preparing to suck another man’s cock—at his own command, no less—makes you whimper aloud. Your thighs rub together unconsciously. Turning back to Seong-je, you unzip his trousers with a slow, deliberate pull. “I do,” you answer finally, looking up at Seong-je from under your lashes. “I want to taste you.”

Seong-je curses under his breath, hips instinctively canting forward. You tug his pants and underwear down in one go, and his cock springs free, nearly smacking your cheek. You gasp softly, eyes widening at the sight before you. He’s… big. Not that you hadn’t expected it—he is built like a brawler after all, tall and muscular—but the rigid length in front of you exceeds what you’d guessed from touch alone. Long, thick, curving slightly toward his stomach, flushed dark at the swollen tip and already leaking a bead of moisture. A subtle musky scent hits your nose, masculine and intoxicating.

“Holy shit,” you breathe in awe, your tongue instinctively wetting your lips. You hear Baek-jin chuckle softly at your reaction.

Seong-je looks almost bashful for a split second, as if he’d apologize for his size, but any words die as you reach up and wrap your small hand around the base of his cock. His girth strains your fingers; he’s like heated steel wrapped in velvet. He groans, a deep animalistic sound, as your hand gives a gentle experimental stroke upward. The slick of his precum helps glide your hand, and his cock twitches in your grasp.

“Is it to your liking?” Baek-jin asks, mocking politeness, as if asking about a dish he suggested you try. You turn your head to respond and find his gaze laser-focused on the sight of you kneeling with Seong-je’s cock in hand. He looks ravenous, lips parted slightly as he breathes a little faster.

In response, you lean forward and swirl your tongue over the bead of precum on Seong-je’s tip, collecting it into your mouth. It’s salty, male, not unpleasant. You hum at Baek-jin, “Mmm.” Then you flash him a wicked little smirk and say, “Delicious.”

His eyes darken further. “What a polite girl,” he muses, voice thick with arousal. “Showing your gratitude so sweetly.”

Seong-je can barely stand still. His hands hover near your head, as if itching to grab your hair but not daring to without permission. “P-please…” he whispers, directing it to either you or your lover or both, you’re not sure. His thighs tremble with the effort not to thrust into your fist.

You decide to put him out of his misery. Maintaining eye contact with Baek-jin for a bold moment—because you know it drives him wild—you finally turn fully to the task and take Seong-je’s cock into your mouth.

You start slow, wrapping your lips around the sensitive head and sucking gently. The taste of him floods your tongue. He chokes out a broken moan, his hips jerking involuntarily. Encouraged, you bob a little further, taking more of him inch by inch. Your jaw stretches wide to accommodate his girth, but you relish the slight ache. One hand pumps the base that you can’t fit yet, and your tongue presses along the underside of his shaft on each forward motion.

“Fuck, fuck…” he chants under his breath. Unable to resist, he entangles one hand in your hair, not pushing, just holding on as if to ground himself from the pleasure. His other hand grips the arm of the couch beside him, knuckles white.

Baek-jin’s voice slides over you like silk. “How does her mouth feel?”

Seong-je groans, eyes squeezed shut as if he might lose control just from the memory of not speaking dirty. “So warm… so fucking good. So—ah—tight and wet.” His breathing is ragged. “Better than I—fuck—ever imagined.”

A rush of pride courses through you at his babbling. Hollowing your cheeks, you take him deeper, swallowing around his tip as it nudges the back of your throat. He outright curses, his fingers tightening in your hair. Tears prick your eyes from the effort, but you don’t let up. You begin a steady rhythm: suck, swirl your tongue around the head, then slide down as far as you can manage before pulling back. Saliva gathers at the corners of your mouth, dripping down to your hand and his shaft, slicking your strokes. The lewd, wet sounds of your slurping fill the room along with his uncontrolled grunts.

“Look at you,” Baek-jin murmurs appreciatively. You flick your eyes up to see him palming himself harder through his pants, clearly restraining his own needs while he watches. “Taking his cock like a good little slut.” The degradation in his tone is deliberate and it makes you whine around Seong-je’s length, the vibration drawing a strangled cry from above. You love when he talks to you like that, and he knows it. It sends a pulse of arousal straight to your core.

“S-shit—she is,” Seong-je gasps, echoing Baek-jin’s words without thinking. “Such a slutty mouth… so perfect…” He looks down then, meeting your gaze, his eyes blown wide with lust and adoration. “Your mouth is perfect,” he says more softly, brushing a thumb over your cheek where a tear of effort escaped. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this.” The raw sincerity in his tone melts you, and you reward him by taking him even deeper, straining your throat until you gag lightly around him.

“Christ!” he snarls, head falling back. “I-I’m close—”

“Stop.” Baek-jin’s command cuts through the haze immediately. You and Seong-je both react on instinct; you freeze, and he stills his hips, though every muscle in his body is taut and quivering with the need for release.

You slowly, reluctantly ease your mouth off his cock, releasing it with a lewd pop. You’re panting hard, saliva trailing from your swollen lips to his slick length. He whimpers at the loss of your warmth. His cock is throbbing angry-red, so wet with your spit it gleams. A string of saliva still connects the tip to your lower lip, and you quickly lick it up, which makes his cock twitch again.

He looks wrecked, like he might cry with frustration. “B-Baek-jin,” he pleads, voice wrecked and desperate. “Please…”

Baek-jin merely smiles that wolfish smile. “Not yet. I didn’t say you could cum, did I?” His tone is almost playful, but holds steel underneath. Seong-je shakes his head, chest heaving, trying to regain control. He still hasn’t moved his hand from your hair, as though afraid letting go will mean this all ends.

“As hard as it is to believe,” Baek-jin continues wryly, “that was not the main event.” He stands up from the chair now, coming to stand beside you. With gentle but firm pressure on your shoulder, he urges you back to your feet. Your knees are a bit numb from the floor, and you wobble. Baek-jin steadies you, then pulls you flush against his side. “You did well,” he praises quietly, pressing a kiss to your temple.

Seong-je watches the tender gesture with longing, chest still rising and falling rapidly. His cock juts out from his open pants, slick and quivering, neglected for the moment.

Baek-jin follows your gaze to Seong-je’s predicament and smirks. “Don’t worry. We’re not done.” He guides you back a step. Then, taking you by the shoulders, he turns you around to face the armchair. In one swift motion, he pushes you forward, bending you over the arm of the padded chair. You gasp, gripping the seat cushion to brace yourself.

You’re now bent at the waist, your ass facing Seong-je and your upper body supported by the chair. Your skirt, which was already rucked up around your waist, is no hindrance at all—your bare ass and soaked pussy are presented to the open air.

Baek-jin’s hand caresses down your spine soothingly. “Comfortable?” he asks, almost casually. The velvet of the armchair presses against your cheek as you nod. You wiggle your hips a little, silently begging for what’s next.

Seong-je makes a tortured sound somewhere behind you. “Oh, fuck me,” he groans at the sight of you bent over, practically dripping for him. “Please, Baek-jin… I—?”

Baek-jin cuts him off with a dark chuckle. “Yes, I think it’s time.” He steps aside then, allowing Seong-je a full, unobstructed view of you. “There you go, Seong-je. She’s all yours. One night only.”

You peer over your shoulder, desire making your limbs tremble with anticipation. Seong-je stands a couple feet away, looking almost afraid to approach, as if you’re some mirage that will disappear. His cock is still out, flushed and hard and so ready it almost hurts to look at.

Baek-jin notices his hesitance and adds in a low, warning tone, “This is what you wanted. Now take it.” A beat, and then, “Fuck her.” The vulgar command sends a thrill shooting through you straight to your core.

That does it. He surges forward with a growl, both hands coming to grip your waist from behind. His touch is rough and feverish, fingers digging into your flesh as if to assure himself you’re real. You push back against him instinctively, raising your hips a little higher, presenting yourself for the taking.

“God, you’re perfect,” Seong-je pants. His hands roam over your ass, squeezing, then sliding down to your soaked center. With one hand, he spreads your lips, groaning at the sight of your cunt clenching on nothing. “So wet… Was this all for me?” He sounds genuinely astonished.

You manage a breathless laugh. “Yes, … all for you.” Your voice comes out needy as hell. “Please, I need you. Inside me.”

“Fuck,” he swears softly. One of his fingers dips into your entrance, gliding in easily from how embarrassingly slick you are. He pumps it a few times, and you moan, pushing back, wanting more. He adds a second, stretching you, and the slight burn feels divine. “You’re so tight,” he rasps, as your walls grip around his fingers. “How are you this tight…?”

Baek-jin’s voice comes from somewhere to your right, tight with lust. “She can take it.” There’s a hint of a smirk in his tone. “Believe me, she can take it all.”

Your cheeks burn at the implication, but it only makes you more eager to prove him right. “I can,” you moan, echoing Baek-jin’s words. You twist to glance back at Seong-je. “I want you. Fuck me hard, Seong-je… I—I can take it, I promise.”

Whatever shred of control he had been clinging to snaps. He withdraws his fingers abruptly, grabbing your hips in both hands. You feel the hot, blunt tip of his cock prod against your entrance, sliding through your folds to coat itself in your arousal. The sensation makes your breath hitch. He’s shaking slightly; you can feel the tremor in his grip on you.

Baek-jin steps closer to the chair, wanting the best view. He places a hand on your upper back and presses you down a little more, arching your spine deeper. “Keep your eyes on me, love,” he tells you. You turn your head to the side, meeting his gaze as best you can from your bent position. His face is flushed, hair falling into his eyes. He looks utterly enthralled, chest rising and falling with quick breaths. “That’s it,” he murmurs. “Eyes on me while he fucks you.”

You nod hazily, locking onto Baek-jin’s intense stare. This is the moment you’d all been building to, and your man doesn’t want to miss a flicker of your expression.

Behind you, Seong-je lines himself up, the tip pushing insistently at your entrance. “I’m gonna put it in now, okay?” His voice is a shaky whisper, as if asking your permission even now.

“Do it,” you breathe, needing him so badly it hurts. “Fuck me, Seong-je.”

With a strained groan, he presses forward, and the thick head of his cock breaches you. Even as wet and prepared as you are, the stretch is intense, bordering on pain. He’s larger than your body expected, and your walls protest the sudden intrusion with a burn that quickly melts into fierce pleasure.

Your mouth falls open in a silent cry; Baek-jin’s hand on your back soothes gently, but his eyes blaze with excitement at seeing you take Seong-je’s cock. He inches forward, sinking in slowly, inch by inch. His fingers tremble on your hips, sweat dripping from his brow onto your lower back. “Oh, fuck—” he grits out. “So… damn… tight.”

You feel every bit of him as he fills you, the pressure incredible. He pauses halfway, chest heaving. “Are you okay?” he manages, voice tight as a bowstring.

You nod frantically, pushing your hips back to encourage him further. “Yes… more… please…” The pain of the stretch has already transformed into a white-hot pleasure that radiates through your abdomen.

With a guttural moan, he thrusts the rest of the way in, bottoming out inside you. You both cry out as his hips smack against your ass. The feeling of fullness is overwhelming—you feel like you’re being split in two and yet you crave it desperately. He’s buried to the hilt, throbbing deep inside you.

“Shit!” His shout echoes as he stills, completely embedded. “You’re— I can’t— fuck, you’re squeezing me so much,” he gasps, voice wrecked. You can feel his thighs quivering against yours, the restraint it’s taking him not to cum immediately from the tight heat of your cunt enveloping him.

Your fingers claw at the cushion of the chair as you adjust to his size, nails digging into the fabric. “So… big,” you whimper, the fullness bordering on too much, but deliciously so. Your body flutters around him, trying to accommodate.

Baek-jin’s hand strokes down your hair, gentle in contrast to the feral act. “You’re doing so well,” he purrs. “Taking all of him. Such a good little slut for us, hm?”

His degrading praise sends a rush of arousal straight to your core, and you clench involuntarily around Seong-je.

“Jesus,” he chokes, his fingers flexing on your hips. “C-can I move? Please… I can’t—” His voice is strained, pleading.

“Yes,” you and Baek-jin say at the same time, though his tone carries the weight of permission. “Fuck her,” he reiterates, low and rough.

Seong-je pulls out halfway, the drag of his cock along your slick walls making you both moan, then he thrusts back in, harder this time. The force knocks a grunt from your lungs and shoves the armchair a couple inches forward on the floor. “Ohh—!” you cry out, pleasure and a sweet burn mixing as he sets a tentative rhythm.

He pumps in and out shallowly at first, each movement sending sparks of sensation dancing up your spine. With every thrust, a lewd squelch of your soaked pussy fills the air, evidence of just how absolutely drenched you are for him.

“Faster,” you beg, meeting his next thrust by rocking back. The initial ache has given way to pure bliss, your body craving more. “Fuck me harder, Seong-je… please…”

Groaning something unintelligible, Seong-je complies. His fingers dig in almost bruisingly and he begins to slam into you in earnest. The pace he sets is brutal and hungry—months of pent-up longing poured into every snap of his hips. He drives into you deep and rough, and it feels so damn good you think you might scream.

Your tits bounce against the armchair with each of his thrusts, the coarse fabric rubbing your hardened nipples through your tank top. The chair’s legs screech against the floor from the force of his pounding, but none of you care. Seong-je is panting like an animal, his breath coming in harsh grunts each time he plunges into your welcoming heat. “You feel… unreal,” he growls, voice ragged. “So fucking perfect on my cock—shit—”

The room echoes with the sharp slaps of skin on skin as he fucks you with abandon. You feel a droplet of sweat run down your temple; he’s working up a sweat too, the effort of restraining himself and pleasuring you making his body gleam.

Your boyfriend hasn’t looked away from your face. You hold his gaze as best you can, your own vision blurring with tears of ecstasy. He looks absolutely debauched, one hand rubbing the prominent bulge in his slacks in slow strokes, the other occasionally reaching out to caress your cheek or throat lovingly as you’re railed from behind.

