saymonsays

[saymonsays]

I still can't believe it. He's going to release his solo album. This year is T.O.P's year🥺

I am very excited.❤️‍🔥🫰🏼🎵

[saymonsays]

WORK OF ART

choi seunghyun x fem! reader

summary: you’re in LA with your boyfriend to support him while he promotes his tv series. before one of the events you stop by his dressing room to wish him good luck, leading to a quickie to calm his nerves

warnings: 18+ content ahead including mirror sex, daddy kink, pet names, dirty talk, praise, unprotected p in v, cumming inside. implied age gap (legal!!), older bf! seunghyun, established relationship

a/n: just a short piece because i sadly have writer's block. but, for the sake of all the tabi content we've gotten this week, i quickly put this together for you all <3

There’s an hour left before the event, and Seunghyun is meticulously preparing himself in front of his dressing room mirror, his tall and broad frame clad in an impeccably tailored suit.

He critically examines his reflection, adjusting his cufflinks and straightening his tie. When the door to his dressing room creaks open, he looks up to see you stepping inside.

“Hey,” you call out, closing the door behind you. Seunghyun notices your elegant black dress that fits your figure flawlessly.

“Jagi…You came.” he responds softly, keeping his gaze locked onto you through the mirror. He catches the smile on your lips and the sweet way you approach him, making him feel bashful. Even after a year of dating, he still experiences that flutter in his chest whenever he sees you, wondering how he got so lucky.

You both met during the Dear Moon project when you were just a young fresh-faced intern, and he felt an instant connection to you. You clearly felt the same, having been the one to ask him out first. He’s forever grateful for that kiss you shared that night, as he would have never found the courage to express his feelings otherwise.

“Wouldn't miss this for the world,” you reply, watching his reflection in the mirror. You notice the slight tension in his shoulders, understanding that he’s probably worried, so you step closer and place a caring hand on his shoulder. “How are you feeling, handsome?”

He turns his head slightly, pressing a soft kiss to your hand. “Nervous.” he admits honestly as he turns back to the mirror, his eyes finding yours in the reflection once more.

“You're going to be amazing, babe,” you say with unwavering confidence, adjusting his collar.

“And if I'm not?” he asks, his brow furrowing slightly as he gazes at you in the mirror. He’s aware of how much this means to him and the pressure he’s placing on himself.

You smile reassuringly and gently turn him by the shoulders so he’s facing you directly. “You will be.” you say firmly.

He gazes into your eyes, where he sees the steadfast belief and support mirrored back at him. It brings a small sense of peace within him, soothing his anxious heart.

“Thank you, princess. You always know what to say,” he whispers, leaning down to place a gentle, appreciative kiss on your lips.

As you slowly separate, Seunghyun's hand glides down to your waist, giving it a light squeeze. “Y’know…I still have an hour to kill before I need to head out.”

A playful smile spreads across your face at that, your hands moving up his chest.

“So you do...” You nibble on your lower lip, an idea blossoming in your mind that mimics his own burgeoning thoughts.

“Mmm, and I think I have the perfect way to spend it.” he murmurs lowly, his hands tightening around your waist as he turns you to face the vanity mirror, pressing his body against your back.

“Seunghyun...” you gasp, gripping the edge of the dresser as you feel his lower body pressing against you. He plants soft kisses along your neck, his hands exploring your body with a familiarity that speaks volumes about the countless nights you've spent together.

“Should I stop, sweet girl?” he whispers against your ear, deliberately using that gentle, authoritative tone that never fails to make your knees weak—a clear nod to your age difference.

One hand glides up to cradle your breast while the other teasingly trails down your stomach.

“No,” you breathe out, leaning into his touch. You watch your reflection in the mirror—Seunghyun towering behind you, hands exploring your body with expert precision and you can feel yourself getting wetter by the second.

“Tell me what you want, princess.” he coos, squeezing your breast through the fabric of your dress. His other hand ventures lower, slipping beneath your dress to toy with the edge of your underwear.

“Want me to do you right here?” His words are filthy and authoritative, precisely what you crave at this moment.

You moan in response, your eyes locked onto his. The sight of him groping you from behind is almost too much for you to handle. “Yes, I want it daddy.” you whisper breathlessly, grinding your ass back against him.

A low, pleased rumble escapes him at your words. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties and slowly pulls down, exposing you to him.

“Gonna be quiet for daddy? I wanna be the only one who can hear you.”

He watches you nod in the reflection, closing your mouth to stay quiet.

God, you’re so fucking sexy like this, Your swift compliance making him twitch in his pants. He releases your breast to quickly free himself from his trousers.

He then grabs your hips and pulls you back onto his length, entering your sopping cunt slowly. you let out a strangled whine, but bite your lip to muffle the sound. He smirks at you through the mirror, knowing your holding back for him and starts to move, his eyes never leaving yours.

