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jungsuarus · 2 months ago

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One Bed, Two Problems

Jeongin x reader / enemies to lovers / only one bed / smut / possessive!Jeongin

**involves!!** sex, dirty talk, cursing, rough sex, Insulting / pain kink, cursing

enjoy xx (open for request)

★.•☆•.★★.•☆•.★¸.•☆•.¸★ skzstarl0ver ★⡀.•☆•.★⡀.•☆•.★¸.•☆•.¸★

You don’t remember when exactly it started — this thing between you and Jeongin.

Maybe it was that first time he rolled his eyes at something you said during a game night, or the way he’d always challenge you on the most mundane things. What movie to watch. Who made the best ramen. The right way to fold laundry. Every moment between you turned into a petty argument — but the weird part?

It never really pissed you off. It exhilarated you. You craved it.

Which is why this trip with the friend group was already risky. You didn’t need to be around Jeongin for seven straight days, sharing vans and meals and long stares across group dinners. But you never expected this.

“We have a little mix-up in the booking,” the hotel receptionist said sweetly. “Looks like… one bed in the room for you two.”

Jeongin laughed. Actually laughed. And that smug little dimple popped.

“Perfect,” he said. “Y/N snores anyway. I’ll suffer through it.”

You spun toward him. “I do not snore.”

“Sure, baby. Whatever gets you through the night.”

You could’ve punched him right there. Instead, you grabbed the key and stormed off.

Now it’s 12:37 a.m. and you're lying as close to the edge of the bed as humanly possible, gripping your phone like it’s a lifeline.

Jeongin is on the other side — same position. Same tension. Same awareness.

Every rustle of the sheets feels like an earthquake.

You toss onto your back and exhale sharply. “Can you stop moving?”

“I’m not moving.”

“You’re breathing loud.”

“It’s called being alive, princess.”

You groan, covering your face with your arm. “I hate this.”

He chuckles under his breath, voice low and far too hot in the dark. “No you don’t.”

You peek at him. “Excuse me?”

“You love fighting with me,” he says lazily, one arm tucked behind his head. “You’d be bored if I stopped.”

You roll your eyes. “Trust me, I dream of silence.”

He hums. “Do you dream of me too?”

That silences you.

For a full beat, neither of you says a word.

“…You wish,” you finally murmur.

But it comes out too soft. Too shaky. And he hears it.

He shifts, and you feel the bed dip as he turns onto his side to face you.

“You know what I think?” he whispers.

You don’t answer. You don’t breathe.

“I think you hate me because you can’t stand how badly you want me.”

Your chest tightens. Your heart is racing, hammering. You can’t look at him.

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Oh, baby,” he murmurs, voice brushing the shell of your ear, “if I was flattering myself, you’d be begging already.”

You turn, ready to throw another insult, but the words die the second you meet his eyes.

God. His face is so close. Lips parted. Eyes darker than you’ve ever seen them. That cocky confidence is still there, but it’s coated with something else now.

Desire.

Raw and real and hungry.

“You want me to shut up?” he whispers.

You swallow hard.

“Then make me.”

You don’t know who moves first — maybe both of you. Maybe the universe finally snapped and said enough — but your lips crash like a storm.

It’s not sweet. It’s heat. Tongues, teeth, years of teasing and tension unraveling all at once. His hands tangle in your hair, your fingers clutch his hoodie like you need something to anchor you. Every kiss is a battle and a surrender all at once.

When you break apart, breathless, his forehead presses to yours.

“I knew it,” he whispers.

“You’re so cocky,” you pant.

“You like it.”

You kiss him again just to shut him up. This time slower. More desperate. You feel his hand slide under your shirt, warm against your skin, and your breath catches.

“I should hate you,” you whisper.

He smirks against your throat. “You do.”

“But I want you.”

“I know.”

You don’t remember who yanked whose shirt off first.

All you know is that one second you were clawing at each other’s clothes like animals, and the next he had you pinned to the mattress, body heavy over yours, lips swollen from kissing you stupid.

“You gonna whine the whole time?” he growls, dragging his mouth along your jaw.

You squirm beneath him. “Depends. You gonna fuck like you argue?”

His smirk is pure sin. “You want me to be nice?”

“God, no.”

He grins — but it’s feral now. Dangerous.

“Good,” he mutters, “because I don’t do nice with brats like you.”

His hand wraps around your throat — not tight, just enough to make you freeze. To make your breath hitch.

“Always mouthing off,” he says, eyes locked on yours. “Always so fucking annoying. You need to be put in your place.”

And then his mouth is on yours again, biting, claiming, owning.

You gasp as he flips you over, chest to the bed now, his weight pressing you down. You feel his teeth scrape your shoulder, and you moan — loud, shameless.

“You like that?” he whispers, fingers sliding between your legs. “Didn’t think a stuck-up princess like you could be so wet for someone she ‘hates.’”

“I do hate you,” you breathe.

He laughs against your skin, nipping your ear.

“Liar.”

You feel him rutting against your ass, hard through his boxers, and you push back just to feel him groan.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “So desperate. So cocky all day, and now you’re just begging for it.”

You try to turn your head but he grabs a fistful of your hair, yanking it back — just enough to make you moan again.

“Say it,” he growls.

You shiver. “Say what?”

“That you want me. That you need me.”

You grit your teeth. “Never.”

He laughs again — dark and low and absolutely wrecking you.

“Fine,” he mutters, lining himself up behind you. “I’ll fuck the truth out of you.”

And when he thrusts in, hard and deep, your brain short-circuits.

You cry out into the pillow, hands clawing at the sheets. He doesn't give you time to adjust — and you don’t want it. You want it raw. You want it rough. You want him.

Every thrust knocks the air out of your lungs. He leans down, chest to your back, one hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping your hip like he’s scared you’ll vanish.

“You take me so well,” he growls. “Bet you’ve thought about this every night after we argued, huh? Bet you played with yourself thinking about how good I’d fuck you.”

You moan, helpless.

“Oh my god—”

“What was that?” he taunts. “No more snarky comebacks now?”

He reaches down, fingers circling your clit while he keeps thrusting. You arch like a live wire, crying out for him. Your entire body trembles.

“You close already, baby?” he whispers in your ear. “I’m not even close to done.”

You choke on a moan, tears pricking your eyes.

“Fuck, Jeongin—!”

“Say it,” he demands again, voice sharp.

Your pride is barely holding on — but your body? Your body is screaming for him.

“I need you,” you finally cry. “F-fuck—please—Jeongin—”

He groans at that, slamming into you harder, relentless. You’re so close it’s painful.

“God, look at you,” he breathes, watching your body quake beneath him. “My bratty little problem. So fucking perfect like this.”

His hand grabs your jaw, turning your face toward him just enough so he can kiss you while you fall apart.

And when you do, it’s earth-shattering.

You moan his name like a prayer, like a curse, and he follows with a low growl of your name, burying himself deep, shaking against you as he loses control.

The room is filled with panting, sweat, tangled sheets, and the aftershock of a storm you both saw coming — but still couldn’t prepare for.

You're still catching your breath when he pulls out, breath heavy, hand sliding slowly down your back. You're both slick with sweat, clothes tossed somewhere across the room, and your thighs are still trembling.

You don’t speak — you can’t. Your brain is fogged with pleasure and chaos and something dangerous that tastes a lot like need.

Jeongin lies beside you, propped on one elbow, staring. His skin is flushed, hair a mess, lips red from kissing — and biting.

“Didn’t think you’d actually say it,” he says finally, voice rough.

You blink at him.

“Say what?”

“That you needed me.”

You scoff, rolling to your side, back to him. “Shut up.”

He smirks — you can hear it.

“You’re such a brat.”

You’re about to shoot back something petty — “At least I’m not obsessed with me.” — but then he’s grabbing your waist, flipping you effortlessly onto your back.

You yelp. “Jeongin—!”

“I’m not done with you,” he growls.

Your breath catches. Your legs fall open without permission.

“You came so pretty for me,” he mutters, dragging his fingers down your inner thigh. “But I want to see you fall apart again. I wanna see how messy I can make you.”

You swallow hard. “Again?”

“Oh, baby,” he murmurs, “you started this.”

And then he’s kissing you again — deeper this time. Less anger, more claiming. Like he needs to remind you who you just begged for.

His tongue slides into your mouth as his fingers slip between your legs — still so sensitive, so soaked — and you whimper instantly.

“Still wet for me?” he teases.

“I hate you,” you breathe.

He smiles darkly. “No you don’t.”

Two fingers push in deep. Your back arches. You gasp.

“You love this,” he says, voice like gravel. “Love being split open by the guy you pretend to hate.”

He leans in, mouth brushing your ear.

“You like when I treat you like a toy, don’t you?”

You whine.

“You like it when I ruin you.”

You don’t answer — can’t — because his mouth is moving lower now, trailing kisses down your chest, nipping a path along your ribs, licking the sensitive spot just beneath your breast.

Then lower.

And lower.

And you already know what’s coming.

But when his tongue touches you — slow, deliberate, possessive — your hips jerk off the bed.

“Fuck—Jeongin—!”

His hands grip your thighs tight, holding you in place.

“Don’t run,” he murmurs. “You’re not going anywhere.”

He eats you like he’s starving — like he’s addicted. Like every moan out of your mouth makes him harder.

And god, he’s relentless.

He flattens his tongue, circles your clit, then sucks — and you almost scream.

“Jeongin—oh my god—”

Your fingers knot in his hair, pulling — but he just groans into you, the vibration making your vision blur.

“You’re gonna come again,” he growls. “Right on my face. Like the needy little problem you are.”

You do. Harder than the first time. Writhing, sobbing, wrecked.

But before you can even come down, he’s crawling back up, lips shiny, eyes dark.

“You’re not done,” he says.

You blink. “I—”

He kisses you, slow and filthy. “I’m not done.”

You feel him line up again, and this time, he doesn’t ease in. He slams into you in one long stroke, and your mouth drops open in a silent moan.

“Jeongin—please—”

“Yeah?” he pants. “What do you want?”

“You—fuck—you—harder—”

He grabs your wrists, pins them above your head, and starts pounding.

The bed creaks.

Your cries echo.

And Jeongin just keeps going.

“Mine,” he grits. “You’re mine tonight. Say it.”

You sob, body barely holding on.

“*Yours—*fuck—I’m yours—”

“Good fucking girl.”

And that’s when you snap.

You fall apart beneath him — again — tighter, messier, more ruined than before. He curses, stutters a breath, and follows, hips jerking, burying himself deep.

You both collapse in silence.

Breathless.

Shaking.

Destroyed.

You wake up to the worst sound imaginable.

Knocking. Loud. Rapid. Too damn early.

“Rise and shine, lovebirds!” Chan’s voice calls from the hallway, sing-songy and unforgiving.

Jeongin groans from behind you, burying his face between your shoulder blades. “I hate him.”

You whisper, “He doesn’t know—right?”

“Not unless you screamed really loud.”

You punch his arm. He just laughs.

But panic is very real now. You sit up, immediately clutching the blanket to your chest.

“Jeongin. What if someone heard us? What if they know?”

He props himself up on one elbow, messy hair, lips swollen, the faintest bite mark still on his neck.

“Then let them.”

You gape at him. “What happened to keeping it lowkey?!”

He grins, stretching. “You’re the one who said ‘Jeongin, harder, please—’”

“JEONGIN.” You throw a pillow at his face, shrieking.

He catches it, laughing as he drags you back into the sheets.

“I’m kidding. Relax,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss behind your ear. “We’re cool.”

Spoiler alert: You are NOT cool.

20 Minutes Later — Downstairs at Breakfast

You walk into the hotel café like you’ve never sinned a day in your life.

You are showered, dressed, dead-eyed, and pretending like Jeongin didn’t have you folded in half against a headboard exactly eight hours ago.

But the second you slide into the booth with the rest of the group, all conversation stops.

Chan stares at you.

Felix blinks.

Hyunjin looks between you and Jeongin like he’s watching a reality show finale.

“So,” Minho says, sipping his coffee, eyes sharp. “Sleep well?”

You almost choke on your orange juice.

Jeongin clears his throat and starts buttering a croissant like it’s a weapon.

“Fine,” you mutter. “Normal. Totally average.”

Seungmin raises a brow. “Right. Because totally average sleep ends with you wearing his hoodie to breakfast.”

You glance down. Shit.

Jeongin looks up with the fakest innocence you’ve ever seen. “Oops.”

Felix leans in, chin resting on his hands. “You guys were fighting so much yesterday. But now you’re all…” he gestures vaguely between you, “glowy.”

“Did you guys…” Hyunjin pauses. “Work out your tension?”

Minho: “With communication? Or—”

Jeongin: “—Body language.”

You whip your head around. “OH MY GOD.”

The entire table bursts into screaming laughter.

“You guys totally fucked!” Chan yells, slapping the table. “I knew it!”

“I heard moaning,” Hyunjin gasps.

