sammhisphere

[sammhisphere]

Sharing is Caring [1.5: ChanSung]

˚ʚBang Chan x Han Jisungɞ˚

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ summary: While their 'fuck buddy' takes care of Changbin, the eldest and youngest producer learn some new things about each other.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ word count: 2.4k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ warnings: member x member content: dont like dont interact <3 (you can also block the #mxm tag), swap between using Chris & Chan- sry not sry, handjob (Han rec), oral (Chris rec), poly ot8 mentions, 3racha x fem reader mentions: Changbin x fem reader action from the original version of this chapter

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ notes: i call han the maknae like once during this because he is 3racha's maknae and this was from the 3racha fic soo 🤷

Sharing is Caring Masterlist

DO NOT republish or translate+post my work!

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ PSA: Red text is taken directly from Part 1 (reworded) and may contain female x Changbin content.

But when she smiles and slides off Chris' lap, softly crawling towards Changbin on all fours, both boys on the couch suddenly fix their posture. Han almost whines at the thought of Changbin getting her first until he watches the oldest stand up and saunter towards him. He gulps and looks up at the man, biting his lip when Chris leans down and grabs his chin to hold eye contact. “You still okay with us playing a little bit, Hannie?” Not fully trusting his voice, Jisung nods eagerly and allows Chris to take control, "Please..."

At this point, Han's hands had stopped moving and now just lay flat on his thighs as he waited for Chan to make the next move. Chan leans down further with a big smirk on his face, “All this time… we could have been having fun too.” His eyes flicker to Han’s lips for a moment, and when their eyes meet again he licks his lips seductively. “How long?”

Han clears his throat as Chan lowers even more, now caging the younger boy with a hand on the bottom cushions by his thigh and a hand on the back cushions by his shoulder, their faces now only a couple of inches apart. “U-Um… Like a few years? I-I’ve always been ok with it for everyone but I didn’t want to bring it up..” 

“Aww, our poor Hannie. Don’t worry~ Channie-hyung will take care of you now.” Chan’s voice lowers to a whisper and he finally pushes his lips against Han's. They kiss sweetly for a moment, just enjoying each other's warmth against their lips until Jisung whines and bucks his hips into the air. Chan smiles against his lips and licks across his bottom lip, pushing his tongue past it once Han's lips parted. At the same time their tongues meet, the hand on the bottom cushion moves up to Han's thigh, making him moan into the kiss at the mere contact.

Chan holds back a laugh and indulges the desperate boy, finally wrapping his hand around his leaking dick. Han breaks the kiss and moans but manages to make eye contact with Chan as his hand starts to move. His jaw drops and he looks down momentarily, relishing in the way the veins in Chan's hands pop out and how wet it sounds. He doesn't get to look for long, not when Chan curls the fingers in his free hand into Han's hair and forces his head backward.

"'M not done with you." He slams their lips together again and this time shoves his tongue into Han's mouth right off the bat. Han moans loudly against his lips and the hands that were trying so hard to sit still on his thighs now move to Chan's big arms. He squeezes the flesh there as he bucks his hips into Chan's hand. He's so close and he tries his best to show his hyung that without having to separate from him again.

And, of course, Chan can tell. This might be the first time they've explored each other, but Chan knows all his members like the back of his hand. And the endless whimpers from Han do nothing but make it even more obvious. So Chan moves his hand faster, now focusing solely on getting the younger boy off.

But then, a pair of sudden and loud slaps grabs their attention, making them pull a few inches away from each other at the sound. Jisung’s hips buck up into Chris’ hand and he lets out a pathetic whine at the sight of the girl's ass cheeks turning a dark red. Chan lets out an exasperated laugh before saying “Oh yeah, I should’ve warned you two that she can be a stupid brat sometimes. I would say I’d teach you how to deal with it, but it seems like you got it under control already. You know what to do, baby. Be a good girl for Binnie, or else I'll handle you myself.”

Changbin steals a confused glance at his hyung before returning his gaze to the girl on his lap, loosening his grip on her neck to give her more breathing room. Her eyes meet Chan's for a second and she gulps deeply before placing her hands on his chest. “‘M sorry Binnie. I’ll be good now, I promise.” Changbin's hand completely loosens the grip on her neck but stays resting there as Chris speaks up again. “Not ‘Binnie’ baby.”

Her eyes meet Chan’s again and he smiles at her teasingly, his hands still stroking Jisung at a slow pace that has the boy whining into his own hand. She bites her lip at the sight of Jisung looking fucked out already and turns back to Changbin to retry, “I’m sorry, sir. I’ll behave now.” They all watch Changbin swallow thickly before leaning his head sideways and letting out a curse.

“Atta girl, baby,” Chan says before turning back to the squirming boy below him. Han returns his eyes to Chan and moans at the look he’s given in response. “You’re so vocal, Hannie. I’m surprised we haven’t heard you jerking off before.” Chan teased with his bottom lip caught between his teeth. He doesn’t give the younger man any time to respond before he tightens his hand and speeds up his movements. The hand previously in Han's hair moves down to join his other hand by rubbing the tip of his thumb roughly through his slit.

High pitches ‘ahs’ fill that side of the room as Han cums, shooting long shots of creamy cum onto Chan’s hand and stomach, and even some onto his own shirt. Chan watches with wide eyes and a laugh as he pumps the boy through his high, focusing attention on his tip so he can watch the boy squirm from sensitivity. Once he’s sure that he's milked dry, he pulls his hand away and licks it clean, holding eye contact with Han as he does so.

Han covers his face and whines something about how hot that was and his dick twitches as if to prove his point, making Chan laugh again. He pulls away and hooks his thumbs into his sweatpants, looking Han up and down almost menacingly. He can't help but feel satisfied at how absolutely destroyed he looks. He wonders what he'd look like if they actually fucked.

Han sees Chan's dick twitch in his pants and his gaze turns upwards. He looks at Chan from under his eyelashes for a moment as he sucks on his bottom lip. Then one of his hands moves forward and teasingly trails the tip of his pointer finger around his bulge. Chan's breath catches in his throat and he shivers, "Hmm?" Han’s cheeks burn bright but he tucks himself into his boxers and quietly stands up on wobbly legs.

He tries to push Chan onto the couch, only for him not to budge, and amusedly raise his eyebrow. Chan laughs and tilts his head, placing a hand on Han’s throat before roughly orienting him to meet his eyes. “Use your words, Han-ah. You have no idea how far I’ll go to punish a brat who can't use their manners.” He squeezes lightly, not enough to cut off any airflow, and waits patiently for a response. Han gulps and nods, immediately complying in fear. “‘Wanna suck you off..." The hushed tone would usually be enough to call for discipline, but he was playing nice with Han. It was their first time together, after all.

So Chan lets him go and pats his cheek with a small smile, “Good boy.” He plops on the couch, stealing a glance at the two fucking like rabbits to his right before looking up at the flushed boy before him. Han sinks to his knees, resting his hands on his own thighs as he waits for permission to touch him further. Chan whistles at the younger boy's immediate submission. “Fuck.. You’re so much more well-behaved than that brat over there... Really should have let me play with you earlier, Hannie.” Han can see Chan’s dick twitch from under his pants and he watches in awe as Chan slides them down along with his boxers and frees his dick. 

Despite living together and dealing with Chan walking around half-naked all the time, it had been a long time since any of the members saw each other naked, let alone in the new dorms where everybody got their own bathrooms. So Han is pleasantly surprised to see how big Chan is. He can already feel the saliva pooling as he stares, but he looks up at the older pleadingly, still waiting for permission. Chan tilts his head and smirks smugly, grabbing himself by the base and tapping his tip against Han’s pretty pink lips. “Patient too... Such a good boy haha. Go ahead, Hannie.”

Han’s hands immediately shoot up; one barely manages to wrap around Chan's width and the other rests flat against Chan's pelvis with his thumb and his pointer finger circling his base. He swallows the thick saliva in his mouth and experimentally pumps his hand a few times, watching dazedly as precum dribbles out the tip. Chan feels so heavy in his hand and it makes Han dizzy at the thought of what it might feel like inside of him. But this good boy wants nothing more than to behave for his hyung, so he snaps out of his daze and leans forward to lick a line against Chan’s slit. 

When the older groans and bucks his hips in response, Han smiles and does it again, this time finishing it off by taking the first few inches into his mouth. Chan’s head hits the cushions as Han goes deeper, flattening his tongue and sucking as he takes the length inch by inch. The weight of Chan's dick on his tongue makes him moan and lead vibrations around him.

Eventually, Han’s nose hits Chan's pelvis and, having lost all focus at the realization, he gags loudly. Chan’s thighs twitch on either side of him so he forcefully loses focus again, making his eye twitch shut as he gags a few more times before pulling off to let himself breathe. He gasps and a thick string of saliva chases his lips. Chan forces his head up and they make eye contact as Han lowers again, this time swirling his tongue around his tip while his right hand pumps him. The hand that was previously on his pelvis moves down to fondle his balls, squeezing them each time his tongue catches on the slit of Chan’s dick. Chan shivers and moans loudly, furrowing his eyebrows as he focuses on the oddly talented demon between his legs who’s bringing his orgasm on so soon.

“Please please please-” Chris’ ears suddenly perk up at the sound of the girl to his right begging. He chuckles breathlessly and it takes everything in him to keep his eyes on the pretty boy between his legs. “F-Fuck…” He whispers under his breath as his hips buck into Han’s mouth. He clears his throat and manages a normal sentence while watching his dick get throated, “Bin, I usually have to overstimulate her for her to beg like that. Shit... You must’ve fucked her stupid already.”

Chan doesn’t bother listening to any reply that he might’ve gotten. Instead, he zones in on the boy below him, watching as his confidence grows with each second. “You’re doing so well, Hannie. F-Fuck! W-Where the hell did you learn how to do this??” Han chuckles around him and it causes vibrations that make Chan’s legs shake. He pulls off and pumps him as he answers, “Me and one of the others mess around with each other every now and then.”

“Holy shit… W-Who??” Han stays quiet, kitten licking up Chan’s length as he begins an internal debate with himself. Eventually, the desperate, shiny eyes of the older boy make him cave and he leans up. He places a kiss on the very top of Chan’s dick and names the culprit before he goes down on him again. Chan moans loudly at the imagery that came with the mention of his other members' names and his dick twitches in Han’s mouth.

Han increases his efforts, keeping up his hand’s movements while suddenly taking the length as deep into his throat as he can without gagging horribly. Chan’s mind spins with the new information about his members and about Han’s ability to suck dick so well. His stomach tightens and his hips continuously buck up into Han’s mouth. He lets out a few gasps that gradually turn to whines, signaling that he’s dangerously close. Han picks up on it and deepthroats him all the way to the hilt, even gagging a few times on purpose. 

They both faintly hear the sound of a girl whining about how hot the sight is, but it goes in one ear and right out the other as they focus on each other. Han smiles to himself and stops his hand’s efforts, only to place them on the very top of his thigh. He rakes his nails down Chan’s thighs, reveling in the high-pitched squeaks it pulls from him. Chan’s hips buck one more time before he cums. Hard. He throws his head back and holds a firm grip on Han’s hair as he thrusts a few times in his mouth, spilling a bigger load than normal.

He quickly angles his head forward again to watch his dick slide in and out of Han’s mouth, some of his cum frothing out. Slowly the grip on the younger’s hair loosens and Chan watches the boy on the floor with lidded eyes. Han hollows his cheeks to get every last drop then slowly pulls off of Chan’s sensitive dick. They hold each other’s gaze once again and Han shows off the contents in his mouth before making a show of swallowing it, then showing his empty tongue after.

Chan throws a hand over his eyes at the sight and whines, resting his head against the back cushion as the girl to his right begins to laugh at him. She meets Han's eyes and winks at him, blowing him a kiss with a fucked out smile. He sends one back and watches from the corner of his eye and Changbin returns to the room.

After cleaning up and settling down to watch a movie with each other, Changbin and her are the first to fall asleep, leaving the two boys who just explored each other. It wasn’t as awkward as they thought, but Han could tell something was bugging Chan. But luckily before his anxiety has the chance to sink in, Chan finally breaks the silence. “So Han…" Chan starts, unsure how to ask the question without coming off wrong. The boy in question hums, craning his neck to look up at his hyung and wait patiently for him to finish his question.

“You and Lix?”

Taglist:

@valkyriexo @lunearta @jabmastersupriseee @rylea08

@yaorzu-blog @amararosesblog @jiminssluttyminx @clemissleepy

@miss-daisy04 @kittyxnoa @dwaekkiiracha @bubblerizz

@baby-stay92

[sammhisphere]

S h u t U p a n d S i t S t i l l

Tattoo Artist!Kim Seungmin x Reader | He tattoos like a surgeon and fucks like a sadist. You showed up for ink. He gave you obsession.

🔞synopsis: Tattoo Artist AU. you walked into NO SAINT INK for a rib tattoo—left with trembling thighs, his hoodie around your neck, and a cock you can't stop dreaming about. Seungmin is quiet, sharp-tongued, and mean in the best ways: he bends you over the bench, fucks you until you cry, then wipes you down and feeds you strawberries like you're his favourite masterpiece. It starts with your seventh tattoo. Ends with you moaning his name every night, in his bed, in his hoodie, with his fingers under your panties. This isn’t just art. It’s obsession. And now he’s your boyfriend too—lucky you.

💌a/n: i literally don’t remember who requested tattoo artist seungmin first. either way. you got it. the man who fucks you stupid then wipes you down like he’s cleaning his favourite mug. HE’S HERE. AND HE’S IN LOVE (but would rather die than admit it out loud) 🫶🍓🖤. also? 🔔 THE MINI SERIES ORDER HAS BEEN DECREED 🔔 next up: JEONGIN. after that: ⟡ MINHO ⟡ CHANGBIN ⟡ FELIX and then finally—drumroll, throat clear, studio lights flickering— BANG CHRISTOPHER FUCKING CHAN. the cherry on top. the tattoo daddy. the final boss of soft filth and filthy softness. pray for me. p.s. if you liked it, if you screamed, if your thighs clenched even ONCE—REBLOG IT. LIKE?? yes. COMMENT?? also yes. p.p.s. if i catch you in the notes saying “need him biblically,” “he wiped me down like a canvas,” or “not the strawberries 😭”—just know i love you. violently 💋 p.p.s. see u next Tethered Tuesday with Jeonginnie~

⚠️ warnings: 18+ | MINORS DNI | Bench sex / semi-public (studio after hours) | Mean dom!Seungmin | Praise kink, brat taming, overstimulation | Spit play, creampie, multiple orgasms | Oral (m receiving), fingering, unprotected sex | Aftercare king behaviour | Reader is shameless and mildly unhinged | Seungmin is quiet, dangerous, and obsessed

📌 Please read responsibly. Hydrate. Stretch. You are the CEO of your own coochie.

📍credits: dividers by @cafekitsune

🎧 » Charmer — Stray Kids « 0:58 ─〇───── 3:09 ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

Seoul, South Korea. Tuesday, 3:12 PM.

You push the door open with your hip, bells jingling overhead as warm incense curls toward the ceiling — sandalwood, patchouli, something citrusy beneath it all. It’s always like this at NO SAINT INK. Chill beats humming low, Felix probably somewhere in the back rearranging his piercing tools like he’s Marie Kondo with a needle fetish, and—

“Fuck,” a voice mutters from behind a half-drawn curtain. You grin. Found him.

Kim Seungmin.

The reason you have six tattoos—and the reason you keep coming back for more.

You strut past the front desk like you own the place, setting down your tray of iced americanos and pastries with the confidence of someone deeply annoying. Your seventh session. Four healed pieces, one still peeling, and the newest one inked just last month. And of all the artists here, you keep picking the same one. On purpose.

Seungmin doesn’t look up at first. He’s sketching something at his desk—lined in ruler-straight precision, every pen stroke exact, no wasted ink. Hair slightly tousled. Sleeves rolled. Black gloves already on like he’s been prepping to ruin someone’s day.

He finally lifts his eyes—and groans.

“Why are you here again?”

“Hi to you too, sunshine,” you chirp, sipping your iced coffee with maximum slurp.

“I told Felix to screen your bookings.”

“I bribed him with matcha cake. Also, he says hi.” You swing the drink tray toward him with flair. “Got you your usual. Thought you could use the energy. You looked a little pale last time.”

He stares. “You’re lucky I don’t stab clients.”

“You already do,” you smile sweetly, plopping into the client chair. “It’s called tattooing.”

You met him through Felix, of course—NO SAINT INK’s glittery menace and certified piercing god. You came in on a whim two years ago for a constellation of helix piercings and left with a phone background of Felix’s stupid peace sign and a mouth full of swear words after he showed you Seungmin’s tattoo portfolio. Clean lines. Razor-sharp contrast. Occasional anatomical sketches paired with poetry in tiny, deliberate script.

When you told Felix you wanted something specific for your first tattoo—a geometric wolf across your ribcage—he nodded once and said, “Seungmin’s your guy.”

You’ve hated him ever since.

He’s impossible. Quiet, dry, sarcastic in a way that feels like a dare. Doesn’t flirt. Doesn’t smile. He just tattoos like he’s building something permanent—measured, focused, untouchable. But when you’re the one under his needle? His fingers linger a little too long on your waist. His voice drops when he tells you to hold still. And you—being the insufferable brat you are—live to poke at the ice until it cracks.

Which is why you’re here today. For tattoo number seven.

From him. Again.

“Let me guess,” he says, sipping the coffee despite himself. “Some half-baked Pinterest inspo you expect me to redesign overnight?”

“I’m hurt,” you pout dramatically. “I actually brought a reference this time. Plus, I figured you missed me.”

“I miss peace and quiet.”

“Then why’d you pick a career where girls beg to get pinned under you?”

He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move. Just says, “Get on the table before I change my mind.”

You smirk. There it is. That little twitch in his jaw. That flick of his tongue against the inside of his cheek when you say something just annoying enough to rattle the cage.

You pull out your sketch. “I want it here,” you say, lifting your shirt to gesture just below your sternum, to the space between your breasts and your ribs. “Delicate linework. Abstract. Your specialty.”

Seungmin stares. Then sighs. “You do realize I’ll have to touch you for placement.”

“Oh no,” you gasp, faux-innocent. “That would be terrible.”

He drops the clipboard with a snap.

“You’re unbearable.”

“You’re obsessed.”

Seungmin mutters something under his breath—probably a curse, probably in two languages—as he snatches your sketch and jerks his head toward the back hallway.

You follow with a smug little skip in your step.

The private rooms at NO SAINT INK are all artist-personalized. Seungmin's? It’s all dark wood, clean steel, framed minimalist pieces, and surgical-grade tidiness.

Cedar diffuses from a sleek black humidifier in the corner. The light is warm-toned and angled perfectly. His iPad sits on a tidy desk, stylus already beside it like it was placed there with a ruler. And on the windowsill—three succulents. Perfectly spaced. You teased him about it once and he deadpan replied, “One for every time you’ve wasted my time.”

He drops your paper sketch on his desk and sits, spinning the iPad toward him with a sigh. “You’ve got five minutes to explain what the hell this is.”

You plop down in the rolling stool beside him, leaning your chin on your hand. “It’s art. Use your imagination.”

He gives you a long, deeply unimpressed look.

“Fine,” you huff. “It’s… inspired by sacred geometry. Like a mandala, but cracked open. Fragmented. I want it to feel like breaking and healing at the same time. Like symmetry trying to reassemble itself.”

Seungmin blinks. Then blinks again.

“…You pulled that out of your ass just now.”

“I did not.”

“Did too.”

“Seungmin.”

He groans and starts sketching.

You watch, quiet now—because this is the part you actually love. The way his fingers move when he draws. Controlled, calculated. Not robotic. Not sterile. There’s warmth there, if you know where to look. And you do.

He sips the coffee you brought like it’s medicine. Then grabs a croissant and bites it with grim resolve, like chewing it too quickly might register as gratitude.

“I still think you bribed Felix with blackmail.”

“He was emotionally weak. I seized the moment.”

“You’re a menace.”

“And you’re drawing me the prettiest trauma-symbol I’ve ever seen, so who really wins here?”

He doesn’t answer. But his pen slows. His strokes get sharper. He’s in his element now. You recognize the shift—the way he leans in closer to the iPad, slightly squints, drags his stylus with deliberate precision.

The design blooms under his hand: a fractured mandala, circular symmetry interrupted by jagged arcs and broken segments. Clean dotwork in the center, a few splashes of abstract floral curls breaking out near the bottom edge. Like order blooming from chaos. Like something whole again.

“You’re disgusting,” you whisper, stunned. “That’s perfect.”

“I know.”

“Arrogant.”

“You begged me for it.”

“I said please once and you moaned like I kicked your dog.”

He flicks his eyes to you, slow. “Say please again.”

You blink.

Then smirk. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

But he’s already reaching for the print button.

“Let’s stencil this,” he says coolly, rising from his chair and heading towards the printer to print the design out. “I’d like to be rid of you before sundown.”

“Careful,” you say, trailing him out of the room. “One day you’ll miss me when I’m gone.”

“Promise?”

“Never.”

While he is busy with the printer, you kick your shoes off and climb onto the bed like it’s yours.

Technically, it’s a client bench. Adjustable, padded, wrapped in fresh black vinyl. But in your mind? It’s a throne. A stage. A perfect little altar for the games you play with Kim Seungmin.

You wiggle into place, tugging your top over your head in one smooth motion. You’re down to your bralette now—delicate black lace with scalloped trim, something clearly chosen on purpose. Not slutty. Not overt. But just enough to see Seungmin’s jaw tighten when he walks back in.

He’s still fiddling with the stencil printer—cutting the sheet, prepping it with solution. Focused. Professional. Cold, as ever.

You lounge, arms folded behind your head, watching him from the bed like you’re sunbathing and he’s just lucky to be in your light.

“You gonna stare the whole time?” he murmurs without looking up.

“Am I bothering you?”

“Always.”

You grin.

Just then—click—the door swings open, and Felix’s voice rings through the room.

“Hey, demon duo—just letting you know I’m locking up soon. Jisung dipped early, and Chan-hyung’s out all day, so it’s just you two in the studio for the rest of the afternoon.” He wiggles his brows. “Try not to kill each other. Or fuck. Or both.”

Seungmin doesn’t look up. “Go away, Felix.”

“Don’t be rude. I brought you into this world.”

“I was here first.”

“Emotionally? Never.” Felix flicks his brows toward you. “Good luck, baby girl. If he’s mean, just call me and I’ll stab his tires.”

You salute him. “Noted. Drive safe.”

With a wink, Felix is gone. The click of the studio door locking behind him feels final. Loud.

Seungmin exhales slowly. Then turns.

You’re still lying there on the bed, head propped, shirt discarded, body sprawled like a damn invitation.

His gaze flickers once. Down. Then away. Then back again, like it physically pains him to give you that much attention.

He lifts the stencil paper, holds it up to the light. “You know this placement is gonna be tricky.”

“Delicate linework on soft skin,” you echo sweetly. “Your specialty.”

He levels you with a look. Flat. Dangerous. Amused.

“…You’re going to be impossible today.”

“I’m always impossible.”

“No,” he says, slipping on gloves with a soft snap, “today it’s worse. Today you want something.”

You blink, feigning wide-eyed innocence. “Me? Never.”

He steps forward, slow and deliberate, stencil sheet in one hand, alcohol wipe in the other.

“Sit up,” he says, voice low. Commanding. “And lift your arms. I need a clean canvas.”

You obey—grinning like a menace—arms up, ribs exposed, breath catching slightly as the cold wipe grazes under the swell of your breast. He’s careful. Professional. Completely murderous about it.

The tension is a wire, pulled tight between you.

He smooths the stencil paper across your skin, presses down, then peels it back slowly, eyes trained on the imprint left behind.

It’s beautiful.

Nestled between your ribs, spanning just above your solar plexus: the fractured mandala blooms in fine linework, cracked yet radiant. His style. His hand. His art.

And now—it’s on you.

Seungmin looks at it for a beat too long.

Then: “Lie back.”

You do.

He adjusts the overhead lamp. Tilts your chin slightly. Brushes a single finger along your sternum, just below the stencil line.

You shiver.

He smirks.

“Try not to squirm this time,” he says. “You’ll fuck up the symmetry.”

Finally, Seungmin moves again. Gloves snap into place—tight, black latex stretched over knuckles and the fine lines of his fingers. You watch him through lowered lashes as he pours ink into the caps—his shade of black. You’ve learned that by now. Not too warm. Not too blue. Just sharp enough to slice through skin and stay.

The hum of the machine starts soft. Like a warning. Like a purr with teeth.

He looks at you once.

Just once.

And you know he’s not going to go easy.

“You good?” he asks, voice flat.

You nod, smug. “You always ask like you care.”

“I do care,” he mutters, tilting your chin again with a gloved hand. “Would be a shame if my art got fucked up because someone couldn’t keep still.”

Your eyes narrow. “Someone?”

He dips the needle, tests the line on a pad, and leans forward—right into your space. His breath ghosts over your lips.

“You.”

You roll your eyes and shift slightly, arms up, chest rising.

“God, you’re such a dick.”

His smirk could slice bone.

“And you’re still here. What does that say about you?”

You go to reply—but the first sting of the needle hits, and the breath punches from your lungs.

“F-fuck—!”

“Oh?” Seungmin says innocently, hand steady as he traces the mandala’s outer ring. “Is it too much already?”

You grit your teeth, exhale through your nose.

“No. Just... colder than I remembered.”

He hums like he doesn’t believe you. Like he knows what you’re really reacting to.

The first lines burn clean and sharp—stretching out beneath your skin, each pass as exact as a scalpel. Seungmin works in slow, confident strokes, one hand guiding your body where he needs it.

His fingers splay across your ribcage for tension. Firm. Possessive. Cruel.

He doesn’t speak at first. Just tattoos. Focused. Controlled.

But then—

“You know,” he murmurs, “most people don’t come back after their first rib piece.”

You hiss, fingers curling into the vinyl under you. “Most people don’t have your charming personality to keep them coming.”

He chuckles. Actually chuckles. Which should be illegal.

“You’re getting off on this, aren’t you?” he says.

The needle lifts for a second. He wipes gently with a cloth—soft at first, then firm, dragging over raw skin like he’s making a point.

You arch just slightly into his touch.

“I’m getting off on annoying you,” you counter, breath shaky.

His next line is faster. Harsher. He presses your side firmly, keeping you in place.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, low against your neck. “Then try really hard not to flinch right here.”

You flinch.

He clicks his tongue. “You’re so fucking bad at taking orders.”

“And you’re so—”

The machine stops.

He raises a brow. Wipes again. Slow this time.

“I’m so what?”

You glance down. Past his gloved hand on your ribs. Past the half-finished mandala. Past the slight smear of ink on your sternum.

You swallow.

“…focused.”

He smirks. Dangerous. “Damn right.”

And then he leans in—his next line beginning right where your breath catches worst. Right under your breast. Right on the spot where your heartbeat flutters like it’s begging him to notice.

You think he does.

Because his voice dips—deeper, smugger.

“Still think I missed you?”

You bite your lip.

Lying here. Under his hands. Wrapped in tension and black ink and the sharp, brutal pressure of a boy who tattoos like he’s angry at your skin for hiding itself from him—

You can’t lie.

Not to Seungmin.

“…yeah,” you say quietly.

His eyes flick up when you say it.

Yeah.

One syllable, quiet as breath, but loaded—the way confession always is. He doesn’t reply, not out loud. But the corner of his mouth lifts. Not a smirk. Something more dangerous. Something knowing.

He tilts your body slightly to one side, guiding you into the perfect angle, and you let him. Of course you let him.

“Still breathing okay?” he murmurs, even though he knows damn well what your breathing sounds like right now—shallow, choked, tight.

“Mhm,” you manage.

He presses back down with the needle. His strokes are smoother now, filling in the fractured petals of the mandala. He works just beneath the undercurve of your breast, just along the swell of sensitive skin—close enough to tease, close enough to make you ache.

You twitch. Barely. But enough.

He doesn’t say anything.

Doesn’t have to.

Because when he lifts the needle to switch angles, he uses his other hand to press firmly along your waist, holding you in place. His fingers curl just slightly into your side. Possessive. Grounding. A little cruel.

You shudder.

“Still can’t take orders,” he mutters.

You glare. “Still a fucking sadist.”

He hums. “Takes one to keep coming back.”

That earns him a punch to the shoulder—gentle, a flick of your knuckles—but he’s already grinning as he dips the needle again.

Your skin burns.

And still—still—you want him closer.

The ink trails down now, toward the bottom of the design. He’s practically tattooing over your stomach, your diaphragm pulsing with every breath. He’s leaning in lower too—head bent, nose just inches from your sternum. If he angled left, he’d be mouth-to-skin. If you arched just slightly, you’d be brushing right into him.

The tension hums in the air—hot, oppressive, close.

“You okay?” he asks, voice low again. This time it’s not mocking. It’s… loaded.

You nod once. “Are you?”

He glances up.

“Been better,” he mutters. Then, deliberate: “You squirm too much.”

You lift your eyes to his—taunting, daring. “You tattoo too slow.”

That gets you a sharp tap against your side.

“Careful.”

“Make me.”

The machine goes quiet.

You blink.

Seungmin sits back, gaze steady. Gloved fingers still resting against your stomach.

“You always this mouthy when someone’s on top of you?” he asks, like he doesn’t already know.

Your heart stutters.

You open your mouth—then close it.

He watches you for a second longer—until you shift just slightly under his stare. And only then does he lean back in, restart the machine, and murmur:

“Thought so.”

The final line burns sweeter than the rest.

Your breath hitches again—not from the pain, not really. You’ve gotten used to the sting. You chase it now. Crave it. Especially when it’s from him.

Seungmin finishes with a few last passes, the machine humming low and steady, until finally—he stops.

The silence after feels too quiet.

You blink up at the ceiling. It’s over. And suddenly your whole body is aware of how tense it’s been—your spine bowed slightly, your legs tight, your hands fisted in the sheets beneath you like you’ve been trying not to moan the whole time.

(You kind of have.)

He switches the machine off. The room exhales.

You stay lying down for a beat too long.

Then you hear the snap of his gloves being pulled off. The rustle of the rolling stool as he pushes back. The low clink of metal—his tools being set aside, wiped, lined up again with military precision. He always cleans up like he’s scrubbing evidence.

You sit up slowly, your ribs feel warm, raw—but not in a bad way.

He’s already tossed the gloves into the bin and is reaching for the mirror. You swing your legs over the side of the bed, biting your lip as you peek down.

The mandala gleams—inky black and flawless, nestled beneath the swell of your breasts like it belongs there.

Your breath catches.

“…fuck,” you whisper.

Seungmin glances over.

“Yeah,” he says. “I know.”

You shoot him a look. “Cocky much?”

He shrugs, reaching for his disinfectant spray like it’s nothing. “Not my fault I’m better than everyone else.”

You laugh—quiet, low, still slightly winded. “I should stop feeding your ego.”

“You should stop showing up half-naked and asking me to touch you for two hours.”

You freeze.

He doesn’t even blink.

You’re perched on the edge of the bed now, ribcage still bare. And he’s standing barely a foot away, still wiping his tools, still calm—but his jaw is tight again. His fingers grip the disinfectant bottle like he’s trying to decide whether to clean your table or ruin your day.

The air shifts.

Slowly, you stand—stepping forward. His eyes flick downward. Just once. Then he meets your gaze.

“…Seungmin.”

He raises a brow.

You step closer. Bold. A little breathless. “You never said thank you.”

He tilts his head. “For what?”

“The coffee. The pastries. My continued emotional support and aesthetic contribution to your client portfolio.”

He snorts. “Oh, right. How could I forget.”

“You could show some gratitude,” you say, smile growing. “Like, I dunno…”

A beat.

You lean in.

“…a kiss, maybe?”

