90’s baby😭| She/Her | Mostly reblogged skz smut | 18+ only
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I’ve been thinking about this for a bit… established relationship with Bang Chan and you guys have been doing gentle sex so far, but one time you two get carried away and you get to see the freaky, dom side of Chan for the first time
BANGCHAN☆ONE-SHOT

☆•{Rough ride}•☆
Warning/genre:: SMUT, rough sex, spanking, hair pulling, lil breeding kink, lil size kink,
Pairing:: rough!dom!chan x sub!fem!reader
Skz masterlist:: 🍒
A/N:: IM SORRY THIS IS SO SHORT 😭💔
Chan was always a sweet lover, tender and caring as he gently thrusts into you. He always praised you and double checked to make sure you were comfortable and such. However something was instantly off tonight. Chan had initiated sex which was an unusual occurrence but not strange by any means. It was when he was eating you out the vibe in the room changed; his hands digging into your thighs and ass as he held you firmly against his face, slurping and licking like a feral animal. It was like he was holding himself back from doing something. There was purpose to each touch but there was still some hesitancy behind each muscle.
When you grab a fistfull of his hair he lets out a low growl, the vibrations reverberating through your core as you moan out “Chan~” your voice heavy. “I’m close,” you warn him and that hesitancy seems to dissipate, now replaced by a hunger to please. Chan moves his head back and forth as he sucks on your clit and folds, his long hair getting damp at the tips. Your thighs tighten around his head as your orgasm comes crashing over, legs trembling as they jolt upwards. Chan wastes no time slurping up any cum that threatens to drip from your slit. You slick his hair back, feeling the sweat and arousal built around his hairline. Once you’ve caught your breath he lifts you up by your hips before setting you back down, higher up on the bed. “What are you doing?” You ask innocently but Chan does little to respond.
He crawls onto the bed, coming up behind you before whispering,
“Making you my whore,” he then pushes you down, still gently, molding your body into the position he desires.
“Chan?” you call out again but he just hushes you, bending you forward before pulling your legs up to support your ass in the air. You then feel the warmth of his tip rubbing up and down your folds before he abruptly thrusts forward causing you to gasp and grab the sheets. His thrusts are calm at first but quickly become harder, more insistent. He grabs a fistful of your ass, squeezing it between his fingers, nails digging in, before delivering a hard smack. Without even registering it you moan in response, body relaxing into him.
“That’s what I thought,” He grins before leaning down to speak softer. “You like being treated like a slut, being man handled, being…dominated,” bites on your neck, thrusts never ceasing as he sucks the skin between his teeth. “You want to be broken down and rebuilt as mine,” Bangchan begins to thrust faster, the room filling with the sound of your skin slapping. He grabs a fistful of your hair before pushing your head down, keeping you low and easy to thrust into.
“Harder, please,” You moan breathlessly as your breathing becomes heavy.
“Harder? Baby, we just started,” He grins before leaning back, grabbing your hips to slam you against his cock to match his thrusts. Your cries ring in his ears, sending this rush of lust through him. “Oh you’re getting tight yeah?” He chuckles darkly, “Gonna cum soon?” He taunts but he has no intention of letting you go easy. You nod pathetically, eyes squinted shut as you’re pushed into the bed. Each thrust applies pressure to your whole body, hair moving with each clap of skin on skin and his hard shaft continuously rubs against that tender spot inside you that makes your vision go white.
He lifts you up slightly again, increasing the speed of his hips which drags you closer to the edge.
“C-chan! I’m close,” You cry out as your body starts to act on it’s own, jolting and shaking. Bangchan lets out a chuckle before continuing to thrust with extreme force, making your tits sway in the air. As your body finally releases it seems as though Chan’s only getting started, continuing to pound you like his life depends on it. Sweat builds along his neck and shoulders as he growls. “I came,” You cry out, “I already came!” you inform him again but he knows already, he’s trying to see how far you can go. You then fall silent as pleasure steals your breath again.
Something suddenly bursts inside you and your body is consumed by warmth and pleasure. Chan pulls you against him one last time before emptying inside you. The room falls silent besides the heavy panting. Chan pulls you by your torso to lay on top of him, the two of you falling backward as his softening cock slips out of you. “What the hell was that?” You pant with a wide smile on your face. Chan smiles shyly before tucking your hair back.
“I don't even know, I’m sorry if I hurt you,” He kisses you softly.
“If I accept your apology can we do that again?”
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!QUIET!
*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*
Paring: Bangchan x Fem!Reader
WC: 1,606
Warnings: SMUT
Summary: Chan and Y/N have to be quiet so his roommate doesn’t hear…
A/N: so this is actually my first fic, hope yall enjoyyyy
*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*
The air in Chan’s bedroom feels like breathing soup—thick, humid, and clinging. Cheap fabric softener, stale takeout, and the underlying scent of boy – sweat, deodorant, Chan—hangs heavy. You’re perched precariously on the edge of his narrow single bed, the thin mattress groaning under your weight. Chan stands between your legs, your back pressed against the flimsy headboard, his hands gripping your hips like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.
His eyes, dark and blown wide, haven’t left yours since Jeongin yelled "Heading to bed after this episode!" ten minutes ago.
Every nerve in your body is a live wire. Anticipation hums under your skin, a low-voltage buzz that makes your fingers tremble where they clutch his shoulders. You want him. God, you need him.
But the terror of being heard is a cold fist squeezing your lungs. The walls here? Cardboard cutouts posing as drywall. You can practically hear Jeongin breathing out there, let alone the canned laughter and explosions from whatever action flick he’s zoning out to.
"Fuck, he’s gonna hear," you whisper, the sound barely scraping past your dry throat. Your voice feels too loud in the suffocating quiet between bursts of TV noise.
Chan leans in, his breath hot against your ear. "He won’t." He says it low, rough, more a desperate promise than a statement of fact. His thumbs rub circles on the skin just above your waistband, sending shivers straight to your core.
"Just gotta be quiet. So fucking quiet, baby." His lips find the sensitive spot below your jaw, a hot press that makes your breath hitch audibly.
Shit. Your eyes dart towards the door, expecting it to burst open. Nothing. Just the muffled whump of an on-screen explosion.
Chan doesn’t stop. His mouth moves down your neck, teeth grazing lightly, possessively. One hand slides up your side, fingers skimming the curve of your breast through your thin top before sliding underneath. You bite down hard on your lower lip, trapping the moan that wants to escape as his thumb finds your nipple, rolling it into a stiff peak. Your hips lift off the bed involuntarily, seeking contact.
He gets the message. With a low groan that vibrates against your collarbone, he fumbles with the button of your jeans. You freeze again, heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird.
The TV dialogue rambles on, oblivious. Chan pulls your jeans and underwear down your hips in one rough yank, the cool air hitting your damp skin making you gasp. His own belt buckle clinks—a sharp, metallic sound that echoes in your ears—before his jeans and briefs are shoved down just enough. He’s already hard, hot and thick against your thigh.
No preamble. He guides himself to your entrance, slick with your own need. The pressure makes your eyes flutter shut. "Channie," you breathe, a plea and a warning tangled together.
"Shh," he rasps, pressing a hard kiss to your mouth. Then he pushes in.
The stretch, the immediate, overwhelming fullness punches the air from your lungs. A high-pitched whimper claws its way up your throat, escaping before you can stop it.
Chan’s reaction is instantaneous. His hand flies off your hip and slams over your mouth with bruising force. Calloused palm grinds against your lips, tasting of salt and his skin, cutting off the sound and half your air supply. Your eyes snap open, wide with panic and dazed pleasure, meeting his frantic gaze just inches away. Fear wars with raw hunger in his dark eyes.
"Quiet," he hisses, the word a harsh scrape. He holds himself perfectly still inside you, buried to the hilt. Your inner muscles flutter helplessly around him, aching for friction. A desperate groan vibrates against his palm.
Outside, the TV volume seems to spike for a second, raucous laughter. You both flinch violently. Chan’s body tenses like steel cable above you, his cock pulsing deep within your cunt. Sweat beads on his temple, dripping onto your chest. The silence stretches, thick and brittle. Only your ragged breaths through your nose and the frantic thudding of your hearts fill the space between you.
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he eases the pressure on your mouth just enough for you to suck in a desperate, shaky breath through flared nostrils. His sweat, his musk, his need floods your senses. He leans closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear again, his voice thick and strained.
"Gotta be silent, baby." His hips roll minutely, grinding deep inside you. That tiny movement sends jolts of pure electricity straight to your clit. A choked sob rattles in your chest, muffled entirely by his crushing hand. Stars dance behind your eyelids.
"Feel that?" he breathes, grinding again, deliberate and slow this time. "Feel how deep I am? You take it so good... just gotta stay quiet."
Tears prickle at your eyes – frustration, terror, and the sheer fucking intensity of it all. Your legs lock around his waist like a vice, heels digging into the small of his back. You want to move, to ride him, to scream his name until the neighbors call the cops. But he pins you with his weight and that relentless hand over your face.
His control is fraying fast. The grinding becomes less controlled; his thrusts gain a fraction more speed, a fraction more depth. Sweat drips from his brow onto your chest, tracing hot paths down your skin. A low groan builds in his chest, escaping as a choked rumble against your neck.
Suddenly, louder sounds cut through the haze: Jeongin clearing his throat emphatically. Then the distinct creak of the old couch springs as he stands up. Footsteps.
Heading towards the hallway.
Pure ice floods your veins. Chan goes rigid above you, eyes wide and wild with mirrored panic. His hand presses down even harder on your mouth until your jaw aches and spots dance in your vision.
The delicious stretch and throb inside you becomes irrelevant; only the icy dread clawing up your throat matters.
The footsteps pad right past Chan’s flimsy door. They pause. Right outside.
You don’t breathe. Chan doesn’t breathe. His cock feels like iron inside you.
The footsteps move again—down the hall towards the bathroom at the end. The door opens and shuts softly.
The shared breath you both release is ragged and trembling. Relief hits like a physical blow, leaving you lightheaded and shaking beneath him. Chan sags forward slightly, resting his forehead against yours for a heartbeat, his breath gusting hot and frantic against your skin trapped under his palm.
"Fucking close call," he rasps against your lips, his voice shaking.
The near-miss doesn’t kill the fire; it pours gasoline on it. The desperate need surges back with vicious force, amplified tenfold by adrenaline and sheer relief.
He feels it too. That brush with discovery strips away any lingering pretense of caution. He pulls his hand away from your mouth just long enough to spit crudely into his palm before sliding it roughly down between your sweat-slicked bodies.
"Oh fuck! Chan!" you gasp as his slippery fingers find your clit without preamble. The direct, slick pressure combined with the thick fullness inside you is blindingly intense.
He slaps his hand back over your mouth instantly as your hips jerk violently off the mattress, seeking more of that electric friction. He doesn’t bite this time; he kisses you savagely through his hand, a messy clash of lips and teeth and desperate, stifled moans vibrating against his skin. His fingers work your clit ruthlessly while his hips drive into you with renewed ferocity, still controlled compared to before the scare, but relentless now, piston-like.
The orgasm doesn’t build; it detonates. It starts deep in your core, where he’s stretching you wide open, and explodes outwards in scorching waves that leave you thrashing silently beneath him.
Every muscle locks tight, arching off the bed despite his weight pinning you down. Whimpers tear through you constantly now—thin, frantic sounds muffled by the flesh of his palm as you bite down instinctively on the fleshy part near his thumb to trap the scream ripping through you. Stars burst behind your eyelids as your cunt convulses wildly around him, milking his cock in frantic pulses.
Feeling you clamp down on him like a vice finally snaps Chan’s last thread of restraint. A guttural groan tears from his throat, deep and ragged and far too loud, as he buries himself to the root and pumps hot jets of come deep inside you in pulsing spurts. He collapses forward onto his elbows above you, burying his face into the damp pillow beside your head to muffle the helpless, animalistic sounds wrenched from him as he empties himself completely.
You lie there fused together in the echoing silence afterward, slick with sweat and come.
Beyond the door, Jeongin flushes the toilet down the hall. The sound is impossibly loud in the fragile quiet. Chan doesn't move from where his face is pressed into the pillow next to yours, his breath still ragged gusts against your temple. His hand remains loosely clamped over your mouth, his thumb absently stroking your cheekbone where a stray tear leaked out moments before.
"Fuckin' hell," he murmurs against the pillowcase, the sound thick and muffled. His cock gives a final, feeble twitch inside your sensitive cunt before softening slightly. Neither of you dare move beyond the tremors still racking your bodies or the frantic rise and fall of your chests trying to catch breath that feels permanently stolen. The TV in the living room drones on, some cheerful commercial jingle now, oblivious to the sweat-soaked chaos that just unfolded barely ten feet away.
*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*
A/N: if you have any other ideas hmu
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Ceremony
Brothers bff! Chan x Fem Reader
Tags: sexual tension, possessive Chan, almost getting caught, forbidden romance, brother’s best friend trope, risky sex, unprotected sex, pining, slow burn teasing, clit play, nipple play, smut, fingering.
Word count: 5.5k
Summary: Years of stolen looks and dangerous flirting finally snap when you find Chan alone. He’s in his gear, sweaty, and very much aware you’ve been chasing him. The problem? He’s supposed to be off-limits. The bigger problem? He doesn’t care.
This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!
⚠️: This was solely inspired by that Godforsaken concept photo 😭 fuck my life!
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You’d known Christopher Bang for most of your life. Not in the casual, neighbor-kid kind of way, but in the my-brother’s-best-friend-who-practically-lived-in-our-house kind of way.
He’d been there through every milestone; birthday parties, scraped knees, first heartbreak. Always older, always cooler, always frustratingly out of reach.
And somewhere between the awkward teen years and the very grown-up present, you’d realized that your feelings for him weren’t just… fond. They were obsessive. Physical. Dangerous.
And He knew. God, he knew.
The knowing was the worst part. He didn’t ignore it, he played with it. He’d catch your eyes lingering on the flex of his thighs when he sprawled across your brother’s couch, or tilt his head at you when you brushed past him in the kitchen, too close to be an accident. He’d smirk when your gaze slipped to his hands or the line of his throat.
But nothing ever happened. He was off-limits, your brother had made that clear years ago. “Don’t even think about it,” he’d said once, laughing, when you were still just old enough to think about it. The fact that you were well past that now didn’t make the invisible line any less real.
It became a game.
Lingering looks. Subtle touches. “Accidental” appearances when you knew he’d be around. Sheer tops, thin sleep shorts, the occasional “oops, I didn’t know you were here” as you stepped into your brother’s room.
And Chan? He let you play but he didn’t fold. He just watched and waited.
Your brother’s team had a big game that night. Chan, of course, was the star player — all sweat-slicked muscle and impossible focus on the court. You sat in the stands pretending to watch the whole team, but your eyes followed him like they were tethered.
After the win, you hung back near the edge of the court while the crowd began to clear. Your brother jogged over, breathless.
“Hey, I gotta head out early. Can you tell Chan for me? He’s still in the locker room.”
You nodded, feigning nonchalance, even though your pulse kicked up immediately. “Sure. No problem.”
You didn’t have to walk the long way around to the players’ entrance. You could have just texted him. But you didn’t.
The hallway leading to the locker room was quiet, warm with the smell of sweat and floor polish. You pushed the door open just enough to step inside.
He was there. Exactly like you’d imagined. Sitting on the bench in front of his locker, hair damp and curling at the ends, jersey half-off his shoulders, thighs spread carelessly wide. The padded gloves still covered his hands, his sneakers untied. The sound of the door clicking shut behind you felt louder than it should have. He looked up when you entered, and that slow, knowing smile curled across his lips.
“You lost?” His voice was low, teasing.
You swallowed. “Your ride’s leaving.”
He didn’t move.
Instead, he leaned back, elbows braced on the bench, gaze dragging over you in a way that felt like a touch. “Guess I’ll need a new one then.”
Chan just watched you from his spot on the bench, one knee cocked up, forearms resting on it. The jersey still hung loose around his torso, the collar stretched enough to expose the glisten of sweat along his collarbone. His thighs, tensed from the game, flexed when he shifted slightly.
“You could’ve just texted me, you know,” he said, lips tugging into the faintest smirk.
“I was… passing by,” you lied, and his eyes said he didn’t believe you for a second.
He rose slowly, unhurried, like a predator who already knows his prey won’t run. The padded gloves hit the bench with a dull thud. “Passing by the locker room?” His voice had that warm rasp to it, the one that always managed to curl low in your stomach. “Not exactly your usual route.”
Your throat felt dry. “I just wanted to tell you… He said he’s leaving,” you reminded, but it came out softer than intended.
“Mm.” He took a step closer. “We’ve established that sweetheart.”
You took a half-step back without meaning to, the cool metal lockers meeting your shoulder blades. His gaze flicked down briefly, just… assessing, like he knew something. His hand came up, palm braced against the locker above your head, caging you in without touching you.
“It’s rare,” he murmured, leaning in just enough that you could smell the faint tang of sweat and clean soap clinging to him. “Us being alone like this. No one barging in or even watching.”
“You’re—” Your voice caught when his other hand came to rest on the lockers beside your hip, his body angled so close you could feel the heat radiating from him.
“I’m what?” he prompted, eyes fixed on yours.
You wanted to say dangerous. Off-limits. Wrong.
But the words that wanted to slip out were hot, shameless, nothing you could ever say out loud without crossing a line.
He tilted his head slightly, as if reading your silence. “You’ve been looking at me like that for a long time.”
“I haven’t,” you lied again.
His smile deepened slowly, amused and devastating. “Sweetheart, you have no idea how obvious you are.”
Your pulse was in your ears. You could feel your resolve thinning with every inch of air between you. He wasn’t touching you — not really — but the way his presence wrapped around you felt heavier than hands. He was doing it on purpose.
“Chan—” you started, but it came out breathy, a warning that wasn’t really a warning.
His gaze dropped briefly to your mouth before snapping back to your eyes, smug but not unkind. “You think I don’t notice when you dress like that around me?” His voice was low enough now to make your knees weak. “Like you want me to look?”
You hated that you couldn’t answer, hated that he was right, hated that the sound of his voice saying it made your body ache.
And maybe it was the way he was watching you, or the heat from his body, or the fact that he’d boxed you in so completely that escape was impossible. But you didn’t think. You just moved.
One hand fisted in the front of his jersey, tugging him forward. Your mouth crashed against his, breathless and reckless, the kind of kiss that tasted like every year of tension between you.
For half a second he didn’t react, maybe as surprised as you were.
Then he made a sound low in his throat, one that went straight to your spine, and his hands were on you, one cupping the back of your neck, the other gripping your waist as he pushed you harder into the lockers.
The kiss deepened instantly, his mouth hot and sure against yours. He wasn’t just kissing you, no. He was taking control of it, tilting your head, parting your lips, pulling a small, involuntary sound from you that made him smirk into your mouth.
When he finally pulled back, just enough to speak, his breath was rough against your cheek.
“You’re playing a dangerous game, baby,” he murmured, thumb brushing along your jaw. “And you’re not gonna win it.”
Then you heard a sound, the low squeak of sneakers against tile just outside the locker room door and you froze.
Chan’s hand was still on your jaw, his thumb brushing absently along the edge of your cheekbone like he wasn’t ready to let go. But his eyes flicked toward the noise, his expression shifting to something more calculating.
You stepped back first. Your pulse was too loud, your breathing too uneven, and your hands trembled as you smoothed your hair like it could erase what just happened. “I—” You didn’t even finish the sentence before slipping past him, the door clicking behind you.
You didn’t look back.
You didn’t have to, you could feel him smirking victoriously as he watched you leave.
The party was loud, all bass and laughter spilling from every room of your brother’s apartment. He threw one after every win, the kind where the team sprawled on mismatched furniture and someone always ended up dancing on the coffee table by the end of the night.
You stayed near the kitchen, nursing a drink you weren’t really drinking, telling yourself you’d imagined the heat of Chan’s mouth, the weight of his hand at your waist.
And then he walked in.
Still in his post-game clothes — joggers slung low on his hips, a black tee stretched over his shoulders. Damp hair curling at his temple. The same smug curve at his mouth he’d worn in the locker room earlier.
Your brother clapped him on the back, shoving a beer into his hand, pulling him into the crowd. But Chan’s eyes found you immediately.
It was subtle, a quick sweep over your frame before his gaze locked on your face, but it made your skin prickle like he’d touched you. He didn’t come over. He didn’t have to.
Every time you moved to another room, you caught him watching. When someone leaned in too close to tell you a joke, his jaw flexed. When you laughed at something, his eyes sharpened, tracking you like a wolf keeping his prey in sight.
At one point, you slipped past him in the hallway, the music muffled by the walls. He shifted just enough that his hand brushed yours, a deliberate drag of knuckles along your skin, slow and electric.
“You run fast,” he murmured, low enough that only you could hear.
You stopped breathing for half a beat. “Had to.”
His smirk deepened. “You’ll come back.”
You wanted to deny it, you should have denied it, but your silence was as good as an admission. He stepped aside, letting you pass, but you could feel his gaze on your back all the way into the next room.
-
The air outside was cooler, still carrying the faint chlorine tang from the pool below. At 4 a.m., the party had shrunk to a lazy hum with a few stragglers in the kitchen, someone asleep on the couch. You slipped out to the balcony for air, hands curling lightly around the railing, your eyes on the moonlit water.
Your head was still a mess. You’d spent the last few hours pretending not to feel his gaze every time you crossed the room, pretending your pulse didn’t spike when he brushed past you in the hallway. Pretending your lips didn’t still throb from the kiss you weren’t supposed to give him.
The sliding door behind you opened without a sound. You didn’t turn — maybe because you already knew.
His warmth hit you before his touch did. One broad palm landed on the railing to your left, the other to your right, bracketing you in. His chest pressed to your back, solid and unyielding, the faint smell of his body wash threading through the night air.
“Gotcha,” he murmured, his lips so close to your ear you swore you could feel the shape of the word against your skin.
A shiver ripped straight through you, visible and undeniable. His low chuckle told you he’d noticed.
“You’ve been dodging me all night,” he said, his breath warm at the curve of your neck. “Thought you might’ve learned your lesson in the locker room.”
“I wasn’t dodging,” you managed, though your voice betrayed you, coming off too soft and shaky.
“Mm.” His weight shifted forward, pressing you subtly into the railing. “So you were looking for me then?”
You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to, the way your back arched just slightly against him gave him all the confirmation he needed.
You felt it then… the slow, deliberate press of him against you, hardening. Your breath caught.
“Careful,” he drawled, though his hips stayed exactly where they were. “Push back like that, and I’ll think you’re asking for something.”
Maybe it was the quiet, maybe it was the weeks — no, years — of building this tension, but you did push back, the tiniest roll of your hips that made him hiss under his breath.
His grip on the railing tightened. “Dangerous game, baby girl.”
Your heart was a drumbeat in your ears, but you didn’t move away. If anything, you leaned more into him, your fingers curling tighter around the cool metal.
Chan dipped his head, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “One day, your brother won’t be in the next room.” His voice was low, rough. “And then I’m gonna make you regret every little stunt you’ve pulled with me.”
The words pooled heat low in your stomach, making your knees feel unsteady. You couldn’t even muster a reply and you didn’t have to. His slow, deliberate grind into you said everything neither of you could.
The sound of the sliding door opening again broke the spell. Chan stepped back instantly, so fast it was almost dizzying. You turned to find him leaning casually against the railing, beer in hand, wearing that infuriatingly calm expression — as if he hadn’t just promised to ruin you.
The days after the party were torture.
Nothing had been said about the kiss in the locker room, or the way he’d caged you in on the balcony like you were already his. But it was there — humming between you every time your eyes met, pulling at you like static in the air.
He never touched you.
Not in public, not where your brother might see. But his glances lingered too long, his smirks cut a little deeper, his voice dipped a little lower when he spoke to you. You caught him looking more than once, not in passing, but watching, like he was remembering the feel of your mouth on his.
You told yourself you could handle it. That you could keep playing without letting it go too far.
You were wrong.
It was late afternoon when you got out of the shower, steam still curling in the air. Your brother wasn’t home yet, he’d said something about staying late, so you padded to your room in nothing but the smallest towel you owned.
Your hair dripped water down your back. You slipped your AirPods in, queued up Railway, and let the familiar melody spill into your ears as you moved around your room, humming along, half-singing under your breath.
The music was loud enough that you didn’t hear the front door open. Or the low, familiar call of your name from the hallway.
Chan had just come from practice. You’d find out later that he’d stopped by to grab something your brother owed him, still in his training gear, a white compression shirt clinging to his chest, loose shorts riding low on his hips, hair damp from the post-practice rinse.
When you didn’t answer, he started down the hall, assuming you were in your room.
You spun toward the door just as it opened. For half a second, everything froze — you, mid-turn, him standing there with one hand still on the doorframe. His gaze dropped, and you swore you saw his throat work like he’d swallowed hard.
The towel started to slip.
Your gasp was sharp, scrambling to grab it, but his voice cut through before you could move. Low and almost rough.
“Don’t.”
The command stopped you cold. You looked up to find his eyes locked on yours, but his gaze kept flicking back down, then up again like he couldn’t decide where to rest it.
“Your brother’s not home,” he said, stepping into the room and pushing the door shut behind him with a soft click.
The air felt suddenly too small, too heavy. You clutched the towel against your chest, your pulse loud in your ears.
He took another step forward, closing the space between you until you could see the damp beads still clinging to his hairline, the faint pink of his post-practice flush. “You have no idea what you’ve been doing to me,” he murmured, the tension in his voice winding tight enough to snap.
You swallowed hard. “Chan—”
“You think I didn’t see it? Every look. Every little stunt.” His eyes swept over you slowly, deliberately, before locking back on yours. “I’ve been good. Too good. But you just had to push, didn’t you? Just had to look so fucking edible”
When he took the final step toward you, your back met the edge of your desk. His hands came up, bracketing you in, caging you like he had on the balcony, only this time, there was nothing between you but the towel you were barely holding onto.
His body was close enough now that the heat from him bled into your skin. That clean, faintly salty scent of post-practice sweat mixed with his body wash, making your head spin.
The towel clutched to your chest was the last barrier, and his eyes kept dropping to it, to the little gaps where damp skin peeked through. His voice was low when he spoke again, almost conversational, but there was nothing casual in the way he looked at you.
“You’ve been driving me insane for too long” he said, the words rolling slow, measured, like he wanted you to hear each one. “Do you have any idea what it’s like, seeing you parade around in little shorts, brushing past me like you don’t know what you’re doing?”
Your throat tightened. “I—”
He leaned in, cutting off your words with the closeness of his mouth near your ear. “And then… you kiss me like you did in the locker room. You grind back into me on the balcony. And you expect me to just—walk away?”
His breath was warm against your neck. You felt it before you felt the tip of his nose trace lightly over the damp curve where your neck met your shoulder. The soft graze made your grip on the towel falter.
“Chan…” It came out almost like a plea.
That was all it took. His hands moved — one sliding to your hip, firm and warm, the other catching the edge of the towel. He pulled slowly, deliberately, letting the terry cloth slip from your fingers.
You were bare before him, the air cool against your damp skin, and his eyes went molten — dark, heated, devouring. His thumb swept over the bone of your hip, slow circles that had your stomach tightening.
“Fuck…” he murmured, almost to himself, his gaze roaming down the length of you and back up again.
He stepped closer until his chest was flush against yours. The solid press of his body made you gasp, and his mouth found your jaw, peppering open-mouthed, lingering kisses that traveled toward your ear. His voice was a growl when he spoke next.
“You’ve been begging for this without even saying a word.”
Your hands, almost without thought, fisted in the front of his compression shirt, tugging him down to you. His mouth found yours hard and hot, the kind of kiss that didn’t just take, this kiss claimed. He tilted your head, deepening it, his tongue sliding against yours with a dominance that made your knees weaken.
One of his hands roamed up your spine, his palm splaying between your shoulder blades as he pressed you tighter to him. You could feel him hard and insistent against your stomach and the low groan it drew from him went straight to the ache between your thighs.
He broke from your mouth just long enough to murmur, “Please tell me to stop, and I will.”
You didn’t. You couldn’t.
His lips curved faintly, and then they were on your neck, dragging down to your collarbone, tasting the beads of water still clinging there. His hand slid lower, cupping the curve of your ass and pulling you flush against him.
You whimpered, an unfiltered needy sound — and his breath hitched in response. “Yeah… that’s it,” he muttered against your skin, his mouth moving lower still, grazing the tops of your breasts. “Let me hear you.”
Every touch was maddeningly slow, like he wanted to savor every inch. His fingers traced down your side, skimming just under the curve of your breast before gliding lower, across your hip, until his hand brushed the inside of your thigh.
You shifted instinctively, giving him space, and his grin was pure sin. “Knew you’d open up for me.”
His knuckles grazed higher, dragging lightly up the sensitive skin there, stopping just shy of where you were throbbing for him. His eyes locked on yours again, searching, drinking in the sight of you trembling under his hand.
“You’re soaked,” he said, voice low and thick. “And I’ve barely touched you.”
The words had your breath catching, your grip on his shirt tightening.
Your pulse was a drum in your ears, loud enough you were sure he could hear it. His fingers teased the edge of your need, skimming but never giving, making you arch into him in search of friction.
“Chan,” you breathed, and it sounded desperate even to your own ears.
He chuckled low in his chest, the sound vibrating against you. “Patience,” he murmured, dragging his hand up your thigh again, this time with more purpose. His thumb swept across the damp heat between your legs, slow and deliberate, testing the way you jerked against his touch.
The quiet curse you let slip made his jaw tighten. “You want me to touch you?” he asked, voice dark as his mouth claimed yours again, this time deep and consuming, as if he needed the answer on your tongue.
You nodded against his lips, but that wasn’t enough. He pulled back just enough to say, “Say it.”
“Touch me,” you whispered, but he just arched a brow, that infuriating smirk curving his mouth.
“Louder.”
The demand sent a fresh rush of heat through you. “Touch me, Chan.”
That was all the permission he needed. His fingers slid between your folds, finding you slick and aching, and his low groan was pure approval. “Fuck… so ready for me.”
You barely had time to gasp before his thumb found your clit and began circling slow and maddeningly precise. The towel lay forgotten on the floor, your hands braced against his shoulders as his other arm wrapped tight around your waist, holding you steady while he worked you open.
Every movement was deliberate, measured, like he wanted you squirming for him, begging. And you were. You couldn’t help it, each stroke sent sparks shooting down your spine, your breath catching in broken little whimpers that only seemed to spur him on.
“Look at you,” he rasped, watching your face as his fingers sank deeper. “You’re gonna come for me before I’m even inside you.”
His mouth was on yours again, hard and urgent, as he hooked an arm under your thighs and lifted you with effortless strength. The world tilted, and then you were on the bed, your back sinking into the mattress while his body covered yours completely.
“Been wanting this for so long,” he muttered against your skin, dragging his lips down your neck, your chest, leaving heated trails that made your pulse race. He made quick work of stripping the last barrier from himself, the sound of his clothes hitting the floor only adding to the heady anticipation curling in your stomach.
When he pressed against you, thick and heavy, you felt the breath hitch in your throat. “Chan—”
“Shh,” he murmured, guiding himself to your entrance, his eyes locked on your face like he wanted to see every flicker of reaction. He pushed in slow at first, stretching you inch by inch, his jaw tight with restraint. The stretch had you gasping, nails digging into his shoulders as your body tried to take him.
“Fuck… you feel better than I ever let myself imagine,” he groaned, hips grinding forward until he was buried to the hilt. The fullness was dizzying, the way he held himself there for a heartbeat before pulling out almost completely, only to thrust back in harder, deeper.
Your moan was sharp and unguarded, but then that was when you both heard it.
“Y/n? You home?”
Your blood turned molten with panic. It was your brother’s voice, distant but carrying easily through the house.
You froze, heart hammering, but Chan’s expression only darkened, a wicked glint flashing in his eyes. “Don’t stop looking at me,” he said low, his hips still rolling into you, slow and deep.
“Chan—”
“Not stopping now,” he growled, and before you could protest, his fingers slid into your mouth, two of them pressing down on your tongue. The salty taste of his skin filled your senses as he leaned over you, his chest pressing you down into the bed.
“Bite me if you want me to stop,” he whispered, thrusts growing sharper, faster. You couldn’t bite him, not when each movement sent shocks of pleasure ricocheting through you, your muffled sounds trapped behind his hand.
Your brother’s footsteps moved through the hall, the sound terrifying and thrilling all at once, every nerve in your body alight with the risk. Chan’s eyes never left yours, his own breathing harsh, the tension in his shoulders tight as if he was holding himself on a razor’s edge between control and total abandon.
“You’re mine,” he said through gritted teeth, barely above a whisper, but the possessiveness in it made your core clench around him. His pace quickened, hips slamming into you with a desperate, unrelenting rhythm, his fingers keeping you quiet even as your body trembled beneath him.
Your brother’s footsteps stopped right outside your door. The knock was sharp enough to jolt through you, but Chan didn’t stop — if anything, the way his hips rolled into you became slower, more deliberate, like he was savoring every inch while your panic spiked.
“Hey, you in there?” your brother’s voice carried through the wood, suspicious and too close. “Weird question, but… did Chan come by today? I swear I can smell the bastard in the house.”
Chan’s eyes lit with a devilish spark at the words. He didn’t pull out — instead, his hand slipped from your mouth to your chest, his thumb and forefinger finding a sensitive peak and twisting, rolling it until your back arched involuntarily against him. The gasp that ripped from your throat was too loud, too dangerous.
You scrambled for words, forcing your voice to sound normal while pleasure clawed up your spine. “N-No… haven’t seen him,” you managed, the stammer barely disguised as casual.
Chan grinned like the menace he was, leaning down so his lips brushed your ear. “Liar,” he mouthed, his hips snapping into you harder now, making the bed creak under the force.
Your brother lingered. “Huh. Thought for sure—”
Chan cut you off from answering by switching his pace — slow, grinding thrusts that kept him buried deep, followed by sudden, brutal snaps of his hips that made your breath catch. His free hand slid under your thigh, hitching it high against his hip to drive even deeper, the angle hitting spots that had your vision going hazy.
You bit your lip to keep from crying out, but Chan wasn’t done. He bent his head, taking one nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking and teeth grazing until you shivered. His other hand found the neglected peak, twisting it with just enough pressure to make you squirm under him.
“Y-you okay in there?” your brother asked, his voice muffled but closer now — like he was leaning toward the door.
You swallowed hard, your body betraying you as Chan’s thrusts turned rhythmic, relentless, each one driving the air from your lungs. “Y-Yeah! Just— just getting changed!” The words cracked, thin and breathless.
Chan smirked against your skin, then — as if the situation wasn’t already pushing you to the edge — shifted again. He pulled nearly all the way out, teasing your entrance before slamming back in with a force that made the headboard tap against the wall. Then he’d roll his hips in a slow grind, letting the head of him drag over every sensitive nerve inside you before repeating the pattern.
The sound of your brother sighing and moving away was faint compared to the pounding of your heartbeat and the slick rhythm between you. Chan didn’t wait for the coast to be clear, his pace exploded into raw, hungry thrusts, his mouth finding yours in a kiss that stole the last of your composure.
“Gonna come for me, baby girl?” he growled against your lips, his hand dropping between you to circle your clit in quick, precise strokes. “Do it. Right here. Right now.”
The rough press of his palm on your clit was the final undoing. Heat coiled so tightly in your core it felt like you’d snap apart if he so much as breathed on you wrong. But Chan didn’t relent — his thrusts came deep and hard, each one forcing a small, strangled sound from your throat that his mouth swallowed eagerly.
“Come for me,” he demanded, voice low and commanding, his thumb pressing tighter circles that made your hips jerk against him. “I want to feel it. Now.”
It hit like a detonation — your whole body arching into him, every muscle tightening as the orgasm ripped through you in waves. You clung to him, nails digging into his back, muffling your broken cries against his shoulder as your walls spasmed around him.
He groaned deep in his chest, the sound vibrating against your skin. “Fuck… just like that,” he growled, driving into you harder, chasing his own release while wringing every last shudder from yours. His rhythm shifted — fast, brutal snaps that had you oversensitive and gasping, your body still twitching from the aftershocks.
“Too much—” you managed, but the word was lost in another moan when he hooked your other leg over his arm, folding you open for him completely. The new angle let him slam into you even deeper, the wet sound of your bodies meeting filling the room.
“You can take it,” he rasped, his eyes locked on yours, dark and wild. “Gonna give you everything.”
You felt the moment he hit his limit, the stutter in his thrusts, the tightening in his arms around you. He buried himself to the hilt with a guttural sound, holding you there as his cum flooded into you in hot, pulsing waves. His head dropped to your neck, his breath ragged, his body heavy against yours.
But he didn’t pull out. Even as his breathing slowed, his hips rolled lazily, like he couldn’t bear to stop the connection just yet. His fingers traced down your side, catching on every sensitive place that still trembled under his touch.
Eventually, he lifted his head, pressing a slow kiss to your swollen lips — not rushed now, but claiming, sealing in what just happened. “That’s mine,” he murmured, thumb stroking your jaw. “All of you. Don’t care who’s in the next room.”
You were still catching your breath, the weight of his words sinking in along with the steady thud of his heart against yours. Chan finally eased out of you, the warmth between your thighs making you acutely aware of everything you’d just done.