“I thought someone was being murdered,” Seungmin adds casually.

You hide your face in your hands. “I am never showing my face again.”

But then you feel it — Jeongin’s hand slipping under the table, resting on your thigh. Quiet. Comforting. Yours.

And you peek at him. He’s smiling down at his plate, cheeks a little red, but eyes only on you.

He squeezes your leg gently.

And suddenly?

The shame melts away.

Because this isn’t just about last night anymore.

This is about what’s next. (pt.2??)

1K notes · View notes

jungsuarus · 2 months ago

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[21 Questions]

...or the one where your hot one-night stand gets trapped inside with you during a storm.

Notes: Romantic comedy brainrot meets “what if your one-night stand accidentally had boyfriend energy” vibes but dirty, I guess? Pretty much porn that pretends to have a plot. Bang Chan x Reader Content Warnings: AFAB reader, explicit sexual content, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, face riding, dry humping, dirty talk, question-based escalation, creampie. [8.1k words]

The rain is already loud when you wake up, but it’s the thunder that makes you sit up too fast—your body protesting with a dull ache and a rush of confusion and for a moment, you forget where you are, blinking against the soft light that filters through pale curtains stirred by wind. Then you remember the man lying next to you. The one with the tousled brown hair and the silver chain still clinging to his throat, half-buried beneath the white sheet he’d stolen most of in the night. Chris. His name floats up through the haze of sleep and lingering heat and half-faded memory, the syllables settling heavy in your chest and you’d meant for last night to be a clean break, something fleeting, something fun—but now it’s morning and the world outside is a mess of lightning and rising water and all exits, apparently, are blocked.

You shift carefully, pulling the sheet with you like it might shield you from the awkwardness of waking up next to someone you barely know, but Chris doesn’t look awkward at all. He looks like he belongs there, face still soft with sleep, lips parted just slightly like he’s caught in a dream he doesn’t want to leave, his hair is a disaster and his arm is slung over your pillow like he’d meant to hold you and missed. And maybe you’re still drunk on the way he’d touched you last night—like he already knew how you wanted to be handled, like he’d been reading your mind with every slow drag of his mouth over your skin, but now the tension is different, the air is heavy with the storm and something else you can’t quite name. Something not-so-temporary.

Chris groans softly when the thunder cracks again, brow creasing as he stretches, and you get a front row seat to the slow reveal of muscle and skin and that faint trail of ink on his ribs. He blinks up at you, eyes half-lidded and pretty brown in the gray light. What time is it? he asks, rough and warm and entirely too familiar for someone you just met. You shrug, reaching for your phone with fingers that are still trembling a little, not from fear, just the residual adrenaline of being alone in a house with a man who kissed you like he could rewrite your whole damn story if you let him. Does it matter? you murmur, holding up the screen. Storm’s not letting up. Roads are flooded. There’s a beat of silence, then Chris hums like it’s not the worst news he’s ever heard. Guess I’m staying for breakfast.

And it should be awkward, it should be that fumbling, clothes-on-backwards, this was fun kind of goodbye you’d practiced in your head but instead, Chris rolls out of bed like it’s his own room, scratching the back of his neck and scanning the floor for his shirt with a sleepy smirk. You got anything edible? Or are we on a strictly coffee-and-regret diet this morning? he asks, and you laugh, the sound surprising even you. There’s eggs. Maybe toast if the bread survived the humidity. You’re already pulling on one of your old t-shirts—something oversized and faded and absolutely not cute, but Chris gives you this once-over that makes you feel like you’re in silk as he follows you into the kitchen barefoot, steps quiet, and there’s still a weight to him that makes the room feel fuller somehow, like his presence bends the space around him just a little.

You move around each other clumsily at first, two strangers pretending you haven’t already seen each other naked, but it settles quickly into something easy, comfortable. You hand him a pan without thinking, and he flips it in one hand like he’s done this a hundred times. So what do you do, he asks, cracking eggs like a professional, when you’re not picking up mysterious men at bars and rescuing them from natural disasters? You shoot him a look over your shoulder, but your smile betrays you. I’m an illustrator, you admit. Freelance. Mostly book covers and concept stuff. He raises a brow, looking impressed. That explains the art on your walls. I thought you were just trying to seem deep. You bump your hip into his and he laughs—really laughs, head thrown back for a second, the sound warm enough to cut through the storm still howling outside.

Breakfast takes longer than it should, between the burnt toast and the failed attempt at pancakes and the way Chris keeps trying to juggle eggs when he thinks you’re not looking, the kitchen becomes a little world of its own—bright with laughter and low teasing and the kind of unspoken intimacy that feels like it’s been there longer than a single night. He sits at the table while you pour the coffee, fingers drumming on the wood like he can’t quite sit still. You know, he says, eyeing you over the rim of his mug, I was supposed to fly out today. Back to Seoul. Meetings, rehearsals. All that glamorous idol life crap. You glance out the window, as rain streaks down the glass in frantic patterns, wind battering the trees sideways. Storm says no, you offer, and he grins, like that’s exactly what he wanted to hear.

You end up on the couch, legs tangled under a shared blanket, the empty plates abandoned somewhere behind you. The power flickers once, twice, and then holds and at some point, Chris had ducked into the other room to make a quiet call—checking on someone, just to make sure they were safe in the storm. It shouldn’t have surprised you, but it still made something in your chest ache a little and now, as he shifts beside you, arm grazing yours, it’s quieter—the kind of quiet that feels like waiting, like choosing. He doesn’t push, doesn’t lean in, but when he looks at you it’s soft and curious and a little cautious, like he’s wondering what this could be if it wasn’t just a one-night stand and a thunderstorm, and you don’t know either. But you like the way he watches the lightning like it’s a show, the way he turns toward you with that slow smile that’s more promise than performance. You don’t know if the roads will be clear tomorrow, yu don’t know if this will last past the rain but for now, there’s warmth, and coffee, and a very content Chris beside you like he’s meant to stay.

He eats like someone who hasn’t had a real meal in days, half-sleepy and quietly appreciative, the kind of silence that says more than any compliment could. Every so often he hums, low and pleased, like even the mediocre toast is some kind of hidden delicacy. I think... he mumbles through a mouthful of scrambled eggs, this might be the best breakfast I’ve had all year. You glance at him, one brow raised. That’s a low bar. He shrugs, grinning around his coffee mug. Yeah, well, my standards are shot. I live off protein bars and takeout most days. He says it casually, like it’s a joke, but something in his eyes dims around the edges and you file that away somewhere quiet in your chest.

Then he sniffs at the mug and makes a face, setting it down with a quiet sigh. Full disclosure? I don’t even like coffee. You blink at him, mid-bite. Then why drink it? He shrugs, sheepish and a little guilty, like a kid caught faking his homework. Felt like the kind of morning where I should be holding something warm. Thought maybe it’d make me look normal. He hesitates, then adds, Tea’s not any better, by the way. Tastes like regret. You laugh and offer, There’s juice in the fridge, but he just shoots you a slow smile and leans back in his chair, eyes never leaving yours. Think I’ve had enough sweet stuff for one morning, and the line hangs there between you, light but deliberate, and when you arch a brow, he doesn’t take it back, just lifts his mug again like he didn’t say anything at all, even though you’re both still smiling into the silence.

The wind picks up again, another sharp gust rattling the windows, and the lights flicker like they’re considering betraying you. You look over your shoulder, half-expecting a blackout, but they steady as Chris catches your gaze, leaning forward on his elbows, bare forearms braced against the table. Scared? he teases, but it’s soft, more curious than mocking. Of the storm? you ask, tipping your head. Not really. I like it. Makes everything feel... slower. Like the world’s taking a breath. Chris watches you for a long moment, something thoughtful in the way his eyes trace over your face like he’s committing it to memory. That’s a nice way to put it, he murmurs. I think I forget how to slow down.

You end up back on the couch with two mugs of reheated coffee and a blanket that still smells faintly like clean laundry and the detergent your mom insists on mailing you in bulk as he lets you pick the movie, something old and a little ridiculous, more comfort than content, and by the time the opening credits roll, he’s already slid a little closer, his thigh pressed lightly against yours beneath the blanket. I haven’t watched a movie on an actual home couch in months, he admits, almost sheepish. Hotel beds don’t count. Too sterile, always feels like I’m trespassing. You look at him, really look, and for all the easy smiles and casual confidence, there’s something in the way he curls slightly inward, like he’s still waiting to be asked to leave.

So… what’s it like? you ask, tilting your head against the back cushion. Being you. Idol life. Cameras. Fans. Endless protein bars. He laughs, but it’s quieter now. It’s loud, he says after a pause. Even when it’s quiet. There’s always something. A performance, a deadline, someone waiting for you to screw up so they can clip it and post it out of context. His voice is calm, but you feel the weight of it, heavy and real between you. Don’t get me wrong. I love it. Music saved me, still does. But sometimes it feels like I forget who I am when the lights go off.

You nudge his knee with yours. And who are you right now? He glances at you, then away, like he’s not used to being seen like this—barefoot on someone else’s couch, coffee he doesn't even pretent to drink anymore in hand, weathered by rain and time and the strange intimacy of survival. Right now? he echoes, a little surprised. I’m… just Chris. I think. His mouth twitches, like he’s almost amused by the sound of his own name out loud in that context. Not Bang Chan, not leader, not hyung. Just… a guy who ate eggs in someone’s kitchen. You nod like that’s enough. Like it means more than it should. Well, you say, lifting your mug in a mock toast, cheers to Just Chris.

He bumps his mug against yours, eyes warm with something that looks a lot like gratitude as the movie plays on in the background, half-forgotten, and you both settle into the kind of silence that isn’t awkward—it’s tentative, sure, but there’s an unspoken agreement not to break the spell just yet. His arm ends up behind you on the backrest, not quite touching, but close enough that you can feel the heat of him, the quiet hum of presence that anchors you in place and when your shoulders brush, neither of you pulls away.

You know, he says eventually, eyes still on the screen, I didn’t expect to like you this much. You blink, caught off guard by the blunt honesty. I mean, he adds quickly, the tips of his ears slighly pink, not that I thought I wouldn’t like you. But last night… it wasn’t supposed to turn into this. He gestures vaguely, encompassing the coffee, the couch, the storm still raging outside like a protective barrier between this moment and the rest of the world. It was just supposed to be one night. A good distraction. You swallow, unsure whether to laugh or let the weight of it settle. Yeah, you say. Me too.

But the way he’s looking at you now, like you’re not just a chapter break but maybe a plot twist—it makes something shift in your chest. Something dangerous and soft and utterly unplanned. So what happens, you ask quietly, if the storm doesn’t let up? He smirks, eyes flicking toward the window before turning back to you. Guess we'll keep distracting each other, he says, and his hand finally brushes yours beneath the blanket, fingers curling slightly like a question, and you don’t hesitate when you answer. You let him.

The movie drifts on in the background—some half-forgotten rom-com playing at half volume, all overly dramatic meet-cutes and orchestral swells that feel far too on-the-nose given the weight in the air, and the storm hasn’t eased. If anything, the wind howls louder now, rattling through the eaves of the house like it’s trying to crawl inside, but you’re warm, not just because of the blanket or the coffee or the body beside you—but because something is building. Slowly, unspoken, the kind of tension that hums under the skin like an electrical current, soft but insistent, curling into the spaces between breath and glance and word.

Chris shifts beside you, his arm still draped casually along the back of the couch, but you can feel the subtle change in his posture, how he’s turned slightly more toward you, how his knee now presses firmly into yours instead of just brushing. His fingers are close enough to yours that you can feel the heat from them, the faint tremble of restraint in the way he hasn’t closed that last inch of distance as you risk a glance, and he’s already watching you—not smiling, not teasing, just looking, slow and steady, like he’s memorizing again. Like he’s debating something he already knows the answer to.

You’re kind of hard to read, you know that? you murmur, letting your voice drop just a little, the edge of a smile curling at your lips. His brow lifts, intrigued. Yeah? Most people say I’m too easy to read. His voice is quieter now too, dipping into something husky, a little rough. Too open. You tilt your head, feigning thought. No… you give people just enough to make them think they’ve got you figured out. You feel bold now, watching his expression shift—curious, then interested, then something more primal flickering just under the surface. But there’s always something you’re holding back.

He leans in a fraction, close enough that you can feel his breath ghost across your cheek, and when he speaks again it’s low and deliberate. What do you think I’m holding back? And you want to be coy, want to toss back some flirty quip and pretend like your heart isn’t beating faster with every syllable that falls from his mouth—but the air between you is too heavy now, charged with something that feels inevitable as you shift to face him more fully, knees drawn up beneath the blanket, and he mirrors you, his hand finally brushing yours beneath the fabric—just a soft drag of knuckles, but it’s enough to send a little shock up your spine.