He stares at you—flat, unreadable.

Then, finally, finally—his hands stop moving. The rag drops from his fingers. His jaw twitches once.

And he says, voice low: “Lay back down first.”

Your breath stops. “W-What—”

“For the aftercare,” he says—completely serious. But his eyes are glinting, the ghost of a smirk tugging at the corners. “Unless you want it to get infected.”

You huff, but you obey—because of course you do.

You lie back down, ribs lifting with every inhale, the crisp air of the studio brushing across your skin. Seungmin moves slowly—methodical, precise. He reaches for the healing balm and the bandage roll with the same focus he uses when prepping a tattoo needle.

And then—

Then he steps into your space again.

You feel his gaze before his hands. That lingering look, dragging from the ink across your sternum to the fine lace of your bra. To the soft dip between your breasts. You’re not stupid—you know how you look. You know how he’s looking.

But he doesn’t say anything.

Just kneels beside you on the tattoo bed, bracing one arm by your head, and starts applying the balm.

It’s… soft. Softer than it should be.

His gloved fingers glide gently across your skin, cool gel easing the sting of the fresh lines, but what you feel isn’t clinical. It’s heat. A low, blooming throb of something far more dangerous. Especially when his thumb grazes the edge of your bra. Not on purpose, not exactly—but he doesn’t move it away either.

You exhale. Carefully. Slowly.

His voice comes quieter this time, rough around the edges.

“You really wore this just to fuck with me, didn’t you?”

You blink up at him. “Excuse me?”

“This,” he murmurs, brushing the bandage wrapper open, eyes never leaving yours. “The lace. The black. The fact that it’s barely covering anything while I have to touch you like a fucking monk.”

You smirk. “What, don’t like being teased?”

His eyes narrow. “You’re not teasing.”

“No?”

“You’re begging.”

Your stomach flips.

He leans down slightly. Applies the bandage. His fingers skim the top edge of your sternum, then press lightly under your breast to make it stick. You jolt a little—not enough to be a flinch, but just enough for him to notice.

His lips twitch. “Thought so.”

You swallow.

“You could’ve said something,” you murmur.

“I did,” he says. “When I told you to stop showing up half-naked and flirty like I wouldn’t do anything about it.”

“And yet—” you gesture around, breathless, “—you haven’t.”

He finishes pressing the bandage into place. Carefully. Slowly. But his eyes—his eyes are anything but.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says softly.

And then he leans in. Close. Close enough that his breath grazes your cheek, close enough that the heat of his body curls over yours like smoke.

“I’m just not done punishing you yet.”

You barely have time to gasp.

Because his hands are suddenly on your waist, fingers splayed wide, warm. He leans over you, lips brushing your ear as he speaks, voice like smoke curling from a lit match.

“You really think I’d let you keep pushing me forever?” he murmurs, his tone dark velvet, laced with something wicked. “Waltzing in here every time with that mouth—wearing shit like this—knowing damn well I’d eventually snap.”

You can’t speak.

Not with the way his hand is sliding up—up—fingertips skating the edge of your ribcage, the outline of your bra, the warm silk of your skin. Every inch he touches makes your back arch, breath stutter, pulse thunder.

“I—I didn’t—” you start.

“You did.” He cuts you off with a growl of a whisper, lips ghosting just beneath your jaw. “You knew exactly what you were doing. And you knew exactly who you were doing it to.”

His hand finds the clasp of your bra—flicks it once, expertly. Loose. Deliberate.

Lace falls.

You whimper.

He exhales sharply through his nose—his palm sliding up to cup you fully, thumb brushing across a nipple already sensitive from all that adrenaline and ink and restraint. The tension coils tighter—like it’s been waiting weeks to snap.

“You’ve been needing this,” he mutters against your skin. “Coming in again and again—acting like a brat. Begging for attention. Flashing me those looks like I wouldn’t fuck you into the goddamn wall the second I got the chance.”

A pause.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asks, mouthing down your throat, sucking once—hard. “You wanna be my canvas off-hours too?”

You nod. Frantic. Breathless. Your fingers clutch at the hem of his shirt, tugging, anchoring, pleading.

“Say it.”

“I wanted you,” you pant. “I want you. I’ve always—fuck—Seungmin—”

He snarls.

And that’s it.

His mouth finds your breast with zero pretense, tongue hot and teeth grazing—biting, not cruel, but enough to leave a mark. His other hand slides down, past your waistband, finding the thin lace of your underwear—

Already soaked.

You feel him smirk against your skin.

“Such a fucking mess,” he growls. “You come from the needle or from me?”

You writhe.

“Seungmin—”

“Yeah?” His fingers slip beneath the lace. “Lie to me again. See what happens.”

And then—

Then he presses in. Two fingers, all at once, knowing exactly where and how to touch you. Because he’s studied you. Memorized you. Sketched you in his mind over six tattoos and hours of tension, and now he finally gets to wreck you.

His fingers curl.

You break.

Your head falls back. Your thighs tremble. He’s still got one arm braced next to your head, and the other is fucking you open while his mouth maps every inch of your chest like it’s sacred.

“You’re mine now,” he mutters into your skin. “You wanted this? You earned this. So take it.”

You moan—high, wrecked, nearly slurred. His fingers don’t relent. Curling deep. Unforgiving. He’s fucking you with them like he’s trying to carve his name inside you, and maybe he is.

But just when it starts to crest—when you feel it, the rush, the crash, the electric burn starting in your spine—

He stops.

You jolt. “No—!”

He pulls out slow. Cruel. Slick fingers dragging free. You clench around nothing, hips chasing him, tears prickling your lashes.

He tsks.

“Thought you were smarter than that.”

You blink, dazed. “Wh-What—?”

“You think you get to cum already?” He leans down, lips brushing your ear again. “After walking in here like that? After tormenting me for months?”

His hand finds your throat—light pressure, just enough to pin you back against the vinyl bed. Your mouth falls open. Instinct.

“I spent hours sketching that design,” he whispers. “Tattooed it on your fucking ribs. You came in here dripping and smug and bratty. And you think you get to finish first?”

You whimper.

He lets go.

“Get on your knees.”

You blink. “W-What?”

“You heard me.”

He stands, undoing his belt in one smooth motion—his eyes never leaving yours. You follow his gaze down, down, as he pushes his jeans low and his boxers lower, cock flushed and leaking and so fucking hard.

You drop to your knees, onto the soft rug in his private studio, beneath the overhead lamp and the echo of the bed creaking behind you.

“Open,” he says tapping the tip of his cock against your pretty lips.

You blink up at him, lips parted, brain still catching up to the command. Seungmin doesn’t flinch, doesn’t repeat himself—he just stares down, eyes half-lidded, cock heavy in his hand, tapping the head once more—twice—against your bottom lip like a test.

You obey.

Mouth open. Knees aching. Head swimming.

"Good," he murmurs, voice like low thunder.

One hand tangles in your hair—possessive—guiding, not forcing. His hips roll forward, slow and controlled, and the first brush of him on your tongue makes you whimper. Your thighs press together instinctively.

Because he tastes like every fantasy you’ve denied yourself. And he’s watching you the whole time—jaw tight, chest rising, his gaze flicking between your mouth and your eyes like he's trying to brand the moment into memory.

“You always run your mouth,” he mutters, stroking your cheek with his thumb as you take him deeper, “but you’re so fucking quiet now, huh?”

You hum around him, tongue flattening, jaw straining, eyes locked on his like it’s the only anchor you have. He groans—quiet, raw, like it slips out before he can stop it.

Your hands steady on his thighs, you suck deeper. Hollow your cheeks. Let him feel everything.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “You really—shit—you’re good at this, huh?”

You moan, just to be a brat. The vibration makes him jerk.

His fingers twitch in your hair. The other hand finds the back of your neck, thumb pressed right where your pulse jumps.

“Greedy,” he mutters, breath stuttering as you pull back slow—spit-slick, lips flushed—then take his cock again, deeper this time, choking a little and loving it. “You want all of it, don’t you?”

You blink up at him, teary-eyed and burning, and nod.

And that’s all it takes.

His grip tightens. His hips roll. Controlled at first, almost gentle—but the moment you relax your throat and let him in further, something cracks.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The next thrust punches straight down your throat.

You choke—once, loud and messy—but you don’t pull away.

You don’t dare.

Not when Seungmin’s hand tightens in your hair like a leash. Not when his cock sinks deep, hot and throbbing and slick with your spit. Not when his groan scrapes straight from his chest, raw and filthy, as he watches your throat swallow around him.

“Fuck—” he snarls, voice strained. “You were made for this. Look at you.”

You try—your eyes flicking up through the blur of tears, spit dripping from your lips, mascara smudged beneath your lashes. You can barely see, but you feel everything—his fingers curled at the base of your skull, his cock throbbing on your tongue, the harsh stretch of your jaw.

“You’re a fucking mess,” he pants. “Spit everywhere—shit—drooling on me.”

You are—slick and soaked, saliva trailing from the corners of your mouth to your chin, coating his cock in glistening sheen. You gag again when he presses deeper, but he doesn’t let up.

“Take it,” he mutters, more to himself than you. “Take it. You fucking wanted this.”

He rolls his hips again—harder this time. Meaner. The tip of his cock bruises the back of your throat, and you sob around it, spit bubbling at the seams.

Seungmin hisses. “Yeah. That’s it.”

His hand tilts your head—just slightly—enough for him to watch you from above. “Look at you. Fucking crying for it.”

You blink up, lashes clumped and wet, mouth stretched open and obscene.

“Don’t stop,” he growls. “Wanna see you ruined.”

He fucks into your mouth like it’s a punishment. Like every gag, every wet choke is a penance you owe for teasing him for months. For bratty texts. For lace bralettes and stolen glances. For every look that said take me without saying a word.

Your throat tightens—and he moans.

“God—your throat—shit, I can feel it. Fucking clenching like your pussy would.”

You twitch.

He laughs—low and cruel. “What, you liked that? Want me to fuck both ends until you can’t walk or talk?”

You whimper around him. Loud.

Precum spills onto your tongue—hot and bitter—and he curses. Your hands claw at his hips, digging for purchase as he starts to lose it—thrusts jerking harder, messier. Your throat is raw, face soaked, and still—still—you stay open for him.

His voice shatters through your haze, ragged and mean.

“You look fucking perfect like this. Broken. Beautiful. Mine.”

One more thrust. Deep. Sharp.

You gag—again. Loud.

And Seungmin snaps. He jerks back suddenly—his cock pulling free with a slick pop, strings of spit connecting you still. You gasp—cough—spit dripping from your tongue.

“Open wider,” Seungmin rasps.

You do. Tongue out. Strings of drool glistening in the studio light. He grabs his cock—slick, flushed, twitching—and strokes once, twice—then spits. Right into your mouth. Then again. Then again.

You moan. Loud. Shameless.

“Filthy little thing,” he pants. “Look at you. Covered in spit and tears and fucking loving it.”

You nod. Once. Hard.

He leans down, cupping your jaw—thumb swiping through the mess on your chin, dragging it across your lips like warpaint. Seungmin's eyes watch you for a beat longer until he finally helps you up onto your feet.

You gasp, legs wobbling, mouth still slick and open as he turns you around and places a hand between your shoulder blades, coaxing you down on the bench.

“Hands flat,” he orders.

You obey.

He kicks your legs apart with his knee—rough. You gasp. Then moan, throat raw and spit-slick, head swimming from the sudden repositioning. His hands working quick, pulling down your pants and panties in one go. Seungmin hums in satisfaction at the sight of your wet cunt dripping. Fucking dripping.

“Better,” he mutters. “Stay like that.”

You squirm—but not far. Not really. Just enough to test him.

He growls.

And then—CRACK.

His hand lands sharp across your ass, a loud sting that echoes through the studio like an accusation.

You cry out.

“Still a brat,” he mutters. “Still fucking pushing me.”

His hands drag down—gripping your hips, pulling your ass back against him like he’s lining up a weapon.

“You think I won’t fuck you right here? Bent over the same bench I tattooed you on?” he says low, cruel. “You think I won’t use you just like this—all messy, full of spit, dripping down your thighs like a fucking reward?”

You whimper. “Then do it.”

A beat.

And then—he does.

He thrusts in all at once—deep, unforgiving, stretching you full in a single brutal push that knocks the air clean from your lungs. The bench creaks. Your nails scrape against the vinyl. You’re already soaked, still fluttering from his fingers.

Now you’re split open around him.

“Fuck—” he hisses. “Tight little thing—gripping me like you were made for this.”

You were. You want to scream it. But all that comes out is a cracked moan, spine arching as he pulls back—

Then slams in again.

Hard.

Rhythmic.

Cruel.

The bench jerks with every thrust. His hips slap into your ass, cock punching deep and devastating with every motion. The angle hits something brutal—low, mean, a spot that makes your vision spark.

“Louder,” he growls. “Wanna hear you.”

You whine—broken, gasping, drooling against the bench.

He leans over you now—chest to your back, breath in your ear, one hand fisted in your hair while the other snakes under your stomach to lift your hips just right.

His cock drags so deep, your thighs shake from the pressure, and the stretch is perfect—like he’s carving himself into you on purpose.

“This pussy’s been waiting for me,” he mutters, voice guttural. “So fucking wet—so ready to be used.”

You cry out as he pounds harder—faster—gripping your hips with both hands now, dragging you back onto his cock with every brutal snap of his waist.

“You hear that?” he pants.

Slap slap slap. Wet. Filthy. Perfect.

“That’s you,” he growls. “Fucking dripping down my cock—making a mess all over my bench like a desperate little toy.”

You moan—loud. The vinyl squeaks beneath you. Your toes curl, your back arches—and you know it’s close. That heat low in your stomach coiling tight.

“Wanna cum?” he grunts, snapping his hips even harder. “Gonna let me make you cum on my cock this time?”

You nod frantically. “Please—please, Seungmin—”

“Beg properly.”

“I need it—I need you—I’m gonna—fuck—please—!”

He slams in one final time—

And you break.

You cum hard—clenching around him, gasping his name like a prayer, back bowed and thighs trembling, your body nothing but nerve endings and his. It hits like lightning—violent, hot, devastating.

Seungmin moans through his teeth.

“God—fuck—you feel so good when you cum—” he grits, voice cracking with restraint. “So tight, so—shit—don’t stop. Don’t fucking stop squeezing me like that—”

He doesn’t slow. Not even a little. Seungmin just keeps going—thrusts deeper, harder, dragging your spent cunt right through the sensitivity like he wants to fuck you into a second orgasm.

You whine. Loud. High-pitched. Borderline sobbing.

“Too much—” you gasp, but your body says otherwise—clenching, fluttering, soaking him.

He groans, hips snapping into you again.

“I know,” he pants, voice wrecked. “I know it’s too much—but you’re taking it anyway, aren’t you?”

You nod. Shaking. Barely holding yourself upright over the bench as his cock slams into your soaked pussy again, again, again.

“You look so fucking wrecked,” he snarls. “Bent over this bench, fucked-out and dripping—mine.”

“Yours,” you echo—half-breath, half-moan. “Yours, Seungmin, fuck—!”

And that—

That does it.

He growls, deep in his chest, and thrusts one final time, burying himself to the fucking hilt—and you feel it.

His cock jerks once. Twice. Then—heat. Hot, thick, flooding you.

Seungmin’s cum spills inside you in brutal waves, pulse after pulse, spilling past your already-fucked entrance, dripping down your thighs with every twitch of his hips.

He groans—loud, broken—grinding in deeper as his release coats your insides.

You both stay like that for a beat.

Panting. Shaking. Silent except for the slow drip of your combined mess hitting the studio floor. His hands are still on your hips, fingers bruising, cock still buried deep inside you like he can’t bear to pull out just yet.

Finally—

“…fuck,” he mutters. “Look what you do to me.”

You whimper. “You started it.”

He smirks. Breathless. Still inside you.

“You came first,” he says, voice hoarse. “That makes it your fault.”

You roll your eyes. Weakly. Legs trembling.

But when he finally pulls out—slow, careful—you both groan at the mess. His cum leaks from you instantly, hot and obscene, slicking down your thighs in thick globs.

Seungmin watches. Just watches. Then hums.

“Pretty,” he says quietly. “All ruined. Just like I wanted.”

You’re bent over the ink bench, gasping. Barely conscious of your own limbs. There’s cum dripping down your thighs, breath fogging the vinyl, your body throbbing in time with your pulse.

And behind you—

Seungmin exhales. Low. Spent. Quiet.

Then: zip.

The sound of his jeans being pulled back up, the belt loosely fastened with one hand as the other brushes through his hair. You hear it—the shift. The snap back to reality. To composure. To Seungmin-afterglow, where all that bite turns to balm.

You expect him to vanish, to go grab wipes or complain about the mess—

Instead, you feel his hands. Gentle. Soft on your waist. Carefully guiding.

He straightens you. Not rough. Not impatient. Just… careful. Like you’re something fragile now.

You blink as he eases you to sit on the edge of the bench again, his hands steady on your hips until your legs stop shaking.

“Still with me?” he murmurs.

You nod. Slowly. “Barely.”

He huffs a breath of a laugh—tired, wrecked, softer than before.

Then he brushes sweaty strands of hair from your forehead and mutters, “Good girl.”

You melt. Right there. Ruined part two.

He disappears for a moment—only to return with a full box of wipes, a towel, and a silver water bottle you know is his personal one.

“Open,” he says gently, uncapping it and holding it to your lips.

You sip.

He waits. Watches to make sure you don’t choke. Then: another sip. A wipe to your neck. Another for your thighs.

He doesn’t comment on the mess—doesn’t smirk, doesn’t tease. Just… cleans you.

Tender. Focused. A little too quiet.

He wipes the insides of your thighs slowly, scooping up the slick and cum and sweat and ink-tainted heat with barely-there touches. When you flinch, he pauses. When you shiver, he murmurs something under his breath you don’t quite catch—but you feel it. Like a balm.

“You’re doing fine,” he says eventually. “I’m almost done.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

That shuts you up.

Once he’s cleaned every inch of you he marked, he helps dress you up again, pants and panties up but then he grabs his spare hoodie—crumpled on the back of his chair—and slips it over your head with no warning.

It’s oversized. Smells like cedar and ink and him.

He tugs the hood over your messy hair, then pauses to kiss the top of your head.

And that’s what finally ruins you.

Your eyes sting. But you blink fast. No way you’re crying in this hoodie.

“…Seungmin?”

He hums.

“You okay?”

His gaze lifts to yours. Tired. Sweet. Still a little dazed. Another soft hum in response. And then he's back in motion. Efficient again. Packing up the mess, tossing used wipes, wiping down the vinyl. He moves like he needs something to do with his hands or he’ll grab you again.

Once the bench is clean, he turns to you—really turns.

And in a voice way too soft for someone who just fucked the breath out of you against workplace furniture: “Wanna come back to mine?”

You laugh—hoarse, soft, still ruined. “Like this?”

He smirks. “I have more hoodies.”

You blink up at him.

“…And strawberries?”

He smiles.

"And strawberries."

You end up at his place that night. Still wearing his hoodie. Still barely walking.

He gives you a fresh towel and the softest pair of sweatpants he owns, sets you in the bathtub like you’re made of porcelain, and kneels beside it the whole time—washing your hair with slow fingers and kissing your shoulder between rinses.

You eat strawberries straight from the bowl while wrapped in his towel. He lets you finish the last bite before tugging you onto his lap and kissing you breathless all over again.

No sex that night. Not because he doesn’t want to—But because he already has you.

And maybe, he just wants to hold what he’s wrecked.

He lets you fall asleep on his chest. Hoodie, thigh over his lap, lips parted against his collarbone. He doesn’t sleep. Just watches. Fingers curled around your wrist like a habit he never wants to break.

And the next morning? He wakes you up with coffee. And a second round (Messier than before.).

And ever since that day? You just… kept coming back. Not for tattoos, though that’s still a bonus. No—now you show up for him. Your boyfriend. Your soft-spoken menace. Your chaos control. Your personal ink-stained sadist.

You still strut into NO SAINT INK like you own it—drink tray in hand, smug little smirk on your face, eyes locked on the back room like a predator in love.

You still flirt just to watch him clench his jaw. Still wear lace under oversized hoodies and whisper “miss me?” every time you lean against his worktable.

He still rolls his eyes and mutters “unbearable” without looking up.

But when the clock hits closing time?

And everyone is gone. The lights dim. The blinds are drawn. The door locks with a click.

Seungmin doesn’t pretend.

He pulls you into the back with one hand around your neck and the other already working at your zipper. He lays you across the vinyl like it’s a fucking altar. And he fucks you like he’s trying to tattoo his name inside your soul.

You moan like you were made for it.

And when it’s over—when you’re sore and sticky and boneless all over again—

He picks you up. Wipes you down. And kisses your forehead like you hung the moon. A ritual really. Because from annoying menace client, you are now his favourite annoying menace girlfriend.

Who still pisses him off about random designs and bullies him into doing them. And he still ends up doing them for you, except they are ten times better and equipped with all the loving bullying just for you.

Just for his favourite menace girlfriend.

[sammhisphere]

F I R S T R U I N

Vampire!Lee Minho x Reader | thigh-biting blood high, dumb on his cock, ruined slow then cleaned softer

🔞synopsis: A nurse with a sharp tongue. A vampire with silk gloves and fangs made for worship. One locked door. Three bites. Too much cum. Not enough mercy. You didn’t mean to fall for him—didn’t mean to offer your vein, your body, your fucking soul. But Lee Minho is cold-handed precision and velvet-tongued sin, and when he says “mine,” your knees forget how to say no. Welcome to your first ruin. There is no second. Only his name, carved into your pulse.

💌a/n: I HAVE PLANS FOR VAMPIRE!SKZ OKAY. This is just the beginning. My goal is to write one solo smut fic for each of the boys first. and then I’ll start alternating between full OT8 blood-fueled chaos and more solo entries. Also yes—this one was long as hell, but you already KNOW me. I can’t drop you into the filth without a little plot first. I want you to ache for the sex. I want the bite to land. You get character. You get dynamic. And then? THEN YOU GET RUINED. This is Lee Know’s world and we’re all just kneeling in it 🥀. p.s. if this had you lightheaded, wet, and twitching—reblog it. don’t just lurk. reblogs = forehead kiss by minho 💋 p.p.s. this fic is brought to you by one brain cell and a gallon of unholy thirst p.p.p.s. honestly? i think we all need to go lie down in a cool, dark cave. bring fruit. and holy water p.p.p.p.s. click to listen to the song or don't... or pls do~ 👀

⚠️ warnings: 18+ / MINORS DO NOT INTERACT | Bloodplay, vampirism, biting/feeding during sex | Overstimulation | Oral (f receiving), unprotected sex | Possessive dom!Minho | Breeding kink language, cocky filthy talk, praise & degradation | Orgasm control, light choking (hand on neck) | Marking, light blood loss, lightheaded reader | Lap aftercare, worship-adjacent behaviour | Minho being pussy drunk & dangerous about it | Blood-drunk reader | Dark romantic obsession themes | Fang kink | Ruined sheets, ruined reader, ruined life (you’re his now) | Soft dom aftercare

📌 Please read responsibly. Hydrate. Bleed pretty. Stretch.

🎧 » Lace and Chains — VX « 0:58 ─〇───── 2:52 ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

You didn’t come to Luxe Health to be anyone’s pet.

You were hired on skill—clinical excellence, trauma specialization, and a disposition cool enough to treat feral-blooded vampires without flinching. You were sharp, steady, and frighteningly efficient. The kind of nurse who could stitch flesh while quoting surgical texts and still have enough clarity left to write up a six-page incident report with zero typos.

You didn’t smile often. You didn’t gossip. You didn’t freeze, even when a patient went bloodlusted and tried to lunge through a restraint field. You just tapped the tranquilizer dose higher. Watched his eyes roll back. Logged the vitals. Moved on.

You were quiet. Obsessively neat. And Minho noticed you immediately.

It started on your second month—night shift.

You were managing a containment patient who’d snapped his bond under duress. His mate had died on the operating table. Rage-state induced. Full-fanged. Venom glands wide open.

Most staff cleared the corridor when he arrived. But you stayed behind the seal line, prepping medical-grade hemo-gauze and a bite inhibitor in case he came loose.

And that’s when he appeared. Minho.

At the time, you didn’t know who he was. Just that he wore black gloves. Didn’t blink. Didn’t announce himself. Just stood there—still and elegant, watching you through the glass.

Your pulse stayed steady.

He tilted his head when he noticed that. He smiled—just once, barely. And then he disappeared.

You figured it was a fluke.

Maybe he just happened to be in the corridor that night. Maybe he had business with the rage-state unit. Maybe you were just a warm body in a cold room, nothing more than background static.

You told yourself that four times. Even as the elevators kept stopping on your floor. Even when you spotted him standing in radiology at 3:06AM, leaning against the wall like he belonged there, watching you roll a supply cart into ICU-3 without blinking.

You ignored it. Like a professional. Like someone who had bills.

Because in your mind, vampires—especially ones in silk and sin—were strictly not part of your survival plan.

You didn’t care that his cheekbones could slice air. You didn’t care that his voice could unmake a fever. You didn’t care that he moved like the concept of threat, dressed like elegance incarnate, and tracked you with the hungry precision of someone who never once heard the word no and believed it.

You had a job. You had shift notes. You had a patient who vomited blood down your front not ten minutes ago. You did not have time for whatever this vampire thought he was doing.

What you didn't know...was that the entire empire noticed.

“Did you see Minho?”

“Which time?”

“The way he was hovering outside Ward D.”

“Bro was waiting like a cat outside a bathroom door.”

Jisung, resident panic-button genius and accidental vampire, nearly chokes on his imported coconut milk as he reenacts the stare. “He does this thing with his head, y’know? The Tilt. The ‘I want to dissect you like an emotion’ tilt.”

Across the table, Felix just sips his tea with a knowing look. “He’s doing it again today,” he says softly.

“How do you know?”

“Because I dreamed it. And the dream smelled like disinfectant and longing.”

“Gross,” Jisung mutters, still slurping.

“Sexy,” Hyunjin corrects with a flick of his brush, painting onto the corner of a trauma-suppression mural.

“Illegal,” Seungmin deadpans from a nearby bench, flipping through a blood-law violation report without looking up.

“Classic Minho,” Changbin grunts with a shrug.

“He’s gonna snap eventually,” Jeongin adds with a laugh. “Just walk in mid-shift and bite her in front of everyone.”

“He won’t,” Seungmin says without emotion. “He’s too controlled for that.”

“He wants to,” Felix hums.

“Yeah,” Jisung agrees. “Like… you know that cartoon wolf whose heart punches out his chest?”

“That’s Minho.”

Meanwhile: You, at Scrub Station 3B, completely unaware of whatever chaos is happening around you. But, you also aren't stupid.

You’d noticed the strange tension in the staff lounge lately.

The glances. The weird silences. The way people stopped talking when you walked in and then started whispering louder the moment you left. The way the vending machine suddenly stopped accepting your ID code, only to be mysteriously fixed every time someone from Security walked by.

You assumed it was vampire politics. Some weird internal chain-of-command shit. Nothing to do with you.

You weren’t stupid. You’d heard the whispers.

“That’s Minho’s nurse.” “The one he keeps watching?” “The one who doesn’t react?” “He likes that.” “Of course he does. She’s got no fear in her scent signature.”

Which, frankly, was bullshit. You did have fear. You just filed it. Indexed it. Labelled it under to be dealt with later, and moved on.

And that was the difference.

Most humans trembled around vampires. Especially Abnormals. Especially ones like Minho, who came from a bloodline so ancient it dripped with ritual and violence.

But you?

You wore triple-layer gloves. Carried three pens. Could recite every anti-glamour clause in the hospital contract by section. You called in extra restrainers before anyone else did. You wore your surgical mask even when no one was around.

You didn’t resist vampires. You ignored them.

And Minho found that… unforgivable.

4AM, ICU Corridor, Luxe Health

"Nurse."

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t even turn around. Still holding the IV bag one-handed, you pressed the auto-temp check with your elbow and answered flatly: “If you’re here to loiter, you need a visitor badge.”

Behind you, a soft inhale. Expensive. The kind of breath you learn to identify after three months of pretending you don’t have an ancient Abnormal vampire tailing your every night shift like a very pretty, very persistent ghost.

“I’m here to supervise containment compliance.”

“Of course you are,” you muttered, adjusting the hemo tubing. “Just like last Thursday. And the one before that. And the day you appeared in the stairwell holding a blood sample you weren’t authorized to have.”

He didn’t respond. Just stepped closer—barely an inch into your personal space—and leaned in until you could feel the glamour heat tickling the back of your neck.

“You smelled like regret that day,” Minho said conversationally.

“That’s funny,” you replied. “I smelled like bleach and burnt coffee.”

“Same thing, in my experience.”

You turned.

Finally.

His face was unfair. Always had been. The kind of bone structure that made people suspicious of mirrors. Jaw locked in its usual lazy precision. And that infuriating glint in his eye—like he was permanently two seconds away from saying something profoundly inappropriate in the most polite tone imaginable.

“You’re blocking the supply cabinet,” you said.

“You’re blocking my peace of mind,” he replied without missing a beat.

“Tragic. Move.”

Minho didn’t.

He reached past you instead, plucking a gauze packet off the shelf like this was his ICU, his routine, and you were just lucky to be breathing in his curated aesthetic.

“You know,” he added casually, “I’ve handled rogue bond-breakers with less edge than you.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It wasn’t one.”

You took the gauze from his hand. Your fingers touched—briefly—and you definitely didn’t imagine the jolt that followed.

He tilted his head. Studied you. Like you were a patient. A riddle. A puzzle with too many locked doors and no polite way to pick them. “What do you want, Lee?” you asked. “Genuinely. Because if it’s blood, I’m sure the cafeteria’s serving warmed AB right now with a side of desperate interns.”

“I don’t feed at work,” he said. Then, after a pause: “Usually.”

You blinked once. “You think you’re charming.”

“I know I’m charming. You’re just unnaturally resistant.”

“You know what’s charming? Finishing your compliance report. On time. Without watching me file inventory like it’s a strip show.”

That earned you a soft laugh. Low and dangerous. The kind of sound that curled in your stomach like heat and refused to leave.

“One day,” he murmured, leaning back with all the smug grace of a man who’d never once been told no in a meaningful tone, “you’re going to ask me to bite you.”

You looked at him—deadpan.

“One day, I’m going to replace your blood suppressant with saline and see how smug you are mid-withdrawal.”

He blinked. Paused. And then—grinned.

“Marry me.”

“File your fucking report.”

6AM, CEO Office, Luxe Health HQ

“You’re not listening to me.”

Chan didn’t even look up from his tablet. “Correct.”

Minho narrowed his eyes. Pacing now. Elegant. Dangerous. Agitated.

“She threatened to saline-patch my suppressant dose.”

“That’s... honestly kind of funny.”

“That’s medical warfare.”

Chan blinked. “She’s a nurse, Minho. That’s literally her job.”

“It was flirtation.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m not sure of anything anymore.”

That got Chan’s attention. He sighed. Set the tablet down. Folded his hands. Fixed Minho with that stare. The one that made most bloodlines fall to their knees and apologize.

“Minho.”

“What.”

“You’ve led covert missions into rogue blood auction rings.”

“Correct.”

“You interrogated a traitor using a smile and three syllables.”

“She cried blood. It was poetic.”

“And yet you are losing your mind because a trauma nurse won’t flirt back?”

“She does flirt back!”

“Minho.”

“She does it with medical threats and latex gloves. It’s delicious.”

Chan pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Have you fed from her?”

“No.”

“Touched her?”

“Only by accident. Once. I handed her gauze. Our fingers brushed. I almost blacked out.”

“Okay, you need therapy.”

“I need her,” Minho said with a straight face.