His voice is thick with lust when he speaks again,

“Watch yourself while I fuck you.”

“Look at how fucking beautiful you look taking my cock.”

You comply, your eyes locked onto the mirror. Your cheeks flush with each movement, slightly embarrassed as you see yourself being taken so thoroughly by him.

“Just look at you…you’re a goddamn work of art like this.”

Every thrust is intentional and profound, designed to make you clutch the vanity. Your moans become harder to suppress, little whimpers escaping your lips as he picks up the pace.

The image of you arched, your eyes fluttering shut in ecstasy, and the way the mirror's lights dance across your face sends him into a frenzy.

“Prettier than any of my paintings at home...”

He shifts his stance, maintaining his rhythm and raises your leg, forcing you to steady yourself against the mirror with palms splayed out against the cold surface.

This fresh perspective causes you both to be slightly louder than appropriate for a public setting, but Seunghyun is beyond caring now. Especially when your pussy is squeezing his cock so deliciously.

His fingers dig into your hip as he picks up the pace, the new position allowing him to go deeper. Your shared moans fill the room, soft and desperate.

“That's my good girl,” he praises, his voice a low rumble. “I’m feeling much better now.” He leans down to kiss your shoulder lightly, his teeth grazing your skin.

“Feels s’good daddy…” you whimper, your shoulders slightly hunched as he hits that spongey spot deep inside you, “M-more.”

“Shh baby. daddy's gonna give you more.”

He starts pounding into you harder, the mirror shaking with each thrust. His other hand reaches around to rub your clit vigorously with his thumb.

His movements become erratic, his self-control breaking as he chases his release. He's reduced to animalistic grunts and words of adoration, his hand quickening with each snap of his hips.

“That feel good baby girl?”

“Mhmm,” you’re whining, your reflection showing flushed cheeks, love bites adorning your shoulder, and tousled hair. He gazes at you bouncing on him through the mirror, and nearly loses his composure at the sight of you.

“Cmon baby,” he whispers hoarsely in your ear,

“Lemme feel you come around me.”

Your breath catches in your throat, a weak moan escaping as you feel the familiar heat building inside of you. “D-daddy I'm gonna,”you gasp out, your fingers trailing down the mirror, creating streaks. “I'm gonna come...”

Seunghyun continues to thrust and rub your clit simultaneously, his movements growing more deliberate.

“Thats it, sweetheart. Show daddy how good it feels.” He plants soft kisses along your neck and shoulder, his touch growing more tender and encouraging. He begins to move with slow, deep bucks of his hips, perfectly targeting your g-spot.

He covers your mouth with his ringed fingers, silencing you just as your orgasm hits. You cry into his hand, your body tightening and shaking as you come hard on his dick. He stifles your cries, his eyes fixed on the bliss etched across your face.

He keeps thrusting slowly through your orgasm, prolonging your pleasure. His fingers slip from your mouth now to go back to rubbing your sensitive bud, your body completely sensitive, every touch sending sparks through you. He rubs your clit in tight circles, feeling your walls flutter around him.

With a final thrust, he groans, holding deep as he comes inside of you. His hand moves to grip your side as he pulses, He leans heavy against your back, panting harshly into your hair.

The unexpected knock on the dressing room door catches you both off guard. Seunghyun swiftly withdraws, his softening cock sliding out of your sensitive core with a slick sound. He hurriedly grabs some tissues to tidy up while you attempt to fix your tousled appearance. His manager's voice calls out from the other side of the door.

“Choi! we’re on in 10.”

He quickly tucks himself back into his suit pants, his belt clicking back into place. With a casual motion, he combs his fingers through his ruffled salt and pepper hair before pecking your cheek to whisper in your ear,

“So, who’s the amazing one now?”

⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚ tags: @mashtatosworld @loveesiren @szonyix6277 @seungttttop @xxtoptaexx @tabibabib @numeroun01 @heartubeatusalon @breakmeoff @gdinthehouseee contact me if you want to be added to or removed from my taglist

[saymonsays]

MY SHAYLAAA

T.O.P | Instagram (05/30/25)

[saymonsays]

CHOI SEUNG-HYUN (T.O.P.) with the gang Squid Game Special Screening - Q&A Event (Areo Theatre)

[saymonsays]

CHOI SEUNG-HYUN (T.O.P.) Squid Game Special Screening - Q&A Event (Areo Theatre)

[saymonsays]

i’m so normal about him

[saymonsays]

i’m sobbing rn. he looks so happy the way he’s observing the crowd and smiling🥹 i’m so happy he knows just how much his fans still adore him and im so happy he’s making public appearances 💗💗 also the emote at the end KILLED ME

[saymonsays]

oh yeah the link stopped working.. who is the other author btw? and did you guys sort this out? bc drama like this happened before here with a bunch of other writers and the opp didnt even apologise so. im not tryna start drama!! just curious

im not sure if im allowed to say the writer's user and stuff because i dont want to call her out especially me and the writer aren't close T-T we havent actually sort it out yet because i havent reach out to her and im not sure if she already know about the situation :c

[saymonsays]

Unreleased track and Secret Sessions

pairing: idol!jiyong x idol!reader

wordcount: 9k

‎2012

‎

‎Before the world knew your name, the industry already did.