I think you want to touch me again, you whisper, the words slipping out before you can think better of them. But you’re trying to be good. Chris huffs a quiet laugh, but there’s no humor in it—just tension, tightly wound and dangerously close to snapping. Yeah, he says, voice rougher now, throat working as he swallows. I’ve been trying real hard not to. And that admission, that little crack in his carefully controlled exterior, does something to you. You shift closer, just slightly, enough that your knees press between his, enough that the blanket slips a little off your shoulder and his eyes follow the movement like he’s been starving.

But you’re not that good, are you? you tease, soft and breathy, like you’re testing the line just to see if he’ll cross it. And then his hand is on your thigh beneath the blanket—slow and deliberate, fingers curling against bare skin where your oversized t-shirt rides up, he doesn’t rush, just drags his palm upward with agonizing patience, his eyes never leaving yours. Not even close, he says, and it’s more confession than warning. You shift into his touch, lips parting on a quiet breath, and the way he looks at you now it’s like the storm has moved inside the room, all pressure and heat and the dangerous thrill of surrender.

Still, he waits. That last sliver of distance remains, his lips close but not touching, his fingers warm but not daring yet, you can see it in his eyes—the way he’s giving you the choice, the way he’s already halfway gone if you want to meet him there and something about that restraint, that aching pause, makes your skin burn. Come here, you whisper, and that’s all it takes.

He kisses you like he’s been holding it back all morning, all night, maybe longer, like he’s afraid if he doesn’t do it now, he might never get to again, his hand slides up further, anchoring at your waist, pulling you into his lap with a fluid kind of urgency that still manages to feel careful. His lips are warm, a little chapped, but he moves like he knows exactly what you need, tongue teasing at the seam of your mouth until you let him in, until the taste of him floods your senses and you forget everything else. Your fingers curl into the collar of his shirt, tugging him closer, and he groans softly against your mouth, a sound that vibrates through your whole body.

The blanket falls away, and the storm outside rages louder but inside, the world narrows to the press of his body against yours, the slow grind of hips, the heat rising fast and thick between you like it’s trying to suffocate the space where words used to live. You don’t know where this is going, don’t know what happens after the rain. But you know how he kisses, you know the way his hand slides up the back of your shirt with reverence and hunger, how he breathes your name like a promise he hasn’t figured out how to keep yet. And right now, that’s enough.

His mouth breaks from yours with a reluctant drag, breath heavy against your cheek as his lips skim the edge of your jaw. The storm batters the world outside, wind clawing at the glass, but here, on this couch, wrapped in each other and the remnants of a morning that wasn't supposed to last, everything feels slow, thick with a new kind of tension. His hand has slipped beneath your shirt now, not urgent, but reverent, fingers tracing up your spine in slow, deliberate lines that make you shiver, thumb brushing the underside of your breast, just enough pressure to make your breath hitch, but he stops there, teasing, waiting.

You know… he murmurs against your neck, punctuating the words with a lazy kiss just below your ear, ...we barely know anything about each other. You huff a breath that could almost be a laugh, tipping your head back to give him more access. Funny time to bring that up. His teeth graze your throat, the gentlest bite, and he smirks when you gasp. Just trying to be a gentleman, he says, all faux innocence while his other hand slides up the inside of your thigh, thumb stroking slow circles where your skin is most sensitive. Maybe we should get to know each other first. You know, before we really do this.

You glance down at him, raising a brow even as your hips shift against his lap, finding the heat of him through thin layers of cotton. What, you want to play 20 Questions while you’ve got your hand up my shirt? His eyes glitter with mischief. Twenty-one. Gotta keep it spicy. You roll your eyes but can’t suppress the smile tugging at your lips as you settle more fully against him, legs straddling his hips now, thighs bracketing his as the blanket slips off entirely. Fine, you say, voice a little breathless as his hands find their way to your waist, thumbs dragging slow along your ribs. But I go first. He leans back slightly, arms resting along the couch, a picture of casual sin. Hit me.

What’s your biggest red flag? you ask, grinning as you slowly grind down just enough to watch his expression falter and Chris groans, head tipping back briefly before he looks at you from beneath heavy lashes. You’re evil. You just shrug, hips rocking against him, slow and tempting. Answer the question.

He exhales a laugh that curls low in his chest, fingers tightening at your waist. Okay… red flag? His tongue flicks across his bottom lip as he thinks, and your eyes follow the motion helplessly. I work too much. Like… too much. I disappear into it sometimes. Not great for relationships. There’s honesty in it, even as he slides one hand back under your shirt, thumb grazing the curve of your breast again, still not touching you fully, just circling around it like he’s trying to drive you crazy. Your turn. You shift, barely resisting the urge to lean into his hand. Hmm… what’s your question?

Chris hums, considering. Biggest turn-on.

You tilt your head, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make him twitch before you answer, Confidence. Teasing. Someone who can make me laugh and lose my mind. You roll your hips again, slow and purposeful, and he curses under his breath. Your turn, he growls, hands sliding lower now, gripping your ass as he pulls you tighter against him. Better make it a good one.

What do you think I taste like? you whisper it near his ear, just to watch him shudder. His hands still on your body, eyes snapping to yours, suddenly darker as he swallows hard, fingers digging in just a bit. You want the honest answer? he murmurs, voice low and dangerous. Obviously.

Chris leans in, lips brushing yours without kissing, like he’s tasting the air between you. Like trouble. Like something I shouldn’t get addicted to but already am. His hand drags back up your thigh, higher now, brushing between your legs over your underwear, just enough pressure to make you gasp, but still maddeningly light. Like heaven with a little hell in it.

You clench your hands in the fabric of his shirt, breath catching as he rocks up against you, heat meeting heat through frustrating layers. Fuck, you whisper, hips stuttering. That’s not fair. He smirks again. I said I was bad at being good. You dip your head to his neck, biting lightly at the skin just below his jaw as you murmur, Then stop pretending and show me just how bad you can be. But Chris just chuckles, fingers hooking under the waistband of your underwear before he stops again, teasing, waiting, torturing. Only if you answer the next one.

You groan. You’re the worst. He grins. Next question. What are you most afraid of right now?

And it’s unfair, how he can drop that kind of weight right when his fingers are slipping beneath your panties, how he can make you feel completely exposed even before he touches you properly as you blink, breathless, caught in the twist of sensation and honesty. Getting too close, you admit quietly. Wanting more than I should. He stills, his hand resting gently between your thighs now, no pressure, just presence as his gaze softens, searching your face like he’s looking for something hidden beneath all your teasing. Me too, he says. And then—finally, finally—his fingers move with purpose, and you stop thinking altogether.

His fingers move with an ease that makes you curse your own memory, like your body already remembers him, already trusts the rhythm, the pressure, the subtle curl of his touch. He’s slow with it, maddeningly so, dragging the pads of his fingers through your slick just to feel how wet you are before he even really does anything. Jesus, he murmurs, almost to himself, eyes dropping to where you’re straddled in his lap, shirt rumpled, underwear pushed aside, heat pressed tight to the bulge in his sweatpants. And you’re telling me we’re just getting to know each other? You roll your hips down against his hand and smirk. Exactly. I’m an open book, remember? But your voice catches at the end when one of his fingers slides inside you, slow, deliberate, his eyes locked on yours as you clench around him with a broken little sound you wish you could play off as cooler than it is. Chris just grins, lazy and pleased, like he’s won something. Sure you are, sweetheart.

And then he fucking pauses again.

Just holds there, buried in you up to the knuckle like he’s content to keep you right on the edge of madness as you glare at him, lips parted, already shifting your hips for friction, but his free hand comes up to steady you at the waist. Nuh-uh, he warns, teasing. You’re the one who agreed to twenty-one questions. You’re not getting out of it just because your legs are shaking. You blink at him, somewhere between aroused and outraged. Are you seriously going to edge me over a quiz game?

Chris has the audacity to laugh, pressing another finger inside you with a slow, cruel twist that makes you forget what planet you’re on for a second. That’s question twenty-two, he says, voice all wicked sweetness. But I’ll allow it. You swear under your breath, grinding down again because two can play at this game. Fine, you bite out. Truth or dare. He raises a brow, interested. We’re switching formats?

Answer it. Chris smirks, lips dragging over your jaw as he pumps his fingers in a slow rhythm that’s almost enough, but not quite. Truth. You narrow your eyes at him. Who’s your embarrassing celebrity crush?

He laughs, really laughs, breathless and boyish and warm in a way that makes your chest ache through the haze of want. Jesus, okay, he says, eyes scrunched, still slowly fucking you with the kind of patience that feels like punishment. This is going to haunt me, but… it’s the girl from Scooby-Doo. The live-action one. Velma. You blink at him. You mean Linda Cardellini? He groans. Yes. The sweater, the glasses, the sass—don’t judge me. You’re laughing too hard to speak for a second, which becomes very inconvenient when his thumb brushes against your clit in a lazy circle that makes your laugh crack into a moan. Okay, you breathe. That’s fair. Honestly? Valid.

He leans in like he’s about to kiss you, but instead he whispers, Your turn, and curls his fingers just right, making your hips jolt forward against his palm. Would you rather, he says, clearly enjoying your ruined expression, have sex in a public place and get caught, or accidentally send your mom a sext? You let out a sound that’s somewhere between a sob and a wheeze. Oh my God, what kind of demon are you? He just grins, smug. Answer carefully. You’re half-laughing, half-dying as you try to think through the haze of building pressure between your legs, his thumb not letting up for a second. Okay, okay, public sex.

Getting caught. Bold, he says, watching your face tighten when his fingers thrust a little faster. That says something about you. You gasp, breath hitching hard in your throat as you press your hips forward again, unable to stop yourself. Shut up, you gasp, helpless. You knew I wouldn’t say mom sext. You set me up.

Guilty, he murmurs, kissing along your neck now, open-mouthed and warm. Next question. What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever masturbated to? You freeze against him, eyes going wide. Oh my God.

C’mon, he coaxes, mouth curved into a devilish smile. I told you about Velma. Don’t leave me hanging. You hide your face in his shoulder, but he doesn’t let up with his fingers, still moving inside you, still making you gasp even through your mortification. Fine, you groan. There was this audio clip, some guy reading from a tax fraud legal deposition with a deep voice and—don’t look at me like that. It was weirdly hot, okay?

Chris actually chokes laughing, full-body shaking, but his hand never stops, and now it’s infuriatingly good, rhythmic and deep and filthy enough that you start to lose the ability to laugh along. Oh my God, he wheezes, still grinning. That’s incredible. That’s like, top-tier trivia material. He leans in again, brushing his nose against yours, watching you with heat and fondness in equal measure. You’re insane. I think I’m obsessed with you.

You open your mouth to answer, but your words melt into a strangled moan when he presses just right and your body clenches down around him, thighs trembling on either side of his hips as he watches you unravel with greedy eyes, his mouth hovering just over yours, breath mixing with yours as your orgasm shudders through you, sharp and wet and aching. Fuck, you whisper. You're the insane one.

You’re welcome, he whispers back, then kisses you like a man who plans on earning another twenty-one answers. Your breath is still shaky, ribs rising too fast under your shirt, your thighs quivering where they’re slung over his lap, and he hasn’t even pulled his hand away yet. His fingers are still inside you, slow and wet and fucking obscene, curling lazily like he’s not done teasing your body just yet, like he wants to feel every aftershock and memorize the way your walls flutter around him, greedy and overstimulated. And the worst part if you don’t want him to stop, not even a little.

Chris watches you with that smug curve to his mouth, but there’s something darker in his eyes now, hotter, hungrier, like the teasing has started to backfire on him too. You’re so easy to mess with, he murmurs, like it’s a compliment, like he’s impressed, his free hand comes up to brush the damp hair from your face, thumb stroking your cheek with a gentleness that doesn’t match the filth of his other hand. And you still owe me another question.

You laugh, breathless, hoarse, but defiant. You’re still playing the game?

Chris grins, slow and wicked. Don’t act like you’re not into it. Come on, next one. Or I stop. His fingers shift inside you, one last teasing thrust before he slides out completely, leaving you empty and aching. You glare at him, hips twitching forward on instinct. Okay, okay. You pause, breath catching as you readjust your weight in his lap, only now realizing how hard he is beneath you, thick and straining against his sweats, twitching under the press of your soaked panties.

Your brain short-circuits a little, but you recover fast. If you could only use your mouth or your hands during sex, never both again, which would you pick? Chris whistles low, eyes flicking down to your lips like he’s imagining either option in vivid, detailed color. Cruel one, he mutters, shifting beneath you just to feel more of your heat. But I’m gonna say mouth. There’s something about making a mess of someone with just my tongue. Something about control, seems like. His hands tighten at your hips as he leans up, lips grazing yours without committing to the kiss. And I think you like being teased too much for me to give that up.