Chan's eye twitched as he stared at Minho's deadpan straight face. You are a grown immortal man. You are on payroll. You cannot keep stalking the human nurse who organizes IVs like she’s angry at gravity, he thought while staring at the other vampire.

“She’s not like anyone else,” Minho muttered, now half-draped over Chan’s glass desk like an ancient drama queen. “She never flinches. Never looks impressed. I called her beautiful and she said I needed better lighting.”

“You do.”

“I told her I dreamed about her last night.”

“Minho.”

“She said, and I quote: ‘Sounds like a skill issue.’”

Chan paused. He blinked slowly. Then—smirked. “Okay, I kind of love her.”

Minho just scowled. “She told me to file a report. A report! After I pulled three rogue fangs from a rage-state hybrid!”

“Were you supposed to file a report?”

“…Yes.”

Chan sipped his blood-coffee substitute. Calm. God-tier composed.

“You’re obsessed.”

“No.”

“You’re hovering.”

“Incorrect.”

“You’re one bad shift away from dragging her into a storage room and—”

“—glamouring her against the wall and biting her inner thigh until she screams my name?”

“…Wow.”

“That was hypothetical.”

“That was a cry for help.”

You were running out of places to put the damn flowers.

The first bouquet arrived in silence—no card, no warning—just there, waiting at your station between vitals reports and an empty coffee cup.

You threw them out.

The next bouquet came two nights later. Bigger. Lilies and peonies, dipped in glamour to keep them fresh past death. You gave those to a patient. He cried. Called you an angel. You told him to lower his morphine dose.

By week three, it was becoming a problem.

The entire nurse’s station looked like a cursed wedding prep site. Vases tucked between blood pressure monitors. Hydrangeas in the staff fridge. Roses blooming next to the printer. Even the vampire patients were impressed. One growled, “Marry him,” as you passed.

You tried ignoring it. You tried passive-aggressive post-it notes. You even tried filing a complaint to HR, which mysteriously got “lost” after reaching Seungmin’s desk. (You knew it was him. You saw the post-it note on his computer: "Let her suffer. It's romantic.")

Then came the coffee.

Minho learned your order. Not from you. You never told him. But somehow, every shift, it appeared. Hot. Correct. Exactly the temperature you liked, even on the days you changed it.

“Witchcraft,” you muttered once, taking a sip.

A deep voice behind you: “No. Attention to detail.” You almost threw the cup at him. He looked delighted.

There was even a turning point! I know, shocker. The reports? He started submitting them. On time. Flawless. With footnotes. Proper headers. Spell-checked. PDF format. You were horrified.

“You’re mocking me,” you said, scrolling through one of them in the breakroom. “I’m impressing you,” Minho corrected smoothly. “By finally doing your job?” “By doing it in Helvetica Neue and proper pagination.”

You hated how smug he looked. You hated how your stomach twisted when he lingered in the hallway a moment too long. You hated that you were starting to like the flowers.

You really hated the night he didn’t show up—because you noticed.

And then came the first date. You didn’t mean to say yes. It had been a long shift. You were tired. He looked less smug than usual, like he was waiting for something he didn’t want to admit he wanted. He didn’t flirt. He just said:

“Dinner. No blood. No pressure. Just me. You. One night where you don’t have to wipe down an exam table.”

And… for some godforsaken reason…

You said yes.

What followed next wasn't normal.

You expected seduction. Or feeding. Or some slow-burn game that ended with his mouth on your thigh and your name erased from memory.

Instead? He took you to a rooftop garden. No blood in sight. Let you pick the food. Let you eat first. Talked. Really talked. About life. About dreams. About you.

He didn’t touch you. He didn’t bite you. He held your hand.

That was it.

And from that date? More came after. Walks at night, warded alleys where no one interrupted. Quiet dinners in places that didn’t exist on Yelp. Enchanted rooms with ceilings full of stars. Reading medical journals together in eerie silence and arguing about footnote formatting like it was foreplay.

Still—not a single drop of blood. Not one kiss. Not even a single press of fangs to skin.

You asked him once, bluntly: “Do you want me? Or do you want to feed?”

He’d gone still. Then:

“Both. Eventually. But I’m not going to take either until you ask.”

You stared at him.

He just smiled. Leaned back in the booth. And said: “Besides. You’re more fun when you’re confused.”

Two Months Later

You. Still working. Still unbitten. Still unsure if you’re dating the vampire or the delusion of dating him.

The gifts have escalated. You’re no longer getting flowers—you’re getting enchanted orchids that bloom based on your circadian rhythm. The coffee? Comes in porcelain mugs from centuries-old European houses. You started Googling the logos. One of them sells for more than your monthly salary. There’s a cashmere-lined stethoscope case on your desk with your initials embroidered. You didn’t ask for it.

And Minho? Still hasn’t kissed you. Still hasn’t bitten you. Still calls you “mine” like it’s a joke—except it’s really, really not.

Tonight, you are once again on a date, at a rooftop garden. With Him. You have lost count. You have lost track.

You’re dressed in black. Simple. Clean. Your makeup’s a little heavier than usual. Just enough to look like you didn’t try but very clearly did.

He notices. Of course he does. He notices everything.

He brings nothing this time. No box. No coffee. No flowers.

Just a folder. Black. Embossed. Marked with the Luxe Health seal and one single word:

“CONTRACT.”

You raise a brow. “Romantic.”

“This is romantic,” he says, deadly calm. “I’m being respectful.”

“This is paperwork.”

“This is possession.”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

He slides it toward you. You don’t touch it yet. He waits. He always waits. But tonight, his restraint is fraying.

“You know what this is.”

“A blood doll contract.”

“Your blood doll contract.”

“Wow. That’s forward.”

“It’s overdue.”

You hesitate, eyes scanning over the cover of the folder. “I thought we were… taking our time.”

“I gave you flowers. I gave you space. I gave you silence.”

“And?”

“And you’re still not mine.” He leans forward. Voice lowering. “You wear my gifts. You drink my coffee. You let me walk you home like you’re already mine.”

“But I’m not.”

“That’s the problem.”

You sigh and finally open the folder. The paper wasn’t paper. It shimmered—some enchanted blend of vellum and soul-signed parchment, threaded with runic script and Luxe Health clearance glyphs. It smelled faintly of rosewood, blood-sugar, and vampire venom—like it had been scented specifically to disarm you.

The first page read:

LUXE HEALTH EXCLUSIVE BLOOD BOND CONTRACT (Private Tier 7A) Client: Lee Minho, Executive Director of Containment & High-Risk Retrieval Proposed Bond: [REDACTED — WAITING FOR BLOOD SIGIL INPUT] Terms: Eternal unless dissolved by death, betrayal, or mutual trauma unbinding.

You flipped the page, reading over each clause carefully.

Clause 1 – Exclusivity: The bonded human shall agree to become the sole blood source and feeding recipient of Director Lee Minho. No other vampire may feed, bond, glamour, or scent-imprint the bonded party. Attempts will result in instant retaliation. Clause 3 – Feeding Access: Director Lee may initiate feeding only with verbal consent or spontaneous offering. Emergency feeds require biometric confirmation of bond stability. No bedside biting without prior scheduling unless medically justified. Clause 5 – Physical Proximity & Personal Belonging Rights: You will wear his hoodie at least once. No, this is not legally required, but emotionally, it’s essential. (Note: This clause is in Jisung’s handwriting. You recognize the chaos.) Clause 6 – Bed Sharing Addendum: Should the bonded choose to cohabitate, Minho will relinquish 60% of bed space. He will not snore. He reserves the right to spoon. Denial of spooning must be justified in writing. (Also Jisung.) Clause 7 – Feeding Response Clause: Feeding may commence only upon verbal consent or spontaneous offering. Ritual biting optional. Orgasm not required—but statistically probable. (Jisung has circled “statistically probable” in gold ink and drawn a smiley face.)

You stared at the pages for a long time. Then up at him. He looked almost calm. But you knew better.

His fingers were clenched too tightly around the stem of his wine glass. His pupils were too wide, even for vampire night vision. His throat bobbed once, and you swore—for the first time since you met him—Minho looked nervous.

“Did you… write this yourself?” you asked carefully.

“I dictated it,” he said. “Jisung formatted it.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“He added the spooning clause. I told him it was unnecessary.”

“…It’s not.”

“You say that now,” he muttered, “but just wait.”

You were quiet for a while. Reading. Rereading. Trying to breathe evenly, even though your pulse was definitely spiking—because this wasn’t a tease. This wasn’t a joke. This wasn’t a seductive detour.

This was real.

“And if I don’t sign it?” you asked quietly.

Minho met your gaze—serious. Grounded. “Then I’ll keep dating you.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes.”

“You won’t feed?”

“Not unless you ask.”

“You won’t claim me?”

“Not unless you beg.”

You swallowed. “So you’re going to… wait?”

“I’m going to hope,” he said softly. “That’s worse.”

You looked down at your hands. They were shaking.

You hadn’t been kissed. You hadn’t been bitten. You hadn’t been touched below the waist. And still—you had never felt more utterly, completely owned in your entire fucking life.

Not by force. Not by glamour. Just… by choice. By his. And now—by yours.

“If I sign this,” you said, voice low. “It changes everything.”

Minho’s eyes glinted. “No,” he said. “It confirms everything.”

You look back down at the contract, narrowing your eyes. Finally, you grab the pen tucked inside the folder—heavy, gold-tipped, and faintly warm from being enchanted—and bring it to the line marked BLOOD SIGIL SIGNATURE.

“Do I have to…?”

“Just a pinprick,” he says. “No pain.”

You prick the pad of your thumb with the pen’s hidden fang. It beads. Red. Bright. Glimmering like garnet under the moonlight. The paper absorbs it greedily, drinking your drop like it’s starving.

Your name blooms in glowing script across the page—signed in blood. Bound by will.

Minho exhales. Like he hasn’t breathed in weeks.

“It’s done,” you whisper.

He closes the folder gently, reverently, fingers grazing yours and you sit there for a moment, staring at the sealed folder between you like it might start glowing again. Your thumb still tingles. Your chest does too.

Minho doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. He’s just… looking at you. Like he’s memorizing every line of your face now that you’re his. Like he’s been holding back for months—and now the lock finally clicked open.

You open your mouth—maybe to speak, maybe to tease—but then: “Your entrees,” the waiter announces, stepping into the charged silence like he doesn’t feel the psychic possession radiating from your table.

He sets down two crystal plates with some absurdly tiny, artfully stacked thing in the center. There’s foam. There’s edible gold leaf. There’s a single black truffle shaving doing absolutely nothing.

You blink down at the plate. Then at him.

“Is that... caviar on a flower petal?”

“Imported,” Minho says, without looking. “It only blooms under moonlight and silence.”

You raise an eyebrow. “So it’s just like you then.”

That gets him. He finally smiles, a real smile. "May or may not have had it imported for you, talked to the restaurant, the chef."

Your eye twitches.

"Minho!"

"What?"

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose, but, a laugh escapes you. "Okay, fine. I'll try it. If it's bad, I am blaming you."

"I'll take the blame, but it won't disappoint." Minho grinned confident.

And honestly? As tiny as it was, with it's edible gold leaf, and stupid foam. That shit was actually tasty. Did you admit it? No. Did you two bicker about food for the next 20 minutes? Definitely.

But, it wouldn't be a date between you two without a little bit of bickering.

Luxe Health, 11PM

You’re exhausted.

The kind of exhausted that sits between your shoulder blades and tightens behind your eyes. Three emergency transfusions. One patient in soulbond withdrawal. A shattered glass IV, a glamour malfunction, and a trauma intern who spilled blood on his own shoes and nearly passed out.

You’ve been on your feet for fourteen hours, your bun is slipping, and your gloves have already gone through three layers.

The elevator doors open. You expect an empty hallway.

Instead: Minho.

Leaning against the far wall, dressed in black like he’s auditioning for a secret society that meets only under eclipses. No coat. Just silk and shadow and the same look he’s been giving you since the night you signed the contract.

Possession. Soft. Absolute. Undeniable.

He holds a takeout bag in one hand. A coffee in the other. “You’re late,” he says.

“I almost murdered an intern.”

“Ah. Romantic.”

You walk past him, snag the coffee from his hand.

“Is this from that little place near the river?”

“Only the best for my favorite nurse.”

“You say that like you have others.”

“I don’t. You signed the contract. You’re the only one I’m allowed to ruin.”

You roll your eyes.

“What’s in the bag?”

“Your favorite—cold soba, pickled radish, and that weird dessert you pretend not to like.”

“Mochi?”

“You love mochi.”

“I never said that.”

“You never have to.”

He leads to his car, where he is driving you both to his place. The ride is quiet, comfortable, familiar in a way that makes your chest ache. You’ve been to his place before—so many times now it smells like you. Your shampoo in the bathroom. Your hoodie on the back of the couch.

But tonight feels different. There’s something thicker in the air. Not tension. Not fear.

Readiness.

He opens the door, lets you step in first. Always. And then follows right after you and off to the kitchen, plating the food like some domestic vampire fantasy. You toe off your shoes, drop your bag by the armchair and follow into the kitchen. Standing there and watching him.

“You don’t have to feed me,” you murmur.

“I want to.”

“You don’t have to wait either.”

“I still want to.”

You stare at him and he is watching you again. Not hungrily. Not like prey. Like a man who built his entire patience around you. Like someone who chooses to wait—because when he finally takes, he wants you begging.

The two of you eat together. Relax. Laugh. Talk about how your shift went and he listens like your every word is sacred. He brushes your wrist when he hands you a drink and your skin sparks. He smiles when you groan over the mochi, satisfied, and tells you you’re cute with your mouth full.

You almost choke.

And with dinner gone, now completely full and satisfied, you don't get up. You stay curled in his lap on the couch, head against his chest, his arms loose but locked around you.

His fingers skim slow patterns along your spine. One hand settles low on your hip—possessive. Barely moving. Right over the place he’ll someday bite.

“Minho.”

“Mmm?”

“You still haven’t fed.”

“I know.”

“It’s been days.”

“It’s been perfect.”

You pull back, just enough to look at him. “Are you… trying to drive me insane?”

“No,” he whispers. “I’m trying to make sure when I finally touch you like that—you don’t want me to stop.”

Your breath hitches. Minho always has a way with words and yet every time, he manages to catch you off-guard. Every. Single. Time. Without missing a beat.

He studies you for a long moment. His eyes glow a shade darker than before. His glamour hums under his skin. Not fully active—but close. Feral held in silk. You reach for him. Not to kiss. Not to provoke. Just… to touch.

You cup his face. Slide your thumb across his bottom lip. Whisper: “I’m ready.”

He closes his eyes. Breathes in. The muscles in his jaw shift.

“No,” he says, voice low. Wrecked. “Not yet.”

“Why?”

“Because when I do it—I’m going to take my time. And I want you rested. Fed. Touched. I want your thighs shaking before I even put my mouth on you.”

You go still.

He leans in, presses his lips to your temple. Light. Reverent. “Go shower,” he murmurs. “I’ll make tea.”

“You’re evil.”

“I’m in love.”

You towel off in the bathroom. Steam still curls along the mirror edges. Your skin is flushed, glowing. Damp hair clings to the slope of your neck, and water trails down your thighs like the final straw in a slow-burning war.

You think about asking him where he put your change of clothes.

You step out barefoot, towel wrapped around you—and he’s in the kitchen, back turned, pouring tea like this is just another night.

But then—

He sees you.

And he stops moving. Like the air went static. Like the glamour around him cracked.

You don’t say anything. Just… exist. Wet hair. Bare skin. Towel slipping slightly.

He’s across the room in seconds.

Minho doesn’t speak. Doesn’t blink. Just stands there, every line of his body taut—controlled, but barely. That glimmer in his eyes isn’t patience anymore.

It’s possession.

His voice drops low. “You’re testing me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I showered. You said tea.”

“I lied.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve wanted to kiss you since the minute you got off your shift.”

You smile. Tilt your head. Let the towel slip a fraction lower. “So kiss me.”

And oh baby, those words? That simple, so kiss me? It unravels him. His hands move to your waist, gripping and pulling you in. Hard. Not reckless, but firm—like he needs you right now or he might detonate.

The next thing is his lips. They crash into yours—hot, deep, starving.

Just teeth and tongue and a low growl vibrating in his chest as your hands fist in his shirt and you press against him like you’ve been waiting for this exact fire.

“Fuck,” he breathes into your mouth.

“That bad?”

“That perfect.”

His hands slide down your back, over the curve of your ass, fingers digging in like he’s memorizing the shape. The towel loosens—he catches it with one hand, pulling it tighter, just to keep you on edge.

You gasp against his mouth as he presses you back against the hallway wall, hips pinning you.

You can feel him. Hard. Huge. Throbbing. And still—he doesn’t rush. His lips trail down your jaw. Your neck. The skin over your collarbone.

“I want to taste you,” he whispers, teeth brushing the place he’ll bite eventually.

“You can.”

“Not like that. Not yet.”

“Then what do you want?”

“Everything else.”

He kisses your shoulder. Then the hollow of your throat. Towel snatched off of you, leaving you bare for his eyes only. His mouth is everywhere—hungry, reverent, wet. You gasp when he bites—not the bite, but a sharp nibble on the inside of your thigh when he drops to his knees.

“Minho—”

“You don’t know how good you smell,” he growls.

“Then bite me.” you almost start begging for it, pleading for him to bite you.

“Not yet.”

He kisses your hip.

Looks up.

Eyes blown. Lips parted, fangs peeking. A line of your arousal slides down your leg and he watches it like it’s blood.

Then smirks. “But I’m going to eat you now.”

The hallway light glows gold behind his silhouette, but all you can see is the dark fire in his eyes as he stares at your cunt like it’s something holy. No—worse. Like it’s his.

One sharp inhale through his nose and dives in, mouth to your wet cunt instantly, placing an open-mouthed kiss. “Fuck,” he moans, tongue flattening against your folds.

Your knees buckle—you gasp, grabbing his hair, and he just groans like that turned him on more.

“Minho—”

“Hold still.”

He slides one hand up to brace your thigh over his shoulder—you’re open, exposed, wet—and he fucking devours you. Not polite. Not careful. Messy, slow, deep.

Purposeful.

His tongue runs flat and slow from your entrance to your clit—then circles, then sucks, then presses in again like he’s mapping your body in real time.

You’re gasping. Arching. Shaking.

He doesn’t stop.

Minho's fully gone. Pussy-drunk. You can feel it. From the way he is licking you. Like your taste is his fucking drug and he’s addicted with no rehab in sight. “You taste like a fucking spell,” he pants, tongue lapping, lips slick.

“You're drooling,” you gasp.

“You’re dripping.”

He licks it all up like you’re wasting it. Your fingers dig into his hair. Your head hits the wall. You're moaning—half-begging, half-cursing—and he’s obsessed with it. Obsessed with you.

He moans into your pussy. Louder. Vibrating.

“Say my name.”

“Minho—”

“Again.”

“Minho, fuck, I—”

“That’s it.”

His tongue flicks your clit mercilessly now, fast, deliberate, perfectly timed with how he rocks you against his face.

But then, fuck. You feel it. The slow, slick push of one finger—just one—but so thick, so deep, curling like it’s written in his fucking nature. A single knuckle, testing. Then further. Then all the way in.

“Oh my god—”

“You can take it,” he rasps against your cunt. “You were made to take it.”

He fucks you with his finger, slow at first—press, curl, retreat. All while his tongue keeps flicking your clit in brutal, precise circles.

Obscene. Filthy. Perfect.

You’re moaning—loudly now. You don’t care if the neighbours hear. You don’t care about anything except the stretch of his finger, the swirl of his tongue, the rhythmic suck that sends you lurching into the wall.

“Fucking—Minho—”

“Look at me.”

You look. You shouldn’t have looked.

His eyes are blown wide. Hair a mess. Mouth glistening. His lips shine with your slick. He’s looking up at you like you’re holy—like he’ll ruin you just to worship you better.

He then pushes another finger in. Stretching you wider. He groans when your walls clench down. “So tight,” he breathes. “You gonna cum for me like this?”

“I—fuck—I can’t—”

“You will.”

He speeds up—fingers curling inside you, tongue relentless on your clit.

Your knees are gone. Your moans are wrecked. Your hands are gripping his hair so hard he growls—and then moans again like he likes it.

You're drenched. You’re drooling. You're going to cum.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he whispers, voice soaked in sin. “Cum for me. Let me taste it all.”

And you do. You fall apart. Walls pulsing. Toes curling. Breath shattered. He stays on you the whole time—lapping up every drop of your juices like they're his final fucking meal. He rides you through the orgasm, through the high with soft licks and soft thrusts of his fingers before slowly easing them out of your wet cunt.

Minho pulls back and stands, hands moving to the back of your thighs and picking you up almost instantly. Lips on your own, kissing you hungrily with his soaked mouth, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

“You’re mine now,” he says against your lips, soft and wrecked and dark.

“Already were.”

Minho doesn’t speak after that. He just breathes—heavy, dark, hungry. His eyes never leave yours as he carries you to the bedroom, steps slow, like he’s walking you to your fate.

And maybe he is.

He sets you down like you’re made of silk and sin, but the look on his face? Anything but soft. His jaw clenches. His eyes burn. He takes a moment to take you in. Devours you without touching. Like he’s trying to memorize every inch before he ruins it.

Then—finally—he moves.

He pulls off his shirt. Slow. Controlled. You see every shift of muscle, every flex of restraint. Then his pants. Then he’s standing in just his briefs.

And he’s hard. So fucking hard it hurts to look at. His cock strains against the fabric, thick, leaking, twitching.

He's onto you in less than a second.

Crawling over you on the bed, pressing kisses along your thighs. One, then two, then higher—then your inner thigh—and his breath shakes.

“Let me,” he whispers.

And you nod. Because fuck, you’d let him do anything.

He traces his fangs across your inner thigh. And you feel it. See it. That tiny shift in him—like a predator finally letting instinct take the reins.

“You’re sure?”

“Minho, bite me.”

His hand grips your thigh. He moans—moans—from the sound of that. And finally, sinks his fangs in. Teeth in flesh.

It’s sharp, yes—but it’s also ecstasy. Blood spills, warm and hot, down your thigh as he drinks, sucking, groaning, grinding against the bed like your taste alone is enough to make him come.

“Fuck—fuck—you taste—” he can’t even finish the sentence. He’s lost.

He’s pussy-drunk and blood-drunk now. Gone feral. Gone beautiful.

Your back arches. Your moans blend with his groans. It’s messy. Bloody. His mouth is stained, his chin dripping, and he looks so fucking good like this. Eyes glowing. Lips parted. Still licking, still lapping—like you’re a feast he never wants to end.

He pulls back slowly, tongue dragging over the wound.

“Mine,” he says again. Lower now. Possessive. Reverent.

“Yours,” you pant. “I’m yours.”

Minho crawls back up and crashes his lips on your own. Kissing you deeply. Lustfully.

Blood on both your lips. Lust in both your mouths. His hips grind into yours—still clothed, still desperate.

Your body is still trembling from the bite—thighs slick, nerves sparking, lips swollen from the way he kissed you after drinking your blood like wine. But he hasn’t fucked you yet. Hasn’t even taken off his briefs. And yet—he already owns you.

He’s above you, braced on his hands. Eyes dark. Lust layered over hunger, layered over obsession.

You reach for him. He catches your wrist. Kisses your pulse. Smirks when your breath stutters.

“You don’t even know how long I’ve waited to ruin you.”

And then those last threads of restraint snap.

His briefs come off, cock springing free—thick, hard, leaking, the head flushed dark and furious. You moan at the sight of it. He just raises a brow.

“Use your words.”

You swallow, lips parting. “Please.”

His hand moves to your jaw, tilting your face up, fingers firm. His thumb presses against your lower lip, slipping inside when you gasp.

“Open wider.”

You do. He slides his thumb deeper.

“That’s it. My perfect little kitten. So obedient now.”

But you roll your eyes. Wrong move. His smirk turns sharp. “There she is.” And then you’re flipped. Face down. Ass up. A hand on the back of your neck, one gripping your hips like handles.

His palm cracks across your ass—once. Twice. Again. The sting is addicting. The growl in his throat even more so. “You roll those eyes again and I’ll fuck you with my fingers until you cry and beg like a good girl.”

You whimper. You’re soaked.

His fingers find your soaked cunt, and he groans again, louder this time. Soaked. Dripping before retreating his fingers and replacing with his cock, sliding it along your slit—just once. Just enough to make you cry out. And then?

He stops.

“Beg.”

You arch. You squirm. You groan. “Please—fuck, please, Minho, I need it, I want it—”

“Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours.”

“Say it like you mean it.”

“I’m fucking yours.”

And then he thrusts in—deep. Hard. Endless. You moan loudly. Your back arches. His hand wraps around your throat from behind, pulling you up against his chest, his fangs grazing your neck—not biting, not yet, just letting you feel the threat.

“You feel that baby?” he snarls into your ear. “That’s mine now. Your pussy. Your blood. Your fucking soul.”

He slams in again.

Your moans are wrecked. Your body’s trembling.

"You're not gonna cum baby. No no, you're going to cry for it, beg for it, am I clear?"

You only manage to whimper, a quick nod.

Minho grins, a soft chuckle escaping him. "That's right." His hips roll once—just once—and your eyes flutter shut. Too deep. Too good. Too perfect. “Look at you,” he growls, dragging his cock out slowly, making you feel every inch. “Fucking melting already and I’ve barely started.”

You whimper. His hand tightens on your throat, firm. “Stay right there, pretty thing,” he murmurs into your hair. “Back arched. Thighs wide. Let me ruin what’s already mine.”

And then he slams in—again. And again. And again. Rhythm unrelenting, brutal, delicious.

Your mouth falls open but no sound comes out. Just wrecked gasps, breathless sobs of pleasure as he fucks into you like his life depends on it. Like your cunt was carved out just for his cock. Because it is. It was. It always will be.

“So warm,” he groans. “So fucking tight."

His hands roam—possessive, greedy—fingers dragging over your waist, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. Then lower. To your thighs.

Then? He leans down. And bites. Right into the slope of your shoulder.

You scream.

Blood spills. And he moans. “Fuck—yes—baby, you taste like a fucking prayer.”

Your body trembles violently, caught in the overwhelming rush of pain and pleasure. His cock still pistons into you while his fangs stay buried in your shoulder—drinking, devouring, claiming.

You go limp. Floaty. Brain white-noise dizzy from the high of it. But Minho? He doesn’t stop. If anything, it makes him wilder.

“Mine,” he growls into your skin, pulling back just enough to let blood drip down your shoulder and onto the sheets. “All fucking mine.”

His hips snap harder. Your slick squelches. His cock slides in perfectly, perfectly, perfectly—

You’re dripping. Slick and blood and spit and ruin.

And he’s drunk on it.

“My nurse,” he pants. “My good girl. My blood doll. My fucking kitten.”

You nod, voice gone. Mouth parted. Completely wrecked.

He grins.

“You wanna cum now, sweetheart?”

You sob. “Yes. Please. Please, Minho—”

“Then say it.”

“I’m yours. I’m your good girl. I’m your fucking good girl, please—”

“Good,” he whispers. “Then fucking cum on my cock, pretty. Make it messy.”

And you do. You fall apart—ripped open, raw, shaking. Your pussy clamps down so hard he groans, hips stuttering.

“That’s it, that’s my girl, give it to me, give it all—fuck, fuck—”

He chases his own high with a savage growl, cock twitching, pulsing as he cums deep inside you, heat flooding your soaked cunt. But he doesn’t stop. His hips keep grinding, slow now, as if milking every drop of your orgasm—of his own.

And then? His lips are on your neck again. Not gentle this time. Not teasing.

Feral.

“Still mine,” he pants. “Still hungry.”

You barely have time to gasp before he bites. Hard. Deep. Again. Your scream chokes into a moan, your body spasming around his cock still buried inside you.

“M-Minho—fuck—!”

Your hands claw at the sheets. You’re trembling, eyes fluttering, body jerking as your orgasm is prolonged by the blood loss, by the dizzying pull of him sucking at your vein like it’s salvation.

It’s the third time he’s fed from you tonight. And you feel it. The way the world tilts. The heat behind your eyes. The ache in your neck. But fuck—it feels so good.

“You’re not stopping,” you gasp, voice raw. “You’re still feeding—”

“You taste better when you’re fucked out,” he murmurs against your neck, voice wrecked. “Better when you’re mine.”

His thrusts are much slower now, but deeper, grinding and rubbing every oversensitive nerve in your swollen, soaked pussy. “You gonna pass out, kitten?” he hums, licking at your neck now. “You gonna fall asleep with my cum dripping out of you and my marks on your skin?”

You nod. Or maybe you try to. The room spins, but your body won’t stop clenching around him, pulsing with overstimulation and ecstasy and heat.

Minho finally slows. Still inside you. Still wrapped around you. His breath hitches. His fangs retreat from your neck and kisses the spot so softly, so gently. Licks the wound.

“You did so well, baby,” he murmurs, voice softer now. “So fucking perfect for me.”

You hum sleepily, completely spent.

Minho slowly pulls out of you with a hiss—his cock wet and still hard but twitching with the aftershocks of overstimulation. Your soft whimper at the loss has him pausing, thumb grazing your thigh where he bit you earlier, eyes dragging over the blood smears like a collector admiring his masterpiece.

“Shh,” he murmurs. “Easy. I’ve got you.”

You’re boneless beneath him. Shaky. Light-headed. Completely wrecked.

He eases you onto your back with surgical care, brushing damp strands from your face, trailing kisses along your jaw and collarbone to soothe the tremble in your limbs.

Minho stands up, grabs his briefs and puts them on before disappearing for only a few seconds. By the time you blink, he's back. Hands carrying a basin of warm water, fresh cloths, and that damn precision he always keeps tucked behind his smile.

He doesn’t speak.

Just starts with your thighs. Careful. Gentle. Attentive.

The cloth drags through the mess he made—his cum, your slick, blood from the bite. You flinch once, and he hushes you immediately. “Hush. I know it’s sore. Just breathe.” He wipes you down in slow strokes, cleaning between your thighs like he’s winding you down after open-heart surgery. There’s no rush. No sound but the soft splashes of water and your shallow breaths.

Once clean, he moves to your neck—licking again where he bit, sealing the puncture gently. There’s a cloth on your chest. A warm one on your belly. You think you might be floating.

And then he dresses you.

His oversized shirt. Sliding it over your head, smoothing it down your arms, fingers brushing your wrists like you’re made of glass. Tucks the hem under your thighs. Fixes the collar.

When he’s sure you’re safe—covered—he lifts you and onto his lap. Minho grabs the blanket and places it around your shoulders. One arm around your waist, the other in your hair, brushing it back from your forehead with all the care in the world.

“Look at you now,” he whispers. “Fucked dumb. Blood-drunk. My perfect little nurse.”

He holds you like that for a long while. Letting your heartbeat slow. Letting the fog clear from your mind. You think you hear him hum something low under his breath—familiar, maybe a lullaby.

And when he feels you melt entirely? He whispers, “Drink this,” and presses a glass of water to your lips. “Small sips.”

Your lips part automatically, letting him tilt the glass for you—his fingers cradling your jaw with reverence, like you’re the holy thing here. You sip slow. Let it trickle down your throat. You don’t even taste it, not really. Just feel the temperature. Feel him.

“Mm,” you rasp, lips curling lazily. “You always this bossy after turning me into roadkill?”

Minho snorts—actually snorts—and it’s so rare you blink up at him like it’s a miracle. He sets the glass down, eyes crinkling faintly, brushing his thumb across your cheekbone.

“Roadkill still moaning like a bitch in heat?”

You gasp, scandalized and amused, trying to swat at him, but you barely land a tap. Your limbs are noodles. Useless.

“You’re such a menace.”

“You’re the one who let a vampire fuck you raw and bleed you dry in the same hour,” he murmurs, smiling faintly as he adjusts you in his arms. “You knew what I was.”