You sank back against the pillows, dazed, skin still humming from the intensity. He stayed close, bracing himself on one arm as his other hand brushed damp hair from your face. The look in his eyes was softer now — still dark, still charged, but laced with something warmer that made your chest ache.
You hesitated, chewing your lip before blurting, “I… like you. More than I should. I’ve liked you for a long time.” The words felt clumsy, but they were true, and they hung in the air between you like a secret you couldn’t take back.
Chan’s mouth curved, not into the smirk you expected, but into something more certain. “Good,” he said simply. “Because I’m not sharing.”
Your brows lifted slightly, heat rising to your cheeks. “You’re jealous?”
His thumb traced your jaw, slow and deliberate. “I can be jealous. I will be jealous. If another guy so much as looks at you too long, I’ll deal with it. And as for your brother…” His smirk returned then, faint but undeniably smug. “I’ll handle him. He doesn’t need to know every detail.”
The thought made your stomach flutter in equal parts relief and nerves. “You’re really not scared of him finding out?”
Chan’s gaze stayed steady on yours, unwavering. “I’m not scared of anything when it comes to you.”
Before you could reply, he leaned down and kissed you, not the bruising, desperate kind from earlier, but something slow, lingering, almost reverent. His lips moved against yours like he was memorizing the shape of them, like you had all the time in the world.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his voice low and sure. “You’re mine now. And I’m keeping you.”
Authors note: Hey babes! Can we talk about this MAN?! 😩❤️🔥🫠

I cannot deal with all of this SHITTTTT! He needs to be stopped STAT! 😩🫠🫠
I literally have no words because well…. Damn�� just enjoy 😩😩
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Wrong person
Bangchan x f!reader
Alright guys, it is officially time for the 500 follower special!! You voted. You chose the plot line, you chose the member, and now I’m here to deliver. (I actually wrote this at 480 then forgot to release it when I hit 500)
You voted on a Bangchan x f!reader where you accidentally sent Chan a nude 😈😈 (you dirty lil things, ilysm) so get ready. Here is the absolute custom, iconic , panty soaking, thigh clenching smut that you all wanted. And as per usual: Eat a snack, drink some water, put a towel down, and get ready to read ;)
Content warning: tension, angst, fingering, oral (f!receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it folks!!), edging, teasing, dominant, hair pulling, tears.
word count: ~3100
Master list
Lmk if you want to be added to my tag list ☺️
MDNI 18+⚠️⚠️
The dorm living room was crowded and buzzing—eight boys, too many open takeout boxes, and a half-finished movie no one was really watching. You were curled into the corner of the sectional couch, legs tucked under you, phone in one hand while you absentmindedly picked fries from a shared tray in the other.
Across from you—like directly across—Chan was sprawled out in the single armchair, relaxed in a way that made your insides twist. Sweatpants. Damp curls from a late shower. One hand cradling a can of beer, the other draped lazily over the armrest, long fingers twitching in rhythm to whatever beat was echoing in his head.
You’d already caught him glancing at you a few times. Subtle. Controlled. But his eyes had that heat behind them—the kind that made your thighs press together just a little tighter.
So yeah. Maybe that’s why your brain was scrambled when your phone buzzed.
Your almost-situationship had just texted you back.
“Wish I could see you rn. Send me something to think about?”
You shouldn’t have.
But your camera roll already had that photo. The one you’d snapped just last night, lying naked across your comforter, hand between your legs, back arched just enough. You were flushed, lips parted, completely bare. You looked good. Sinful, even.
Your finger hovered over the “share” button, grin spreading over your lips.
And you hit send.
…or so you thought.
It took less than three seconds for your soul to be ripped from your body.
Because directly across from you, Chan’s phone lit up. He glanced down. Tapped to open the message. Paused.
You didn’t think anything of it until you happened to glance at your screen.
Chan 🐺: delivered ✔️
Your heart stopped.
Your lungs seized.
“No no no no no—” you whispered under your breath, unlocking your phone so fast you nearly dropped it.
There it was. Your full, explicit nude. Sent to Bang Chan. Your best friend. Your group hangout buddy. The man currently sitting across from you in this very room.
Not the man it was meant for.
Your body went ice cold.
And then hot.
And then every molecule in your body began screaming.
You chanced a glance up.
Chan’s phone was still in his hand.
He hadn’t moved.
His thumb was frozen mid-swipe, his eyes locked to the screen like he was processing. Then slowly—so fucking slowly—he looked up.
Your eyes met.
And it was like something cracked in the atmosphere.
He didn’t blink. Didn’t raise his eyebrows. Didn’t joke, or smile, or laugh.
He just stared at you.
Expression unreadable. Completely still.
You tried to mouth something—“I didn’t mean—”—but nothing came out.
He finally looked away.
But his jaw clenched.
He reached for his drink, took a casual sip, leaned back like he hadn’t just seen you fully naked. But now, his legs spread a little wider. His fingers tapped slower. His eyes flicked back to you, once, twice—lingering each time.
And your heart wouldn’t stop pounding.
You were burning.
And not from embarrassment anymore.
He saw you. And you couldn’t tell if he was mad, amused, or… something else entirely.
But something shifted in Chan that night.
And you felt it in your gut.
⸻
You didn’t sleep that night.
Every time you closed your eyes, all you could see was his face—that unreadable look when he saw the photo. The way he slowly dragged his gaze up to meet yours, like he wasn’t surprised. Like he expected it. Like he’d been waiting.
And the worst part?
Chan never brought it up.
Not in the group chat. Not through a private message. Not even when he sent a TikTok the next morning like nothing had happened at all.
You thought maybe he’d let it go. Maybe he knew you were mortified and wanted to save you the humiliation. Maybe, just maybe, he didn’t care.
But then came the next hangout.
And everything changed.
You were in the kitchen when he walked in—plain black t-shirt, jeans that fit way too well, and a cocky smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He didn’t say hi. Didn’t look at the others. Just walked straight up behind you, leaned in close enough that you could feel his breath on your neck, and said:
“You always send your nudes to the wrong people… or just me?”
You choked on air.
Your spine went stiff, blood rushing to your face. “I—I didn’t mean—”
“I know you didn’t,” he said softly, voice low and thick. “That’s what makes it so interesting.”
He moved away like nothing happened, casually opening a cabinet, grabbing a drink, and joining the others.
You stood there frozen, pulse thundering in your ears.
For the rest of the night, it was like a game.
Chan didn’t touch you. Not really. But his fingers would graze yours when you passed him a drink. He’d lean a little too close when reaching over you. His thigh would press against yours under the table. Every look he gave you was loaded. Every smirk made your stomach twist.
And he said things.
Innocent to anyone else. But not to you.
⸻
“You’re quiet tonight,” he murmured once when it was just the two of you in the hallway. “Not shy all of a sudden, are you?”
“You looked good the other night,” he whispered behind your ear while passing behind you on the couch. “Real good. That lighting did you favors.”
“Bet you take a lot of pictures like that,” he mused during game night, eyes locked on yours as he sipped from his drink. “Bet you’re used to being watched.”
⸻
You wanted to melt into the floor.
You wanted to slap him.
You wanted to climb into his lap and make him shut the fuck up with his mouth between your legs.
And he knew it.
The final straw came three nights later.
Everyone had gone to bed—except you and Chan. You were both still on the couch, some movie playing quietly, but you hadn’t looked at the screen in ten minutes.
You could feel him watching you.
So you dared to look back.
He tilted his head, biting his lip just barely. Then, voice low:
“That photo’s still in my camera roll.”
Your breath caught.
You opened your mouth—whether to apologize or deny or beg, you weren’t sure—but he kept going.
“You looked so desperate, baby. All spread out, fingers barely hiding anything…”
“Made me wonder what sounds you make when you’re like that for real.”
“Made me wonder if you ever thought about me while taking it.”
Your thighs clenched.
He didn’t touch you.
He just stared.
Then, quietly:
“Come here.”
⸻
You stood up before you could think.
Your legs carried you across the room like they didn’t belong to you, like they needed to be closer to him. Bang Chan. Your best friend. The man you accidentally sent a nude to—and the man who had been slowly, deliciously, destroying your sanity ever since.
He was still lounging on the couch like he hadn’t just invited you to obliterate a years-long friendship.
But his eyes were different now.
Dark. Hooded. Unapologetically hungry.
He didn’t say a word as you stepped closer.
Didn’t move.
Just opened his legs a little wider.
And when you reached him—heart thudding, throat tight—he tilted his chin, tongue swiping lazily over his bottom lip, and murmured, low and devastating:
“So was that for me?”
You swallowed.
You could lie. You could run. You could pretend you were drunk, pretend it was a mistake, pretend you didn’t spend the last three nights soaking through your sheets thinking about his hands.
But instead, you whispered, voice shaking:
“No… but I kind of wish it was.”
That was all it took.
He lunged.
One second he was still—and the next, you were pinned against the nearest wall, his body caging yours in like a fucking wolf finally snapping the leash. His hand cupped your jaw, forcing your gaze up to meet his, his hips already pressing into yours, hard and deliberate.
“You’ve been driving me insane,” he growled, mouth brushing yours without kissing. “Walking around like you didn’t just hand me the filthiest fucking fantasy I’ve ever seen. You don’t get to do that and act innocent.”
His lips crashed into yours—hungry, open-mouthed, devouring. You moaned, fingers tangling in his shirt, pulling him closer, closer, like you could climb inside him and never come out. He kissed like a man starved. Like he’d been waiting for this.
Then his hand slid down—slow, confident—and slipped beneath your waistband.
No hesitation.
Two fingers between your folds, slick and ready.
“Jesus,” he breathed, chuckling against your throat. “You’re soaked.”
“Chan—” you gasped, back arching into him.
“Shhh,” he purred. “Gotta check something.”
His fingers curled, and your vision whited out.
You gripped his shoulders hard, moaning into his neck as he worked you with firm, practiced precision, like he’d memorized exactly how to make you squirm. He found your clit and circled—not too soft, not too fast, just enough to make your knees buckle.
“Thought about this every night since that photo,” he murmured, tongue flicking your earlobe. “Wondered how you’d feel. How you’d taste.”
Then he dropped to his knees.
Your breath caught.
Your pants were gone in seconds—yanked down, flung somewhere behind you—and before you could process the shift, his tongue was on you.
Hot, wet, filthy.
He moaned when he tasted you, like the flavor was his new favorite addiction, dragging his tongue through your folds before flicking mercilessly over your clit.
Your hand flew to his hair, fingers yanking hard—but instead of pulling away, he groaned, rutting his hips against the floor like he was getting off on it.
Your thighs trembled. He was relentless—alternating between fast flicks and slow, firm pressure, fingers pumping in and out while his tongue tortured your clit. You were gone. Moaning, panting, grinding against his face with no shame.
“Chan, I—fuck, I’m—”
“Come on my tongue, baby. Give it to me.”
You shattered.
Legs shaking, head thrown back, body writhing as you came hard and messy all over his mouth. He didn’t stop. Not even when you whimpered. Not even when your hands tried to push him back.
“Mmm,” he murmured, lips shiny, eyes wild. “Still twitching. Still so wet.”
He stood, licking his fingers clean.
And before you could breathe—
He turned you around.
Bent you over the couch arm.
“One round’s not gonna be enough.”
⸻
You could barely think.
Your thighs were still shaking, your mouth hung open, and your hands were clenched into the fabric of the couch. Your skin was flushed, sweat-slicked, and Chan—fucking Chan—was behind you, dragging the tip of his cock through your folds like he was considering it.
You whimpered, rocking your hips back against him.
“Please…”
“Please what, baby?” he rasped, one hand gripping your ass, the other steady on your lower back. His voice was calm—too calm. “You think you deserve my cock already?”
You nodded desperately, cheek pressed to the couch cushion.
“I—I need it—”
He laughed, low and breathless, but cruel.
“You don’t need anything. You want it. And you don’t get what you want yet.”
You whimpered again, clenching around nothing, feeling the blunt head of him drag up and down, spreading your arousal, making you ache. He could fuck you. You were ready—more than ready. But he wasn’t giving in.
Instead, he leaned down, lips brushing your spine, voice like gravel in your ear.
“You sent me that picture by accident, right?”
You nodded again, barely breathing. “Yes—yes, Chan, it was a mistake, I swear—”
“And then you didn’t say a word. You let me walk around for days with that image burned into my fucking skull, baby.”
He stood again. Pulled back.
You whimpered at the loss—until his hands gripped your hips and flipped you over effortlessly, laying you flat across the couch cushions. His eyes were dark. Focused.
“You should be punished for that.”
Your breath caught.
But before you could ask how, he was on his knees again.
His mouth found your inner thigh, kissing, biting, marking you before finally—finally—his lips sealed around your clit.
Your hands flew to his hair, tugging hard.
“Still sensitive?” he teased between licks, voice thick with amusement. “Good. You’re gonna come again. But not on my cock.”
You cried out as his tongue flicked over your clit again—faster now, more deliberate. He had no mercy. One arm hooked around your thigh, holding you open, the other hand sliding up your body to squeeze your tits, tugging your nipple just hard enough to make your back arch.
“F-Fuck, Chan, I—”
“That’s it. Be a good girl and give it to me.”
His fingers were inside you before you could even register the stretch.
Two of them.
Curled.
Perfect. Precise. Devastating.
His tongue never let up.
And it was too much—your already-sensitive body twitching under him, your hands fisting his curls so tight he groaned against your pussy, rutting into the couch like he couldn’t take it either.
But he didn’t stop.
Even when you whined. Even when you begged. Even when your second orgasm started to rip through you like lightning, he kept going.
“That’s my girl,” he growled, mouth soaked. “So fucking sweet when you’re dripping down my throat.”
You sobbed.
Actually sobbed—overstimulated and burning, legs wrapped around his head now, trying to pull him closer and push him away at the same time.
And just when you thought he might finally give in—
“No,” he whispered, breath hot against your core. “You don’t get my cock yet.”
He kissed your clit again, featherlight this time, before sitting back, wiping his mouth slowly with the back of his hand.
You stared up at him, dazed, lips parted.
He smirked.
“You’re gonna go home like this. Messy. Wet. Ruined.”
“And when you’ve learned how to ask me nicely for what you want… then I’ll fuck you.”
⸻
It started with a single text.
Chan 🐺: Come over. Wear nothing under your coat.
Your stomach dropped. Your thighs clenched.
You didn’t respond. You didn’t have to.
Because when Bang Chan said come over, you came running.
When he said nothing underneath, you obeyed.
You didn’t knock. Just walked into the dorm, coat clutched closed over bare skin, heart pounding so loud you could hardly hear anything else. The place was quiet. Dark. The guys were gone.
And he was waiting.
Sitting on the edge of the couch.
Legs spread. Elbows on his knees. Head tilted as he watched you walk in like you belonged to him.
You did.
“Take it off.”
His voice was low. Controlled. Deadly.
Your hands shook as you undid the buttons. Slowly. One by one. Until the coat fell open—and his eyes dropped.
Bare.
All of you.
His jaw clenched. He didn’t speak.
Just leaned back slowly and patted his thigh.
“Come sit.”
You straddled him with trembling knees. His hands came to your waist, sliding up your bare back, mouth ghosting the underside of your jaw—but still, he didn’t kiss you. Didn’t do anything.
You were panting. Dripping. So fucking desperate it hurt.
“Chan, please—”
“Please what? Please fuck you? Please ruin you until you can’t walk straight?”
You whimpered, nails digging into his shoulders. “Yes. Yes—anything, just—”
He leaned in, lips brushing yours.
“Beg for it.”
You lost it.
“You’ve had me soaking for days,” you cried, grinding down on his thigh like a shameless whore. “You’ve fingered me, eaten me out, made me come twice, and you still haven’t fucked me—what more do you want?! I need your cock, Chan—I’ll say it, I don’t care, I need it—I want you to ruin me, please—please—”
That did it.
Something snapped.
Because in a blur, you were on your back.
Coat discarded.
His clothes gone.
And his cock—thick, veiny, flushed red at the tip—was pressed against your soaked folds.
“You want me to ruin you? You fucking got it.”
He slammed into you in one brutal thrust.
You screamed.
Your back arched. Fingers clawed at the couch cushions. Your mouth fell open in a silent gasp because he was huge—thick and deep and already stretching you past the point of pain and into pure, agonizing pleasure.
“Fuck,” he growled into your neck. “This pussy was made for me.”
His thrusts were savage. Unrelenting.
The couch shook with every snap of his hips. Skin slapping, sweat dripping, grunts and moans mixing as he buried himself in you over and over and over again. No mercy. No pause. Just pure, primal ownership.
“You teased me with that photo?”
“Now I’m gonna fuck you until you forget every other man who’s ever looked at you.”
You couldn’t answer.
Couldn’t speak.
You were too full. Too overstimulated. Eyes rolling back, mouth open in a drooling mess, hands trapped above your head in his tight grip.
He saw it.
And he smiled.
“Look at you,” he panted. “Already cock drunk, baby? And we’re just getting started.”
⸻
Round 2 came when he flipped you over—face down, ass up, hair yanked back so he could growl into your ear while he pounded into you from behind.
“This is the angle I imagined when you sent me that fucking picture.”
You sobbed into the cushions, walls clenching, body jolting with every thrust as his fingers rubbed tight circles on your clit without stopping.
He made you come again.
And again.
And when your body went limp beneath him, trembling, wrecked, voice hoarse from moaning his name?
He wasn’t done.
⸻
Round 3 was slower. Crueler.
Your legs were shaking. Your body overstimulated.
But he slid back in anyway.
Because he could.
“One more, baby,” he whispered. “I know you’ve got one more in you.”
He took his time now—deep, grinding strokes that had you crying from pleasure, nails dragging down his back, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes.
“That’s it,” he groaned, kissing the tears off your cheeks. “Let me see it. Cry for me.”
You came with a scream.
And even then… he didn’t pull out.
He stayed buried inside you. Let you twitch around him. Let you fall apart. Let you feel every inch of him while he slowly rocked into your ruined, soaked, used body.
Then, with a deep growl, he grabbed your hips tighter, pulled you flush against him—
“I’m gonna fill you up, baby.”
His thrusts deepened—harder, slower, fucking deeper—and with a shuddering moan, he emptied himself inside you.
Warm, sticky, thick.
Marking you.
Claiming you.
Breathing heavy, he collapsed onto your back, lips brushing your temple in a soft, possessive kiss.
“You did so good, baby.”
“Next time…”
“You send the picture to me on purpose.”
TYSM for reading!! And TYSM for 500 followers!!!
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Just the tip



Pairing: Bang Chan × fem! Reader
Genre : smut (drabble)
Synopsis: after purposely making Chan jealous, you’re left to fall apart on just the tip—taunted, overstimulated, and utterly ruined by his slow, punishing control.
Your thighs ache from how long he’s kept you open, how long he’s kept himself just out of reach.
Chan’s barely touched you tonight. Barely kissed you. Barely even looked at you when he first came in ...just a tight jaw and that calm, dangerous silence that made your stomach twist. You thought maybe he’d let it go. Thought maybe he wouldn’t say anything.
But now? Now he’s between your legs, cock in hand, and you're wrecked...from his fingers, his mouth, and his patience that’s clearly not kindness.
“You thought you were being cute, didn’t you?” His voice is low, rough, words dragging like honey over broken ice. “Acting like I wouldn’t notice.”
You don’t answer. You can’t. Your throat’s tight, eyes glassy, lips swollen from all the whining. You’re already so sensitive, twitching under his every touch but it’s not enough. Not even close.
And he knows it.
He drags the thick head of his cock through your soaked folds, up over your clit and back down to your entrance. Every pass makes your hips jump, your fingers curl in the sheets.
“You want me to fuck you now?” he asks, smirking as you whimper and nod. “After the little stunt you pulled?”
“I'm sorry,” you whisper, but it sounds more like begging. “I need you, Channie, please.”
“You will get me, sweetheart,” he hums, lining himself up with lazy precision. “I told you I’d fuck you. Didn’t say how much.”
And before you can speak again he pushes in.
Just the tip.
The stretch is immediate—hot, unbearable but it’s barely anything. You clench around him, already needy, but before your body can even adjust, he stops.
Your eyes flutter open. “Wha… why’d you stop?”
Chan leans over you, his smirk lazy, dangerous. “That’s all you get.”
Your lips part in shock, a soft whimper escaping. “N-no, Channie—please—”
He draws back slowly, then pushes in again with the same shallow depth just enough to make your body twitch, your thighs shake.
“You think you get to act like that,” he murmurs, his tone smooth but sharp, “and I’ll still let you feel all of me?”
You don’t respond ...you can’t too consumed by the way he’s moving, maddening and precise, just the tip brushing your walls in those short thrusts.
His voice drops, darker now. “Batting your lashes at someone else. Laughing like I wasn’t there.”
Your face burns. “I didn’t—”
“You did.” His hips press forward, just a little deeper but not enough. Never enough. “And now look at you. Spread out for me. Crying for my cock.”
You whimper as his thumb finds your clit—barely touches it, just grazes it and your whole body jolts.
“Sensitive already?” he taunts. “And I haven’t even given you a real stroke yet.”
His pace stays slow. Shallow. Rhythmic. It’s torture your body clenching desperately, needing more but he gives you nothing. Just that thick, teasing pressure and his words in your ear.
“Is my tip not enough for you now, huh?” he murmurs, breath hot against your skin. “After the little show you put on?”
You gasp, fingers clawing at the sheets. “Please, Channie… I need all of you.”
He chuckles, low and dark, thrusting just deep enough to make your toes curl then pulling back out to the tip again.
“No,” he growls. “This is all you get. For being such a reckless little thing.”
Your back arches. The build-up is unbearable now, that slow grind of frustration and overstimulation coiling deep in your gut. You try to shift your hips to get more but he holds you down.
“Don’t even try,” he warns. “You’re not getting a single inch more.”
He starts moving just a little faster, the wet slide of him inside you obscene, his tip hitting the same sweet spot over and over.
Your thighs tremble. Your breaths turn ragged.
“Gonna cum from just this?” he taunts, low and satisfied. “From barely anything? That desperate for me?”
You’re nodding before you even realize it, vision swimming.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “You are. You’re gonna cum like this. Look at you.”
The coil inside you finally snaps—hot, sharp, overwhelming.
You cry out, falling apart on just the tip, your cunt fluttering around him as your orgasm rolls through, too strong to hold back.
Chan doesn’t stop.“Shit—” he grits, his thrusts faltering as your tight walls milk him. “Gonna—fuck—”
He presses forward, still just barely inside, and you feel it...his cock twitching as he cums with a low moan, warm pulses spilling right at your entrance.
But even then, he’s not done.
He pulls out, slow and deliberate, and you whimper at the sudden emptiness. Then his fingers slide down collecting the mess he left and drag it through your soaked folds, over your swollen clit.
You jolt. “Channie—!”
“Mm,” he hums. “Didn’t think my tip would break you.”
You can barely move, still twitching, but he leans in, voice a whisper against your jaw.
“Next time you want my attention,” he murmurs, rubbing lazy circles through the cum slicked over your clit, “just ask. No more games.”
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V I C T O R Y L A P
F1 Driver!Hwang Hyunjin x Reader | His reward isn’t champagne. It’s you. Legs up, soaking, ruined.
🔞synopsis: You should’ve known better than to watch him race like that. Gloved hands gripping the wheel like he wanted to fuck the track into obedience, smirk tucked behind a million-dollar helmet, engine howling louder than your common sense. But it’s too late now. He wins, and you break. Backseat leather sticking to sweat-slick thighs, his cum dripping down your cunt like a trophy. He’s not asking, you’re already wrecked. He earned first place and you are the prize.
💌a/n: SURPRISEEEEE 💀 hi. yes. i’ve lost all shame. okay, okay, i already hear y’all breathing in my inbox like “daku. be so serious. hyunjin was riding a motorcycle in the trailer.” AND YOU’RE RIGHT. I KNOW. but also??? let me live. this is F1 Driver!Hyunjin. he’s fast, rich, filthy, and he doesn’t care about podiums. he just wants to fuck you into his backseat. that’s it. that’s the lore. this one’s not as long as my usual insanity, i know 😭 i was like “what if i just went full whore” and... well. here we are. no backstory. no buildup. just pure, slutty combustion and the sound of you not walking straight tomorrow. i wanted to try smth different so I HOPE YOU ENJOYED IT (pls tell me you did or i will cry) AND THANK YOU FOR LETTING ME RUIN YOU <3 p.s. if you got ruined, pls reblog so other degenerates can suffer too p.p.s. ily all. especially the ones who left the chat the moment he said “want a ride?” bc same 💅🏻
⚠️ warnings: 18+ | MINORS DNI | EXTREMELY NSFW | Porn without plot | Public sex setting (private garage + car, but people are nearby) | Car sex (backseat, leather, loud and filthy) | Overstimulation | Dom!Hyunjin | Praise + degradation mix (“good girl,” “trophy fuck,” “mine” etc.) | Cockwarming | Spit-sharing / sloppy kissing | Orgasm denial + control | Unprotected sex (wrap it up sluts) | Creampie | Possessiveness / post-race tension | Reader crying, moaning, drooling / cock-drunk behaviours | No real plot / no emotional lead-up — just straight filth
📌 Please read responsibly. Hydrate. Stretch. Legs up only if you're ready to not walk tomorrow.
📍credits: dividers by @cafekitsune
The city blazed like a fever dream.
Neon signs flickered across glass towers, casting streaks of pink and electric blue over the circuit. Every billboard, every LED screen screamed one name. Hwang Hyunjin. Seoul's golden boy. The prince of the track. The one who never blinked when kissing death at 240 km/h.
You stood just past the pit wall, press badge swinging around your neck like a collar. Not a team member. Not a racer’s girl. Just a bystander, officially.
Unofficially?
You were the only person he ever looked for.
The roar of engines swallowed the night as the cars revved into position, sleek bodies lined up like coiled beasts waiting to be unleashed. The air vibrated with tension, money, lust.
Gridlock lights: 3… 2… 1—GO.
They shot forward like hellhounds let loose.
Hyunjin’s car—jet black with thin gold trim—slipped through the starting surge like it had a mind of its own. He was in fourth. Then third. Then second.
Lap one blurred by in a scream of rubber and smoke. Cameras tracked the leaders, commentators breathless, but you? You didn’t care about stats. You watched the way he drove. Shoulders tense, control absolute, lips slightly parted in concentration. His gloved hands gripped the wheel like he wanted to fuck the track into submission.
Another corner and he didn’t brake.
He drifted, tires shrieking, crowd roaring, and slid into first like it had been promised to him from the start.
“Goddamn,” someone whispered behind you. “Does he even fear death?”
No. Hyunjin didn’t fear anything. Not speed. Not failure. Not wreckage. And certainly not you.
By lap 12, he had it locked.
He wasn’t racing anymore—he was performing. Showing off. Taunting fate.
Every turn, every overtake, every millisecond of shaved time, he made it look easy. His car moved like sin incarnate—sleek, black, wicked fast—and even with the helmet on, you could feel his smirk.
As he crossed the final straightaway, your heart was racing harder than any engine.
First place. Again.
The moment he parked, smoke curling off the hood, you knew where he’d go. Not the team. Not the crowd. Not the podium.
You.
And when he stalked toward you, helmet under one arm, sweat dripping down his jaw, smile slow and lethal, you were already ruined.
“Want a ride?” he said, eyes glinting.
You didn't answer. You didn't have to.
Hyunjin tilted his head, watching the way your lips parted. The way your thighs shifted. The way your breath caught when his glove brushed your waist, almost casually.
“Thought so,” he murmured, voice still gravel rough from the comms.
He didn’t take your hand. He didn’t offer an arm.
He turned, slow, confident, and started walking expecting you to follow. And like a good little prize, you did. Past the press hounds, the flashing lights, the stunned pit crew who knew better than to stop him when he was like this. Buzzing on adrenaline, oil, and whatever sick, perfect madness he’d won with tonight.
You ducked under the steel half-door of his private garage, heart stuttering as it slammed shut behind you.
Hyunjin dropped his helmet on the table. Peeled off his gloves. His racing jacket hit the floor with a wet thump, exposing the black compression shirt clinging to every muscle, slick with sweat, stretched tight over a body built to dominate.
“Get in the passenger seat.”
You blinked. “Wha—”
“Now.”
His voice left no room for questions. And fuck, your legs were already moving. You slid into the low, leather seat of the car still humming from the track. The door closed beside you with a satisfying click—and before you could even exhale—
The driver’s door opened. And Hyunjin was on you. Lips crashing onto yours, claiming. Mouth hot. Open. Filthy.
He cupped the back of your neck, tilted your head like he owned it, tongue licking into you with zero hesitation, like he’d been thinking about this for every single lap. Teeth scraped your lower lip, making you gasp, and he groaned deep in his chest like he felt it in his cock.
“Been waiting to do that all season,” he muttered against your lips. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you. Sitting here. Legs crossed. Eyes on me like you want to be wrecked.”
His hand slid up your thigh. Under your skirt. Not wasting time.
“Say it,” he whispered, breath hot against your ear. “Tell me you want this.”
You whimpered, hips arching into his palm. “I want—fuck—yes, I want it.”
He pushed your seat back with one smooth yank of the lever, your spine hitting the leather, and suddenly he was on top of you, one hand braced beside your head, the other already tugging your panties aside. “Bet you’re already wet for me,” he growled, fingers sliding through your folds. “Shit—look at you. All this from one race?”
He shoved two fingers in, and you moaned like the engine itself just kicked back to life.
“That’s right,” he said, low and dangerous. “You’re mine after every win. Every single one. You hear me?”
You nodded, gasping, thighs trembling as he curled his fingers inside you just right.
“Use your words, sweetheart.”
“Y-Yes, Hyunjin. I’m yours.”
He grinned like the devil. “Good girl.”
Hyunjin crashed his mouth back onto yours. Tongue hot and demanding, teeth clashing, spit slick between gasps. You were already moaning into him, hips grinding shamelessly against his hand, your fingers clawing at the back of his neck, into his damp hair.
“God, you’re so fucking desperate,” he muttered between kisses, pumping his fingers faster now—slick and relentless. “You gonna cum for me already? That easy, huh?”
Your answer was a choked sob into his mouth, thighs squeezing around his wrist as your stomach coiled tight. He groaned into the kiss, dragging his lips down your jaw, across your neck, biting just under your ear. You arched into him like you needed him to live.
“You think I didn’t see you watching me out there?” he hissed, voice ragged, breath fanning hot across your skin. “Legs crossed in that little skirt, lips all pouty, pretending like you weren’t soaking through your panties by lap five?”
He curled his fingers again, deeper and meaner, and your entire body jolted, a cracked moan breaking free.
“There she is,” he purred. “My perfect little passenger.”
Your hands flew to his chest, gripping the sweat-soaked fabric as your climax started to build, pressure searing behind your eyes. He kissed you again—open-mouthed, wet, teeth dragging your bottom lip until it throbbed.
“Hyun—I'm—”
“Yeah?” he whispered, kissing your temple like it was sweet. His fingers didn’t stop, even as your walls fluttered and clenched around him like a vice. “Gonna cum all over my hand like a good girl?”
You nodded frantically, mouth open in a silent cry.
“Then fuckin’ do it.”
You shattered.
Heat tore through your core, white-hot and vicious, and he swallowed every broken moan, every curse, every sob of his name like it was the only thing that could keep him grounded. Your legs shook, your back arched, and still he kissed you through it, fingers slowing just enough to make you whimper from overstimulation.
When he finally pulled them out, dripping and soaked to the knuckle, he brought them to his mouth. Sucked them clean. Watched you the entire time. “Better than the champagne,” he said, voice low and wrecked. “And I haven’t even started yet.”
He reached for his belt now. “Move to the backseat, sweetheart.”
You barely managed to crawl over the console, knees shaky, heart pounding in your throat. The leather seat stuck to your thighs, the interior still hot from the race, humming with residual energy, like the car itself knew what was about to happen. You settled onto your back, skirt bunched around your hips, chest rising fast. Before you could even blink, he was there, belt undone, pants halfway down, dark eyes dragging over you like he was starving.
“Legs up,” he ordered, voice rough with restraint. “Spread 'em.”
You obeyed instantly, heat pooling between your thighs all over again at the sound of his tone. Commanding. Greedy. Yours.
But he didn't move. He just stood there, half-undressed, cock visibly hard under the fabric of his briefs, hand lazily tugging down the waistband as his eyes locked on you.
“Touch yourself.”
Your breath hitched. “Wh-what?”
Hyunjin tilted his head, one brow lifting as his hand finally freed his cock. Thick, flushed, already leaking at the tip. Fingers wrapped around the base, slow strokes beginning with absolutely no shame.
“Play with your clit, baby. I want to see it.” His tone was low, casual, almost like he was asking you to pass him a drink. “Show me how desperate you are.” Your hand trembled as it slipped between your thighs, fingers sliding through your soaked folds. He hissed at the sight, cock twitching in his grip.
“Fuck, yeah… Just like that.”
You circled your clit, breath stuttering as your legs fell wider apart, muscles trembling from overstimulation and the burn of how bad you still wanted him. His gaze never left your cunt, eyes blown, jaw clenched, fist moving slow and steady over his length.
“You know what you look like right now?” He rasped, licking his lips. “A fucking dream. All ruined for me. Legs spread, pretty pussy all messy, and you’re still hungry for more.”
You moaned, head falling back, thighs twitching as you rubbed harder, chasing that raw edge again.
“Don’t you dare cum,” he warned suddenly, voice sharp. “Not yet. Not without me.”
You whimpered, fingers slowing, body trembling with restraint.
“Good girl,” he growled. “Keep playing. I wanna see it shine for me.”
He finally stepped forward, one knee bracing on the edge of the backseat, towering over you now as he stroked his cock right above your soaked heat. “You want this?” he murmured, brushing the head against your clit just to tease, watching your hips jerk. “Say it. Tell me how bad you want my cock.”
“I want it,” you gasped, nearly sobbing. “Fuck—I want it so bad, hyunjin, please—need it in me, need to feel you stretch me out—”
“Goddamn,” he muttered, more to himself than you. “Filthy little thing.” He knocked your hand away, replacing it with the thick press of his tip against your entrance.
“Let's see how loud this car can get.”
He pushed in slow at first, just the thick head stretching you open and your mouth dropped open in a silent cry. Every inch was fire. Your cunt fluttered around him, desperate, greedy, already trying to pull him deeper.
“Fuck,” he hissed, hips stuttering. “You feel that? How tight you are?”
Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, body arching up to take more, needing more. “Hyun—” your voice cracked into a moan as he sank deeper, every vein of his cock dragging along your walls. “So full—fuck, you're so big—”
“Shh, baby,” he whispered, leaning down until his chest pressed to yours, breath hot against your lips. “You can take it. I know you can. this pussy was made for me.” He kissed you then, sloppy, frantic, moaning into your mouth as he bottomed out. Both of you groaned at the same time, lips parting from the sheer overload of the stretch, the heat, the way your cunt clenched around him like it didn’t want to let go.
“God, you're squeezing me like a fucking vice,” he groaned, forehead pressed to yours. “You missed me this much, huh?”
Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging, pulling him into another kiss. This one was messier—tongues clashing, teeth knocking, spit dripping between gasps. He started moving, slow thrusts that dragged every single inch of him through your soaked walls, hips rolling deep and controlled.
“Feels so good—” You whimpered, breath hitching every time his cock hit that perfect spot inside you. “Please—faster—”
“You want it faster?” he growled into your mouth. “Then fucking say it. Beg for it.”
“Fuck—please, Hyunjin—need you to fuck me—hard—please, ruin me—”
He snapped his hips forward, hard enough to knock the air out of your lungs. “Like that?” he snarled. “You like being my personal trophy fuck.” You moaned so loud it echoed in the car, fingers clawing at his back as he fucked into you deep, fast. The slap of skin against skin mixing with the wet, filthy sound of your cunt milking him.
“You're gonna cum on my cock, aren’t you?” he panted, lips dragging down your throat. “Gonna soak me like the good little mess you are?”
“Yes—yes, i’m close—fuck, Hyunjin—”
Hyunjin kissed you again, all filthy and hungry while his cock pistoned into you like he was chasing first place all over again and you were already falling apart. His hand slipped between your bodies, fingers slick with your own arousal as they found your clit, rubbing tight, fast circles that made your back arch off the seat.
“Fuck, there you go,” he growled, eyes glued to your face. “That’s it. Feel how good I fuck you? How deep I am? This pussy’s perfect, fuck—it’s mine.” You couldn’t answer. Could barely breathe. Your mouth was open, gasping, drooling as your eyes rolled back and your legs trembled around his waist.
“Can’t even speak anymore, huh?” he snarled. “Just moanin’ like a dumb little baby. Can’t think—can’t breathe—without my cock in you.”
“Hyun—Hyunjin, please—fuck, I’m—I’m—”
“Yeah, baby? You close? You gonna fall apart for me again?” His voice dropped, thick with pride and filth. “You gonna cum on my cock like a good little whore?” You sobbed, incoherent now, hands gripping at anything—his shoulders, his back, the seatbelt strap—eyes glazed over and tears brimming.
He leaned down, lips against your ear as his thrusts grew messier, rougher, his cock pounding that same perfect spot over and over. “Do it. Cum. I want it—I earned it. Give it to me.”