‎

‎You were twenty-three and blazing through the charts with haunting vocals and visuals that made headlines every other day. A soloist without a company-crafted scandal or dating rumor, your mystique only made you more addictive to the public. You were the type to keep your head down and let the music speak, but even that couldn’t quiet the buzz. Every award stage you graced, every OST you lent your voice to—it was all becoming iconic. Quiet, elegant, untouchable.

‎

‎That’s what they thought, anyway.

‎

‎But somewhere across Seoul, in the smoke-filled dorm of BIGBANG, someone finally said your name out loud.

‎

‎“Yo, have you heard that girl’s vocals?” Daesung said, waving his phone in Jiyong’s face. “You know—what’s her name again?”

‎

‎“Y/N-ssi?” Youngbae offered, leaning back on the couch.

‎

‎“That’s the one! She's everywhere lately. It’s insane. Her visuals are next level too, like—damn.” Daesung swiped through a gallery of screenshots from your recent music show performance, pausing on a still of you with your eyes closed mid-note.

‎

‎Jiyong barely looked up from his notebook, pen scratching lyrics across the page. “Heard the name. Not the music.”

‎

‎“You’re missing out,” Daesung chimed in, half-laughing. “She’s got this song—what’s it called? ‘Only If’ or something. Gave me chills. You’d like her stuff. Real emotional.”

‎

‎That made Jiyong pause.

‎

‎Chills?

‎

‎He reached over and took Daesung’s phone, putting in one earbud. The moment your voice came through—soft, raw, heartbreak slipping into every line—he froze. His brows furrowed. The melody, the vocal control, the emotion—it was everything he admired in an artist.

‎

‎“…She wrote this?” he asked, voice low.

‎

‎Youngbae smirked. “Yeah. All of it. She’s legit.”

‎

‎Jiyong didn’t answer. He just played the song again.

‎

‎Then, later that night—alone in his room, still hearing your voice in his head—he opened his notes app and started typing:

‎

‎to: Y/N

‎from: G-DRAGON

‎subject: collab?

‎

‎A week later — YG Studio A, 2012

‎

‎“Don’t freak out,” you told yourself, glancing at your reflection in the tinted glass door before pushing it open.

‎

‎You weren’t the type to get starstruck. You had worked with legends, trained under pressure, performed on stages that demanded perfection. But this was different. This was G-Dragon. The same one who had texted your manager directly after hearing your song, requesting a meeting. The same one whose name was practically carved into the walls of Korean music history.

‎

‎And now he was sitting across the studio—black beanie low on his head, legs crossed like he had all the time in the world.

‎

‎He looked up as you stepped in.

‎

‎And smiled.

‎

‎"You're even quieter than I imagined," he said, standing.

‎

‎You blinked. “And you’re less intimidating than I thought.”

‎

‎That made him laugh. It was a soft sound, surprised—like he hadn’t expected you to say that.

‎

‎“I mean that in a good way,” you added quickly, setting your lyric notebook down on the table between you.

‎

‎He tilted his head. “That’s fair. People usually expect leather jackets and sunglasses.”

‎

‎You smiled. “But you’re wearing both.”

‎

‎He glanced at his outfit, then back at you. “Touché.”

‎

‎The meeting was casual at first—small talk, compliments, the usual back-and-forth. But when the producer came in and asked about concept direction, everything shifted. You became serious. Jiyong noticed. You weren’t just a voice— you were a storyteller. You talked about wanting the album to explore duality. Beauty and bitterness. Love and loneliness. And he listened. Closely.

‎

‎Halfway through the meeting, you offered a melody idea you’d written last night at 2 a.m., and Jiyong stopped scrolling his phone. He leaned in, asking to hear it again. Then again. Then he pulled his pen out and started writing beside you.

‎

‎That was the beginning.

‎

‎Not of the album.

‎

‎Of the collaboration.

‎

‎Of the story that would span four years and seventeen unreleased tracks.

‎

‎Of the thing no one else knew.

‎

‎Of the thing that would one day haunt Track Seventeen.