“Does it feel good, baby?” he asks in a velvety murmur, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “Getting fucked by our loyal dog?” His words are filthy, but the underlying tone is almost affectionate.

“So good—ah—so fucking good,” you babble, no longer caring what comes out of your mouth. “He’s so deep—” A sharp thrust steals your words, your eyes rolling back briefly.

He smirks, clearly satisfied by your answer and the wrecked look on your face. “Look at you. You love this, don’t you?” His thumb slips into your mouth and you instinctively suck on it, eyes fluttering. “Being filled by a cock other than mine, while I watch. Such a nasty little thing.” There’s a dangerous edge of delight in his voice.

You whimper around his thumb, nodding as tears slip down your cheeks from the intensity of it all. Maybe you never consciously admitted it before, but yes—you love this. The depravity, the intensity, the way Baek-jin’s presence and Seong-je’s desperate passion combine to leave you utterly limp with ecstasy. It’s overwhelming in the best way.

Seong-je changes the angle slightly, hooking one of his hands around the front of your thigh to pull your leg up a bit, opening you even further. The next plunge hits a spot inside you that makes you see stars. You scream, fingers scrambling for purchase on the chair.

“There, huh?” he pants, having felt your reaction. He pistons his hips, now aiming for that spot with each stroke, and your screams turn to incoherent moans. Your entire body feels like it’s glowing, nerves lit up from head to toe.

Baek-jin withdraws his thumb from your mouth and instead grips your chin, keeping you facing him. “Don’t close your eyes,” he orders softly. “I want to see everything.” His own composure is fraying; you can see his chest rising faster, the way he’s pressing down harder on his own erection as he watches his friend pound into you.

You force your heavy lids to stay open, focusing on his face as a grounding point. It’s utterly erotic—the contrast of his relatively calm upper body and the frantic movement happening behind you. His eyes flick to something behind you for a moment and his lips curl.

He addresses Seong-je, voice dropping to that commanding register that could make grown men soil themselves. “Don’t you dare close your eyes either. Watch her.”

Seong-je’s growl of affirmation indicates he’s complying. He was likely already watching your body intently—where you’re joined, the bounce of your ass with each impact, the arch of your back. But at Baek-jin’s command, perhaps he lifts his gaze to your face.

“She’s so fucking beautiful, isn’t she?” He continues, a possessive pride coloring his tone. “Look at her. Look at what you do to her.”

Seong-je lets out a guttural groan in response. “Y-yes… she’s… ah—amazing.” His pace falters just a half-second, the emotional weight hitting him, but then he recovers and keeps driving into you, albeit with a new layer of reverence amid the roughness.

Your heart twists at his words even as your body is being used for pleasure. There’s so much love in what he said, in how he’s orchestrating this not just as a show of power but as a deeply perverse gift he enjoys giving. It makes you love him even more, impossibly.

Between the intense physical stimulation and the emotional high of this whole scenario, you feel another climax swiftly building. Each brutal thrust from Seong-je’s cock pushes you closer to that edge. Your toes curl against the floor, thighs quaking. The chair arm creaks under your grip.

“Ah—I’m—” you sob, eyes locked on Baek-jin’s through a haze of tears. “Jin, I’m gonna—oh—”

His eyes burn into yours. “Do it,” he encourages darkly. “Cum for us. Cum on his cock.” His hand slides down to grasp your throat lightly, not cutting off air but making you feel his hold. That small choke of pressure is the final catalyst.

With a wailing moan, you come undone. Your walls clamp around Seong-je like a vise, milking him. You convulse under him, vision whiting out as a tidal wave of ecstasy crashes over you. It’s even more powerful than the first orgasm, amplified by the feeling of utter fullness and the depravity of the act.

You scream his name—“Seong-je!—” and a string of incoherent profanities as pleasure wracks you. Your whole body shudders, knees nearly giving out. Hot gushes of fluid flood around his cock as your release splashes out; you’re dimly aware that you’re likely making a mess of both of you, but in the moment it only registers as toe-curling bliss.

“F-Fuck, she’s cumming—she’s—” his voice is wild, awed and desperate. Your orgasmic spasms clearly push him to the brink. He fights to keep pumping into you through your climax, but his thrusts turn erratic as your vice-like grip around him triggers his own end.

Baek-jin tightens his hold on your throat just a touch, forcing your eyes open through your overwhelming pleasure. “Look at me,” he commands. You do, your gaze bleary and fervent on his face as tears of pleasure stream down. He nods in satisfaction. “Good girl. Now, Seong-je,” he barks sharply, turning his attention to the man still pistoning into your trembling body. “Cum inside her. Now.”

At those words, Seong-je lets out something between a roar and a sob. He slams into you one final time, burying himself as deep as humanly possible. His entire body goes taut and you feel it—the hot rush of his release flooding your insides. He comes with shuddering, violent intensity, ropes of cum pulsing against your cervix, filling you to the brim. Seong-je’s fingers dig into your hips almost painfully as he holds you flush against him, as if trying to meld into you.

A guttural groan tears from his throat, seemingly endless, as he empties everything he has into your welcoming heat. You moan at the sensation—the wet warmth coating your insides, each pulse of his cock like a heartbeat against your sensitive walls. It’s obscene and utterly satisfying.

Baek-jin watches, chest rising and falling rapidly. His hand slowly releases your throat as Seong-je collapses over your back, spent. “That’s it…” he says in a low, soothing voice, almost cooing at the both of you. “Fill her up. Good job.”

Seong-je is practically whimpering as the last spurts of his orgasm taper off. “T-thank you… thank you…” he rasps brokenly, forehead pressed between your shoulder blades, his body trembling with aftershocks. You’re not even sure if he knows what he’s saying, if he’s thanking Baek-jin or you or some deity of fortune—maybe all of the above.

You breathe in ragged gasps, your body limp and utterly wrecked, pinned beneath Seong-je who still hasn’t moved. You feel completely at peace in that hazy, blissed-out way, even as your cunt aches from the stretch and your combined juices trickle warm and sticky down your thighs.

The room is silent except for the heavy breathing of all three of you. Finally, Baek-jin breaks the quiet with a gentle clearing of his throat. “Seong-je,” he says, not unkindly.

He stirs as if waking from a dream. He realizes he’s practically draped over you and quickly straightens with a murmured apology. Carefully, he withdraws from you, and all three of you groan softly at the sensation—your oversensitive walls twitch at the drag, and his softening cock slips free with a lewd wet sound. A gush of his creamy spend immediately follows, spilling out of you and dripping viscously down your inner thighs.

He makes a strangled noise as he sees it. Even Baek-jin’s eyes flare at the sight of your thoroughly fucked pussy leaking with another man’s cum. You flush, instinctively moving to close your legs, but his hand on your ass cheek stops you.

“Don’t,” he says. He kneels down slightly behind you to inspect the decadent mess. You can feel his gaze like a physical touch. With one finger, he swipes up a droplet of the fluid that’s running down your thigh. Between your utterly used state, his dominant care, and your lingering high, you can only whine softly at the sensation.

He chuckles and then—to both yours and Seong-je’s astonishment—he brings that finger to your mouth. Gently, he taps it on your lower lip. “Open,” he murmurs.

You obey, parting your lips. He slips the finger inside, and you taste it: a mix of Seong-je’s salty seed and your own tangy essence. It’s filthy and intimate and so arousing even in your exhaustion that you moan around his finger, dutifully licking it clean without being asked twice.

“Good girl,” Baek-jin whispers, eyes heavy-lidded. He withdraws his finger once satisfied and stands upright again.

Seong-je looks like he can’t believe his eyes, clearly aroused by the sight despite having just cum. But as reality seeps back in, he also looks uncertain, concerned even. His gaze flits between you and Baek-jin, trying to gauge the aftermath. His pants are still around his thighs, his cock now soft but still slick with your combined fluids.

The atmosphere shifts slightly—still warm, but the raw lust is ebbing, making space for other emotions. Satisfaction, relief, a hint of awkwardness perhaps.

You gingerly push yourself upright from the armchair. Your legs protest, wobbly from exertion, and you have to grab the chair back to steady yourself. Immediately, Seong-je steps forward, zipping up his pants hurriedly and reaching as if to help you stand, concern etched on his face.

Baek-jin is quicker. He loops an arm around your waist, pulling your spent body against his solid frame. “Careful,” he murmurs, brushing damp hair from your face. His other hand slides down to tug your rumpled skirt back over your hips, a gesture of modesty now that the deed is done.

You lean into him, melting into his familiar scent and hold. He’s always run hot, and right now his body heat and steady heartbeat against your side feel like home. A sudden wave of emotion wells in you—love, reassurance, an almost delirious giddiness that the three of you came through that intense encounter intact.

Seong-je stands a foot away, hands twitching at his sides, unsure where he’s allowed to touch or if he should even speak. His gaze lingers on you with naked tenderness and worry. “Are you… alright?” he asks softly. “Did I hurt you?”

His earnestness tugs at your heart. You manage a tired smile. “I’m okay, Seong-je. Just… a little sore.” You let out a breathy chuckle. “In a good way.”

He exhales, relief evident. “Good. I— I’m glad.” He rubs the back of his neck, clearly still processing everything that just happened, the post-nut clarity perhaps bringing a dose of nerves. “That was… I mean… thank you,” he stammers, directing the gratitude to the both of you. “I don’t even… I can’t express—”

Baek-jin holds up a hand, stopping his babbling. There’s a faint smile on his lips, almost fond. “Consider your reward accepted, then,” he says lightly. His arm around you tightens a fraction, a subtle signal: we’re returning to normalcy now.

Seong-je straightens, nodding. The dynamic is shifting back; Baek-jin is clearly reasserting his usual authority in the aftermath. But there’s a newfound respect and camaraderie in his eyes as he regards his leader—and also a lingering awe when he glances at you.

You feel Baek-jin’s lips press to your temple in a gentle kiss. “You were amazing,” he whispers just for you, low and full of love. “So perfect for me.”

Your chest swells with affection. Exhausted and sex-drunk, you turn in his arm and wrap your own around his torso, nuzzling into him. The slight stickiness of sweat and the faint copper smell of blood from his earlier wounds are still there, but none of it bothers you. He’s yours.

He strokes your back soothingly, then eyes Seong-je, who still waits as if unsure what to do now. “Go get a towel, will you?” He says, nodding toward the small bathroom attached to the living space. “Wet it with warm water.”

Seong-je blinks, then immediately moves to obey. He disappears into the bathroom, leaving you and your boyfriend briefly alone.

As soon as he’s out of sight, Baek-jin tilts your face up to his. His expression is tender in a way he rarely shows outside of private moments. “How do you feel?” he asks softly, searching your eyes.

A wave of emotion washes through you. How do you even articulate how you feel? Physically, you’re deliciously sore, every muscle relaxed and boneless. Emotionally, you’re absolutely sated and maybe a bit overwhelmed. But most of all, you feel loved. Loved and known in a way that’s staggering.

“I feel…” you bite your lip, giving him a warm, tired smile. “Incredible. Loved. And very, very tired.” You chuckle weakly.

His face lights with a small genuine smile—one of those rare smiles that reach his eyes. “You are loved,” he says quietly, brushing your lower lip with his thumb where you worried it. He then glances down, and his smile turns into a faint grimace as he takes in the state of you: your inner thighs sticky with evidence of what transpired, bruises already starting to form on your hips where Seong-je held you, the smear of mascara from your tears. He runs his thumb gently under one of your eyes, wiping a smudge away. “My poor girl,” he murmurs affectionately. “What a mess you are.”

You huff a soft laugh, leaning into his hand. “Worth it,” you whisper.

His eyes darken with something akin to reverence. He dips his head and captures your lips in a sweet, lingering kiss—so different from the hungry ones earlier. It’s full of love and gratitude. You sigh into it, kissing him back tenderly.

When you part, Seong-je is just emerging with a damp towel. He averts his eyes slightly, as if worried he’s intruding on an intimate moment. Baek-jin doesn’t seem bothered; he beckons Seong-je over with a slight tilt of his head.

The boy approaches, holding out the warm, wet towel uncertainly. Baek-jin takes it from him, then crouches down in front of you. To your surprise, he himself gently spreads your thighs. You flush with embarrassment as he carefully wipes the mess from your skin, cleaning the stickiness of cum and arousal smeared there. He’s uncharacteristically tender with the motion, businesslike yet caring.

Seong-je watches, shifting on his feet. “I-I can do that—” he offers hesitantly, perhaps feeling awkward that his boss is cleaning up his spend.

“I’ve got her,” Baek-jin replies calmly, not unkindly but with finality. He finishes wiping between your thighs, then tosses the towel onto the coffee table. His hand caresses your outer thigh reassuringly as he stands back up.

That simple statement—I’ve got her—speaks volumes. Seong-je seems to understand. He nods, stepping back a respectful pace. The reality of the roles re-establishing themselves is almost palpable in the air. He is the right-hand man again, loyal and content, and Baek-jin is the one who holds you.

A heavy silence lingers for a moment. He clears his throat, a bit nervously. “Thank you,” he says again, quietly earnest. His gaze flickers between you two. “To both of you. I… I won’t ever forget this.”

You give him a soft, reassuring smile. “Neither will we.”

Baek-jin inclines his head. “You’ve earned it.” There’s a subtle finality in his tone, like closing a chapter. He then must notice Seong-je’s busted lip again and the dried blood on his face from earlier, because he gestures. “Now, go wash up properly. Get some rest. We’ll debrief tomorrow.”

It’s a gentle dismissal. Seong-je hesitates, eyes lingering on you one last time. There’s a flicker of emotion there—gratitude, affection, perhaps even love in its own way—but he tamps it down and offers a small bow of respect to Baek-jin, then to you. “Goodnight… boss. Goodnight… and thank you,” he says again softly to you.

“Goodnight, Seong-je,” you reply warmly.

With that, he gathers his jacket from the floor and quietly slips out of the apartment, shutting the door behind him.