You open your mouth to argue, or moan, but he silences you with a single, filthy swipe of his thumb over your clit, barely there, just enough to remind you who’s in charge of your pulse. You grip his shoulders to steady yourself, blinking down at him like you hate how much he knows you already. My turn, he says, voice low, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your ruined underwear and he doesn’t touch, just hovers there. What’s the dirtiest thought you’ve ever had about me? You stare at him, startled. We’ve only known each other, like, twelve hours. Chris raises an eyebrow. You’ve definitely had thoughts.

You look away, cheeks flushed, your body still warm from the orgasm and the press of his cock trapped beneath you. Fine, you mutter. It’s from this morning. When you were standing in the kitchen, still sleepy, shirtless… stretching like that. He smirks, already smug. And I thought about getting on my knees, you continue, forcing the words past your throat, and just pulling your sweats down while you were mid-yawn. Making you lean back against the counter and letting me suck you off before you even woke up properly. His jaw flexes, hands gripping your hips so tight it makes you whimper. Fuck, he breathes, almost like a warning. You trying to kill me?

You smile, dragging your hips slowly against his, grinding the slick heat of your core over the length of his cock through the fabric. I dunno. You said we’re getting to know each other. He groans, deep and broken, eyes fluttering closed for a second. Okay, he says. New rule. Every time you don’t answer a question honestly, I get to put my mouth somewhere new. You blink. That’s the punishment?

Chris slides his hands up your shirt in one slow motion, finally lifting it over your head and tossing it aside. His gaze drops to your chest, hungry and reverent as he leans forward, brushing his mouth against the swell of one breast before licking a slow stripe over your nipple. It’ll feel like a punishment soon, he says, dragging his teeth gently across the skin until you arch into him. Now ask me something hard. Your voice is trembling now. What’s your biggest kink?

Chris looks up at you, mouth still warm and wet against your skin, his eyes dark with intent. Praise, he says. Control. Watching you fall apart because you want to, not because I’m forcing you. He licks again, sucks a little now, and your fingers sink into his hair like you need to anchor yourself. And right now? he murmurs, pulling back with a soft pop. Hearing you beg. That might top the list. You swallow, completely undone, grinding harder now just to feel more of him, leaking through your panties onto the front of his sweats. Next question, he says, voice wrecked now. How many orgasms do you think I could pull out of you if we stopped playing and really got started? And suddenly, you don’t feel like teasing anymore.

You can’t even remember what number you’re on, somewhere past twenty-one and deep into uncharted territory, half the questions aren’t even questions anymore, just confessions and dares passed between kisses and breathless moans, your body curled around his like you’ve forgotten it wasn’t always yours to hold. Chris still got that look in his eyes, wild and focused, like he’s reading every flicker of reaction off your face, adjusting his touch with surgical precision and the game—if it can even be called that anymore—is just another way to keep you strung out on tension, anticipation, the high of not knowing what he’ll ask or do next. Okay, he says, voice low and almost tender as he kisses your thigh, lips trailing dangerously close to where you’re soaked through and twitching. Would you rather have me use my mouth and take my time, or let you sit on my face and lose control? You laugh, wrecked, hoarse, practically vibrating with need. Is that even a real question?

Answer it, he says, lips brushing the edge of your underwear like a threat. Or I’ll pick for you. You glance down at him, his face between your thighs, his eyes bright and dark at once and something about the way he looks like he wants to be overwhelmed by you makes the answer easy. Your face, you whisper. I wanna ride your face.

He hums, low, approving, and pulls your underwear down so slowly it’s practically cruel, dragging them down your legs like he wants to savor every inch of bare skin. You’re lucky I like the sound of that, he murmurs, kissing up your inner thigh, hands gripping your hips as you shift to straddle his face, heart pounding so loud it drowns out the storm still raging outside. He settles back against the couch cushions, eyes fixed on you, and his voice is husky when he says, Don’t hold back.

And then his mouth is on you, devouring you with a hunger so intense it makes you cry out, your fingers flying to his hair for balance as your thighs tremble on either side of his head. His tongue is everywhere, licking and sucking and circling your clit with a precision that has you shaking, gasping his name before the first full minute is up. He moans into you like he can’t get enough, like the taste of you is something he’s needed all fucking day, and when you grind down harder, chasing the heat, he just grips your hips tighter and lets you.

You lose yourself in it, completely. Your head falls back, eyes fluttering shut as you rock against his mouth, every muscle in your body pulled tight with tension. Fuck, I—I can’t, you gasp, already close again, already ruined. You can, he growls against your cunt, the vibration of his voice shooting straight through your spine. You’re gonna come in my mouth, baby? I've got you. And when you do,it's shameless and desperate, thighs clamping around his head as your orgasm crashes over you, mouth open in a broken moan that echoes off the walls, raw and frantic as you ride it out against his tongue. He doesn’t stop until you’re twitching, until you’re whimpering, until your body slumps forward with every nerve alight and his name spilling from your lips like a prayer.

When you finally slide off his face, your legs barely work, and he’s panting beneath you, flushed, hair messy, lips glistening with you. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning like he just won the fucking lottery. Still counting the questions? he teases, voice rough and hoarse and yu laugh weakly, collapsing into his lap with your chest still heaving. I think we passed twenty-one a long time ago. Chris leans in, kissing you deep, messy, filthy, letting you taste yourself on his tongue before pulling back just enough to whisper, Then maybe it’s time we stop pretending it’s still a game.

It’s not a game anymore, but neither of you stops playing, even as he lifts you into his lap again, even as his hands drag across your waist and down your spine with a hunger that makes your skin burn, you’re still trading words, still throwing questions like gasoline on a fire that’s already too big to contain. What do you want me to do to you? he asks, voice low and rough as he kisses the edge of your jaw, lips dragging down your throat, chest, teeth grazing over the mark he left earlierl you breathe out something between a laugh and a whimper, fingers curling in the waistband of his sweatpants. Want you inside me. Deep. Slow. Until I can’t even remember what I was supposed to ask next.

Chris groans, like the words knock the wind out of him, and you barely get the chance to tug his pants down before he’s helping you, lifting his hips, cock springing free, thick and flushed and so hard it makes your breath catch in your throat. He wraps a hand around himself just to tease you, dragging his palm slowly along the length, the tip smearing precum across his skin, eyes locked on yours. You sure? he murmurs, voice tight with restraint. 'Cause I want you, but I’m not gonna last long if you keep looking at me like that.

You nod, almost dizzy with need, sinking your hips until the head of his cock catches at your entrance, slick and warm and perfect as you lower yourself onto him in one slow, devastating slide that punches a moan from both of you. Fuck, he hisses, head dropping back against the couch. You feel—holy shit—so tight. You clench around him on purpose, just to hear him swear again, and he thrusts up into you shallowly, hands gripping your waist like he’s afraid you might disappear. Next question, you breathe, rocking your hips gently, letting him get used to the rhythm of you. If I told you to come inside me, would you?

Chris blinks at you like he can’t believe you said that, like the words physically affect him as his jaw flexes hard, and he thrusts up deeper, rougher, like you just snapped the last thread of his restraint. Don’t say that unless you mean it, he growls, voice raw. Because if you tell me to, I will. I’ll fill you up so deep you feel it for days. Your next breath stutters as he hits that spot again, as your walls flutter around him, your body already trying to pull him deeper. You’re insane, you gasp. And I might be worse.

Another question, he says, burying his face in your neck as he thrusts again, slower now but harder, making your whole body jolt with every movement. If I told you I wanted to fuck you on every surface in this house before the storm ends, what would you say?

You laugh—moan, really—your fingers digging into his shoulders for balance. I’d say you’d better start with the kitchen counter and work your way through the rooms alphabetically. He groans, the sound almost broken, and his hands slide down to your ass, guiding your hips as you bounce on his cock with slow, grinding rolls, the kind that drag every inch of him through you with a rhythm that borders on cruel. Fuck, he mutters again, kissing your shoulder, your collarbone, your mouth. I’ve never wanted anyone like this.

Maybe it’s the storm, maybe it’s the heat between your bodies or the way your souls feel too close already, but the words don’t scare you, they anchor you, drive you forward. Then show me, you whisper, lips brushing his. No more holding back.

And he doesn’t. He flips you onto your back on the couch with a roughness that makes you gasp, cock slipping free for only a second before he’s guiding himself back inside you in one hard, smooth thrust that makes your eyes roll back and he fucks you, slow, deep, rhythmic, his body pressed tight to yours as his hands roam everywhere at once. What’s the first thing you’re gonna do after this? he pants into your ear and you laugh, legs wrapped tight around his waist. Probably pass out.

Wrong answer. He pulls almost all the way out, waits for you to open your eyes again, then slams back in. Try again. Your head spins. Shower, you choke out. With you. Maybe round two against the wall if you're strong enough. Chris grins, breathless, sweat dripping from his brow as he picks up the pace. Better. He kisses you hard, messy, tongues tangling, and he swallows your next moan when he grinds in deeper, just to feel the way your body clenches around him. Your turn. Ask me something, he says. Hurry. Before I make you come so hard you forget how to speak. You’re already close again, body arching, nails dragging down his back, but you manage to gasp, What’s your favorite part of me?

He thrusts deep and stills, buried to the hilt, his cock twitching inside you, his voice shaking when he answers. Right now? This. His hand slides down between you, fingers finding your clit again, rubbing slow, tight circles. But if you mean really... he leans in, kisses the corner of your mouth, his voice going soft even as his thrusts turn sharp again. It’s the way you look at me, like I’m already yours.

And then he makes you come again, loud and trembling, your body clenching so hard around him that he groans and follows you seconds later, spilling into you with a long, broken sound that feels like surrender. You cling to each other through it, hips still twitching, mouths still searching, and somewhere between the kisses and the breathless laughter, you realize you stopped counting the questions a long time ago.

The world is soft when it settles, like the storm outside finally gave up, like the air around you folded into something warm and quiet and real. Your bodies are tangled on the couch, skin damp and flushed, still pressed together in the kind of closeness that feels more like a conversation than anything you’ve said out loud and he hasn’t moved much, still half on top of you, head buried in the crook of your neck, one arm slung heavy over your waist. His breathing is slow now, steady, like he’s trying to memorize the rhythm of your heart with his cheek against your chest as you trail your fingers lazily through his hair, feeling the way his curls cling to your skin with sweat and time, and somewhere in the mess of it, you smile.

Hey, you whisper, voice raw, your throat a little ruined from all the gasping and laughing and moaning. If you had to rank that on a scale from one to ten— Chris groans, shifting just enough to lift his head and glare at you, but the edge doesn’t stick, he’s too blissed-out for sarcasm. Don’t make me throw you over this couch and do it again just to prove a point.

You snort, brushing a kiss against his temple. So… eleven? He sighs dramatically, flopping back beside you, arm still wrapped tight around your middle as he turns his head to look at you. His eyes are soft now, still playful, still glowing with that dangerous charm, but slower, gentler. I stopped counting, he says. Somewhere around the time you said you wanted to ride my face. Everything after that was just… instinct.

You laugh, a real one, breathless and a little unhinged, your hand sliding across his chest, feeling the slow rise and fall of his breathing beneath your palm. So what happens now? you ask, and you don’t mean for it to sound so honest, but there it is, naked between you. Storm’s still going, you’re still technically trapped here. Chris glances toward the window as the rain still lashes against the glass, wind howling down the alley like it’s not done being dramatic. He hums softly. Guess we’re stuck with each other.

Tragic.

Devastating. He nudges your thigh with his knee, smirking. We could watch something. Recharge. Maybe eat something that doesn’t involve my head between your legs. You fake a groan, tossing an arm over your eyes. Boring.

Okay, fine. He laughs, twisting to kiss your bare shoulder. But only if you ask me another question. You peek at him from beneath your arm, grinning. Why are you still here? He goes still for a second, the quiet between you deepening, thick with something unspoken and his voice lowers, more serious than you expect. Because this didn’t feel like a one-night thing.

Your breath catches, soft and small but he hears it, because of course he does. You roll onto your side to face him, his arm adjusting to keep you close. Yeah, you say, quieter now, eyes searching his. It didn't. For a while, neither of you says anything as the storm rolls on outside, wind still battering the windows, but it feels far away now, like the noise can’t touch this, can’t reach whatever this bubble is you’ve both fallen into. Chris shifts, brushing hair from your face, thumb tracing your cheek with the same tenderness he used hours ago, when everything was still new and charged and uncertain.

And then he smilesl soft, a little shy. New rule, he says. Every time we see each other… we have to play twenty-one questions.

You raise an eyebrow. We suck at keeping count.

Exactly, he murmurs, kissing your forehead like a promise. That’s how I’ll know it’s working.

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jungsuarus · 2 months ago

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Jungsu - George the Lobster | VISUAL CAM 4K

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jungsuarus · 2 months ago

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Uno and chill- H.HJ (part 2)

After promising posting part 2 the whole week, it's finally official hehe sorry it took so long, I was very tired. And I don't remember if Hyunjin has short or long hair in the other part so pretend that his hair just grew.