‎

‎Flashback: Late 2012 — YG Studio Rooftop, 1:43 AM

‎

��"You didn’t have to stay,” you told him, the cold air biting your cheeks as you sipped your convenience store coffee. “You could’ve gone home.”

‎

‎Jiyong shrugged beside you, hoodie pulled up, eyes squinting out at the dark city skyline. “Could say the same to you.”

‎

‎Silence settled—comfortable, stretched between the buzz of caffeine and the high from a night of recording. You didn’t look at him, but you felt him watching you.

‎

‎He said it so casually, like it wasn’t going to change everything.

‎

‎“I think I like you.”

‎

‎You turned your head, blinked. “You think?”

‎

‎He smiled, lazy and slow. “Fine. I know.”

‎

‎Flashback: Early 2013 — Jiyong’s Car, Late Night Drive

‎

‎No cameras. No stylists. No producers.

‎

‎Just you, him, and the quiet sound of your unreleased demo playing through his speakers. Your hand was in his lap, fingers interlocked, like it had always been that way.

‎

‎“We’ll keep it between us, yeah?” he said softly, almost like he was asking for permission.

‎

‎You nodded, knowing exactly what he meant. Not because you were ashamed—never that. But the world wasn’t kind to private things. Especially not when they bloomed between two public people.

‎

‎Flashback: Summer 2014 — Somewhere in Europe

‎

‎A getaway between tour dates. You two tucked away in a barely-used cabin in the south of France, rented under fake names.

‎

‎There were no reporters. No staff. Just wine, sunburned shoulders, your laughter echoing off stone walls, and the sound of Jiyong humming in the shower.

‎

‎That night, he wrote a song called “Sunlight Thief” after watching you dance barefoot across the wooden floor in nothing but one of his shirts.

‎

‎You kissed him before he could finish the chorus.

‎

‎Flashback: 2016 — Right Before the Breakup

‎

‎A hotel room in Tokyo. The air smelled like room service and exhaustion.

‎

‎He stood by the window, hands on his hips, head bowed.

‎

‎“You’re leaving for the US tour,” he said. “And I’ve got comeback prep.”

‎

‎“Yeah.”

‎

‎“And after that…?” he asked, voice a little too soft.

‎

‎You didn’t answer. You both knew the truth.

‎

‎It wasn’t love that was the problem.

‎

‎It was time. The lack of it. The demands that came from being artists first and lovers second.

‎

‎So you hugged him that night like it was a goodbye.

‎

‎Because it was.

‎

‎Back to Present — 2025

‎

‎Nobody ever knew.

‎

‎There were no scandals. No blurry airport photos. No soft dispatch reveals.

‎

‎Just seventeen tracks no one had ever heard.

‎

‎Until now.

‎

‎Until Track Seventeen dropped, and the world heard Kwon Jiyong moan your name like it was still stuck in his throat.

‎

‎And maybe… it was.

‎

‎The Internet Explodes

‎

‎The album drops at midnight.

‎

‎By 12:03 AM, “Track Seventeen” is trending in four countries.

‎

‎By 12:07, fans are already uploading their reactions:

‎

‎“EXCUSE ME DID HE JUST MOAN A NAME IN TRACK SEVENTEEN??”

‎“IS THAT A GIRL’S NAME OR AM I DELULU??”

‎“Bro this song is literally audio porn—what is happening???”

‎“Why is this sex song lowkey romantic? I’m gonna scream.”

‎“WAIT—IS THAT [Y/N’S STAGE NAME]??? 👀👀👀”

‎

‎And then... someone posts a side-by-side audio clip.

‎

‎Your voice in a 2014 demo run—breathy, soft, unmistakable.

‎

‎And Jiyong’s moan at the bridge of Track Seventeen.

‎

‎The tone. The syllables. The way his voice cracks just slightly.

‎

‎It matches.

‎

‎You’re trending before sunrise. Tagged in every post. Your latest Instagram photo flooded with comments like:

‎

‎“TELL US YOU WERE THE MUSE WITHOUT TELLING US 😭🔥”

‎“How do you FEEL about being immortalized in track seventeen?? 👀”

‎“Did y’all hear the lyrics? The way he said ‘lace on your spine’ and ‘arched like my prayers were answered’—ma’am.”

‎“It was NOT just a collab back in the day I fear.”

‎

‎Some fans are joking. Some are practically FBI agents. And some—some are simply streaming the song on repeat, hopelessly obsessed with the smutty, almost too intimate detail in every line.

‎

‎You — 7:22 AM

‎

‎You’re sitting in bed. Phone in your lap. Head spinning.

‎

‎You didn’t sleep. How could you?

‎

‎The moment you saw the title on the tracklist, your heart dropped. You knew.

‎

‎And when you heard it—really heard it—when his voice dropped into that soft, sultry rasp and you heard your name whispered like a secret between teeth…

‎

‎You almost dropped your phone.