Silence settles in his absence. Only the hum of the refrigerator and the muffled sounds of the city night beyond the window remain.

Baek-jin exhales, the tension of performance leaving his body. He turns to you, and immediately his hands are on you—one cupping your cheek, the other resting on your hip. “You sure you’re okay?” he asks, brow furrowed slightly in concern now that no one else is around.

You lean into his palm, covering it with your own. “I promise. A little sore, a little exhausted, but I’m more than okay.” You grin cheekily despite your fatigue. “That was… well, it was insane. But in the best way.”

He chuckles, relief evident in the way he presses his forehead to yours. “Yes, it was certainly that.” He closes his eyes, and you stay like that for a moment, simply sharing breath, absorbing each other’s presence.

After a beat, he pulls back and his gaze flits downward. “I should get you cleaned up more and into bed. You need rest.” Ever the caretaker beneath his rough exterior, at least for you.

You hum in agreement. Every bone in your body feels like jelly. A hot shower and curling up with him in bed sounds like heaven.

As he guides you towards the bathroom, you limp slightly, wincing at the ache between your legs. He notices and gently scoops you up into his arms without warning. You yelp in surprise and wrap your arms around his neck. “I can walk!” you protest weakly, though truthfully you relish being babied by him.

“Shh,” he chastises softly, carrying you bridal-style with ease despite having fought earlier and indulged in strenuous extracurriculars. “Let me take care of my girl.”

My girl. Those two words are a balm, erasing any lingering doubt or insecurity that might have tried to creep in post-encounter. You rest your head against his shoulder as he carries you into the bathroom.

He sets you down on the closed toilet seat carefully. As he turns to start the shower and adjust the water temperature, you watch him with a content smile. He catches you staring and arches a brow. “What?”

“Nothing,” you say softly. “Just… I love you.” The words come out quietly but firmly.

His expression gentles. He steps back over and tilts your chin up. “I love you,” he replies, and in his voice you hear the depth of his devotion, obsessive and profound. It makes your heart flutter. He kisses you once more—slow, languid, reassuring.

The shower steam begins to billow around you, warm and inviting. He helps you undress fully, peeling off your rumpled tank top and unclasping your bra with practiced ease. As he slides the straps down your arms, he pauses to press tender kisses to the marks on your shoulder and neck—some from Seong-je’s earlier fervor, some older from Baek-jin himself. Each brush of his lips seems to silently say mine, mine, mine.

He peels your skirt off, and what’s left of your shredded panties falls to the tile floor. He huffs a faint laugh, picking the ruined lace up with a finger. “I liked these,” he comments idly.

You giggle, feeling a blush warm your cheeks. “You would be sentimental about the underwear you tore off me like a caveman.”

He smirks, tossing the scrap aside. “I’ll buy you a new pair.” Then he cups your bare sex gently, making you jolt. He’s just feeling the heat there, the tenderness. “Maybe I’ll keep these as a souvenir,” he adds wickedly.

You swat at his arm half-heartedly, laughing, and he finally stops teasing, helping you into the shower. The hot water cascading over sore muscles is pure bliss. He steps in behind you after shedding his own clothes, and pulls you back against his chest under the spray.

For a while, you both just stand there under the water, arms wrapped around each other. The heat soothes the aches, and being enclosed in Baek-jin’s embrace soothes everything else.

He washes your body with gentle thoroughness, massaging shampoo into your hair, lathering soap over every inch of your skin with his strong hands. It’s not sexual; it’s intimate care. Occasionally you both steal soft kisses or share a quiet chuckle when he notes a particularly dramatic bruise or love bite. When he finds a clear imprint of teeth at the crook of your neck, courtesy of Seong-je, his eyes darken and he nips next to it, overlaying his own mark right beside as if reclaiming territory. You squeal at the sharpness but then melt as he soothes it with his tongue.

After you’re clean and warm, he dries you off tenderly with a fluffy towel, then dries himself quickly. You slip on one of his oversized t-shirts, too tired for anything else, and he pulls on a pair of sweatpants, foregoing a shirt.

Finally, he lifts you again and carries you to bed. The moment you lie down on the cool sheets with Baek-jin sliding in beside you, a deep sigh of relief escapes you. Your body is heavy and deliciously sated.

He switches off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into soft darkness. The faint glow of the city through the curtains outlines his profile as he turns toward you, gathering you into his arms. You happily curl into him, head on his chest, one leg thrown over his hip.

For a time, you just listen to the steady beating of his heart. It’s a comforting rhythm, lulling you toward sleep. His fingers trace idle patterns on your back.

Just as you’re about to drift off, his quiet voice rumbles under your ear. “Was it really okay? Truly?” There’s a vulnerability in the question—almost imperceptible, but you know him too well to miss it.

You prop yourself up on your elbow so you can look at him through the dim light. He’s staring at the ceiling, jaw tight, as if worried now in the aftermath that he might have pushed you too far or… hurt something between you.

Tenderly, you reach out and run your fingers through his damp hair. He finally meets your gaze, and you see it: the flicker of fear that perhaps you’ll think differently of him or of yourself now.

“It was more than okay, my love,” you whisper, leaning down to kiss the spot over his heart. “You were right there with me the whole time. I never felt for a second that I wasn’t yours.” The words spill softly but surely. “I loved every second of it… because it was what you wanted, what we wanted. And because you were in control, I felt safe.”

He exhales, tension bleeding out of him. His arm around you tightens, hugging you close. “Good,” he murmurs. “I— I wouldn’t have done it if I thought it would hurt you. You know that, right?”

“I know,” you say without hesitation. “I trust you completely.”

He closes his eyes for a moment, looking immeasurably relieved. When he opens them, some of the usual sly confidence is creeping back in. “And… if I said I enjoyed it too?” he asks quietly, a bit of wryness in his tone.

You grin. “I think that was pretty obvious.”

He huffs a soft laugh and nudges you. “Bold of you, little minx.” A comfortable silence, then, “It was definitely a one-time thing. I don’t intend on sharing you like that again.”

Surprise flickers through you at his sudden seriousness, but it’s a comforting kind of serious. “No?”

He shakes his head. “No. This was… special circumstances. A reward for a very loyal ally. And a bit of a test.” His thumb strokes your arm.

“A test?”

He smirks slightly. “Of my own restraint, perhaps. Of trust. And… maybe a gift to you as well, since you clearly enjoyed teasing him all this time.” His tone carries a teasing accusation.

You bite your lip, not denying it. “Well… it certainly was one hell of a gift,” you admit with a soft laugh. “But you’re right. This isn’t something I need to repeat. I only need you, Baek-jin.”

He seems pleased with that answer. He rolls you both so that you’re on your side facing each other under the covers, noses nearly touching. “And I only need you,” he replies, voice a low murmur in the dark.

You snuggle into him, tangling your legs together. “I’m glad we did it, though,” you add, trailing your fingertips across his bare chest. “In a strange way, I feel even closer to you now. Is that silly?”

He tilts your chin up to place a gentle kiss on your lips. “Not silly. I feel it too.” His dark eyes bore into yours, sincere and unguarded in the privacy of night. “Watching you, trusting you… it only made me love you more. You’re everything to me.”

Your heart swells so much you think it might burst. You tuck your head into the crook of his neck, hugging him fiercely. “I love you, Na Baek-jin,” you whisper, voice thick with emotion.

He holds you just as tight. “And I love you. Always.”

With that final reassurance, you both let the exhaustion take over. Your breathing slows; his does too. Safe in each other’s arms, the world fades.

As you drift off, one last image floats through your mind: Baek-jin’s intense eyes locked on yours while Seong-je moved inside you, the feeling of being utterly possessed and yet completely cherished in the same moment. A shiver of remembered pleasure and emotion runs through you.

One night only. One night that was more than enough.

Before sleep claims you, you press a soft kiss to his throat and whisper a silent thank you into his skin—for his trust, for his love, for everything. He murmurs in his sleep, pulling you even closer.

Your eyes close, and you slip into dreams filled with gentle darkness and the steady heartbeat of the man who owns you—body, heart, and soul. The man who, even in sharing you, never let you forget that you are, and always will be, his.

[cupidsonly]

this touched my heart

hello!! I want to make a request ; is it alright if you can write about how seong je would be with a mute!reader? i just think it’d be an interesting dynamic ..! hmm other details i’d add is the reader often giving affection in a form of gifting (letters mayb?), cooking him a meal or quality time :) you may write this in whatever format you want!! thank youu and have a nice week (ps love your writing)

synopsis — seongje is a whirlwind of noise and chaos, but he finds unexpected peace in your silence.

now playing — sweet - cigarettes after sex pairing — geum seongje x gn!reader (hard of hearing, selectively mute) genre — hurt/comfort, slowburn, angst with soft moments, unconventional romance (nothing is conventional with seongje) cw — ableism/mocking of hearing disability, bullying, violence (including implied offscreen physical assault), power imbalance, toxic behavior, minor blood/bruising, strong language wc — ~2.1k

note: this was a pleasure to write <3 i hope i did ur request justice, anon. and please do not hesitate to tell me if i wrote something wrong or inaccurate to the experiences of hoh individuals.

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seongje doesn’t do “quiet.” he doesn’t do subtlety, either. his entire existence is loud—his presence is a storm that makes everything feel tense and unpredictable. that’s how he’s known: the unpredictable, impulsive force, the mad dog. so, when he sees you for the first time, it’s almost like a challenge.

you’re sitting there, silently, in the bowling alley, a forced audience to the bullying happening around you. the union’s delinquents have gathered, sneering as they taunt you. they wave your hearing aids in front of you like a sick joke, expecting you to react. but you don’t. you’re quiet, your face unreadable, eyes glued to the floor, trying to stay as small as possible, like you’ve done countless times before. it’s a game for them, nothing more than a way to make you feel like an outsider.

“hey, freak, what’s wrong? can’t hear us?” one of them mocks, swinging your hearing aids back and forth with a smirk.

the noise is deafening to you in a different way—a slow, rising pressure in your chest. you want to speak, to make them stop. but your voice won’t come, and the words you want to say die in your throat, replaced by that quiet ache of helplessness.

that’s when seongje steps in.

he’s not supposed to be there. he’s supposed to be in baekjin’s office, probably arguing or being a general pain in the ass—but the noise coming from the alleyway catches his attention. he comes striding out, a curse on his lips as he surveys the scene, his eyes lighting up with the familiar flash of anger.

“what’s with all the fucking noise, fuckers?!,” seongje shouts, his voice dripping with disdain as he eyes the delinquents, but his gaze lands on the one holding your hearing aids, who freezes up as soon as he realizes who’s standing in front of him.

“aww, you guys are really fucking pathetic,” seongje steps forward, his mood shifting from bored to dangerous in an instant. he slaps the delinquent’s face, knocking the hearing aids out of his grip, and catches them before they hit the floor.

the delinquent stumbles back, startled, and seongje doesn’t miss the way his bravado slips. “hey, if you want to get your ass kicked, i’ll be happy to oblige. otherwise, get the fuck out of here,” seongje growls, and his voice carries an unmistakable warning.

the delinquents scatter quickly, realizing they’re not really looking forward to get beat up by the wolf himself. seongje watches them leave with a bored smirk, but his eyes return to you, where you’re still sitting silently, your gaze downcast. his anger bubbles under the surface, but it doesn’t seem to be directed at you—it’s more frustration at how they treated you. and, maybe… it’s confusion. because why would he be frustrated?

he despises those who put on a front, acting all tough and dominant when they're around someone they know is weaker, but turn into cowards the moment they face someone like seongje. the hypocrisy makes him sick—they don’t even have the balls to face him.

you look up at him then, your lips parting as if to say something, but the words stay locked inside. seongje stares back, a little too long, before he gestures to the now-empty bowling alley with a roll of his eyes.

“shit, it’s way too quiet in here now,” seongje mutters, half to himself. “i need a fucking drink. you coming?” his fist reaching out to you, making you flinch, but he simply turns and opens his palm to reveal your hearings aids, offering it back to you, his gaze not even meeting yours.

you hesitate, a flicker of uncertainty crossing your face. seongje doesn’t wait for a reply. he knows how this works—he doesn’t need words from you to tell if you’re okay. you’ve already said more than enough with that silence of yours.

it’s a few weeks later when seongje starts to notice something he wasn’t expecting—something soft. you’re not the type to speak, but you show him things. you leave him little letters. they’re simple at first, just words on paper—carefully written, neat and soft. but each one has meaning. you might leave him a note after a chaotic day, telling him, thank you for helping me today—a gesture he’s not used to.

seongje can’t stop himself from reading them over and over, even if he pretends they don’t matter. he tosses the first one aside in an exaggerated motion, but later, when he’s alone, he pulls it out again, trying to make sense of it. there’s something oddly comforting in your words. something real. his usual sharpness dulls just a little when he reads them.

it’s a typical night, and you don’t expect anything to go wrong. seongje has always been unpredictable, but you can’t stop yourself from trusting him. there’s a strange sort of understanding between the two of you now. he doesn’t need you to speak, and you don’t need him to be anything but… himself. still, you don’t expect what happens when he calls you to meet him in a parking lot late one evening.

the dim light from the streetlamps makes the whole place feel cold and detached. you spot him standing there, leaning against the hood of a car, his eyes narrowing slightly when he sees you approach. but there’s something different tonight—something unsettling in his stance.

"come here," seongje says, his voice almost too casual for the tense atmosphere.

your breath catches in your throat as the boy on his knees comes into focus. you've seen him around before—he’s one of the delinquents from the union. the same one who’d been taunting you in the bowling alley, waving your hearing aids like some cruel joke. that memory hits you sharply, and your stomach churns with discomfort as you recognize him now, his face bruised and bloodied, a lip split open, looking like he’s been through hell.

but why is he here? why is he on his knees, shaking in front of seongje? what happened to him?

seongje stands over him, his posture casual, his grin wide and wicked as he watches the boy with almost bored amusement. he kicks the delinquent’s side lightly, like it’s a game, and the boy flinches.