“Didn’t know you were gonna ruin me.”

He leans in, lips brushing your ear. “That—” his voice is low, feral, tender, “—was the point.”

He settles you both onto the bed, moving with precision and silence. You don’t even notice how efficiently he tucks you in until you’re under soft sheets and two blankets—his hoodie still on you, his body heat curling around you like a second layer of bedding.

He presses behind you. One arm snakes around your waist. His leg hooks over yours.

His nose nestles into your hair, voice barely audible now.

“You let me bite you three times tonight,” he murmurs. “Let me fuck you stupid. Let me drink until you went all soft in my arms like a little doll. Your first ruin. Let me ruin you."

You hum sleepily. “Told you… I’m your nurse…”

He chuckles, lips at your temple. “Not just my nurse.”

"No?"

"My everything." he whispers.

And between those soft spoken words, you drift somewhere between dream and delirium, his heartbeat (stolen or not) pulsing steady behind your spine.

His breath stays even against your nape. And for a moment—just a moment—you wonder if this is what peace feels like.

Until—

“Minho…” you mumble, half-asleep. “If you bite me a fourth time tonight I swear to God I’m suing.”

He hums innocently. “Mmm. Thought you liked being lightheaded and full of me.”

“I like having a functioning central nervous system.”

“Don’t worry,” he mutters. “You don’t need a brain to be mine.”

You whimper and smack his thigh. Weakly. He just laughs, low and smug, and nuzzles deeper into your hair.

The next morning? You wake up drooling on his pillow with vampire hickeys in three different anatomical regions, but at least there's a glass of water waiting on the nightstand.

There’s also a sticky note.

In Minho’s criminally neat handwriting:

Don’t move. I’m making breakfast. Don’t pass out in the shower or I will sedate you. Also: stop moaning my name in your sleep, the neighbours are starting to ask questions. — Yours, eternally. 🖤

And that’s how life goes for you now. Fucked to ruin; Bitten thrice a week (minimum); Kept hydrated by the world's most sadistic vampire boyfriend; In love; Definitely doomed.

But hey.

You’re still breathing. Still bruised. Still his. Still fucked. Still spoiled. Still taken care of and loved.

And you wouldn’t change a fucking thing.

[sammhisphere]

‘Shh, don’t want to be caught, do we?’ (Chan vers.)

A/N: I love me some semi-public love 😋 Enjoy!

Do not translate, copy, reupload, or anything similar to stealing my original work! You can reblog and share.

MDNI (minors do not interact)!! SEXUAL CONTENT!!

———————

The celebrant is at the end of the long table of the extravagant restaurant, cheers and ‘happy birthday!’s fly around the room. You’re sitting happily near the other end, your lover — Chan — sitting opposite you whilst you all talk with those around you. Smiles and laughter spreads from one end of the table to the other side.

You check the time. Okay, it’s been two hours since we’ve been here, so that means—

A cool yet firm sensation breaks you out youe thoughts, and you quickly realise Chan’s tapping your leg with his foot. You nod at him in acknowledgement. He briefly looks at his phone and back to you—check your texts.

You casually look at your phone, not expecting too much. But you nearly choke on your spit, clearing your throat from the words your eyes take in.

Quickie? Bit needy.

Curiosity, despite your utter shock at his subtle shamelessness, floods your veins, and more quickly—desire. How to leave? Where to go? The bathrooms are an automatic option…

You subtly lift your eyebrows at him before excusing yourself to the bathroom with a deceptively sweet smile, the guests paying no mind to why you’re moving so fast. A little too fast. But they’re all immersed in their conversations to notice a thing. For now at least.

•••••••

The restroom floors are made of marble, a beautiful swirl of black and gold all over the walls. It’s not long until a half-unexpected grip takes a hold of your bicep, swiftly and silently dragging you to a clean cubical. Chan pulls you in for a gentle kiss, wanting to ease you a bit into the moment, though his pelvis rub against you—bricked and yelling for attention from his only lover.

He quickly bunches up your dress and discards it, hanging it on the cubical hook.

“Fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, his lips trailing down your neck, his tongue tasting your growing desire. His larger hands hold you firmly in place, almost squeezing as if he’s barely controlling himself.

Your nipple hardens as his lips latch onto it, his needy eyes glancing upwards to watch your reaction. His tongue swirls around your hardening tit, appreciating your quiet moans and struggle to not be too loud in the restaurant’s restroom. You claw the walls around you, your breathing ragged and heavy.

“Chan,” you breathe out, desperate and lustful.

His mouth travels across your chest to lavish attention onto your other breast. He feels himself completely straining against his trousers, and, for a moment, believes that he might accidentally release in his own briefs from your bodily reactions.

Click. Clack. Click.

You both pause. A conversation of three women echo in the bathroom. You pause, blood and anticipation spiking in your veins. Chan smirks against your skin, lowering himself so his face is in front of your panties.

Your eyes widen at him. Do not do anything.

He presses a kiss to your panties, his tongue darting out to taste your wet heat. Your hands swiftly move to cover your mouth, especially as an oblivious customer occupies the cubical right next to yours.

Your mind goes haywire.

You’ve become so aroused, but will you continue? Perhaps.

Will he? Oh. Definitely.

His fingers hook around your underwear and pull them down and he presses a teasing kiss against your swollen clit. His oh so loving, almost innocent-looking and wide eyes look up, yet they’re so full of something sinful and corruptive.

His tongue swirls tiny circles against you. Your hand moves to his hair and presses him further into you as if a demon’s taking over you. Your other hand successfully muffles your sounds, your throat restricting the sounds he’d usually love to hear. But right now? He’s fucking loving seeing you utterly struggle.

It’s a sight to behold.

His tongue is consistent. His lips latching on and sucking until your body trembles, edging on painful pleasure. He shifts you off the cubical wall so you don’t shake it which could accidentally grab the other woman’s attention.

The women’s conversation still goes on as they conduct their business, helping you two to conduct your own.

Your hips grind on him. Your head rolls back as your eyes see sparks of stars. The hot knot in your lower abdomen is continuously fuelled—

Your fingers curl in his hair. Tightly. Almost painfully, but very satisfyingly to him. Waves of lust and pleasure roll over you as you ride out your high on his face. On that hypnotising fucking mouth. You manage to hold back every sound possible, not letting yourselves get caught. Not now.

He places a gentle kiss on your upper thigh before standing up, his boner a hell of a lot more prominent. You pant, limp against the cubicle wall whilst he simply admires your flushed state. A soft smile on his face — with a hint of pride as always whenever he makes you orgasm.

“Not even my fingers were inside you,” he whispers in your ear, softly kissing the shell.

Your blissful smile is enough as a response. You look down at his crotch and point at it — his turn. A mutual feeling erupts between both of you and, now, it’s your turn to be on your knees. Well, since it’s the restroom, it’s more like squatting, not wanting your knees to be dirty.

You hear the women in the stall leave, silence taking over the restrooms a beat after the door shuts.

“You’re so hard, baby,” you point out, grinning from excitement and lingering post-orgasm ecstasy. You free him from his black denim pants, his throbbing cock screaming to be inside you. You grab the head of his base which elicits a soft sigh from his lips.

“Please, love, don’t tease me today.”

“Quickie. Got it.” You nod. You lick a stripe up the underside of his length and swirl your tongue around his tip. The taste of him on your tongue is your favourite, almost better than the meal you were having earlier.

He leans forward, completely towering over you as he braces himself on the wall. His hips subtly, but not unnoticeably jerk forward.

You smile against his tip and take him in, hollowing your cheeks gradually as your head bobs.

It doesn’t take very long to get him off, perhaps even less than 3 minutes. He comes in your mouth with a silent moan, his gasps loud as if he’s right next to your ear. You continue jerking him for a moment longer, prolonging his orgasm.

“My favourite type of Chan.”

“Post-orgasm me?” He asks with heavily tinted cheeks.

“Yeah,” you stand up and redress yourself. Then you kiss him. Soft. Loving. Slow.

•••••••

You both manage to make your way back to the table without much suspicion. As you sit at the table, the chair next to you is empty, but you don’t think too much about it, smiling at everyone and, particularly, your lover across you.

The woman who was sat next to you earlier returns and sits beside you.

“Hey, you alright?” You ask to fill the air.

“Yep. Just came back from the toilet.”

Your smile freezes, cheeks burning up. The woman gives a knowing smile. She heard. Everything. You don’t even look at Chan for confirmation.

“Next time,” she leans into your ear, “try to make sure you’re fully alone.”

———————

[sammhisphere]

brothers bsf jisung

pairing : jisung x reader warnings : smut, fingering, switch jisung (i feel like he’s more subby but he could definitely be a dom), rough fucking, praises notes : aftercare at the end because jisung would be so sweet after fucking, he would not want to leave your side

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

It was like any other summer day, you were laying in bed, bored, not knowing what to do. Suddenly, your brother, chris, barges into your room with a box filled of movies, placing it onto your bed.

“yo, pick one out, jisung said he wants to meet you so we’re having a movie night.” chris says, exiting your room shortly after. you sigh, dumping the random collection of movies onto the bed, looking at each one before choosing a horror one. you place all the movies back into the box neatly and head downstairs with it, placing the box back where it belongs and putting the horror movie into the dvd player connected to the tv.

it doesn’t take that long for jisung to arrive. chris opens the door and greets him, then calls you to the door to introduce him to you. “you’re y/n? nice to meet you.” jisung says. you two shake hands, but whenever you open your hand to let go, he holds on just for a few more seconds before letting go, his eyes never leaving you. you find it weird, but don’t think too much about it. you three settle in, sitting on the living room couch with snacks he brought. you press play on the movie, snuggling into the blanket and couch pillows. jisung notices, making him sigh and do the same.

a good 10 minutes go by, and chris speaks up, saying he needs to head to the restroom. when he leaves, you get up to go get a drink from the kitchen, and jisung follows you. you dont question it, maybe he just wanted a drink too, but it was weird that he didnt say anything. he just followed you like some lost puppy. you pour juice into a cup, then speak up, “do you want some?” you ask, holding the cup with juice in it. “no..im fine..i just didn’t wanna be alone..” you don’t question it, you just thought that he was probably already scared from the horror movie, so you let him stick around you. you bring your drink with you to the couch, and he follows you. you sit down and get comfortable again, and he does the same. you noticed it, he noticed that you noticed, but you two didn’t say a thing. it was kind of awkward without chris here, maybe because you didn’t know jisung like how chris knew him, it kind of made you nervous, but you didn’t show it. chris comes back, and you start the movie again.

throughout the movie, you feel jisung shift closer, almost a little too close. chris notices and playfully punches him on the shoulder, saying something along the lines like, “get away from my sister.” this makes you laugh, watching jisung sulk and scoot away. you guys continue to watch the movie, but as you watch, you feel jisung again, shifting closer towards you. chris doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t notice, hes too focused on the movie. you dont say anything, letting him get closer. jisung continues to keep his eyes on the screen, making it seem like he was focused on the movie too, but he wasn’t. you suddenly feel a hand being placed softly onto your thigh, making you go stiff. you look at jisung, but he doesn’t look at you. instead, he moves his hand higher until he reaches the hem of your loose shorts, making you squeeze your thighs together. he slightly smiles at the squeeze, making him push the hem of your shorts up to feel more of your thigh. you try to focus on the movie, but you cant, he notices. he slides his hand to your inner thigh, forcing your legs to open for him. you then feel him, right where you need him most, making your breath hitch. he quietly whines, making chris turn his head, but it was too dark in the room, he couldn’t see what was happening down there, under the blanket, his hand touching you. he looks away, thinking it was the movie since you and jisung were staring at the screen.

jisung continues to touch, but not enough, just enough to let you know that his hand is there. the movie shortly comes to an end, making jisung pout and force his hand away before chris could notice. chris walks him to the door, but you stay on the couch, watching him. jisung leaves, and you head back upstairs to your room. you lay in your bed, thinking about what the fuck just happened. why did he touch you like that? you two just met? but you weren’t complaining, you actually wanted it. you wanted more. touching you under the blanket wasn’t enough for you. you softly whined into the blanket of your bed, legs open, imagining him, between your legs, giving you what you wanted. gosh you wanted him so bad, no, you NEEDED him. you fall asleep, aching for him, wishing he would just come back.

a few weeks pass by, but you’ve haven’t forgotten. how could you forget? you lay in your bed with your tv on, thinking about him, until your brother knocks on the door. you sigh and get up to open it, wondering what he could possibly want. “hey, im gonna be out for a few hours and i know you hate random babysitters so jisung is coming over to watch you instead, alright?” he says, making you feel goosebumps at the name. jisung. hes coming back. “alright, when is he getting here?” you ask, trying to hide the nervousness in your voice. “a few minutes, ill wait till he gets here then ill leave okay?” you just nod, and he goes back downstairs. you close the door to your room again, and walk towards your restroom, looking at yourself in the mirror and brushing your hair. you don’t know why you’re so nervous, its just jisung, well, maybe there was a reason to be nervous. you feel yourself getting hot, so you decide to change into a different pair of shorts that rose up every time you walked, and a random t-shirt. you put the clothes you took off into your laundry basket, and head towards your bed, plopping down on it. you close your eyes, then hear a ding from downstairs. the doorbell, he was here. you fix yourself again, you don’t know why, but you wanted to look good for him.

“y/n!! im leaving!” you hear from downstairs, you shout a ‘okay’, then hear the downstairs door close and lock. you get up from your bed and decide to head downstairs to greet jisung. you see him standing next to the door, kicking his shoes off, then he looks at you, smiling. “hi y/n! sorry that im here, chris told me you didn’t like babysitters and said i was the only person he could trust to watch you.” he says, walking over towards you to shake your hand. you take his hand and shake it, then let go and ask, “do you wanna play games..? chris told me you were into fighting games, i just bought a new one yesterday!” your voice sounded excited, which made him happy, and he agreed, letting you drag him upstairs to your room. you two played the game for a good hour, laughing and playfully hitting each other. you two seemed to be getting closer because of it, which made you happy.

you guys decide to finally take a break and watch a movie, ordering food and choosing a random recommended movie that popped up. a few minutes pass by and you hear the doorbell downstairs, indicating that the food is here. jisung says ‘hes got it’ and goes downstairs to get the food. you decide to pause the movie and sit up, letting the blanket of the bed cover your knees, only showing your thighs. jisung comes back with the food, and notices almost immediately, staring. “i-i got the food..” he says nervously, stuttering over his words. he hands you whats yours with almost shaky hands, and you take it, wanting to laugh because he was nervous, but you dont, you just take the food with a soft smile on your face. he sits down next to you and eats, making sure not to get anything dirty since you two are eating on your bed. you press play on the movie and keep your eyes on the screen, but notice jisungs eyes on you. he keeps trying to stare at the screen, but fails, glancing at you at every chance he gets. you guys finish the food and he goes back downstairs to throw everything away, almost tripping when he walks because of how shaky he was.

he comes back and settles in with you again under the covers, doing his best to focus on the movie. he was actually doing really good, until he wasn’t. he suddenly feels you lay against him, against his chest, making him go stiff. he didn’t expect this from you, but he was glad (and nervous) that you were laying against him. you got comfortable, snuggling against him, eyes still locked on the movie. he keeps his hands to his sides, watching the movie, being scared to move. you notice, it was obvious, you could feel how his breathing pattern changed. he would hold his breath in, then try to slowly let it out just to hold his breath again. you wanted to laugh, but you decided not to, you decided to let him be nervous instead. you then feel a pair of arms wrap around your waist, then the hem of your shirt gently being lifted up. you quietly giggle at this as he places a hand on your stomach, touching your skin. you place your hand on his hand, and move it more up, just enough for him to feel your boob, making him realize you’re not wearing a bra. your eyes stay locked on the movie, but his eyes dont. he whines as he caresses your boob, being too scared to make the next move, hoping you would do it instead. luckily, you do. you turn around to face him, smiling at his flustered face before straddling his lap.

as soon as you do, hes quick with his hands, removing your top and fondling with your boobs, pinching and twisting your nipple, making you moan at the sensation. “fuck y/n..you’re so gorgeous..” he breathes out, the tent in his sweats quickly grows, causing you to roll your hips, feeling his hardness through your shorts. he whines, throwing his head back at the feeling, then quickly removes his hands from your boobs to push you down onto the bed, pinning you down. he looks at you for a few seconds before kissing you roughly, moaning into the kiss. after a minute or two he lets go, breathing heavily, lips all red and swollen from the makeout sesh. you tug at the top of his sweats eagerly, trying to push them down. he softly laughs at this and does it for you, fully taking off his sweats, tossing them somewhere on the floor of your room. he does the same with your shorts, then leans down on top of you, kissing your neck before whispering into your ear, “please baby can i fuck you..gosh i’d make you feel so good..” you breathe out a small ‘yes’, and he smiles, planting down a few more kisses onto your neck before pulling your panties down. his fingers work on your clit, making teasingly slow circles at your entrance. you throw your head back and whine, arching your back into his touch. seeing this, he thrusts two fingers into your entrance, moving them at a fast pace, hitting your gummy walls each time. you feel the knot in your stomach quickly form, making your legs shake. “yea baby? you gonna cum? cum on my fingers baby.” he says, moving his fingers a bit faster. your body listens, and you cum on the spot, back arched and legs shaking. you let out a loud moan, and jisung continues to finger you, just to slightly overstimulate you. you quickly grab his arm, whining for him to stop, and he does. he removes his fingers and puts them in his mouth, sucking off all of your juice from his fingers. “gosh you taste amazing..” he mumbles, taking his fingers out of his mouth with a pop. you look at him, dazed, then palm his hard cock that was begging to come out of his boxers. he presses into the touch of your palm and moans, making him eagerly pull down his boxers. his cock jumps out and hits his stomach, and you just stare at it, amazed at how long and slim it was. “like what you see baby?” he breathes out, giving his cock slow & long strokes before pushing it into your entrance. “j-jisung!!” you moan out his name, arching your back, feeling each inch enter you.

“fuck baby, take it, you’re doing so well” he says, almost in a mumble. and you do, you take all of him, feeling at how his cock hits every spot his fingers couldn’t. he finally stops and bottoms out, leaning into you to place small kisses on your boobs. he lets you adjust to him, and once you do, he’s quick to move. he thrusts into you slowly but deep, the tip of his cock almost slipping out of you at each thrust. “more jisung please..need you to fuck me harder..” you whine out, looking at him with big teary eyes. he listens and thrusts into you faster, almost like a bunny in heat. he starts blabbing out random sentences as he fucks you, whining at how good you feel.

“fuck baby this pussy was so made for me..”

“t-thank you so much, love this pussy so much..”

“gosh i cant believe your real, cant believe im fucking you so good like this..”

“you’re so tight baby, keep squeezing my cock like that..”

you feel tears starting to form at the corners of your eyes, and you feel the knot in your stomach quickly start to form again. “fuck baby, you gonna cum again? i can feel you squeezing me, fuck please cum on my cock..” he moans out, looking down at you, admiring your beautiful body. “fuckfuckfuck, gonna cum baby, please cum with me..” he moans out, throwing his head back in pleasure. he thrusts into you a few more times before pressing deep in you, spilling his warm semen in you. as soon as he does, you can feel the knot in your stomach break, making you moan out his name as you milk his cock with your cum. he slowly thrusts into you a few more times, then stops to plant a few kisses onto your body. he pulls out, looking at your weak body and at the cum slowly spilling out of you. you make a small noise, wincing at the pain, making him quickly snap out of whatever trance he was in. you quickly hear him go into the restroom and start a bath, then suddenly feel a pair of arms wrap around you, picking you up in bridal style, carrying you to the warm filled bathtub. he steps in and lays you ontop of him, your back to his chest. you sigh in relief as the warm water touches you, laying your head back onto his shoulder. he smiles at this and wraps his arms around you, caressing your body through the water.

he gently washes your body with soap, and gives you soft praises like,

‘its okay baby’

‘does it hurt? im so sorry, i’ll give you a bunch of kisses later’

‘sorry baby let me clean you up, okay?’

he soon finishes cleaning you up and picks you up again with no effort, grabbing a towel to dry you up with. once you two are all dry, he places you on the bed and immediately grabs you new pjs and underwear, dressing you up like if you were a doll. he gives you a few kisses before covering you with the blanket and leaving to go get clothes to dress in. luckily, he has a stash of clothes that are his in your brothers room, so he grabs a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, quickly dressing into it and going back into your room to lay in bed with you. “my beautiful baby..” he whispers, laying down next to you under the blanket, facing you and reaching his arms out to cuddle you. “you’re so gorgeous, im so glad your brother introduced me to you..” you giggle into his chest and look up at him to admire him. you two lay there for a bit before hearing the door downstairs unlock, and a faint ‘im home!!’ making you and jisung groan. “gosh speaking of your brother..” he whines out, then kisses your forehead. “let me take you out on a date baby, we could go wherever you want, ill buy you anything and everything, just let me take you out.” you smile at him and speak up, “well, as long as my brother doesn’t find out, then yeah, sure.”

“fuck your brother” he mumbles, then gets up and walks to your door. he looks at you one more time before opening it and heading downstairs. you can hear the faint conversation between him and your brother downstairs.

“you’re dressed differently.” chris says, almost with suspicion in his voice. “yea, just wanted to get more comfy, sorry.” jisung lies. they talk a bit, then you hear the door open, then close. meaning jisung left. you quickly get up and clean your room, putting yours and jisungs clothes into your laundry basket in your closet. you notice somethings missing but you cant tell what it is, so you ignore it and finish cleaning your room. you then hear a knock at your door, and you open it, seeing your brother standing outside. “you’re dressed differently too.” he says, looking at you suspiciously, you give the same excuse jisung did, saying that you ‘just wanted to be more comfortable’ he hums a small ‘mhm’ and leaves, going into his room. you shut your door and sigh before seeing your phone light up on your bed from a notification.

“hey, its jisung”

“sorry i had to leave like that, i promise ill make it up to you.”

“also sorry..i may or may not have taken your panties..”

you quietly giggle and type back.

‘its okay ji, dont worry.”

‘also i knew i was missing something!! gosh at least you told me..’

‘also how did you get my number..?’

he responds back almost instantly

“i secretly looked through your phone to get your number and entered it into my phone..”

“pls dont get mad, i just wanted to be able to text you.. :(“

you smile at your phone, and respond.

‘its fine ji, im glad you did because now i get to text you all night,’

“good, now lets talk about where you wanna go this weekend..i wanna see you again so bad!!”

‘alright alrighttt, love you.’

“love you too.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

this is like my 2nd fanfic ever..how did i do..? i have written fanfics before like years ago and i was so good at it before but i think i just lost the skills..its okay ill get better with each fanfic i write!! (hopefully) pls let me know if there are any spelling mistakes (i proofread the first half but then quit) so i would hate to find any spelling mistakes later on when its too late lol!

im planning on writing a jisung nerd/tutor fanfic so stay tuned for that!!

[sammhisphere]

They are so fucking sexy in red

[sammhisphere]

C H A I N B I T E R

bang chan x reader | silver chain. pouty moans. and the lesson he teaches you when you act up.

🔞synopsis: he comes home from tour. you pout, you ignore his texts, you act up—because you want him mean. he keeps the chain on. and when you bite it? he folds you in half, fucks you dumb, and doesn’t let you cum until you’re crying, drooling, and begging for the cock you’ve been bratting for. he ruins you. then holds you like you’re breakable. because you are—and you’re his favourite thing to break.

💌a/n: welcome to filth friday, sluts. 🧷this fic is dedicated to the chokehold that silver chains + pouty brattiness + missionary with a vengeance have on my brain. chan keeps the chain on. you bite it. he loses his mind. we all win. p.s. reblogs = love. comments = spit in my mouth. tags = my new religion. p.p.s. missionary is not vanilla when he growls in your ear and denies your orgasms p.p.p.s. if you reblog this while still recovering? i see you. i respect you.

⚠️ warnings: NSFW 18+ ONLY. minors do not pass go, do not collect the chain | explicit sexual content | dom!bang chan, soft menace energy, and a very smug mouth | sub!reader with brat tendencies that get corrected | jewellery kink (chain stays ON. you bite it. he breaks.) | missionary sex but feral — folded position, deep strokes, held down, no escape | denial / edging | cockdrunk reader | dirty talk, degradation + praise mix (“mine.” “good girl.” “you don’t get to cum yet.”) | aftercare | breeding kink tones | crying & tears of pleasure | pouty!reader energy (literally the reason this entire fic exists. pout responsibly.)

📍credits: dividers by @cafekitsune

🎧 » TASTE — Stray Kids « 0:58 ─〇───── 3:37 ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

The apartment feels colder without him.

It’s not actually cold—you’re curled up on the couch in nothing but his oversized hoodie, bare legs tucked beneath you, a mug of tea half-drunk on the coffee table. But it’s the kind of cold that seeps under your skin when the bed’s too big, the silence too loud, and your vibrator’s not doing the fucking job.

Your phone buzzes again. You don’t look.

You already know it’s him.

You’ve been ignoring him all day—not completely, just... enough. Left him on read once or twice. Gave him one-word replies. Didn’t answer the FaceTime this morning, even though you’d woken up with your hand between your thighs, aching from a dream you couldn’t finish.

It’s not fair, you know that. He’s on tour. He’s busy. He’s doing everything right—checking in, calling, sending those stupid audio messages that make your stomach flip when he whispers, “Miss you, baby. So much.”

But you’re needy.

Touch-starved. Cramps in your hips from curling up in bed alone. Horny to the point of irrational.

And the worst part? You can see him. Online. Onstage. Living in your phone like some cruel ghost. There he is at rehearsal. Dripping in sweat, shirt half-off, silver chain swinging with every breath. There he is in a fan-captured clip, laughing, flexing, biting his lip while dancing to your favorite track like he’s not out here ruining your life. And now? Now he has the audacity to send a mirror selfie. In the fucking studio. With the chain. The bracelets. The goddamn veins.

You nearly throw your phone across the room.

Instead, you sink deeper into the couch, bite the sleeve of his hoodie, and scream into the fabric.

“Fucking menace,” you mumble against your wrist.

He didn’t do anything wrong. That makes it worse.

Because now, every time you shift your hips, every time you think about his hands pinning you down and that cold metal chain slapping your chest while he fucks you stupid—

You can’t breathe.

You glance at your phone.

Three new messages.

[CHAN]: baby [CHAN]: don’t ignore me please [CHAN]: did i do something? talk to me

Your lip wobbles. Goddammit.

No. No. You’re supposed to be mad. Not real mad. Just pouty. Irritated. Like a girl whose boyfriend hasn’t been around to wreck her properly in over two weeks.

You don’t want sweet texts.

You want teeth on your throat. Fingers in your mouth. You want him to press your legs up and fuck the attitude out of you until you’re crying and clinging to his stupid chain like it’s the only thing keeping you sane.

Your gaze flicks to the bedroom door.

Then to the drawer.

You reach for the vibrator. Pause. Throw it back in.

“Fuck it,” you whisper. “Not tonight.”

If he were here, you wouldn’t even need it. He’d just look at you, and you’d be done for.

You bury yourself deeper into the cushions, grumbling, annoyed with the world. The room smells like him. The hoodie smells like him. Your whole body aches from missing him—not emotionally. Physically. Raw, feral want.

So you ignore the phone again.

Because if he really misses you? Let him come get you. Let him walk through that door and make it up to you with his chain swinging and his hands on your throat. Let him see what happens when he makes a needy girl wait too long.

The keys hit the lock at 1:37AM.

You hear them before you see him—metal clinking, a shuffle, a low curse. You barely manage to mute the TV before the door swings open.

He’s here.

And he looks like sin.

Black hoodie half-zipped, chain glinting just above the collar. His damp hair is pushed back with one hand, the other dragging his suitcase inside. His duffel slumps to the floor. Then he sees you—curled on the couch, one leg bare, still in his hoodie, sleeves covering your hands.

For a second, he just stares. Then that mouth curves. “You’re still up.”

You shrug, trying to look casual. You are not casual. Your thighs are clenched under the throw blanket, and your heart’s pounding like you weren’t just imagining that exact chain slapping against your collarbone while he fucks you into the mattress.

“Barely,” you say, voice too innocent.

His gaze drops to your bare thighs. Then back to your face. “Didn’t answer my texts.”

“Didn’t feel like it.”

He huffs out a soft laugh. That cocky, knowing one. “Oh. It’s like that?”

You don’t reply. Just stretch with an exaggerated yawn, lifting your arms enough for the hem of his hoodie to ride up. No shorts. Just skin. His tongue runs across his bottom lip. The chain shifts with the way he breathes, catching the lamplight.

“Were you waiting for me?”

“Not really.”

“Mhm.” He drops his hoodie onto a chair. “So the blanket, the hoodie, and no pants—that’s just what you wear now?”

You narrow your eyes. “Why are you talking like that?”

“Like what?”

“All smug.”

He grins. Oh no. He knows. Of course he knows.

“Baby,” he says, stepping closer. “You’ve been bratting out all week. You think I can’t tell?”

Your breath catches. Heat coils instantly in your gut.

“Didn’t say anything when I sent you that mirror pic. Left my voice note on read. Ignored the one where I said I wanted to fuck you through the floor.” He pauses. Tilts his head. “Nothing to say now either?”

You stare up at him. Slowly pull the blanket off your lap. “I missed you,” you admit, soft.

“I know,” he murmurs. “I missed you too.”

A pause. Then—

“I also know that pout’s not about feelings.”

“What’s it about, then?”

He’s standing over you now, hands on his hips, chain resting just beneath his throat. “It’s about the fact that you haven’t been fucked in two weeks.”

You look away. Cheeks hot. “And?”

“And you’re soaked just from seeing me walk in the door.”

You shoot him a glare, but it’s weak at best. He sees right through it. And worse? You see his jaw flex—barely—before he lets out a dark, low laugh.

“Get up.”

You blink. “What?”

“Up.”

You rise slowly, confused. He reaches forward and lifts the hoodie—his hoodie—up and off your body in one smooth motion. You shiver at the loss of warmth. Now you’re just standing there in panties and nothing else.

He steps back. Eyes dark. “You waited for me like this?”

You nod, shy now. “Wanted to be ready,” you mumble.

His lips part just slightly. His gaze drops, lingers on your hips, then snaps back up.

And then—

His hands are on your thighs, fast.

“Jump.”

You don’t think. You obey.

He catches you with ease, arms firm under your thighs, the chill of his bracelets biting into your skin. Your breath hitches as your legs wrap around his waist, chest flush against his. His chain presses cold between your breasts, and he’s not even trying to hide the way he grinds against your panties on instinct.

“You think I don’t know what that look means?” he murmurs, voice brushing hot against your cheek. “Little pout. Ignoring my calls like I wouldn’t drop everything to ruin you the second I walked through the door.”

You squirm against him, but he tightens his grip—just enough to pin your hips in place.

“Could’ve told me, baby,” he breathes, walking toward the bedroom. “Could’ve just said, ‘Chan, I’m wet and I miss your cock.’ I’d have flown home yesterday.”

He kicks the bedroom door open without a pause. Keeps walking until your back hits the mattress in a controlled drop. You bounce once, hair a mess, legs open, breathing ragged.

He stands at the edge of the bed, staring down at you like he’s starving.

Then he peels off the hoodie.

His shirt follows. Then the pants. He leaves the jewelry. Every bit of it. Rings, bracelets, and that fucking chain.

You swallow hard, mouth dry.

“Want me to take it off?” he teases, watching your eyes follow the chain.

You shake your head. “Keep it.”

“Oh yeah?”

You nod. Voice barely a whisper now. “Wanna see it dangling, wanna bite it.”

That does something to him. His jaw flexes. His cock twitches against the band of his briefs. “Fuck.” He climbs onto the bed like a man possessed. Cages you under him in one smooth motion, his hands planted firm beside your head, chain dangling just above your lips.