‎

‎Your body remembered things your heart tried to forget.

‎

‎The lyrics?

‎

‎They weren’t metaphor. They were memory.

‎

‎The lace? That black backless dress you wore in Paris.

‎The moans? That one night in Jeju.

‎The last chorus? “Even now, I write you into every rhythm I ruin.”

‎

‎God. You were ruined.

‎

‎And now the world knew—maybe not everything. But enough.

‎

‎Enough to make you want to text him.

‎

‎Enough to make you scared that maybe… he left that track open for you.

‎

‎And worst of all—enough to make you want to reply.

‎

‎To: Kwon Jiyong

‎[Sent at 7:43 AM]

‎

‎I listened to the album.

‎I wasn’t going to say anything, honestly. I figured we were past this—past us. But then Track Seventeen played. And Jiyong… you know what you did.

‎You moaned my name.

‎You didn’t even try to hide it.

‎I know that song. Not just the lyrics. I remember it—the breathless laughter, the lace on the hotel floor, the way your voice sounded right against my ear when you said you’d write a song about that night. I thought you were joking.

‎I don’t know if I should be mad or… touched. Probably both.

‎‎But if this is your way of reaching out—if this was for me—then you should’ve just called.

‎‎Or maybe you knew I’d hear it.

‎‎You always did know how to get my attention.

‎‎– You know who

‎

‎From: Kwon Jiyong

‎[Sent at 8:11 AM]

‎

‎I wasn’t sure you’d listen.

‎‎I wasn’t sure you’d recognize it.

‎But I guess I was wrong on both.

‎‎I didn’t write Track Seventeen for the charts, or for the label. Hell, I didn’t even write it for the fans.

‎I wrote it because I couldn’t keep it in anymore. You’ve been stuck in every chord, every half-finished lyric, every rough cut I’ve made since 2016.

‎‎I didn’t say your name to start drama. I said your name because no other one fit. No other name could’ve pulled that sound out of me, or that memory out of the dark. That night—it’s ours. And the track had to be ours, too.

‎‎I wanted you to hear it and know.

‎That I still remember.

‎That I’m still haunted.

‎If you’re willing, I’d like to see you. Just talk. No pressure, no expectations. Just… two artists who know each other too well, sitting in a studio again.

‎‎But if you say no, I’ll understand.

‎‎I just needed you to know—I meant every second of that song.

‎

‎The Award Show – Present Day

‎The lights are blinding, the crowd is roaring, and your heart pounds like it’s trying to escape your chest. You’re standing in the green room after your stage performance, still glowing from the adrenaline—and from the fact that he’s here tonight. Kwon Jiyong.

‎

‎You haven’t seen him in years. Not since you slipped out of his apartment in 2016 with his kiss still drying on your skin.

‎

‎You’d seen the announcement earlier—he’d be performing. You hadn’t expected him to perform that song.

‎

‎And yet, when the beat of Track Seventeen dropped halfway through his set, the entire arena stopped breathing. The sensual beat. The heavy, hungry lyrics. The way he moaned your name—drawn out and unapologetic. You felt like the whole industry just turned to you.

‎

‎Now, as you try to slip out of the venue unnoticed, a hand catches your wrist.

‎

‎You freeze.

‎

‎You already know who it is.

‎

‎“Running again?” His voice is soft, teasing—but there's a heat simmering just below it.

‎

‎You turn slowly. He looks unfairly good in his tailored black suit, shirt undone just enough to reveal the tattoo that peaks beneath his collarbone.

‎

‎You force a breath. “Didn’t think you’d catch me this time.”

‎

‎He smiles—that smile. The one that used to pull the air right out of your lungs. “You dropped a whole album and disappeared. You really thought a moaned name wouldn’t get your attention?”

‎

‎You roll your eyes, but your lips twitch. “Subtlety was never your strong suit.”

‎

‎“I wasn’t trying to be subtle,” he says, stepping closer. His fingers graze your hip, light but claiming. “I wanted you to feel it.”

‎

‎“And I did,” you whisper. “I felt everything.”