"come on, kid," seongje says, his voice teasing but edged with something darker, something almost amused by the kid’s fear. "just like we practiced."

the delinquent on his knees doesn’t speak, his eyes downcast, probably too terrified to even look up at seongje, but his shaky hand lifts. you watch as he tries to make the "a" handshape, his fingers clumsy as he attempts to sign. seongje looks down at the boy, his grin stretching wider as he watches him fumble.

the delinquent hurriedly completes the sign, his hands shaking, his breath coming in short bursts as he struggles to perform it correctly. he spins his hand in a half-hearted clockwise motion, and you can tell how hard it is for him to even try. he looks humiliated, and maybe that’s what seongje wants—to make him feel small, to show that he’s the one in control now. like how the boy probably felt back in the bowling alley with you.

“sorry.” he signed.

as the boy finishes, seongje pats his shoulder with an almost affectionate thud, a grin still plastered on his face. “good job,” he mutters, voice dripping with mock praise. but his eyes flick to you, then back to the delinquent, as if waiting for some kind of reaction.

the delinquent scrambles to his feet, not daring to say a word, but you can see the fear still fresh in his eyes. without another glance, he stumbles off into the shadows of the parking lot, and seongje doesn’t follow him, not bothering with any more theatrics. “now that’s how you apologize,” he sighs contentedly, glancing at you from the corner of his eye as he walks back to where you two came from.

you don’t respond, but you follow him. because, despite everything—despite how messed up all of this is—he’s still the one who, somehow, happened to feel like the safest person to be around. despite his… unique antics.

despite the way he does things no one else would dare to. because even if he’s rough around the edges, unpredictable and loud, seongje never made you feel small. and that, weirdly enough, was enough.

seongje’s desk at the bowling alley becomes a quiet sort of shrine to you—littered with your letters and notes, half-crumpled from him rereading them over and over. he never bothers to clean it up. they’re scattered across the surface like leaves in a storm, but he knows exactly where each one is. it’s an organized mess, chaotic in the same way he is. but if anyone even looks at them too long—tries to pick one up, makes a joke about the handwriting, even breathes too close to the edge of his desk—they’re basically asking for a death wish.

“touch it and you die,” he’ll mutter without even looking up, one foot kicked up on the desk, cigarette dangling from his lips. it’s not even a threat—it’s a promise.

somewhere in between the late night meetups—where the world is quiet and it’s just the two of you—and the stolen moments in back rooms lit by vending machine glow, seongje softens. not in a way that’s obvious to most, but in ways you catch. like when he plays bowling with you late at night at the union headquarters, just the sound of pins crashing echoing through the empty lanes. he’s terrible at it, but he doesn’t care. he would fair better hitting someone at the back of the head with these bowling balls. he only really lights up when it’s your turn.

you roll the ball, knock down every pin, and before you can even react, he’s throwing his hands in the air, exaggeratedly signing applause, a wide grin stretching across his face.

“that’s what i’m fucking talking about!” he shouts, clapping loudly on top of the sign for applause he just made, just because he’s still him—loud, obnoxious, impossible—but now he’s loud for you.

yeah… to seongje, you’re like a stray puppy at first. small, quiet, following him around without saying a word, eyes always wide and watching. at first, he thinks it’s kinda funny—endearing, even. you don’t talk back, don’t flinch when he’s loud, and you’ve got this habit of showing up with little notes or food like some soft, strange ritual he doesn’t understand. he starts calling you “puppy” just to mess with you, ruffling your hair whenever you come around.

but somewhere along the way, that fondness stops being just a game. no, you’re not a pet to seongje. but maybe, you became an equal.

he starts waiting for your notes. starts leaving his office door slightly cracked, just in case you come by. he catches himself watching you instead of his phone. gets weirdly pissed off when other people so much as look at you wrong.

and the night he realizes it’s different—that it’s not just him babysitting some quiet kid—it’s when you sign “stay” with soft hands after a long night, and he does. no grumbling, no jokes, just settles next to you and doesn’t leave.

after that, it’s not a question. you’re not a puppy. you’re his person.

and yeah, maybe he never said you were dating. but everyone knows. you leave your food in the union’s fridge, your letters in his desk, your comfort in the chaos of his life. and he protects you, respects you, listens to your silence more than he’s ever listened to anyone’s voice. and no one in the union dares to bring it up or even question your soft presence in the nitty gritty bowling alley.

seongje is loud. like, really fucking loud. he talks with his whole body, yells when he's annoyed, laughs like he owns the air around him, and never knows when to shut up. he's noise and motion and chaos wrapped in one, dangerously sharp-edged boy. but you—you're quiet. not just in voice, but in presence. you move gently, offer kindness without demanding attention, speak in ways that don’t need sound.

and somehow, in all the noise of his world, your silence is the only thing that ever made sense. he used to think silence was empty, but now it’s where he finds comfort. he’s still loud, still volatile, still the type to throw a punch first and maybe ask questions never. but now there’s this... softness around the edges. a space he carves out just for you. like you’re the eye of the storm, and he’s always, always circling back to you.

in your quiet, he feels understood. and maybe that's the wildest thing about this whole mess—that a boy made of sound found peace in someone who never had to say a word.

note: aaa i feel like this so short >><< i wanted to give them more of a backstory but for now this is what i’m going with. if you’d like to see more of them that’d be nice 🫶 this is such a different take from collarless tho, and it’s nice to also write a softer character to contrast our tough collarless!reader to explore more dynamics with seongje.

i don’t aim to reform or soften seongje, but have the peaceful presence of the reader be incorporated into his life without changing his ideals and personality.

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[cupidsonly]

this is canon.

hi r u doing smut fics? but anyways if u do pls make about how whc 2 characters would react if you give them a bj 🤭

anyways i luv ur whc fics keep it up thanks xoxo

weak hero class headcanons — going down on the boys of weak hero class 🔞

synopsis — how the boys of whc... well, anon’s ask is pretty self-explanatory

pairing/s — (all the whc boys here are in senior year/18+) sieun x reader, suho x reader, baku x reader, gotak x reader, juntae x reader, baekjin x reader, seongje x reader, beomseok x reader

a/n — >< everyone’s been waiting for something a bit more... out there for the whc boys, and since i rarely do smut, this was definitely a challenge !! i hope everyone has a fun time. disclaimer: this is pure smut, mdni. if you’re a minor in the taglist, don’t interact pls. i removed who i know are under 18, but might have missed some.

masterlist | join the taglist | request a fic

⤷ yeon sieun

he doesn’t say a word when you kneel, just watches you with that intense, unreadable stare. it’s not until your lips wrap around him that his breath hitches—barely audible, but sharp. his fingers curl into the arm of the couch, the only giveaway that he’s actually unraveling.

you go slow, wanting to see what kind of reactions you can pull from him. he swallows hard. his thigh twitches. then, finally, a sound—low and breathy: “don’t stop.” he doesn’t guide you. doesn’t push. but when his hand cups your jaw, there’s something raw in it—like he’s grounding himself with you. he finishes with a tight exhale, eyes fluttering shut, and when he comes back down, he murmurs, “come here,” like he’s desperate to hold you, to take back the control he just gave up.

⤷ ahn suho

he watches you kneel in front of him, his expression shifting from surprised to almost amused. “you sure about this, baby?” he asks, voice still calm, but you can hear the hint of anticipation beneath it.

but the moment your mouth wraps around him, his teasing demeanor fades. “f-fuck—wait—” his hand flies to your hair instinctively, not rough but firm, guiding you just the way he wants. his hips buck upward just a little as he tries to hold himself together, but it's clear he's losing it.

"shit, you feel so good," he groans, voice thick with need. “y-you’re gonna make me—” he cums with a sharp gasp, eyes fluttering shut, his grip tightening in your hair as he shudders. afterward, he pulls you up into his arms, kissing the top of your head with a soft laugh.

“you have no idea what you just did to me,” he whispers, his breath still unsteady, holding you close like he never wants to let go.

⤷ park humin (baku)

“oh my god, wait, wait—holy shit—” he’s already whining before you even start, half laughing, half panicking. you press your mouth to his length and he melts, one hand flying to his hair like he needs to pull it to stay conscious.

he talks through the whole thing—loud, flustered, ridiculous. “you’re so hot, oh my god, i can’t—babe, babe—your mouth is actually insane—” he keeps trying to look down at you, like he doesn’t want to miss a second. every time you suck a little harder, he moans like he’s being possessed.

“i’m gonna cum, oh fuck, i’m—ah, shit—” he whimpers, hand flying down to cover his mouth as you take all of him in. afterward, he lies flat on the bed, panting. “i literally saw god. was that even real? or did i hallucinate?”

⤷ go hyuntak (gotak)

he doesn’t say a word—just watches you silently, jaw clenched. when your lips wrap around him, he inhales sharply through his nose, gripping the edge of the couch so hard his knuckles go white. his voice comes out low and strained—“don’t tease. if you’re gonna do it, do it.” and when you take him deeper, a groan rumbles out of his chest—so deep it makes your thighs clench.

he doesn’t fuck your throat, doesn’t move much at all—but you can feel the tension in his body like a live wire. he cums with a stifled grunt, holding your head there as he spills down your throat. afterward, he leans back, breathing heavy, eyes glazed. “…fuck. that was something else.”

⤷ seo juntae

he looks like he might pass out when you kneel—eyes wide, hands flying up like he’s about to protest but forgets how. “w-wait, you don’t have to—i mean, if you want to, i’m not gonna stop you, but—” and then your mouth is on him and he chokes on a gasp. his hands hover awkwardly in the air for a second before he grips the blanket, knuckles white.

“ohmygod—th-that feels—” his voice is high, barely coherent, broken between moans and shaky breaths. you glance up and his face is flushed, lip caught between his teeth, eyes behind his glasses already watering. he cums with a whimper, hips bucking up with his thighs trembling, immediately covering his face. “i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to go that fast, i just—holy shit, you’re really good at that.”

⤷ na baekjin

he doesn’t speak when you kneel, but his expression changes—sharpening, almost curious. maybe a little hungry. he stays perfectly still as your mouth wraps around him, but his breathing falters, eyes darkening as he watched his length disappear against your lips, hand twitching once before it settles gently on your head. he groans—quiet but intense, jaw clenching every time your tongue swirls around him. “fuck,” he mutters under his breath, hand tightening in your hair.

you feel his thighs tense under your touch, and his voice breaks when he tells you, “just like that.” his body shivering as you hollow your cheeks. he cums with a gasp, hips barely jerking, breath catching like he didn’t expect it to hit so fast. after, he helps you up, kisses you slow and deep, he touches your jaw gently and pulls you into his arms, forehead to yours and whispers, “thank you, darling.” like you just saved his life.

⤷ geum seongje

he smirks the moment you drop to your knees, eyes glinting with something dark. “damn, baby. didn’t think you had it in you.” but when your mouth sinks down on him, that smirk vanishes—replaced by a look that’s feral.

his hand fists your hair, not rough at first, but when you moan around him? he pulls—hard. “fuck—keep doing that,” he growls, “you look so good like this. fuck, you’re mine.” keeping you there as his hips twitch forward. he pulls—not to hurt you, but to keep you there, like he needs it. his other hand wraps around the back of your neck, firm and possessive, holding you close as he thrusts shallowly into your mouth.

“look at me,” he growls. “i said—look.” his pupils are blown wide, gaze locked on yours like you’ve got him under a spell. “you’re fucking perfect like this,” he pants. “mine. you get that? mine.”

“fuck, you’re gonna make me—” he cums with a sharp gasp, head tilting back as his muscles tighten, breath ragged. the moan he lets out is raw, needy, almost desperate—the kind that lingers in your ears long after.

and afterward, he yanks you into his lap, kissing you sloppily, breathing you in like he needs you to live. “don’t ever do that for anyone else,” he whispers against your lips, “i’ll lose my fucking mind.”

⤷ oh beomseok

he stares when you kneel in front of him—eyes wide behind his glasses, mouth slightly parted like he can’t believe what’s about to happen. “a-are you… really gonna—?” his voice is so quiet, it barely comes out. he shifts back on the bed like he doesn’t know where to put his hands. but he doesn’t stop you—he can’t. and the moment you wrap your lips around him, he breaks. “f-fuck—wait—” his head falls back instantly, a choked gasp punching out of him as his fingers grasp at the sheets.

his glasses slide down a bit, his breath stuttering as the heat rushes straight to his face. he whimpers when you take him deeper, soft and sharp, his thighs trembling slightly as he tries so hard not to move. “you look so good like this,” he pants. “fuck, you’re gonna make me—” he cums suddenly, hips twitching up into your mouth before he can warn you. it’s high-pitched, needy, almost embarrassed as he moans through it—his glasses fogged, his whole body tensed and shaking. afterward, he reaches for you with trembling hands, pulling you against his chest like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. “how am i supposed to act normal after that?” his usually deep voice is slightly higher now, still recovering from the high.

if u liked this, a reblog would be greatly appreciated to help my work reach other people as well >><< !! thank u thank u sm

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[cupidsonly]

i love this i’m gonna float

ALLEYWAY BOY

╰┈➤ sieun x fem!reader

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 warnings: explicit sexual content (18+ MDNI), violence, explicit language, no sexual protection.

about: while at your new school, one student catches your attention. when you help him during a fight you’re welcomed into his friend group. now in university, sieun begins to open up more, emotionally and physically.

⤷ WORD COUNT: 5k

The classroom was loud with chatter as everyone waited for the teacher to arrive for the first class of the day. You had transferred to Eunjang High School just a week ago and were still trying to find your place among the complex social hierarchy. 

No one really stood out except one person. You noticed him immediately. A boy sitting alone by the window, his face expressionless as he stared outside. Something about him drew you to him. While everyone else moved in groups, laughing and talking loudly, he existed in his own bubble. You had occasionally seen him hang out with three other boys but most days he was to himself. 