At his words alone, combined with his fingers on your clit, your orgasm hit like a fucking car crash. Violent and consuming. Your entire body seized, a high-pitched moan ripping from your throat as you clenched around him, your release flooding out onto his cock, down your thighs, soaking the seat beneath you.
“Fucking hell—fuck—” Hyunjin gasped, hips stuttering as your pussy milked him through every pulse. “God, you’re perfect—so fucking tight—”
Then he was cumming too.
With a broken groan, he slammed into you one last time, buried to the hilt as he spilled deep inside you, cock twitching, his fingers still lazily circling your overstimulated clit just to watch you squirm. “Take it,” he panted, forehead pressed to yours again. “Every drop, baby. You take it.”
Your limbs were shaking. Your mouth was open. Your thoughts were gone. He stayed inside you, breathing hard, sweat dripping onto your chest, his hands cradling your thighs like you were fragile and holy—even after he ruined you. Slowly, he kissed you. Gentle. Hot. Tender in a way that broke you open all over again.
“I fucking love this view,” he whispered, still buried deep. “All wrecked and cock-drunk in my backseat.”
You whimpered, blinking slow, brain still rebooting. He smirked, leaned back, and rubbed a hand over his face like he’d just finished a damn workout.
“C’mon, baby,” he said, voice hoarse but soft. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” He shifted carefully, groaning as he finally pulled out, cock still twitching from how hard he’d just come. You both watched the mess of it drip between your thighs. His cum, your slick, the evidence of everything he just did to you pooling on the leather seat.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “We definitely can’t return this car now.”
You let out a breathy, dazed laugh and he smiled. That rare, post-race Hyunjin smile that only came after adrenaline and sex and victory. That private, yours-only version of him. He reached into the glove compartment, yanked out a few black microfiber cloths, and crouched down between your legs again, cleaning you up with gentle hands.
“You okay?” he asked softly, thumb grazing your thigh.
You nodded, cheeks flushed. “I think I died for a second.”
“That’s fair.” He leaned in and kissed your forehead. “You looked like you saw God. Spoiler alert, it was just my dick.”
“Shut up,” you mumbled, smacking his shoulder.
He grinned. “You love me.”
“You’re an arrogant little shit.”
“Still love me.”
You did. Of course you did.
And the way he helped you sit up, the way he held your hands to keep them from shaking, the way he kissed your knuckles before tucking himself back into his racing pants? God, he made it impossible not to love him.
As you fixed your clothes and wiped the last remnants of him off your inner thighs, he grabbed his jacket and draped it over your shoulders like a shield.
“You did good, baby,” he said as he opened the car door for you, guiding you out like a gentleman who definitely hadn’t just fucked you into the seat like a demon on nitro. “Didn’t even scream loud enough to alert the pit crew. Proud of you.”
You smacked him again, but you were smiling now, dizzy and sore and completely his. “Where are we going?” you asked, still breathless as he laced your fingers together and pulled you down the garage hall.
He glanced back at you with a look that made your knees weak all over again.
“Penthouse,” he said simply. “You didn’t think I’d stop after one lap, did you?”
🏷️ taglist: @cybergracie , @basicginn , @dhvnigvil , @emkvlixsx , @collin-thegreat , @somuchpanicverylittledisco , @emilyywhyy , @rainyjeno , @fawnoverdawn , @pixie-felix , @anniestay , @notmeneo , @lovslixx , @themoonlightfae , @heartwithoutaname , @yourghostneighbor , @princesskrystix , @drilles , @y2kur0mi , @mochi-space , @ivaviavi , @phelans-thoughts , @the-anon-reader , @beans4beans56 , @joyfulchaoslover , @channieismylove , @cherryoatchai , @unimportantweirdo , @seagulljk , @freckles-and-rage , @lonelydarknessblog , @girlsymptoms , @bookswillfindyouaway , @jasperlvskz , @geekymommakerry , @dazzlingjade , @alisonyus , @pluto-rose , @crazy4books1 , @b3autyist3rror , @felixleftchickennugget , @loonybunny1 , @itzkaitlynm , @boldy-49 , @zayn-210 , @hanjiswvrld , @ilovedallywinston , @ironyatitsfinest , @shadowhunterathene , @stayalittlelonger143 , @bblgeum
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Ruin Me
Bangchan x F! Reader
Chan gets home angry from the disrespect at the met gala (fuck those paparazzi fr) and fucks you within and inch of your life 😈
one shot. Pure panty soaking, thigh clenching, smut. Eat a snack, drink some water, put a towel down, and get ready to read ;)
Content warnings: Unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it folks!!), rough sex, dominant, overstimulation, multiple rounds, degradation + praise, oral (f receiving), crying, possessiveness, implied aftercare
Word count: ~1000
Master list
MDNI 18+ ⚠️⚠️
The door slammed.
You barely had time to register the sound before you heard the heavy thud of boots storming through the entryway.
“Chan?”
Your voice was soft, cautious, as you stepped out of the bedroom and peeked down the hallway. He didn’t answer at first. Just tore off his blazer with an angry grunt, letting it fall somewhere near the couch, his earrings still glinting under the hallway lights. The shirt beneath his jacket clung to his body—his chest heaving, his jaw tight, his brows furrowed in frustration.
His Met Gala look had left the world breathless.
But right now, he looked like he was ready to set it on fire.
You padded toward him, bare feet quiet against the wood floors. “What happened?”
He didn’t speak until you were standing right in front of him. His voice was low. Dangerous.
“They treated us like fucking trash.”
He wasn’t even looking at you—eyes still fixed on the front door like he was imagining slamming it again.
You placed a hand on his chest, over the rapid beat of his heart. “Baby…”
And just like that, his hands were on you.
You gasped as he shoved you back against the wall with a force that rattled the frame, his mouth crashing into yours. All teeth and tongue, desperate and wild, like he was trying to take out all his fury between your lips.
“Mine,” he growled into your mouth. “Say it.”
“Yours—”
He grabbed your thighs and hoisted you up, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. He carried you down the hall like you weighed nothing, mouth never leaving yours, only pulling away long enough to murmur:
“I’m gonna fuck you so hard you forget your own name.”
⸻
He dropped you on the bed like a man possessed, stripping off your clothes in a frenzy of movement, not even bothering to be gentle. You were already breathless, already soaked just from the way he was looking at you—like you were the only thing keeping him from snapping completely.
“Look at you,” he rasped, thumb brushing over your nipple. “Sitting here pretty when all those fucking paparazzi disrespected me and the group tonight.”
You whimpered as he yanked your legs apart, tongue dragging a slow, wet stripe up your slit. “Gonna take it out on you. Gonna fuck this perfect pussy until it’s ruined.”
He dove in without mercy. Licking, sucking, flattening his tongue against your clit, then curling it deep inside you. You were a mess in seconds, writhing under his hold as he pinned your hips down.
“Chan—fuck, don’t stop—”
He growled against you, voice dark. “You don’t get to tell me what to do, baby. You just take it.”
And you did. You screamed his name when you came the first time, thighs trembling, hands tugging at his hair. But he didn’t stop. Not when you came. Not when your body twitched from overstimulation. Not when you begged.
“One isn’t enough. Not tonight.”
⸻
He was already stroking his cock as he stood over you, soaked in sweat and hunger. Thick, hard, flushed dark with need. You opened your legs for him without thinking.
“Such a good little slut for me,” he said, climbing over you, his voice like gravel and honey. “You gonna take every inch like the good girl you are?”
You nodded, but he slapped the inside of your thigh. “Use your words.”
“Yes, fuck—please, Chan. I want it.”
He slid in deep with one brutal thrust that punched the air from your lungs. You arched off the bed, fingers clawing at his back, already on the edge again.
“That’s it,” he groaned into your neck. “Tight little cunt’s still gripping me like you didn’t just cum all over my face.”
He set a brutal pace, hips slamming into you, the headboard banging against the wall. Sweat dripped from his temple, his teeth gritted, chest flexing with every thrust.
You were nothing but sounds—gasping, moaning, sobbing. His hand found your throat, not choking, just holding, as he looked down at you with wild, blown pupils.
“No one disrespects me. No one gets to talk to me like I’m less than.” His thumb brushed your jaw. “Not when I come home to this. To you.”
You came again with a scream. Your back arched, your body clenching so tight around him he cursed and pulled out just in time—jerking himself hard until he spilled over your stomach with a groan.
⸻
You thought it was over. But Chan wasn’t done.
He didn’t even give you time to recover. Just flipped you over, dragged you onto your knees, and shoved his cock back inside you from behind.
“Wanna hear you scream into the mattress,” he grunted, pounding into you like a man gone feral. “Wanna make sure every neighbor knows who you belong to.”
You sobbed against the sheets, your knees shaking. “Chan—I can’t—”
“Yes, you can.” His fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you up so your back was arched against him. “You will. You’re mine.”
He fucked you so deep it felt like he was in your throat. Your cries turned into moans, turned into broken pleas, your body no longer your own. You clenched around him, your vision going white as another orgasm ripped through you.
“That’s it, baby, cum again—fuck, that’s my good girl.”
This time, he stayed inside you. Grinding his hips deep as he spilled inside, his breath hot against your neck, murmuring filth into your ear.
⸻
You were trembling. Raw. Used. Loved.
Chan collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms, his lips pressing to your temple.
“Sorry,” he murmured after a while, voice hoarse. “They pissed me off so bad and I just—I needed to feel in control of something.”
You nuzzled into his chest. “I like being your something.”
He kissed you again, gentler this time. “You’re everything.”
Should I do ones for the other members? Same scenario just different reactions obviously. LMK ☺️
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Sorry but I just can’t get dom, caring Chan x reader in a deep subspace out of my mind😭😭 I need more of that concept !! I trust you with everything lmao you’re so creative so just do whatever comes to mind:)
//baby, you’re not alone. it’s like one of my favourite scenarios everr, thankyou sm i hope this satisfies you <33 also im so sorry im really not good with soft stuff but i tried<3 i wrote it in 3rd person as it was a req, tell me if you would like me to change itᵕ̈
|All Mine



pairing- soft dom!chan x sensitive sub!reader
genre- smut [18+] mdni.
type- request
warnings- fingering (fem receiving), breeding, subspace, overstimulation
not proofreadᵕ̈
ᝰ.m.list !
It’s been a whole week, you hadn’t seen chan.
The other night he came home, you were making out, pinned against the wall, but suddenly,
he got a call.
He finished you off but you needed, literally needed his dick inside of you.
Nothing was enough, nothing. No toy, nothing could replace him. You were about to cry, but you knew it wasn’t his fault.
Now, touch deprived, youre on your bed, flustered and red, warm and needy. You were so sexually frustrated you couldn’t help but cry,
you wanted him, you wanted him around you, you wanted him to treat you good,
to make you feel good, to focus on you, and you only.
Thinking about just being safe and comfortable enough to go fully into subspace because you trust him with everything,
the way you submit your body to him blindly, the way you give everything in his hand,
enough to fully let go and let him please you however he wants, and have his way with you.
All you could thing of was being all soft and dumb around him, fuzzy and fucked out of your brains, too needy to think straight,
getting praised and pleasure, being his good girl, submitting to him completely. You toss and turn, remembering his soft dirty whispers, you blush to yourself, dumb.
“baby?” you hear the door open, you were completely out of your mind to realise he had come home, you perk up at his voice, seeing you in this condition he’s taken back.
“oh my, oh my. is my baby needy? hm? are you in your subspace babygirl?” he changed his voice the moment he realised what was happening, you were clearly in your subspace. This had happened before, multiple times infact.
You whimper in response getting in his embrace, tears fill your eyes,
“My poor baby. Did you miss me so much? hm?” he said while getting on the bed brushing your clothed clit slightly,
oh the sight of you so turned on, out of your mind, whimpering and so red, he could forget the whole damm world and stare at it the whole day.
it was as if there was nothing better to do.
You whimper, the look in your eyes, he knew he couldn’t play with you.
“c’mere baby, let me take care of my princess”
all you could think about was pleasure, you were fuzzy and dumb.
you were completely disconnected with reality.
oh that expression on your face, hot red and needy, looking at him needy, how dare you disregard it.
he unzipped his pants and shirt, placing you in his lap gently while whispering things in your ear, sending chills down your bone,
you felt so overstimulated even though nothing had happened.
“oh my pretty, pretty baby” he placed a kiss against your neck, sucking your earlobe as he rubs circles on your clit,
“so wet baby, so wet for me.” he places another kiss on your cleavage.
the wet sounds turned him on so much, you were so wet for him, only for him.
it fed his ego, his pride and strengthened the fact that you belong to him,
“need you, please” you couldn’t bare it, you would usually love it but right now, all you could think was of his dick inside of you raw.
“yeah? you need daddy’s dick in that pretty little whole of yours?” he chuckles as he places you gently on the bed, tying your hand slightly to the headboard. Making sure they weren’t too tight, he sucks on your breast, while the other hand treats your clit.
“my pretty baby, my patient baby, you deserve all the pleasure in this world” he whispered as he looked deep into your eyes, a string of saliva on his soft pink lips.
he rubs his tip slightly, you flinch,
it felt too good, you couldn’t wait any longer,
the moment he entered you he couldn’t maintain his pace, the sight of you, all submissive and brain fucked in front of him, he couldn’t control it.
you were a mess, moaning continuously, chanting his name,
“yes baby, all mine. you’re all fucking mine. my pretty baby, this is fucking mine”
one hand on the headboard the other playing with your clit, as he slams into your hole,
he places a pillow under your abdomen,
“you-.” thrust, “are-.” thrust, “all-.” thrust “mine.”
oh, you were on cloud 9.
you were practically screaming at this point, no shame, no one could stop you.
you were out of your senses to realise.
“im gonna cum, channie— please” you begged,
“don’t stop, please dont stop.”
“cum for me baby, fucking cum around my cock, cum while im fucking you, cum like the little cumslut you are.”
he didn’t stop, you were clenching around him and he only paced his speed, reaching for his high,
“cum in me, breed me, please.” you whimper, tears fall from your eyes,
“aw? does my baby want to be breeded? want to carry daddy’s babies?” he said sucking the sensitive spot on your neck,
“mhm—.” you couldn’t comprehend or speak anything,
the way he was pacing up every second, hands tied you were helpless,
“im gonna breed you baby, gonna breed my lil princess” he said as he left his release deep in you,
inspecting and making sure every drop of it was in you, nothing to be wasted.
he rubbed your head, fixing your hair placing a soft kiss on your forehead, untying your hands and caressing them slightly.
“i love you—.” you said as you were about to doze off due to exhaustion,
he smiled and said, “i love you more babygirl, sleep well i’ll clean you up” he was about to get up but you stopped him,
“stay until i fall asleep, please”
he took you in his embrace, securing you in his arms, you felt asking nothing in this world could harm you in his arms,
as long as he was next to you, you had nothing to worry about.
he kissed your nose and patted your head,
you were safe.
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HELLO HELLOOOO
i lowkey may have spent a few hours stalking ur page last night and reading ur fics......
AND UR WRITING IS SO GOOD OHMGOSH.
i was wondering if i could request something angsty... (angst is my favorite genre of all time bro i read angst day and night i love it sm)
could you write a skz x 9th member who's usually pretty active and clingy around them?
and maybe smth has been stressing the group out (maybe like they keep messing up the choreography or vocals), and she tries to cheer them up with something like gift baskets (idk)
but like when she goes to hand them out (maybe when work is over for the day?), they snap because they think she's just trying to be playful and clingy again?
this isn't written out the best. im sorry 😓🙏🏻
IF U CANT WRITE THIS I UNDERSTAND BUT THANK YOU IN ADVANCE IF YOU DO!!! :D
I LOVE UR WRITING SM UGH ANYWAYS HAVE A GREAT DAY/NIGHT AND TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF!! 🫶🏻
OH MY GOSH THANK YOU SO MUCH :( !!! Y'all are all truly the sweetest ever :( This was literally so much fun to write hehehe I hope you enjoy!!!
When Your Love is Too Much
Skz x Fem!Reader, OT9 angst Request
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You weren’t oblivious.
You’d felt the tension thick in the air all week, it taut like a string pulled too tight, ready to snap at the slightest tug.
Mistimed choreography during rehearsals. Missed cues in vocal practices. Quiet bickering in the hallways when they thought no one else was listening. You heard it. You saw it. You felt it.
The exhaustion seeped into everything: the way Chan spoke more in sighs than words, the way Minho's patience wore thinner with each passing day, the way even Felix's warm energy had dulled into silence. You could barely recognize your team through the fog.
Even the spaces that once felt familiar- the snack shelf, the dorm kitchen, the group chat- all carried a kind of weight. Replies were slower, more dry. Snappy. Conversations fizzled. Smiles flickered like dying light bulbs. Shared jokes fell flat. Hugs became side pats. Eye contact felt rare.
So you did what you always did when things got bad, when things got stressful: you loved them harder.
They and Stay had always joked that you were the clingiest one in the group- always hanging off someone’s shoulder, always poking someone’s cheek, always chirping some dumb nickname that made the others groan but secretly smile, always wanting to play with someone's hair. You were like a little sibling. The mood-maker. The baby. The constant source of affection.
You didn’t mind the teasing. In fact, you leaned into it. You wore that label proudly. You knew how much your energy meant. You made it your purpose to be a buffer between pressure and burnout. And you couldn't help it because you loved the boys so much. You just had to show it.
But this time, you wanted to show it in a quieter way. Something that said, I see you. I know it’s hard. You’re not alone.
So you made little gift bags. It was a habit you had picked up more recently. When groups would come back from tour they'd receive little gifts from you, tokens of your appreciation and encouragement.
So you thought maybe the boys would like it.
And so you made them. One for each of them.
Jisung’s had a stress ball shaped like a cowboy emoji, his favorite late-night snack, some new guitar picks, and his favorite cologne.
Chan’s had a calming tea blend, a beanie, and a pocket sized notebook for the lyrics he always forgot to write down. Plus a fancy fountain pen.
Minho’s had tiger balm, a new toy for his cats, and a photo keychain of Soonie, Doongie, and Dori you printed at a machine by the train station. And with such a great price you got another of a silly selfie you two had together.
Felix’s had honey candy, a couple boxes of those star shaped pimple patches you had seen him use, and lavender and eucalyptus diffusing oils to help him sleep. Plus a plushie of a chicken wing you had happened to stumble by. Changbin’s had his favorite protein bars, some resistance bands, a funny motivational pin you found that said "Cry, then lift" and little book of "IOU" coupons- you figured if he always performed acts of service to show his love than you could for him.
Hyunjin’s had packet of cooling eye patches, a new sketch book, his favorite face wash and a new kneaded eraser.
Jeongin’s had variety box of strawberry, banana, and chocolate milk, a plush keychain shaped like a bread bun, a new case for his headphones and fuzzy socks.
Seungmin’s had a leather bookmark, his favorite gum, a tiny bottle of his favorite fabric freshener for his bedsheets when you guys were on the road, and matching skincare headbands for you and him. (Although he never admitted it his favorite part of touring was your skin care and gossip time).
You knew what made them feel cared for. You knew them.
You spent the whole day sneaking around, tucking the bags behind your back when someone passed, making excuses to duck out during breaks, taping handwritten notes to each one:
"I know it’s been a lot lately. Just wanted to say I love you and I’m proud of you. You’re doing better than you think! Love, Y/N"
You spent an embarrassing amount of time tying ribbons. You even color-coordinated them to match the member’s personalities. You hoped they’d notice.
You didn’t expect much. You didn’t want a big thank-you or dramatic hugs. You just wanted to make them smile. Or ease something. Anything.
When practice finally ended, you waited for the right moment. The room was dimmer now, lights low, bodies slouched in sweaty heaps. Water bottles half-drunk. Shoes untied. Everyone was scattered- exhausted, emotionally frayed, shoulders slumped. But no one was yelling. No one was crying. You figured that was as good a time as any.
So you tiptoed in with your arms full of care and hope and-
“Y/N, not now.”
Chan's voice was sharp. Not as sharp as his movements though. He didn’t even look up. He was wiping sweat from his neck, a towel slung over one shoulder, a boiling frustration visible in every twitch of his body.
You froze.
You hadn’t even spoken yet. Just one step through the door and a few bags still clutched tightly in your hands.
“I- I just thought…”
Jisung groaned, flopping dramatically onto the couch. “God, can you not do the whole hyper-sunshine thing right now?! We’re exhausted.”
Your mouth opened, then closed.
You felt the unmistakable pressure of tears burn behind your eyes.
Felix wouldn’t meet your eyes. Hyunjin took off his cap, dragged a hand through his hair, muttered something like “why now” under his breath.
You shifted your weight from one foot to the other. “I wasn’t trying to be annoying.”
Minho glanced over from where he was tying his shoes. His voice wasn’t cruel, but it was flat. Tired. “It’s not about that. It’s just… timing, Y/N. Seriously. You need to learn to read the room sometimes. It gets a bit much.”
A pause hung between you all, filled with nothing but the sound of someone’s water bottle tipping over and rolling across the floor.
You felt like you were shrinking. Like the walls had taken a step closer.
They were tired. You knew that. You weren’t stupid. You weren’t trying to make things worse.
But now the ribbon in your hands felt childish. The paper bags looked crumpled and dumb and too colorful for a room that felt so gray.
“…Right,” you mumbled, lowering your arms. “Sorry. I’ll just- leave them here..." You're voice trailed off as Hyunjin was the first to exit the room in frustration followed by Changbin to go calm him down.
Changbin, the one who usually was the most in tune to your feelings bumping past you without as much as a second glance.
Jeongin was next, with the rest of the boys in town, Chan closing his laptop rather forcefully before snatching his bag and heading out the room.
"Make sure to hit the lights when you're done."
By the time you regained yourself, trying to blink away your humiliation and breathe through the heaviness in your chest you opted to dump the bags in the trash bin, sending something akin to a prayer as a silent apology to the janitor who had long since emptied the trash bin when he had realized that you guys would be there late into the evening.
You watched the bags until you slammed the lid shut. Immediately feeling a wave of guilt at what you had done, and leaning down to try and collect the bags, but noticed that Chan's fountain pen had somehow busted, leaving the other bags and gifts - as well as your hands - stained a purplish black.
The tears you had tried so hard to stop then poured out, and you felt so helpless in the moment.
All the frustration and tension from the past few weeks you had sponged up from the boys hit you full force like a bullet train, but manifested in the feeling of heartbreak.
You had tried to do something nice but instead you had made everything worse.
You had tried to show your love but it was minimized to you being annoying, clingy, "hyper-sunshine" as Jisung so kindly put it.
You felt like a burden.
One that was obviously too much for the guys to carry.
That night, you didn’t crawl into anyone’s bed to cuddle like usual. You went straight to yours. It seemed the boys hadn't even noticed you're arrival, with everyone tucked away into their own corners.
You shut your door gently. Curled up under your blanket. Didn’t even change out of your practice clothes. Just lay there, hoodie still clinging to your back, the scent of effort and sweat and rejection still thick on your skin.
You thought maybe - just maybe someone would notice. That someone might knock, if only to tell you you were being dramatic.
That someone somehow had went to the studio looking for you, only to open the trash and see the bags, would maybe bring one of them back and joke that the gifts weren't of their interest at all, only for you to tell them they had chosen the wrong one.
They'd laugh.
Everything would be happy again.
But the dorm was silent.
No knocking on Seungmin’s door for a movie. No climbing into Changbin’s lap with a dumb joke. No stealing Minho’s slippers or throwing an orange at Jisung because he refused to drink water.
The dorm felt quieter.
Not because everyone else was being quieter.
But because you were.
Your presence had always been loud. Bright. The soft, persistent hum in the background of their lives. Even when you weren’t speaking, you filled the space- buzzing energy, laughter, the click of your nails on your phone, the shuffle of your socks on the floor.
Now there was just…nothing.
The emptiness stretched longer than it should have. Minute by minute. Until the ache in your chest was a dull pulse. Until even crying felt like effort.
You waited.
And waited.
You stared at the door, hoping to see the light from the hallway spill into the dark. You imagined Felix’s head peeking in. Or Chan sitting by your bed, petting your head the way he did when you couldn’t sleep after a bad day. Or Hyunjin slipping a note under the door with a dumb doodle of you two as penguins.
But it never came.
There was no knock. No text. Not even a group chat ping.
Eventually, your eyes burned too much to stay open.
You rolled over. Pulled the blanket over your head.
Willed yourself to forget how small your love had suddenly started to feel.
Willed yourself to stop hoping.
But the thing about love- real love- is that it lingers. Even when it's quiet. Even when it's bruised.
And tonight yours was screaming with no reply.
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@abovenyx @wolfs-archive @oddracha @iyeeeverydee @parisanmorovati @seungmincenteric @panbish-1209 @fxiry-vtt @sseawavee @shuporanporang @amarecerasus @softkisshyunjin @whoa-jo @meanergreener @rikibun @ayyonoona @shinywombatcrusade @y4yayael @skzstan12345 @mariteez @allys-reads @jazziwritesthings @skzstannie @yongbokkiesworld @kkkeopi @neverendingstay @moony-9 @minsungsthirdwheel @everlastingspring143 @joyofbebbanburg @leezanetheofficial @tr-mha-fan @bubbly-moon @night-storm7 @missmajdastark @axel-skz @rockstarkkami @emilyywhyy @lezleeferguson-120
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I didn’t want it to end 😭
𝐈'𝐦 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬—𝘉𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘹 (𝘧𝘦𝘮) 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳
A Stray Kids one shot

Synopsis: He's moving out. But before he does, he gives you something that you'll remember forever...
Warnings: SMUT 🔞, Angst, Tension. Unprotected sex. Non!idol au. Tears, pet names (baby), beginning of long distance, oral (f. recieving), face sitting, multiple orgasms/rounds.
Minors do not interact!!!
Note: The reason why I wrote this
If this isn't your thing, you're more than welcome to skip it.
Reblogs, likes, comments and feedbacks are always appreciated.
ɪ'ᴠᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴏꜰ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ɪᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪʟʟɪᴏɴ ᴛɪᴍᴇꜱ ʙᴜᴛ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴘᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪꜱᴛᴀᴋᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴡʜᴇʀᴇ, ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡ.
Word count:6.2k
𝑬𝑵𝑱𝑶𝒀!
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁
Everyone was gathered up in the living room, the table filled with sushi takeout and drinks, music playing on the TV and dim LED lights sparkling, casting a shadow on the walls.
The usual group was here, Jisung already cracking open a beer, Hyunjin in the corner taking videos for his story, and you… sitting beside Chan on the floor, knees brushing.
He laughed at something Seungmin said, head tipping back slightly, dimples flashing. God, that smile. It still hit you like the first time.
But underneath the laughter, there was a heaviness that clung to your chest. This wasn’t just another hangout. This was the last night.
He was moving out tomorrow. New job. New city. And you weren’t going with him.
“Drink?” he asked, his voice low as he leaned closer, holding out a can.
You nodded, accepting it with a quiet “Thanks,” your fingers grazing him. The night passed in a blur of noise and smiles. But your eyes kept drifting back to him.
His hoodie sleeves rolled up to his forearms, his silver ring and bracelets catching the light as he drummed the table absently. The way he leaned back and watched everyone with that gentle gaze.
The way he caught your eye…and held it.
Eventually everyone said goodbye one by one, until it was only you and Chan staying behind in your apartment. You decided to throw him a leaving party. That's the least you thought you could do.
As you started clearing the table, throwing away the takeout boxes and soda cans in the kitchen trash, you suddenly felt something, almost like a warm blanket enveloping you.
"You okay?" Chan's voice was gentle.
You turned, looking at him but not entirely through your shoulder. “Yeah. Just… weird. That you’re really going.”
He exhaled through his nose, stepping closer. “Yeah. It doesn’t feel real.”
"Hmm," you hummed as you loaded the glasses into the dishwasher.
You felt him step closer to you and lean on the counter, watching your weirdly calculated moves. "You'll be dropping me at the airport tomorrow won't you?"
He asked and you turned up to meet his gaze almost immediately, your heart squeezed behind your ribcage but you played a smile.
"Of course." Your voice was barely above a whisper.
The dishwasher door creaked shut with a soft click, but neither of you moved. The kitchen suddenly felt smaller, quieter, like the rest of the apartment had dimmed, leaving just the two of you caught in this pocket of time that neither wanted to let slip away.
Chan's gaze lingered on you, as if memorizing your features, your tired eyes, the faint curve of your lips, the way you stood just a little tenser than usual. You knew he noticed.
He always did. That was one of the worst parts about this—how well he knew you.
"You don’t have to,” he said softly. “If it’s too hard.”
You furrowed your brows, stepping closer until there was hardly space between you. “Don’t say that.”
“But it is hard, isn’t it?” he murmured, his voice low, raw. “For me too.”
You didn’t know what to say. What could you say? Instead, your hand moved on its own, resting lightly against his chest.
His heart was racing. Just like yours. Maybe worse.
He covered your hand with his own, fingers wrapping around yours like they were always meant to be there.
You opened your mouth to respond, but the lump in your throat wouldn’t let you speak. You just stood there, tangled fingers between you, until he leaned down, pressing his forehead gently to yours.
The moment was soft. Heavy. Intimate in a way that made your lungs ache.
He pulled away just enough to look at you. Then slowly, wordlessly, his hand left yours and found your cheek, warm and steady. He gently squeezed your soft flesh, your face instantly flushed in a gentle smile.
"Squeeze squeeze," he teased, pinching a tiny bit harder. "I'll miss these."
You let out a soft chuckle, one that sounded more like a breath than anything else. “I’ll miss you doing that,” you whispered, voice trembling just enough for him to notice.
He let go of your cheeks and smoothed his thumb over them instead, the pad brushing back and forth like he was trying to ink in the shape of you. His gaze dropped, flicking from your eyes to your lips to the small part of your chest that rose and fell with every uneven breath you took.
The silence that stretched between you both was too much.
His hand was still on your face, fingers brushing your skin so softly it made you dizzy. The kind of touch that lingered. That said, I wish I had more time.
Before you knew it, your lips parted and he leaned down, his lips inches away from touching yours. He smelled like cedar and fresh laundry. Like comfort. Like home. His hand slid behind your neck, fingers threading gently through your hair.
But then, when the proximity was too much to bear, you turned your head, just the slightest ever, but that was enough to reject what was about to come.
"You'll regret doing that."
Was it possible to taste poison just from words? In this moment it surely seemed like. Your words weren't harsh, but it hit him like a car crash in slow motion.
"I will regret not doing it," He said roughly, almost like a command.
Your throat closed around a lump you couldn’t swallow. Your fingers gripped the fabric of his hoodie at his waist, not pulling him in, not pushing him away, just holding on.
“Chan…”
“Tell me to stop. Say it like you mean it… and I will.”
But you didn’t. You couldn’t.
Not when he looked at you like that. Not when your body was already arching subtly toward his, a magnetic pull you’d both tried so hard to ignore for too long.
Still, your voice came out strained. “This doesn’t fix anything.”
“I know.”
“And tomorrow, you’ll still be gone.”
"But we've still got like fifteen hours more, baby."
You looked up at him with tears brimming your lashes at the sound of that pet name slipping past his lips.
"I'm not your baby."
"You are my baby,” he repeated, voice low and hoarse. His thumb brushed your cheek, then traced the edge of your jaw, “You always will be. Whether I’m here, or halfway across the world.”
Your heart gave a sharp tug.
Fifteen hours. That’s all you had. Fifteen hours of pretending like it wasn’t ending. Fifteen hours to fall apart, and maybe fall into each other one last time.
The last rational thought in your head screamed at you to turn back before you shoved it aside and crushed your lips against his. It was desperate, messy, laced with all the years worth of hesitation finally giving out beneath the weight of goodbye.
You moaned into the kiss, fingers fisting his hoodie as he pressed you against the kitchen counter, the cool marble a jarring contrast to his feverish touch. His hands slid under your thighs, lifting you with ease, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively.
Your fingers went up his neck to tug his locks of curly hair, holding onto him like a salvation from destruction as he lifted you off the counter and carried you, stride purposeful and fast, toward your bedroom. His mouth never left yours, lips swollen, breaths tangled, his hands gripping you like he was afraid you’d vanish mid-step.
He kicked the door open, didn’t bother turning on the light. The soft LED glow from the hallway spilled across your sheets, painting your skin in colors of dusk and heartbreak.
Then climbed over you like you were something he was about to ruin—willingly.
Chan’s lips crushed on yours again as he tore your clothes off one by one and removed his shirt, leaving you in your underwear and revealing his bare torso. It wasn’t the first time you have seen him shirtless but it was the first time he saw you like this.
Sweet curves, soft thighs, the perfect tits—fuck you were heaven.
Your skin burned under his stare. Goosebumps rose across your body, even though the room was warm. It wasn’t just the way he looked at you—it was the way he felt you, nothing had barely started but he was already going through a thousand mental positions to take you in.
He leaned down again, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, then over your collarbones. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmured against your skin.
“You know I won’t,” you whispered back, threading your fingers through his hair and tugging just enough to make him groan.
That was all he needed.
He slid down your body slowly, his mouth trailing a heated path over your chest, pausing at your bra. With a flick of his fingers, it was off and forgotten and his mouth latched onto one of your erect nipples while his hand kneaded the other. You gasped, arching into him, the wet heat of his tongue sending pulses straight to your core.
“Chan—” your voice cracked as your toes curled.
He looked up at you, lips slick, eyes hooded and hungry. Then took the nipple back into his mouth, while his hand explored the expanse of your warm skin.
“Let me taste you.” He whispered after long seconds of sucking, leaving the sensitive buds covered with his saliva.
You nodded without hesitation.
With practiced ease, he tugged down your panties and tossed them aside. Then he pulled you toward the edge of the bed, lifting one leg over his shoulder again, the silver anklet giving a soft chime that made him pause and smirk darkly.
“That sound’s going to fuckin’ haunt me when I leave,” he said under his breath.
His eyes fell on your pussy, wet and needy, glazing and perfect that he lost his mind at the sight of it. He leaned and brushed his lips over your awaiting clit, his breath fanning over you. Before you could respond, his head dipped between your legs and your thoughts shattered.
His tongue slid through your folds with devastating precision, slow at first, taking his time like he had all fifteen hours to make you unravel. Your fingers immediately flew to his hair, hips bucking against his mouth, but he only gripped your thighs tighter, holding you down.
“Stay still, baby,” he murmured, voice muffled and sinful.
You tried but you couldn’t. Not when his mouth and tongue were working wonders. His lips wrapped around your clit and sucked and the moan that escaped you was like a sound of relief. He went between slow, teasing swipes and intense flicks over your swollen bud that made you whimper his name.
He slid a finger into you, then two, then three curling them just right, syncing every thrust with the movement of his tongue.
His other hand sunk into the flesh of your soft thighs, tight enough to leave his prints, his tongue assaulting your clit and fingers scissoring in you.
Your hips bucked up, wanting more friction and he gave it to you without hesitation. He looked up at you, his mouth never leaving your core, your chest was rising and falling, one hand tugging his hair and the other intertwining with his as he ate you out.
The second the tips of his digits kissed the sweet spot inside you, all thoughts vanished and you came faster than you could register it happening, body trembling, thighs clenching around his head. He groaned against you as you rode out your high, not stopping until you were writhing.
Tears had run down your face, not out of hurt but the sheer sensation of pleasure but he was just getting started. He finally pulled away, his lips were slick with you, his chin wet, and his eyes feral.
He crawled up your body, kissing the inside of your thigh, your stomach, your chest, until his mouth met yours again and you could taste yourself on his tongue. His arm slipped under your waist as he scooped to sit up, his dangerous dark eyes boring into you.
“Sit on my face.” He commanded and you could have sworn your face bursted red.
“W-what?” You blinked, your breathing still a bit uneven, heat flooding your cheeks and between your legs. “I just came…”
“And you’ll come again and again for the whole night,” he said, whiskey eyes locked on yours. “Now be a good girl and ride my mouth.”
Your breath hitched, and your heart thudded so hard you swore he could hear it. His gaze dropped briefly to your lips, then lower, where your legs still trembled from the orgasm he had just coaxed out of you like it was nothing. His hands never stopped caressing—one trailing up your spine, the other gripping the curve of your ass.
Slowly, he leaned back against the headboard, broad chest gleaming with sweat, hair tousled, lips still swollen.
You straddled his chest tentatively at first, your hands braced against the headboard for balance.
“C’mon, higher,” he coaxed, gripping your hips with both hands, dragging you up his torso, bracing your knees on either side of his head as you hovered above his mouth.
He didn’t give you time to second guess it. He looked up at you with such hunger, such devotion, that any embarrassment melted away under the weight of his worship.
“C’mere, baby,” he said lowly, voice like gravel. “Let me drown in you.”
His hands slid up your thighs, guiding your hips down until your dripping core hovered just above his face. He held you there for a moment, inhaling deeply, his eyes fluttering closed as if your scent alone was enough to drive him insane.
Your breath caught as you obeyed, lowering yourself slowly. And then his mouth was on your pussy.
He licked a broad, slow stripe through your folds, groaning like a man starved, like he couldn’t believe you were real. You gasped, your hands gripping the headboard behind him as your thighs closed around his head.
His tongue was relentless, circling, flicking, teasing your clit before diving down to fuck you with his mouth. Every movement was pure filth and precision, like he knew exactly how to pull the most obscene sounds from you.