—

Author's note: so yea this fic is just basically jiyong moaning your name in an unreleased track

‎

‎

‎

[saymonsays]

hello kitten whiskers 👅 im here with another request 😼 can we errrrrrr get youngbae as readers silly uncle or sth and they go to a convenience store and stumble upon like some bouquets of flowers and reader convinces yb to rizz up hyorin bc she's like so kewl and yeah and yeah 👅👅👅👅👅 idk man just a crack fic tbh :33 ty pookie pie 👅👅👅👅💕💕💕💕

well well well its you again 🦄 thats such a fun idea oh em gee i will definitely work on that because spoiler: i have new jiyong and seunghyun fics im working on 😼 but the idea of youngbae being the reader's uncle is so funny and chaotic LOL

[saymonsays]

Hihi! Love your work sm just wanted to inform your echo’s of us fic link is not working idk why

hiii (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠) i appreciate the support and tysm for letting me know! i actually took the fic down because i found out that its really similar to another writer's work and someone also pointed it out T°T while the similarities were unintentional, I completely understand how it could make someone uncomfortable, and I want to respect their works and feelings. I’m really sorry for any discomfort caused (⁠╯⁠︵⁠╰⁠,⁠)

[saymonsays]

Got you stuck on my body, like a tattoo

pairing: kwon jiyong x reader

wordcount: 15k | alexa, play 'one more night' by maroon 5

Summary: He can’t stop thinking about you. You're not just a hookup. You're a tattoo in human form—something that stays.

warnings: unprotected sex, penetrative sex, dom!jiyong x sub!reader, one night stand, lots of teasing i guess lmao

‎

‎Saturday night. Low lights. Velvet sounds of a bass-heavy song humming from the speakers. The kind of night where the air feels heavy with stories waiting to happen.

‎

‎You sit at the bar—alone but not lonely. A glass of something amber rests between your fingers, untouched. You’re waiting for your friend to get off their shift, but time feels irrelevant when you look the way you do.

‎

‎Your dress is long, black, elegant. High neck, sheer sleeves. The back? Lace—barely there. A whisper of skin visible down to your lower back. It’s subtle, but Jiyong saw it.

‎

‎Oh, he saw it the moment you walked in.

‎

‎He’s been sitting in his usual spot, two seats away, nursing a drink he forgot to taste. His rings clink against the glass as he shifts. He doesn’t even try to hide the way his gaze drags down your silhouette. You’ve noticed. You don’t look at him yet, but you know he’s watching.

‎

‎Then—

‎

‎He moves.

‎

‎He slides into the empty seat beside you, smooth and unhurried. Leans against the counter with a lazy smirk and orders something he doesn’t care about. Just to sit near you. Just to be noticed.

‎

‎You glance at him. Finally. A beat too slow, like you knew it would matter.

‎

‎“Nice tattoos,” you say, voice like velvet and smoke. Your eyes flick to the ink curling up his forearm, disappearing under the sleeve of his button-down. Black, rolled just enough to tease. He chuckles, low and amused, and turns to face you.

‎

‎“You like them?” he asks. His voice is soft, but there’s a weight behind it.

‎

‎You shrug, take a sip. “Depends. Got any good stories behind them?”

‎

‎“A few,” he says. “But the better ones haven’t happened yet.”

‎

‎There it is—the line that makes your lips curl in amusement. The way he watches you now is different. Focused. As if undressing you with his gaze is a casual habit, not a sin.

‎

‎You tilt your head. “You always this smooth with strangers?”

‎

‎“Only the ones in lace-back dresses.”

‎

‎Your laugh is soft, but your eyes stay on him. Matching. Testing. Inviting.

‎

‎He offers you a drink. You say yes.

‎

‎By the time the ice melts, your knees are touching.

‎

‎By the time your friend walks out to greet you—you’re already telling them, “I’ll text you later.”

‎

‎You swirl the last sip of your drink, eyes locked on Jiyong’s as if he’s already a memory you’re trying to memorize. He leans in just a little, elbow propped on the bar counter, voice dipped in that lazy rasp of his.

‎

‎“You always let strange men flirt with you this long?”

‎

‎You grin, chin tilted toward him. “Only when they look like sin with good tattoos.”

‎

‎He hums, clearly entertained. Then—he tilts his head, gaze slow, deliberate, eyes dragging over you with full intent.

‎

‎“I live a minute away,” he says. Like it’s nothing. Like it’s everything.

‎

‎You blink once. Slow. Let it hang.

‎

‎“And?”

‎

‎His smirk deepens.

‎

‎“And I’ve been sitting here for thirty minutes thinking about how that lace would look on my bedroom floor.”

‎

‎Your stomach flips. His tone? Filthy. His eyes? Honest.

‎

‎“You always talk like that?”

‎

‎“Only when I mean it.”

‎

‎That’s all it takes. No more pretense.

‎

‎You stand up, graceful. He’s up right after you, walking side by side down the quiet street lit by flickering lamps and the hum of the city around you.

‎

‎His hand finds the small of your back—low. Lower. Thumb slipping along your spine, almost possessive. You feel heat bloom across your skin. He doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t have to.

‎

‎You reach his building in seconds, heart pounding like it’s been sprinting.

‎

‎The elevator door slides open. You step in. He follows.

‎

‎The doors close.

‎

‎Silence—just for a breath.