Oh. You’re looking at Sieun?” Whispered the girl sitting next to you, catching you staring. “He doesn't talk much. He transferred a little before you. Apparently he killed someone at his old school.”

You nodded, trying to look disinterested even as your eyes kept drifting back to him.

Your chance to actually meet him came a few days later. You had stayed late at school to complete a makeup test and were walking home alone when you heard yelling in the ally way. You should’ve taken that as a sign to turn around and take a different way home but curiosity got the better of you. 

You looked around the corner and saw four guys surrounding someone. When they moved around, you caught a glimpse of Sieun, standing there with the same frown on his face.

“You think just because you took down Seongje means we’re scared of you?,” one of them was said.

Sieun's voice was quiet but firm. “No.”

What happened next was so fast you barely registered it. One moment one of the guys was lunging toward Sieun and the next moment he was on the ground clutching his stomach. The others rushed in but Sieun moved with a quickness, fighting back. 

In less than a minute, all of them were on the ground. The first guy Sieun took down pulled out a small knife, and that's when you gasped involuntarily. Everyone froze. Sieun's eyes snapped to where you stood, and in that moment of distraction the knife-wielder lunged. Without thinking, you shouted, “Behind you!” 

Sieun dodged it just in time, the blade missing his face by inches. He grabbed the guys wrist and twisted until the knife fell to the ground.

All four boys fled and Sieun turned to you. You expected him to show anger for you interfering but his face didn’t show anything actually. 

“You should go home,” he said finally. “It's not safe here.”

“You're bleeding,” you pointed out, noticing a cut on his cheek.

He touched it softly. “It's nothing.”

Instead of leaving, you dug into your bag and pulled out a packet of tissues and a small first-aid kit your mother had insisted you carry. “Let me help.”

For a long moment, he just stared at you. Then, to your surprise, he gave a single nod and leaned against the wall, allowing you to dab at the cut with a wipe.

“Why did you warn me?” he asked suddenly. “You don't even know me.”

You focused on cleaning the cut, avoiding his intense gaze. “Should I have let him stab you instead?”

He exhaled a breath. “Most people would have run away.”

“Well I didn’t want to see a fellow Eunjang student hurt,” you replied with a smile on your face.

“Yo, Sieun!” a voice called. Three boys approached, the one with a basketball jersey frowning when he saw the signs of a fight. “What happened?”

“Nothing important,” Sieun replied, straightening up.

The basketball jersey boy's eyes shifted to you, suspicious. “Who's this?”

“A classmate,” Sieun said before you could answer. “She helped.”

The introduction was short and sweet. You learned that Baku was the one with the jersey on. Junate and Gotak were the other two boys. These were the boys you had seen Sieun hang out with every now and then. 

From this moment you were cautiously accepted into their friend circle. Sieun rarely spoke to you directly at first but sometimes you would catch him watching you when he thought you weren't looking.

It took months to break his walls down with you. You had slowly earned his trust and got to learn about the story behind his fighting skills and the way he kept everyone at a distance. You learned about his troubled past, his friend in the hospital, and got to know his personality more. 

By the start of your senior year everything was starting to look up. Suho, Sieuns hospital friend, had woken up, Eungjang high was no longer bothered by the union and your friendship with Sieun developed into something more.

One year later and you’re all now in University. The campus coffee shop was loud with voices and machines as students rushed to grab their caffeine before afternoon classes. You sat at a corner table, textbooks spread across the surface as you tried to make sense of your class assignment.

University life had been treating you well, balancing classes with part-time work and a social life was challenging, but manageable. 

Sieun hadn't changed much since high school. His face still carried that same deadpan expression, sharp eyes that softened only for you, and a quietness that intimidated most people. What did change was your goals for him and you. 

Since starting university, you'd made it your mission to get more reactions out of him. It had become something of a game between you and him trying to maintain his composure while you tried your best to break it.

Sieun walked in the coffee shop, his dark hair slightly messy from the breeze outside. He looked so good. Despite being your boyfriend for almost six months now, the sight of him still made your heart skip a beat.

“Hey,” he said, sliding into the seat across from you. “Sorry I'm late. The professor wanted to discuss my project”

You smiled, pushing your untouched ice tea toward him. “No problem. How did it go?”

“Better than expected.” He reached for the drink, his fingers brushing against yours. Even after months of dating, these small touches still sent electricity through your body. “He thinks I might be able to submit it to receive a full ride scholarship.”

“That's amazing” Your genuine excitement made him bow his head slightly, still unused to praise despite his talents.

Sieun took a sip from your drink, using the same straw you had been using. When he realized what he'd done, a faint blush crept across his cheeks. He quickly set the drink down.

“Sorry,” he muttered, looking anywhere but at your face.

You couldn't help but laugh. For someone who had faced the craziest situations in high school, it was interesting how flustered he could get over such small intimacies. 

“Sieun…” you started, taking another sip from the same straw, “ you know sharing drinks is what couples do.”

His blush deepened. “I know that.”

“Do you?” You leaned forward, resting your chin on your palm. “Because sometimes I wonder if you remember we're dating.”

Sieun's eyes met yours, embarrassment written all over his face.  “Of course I remember we’re dating.”

“Then why do you still get so flustered when I do this?” You reached across the table and gently brushed a strand of hair from his forehead. As expected, he stiffened slightly before relaxing into your touch.

“I'm not flustered,” he insisted, though the color in his cheeks said otherwise.

You laughed softly. “Sure baby.” 

Honestly, you found his shy reactions adorable. Sieun had always been reserved, even after you'd started dating. Breaking through his walls had been a slow process but every small victory felt significant. You loved to see him gradually allow himself to be vulnerable with you.

“How's your assignment going?” he asked, clearly trying to change the subject.

“It’s going horribly,” you admitted dramatically. “This subject makes no sense to me.”

Sieun scooted his chair around to sit beside you, his shoulder pressing against yours as he looked at your textbook. “Let me see.”

As he began explaining concepts  you found yourself watching the movement of his lips more than listening to his words. When he paused to see if you were following, you impulsively leaned in and kissed his cheek.

He froze mid-sentence, eyes widening. “What was that for?” he asked, voice slightly cracking.

"I just wanted to kiss you,” you replied with a shrug. “Is that okay?”

Sieun swallowed hard. “Yeah... it's okay.”

You smiled and turned back to the textbook, acting as if nothing had happened, though you could feel the tension radiating from him. You had to have a nice balance with Sieun, pushing just enough to help him become comfortable with affection without overwhelming him.

For the next hour, you studied together, gradually shifting closer until your thighs touched under the table. Every so often, you would find excuses to touch him. You’d reach across to point at something in the book and let your arm rest against his. Each touch left him momentarily flustered before he composed himself again. 

“We should get going,” he said, closing his textbooks and glancing at his watch. “We're supposed to meet the others for lunch in twenty minutes.”

You groaned, remembering the lunch plan. “Do we have to? I was hoping to have you to myself today.”

A small smile played on his lips. “They'll never let us hear the end of it if we bail.”

“Fine,” you sighed dramatically, gathering your books. “But you owe me.”

“Owe you what?” he asked, helping you pack up.

You leaned in close, your lips nearly brushing his ear. “Time. Just us. No interruptions.”

The blush returned full force, spreading from his neck to his ears, and you couldn't help but laugh softly. There was something addictive about making Sieun flustered.

As you walked across campus to meet your friends, your hands occasionally brushed until Sieun finally took the initiative and laced his fingers with yours. It was a small gesture, but knowing how much he disliked public displays of affection, it meant everything to you.

The campus restaurant was crowded when you arrived, but you spotted your friends immediately. Baku was gesturing wildly, telling some story that had Juntae rolling his eyes. Suho noticed you first, waving you guys over. 

“Finally!” Baku exclaimed as you sat down. “We thought you two might have gotten distracted.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. 

“We were studying,” Sieun said simply. “Unlike some people.”

Gotak laughed. “He's got you there, Baku. When's the last time you stepped foot in the library?”

“Libraries are for people who have to read to learn,” Baku said with a big grin, tapping his forehead. “Me? I just stand near smart stuff and it jumps into my brain!”

“Is that why you're failing statistics?” Juntae asked dryly making the whole table laugh,

As your friends fell into their usual banter you noticed how clam Sieun was. This friend group was good for him. Everything felt right. 

“How's the new apartment?” Suho asked Sieun between bites of his lunch.

“It's alright,” Sieun replied with his typical shortness.

You rolled your eyes. “What he means is that it's great but he's still living out of boxes because he refuses to properly unpack.”

“I have a system,” Sieun defended himself.

Sieun had moved into his own place just a month ago, leaving the dormitories for a small studio apartment off-campus. You had helped him move, shocked by how few items he actually owned.

“You should see it,” you told the others. “The only decoration he has is a plant I bought him, which is somehow still alive.”

“It's just a place to sleep,” Sieun shrugged. “I don't need much.”

Baku leaned forward. “So, Y/n, how often do you stay over at this minimalist paradise?”

You kicked him under the table while Sieun suddenly became very interested in his food.

“None of your business, Humin,” you replied sassy.

The truth was, while you had been to Sieun's apartment many times, your relationship had progressed slowly in physical terms. Sieun wasn't one to rush, and you respected his pace. You were fine as long as he was by your side. 

As everyone prepared to leave for afternoon classes, Suho pulled you aside briefly.

“He seems good,” he said quietly, nodding toward Sieun who was arguing with Baku about something. “More settled.”

You smiled, watching your boyfriend's rare animated expressions. “I think he is. You being here is definitely a big reason why”

“It’s not just me. It's because of you too,” Suho continued. “He was always so... contained back then. Even with me. You've given him something the rest of us couldn't.”

“What's that?”

“Permission to be a normal guy,” Suho said simply. “To care about something besides survival.”

Before you could respond, the others joined you, and the moment passed. But Suho's words stayed with you as you and Sieun split from the group to head to your next classes.

“I have to finish a lab report tonight,” Sieun said as you guys reached his next class. “But maybe after…”

“After?” 

He met your eyes, something determined in his gaze. “Maybe you could come over. We could watch that movie you've been talking about.”

You smiled, knowing the invitation was not just to watch a movie, but to spend time together in his personal bubble. “I'd like that.”

For a moment, he stood there, seeming to debate something. He looked around quickly to ensure no one was watching and leaned in to kiss you briefly. Before you could react, he had already pulled away, a flush spreading across his cheekbones.

“I'll text you when I'm done,” he said rushed, then turned and walked into the building, leaving you standing there with a surprised smile.

It was 8:30 when you got the text from Sieun, "Lab done. Come over if you still want to.”

 Pf, of course you still want to. You quickly washed up and headed over to his apartment, giving his door a soft knock. The door opened almost immediately, revealing Sieun in a simple black t-shirt and gray sweatpants. His hair was damp from a recent shower. He looked so handsome. 

“Hi,” you said, suddenly feeling a little nervous without knowing why.

“Come in,” he replied, stepping aside to let you enter.

The apartment was indeed minimalist, just as you'd described to your friends. A bed in one corner, a small seating area with a couch and coffee table, a tv stand with a tv, a cute small kitchen, and a desk with a laptop, the plant you gave him, and neatly arranged textbooks on it. 

But something was a little different. You noticed immediately that he had finally unpacked some of the boxes. A bookshelf now held his small collection of books and a few framed photos, including you in them. One of the two photos with you in them was from the end-of-year festival in high school.

“You unpacked,” you said, unable to keep the surprise from your voice.

Sieun shrugged, but you could tell he was pleased that you'd noticed. “Had some time after finishing the lab report.”

You moved to examine the photos more closely. “I can't believe you kept this,” you said, picking up the festival photo.

“It was a good day,” he said simply, coming to stand beside you.

You remembered it well. A day full of fun. The day had ended with him awkwardly asking if you wanted to “maybe go out sometime,” his confidence completely absent as he stumbled over the words.

Setting the photo down, you turned to face him. “I can put on the movie,” you said picking up his remote and turning on  the TV, “but I'm also fine with just talking if you're tired.”

“I’m good with the movie,” he replied, “I made food. Nothing fancy, just ramen.”

“Fancy ramen or instant?” you asked with a smile.

“Somewhere in between.” He gestured to two bowls on the coffee table, steam still rising from them. You noticed he'd added eggs, green onions, and a few other ingredients to elevate the simple dish.

After putting the movie on you settled onto the small couch suddenly aware of how intimate the space felt. You had been here before, but something about tonight felt different. Sieun joined you on the couch, sitting close enough that your shoulders touched. 

For the first twenty minutes, you both ate and watched in comfortable silence but as the main characters in the film shared their first kiss, you became hyperaware of Sieun sitting beside you.

Setting your empty bowl aside, you casually leaned into him. After a brief moment of tension, he lifted his arm and placed it around your shoulders, allowing you to rest against his chest. You could hear his heartbeat, slightly faster than normal.

“Is this okay?” you asked softly, tilting your head to look up at him.

Instead of answering, he surprised you by leaning down and pressing his lips to yours. The kiss was gentle but lingered longer than his usual hesitant kisses. When he pulled back, his eyes were dark with an emotion you rarely saw him display.

“More than okay,” he finally answered, voice slightly rough.

You reached up to touch his face, tracing the line of his jaw with your fingertips. He remained perfectly still under your touch, watching you with an intensity that made your heart race.

“I've been thinking,” you said softly, “about us.”

“What about us?” His voice was quiet.

“About how far we've come. From that day in the alley to here.” You continued tracing patterns on his skin, moving to his neck where you could feel his pulse jumping beneath your touch. “You used to flinch when I got too close.”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “I wasn't used to it.”

“And now?” you asked.

Instead of answering with words, he kissed you again, deeper this time, his hand moving to the small of your back to pull you closer. The movie continued playing but it was completely forgotten as you lost yourself with Sieun's lips against yours.

When you finally broke apart you couldn't help but smile at the cute look on his face.

“I'm still not used to it,” he admitted quietly. “But in a different way now.”

“Explain,” you encouraged, your hand now resting on his chest.