You tried to lift your hips—overwhelmed by the stimulation—but he gripped your ass hard, forcing you to stay put.
“Don’t fucking run,” he murmured against your soaked core. “Take it.”
Your hips began to roll on instinct, grinding against his mouth as your thighs squeezed tighter around his head. The slurping sounds, his groans, your whimpers, it was all shameless, carnal and perfect.
“Chr—Chan, fuck—I, I can’t…” you cried, your body trembling, overwhelmed and raw from how good he was.
“Yes, you can,” he growled, tongue flicking furiously over your clit, one hand sliding between your cheeks to tease your other hole with the pad of his thumb then up the curve of your waist to hold you against him.
Every flick of his tongue, every suck on your clit sent another wave of sensation crashing into you. The angle made it too intense but the sounds coming from below you? The wet, filthy sounds of him feasting on you like you were his last meal?
They only made you grind harder.
He moaned again, louder this time, his tongue plunging into you while his nose nudged your clit, teeth grazing your bundle of nerves, giving you everything. You gasped, head falling forward and your hands holding the headboard so hard your knuckles turned white.
The outline of his bulge was now visible, his cock straining his pants that it felt like it could break out and spring free any second.
Your hips stuttered, thighs squeezing around his head, and you cried out his name as the second orgasm ripped through you—stronger, messier, overwhelming. Your whole body shook with it, tears threatening again from how good it felt. How deep it went.
Your body snapped.
You came with a strangled sob, back arching as your vision blurred, your essence gushing into his mouth and dripping down his chin. He moaned like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted, his grip on your hips keeping you firmly pressed to his mouth until he milked every last tremble from you.
When you finally collapsed off him, your body limp and shaking, he caught you with strong arms and pulled you against his chest. His eyes were nearly black as he licked his lips, savoring you.
“Fucking angel,” he murmured, voice low and wrecked. “You taste like sin.”
You barely had time to catch your breath before he flipped you onto your back again. His body loomed over yours, chest heaving. He stripped off the rest of his clothes, and your eyes dropped directly to the dark happy trail going down to the thick length of him, flushed and hard, standing heavy against his abs.
You guessed enough times that he was big, but fuck he was huge. There’s no way he’d fit.
Chan lifted your leg, the anklet dangling as he rested it on his shoulder before grazing the pre-cum leaking tip against your puffy folds. The contact made you whimper, your back arched ever so lightly off the mattress, the bulbous head continuing to tease your needy entrance.
You hiccuped, cheeks flushed and eyes glassy as you watched his chest rise and fall like a storm waiting to break. He looked at you, eyes blazing, mouth parted, chest still heaving. His hand slid along your outer thigh, his thumb grazing the anklet.
“You're—” your voice broke, almost barely, “You wouldn't—,” gosh how could you say that out loud? You've had your fair share of filthy thoughts about him but when did it happen? Nothing prepared you for that.
“You were saying?” he murmured, cocking his head slightly, voice lower now. A dangerous kind of calm, like the quiet just before thunder.
You swallowed, lashes fluttering. “You wouldn’t fit.”
His gaze darkened at that. A shiver rolled down your spine at the way his lips tugged into a grin. Not mocking but possessive.
“We will make it fit,” he said.
He guided his length down again, dragging the tip through your folds, soaking it with your slick, teasing the swollen entrance that was already clenching around nothing.
“See how wet you are for me?” he whispered, voice fraying at the edges. “Your body already knows.”
You whined when he rubbed the head against your entrance again, firm, slow, achingly controlled.
He leaned over you, lips ghosting over your mouth as he whispered, “I’m not going to just fuck you. I'm going to make you feel everything. You're going to take what I give you and that's all that's going to be with you forever.”
You swallowed hard, eyes locked with his and letting the tension of his words echo in your mind.
He laid his hard thick shaft on top of your stomach, leaving a trail of anticipation surge through your body. “That’s how far I’ll go. How far you’re gonna take me.” His voice unfolded like layers of velvet and you were already on liquid fire.
Your fingers pressed into the stiffness of his biceps, bracing yourself as he finally began to push in.
Just the tip at first, easing into your swollen entrance with careful control, stretching you slow, watching your face the entire time. You gasped, eyes fluttering shut, back arching, mouth parting, but he stilled.
“Eyes on me,” he commanded darkly.
You obeyed, looking up at him, trembling.
“Good girl,” he growled, before he sunk in the rest of the way, inch by inch, until he was buried to the hilt inside you. To the very spot he showed that was going to reach.
Your bodies were flush, your walls wrapped tight around him. Your mouth opened in a silent cry, and he let out a guttural moan that vibrated straight through your chest.
He didn’t move for a moment. Just held you like that. Letting you feel and adjust to all of him.
“Too—big, ha,” your acrylics grooved crescents deep enough to leave scars on him, forcing your tight walls to accommodate him.
“You're taking me so fucking well baby,” he brushed his lips against the corner of your eye, holding back from spilling his load right then and there.
Then slowly he began to thrust when the stretching discomfort was replaced, hips moving with a rhythm that felt punishing but reverent. As if he was trying to memorize the plush of your pussy before time ran out.
Every stroke hit deep, right against the spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyes, and the way he angled your leg higher against his shoulder only opened you more, made you more vulnerable to his every movement.
“You were mine,” he panted, lips brushing against yours. “You always are.”
“Even if you go?” you choked out, clutching his back as he drove into you again.
“Especially if I go.”
Your head fell back in a scream when his cock hit you in a strong stroke that left no air in your lungs.
The leg resting on his shoulder shifted as he leaned in closer, folding you further until he was practically in your chest, your bodies perfectly molded, your skin flushed and slick with sweat.
He hissed, sinking in, your gummy walls continuing to clamp him. He growled and cursed loudly as he drilled into your hole, leaving no space for either one of you to breathe.
He let you straighten your legs and then suddenly one hand slipped under your back to arch you toward him, the other tangled into your hair, holding you there as he kissed you. All teeth and tongue and breathless moans between your sobs.
You didn’t know where the tears started. Maybe it was the intense fucking. Maybe it was the weight of goodbye closing in on your chest. Maybe it was him—this version of him—falling apart inside you.
His thrusts faltered slightly, and you felt him throb deep inside. “So. Fucking. Tight.”
“God yes—don’t stop—don’t you dare stop,” you whimpered, as your hips began to buck up to meet his, chasing the high clawing its way through your veins.
He kissed you deeply, swallowing every sound you made as he drove into you faster, rougher, the headboard knocking faintly against the wall. The anklet jingled with every thrust, a wicked reminder of just how vulnerable, how claimed you were beneath him.
“Oh my—Chan—”
“Right there?” he smirked, rolling his hips again and again into that perfect angle, his hand coming up to press gently on your stomach. “You feel me deep in there, baby?”
You nodded frantically, eyes squeezing shut as your walls clenched around him.
“I want you to remember this,” he said, leaning down to kiss your temple, then your cheek. “Every time you touch yourself. Every time you're alone.”
“This—”thrust—“how I'm making you feel now”—thrust—“this is mine.”
So many emotions were rushing through your mind, not a single one coherent. One was the pain of him leaving, the other was the pleasure he was giving, and the other knowing that you still have him before you're helpless to stop him.
But despite all those emotions, the tears were still unstoppable. They leaked from the corners of your eyes, down to your face, that crushed his soul.
“Baby…baby…” he slowed his pace, looking straight into you.
“Relax, just relax, I'm right here with you.” he whispered, his voice a soft plea as he cupped your face with trembling hands. The pad of his thumb brushed beneath your eye, catching a tear before it could slip down to your ear.
His thrusts had slowed, just the bare roll of his hips now, like he was afraid to hurt you, like he was grounding himself in your trembling body. “Talk to me,” he murmured, forehead against yours, breaths mingling. “What’s wrong, baby?”
You shook your head. You couldn’t speak. The knot in your throat was too thick. It wasn’t just sadness, it was the overwhelming contradiction of loving someone you weren’t allowed to keep and watch him go.
“It’s nothing,” you rasped, but he didn’t believe you. You knew he didn’t. He kissed the center of your forehead, then your nose, then the corner of your mouth like he was trying to kiss the hurt away.
“Don’t do that,” he said quietly, voice thick. “Don’t pretend it’s nothing when you’re breaking right in front of me.”
Your lip trembled. “Because you’re leaving. Because this—this isn’t just sex, and you know that. You know that.”
He froze. His breath hitched like he’d just been stabbed in the ribs. His eyes trailed down to where you both joined and then back up, pressing his mouth to yours; desperate, searing, tasting of both love and goodbye. “I know,” he whispered against your lips.
“I know. But if I ask you to come with me, would you?”
You stiffened beneath him. His body was still inside yours, his warmth wrapped around you, and yet…the question sucked all the air from the room. He already knew the answer but a part of him hated himself for asking anyway.
“I—” You opened your mouth, but no sound came. Just the silence of your hesitation. Your hands gripped his biceps, fingertips digging in like if you held tight enough, you could stop time.
His eyes were searching yours now. Hopeful. Already hurting.
“I can’t,” you finally whispered. The words shattered between your lips like glass.
His entire frame went still. Then he looked away, blinking hard, his jaw clenching as he withdrew just slightly, like the truth burned too much to stay close.
You closed your eyes shut, more tears streaming down your face. Regret slashed across his face, he leaned in fast, brushing away the cold streaks with his lips.
“I’m sorry…”—kiss— “I’m sorry baby, I shouldn’t have asked you that,”—kiss— “but I’m here with you right now and I need you to be with me please.” He kissed your flushed hot cheeks frantically.
You nodded helplessly, your fingers tangling into his hair, pulling him closer. You gasped as he pressed deeper inside you again, the stretch burning in the most beautiful way. His hands cradled your face as he began to move, imprinting himself into your very soul.
“Look at me,” he whispered, voice ragged as he rolled his hips, grinding against that sweet spot inside you. “It’s only you and me right now.”
Your eyes fluttered open, glazed and glassy as they locked onto his. He smiled softly at you, and you did too, with trembling lips, tracing the line of his sharp jaw with your finger tips.
“You'll be okay,” he said quietly.
You tensed. “Don’t—”
He kissed the top of your head before you could argue, holding you tighter. “No. Let me say this.”
You let him. Even though your chest already ached with the weight of it.
“You're strong, you always are. And I need to believe that when I'm gone, you'll still be smiling, laughing and living your life.”
The weight of his words felt awfully too much to register, so painful but true, and yet, he was still here. Still buried inside you, still holding you like you were the only thing tethering him to the earth.
“I'm only one flight away. Maybe a few hours but I can always come back. I want you to be strong for you and me. But until you can, I will be for the both of us. Okay?”
Your breath hitched, your eyes glistening as you nodded, unable to speak. His grip on your waist tightened as he moved harder now, his hips snapping with more urgency as your thighs wrapped around his waist. His pelvis brushed your clit with every thrust, and the tension built so fast it almost hurt.
He reached down between your bodies, finding your swollen nub with his fingers, skilled and relentless. His other hand laced with yours above your head, pinning it into the pillow as he kept rocking into you, deliberate and deep.
You clenched around him with every drag of his cock, every swirl of his fingers, and soon you were panting, chasing the high that built with blistering intensity.
“I want you to come for me again,” he growled, teeth grazing your lower lip. “Soak me. Let me feel it.”
The orgasm slammed into you like a wave, pulling a scream from your throat as your body arched off the bed, legs trembling, fingers clawing at him. You clenched around him so tight that he cursed loud and broken.
“Fuck, I’m gonna—” he choked out, hips stuttering.
“Inside,” you whispered without thinking. “Please. Want to feel you.”
He didn’t think twice. His hips jerked as he spilled hot white ribbons deep inside you with a strangled groan, cock twitching mercilessly and collapsing against you, panting into your neck. You held him as his body blanketed yours, sweaty and warm. His cock still buried deep, twitching inside you as your walls pulsed in aftershocks.
You both remained tangled in each other, breathless and spent, before you opened your eyes to look at him. Eyes red-rimmed, lips kiss-bruised. “More. I want more.” you whispered, shoving down any other thought that threatened to creep up your head.
He lifted his head just enough to see your face. The way you looked at him, soft and broken and hungry for something only he could give, made his chest tighten painfully.
“Yeah?” he whispered, brushing a thumb over your cheek. “You want more, baby?”
You nodded, bottom lip caught between your teeth, eyes glistening. “Don’t stop. Just… make it go away.”
His heart cracked wide open. Because he knew exactly what it was. The morning. The distance. The ache of knowing this was borrowed time. And he would give you everything he had until there was nothing left.
He kissed you again, slow and deep this time, dragging his tongue along yours as he began to move inside you once more. Gentle, languid thrusts that had you gasping all over again. You were so sensitive, every stroke made your body tremble, but you welcomed it. Welcomed him.
“You feel that?” he murmured against your lips, grinding into you with purpose. “How full you are with me?”
“Mhm,” you whimpered, arms tightening around his neck. “Don’t stop, please…”
“Never,” he swore, kissing your temple, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. “As long as you want me, I’m yours.”
Your hips rose to meet his, your slick making every movement seamless, soaked with him. His release still inside you, mixing with your own, making each thrust filthy and maddeningly raw.
It was too much. It was never enough.
His lips trailed down to your neck, sucking at the skin just above your pulse, marking you like instinct. Your fingers dragged down his back, nails scoring lightly along his spine, and he hissed against your skin.
He shifted slightly, changing the angle, and you gasped again as he hit deeper, brushing against that raw, sensitive spot that made your toes curl and your walls clamp down around him.
“That’s it,” he groaned, hips stuttering again. “So fucking perfect around me. Can’t get enough of you.”
The shape of his thick cock was basically engraved inside your pussy, the way it kept kissing the spot again and again in a plap! plap! plap!
You felt another wave begin to build but slower this time. A soft burn instead of a wildfire. It crawled up your spine, wound itself around your lungs, and settled deep in your belly.
You didn’t care how many times you climaxed tonight. Didn’t care how messy it was or how sore you’d be. All you wanted was to feel him. To lose yourself in him over and over until the sun came up and you had no more tears left to cry.
His mouth never left your skin. His hands never stopped touching you, holding you like a man who couldn’t bear the thought of letting go.
You came again—harder this time, with a sharp cry into his shoulder—and he followed, body shuddering, forehead pressed to yours as he emptied himself inside you again, deeper, slower, like he was planting himself there. Like he needed to leave a part of himself in you to survive the goodbye.
You both climbed and crashed together over and over till it was physically impossible to go further. Only then did you stop, covered in sweat, filled with his cum, breaths erratic and hearts lost.
Your fingers curled into his hair, cradling his head against your chest as you both tried to breathe. It was everything you never said. Everything you wouldn’t say tomorrow at the airport.
Everything he gave you tonight instead.
His final gift.
His goodbye.
***
The next morning you woke up in Chan’s arms, your face tucked into the crook of his neck, your legs tangled like vines under the sheets. The soft golden light of dawn painted the room in a gentle hue, but it did nothing to ease the weight pressing on your chest.
His hold on you had loosened—reluctantly. You barely stirred as he kissed your shoulder, one last lingering touch before he slipped out of bed. You listened to the soft patter of his steps, the creak of the bathroom door, and the rush of the shower.
When he stepped out of the bathroom, dressed in a plain black shirt and faded jeans from last night, hair damp and curling at the ends, his eyes softened the second they met yours. He hesitated in the doorway like he wasn’t ready either.
You got out of bed and quickly freshened up as well, he made you both a coffee and after the quick breakfast he moved to you, kissed your forehead, and whispered, “Let’s go.”
The ride to his apartment was quiet. Hyunjin was already outside waiting when you pulled up. He raised a brow at the two of you but didn’t say much. He didn’t have to. He knew.
As Chan ran to change into a new outfit, grab his suitcase and passport from inside, Hyunjin leaned against the car and gave you a small smile, one laced with quiet understanding. “You holding up?”
You nodded, even though your throat was tight. “Trying.”
“Yeah,” he said gently. “Me too.”
Hyunjin hopped into the driver’s seat of your car once he returned, Chan and you slipping to the back. You leaned into Chan’s shoulder, letting the feel of his warmth, his scent, his breathing sink in.
He kept rubbing slow, soothing circles into your hand with his thumb, like he was trying to do the same to you too. The ride to the airport felt like both forever and not long enough.
At the airport, everything moved too fast.
Check-ins, security lines, gate numbers, it all blurred into a whirlwind of fluorescent lights and boarding calls. But somehow, time slowed when you reached the final point. The spot where you couldn’t follow.
The barrier.
“Hyunjin,” Chan turned first to his best friend, pulling him into a firm hug. “Take care.”
Hyunjin hugged him back tightly. “You know I will. You as well, yeah?” He gave him a soft clap on the back, his voice a little thick. “Text when you land.”
Then Chan turned to you.
You weren’t ready.
You didn’t know if you ever could be.
His eyes were unreadable at first. Then he reached up slowly, fingers hooking the chain around his neck, the one he’d worn for as long as you could remember.
You opened your mouth to protest, but he was already leaning forward, slipping it over your head, the cool metal brushing against your skin before it settled above your heart.
His fingertips lingered there. Over your chest. “Now I’m always with you,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “Every heartbeat.”
You swallowed hard, blinking fast.
“No matter the time zone, the miles, the bullshit that comes between us, I’ll still be yours. I love you. Alright?”
Your lips parted in a silent cry, eyes filling again. “You promise?”
I love you too
“I do.” He smiled, but it trembled. “I promise you I’ll come back. But until then… hold on to this.”
He wrapped you tightly in his arms, fresh tears slid down your cheeks, soaking his hoodie. He gave you one last kiss. Gentle. Final. Brushing his lips on your forehead, then stepped away before he could change his mind.
You didn’t even realize you were crying until he turned toward the gate and then disappeared. You reached for him instinctively but Hyunjin was there, whose arms caught you as your knees buckled, as the sobs broke loose from where you’d buried them all morning.
He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to, just held you as you sobbed into his chest, til your shaking slowed.
Until the pain settled into something quieter.
“You’ll see him again,” Hyunjin whispered eventually, resting his chin on your head. “Don’t worry.”
You clutched the chain at your neck and nodded.
Because even though your heart felt like it had shattered into a thousand pieces, you knew one thing for sure.
Chan carried half of them with him. And you carried his.
No matter the distance.
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Rain
Network: @staynotes
Pairing: Hyunin x fem!Reader
Other Characters: none
Summary: Three weeks post-breakup, Hyunjin shows up to apologize with all he has.
Genre: exes to lovers, angst with happy ending, smut, 18+ MDNI
Content warnings: lots of crying, heartbreak, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex (don't be stupid), piv, multiple orgasmns
Word Count: 3086
A/N: can't thank @skzdreamer13 enough for their feedback on this, love you to the moon and back <3
It’s been three weeks. Three miserable, horrific, painful weeks. His words still ring in your head. "I can't deal with you anymore," he'd said. You'd been needy, he'd been busy, you'd felt neglected. Weeks of unanswered calls, missed reservations, empty bedsheets had led up to an explosion of bottled-up feelings. Both of you had screamed, saying things you didn't mean.
But in the end, you'd left that night, feeling heartbroken and oddly empty, stumbled home, blocked his number. You had cried for days. You were still crying.
Hyunjin is everything to you. Always has been. Always will be. There aren’t many things you’re certain of, but Hyunjin being your soulmate is one of them. And now he's gone. No contact for three hellish weeks. You took a few sick days from work, shut out all your friends - not ready to tell them. Not ready to write it out. Spell it out. We broke up. It feels wrong. It feels like a lie, even though you know it’s over.
Instead, you spend your days - and also some particularly horrendous nights - on the couch, surrounded by your stash of cookies and chocolate, trying to drown the burning, biting, blazing pain in your chest.
It doesn’t work.
It’s a rainy Sunday. Your phone sits beside you on the couch, taunting you with notifications from worried friends and nosy family members. You’ve given them one-word answers to keep them off your back. There’s a part of you, somewhere beneath the lingering hurt, the grief of losing your one true love, that urges you to tell them the truth. But your heart is too heavy, your mind too foggy, and you just can’t bring yourself to do it.
So you just sit there, listening to the rain hammer against your windows, some anime show flickering on the TV. It’s more to drown out the silence than to actually watch it.
Ding-dong.
You blink repeatedly as the sound of the doorbell pulls you from your thoughts. You’re not expecting anyone. Right? It’s Sunday evening. Who would show up unannounced? Your eyes drift to your phone, lighting up again with more notifications. You sigh. Maybe it’s your best friend - she would show up without warning. But on a Sunday? You sigh again.
Ding-dong.
You grumble, slowly rising, the blanket still wrapped tightly around your body. Whoever it is will have to deal with you looking like a sick raccoon - dark circles under your eyes, messy hair, tear-streaked cheeks. If it’s one of your friends, they won’t care anyways. If it’s not, maybe you can use your current state to scare them off. You tap towards the door, don’t even check the spy hole. Too much effort. You just open the door - and freeze.
Hyunjin.
He’s a vision. Tall and beautiful - and completely soaked. His short hair sticks to his forehead, his hoodie clings to his arms and chest, his sweatpants hang heavy and dangerously low on his hips. He looks like a wet cat. He also looks divine. It’s such a dichotomy, such a paradox, but somehow it fits. Even drenched in rainwater, eyes puffy from crying - because he’s very clearly been crying - he looks like a damn angel.
All you can do is stare at him, eyes wandering up and down his body, searching his face, taking in his form, as your heart clenches painfully in your chest. There he is - the man you love more than you ever thought possible, the only person you’ve ever told all your secrets to - and all you want to do is slam the door in his face. Because how dare he just show up like this? After that fight? After all those daggers he sent through your heart?
Your hand tightens around the door handle. You’re almost ready to send him away - and then a sob breaks from his lips. It’s a broken thing, short and breathless and heavy. It rips through you with unexpected force, pulling at your heartstrings, shattering your resolve.
So you step aside, wordlessly inviting him in.
Some voice in your head yells at you, but you tune it out. The door falls shut behind him. You stare at each other, tears streaking both your faces. You stare until you can’t take it anymore, until his gaze grows too heavy and you feel your heart crumble in your chest. Ashamed, you look away, suddenly very interested in your floor boards. That’s when you see the puddle. There’s an actual puddle building underneath him, wet clothes dripping relentlessly. Your head snaps back up.
"Bathroom. Now."
He looks down, tries to understand. “Oh”, he says as he discovers the issue. You’re already halfway to the bathroom when he reaches you. Awkwardly, he pushes past you and proceeds to stand between your bathtub and your sink, looking like a lost puppy. A wet, lost puppy. “I’m sorry”, he says, when you continue staring at him, unsure what to do with yourself. Or with him. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll clean it up later.” A broken, humourless laugh escapes him. “Not what I meant.” “Oh.”
Silence fills the space between you, as you look at each other, neither of you able to hold eye contact for long. “Why are you here, Hyunjin?”, you ask eventually, voice shakier than you’d like it to be. He takes a deep breath, a stray tear running down his perfect cheek.
“I missed you”, he confesses. Another sob breaks from his lips before he can stop it. Your heart hurts. “I couldn’t stop thinking about our fight…I couldn’t stop thinking about you…it’s just…I missed you so much and it hurt to be without you and I can’t believe I said all of those vile things!”
Helplessly, he tries to dry his cheeks with the soaked sleeves of his hoodie. It only makes it worse, rain water joining the tears dripping from his chin. There’s a whole new puddle on the floor beneath him. He looks heartwarmingly pathetic like this, so much smaller than he actually is, and you feel your heart soften just a bit.
“Please”, he says, “I know I fucked up. I know I sent you away and it was the worst thing I’ve ever done!” He’s rambling now, words falling from his lips without thought or filter, and all you can do is listen. You don’t have it in you to interrupt him. Not when his eyes are this big and red and filled with grief.
“When I said that…that I can’t deal with you anymore…I shouldn’t have…I never meant to…I never meant that! I was so tired and stressed and I know that’s no excuse, but I just…I took it out on you and I’m so so sorry, please…please Y/N…” His voice finally falters. His eyes are fixed on you, the tiniest bit of hope shimmering beneath the tears that still keep coming.
There’s a shift in the air as he takes a step towards you. The awkwardness disappears, leaving the air thick with the lingering uncertainty of your reply. “I’m so sorry, Y/N”, he repeats, locking eyes with you. His hands are twitching, like he wants to touch you but isn’t sure he’s allowed to. You feel another wave of tears rolling down your face. You feel your heart painfully hammering against your chest.
“Please”, he all but whispers, the longing in his eyes so strong you might just drown in it, “say something.” You let out a shaky breath.
“I don’t know…”, is all you can manage.
Because you don’t. You have no idea how to forgive his words. You know that all you want is to be back with him, to be wrapped in his arms, to laugh about stupid jokes and spend the nights painting and drinking wine until neither of you can draw a straight line, to fall asleep tangled up in his sheets and spend every damn day telling him about the most mundane shit.
You just don’t know how to go back. How to forgive the hurtful things he said. How to rectify your own venomous words.
“Please”, he begs again, taking another step towards you, despite the limited space, as if he can’t stop himself. As if he’s drawn to you by some invisible force. And then you reach out, because you can’t stand the tremor in his voice and the hurt on his face.
Your fingers brush his cheeks just so, your eyes soften as you keep them locked on his, and it’s all he needs. Suddenly, his arms wrap around you and his lips crash into yours and you’re pressed against his soaked hoodie, blanket pooling forgotten at your feet. You don’t even remember dropping it.
You also forgot that you’re wearing nothing but panties and a crop top.
Hyunjin notices immediately, hands pressed to the bare skin on your back as he pulls you against him. He groans into the kiss at the skin contact, and you curse your body for sending shockwaves to your core.
And yet, despite yourself, you let your hands wander to the hem of his hoodie, pulling it up just enough for him to get the message. He breaks away from you long enough to remove the soggy fabric. He’s not wearing a shirt underneath.
Fuck.
A gasp leaves your mouth before you can hold back, but he’s already on you again, kissing you like his life depends on it. His bare skin is hot under your fingertips, as his lips trail along your jaw, your neck, your shoulder. “I’m so sorry”, he whispers against your skin. Breathlessly you sigh, leaning into him, fingers digging into his broad shoulders.
“I shouldn’t have said any of that”, he mumbles against your collar bone, hands already moving upwards, trailing over the sides of your ribcage. “Please”, he whispers again as his thumb brushes the underside of your breast, “forgive me, my love.”
The crop top is gone before you know it, dropped unceremoniously to the floor, and you shudder at the sudden feel of cold air against your heated skin. But he’s there already, cupping your breasts with his hands, peppering kisses all over your chest. You lose any resistance that might have been left within you, as his plump lips close around your nipple and suck.
Your ungodly moan bounces off the bathroom walls.
You need him. You need him now. “Pants”, you gasp, and he understands immediately. He lets go of your nipple with a prominent plop and pulls down his pants, removing his shoes and socks along with them.
It gives you a moment to gather your thoughts, to escape the haze his touch envelops you in. You suck in a breath, watching him get almost naked in your bathroom after three weeks of radio silence. What are you doing? What the fuck are you doing?
But it’s too late. He’s on you the second he’s done undressing, hands gabbing your ass, lips finding yours hot and hungry. Quickly, his hands slide down your thighs and he lifts you up, your legs wrapping around him on instinct. He carries you to your bedroom - he knows the way, been here often enough, carried you there more than once - and gently places you down onto the soft sheets. Your own sheets.
The sheets you’ve been crying into for the past 3 weeks.
He doesn’t allow you to linger on the thought, kisses trailing down your neck again. He’s getting bolder, needier, sucking marks into your skin. And you don’t stop him, don’t hold him back - because despite everything you don’t want to.
You don’t want to hold on to this pain that has dominated your every move for the past three weeks, you don’t want to feel broken anymore, you don’t want to refuse the man who just walked all this way to apologise to you despite the pouring rain. The man you love with all your heart.
All you want is him.
All he wants is you.
“I’m so sorry, my angel”, he whispers against the soft swell of your breast.
“Please forgive me”, he murmurs against your navel.
“I’ll do anything”, he promises against your hip bone.
When he hooks his fingers into your underwear, you lift your hip willingly. His hot breath hits the inside of your thigh just a heartbeat later, followed by a kiss so tender, it feels more like worship than lovemaking. “I’ve missed you so much, my muse.” His words vibrate against your delicate skin and go straight to your core - and your heart.
You melt underneath him, putty in his hands like you always were, and you don’t find it within yourself to feel bad about it. If there’s a heaven, this is it.
“Hyune”, you gasp when his lips brush your centre, “please.” He doesn’t hesitate. His tongue runs through your folds. Slow. Hot. Deliberate. Savouring every drop of you. “I’m so so sorry”, he breathes against your most sensitive spot, before pressing his tongue flat against it. He licks and sucks and eats you out like he’s been waiting for this, dreaming of this, starving for this.
It’s messy and desperate and so fucking good.
All you can do is moan and gasp and beg, one hand gripping his hair, the other fisting the bedsheets, as you arch your back and press yourself into his touch. “Ngh….holy fuck….Hyunjin”, you all but scream, as his tongue continues to move over your clit with deadly precision, sending wave after wave of pleasure through your body.
Your orgasm hits you like a freight train, legs shaking, arousal spilling on his tongue, as your vision goes white and your mind goes blank. He drinks it all up, strong hands holding you as steady as he can beneath him. He doesn’t stop until you go still, until an overstimulated whine escapes your lips and he’s sure you can’t take anymore.
Sweet kisses land on your inner thighs. “You’re my everything”, he whispers, “you’re my whole world.” The kisses move upwards, covering your hips and your stomach and your rip cage. “I’m so fucking sorry”, he says when he reaches your nipple, placing but a ghost of a kiss on the rim of the sensitive bud. “I missed you so much, my muse”, he confesses again as his lips find the crook of your neck.
He moves, hands leaving your body for a moment, but you almost don’t notice, still coming down from your high.
Then he’s there, fully exposed, tip pressing gently against your core.
“Please”, he breathes right next to your ear. Then again, voice breaking this time. “Please.”
“Yes.” It’s all you can say. All you want to say. All you need to say.
The stretch is formidable. It always is with him. But he goes slow. Gentle. Giving you time to adjust. You love this part, love the little gasps that escape him, love the feel of him slowly filling you up. You love having him inside you. You love being so close to him, love being all his. You love being the one to make him feel this good.
You love him.
“Please”, he whispers as he pushes in further.
“Please”, he groans as he bottoms out. “Please”, he gasps as you clench around him.
Then his hips still. He moves only slightly to look at you, fingers brushing the hair from your sweaty forehead. “Please forgive me”, he says, voice low and surprisingly steady, “I was such a fool. I didn’t think. I’m so sorry.”
You bring your hands up to cup his face. You can feel him throb inside you, hard and heavy. It drives you mad. He drives you mad.
“I love you”, you say.
The moment his lips meet yours he starts to move. His thrusts are slow at first. Measured. Deliberate. But bit by bit the kiss grows deeper, hungrier, and so do his movements. He doesn’t let go of you for one second, swallowing your moans, keeping your chest pressed to his as he drills into you almost frantically.
He fucks you with a wicked desperation, like he has everything to lose, like his whole fucking life depends on it. He makes you feel every part of him, interlacing your fingers, kissing you over and over and over. He brushes over that perfect spot inside you again and again, slamming into you with controlled force, and you’re certain this will leave marks. You don’t care.
You can feel your second orgasm build, can feel your body light on fire again for him. You free one of your hands to tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling just enough to drive him insane. “Please…”, you beg between kisses, “don’t stop….’m close…fuck…please…” The words fall from your lips like a prayer against his mouth, like a desperate plea for salvation.
And then he breaks the kiss and presses his forehead against you. His gaze digs into yours, eyes lidded, pupils blown. He looks feral and wrecked and absolutely divine. “I…ngh…fuck…I love y-….you too...ahhh…fuckfuckfuck…”
With stuttering hips, he comes undone, spilling into you, and it pulls you right over the edge. And again, he doesn’t let up, helps you ride it out even though he’s already overstimulated and fucked out. You shiver beneath him, pleasure surging through every cell of your body like a blazing fire, until you forget why you ever fought with him to begin with.
For a while, heavy panting is the only sound that fills the room. He lies collapsed half on top of you, body sweat soaked, fingers still interlaced with yours. Your mind is empty, but your heart feels full.
He doesn’t pull out right away, but when he does it feels oddly wrong. Like he’s removing himself from the only place he belongs.
You don’t fully register what happens next. Something with a soft, warm, wet cloth and his arms lifting you up a bit and then there’s a blanket on top of you and a warm body behind you. Arms wrap around your body. A comforting sense of peace settles in your chest, like you’re home again. Like you’re whole again.
Then, silence falls. It’s not uncomfortable, not heavy and painful like it had been those past few weeks. It’s warm and safe and familiar. It stays for a long time, while you lie there, curled up against him, catching your breath and regaining your sanity.
Eventually, it’s you who breaks the silence.
“Hyune?”, you whisper. “Hm?” He sounds absolutely spent.
“I forgive you.”
Fenya’s Masterlist
Taglist @lov3rachan @breakmeoff
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F i r s t W o r s h i p
Vampire!Hwang Hyunjin x Reader | sacred hunger, paint-stained thighs, first bite on the gallery floor
🔞synopsis: You were just a broke barista pulling late-night shifts, trying to make rent and forget how hard life kept fucking you over. Hwang Hyunjin was the mysterious regular with ink-stained fingers and eyes that lingered too long—always showing up at 11:47PM, always watching. Then came the offer: a job at his gallery, a thick envelope, and a contract you weren’t supposed to take seriously. You did. Now? You’re in too deep. You know what he is. And you’ve let him taste you anyway.
💌a/n: WOW. I was genuinely scared I’d have to do two parts like I did for Changbin’s filthy mess of a fic but somehow??? by the grace of horny vampire gods and Hyunjin’s unhinged mouth??? it all FIT in here??? PRAISE BE. WEDNESDAY = WRECKED-NESDAY NOW, YOU'RE WELCOME. Anyway—how’s everyone’s blood pressure? Hydrated? Neck intact? Emotionally ruined by soft aftercare and paint-smudged praise?? Good. That’s the goal. p.s. Reblog if your panties disintegrated p.p.s. The gallery is now closed for renovations (they’re repainting the fuck table) p.p.p.s. If you read this with your legs crossed and still gasped out loud? You’re valid
⚠️ warnings: 18+ / MINORS DO NOT INTERACT | Vampire themes (biting, blood drinking, supernatural elements) | Bloodplay & light blood consumption during sex | Oral sex (f. receiving) | Rough sex, intense dom!Hyunjin energy | Marking (bite marks, paint smearing) | Praise & worship kink vibes | Mild possessiveness | Paint kink (literally. it’s hot) | Slightly feral romantic declarations | Silly contract mentions (yes there are clauses like “mandatory hand-holding”) | Fluff, aftercare, wine, and gallery sex.
📌 Please read responsibly. Stretch. Stay hydrated. Do not let Hyunjin paint unsupervised.
📍credits: dividers by @cafekitsune
🎧 » Bite Me — ENHYPEN « 0:58 ─〇───── 2:38 ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻
You smell like espresso grounds, paint thinner, and the inside of a subway tunnel at 3AM. Your professors would probably call it grit. Your bones would call it exhaustion. Your bank account would call it “survival with milk foam on top.”
You’re twenty-three. An art student at a mid-tier university with a great experimental program but terrible dorm plumbing. Your days are filled with critiques you don’t care about, roommates you barely see, and canvases you can’t afford to replace. Your nights? A hot mess of half-finished homework and part-time shifts at Solstice, the little coffee shop wedged between a dry cleaner and the outer walls of Luxe Health—the infamous, neon-washed medical fortress you’re pretty sure is a tax shelter for emotionally volatile rich people.
But you like Solstice. The machines squeal and the tips are trash, but it smells like cardamom and toasted almonds, and the late shifts are yours alone. No manager hovering. No influencers trying to spell their names in the foam. Just you, your playlist, and the occasional chaos of the espresso machine threatening to explode mid-steam.
You aren’t supposed to sit while on shift, but your manager isn't here and your feet are killing you, so you perch on the stool behind the counter, sketchbook balanced on your knees, the filter coffee from hours ago cold beside you. The sketch you’re working on is barely taking form—just the curve of a shoulder, a flash of a collarbone, the hint of something too tender to finish. You don’t remember who you were drawing. You never do, lately.
You’re halfway through shading a jawline when the bell over the door chimes.
You don’t have to look up. You already know it’s him. The same customer. Always at night. Always when you’re alone. Always... strange.
He’s tall, always dressed like he’s stepped out of a dream filtered through grayscale. Sometimes in loose black knits, sometimes in impossibly tailored coats. His hair changes—sometimes long and silky, sometimes tied back—but the eyes stay the same. Sharp. Curious. Slightly amused. And god, intense. Like he’s seeing things behind your face.
You don’t know his name. You’ve never asked. You just call him 11:47PM, because that’s when he always walks in. Not 11:45. Not 11:50. 11:47. Like clockwork. Like ritual.
And he orders coffee.
Not the kind of coffee someone just likes. No, he orders like it’s a test.
“Oat milk. Two shots of espresso. Honey. A dash of cinnamon. Extra hot. No lid.”