I also want to share with you that Sunday we will have an Easter special fic AND a new prompt list coming out, so stick around 😊

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: smut, dom!reader

Part 1

Alexa, play Red Lights by Hyunjin & Bang Chan

You weren’t ready.

Months had passed since that night. That game. That kiss. Since Hyunjin flipped a hidden card with a smug grin and wrecked your life in the most delicious way possible.

But now you were in his city— Seoul.

And your job had decided to partner with his group.

Of course, the universe had a questionable sense of humor.

You fidgeted with your badge, trying to act professional as you walked into the studio with your team. Stray Kids was already there, cameras flashing, makeup artists touching up, stylists fluttering around like anxious butterflies. It was chaos.

And then you felt it— eyes on you.

You didn’t have to look to know it was him standing up so suddenly his chair almost overturned.

“UNO GIRL?!”, he said way too loud.

You froze. Literally froze in place. Several heads turned. One of your coworkers blinked in confusion. Your boss narrowed her eyes.

You stormed across the room, grabbed Hyunjin’s sleeve, and yanked him down the hall, ignoring his laughing protests.

The second the bathroom door closed behind you, you turned on him. “Are you trying to get me fired?”

He leaned against the counter like he wasn’t the problem, “I missed you too”

“Hyunjin”, you hissed “Shut up”.

Of course he didn’t. Instead, he stepped closer. “Come on. Months without a single text? That’s cold, even for you”

“You were the one who didn't text me! I left my number on that damn Uno card! But since you didn't say anything, I figured you were busy, you know. Being famous, body rolling on stages, choking random fans in hotel rooms”

His grin turned dark at that, “Oh? You remember that part?”

And before you could answer, he dipped his head, brushing his lips against your neck. His voice dropped low and wicked.

“Right here, wasn’t it?”

You inhaled sharply.

He kissed the same spot again. Slower. Then let his fingers rest lightly at your throat, the memory of his grip making your breath hitch.

Then, his voice tone shifted to lower, rougher. “Did anyone else touch you, these last few months?”

The question wasn’t fair. Not with the way his body crowded yours. Not with his hand on your skin and his mouth so close.

You shook your head, “N-No…”

He smiled. Not sweet, not soft— satisfied

“Good”

Then he pulled back, just enough to meet your eyes. The heat in his gaze didn’t fade.

“Wait for me when this ends”, he said simply, “Don’t run again”

And with that, he turned and walked out of the bathroom like he hadn’t just unraveled you in under five minutes.

𔓶𑇓𝆬 ͙࿐𓈒ْ ㅤㅤ ㅤ

You were useless for the rest of the photoshoot.

Every time you tried to focus, your thoughts spun back to that damn bathroom. His fingers ghosting over your neck. The way he said ‘good’. The way he looked at you like you were still his— like you never stopped being.

Your coworkers were reviewing lists and discussing lighting setups, and all you could do was stare.

Because Hyunjin was performing for the camera like it was foreplay.

Eyes half-lidded, tongue peeking out, unnecessary body rolls paired with smirks aimed directly at you.

And he knew it.

He’d glance your way after every shot, lips twitching like he could hear your pulse from across the room. The worst part? You were pretty sure he could.

By the time the shoot ended, you felt like you had survived a silent war.

So when your phone buzzed, you didn’t even hesitate.

Unknown number: ‘Meet me at the back lot. I’m taking you home. Changbin will be out. We’ll be alone’

The text alone did unspeakable things to your already chaotic mind.

You slipped away from the team, heart hammering in your chest like you were sixteen sneaking out to meet a boy who already ruined you once and was definitely about to do it again.

He was waiting by a black van, dressed in sweats and a hoodie, mask tugged down just enough to show the smirk he wore like an armor.

“Took you long enough”, he murmured.

“I had to make sure no one saw me”

He leaned close, lips brushing your ear again, whispering the way he did hours earlier, voice dripping heat and memory.

“Don’t worry, baby. You’ll be screaming loud enough later that someone will”

And then he opened the door for you, like a gentleman.

A very, very troublemaker one.

𔓶𑇓𝆬 ͙࿐𓈒ْ ㅤㅤ ㅤ

Hyunjin’s dorm was unexpectedly cozy. You hadn’t known what to expect— maybe something cold, minimalist, like the carefully crafted parts of his idol imagine. But it was the opposite. It was soft, warm with books stacked in the corners, half burned incense on a small ceramic dish, and blankets draped over the back of his couch like he had tried, but failed, to fold them neatly.

You barely stepped inside before he pulled you close and leaned down, his breath warm against your mouth.

“I missed these lips”, he whispered, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip before leaning in to kiss you.

But you stopped him, palm to his chest, grinning, “Wait… what about the rematch?”

He blinked, then narrowed his eyes playfully, “You’re serious?”

You crossed your arms, “A bet’s a bet. You cheated at Uno, remember?”

He groaned, “I don’t even have Uno!”

“Okay, then what do you have?”

Hyunjin sighed dramatically and walked over to a cabinet, “Let’s see… Monopoly, Jenga… ”. He turned around slowly, raising a brow, “Twister”.

You bit your lip, holding back a laugh, “Perfect”

A few minutes later, the colored mat was rolled out on his living room floor, and Hyunjin was stretching like he was preparing for the olympics.

“You’re way too excited for this”, you said, standing opposite him.

He grinned, “You have no idea”

From the very first spin, the game was doomed— not because either of you lacked skill, but because you both had absolutely no intention of keeping it innocent. Every move was a flirt, every stretch, an excuse. His arm brushed against your chest “accidentally”. You moved your hip back into his crotch on purpose, biting back a smug smile when you heard him suck in a breath.

“Left foot red”, you announced, glancing up just as he struggled to reach over you. His shirt rode up. His hips brushed yours. And when you arched just slightly against him— just for teasing— he slipped.

With a dramatic gasp, Hyunjin’s balance gave out and he tumbled forward right on top of you.

The two of you collapsed into a messy heap , him hovering above you, chest to chest, lips a whisper away from yours. A sharp breath caught in your throat as he braced himself above you, palms on either side of your head, your bodies perfectly aligned, his thighs caging yours. His chest heaved. So did yours.

“Oops. Guess I lost”, he said, not even pretending.

You blinked up at him, trying to keep your voice steady, “So… wanna know what’s the prize this time?”

His eyes darkened instantly, already leaning in, “Kiss for a kiss?”

You smirked “No”

He blinked, “No?”

“I wanna tie you on the bed”

That shut him up.

His lips parted, and for a second, he looked like he might combust on the spot. But then a delicious, dangerous smile curved his lips.

“A bet is a bet, right?”

𔓶𑇓𝆬 ͙࿐𓈒ْ ㅤㅤ ㅤ

All the warmth of the dorm extended to Hyunjin's bedroom. The lights were low, dark wooden shelves held a variety of things. His bed wasn’t particularly big, but the sheets were soft and there were too many pillows. A small vinyl record player sat on his desk, with a stack of albums in the corner.

But what changed everything— what shifted the mood— was when he pressed a small button near his nightstand and the entire room bloomed red.

Not bright. Not harsh. Just deep, ambient red light that gave the walls a velvet tone.

He watched you from the middle of the room, already shirtless, his skin flushed in the glow like something out of a dream.

“Just helping set the mood”, he murmured, trying to act cool but the flicker in his gaze gave him away. He was nervous but still excited for whatever was coming.

You walked slowly toward him, holding the soft tie in your hand— the silk scarf you were wearing earlier that day.

“Strip and lie down”, you said softly, “Face up”

Hyunjin swallowed, nodded and obeyed.

He looked stunning under the red lights— flushed cheeks, tousled hair, chest rising and falling a little too quickly. You took your time tying his wrists to the headboard, fingers grazing his skin a little longer than necessary, enjoying how he shivered beneath you.

“You good?” you whispered.

He nodded, eyes fluttering closed for a second before opening again. “What’s the safe word?”

You smirked, “Let’s keep it classic. Uno”

He groaned, “You’re mean, cold as ice”

Something he said flipped a switch in your head. “Ice”, you murmured, then leaned in, your lips brushing the corner of his mouth, “That’s a great idea”.

You stood slowly, walking toward the dorm fridge, ignoring his protests. “Where… where are you going?”, he asked, voice raw.

You didn’t answer, just pulled open the freezer, grabbed a single ice cube, and held it up between two fingers like it was something precious.

When you entered the bedroom again, his eyes widened slightly, flicking from your hand to your smirk, “Wh– what are you gonna do with that?”

You settled back on him, straddling his hips, dragging the ice slowly along your own collarbone. “Just thought we could play with some… temperature control”, you whispered, letting a single cold drop fall on his chest.

He shivered violently, a helpless sound slipping from his throat.

The next trail of melting water you traced along his stomach, circling his navel before heading lower. His muscles tightened beneath your touch. He tried to close his legs, but your body pinned him in place.

“you don’t get to squirm”, you said, licking a drop off his skin before it fell.

Then you hovered just over his cock, the ice cube now resting against the fabric of his boxers, soaking a dark patch into the thin material. He gasped, hips jerked, and you responded immediately, “Didn’t I say no moving?”

“Fuck, baby… please”, he moaned, nearly breathless, “You’re driving me insane”.

You smiled, dragging the ice up his chest again, this time letting it melt fully between your fingers and drip across his nipples. His head tipped back against the pill and Hyunjin sank his teeth on his bottom lip.

“Say the safe word if it’s too much”, you whispered, watching him twitch.

“Uno…”, he gasped, eyes wild.

You raised a brow, “Already?! Do you really want me to stop?”

He swallowed hard, lips parting but no answer came.

You leaned down, licking the water from his neck, voice sultry against his skin, “That’s what I thought”

You finally got rid of both your underwear. Then you moved, lowering yourself onto him inch by inch, cruelly slow. His entire body arched off the bed, a choked sound slipped from his throat— something between a gasp and a growl.

“F-fuck, you feel… so damn warm, baby, please…”

“Ah- ah”, you said, your hand sliding back to his throat, not pressing, just resting there, “You don’t get to move yet”.

He moaned, eyes wide and pleading, hips twitching involuntarily as you rolled your own in slow, merciless circles. “I… I couldn’t help it”, he panted, “You’re torturing me”

You leaned down until your lips brushed his ear, “That’s the idea”

Then you rocked forward again, achingly slow, dragging your nails down his chest just enough to make him shiver. His hands strained uselessly against the scarf, mouth open, eyes squeezed shut like he was trying not to completely lose it.

You kept the rhythm slow, steady, sensual. Grinding down hard one moment, then lifting off just enough to make him whimper. Every time he begged, you clenched, pulsing around him until he twitched and throbbed beneath you.

“You’re not very obedient tonight”, you said sweetly, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “Should we come up with the safe word?”

Hyunjin gave a breathless laugh. “God, yes. Please.”

He moaned loudly as you bounced once, hard enough to take his breath away, before going right back to a slow grind.

“Then, say it”

A few more moments passed in pure torture. Every movement from him, every twitch, every sound was met with delicious punishment— either a clench, a tease, or you pulling off him entirely just to make him beg.

And he did.

Over and over.

Until, finally, he cracked. “Uno. Uno, Uno. Fuck… please"

You slowed, eyes locked on his, but didn’t stop.

“Humm. That didn’t sound very convincing”

“I said the safe word”, he groaned, hips jerking.

“And I heard you”, you smiled, devilish, “But I thought you liked someone cheating”

His mouth fell open in disbelief then you clenched again, and his head dropped back with a curse.

“Oh my god, I’m gonna die”

”I’ll stop if you want me to”

“No”, he groaned, helpless, “Please don’t stop. Please don't”

“So desperate”, you whispered, “Such a good toy”

He whimpered, fingers curling as you rode him harder now, driving him insane.

You felt it when he started to fall apart, the way he trembled under you, the way his moans turned breathless and broken.

“I’m close… I’m so close… please let me come”, he cried out.

He was trembling beneath you, wrists flexing against the silk you’d tied them with. His eyes followed your every move— hungry, desperate, and glassy with need.

“Yn…” he whined, voice wrecked.

You tilted your head playfully, “Hum?”

“I c–can’t take it anymore, please… I have to… .”

He let out a needy whimper, the kind that only made you feel more powerful. Your hips rolled forward before stopping completely, just to make him lose his sanity, still not giving him what he wanted. His eyes fluttered shut, jaw clenched hard.

“You’re being so good for me, Hyunjin”, you murmured, your fingers trailing back up to his face, brushing over his cheek and lips. He leaned into it, greedy for your touch, chasing your hand like it was oxygen.

His legs shifted restlessly under you, thighs trembling from holding back.

His eyes snapped open, blown wide with lust and submission. “Please… I want to come inside of you. I need to release everything inside you. Please, Yn… I can’t hold it anymore, just let me”

A grin curled on your lips. You leaned in, slowly dragging your hips forward, “Did I break you, baby?”, you whispered.