You glance up at him, pupils blown wide.

“Say it again.”

“I want to bite it.”

“While I’m inside you?”

“Yes.”

“While I’m ruining that little attitude?”

“Please.” You barely finish the word—“please”—before he’s kissing you like he’s making up for every second he’s been gone.

It’s not sweet. It’s hungry.

His mouth claims yours with a groan, hot and wet and open, tongue sliding past your lips like he already knows what you taste like. His chain swings between you, brushing your throat every time he shifts, a cold contrast to the heat pouring off his skin.

You moan into the kiss. He drinks it like oxygen.

Then he sinks down fully, settling between your thighs with the kind of weight that makes you feel pinned—owned. His cock presses hard against the soaked fabric of your panties, still trapped behind his briefs, but thick enough to make you gasp when he grinds down. “Fuck, baby,” he groans into your mouth. “You’ve been holding out on me. This pussy’s starving.”

Your back arches. You’re soaked, the wet patch obvious now—heat meeting heat as he rocks against you, slow and punishing, like he’s savoring every drag of his cock over your clit.

“Thought about this every night,” he whispers, dragging his mouth along your jaw. “This exact spot. These hips. The way you whimper when I press right… here—”

He thrusts just right. Your head falls back.

He kisses down your neck, slow and greedy. The cold metal of his chain follows, dragging like ice down your collarbone, between your breasts.

“Missed this fucking body,” he breathes, licking a stripe along your throat. “Missed the way you twitch for me. How you bite your lip to keep quiet.”

He grinds down again. And again. Until your hips start chasing his, until your nails dig into his back.

“Chan,” you pant, “I—I need—”

He shushes you with another kiss, deeper this time. He kisses you until you can’t think, until all you can do is cling to him, his chain brushing your lips like it wants to be bitten.

You’re pulsing through your panties. You know he feels it. You feel the smirk when he pulls back, just enough to look you in the eye.

“You gonna make a mess before I’m even inside?”

You glare. He chuckles darkly. “Go on then, baby. Rub that pretty cunt all over my cock. Show me how much you need it.”

You moan—needy, wrecked—and tilt your hips up into him, grinding against the thick ridge of him through both layers of fabric. “Fucking please,” you whimper. “Want you so bad.”

“You’ve got me,” he growls. “You have me.”

His hand slips between your bodies, pushing his briefs down just enough for his cock to spring free—hot, flushed, already leaking. He swears low under his breath.

“God, baby. Look what you do to me.”

Then he presses himself against your soaked panties again, bare cock against soaked fabric, and grinds. Slow. Deep. Purposeful.

“You feel that?” he grits. “You feel how hard I am for you?”

You nod frantically. “Yes, yes—Chan, please—”

��You want me to rip these off?” You can barely speak. “Or you wanna be good and ask nicely?”

You can barely speak.

Your whole body is tense—writhing beneath him, soaked and shaking and on the edge of sobbing for it. He sees it. Loves it. The way your breath catches. The way your thighs twitch around his waist. “C’mon, baby,” he murmurs, lips brushing your cheek. “One sweet word, and I’ll give you everything.”

Your eyes flutter shut. “Please,” you whisper. “Take them off. Please, Chan—need you…”

That’s all it takes.

He groans softly, like the sound is pulled from deep in his chest, and finally—finally—hooks his fingers in the sides of your panties. He drags them down your legs like he’s unwrapping you. Not fast. Not greedy. Just slow, like he’s enjoying every second of you bare and spread beneath him. When they’re off, he kisses the inside of your thigh. Then higher. Then higher.

But he doesn’t go where you want. No. He climbs back up your body, and you think—thank God, he’s going to fuck me—But instead, his mouth goes to your chest.

“So fucking pretty,” he breathes, eyes locked on yours as he kisses just above your heart.

His hand palms one breast, thumb circling the nipple until it peaks under his touch. His mouth follows—hot, open, wet—and he sucks, slow and deep.

You gasp. He groans. The sound vibrates through your chest.

Then he pulls back just enough to nip—just a little—right over the mark he made. “That feel good, baby?”

You nod, breathless. “Y-Yeah—more—”

He moves to the other breast. Does the same. Tongue first. Then lips. Then teeth. Your back arches into him, hands twisting in the sheets. The chain dangles against your sternum, cold and perfect, catching in the valley between your tits as he worships you. “Could spend hours right here,” he murmurs, dragging his tongue across your nipple. “Could make you cum just from this.”

“Please,” you pant. “I need more—Chan, please, I—”

He hushes you again with a kiss.

Then he trails down. And down. And down. Mouth dragging over your stomach. Teeth grazing the curve of your waist. He settles between your thighs, breath warm and heavy against your dripping cunt.

But he doesn’t lick. Not yet.

“God, baby,” he groans, almost reverent. “You’re fucking soaked.”

You whimper. Try to lift your hips. He holds you down. “Be good,” he warns softly. “Be still.”

You try. You really do.

But then he spits—just a little—hot and slick onto your clit, and you jerk like you’ve been shocked. “So sensitive,” he murmurs, smirking as he leans in.

And then—then—he licks. One slow, torturous stripe up your cunt. Flat tongue. No mercy.

You moan, loud, thighs clamping around his head.

He groans into your pussy, pressing his mouth harder, licking deeper, like he’s starving. His chain dangles against your inner thigh now, cool and maddening with every pass.

And just when you start to build—just when your toes curl, your body tenses, and you’re right there—

He pulls back. “Nuh uh,” he says, voice thick and smug. “You don’t get to cum yet.”

You sob. He kisses your thigh, then blows softly on your wet, throbbing clit just to be cruel. “You’re gonna cum with me inside you,” he murmurs. “With this chain in your mouth, and my cock so deep you forget your own name.”

Your hips twitch. Your eyes roll back. He grins at the sight.

And his mouth returns to your cunt like a man addicted—like he’s missed this more than sleep, more than air, more than the stage itself. His tongue licks deeper now, deliberate, dragging slick through your folds and sucking gently at your clit like he knows exactly how much you can take.

“Fucking perfect,” he groans against you. “Tastes like you missed me.”

You cry out, hands flying to his hair, gripping tight. He lets you. For now. Then—

His fingers join the party.

Two of them, thick and slick, pressing at your entrance and sliding in with no resistance. Your walls clench instantly.

“Oh my God—Chan—!”

“Shhh. You’re fine.” He curls them. “You’re so fucking fine.”

His lips wrap around your clit again just as his fingers start thrusting—slow at first, then deeper, firmer, building rhythm. Every drag hits that spot inside you that makes you see stars.

You’re so close it’s shameful. Your hips roll into his face. Your moans are embarrassingly loud now. And just as you hit that edge—

He pulls away again. His mouth gone. Fingers stilled inside you.

“Wha—why—” you gasp, blinking through the haze.

He looks up from between your thighs. His lips are slick, his chin glistening, the chain glinting as he rises slightly, his fingers still buried to the knuckle in your fluttering pussy.

“Brats don’t get to cum without permission.”

You whimper. Physically ache. “Channie, please—”

“You gave me attitude. You ignored me. You made me wait.”

He slides his fingers out slowly, watching them glisten in the low light. You’re dripping. He presses them back in—just one knuckle—then pauses again. “Now you’ll wait.”

“I said sorry—”

“Did you mean it?”

“Yes—”

“Then you’ll be good.” His voice is soft, dangerous. “Keep those legs open. Take what I give you. And you don’t cum until I say.”

You nod frantically.

“Say it,” he demands, pushing his fingers in deep again.

“I won’t cum,” you gasp. “Not unless you say.”

“Good girl.”

And just like that—his mouth is back.

He fucks you with his fingers while he sucks your clit with precision. Every moan you make only spurs him on. He watches your body unravel, his chain swinging between your breasts with every jolt of pleasure.

You’re shaking again. So close it hurts. Your eyes roll back—your legs tremble—your whole body’s about to give out—

“Don’t,” he warns, pulling his mouth off just enough to speak. “Don’t even think about it.”

Your hips jerk. He curls his fingers and presses his tongue harder. “Not until I say.”

You’re crying now. Wrecked. Gutted. Desperate. And still, he doesn’t let you have it.

“That’s it,” he whispers, lips wet against your thigh. “You feel that? That’s what brats get.”

“Channie, please,” you sob. “I need it—I’ll be good, I promise, I’ll—”

“I know you will,” he coos.

Then he withdraws completely.

You scream.

“You’re gonna be so fucking good for me now,” he mutters, climbing back over you.

His cock, thick and flushed, brushes against your inner thigh. You’re slick enough he could slide right in. But he doesn’t. Not yet. He leans in, chain swinging.

“Open your mouth.”

You do. He places the chain between your lips. “Bite.”

You bite. The chain presses cold between your teeth, sharp metal on your tongue, a mouthful of him. Of ownership. Of need. You moan around it as he grips your thighs tighter, spreads them wider, and finally—finally—guides his cock to your soaked, twitching entrance.

“Look at that,” he breathes, staring down between your legs. “You’re begging for it.”

You are. Your pussy flutters, aching, empty for so long you can barely think. His tip nudges your entrance, hot and heavy and thick, and just the brush makes your whole body tense.

“Been saving this for you,” he murmurs, dragging his cock slowly through your folds. “Didn’t even jerk off on tour. You know how fucking hard that was?”

You whimper around the chain.

He grins. “Yeah, you do.”

Then—without warning—he pushes in. Just the head. You sob.

“Fuck, baby…” he groans. “So tight. So wet. You missed this cock, didn’t you?”

You nod frantically, teeth clenched on the chain. Your walls spasm around him, already trying to pull him deeper. And he gives it to you. Inch by inch. Stretching you slow, deliberate, merciless. You feel everything. Every vein. Every ridge. Every twitch and pulse.

By the time his hips finally press flush against yours, you’re shaking.

“That’s it,” he whispers. “Take it. Take all of it.”

He stills. Deep. Thick. Fucking perfect.

You can’t breathe. You can’t move. You’re so full it borders on painful, the burn and pressure delicious in its cruelty. He leans down over you, forearms braced beside your head. The chain swings, slipping from your perfect lips but brushing them.

You’re clenching around him—helpless, desperate—and he doesn’t move.

“That’s right,” he breathes. “Hold me. Grip me tight like that.”

He pulls halfway out. You sob. Then thrusts back in. Hard. And stills again. You’re drooling at this point, chest heaving, vision blurred.

“You think you can brat your way into getting fucked?” he growls, mouth brushing your ear. “You think this pussy deserves to cum yet?”

You shake your head. Tears well.

“That’s right. Not yet. Not fucking yet.”

Then he starts to move. Slow. Deep. Devastating.

His hips roll with purpose, like every stroke is a lesson, a punishment, a promise. His cock drags against every swollen nerve inside you, hitting that spot so precisely it almost feels cruel. And he doesn’t let up—not even a little.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, voice thick. “You feel that? Feel how deep I am?”

You nod, barely. You’re breathless, moaning with every slow, relentless thrust.

“So fucking tight,” he pants. “You’re squeezing me like you don’t wanna let go.”

You don’t. You can’t. You’re gripping him like a vice, your legs trembling around his waist, the chain now hanging loose across your chest—dragging over your nipples every time he fucks into you just right.

He leans in, kisses your jaw, then your throat. His hips grind at the end of each thrust, pressing his cock even deeper, and you swear you can feel him in your stomach.

“This pussy’s mine,” he growls. “Say it.”

You gasp, voice wrecked. “It’s yours.”

“Say it again.”

“Yours—Channie—it’s yours—!”

His pace picks up. Not fast, but harder. More pressure. More control. He’s fucking you like he owns you—like he earned this. Like he waited two weeks for the chance to bury himself so deep in you, you’d never forget what it felt like to be full of him.

“That’s my girl,” he breathes, sweat dotting his temple. “My bratty little baby. Thought you could tease me, huh?”

You whine—shaking beneath him, overstimulated already, toes curling with every thick, slow stroke.

“Missed this cock so much,” he murmurs, voice rough as he licks the sweat from your neck. “Should’ve begged. Should’ve dropped to your knees the second I got home.”

He pulls out just slightly—just the tip—before slamming back in, hard.

You scream.

He does it again. And again. Punishing. Precise.

“But no,” he growls. “You wanted to act up. So now? You get fucked how I say.”

Your hands claw at his back. Your nails leave marks. Your eyes roll back when he grabs your throat—not choking, just holding. Grounding. Possessive.

“You wanna cum, baby?”

You nod, crying now.

“You wanna fall apart all over my cock?”

You sob, “Please.”

He leans down. Mouth at your ear. Voice like a fucking curse. “Then earn it.”

He lets go of your throat, pulls your legs up higher around his hips, changes the angle—and fucks into you so deep you see white. Your hands shoot up, grabbing at his chain again. You yank it between your teeth, moaning around the metal like it’s your only lifeline.

“That’s it,” he growls. “Bite down. Be good. Take every inch.”

He’s fucking you hard now. Relentless. The bed slams against the wall, your cries muffled by the chain in your mouth, your body trembling under his. You don’t know where he ends and you begin. All you know is his voice, his cock, his chain, and how fucking close you are.

He knows it too.

Your body is a mess beneath him—shaking, leaking, barely holding on. Your mouth is full of chain and nothing else makes sense. You’re right there.

So he changes it up. Again.

Without warning, he pulls out—just for a second—and grabs your thighs.

You whimper in confusion, but he’s already moving.

He presses your legs together, tight, then lifts them up and folds them toward your chest, locking your thighs against him with one arm. The angle is obscene—your pussy now swollen, dripping, needy, completely exposed to him like a fucking feast.

He lines up again.

“Hold still.”

You can’t move anyway. He thrusts back in, all at once. You moan.

“Oh my god—”

“Yeah?” he growls, voice cracking. “That’s what you wanted?”

His arm flexes as he locks your legs to his chest, other hand gripping the headboard for leverage as he slams into you—deep, brutal, unforgiving.

Your mouth falls open. The chain slips from your lips, damp and clinking against your chest as your head tips back, jaw slack.

You’re drooling. Literally. You don’t even realize it. And still—still—he doesn’t let you cum. “You feel that?” he pants. “Hear how fucking wet you are?”

Slap slap slap—your pussy sounds obscene, slick gushing down your ass, pooling beneath you as he fucks into the tight, hot mess he’s made of you.

“You fucking live for this cock, don’t you?”

You nod, eyes rolled back, moaning like you’ve already cum three times.

“Say it,” he snaps, thrusts slamming into you. “Say you’re cockdrunk. Say you need it.”

You try.

Nothing comes out.

You’re babbling, lips trembling, tears slipping down your cheeks.

“What’s that, baby? Can’t talk?” he mocks, voice half-gone, fully feral. “Already gone and I haven’t even let you cum?”

His cock pulses inside you, thick and angry, twitching with the effort to hold back—but he doesn’t break. Not yet.

He wants you ruined.

He wants you begging.

“Not yet,” he growls. “You’re not there yet.”

You choke on a sob, head thrashing, arms reaching up to grab anything—his wrist, his chain, the sheets—but it’s not enough. The pressure in your gut is unbearable. Your cunt’s fluttering around him like you’re already mid-orgasm. You’re leaking down his balls, dripping from the stretch, absolutely wrecked.

And he loves it.

“You’ll cum,” he promises, fucking deeper, harder. “But not until you break. Not until you’re drooling and sobbing and begging for it with that pretty little voice I own.”

Your brain’s gone fuzzy.

Nothing left but heat and pressure and the sound of him—filthy, brutal, mercilessly deep. Your body isn’t even yours anymore. You’re limp in his hold, legs pressed together and pinned to his chest while his cock splits you open over and over, dragging against that spot inside you with every punishing thrust.

And you still haven’t cum. You can’t cum. Not until he says.

“Come on, baby,” he growls, his voice wrecked with effort. “Where’s that sweet little voice now?”

You sob, drooling down your chin, lips trembling around broken words that won’t form. “Nngh—Ch-Chan, I—please—”

“That’s it,” he moans. “Beg for it.”

Your hands claw uselessly at the sheets. “P-please,” you cry. “Please—I n-need—I can’t—Channie, please—your cock, I need it—need to cum—please—”

Your cunt clenches around him so hard it nearly makes him lose rhythm. He grunts, digging his fingers into your thighs, pace faltering just enough to grind deep before resuming that relentless rhythm.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he snarls. “Dripping all over me, baby. You’re gonna ruin the bed.”

“I-I don’t care—please, please—”

Your body twitches, helpless under him, tears leaking into your hairline, mouth open and glossy, his name the only thing you know how to say.

“Say what you are.”

“Wh—what?”

He thrusts hard, knocking the breath out of you. “Say what. You. Are.”

“I’m—fuck—I’m yours—I’m your fucktoy—I’m cockdrunk, I—”

“You’re what?”

“I’m cockdrunk, Channie—please—please let me cum—”

He slams into you so deep you nearly scream, chest arching into his grip, your vision flickering to white. “That’s right,” he moans, voice unravelling. “That’s my baby. All mine. This pussy—mine. Say it.”

“Yours—yours—yours—!”

“You wanna cum?”

“Please—”

“Then fucking do it.”

Your body shatters. It’s not even an orgasm—it’s a detonation. You clamp down around him, sobbing, your whole body convulsing as wave after wave crashes through you. You can’t speak, can’t breathe, can’t even scream. All you can do is feel.

Feel him. Feel the stretch. Feel your pussy gush around his cock as you cum so hard it feels like it might kill you.

He doesn’t stop.

“That’s it,” he groans, fucking you through it. “Fucking soak me, baby—fuck—fuck—you’re milking my cock—”

Your mind’s gone. You’re nothing but a trembling, cockdrunk mess, tears and drool smeared across your face, still whispering “yours, yours, yours” under your breath like a prayer.

“Gonna cum inside you,” he pants, voice cracked and breaking. “Gonna fill you up—fuck—can I, baby?”

You nod frantically, eyes fluttering. “Give it to me—want it—want all of it—please—”

And then he breaks.

He fucks into you one last time—deep, desperate, final—and lets go with a raw, shuddering moan as he empties inside you, cock pulsing, hot cum spilling into your still-clenching pussy.

“Fuckfuckfuck—baby—”

He collapses over you, chain dragging across your chest, both of you soaked, panting, trembling messes.

And still…

You whisper, barely conscious, lips ghosting his ear: “Yours.”

Your body is done. You don’t even register the moment he pulls out—all you feel is the warmth spilling down your thighs, his cum leaking out slow and heavy as your pussy pulses in the aftermath.

You try to speak. Nothing comes out but a sigh and a tiny broken whimper.

He huffs a soft laugh above you, lips brushing your temple as he shifts just enough to kiss the corner of your mouth. You’re too wrecked to return it—eyes fluttering, fingers twitching in the sheets, hair a sweaty halo around your face.

“That’s what my pouty baby gets, huh?” he murmurs, voice low and too smug. “Act like a brat, get fucked stupid.”

You let out a soft, slurred noise.

He kisses you again—this time on your nose. Then your forehead. Then both cheeks. “You did so good for me,” he whispers, hand cupping your jaw. “Took it all like my perfect girl."

You blink up at him. Barely coherent. “Mmhnn…you’re…annoying.”

“Aww,” he coos, grin wide. “You sound so mad for someone who just came like her soul was leaving her body.”

“You ruined me.”

“Damn right I did.”

He kisses your lips, slow and deep, like he’s trying to pour himself back into you. His tongue licks into your mouth with lazy heat, but now it’s tender. Now it’s grounding. His chain is still resting against your skin. You reach up, weakly tug it.

“Still on,” you whisper.

“You earned it,” he says softly. “Might keep it on since you like it that much.”

Your thighs twitch. He notices. Of course he notices.

“Oh, now you’re getting greedy again?” he laughs, brushing your hair back from your face. “You’re leaking my cum and still trying to start something?”

You whine. He grins and kisses you quiet again. Then he finally shifts—gently—lifting your legs, helping you unfold from the wrecked, folded position. You hiss when your body relaxes, muscles trembling. He hushes you instantly. “I got you, baby. I got you.”

He eases you onto your side, tugs the blankets up, and disappears for just a moment.

You hear the faucet. The soft clink of a glass.

He returns with a warm towel, cleans you carefully—between your thighs, over your stomach, around the curve of your ass where the sheets are soaked. You flinch at first, but his touch is featherlight. Reverent.

“There she is,” he murmurs. “My messy, fucked-out girl.”

He kisses your knee.

“My perfect pouty baby.”

Then he tosses the towel aside, climbs into bed, and pulls you into his chest like he’s never letting go. You curl up instantly—limp, warm, safe. His arms wrap around your back, one hand stroking your spine. His lips stay near your temple.

You nuzzle in deeper. “Gonna sleep for a week,” you mumble.

“Gonna feed you first,” he murmurs. “Then let you sleep. Then fuck you again.”

“Chan—”

“What?” he grins. “My baby was hungry. I provided.”

“Provided a near-death experience.”

“You’re welcome.”

You laugh—weakly. He presses a kiss right over your pulse. “You okay?” he asks, quiet now. Real. “Too much?”

You shake your head against his chest. “Perfect.”

“Good. ‘Cause next time, I’m making you cum around my tongue five times before I even think about fucking you.”

Your breath catches. He just smirks.

“Sleep now, sweetheart,” he whispers, grinning against your hair. “You’ve earned it.” And you do—out like a light, drooling on his chest while he smirks like the menace he is.

[sammhisphere]

500 Follower Part 1

Sex Education

[Bangchan/Maknae Line x Reader]

MDNI!!!!

Word Count: 6,554 😳

Not proofread

SYNOPSIS: Your boyfriend Bangchan decided his Maknae need a little lesson on intimacy… you say yes to helping him.

WARNINGS: Sex, unprotected P in V, F!Recieving and M!Reciving Oral, Rough Fingering, Nipple Play, Degradation AND Praising, Choking mentioned like one, Voyuerism and HEAVY Exhibitionism, Begging, Munch!Han, Male masturbation, Use of Pet names, i’m sure i forgot stuff im sorry

NO TAGS DUE TO CONTENT

My Library HERE :)

_________________________

"Hyung?”

Chan groaned, rolling his eyes as the youngest members of his group came running up to him, Seungmin, Felix, Han and Jeongin murmuring to each other with flushed faces.

"Can I help you?"

The older sighed, closing his phone as the four stopped in front of him. He was sat alone on the couch, everyone else doing their own thing and preparing for bed after a long day of practice and work. He wanted nothing more than to go up to his room, take a nice, warm shower and sleep the night away with you.

But his boys seemed to have other plans.

"We just wanted to know..." Jeongin started, looking over at Seungmin and fidgeting with his hands. "...How do you get a girl to sleep with you?"

"What."

"I mean," Seungmin piped up. "How do you get a girl to be willing to have sex with you? We're trying to figure out how to do it."

Chan blinked, unsure what to make of his bandmates words. Did they think he had some sort of secret knowledge that would give them the ability to bed any girl they wanted? That he was some sort of Casanova?

"What makes you think I have any idea?" He asked, leaning forward to place his phone on the table before them.

"Because you have a girlfriend." Jeongin huffed, clearly frustrated that the older man wasn't understanding what they wanted.

"And? You think all I do is have sex with her?"

"Well, yeah!" Han spoke up, gesturing to the door. "I walked in on you guys just last week fucking away on the couch like animals.”

Chan flushed red, recalling the time they had been caught and how quickly he had pushed you off his lap and pulled his pants back up, hiding the both of you from their curious gazes.

"You guys... You're young, okay? You don't have to worry about anything like that. Don't worry about things like sex until you're ready."

"We’re in our 20’s old man." Seungmin said, voice firm and resolute as he crossed his arms over his chest. The other maknae nodded in agreement, shifting their weight from foot to foot as they avoided the older's gaze. “We just want to know how. You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”

Chan groaned, looking at his phone with a frown before looking back up at the group before him.

He couldn’t tell them everything he knew. They were still young and inexperienced, and the last thing he needed was them trying to put their hands all over you.

But he couldn't let them keep thinking that the only way to a girl's heart was through her vagina.

"I'm not gonna give you a full list, but I can give you some tips."

A few days later, Chan approached you with the idea. “Hi Channie, how was your day babe?” Your voiced cooed as he walked into the kitchen of the dorms.

You had a towel in your hands and were busy cleaning the mess the boys had left behind after a meal, humming to yourself as you moved around.

He didn’t respond at first, instead approaching you and wrapping his arms around your waist.

"My day was fine, just thought of something interesting. Wanna help me teach the kids a lesson?"

"A lesson?" You asked, turning your head slightly to look up at him. He hummed, kissing your cheek before speaking again.

"Remember a few days ago, when the kids asked me how to get girls to have sex with them?"

"Yeah, they said you didn't give them any real answers, though."

"That's because I didn't want them trying to seduce my beautiful girlfriend." He purred, hands sliding up your shirt to feel your bare skin. You giggled, reaching back and placing your hands over his.

"I think that's a great idea." You hummed, feeling him squeeze your breasts. "I think we should have a bit of fun with it. I have this weird desire to take this entirely too far.”

"That can be arranged."

You had taken the rest of the night and the next morning to prepare yourself. You had told Chan that you were going to make the most of the situation and have a bit of fun. You all gathered in you and Chan’s bedroom that night and went over some ground rules and boundaries.

But it had taken Chan no time at all to have you pinned beneath him, both of you naked. His deep voice was purring in your ear as he hands began roaming your body. You could sense the four pairs of eyes watching you two, but the sensation of Chan’s hands was entirely pulling your focus.

He had begun slowly, fingers gently ghosting over the curve of your neck, then the top of your breasts. His hands cupped your chest, squeezing the flesh as he pressed his lips against the spot where your neck met your shoulder.

Your hands lifted and grabbed his, and he watched you as you guided him to touch the soft buds on your chest. He didn't need much direction after that, his thumbs and forefingers coming up to pinch your nipples as he spoke to the four Maknae. “The key to having sex with a woman is finding what makes her tick. She has to feel good, she is your priority.”

You let out a soft moan, squirming beneath him as he rolled your nipples between his fingers. You could hear the four men to your left breathing hard, and you wondered what kind of faces they were making. Were their cocks already tenting their pants, or were they trying their hardest to maintain composure?

Chan didn’t stop, his lips traveling across your shoulder and to the other side of your neck, pressing light kisses across your skin as his fingers continued toying with your nipples.

"When she feels good, she's more likely to want you to fuck her. It's better for the both of you if she's wet and excited. You know how to find her clit, right boys?"

They didn't respond, and Chan stopped moving. One of the little perks you and him thought up. If the Maknae didn’t behave, then he’d punish you. You both knew the guys would get off on the imagery of you coming undone over and over, so why not use it to make them behave?

"Answer me, kids."

"Yes hyung."

“Good. I’ll make you guys show me later.” All four boys audibly gulped at the realization.

Chan removed his hands from your breasts, sliding his fingers down to press against your already soaked core. Your breath hitched, and you bucked against him.

"If you wanna please a girl, make sure to find her clit. It'll make her come a lot faster and harder than if you just start putting your dick in."

His fingers pressed against you, rubbing at the bundle of nerves, sending chills up your spine. You whined, legs spreading further on instinct as your eyes fluttered shut.

"Don't forget about the rest of her body, though. Girls like to have their breasts and nipples played with."

You whimpered as he began grinding against you, his hard cock pressing against where you craved it most. You reached down between your bodies, hand gripping his hip tightly.

"And, when she's getting close, make sure to give her something to hold onto. Let her dig her nails into you, or have her grab the sheets. If you really wanna have fun, let her nails paint your back in scratches.”

He pulled away, leaving your body cold as his hands slipped under your thighs. He yanked you forward to turn you towards the four other men, causing you to fall back and brace yourself with your hands. You watched with wide eyes as he got comfortable on his knees, his hands gripping the back of your thighs tightly.

You felt a surge of embarrassment wash over you.

You were spread for the four of them, dripping wet and wanting, your boyfriend between your legs.

"Now, I want you to watch this." Chan instructed, leaning forward and latching his mouth onto your clit. You moaned loudly, throwing your head back as he swirled his tongue around the bundle of nerves.

He was always so good at this.

Chan's hands slid from the backs of your thighs, and up your sides. He didn't hesitate to grab handfuls of your ass, and squeezed hard enough for you to let out a whine.

"Fuck, babe go easy!" He did just the opposite. Something primal awoke in him, as it always does. He was gonna ruin you, and when he was done, the four men watching would do the same.

His grip tightened, and you were sure his hands would leave bruises. He sucked at your clit, swirling his tongue around the little nub. Your hands came down to grip his hair, and you couldn't help but grind your hips against his face.

The sounds of his tongue working your pussy were absolutely filthy, and the way he was groaning into you was making the coil in your stomach wind tighter.

You didn't care about the audience, or how lewd the situation was. Your sole focus was the man between your legs, and the pleasure he was giving you.

"C-Chan! I'm gonna cum!"

"Then cum, baby." He hummed against you, and the vibrations sent you over the edge. You moaned loudly, throwing your head back and curling in on yourself.

You were panting, chest heaving as you tried to regain control of your senses.

"Now, did any of you see what I did?"

"You licked her pussy." Han blurted out, his face flushed and his hands shaking.

"Yeah, no shit. Did you notice anything else? Like, how I moved my hands, or where I put them?"

There was silence, and Chan let out an irritated huff.

He turned his head and looked over at the four Maknae, noticing their flushed faces and fidgeting hands. He was sure the four of them had hard-ons, and that they were aching to touch themselves.

But the thought of any of them being between your legs and eating you out?

Chan almost wanted to call off the whole thing.

Almost.

“Han get up.”

He stood, turning around and facing the four Maknae. He took a seat on the bed beside you, grabbing your arm and pulling you close. He kissed your temple, and whispered into your ear. “You’re gonna take a turn.”

Han slowly stood, trying to shift his weight to adjust the achingly hard cock pushing against his pants. The poor guy looked like he was gonna be sick, but there was a sparkle in his eye that made you excited.

Chan was a bit nervous. You had agreed to this, but was he willing to actually share you? Was it worth seeing the four maknae come undone?

Chan decided it was.

"You're gonna do exactly what I did, okay?"

"What if I fuck up?"

"I'll show you what to do, idiot." Bad cop.

“You’re gonna do great honey, I’ll help you.” Good cop.

Just another little perk you and Chan had decided on adding. Who doesn’t like getting degraded or praised?

Han kneeled between your legs, his eyes looking down at the mess between your thighs. You could tell he was nervous, and his shaking hands did little to reassure you that he could handle himself.

"Hands." Chan barked, and Han quickly placed his hands on the backs of your thighs. Chan reached over and gripped his wrists, moving his hands closer and forcing him to squeeze the supple flesh.

"Make sure you can reach everything."

Han gulped, nodding his head.

"What if I do a bad job?"

"If it doesn't feel good, she'll tell you."

He nodded, his grip tightening and making you shiver. He leaned forward, his warm breath fanning across your exposed pussy.

"Start with little licks, work up to the big stuff.”

“Wait!” It came out breathy, but all five guys looked at you. “You four feel so covered…please, don’t make me and Chan look so exposed.”

Seungmin, Jeongin, Felix and Han all shared a panicked look. It was true, you and Chan were completely void of clothes and the four of them were still fully dressed.

“Don’t want you to get messy now do we?” You cooed as you ran a hand through Han’s hair, him still kneeling between your legs, almost frozen.

One by one, they all got undressed.

Their hard cocks all bobbed and swayed with their movements, and the sight of their naked bodies sent a pulse straight to your pussy.

This was the best decision ever.

Han took a deep breath before he leaned forward, his tongue pressing lightly against your core.

You moaned softly, encouraging him.

Han seemed to get a bit more confident, his grip on the backs of your thighs tightening as he continued to lap at your pussy.

He wasn't very good.