He never takes it to-go. He drinks it slow, eyes flicking over you when he thinks you won’t notice. You always notice. But you pretend you don’t. Because you’re tired. Because your tuition is due. Because you’re not letting some six-foot mystery man with perfect bone structure throw your routine off-balance.
Still, there’s something about him.
Once, he left a napkin behind with a sketch on it. Not a doodle. A sketch. Detailed. Elegant. Sharp. You recognized your hands in it. The way your fingers grip the portafilter when you’re distracted. You stared at it for five minutes, then folded it up and stuck it in your journal like a lunatic.
Another time, he asked you what your favorite pigment was.
Not color. Pigment.
You said burnt sienna. He smiled like that meant something.
It’s stupid. He’s probably some bored rich guy slumming it with overpriced coffee and staring at the help for fun. Maybe he’s one of those Luxe clients—they all give off weird energy anyway. You've heard the rumors. The place treats the ultra-rich. People say it specializes in impossible medicine. Some say it’s for trauma. Some whisper about bond therapy and blood contracts, which sounds like fantasy bullshit. You've always figured it’s just another hush-hush clinic for the elite.
Still, you’ve seen the clients. They don’t blink. And they never order anything but black coffee when they come in.
Except him.
He drinks it sweet. Always sweet.
La Venera is not open to the public.
There’s no street-facing sign, no Instagram account, no QR code by the door. If you know, you know. If you don’t—you’ll walk right past the ivy-covered building tucked behind Luxe Health’s eastern wall, mistaking it for a haunted boutique or the private home of someone obscenely wealthy.
It’s both.
Inside, it smells like centuries-old oil paint and carefully calibrated sandalwood. The ceilings are high. The air hums. There are no labels on the walls. No placards. No prices. Only magic.
Hyunjin stands barefoot in the center of his private studio, shirt half-unbuttoned, hair tied back with an indigo silk ribbon. His fingers are stained with deep violet and dried black—he hasn’t slept, hasn’t spoken, hasn’t done anything except paint her wrist over and over for the last three hours.
Not her whole body. Not her face. Not yet. Just the wrist. The way she presses it to the side of the espresso machine when she’s tired. That little flick of tension like her blood doesn’t want to stay inside.
He can’t get it right.
The angle’s off. The light’s wrong. It’s not singing like it did the first time he saw her. She had cinnamon on her cheek and ink under her nail and a smile so exhausted it almost broke him.
He slams the brush down, muttering curses under his breath, and drops into the cracked leather chair in the corner of the studio. His neck arches over the backrest, and for a moment, he just breathes.
“You’re being weird again.”
Jisung’s voice cuts through the silence like a butter knife sawing a steak. He’s perched upside down on the studio couch like a raccoon. His fangs are just barely visible as he chews on a licorice wand he definitely shoplifted.
Hyunjin doesn’t move. “You broke in again.”
“Wrong. I haunt this gallery. I’m part of the aesthetic.”
“You’re wearing crocs.”
“Vampire crocs.”
Hyunjin sighs. “Get out.”
From the doorway, a new voice adds flatly, “Don’t bother. He’s been here since lunch.”
Seungmin, in a three-piece suit with blood-proof lapels and the world’s most aggressive Excel spreadsheet tucked under his arm, steps into the room with the air of someone who has already filed two lawsuits today and is looking for a third.
“I brought your Luxe contracts. And a cease-and-desist from the Yoon heiress who said your last exhibit gave her ‘emotional vertigo.’”
Hyunjin finally opens his eyes. “That wasn’t me. That was the installation piece by the fledgling from Berlin.”
“She passed out during the opening night, so now you own it. And I had to convince the board that scent-trigger hallucinations are a therapeutic risk, not a war crime.”
Jisung snorts. “God, I love this place.”
Hyunjin sits forward, hands steepled under his chin. His tone shifts—low, measured. The Artist, not the Friend.
“Do either of you remember the girl from the coffee shop?”
Seungmin doesn’t blink. “The one who smells like fig and insomnia? Yes.”
“She’s in one of his paintings,” Jisung offers. “It’s creepy.”
“It’s not creepy,” Hyunjin mutters.
“She’s mortal,” Seungmin says carefully.
“I know.”
“She’s not your doll.”
“I know.”
There’s a long pause. Hyunjin stands. Walks toward the canvas. Looks but doesn’t touch.
“She’s also—”
Jisung groans. “Don’t say the one. If you say ‘the one,’ I’m eating myself out the window.”
Hyunjin just smiles, slow and dangerous. “She’s not the one. She’s the only. And I’m not touching her. I’m not even talking to her. I just…”
He exhales, like it hurts to hold it in. “I like the way she says my name when she doesn’t know it.”
Seungmin’s eyes narrow. “That’s poetic and deeply concerning.”
Hyunjin turns, something glowing in the edges of his gaze. “I’m going to offer her a position at La Venera.”
“No, you’re not,” Seungmin says immediately.
“Yes, he is,” Jisung grins. “And I want to watch her find out.”
Hyunjin walks back to his chair, sits down, and picks up the brush again.
“She’s going to enter my world eventually,” he murmurs, voice steady now. “I’d rather it be with a canvas in front of her… than a collar on her throat.”
Neither Jisung nor Seungmin replies.
Because they know what Hyunjin is. What it means for him to wait. What it would mean for him to take. They know the price of devotion in the hands of an Abnormal.
It’s 2:41PM on a Thursday and everything is going wrong.
The milk steamer is hissing like it wants to die. Your shift lead called in “emotionally unavailable.” You’re running on four hours of sleep and one granola bar. And worst of all—your rent is due in five days and your bank app literally laughed at you this morning.
You’ve been doom-scrolling scholarships in between drink orders. One of them requires a 2,000-word essay and a watercolor portfolio. You haven’t even finished your second sketch. You can’t even afford watercolor paper. You’re down to notebook scraps and hope.
You’re mid-pour on an iced vanilla latte when the bell above the door rings.
You don’t look up.
You’re not ready for another corporate intern with daddy’s credit card and a vague idea of what “oat milk” is.
“Is this place always this dramatic?” “It’s charming, leave it alone.” “No, really—did that espresso machine just growl?”
Your head snaps up.
There are three men walking toward the counter.
One of them is Seungmin, in a beige wool coat so sharp it could sue you. He’s holding a tablet and giving the espresso machine a look like he wants to take it to court. The second is Bang Chan—yes, that Bang Chan, CEO of half the Luxe Health empire and owner of the sleepless, protein-shake-laced aura of someone who hasn’t rested since 1802.
And the third—
The third is him.
Your 11:47PM. But it's not 11:47PM. It’s daylight. And he’s here. With people. Smiling. Laughing softly. Real.
You short-circuit a little. Because Hyunjin looks completely different under sunlight.
No coat. No all-black. Just a loose linen button-up with paint under the cuffs and sunglasses pushed into his hair. His jawline still looks carved from something divine, but now he looks… casual. Devastating. Golden.
You hate him a little for it.
He steps up last, eyes flicking over the pastry case, then to you. “Hi.” His voice is soft. Even. Like a note played low on a cello string.
You don’t move. Don’t breathe. Just stare like an idiot.
Seungmin raises an eyebrow. “This is the barista you’re always—?”
“Seungmin,” Hyunjin says sharply, but there’s color rising in his cheeks. “Shut up.”
Chan smiles like he knows too much. “He’s your biggest fan. We’ve had to adjust entire meetings around your closing shift.”
Hyunjin mutters something under his breath.
You look down quickly, cheeks hot. “Uh. What can I get you?”
They order like it’s a script. Chan goes for something double shot and over-complicated. Seungmin asks for straight black.
And Hyunjin—Hyunjin just watches you for a second too long before murmuring: “The usual. If you remember it.”
You do. Of course you do. You turn away to start the drinks, willing your face to chill out.
They take a seat near the window, just in your periphery. You hear them murmuring, laughing low. Chan mentions something about restructuring Luxe’s trauma unit. Seungmin’s complaining about paperwork. Hyunjin says nothing at all.
But you feel him watching as you work on those damn drinks. Eventually you finish them, one by one, hands steady only because they’ve done this a thousand times. Your mind, though, is chaos.
You’re behind on rent. Your scholarship essay’s still blank. You can’t afford new brushes and your last painting bled through the paper because you used the wrong primer. You’re not sure if your professor hates you or just sees you as another burnout-in-progress. You haven’t called your mom in two weeks. And now—
Now the most unsettlingly beautiful man you’ve ever met is sitting in a sunlit booth, laughing with two men who could easily buy the building you live in without blinking.
And he’s watching you. Still. Always.
The moment the last drink is capped, you straighten the tray and take a slow breath, prepping to walk it over.
But before you can move, he’s there.
Hyunjin.
He’s walked up to the counter without a sound—just appeared like smoke, lean and quiet and sharp around the edges. He reaches for the tray, one elegant hand sliding beneath it.
You blink. “I—I can bring it over.”
He tilts his head slightly, expression unreadable. “Let me.”
The silence is heavy but not uncomfortable. He doesn’t move yet. Doesn’t leave. Just stays there, holding the tray between you, like it’s an excuse.
“You looked stressed.”
His voice is low. Quieter than the steamer. Quieter than the traffic outside.
You laugh, a brittle sound. “That obvious?”
He doesn’t smile. But his gaze softens, just enough to knock the wind out of you. “A little.”
You try not to fidget. You fail. “It’s just... life.”
He nods like he understands more than he should. Then, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, he says: “I’m Hyunjin, by the way.”
Your eyes flick up to his, startled.
“Hwang Hyunjin.” He says it like a brushstroke. Like poetry. Like an invocation.
You stare. You weren’t sure he had a name. He’s always just been 11:47PM, the man who drinks cinnamon-sweet espresso and leaves art behind like breadcrumbs. Now he’s real. Named. Standing inches from you in the broad afternoon light.
You swallow. “...Hi.”
His mouth curves at the corners. “And you?”
It takes you a second to remember your own name. When you say it, he repeats it under his breath, like he’s tasting it. “Mmm. I thought so.”
You blink. “You—what?”
But he’s already turning, lifting the tray with one hand like it weighs nothing. You catch a glimpse of black ink on his wrist—just the edge of something. A sketch? A rune? You don’t know.
He glances back once before walking away, voice barely audible.
“It’s a good name. You wear it well.”
And just like that, he’s gone again—sliding back into the booth beside Chan, the tray set down with a fluid grace you try not to watch. Seungmin mutters something, Chan laughs, and Hyunjin just takes a sip of his drink like nothing happened.
But something did happen.
Your name is sitting in his mouth now. And he gave you his.
And that shouldn't matter. Not when your rent’s due and your life’s falling apart and you’re just a barista with too many side hustles and a sketchbook full of dreams.
But somehow… it does.
With the tray on the table and Hyunjin finally seated, Chan raises na eyebrow, bringing his cup closer and stirring it slowly. Seungmin on the other hand doesn’t even look up from his tablet.
“So,” Seungmin says. “You finally spoke to her. Do we call the Vatican or just update the group chat?”
Hyunjin glares.
Chan grins. “How’d it feel?”
Hyunjin doesn’t answer. Just lifts his drink and stares into the foam like it holds ancient prophecies.
Seungmin closes his tablet with a click and leans forward.
“Be honest. Did your fangs itch? Did your heartbeat stutter? Did your ancient vampire soul hum in recognition when she handed you oat milk?”
Hyunjin gives him a flat look. “You’re incredibly annoying for someone whose job is literally vampire litigation.”
Seungmin smirks. “And you’re incredibly dramatic for someone who’s been simping over a mortal for nine months and counting.”
Chan, as always, tries to keep the peace. “Okay, maybe let’s not say simping. Hyunjin has… a deep artistic interest in her essence.”
Seungmin: “That is so much worse.”
Hyunjin leans back, long fingers tapping against the cup. His voice drops. “She looked tired today.”
That quiet, aching tone has Chan sobering instantly. “Hyunjin—”
“Not just physically. Tired like… like she’s been holding something up too long. Like if she puts it down, the world will fall apart.”
Seungmin sips his coffee. “Sounds like someone who’s one paycheck away from applying to vampire sugar daddy programs.”
Hyunjin doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t even smile. “I've said it before, Seungmin knows, he was there but I want to offer her a position at La Venera.”
Chan chokes slightly on his drink. “You want to what now?”
“She’s an artist. She doesn’t know it yet, but she is. I’ve seen her sketches.”
Seungmin’s brows lift. “You’ve been stealing her sketches?”
Hyunjin rolls his eyes. “No. She leaves them out while she pours drinks and I have eyes. She drew a shoulder once that made me feel like I’d been stabbed.”
Chan wipes his mouth, trying not to smile. “Okay, but offering her a job is serious.”
“I’m not going to feed from her,” Hyunjin snaps. “I just… I want her close. I want her somewhere she can breathe.”
Seungmin taps a finger against the tabletop. “You say that now. But what happens when she starts leaving fig-scent trails in the gallery halls and you black out mid-curator meeting?”
Hyunjin doesn’t respond. He looks out the window instead, where the afternoon light hits your face behind the counter. You’re wiping down the milk steamer, focused, frowning at something sticky on the side. You bite your lip in concentration and his hand tightens around the cup.
“I won’t touch her,” he says quietly. “Not until she knows what I am. Not until she chooses it.”
There’s a long pause.
Then Chan, gently: “You know if you bond to her, there’s no undoing it. You won’t be able to feed from anyone else. You’ll start dreaming in her voice. Her pain will be your pain.”
Hyunjin nods once, solemn. “Good.”
Seungmin groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh my god. He’s already feral. We’re gonna have to put him in an emotional containment unit.”
“Do we have one of those?” Chan mutters.
Seungmin deadpans, “You’re looking at it.”
Across the room, the espresso machine wheezes again. You sigh dramatically and kick it like it personally owes you money.
Hyunjin watches, expression unreadable.
“You’re going to fall in love with her,” Chan says softly.
Hyunjin sips his drink, eyes never leaving you. “I already did.”
It’s past midnight when he shows up again.
You’re halfway through wiping down the counter, hair scraped into a loose bun, sleeves rolled up, brain fogged with exhaustion and numbers you can’t make work. Your rent spreadsheet’s open on your phone, mocking you in soft blue light. You’ve been staring at the same three digits for twenty minutes, trying to figure out what you can sell without risking prison.
The bell above the door chimes.
You don’t look up right away. You already know who it is. Only one man steps into Solstice at this hour like he owns the dusk.
When you finally glance over, he’s standing there with a look you haven’t seen on him before—calm, yes, but layered with something serious. Intentional. Purposeful.
Not 11:47PM anymore. Just Hyunjin.
He doesn’t speak immediately. Just approaches the counter with a strange gentleness in his steps, like he’s afraid he’ll scare you off.
“I have a proposition,” he says.
You blink. “You’re not even gonna order a drink first?”
He gives the smallest twitch of a smile. “No. Because this time, I’m not here for coffee.”
He places something on the counter. An envelope. Heavy paper. Deep navy. Embossed in silver foil with a symbol you vaguely recognize—an abstract flower. No words.
“La Venera,” he says, when you don’t reach for it. “My gallery.”
You look at him. Really look. He’s not dressed for night this time—no tailored coat, no dramatic scarf. Just a soft black sweater, loose at the collar, sleeves pushed up. You can see the veins on his forearms. His fingers ink-stained again.
You blink. “What is this?”
“I want to offer you a job.”
Your body stills.
He continues, quiet but clear. “I need an archival assistant. Someone to help catalogue sensory pieces, assist with restoration, prep gallery spaces. It’s a paid position. Flexible hours. Health benefits. Artistic credit if applicable.”
You stare at the envelope like it might bite you.
Then you laugh. A little wild, a little broken. “Is this because I make good coffee?”
“No.”
“Because I’m broke?”
“No.”
You fold your arms. “Then why?”
He looks at you like that’s the stupidest question in the universe. But when he speaks, it’s soft. Earnest.
“Because you’re an artist. Because your sketches hold more feeling than half the exhibitions I’ve hosted this year. Because you look at color like it breathes. And because you’re wasting your brilliance wiping down countertops at 1AM.”
You open your mouth. Close it. Try again. “Why now?”
His gaze darkens, just slightly. “Because today, I saw the stress. I saw the anxiety in your eyes. You needed something. And I have something to give.”
You stare at him, heart pounding. “You’re serious.”
“Completely.”
You hesitate. “Don’t you have, like… a board of directors or something?”
Hyunjin lets out a slow exhale, then mutters, “They've already signed off.”
You’re just standing there. Baffled. Shaking a little.
He steps closer. “You can say no,” he says softly. “But I’m hoping you won’t.”
Your hands tremble as you finally reach for the envelope. It’s heavier than you expect. Warm, somehow. You whisper, “You barely know me.”
He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t joke. “I know enough.” And then, quieter, almost reverent. “I know your name.”
You’re still holding the envelope when he speaks again.
“Let me give you my number.”
The words hang in the air, suspended somewhere between polite professionalism and something heavier. Denser. Your fingers curl tighter around the envelope.
He watches you closely, but not like he’s trying to push. If anything, he’s pulling back. Like he knows he’s close to the edge of something sacred.
“I don’t want to pressure you,” he adds, voice softer now. “This isn’t about obligation. It’s not a test. I just… I want to give you space. Time. So if you want to ask questions, or scream at me, or send me your answer at three in the morning… you can.”
He pulls out his phone, unlocks it, and turns it toward you.
Contact Name: Hwang Hyunjin Number: already typed, waiting for you to copy it into yours.
You stare at it for a beat too long.
“I’m sorry,” you mutter, voice cracking. “I just. This is a lot. I don’t usually get handed jobs by—by strangers who stare at me like I’m a poem.”
He huffs out a breath. “You’re not a poem.”
You flinch, but before the insecurity can rise, he steps in—fast, quiet, sure.
“You’re not a poem,” he repeats. “You’re the space between them. The silence that makes everything else hit harder.”
You open your mouth. Nothing comes out.
He glances at the phone in his hand, then at you.
“I’m not asking you to jump. I’m just—” he breaks off, then exhales, steadier. “I’m offering you a ledge. If you want it.”
You reach for your phone. Not because you’ve decided. Not yet. But because there’s something in his voice that feels like a balm. Like a promise.
You copy the number. You type his name. You don’t save it with a heart. But maybe you will later.
He takes a step back, like he doesn’t trust himself to stay too close. “Text me,” he says. “Whenever. About anything.”
You manage a nod. “Okay.”
He holds your gaze for a breath longer. Then turns. At the door, with one hand on the handle, he glances back. “I’ll see you,” he says quietly. “Soon, maybe.”
And then he’s gone. Out into the night. Leaving behind the smell of cinnamon and ink and something older, deeper, laced with longing.
You don’t open the envelope right away.
You carry it home like it might detonate, like maybe it's enchanted—because something about it feels heavy in the wrong way. Or the right way. Or the way that makes your stomach hurt a little because you haven’t eaten in six hours and now you’re anxious on top of that.
When you finally do open it—after showering, after peeling off your coffee-stained shirt, after sitting in your underwear on your bed with a bag of discount rice crackers—you read the contents three times.
Then you read it a fourth time out loud.
It’s real.
A real offer. A real gallery job. A real salary. A real health plan, for god’s sake.
You flop backwards against your bed and stare at the ceiling.
You stare at the ceiling for a very, very long time.
PROS LIST (scribbled into your sketchbook, messy):
Paid position. Regular hours. Steady income.
Access to a legit gallery?? Your professors would foam at the mouth.
Hands-on restoration work. Archive credits. ARTISTIC. CREDIT.
Actual studio space.
Might finally sleep more than five hours.
Might actually get to use your degree.
Also, Hyunjin.
CONS LIST:
He might be joking.
He might be a sociopath.
He might be a vampire.
He might be a vampire sociopath.
What if you fuck it up?
What if you fall for him?
What if you already are?
You roll over. Groan. Kick your blanket off. Pull it back on. Check the time. 3:14AM.
Your phone is still sitting on your pillow, like it’s watching you. You open your texts. His number is there, unsent to. Quiet. Waiting.
You open the keyboard. You close it. You open it again.
Type:
Hey
Delete.
Hi, it’s me from the café
Delete.
Sorry this is late
Delete.
Is the offer still open?
Delete.
I’m in.
You stare at it. Your heart is going way too fast for someone lying down. You stare at it for so long the screen goes dark. You unlock it again. The message is still there.
You hit send.
Stare at the word Delivered like it might bite you. It doesn’t. You toss the phone aside and bury your face in your pillow.
“Oh my god what did I just do.”
Your phone buzzes immediately. You freeze. Slowly reach for it.
[Hyunjin] I’m smiling like an idiot right now. I’ll send you the onboarding info tomorrow. Sleep well. I’ll see you soon.
You stare at the screen. Then, without thinking, you text back:
[Y/N] okay goodnight (don’t be creepy tomorrow)
Three dots appear. Then vanish. Then appear again.
[Hyunjin] No promises. (but I’ll try) … you’ll look beautiful there
Your heart does something dangerous. You toss the phone again, face burning.
The ceiling stares back at you, smug.
You’ve been at La Venera for a week and a half, and it still doesn’t feel real.
Your shoes still squeak a little when you walk down the main corridor. Your badge doesn’t scan right on the first try. You flinch every time someone in a power suit brushes past you, convinced you’re not supposed to be here.
But nobody kicks you out.
In fact, everyone treats you like you belong. Like you were expected. Like they knew you were coming long before you did.
Which is wild, because just two weeks ago you were trying to figure out if you could stretch one pack of ramen over three days. Now you're—
You're doing archival work. In a vampire-run gallery. Handling paintings that breathe when the lights dim. Sorting sketches that buzz with latent magic. Cataloguing scent-trigger memory pieces so old they predate electricity.
The first week at La Venera feels like walking into a fever dream with a paycheck.
You expected silence. Cold marble. Gallery girls in neutral-toned trench coats clicking their heels in unison. Instead?
You got velvet hallways that hum softly. Canvases that feel warm when you pass. A lighting system that seems to respond to mood, not switches. You don’t know what it’s wired to—but it never makes you flinch. You feel seen here. Calmer, even when you're not.
Your job, officially, is “Archival and Spatial Assistant.” Which is a fancy way of saying:
You help catalogue paintings and installations—some with titles that feel like confessions.
You help log restoration projects—most of which involve materials you've never seen before. (There was one with glass that bled when touched. You didn't ask questions.)
You prep rooms for new showings, usually with exact scent profiles you’re not allowed to adjust. (Hyunjin once asked you to “diffuse the mood of heartbreak, but quietly.” You improvised with vetiver and bergamot. He looked at you like you hung the moon.)
Your first paycheck was more than your rent.
You didn’t cry when you saw the deposit. But you did sit in the back stairwell during lunch and stare at the notification for twenty minutes while your sandwich went cold.
You’re still in school, still dragging yourself to morning lectures, still scribbling in your sketchbook on the subway—but things feel different now. Looser. Brighter. Like some part of you that had been clenched for years has finally started to uncurl.
And then there’s Hyunjin.
The man is always there. Sometimes barefoot. Sometimes covered in paint. Sometimes in clothes that make you feel like an underpaid extra in an art film.
He never tells you what to do. Just asks questions. Gentle ones. Like:
“What does this color feel like to you?” “If this canvas had a heartbeat, where would it echo?” “Would you let me paint your hands?”
You pretend to scoff when he says things like that. But your cheeks always go warm.
You’ve caught him sketching in the margins of his clipboard. You’ve also caught him watching you through the glass of the east exhibit room while you were hanging tags, like you were the art and he was the patron.
He hasn’t touched you. Not once.
But sometimes when you pass by him, your skin buzzes like you walked through a sunbeam that knew your name.
You still don’t know what kind of gallery this is, exactly. You’ve heard whispers. Felt things shift in the air when certain pieces are moved. Watched a visitor break down sobbing in front of an installation that looked like nothing but gold wire and black canvas.
You asked Hyunjin once what the gallery was really for.
He just smiled—soft, tilted, something private burning in his eyes—and said:
“Healing. For people who can’t be healed anywhere else.”
It’s vague. Maybe pretentious. But it stuck. Just like everything about him does.
Now, almost three weeks in, you’ve stopped asking if any of this is real.
Hyunjin sits in his usual seat—third from the end, closest to the windows—legs crossed, one elbow on the table, cheek propped on his ink-stained fingers. He hasn’t spoken in the last ten minutes, which is both expected and deeply suspicious.
Across from him, Seungmin is clicking through projected bond compliance data with all the energy of a man personally offended by color-coded bar graphs.
“To summarize,” Seungmin says dryly, “we’ve had a 12% increase in post-feeding bond instability among Normals, most cases linked to improper scent-regulation. I’d like to remind you all that feeding while emotionally compromised is still illegal under Article VI unless a certified specialist is present.”
Chan sighs into his third protein-enhanced blood pouch. “We know, Seungmin.”
Seungmin doesn’t even blink. “Do we, though? Or are some of us letting post-orgasmic bite patients wander off with unsealed bond marks and no stabilization protocols?”
Felix raises his hand enthusiastically. “I stabilized one with a coloring book yesterday!”
Everyone turns.
Felix beams. “We did a whole page together. She stopped crying after the glitter gel pen!”
Chan rubs his temples. “That’s not in the standard manual, Felix.”
Felix: “Healing isn’t linear.”
Hyunjin, without lifting his head: “Neither is her emotional damage now that she’s bonded to a man who calls himself BloodDaddy27 on private forums.”
Jeongin snorts from where he’s half-sprawled across his chair, spinning a silver bond-ring on one finger. “I told you guys to screen for usernames. I’ve got a list.”
Seungmin narrows his eyes. “Why do you have a list?”
Jeongin shrugs. “Field research. Curiosity. Morbid pleasure.”
Chan turns to Hyunjin, finally. “And you? Anything to report from La Venera?”
Hyunjin shifts, straightens slightly. “We’re holding steady. Emotional stabilization is optimal. I’m running two scent therapy rotations and three dreamscapes for long-term bonded patients.”
Seungmin squints. “Didn’t you onboard a new assistant?”
There’s a beat.
Then: “Yes.”
Chan perks up. “The barista?”
Jeongin grins. “The cute one?”
Felix gasps. “The fig and cinnamon girl?!”
Hyunjin glares. “Don’t call her that.”
Seungmin cocks his head. “Why not? You were calling her ‘wrist girl’ for three months before she knew your name.”
Hyunjin groans and sinks back in his chair. “I hate all of you.”
Felix reaches over and pats his hand. “We love you too, baby bat.”
Chan hides his smile behind his cup. “You gonna tell her what we are?”
Jeongin leans in, conspiratorial. “Or you just gonna wait ‘til she walks in on someone regrowing their femur in the bonding lounge again?”
Seungmin smirks. “Perfect. Add that to the minutes: Director Hwang is still emotionally constipated and in vampire love denial.”
Felix hums. “She’s gonna find out eventually, you know.”
Jeongin: “And when she does, we all get to watch.”
Seungmin exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Okay,” he deadpans. “That was fun. Now can we please return to the actual agenda—specifically, the surge in unstabilized bonds in non-monogamous feeding clusters—before one of you tries to host a Bachelor-style vampire dating show.”
Felix perks up. “Wait, that’s actually not a bad—”
“Felix, I will file a cease and desist on your existence.”
Chan clears his throat, trying to steer them back. “Right. Yes. Important. Legal. Medical. Bond law things.”
“Thank you,” Seungmin says. “Finally, some maturity.”
“...But,” Chan adds slowly, eyes twinkling, “I am curious how Hyunjin plans to keep his emotional regulation intact when he inevitably bites the girl he’s already spiritually married to.”
Hyunjin makes a strangled noise halfway between a growl and a whimper. “I’m not— she’s not— we’re not—”
Jeongin: “So you are planning to bite her.”
Hyunjin: “No!”
Felix: “You want to.”
Chan: “You need to.”
Jeongin: “You’ve fantasized about it.”
Hyunjin: “I am literally going to erase all of you from my dreamweaving files.”
Seungmin slaps the table. “STOP.” The lights in the room flicker in sync with his tone. Vampiric authority does that sometimes.
He breathes out slowly, resets his composure, and looks directly at Hyunjin.
“Do you have any intention of feeding from her?”
There’s a long pause.
Hyunjin lowers his gaze to the table. His voice is quiet.
“I want to present her with a blood doll contract.”
The room stills.
Jeongin sits up straight. Chan’s brow furrows. Felix’s eyes widen.
Seungmin blinks once. Twice. Then leans forward, tone razor-sharp. “You’re serious?”
Hyunjin nods, gaze still fixed on the grain of the table. “I’ve reviewed the clauses. It’s not about possession. Not even regular feeding. I just… I want her protected. Respected. And compensated. I want her to have everything.”
“And?” Seungmin prompts.
Hyunjin’s jaw tightens.
“And I’m scared she’ll run,” he admits. “I’m scared she’ll look at it and see chains. Or see me as… not human anymore. And I’ve worked so hard to earn her trust without lying. But the second she finds out what I am—what we all are—everything could fall apart.”
Felix frowns, genuinely worried now. “You don’t think she’ll understand?”
“I think she’s brave,” Hyunjin says softly. “But I also think she’s tired. The world’s been cruel to her. And I… I don’t want to be another thing she has to survive.”
A rare hush falls over the room.
Even Jeongin doesn't joke this time.
Chan leans forward, voice gentle now. “Then don’t make it about the contract. Don’t make it about feeding. Make it about choice. About care.”
Seungmin sighs, but it’s not annoyed. It’s thoughtful. “If you’re going to do this,” he says, “run it through me. I’ll help draft it. We’ll keep it clean.”
Hyunjin finally looks up. “You’ll help?”
Seungmin shrugs. “I’m already emotionally invested. Might as well make sure you don’t accidentally traumatize her with clause 14B: ‘Incidental Biting During Emotional Overload.’”
Felix beams. “She’s gonna say yes.”
Jeongin: “And then she’s gonna ruin you.”
Hyunjin exhales, slow and shaky. But he’s smiling now. Just barely. “I hope so.”
Seungmin clears his throat sharply, flipping a page on his legal pad with the precision of someone barely restraining a murder charge. “Okay,” he says, with the forced calm of a man clinging to the last thread of his sanity, “now that we’ve all emotionally waterboarded Hyunjin and collectively destroyed the sanctity of this boardroom—”
“I didn’t destroy anything,” Jeongin mutters.
“Jeongin.”
“What? I’m just saying. I was enhancing the narrative.”
Chan snorts. Felix tries (and fails) to hide his giggle behind his thermos.
Seungmin gives them all a slow, withering look. “Can we please return to the actual issue of bond destabilization among Normals before another one of you suggests forming a blood doll boy band or something?”
Jeongin perks up. “Wait—”
“No.”
“But—”
“No.”
Hyunjin leans back in his chair again, mouth twitching. “Can I be the mysterious one with the eye scar?”
“There is no band.”
Felix whispers, “He’d look so good with an eye scar.”
Jeongin: “I’ll do it with makeup. I’ve got a kit in my car.”
Seungmin slaps his folder shut. “I swear to the ancestors, if we don’t get through the next agenda item in the next ten minutes, I’m putting you all on scent suppression for a week.”
A collective gasp echoes around the room.
Hyunjin straightens like someone just threatened his muse.
Felix clutches his throat. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.”
Chan raises his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay! Back to business. Jeongin, update on the revised stabilization rings?”
Jeongin sighs dramatically, sliding his chair back into place.
“I miss when this job was fun.”
Felix pokes him with a straw. “You mean when no one was watching you lick classified artifacts in the archives?”
“One time!”
Hyunjin snorts.
Seungmin slams the next report down on the table. “Focus. Rings. Reports. Regulation. Go.”
And just like that, the chaos reins itself in—barely.
It’s been almost a month since you started at La Venera.
You’ve stopped checking if the floor hums under your feet. You’ve stopped jumping every time a painting pulses in your periphery. You’ve even stopped questioning why the gallery’s scent diffusers never need refills, even though the rooms always smell exactly right—like rain before thunder, or burnt sugar, or old cedar and something you can’t name.
You’ve adjusted. You've even met Hyunjin's buddies from Luxe Health. But you haven’t stopped watching Hyunjin. And he hasn’t stopped watching you.
Right now, you’re alone in one of the smaller south studios—well, mostly alone. A half-primed canvas leans against the far wall. You’re working on a restoration sketch by request—an old piece with faded floral textures and an underpainting that bleeds through like a ghost. There’s pencil smudged along your cheekbone. A streak of burnt umber on your forearm. Your shoes are off, forgotten near the door.
It’s quiet. Warm. You feel steady.
Until the door creaks open behind you.
You glance up—already knowing who it is.
Hyunjin steps inside, coat slung over one shoulder, sleeves rolled to the elbow, jaw set like he’s preparing for emotional war. He pauses when he sees you barefoot, brush between your teeth, squinting at the canvas.
His lips twitch.
“You look like you’ve been painting with your face.”
You take the brush out of your mouth. “It’s called immersive technique.”
He smiles faintly. Then his gaze flicks toward the table in the corner, where a slim leather folder now sits—dark red, worn at the edges. You didn’t notice him set it down.
That… isn’t good.
Hyunjin clears his throat.
“Do you have a minute?” he asks.
You nod slowly, placing your palette down. “Yeah.”
He doesn’t sit immediately. Just stands there, like he’s trying to figure out the least terrifying way to do something obviously terrifying. Finally, with an exhale, he lowers himself onto the edge of the bench across from you, legs long, fingers clasped in his lap.
“I’ve been working on something,” he says. “With Seungmin.”
You glance toward the folder.
“That?”
“Yes.”
You wait. He doesn’t speak. You raise a brow. “Is this the part where you tell me I’m dying?”
“No,” he says quickly. Then, grimacing: “Unless you decide to sprint full-speed out the door after I explain what this is. In which case, I may die. Of humiliation.”
You laugh once, caught off-guard.
He runs a hand through his hair. “Okay. Okay, I need to do this right.”
Then he looks at you—really looks—and the air in the room shifts. Grows heavy. Intent. “I think you’ve noticed by now… that I’m not quite like most people.”
You stare. He waits.
“…Yeah,” you say slowly. “I’ve noticed.”
He doesn’t blink. “What gave it away?”
You tick off your fingers. “You don’t breathe when you’re focused. You appear in rooms I swear you weren’t in two seconds ago. You move like you're made of silk and threat. You smell like rain and blood and something I don’t have words for. Also, Jeongin called you ‘feral batboy’ when he thought I wasn’t listening.”
Hyunjin’s face does something strange—somewhere between resigned and lightly horrified.
“Of course he did.”
You cross your arms, heart suddenly loud in your chest. “So? What are you?”
He leans forward slightly. Doesn’t reach for you. Just lets the silence stretch. “I’m a vampire.”
The words hang in the air like brushstrokes left too wet on canvas. You blink. Wait for your body to panic. It doesn’t.
“…Okay,” you say.
Hyunjin blinks. “Okay?”
“I mean,” you shrug, “I figured. Kinda hard not to. Also, no one human makes eye contact like you without committing a felony.”
He laughs—soft, breathy, almost disbelieving.
You tilt your head. “So what’s in the folder?”
His expression shifts again. Calmer now. Serious. But not cold. “It’s a contract. For a Blood Doll agreement.”
You still.
He rushes to explain—calm, careful, every word deliberate.
“It’s not ownership. It’s not servitude. It’s a choice. A protected, mutually beneficial arrangement. It would allow me to feed from you—with your consent only—and, in return, provide you with access to protection, medical care, housing if you ever need it, and a bond stabilizer on-call.”
You exhale slowly, mind racing.
He holds your gaze. “But I don’t want to pressure you. That’s why I waited. That’s why I’m telling you everything now.”
You look down at the folder. Then back at him. “Why me?” you ask, voice quieter now. “Why me, Hyunjin?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “Because your heartbeat was the first sound I wanted to make into art.”
You stare at him for a beat longer, then drop your eyes to the folder in front of you, fingers brushing the cover. It’s warm, like it’s been held too long—like it carries the tension still sitting in his shoulders.
You can feel his eyes on you. Expectant. Bracing.
You sigh.
“…Hyunjin,” you say slowly, “you’re looking at me like I’m supposed to faint or something.”
He stiffens. “You’re not… disturbed?”
You raise an eyebrow. “You drink blood. You run a dream-soaked gallery with haunted walls. I’m pretty sure I saw a man disappear into a painting last Tuesday. Honestly, this is the least weird part.”
He blinks. “You believe me?”
“Yes?”
“You’re not scared?”
“No?”
“You’re not going to, I don’t know—throw holy water at me or ask if I sparkle in the sun?”
You squint. “Do you?”
“No!”
“Then what are you freaking out about?”
He opens his mouth. Closes it. Stands up suddenly and starts pacing—back and forth like an immortal cat having a meltdown.
“I had a whole speech prepared,” he mutters. “I had metaphors. Emotional imagery. I was going to offer to let you touch my fangs.”
You make a face. “Okay, that’s a weird opening.”
“I thought you’d panic!” he snaps, waving a hand. “Or scream. Or tell me I was insane. I rehearsed how to calm you down for days. I had Felix run empathy drills with me. Jeongin staged a mock-rejection so I’d practice emotional resilience!”
You blink. “He what?”
“He wore a wig and pretended to be you! It was very moving!”
You burst out laughing—actual, full-bodied, shoulders-shaking laughter. “Oh my god.”
Hyunjin stops pacing. Watches you like you’ve grown a second head.