‎

‎Then—

‎

‎Jiyong moves.

‎

‎One hand on your cheek, the other sliding down your back again—this time under the lace. His mouth crashes into yours, hungry and hot, tongue tasting like heat and need. You respond instantly—fingers fisting into his shirt, pressing your body into his as his lips part yours wider, deeper.

‎

‎His teeth graze your lower lip. His hand grips your waist like he’s claiming it.

‎

‎Ding.

‎

‎The door opens.

‎

‎You stumble into the hallway, half-laughing, breathless, still tangled in each other. He barely fumbles with his key, kisses you again while unlocking it. The door slams behind you.

‎

‎And just like that, you’re in his space.

‎

‎His world.

‎

‎And it’s about to get a whole lot wilder.

‎

‎The door shuts with a heavy click.

‎

‎You're both still panting, swollen lips barely an inch apart. Jiyong’s hand lingers at your waist, thumb grazing your bare skin where the lace ends. His eyes search yours—not for permission, but for restraint.

‎

‎He steps back. Just a bit.

‎

‎“Shoes off,” he says, voice thick.

‎

‎You toe them off slowly, watching him. He watches you right back—hungry eyes trailing over the way the dress hugs every curve.

‎

‎“Want a drink?” he asks, moving to the kitchen but not really giving you space to answer.

‎

‎“Sure.”

‎

‎You follow, feet padding silently on the floor. He pours something dark into a glass—hands you one. The air between you crackles. You take a sip, eyes never leaving his.

‎

‎“You always bring girls home like this?” you ask, feigning casual.

‎

‎His lips twitch.

‎

‎“I don’t usually get lucky enough to meet someone who makes backless lace dresses look like a crime scene waiting to happen.”

‎

‎You nearly choke on your drink, laughing. “Wow.”

‎

‎“Truth,” he says, stepping closer again. “You walked in, and I swear—I thought I imagined you.”

‎

‎His fingers trail along your back again, just brushing. Like he’s memorizing the curve. Like he doesn’t want to rush.

‎

‎“You planning on imagining me all night, or...?”

‎

‎He hums. Leans in.

‎

‎“I’d rather trace every inch of you first. Then maybe��� tattoo the memory.”

‎

‎You feel it—deep in your gut. That slow unraveling. Like every nerve is being strummed.

‎

‎You’re pressed against the kitchen counter now. His hand cups your jaw, mouth inches from yours again.

‎

‎But he doesn’t kiss you.

‎

‎No.

‎

‎He just... hovers.

‎

‎Waits.

‎

‎Like he’s daring you to make the next move.

‎

‎Your breath is shaky. The tension’s unbearable.

‎

‎Jiyong's fingers tighten around your jaw—gently, but firm enough to say don't move. His thumb drags across your lower lip, slow. Measured.

‎

‎“You gonna let me taste you,” he murmurs, “or do I have to beg for it?”

‎

‎You barely nod before his mouth is on yours—hot, messy, hungry. His kiss isn't a question. It’s a declaration. Like he’s claiming you for every second you ghosted through his mind before tonight.

‎

‎He lifts you effortlessly onto the kitchen counter, the cold marble shocking against your thighs as he nudges the skirt of your dress up.

‎

‎“Lace,” he mutters against your throat, “and no panties. You’re a damn menace.”

‎

‎You tilt your head back, gasping as his mouth drags down your neck, tongue teasing, teeth scraping. He kneels—right there on the cold tile—and spreads you with those tattooed hands like he’s about to worship.

‎

‎And he does.

‎

‎Tongue slow, deliberate. Deep.

‎

‎He licks through your folds like he needs it to survive, like this is the first taste of water after weeks in a desert. Your hands grip the edge of the counter, knuckles white as he sucks your clit, hums low in his throat, then plunges two fingers inside—crooked just right.

‎

‎Your legs shake.

‎

‎“Shit, oh my gosh—”

‎

‎He looks up at you, mouth shiny, lips curved. “You taste better than sin, baby.”

‎

‎Then you come.

‎

‎Hard.

‎

‎Back arching, hand flying to your mouth to keep from screaming, thighs closing around his head—but he doesn’t stop. He wants the aftershocks. He chases them.

‎

‎“Not done with you,” he rasps, standing and lifting you like you weigh nothing.

‎

‎He carries you—your dress hiked up, chest heaving, body limp with pleasure. The moment he drops you onto his bed, he peels the lace off your shoulders and throws it to the floor like it offended him.

‎

‎His inked body is lit by moonlight filtering through the blinds—muscled, lean, and trembling for you.

‎

‎He climbs over you, eyes locked with yours.

‎

‎“This isn’t just a night,” he says quietly. “This is me making sure you never forget me.”

‎

‎Then he sinks in.