His licks were a little too soft, his tongue moving in slow, wide motions. You let out a fustrated groan and Chan knew exactly what that meant. He fisted the hair at the back of Han’s head and guided his head deeper into you. Han’s nose pressed against your clit and you let out a loud moan at the sensation. “Get in there, don’t be gentle.”

You could tell Han was panicking. The younger was squirming against the harsh grip Chan had on his hair. His hands slid further up your thighs and grabbed a hold of your ass, squeezing roughly.

It was almost cute.

Chan didn't loosen his grip, though. If anything, he just held Han tighter.

"Make sure you pay attention, boys. When she's squirming, you know you're doing a good job."

You whimpered and rolled your hips, feeling his nose bump against your clit again. His grip on your ass was getting tighter, and the way his tongue was moving was making you see stars.

"Han, baby, you're doing so good."

Chan growled, his free hand moving up to grip your hip.

You could sense the tension coming from the older man.

Was he getting possessive?

You couldn't deny the thrill that sent up your spine.

"She's getting close." Chan growled, his grip tightening on the both of you. "If she tells you to stop, listen. She'll need a minute."

Han's pace sped up, and Chan released his hold on the younger, his hands going back to gripping the sheets.

You whimpered, squirming under his touch. You could feel the coil in your belly winding tighter, ready to snap.

"Han! I'm so close!"

Your orgasm hit you hard, and Han was quick to pull away. His chin was glistening, and he had a smug look on his face.

Chan’s breathing was tight as Han spoke. “I wanna do that again.”

Chan didn’t waste a moment. He reached out and grabbed the younger by the neck, pulling him close. He leaned forward, growling in his ear.

"You wanna taste her again? You think you can handle it?"

Han nodded his head, swallowing thickly. Chan hummed, letting go of his neck and moving to lay on his side.

"Good. Felix, come here."

The younger was quick to stand, walking around the bed and settling between your legs.

"You're gonna learn how to do this right, okay?"

Chan leaned up and placed his hand on the back of the youngest's head. He leaned forward, forcing the maknae's head down between your legs.

Felix's lips and tongue were a bit rough, and his technique wasn't the best, but he was eager to please. He would lick and suck at your clit, only stopping every once and awhile to take a breath.

"She likes her clit played with, not sucked on." Chan hissed, moving his hands to your hips. Felix pulled back and you whined, rolling your hips.

"Sorry, hyung."

"That's okay, sweetheart. You're learning. Here, let's try something." You sat up a bit and signaled to Chan.

Chan gently pushed him back and slid between your legs.

"Watch."

He didn't waste a moment, latching his mouth onto the sensitive bundle of nerves. You let out a high pitched squeal, squirming and grabbing his hair.

"You're a fucking tease, Channie." You breathed, grinding your hips against his face.

He didn't say anything, instead sliding his tongue down and pushing it inside of you.

"Fuck!"

Your back arched, and Chan pulled his mouth away from you. He looked at Felix and the maknae nodded.

"Don't suck, play with it with your tongue. Make sure to get her dripping wet, then push your tongue inside. And move your head with her, or you'll hurt her."

Felix nodded, his hands grabbing your thighs. He was eager to start again, and leaned forward. His tongue pressed against your clit, and he started moving his head like Chan told him to.

"Felix... baby, that's so good."

His tongue was a lot gentler than Chan's. His licks were shorter, quicker, but it was making you feel good as hell.

He wasn't hesitant about it, and the fact that he was doing what Chan said was a major turn on. You had always loved a man who followed orders.

You could feel his nails digging into your skin as he continued lapping at your clit. The pressure was building in your core, and you knew that you were going to come hard.

"I'm gonna come, baby."

"Good." Felix's voice was low and muffled against you.

You let out a loud moan, your body arching off the bed. Felix's tongue kept moving, even when your body went slack.

You were panting, and you could hear the others talking.

"That was really good."

"You think?"

"Yeah! It was really hot."

You rolled over, pressing your face into Chan's chest. You wrapped your arms around his neck, nuzzling against him.

"Chan... I need a break."

"Okay. We're taking a break."

The two of you got comfortable, laying down next to each other. Your head was resting on his chest, his arm around your waist and his thumb rubbing small circles into your side.

"What about us?" Seungmin spoke up, looking at the two of you with a pout.

“C’mere.” You sat up and gestured Seungmin to stand in front of you as you laid on your stomach, his cock in your face.

Your boyfriend had a firm grip on your hips, thumbs rubbing circles into your skin. Seungmin was hesitant, his hands shaky as he placed them on your head.

You opened your mouth, looking up at the boy.

Seungmin was the biggest of the four Maknae, but his size wasn’t gonna scare you off.

"I'm gonna suck you off, okay?"

Seungmin's breath hitched, his grip on your hair tightening.

"O-Okay."

"Tell me when to stop."

You took him into your mouth, your hands grabbing the backs of his thighs.

Seungmin whimpered, his grip tightening on your head. He was careful not to push you, though, and the fact that he was letting you lead the pace was a huge turn on.

You could feel Chan's hands slide up your back, his fingers brushing against your spine.

"Keep going." He whispered, and you moaned, closing your eyes and sucking Seungmin's cock.

The taller let out a loud moan, his hand grabbing your head. His hips began bucking forward, and his cock slid deeper down your throat.

"F-fuck, you feel so good."

Chan's hands squeezed your hips, pulling you back a bit. "Slow down."

"But she feels so good."

Chan hummed, leaning forward and kissing your neck. His hands moved up and cupped your breasts, giving them a gentle squeeze.

You moaned, and Seungmin let out a loud groan.

"I-I'm close."

"Good." Chan purred, his hands sliding back down to your hips. He leaned forward and pressed his chest against your back, his cock rubbing against you.

You whimpered, rolling your hips. You could feel his cock slipping between your legs, his shaft rubbing against your pussy.

Seungmin's grip on your hair tightened, his cock pulsing in your mouth. You sucked hard, swirling your tongue around the tip.

"Gonna cum."

"Do it, baby." You purred, looking up at him through your lashes.

Seungmin's cock twitched and he let out a loud moan. His hot cum spilled into your mouth and you swallowed, moaning at the taste. "Fuck, that's so hot,” he mumbled.

You pulled back, wiping the back of your mouth with the back of your hand. "How was that?"

"That was amazing."

You smiled, sitting up and kissing his cheek.

"You guys wanna get back to it?"

They nodded eagerly, and you giggled, leaning forward and kissing Chan deeply. He hummed, his hand reaching up and cupping your cheek.

"I love you." You said against his lips.

"I love you, too." He smiled back.

You were the first to get into position, laying down on the bed and spreading your legs. Chan spoke up, “The next thing I’m gonna show you is how to fuck her with your fingers. You gotta be careful, you do it wrong and she gets hurt.”

Seungmin was the first to step forward, his face flushed as he got between your legs.

He was shaking slightly, his fingers twitching as he brought them closer to you.

Chan moved behind him, placing his hands on top of Seungmin's.

"Start with one finger. If she says it's too much, add a little bit of spit and try again. You're gonna wanna curve them upwards, and move them in and out."

Seungmin nodded, his finger pressing against your entrance. You let out a soft whine, biting your lip as his finger pushed inside.

"Now move it in and out, slowly. Like I said, if she says stop, stop."

"O-okay."

Seungmin moved his finger in and out slowly, his gaze focused on your pussy.

You whimpered, rocking your hips.

"Seungmin, that feels really good."

"Does it?"

"Yes, baby."

"That's good. You're doing a good job, Minnie." Chan hummed, moving his hand to his shoulder. "Now add another finger."

Seungmin nodded, pulling his finger out and adding another. He pushed them both inside slowly, watching your face for any signs of discomfort.

"Good. Now move them."

Seungmin's fingers began moving, the feeling of him fucking you with his fingers was making you dizzy.

"She likes it when you curl your fingers a bit. That spot is a girl's best friend."

"Curl?"

"Yeah, like this."

Chan's fingers curled up , demonstrating the motion and the younger's eyes went wide. He mimicked the motion, curling his fingers and brushing against your g-spot.

"F-Fuck! There!"

"There?"

"Yes, fuck, keep doing that."

You reached down and began rubbing your clit, moaning loudly as the pleasure was starting to overwhelm you.

Seungmin continued fucking you with his fingers, his pace speeding up. Your moans were getting louder, and your grip on the sheets was tight. You could sense the more Seungmin got comfortable, the more he got into it.

"Minnie, I'm gonna cum!"

"Go ahead. Cum."

Your orgasm hit hard, and you cried out. Your entire body was shaking, and you were gripping the sheets tightly.

"That was so good." You breathed, looking up at him.

Seungmin beamed, pulling his fingers out and then tapped your chin with his other hand. “Open up.” You obeyed and he shoved his fingers in your mouth as you sucked them clean of any trace of you.

"Fuck." Jeongin mumbled, his cock twitching.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” Han asked as Seungmin began to go back to sitting down.

“I saw it in a porno once.” He shrugged.

"Don't worry, Innie. You're next."

"Wait." Jeongin spoke up, his cheeks flushed and his eyes darting away from the scene before him. "I don't know if I can do this."

Chan and you shared a look, before Chan responded.

"Why not? Do you not want to?"

"I just, I'm scared. What if I hurt her?"

"Then she'll tell you. If she doesn't feel good, she won't be shy about letting you know."

"But what if I do something wrong?"

"I'll guide you. Come here."

Jeongin hesitated for a moment before walking towards the two of you. Chan guided him, pulling him closer and placing his hand between your legs.

"She's still a bit wet. That's a good thing."

"Really?"

"Yes. It means she's turned on. It's a good thing." Chan gently pushed two of Jeongin's fingers inside, and the younger let out a soft gasp.

"She's warm."

"It feels really good, doesn't it?"

"Yeah."

Chan began guiding his fingers, pushing them in and out slowly.

"This is how you fuck a girl. Slow, deep thrusts."

"Okay."

"And don't forget, make sure to hit her g-spot."

"G-spot?"

"Yeah. It's a super sensitive area. Curve your fingers, like this."

Chan guided his fingers, showing the youngest how to curl them. He brushed against your g-spot, and you let out a loud moan.

"Found it!” He looked to Chan, shocked and semi-proud of himself. You couldn’t help but laugh to yourself.

Jeongin's pace picked up, his thrusts becoming faster.

"She likes it when you're rough. She's not made of glass, Innie. Go as hard as you want, but make sure to give her a second to breathe."

"Yes, hyung."

His pace sped up, his thrusts getting rougher.

"I'm close, Innie." You gasped, grinding your hips against his fingers.

"Come for me." He said in a breath, his thrusts becoming harder.

Your orgasm hit you hard, and you threw your head back. Jeongin's pace didn't slow, his thrusts growing more aggressive.

"Innie, fuck." He pulled his fingers out and moaned as he licked them clean.

"You're doing so well, baby." Chan hummed, kissing the your cheek.

"Now, I wanna watch you finger her." Jeongin spoke up, shy despite what he just did.

Chan and Jeongin switched places, Chan’s fingers pressed against your entrance, pushing inside and curling immediately.

You whimpered, grinding against his fingers. Chan’s pace was fast and rough, and it was making your head spin.

"She likes it rough. She loves it when you fuck her hard."

Jeongin nodded, his hand wrapped around his cock. His hand moved up and down his length, and his breathing was ragged.

"Channie." You whined, rolling your hips against his fingers.

"Come on, baby. Come for me."

You let out a loud moan, grinding your hips against his hand as you came.

"Fuck." Chan purred, pulling his fingers out.

"You wanna taste her?" He signaled to Felix.

"Y-Yeah."

Chan brought his fingers to the younger's lips, and Felix eagerly licked them clean.

"God, she tastes so good."

"You can have more later.” Chan hummed, standing up and moving over to the youngest.

“What’s next?” Han said, his hand lazily stroking his cock, the head red and angry.

“You’re gonna fuck her.”

The two of you shared a look and you smirked, laying back down and spreading your legs.

Chan helped the boy line himself up, the head pressing against your entrance.

"Take it slow, okay?"

Han nodded, pushing his cock inside slowly. You moaned, throwing your head back as he slid inside.

"F-Fuck." He groaned, his hands gripping your hips tightly.

"Good?"

"So good."

"Don't be afraid to fuck her. She can take it."

Han didn't hesitate. His pace was quick, and he was hitting all the right spots.

"God, you're so fucking tight."

"Han...you're doing such a good job."

Chan was still beside the two of you, his eyes dark and his expression hungry. “Baby-“ You reached your hand out to him and grabbed ahold of his cock. Your hand made work of your boyfriend while Han fucked into you at a delicious pace.

"She feels so good."

Chan chuckled, his cock throbbing in your hand. "I know she does."

"Fuck, I'm close."

"Come on, baby. Cum for me."

Han's thrusts became harder, his nails digging into your hips. His cock pulsed and twitched, and his breathing was erratic.

"C-Can I come inside?"

"Yeah, baby. Come for me."

Han's cock pulsed, his hot seed shooting deep inside you.

"God, that was good." He panted, pulling his cock out.

"You think?"

"Yeah." He laughed, ”I really wanna eat her out again.”

Chan's gaze darkened and he growled, "It’s my turn to show you how it’s done first.”

Chan's hands grabbed your hips and pulled you down the bed. He stood between your legs, his cock rubbing against your entrance.

"You ready for me, baby?"

"Always, Channie."

Chan hummed, and pushed himself inside. You gasped, your hands flying to his arms.

"Fuck, Channie."

Chan began pounding into you, his pace rough and brutal.

"Look at you. Taking me so well. You're such a good girl." His chest was pressed against yours, his words of praise tickling your ear.

His hand reached up and wrapped around your throat, squeezing gently.

"You're mine."

"All yours."

"That's right. Mine."

Chan's hand squeezed tighter and his thrusts got harder. You were quickly becoming a whining mess.

"You're not gonna last long, are you?"

"N-no."

"That's okay. You can come whenever you want."

"W-What about you?"

"Don't worry about me. Just come."

You let out a loud cry, your orgasm hitting you hard. You clenched hard around his dick, and he visibly jolted at the feeling of you gripping him.

"Such a good girl. I'm almost there."

"Come for me, Channie."

"I'm so close."

"Please, baby."

Chan's cock pulsed and he let out a low groan, his hips stuttering as he came.

He stayed inside you for a few moments, his forehead resting against yours.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm great. Are you?"

"Yeah."

"Good."

You hummed, turning your head to look at the boys. They were all staring at you with wide eyes and open mouths.

"Did you guys enjoy that?"

"It was awesome." Felix looked like he was about to combust.

"You looked amazing." Seungmin cooed as he began approaching the bed.

"I didn't know you could be so dirty, hyung." Jeongin ran a hand through his hair as he ran his eyes over your body.

You chuckled, turning back to face your boyfriend. He kissed your cheek and pulled out, laying beside you.

"I'm not sure I could get hard again for a while, baby. Give the boys some attention.”

"Okay." You sat up and grabbed Jeongin's wrist. "I want you."

Jeongin didn't hesitate, climbing onto the bed and pushing himself inside.

"Oh, fuck. You feel so good, baby."

"So do you."

Jeongin's hips were sharp and quick, his pace fast.

"I'm not gonna last long."

"It's okay sweetheart, just keep going-Fuck!”

Chan's voice filled the room.

"Wait a second." Jeongin slowed his motions as Chan grabbed his wrist and placed his hand on your clit. “If you know you aren’t gonna last long enough for her to finish, help her get there faster. Play with her clit.”

Jeongin nodded and his thumb started rubbing circles into the bundle of nerves. Your eyes fluttered shut and your back arched off the bed, the feeling of both sensations beautifully overwhelming.

"I'm close. So close."

"Me too."

You felt another hand join the one between your legs. You opened your eyes and looked up, seeing Seungmin kneeling beside you. His cock was in his hand, his strokes quick and erratic.

"C-cum with me, sweetheart." You placed your hand on Jeongin’s arm. "I'm close, just keep going."

"Fuck, me too." You could feel his thrusts becoming harder, his breathing ragged. His pace was brutal, and his grip on your thigh was painful.

"Seungmin."

"Yeah, baby."

"Kiss me."

"As you wish."

Seungmin leaned forward and his lips crashed against yours. The kiss was hungry and messy, and his tongue invaded your mouth. You moaned into his mouth, your orgasm quickly getting ready to snap.

"Gonna cum." Your orgasm hit hard, and your whole body shook. Jeongin's cock pulsed, and his hot seed spilled inside you.

"Shit." He pulled out, and collapsed beside you.

Seungmin didn't stop kissing you, his grip tightening on your waist as you sat up. “I wanna ride you. Sit against the headboard.”

Seungmin nodded, sitting up and positioning himself. He gripped his cock, rubbing the head between your folds and you both groaned.

"She feels so good hyung." Seungmin looked to Chan.

"Fuck me, Seungmin." Seungmin's hands rested on your hips and he slowly pushed himself inside. Seungmin began rocking his hips, his cock sliding in and out.

"God, I've wanted to do this for so long."

"What?”

"You were with him." He gestured towards Chan.

“You were having fantasies about my girlfriend?”

Seungmin nodded, biting his lip.

"I was jealous. I wanted you."

"And now you have her, but one night only. She’s mine, don’t forget that.”

"Yes, yes I do."

His pace picked up, his hips slapping against yours. You could feel his cock hitting deep inside you, his tip brushing against your cervix.

"You're so tight. Fuck."

"You're so big."

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

"I'm gonna come."

"Do it."

"Fuck." Seungmin's thrusts got faster, and his grip tightened. His cock pulsed and twitched, and his eyes fluttered shut. He cried out, his orgasm hitting hard.

"Oh my god." You cried out, collapsing against Seungmin as he rode out his own orgasm.

“Okay, she needs a break.” Chan helped you off Seungmin’s lap, but you interrupted him.

“Han, come here, please. Want you- to eat me out again.” Your words came out in pants, but Han looked more than eager to oblige.

You laid back on the bed, and Han crawled between your legs, his tongue running over your sensitive flesh.

You whimpered, the sensation bordering on overstimulation. Chan noticed your discomfort and he reached his hand down to rub slow circles on your hip, the feeling helping ground you. “Are you sure baby? You can stop at any time.”

“I’m fine, I promise.” You let out a moan and then signaled to Felix. As he came over, you turned your head to take him into your mouth.

While you were focused on Felix, Chan spoke up.

"Han, you gotta be gentle. If she says stop, you need to listen. Do not push her."

Han nodded, his tongue continuing to explore your pussy. He was gentle, his tongue gliding over your clit.

"Oh, fuck." You moaned around Felix's cock, your hand wrapping around the base. You bobbed your head, hollowing your cheeks and sucking hard.

"She's amazing." Felix groaned.

"I know. And she's all mine."

You whimpered, feeling another orgasm building up. Your hips rocked against Han's mouth, and he seemed to notice, his movements speeding up. "Gonna cum." You moaned, grinding against his mouth.

"Come for me."

"Yes!" You cried out, your orgasm hitting hard. Your hips bucked wildly, and your back arched. Han lapped at your cunt, cleaning you up before pulling away and licking his lips.

"That was the best meal I've ever had. I could do that all day.” Han stepped away as you continued to suck Felix’s cock.

“Stop- wanna fuck you.” He groaned.

Felix pulled out and then quickly lined his cock up with your entrance, slamming into you.

"Fuck." You gasped, your hands gripping the sheets.

"Fuck, you feel so good."

Felix's thrusts were hard and fast, and his grip on your thighs was almost painful.

"Fuck, I'm not gonna last." His hand shot down to your clit to help you along as Chan said earlier. Always following instructions.

"Come for me, Felix."

Felix's cock twitched, and he cried out, his cock pulsing and his hot seed spilling inside.

You let out a soft groan, and he pulled out, falling to the side and catching his breath. Each of the Maknae looked entirely spent, dicks limp and eyes closed.

"I wanna see her get fucked by Changbin." Felix looked at Chan, and the eldest nodded.

"Changbin? Why?” Chan questioned as he moved towards you.

"He's the biggest. I wanna see her stretched around his cock." Felix was dazed on the bed next to you.

Chan's gaze shifted to you, a wicked grin forming on his face. "Oh? Is he now?”

"Mhm." Felix nodded, biting his lip.

"Is that what you want, baby? You wanna be stretched around his cock?"

"I wanna be stretched around yours baby.” You could tell Chan’s possessive side was coming out.

"Good answer.”

Chan made his way over and settled between your legs, his cock rubbing against your entrance.

Chan slowly slid inside, and you moaned, your back arching off the bed.

"You feel so fucking good, baby. I love you.” Chan’s thumbs were rubbing circles against your hips.

“You fit so good, I love you too. Fuck!”

His pace was quick and rough, his cock hitting deep.

"I love you so much." Chan leaned down and looped his arms under your back, holding you flush against him as he buried his face in your neck.

"I love you, too." Tears were lining your eyes as sheer pleasure flooded your system, the overstimulation starting to hit you.

You moaned, your nails digging into his shoulders.

"Fuck." He growled, his cock throbbing.

"Fuck, I'm close."

"Come for me, baby."

"Chan..." Your eyes were squeezed shut, and you were barely able to breathe.

"That's it. Come for me."

You let out a strangled moan, and you came, your walls clenching tightly around his cock.

"Good girl. Such a good girl."

"Come for me, Chan. Come inside, please." Chan's grip tightened, and he groaned, his hips stuttering.

"Fuck." You both stilled, your breathing ragged.

Chan slowly pulled out, his forehead resting against yours.

"How do you feel, baby?"

"Sore, but I'm good. I'm happy."

"Me too. I love you."

"I love you, too."

Chan helped you stand, and he held you tightly.

"Alright boys, we need to get cleaned up. We have practice tomorrow and a few of you have vocal lessons and a photoshoot."

You chuckled and kissed his cheek.

"Alright. Go shower, we'll clean up the room." Han offered with a lazy smile.

"We?" Felix whined, sitting up.

"Yes, we. Come on." Seungmin said, slapping Felix on the shoulder.

"Thanks, guys." Chan grabbed your clothes and carried them into the bathroom, turning on the shower.

You smiled and joined him, letting the hot water wash away the sticky evidence of your activities.

The boys did an excellent job at cleaning the bedroom. It was spotless, and it smelled clean.

You and Chan were in his room, him snuggled against you as you ran your fingers through his hair.

"I think we need to have them all over for dinner. Or a movie. Something." You said softly.

"I'll ask if they want to. Why?" Chan was running his hands through your hair gently.

“I feel like I owe them a thank you." You couldn’t help but chuckle.

"Yeah, they would probably like that. I'll talk to the manager tomorrow and see when they have open schedules."

"Thank you, baby."

"No problem, love." Chan kissed your cheek and snuggled closer.

"Hey, Chan."

"Yeah?"

"What was all that about earlier? About not touching me because I'm yours?"

"I was just playing, baby. You know I'm not really like that, right?"

"Of course. It was really hot, though."

[sammhisphere]

SKZ HEADCANON SERIES (18+)

Chapter 8: Jeongin — The Intern Who Thinks He’s Better Than You

OT8 SERIES MASTERLIST

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

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

He was fresh out of school. Sharp suits, sharper tongue. Bright-eyed but jaded, like he’d already seen too much for his age. The kind of intern who walked into the office like he owned it—and worse, performed like he did, too.

You were assigned as his mentor. Your job was to guide him, train him, put him in his place if he ever forgot who was in charge.

He never forgot.

He just didn’t care.

Every meeting turned into a passive-aggressive tennis match. Every feedback session became a debate. He challenged you in front of others. Questioned your strategies. Smiled that smug, perfect smile like he knew he was pushing your buttons—and enjoyed it.

“You’re overcomplicating it,” he said once, arms crossed as he leaned on your desk. “But maybe that’s your thing. Gotta make it look hard so no one sees how easy it is.”

You scoffed, biting down the urge to throw your coffee at him. “God, you are so full of yourself.”

He tilted his head, unbothered. “Maybe. Or maybe you’re just pissed I’m right.”

You hated him.

You hated how talented he was. How unflinching. How pretty—in that annoyingly boyish way with his sharp eyes and too-perfect skin and that smug confidence no intern should have.

You hated how often you thought about him when you shouldn’t.

⸻

One late evening, when the office was nearly empty.

You were working overtime, cleaning up a pitch deck he insisted on revising. You muttered under your breath as you clicked through his slides, only to find yourself… impressed.

Actually impressed.

He entered the room just as you whispered, “Goddamn it, this is good.”

He grinned like a devil. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

You jumped. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to hear you admit I’m a genius.”

You scowled and stood up. “You’re not a genius, you’re a—”

“A threat?” he interrupted, stepping closer. “Or maybe just a mirror.”

You froze. The air shifted.

He was too close. His cologne was warm, masculine, maddening. His gaze pinned you like a challenge, like he was stripping every layer of defense without ever touching you.

“You hate me,” he said softly. “But you listen to me. You correct me, but only after considering what I said. You act like you’ve got everything under control, but I see the way your breath hitches when I stand too close.”

You didn’t respond.

You couldn’t.

Jeongin leaned in, voice like silk-wrapped steel.

“You’re not mad because I don’t respect you. You’re mad because I see you. And that scares the hell out of you.”

Then he kissed you.

It wasn’t soft.

His mouth crashed into yours with zero hesitation—tongue and teeth, hands gripping your waist and yanking you into him like he’d been holding back for weeks.

He kissed like he was proving something. That he could have you. That he knew you’d let him.

And the worst part? You did.

You moaned against his mouth, fingers curling into his shirt. He spun you, pressed you hard against your own desk, one knee nudging between your legs.

“Tell me to stop,” he dared, lips ghosting your jaw.

You didn’t.

He smirked.

“Thought so.”

He kissed down your neck, biting just hard enough to leave a mark. His hands roamed under your blouse, unbuttoning it slow, eyes never leaving yours as he exposed inch after inch of skin.

“God, you’re hot when you’re mad,” he muttered, tongue flicking over a nipple before sucking it into his mouth.

You gasped. “Jeongin—”

“You say that like you’re in charge.” He pulled back, eyes dark. “You’re not.”

He dropped to his knees, hooked your thighs over his shoulders, and devoured you.

There was no teasing. Just filthy, expert licks—his tongue working you open, lips wrapping around your clit, sucking until your legs trembled and your hands flew into his hair.

“Louder,” he growled between strokes. “I want the cleaning staff to know I made you come.”

You did. Helpless and soaked, you bucked against his mouth until you fell apart—shaking, sobbing his name like it hurt.

But he wasn’t done.

He stood, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and unzipped his slacks. “Now,” he said, voice rough, “I’m gonna show you what else I do better.”

You barely had time to breathe before he was inside you, pushing in deep with one smooth thrust that made you cry out all over again.

He set a brutal pace. Fast. Relentless. Your desk creaked under the pressure, your half-unbuttoned blouse sliding off your shoulders as he fucked you like he had something to prove—and knew he was winning.

“You like that?” he panted against your ear. “Like being fucked by the intern?”

You couldn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

Your walls clenched around him, your nails dug into his back, and his name ripped from your throat as he spilled inside you with a moan that sounded like relief and conquest all in one.

⸻

You sat back against the desk, limp and shaking.

He leaned over you, kissed your shoulder gently—like the cocky bastard had earned tenderness now.

Then he smiled, smug and glowing.

“You gonna mentor me tomorrow?”

You snorted, breathless. “You need a leash.”

He laughed, kissed your swollen lips again, and whispered, “Only if you’re the one holding it.”

And you knew right then—you were so fucked.

In every way.

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

Taglist: @tsunderelino @innieandsungielover @inlovewithstraykids @reignessance @jeonismm @sttnficrecs @herejusttemporary @krssliu @kenia4 @miilquetoast @thackery-blinks @leeminho-hall @suga-is-bae @butterflydemons @inejghafawifesblog @malunar28replies @minchanlimbo @mal-lunar-28 @breakmeofftbr @itvenorica124 @slut4junho @deepblueocean97 @thequibbie @yaorzu-blog @imagine-all-the-imagines @just-bria @mischievousleeknow @ifyxu @melanctton @thelostprincessofasgard @binniebb @sillylittlecat1 @darkwitchoferie @m-325 @headfirstfortoro @imseungminsgf @ihrtlix @vernorica123 @hwangjoanna @swordswallower2000 @niki007 @yxna-bliss @firelordtsuki @justwonder113 @mbioooo0000 @sammhisphere @nebugalaxy @cutecucumberkimberly @chancloud8 @sunflwerstar

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SKZ HEADCANON SERIES (18+)

Chapter 2: Leeknow - The Cold Choreographer

OT8 SERIES MASTERLIST

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

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Minho didn’t like you. He made that clear from day one.

He didn’t bother hiding the eye-rolls when you walked into the studio. Didn’t pretend to like your style. He questioned your counts. Picked apart your blocking. Said things like “That’s not sharp, it’s sloppy” in front of the entire crew.

You fired back with the same icy venom. “If I wanted your input, I’d ask someone with rhythm.”

The dancers lived for it. Every rehearsal was a silent war, two choreographers co-leading a group and refusing to budge. And still—he never missed a session. Never skipped a beat.

Never looked at you without that quiet, infuriating heat in his eyes.

⸻

You were both assigned to craft a special stage for an end-of-year award show. A duet. “Perfect tension,” management said. “Push and pull. Fire and frost.”

You and Minho were the embodiment of both.

The song was sensual. The choreography called for intimacy. Close holds. Breaths shared. Fingers laced. You tried not to flinch every time he touched you.

He never flinched at all.

Just pressed close. Moved with control. Lifted you like you were weightless, spun you like you were a secret in his hands.

⸻

One Night After Everyone Left

The group had cleared out. You stayed behind, annoyed by a transition that didn’t flow the way you wanted.

You didn’t hear him come back in.

“You keep stuttering on the third eight-count,” he said from behind you, voice smooth, slow, unforgiving.

You turned around sharply. “And you keep breathing down my neck like that’s part of the choreo.”

He stepped closer. “Maybe it should be.”

You swallowed hard.

He crossed the floor, that feline grace in every step, and hit play on the speaker. The track echoed through the studio. He held out a hand.

“You want it clean? Let’s go again.”

You hesitated. Then placed your hand in his.

He pulled you into place with exact precision—body flush to yours, one hand guiding your hip, the other lacing your fingers.

The music dropped.

Every movement was slower. Tighter. Like he was dragging the tension out of your bones and molding it into something unbearable.

His fingers brushed your lower back. His thigh slipped between yours. His lips hovered by your ear.

“You’re always so uptight,” he murmured. “No wonder your moves are stiff.”

You exhaled, hot. “I’ll show you stiff.”

“Do it.”

The next step hit, and you pushed him back, grinding against him with the rhythm. He caught your wrist mid-movement and yanked you close.

That’s when it cracked.

He kissed you hard—no warning, no hesitation. Lips bruising, teeth grazing, his hand tangled in your hair. You gasped, and he used it, tongue sliding in like he owned your mouth.

You broke the kiss to speak. “You hate me.”

He smirked, breathless. “I really fucking do.”

Then he spun you around and shoved you back against the mirror. The cool glass stung your spine as he crowded your front, one thigh slotting between yours.

“You’ve been looking at me like you wanted this for weeks,” he whispered, fingers dragging your waistband down. “So shut up and give in.”

You did.

His hand slipped between your thighs, and you arched into him with a moan. His touch was rough. Confident. He knew exactly how to ruin you.

When he dropped to his knees, his reflection stared back at you—smug, hungry, glowing under the studio lights. You were panting, squirming, rocking your hips into his mouth as he licked and sucked you open.

“Minho—fuck—”

He hummed against you. “Louder.”

Your hands slapped against the mirror for balance. He didn’t stop until your legs trembled, until you were gasping out broken cries into the glass.

When he stood, he kissed you again, messy and eager.

“Condom,” he whispered against your lips.

You fumbled for your bag, handed it over with shaking fingers.

He turned you around—body pressed tight, breath warm on your neck—and slid inside slow. Deep. Delicious.

Your eyes caught the mirror.