His hips jerked beneath you, entirely involuntary. “Yes”, he choked out, “You broke me. You fucking ruined me”.

Satisfied, you untied one of his wrists slowly. Then the other.

And then, you finally moved again, lips meeting his swallowing desperate moan with a kiss as he clutched your waist like a man drowning.

His whole body shuddered underneath yours, forehead pressed to your shoulder.

“I missed this”, he groaned, “I missed you”

You established a torturously slow pace, your hand tangled in his hair, the other pressing gently into his chest to keep him down and still.

“I’m not done playing”, you whispered.

“God, I’ll play forever if you ride me like this…”

And when he finally came undone, it was with your name on his lips like a surrender. His body trembled as he spilled into you, but you didn’t stop. You rocked through it, pulling another whimper from him, dragging out every last wave of pleasure until he was completely spent, blinking up at you like he couldn’t believe you were real.

You followed just moments later, collapsing against his chest, both of you panting and tangled and wrecked.

The two of you stood there— breathless, dazed, ruined.

And when he finally caught his breath, he looked up with a cocky grin.

“This time”, he said, voice hoarse, “you cheated. I said the safe word. Multiple times”

You leaned down and kissed the corner of his mouth, “I learned from the best”

The silence stretched until a voice from the other side of the dorm wall broke it— Changbin’s voice

“Are you done torturing him now or should I grab my noise canceling headphones again?!”

You both froze before bursting into laughter.

He looked at you and smirked, “Round 2, just to piss him off?”

You smirked back, just as mischievously, "I'm in”.

Comment in any post if you wanna be added :)

Taglist: @hyyunjinnn , @jehhskz , @mbioooo0000 , @nightmarenyxx , @rozsdascsaptelep, @thatonegirlonhere , @notmedina127, @sweetlifeofjoy , @jeonginsleftcheek , @yelhsaa, @my-neurodivergent-world , @hyunles , @imagine-all-the-imagines, @hash2013, @aznstoner , @mythicmochi

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jungsuarus · 2 months ago

Text

Wrong number! | Bang Chan

Contains: Bang Chan x fem!reader

Genre: Fluff, humor, strangers to lovers

Warnings: Cursing, Alcohol mention, drunk reader, suggestive comments here and there, author cannot flirt therefore characters cannot flirt, not proofread there are several spelling mistakes, there are many conversations between these so I'm sorry if it seems rushed or weirdly paced, small timeskips, Chan is mostly referred to as Chris

Summary: Chan gets the wrong number from a girl and ends up texting you instead! What happens when the truth about his life slowly comes out?

A/n: this was fun to write although it took a little while. If you wanna see this with the other members, let me know! I'll most likely do them all at some point anyways but I'll prioritize them if you want it<3

Enjoy🌸

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jungsuarus · 2 months ago

Text

𝐁𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬—𝘉𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘹 (𝘧𝘦𝘮) 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

A Stray Kids one shot

Synopsis: You tease me and I'll tease you back twice as much.

Warnings: SMUT 🔞. Unprotected rough sex (from the behind), Dom!Chan, oral (f. recieving), pussy/ass slapping, name calling, teasing, blindfolds, use of vibrator, a belt to restrain hands, overstim, squirting, aftercare.

Minors do not interact!!!

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: 3.3k

𝑬𝑵𝑱𝑶𝒀!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Everyone has different love languages. For some it's physical touch, for others it's quality time.

Or maybe there exists other types like making a playlist for your partner, matching outfits, you name it.

But for you and Chan, it's teasing.

Whether it's through words or teasing one to insanity in bed, the fact that you shared that specific love language made your relationship feel like it couldn't get any more special or weird than it is.

However, teasing Chan especially when he's working at the studio, comes with its risks. Sometimes when you send a cute little text or a selfie of your new make-up look, he'll respond matching the vibe.

But other times...

[image attached]

You smirked, leaning back against the bed as you watched the three little dots appear and disappear on your screen. Because what you had just sent wasn't anything innocent, but an erotically sexy picture of you in your new lingerie that arrived today.

He was typing. Then stopping. Then typing again.

Then—

Chan: You’re evil.

You: Am I? I just thought you’d appreciate some motivation while working so hard.

You chuckled, biting your lip as you snapped another picture, this time, a closer shot of the lace barely covering and your fingers dangerously close to your center.

The read receipt popped up almost immediately, but the reply took a little longer. You could feel the frustration through the screen.

Chan: Don’t. You. Dare.

Your grin widened. This was too fun.

On the other side of the phone, Chan was losing his mind, knuckles turning white as he gripped the armrest of his chair and his phone so tightly, his cock painfully hard and bulging his pants.

You: Why not? It’s not like you can do anything about it, babe. You’re too busy, remember?

A pause. And then,

Chan: Keep it on. I swear, if you take it off before I get home…

You: Before you get home?

Chan: Yeah. Because I’m leaving. Now.

Your eyes widened.

You: What?? You still have hours left—

Chan: Not anymore. See you in ten.

Your stomach flipped. Oh shit.

You barely had time to process before your phone buzzed again.

Chan: And don’t even think about putting on anything else.

The next ten minutes feel like eternity, you sat on the bed, fidgeting with the lace when you heard a loud bang come from downstairs. Before you could even get up to check for the sound, the bedroom door swung open, with a flushed Chan standing outside.

He absolutely wrecked in the best way—his curls slightly messy, his shirt slightly wrinkled, his breathing slightly uneven like he had sprinted home.

You stood in front of him, his jaw clenching as he dropped his bag, his dark eyes roaming over your figure, drinking in every inch of bare skin on display.

“You think you’re funny, huh?” he muttered, voice lower than usual.

You shrugged innocently. “I was just trying to help.”

Chan let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head as he closed the distance between you. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, his fingers grazing your chin as he tilted your face up to his. “You really don’t know what you’ve just started.”

You shivered under his gaze, excitement and anticipation buzzing through your veins.

Before you could take another breath, Chan's mouth crashed on yours, his lips hungry and rushed as he devoured you, making you both fall on to the bed.

Your hands raked up his hair, he pulled back, a faint string of saliva attaching from yours lips to his, eyes glassy and a menacing smirk tugging the corners of his lips.

A smirk you knew that meant something wild is going on in his head.

"Chan..." You started but he interrupted you with another kiss before getting up and walked towards your shared closet.

You watched him, go through your clothes and then see his face brighten when he pulled out a silk shawl. You swallow hard, anticipation building and rushing through your body.

Chan got back on the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight, his brown eyes now dark and brewing a storm within them, the smirk never leaving his face.

"Today," he started, locking both of your wrists under his hand and pinned them above your head, "I'm going to make you feel..."

Your chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, when Chan used the shawl as a blindfold, covering your eyes and engulfing you in darkness.

“Do you know how insane you drove me?” he murmured, his hands skimming down your lightly clothed body, igniting every nerve along the way.

You swallowed hard, almost unable to register his words with the way his breath fanned over your skin.

His chuckle was dark. “That picture.” His teeth grazed your collarbone, making you whimper. “You really thought you could send me that and I’d just sit there like a good boy?”

Your lips parted, but no words came out. Not when his hands gripped your thighs, spreading them apart.

“I absolutely couldn't make it through the rest of my session.” His teeth sunk into the curve of your neck making you gasp. “I nearly lost my mind knowing you were home, probably touching yourself, thinking about me.”

Your breath hitched when his fingers traced the waistband of your panties, toying with the lace but refusing to give you what you wanted.

“Did you touch yourself?”

You bit your lip, heat creeping up your cheeks. Chan’s eyes darkened. “Answer me.”

You turned your head, shy all of a sudden. “Yes.”

Chan sighed dramatically. “Guess I’ll have to show you why you should be patient.”

And then—he ripped your lingerie top off in one swift motion, a gasp escaping your lips.

“Chan!”

He chuckled darkly, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Too late to back out now, baby.”

It was ridiculous, the amount of money you've spent on lingerie only for it to be ripped and destroyed in less than a week or a day by Chan. But for moments like this, it was worth it.

Your body tensed with need as he stepped away again, the loss of his warmth made you squirm, but then you heard it.

The sound of fabric rustling. The clinking sound of his belt sliding through the loops of his jeans.

Your core clenched at the thought.

Chan chuckled darkly. “Yeah, I know you love that sound.”

Your lips parted, but before you could respond, something soft brushed against your wrists, the smooth leather of his belt.

He wrapped it around them, tying them securely above your head. Not too tight, but enough to keep you from reaching for him.

A satisfied hum left his lips. “Perfect.”

You could imagine the x-rated sight Chan had of you infront of him. Hands tied above your head, blindfolded, exposed nipples peaking hard and wetness soaking between your legs.

And you knew he was reveling in it.

“You have no idea how good you look right now,” Chan murmured, his voice a delicious mix of amusement and desire.

You tugged against the restraints instinctively, but the belt held firm, keeping your wrists bound above your head.

Blindfolded, all your other senses sharpened. You could hear his slow, deliberate breathing and his movement when he pulled the drawer of the night stand.

No. He wouldn't.

"Chan please I—"

"You don't get to beg yet."

He settled back in between your legs, a vibrator in his hand, fingers trailing down, ghosting over your soaked panties, he could almost see the outline of your pretty pussy.

He pressed the tip of the toy over your clothed clit, just lightly enough to drive you insane. Your hips bucked against the touch, craving friction, but he pulled away just as quickly.

“Patience, baby,” he murmured, squeezing your thigh.

You whimpered, the ache inside you unbearable. “Chan…”

His fingers gripped your thigh tighter, spreading them wider. “Look at you,” he murmured, voice filled with admiration and something more primal. “So needy.”

Then you heard the soft buzz of the vibrator, and the moment it touched your sensitive clothed clit again, his mouth closed over your hardened nipple.

It was a shockwave of dual stimulation as you arched up, the buzzing of the vibrator pressing on your tender clit as he sucked on the sensitive peak.

You could only buck your hips, arch up to him and moan so loud that the sounds of your voice bounced off the walls.

Chan groaned against you, moving to the other breast, this time sinking his teeth around the flesh, you screamed in equal amounts of pain and pleasure.

Your clothed cunt was now soaking, drenched in your juices as you kept bucking for more friction but the vibrator only stayed in place making you ache with need.

Chan pulled back up, to see your cheeks flushed hot and pink, your hands trying to untie his belt but failing, his hand still holding the vibrator and watching your slick seep through the fabric and drip down to your ass.

"What a slut."

He brought the wand over your covered opening, pressing it against you that made you squeal and moan almost at the same time. The second you attempted to grind against it, he pulled it away, leaving your body entirely betrayed.

“Don't be mean Chan,” you sobbed and that only unraveled him further.

“You teased me during work sweetheart. And you know what happens after that don't you?”

He commented harshly before leaning forward to untie your wrists, keeping the toy aside and stroking your reddened skin gently for a second or two before he flipped you over onto your stomach, ripping your panties and the rest of the lingerie.

"Chan—please I need—" you whimpered, unable to see because of the blindfold, only felt his hands and movements.

"You need what?" He growled, wrapping a fist around his thick cock and grazing the pre cum leaking tip over your wet folds.

Your body trembled. “I—need you.”

Chan groaned, “God, you’re gonna kill me.” And then, he was hovering over you again, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths.

“You want me?” he murmured, dragging himself against your slick heat, teasing you until you were nothing but a sobbing mess beneath him.

“Yes,” you gasped, arching your back.

His smirk widened. “Beg.”

You wanted to let your pride overtake but it blurred into a thin line along with your irresistible need, your aching pussy just begging to be fucked.

“You were so bold earlier,” he mused, dragging the belt over the curve of your round ass, threatening to slap the leather against your skin.

His lips brushed against your shoulder blade, hot and teasing. “Now you’re all shy?”

You swallowed hard. “I—”

A sudden smack of his palm against your cunt made you jolt and tear a sharp cry out of your throat. “Ah!”

Chan smirked. “Don’t stutter. Use your words.”

Your face fell in the pillows with heavy breaths, your core pulsing at his roughness.

“You like it when I take control, don’t you?” His voice was low, laced with amusement. “You act like you can tease me, but the moment I turn the tables, you’re right where I want you.”

You could feel his warm breath ghosting over you, so close yet refusing to give in.

“Maybe I should make you wait a little longer,” he mused again, pressing soft kisses down your spine, deliberately avoiding where you needed him the most. “Make you really understand what patience means.”

You let out a frustrated whine, writhing beneath him. “Please,” was the last coherent word that came out of you before his mouth attached to your cunt, sending you to complete oblivion.

Hot, demanding and absolutely devastating as he claimed you with his tongue. He pushed you forward, bending your knees, ass up and face down, burying his face in your heat, lapping your sweetness while fucking his fist.

He groaned against you, your juices sliding down his chin like honey slipping from a comb, his name tumbling from your lips in a loud whimper.