Sieun took a moment to gather his thoughts, “Before, it was unfamiliar. A little uncomfortable. Now it's unfamiliar because it feels too good. Like I don't deserve it.”

Your heart ached at his words. Despite all your time together, parts of his past still haunted him.

“You deserve every good thing, Sieun,” you said firmly, taking his face in both hands so he couldn't look away. “Every single one.”

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours. “I'm trying to believe that.”

“Let me help you believe,” you whispered, and kissed him again.

The kiss deepened quickly, a year of careful restraint giving way to something more urgent. Sieun's arms tightened around you, pulling you practically onto his lap as his lips moved from your mouth to your jaw, then your neck, causing a shiver to run down your spine.

His usual composure was slipping, and you reveled in it, your hands sliding under his t-shirt to touch the warm skin beneath. You felt his muscles tense at the contact, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he made a low sound in the back of his throat that sent heat flooding through your body.

“Sieun,” you breathed, needing to hear his response, to know he wanted this as much as you did.

“I'm here,” he mumbled against your skin, then pulled back slightly to meet your gaze. “I'm always here with you.”

Something about those simple words, the sincerity behind them, made your heart swell. This was Sieun. He was a man of few words but had deep feelings. He expressed himself through actions rather than speech. You loved him.

Slowly you moved to straddle his lap, careful to make sure he was comfortable with your weight on him. Your eyes never left him to ensure this was okay. His hands settled on your waist, his breathing was noticeably uneven now.

“Is this too much?” you asked, knowing his boundaries had always been important to respect.

He shook his head, but still looked slightly overwhelmed. “Just give me a moment.”

You stayed still, watching the emotions play across his face. His hands tightened on your waist, then relaxed again.

“I've wanted this,” he admitted softly, the confession clearly difficult for him. “For a long time.”

“Me too,” you whispered, leaning forward to press your forehead against his again. “We can go as slow as you need.”

A small smile pulled at his lips. “We've been going slow for years.”

The observation, so accurate and yet so unexpected coming from him, made you laugh. “True. But that's okay.”

His smile widened slightly, and in that moment, he looked younger, lighter, and unburdened by the weight he always carried. You vowed to yourself to make him smile like that more often.

Sieun's hands moved from your waist to your back, pulling you closer until your chests pressed together. “Maybe,” he said, voice low, “we could go a little faster now.”

Your breath caught at his words. “I'd like that.”

Siuen grabbed your hand and dragged you towards his bed. He gently pushed you down on the bed and followed you down. He captured your lips once again and you sighed into the kiss. Your hands found their way under his shirt and traced his stomach. Sieun shivered at your touch. 

You tugged at the hem of his shirt and he understood, pulling his shirt over his head. The sight of him shirtless wasn't new to you. You had seen him like this before but the context was different now. It was more intimate. Your eyes traced his chest, faint scars littered all around, reminders from his past.

 Sieun watched you look at his chest, heat rising to his cheeks. “Your turn,” he said softly, his fingers playing with the edge of your top.

You sat up, allowing him to remove your shirt. His eyes darkened as he took in the sight of you in your bra. His hand came up to trace your face all the way down to the curve of your cup. His hand found the clasp of your bra and hesitated for just a moment until you nodded.  He unfastened your bra, the straps sliding down your arms.

Your chest was bare in front of him and your nipples hardened when the cool air touched them. Sieun reached to touch your breast, gently gliding his hand against them. You couldn't help but shiver at the contact, your body responding to his exploring hands. 

“You're beautiful,” he whispered. 

You reached up to touch his face, drawing him back to your lips. The kiss deepened as his hand continued to caress your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple and pulling a soft moan from your throat. The sound seemed to embolden him, his movements becoming more confident.

Sieun broke the kiss and moved his head down towards your left breast. He looked up at you, making eye contact before kissing your nipple then sucking it into his mouth. 

The pleasure that crashed through you was immediate and intense. Your back arched slightly, pressing your breast further into his mouth. Sieun's free hand moved to your other breast, thumbing over your nipple as his tongue swirled around your other nipple.

“Sieun,” you gasped, your fingers threading through his dark hair, holding him to you.

His mouth moved to your right breast, giving it the same attention while his hand replaced his mouth on the left. 

Sieun pulled back and thumbed at your nipples to make up for his mouth moving away. He was breathing hard and his eyes were full of lust. Sieun kissed your nipples one more time before his hands moved to your waist, his fingers tracing the waistband of your pants.

 “Can I?” he asked.

“Yes,” you breathed, lifting your hips to help as he carefully slid your pants down your legs, leaving you in just your underwear.

Sieun took a moment to look at you, his eyes traveling over your body with such intensity that you could almost feel it like a physical touch.

“Your turn,” you said with a small smile, copying his earlier words. 

He removed his sweatpants, leaving both of you in just your underwear. The sight of him nearly took your breath away. His erection was evident and you could see a tiny bit of pre-cum seeping through his boxers. 

“Sieun.” 

“Hm?”

“I want your fingers so bad.” You said while grabbing his hand and placing it to where you needed him the most. 

Sieun leaned in to kiss you. His hand slipped beneath your underwear and you gasped against his mouth as his fingers found you wet and waiting.

“Is this okay?” he asked, his movements slow and careful.

“More than okay,” you assured him while you guided his hand to your core. 

Sieun was a quick learner. He watched your reactions carefully, noting what made your breath hitch, what made you moan. When he finally found your clit a moan was ripped out of you. “Fuck Sieun! Right there! Keep going.” 

Sieun nodded, feeling emboldened by your response he grew more confident in his movements. He rubbed your swollen clit a bit faster and harder, making you squirm more and more. He lowered his head to your breast, lips closing around your nipple as his fingers worked between your legs. The dual sensation had you moaning his name, your hands tangling in his hair.

Siuen pulled off your breast and moved his fingers down towards your hole, circling your entrance. “Tell me what feels good,” he said softly, his eyes never leaving your face as he kept circling your entrance.

“Everything you're doing,” you breathed, gasping when he slowly slid a finger inside you. “Oh Sieun…”

He added another finger, stretching you gently as his thumb continued to work your sensitive bud. The dual sensation had you moaning beneath him, your hands clutching his shoulder. 

“Sieun. Baby,” you gasped, “I'm close.”

“I got you,” he murmured against your skin. The tenderness in his voice combined with the movement of his fingers sent you over the edge. Your body shuddered as waves of pleasure washed over you with Sieun's name spelling out your lips. 

As you came down from your high, you opened your eyes to find him watching you with a mix of awe and satisfaction. “Did I do good?” 

You smiled lazily up at him, getting cuteness aggression from him wanting approval. “Of course you did, baby.” 

You then reached for him, wanting to bring him the same pleasure he'd given you. Your hand slipped beneath the waistband of his boxers, wrapping around his cock. Sieun's breath hitched, his eyes closing briefly at your touch.

“You’re so hard, baby. Did you get turned on making me feel good?” 

Sieun just nodded. 

You smirked, and guided him onto his back. You removed his boxers then straddled his thighs before stroking him again. His eyes never left yours as you stroked him, learning what he liked by the subtle changes in his expression, the way his breath caught, the tension in his muscles. 

You pulled your hand away making Sieun whine. He quickly shut up when you leaned down and kissed his tip. You licked from his tip to his base, then backwards, teasing him before finally taking him in your mouth fully.

Sieun's head fell back against the pillow, a low groan escaping his throat. His hands hesitantly moved to your hair, not pushing or guiding, just connecting with you as you sucked him off. The sounds of soft gasps and quiet moans encouraged you to continue, taking him deeper.

“Y/n,” he breathed, his voice ragged. “That feels...ah. So good.”

You hummed in acknowledgment, the vibration making him tense beneath you. His breathing grew more erratic as you continued. It was intoxicating to see him like this. 

After a few minutes, his hand tightened slightly in your hair. “Wait,” he gasped. “I'm close. I’m going to-”

You pulled back, wiping your mouth as you looked up at him. “Sorry. I want you to cum inside of me.”

Sieun’s eyes widened but he nodded, complying with anything you said. You pulled him in a heated kiss. “I’m going to ride you.. With no condom, okay?” You whispered against his lips.

“Okay.” Sieun agreed, straightening himself against the headboard. 

You positioned yourself above him and lowered yourself slowly until you were stuffed with his cock. Both of you gasped at the sensation. You stayed still for a moment to adjust. Sieun's hands gripped your hips, his eyes locked on yours.

“You okay?” he asked, always concerned for your comfort even in his own pleasure.

“Perfect. You?” 

“Good but, fuck. You’re so tight.”

You giggled before moving your hips up a little, careful not to pull off of him, then slammed back down his cock. The both of you moaned, Sieun moving his head into the crook of your neck. 

You again started to slowly go up and down, Sieun was still hiding his face on your neck. He was biting his lips, trying to keep himself from moaning too loud. You were so tight around him, he thought he was going to die as you continued your motion on his cock.

You started to get a bit winded and Sieun noticed. Sieun surprisingly rolled you guys over and took charge, pushing into you softly. You both were close, desperation evident from the way you were whining and on the way he was sloppily rubbing your clit while thrusting. 

“Sieun, I’m close. Please. Let’s cum together.” 

Siuen nodded and sped up his hips, his thrusts becoming even more desperate as he chased both your pleasure and his own. His fingers worked faster against your clit, his movements becoming more pleasurable with each of your soft moans.

Sieun nodded and sped up his hips, his thrusts becoming more desperate as he chased both your pleasure and his own. His fingers worked against your clit with renewed determination, his movements becoming more confident with each of your soft moans.

“Y/n,” he gasped, his voice strained. “I can't hold on much longer.”

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper inside you. “Then don't,” you said, your hands gripping his shoulders. “Let go, baby.”

His rhythm faltered as he drove into you one last time, burying himself deep. You felt him pulse inside you as he came, the sensation triggering your own release. Your walls clenched around him as waves of pleasure washed over you both. Sieun's mouth found yours in a messy, passionate kiss that swallowed your cries of pleasure.

For a moment, you stayed locked together, hearts racing, bodies trembling with aftershocks. Sieun's forehead rested against yours, his breathing gradually slowing as he came down from his high. When he finally opened his eyes, they were filled with such tenderness that it made your heart ache.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly. 

You smiled, still feeling the pleasant hum of satisfaction throughout your body. “More than okay.”

He made and a move to pull out of you but you wrapped your legs tighter around him. “No stay.” 

Sieun laughed a little, “Y/n I need to clean you up. My cum is still inside you.”

You pouted, “I don’t care.”

“You’ll care when we’re getting plan b from the pharmacy,” Sieun joked. 

You punched his arm jokingly while laughing, “Stop. I’m on the pill anyways.” 

Sieun visibly relaxed at your words, a small smile playing on his lips. “Still I need to clean us up.” 

He carefully pulled out of you and rolled you to face him. His arm draped over your waist, keeping you close as his dark eyes studied your face. 

“I love you.” He said it so quietly you almost missed it. 

Your heart skipped a beat. Those three words. He'd never said them before even though you’d known how he felt for a long time. Sieun showed his feelings through actions, not words, but hearing it spoken aloud made tears well in your eyes.

You tilted your head up to look at him. “I love you too. So much.” You pressed a sweet kiss to his chin “And I am so happy.” 

You laid your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His fingers traced lazy patterns on your back, occasionally stopping to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Stay the night?” he asked after a while, his voice hopeful.

“Obviously.” You replied, content.

────୨ৎ────

Thank you guys so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed. Please feel free to message me and request stuff! I havent written in forever but WHC woke me up from the dead. <3

[cupidsonly]

arguably one of the best geum seongje pieces i have read on tumblr .

let love bleed red | geum seongje

summary: in which you got yourself tangled up with geum seongje. at first, it was trouble. then, it became routine. until, somehow, you became the only thing he would bleed for—willingly, violently, without regret.

pairing: geum seongje x fem!reader

genre: romance, hurt/comfort, angst

word count: 6.2k

playlist: he was chaos, he was revelry

you were crouched by the side of a quiet alley behind a convenience store, setting down a paper plate with tuna and a cup of water. a tiny stray kitten had been hanging around there lately, mistrustful, but hungry. you've seen it a few times and started bringing food when you pass by.

the kitten was peeking out from under a box, inching closer. you kept still, one hand out, speaking low and soft.

then, there was a crash. a loud bang echoed from farther down the alley, and the sound of something—someone—getting slammed into a wall.

the kitten bolted instantly, disappearing into a gap between buildings.

you groaned under your breath, standing up with an irritated huff. not only did it startle the kitten, but it also startled you. you almost stumbled from the shock of the loud noise, your heart pounding rapidly.

"what the hell..." you stepped a little farther out to see the source, and then you saw him. a tall guy, maroon uniform jacket slipping off one shoulder, face stretched, hair a mess. bloodied knuckles and eyes wild.

he wasn't from your school. and by the looks of it, his opponent was already down. two more stood at a distance, too afraid to move.

the man lifted his head once, cracking his neck. then his eyes landed on you. you didn't flinch. just stared with narrowed eyes.

"go start your fight somewhere else," you said evenly. "you're not from around here."

he raised his brows and stared like he hadn't heard you right. then he smiled, crooked and wild. the kind that says, 'you've just made things interesting.'

you turned your back on him and walked off, not giving him another glance.

he stared after you. not many people talked to him like that. even fewer walked away before he decided the conversation was over.

you didn't run, but didn't linger either. just walked like you had somewhere to be, like he wasn't worth wasting another second on.

his eyes remained on you, tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek. a faint cut on his knuckle stung, but barely noticed.

'go start your fight somewhere else.'