It was filthy. Perfect.

His hand wrapped around your throat lightly, just enough to make you focus. His other hand gripped your hip, snapping his hips up into you with a pace that made your knees weak.

“Look at yourself,” he growled. “Look how good I fuck you.”

You did.

You watched your mouth drop open, eyes glaze over, body bouncing against the mirror to the beat of his thrusts.

Every filthy sound echoed.

Every moan was his name.

When you came, he held you up with one arm, still pounding into you like he was chasing his own high—and when he spilled inside the condom, he bit down on your shoulder and groaned like you’d taken the soul out of him.

⸻

Silence. Heavy breathing. Sweat on skin and glass.

You leaned your forehead against the mirror, trembling.

He pressed a kiss to your neck.

“I still think your counts suck,” he murmured.

You turned and kissed him again. Hard.

“Then help me fix them tomorrow.”

He smirked. “Only if we end rehearsal like this every time.”

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

Taglist: @tsunderelino @innieandsungielover @inlovewithstraykids @reignessance @jeonismm @sttnficrecs @herejusttemporary @krssliu @kenia4 @miilquetoast @thackery-blinks @leeminho-hall @suga-is-bae @butterflydemons @inejghafawifesblog @malunar28replies @minchanlimbo @mal-lunar-28 @breakmeofftbr @itvenorica124 @slut4junho @deepblueocean97 @thequibbie @yaorzu-blog @imagine-all-the-imagines @just-bria @mischievousleeknow @ifyxu @melanctton @thelostprincessofasgard @binniebb @sillylittlecat1 @darkwitchoferie @m-325 @headfirstfortoro @imseungminsgf @ihrtlix @vernorica123 @hwangjoanna @swordswallower2000 @niki007 @yxna-bliss @firelordtsuki @justwonder113 @mbioooo0000 @sammhisphere @nebugalaxy @cutecucumberkimberly @chancloud8 @sunflwerstar

[sammhisphere]

random bf texts — seungmin

❑ random everyday texts with your boyfriend, Seungmin ❑ warnings — mentions of idol au, seungmin being a little mean on accident, smutty scenarios, mild sexting (18+ mdni) ❑ notes — this is my first one so pls be gentle with me 🥺 main masterlist || seungmin masterlist || taglist

©️ quokkisms 2025 | all works on this blog are protected under copyright. reposts, continuations, & translations of my works are not permitted under any circumstance. all graphics on this blog made by me for [tumblr] only

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Missing Keycard

Seungmin x Tour Manager Reader

Tags: shy dom seungmin, one bed trope, sleep groping, nipple play, forbidden sex, power imbalance, choking, spanking, riding, oral, braless reader, touch starved reader, unprotected sex, aftercare

Word Count: 6k

Summary: You’re a tour manager for Stray Kids, just trying to survive another city. But when a drunk, keycard-less Seungmin knocks on your hotel door at 2AM, mistaking it for his own room, sleep is the last thing either of you get. What starts as an accident turns into tension that finally snaps — and Seungmin? He’s nothing like you expected.

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

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The Chicago stop was a blur of chaos.

A venue delay, a last-minute setlist change, a prop that went missing ten minutes before curtain—and somehow, you’d still managed to get everyone on stage, on time, and in one piece.

Barely.

By the time the show ended and the meet-and-greet cleared, you were running on fumes, your phone at 3% battery and your body running mostly on espresso and anger. You’d finalized hotel room keys, triple-checked the luggage manifest, made sure all the boys had post-show meals waiting.

And then—finally—freedom.

You could’ve joined them at the bar. Hell, Chan had even tugged your sleeve and offered you a shot before leaving the lobby with a slurred grin.

But your legs had already carried you into the elevator, eyes closing before the doors even shut.

All you wanted was a bed.

No bra. No briefs. No bullshit.

So you stripped the second your door clicked shut.

Your panties were soft and high-cut, practically invisible beneath the oversized T-shirt you’d planned to sleep in—until you peeled that off too and reached for the one thing lighter, cooler: a thin, cropped camisole you’d worn under your manager’s jacket earlier.

The fabric barely kissed the curve of your chest. No padding, no support, nothing to hide how worn-down and sensitive you felt.

But fuck it, you were on a private floor, not sharing a room with anyone. No one would see you.

You passed out across the bed in seconds, limbs loose, hair stuck to your cheek, one leg tangled in the sheet and the other kicked free.

You didn’t even register the first knock.

But the second—louder, clumsier—jerked you upright.

You blinked, dazed and crusty-eyed. The room was dark, the hallway light seeping in under the door like a spotlight.

Knock knock.

You groaned, grabbing a pillow to your chest and hauling yourself to your feet. You were half-asleep, brain fogged and skin warm from sleep, not thinking at all as you padded barefoot across the floor.

The camisole had ridden up.

Your panties clung high across your hips.

But none of that registered—not until you cracked the door open and saw him.

“Hyung?” Seungmin mumbled, brows furrowed, eyes red and shiny. “Is this your—wait.”

His voice dipped. His gaze dropped.

And then he froze.

“…Oh,” he said, small and stunned.

You blinked at him. “Seungmin?”

He didn’t answer.

Because his brain—tipsy as it was—had just realized two things in rapid succession:

1. This wasn’t Chan’s room.

2. You were very naked.

Not technically. But close enough.

Your bare thighs were on full display, the camisole barely grazing your belly button, your nipples visibly hard through the thin fabric. The hallway light behind him cast your silhouette against the room’s dark interior in dangerous clarity.

He swallowed.

You blinked, still not fully processing.

“Wait—why’re you here?”

“I—” he scratched his head, swaying slightly. “Lost my card. Everyone locked their doors. Thought this was—uh—Chan-hyung’s room. My bad. I’ll just—”

You stepped aside and yanked him inside.

Hard.

His shoulder hit your chest and your hand scrambled to slam the door shut before anyone saw. Your heart pounded.

“Are you insane? What if someone took a picture of you?!”

“I’m sorry!” he whispered, voice strangled. “I didn’t—fuck, I really thought—”

You turned to him, panting slightly from the adrenaline, your blanket long forgotten on the bed.

Only then did you realize.

You looked down.

Oh. Shit.

Full tits. Bare thighs. Tight panties.

Seungmin was right there—eyes wide, frozen like a deer in headlights, clearly trying to keep his gaze anywhere but on your body.

Too late. He’d seen.

And now he was actively malfunctioning.

“I—I didn’t mean to knock on yours,” he stammered. “I thought it was Hyung’s. I swear. You just—you opened and I saw and I—”

You covered your face with both hands.

He was still talking, tipsy and spiraling.

“—and I was gonna leave but then you pulled me in and now I’m here and you’re—you’re dressed like that—”

“Stop talking, Seungmin.”

Silence.

His mouth snapped shut.

You peeked between your fingers.

He looked like he wanted to evaporate.

Which might’ve been cute—if you weren’t acutely aware that your nipples were still hard and your underwear left nothing to the imagination.

You dropped your hands with a sigh and crossed your arms under your chest, trying to ignore how that only pushed them up more.

“Okay,” you said, exhaling shakily. “You lost your card.”

He nodded quickly. “Yes.”

“No one else answered.”

“Correct.”

“And now you’re in my room.”

He nodded again, slower this time.

Your heart was still thumping. His eyes flicked up to yours—then away again. Every few seconds they betrayed him, dropping back down, catching on your thighs, your waist, your chest before he forced them back up again.

His ears were flushed red.

He was trying so hard not to look—and failing.

You didn’t know what possessed you to say it. Maybe it was exhaustion. Or curiosity. Or the way his bottom lip was caught between his teeth, swaying slightly, hands tucked behind his back like a schoolboy caught in the wrong classroom.

You sighed, one hand dragging down your face, the other cradling the pillow against your chest again.

“Well,” you muttered. “You smell like you lost a drinking game.”

“I probably did,” he said, voice rough but quiet.

“Bathroom’s through there,” you said, gesturing vaguely to the door near the dresser. “Freshen up. We’ll figure out the room situation in the morning.”

Seungmin blinked at you, dazed.

“You’re letting me stay?”

“Well that’s a given,” you said. “I’m not about to throw a drunk idol into the hallway at 2AM. God knows what sasaeng would love that headline.”

He made a soft, embarrassed noise in the back of his throat and practically scrambled toward the bathroom. You heard the door click shut behind him, followed by the water running.

Alone again, you exhaled sharply and looked down at yourself.

The camisole still clung to your chest, the fabric wrinkled from sleep. Your panties had shifted during your rush to the door, one hip strap riding higher than the other. The damage was already done—he’d seen you, fully—and suddenly, modesty felt stupid.

You weren’t thinking like a professional anymore. You were thinking like a tired woman who just wanted sleep and had, quite unfortunately, let a very drunk, very awkward, very cute Seungmin into her room.

Not ideal.

You crossed to the bed and slipped under the duvet, this time tugging it up to your neck like a shield, every inch of your body burrowing into the mattress. You didn’t even glance back when you heard the bathroom door open.

The room was small—modest compared to the suite-style ones booked for the boys—and there wasn’t much in the way of extra space. One armchair sat in the corner, low-backed and thin, its tiny matching ottoman clearly not meant for sleeping.

You could hear him hovering.

Fidgeting.

Shifting on his feet like he was trying to make himself disappear.

You kept your face to the wall.

More shuffling. A pause. Then a tiny sigh.

You rolled your eyes, still not turning.

“The bed’s big enough for two.”

Silence.

Then—

“…Are you sure?”

“I legally cannot let you sleep on the cold floor, Seungmin.”

“…Fair.”

The mattress dipped a few moments later. You felt the careful weight of him as he climbed in—slow, hesitant, like the bed might collapse under the guilt of it. He stayed close to the edge, not even rustling the duvet as he pulled it over his legs.

Neither of you said anything for a while.

You could feel the silence settle in like warmth, like tension slipping between your shoulder blades. He smelled cleaner now—soap and mouthwash, the lingering sharpness of whatever cheap vodka the boys had probably downed earlier. But mostly soap.

He didn’t move.

You didn’t either.

Eventually, his voice came, hushed in the dark.

“…Thank you.”

You mumbled something in return, barely audible.

Another pause. Then, quieter—

“I didn’t mean to see. Before. I wasn’t trying to.”

You sighed.

“I know.”

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I’m fine,” you said, and you were surprised to realize you meant it.

Maybe because he wasn’t leering. Maybe because he was clearly still rattled. Maybe because your back was to him and your body had long since relaxed again.

But you were tired. He was tired.

And despite everything, the room felt soft again.

Safe.

You closed your eyes and whispered into the pillow.

“Goodnight, Seungmin.”

He swallowed, voice low and raw behind you.

“…Goodnight.”

And then—finally—stillness.

But neither of you slept just yet.

Because under the sheets, just inches away, your heart was beating too loud.

And Seungmin, with his flushed ears and twitchy fingers, was still trying not to picture what he’d already seen.

⸻

The room had gone colder.

At some point, maybe around 4AM, the air conditioning kicked into overdrive, and the soft hum of it stirred you from sleep.

You shifted under the duvet with a lazy frown, your body instinctively chasing warmth. And then—

You felt it.

Not the chill of the room, but the heat of someone behind you.

A slow, calm breath ghosted over the back of your neck. Warm, steady.

Then the arm.

An arm wrapped around your waist. A hand splayed low, fingers spread wide and firm across your stomach, half tucked beneath the hem of your camisole.

Your breath hitched—eyes fluttering open as your senses slowly caught up to what was happening.

Seungmin.

He was pressed flush against your back now, close in a way that neither of you had planned. Your ass rested snugly against his hips, your legs curved toward your chest in a soft tuck, his body following the shape of yours like he’d been molded to it in sleep.

The realization hit like a slow, hot wave:

Somewhere between drifting off and now, you’d gravitated toward each other. Maybe it had started with a brush of knees. A shared pillow. Maybe he’d pulled you in. Maybe you had backed into him without thinking.

But now?

Now, you were wrapped in him.

And he was touching you.

That hand—broad and warm—shifted slightly, fingers flexing in his sleep. His knuckles grazed higher up your stomach, a slow, unconscious movement that felt more like a caress than a twitch.

Your skin prickled.

Your breath stuttered again.

And that was before you felt the subtle, unmistakable pressure against your ass.

He was hard. Not fully, not completely, but enough that the bulge was there—thick and lazy, tucked against the dip of your curves like it belonged there.

You froze.

Every nerve in your body suddenly wide awake.

It was still innocent enough. He was asleep. Dreaming. He wasn’t doing anything on purpose. But the heat that licked up your spine didn’t care about intentions. It cared about the weight of him behind you, the way his fingertips had curled slightly, like they liked the skin they’d found.

Your thighs pressed tighter.

Seungmin murmured something in his sleep. A sound low in his chest. And then—

His hips shifted.

Just a fraction. But enough.

He pressed into you.

Your lips parted, breath shaky, heart slamming against your ribs as his hips settled again, snug against the curve of your ass like he’d wanted to be closer. Like his sleeping body knew what it wanted, even if his mind hadn’t caught up.

You stayed still, not daring to move. Not even blinking.

His fingers on your stomach moved again. Slow. Dragging higher. The edge of his pinky grazed the underside of your breast, just barely. Not a grab. Not a grope. Just enough to send a thrill zipping through your chest.

You swallowed.

Carefully, silently, you reached down and clutched the duvet a little tighter.

But you didn’t move away.

And neither did he.

You stayed frozen.

Not because you were scared. Not because you didn’t want it. But because the smallest twitch of movement might’ve broken the spell—and right now, with his hands on you, his body warming your back, and his breath soft and steady against your neck… you didn’t want it to stop.

Even if he didn’t mean it.

Even if he wasn’t fully awake.

Even if this wasn’t supposed to happen.

Your body didn’t care about reason. Your body cared about the ache that had been living under your skin for too long. The way your thighs clenched when his fingertips brushed just under the curve of your breast again. The way your stomach fluttered when he pulled you closer, unconsciously grinding that hardening length against the softness of your ass.

A soft sound slipped from his throat—barely a hum, muffled into your hair.

Then his hand moved again.

Slow. Searching. Sliding downward over your stomach, like he was touching something delicate in his dream—fingertips gliding beneath the hem of your camisole, callused pads grazing skin that hadn’t been touched in months.

You held your breath. Every muscle tensed, every inch of you begging for more and terrified of it all at once.

Then the other hand found your hip.

It gripped you there—fingers digging into the flesh, like he was holding on. Like he needed to.

Your eyes fluttered shut.

His hips shifted again. His hard cock pressed tighter against your ass, no longer just a ghost of a touch but a full, heavy presence—throbbing through the fabric of his sweats, thick and real and there.

A soft gasp caught in your throat.

And then—God—his hands started moving.

The one on your stomach caressed upward, grazing the underside of your breast again with just the backs of his fingers. Not a grope. Not rough. But reverent. Careful. A sleeping man worshiping a dream he didn’t know was real.

The other stayed firm on your hip, squeezing lightly, rhythmically, as if guiding himself into the curve of your ass with slow, sleepy rolls of his hips.

You bit your lip so hard it almost hurt.

Because your body… it betrayed you.

Your nipples hardened, tight and sensitive beneath the thin fabric of your cami. Your thighs pressed together, desperate, seeking friction. And heat pulsed low in your stomach—building with every moan that slipped from his lips. Tiny, broken little things. Like he didn’t even realize he was making them.

You’d never heard Seungmin make those kinds of sounds before.

And you weren’t even sure he was fully awake.

Your breath shook. Your hand fisted into the duvet. You didn’t move, not an inch—but God, you felt everything. And you wanted more.

You wanted to press back into him.

You wanted his hands higher. Lower.

You wanted—

“…Hnn…”

A little whimper escaped him—almost helpless.

And then—his fingers twitched again.

Dragged higher.

This time brushing—accidentally, devastatingly—over your nipple.

But then didn’t mean to move.

Not really.

Not in a way you could blame on sleep.

But the ache had settled too deep now, thick and warm in your belly, and the feel of his hands on your skin—soft and curious and a little desperate—was unraveling your last thread of willpower.

So you gave in.

Just a little.

A slow, subtle push of your hips back into him—just enough for your ass to press tighter into the hard length straining behind his sweats. Your breath caught in your throat, chest tightening as the hand on your stomach twitched in response… and then slid up.

His palm cupped your breast.

Full, warm, heavy in his hand.

You gasped—a soft, broken little sigh—because the pad of his thumb grazed your nipple again through your top, and it was too much, too sensitive, too good. Your back arched into it instinctively, the quietest sound escaping your lips, and you felt him—

Stilling.

Breathing.

Then freezing.

Seungmin’s body went stiff behind you.

Like a man pulled straight out of a dream and dropped into a nightmare.

His hand stopped moving. His hips locked. His breath caught like he’d choked on it—and then dragged in sharp and tight, like he couldn’t even remember how to breathe anymore.

“…fuck.”

The word was barely audible. Choked. Wrecked. He jerked his hand away from your breast like he’d been burned, stumbling backward out of the bed in a tangle of limbs and blankets, his body trembling with confusion and guilt and raw panic.

He stood there beside the bed in nothing but a loose tee and sweats, hair messy, eyes wide, lips parted, and face pale in the blue light bleeding through the hotel curtains.

“I—I didn’t—I thought—” he stammered, hands raised like he’d accidentally committed a crime.

“I was dreaming,” he said, voice hoarse. “I didn’t know—fuck, I didn’t know it was you—”

You sat up slowly, duvet still pulled tight to your chest, your body flushed and your heart hammering so hard you thought it might burst through your ribs.

“I’m sorry,” Seungmin said, breathless, eyes darting everywhere but your face. “Shit, I touched you, I—God, I’m so sorry.”

He backed away, visibly shaking. “I swear I wasn’t—fuck, I didn’t mean to—”

You should’ve said something. Anything.

But you were still reeling—body buzzing, skin on fire, the ghost of his touch still etched into your chest.

And for a moment, neither of you moved.

Until he did—

You didn’t mean to stop him. Didn’t plan it.

Didn’t think it through.

But the second he took a step back—panic all over his face, like he was ready to disappear and pretend this never happened—your voice came out, small and raw, right before you could even breathe it back.

“…Seungmin.”

He froze.

Turned slowly. Eyes wide. Chest heaving.

You just looked at him—bare shoulders rising and falling beneath the duvet, hair tousled from sleep, lips parted, heart thudding behind your ribs like it wanted to escape.

“I…” you started, the words thick in your throat. “It’s okay.”

His brows furrowed. “What?”

“I didn’t stop you,” you said softly, eyes searching his. “Maybe… I didn’t want to.”

The room went silent.

And Seungmin—sweet, shy, brilliant Seungmin—stood there like the air had been punched from his lungs.

“You—” He blinked hard, swallowing, jaw clenched like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. “You didn’t want me to stop?”

“I should have,” you said, honestly. “But I didn’t.”

You sat up a little, the duvet sliding down with the motion—revealing the thin strap of your camisole slipping off your shoulder, and just the barest peek of soft skin beneath it. The hem had already ridden up, underboob visible, your thighs spread slightly beneath the covers, body warm and flushed and so real in the low light.

Seungmin’s breath hitched.

You caught the way his eyes flicked down—just for a second—before he snapped them away, fists clenched at his sides, every muscle in his lean body tense.

“I’m your tour manager,” you whispered, more to yourself than him. “If I hadn’t been so tired, I could’ve sorted your room. I should’ve gone to the reception or called someone. I should’ve helped you.”

You looked down at your lap, voice quieter now. “Instead, you walked into my room. I was basically naked. And I let you into my bed.”

Seungmin stayed quiet. Still trembling. Still hard. You could see it—his sweats doing nothing to hide the thick, straining outline pressing forward. He wasn’t even drunk anymore. Just dazed. Wrecked. Fighting something inside him that was so clearly losing.

“And I didn’t stop you,” you finished, eyes lifting to meet his again. “Even when I should have. I let it happen. So…”

You took a breath.

“…you don’t have to go.”

His eyes locked onto yours.

And fuck, the look in them—like every wall he’d carefully built was cracking, like he was fighting to be good, to be professional, but his body was screaming something else entirely. Something raw. Something needy.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said hoarsely.

“Like what?”

“Like you want me.”

The duvet slipped lower when you shifted—bare thighs now visible. And Seungmin’s gaze flicked downward again. Just for a second. Just long enough to see how your cami clung to the swell of your chest, how it had ridden so high your round underboobs were visible, soft and tempting and so close.

You tilted your head, slow. Careful. Still quiet.

“…What if I do?”

That was it.

That was the moment.

Because Seungmin’s lips parted—eyes flicking back to yours, mouth pink and breath shallow, his cock visibly throbbing behind his sweats. The hunger was there now. He wasn’t just hard—he was wrecked by the sight of you, sprawled out like a dream he hadn’t meant to touch, and couldn’t resist anymore.

You were still his tour manager.

Still the professional. Still the one with authority.

But in that moment, with your hair a mess and your thighs spread and your lips barely parted in invitation—God, you looked so soft. So warm. So fucking beautiful it hurt.

And he had such a crush on you. Always had.

Maybe now he didn’t want to pretend otherwise.

Seungmin didn’t move at first. He just stood there, staring—like he couldn’t believe what was in front of him. You, almost bare-chested and flushed, thighs pressed tight beneath you, nipples peaked and your chest rising with every slow breath. His eyes dropped to your breasts, and he swore under his breath, the tension in his throat thick enough to choke on.

When you didn’t move to cover yourself, he dragged his gaze back up to yours.

Like he was waiting for the world to stop him.

Like he was seconds away from burning.

You didn’t say anything. Just held his stare and reached for his hand, curling your fingers around his and guiding it to your face—pressing his palm to your cheek.

That’s when he cracked.

His hand tightened. His jaw flexed. And then he moved—fast and quiet, crawling onto the bed over you with one knee on either side, not touching you yet, just looking down like he still couldn’t believe it was real.

“Tell me this isn’t a dream,” he said hoarsely, voice thick. “Please.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to.

Because your body did—arching subtly, thighs parting slightly beneath him in silent invitation.

He bent down, mouth finding the slope of your neck like he’d been aching for it for years. You gasped, head tipping back, the heat of his breath dragging over your collarbone. Then his hands—those long, trembling fingers—finally reached your breasts. He cupped them like they were something sacred, thumbs brushing over your nipples in slow, reverent circles.

“God,” he whispered against your skin. “You feel…”

He didn’t finish the sentence. Didn’t have to.

His tongue found your nipple and you gasped, back arching under him. He was breathing harder now, grinding against your thigh through his sweatpants, restraint unraveling one touch at a time. His lips moved from one breast to the other, mouth open, hot and wet, tongue lapping and sucking until your thighs started to tremble beneath him.

“You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he said against your skin, voice guttural.

You looked up at him, wrecked already, pupils blown wide. “Then show me.”

Something in his expression darkened.

And just like that, he sat back, pulled the duvet the rest of the way down, and let his eyes roam over every inch of you. His chest heaved once. Twice.

Then he dragged your panties down your legs, slow, savoring it, watching the fabric slide off your body like it was the last thing tethering you to decency.

He swore under his breath again.

You shifted, but he stopped you with a firm hand on your hip.

“Don’t move.”

He stripped his sweatpants in one motion, cock heavy and flushed and hard as it slapped against his stomach. You couldn’t look away. Couldn’t breathe. He was beautiful, yes, but there was something feral now in his silence—something hungry and barely restrained.

You reached for him, and he let you. Let you wrap your fingers around him, let you guide him down to your mouth.

But just as you leaned in, he caught your wrist.

His voice dropped an octave.

“You do that and I’m not going to last.”

Your smirk faltered.

“You think I care?”

And before he could stop you again, you leaned down and took him into your mouth—hot, slow, tongue dragging along the underside as your lips slid down inch by inch. He let out a strangled sound, fists curling in the sheets on either side of him, chest rising fast.

“Shit—don’t stop—fuck—”

You didn’t. You moaned around him, letting the vibrations buzz through his cock. Your fingers curled at the base, your pace teasing at first, and then faster—your lips slick, jaw flexing as you swallowed him deeper.

He groaned, head falling back, hair sticking to his forehead.

“Fucking hell—how are you—” He choked, hips twitching. “You’re gonna make me—”

You pulled off with a gasp, a line of spit catching on your lip as you looked up at him, flushed and ruined.

Seungmin reached for you in a blur.

His hand wrapped around the back of your neck, dragging you up until your lips crashed into his. He kissed you like he wanted to memorize you, like he wanted to devour you—and as he pushed you back against the mattress, the last trace of hesitation fell away from him.

“This shouldn’t be happening,” he murmured against your mouth. “But I’m not stopping.”

And then he pressed the head of his cock against your soaked entrance, dragging it slow, teasing, watching your body react—watching your legs fall wider, your breath hitch.

“Is this what you want?” he asked, voice low and ruined. “Say it.”

“Yes, I want it.”

His cock nudged at your entrance—thick, hot, pulsing. You whimpered just from the feel of it pressing against you. Seungmin’s eyes locked on yours, blown wide, hair damp, jaw clenched so tight it ticked beneath his flushed skin.

“I want to fuck you so bad,” he murmured, voice wrecked. “But if I move right now, I’m gonna come.”

You bit your lip, your hips already rocking forward the slightest bit, aching for him.

“Please do it,” you whispered. “Slow. I want to feel every inch.”

He groaned like he was in pain and slid in—just the tip.

Then deeper.

And deeper.

You cried out when he bottomed out inside you, your walls stretching to take him, fluttering from the fullness. His head dropped to your shoulder as he trembled above you, trying so fucking hard to stay still.

“Fuck—” he rasped, breath hot on your neck. “You’re—Jesus, you’re tight. Warm. You feel so—fuck—I can’t—”

His hips rocked once, slow, thick drag of cock that pulled a breathless moan from your throat. He kissed your collarbone, hands gripping your thighs, keeping your legs spread wide for him as he started fucking you in slow, careful thrusts.

Each one sent shocks through your spine—steady, deep, possessive. He groaned every time he sank back in, voice rough with disbelief, hips shuddering as he fought not to lose it.

“You have no idea,” he whispered, “how long I’ve thought about this.”

“You’re not what I expected,” you breathed, already gasping as he set a slow rhythm, grinding in circles that had your toes curling. “You’re so—”

You didn’t finish the sentence.

Just moaned, softly, “Oh Baby…”

The effect was instant.

Seungmin froze mid-thrust.

His eyes met yours—dark, blown wide, almost dangerous.

“Say that again,” he said, low, like a growl from deep in his chest.

You blinked up at him, surprised, breathless. “…Baby.”

He snapped.

His mouth was on yours, desperate, tongue tasting every sound you made. Then he grabbed your hips and started fucking you with rougher, sharper thrusts—still deep, but now filled with urgency.

“You feel that?” he panted, hips snapping forward again. “That’s mine. You understand?”

You whimpered, clinging to him, head rolling back as he fucked you like he was trying to brand you.

“God, you’re so good,” he moaned, voice cracking. “Can’t believe you’re letting me do this. Can’t believe I’m inside you like this.”

You barely heard him—you were too busy writhing, body twitching under him, orgasm crawling up your spine like wildfire.

But you wanted more. You wanted to see him break.

You pushed at his chest, flipping him over and straddling him in one breathless motion. He let you, watching you like he was starved, lips parted as you lined him back up and sank down on him, slow and tight and trembling.

“Oh, fuck,” he gasped, gripping the sheets. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You started riding him, steady at first—hips rolling, eyes locked on his, both of you completely lost in the sight of your bodies moving together.

But when you leaned forward, whispering “You like this?” into his ear—

—he moved.

Fast.

One hand grabbed your throat, not choking, just holding—just owning. His other arm locked around your waist, and suddenly he was fucking up into you, lifting you off the bed with every brutal, delicious thrust.

“Is this what you wanted?” he growled. “Wanted to ride me, make me lose my fucking mind?”

You gasped, fingers flying to his wrist, not to stop him—just to feel him. His cock hit deeper like this, angled right against your sweet spot, and your thighs started to tremble from the sheer power of his pace.

You couldn’t answer. Couldn’t breathe.

“Look at me.”

You did—and his face. God, his face. Eyes locked on yours like he was watching you fall apart just for him.

“I’m gonna come,” he warned, voice hoarse. “You’re gonna take it. All of it.”

Your orgasm was still crashing through your body when Seungmin moved again.

Without warning, he flipped you onto your stomach, strong hands manhandling you like you weighed nothing. You gasped into the sheets, dizzy from the sudden shift—but the moment your cheek hit the pillow, you felt him behind you again, kneeling between your thighs, gripping your hips like he was about to lose himself.

“Fucking perfect,” he growled, voice low and wrecked as he stared at the arch of your back, your ass up high, your cunt slick and pulsing from how hard you’d just come. “You look like this and expect me to hold back?”

You whined into the sheets, pressing your hips up for him—begging without words.

He lined up.

And slammed into you.

You screamed.

It wasn’t pain—it was bliss. He was fucking deeper than before, harder, snapping his hips against your ass so roughly you could hear the wet slap echo in the room. You clawed the sheets. Your voice was a broken string of moans and gasps.

Every time he drove in, your ass bounced back against him, the sting of skin on skin turning into pure heat.

Then—smack.

His hand landed hard on your ass.

You cried out, back arching like a bow.

“Oh my god—Seungmin—!”

He did it again. And again. Spanked you until the skin burned and the sounds were too filthy to be real, and he was groaning behind you like a man possessed.

“I’ve dreamt of this,” he gasped, watching the jiggle of your ass as he fucked you. “Touching you. Being inside you. You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

His hand slid forward, fingers pinching one of your nipples, twisting it, tugging until you choked on a sob.

“Please—please—” you begged, not even sure what you were asking for anymore.

He leaned over your back, his breath hot on your ear. “Begging already?”

You were shaking. Crying out for more. The sound of skin on skin filled the room, wet and wild, and his rhythm got even more brutal—like he was trying to ruin you for anyone else.

“You want me to break you?” he whispered, thrusting deep and hard enough to push you forward.

“Yes—Seungmin—please—”

He pulled out suddenly and flipped you again, your body pliant and trembling as he pushed your knees up and apart, exposing you completely. He hovered over you, eyes wild, jaw slack, body covered in a sheen of sweat.

“You’re mine right now,” he said, voice trembling from restraint, “and I’m gonna make sure you never forget it.”

Then he sank back into you and started pounding again—deep, rough, so good you couldn’t breathe. Your breasts bounced with every thrust, and Seungmin’s hands were everywhere—gripping your thighs, tweaking your nipples, palming your throat just enough to make your head spin.

“Say it,” he growled, eyes locked on yours. “Say I’m the only one who’s ever made you feel like this.”

“You are—fuck—you are—” you cried, losing yourself completely as another orgasm tore through you, clenching so tight around him that he finally let go.

He groaned—loud, raw—head thrown back as he spilled inside you, hips still moving like he couldn’t stop. Like he didn’t want to.

Even as he came, he kept fucking you.

Slow now. Deep. Letting it ride out as long as possible.

His voice cracked when he said, “I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

And honestly? You didn’t want him to.

⸻

The room was quiet now, save for the hum of the air conditioning and the sound of your shaky breathing. Your body was limp beneath him, boneless, skin slick with sweat and heat and everything he’d just poured into you. He was still inside, still twitching a little, as if even his cock didn’t want to leave your warmth.

But then Seungmin exhaled—shaky and slow—and pulled out of you with a soft hiss. He moved so carefully, hands trembling a bit as he reached for the discarded duvet to cover your body, his eyes wide and stunned, his lips parted like he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened.

You watched him sit back on his heels, hair sticking to his forehead, cheeks flushed, lashes low. The confidence—the filth—the devastating way he just fucked you… it was gone.

Now he looked shy.

Almost embarrassed.

“…Did I hurt you?” he asked quietly, reaching for the tissues from the nightstand. His voice was soft again—barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean to be that rough. I just— I kind of lost it.”