You wipe a tear. “I’m sorry. You’re just… you’re so stressed.”
“Of course I’m stressed,” he groans, dragging a hand through his hair again. “You’re the first person I’ve ever wanted to ask this of. And you’re just—casually accepting it like I invited you to brunch.”
You give him a crooked smile. “Would there be coffee at vampire brunch?”
He groans louder, flopping dramatically onto the studio chaise like he’s ready to die (again). “You’re going to kill me. Emotionally.”
“Not unless you bite me first.”
He stares at you, stunned into silence.
You blink. Then laugh again. “Kidding! Kind of. Jesus.”
There’s a long pause. Then—quiet, strained: “Do you want to read it?” he asks, nodding toward the folder.
You meet his eyes. “Can I ask you something first?”
He nods.
“…Does it hurt?”
That stills him. “No,” he says softly. “Not if it’s done right. Not if it’s wanted.”
You stare at him a moment longer. Then slowly—very slowly—you pull the folder toward you. Your heart’s beating harder now, but not from fear. You’re curious. You’re cautious. But you’re not afraid.
You finally open the folder, and the first page is neat, clinical. Printed on heavy cream stock, sealed with Luxe Health’s red insignia in the top right corner. There’s a faint scent to the page—something like lavender and rain-damp cedar. You’re willing to bet that’s Hyunjin’s idea.
You read aloud, slow and skeptical: “This agreement is formed between the consenting parties, hereinafter referred to as the Donor and the Vampire.”
You look up. “Did you really label yourself ‘the Vampire’?”
Hyunjin, sitting cross-legged across from you, flushes faintly. “Seungmin said it was legally required.”
You turn the page. Clause 2: Consent and Clarity. It’s fine. It’s detailed. It’s normal.
Until you reach the end of the paragraph:
“The Donor is entitled to withdraw consent at any time, with immediate cessation of physical or magical interaction. Unless, per emergency clause 4.6, the Vampire is in feral state or otherwise mentally compromised—see Appendix B: ‘What To Do If I’m Feral.’”
You lower the page slowly.
Hyunjin avoids your eyes. “I didn’t want you to be unprepared.”
You turn to Appendix B. At the top of the page—written in his handwriting: “Step 1: Say my name. Calmly. Softly if you can. If I’m too far gone, step 2 is—”
You squint. “Hyunjin, is this a poem?”
He’s blushing now, full-body. “It’s a… poetic protocol.”
“Who let you write this?”
“Seungmin! But he had a migraine and said ‘do whatever, I don’t care if she thinks you’re a rabid squirrel.’”
You choke on your laugh. Next clause: Feeding Conditions. This one looks more serious—routines, limitations, recovery protocols. But under “mutual comfort rituals,” there’s a handwritten addition: “Options include: warm compress, post-feeding tea, soft hand-holding, forehead kisses (pending approval), playlist exchange, and shared naps.”
You glance up slowly. “Hand-holding?”
“I was trying to make it less scary,” he mumbles.
“Forehead kisses?”
“That one was Felix’s idea.”
“…Shared naps?”
“I get cold.”
You hide a smile behind your hand.
Next clause: Emotional Compatibility. You read the first sentence and immediately choke. “Donor and Vampire acknowledge a pre-existing emotional connection, defined as one or more of the following: mutual attraction, obsession, unspoken yearning, awkward flirting, stolen glances, pining, lowkey soul-bonded tension, or vampire longing of the aesthetic variety.”
You nearly drop the folder. “Hyunjin.”
“I panicked!”
“This isn’t a contract, it’s a Wattpad fic!”
“I panicked with love.”
He reaches over, gently tugs the folder back, flipping a few pages ahead. Then, softly: “This is the real part.”
You glance down. It’s a smaller section. No frills. Just clean, tight script.
“The Vampire will never feed without consent. The Donor’s safety, agency, and peace of mind are paramount. If at any point trust is lost, the bond dissolves immediately. This is not ownership. It’s a promise.���
You’re quiet for a long moment. Hyunjin doesn’t move. Doesn’t push. You glance back at him, and something in his expression—hopeful and scared and bare—makes your throat tighten.
“Is this what you really want?” you ask quietly.
He holds your gaze. Nods. “I want to protect you. Nourish you. Be something soft where life has only been sharp.” A breath. “And, okay, maybe I want to taste your pulse with your name on my tongue. But only if you want me to.”
Your fingers linger on the edge of the folder.
It’s warm now—probably from Hyunjin’s hands, maybe from yours. Maybe from the strange heat that’s bloomed in the space between you since the moment he slid it across the table. A heartbeat stretched thin with nervous laughter, too-honest confessions, and something quiet you can’t name yet.
You flip back through the pages one more time.
There’s the clause about his feeding habits—clinical, respectful, careful. There’s the appendix with emotional safewords (you’ll never let him live down “moonbeam” as an emergency code). There’s even a ridiculous but kind of touching section about post-bond stress baking, apparently encouraged by Jeongin and reluctantly approved by Seungmin, written in blue glitter pen.
There are clauses about sleep cycles, magic regulation, scent imprinting.
But most of all—there’s him. Messy, obsessive, overthought him.
You look up again.
Hyunjin’s gaze is steady, but his fingers twitch slightly in his lap, betraying the nerves. He’s not hiding it—how much this means to him. How much you mean to him.
“I should be freaked out,” you say finally, voice quiet. “Like, terrified. Vampires? Blood contracts? Scent mapping? What even is my life.”
Hyunjin doesn’t say anything. He just watches you—open, vulnerable, waiting. You close the folder gently. “But the truth is… I think I was more afraid before.”
That makes him blink.
You shrug, smiling a little, almost sheepish. “Rent was due. My body was aching from stress. No one looked at me like I mattered. Not really. Not like—like I was someone worth keeping warm. You did. You do.”
His lips part, a soft breath escaping.
“So yeah.” You reach for the pen clipped to the folder. “I’ll do it. I’ll be your donor. If you’ll still have me.”
Hyunjin just stares for a beat—like you’ve knocked the air out of his lungs.
Then: He exhales, almost shakily. And nods. “Yes. God—yes.”
You glance down, pen hovering. “Do I sign in blood? Or…?”
Hyunjin laughs—full and bright, the sound of something uncoiling in his chest. “No. Regular ink is fine. I mean, unless you want to be dramatic.”
You arch a brow. “Is this your way of asking to bite me already?”
“Absolutely not.” He coughs. “Not yet. Not until you’re ready. But… I might bring cookies next time. Or wine. Or that playlist you mentioned.”
You sign your name slowly at the bottom. Set the pen down. Look up. And smile. “Then I guess we’re official.”
Hyunjin’s expression softens—tension gone, replaced with something warm. Like you just gave him the stars.
Being a blood doll for Hwang Hyunjin doesn’t feel like what you expected. No dark castles. No red silk cloaks. No eerie glowing eyes or candlelit rituals with ominous Latin chants in the background. No—being his blood doll feels like…
A slow bloom. A brushstroke dragged gentle across canvas. Because he hasn’t touched you. Not like that. Not even close. He hasn’t bitten you. Hasn’t asked to. Hasn’t so much as brushed your pulse with his mouth.
And yet—your whole body knows he wants to. Knows when he wants to. How? It’s in the way he looks at you over the rim of his coffee cup during late night gallery closings. In the way his pupils dilate the moment you wear anything with an open neckline. In the way his voice dips lower—just a notch—every time you say his name.
Sometimes, when he’s standing too close while reviewing a piece of your work, you can feel the heat of it—his restraint. Razor-edged, aching.
It’s intoxicating. And a little terrifying. And you’re not entirely sure which part of that you like more.
You learn fast.
Vampires are real, yes. But they’re not monsters. Not the way you thought. Some are ancient and still follow strict caste hierarchies. Some are chaotic as hell (see: Jeongin and his constant snack hoarding). Some are gentle. Others are feral.
But all of them? Hungry.
You read the manuals. Talk to Felix, who is sunshine wrapped in fangs. You quiz Seungmin on post-bond regulations (he slides you a spreadsheet at one point, muttering something about “romantic illiterates” and “legal liability”). Jisung drops a bottle of scent stabilizer on your desk one morning and says “Just in case he gets too close and forgets you’re fragile.”
Hyunjin is not pleased about that.
He sends you a bouquet the next day, bigger than your torso. There’s a handwritten note that reads: “You are not fragile. You are divine. But yes, please wear the stabilizer. I might die otherwise.”
You choke. Text him something snarky.
He replies with a playlist titled: For Your Arteries Only.
Dates with Hyunjin are… ridiculous. One night it’s a museum after-hours. He charmed the curator. You wandered between sculptures with his hand on your waist. Another night he brings you to the roof of La Venera where he’s strung up fairy lights, laid out a whole picnic, and painted your name in gold onto a new canvas titled Linger.
He gifts you a bracelet infused with his scent. Not enough to trigger anything—but enough to soothe, to remind. He says it’s so “you don’t forget he’s thinking about you.” You wear it every day.
There’s longing in every glance. Every near-touch. Every pause.
But still—no bite. Not yet. It’s a dance. A dangerous one. And you’re starting to ache for it.
Late nights at La Venera are dangerous things.
Especially when it's just the two of you. Especially when the lights are low, the windows fogged, and there’s red wine breathing open on a side table.
It’s not a date, not officially. You’ve stopped calling them that.
You just show up after hours now, keying in the back entrance like you belong. Sometimes with paints. Sometimes with pastries. Sometimes in your softest clothes, because you know he'll look.
Tonight it’s all three, especially in that baby pink short dress.
Hyunjin's already there when you arrive, barefoot, sleeves rolled, brush between his fingers. There's music playing—something old and low and smoky—and he doesn’t turn around when the door clicks shut behind you.
He just says, without looking, “You’re late.”
You smile. “I brought cake.”
That earns a glance.
His mouth twitches. “You’re forgiven.”
You set the cake down. Pour the wine. Tug on one of the smocks he keeps just for you and take your place beside him, canvas already waiting.
For a while, it’s quiet.
Just brushstrokes and breathing. Paint splattered fingers. The occasional soft hum as he dips into the music.
But tension has a shape.
It slinks into the room sometime around the second glass of wine—wraps itself around your spine, curls beneath your skin. You catch it in the way his eyes keep drifting. The way your knees bump under the table and neither of you pull away.
He’s painting something crimson and abstract. You’re painting with more control, lines deliberate, precise. But your hand slips once—maybe on purpose—and leaves a streak down your arm.
You groan. “Ugh. This is the third shirt I’ve ruined this week.”
Hyunjin glances over. Sees the streak of red.
Still wet. Still gleaming.
His breath catches.
You raise a brow. “What?”
“Nothing.” He looks away too fast. “Just… the color suits you.”
You smirk. “You mean the paint?”
He doesn’t answer. You step closer. There’s wine on your tongue and something slow curling in your gut. “Hyunjin,” you say softly. “You’re staring.”
He turns his head. And fuck. The look he gives you is hungry. Not starved. Not lost. Hungry. Focused. Intent. Like he knows exactly what he wants and exactly where it’s sitting—in a paint-smudged smock, holding a half-empty glass, five inches from his mouth.
You set your brush down. “Say it.”
His voice is rough. “Say what?”
“What you’re thinking.”
There’s a beat. Then: “I want to touch you.”
Your pulse skips.
“I want,” he continues, stepping forward, so close you can feel his breath, “to paint every inch of your skin. Slowly. With my mouth.”
Your hand tightens around your glass.
“I want,” he murmurs, reaching out to gently wipe the paint from your arm with his thumb, “to ruin you the way I ruin canvases. Obsessed. Careful. Covered in color you’ll never quite wash out.”
You swallow. Hard. “…And then?” you whisper.
He smiles. Feral. Tender. Godlike. “Then I’ll ask if I can taste you.”
Your breath catches, tight in your throat, sharp in your chest. There’s a kind of stillness in the air now. The kind that comes just before the thunder hits. It stretches between you like a wire strung too tight, humming with something electric and inevitable.
You whisper, “Then ask.”
Hyunjin doesn’t move right away. Just watches you. Studies you. Like you’re the painting now. The masterpiece. And he’s trying to memorize every brushstroke before he dares touch the canvas. His hand comes up slowly, fingertips ghosting over the curve of your jaw, then settling at your throat—not pressing, just resting. Just feeling. His thumb brushes the column of your neck, slow and reverent, right over the pulse.
You feel the moment he hears it. Feels it. Counts it. His eyes flutter shut, a breath hitching in his throat. Then: “May I taste you?”
You don’t speak. You just set the glass down and tilt your head. Bare your throat like a prayer.
That’s all the answer he needs.
Hyunjin leans in, mouth brushing the shell of your ear. “Tell me if you want to stop.”
You nod. “I won’t.”
His lips trail down your neck, slow and featherlight, like he’s tracing each vertebrae with intention. You’re trembling��god, you’re trembling—and you don’t even realize your fingers have curled into the front of his shirt until he groans, low and broken, against your skin.
“Fuck,” he whispers. “You smell like—” He doesn’t finish the sentence. Maybe he can’t. Then, finally, he opens his mouth. You expect fangs. Expect pain. But all you get is heat. His lips press to your neck—not biting, not yet. Just a kiss. A kiss, like he’s falling in love with the shape of you. Then another, just below. Then a third, just where your pulse is fluttering like mad.
Your knees go weak. “Hyunjin—”
“I won’t rush it,” he murmurs. “I want you to want it.”
“I do.”
He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze. His pupils are blown wide, lips red and parted, chest rising and falling like he’s struggling to hold himself still. You feel the tension in him—every thread of restraint knotted tight in his shoulders, his hands, the set of his jaw.
You nod again, voice barely above a whisper. “Then do it.”
Hyunjin stills before he finally slips a hand behind your neck, the other splayed warm against your lower back, drawing you into him like he’s already halfway drunk on your scent. His breath stirs against your throat, warm and trembling.
“I’ll be gentle,” he murmurs, voice wrecked. “But it won’t be clean. I’ve wanted this for too long.”
You shiver. “Then make it messy.”
He groans low and ruined at those words leaving your pretty lips. And then you feel it. The change in the air. The shift in him. Not dangerous. Just real. The veneer of restraint slipping. Vampire. Lover. Yours. His mouth finds the spot just below your jaw, where your pulse jumps frantic beneath the skin. You feel his tongue first—hot, wet, a slow swipe—and then the sharp drag of fangs.
Not pain. Pressure. And finally, sink.
Your gasp is swallowed by his moan. It’s everything at once: the pierce, the heat, the sudden rush of pleasure that rolls through you like molten silk. You clutch at his shirt, grounding yourself, but you’re already floating—your head tilting back, mouth falling open, a soft whimper escaping without your permission.
Hyunjin groans into your skin, feeding in slow, aching pulls. His grip tightens, but he doesn’t hurt you—just holds you, like you’re something fragile and vital and his.
He’s panting now, breath ragged between each mouthful. “So sweet,” he gasps, pulling back just enough to look at you, mouth stained red. “Fuck, baby. You taste like yes.”
You reach up, touch his face. “You okay?”
He laughs—wrecked, breathless, delirious. “I just tasted you for the first time and you’re asking if I’m okay?”
You smile. “You look high.”
“I am.”
He kisses you then. Hard. Desperate. Deep. And that’s what does it. Your hands fumble at his shirt. His tongue licks into your mouth like he’s trying to memorize you. His hips slot between your legs. He lifts you onto the nearest table—canvas and paint pushed aside—and his hands slide under your thighs, your shirt, your skin.
Everywhere. He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t fumble. But god, he’s hungry. “Tell me,” he pants against your lips. “Tell me you want more.”
You grab his belt. “I want everything.”
His mouth crashes into yours again and groans deep, broken, like your voice just punched the air from his lungs.
And then his belt hits the floor.
Hyunjin kisses like he paints—messy, obsessive, sacred. His hands drag up your thighs, slow and reverent, thumbs brushing the crease where your legs meet your hips like he’s praying to the altar of your body. You gasp into his mouth, arching when he presses forward, the hard line of his arousal grinding against your clothed core.
“Fuck,” he whispers. “You’re already shaking.”
You are. You don’t care. You tug his shirt over his head, toss it blindly behind you. He’s all lean muscle and inked skin, his body as beautiful and deliberate as one of his gallery pieces—except this one’s pressed against you, flushed and trembling, pupils blown wide with need.
He leans in, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, trailing over the fresh bite like he’s blessing it. “Still good?”
You nod, breath hitching. “More than good.”
He smirks against your skin. “Perfect.”
Then his hand slips between your legs.
You gasp, hips bucking into his palm as he strokes you over your underwear—slow at first, teasing, just enough to make you need. He watches your face the whole time, lips parted, lashes low, expression wrecked with restraint.
“You’re wet through,” he murmurs. “Is this all for me?”
You manage a nod.
Hyunjin presses a kiss to your jaw. “Then let me have you.”
He drops to his knees like it’s instinct. Worship. Pulls your panties aside and buries his face in your cunt like he’s been starving. You moan—loud, unfiltered—as his tongue licks a hot stripe through you, slow and greedy, followed by a groan that vibrates against your clit.
He doesn’t let up. One arm wraps around your thigh, holding you open. The other hand grips your hip like he’s afraid you’ll float away. His mouth is relentless—sucking, licking, tasting every inch of you with single-minded devotion.
Your head falls back with a cry. You barely register the sound of your wine glass tipping, paintbrushes clattering to the floor. None of it matters—not when he’s devouring you like this.
Hyunjin groans again, low and obscene, the sound vibrating straight into your core. His tongue moves in slow, deliberate circles, dragging over your clit with maddening precision. Then he flattens it, sucks gently—then harder—and your entire body jolts.
“Fuck—Hyunjin—” you gasp, fists tangled in his hair, back arching off the table.
He moans into you like your pleasure is his oxygen. His grip tightens on your thigh, fingers digging into your skin as he licks deeper, deeper, like he’s trying to reach the parts of you untouched by anyone else. His nose brushes your mound, his lips slick and flushed, his tongue fucking into you like he’s trying to memorize the taste.
Every time you gasp, every whimper, every broken moan—he reacts. Groaning. Growling. Thrusting his hips against nothing. He’s needy for it, like he’s drunk on you, like the taste of you is something holy and forbidden and addictive all at once.
“Shit—” you choke, thighs trembling, nails dragging down his back. “I’m—I’m gonna—”
Hyunjin doesn’t stop. If anything, he gets hungrier. His arm hooks under your leg, anchoring you in place as he doubles down—his mouth messy, insistent, wet and hot and perfect as he drags another moan from your throat.
Your orgasm hits like a punch. Sharp. Shattering. You cry out, legs clamping around his head, hips grinding into his mouth—and he just takes it, groaning low, tongue still working you through it, slow and reverent, like he lives here now.
You collapse back onto the table, panting, muscles twitching.
Hyunjin finally pulls back, face soaked, lips swollen, eyes feral. He licks his mouth, slow and shameless, and smirks.
“You taste like I imagined,” he says, voice hoarse. “Better, even.”
You stare at him, dazed. “You imagined?”
“All the time,” he confesses. “You think I came to that coffee shop for the espresso?”
You huff a laugh—then gasp when he stands and leans over you again, cock pressing hot and hard against your soaked core. “Hyunjin—”
“I’m not done,” he whispers. “That was just the appetizer.”
Your reply is a whimper. You barely get a breath before he’s kissing you again—deep, wet, slow, like he wants to taste himself on your tongue. It’s messy and needy and addictive, and you moan into his mouth as he grinds down just enough for you to feel the thick press of his cock against your core.
You shiver. “You’re still dressed.”
His lips brush your cheek, your jaw, down your throat. “So are you,” he murmurs. “But not for long.”
You feel his hands on your hips, gentle but certain, sliding under the hem of your baby pink dress. His fingers drag the fabric up, inch by inch—slow, reverent, like he’s unwrapping a gift he’s been dreaming about for centuries.
“You wore this on purpose,” he says against your collarbone. “Didn’t you?”
You hum, teasing. “What if I did?”
He groans, teeth grazing the shell of your ear. “You’re gonna kill me.”
“Not likely,” you smirk. “Vampire, remember?”
“Then you better haunt me if you stop.”
You laugh—but it turns into a gasp when his fingers reach your straps. One slips down your shoulder. Then the other. You’re left breathless, chest rising and falling as he slowly peels the dress down your body—exposing soft skin, curve by curve. He pulls back just enough to look at you. And fuck. The way he looks at you. Like you’re made of starlight and honey and sin. Like he’s never seen anything so utterly divine.
“You’re perfect,” he says, more reverent than cocky now. His voice drops, all velvet and hunger. “So fucking perfect.”
Your dress pools around your waist. Your panties are still ruined, damp and sheer and clinging to your thighs. His hands are warm on your ribs, his mouth back on yours, kissing you slow, deep, possessive.
You tangle your fingers in his hair, tug lightly.
Hyunjin groans, rolling his hips against you. “Don’t tempt me.”
“You’re the one stripping me on a paint-stained table, Hyunjin.”
He laughs into your mouth. “Yeah, well. You started it.”
Then he kisses his way down your body again. Over the tops of your breasts, between them, pausing to look up at you as he presses a kiss to your sternum.
His hands ghost over your waist, your thighs. He kisses your stomach like it’s holy. Then he rests his cheek just above your hipbone. Closes his eyes. And whispers, “Can I have you?” Not hungry. Not demanding. Just honest.
Your voice is soft. “Yes.”
He lifts his head. Smiles. Wrecked. Beautiful. “Good,” he breathes, brushing his lips over your thigh. “Because I want to ruin you slowly.”
You don’t even realize he’s dipped his fingers into the paint until they’re streaking color across your thigh.
A lazy, sensual drag of crimson. Then gold. Then a shade that might’ve been violet once but is now smudged into something deeper—bluer, like bruises left by desire.
You stare down at the mess he’s making of you.
“Hyunjin—” you start, breath hitching.
But he’s already pressing his thumb in, right where the pulse beats strongest in your hip. Smearing paint there too, like a signature.
“I said I’d paint every inch of your skin,” he murmurs, voice gone thick with arousal. “Didn’t say I’d use a brush.”
You whimper as his hands move up, warm and stained, tracing your waist with gentle reverence. Every stroke leaves another streak—colors mixing with heat, desire, devotion. He’s marking you. Not with fangs. Not yet. But with art. With intention.
“You’re my favorite canvas,” he breathes, pressing a soft kiss to the spot where pink meets your ribcage. “And I’ve waited so long to paint you right.”
You’re trembling again, legs spread open over the table, your dress bunched at your hips, panties still pushed aside. And then—
smear.
His paint-slick fingers slide between your thighs.
You moan, body arching at the sensation—cool paint, warm touch. He groans in return, low and ruined, watching the way your body reacts.
“You like that?” he whispers.
“Yes,” you gasp. “Fuck—yes.”
His other hand slides down, the one not covered in paint and his fingers spread you open. Watching your cunt flutter around nothing before sliding two fingers inside without warning. You cry out, back arching, and he curses under his breath.
“So fucking tight,” he pants. “So wet for me already.”
You clench around him at the praise. He’s relentless now—thrusting his fingers deep, curling them just right, hitting that spot again and again until your thighs are shaking. His thumb finds your clit, rubbing tight, messy circles that make your head fall back, breath caught between sobs and gasps.
“Hyunjin—fuck—please—”
He leans in, paint and sweat smearing across your body, kissing your mouth hard—tongue sliding over yours, desperate and consuming. He’s grinding against you now, cock thick and hard through his pants, and you can feel him—every twitch, every pulse. He’s shaking.
When he finally pulls his fingers from your cunt, he licks them clean. Slowly. Watching you the whole time.
Then he stands, yanks open his belt, shoves his pants and boxers down just enough. His cock springs free—thick, flushed, leaking and so so so fucking pretty.
“Turn around,” he rasps. “Now.”
You scramble to obey, breathless, heart pounding. He bends you over the table, knocking brushes and palettes aside. The edge digs into your hips. He drags your panties all the way down this time, discards them like nothing.
A pause.
Then the blunt head of his cock presses to your entrance, slick with your arousal.
You brace yourself and then he slams in with a growl. You scream. There’s no other word for it. He’s huge, filling you all at once, stretching you wide until you’re trembling, dripping, wrecked from the very first thrust.
“Fuck, fuck—you feel like heaven,” he groans, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. “You were made for this.”
He sets a brutal rhythm, hips slamming into yours with relentless force, the sound obscene—wet, loud, raw. You’re gasping, moaning, sobbing his name. Your nails dig into the paint-slick table, searching for purchase as he drives into you over and over and over.
But then there's a shift.
The change in air pressure. The low, guttural noise from his throat. The way his fangs press gently against the back of your neck when he leans down.
“Can I?” he whispers, voice shaking. “Please.”
You nod, eyes wide. “Yes. Please.”
He moves with sudden precision—pulls you up, flush against his chest, one arm wrapped tight across your stomach to hold you still. You feel the tip of his cock grinding deeper, right into that devastating spot and sinks his fangs into the side of your neck.
He feeds like he fucks—deep, desperate, consuming. You feel his tongue lapping against your skin, the pull of your blood as his cock pounds into you, merciless and raw. Hyunjin groans against your skin, breath ragged, blood-slick lips brushing the curve of your neck as he thrusts into you.
“God, you taste like I dreamed,” he pants, voice thick with devotion. “Like every fevered thought I tried to paint away.”
You whimper, head falling back against his shoulder. His arms are locked around you—one firm across your stomach, the other rising to cup your breast. His thumb drags over your nipple, slick from paint and sweat, and you cry out at the sensation. Every inch of you feels claimed.
“Look at you,” he murmurs. “So beautiful. Letting me have this. Letting me have you.”
Your hips jerk as he finds that devastating angle again, cock hitting deep, grinding into your softest spot. His rhythm stutters, overwhelmed, and he bites down gently—not piercing again, just mouthing over the mark he’s already made like he can’t bear to let it go. His hands are everywhere. Mapping you. Cradling you. Worshiping every curve and tremble.
You turn your head just enough to meet his mouth, and he kisses you like a prayer—open, slow, full of everything he can’t say out loud. His fingers find yours, lacing them together against your belly, holding you there while he fucks you through every wave of pleasure.
“I’ll give you everything,” he whispers, voice cracking, almost reverent. “Every color. Every breath. I’ll keep you safe. I’ll keep you mine.”
You’re shaking, unraveling, heart slamming against your ribs as pleasure coils hot and heavy in your core. His mouth is still on your neck, licking at the blood he’s already taken, and it’s obscene—how sacred it feels.
“Fuck,” he groans, voice cracked open. “I can feel you—so tight, so close.”
You whimper his name, breathless. “Hyunjin, I’m—fuck, I’m gonna—”
“I know.” His hand leaves your breast just long enough to slip between your thighs, fingers finding your clit with devastating precision. “Let go for me. Come on, baby. Let me feel you.”
The wave hits you hard. You break with a cry, clenching around him, trembling so violently you would’ve collapsed if he wasn’t holding you so close. His name tears from your throat as your orgasm rips through you—blinding, wet, all-consuming.
And that’s all it takes.
Hyunjin moans—shattered, holy—and slams into you one last time, cock twitching as he spills inside you, deep and hot, his cum triggered by your body milking him for everything. He clutches you tighter, hips jerking with each pulse as he rides it out, breath ragged in your ear.
The room stills.
Your bodies tremble together, covered in sweat, paint, blood, and each other. He doesn’t pull away. Just holds you, his face buried in your shoulder.
“You okay?” he whispers, voice hoarse.
You nod, barely able to speak. “Yeah. You?”
A pause.
Then he exhales a shaky laugh. “I’ve never felt more alive.”
You lean back enough to look at him, and he kisses you slow, reverent, ruined. A painter still in love with his masterpiece. A vampire utterly undone by your name.
You groan as he gently pulls out, both of you wincing from overstimulation and the messy, perfect aftermath. His hands are still on your hips, like he doesn’t trust the world not to snatch you away if he lets go.
“Don’t move,” he says, voice wrecked but soft.
You blink up at him, flushed and dazed. “Wasn’t planning to. I think my soul just left my body.”
Hyunjin snorts, then immediately leans down to kiss your cheek, your jaw, your temple. “Come back. I’ll bribe you with chocolate strawberries.”
You hum. “Tempting. But I might be a ghost now. Floating forever in post-orgasmic bliss.”
He laughs, full-bodied and beautiful. Then—with ridiculous gentleness—he slips your underwear back into place, finds a paint-smudged blanket from the supply room, and drapes it around your shoulders before lifting you bridal-style off the table.
You yelp. “Hyunjin—!”
“Shhh,” he says dramatically, “you’ve been through a lot. You were viciously attacked by an art-horny vampire.”
You burst into laughter. “Art-horny?!”
He grins as he settles onto the floor with you in his lap, wrapping you both in the blanket. “What would you call it?”
You pretend to think. “Mmm… a tragic case of palette-induced pussy worship?”
He absolutely loses it. His head drops to your shoulder, shaking with laughter. “I hate you. I love you. I hate that I love you. What the fuck.”
You grin, nuzzling his hair. “You’re welcome.”
There’s a beat of comfortable silence—your breathing syncing, his arms warm around you, the room still smelling of paint and sex and something sweeter. He lifts his head, just enough to meet your eyes.
“Was it too much?” he asks, quieter now. “The bite. The… everything.”
You shake your head. “It was perfect. It was you.”
His whole face softens, pupils still wide from feeding but laced now with something gentler. “I didn’t know I could feel this full without dying.”
You press your forehead to his. “You didn’t. You lived.”
He exhales a shaky laugh, nuzzles your nose. “You’re so soft right now. It’s killing me.”
“You literally already bit me.”
“Yeah, but that was sexy soft. This is like... soul-level softness.” He pauses. “Do you want a warm cloth? Tea? A seven-course meal? A small kingdom?”
You giggle, snuggling in. “I want to stay right here for a bit. Maybe cuddle. Maybe nap. Maybe kiss until we’re bored of each other.”
Hyunjin smiles like he’ll never be bored of you. “Cuddle I can do.”
And he fucking does and later? he tries to feed you grapes and accidentally drops them down your shirt.
You smack him with a paintbrush.
He swears it’s part of the aftercare.
🏷️ taglist: @cybergracie , @jupitermarss , @basicginn , @dhvnigvil , @emkvlixsx , @collin-thegreat , @somuchpanicverylittledisco , @emilyywhyy , @rainyjeno , @fawnoverdawn , @pixie-felix , @anniestay , @notmeneo , @lovslixx , @themoonlightfae , @heartwithoutaname , @yourghostneighbor , @princesskrystix , @drilles , @y2kur0mi , @mochi-space , @ivaviavi , @phelans-thoughts , @the-anon-reader , @beans4beans56 , @joyfulchaoslover , @channieismylove , @cherryoatchai , @unimportantweirdo , @seagulljk , @freckles-and-rage , @lonelydarknessblog , @girlsymptoms , @bookswillfindyouaway
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twoshot | paws, play, pleasure
pairing: poly!straykids x fem!reader
genre: smut
warnings: sub!reader, dom!everybody else, pet play, buttplugs, fingering, blowjobs, cockwarming, no protection, food in... interesting scenarios
word count: 2.7k
⋆。°✩
< request | part 2 >
The morning sun filters softly through the curtains, casting warm golden light over the apartment. You’re still sleepy, stretching languidly on the bed as the boys move around with quiet energy, the usual mix of teasing banter and gentle care floating through the air.
Today’s different, though.
You’ve all agreed to a special kind of day, a “free use” puppy play day, where you’re theirs to spoil, tease, and play with as their little puppy girl. The thought makes your heart flutter with nerves and excitement.
You hear Changbin’s voice from the other room, firm but kind: “Hey, puppy, time to get up. We’ve got a big day planned.”
You sit up, cheeks already warming, and shuffle toward the bedroom door. Changbin’s there, a bag in his hands. Inside are the pieces you’ll wear today, soft faux fur ears perched on a headband, a snug collar with a little bell, a leather leash, and the tail plug, all laid out carefully.
“Ready?” he asks, catching your eye with that serious, almost commanding look that makes your knees weak.
You nod, barely able to speak, your voice a breathy, “Yes, Bin.”
“Well, well. Look who’s already acting like a good girl,” he says, voice warm, teasing. He pats his thigh like he’s calling a real puppy, and you crawl the rest of the way over to him, your bare knees brushing over the soft rug. “Come on then. Let’s get you ready.”
Your breath hitches when he loops two fingers into your shirt collar, tugging gently until your face is inches from his thighs. He doesn’t buckle it right away, just lets it hang there as he watches you, head tilted.
“You know today’s your special day, right?” he murmurs, thumb brushing the side of your jaw. “Our dumb little puppy doesn’t get to use her hands, doesn’t get to make decisions, doesn’t even get to say no unless it’s red. But she wants that, don’t you?”
“Y-Yes,” you whisper. “I wanna be good.”
His grin sharpens.
“Good girls don’t talk without permission.”
Your breath catches, cheeks heating instantly. Changbin unzips the duffel bag next to him and pulls out your gear, soft fuzzy ears on a headband, the red leather collar with a matching leash, and the silicone tail plug that makes your thighs clench just from the sight of it.
“You’re gonna stay still and let me dress you up, puppy,” he says gently, his tone dropping low with affection and command. “Can you do that for me?”
You nod quickly, lowering yourself onto your haunches, thighs already quivering with anticipation. The subtle pressure of the plug nestled inside you sends a delicious ache deep in your belly, making your breath catch.
Changbin spits into his hand with a low growl, his eyes darkening as he brings his slickened fingers toward you. His touch is slow and deliberate, the pads of his fingers brushing gently between your cheeks first, spreading you open with teasing patience.
He traces lazy circles over the rim of the plug, the wet slickness contrasting with the firmness of the silicone pressing just beneath your tight muscle. Your hips instinctively press back into his hand, aching for more contact.
Without warning, he slips a finger slowly inside, stretching you wider, the subtle pressure causing you to gasp softly. Then a second finger joins, slick and sure, pumping in a slow, steady rhythm that makes your thighs tremble uncontrollably.
“Look at you,” Changbin murmurs, voice rough and commanding. “So tight, so ready.”
His free hand slides between your legs, fingers ghosting over your clit in gentle, teasing strokes that make you shiver. The combination of rim teasing and pussy play sends waves of pleasure building low in your belly, thick and unrelenting.
You bite your lip, trying to stifle the moans threatening to spill as he flicks his thumb faster against your swollen nub.
“Beg for me,” he growls, fingers curling inside you with a little more urgency, pushing against that perfect spot that has you trembling.
You whimper, voice breathy and desperate, “Please, Bin… more…”
His fingers glide deeper, curling and pumping expertly, while his thumb rubs relentless circles, driving you higher and higher.
The weight of the plug inside you and the slick heat of his fingers has your entire body trembling, breath coming in ragged gasps.
“Good girl,” he praises, voice low and dark, “Cum for me.”
You do, shuddering around his fingers, every nerve alight with raw, exquisite pleasure.
He withdraws slowly, with a satisfied smile. “Ready for the next part?”
Changbin hums when you whine.
“Fuck. Look at that little tail. You look adorable.”
You shiver when he clasps the collar into place around your neck, fingers brushing your pulse as the metal buckle slides home.
“Hands behind your back.”
You obey immediately, arms straightened and wrists crossed just like he taught you. Changbin hums approvingly and puts the headband on, adjusting the fuzzy ears so they stand perked. A warm kiss lands between your brows.
“You look like a real pet now,” he says softly. “And you know what the best part is?”
You tilt your head, eyes wide.
“I get to walk you to the kitchen and show Minho his new chew toy.”
He gives your leash a light tug and grins as you stumble forward, knees hitting the floor again.
“Crawl for me, sweetheart. Let’s go show the others what a good puppy you are.”
Changbin leads you through the apartment with an easy, unhurried pace, leash held short, the weight of the plug shifting with every crawl. Your knees are starting to ache, but the eyes on you distract from the burn.
You pass the living room where Jisung glances up from his game, gives a low whistle, and mouths, damn. Chan doesn’t look up from his laptop, but the corner of his mouth twitches.
“She looks perfect,” he murmurs, and that quiet approval sends a jolt of pride straight to your core.
⋆。°✩
By the time you reach the kitchen, Minho is leaning back against the counter with a mug in hand, eyes sweeping over you. He doesn’t smile. Just watches, slow and deliberate, as you crawl to Changbin’s side and sit obediently on your knees, panting lightly, flushed from the walk.
Minho tilts his head. “She whimpering already?”
“She’s excited,” Changbin replies with a smirk, tugging lightly on the leash until your chin lifts. “Aren’t you, puppy?”
“Yes,” you whisper, lips parted. “Want more.”
Minho chuckles, setting his mug down. “Want what, exactly?”
You blink at him. “Attention. Treats.”
He steps forward slowly, crouching until he’s eye-level. You can smell the coffee on his breath, see the way his eyes drag over your face, down to the leash clipped at your throat, the faint wobble in your thighs. He slips a finger under the collar and pulls, just enough to make you lean toward him, balance tilted.
“You think you’ve earned it yet?” he murmurs. “You’ve done nothing but crawl around and look desperate.”
You whine, actual, high-pitched and needy, and that finally gets a smile out of him.
“Oh, you’re really in character today, huh?” He lets go of the collar and gestures. “Up. On the kitchen mat. Hands on the floor, knees spread.”