You fisted the sheets beneath you as Chan’s pace increased. Your eyes were covered but you could feel everything, how tears streamed down your cheeks and his mouth pressed against your gummy walls, eating you out and slurping your mess as if he was on the edge of starvation.

His cock was hard and aching in his fist, fighting to dive into your tight hole, but the way you taste had him fucking inebriated. Beads of sweat had formed on his forehead, pulling back with long strings of spit sticking from his mouth to your pussy, his breathing ragged.

“Fuck, I can just die with my face in your pussy baby,” He rasped, his breaths heavy, your face muffled in the pillows and sweat misting your body.

“Ha—fu—ck” your voice was broken, feeling the blood coarse through you when two of his thick digits just pushed in your tight hole.

He hit the sweet spot perfectly, curling it just right, that he could hear the creamy, squelching sounds of your cunt.

“I'm co—coming! I'm go—gonna come! Chan—”

You couldn’t hold on anymore, the balls of tingles in your lower belly growing higher and higher until it exploded, a gush of liquid streaming down his hand and out of your pussy.

You cried out his name so loud, but he didn’t stop until every last drop was milked out of your abused hole. You squeezed your thighs, clenching his fingers and fell limp on the bed, knees weak and completely lost in the haze of pleasure that just happened, Chan withdrew his digits as he looked down at your spent body.

Finally, he took pity on you and untied the blindfold, hovering over you, his thumbs brushing away the tears that rolled down your face.

You gently opened your eyes, to be met with Chan's hand wrapping around your neck, turning you to face him who still had that menacing smirk playing on his lips.

You were completely fucked out and he hadn't even used his cock yet, you swallowed hard when his mouth ghosted over yours and feeling his erection press on your body.

“You'll take my cock like the good slut you are won't you?” He growled and you nodded dumbly, chest rising and falling as you laid back on your stomach on the mattress.

His other arm scooped under your tummy, holding you back up on your knees and in one swift thrust, he slammed into you, knocking the air out of your lungs.

A broken, strangled moan spilled from your lips, your fingers gripping the sheets as Chan filled you completely, stretching you in the most delicious way.

“Fuck so tight,” he growled, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulled back only to thrust into you again, harder this time. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

You could barely form words, your mind completely fogged and the pleasure overwhelming as he set a brutal pace, taking out every ounce of frustration you’d built in him throughout the day.

Chan’s grip on throat was just firm enough to make your breath hitch, his tip kept kissing that sweet spot over and over again—pat pat pat!—and you shrieked against the intensity of his pace.

“Touch your clit.” He ordered, pulling back his hips and slowly pushing back in, you whimpered his name feeling every vein of his thick cock as his thrusts grew slower.

A pretty manicured hand reached down, you hiccuped gathering your wet slick and smeared it on your erect clit, rubbing two fingers in slow circles.

“Good girl,” he let out a low chuckle before gripping the flesh of your round ass and giving it a sharp slap!, resuming his pace. He pushed himself deeper in strong strokes into your tight channel until you were moaning and squealing.

Your fingers sped up with him, rubbing your sensitive clit harder and faster, a lewd ring of fluids wrapped around the base of his cock and the sounds of flesh against flesh.

“M’coming— Ha, Cha—ngh,” your eyes roll to the back of your head at every snap of his hips, when he grazes his tip against your cervix and your fingers work on the brink of your orgasm.

“Tsk, yeah?”—slam— “Then come.”—slam—“Make a mess,”—slam—“on my cock.”

You couldn't think, couldn't speak, could only feel the rush of the upcoming pleasure till it pushed you over the cliff of your limits and you came hard, like a dam breaking free.

He followed just as quickly and close behind, hot white and thick ropes of cum spilling endless in you, his vision momentarily blacked out at how much he had released.

You fell back on your stomach again, this time your knees completely giving out and Chan too, who was on top of you, his twitching cock still buried inside you, ragged, uneven breaths of you both filling the room.

You felt his cock soften, overly sensitive nerves sparking as it made you wince when he pulled out. You turned to your back and then Chan finally got to see what had done to you.

Bite marks around your nipples and shoulders, purplish red spots on your neck and bruising fingerprints on your hips. He considered this as a bigger masterpiece than what he creates on his laptop.

His eyes soften when they meet yours, grazing his thumb over your bottom lip before he smiled. “You did so well for me,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

You barely had the energy to respond, your body so utterly spent, every muscle lax under him. Still, you managed a small smile, nuzzling into his touch as your eyelids fluttered hazily.

“Stay here, baby. I’ll be right back.”

You barely registered the loss of his warmth as he climbed out of bed, but your skin immediately missed his touch. The sound of water running filled the room, and soon enough, Chan returned, a damp towel in hand.

He grabbed the bottle of water that was on the nightstand and settled next to you, unscrewing the cap before bringing the bottle to your lips.

“Drink,” he urged gently, holding the back of your head. “You need to hydrate.”

You got up and took a few small sips before he pulled it away, setting it aside and laying you on your back.

“Spread your legs for me, sweetheart,” he said softly, kneeling beside you.

You obeyed without question, legs trembling slightly as you opened them. Chan’s gaze flickered downward, and his jaw clenched at the sight of his release still dripping from your core.

He murmured quiet apologies when you winced at the overstimulation as he cleaned you.

“I know, baby, I know,” he soothed, his touch impossibly gentle as he cleaned you up, wiping away the evidence of what he had done to you.

His free hand massaged your sore thighs, his fingertips tracing soft circles into your skin. “I didn’t mean to go so rough… got carried away.”

You let out a breathless laugh, still dazed. “You always get carried away.”

Chan smirked, tossing the cloth aside and crawling back up to pull you into his arms. “Can you blame me?” He nuzzled into the crook of your neck, inhaling the scent of your skin. “You drive me crazy.”

“And you love it.” Despite the exhaustion, you wanted to tease him just a bit.

“Damn right I do.”

Chan reached for the blankets, pulling them over both of you before tucking you closer into him. His arms tightened around you, his heartbeat steady and calming beneath your cheek.

"Rest up, baby. I've got you," he whispered.

And with the sound of his steady breathing and the warmth of his embrace, you let yourself drift, safe in the arms of the man who had just unraveled and put you back together again.

Enjoyed this one shot? Consider checking my masterlist for more. Requests? Check 𝚁𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜 (& 𝚁𝚞𝚕𝚎𝚜)

Taglist: @velvetmoonlght @de-uns-tempos-pra-ca @greyyeti

If you want to be added to the taglist, drop a comment <3 (If I missed someone please lmk)

Thank you for reading!

xx,

Ivyy

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jungsuarus · 2 months ago

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jungsuarus · 2 months ago

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By The River's Edge

Kim Jungsu Summary: You always met Jungsu by the river’s edge. (non-idol au) WC:~1.9k Warning:none

photo not mine credits to owner.

Loneliness seemed to be your best friend from a young age. You were an only child and you lived in a house that was far from even the outskirts of any town. Naturally your parents were both busy with work leaving you to establish an occurring relationship with feeling lonely. That was until you met Jungsu that is. It was by the river’s edge where you first met him. You were sitting on the ground right alongside the river. Your fingers just barely dipped into the water, letting it caress your hand.

Suddenly you feel something being placed in your hair. You turn your head and see a boy standing there.

“Pretty girls deserve pretty flowers,” he said, taking a seat beside you. A smile breaks out across your face. You carefully take the flower from your hair, so that you can look at it. It’s a pretty poppy flower. The smile on your face became more adoring.

“Thank you,” you tell the boy.

“Jungsu. I’m Jungsu,” he introduced himself.

“Y/n,” you told him your name.

From then on you weren’t lonely anymore. Whenever loneliness tried to creep in on you, Jungsu found a way to appear by your side right by the river’s edge.

“Jungsu, where do you live?” you questioned him one day. The two of you had taken your shoes and socks off, rolled your pants up, so you could rest your feet in the gently flowing river.

“I live nearby,” he replied.

“Really? Because I told my parents about how I have a friend who I met by the river and they got confused. They told me that the closest house to ours is ten miles away,” you say. Jungsu lets out a laugh.

“I really do live nearby. It’s just a really old house. Most people don’t know that it exists. It’s more secluded, a bit deeper in the forest,” he informs you.

“That’s good,” you smile. “I was afraid that I got so lonely I made you up or something,” you chuckle.

“Don’t be silly.” He lightly patted your head. “I’m right here.” He grabbed your hand in his. “I’m very real.” His eyes sparkle as he looks at you.

The water flowers through the river like the tears that are flowing from your eyes. Both of your parents had forgotten your birthday. Heck your dad wasn’t even home. Your mom notified you once you woke up in the morning that he left late last night to handle some work issues. Still you had hoped that you could have a nice day celebrating with your mom, but after telling you about your dad’s business she went off to her study, leaving you completely alone.

Feeling forgotten, you went to the one place where you knew there would be someone who cared about you, Jungsu. Yet when you got there you spied no hint of him. It felt like a knife stabbed through your heart. Had he forgotten you too?

“Happy birthday!” You jump feeling startled by the unexpected declaration. Then you feel something being placed on your head and Jungsu appears in front of you.

“Jungsu!” you sobbed, wrapping your arms around him, burying your head in his chest.

“Hey, what’s wrong? Why are you crying princess?” He pulled away to cup your face in his hands as he ever so gently wiped your tears.

“My parents completely forgot my birthday,” you hiccup. “And when I got here I didn’t see you anywhere so-” Your voice cracks. “I-I I thought you forgot about me too.” You couldn’t stop more tears from falling.

“Hey, hey. I would never forget about you.” He speaks to you in a gentle, soothing voice. “I will never forget about you, my princess.” He pulled you back into a hug. He can feel how your fingers clutch at his sides. Like you’re terrified of him disappearing. One side of his lips tug upward in a smirk as his hand comes up to cradle the back of your head.

After a few moments he pulled away again. “I was just busy making your birthday present,” he smiled at you, grabbing the poppy flower crown from your head to show you. Your tears stopped falling. You take the flower crown from him. One final sniffle came from your nose and a smile appeared on your face.

“Thank you Jungsu. It’s beautiful,” you say, placing it back on your head.

“Pretty girls deserve pretty flowers,” he quotes the first words he ever told you.

-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-

“Y/N THIS HAS TO STOP!” your father yelled at you. “THERE IS NO JUNGSU!” He gripped you by your shoulders, trying to bring you to your senses.

“Yes there is! He’s real! I don’t know why neither of you will believe me.” Tears pricked your eyes.

“Sweetie when you were eight having an imaginary friend was no big deal, but you’re twenty now. You need to let Jungsu go,” your mom tried to be more gentle with you. Place her hands over your father’s as a signal for him to let go of you.

“He’s real mom,” you stressed. “Just wait here I have proof.” You ran up to your room to find the flower crown he gifted you for your birthday two years ago. However when you opened the box that you kept it in, it wasn’t there. You frantically searched through the box, pouring out all the contents.

“Y/n honey what are you doing?” Your mom made her way into your room.

“It was here! It was it-and the other flower. He gave me a regular poppy flower too. I-I, I kept it in here. Why are they not here!” Your breathing became ragged.

“This is what your father and I are talking about. You never had those things y/n. There is no Jungsu. He was just your imaginary friend.” Your mom tried to wrap her arms around you in a comforting hug, but you shoved her away.

“No he wasn’t! He’s real! I’ll prove it!” You pushed your way past both of your parents and began running for the river’s edge.

“Jungsu! Jungsu!” you yelled frantically once you arrived. You looked all around, but you couldn’t find Jungsu anywhere. His house. Maybe he was at his house. He said it was across on the other side of the river. Deeper into the forest. Certainly you could find it.

You began to run into the river. However you’re suddenly yanked from the flowing river. It was your father. He had grabbed you by your waist and was pulling you out of the water.

“Stop! Stop! Let me go! I’m going to find him and show you!” You shouted, kicking your legs.

“Y/n please stop,” your father’s voice broke. “I can’t see you like this anymore.” His tears fell onto the back of your neck. He sets you back down on the ground, but he doesn’t let you go.

“Yes please, stop fighting us. We just want to help you.” Your mom came around in front of you, placing a caring hand on your shoulder.

“I don’t need help,” you denied.

“Yes you do. You’re sick y/n, but we’re gonna help you,” your dad says.

“I’m not sick! Jungsu! Jungsu please! Just come out, show them I’m not crazy,” you pleaded, but he never showed.

Now you find yourself clad in a white gown with non-slip socks on your feet. Sitting in a plain room with windows that didn’t open and a bed that was as comfortable as cardboard.

“Ms. y/n it’s time for therapy.” A worker of the psych ward came into your room.

“I don’t need therapy. There’s nothing wrong with me,” you grumble.

“I never said there was anything wrong with you, but if you want to get out of here you’ll need to speak with your therapist,” they coaxed you. You let out a sigh and got out of your bed to follow the worker to the therapy room.

“Can you tell me when you first met Jungsu?” your therapist asked you.

“When I was eight, by the river’s edge,” you answered.