You smiled, dazed and aching but full of warmth, watching as he carefully cleaned you up. He was so gentle, even shaking a little, his thumb brushing your inner thigh like he didn’t know if he had the right.

You pushed yourself up slightly and cupped his jaw. “Seungmin.”

His eyes flicked up to yours.

“I’m fine. Better than fine.” You leaned in and kissed him—slow and deep, tasting the way his breath hitched in surprise. “You don’t have to be so scared. I wanted it. All of it.”

He let out a sigh, the kind that sounded more like relief than anything else.

When you broke the kiss, he hesitated, then bent to grab the shirt he’d worn earlier that night from the edge of the bed. “Here,” he murmured, helping you slip it over your head. It was soft and warm, and it smelled like him—clean laundry and sweat and the tiniest hint of cologne. He smoothed the hem over your hips gently, reverently, then looked up at you with those sweet, wrecked eyes.

“…I’ll shut up now.”

You laughed softly and dragged him into the bed beside you. He climbed in, curling behind you like it was the most natural thing in the world, pulling you into his chest, holding you so tight it was almost like he didn’t trust himself to let go.

And for a few minutes, it was just quiet. Breathing. His nose buried in your hair. Your fingers lightly tracing the lines of his knuckles where they rested over your stomach.

Then you whispered, “No one has to know, right?”

He stiffened slightly. “Right.”

“But…” you tilted your head back, meeting his eyes, “I wouldn’t mind if it wasn’t just a one-time thing.”

Seungmin blinked. His voice cracked when he said, “You mean that?”

You nodded, smiling softly. “There’s no going back to pretending we’re just coworkers. Not after this.”

His arms tightened around you.

“Good,” he murmured, lips brushing your shoulder. “Because I don’t think I could look at you like that again. I want this. You. As much as you’ll let me have.”

And then he kissed your neck—so softly, so sweet—and whispered, “I’m yours if you want me.”

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

Authors note: The way Seungmin has been creeping up on me and wrecking me these days???? Then that cute abs reveal? Safe to say he’s stuck in my head and Ive been thinking about this scenario for a VERY long time🥹

Also, we’re almost at 2k guys! 😭😭😭😭 you guys are the best fr!

Taglist: @tsunderelino @innieandsungielover @inlovewithstraykids @reignessance @jeonismm @sttnficrecs @herejusttemporary @krssliu @kenia4 @miilquetoast @thackery-blinks @leeminho-hall @suga-is-bae @butterflydemons @inejghafawifesblog @malunar28replies @minchanlimbo @mal-lunar-28 @breakmeofftbr @itvenorica124 @slut4junho @deepblueocean97 @thequibbie @yaorzu-blog @imagine-all-the-imagines @just-bria @mischievousleeknow @ifyxu @melanctton @thelostprincessofasgard @binniebb @sillylittlecat1 @darkwitchoferie @m-325 @headfirstfortoro @imseungminsgf @ihrtlix @vernorica123 @hwangjoanna @swordswallower2000 @niki007 @yxna-bliss @firelordtsuki @justwonder113 @mbioooo0000 @sammhisphere @nebugalaxy @cutecucumberkimberly @chancloud8 @sunflwerstar @shxdowofdarkness @aeyla @annyeongffs @beppybeesnuggets @iamwritteninyourstars @crisle19 @stxysakura @ocean-glacierblue

[sammhisphere]

ASDFGHJKL WHAT

[sammhisphere]

you could call me babe for the weekend

chapter one: bad idea right?

wc: 3.1k

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“and he has his own car because he’s very important for the firm, so of course he has his own office and secretary. the firm would be nothing without him”

that’s what you heard your cousin saying or something like that. to be brutally honest, you weren’t paying attention to what she was saying. you tend to think about other things whenever she talks, just like right now you were thinking about what you were going to have for dinner that night. you had gone grocery shopping the day before, so you had a lot of options: you could prepare something quick like-

“unfortunately he’s very busy with his job right now, he has a lot of cases to work on and a lot of people to defend, so he won’t be able to come to my birthday party next week, so it looks like y/n won’t be the only person alone during the weekend” your sweetheart of an aunt, who you loved so so much, decided to intervene in the conversation about how your cousin’s new boyfriend is oh so wonderful, and he has such an important job, and how he’s mr. perfect, and they are the dream couple and oh oh oh.

you were so done with all of that. you couldn’t understand how your uncle, your dad’s brother, had married someone like that and even worse, how their daughter had come out like that.

“yeah but mom it’s not the same, my boyfriend won’t go to your birthday party because he will be busy working. however, y/n’s boyfriend won’t be there because he’s well… nonexistent” your cousin said making her and her mom burst out laughing.

you dad and uncle were engrossed in another conversation on the other side of the table so they didn’t hear what your cousin said, and your poor mom didn’t know what to do with herself. obviously she had caught the irony with which your cousin and aunt were talking, but she also didn’t want to make a scene, so she just let out an uncomfortable laugh and looked around the room trying to calm herself down.

you? that was a whole other story.

you had put up with this so many times, that this scene that was taking place in front of you was nothing out of the ordinary. every year, for your aunt’s birthday, you would go to her family’s old cabin by the lake and it was always the same thing: the family would arrive on friday for a little family get together, your aunt’s friends would go there on saturday morning and leave throughout the day, and then your family would go back to their own places on sunday. you didn’t see the point of you spending three days there. well, you didn’t see the point of going there at all.

as if it was a tradition at this point, every year your cousin would go to the family getaway with her boyfriend. mind you, you saw a new boyfriend every year. you are not one to judge, but you didn’t see the same boyfriend two years in a row. each boyfriend was even better than the last, and your aunt and cousin wouldn’t stop parading them like they were zoo animals. you felt bad for them to be honest. well, some of them.

you on the contrary would always go alone, because either you had just come out of a relationship or because you weren’t in any type of relationship at all. you didn’t mind this, in fact you were glad you didn’t have to make someone go through what all of this family getaway involves, but it seems like your aunt and your cousin always had to make a comment about that - it didn’t matter if the comments were directed at your, according to them, inability to maintain a relationship, or if you weren’t “girlfriend material”, or that you needed to work harder to find someone good and wealthy but you couldn’t meet those standards so they understood that you were alone - whatever hurtful comment they could think about, they would say it and laugh about it.

you had tuned them out many years ago, you really had. but something about the way. they were laughing today made you snap. you don’t know if it was the comment, the way they laughed, or if you had gotten out of bed the wrong side that morning. whatever made you say this, you don’t know if you should be thankful or shut yourself up forever:

“actually, i was going to tell you today that i’m not going alone this year, my boyfriend will come with me”

everything went quiet.

your dad and your uncle stopped talking.

your mom looked at you like you had grown seven heads all of a sudden.

but the look on your aunt and cousin’s faces? priceless.

you patted yourself on the back mentally.

“a boyfriend? you?” your cousin said rather sceptical

“yes, a boyfriend” you smiled at her with the biggest smile you could muster, however you were now realising what had you just done

“honey, we didn’t know you had a boyfriend, i-i mean you hadn’t told us anything” it was your mom’s turn now, poor thing she was as lost as you were right now

“well, it’s still early days, we’ve been together for three months and i thought i could use this trip as an opportunity to introduce him to all of the family!” your mouth was talking before you could even realise what you were actually saying

“oh, so we’re finally going to meet the man who stayed long enough to come to my birthday party” you couldn’t decipher the look on your aunt’s face, but it was a mix of disbelief and arrogance

“yes, i can’t wait for you to finally meet him” and for you to meet him yourself you thought

what the hell were you doing?

after you said goodbye to your parents and the rest of your family and left the restaurant, you finally realised what had happened, “what have you done y/n?”. on the outside you were the spitting image of someone who had everything together, on the inside… that was a another story.

let’s rewind for a bit. you had said that you:

1. had a boyfriend

2. had been in a relationship for three months now

3. were going to introduce said boyfriend to your family next week

the reality was that:

1. you didn’t have a boyfriend

2. your last relationship ended more than a year ago

3. you were going to the family trip alone

great. just fucking great.

you were spiralling. you needed to vent out. so you decided to go to your best friend’s house: bang chan. you could already imagine his reaction. first, he would laugh at the mess you had created. then, when he saw how you were going crazy with all of this, he would try to calm you down. and lastly, he would try to think of a solution with you. the longer you thought about it, the more shocked that you were at what you had done to yourself. this was all on you. stupid mouth. stupid birthday. stupid cabin. stupid everything.

you arrived to chan and i.n’s dorm and knocked the door. while you waited for him to open the door, you tried to prepare the speech you would need to say now, otherwise you would chicken out, “so, chris, you know how today i went out with my family right? and how my cousin and aunt are always talking about how she’s always in an amazing relationship and i’m the one who-

“hi y/n, come in” it was i.n who opened the door and gave you a quick hug, “haven’t seen you in a while, how are you?”, he asked you while he let you in

“i’ve been good, busy with work, but good. and you? how is the recording coming along?”

“well, same thing you know, singing, singing and more singing. and if i have time, more singing” you laughed with him

once you were in the living room, you saw that felix was there as well, “y/n!! i didn’t know you were coming”, he got up to give you a hug too.

while you got on really well with all of the boys, felix was probably the one you were the closest to. after chan, of course.

“oh no, it wasn’t planned, i was close and i decided to drop by” you smiled at him and looked around trying to find chan

“mmm, is chan here?” it was strange that he hadn’t come out to see you yet

“no, sorry, he’s in the studio with han and changbin, you know, 3racha things” i.n told you

“oh, right, well i probably should have called before i came out of the blue, i’m sorry if i’m interrupting something guys”

“don’t you dare apologise y/n, you’re not interrupting anything” felix told you

“felix is right y/n, come on, sit here with us” i.n said

you sat with them and talked about how the recording was going on. they told you about songs they were excited about and others that didn’t quite work well for this comeback and they were going to leave them for another one in the future.

“so y/n, i don’t want to sound rude or anything, but you came looking for chan and he isn’t here, but is there anything we can help you with?” i.n asked you

honestly you just needed to vent out, “it depends, do you have time?”, and after they nodded their heads, that’s what you did.

you told them everything. how your cousin and aunt behaved every single year. how they treated you whenever you saw them. how these birthday parties in the cabin were always the worst weekend of the year. how you had gotten yourself in the biggest disaster of your life and how you had no clue how to get out from there.

“so now i have to introduce my family to my boyfriend of three months who i don’t even know myself, and that would be it”

the looks on their faces told you everything you already knew. you were crazy. absolutely mental.

felix was the first one to laugh, loudly, uncontrollably, “i’m sorry y/n, i know i shouldn’t laugh, but this is just nuts”

“i know, i know, feel free to laugh at the misery that is my life now” maybe you were being a bit overdramatic, but that’s how you felt after you set yourself up like this

“no but y/n this is just… wow, just wow” it was i.n’s turn to laugh now

you threw your head back and screamed at the ceiling, “what am i gonna do now?”

they just continued laughing at you and you couldn’t help but join them, laughing at the absurdity of it all

“maybe chan will be able to think of something, you know how he always deals with our messes and chaos, so he could help you too” felix told you

“yeah, that’s why i came here, to tell him and see if he could think of something, after he was done with laughing and telling me off and all that”

the boys agreed with you that the best idea would be to talk with chan and see if he was able to come up with something to help you.

it wasn’t the first time that chan helped you deal with a mess you had created, so one more time wouldn’t hurt anybody, right?

once you got home, you showered and got ready to relax for the night. honestly, after the day you had had, you deserved that. in the meanwhile, you had come with possible solutions for your problem, although you weren’t happy with any of them:

1. you could say that you boyfriend couldn’t come to the trip because he had gotten sick last minute, but it was very simple and basic, everyone would think you were lying (which if you were being honest, you were)

2. you could say that you were the one who had gotten sick and your boyfriend was going to take care of you, but again, simple, basic, everyone would see right through you

3. you could use a dating app and try to see if anyone was up for a weekend getaway with the family of the latest situationship in a cabin in-

no, just no no no. that was simply too crazy, even for you.

you knew your ideas were getting out of hand. you needed something drastic. not going to the trip was not an option but going to the trip alone? no, that was an even bigger no.

luckily for you, someone knocked on your door, making you completely forget about dating apps and situationships and red flags and sirens in your head.

your favourite face in the world was right behind the door. you saw his smile getting bigger the moment he saw you and you felt yours doing the same.

“chris, what are you doing here?” you opened the door wider, letting him in

“well, felix texted saying you had been in my dorm looking for me and that you needed my help so, i went to get us something to eat and came here as soon as i finished recording. i’m all yours now” he told you while leaving the food on your dining table and opening his arms extra wide to give you a big hug

never in a million years would you change your and chan’s relationship. you had been best friends for so many years that you don’t even remember you life without him. you were each other’s first person for everything: if one of you had good news, you would tell each other first; if one of you was feeling down, the other was right beside them. that’s how you two worked, so it was no surprise to you that as soon as he had found out that something was going on with you, he had come straight to you. like he always does.

“well, it’s probably the craziest thing i’ve ever done, so you better be ready” you told him while pointing your finger at him

he laughed at you, “well, i’ve bought us food, and i don’t have to record tomorrow so, hit it”

you two sat down and started eating

“so, you know how i was going out with my family today right?”, you asked him and he nodded, “and how my aunt and cousin were also going?”, he nodded again, “and how her birthday is coming up so that means the cabin trip is soon right?”

he stopped eating and looked at you, “oh oh”

“oh oh indeed”

“i don’t like where this is going” he told you

“i can promise you that whatever you’re thinking, it’s worse, definitely worse”

he looked you in the eye, getting serious now, “y/n, what did you do?”

“itoldthemihaveaboyfriendandi’mbringinghimtothecabintirp”, you said it so fast that chan wasn’t able to understand anything

he looked at you, slowly nodded once and told you, “okay let’s try that one more time, but slowly, like human beings normally talk”

you let out a long sigh, “i told them i have a boyfriend and that i’m bringing him to the cabin trip”

everything went quiet. it was so quiet you could hear a hair pin drop. you looked at chan. he looked at you. no one dared to say anything.

you couldn’t take it anymore, “chris, say something please”

“i don’t know what to say honestly”

you placed your hands on your eyes, trying to block everything

“y/n, why did you do that?”

“i don’t know chris, i panicked okay, you know how they get about the boyfriend topic and honestly i’m sick of it and i couldn’t take it anymore so i just said whatever it came to mind”

“which was that you have a boyfriend”

“yes”

“and that you have been together for three months”

“yes”

“and he’s going with you to the trip”

“yes chris thank you for reminding me all the information that i have yet to accept”

he burst out laughing. “i’m sorry y/n, but this… this is just ridiculous”

“i know, i know”, you groaned, “what am i gonna do, chris? i can’t back off now”

“no no, you can’t, otherwise they’re going to find out you’re lying, you know how your aunt and cousin can get”

“yeah i know… i thought about saying that my boyfriend got sick or that i got sick but that would be too obvious. i also thought of finding someone online to go with me and pretend we’re dating but that was a big no no, like i’m crazy but not that crazy”

“yeah no, i’m not letting you do that. you’re not gonna use a total stranger to fake a relationship that doesn’t exist. that’s completely nuts and dangerous. it would be different if you knew him though”

bingo.

you had it.

it had been right in front of you all day long but you didn’t see it, and well, technically right now it was in front of you. you just needed a bit of cooperation.

he hadn’t even realised what he had said, he was just throwing ideas and thoughts. he had no clue of the plan that was already forming in your head. he hadn’t seen how you were looking at him, battling your lashes, like a kid who goes with their parents and wants them to buy him ice cream.

you were a woman on a mission, and your mission was him.

“chris…”, you tried to get his attention

“what?”, he looked at you

you said nothing, just kept looking at him, trying to see if he would catch on your plan.

he did.

“oh no, no no no no” he shook his head while moving his hands, as if that was going to stop you

“bahng christopher chan…”, you slowly got up and walked towards him

“no no no no, y/n don’t you dare” he kept shaking his head and trying to get away from you, when you kneeled in front of him as if you were proposing, which in a way, that was what you were doing

“will you please be my fake boyfriend for the weekend?”

< previous | navigation | next >

here’s chapter one my loves!! thank you so much for reading!!

stay tuned for the following chapters :)

my other fics

taglist (ask in comments to be added)

you could call me babe for the weekend taglist: @beyunjinnn @emmiesoverthemoon @skzbiasot8 @havennz @hyunjinxxs @reetheratt @heartwithoutaname @ahseyy @hyvneluv @domicaru @annyeongffs @necrozica @lavunyan @0x1lovesong1 @leylaasroom @bluesungology

[sammhisphere]

you could call me babe for the weekend

chapter one: bad idea right?

wc: 3.1k

< previous | navigation | next >

“and he has his own car because he’s very important for the firm, so of course he has his own office and secretary. the firm would be nothing without him”

that’s what you heard your cousin saying or something like that. to be brutally honest, you weren’t paying attention to what she was saying. you tend to think about other things whenever she talks, just like right now you were thinking about what you were going to have for dinner that night. you had gone grocery shopping the day before, so you had a lot of options: you could prepare something quick like-

“unfortunately he’s very busy with his job right now, he has a lot of cases to work on and a lot of people to defend, so he won’t be able to come to my birthday party next week, so it looks like y/n won’t be the only person alone during the weekend” your sweetheart of an aunt, who you loved so so much, decided to intervene in the conversation about how your cousin’s new boyfriend is oh so wonderful, and he has such an important job, and how he’s mr. perfect, and they are the dream couple and oh oh oh.

you were so done with all of that. you couldn’t understand how your uncle, your dad’s brother, had married someone like that and even worse, how their daughter had come out like that.

“yeah but mom it’s not the same, my boyfriend won’t go to your birthday party because he will be busy working. however, y/n’s boyfriend won’t be there because he’s well… nonexistent” your cousin said making her and her mom burst out laughing.

you dad and uncle were engrossed in another conversation on the other side of the table so they didn’t hear what your cousin said, and your poor mom didn’t know what to do with herself. obviously she had caught the irony with which your cousin and aunt were talking, but she also didn’t want to make a scene, so she just let out an uncomfortable laugh and looked around the room trying to calm herself down.

you? that was a whole other story.

you had put up with this so many times, that this scene that was taking place in front of you was nothing out of the ordinary. every year, for your aunt’s birthday, you would go to her family’s old cabin by the lake and it was always the same thing: the family would arrive on friday for a little family get together, your aunt’s friends would go there on saturday morning and leave throughout the day, and then your family would go back to their own places on sunday. you didn’t see the point of you spending three days there. well, you didn’t see the point of going there at all.

as if it was a tradition at this point, every year your cousin would go to the family getaway with her boyfriend. mind you, you saw a new boyfriend every year. you are not one to judge, but you didn’t see the same boyfriend two years in a row. each boyfriend was even better than the last, and your aunt and cousin wouldn’t stop parading them like they were zoo animals. you felt bad for them to be honest. well, some of them.

you on the contrary would always go alone, because either you had just come out of a relationship or because you weren’t in any type of relationship at all. you didn’t mind this, in fact you were glad you didn’t have to make someone go through what all of this family getaway involves, but it seems like your aunt and your cousin always had to make a comment about that - it didn’t matter if the comments were directed at your, according to them, inability to maintain a relationship, or if you weren’t “girlfriend material”, or that you needed to work harder to find someone good and wealthy but you couldn’t meet those standards so they understood that you were alone - whatever hurtful comment they could think about, they would say it and laugh about it.

you had tuned them out many years ago, you really had. but something about the way. they were laughing today made you snap. you don’t know if it was the comment, the way they laughed, or if you had gotten out of bed the wrong side that morning. whatever made you say this, you don’t know if you should be thankful or shut yourself up forever:

“actually, i was going to tell you today that i’m not going alone this year, my boyfriend will come with me”

everything went quiet.

your dad and your uncle stopped talking.

your mom looked at you like you had grown seven heads all of a sudden.

but the look on your aunt and cousin’s faces? priceless.

you patted yourself on the back mentally.

“a boyfriend? you?” your cousin said rather sceptical

“yes, a boyfriend” you smiled at her with the biggest smile you could muster, however you were now realising what had you just done

“honey, we didn’t know you had a boyfriend, i-i mean you hadn’t told us anything” it was your mom’s turn now, poor thing she was as lost as you were right now

“well, it’s still early days, we’ve been together for three months and i thought i could use this trip as an opportunity to introduce him to all of the family!” your mouth was talking before you could even realise what you were actually saying

“oh, so we’re finally going to meet the man who stayed long enough to come to my birthday party” you couldn’t decipher the look on your aunt’s face, but it was a mix of disbelief and arrogance

“yes, i can’t wait for you to finally meet him” and for you to meet him yourself you thought

what the hell were you doing?

after you said goodbye to your parents and the rest of your family and left the restaurant, you finally realised what had happened, “what have you done y/n?”. on the outside you were the spitting image of someone who had everything together, on the inside… that was a another story.

let’s rewind for a bit. you had said that you:

1. had a boyfriend

2. had been in a relationship for three months now

3. were going to introduce said boyfriend to your family next week

the reality was that:

1. you didn’t have a boyfriend

2. your last relationship ended more than a year ago

3. you were going to the family trip alone

great. just fucking great.

you were spiralling. you needed to vent out. so you decided to go to your best friend’s house: bang chan. you could already imagine his reaction. first, he would laugh at the mess you had created. then, when he saw how you were going crazy with all of this, he would try to calm you down. and lastly, he would try to think of a solution with you. the longer you thought about it, the more shocked that you were at what you had done to yourself. this was all on you. stupid mouth. stupid birthday. stupid cabin. stupid everything.

you arrived to chan and i.n’s dorm and knocked the door. while you waited for him to open the door, you tried to prepare the speech you would need to say now, otherwise you would chicken out, “so, chris, you know how today i went out with my family right? and how my cousin and aunt are always talking about how she’s always in an amazing relationship and i’m the one who-

“hi y/n, come in” it was i.n who opened the door and gave you a quick hug, “haven’t seen you in a while, how are you?”, he asked you while he let you in

“i’ve been good, busy with work, but good. and you? how is the recording coming along?”

“well, same thing you know, singing, singing and more singing. and if i have time, more singing” you laughed with him

once you were in the living room, you saw that felix was there as well, “y/n!! i didn’t know you were coming”, he got up to give you a hug too.

while you got on really well with all of the boys, felix was probably the one you were the closest to. after chan, of course.

“oh no, it wasn’t planned, i was close and i decided to drop by” you smiled at him and looked around trying to find chan

“mmm, is chan here?” it was strange that he hadn’t come out to see you yet

“no, sorry, he’s in the studio with han and changbin, you know, 3racha things” i.n told you

“oh, right, well i probably should have called before i came out of the blue, i’m sorry if i’m interrupting something guys”

“don’t you dare apologise y/n, you’re not interrupting anything” felix told you

“felix is right y/n, come on, sit here with us” i.n said

you sat with them and talked about how the recording was going on. they told you about songs they were excited about and others that didn’t quite work well for this comeback and they were going to leave them for another one in the future.

“so y/n, i don’t want to sound rude or anything, but you came looking for chan and he isn’t here, but is there anything we can help you with?” i.n asked you

honestly you just needed to vent out, “it depends, do you have time?”, and after they nodded their heads, that’s what you did.

you told them everything. how your cousin and aunt behaved every single year. how they treated you whenever you saw them. how these birthday parties in the cabin were always the worst weekend of the year. how you had gotten yourself in the biggest disaster of your life and how you had no clue how to get out from there.

“so now i have to introduce my family to my boyfriend of three months who i don’t even know myself, and that would be it”

the looks on their faces told you everything you already knew. you were crazy. absolutely mental.

felix was the first one to laugh, loudly, uncontrollably, “i’m sorry y/n, i know i shouldn’t laugh, but this is just nuts”

“i know, i know, feel free to laugh at the misery that is my life now” maybe you were being a bit overdramatic, but that’s how you felt after you set yourself up like this

“no but y/n this is just… wow, just wow” it was i.n’s turn to laugh now

you threw your head back and screamed at the ceiling, “what am i gonna do now?”

they just continued laughing at you and you couldn’t help but join them, laughing at the absurdity of it all

“maybe chan will be able to think of something, you know how he always deals with our messes and chaos, so he could help you too” felix told you

“yeah, that’s why i came here, to tell him and see if he could think of something, after he was done with laughing and telling me off and all that”

the boys agreed with you that the best idea would be to talk with chan and see if he was able to come up with something to help you.

it wasn’t the first time that chan helped you deal with a mess you had created, so one more time wouldn’t hurt anybody, right?

once you got home, you showered and got ready to relax for the night. honestly, after the day you had had, you deserved that. in the meanwhile, you had come with possible solutions for your problem, although you weren’t happy with any of them:

1. you could say that you boyfriend couldn’t come to the trip because he had gotten sick last minute, but it was very simple and basic, everyone would think you were lying (which if you were being honest, you were)

2. you could say that you were the one who had gotten sick and your boyfriend was going to take care of you, but again, simple, basic, everyone would see right through you

3. you could use a dating app and try to see if anyone was up for a weekend getaway with the family of the latest situationship in a cabin in-

no, just no no no. that was simply too crazy, even for you.

you knew your ideas were getting out of hand. you needed something drastic. not going to the trip was not an option but going to the trip alone? no, that was an even bigger no.

luckily for you, someone knocked on your door, making you completely forget about dating apps and situationships and red flags and sirens in your head.

your favourite face in the world was right behind the door. you saw his smile getting bigger the moment he saw you and you felt yours doing the same.

“chris, what are you doing here?” you opened the door wider, letting him in

“well, felix texted saying you had been in my dorm looking for me and that you needed my help so, i went to get us something to eat and came here as soon as i finished recording. i’m all yours now” he told you while leaving the food on your dining table and opening his arms extra wide to give you a big hug

never in a million years would you change your and chan’s relationship. you had been best friends for so many years that you don’t even remember you life without him. you were each other’s first person for everything: if one of you had good news, you would tell each other first; if one of you was feeling down, the other was right beside them. that’s how you two worked, so it was no surprise to you that as soon as he had found out that something was going on with you, he had come straight to you. like he always does.

“well, it’s probably the craziest thing i’ve ever done, so you better be ready” you told him while pointing your finger at him

he laughed at you, “well, i’ve bought us food, and i don’t have to record tomorrow so, hit it”

you two sat down and started eating

“so, you know how i was going out with my family today right?”, you asked him and he nodded, “and how my aunt and cousin were also going?”, he nodded again, “and how her birthday is coming up so that means the cabin trip is soon right?”

he stopped eating and looked at you, “oh oh”

“oh oh indeed”

“i don’t like where this is going” he told you

“i can promise you that whatever you’re thinking, it’s worse, definitely worse”

he looked you in the eye, getting serious now, “y/n, what did you do?”

“itoldthemihaveaboyfriendandi’mbringinghimtothecabintirp”, you said it so fast that chan wasn’t able to understand anything

he looked at you, slowly nodded once and told you, “okay let’s try that one more time, but slowly, like human beings normally talk”

you let out a long sigh, “i told them i have a boyfriend and that i’m bringing him to the cabin trip”

everything went quiet. it was so quiet you could hear a hair pin drop. you looked at chan. he looked at you. no one dared to say anything.

you couldn’t take it anymore, “chris, say something please”

“i don’t know what to say honestly”

you placed your hands on your eyes, trying to block everything

“y/n, why did you do that?”

“i don’t know chris, i panicked okay, you know how they get about the boyfriend topic and honestly i’m sick of it and i couldn’t take it anymore so i just said whatever it came to mind”

“which was that you have a boyfriend”

“yes”

“and that you have been together for three months”

“yes”

“and he’s going with you to the trip”

“yes chris thank you for reminding me all the information that i have yet to accept”

he burst out laughing. “i’m sorry y/n, but this… this is just ridiculous”

“i know, i know”, you groaned, “what am i gonna do, chris? i can’t back off now”

“no no, you can’t, otherwise they’re going to find out you’re lying, you know how your aunt and cousin can get”

“yeah i know… i thought about saying that my boyfriend got sick or that i got sick but that would be too obvious. i also thought of finding someone online to go with me and pretend we’re dating but that was a big no no, like i’m crazy but not that crazy”

“yeah no, i’m not letting you do that. you’re not gonna use a total stranger to fake a relationship that doesn’t exist. that’s completely nuts and dangerous. it would be different if you knew him though”

bingo.

you had it.

it had been right in front of you all day long but you didn’t see it, and well, technically right now it was in front of you. you just needed a bit of cooperation.

he hadn’t even realised what he had said, he was just throwing ideas and thoughts. he had no clue of the plan that was already forming in your head. he hadn’t seen how you were looking at him, battling your lashes, like a kid who goes with their parents and wants them to buy him ice cream.

you were a woman on a mission, and your mission was him.

“chris…”, you tried to get his attention

“what?”, he looked at you

you said nothing, just kept looking at him, trying to see if he would catch on your plan.

he did.

“oh no, no no no no” he shook his head while moving his hands, as if that was going to stop you

“bahng christopher chan…”, you slowly got up and walked towards him

“no no no no, y/n don’t you dare” he kept shaking his head and trying to get away from you, when you kneeled in front of him as if you were proposing, which in a way, that was what you were doing

“will you please be my fake boyfriend for the weekend?”

< previous | navigation | next >

here’s chapter one my loves!! thank you so much for reading!!

stay tuned for the following chapters :)

my other fics

taglist (ask in comments to be added)

you could call me babe for the weekend taglist: @beyunjinnn @emmiesoverthemoon @skzbiasot8 @havennz @hyunjinxxs @reetheratt @heartwithoutaname @ahseyy @hyvneluv @domicaru @annyeongffs @necrozica @lavunyan @0x1lovesong1 @leylaasroom @bluesungology

[sammhisphere]

It's 3am and you randomly confess

Hyung Line

You've suffered from depression and other things. So, getting a random confession at 3 am scares the boys!

genre: Angst, fluff

black reader

TW: Implied self deletion, Depression

Bangchan

Bangchan arrived at your place as fast as he could. His heart was gripped with fear. It was dark and not a sound was made. He rushed towards your bedroom swinging the door open. The noise startling you out of the sleep you've cried yourself into. Your eyes met bangchan's blown out and worried ones. "Fuck, I was scared. I-" He didn't even want to finish that thought as he pulled you tight against his chest. He wasn't going to leave you alone tonight or ever. He would make sure you were getting the help that you needed.

Minho

Minho wanted to be calm, but his shaky hands gave him away. He quickly unlocked your apartment door. Thank god you gave him keys because he's your best friend. As soon as he wanted in, he heard a thud. Rushing to your bathroom, he burst through the door. You were wrapped in a towel getting out of the shower and had knocked over your hair oil. You and Minho stared at each other for a moment. "Well I'm glad you're ok, but we might have a different problem." He chuckled.

Changbin

Binnie knew of your depression, but he didn't think you were struggling with it right now. He believed that you were nervous about the confession and put your phone down. So when he got there, he was greeted by some sad trumacore music. He quickly turned it off and made his way to a crying you sitting at the table. He quietly but protectively wrapped his arms around you and just let you cry until you fell asleep.

Hyunjin

Hyunjin was reading your messages in realtime as he made his way to your apartment. He wasn't going to waste time replying. Time was precious, so he ran. He made it to your play when you said you loved him. Your head whipped towards the door and locked eyes with an out of breath Hyunjin. "Yah, (y/n) what's going on in your head?" He asked worriedly as he made his way to the couch. "I know you weren't going to confess then leave me right?" He asked. You two had a long talk ahead of you.

[sammhisphere]

Surprise texts with your SKZ boyfriend in a “weird” mood.

PART 1.

NSFW. 18+. MDNI.

CHAN

LEE KNOW

CHANGBIN

HYUNJIN

HAN

FELIX

SEUNGMIN

JEONGIN