You crawl into place without hesitation, ass raised, tail wagging slightly with every movement. Minho steps behind you and gives it a little flick, amused.
“Stay.”
He disappears briefly into the fridge, returns with a small bowl of diced strawberries and whipped cream. You hear the soft clink of it being set in front of you, just within reach, but before you can lower your head to eat, the leash snaps tight.
“Ah-ah,” Minho warns. “Not without permission.”
You freeze, knees trembling now, saliva already pooling in your mouth as you stare down at the berries.
“Look how pathetic she is,” Minho mutters, crouching again beside you. “Mouth dripping, tail twitching, thighs clenching. All for fruit and a little praise. Right, puppy?”
You nod desperately.
Minho slips a finger into the cream, smearing it across your bottom lip. “Go ahead. Lick.”
You do, flicking your tongue out messily, catching the sweet on your mouth and his fingertip. He hums, satisfied.
“You want the rest?”
“Yes, please,” you breathe.
“Beg like a dog.”
You lower your head instantly, tongue out, ass up, and let out the most humiliating, high-pitched series of whines and yips you can manage. Minho watches, stone-faced but thoroughly entertained.
“Fucking ridiculous,” he mutters. “But fine. Eat.”
You plunge your face into the bowl, licking up the cream like you’re starving, not allowed to use your hands, just mouth and tongue, sticky and messy and dripping onto the mat. Minho watches you devour half of it before reaching down to pet your head slowly, scratching behind one ear.
“You’re disgusting,” he murmurs, almost fond. “But you’re ours. So I guess that makes it okay.”
You’re kneeling by the counter, tongue flicking at the food. The kitchen smells warm and comforting, but your mind is elsewhere, every brush of his fingers through your hair sends shivers down your spine.
The leash is wrapped tight around his wrist, tugging gently every so often to remind you who owns you today.
You moan into the bowl, not even from the food but the feeling of his fingers stroking your scalp, the leash wrapped tight around his wrist.
Without warning, Minho’s other hand slides down your body, sliding under your shirt to cup your chest firmly, thumbs brushing your nipples. Your breath catches, and before you realize it, his hand moves lower, fingers tracing teasing circles along your hip.
Then his mouth is on you, kissing your jaw, your throat, trailing wet heat down to the collarbone.
“Such a good puppy,” he murmurs, voice rough and low.
He slides you back onto your knees fully, the leash pulling you closer to his cock beneath his pants. His hand tangles in your hair, guiding you down, and you open wide for him, mouth slick and warm.
Minho groans, the sound vibrating through your chest as you take him deeper, slow and steady at first, then quicker, more urgent.
Your lips and tongue worship him, sliding along the length, swirling around the head, taking him in with every breathy moan you manage to make.
He tugs the leash tighter, anchoring you as you suck, your hands bracing on his thighs for balance.
“Fuck, puppy,” Minho groans, fingers tightening in your hair. “You’re driving me crazy.”
You hum around him, sucking harder, tongue flicking over the sensitive underside, mouth bobbing in time with his thrusts.
His breathing hitches, hips jerking slightly.
“Almost there,” he warns, voice strained.
You take him deeper, hands gripping tighter, loving how he shudders under your touch.
With a low groan, Minho spills into your mouth, hips trembling, and you swallow every drop, eyes locked with his as he pulls you up for a fierce, possessive kiss.
And then you hear that voice, deep and low from the hallway.
“She finished her breakfast already?”
Chan.
Minho smirks. “Licked it clean.”
Chan chuckles as he walks in, bare-chested and towel-draped from the shower, laptop tucked under his arm.
“I’ve got a hard on and a full inbox. Mind if I borrow our pup for a bit?”
“Not at all,” Minho says, standing. “She’s all warmed up.”
Chan crouches in front of you, offering a warm smile and two fingers to suck, you take them eagerly, tongue wrapping around the digits as he watches you melt.
“Ready for your first real job of the day, puppy?” he murmurs.
You nod around his fingers, eyes already hazy.
“Good girl. Let’s go.”
⋆。°✩
Chan’s home office is tucked behind a sliding door off the hallway, a place you’ve come to associate with silence, heat, and submission. It smells like sandalwood and fresh paper, and there’s always some lo-fi beat looping in the background as Chan works.
Today, though, as he leads you in with a hand at the nape of your neck, the room feels even warmer. Anticipatory.
He shuts the door behind you and locks it.
“No interruptions,” he says, voice low, the leader tone slipping in effortlessly. “Come kneel.”
You drop to your knees by his desk and keep your head bowed. You don’t need a gag for this part, Chan’s calm authority wraps around your whole body like a weighted blanket, and it’s easy to fall quiet beneath it.
You feel the collar tug as he circles behind you, kneeling briefly to remove the tail plug with slow, steady care. Your hole clenches at the emptiness, a soft whimper escaping despite yourself.
“Shh,” he soothes, thumb brushing your lower back. “You’ll be full again soon.”
And then: the sound of his zipper.
You don’t look until he says, “Up.”
You climb onto his lap on the desk chair, straddling him with your knees on either side of his thighs. Chan pulls you close, adjusting your weight until his cock rests thick and heavy beneath you, already half-hard.
He doesn’t tease. Doesn’t stroke. Just lines you up with one steady hand and sinks you down in one long, slow slide.
Your mouth opens in a silent gasp.
It’s not about thrusting. It’s not even about pleasure, not for him, anyway. Chan’s too focused for that. You feel him shift beneath you, muscles tense as he opens his laptop and starts clicking through tabs, acting like he doesn’t have his puppy full of cock, trembling quietly in his lap.
“Color, baby,” he says softly, eyes on the screen.
You press your forehead to his shoulder and whisper, “Green.”
“Good girl.”
Your cunt flutters around him instinctively, your thighs starting to ache again from the stillness. Chan reaches up and undoes the leash from your collar so it doesn’t tangle, then strokes his hand gently down your spine.
“I need to finish this mix, and you’re gonna help by staying full and still. Can you do that?”
You nod, biting your lip.
He taps your thigh once in approval, then settles in, the subtle clack of his keyboard starting up.
Minutes pass. Maybe longer. Your body is flush against his, cock buried deep inside you, every twitch of his hips making you squirm just enough to remind you who you belong to. He doesn’t say much, just works, one hand occasionally resting on your thigh or rubbing lazy circles over your back.
Your breathing gets faster. Your clit aches untouched. You feel the pressure building and you don’t even know why, he hasn’t fucked you, hasn’t even moved, but being filled by Chan like this, ignored and used and grounded, has your brain dripping from your ears.
You nuzzle closer into his shoulder.
“Color,” he murmurs again, without looking.
“Green,” you breathe. Barely audible. But he hears.
“Such a good girl,” he says under his breath. “My perfect little puppy.”
You whimper into his shirt.
When he finally pauses, cock still buried deep, his hand drifts down to cup your ass, spreading you open slightly, his thumb pressing just above where he’s buried inside you.
“Been keeping me warm like such a sweet thing,” he murmurs. “You wanna cum like this, just from sitting on my cock?”
You nod frantically. You do. You’ve never felt so full, so owned, so desperate.
“Too bad,” he chuckles, nipping your ear. “Not your turn yet.”
You let out the smallest whine, but he kisses your forehead and strokes your back.
“Shh. It’ll be worth it. Let me finish this file, and then I’ll clean you up myself.”
And you stay there, stuffed full, silenced by pleasure, twitching in his lap as he works through his emails and holds you like a patient, practiced toy.
Eventually, when he finally closes the laptop, he lifts you off with careful hands and lays you on the nearby couch, dripping, breathless, legs limp. He wipes between your thighs with a warm cloth, soothing your folds and whispering soft praise.
“You did so well, baby. So quiet. So helpful.”
You drift, barely aware of the blanket he tucks around you or the soft peck to your temple.
Just as you start to doze off, you feel the couch dip on either side, two warm bodies crawling in.
“Mm, Chan-hyung said we could borrow her,” Jisung murmurs.
Felix curls up against your back, stroking your waist. “She’s so warm already…”
taglist: @diekleinesuesse @tillaboo @felixsonlyrealwife @geni-627 @skz8riley @lezleeferguson-120 @pixie-felix @headfirstfortoro @alnex05 @baby-stay92 @encoredesires @androgynouscrownorbit @channiesluvrclub @my-neurodivergent-world @chims-dimple @bookswillfindyouaway @stellasays45 @angel-writes-skz-here @m-325 @0sunshinecryptid0 @beal-o @hug4helios @oksullen @rileylovescats @dreamyfelixx @yxna-bliss @turtledove824 @enhacolor @skzz0213 @hannahlue @purplelady85 @velvetmoonlght @inishij @bangchanspineapple @straykids4lifeee @peskybirdysya @gnabsss
taglist pt2: @zayn-210 @wolfhallows4 @katsukis1wife @sammhisphere
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twoshot | paws, play, pleasure pt2
pairing: poly!straykids x fem!reader | part 1
genre: smut
warnings: sub!reader, dom!everybody else, pet play, buttplugs, fingering, spitroasting, cockwarming, no protection, oral
word count: 2.7k
⋆。°✩
< part 1 | request
You’re only barely aware of the weight shifting around you, the dip of the cushions on either side. The warm haze of Chan’s praise still wraps around your mind like fog, so when a low voice whispers, “Hey, baby…” near your ear, it takes a moment to place it.
“Mm… Felix,” you mumble, still sleepy, stretching under the blanket. “Hi…?”
“There she is,” he coos, brushing hair from your face. “Still our sweet little puppy?”
You nod, drowsy. “Yes.”
“She’s so soft right now,” Jisung says from behind, palming your ass through the blanket. “Bet she’ll let us do anything to her like this.”
You hear Felix chuckle, his voice always warm, even when his words are filthy. “That’s the plan, Ji.”
They’re already undressing you, peeling the blanket away, sliding fingers under buttons and straps until your collar and ears are all that’s left. You blink up at Felix, who’s kneeling between your legs now, stroking your thighs apart.
“Color?” he asks gently, even as his thumb dips between your folds and rubs a teasing circle around your still-wet hole.
You take a shaky breath and whisper, “Green.”
“Good girl,” they both murmur at once.
Jisung pulls you back into his lap from behind, his cock already nudging against your ass, bare, thick, twitching. He wraps his arms under your knees and lifts, opening you up while Felix shifts forward and lines up with your entrance.
“She’s dripping,” Felix groans, his voice gone low with arousal. “Is this all from Chan?”
“Mostly,” Jisung smirks, kissing your neck. “But we’ll top it.”
Felix pushes in slowly, inch by inch, giving you time, watching every expression flicker across your face. You gasp, clinging to Jisung’s arms as Felix bottoms out, filling you with a groan of relief.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead to yours. “Nice and full. You’re doing so well.”
Jisung presses the tip of his cock against your back entrance, smearing his precum between your cheeks, not rushing. He knows how to take his time when you’re in this state, soft, needy, submissive and ready to be claimed all over again.
“You want it, baby?” he asks, cock head teasing your rim. “Wanna be our little slut?”
You nod fast, panting. “Please… want both.”
Jisung grins, kisses your shoulder, and starts pushing in, and the stretch is intense, slow, burning with just enough lube to make it work. Your mouth falls open, silent, overwhelmed, tears prickling the corners of your eyes.
Felix pets your cheek. “You’re okay. Look at me, baby, focus on me.”
You whine as Jisung bottoms out with a sharp groan, his hands gripping under your thighs to keep you stretched open and helpless.
“Fuck,” Jisung moans into your neck. “She’s so tight like this. Gonna make me cum without moving.”
They stay still for a moment, letting you adjust, letting the weight of them sink into your body, letting the feeling of being filled completely take root.
Felix rocks forward, deep and sweet, his praise a soft murmur near your lips. Jisung grinds up in counter-rhythm, filthier, his hands groping and squeezing and forcing your hips to take everything.
Your moans are choked, helpless, breathy little cries of overstimulation as they fuck you like you belong to them.
“You’re so pretty like this,” Felix pants, pressing his mouth to your throat. “Taking both of us. Our sweet little puppy girl.”
“She fucking lives for it,” Jisung growls, thrusting sharper now. “Gets used by one hyung and starts begging for more. You’re such a messy slut, huh?”
You can’t answer, not in words. Just breathless whimpers, twitching legs, drooling lips.
Felix wraps an arm around you and whispers, “You can cum, baby. It’s okay.”
Jisung groans. “Yeah. Milk us. Be our good little cumdump.”
That sends you spiraling, your whole body tightening, pulsing around them as your climax hits like a wave. You sob out a sound, going limp between them, trembling as they both fuck you through it.
Felix cums first, groaning low, filling your cunt with warmth and pressing kiss after kiss to your neck. Jisung follows with a bite to your shoulder and a guttural moan, flooding your ass with heat until you feel completely claimed.
They stay buried deep for a moment, panting, stroking your body, whispering praise between gasps.
“Such a good girl.”
“Fucked full, just how you like it.”
“So proud of you, puppy.”
When they finally pull out, the mess is obscene, cum dribbling out of both holes, your thighs trembling, flushed all over. Jisung grins down at the sight.
“She’s gonna leak everywhere.”
Felix kisses your forehead and murmurs, “Let’s get her clean before someone else finds her like this.”
But they’re too slow. The door creaks open, and Hyunjin’s voice slides in, cool and lazy.
“Well, well…”
Hyunjin leans in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes flickering over your body as Jisung and Felix freeze mid-recovery, both still panting, clothes half-on.
You’re laid out across the couch, flushed and glistening, cum leaking from both holes, breathing shallow. You don’t even flinch when you hear his voice, you just look up at him, dazed and needy, instinctively tilting your head like the puppy they all know you are.
Hyunjin raises a brow, his mouth curling into something slow and sly.
“She’s a mess,” he says, stepping inside. “Again.”
Felix rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “We were gonna clean her-”
“I’ll do it.” His voice leaves no room for argument. “Get out.”
They exchange a look, and wisely disappear, leaving you splayed and ruined in Hyunjin’s shadow. You shift slightly, trying to sit up, but your limbs are jelly.
Hyunjin crouches in front of you, brushing hair from your face with long, elegant fingers.
“Still green?” he asks softly.
You nod. “Green…”
“Good. Come on, baby.” His voice melts around the pet name. “Let me take care of you.”
The bathroom is already warm by the time he carries you in, sets you down on the edge of the tub. Steam curls through the air as he strips, slow and unhurried, letting his own body become part of the moment. You watch through hazy eyes as he pulls off his shirt, revealing sleek, wet-looking skin, chest flushed from arousal.
Hyunjin guides you into the shower with both hands on your hips, letting the spray hit your shoulders first, your back arching from the heat. His hands follow the water, sliding down your sides, slicking your thighs, pressing between your legs to wash away the cum and sweat with practiced care.
“Always so messy,” he murmurs, massaging your folds gently, watching your face the whole time. “Can’t go a day without getting filled, hmm?”
You whimper, leaning into his chest.
“But you like it this way, don’t you?” His voice is honey-sweet, laced with a low rumble. “You like being used. Like being passed around and touched and filled up. My dirty little puppy.”
Your fingers clutch his arms, legs shaking slightly, but you stay quiet, submissive, obedient.
Hyunjin lifts your chin, eyes soft. “You want me to stop?”
You shake your head immediately. “No. Want you.”
That’s all he needs.
He turns you slowly, pressing you forward against the slick wall of the shower, your palms flattening to brace yourself. His cock nudges between your thighs, sliding through your folds before he sinks in slowly, not rough, not greedy, just steady and deep.
You cry out, forehead resting against the tile.
“There you go,” he whispers behind you, curling over your back. “Take it, puppy. Just like that.”
The water pounds around you, your bodies slick and shining, every movement a soft glide. He fucks you slow, dragging each thrust long and deep, one hand on your hip, the other wrapped loosely around your throat.
“You feel that?” he murmurs near your ear. “How deep I am? No one else gets you like this. No one fucks you this slow.”
You whine, overwhelmed by the stretch, the heat, the tenderness.
He kisses your shoulder. “I like cleaning you up, baby. Washing their mess off, filling you with mine. Making sure you remember who you belong to.”
You clench hard at that, and he groans, hips stuttering just a little.
“That’s it,” he breathes. “Cum on me, baby. Do it. Show me how good I make you feel.”
You fall apart then, back arching, breath catching, walls fluttering around him as he fucks you through it with slow, rocking thrusts. He groans into your shoulder, hands gripping tight as he spills inside you, warmth spreading low in your belly.
Neither of you move for a while, just breathe together, water washing over your bodies.
Eventually, he turns you to face him, presses his lips softly to yours, and whispers, “Let’s get you dry. You’re not done yet.”
They find you in the center of Chan’s bed, already laid out, still wearing the collar and leash, wrists bound in soft black cuffs to the headboard. You’re flushed, sticky with dried cum and sweat, your thighs still trembling from Hyunjin’s slow fuck and the messes the others left in you.
Seungmin stands at the foot of the bed with his arms crossed, head tilted.
“You look like shit.”
Jeongin crouches down beside you, brushing damp hair from your cheek.
“You look perfect.”
You blink up at them, your voice caught somewhere in your throat. You can’t speak. You’re not gagged anymore, but the rules are clear: with them, you don’t talk unless told to.
“Color?” Seungmin asks flatly.
“G-green,” you breathe out.
Jeongin smiles like a devil in moonlight. “Then open your legs.”
You obey instantly. Ankles fall apart, leash dragging across your chest as you squirm in your restraints. Jeongin wastes no time crawling between your thighs, lowering his mouth to your core without another word.
He licks slow, tongue hot, soft, maddening. His arms lock around your thighs to keep you still as he eats you out with lazy indulgence, like he’s not in a hurry to get anywhere. Your hips twitch and buck, but he holds you still, groaning into your folds like your mess is his reward.
“Stop moving,” Seungmin says simply. You try.
He walks around to your side, lifting the leash from your chest with two fingers, examining the tag with idle interest. It says “Property of SKZ.”
His voice dips. “You like this? Being passed around like a toy?”
You whimper.
Jeongin’s tongue flicks fast, just once right over your clit. You jolt.
“She’s too sensitive,” he mutters, lifting his head just enough to breathe. “Too dumb to ask for a break.”
“You’ll take what we give you,” Seungmin says, unbuckling his belt. “You were made for this.”
They move fast, but with eerie coordination. Seungmin strokes himself lazily, watching your hole twitch as Jeongin spits on it and pushes two fingers in, curling and stretching with merciless rhythm. You pant. You shudder. You don’t speak.
“You’ve had everyone today,” Seungmin murmurs as he steps behind Jeongin. “Might as well finish with both of us.”
Jeongin bites your thigh. “Say thank you.”
You gasp out, “Thank you.”
They trade positions, Jeongin guiding his cock to your cunt while Seungmin slides behind you, spreading your cheeks, aiming lower. Jeongin pushes in first, slow and smooth, already soaked with your arousal. Your jaw goes slack.
“Still so warm for us,” he coos. “Still begging without words. Such a good bitch.”
Then Seungmin presses in, blunt and careful, but firm. Your mouth opens in a silent scream as he stretches you open from behind, his cock sinking in with a hiss between his teeth.
“Fuck,” he growls. “She’s still tight back here.”
“Hold still,” Jeongin warns, gripping your thighs. “Don’t move.”
It’s overwhelming. Deep and thick and too much, but your body takes it. You were trained for this, edged, broken, filled all day. You were built to be used like this, restrained and filled by two men at once.
They start to move, Jeongin fucks you shallow and fast, slapping up into your dripping cunt while Seungmin rocks deeper from behind, slower but relentless. Your hands are fisted, tugging at the cuffs, mouth open in gasps, but still no begging. Just the sounds of your body being used.
“You’re such a filthy puppy,” Seungmin growls, leaning close to your ear. “Can’t even talk anymore. Just moans and drool.”
“You love it,” Jeongin breathes. “You want to be ruined.”
You nod, feverish, moaning through your teeth. You feel them both, grinding and fucking and stretching you open, dragging noise after noise from your throat. You’re so full. So used. So owned.
“Cum,” Seungmin commands.
When you do, it's your entire body shaking, thighs spasming, back arching, barely breathing as the orgasm slams through you and clamps down around both cocks. You sob through it, twitching, choking on the feeling.
“Good fucking girl,” Jeongin gasps, and empties inside you.
Seungmin follows seconds later with a quiet grunt, burying himself to the hilt and filling your ass with warmth. You collapse, trembling under the weight of it all.
Neither of them move for a moment. They just breathe, and let you soak in the afterglow.
Eventually, Jeongin leans in and kisses your cheek.
“You were perfect,” he whispers. “The best girl.”
You don’t remember falling asleep, only the warmth of Seungmin and Jeongin curled around you, the steady thrum of their breathing against your back and stomach, the last gentle stroke of Jeongin’s fingers on your cheek.
⋆。°✩
You wake up warm. Not just from blankets, or the lingering ache between your legs, but from them. All of them. You’re surrounded, covered, held.
Your collar is still on, leash draped across your shoulder like a ribbon. Your cuffs have been removed, but the slight pressure of eight warm bodies tucks you into the center of the bed like a gift wrapped in devotion.
“Hi, baby,” comes Chan’s voice, low and soft beside your ear. “You with us?”
You hum.
Someone brushes your hair back, and you blink slowly into Hyunjin’s sleepy smile. He looks drunk on tenderness.
“Did our pretty pup have a good day?”
“You were perfect,” Minho says from your other side, fingers gently massaging your calf. “So fucking cute.”
Felix, curled up at your feet like a literal golden retriever, peers up at you. “You were the best puppy ever. Like… ten out of ten. No notes.”
Han giggles somewhere behind your knees. “Except for that time she almost bit me when I tried to feed her with my fingers.”
“You liked it,” you croak, voice hoarse but amused.
Eight boys laugh, one soft, affectionate sound, before Seungmin shushes them all.
“Quiet. She’s worn out.”
Jeongin gently tilts a bottle of water to your lips. “Sip.”
You do, letting him guide your sips carefully while Chan rubs your belly in slow, grounding circles. “Color now?” he murmurs.
You blink. “Still green,” you whisper. “Little floaty.”
“Good girl,” he smiles, and you melt again.
They take care of everything.
Changbin carries you to the bath and washes you like the most fragile treasure, murmuring praise while he rinses your hair. Felix dries your legs with a towel so soft it might’ve been stolen from heaven. Seungmin applies lotion with cold fingers and a surprisingly sweet kiss to your shoulder. Minho finds clean cotton panties and slips them on for you himself. Hyunjin tugs on one of his oversized shirts and helps you into it. You can’t stop trembling, not from fear or pain, but from safety.
They’re not rushing. Not hurrying you to “recover.” They're being here.
“Should we brush her hair?” Han asks.
“Yes,” Minho and Felix say at the same time.
You’re giggling softly now, nestled back in bed, limbs weak but relaxed. They’re all around you, laughing, touching gently, soothing every sore muscle and overstimulated nerve.
“Do you wanna sleep with the ears still on?” Jeongin asks, nuzzling behind one of them.
You hum again. “Mhm.”
“You’re still our puppy,” Chan murmurs, pulling you back against his chest as he wraps his arms tight around your middle. “But now you’re our sleepy little baby.”
More kisses.
Felix on your temple, Han on your hand, Minho brushing his lips over your knee like it’s sacred. Hyunjin tucks your hair back. Seungmin rests a palm on your thigh like a claim. Jeongin lays his head against your stomach, eyes fluttering closed.
“Good girl,” they all whisper.
And you fall asleep again, soft, full, and loved, leash still in place, held gently in Chan’s hand.
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Forbidden Fruit
Stepbro!Hyunjin x Stepsis!Reader Synopsis: Being step siblings is hard, especially when as adults you both know things aren't typical. Warnings: SMUT, cunnilingus, oral, fingering, unprotected p in v, step sibling stuff, fluff A/N: If this isn't your thing, no big deal just scroll on. I wanted to try something a little more taboo. I hope you guys like it! Xoxo💋



8 years ago…
You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, too lost in thought to register anything outside of your own ball of anxiety. The cutest guy in school asked you out on a date today, your first date, and he’d be here soon to pick you up.
Hyunjin leans against the door frame, tapping his knuckle against the wooden door.
“Can I borrow your acrylic-” he trails off seeing your spaced-out state; confusion etched onto his face.
“Y/n?” You give no response, prompting Hyunjin to step into the room fully, taking note of the baby pink skirt that sat just a little too high on your thighs, exposing your long and smooth legs.
“Hey, shortstack,” he says bending down to your line of sight.
“Huh? What?”
“What’s wrong?” Hyunjin asks noting the frantic sound in your voice. His arms come to either side of you, caging you against the bed.
Hyunjin was always one to worry, even though you were only a year apart he still looked out for you.
“I have a date tonight,” you flush. Hyunjin’s face scrunches up.
“With who?” he asks, tone sharp.
“This boy in my math class. But I’ve never really gone on a date before and you know what happens on first dates… After all you’ve had plenty of them,” you mumble the last part. Your step brother was notorious for short little flings and being a player.
“What? The kiss?” his brows raise in question. You nod feebly.
“I’ve never, ya know,” you try to say without actually saying, embarrassment striking your face.
“You’ve never kissed anyone before? You’re like 16, I had my first kiss at 13,” he chuckles and you groan.
“If you’re gonna laugh at me just leave.” You pickup a pillow and slightly whack him with it.
“Woah, ok ok, I’m sorry, it’s just, really? Never?” He sounds surprised.
“What did you need?” you ask desperately trying to change the subject. You stand up from the bed but Hyunjin captures your wrist in his hand, pulling you to face him as he sits on the bed.
“No, hey, come on, I’m sorry. I was just,” he sighs as he thinks of his next words, “Shocked.”
You sigh not making eye contact with him, too embarrassed.
“I um, I could help, ya know. If- if you want me to.” He stands up tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, his dark eyes soft but sincere.
“Wha- how?”
“Practice with me,” he says lowly, eyes flitting to your lips. Your eyes widen at his proposition. Your relationship with Hyunjin isn’t typical. You became step siblings at the ages of 13 and 14. You never really fought, of course he teased you but what brother doesn’t?
You typically did enjoy each other’s company, having movie nights, him letting you play on his xbox with him, teaching you dance moves he’d learned; fun little ways of spending time together eventually led to a small crush on your end. Something you thought would die down after a while, but it never did.
“I- uh, o-ok,” your words stumble out, and Hyunjin smirks at fact that you’re nervous.
“I’ve got you, ok? Just mimic me. Just like when we’re dancing. Follow my lead,” his eyes gaze into yours, something you could swear looked real and his hand caresses your cheek, “He should be gentle, not forceful, not rough; patient.” He mumbles, feeling your body shake as you inhale a breath. You nod weakly throat feeling slightly dry; the moment tense with anticipation.
You watch as his eyes flit down to your lips before he leans in slowly, gently brushing his lips against yours. You hesitate for a moment, allowing your eyes to flutter shut once you feel the way he moves his lips against yours. Just as he’s about to pull away, you brush your own against his in a way that’s more than gentle, something ardent and slightly desperate.
A soft moan escapes his mouth and as your arms dare to lift from your sides-
“Y/n! Jungwoo is here!” your mother calls up the stairs. Hyunjin hesitantly pulls back.
You stare at each other for what feels hours, his eyes searching yours for… something, but you’re not sure what. Hyunjin purses his lips tightly.
“You’ll be fine. Have fun,” he says all too quickly and flees the room. Your head spins from everything, the desire for your date completely gone. And yet you go anyway.
Present Day…
Moving in with your step brother meant a few things.
Mom and dad wouldn’t be on your back about getting a boyfriend and getting married. More independence as Hyunjin wasn’t the over protective type, usually. And more autonomy over your life as he wasn’t able to be nosy due to being constantly being busy.
The rules were simple, Hyunjin would pay rent as long as you took care of the place and Kkami while he’s gone on tour, until you saved up enough money to get your own place. Something you were close to doing with your secret job of being a stripper.
You decided to keep your job secret, because it simply wasn’t anyone’s business. You’re grown, your body is killer and you can do what you want to with it. When Hyunjin is on tour, it’s smooth sailing, its when he’s home that things are more complicated.
When he asked about your job you mentioned you were a waitress, which wasn’t a total lie, that’s how you started out, only two weeks in had you decided to start stripping and seeing the real money.
Hyunjin knew you weren’t a waitress. He knew where you worked, in fact he frequented the establishment many times, for you. He’d always made sure to stay out of sight for the most part. On nights when he dared to get closer to the stage to watch your set, he wore a mask, and his hair covered his face mostly.
Tonight though, he felt brave. It started off like any night would. Practice was over, and he thought of you, working so hard to make money doing what he considered something so degrading for you. He would often shell out his own money on you, even if it was indirectly. He’d send a friend, who didn’t know you, to go up to the stage with wads of cash. He’d even have said friend pay you for a dance.
He told himself he was there to keep an eye on you, which he was, but he knew deep down why he was really there. Why he wanted to watch you. The way your hips would sway when you moved was mesmerizing and he took a bit of pride in knowing he taught you how to move them.
He walks in, the air hazy from smoke and music vibrating off the walls. His eyes scan the crowd, mask over his face, looking for you.
He finds you ‘flirting’ with some man and his eyes stayed glued to you as he watches you disappear with him to one of the little privacy rooms available. His stomach twists, the thought of a guy trying to touch you always makes his blood boil. You weren’t a prize to be won, a thing to be played with, a toy to use. You were a beautiful woman, one that deserved respect, to be revered, to be treated like royalty.
He knew guys would get grabby at the club, he could tell when it would happen too. You’d come home, he’d still be awake waiting on you with warm food, and some nights you were just quiet. Some nights you would burst into silent tears as he held you and you’d tell him a customer gave you a really hard time. How they yelled at you or were rude. He knew what you meant, and yet as much as he hated to seeing you in pain, he loved the fact that you would cling to him as if he was your safe space; someone you could trust.
Hyunjin really did treat you well, more than a sister, but obviously that’s all you’d ever be to him, at least that’s what you convinced yourself.
Hyunjin is solicited for dances and he turns them down, simply grabbing a drink at the bar, waiting on you to come out of the room with the guy. He downs about two drinks before he see’s you, the man trailing behind and you walk in his direction.
You don’t recognize him, you simply go to walk past him, but he stands up and darts in front of you.
“Can I get a dance?” he asks over the loud music.
“Sure sweetheart, it’s,” you go to say the price but Hyunjin holds out a wad of cash rolled up with a rubber band. Your heart races at the amount. Something about him feels familiar, but you can’t place your finger on it. You brush it aside and take his hand, leading him to another room in the back.
The music is muffled as the door creaks open under your touch allowing you two to be in your own private world.
“You can remove the mask ya know.” You smile at him.
“No, I’m good,” he says simply.
“Ok, well sit back, and relax,” you smile slyly, causing his knees to buckle as he sits on the plush sofa. You begin dancing once he pays over the proper amount. The room is set in a romantic tone, candles, low lighting, decent music as you sway your hips, before climbing the pole doing all sorts of sexy tricks. You find yourself giggling as his eyes are glued to you, slightly widened.
You slide down, arching your back throwing your head back to look at him, shaking your chest a little. You notice the way his brows furrow together and the slight scar in his brow. For a split moment your heart races at the idea that it could be him, but you convince yourself it couldn’t be.
Hyunjin shifts his pants as you walk over, continuing the dance, shaking your chest in his face as you straddle his hips. His fingers flex at his sides, desperate to touch you.
“You wanna touch me, baby?” Your voice is seductive in his ear. Your heart races as you watch him nod, eyes closed briefly. You pick up his hands, placing them on your breasts, helping his hands squeeze a little.
“Touching’s gonna cost you though,” you smirk and he lets out a barely audible moan. You chuckle at him, hips grinding against him. You let his hands rest there for a moment, only for them to run down your sides to your ass with his eyes watching you as you smile as you shake it in his hands.
You use his hands to slide the strap of your dress down your shoulder, and same goes for the other as you stand up and move your hands over your body as you slink out of the tight piece of clothing.
Your bra and panties are sheer and Hyunjin feels a jealousy burn inside his chest. How many other men had seen you like this tonight? He knew the guy before him did. Did he touch you? Did he touch what was his- or what he wanted to be his? Did he try to make a move? Were you safe? Why did they all get to see this but he didn’t without a mask?
Watching you like this is wrong. He shouldn’t be here; he should have showed his face and let you choose. Hell, he never should have showed up at all. But it was too tempting to have you all to himself, in ways he was sure you’d never be.
The dance comes to an end all too soon and Hyunjin leaves you with the wad he showed you earlier, not saying a word as he exits the room.
“Thank you,” you call out unsure of if he heard you.
-
You sneak in the apartment that night, hearing the tv in his room still on. He hadn’t met you with dinner that night, which was strange, but you were a big girl, you could handle fixing your own food. The smile plastered on your face was hard to miss. You shut the door behind you, now in an outfit that looks more like a restaurant uniform. You kick off your shoes and stretch for a moment.
Hyunjin comes walking in, barely sparing a glance your way as he grabs a drink from the fridge.
“Uh, hey?”
“What?” he snaps. Your head pops back at his tone, confusion coming across your face.
“Who pissed in your Cheerios?” you ask as you open the fridge searching for food.
“Just forget it. Foods in the microwave.” He mumbles, clearly upset over something, walking back towards his room.
“No I’m not just gonna forget it, what happened? You can’t honestly be mad at me, I just walked in the door.” You say as you walk after him.
“Y/n, forget it, ok?”
“Jinnie, you know you can talk to me,” you go to stand in front of him and he looks as if it’s all he can do to hold himself back.
“Hyunjin, seriously what’s wrong, you’re scaring me,” your hand goes to pick up his, but before you can fully reach it, your back is against the wall. Your eyes are wide, his chest is falling up and down. Neither of you says a word, tension building quickly as your lips are inches apart.
“Jinnie?” You ask quietly, your bodies drawn to one another like a magnet. His eyes look between yours. He furrows his brows together, shutting his eyes and that’s when you see it coupled with that cute little scar you remembered from earlier that night.
Your heart leaps in your chest as your eyes widen with genuine shock.
“Oh my god!” His eyes pop open at your sudden shriek. Hyunjin leaps back from you.
“You were- holy shit, it was you?” you ask and yet accuse him all at once.
“What was me?” he tries to play it off.
“Don’t fuck with me, Hyunjin!”
“I’m not, what the hell are you going on about!”
“So, if I call Chan can he vouch that you were here all night?” your voice is filled with anger, covering up the embarrassment and slight shame you feel. How could you have not known?
“No, we went to go eat after practice.”
“Let’s test that then,” you pull out your phone defiantly and Hyunjin sighs dragging a hand down his face. He walks over to you slowly, taking the phone from your hand.
“It was you,” you whisper again as you process, “Oh my god I let you touch me. You touched me,” you say starting to freak out.
“Shhhh, it’s ok,”
“Hyunjin you’re my brother, it’s not-”
“Y/n, we aren’t kids anymore. I’m nothing to you, now. A friend maybe.” He whispers, noses touching. His lips dip down to capture yours, the kiss soft, sweet, familiar.
“Hyunjin, stop we can’t do this,” you say against his lips, your body betraying you by putting your arms around his neck.
“Why not?” he asks between kisses.
“Because, we- we grew up together, we’re,”
“We lived in the same house together. But I never once looked at you like you were my sister,” he whispers against your lips. His lips are smooth, mouth possessive as you rest against the wall once more. You whimper into his mouth, desperate to feel him.
“I want you,” he whispers in your ear before kissing your lips again.
“Hyunjin,” you whimper as his hands squeeze your ass.
“What would people think of us?”
“I don’t give a fuck,” he says before his tongue swipes into your mouth, tasting you properly. A deep moan escapes him as the taste of your mouth lands on his tongue. He takes your hand, placing it over his sweats.
“That’s what you do to me,” he whispers as he forces your hand to grasp him and he hisses. You whimper involuntarily.
“I’m scared,” you whisper.
“Of what?” he asks gently, a hand cupping your face with his thumb rubbing over your cheek.
“I don’t know, I,” you sigh and look away. He guides your face back to him making you look into his eyes.
“Let me take care of you, let me melt all that fear away.” His face is soft, pleading and you feel the twist in your stomach, the nerves are apparent but you push past them.
“I- ok,” you breathe and Hyunjin practically swallows the words as his lips find yours again, soft yet possessive. His hands come under your thighs helping you jump and support you as your legs wrap around his waist. He carries you off to his room, gently laying you on the bed. He pulls himself away from you, looking down at you, letting reality set in.
“So pretty,” he mumbles as he trails kisses to your cheek, jawline then your neck, sucking harshly against the sweet spot under your ear.
“Hyunjin,” you whimper as you feel his teeth.
“Say my name baby, sounds so sweet falling from your lips.” He breathes in your ear. You feel his hand come to undo the buttons of your white top.
“Wait,” you stop him.
“Baby I’ve already seen you,” he reassures you, “You’re beautiful,”
“But that was me performing, this isn’t as sexy,”
“You trusting me? Letting me have you? God I couldn’t ask for anything better. This is the sexiest thing you can do.” He whispers as his fingers undo the first button. Your face flushes red as he snaps the buttons open now, some of them popping off the shirt. He bites his lip as a groan leaves him.
He lets you sit up and slides off the shirt as well as unhooking your bra letting it fall down. You look away from him, nerves getting the better of you.