“And you never introduced Jungsu to anyone else, your parents, other friends?” she inquired.

“There wasn’t anyone else. We lived in a very secluded place and my parents didn’t like noise at the house, so I alway met Jungsu by the river’s edge.” You blankly looked at the table. You can hear the sound of your therapist writing notes in a notebook.

“Would you say you were lonely growing up?” she asked.

“Until I met Jungsu,” you answered.

“I heard that he gave you some gifts. Can I ask what they were?”

“A poppy flower and for my 18th birthday he made me a poppy flower crown,” you smile as you recall the memories.

“Did you know poppies can represent imagination?” she said.

“Are you saying I made him up too?” you looked up angrily.

“Please calm down. It’s actually not uncommon for people to create a friend. Specially when they’re lonely,” she went on to say.

“But I didn’t make him up! I’ve been friends with him for the past twelve years. You think I wouldn’t know if he was imaginary!” You stood up slamming your hands on the table.

“Please calm down Ms. Y/n-”

“No! I’m done with this session.” You angrily walked over the door, waiting for it to be opened.

It’s late at night. You're curled up under a thin blue blanket that hardly provides any warmth. Tears escape from your eyes. You couldn’t take being stuck here. In a place where no one would listen to you. Surrounded by fake people who were trying to convince you that Jungsu wasn’t a real person.

“Why are you crying princess?” You feel a hand cup your face. A hand that’s warmth you recognized. Your eyes immediately shot open.

“Jungsu.” You sat up. It really was him. Jungsu was here. He was right in front of you. “Jungsu!” You say happily, throwing your arms around his neck. “Where have you been?” Tears well up in your eyes again, but they’re different this time. They’re happy tears, relieved tears.

“I know, I’m sorry. I just had things to do. I’m sorry I should have told you I had to go away for a while.” He pulled away from the hug.

“They told me you weren’t real?” You sniffled. “That I made you up.” Jungsu laughed, shaking his head.

“Don’t be silly.” He reached a hand up to pat your head. “I’m right here.” He took hold of your hand. “I’m very real.” His eyes have the special glint in them as he looks at you. “Now shall I take you away from here?” he asked. You nod instantly.

“Yes please.” Your voice was so desperate. You were so desperate that you didn't even notice the sinister look flash through his eyes or that his smile is a borderline smirk.

“Then let’s go.” He helps you stand up with the hand that he’s already holding. He leads you to the open window.

“Wait, how is this open? The windows don’t open,” you said, confused. Jungsu cups your confused face in his hand.

“My princess, I’m not your average person. I’m special and only special people can see me too.” With that he whisked you away to a faraway place where no one would ever see you again. Because you were his princess and Jungsu was gonna be the only one who could be by your side.

taglist: @purplelady85 @gingerjunhan @chewednails @ezlynkisses @mon2sunjinsuver @mxlly143 @seungseung-minmin @junhanism

comment or message me to be added!

A/N: I'm not entirely sure what this is. Lowkey a Jungsu peter pan au Just got the idea ran with it lol. Or maybe I'm posting something a bit experimental after my Jooyeon teaching you how to play the bass fic popped off and now I'm a bit scared to post since I know whatever I post won't do as well as that work. Thanks to anyone who took the time to read this author's note I hope you enjoyed By The River's Edge :)

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jungsuarus · 2 months ago

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Uno and chill - H.HJ

Hi, guys! I'm back from an intense week. I missed writing 😢 So this is my present for you all. I have so many things planned, can't wait to share 💜

Thank you @jehhskz for asking me to write this fic. It's always a pleasure to be delulu with you 🫶🏻

Warnings: smut, dom! Hyunjin, possessive! Hyujin (but it's not too rough cause he's still my cutie hyunie 🤏🏻)

Word count: 1.7k

Alexa, play Escape by Hyunjin & Bang Chan

Hyunjin was already on the edge, sweat clinging to his neck, fingers curled around the mic as he squinted past the blinding stage lights.

Then, he stopped and grinned. “What is that?”, he laughed, pointing toward the crowd— a sign, handwritten in red ink. Your sign:

1. You take me to your hotel room so we can play uno

2. You come to my place so I can destroy you in Just Dance (respectfully)

The fans around you screamed as he approached that end of the stage . But Hyunjin just smirked, and raised a single finger. “One”, he mouthed, with a wink.

You nearly died, not expecting anything else. It was just fanservice, you got that. So when a staff member tapped your shoulder at the end of the concert, whispering, “Please come with me. He’s waiting”. Well, you were sure you died and ended up in Heaven.

𔓶𑇓𝆬 ͙࿐𓈒ْ ㅤㅤ

You sat on the hotel couch, knees bouncing, heart beating like crazy. Then the door opened and Hyunjin walked in— bare faced, wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, no shirt under it. He never looked more stunning.

“Oh my God…”, you muttered. “Hi”, he said, grinning, “So... uno, huh?”. You smiled, holding up the cards you always carried around in case of boredom. “Yeah, are you ready to be…”, but he didn’t let you finish. He just leaned in fast, one hand cupped your jaw, and suddenly his lips were about to crash into yours.

You pulled back, “Whoa, whoa, whoa! What the heck, bro?! I meant actual Uno??”. Hyunjin blinked, blood rushed to his face, “Wait… what?! I thought ‘uno’ was like... a code. Like Netflix and chill”. You burst into laughter, a bit horrified, “No!! I literally just wanted to kick your ass in Uno”.

He leaned on the couch, groaning, hand covering his face, “I’m so embarrassed! Oh my god” “Well”, you said, shuffling the cards with a grin, “You still wanna play?”. He looked at you, with that typical mischievous spark in his eyes, “Yeah… let’s play”.

ㅤ

Mid game, you were two wins in and getting cocky. Hyunjin narrowed his eyes, a smirk on the corner of his lips, “Okay. Let’s make it interesting. If you win the next round, I’ll… dance Escape. All the body rolls just for you to see”, he said wiggling his eyebrows. “But”, he added, “If I win… you kiss me. For real this time”.

You paused, fingers hovering over your cards. His voice was low, but it still had a teasing tone. Hyunjin leaned back on the couch, stretching his long legs out, one arm slung lazily over the backrest. His eyes were on you— a piercing gaze like he was looking through you, like he already knew how this was going to end. Like he’d already planned it three turns ahead.

“Escape, you said?”, you raised an eyebrow, “Are you feeling that confident?”. He shrugged, “I’m very good with my hips”. That made your stomach flip and judging by his smirk, he knew it. Biting your lip, you agreed, “Deal”.

The round started chaotic. You both played aggressively, slamming cards down, stacking +2s, skipping turns, changing colors, like it was a real war. You were good at Uno. And he was hot. Which made your mind conflicted. Still, you stayed focused, one card left, tension thick between you both. “Uno”, you said confidently. Hyunjin’s smile twitched, “We’ll see”.

He played a reverse. Then a skip. And then, without breaking eye contact, he dropped a wild card and changed the color to blue. You stared at your last card— red. “Shit”, Hyunjin laughed, as you groaned and picked up another card.

He took his time and played one more, then another, the rhythm slowing like he was savoring it. He leaned in as he placed his final card down after saying ‘Uno’, “I win”. You narrowed your eyes, “You cheated” “Impossible”, he shrugged, “You said you were good. I believed you. Even offered my body rolls” "I didn’t even get to play, you menace!". But he just kept smirking.

So, you sighed, leaning back dramatically, “Fine. A deal’s a deal”. Hyunjin didn’t say a word. He just shifted closer, eyes locked on your mouth, “Come here”, he said quietly.

You leaned in. He placed one hand on your neck, pulling you closer. The kiss was slow and controlled. Like he was savoring every second. His lips moved like they already knew yours, and when his tongue brushed against yours, you sighed softly into his mouth. He was so addictive.

Then he kissed deeper, fingers sliding up tugging gently at your hair, pulling you even closer until you were straddling his lap, breathless, flushed.

He pulled away just enough to whisper against your mouth, “The moment I saw you... couldn’t stop thinking about you”. You whimpered when his mouth found your neck, hot and wet and desperate, “Hyun…” “Shh”, he growled, lifting you easily in his arms. “Let me show you what I wanted all night”.

The bed was cold when he laid you down like you were something precious, then climbed over you slowly, his hoodie falling from his shoulders, revealing the perfect lines of his toned arms. He pressed a kiss to your neck. Then your collarbones and sternum, “You’re so fucking pretty”, he whispered, “I could look at you for hours.”

His hands slipped beneath your shirt— warm palms against your skin, pushing the fabric up until he could toss it aside. He stared, breath getting heavier, then dipped his head to kiss between your breasts.

When he got you completely bare, he sat back on his heels for a second, eyes scanning over every inch of you, “You’ve got no idea what you’re doing to me”, he muttered. “Fuck, I don’t want anyone else to ever touch you”.

His hands pinned your hips gently as he dragged his lips down your stomach, then lower. He took his time giving slow, wet kisses on your inner thighs, ears capturing every soft sound escaping you with every move of his tongue. And when he finally came back to your lips and slid into you— you felt completely consumed.

You cried out, hands gripping his back. “You feel so good”, he groaned, hips grinding into you in deep strokes, “Fuck, this pussy was made for me”. You gasped at the words, clenching around him, and he felt it.

Smirking, Hyunjin wrapped a hand lightly around your throat. Not too tight, just enough to make your head spin. His thumb dragged up your bottom lip, “Open”. You obeyed, without questioning. He pushed his thumb into your mouth, “Suck”. You closed your lips around him, and he groaned, hips shifting forward like it turned him on more than he expected. “That’s it”, he murmured, watching your lips wrapped around his thumb, eyes heavy with lust. “God, look at you. So obedient”.

What he said had an immediate effect on you, making your hips move involuntarily to meet his. He smirked, slowing the pace of his thrusts. “You like that?” he whispered, lips brushing your ear. “You like when I fuck you like this, don’t you?”. He lightly bit your earlobe, making you whimper, “M-more f-faster, p-please”.

He smirked again, “Only if you promise me that now you're only mine, no one else will ever touch you again, only me. Do you understand me?”. You nodded, barely able to speak. Your body was trembling, almost hitting the edge, and he knew it, “No, no, baby. Say it. With words”.

“Yes… fuck. Yes, no one else ever again, only you” “That’s it. Good girl”. Then, he sped up, fucking into you with long, hard thrusts, the sound of skin against skin echoing through the room.

“Hyunjin…”, you gasped. “Come for me”, he said, voice rough and low, “I want to feel you falling apart”

You shattered around him, breath caught in your throat, seeing stars behind your eyes. Your legs trembled as he fucked you through it, chasing his own release until he spilled into you with a moan that bordered on despair.

“Fuck” he groaned, collapsing beside you. “That was…”. You didn’t say anything, you were still trying to catch your breath.

Afterward, you were laying together, tangled in his arms when suddenly, he reached into the hoodie on the floor and pulled out a Uno card— a wild card.

“I cheated”, he said with a smirk. “this card was yours, had it hidden on my sleeve the whole time”, he confessed, cocky as ever.

You threw a pillow at him, “You little…!”. He caught the pillow midair and tossed it back at your chest, “And you loved every second of it”.

𔓶𑇓𝆬 ͙࿐𓈒ْ ㅤ

The next morning, the hotel room was quiet. Hyunjin was still asleep, tangled in the sheets. His lips were parted, one arm stretched across your side of the bed like he’d tried to reach for you in his dreams.

You moved carefully, slowly slipping out from under the covers. Your legs ached from last night in the best way possible.

You found your clothes, but your hand paused on the hoodie he’d been wearing the night before. Oversized, soft and smelled like him.

You slipped into it without thinking. Then, you walked over to the coffee table, grabbed a pen from the hotel notepad, and reached for the Uno card he stole from you.

You flipped it over and wrote on the back in messy handwriting:

‘Rematch?’

Reaching for your purse, you grabbed a red lipstick. And left a kiss right under the note.

Then you tucked it under his phone on the nightstand. But before leaving, you glanced back at him one last time— still asleep. You walked towards the bed and planted a soft kiss on his lips, staining it red. And finally slipped out the door, hoodie sleeves covering your hands, heart pounding wildly in your chest.

Later, when Hyunjin blinked awake, the first thing he noticed was that the bed was colder. The second, that his hoodie was gone.

And the third— the card.

He picked it up slowly, reading the message. A smile playing on his lips. Then a soft, low chuckle escaped him, “Of course… She knows how to play dirty too”.

He leaned back against the pillows and ran his fingers over his lips out of habit, staining his fingertips red. Hyunjin chuckled, somehow he still could feel your kiss still lingering on his mouth.

He knew this wasn’t over yet.

Did you notice the H.HJ in the title?? Does that mean more members fics coming soon?? 👀 Stay tuned to find out

If you enjoyed it, please consider liking and reblogging. Feedbacks, loves notes and requests are very much appreciated 😊

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