'you're not from around here.'

not a scream. not a plea. not even a threat. just pure irritation. like he was some dumb dog that pissed on your shoes.

his grin curled slowly, something unhinged hiding just beneath it. he pulled a cigarette from his pocket, stuck it between his teeth, and lit it. the flame briefly flickered across his face before he took a drag and blew the smoke out lazily.

he'd seen people cry, scream, and beg. he'd seen how most people either froze or ran when they saw him, faces tight with fear, eyes darting around. but you?

you looked at him like he was an eyesore.

his laugh came quiet. brief. half-laugh, half-breath.

feeding a stray cat, he thought, like it was some ridiculous joke the universe threw at him. you looked too soft for your own good, too normal, too boring.

so why did you stick?

he leaned his shoulder against the wall, just for a second. watched the street where you disappeared. his blood was still warm from the fight, but that moment? that edge in your voice?

it was the first time he felt interrupted.

not threatened, not challenged. just... like someone reached into his noise and pulled something to the surface.

he didn't know your name. but that was fine. he had time.

it wasn't the next day, or the day after. but seongje still found himself wandering near that same alley. always around the same time. leaning against walls with a cigarette between his lips, smoke curling above his head like a restless thought that wouldn't burn out.

he wasn't waiting, he told himself. he just happened to be here, just passing time.

he was mid-drag when he caught a flash of familiar movement. dark hair, a recognizable bag slung over one shoulder. you were crouched near the alley's corner again, opening a can of tuna. next to your feet was the same stray kitten from before, now a little less wary, its ears twitching.

you didn't notice him at first. he said nothing.

he watched you feed the kitten. your expression wasn't anything special, just calm, focused, lips pressed together in a straight line. but he stared like it was the most peculiar thing in the world, like you were something unreal.

then you sighed and sat back on your heels, that's when your eyes flicked up, and landed right on him. you tensed slightly, like you were trying to figure out if it was him or just some other delinquent in a maroon uniform.

it was definitely him.

"you again? you muttered, standing slowly, brushing off your knees. "don't tell me you're here to start trouble again."

seongje let the cigarette dangle loosely between his fingers, gaze half-lidded. "don't flatter yourself. this is my spot now."

you snorted. "your spot? pretty sure this alley existed before you."

a grin pulled at his lips, slow and amused. that sharp glint in your eyes was still there. that same irritation, not fear, not interest. just a girl who didn't give a damn who he was.

"you always talk this much when feeding cats?" he asked.

"no. just when someone interrupts." he laughed, quiet but real.

you moved to step past him, clearly done with the conversation. but before you could, he flicked his cigarette to the ground and said slowly, "you don't scare easy, do you?"

you paused. "i don't like getting caught up in situations like this."

you walked off before he could say anything else. same calm steps. same complete disinterest in him. he stared at the kitten as it ate.

for the first time in a long while, he didn't feel bored.

you were coming out of the convenience store with a yogurt drink in hand when you felt someone matching your pace beside you.

you didn't even need to look. you felt it, like the air shifted, a shadow slipping in just a bit too close.

"miss cat-feeder," came the drawl, smug and lazy.

you rolled your eyes and kept walking. "seriously?"

"you remembered me," he said, hands in his pockets, leaning slightly sideways to peer at your face.

"no. i remembered your stupid voice."

"ouch," he grinned. "you wound me."

"what do you want?"

"just walking. not allowed to exist now?"

"not next to me, preferably." he chuckled at that, keeping stride with you anyway.

he walked like he owned the sidewalk, like even the cracks made space for him. he kept glancing at you, amused by how hard you were trying not to look.

"don't you have school?" you muttered.

"skipped."

"of course you did."

there was a beat of silence before he casually reached out and tugged at the hem of your sleeve. "what flavor?"

you jerked your arm away. "touch me again and i'll pour this on your head."

his grin widened, eyes gleaming with delight. there it is. "you're fun."

"i'm really not."

"exactly."

you stopped in your tracks. he looked at you, curious. "look," you said, eyes flat. "i don't like hanging out with loud people. so if you're looking for someone to flirt with, pick someone else."

seongje stared at you for a second, unreadable. then he smirked.

"i'm not flirting."

"good."

"i just like watching you get pissed." and with that, he turned on his heel and walked away, hands back in his pockets like he didn't just drop a live wire into your day.

you watched him go, jaw tight.

god, he is annoying.

and worse, he knew it.

your shoes pounded against the pavement, too loud, too fast. the voices behind you were still getting closer. slurred words, the kind that came with guys who had too much time and nothing to lose. you'd told them off when they first approached, sharp and dismissive like always. but these ones didn't like hearing 'no'.

you darted around a corner, trying to cut into a side street you didn't usually take, and slammed straight into a body.

you stumbled back from the force, hands catching yourself on the person's chest, eyes wide and breath caught in your throat.

"whoa there," a familiar voice started, light and teasing.

your eyes shot up.

geum seongje.

of all people.

he was in his usual disheveled uniform, cigarette tucked between his fingers, a faint smirk already creeping up like instinct. "you really can't stay away from me, huh?"

but you weren't listening. you glanced over your shoulder, eyes scanning the street you just came from, anxiety tightening your features.

seongje's smirk faded, just a bit. his eyes narrowed.

"what happened?"

"none of your business. i need to go."

you stepped to the side, trying to move past him but his arm shot out fast, catching you by the wrist. not hard. not enough to hurt. but firm.

his voice lost all its humor.

"who."

you jerked against his grip, frustrated. "just let me go. jesus christ."

he didn't. instead, his eyes flicked toward the corner you came from. and for a brief second, something flickered through him, that thing he tried to keep under the surface unless it was time to let it loose.

then he heard footsteps and voices getting closer. the guys rounded the corner, laughing, loud, eyes scanning.

and then they saw you.

and then him.

one of them started to speak, some dumb threat halfway out of his mouth when seongje stepped forward and flicked his cigarette.

"alright," he said, eyes gleaming now. "which one of you thought chasing her was a good idea?" his tone didn't rise. he didn't shout. but it was enough.

the shift in the air was immediate, like a wire pulled taut. the guys slowed, uneasy.

"you with her?" one of them muttered, trying to size him up. seongje's lip curled in amusement.

"nah," he said, rolling his shoulder. "but she ran into me. so now you've got a problem."

one of them laughed nervously, already starting to backpedal. but it was too late.

you didn't say a word. his posture changed, loose and wild, but sharp, like the crackle before a fire starts.

"stay behind me," he muttered without looking at you. you almost snapped at him.

i didn't ask for help.

but something in the way he said it—flat, final—made you stay put.

he didn't do it for gratitude. he did it because someone pissed him off. and right now, that someone was anyone who looked at you wrong.

they didn't get the chance to react further. not really, because seongje's already on them.

the first one barely managed to raise his arm before seongje slammed his fist into his jaw, the sound cracking through the alley like a gunshot. he didn't stop, he grabbed the guy by the collar, slamming his head against the wall once, twice, three times until he crumpled like dead weight.

the second guy tried to pull something, maybe a pocketknife, but he was too slow. seongje grabbed his wrist and bended it the wrong way with a sickening snap. the guy howled, dropping the knife, and seongje grinned wider.

the last one tried to run. he got maybe five steps before seongje tackled him from behind, dragging him down like a wolf ripping through prey. there was nothing clean about the way he beat him. just pure rage unleashed in fists, knees, elbows, and feet.

the alley was quiet again. the three guys were groaning, two on the ground and one stumbling away. none of them dared to look back.

seongje stood in the center of it, breathing a little heavier, the scrape on his knuckles raw and fresh. blood trickled slowly down his arm, but he didn't seem to care. not even a glance at it.

you stared. not because you were scared of the violence. you'd known what he was capable of. you'd just never seen it up close. not like this.

there was a kind of stillness around him now, but it wasn't peace. it was the kind of stillness right after lightning hits the ground. charged, dangerous, humming under the surface.

he turned toward you, running a hand through his hair. eyes sharper now, less unhinged than before, but still wild.

"you good?" you hesitated.

"you didn't have to do that." he shrugged.

"i didn't do it for you." you frowned, annoyed.

"then why-"

"they looked at you like they could touch you," he said, voice low and quiet. "i didn't like that."

it came out too calm. like he was just stating a fact. like it was that simple.

you stared at him. "that's not normal."

he tilted his head. "i'm not normal."

you stood there in the silence again, tension thick between you both. then he looked down at his hand, flexed his fingers once.

"you gonna keep staring, or you gonna say thank you?"

you exhaled sharply. "i didn't ask you to help."

his lip twitched. "you didn't have to."

you started walking past him, brushing your shoulder lightly against his arm. "don't follow me."

he didn't. but he watched you go. watched like a wolf who'd just caught the scent of something that didn't run fast enough.

and this time, it wasn't about teasing you for attention anymore. it was something else. something worse.

something's changed. it had been days. you hadn't seen him near the alley, near the store, nowhere. and honestly, you were glad. the fight had left a sour taste in your mouth. not fear exactly, but it reminded you of the line he walked. the kind of line that most people never went near.

so when you saw him again leaning against the vending machine right outside the store, your steps faltered.

he noticed, eyes tracking you immediately. not grinning, not talking. just watching.

you stiffened, but kept walking. no use turning back now. you passed him without a word.

"you're avoiding me," he said. you didn't stop. "smart," he added after a beat.

that did it. you turned slightly, arms crossed, tone flat. "what do you want now?"

he looked you over, slower this time. less playful. like he was measuring something invisible.

"you said don't follow you," he said. "so i didn't."

"and yet, here you are."

"i was here first."

you hated that he had a point.

he pulled out a soda from the vending machine and cracked it open, taking a lazy sip. "i scared you."

"no you didn't."

his head tilted. "but you looked at me different after that day." you didn't reply. "you don't like people like me," he went on. "you don't like what i do. the way i fight. the way i look at you."

your throat tightened. "you make it sound like i'm supposed to like it."

he smiled, small, almost secret. "you're not."

you sighed and turned away again, but this time, his voice became lower. less teasing.

"you're not scared of me," he said. "but you're careful now." you paused. "i get it," he added. "but you should know something."

"what?" you asked warily.

"i'd kill for you without thinking."

the words didn't sound romantic. they didn't even sound intense. they were just real.

heavy. simple. dangerous.

you looked at him. at the bruised knuckles, the lazy posture, the eyes that never stopped watching you. and for the first time, you didn't see an annoying prick. you saw the storm behind his grin.

you didn't say a word as you walked away. but you walked slower this time.

the sky was gray, and the wind carried that dry chill that always came with autumn.

you didn't mean to come this way. really, you didn't. but this street was quieter than the main road, and your head was already aching from a whole day of voices, noise, and pressure from everyone around you.

your friends had found out. not just about anyone, but him. a certain delinquent hanging around you. not just anyone either, but someone from the union.

they kept telling you the same thing. stop meeting him, cut him off, stay away before things got worse. that's all you've been hearing for days. from different mouths, but the same message, over and over. as if you hadn't thought about that already. like you hadn't been trying.

you were tired. bone-deep, soul tired.

and there he was.

same place. same vending machine. like he'd been waiting, but not really. like he knew you'd come eventually.

seongje glanced up, surprised, but only a little. his cigarette burned lazily between his fingers, his jacket loose, like he didn't care how cold it was getting.

you stopped a few steps away and didn't say anything.

he raised a brow. "lost?"

"no," you said, too flat, too fast.

he stared. then blew out smoke in a low exhale. "you look like shit."

you snorted faintly. "thanks."

he nodded toward the chair beside him. "sit if you want."

"i didn't come to hang out with you."

"didn't say you did."

still, you sat. not close, just near enough to feel the warmth of someone else existing beside you. near enough to not feel completely alone. you stayed like that for a while. nothing said.

then, without looking at him, you muttered, "why are you like this?"

his brow quirked. "like what?"

"crazy. violent. all of it."

a beat. then a shrug. "it's fun."

you sighed, frustrated but not surprised.

and then, so softly that he almost didn't hear it, you said, "you make everything worse. but today... i don't know. you don't feel loud." that caught him off guard.

he turned to look at you, cigarette paused halfway to his lips.

you didn't meet his eyes. you just sat there, face turned to the street. like this, quiet and tired and not trying to prove anything, you looked different.

more fragile. not weak, never that. but human.

seongje flicked his ash away. "stay, then," he said. "if it helps."

you didn't answer. but you didn't leave either. and for once, he didn't push you to speak. he just let you be. which, for someone like him, was a kind of affection.

the unspoken kind.

the kind that doesn't ask for anything back.

another day, and there he was again. it wasn't often that you saw him alone like this. really alone. no noise. no laughter. no fights.

just seongje, slouched low on the steps behind an old building, elbows on his knees, head tilted back like he was trying to drown in the grey sky. he didn't notice you at first, too wrapped in whatever chaos lived behind his eyes.

you should've kept walking. you meant to keep walking. but something stopped you. maybe it was the stillness. maybe it was the fact that for the first time since you met him, he didn't look like someone trying to stir shit up. he looked tired.

you approached slowly, footsteps soft. he heard you eventually, turning just slightly to glance your way. his usual grin didn't show up.

"you stalking me now?" he said, voice low, like he couldn't be bothered to make it sound playful.

"i was just walking by."

"uh-huh."

you didn't sit beside him. you stood a little off to the side, arms folded, eyes scanning his face. there was a bruise on his cheekbone, not fresh but healing, and a split on his lower lip.

"what happened this time?"

"some idiot." he muttered. "deserved worse than what he got."

you rolled your eyes. "that doesn't narrow it down."

he smirked faintly. but it didn't last. he looked back up at the sky. "ever feel like you're stuck in a room that's too small, and the only way to breathe is to break something?"

you blinked. that wasn't the answer you expected. you said nothing.

he let out a low breath. "yeah. never mind."

you hesitated, then stepped closer. not sitting, just standing near him.

"i don't get you." you said finally.

"good."

"but i care."

that made him look at you again. not with that lazy, cocky grin. not with the sharp glint he gave the people he was about to wreck.

just... eyes. dark, unreadable, confused.

"you care?" he repeated, almost mocking, but there was no real heat in it.

you nodded. "i don't want to, but i do."

the silence that followed was heavier than anything he could've said.

you rubbed at your sleeve, eyes darting away. "it's stupid."

he stared a second longer, then tilted his head. "i'm not gonna be good for you," he said flatly. no apology in it. just fact.