“A masterpiece,” he whispers before circling your nipple with his tongue. A gasp leaves your mouth as you cradle his head in your hands. You moan as his mouth encompasses it. He flicks his tongue over it, looking up at you through his lashes.
“That feels good,” you encourage breathily as you arch into him when he gently takes the bud between his teeth. He smiles at your reaction before giving attention to your other breast, flattening his tongue over the sensitive bud, thumb rubbing over the abandoned one. Pinching it and kneading your flesh.
“Fuck,” you whisper as you grab at the sheet, desperate for something to hang on to.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers before kissing down your body, tongue darting out over your skin every so often. He slides off your pants and panties in one go, looking at you like you’re the most amazing thing he’s ever seen.
“Fuck I knew you were gorgeous but damn,” he says as he settles between your legs. He places kisses to your inner thighs teasingly as he ghosts his breath over your folds.
You buck your hips in response.
“Hyunnie please,” you ask, voice shaky.
“Still nervous baby?” He asks and you nod slightly. He takes hold of your hand, rubbing soothing circles on top of it as he spreads you open with his free hand.
“Such a pretty thing,” he says earnestly. He flattens his tongue and slowly drags it from your entrance all the way up to your clit, slowly circling it with the tip of his tongue.
“Oh shit,” you gasp as your eyes flutter closed.
“Fuck,” you breathe as you feel him flick it with soft pressure.
“Don’t tease me,” you whimper. When you look down at him, his eyes are trained on you, a sight you’d dreamt of seeing but never actually thought you’d get to see. His thumb helps ground you as he picks up the pace and presses harder onto your bundle of nerves.
“Fuck Hyunjin,” you cry out as arch your back. He moves his tongue side to side before sucking your clit into his mouth, making you cry out. Hyunjin can feel his cock in his pants straining, leaking at all your noises. He grinds himself onto the bed, desperate for his own friction.
Hyunjin’s mouth starts to get messy, hot breathing, moans and whimpers fall into your pussy as he eats like it’s his last meal. Your hips roll against his face, the tight coil in your belly forming.
“Fuck I’m close,” you whimper as your back once again arches for him.
“Cum for me, baby. I want all of you. Mmm, wanna taste you,” he says as he licks harder, a finger entering you entrance curling up into your g spot.
“’m gonna cum,” you squeak out as your body starts to lock up, his finger working quickly.
“Ah-ha,” you cry out as your back arches off the bed, body completely wrecked by your first orgasm.
“Fuck, Hyunjin, wait, ah shit,” you squeal as your hips violently buck as his tongue doesn’t stop and neither do his fingers.
“Hyunjin, please ‘s too much.”
“You can take it, come on baby girl one more. Fuck give me one more, please, I need it,” he begs. He adds another finger, quickly curling his fingers as he pulls another orgasm out of you.
He watches you like he’s the one being wrecked, watches as your pussy sucks his fingers in, desperately clinging to them as you ride out the second high of the night. Your chest rises up and down as you calm down, the feeling of Hyunjin’s tongue kitten licking your pussy clean makes you squirm.
“Hold still baby,” he says as he rubs your thigh with his free hand.
“’m almost done.” He moans as he cleans you up, your taste is like catnip to him. He kisses up your body, nipping at your hips. He hovers himself over you, gazing lovingly into your eyes.
“Not too bad right?” he asks with a small smirk. Your hand goes to the back of his neck and brings his head down to you, his lips still taste of you and you both groan.
“Tell me what you want,” he says against you,
“I wanna taste you,” you breathe out.
“You sure?” he asks and you nod.
“’s only fair.” You mumble as he puts his back to the headboard, undoing his pants and sliding them off.
“Do you know how?” He asks with a brow quirked. You nod simply and settle yourself between his legs. You lick a stripe up the underneath side, feeling the large vein there. You flick your tongue over the head and watch as his head tilts back, eyes screwing shut.
You smile to yourself, proud to see the effect you have on him. You sink your mouth down slowly, taking in every single inch that you can, your nose brushing his pelvis as you suck.
“Ah, fuck, that’s so hot,” he groans as he watches his cock disappear inside your mouth. You moan around him, causing his hips to buck.
“Don’t do that, baby, I’m not gonna last.” you glance up at him through your lashes and he moans at the eye contact.
“You look so pretty like this,” he whispers as you raise your head up again.
“Your mouth is perfect, ngh,” he moans as you set a consistent speed, moaning around him every now and again. You swirl your tongue around the head, teasing his slit a little as you look up at him.
“I’m gonna cum,” he whimpers as his hips buck up into your mouth, causing a slight gagging noise to be heard from you, tears brimming your eyes.
“Shit baby, I’m sorry. Fuck you just, feel so good,” he says through labored breaths.
“Fuck I’m gonna cum,” he says as you suck harder, moving faster up and down.
“nnnngh,” he says as he bends forward, the thick white streams coating the back of your throat; the salty taste hitting your tastebuds. You swallow every bit of him before you slowly take your mouth off him, a string of saliva connecting him and your bottom lip.
“Fuck that was so hot,” he says as he leans forward to kiss you desperately.
“I want you,” you whimper against his lips.
“Ain’t gotta tell me twice,” he chuckles as he rolls you to your back.
He lines himself up, looking back at your face for any sign of hesitancy.
You nod, chewing on your bottom lip.
He slides in slow, allowing your body to slowly stretch around him. As he sinks in as you gasp and once he bottoms out, you both moan grasping onto each other.
“Wanted this for so long,” he says in your ear, “Knew you’d fit around me perfectly, so tight and warm, ready for me to make you mine,” he groans. He feels your hips buck, signaling him its time to move. He pulls himself almost all the way out before sliding back in easy, letting you feel every inch of him against your gummy walls.
Your body arches into him as he thrusts in harder, hitting your g spot easily.
“So wet, so tight,” he babbles as his hips find a steady pace. His lips find yours again, hands lacing together beside your head.
“That’s my girl, look at how well you take me. I knew you were made for me,” he whispers. Something about the possessiveness in his voice makes your walls clench around him,
He chuckles at your body’s response, kissing you once more, tongues now gliding together in an open kiss. He unlaces your hands, feeling your walls flutter more frequently, and moves it down to rub tight circles on your clit.
“Mmmf,” you whimper as your cling to him, both your bodies slick with sweat as you wrap your arms around his neck.
“I’ve got you, let go for me. Cum on my cock, sweet girl.” He moans in your ear. His words push you over the edge, eyes screwing shut as you cry out in pure pleasure, your orgasm washing over you as you cum all over his cock, body trembling beneath him.
Hyunjin’s hips stutter as he feels his own climax reach him and he paints your insides, fingers flexing against the mattress as you hold onto him.
“Fuck,” he breathes as he catches his breath and you pull back, cupping his face. He looks at you, part of him terrified you regret it, but he’s met with soft sincere eyes.
“That was amazing,” you whisper to him and your lips connect for a sweet kiss.
“Not so scary after all, huh?” you giggle and shake your head no, brushing a few strands of hair out of his face.
“God you’re perfect,” he says pulling out of you. He quickly gets up, grabbing a warm, damp towel and helps clean you up.
Your hips buck as he cleans near your sensitive clit.
“Sorry,” he mumbles as he wipes up the rest of the mess, mesmerized by how it seeps out of you before he finishes. He tosses the towel in the bin before cuddling with you under the blankets, holding you tight.
“I really wish you wouldn’t go back that club,” he says quietly.
“I want to take care of you, spoil you.”
“You already do that, Jinnie,” you chuckle.
“Yeah, but I don’t want anyone else seeing what’s mine.” He smiles and you hum in agreement. There’s a beat of silence that follows, one that’s comfortable and easy.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted that,” he smiles as he kisses the top of your head.
“You did so well, my sweet girl,” he whispers into your hair.
“Hyunjin,” you ask cautiously.
“Hmm?”
“You do realize this isn’t gonna be easy to explain, to anyone.”
“It’s none of their business.” He says as if it’s the simplest thing in the world.
“I love you and you love me, I know you do.” He says as he tilts your face up to look at him.
“I do,” you smile and nuzzle your head under his.
“Then we’ll figure out the rest.” He says as he hugs you impossibly tighter against him; the two of you falling asleep in each other’s arms.
Tags: @breakmeoff @thelovelybireader @crystal005 @velvetmoonlght
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That's Right Listen To My Voice Baby - C.B



Genre: smut
Pairings: Bf!Chan x Fem!Reader
Warnings: masturbation to voice notes, dirty talk, fingering, kissing, unprotected sex, creampie...I think that's it lmk what i missed!
Cosmos note: I can't find the request in my inbox anymore 😅 but this was a super good request I wish I could find it :(
my library!
The apartment was quiet in the worst way. Still. Hollow. That aching silence that didn’t just whisper his absence but screamed it through the walls. Every room echoed with the phantom weight of him, even though Chan had only been gone for two weeks. He’d left pieces of himself behind—his hoodies still slouched over chairs, a half-drunk protein shake abandoned in the fridge, the ghost of his cologne still clinging to the sheets like memory. But none of it filled the space he left behind.
Not when your body still remembered the way he touched you. The cadence of his voice when he whispered in your ear. The way he ruined you—softly, thoroughly, like you were something fragile and sacred.
And not when you had those voice notes.
The bed felt too big, too cool beneath your bare back as you curled into the mattress, legs falling open in slow surrender. The air was thick with summer heat and anticipation, your skin damp with both. One hand held the phone to your ear, thumb hovering like a trigger. The other dipped lazily between your thighs, fingertips meeting wet warmth as a gasp tumbled from your lips.
Click.
The first voice note crackled to life. Chan’s voice—deep, velvet-drenched gravel—poured into your ear, low and teasing.
> “You touching yourself, baby? God, I wish I could see you right now. I know how wet you get without even trying.”
Your breath hitched. A soft, broken whimper caught in your throat. Your fingers traced slow, steady circles over your clit, exactly how he’d start. He always liked to take his time—drag it out, tease you, talk you through every breathless second. You could hear the smile in his voice.
> “I’d kiss your thighs first. Take my time. I know you’d be begging before I even touched you.”
Your head lolled back against the pillow. Lips parted. Eyes fluttered shut. Your hips rolled into your hand, quiet slick sounds filling the room with every languid stroke.
What you didn’t know—what you couldn’t know—was that the front door had creaked open just moments before. That the man you were aching for had just stepped inside, dragging his suitcase behind him, exhaustion melting into disbelief as your voice drifted down the hall.
Then—
> “Mmh—Channie—”
His name. You moaned his name.
Chan froze.
His pulse kicked hard against his ribs. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. He stood there, stunned, chest rising and falling like he’d just run a sprint, hearing every soft gasp spilling from the bedroom.
And then he moved. Quiet, slow.
At the doorway, he saw you.
You were splayed out, vulnerable and glowing in the low light. Legs spread wide, bare skin flushed, glistening with sweat and arousal. Your fingers worked yourself slowly, hips twitching in rhythm with the voice in your ear. The breathless little sounds you made wrecked him more than any plane ride ever could.
> “I know you're about to cum, baby. Let me hear you. Be a good girl and let go for me.”
Your back arched. A soft, shattered moan broke from your lips. You came with a tremble, thighs quivering, body tensing like a bowstring pulled too tight before unraveling all at once. Your fingers slowed but didn’t stop, dragging out every last ripple of pleasure. You lay there, breathless, skin glowing, and the voice note fell quiet.
Then—
“God, baby.”
Your eyes flew open.
His voice. Real.
And there he was.
Leaning on the doorframe, half in shadow, curls tousled, airport hoodie hanging off one shoulder. Eyes dark. Lips twitching into that soft, dangerous smile he only wore for you. His arms were crossed, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him.
You froze.
“Channie—!”
He moved toward you like a tide. Calm, slow, measured steps. Not rushing. Not scolding. Like it was perfectly normal to walk in on his girl falling apart to his voice.
“No, no, don’t move.” He climbed onto the bed and gently tugged the sheet from your fingers, letting it fall. “Stay just like that. So beautiful, baby…”
“Y-You saw me—”
“I did.” His voice was soft, reverent. His knuckles brushed your cheek, feather-light. “Saw how perfect you looked. Heard how much you missed me.”
Tears welled. You couldn’t stop them.
“I’m sorry, I— I just—”
“Shh.” His lips pressed to your forehead, warm and sure. “You were perfect. You always are.”
His hand ghosted down your belly, slow enough to make your breath catch. His fingers traced through the mess between your thighs, slick and sensitive.
“You came so hard, baby,” he murmured, eyes never leaving your face. “All by yourself, but still listening to me. That’s so fucking hot.”
You gasped as he dipped one finger into you—just the tip, just enough to tease. It made you squirm, your thighs twitching involuntarily.
“Let me take care of you now, yeah?”
You nodded, silent tears slipping into your hair.
He kissed them away, lips tender as his hands worshipped your skin. And when his mouth found yours—God, when he kissed you—it was like everything you’d been missing came rushing back. His tongue moved slowly, deep and thorough, syncing with the warm slide of his fingers parting your folds, gathering slick, circling your clit like he was relearning you.
“Still so wet, baby…” he whispered, voice thick. “Still twitching. You were thinking of me the whole time, huh?”
You whimpered against his lips. “Always. I—I needed you, Chan.”
His breath faltered. You felt the tremble in his hand. “I know, sweetheart. You did so good for me. Let me make it better.”
He kissed your jaw, your throat, each press of his lips melting you further. And then—finally—his fingers slid inside. Two of them, slow and deep, curling just right. You cried out, arching into him.
“Fuck—Chan—”
“There you go,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear. “Just like that. Let me feel you.”
He kissed your breast, tongue warm against your nipple, fingers moving in slow, relentless strokes. Your hips stuttered. Your breath hitched.
“You’re already close again,” he murmured, grinning into your skin. “God, you’re so sensitive. I love how desperate you get.”
Just when your body coiled tight—right on the edge—he pulled back. You whined, reaching for him, but he was already shifting.
“I want to feel you cum on me,” he whispered.
His sweats hit the floor. You saw him—thick, flushed, dripping precum—and your mouth went dry. He hissed softly as his hand slid over himself once.
“Look what you do to me,” he groaned. “One look at you and I almost came in my pants.”
Then he was between your legs, cock sliding through your slick folds, pressing in inch by aching inch. Your jaw fell open. You couldn’t breathe.
“Shhh, there you go,” he soothed, rocking forward until he bottomed out. “You take me so well.”
You were full. So full. He stayed there, deep and still, letting your body adjust, letting the stretch settle. His forehead pressed to yours.
“Feel me, baby?” he whispered. “I’m home now. You don’t have to be alone anymore.”
And then he moved.
Slow thrusts. Deep. Intimate. Every roll of his hips was a confession, every kiss a promise. He filled you with every inch, every sound, every piece of himself you’d been aching for.
“You’re squeezing me so tight,” he groaned. “You want me to fill you up, huh? Make it real?”
You sobbed. “Yes. Yes—please, Chan—”
His pace quickened, still controlled but so needy, snapping his hips deeper with each stroke. He hooked your thigh up and you shattered under him, legs trembling, nails digging into his back.
He didn’t pull out.
“Fuck—I’m gonna—” His head dropped to your shoulder. “Can I? Please, baby—inside you—”
“Yes,” you cried. “Please—fill me up—”
His body tensed. He came with a ragged moan, hips grinding into you as he emptied himself deep inside. Every twitch, every gasp, every broken sound spilled against your throat as he buried his face there, arms tight around you.
“Oh my god,” he whispered. “You feel so good. I missed you so much.”
He stayed inside. Breathing hard. Softening only slightly, but still full, still deep. Still yours.
And in that quiet, trembling space—you held him.
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Yum 🤤
Nowhere To Hide
Bestfriend! Hyunjin x Reader
Tags: mutual masturbation, porn, closet sex, rough sex, first time together, desperate thrusting, overstimulation, hand over mouth, biting, semi-public sex, stifled moans, creampie, aftershocks, dazed clinging, emotionally intense
Word count: 4.1k
Summary: you’re just his best friend; his open-minded, dangerously close, overly flirty best friend. so when hyunjin tells you he can’t watch porn unless someone else is in the room… you roll your eyes and let him do it. but you don’t expect to stay. you don’t expect to watch. and you definitely don’t expect to end up with his hand around your mouth, legs shaking, his cock deep inside you in a locked closet at a house party four days later.
This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
You and Hyunjin had always been open with each other.
It was part of the reason your friendship worked — that weird, shameless kind of bond where nothing was off-limits. He could talk to you about anything. You could say things that would’ve made other people flinch, and he’d just laugh, head tipped back, telling you that your brain was his favorite place in the world.
There were no rules. Just you, and him, and the strange little rhythm you’d fallen into over the years. Late-night hangouts, casual sleepovers, the occasional too-long hug when one of you needed something unspoken. No lines ever crossed, but plenty blurred.
So when he asked you to come over that night — casual, chill, just to hang — you didn’t think twice.
You showed up in your usual post-shower state: oversized hoodie, bare legs, the kind of soft cotton underwear that felt like home. His place was warm, clean in a way that said he’d tried to impress you without saying it out loud.
He opened the door, hair messy, smile crooked. “You’re late.”
“You’re lucky I came at all.”
He stuck his tongue out. “You always come when I ask.”
You rolled your eyes, stepping in.
Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the quiet intimacy of the night. But somehow, two episodes into whatever trashy dating show you’d landed on, something shifted.
“Do you mind,” Hyunjin said, reaching lazily for his iPad, “if I put something else on?”
You shrugged. “Sure.”
You didn’t expect him to open his browser and pull up porn.
“Hyunjin—”
“Don’t freak out,” he said, like this was totally normal. “I’m not gonna jerk off. Just… I don’t know. I like having it on sometimes.”
You stared at him. “With me right here?”
“That’s the point.”
You blinked.
“I can’t enjoy it when I’m alone,” he said with a small shrug. “It’s not hot unless someone else is in the room. I’m not gonna do anything unless you want me to. I just… I don’t know. It feels less sad this way.”
You stared at him, mouth opening, then closing.
“Hyune,” you said slowly. “That’s not normal.”
He grinned, eyes bright with mischief. “You say that like I’m trying to be normal.”
Your instinct was to say no. To laugh it off. To tell him he was fucking insane and grab your shoes. But you didn’t.
Instead, you sighed, shaking your head, and muttered, “Fine. But you’re not allowed to make this weird.”
“I never make anything weird.”
“That’s the biggest lie you’ve ever told.”
He winked. “And yet… you’re still here.”
⸻
The video was loud. That was the first problem. The moans were high and breathy and clearly real — not the fake, over-the-top stuff that was easy to ignore.
The second problem was Hyunjin himself.
He didn’t just watch it. He felt it. Breathing in these slow, shallow hitches. Sinking back into the pillows like he was alone, even though you were right there.
You weren’t even watching the screen. You were watching him.
His mouth was slightly open. His chest rose and fell under the soft black tee he’d half-tucked into those stupid grey sweatpants — the ones you’d teased him about a thousand times for being too dangerous.
And then… he moved.
Just a shift of the hips at first. Then his hand — long fingers twitching — rested near his thigh. A rub. Absentminded at first. Then another. Slower. Firmer.
Your stomach dipped.
He groaned, soft and low. His head tilted back.
And that sound — fuck, that sound — sent a pulse straight between your legs.
You tried to ignore it. You tried so hard. But your body was already reacting before your brain could process what was happening. Your thighs pressed together. You adjusted your hoodie. You stopped breathing entirely when his eyes flicked toward you and then dropped — low, slow, hungry.
“You good?” he asked, voice hoarse.
You nodded too quickly. “Fine.”
He smiled — a little too knowingly — and exhaled. “Fuck, she sounds like you.”
You blinked. “What?”
“The girl. On the video.” His voice was dreamy, almost dazed. “She moans like you.”
You stared at him. “How would you even know that?”
He looked at you then, eyes dark and shining. “You think I’ve never heard you?”
Your skin went hot. “Hyunjin—”
“I wasn’t trying to. But you always leave your door cracked. And sometimes I’d just be passing by and then… you’d make this sound. Like you didn’t know how to stop yourself.”
You opened your mouth to say something — anything — but then he moaned again. This time because of you. He was hard now. Very visibly hard.
“God,” he whispered. “Why is this so much hotter with you here?”
You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
Your body was buzzing. Your underwear damp. And every inch of space between you suddenly felt razor-thin, unbearable.
“Touch yourself,” he said, almost breathless.
You shook your head, barely.
He leaned in, voice low. “Please.”
You swallowed. “Why?”
“Because I need it,” he said, groaning again as he pressed into his palm. “And I don’t want to be the only one.”
His eyes flicked to your legs.
“You’re turned on.”
“I’m not—”
“You are.” His voice was firmer now. “I can see it. The way your thighs are clenched. The way you’re breathing.”
You looked away. He reached out, gently brushing your knee.
“Look at me.”
You did.
“I swear,” he said, “I’ll stop if you tell me to. But if you want this even a little… just stay.”
You exhaled. Shaky. Unsure. Wet.
And you stayed. Neither of you said anything for a long moment.
The porn still played softly in the background, but it was just noise now — the tension in the room had turned so dense it pressed in on your skin like heat, like breath.
Hyunjin dragged his bottom lip between his teeth and exhaled slowly through his nose. His hand hadn’t left his lap.
You were still watching him.
And he was watching you watching him.
“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, voice hoarse.
Your chest tightened. “No.”
That was all he needed.
He shifted closer, just barely, and let out a sound — low, needy — as he rolled his hips against his palm. The motion was subtle, but it jolted through you like lightning. He rubbed again, slow, firm, a deliberate drag of pressure down the thick line in his sweatpants.
Your thighs clenched instinctively. You were soaked. You could feel it — the press of cotton against slick skin, the fluttering ache that had been growing steadily in your core from the moment he started moaning.
He looked drunk off it. His mouth was open, panting softly. His eyes flicked over your face, down your body, then back to your eyes.
“Touch yourself,” he said again, quieter this time. “I want to see what you look like when you’re needy.”
You let out a breath that trembled.
Your hand moved before your mind could stop it — sliding under the hem of your hoodie, then beneath the waistband of your underwear. Hyunjin’s eyes followed every inch.
“Oh my god” he whispered.
Your fingers dipped into yourself. Soaked.
Your breath hitched hard.
Hyunjin groaned — loud, ragged — and dropped his head back against the headboard, his hand now gripping the full length of his cock over his sweats. The bulge was thick and heavy, straining the fabric.
“Fuck, you’re touching yourself,” he rasped. “I can’t believe you’re actually…”
You moaned — quietly, shakily — and he snapped his eyes open.
“Say something,” he begged. “Tell me what you feel like.”
“I’m wet,” you whispered, eyes closing. “I’ve never been this wet just from watching someone.”
That made him gasp.
“God—fuck—” He shoved his sweatpants down just enough to free himself, and suddenly you couldn’t look away.
He was long, flushed red at the tip, already glistening with pre-cum.
You whimpered.
His eyes fluttered shut at the sound.
“You’re fucking beautiful,” he muttered. “You know that? Just—so fucking pretty when you touch yourself like that. Show me more.”
You moved your fingers again, slow and deliberate, spreading the slickness and brushing over your clit. Your hips arched subtly into the motion, breath stuttering.
Hyunjin watched like a man starved.
“I want to taste you,” he said suddenly, voice broken. “Fuck—I want my face between your legs so bad.”
Your whole body shuddered.
He jerked himself once, twice — not fast, but hard. Focused. Like he was trying to memorize the way it felt while staring at you.
You moaned again, louder this time. Embarrassed at how fast your body was unraveling.
“I’ve thought about this before,” he confessed, still stroking. “Not like this exactly. But… you. Under me. Wet and panting. Saying my name.”
You bit your lip, fingers moving faster now. “I didn’t think we’d ever—”
“Me neither,” he whispered. “But now I don’t even want to stop.”
The air was charged, burning.
You were close. So close it was making your knees tremble.
Hyunjin leaned in again, his free hand brushing against your thigh as if asking for permission.
You didn’t stop him.
His lips were inches from your ear when he whispered, “Let me help.”
You paused. Swallowed.
He watched you — tense, hopeful, ruined — until you nodded.
And then… the shift happened.
Hyunjin slipped his hand down, fingers brushing yours under the band of your underwear. You gasped, but didn’t pull away. He cupped you gently, middle finger sliding through the mess you’d made.
“Oh my fucking god,” he whispered. “You’re soaked.”
Your head dropped against his shoulder.
“You made me like this,” you breathed.
“Yeah?” he said, voice shaking. “You like watching me stroke my cock for you?”
You whimpered again. “Yes—fuck, yes.”
He slid his finger in, slow and deep, while still stroking himself with the other hand. You cried out, biting down on your hoodie sleeve as he moved inside you, curling slightly.
“Come for me,” he said, lips against your temple. “Please. I want to see you fall apart.”
It didn’t take long.
Your body clenched tight, the pressure building sharp and sudden until it broke — heat flooding you from the inside out, your voice catching as you gasped and ground against his hand.
Hyunjin let out a desperate groan and came right after you, hot and heavy against his stomach, chest rising in ragged breaths as his hips jerked through the last few strokes.
You both collapsed sideways into the pillows, breathing hard, sweaty, trembling.
For a moment, it was quiet.
Then—
“That was…” you began, voice wrecked.
“I know.” He laughed, still panting. “I know.”
You turned your head to look at him. His hair was a mess. His lips were red. His eyes were soft now — not teasing, not smug. Just open.
“That didn’t feel casual,” you whispered.
His gaze dropped to your mouth.
“No,” he said. “It didn’t.”
You didn’t know what would come next.
⸻
The worst part wasn’t what happened between you.
It was the silence after.
The way everything between you and Hyunjin felt louder because no one was talking about it.
You’d spent the last three nights pretending that orgasm hadn’t happened. That your fingers hadn’t tangled with his. That he hadn’t whispered I want to taste you while stroking himself, eyes on your mouth.
You didn’t talk about it. You couldn’t.
But the tension between you? You may as well have been shouting.
He sat closer now. Looked longer. He didn’t tease like he used to — not playfully, not harmlessly. Now every glance had heat. Every brush of skin felt intentional.
So when Jisung shouted across the living room, “Let’s play hide and seek — losers get a punishment dare,” you already knew something was going to go wrong.
Because you and Hyunjin couldn’t be trusted anymore.
⸻
You didn’t even plan to hide in the closet.
You were laughing, breathless, the count ticking down — Ten! Nine! Eight! — and you darted around a corner in the hallway looking for literally anywhere to disappear.
The closet door was cracked open.
You pushed in and—
“Shit—!”
A hand reached out to yank you the rest of the way in.
Hyunjin.
He shoved the door closed behind you both, muffling your gasp, then exhaled hard against your ear.
You were chest to chest. Pressed flush to him. The closet was barely the size of a broom closet — coats brushing your cheeks, the smell of old cedar, the wood beneath your bare feet cool from the tile.
“Seriously?” you whispered, half-giggling. “You’re here?”
“You ran into me,” he hissed. “Be quiet—”
Footsteps passed in the hallway. The sound of someone shouting: “Not in the bathroom!”
You both stilled.
And then you started laughing.
Quiet, breathy little giggles that made your shoulders shake. His hands were on your hips now, steadying you, his face so close you could feel his mouth twitch into a smile.
“Shhh,” he whispered, amused. “You’re gonna get us caught.”
“It’s your fault,” you whispered back.
“Yeah?” His breath ghosted your cheek. “Pretty sure it’s yours.”
Your back hit the wall as you shifted to give him room. But there was no room. Nowhere to go.
His thigh brushed up between yours. Your knee bent just slightly.
And that’s when you felt it.
The slow, unmistakable press of something hard against your hip.
You froze.
Hyunjin did, too.
“Hyunjin—?” you whispered.
He didn’t answer right away. His breath had turned shallow, his forehead dropping forward slightly to rest against the wall beside your head.
“I’m sorry,” he said finally. “I can’t help it.”
His voice was low. Strained. Honest.
You swallowed.
It didn’t feel like a joke. It didn’t even feel like a dare. It just… was. Real. Present. Pressed right up against you.
The memory of that night came rushing back — the way he gasped when you moaned, the wet sound of your bodies moving in sync, the look in his eyes when he touched you like it meant something.
And now you were here.
Too close. Too warm. Your short dress had ridden up when he pulled you in, and your bare legs were brushing his sweatpants with every shaky inhale.
You should’ve moved away.
You didn’t.
Instead, you whispered, “This is dangerous.”
He nodded. Barely. “I know.”
Your hands were on his chest, fingers curled into the soft fabric of his shirt. His hands still sat heavy on your hips. Neither of you were breathing quite right.
And then—you shifted.
Just the smallest movement. An unconscious roll of your hips as you tried to balance.
And Hyunjin let out the quietest, shattered groan.
Your stomach dropped.
“Don’t do that,” he whispered.
“Do what?” But your voice was thinner now.
“That.”
You did it again. Just to be sure. The press of your core against him was slow, experimental — your thin underwear the only barrier between your body and the thick, hard line of his cock beneath his sweats.
He whined.
Low, soft, desperate.
His forehead dropped to your shoulder. You felt him tremble.
“You can’t grind on me like that,” he breathed.
“You were already hard.”
“And now you’re already wet.”
The words punched the breath out of your lungs.
You didn’t say anything — couldn’t — and instead let yourself roll against him again, slowly this time, hips rocking once more into his.
His mouth dropped open. You felt it brush your skin.
“Fuck, you’re killing me,” he groaned.
The coats swayed faintly beside you as he gently pressed you back into the wall, his hands tightening at your waist, thumbs brushing under the edge of your dress.
You gasped quietly as he rocked up into you, the friction too good, too familiar.
“I think about it every night,” he whispered, like it hurt. “The way you sound when you come. How soft you were. How hot your hand felt over mine.”
You were burning.
Your body responded before your mind did — rocking again, your arms slipping up around his neck to muffle a soft, stuttering moan into his shoulder.
He cursed under his breath.
Then he stilled. His hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his.
“Tell me to stop,” he said.
You didn’t.
Instead, you leaned in — your lips brushing his, breath against breath, heart in your throat.
And that’s when the closet door creaked.
“Anyone in here?” someone called.
You and Hyunjin froze.
Your mouth hovered over his.
Neither of you moved. Neither of you dared.
The door didn’t open.
Footsteps passed.
And the second you were alone again, Hyunjin exhaled.
You were still catching your breath when you heard it.
The soft click of the inside lock.
Hyunjin had turned the tiny latch on the closet door — sealing you both inside.
Your eyes darted to his, wide, breathless, heart kicking.
“What are you doing—?”
But he was already shifting you, gentle but firm.
Turning you in the dark, pressing your front to the wall of the closet, your palms flat against the wood paneling, your chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths.
His voice came at your ear, low and wrecked. “I can’t pretend anymore.”
His hands slid up your thighs — slow, reverent, shaking slightly — fingers brushing the hem of your dress, pushing it higher until it was bunched around your hips.
You gasped when you felt it — the warm weight of his cock, thick and flushed, freed from his sweats and nestled right in the crease of your thighs. Hot, hard skin against the damp cotton of your panties.
“Hyunjin—” You tried to say something. Anything.
But then he rocked forward.
And your mind blanked.
The first thrust wasn’t deep, wasn’t precise — just a desperate press of his cock between your thighs, dragging the thick head right along your clothed pussy.
You whimpered.
Your knees nearly buckled.
His breath left him in a shaky hiss. “Holy fuck—”
You didn’t realize you were moving until you were rocking back against him — instinctive, helpless — meeting every slow rut of his hips with the arch of your spine.
The friction was perfect.
Each thrust of his cock between your thighs rubbed right against your clit through the soaked fabric. It felt filthy. Overwhelming. Like a fever dream you didn’t dare wake up from.
And then his mouth was on your neck.
Hot, open, wet kisses down your jaw, your pulse, his tongue tasting your skin like he’d wanted to for years. His hands grabbed your hips, greedy now, pulling you tighter against him with every roll of his body.
You were panting, trembling, moaning softly into the wall with every pass of his cock between your slick thighs.
“Fucking hell,” he muttered, voice unraveling, “you feel so—shit—so soft.”
You turned your head, breath shallow, eyes finding his in the dark.
“Hyunjin,” you whispered.
His mouth crashed into yours before the word could fully leave you.
It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t careful.
It was desperate.
Tongue and teeth, lips parted, mouths gasping against each other like this kiss had been trapped between you for years. Like he was starving for it. Like you’d never survive it.
You grabbed at his hair. He groaned into your mouth.
His hand slid up your front, fingers curling under the fabric of your dress, and suddenly he was palming your breast — rough, hungry, his thumb brushing your nipple through the lace of your bra.
You arched into his hand.
He bit your lip.
You whined, trembling, your voice cracking. “I need you.”
He froze.
Your words hung in the air — too raw, too loud, too real.
Then he growled, deep in his chest.
And his hand moved.
Down your stomach. Past the waistband of your underwear. Two fingers slid through your soaked slit and came away dripping.
He hissed, whispering something under his breath you couldn’t catch.
Then he hooked his fingers under your thong — pulled it aside.
And you felt him.
The head of his cock, hot and heavy, slipping between your folds. Your knees nearly gave out.
“Are you sure?” he breathed. “Fuck—tell me.”
You didn’t hesitate.
“Yes. Please—”
He didn’t wait another second.
He gripped your hip, braced a hand on the wall beside your head, and with a single smooth thrust, sank into you.
You gasped — loud and broken.
He groaned like it hurt.
Like he’d been dreaming of this for too fucking long.
You could barely breathe.
He filled you so completely you felt split open. Every inch of him slid deep, hot and thick, your body clenching around him like it had been aching for this—like it knew him.
Hyunjin stayed still at first.
Forehead to your shoulder, panting, hand tight on your hip like he was trying to ground himself.
“Fuck,” he whispered. “You feel like heaven.”
You whined — a low, raw sound — hips rolling back into him, your fingers scraping the wall for anything to hold on to.
That was all it took.
His restraint snapped.
His hips drew back.
And then he started fucking you.
It wasn’t slow anymore.
It wasn’t careful.
It was frantic, overwhelming, wet — the obscene slap of skin-on-skin muffled only slightly by the coats around you, your slick dripping down the inside of your thighs with each thrust.
You tried to be quiet. You really did.
But every time his cock drove into you, you couldn’t stop the moans — breathy and soft at first, then high and frantic as his pace picked up.
And when a louder gasp escaped your mouth—
His hand clamped over it.
Large, warm, shaking fingers curled across your lips, muffling the helpless sounds spilling from you as he pounded into you from behind.
You whimpered into his palm.
His voice broke right beside your ear. “I’m sorry, baby—I need you quiet—can’t let them hear—”
You nodded. Barely.
But your body was shaking. Your walls fluttering around him. And Hyunjin knew you were close.
So he got mean.
Rougher.
He slammed into you harder, his cock dragging across all the right spots, your thighs trembling from the pressure of each thrust — and the filthiest part? You were soaked. The squelch of your cunt around him was wet and loud and pornographic, and it only made him fuck you harder.
You bit down.
Hard.
Right into the base of his palm as his hand stayed tight over your mouth.
He groaned, bucking into you like it drove him insane.
“Shit—fuck, just like that—”
He lost rhythm for a second, stuttering into you, hand slipping from your mouth to your throat, thumb under your jaw to tilt your head back, mouth against your skin again.
Then he bit down.
His teeth sank into the soft curve of your shoulder as he buried himself deep, his moans muffled into your skin.
You swore you blacked out for a second.
You couldn’t tell which way was up anymore — just the overwhelming drag of his cock, the heat in your belly, the white-noise roar in your ears as your orgasm crept higher, hotter, inevitable.
“Fuck—Hyunjin—I’m gonna—”
“I know,” he groaned. “I feel you, baby—fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight—”
You came with a cry into his wrist, your whole body spasming.
Everything snapped — the pressure, the tension, the weeks of unsaid things between you, all of it boiling over in that moment as you fell apart on his cock.
He barely held it together.
You felt him twitch inside you, pace faltering, his voice falling to ragged, desperate whimpers.
“Fuckfuckfuck—oh my god, I’m gonna—can I—inside—?”
You nodded, dazed. “Yes—yes, please—”
One more thrust. Deep. Hot.
And he came with a bitten-off moan into your neck, his body jerking hard as he spilled into you — thick, hot spurts of cum painting your insides, his cock buried deep as he rode out every last pulse, twitching and trembling.
You slumped forward, boneless.
His arms caught you. Held you there.
Both of you breathing like you’d run miles. Sweaty. Shaking. Still joined, still stuffed full.
The closet spun in silence.
And when his hand finally fell from your mouth, you whispered — voice shot, lips swollen —
“…We can’t ever just be friends again, can we?”
And Hyunjin, still inside you, kissed your shoulder like it was a promise.
“No,” he said. “We’re so fucked.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Authors note: HIIIIIIIIII!!!! Breakfast is served (or lunch or dinner lol) 😂 personally i think this is the filthiest hyunjin fic i have written… right? I cant even remember lol! So i got that closet idea from this edit… saw it and my brain short-circuited 😭🫠❤️ And now we are here!
Give this a lot of love! Also update; i have officially started writing my first original novel 🥹 ahhhhh
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#hwang hyunjin fic#hyunjin x you#straykids x reader#hyunjin smut#hyunjin fic#hwang hyunjin x reader#skz smut
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