"i know."

"i'll hurt people."

"i know."

"i might hurt you."

your gaze snapped back to his. "then i'll leave."

a pause.

and for the first time, his expression shifted, something sharp flickering behind his eyes, like the idea of you leaving physically bothered him.

but you held his stare. "i don't deserve to be hurt by you."

he didn't answer. when you turned to go, he didn't stop you. he didn't grab your wrist. he didn't make a scene. he just watched you leave like someone who'd been left too many times before to call out now.

and that was how you knew it wasn't just some sort of game to him anymore.

it was supposed to be just another normal day. you were going to meet up with a friend from a different school. but somehow, word got around that you'd said something snappy to the wrong group of boys the other day, boys who thought they could intimidate you into taking it back. you didn't.

but now they were standing in front of you in the alley near the rear exit of the building. three of them, too close, too smug, and too stupid to understand that they were walking into something far worse than your sharp tongue.

because seongje had seen.

he wasn't supposed to be there. you didn't even know why he was around this part of the city. but the second his eyes locked on the scene, on you cornered, arms crossed tightly, jaw clenched, something dark lit behind his expression.

he didn't run. he didn't shout. he just walked, calm as anything, like he had all the time in the world. the sound of his steps echoing on the pavement made all three boys turn.

"oi," he said, voice low and slow.

the boys stiffened. one of them scoffed. "the hell are you?"

seongje grinned cockily. "me? i'm geum seongje. you fuckers."

his name dropped like a dead weight. the air shifted. one of them paled a little, while another took an unconscious step back.

"oh—shit—" one of them muttered under his breath, recognizing it too late.

then his eyes flickered to you. "you okay?"

you swallowed. "i've got it."

"wrong answer."

he passed the boys like they weren't even there, stepping between them and you, like drawing a line they couldn't cross anymore.

"you wanna explain why the hell you're trying to corner mine?"

the word slipped out like instinct. your breath caught.

the boys hesitated. one of them backed up. the dumbest one laughed nervously.

"you serious, man? you dating this chick or something?"

seongje didn't answer right away. instead, he pulled out his glasses, the metal catching the light for a second. then, without a word, he took your hand gently, almost unnervingly so, and placed them in your palm.

"i don't repeat myself."

and that was the only warning they got. it wasn't a fight. it was a statement.

a clear, brutal, one-sided reminder that you were off-limits. that if they so much as looked at you again, they'd wake up in pieces.

he didn't let it last long. he didn't need to.

when it was over, and the three of them were groaning on the pavement, he turned to you, no grin now, just quiet breathing. without a word, he took the glasses from your hand and slid them back on.

"you didn't need to do that," you said quietly.

"they shouldn't have looked at you like they could."

"that's not how this works."

he glanced at you, sharp. "it is now."

you looked away, jaw tight. "you act like i'm yours."

another beat of silence. the only sound was the wind through rusted fences. and then,

"you are," he said simply.

you stared at him, your heart thudded too loud.

"you can't just—claim people."

"i can."

"why?" he held your gaze, something unreadable flickering in his.

"you're the only thing i don't want broken."

he said it like it bothered him. like the truth of it irritated the hell out of him.

you didn't know what to say. so you didn't. you just walked beside him as he left the alley, silent. but this time, you stayed close.

and this time, he didn't grin. he just walked with you like he always meant to.

the day had been long. longer than you thought it would be. school, people, life. everything felt suffocating. your body ached, your mind was frayed, and every little thing seemed to pile on top of you until you could barely keep your head above water.

but then, through the haze of exhaustion, you saw him.

seongje, leaning against your school gate. unbothered and detached. his posture was casual, his eyes scanning the crowd of students coming out of school. but the moment your gaze locked onto him, your heart gave a small jolt of relief.

there. him. the one person who, for reasons you still couldn't fully understand, made you feel safe. your body seemed to move on its own, your feet carrying you toward him without a second thought.

and then before you could even process what you were doing, you were already running toward him, arms outstretched, chest tight from the strain of everything you'd been holding inside all day.

the moment you reached him, you didn't stop. you wrapped your arms around him, burying your face against his chest.

you hummed. the noise was quiet, like a soft sigh of contentment, and for the first time all day, your muscles finally relaxed.

his scent, the familiar warmth of him, it was like home. a feeling you hadn't known you were missing until it was there, pressing against you in a way you couldn't explain.

for a split second, everything felt peaceful. you could rest now. let everything melt away. with him, it felt like nothing else mattered.

seongje froze. his first instinct was to step back, to pull away, because this wasn't how things were supposed to be. but when you stayed against him, not saying anything, just holding him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded, something inside him twisted.

what the hell?

he couldn't breathe for a second. your arms around him, your face buried against him like you needed him. like he was something more than just some mad dog. he didn't know what to do with it.

you were so soft against him. so warm. his heartbeat, which had been steady, quickened as your arms tightened just slightly. and his body, despite the automatic urge to pull away, instinctively responded, his hands hovering at his sides, unsure of where to put them, but not wanting to make you pull away.

his reaction was slow. he was staring down at you, his usual detached expression gone, replaced with a mix of confusion and something closer to... discomfort. he didn't know how to handle it.

finally, after what felt like an eternity, he placed his hand awkwardly on your back, barely enough to return the gesture, but it was something. just a gentle pressure, like he was trying to let you know he wasn't going to push you away. but he wouldn't pull you in either. not fully.

his voice came out rough, not because he was angry, but because he didn't have the words to make sense of what was happening. "you... okay?" he asked, his voice low. it was like he was trying to understand you better. trying, in his strange way, to care.

and when you hummed again, your body still pressed against him like you needed nothing more, he couldn't deny the warmth that spread through him. subtle, but undeniable.

he didn't say anything else, but he did one thing he never thought he would. he let you stay there, his hand still on your back, just enough to show that maybe, just maybe, he didn't mind you being this close.

thoughts had been swirling around your head. people already knew who you were, and the kind of connection you had with geum seongje. you'd been hearing disapproving remarks from people you knew, left and right.

but that wasn't what was bothering you. it was when one of your friends asked, "when did you even start dating geum seongje?"

you didn't know how to answer that. you weren't dating. were you even together? you'd been so focused on how you felt about him, so content with the time you were spending together, that you'd forgotten to ask the most important question.

where do you stand in his life?

so you finally asked, quietly. on a cold night, after one of his disappearances. you looked at him and said, "what are we, seongje?"

he didn't look at you right away. he just lit a cigarette, sat back like you didn't just ask something that's clawing at your ribs.

then, after a long pause, he said, "you don't need a label for something i'd kill over."

still too vague. so you pressed. "so that's it? you can show up and disappear and wreck people and i'm just... what? someone you know?"

now he's irritated. not because you're wrong, but because his feelings itch under his skin worse than blood.

he dragged you close by the wrist, eyes burning, voice low and rough. "you're mine. you're not like the others. you don't walk away from me. and i'll kill anyone who touches you."

it became even clearer in actions. he doesn't flirt with others. he doesn't sleep around. he shows up when you're hurt, when you need help, or even just when the silence gets too heavy. his violence becomes more controlled around you. his chaos pauses for you.

and if you ever try to walk away, not out of fear, but heartbreak, he doesn't beg. but he follows.

he shows up in the dark and says, "you don't get to leave. you're the only thing i don't want to break."

so no, you don't get a title. but you get certainty. the kind that claws into you and never lets go.

you were at seongje's place, curled up in the corner of his bed, wearing one of his hoodies, watching something on your phone. occasionally, you laughed, your brow twitching, your mouth tugging in little ways. you probably didn't know he was watching.

he was sitting on the floor, leaning back against the wall. a cigarette rested between his fingers, forgotten halfway through.

it should've been just another moment. just another afternoon with you near. that's all it was. but it wasn't.

something cracked. it was quiet. internal. sudden.

he looked at you, really looked, and it hit him like a pipe to the chest. he'd always known you were different.

you didn't scream like the world did, you didn't beg to get closer to him, or flinch when he tore the world apart with his bare hands. you didn't reach to fix what couldn't be fixed.

you just were. and he couldn't fucking breathe.

he'd thought what he felt for you was already obsession. he thought the way he needed you around—the way his days didn't start right unless he saw your face—was already too much.

but this? right now? it was worse.

because you weren't even doing anything. you were just there, in his space like you belonged. and he couldn't stand it.

he didn't blink, didn't move. his heart was beating too fast, too heavy. like it was trying to get out of his chest, like it was trying to claw its way toward you.

you looked up at him, catching the stare.

"what?" you asked, your voice soft, lazy with comfort.

that was the final hit. his cigarette dropped to the floor. he stood and crossed the room in two strides.

you blinked and sat up, shifting to the edge of the bed. confused, then mildly concerned, because he wasn't saying anything. just looking at you like he was on the edge of something ugly.

"what is it?" you asked again.

he dropped to his knees in front of you, hands braced on the mattress like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

"you," he muttered, low, dangerous, barely holding back the quake in his chest. "you don't even fucking know, do you."

you blinked in confusion, "know what?"

"that i'm already gone."

he leaned in close, breath warm against your skin. his hands were clenched on the sheets beside your thighs.

"i didn't think it could get worse," he said, tone ragged. "but it did. just now. just looking at you."

"seongje-"

he didn't let you finish. his voice came out lower. hoarser.

"i'd burn down everything. rip open anyone. just to keep this. you. whatever the fuck this is—"

he pressed his forehead against your knee. his voice dropped, barely a whisper now, like it hurt him to say.

"—it's mine."

your fingers moved before your words did. you reached out, slow and certain, and slipped your hand into his hair, like you knew something inside him was coming apart at the seams, and you needed to keep it from unraveling further.

you didn't flinch. didn't pull away from the sharpness in his voice or the weight behind his words.

instead, you curled your fingers gently against his scalp and said, soft but steady, "you don't have to break things just to prove you want to keep me. i'm not going anywhere."

that did something to him. his breath hitched, quiet, jaw clenched. you didn't treat his madness like something to be pitied or feared. you didn't try to fix it. you didn't flinch from the wreckage. you just understood it was there and touched it anyway.

his arms wrapped around your waist almost without thinking, head still pressed to your knee like it was the only place he could breathe.

then you said it, quietly. not to tease, not to demand. just honest. like it had always been true.

"you are my home."

and that was the thing that shattered him. because he didn't have a home. not really, never did. he was a creature built from chaos and flame and blood. the idea that someone could look at him and find rest?

it wrecked him in a way no fist ever could. his grip tightened. not out of fear of you leaving. but because you just gave him something he didn't know he'd been starving for all his life. and now that he had it, he'd kill the whole world before he let it go.

he didn't know what to say yet. so when you gently pulled him toward the bed, he didn't resist. he didn't say something cocky or crass like he usually would. he just let you.

you lay down first, guiding him beside you. he collapsed next to you like a man thrown off balance. arms still around your waist, his head buried against the curve of your neck. as if he could crawl inside your skin just to get closer.

your fingers ran through his hair, slow, rhythmic, soothing. the storm inside him didn't vanish, but it quieted. simmered.

your voice cut through the quiet, soft and careful. "do you love me?"

he froze. he didn't pull away, but he did stop breathing for a second. his gaze locked on yours, heavy and unreadable. then he took a slow breath, jaw tightening.

love? what the hell was that supposed to feel like? that was too unfamiliar. too soft.

he didn't know. he'd never had it. not from anyone. not for anyone. all he'd ever known was survival, pleasure, and pain. wanting things so badly he broke them just to feel something. hurting because it was the only way to know he was alive.

but this? this thing in his chest, this raw, aching, burning thing that only grew worse the longer you touched him, it was something else.

so he didn't lie. he didn't pretend. he spoke against your skin, voice hoarse and quiet.

"i don't know what love is. but i know i can't fucking stand the thought of you not being here."

another breath. he pulled you closer.

"you're the only thing that makes me feel calm and insane at the same time. you—" he exhaled, shaky now, like it hurt to say, "—you make me feel too much. and i can't stop it."

his fingers dug into the back of your shirt. possessive. desperate.

"i don't know if it's love, but i know this—you're mine. you've been mine since the moment i saw you. doesn't matter if you run, or scream, or try to tear me out of your chest. you're still mine."

"you're the air that i breathe," he said, voice dropping to a whisper, like a confession no one else was meant to hear. "and i'd tear the world apart to keep you. no hesitation. no mercy."

"when i look at you, it hurts." he said. "but i want that hurt. over and over again. you're the only thing i'd bleed for without thinking twice."

he let the silence stretch, like he wanted the weight of his words to press against you. crush you, mark you, bind you to him in the only way he knew how.

it was not a confession, but a surrender.

your chest tightened. your eyes stung. and you hated that they did, because you weren't sad. you weren't broken.

you were just... full. full of him. of this.

a shaky breath escaped you as you cupped his face, your thumb brushing just beneath his eye, like you needed to touch something solid to believe any of this was real.

you smiled. small, trembling, but true.

"whatever it is you feel for me, let it consume you." your voice was steady, despite the trembling in your chest. "break for me. burn only for me. want no one else—because i don't want anyone but you."

he stared at you like you'd just taken the air out of his lungs.

"i don't care if it's wrong, or selfish, or if the world thinks i've lost my mind." your hand slid back into his hair gently. "you're mine, geum seongje. just as much as i'm yours."

his hands were already on your waist, but they tightened at those words, like something inside him finally snapped.

and he kissed you. it wasn't soft. it wasn't careful. it was desperate, like he needed to feel everything at once, like if he didn't press every inch of you into him, he might fall apart.

you kissed him back just as hard, just as aching, fingers curling in his hair like you could anchor the both of you with the weight of your want.

and in that moment, nothing else mattered.

not the danger in his eyes. not the chaos in his soul. not the way the world would look at you.

because you knew him. and you would choose him—still. every time.

for you, he would bleed himself dry a thousand times—willingly, completely, because he didn't know how not to.