‎

‎Slow.

‎

‎Deep.

‎

‎Stretching you until you're gasping and digging your nails into his back.

‎

‎Jiyong groans as he pushes all the way in, hips flush against yours. He stills there, breathing hard, forehead pressed to yours.

‎

‎“Fuck… you feel so good,” he whispers, voice wrecked. “So warm. So fucking perfect.”

‎

‎Your hands run down his back, nails dragging lightly along his spine. He starts to move—slow, deliberate thrusts, like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

‎

‎“You like it slow, baby?” he murmurs, kissing your jaw, your neck. “Want me to take my time with you?”

‎

‎You nod, too breathless to speak.

‎

‎He rocks into you, deeper now. Every roll of his hips drags a gasp out of your throat, his pelvis hitting your clit just right. Your legs wrap around his waist on instinct, holding him close, locking him in.

‎

‎"You're mine tonight," he breathes into your skin. "Right? Say it."

‎

‎“Yours,” you whisper, arching under him.

‎

‎His hand slides under your thigh, gripping tight as he starts moving faster—deeper. The bed creaks under you, the air thick with heat and sweat and the sound of skin on skin.

‎

‎“Fucking look at me,” he pants.

‎

‎You do. Eyes wide, dazed, hazy with lust.

‎

‎He kisses you—sloppy and desperate, all teeth and tongue—then pulls back just enough to watch your face as he fucks you.

‎

‎“You’re unreal,” he says. “Like a dream I didn’t know I had.”

‎

‎Your moans are getting louder, your hips moving to meet his thrusts, chasing that edge.

‎

‎“I’m close,” you gasp. “oh my gosh—”

‎

‎He grips your chin, makes you look at him. “Come for me. Right now.”

‎

‎You fall apart beneath him, trembling, crying out his name as pleasure tears through you. He fucks you through it, then chokes out a curse as he follows—deep, hard, moaning your name into your neck.

‎

‎When it’s over, he collapses beside you, chest heaving.

‎

‎You lie in silence, tangled in each other, skin damp, breathing heavy.

‎

‎But the peace is short-lived.

‎

‎Because when Jiyong wakes up the next morning—

‎

‎You’re gone.

‎

‎No note. No number. Not even a name.

‎

‎Just the faint scent of your perfume on his pillow.

‎

‎And he’s never been haunted like this in his life.

‎—

‎Jiyong wakes slowly, the sunlight streaming through the cracks in his blinds, warming the cool sheets. His body aches in that good way—the kind of ache you get when you’ve been thoroughly fucked. He stretches, groaning softly, and reaches out for the warmth beside him.

‎

‎Nothing.

‎

‎His eyes snap open, and the empty space beside him is a punch to his gut. He sits up, the blankets falling away from his chest, a sense of dread settling in his stomach.

‎

‎Where are you?

‎

‎His mind races—last night, the bar, the walk back to his apartment. The way you kissed him, the way you fit so perfectly under him. But now, it's as if you vanished into thin air.

‎

‎"Shit," he mutters, rubbing his face with both hands.

‎

‎He swings his legs off the bed, his feet hitting the cold floor. His head feels heavy, foggy from sleep, but that’s not what’s bothering him. What bothers him is the deafening silence in his apartment. The absence of your body next to his is louder than anything he’s ever heard.

‎

‎He stands up and heads to the bathroom, splashing water on his face, trying to shake off the nagging feeling in his chest.

‎

‎Nothing.

‎

‎No note. No sign of you anywhere. Just the lingering scent of your perfume and the heat of your body still in his sheets.

‎

‎He checks his phone, hoping for a message, but there’s nothing. No text. No missed calls.

‎

‎"Fuck," he curses, running his hands through his hair.

‎

‎He grabs his shirt off the floor, throwing it on, then rushes out of his apartment. He stands outside for a moment, breathing in the cool morning air. His mind is spinning. He can’t focus, can’t think straight.

‎

‎What the fuck happened?

‎

‎Last night, it was so fucking good. But now, it’s like you just disappeared. Like a ghost.

‎

‎He walks down to the elevator, his phone in hand, trying to pull himself together. His thoughts are a mess. Why the hell didn’t she leave a number? Why didn’t she say goodbye?

‎

‎But what really haunts him is this:

‎

‎You made him feel something. Something deep. Something he hasn’t felt in a long time.

‎

‎And now you're gone.

‎—

‎It starts off casual. A conversation with his bartender friend.

‎

‎“You saw her, right?” Jiyong mutters, spinning his glass of soda absently. “Last Friday night. Lace-back dress. Sat at the end of the bar.”

‎

‎The bartender raises a brow. “You know how many girls wear lace to this place?”

‎

‎“Yeah, but she—” he cuts himself off. No use trying to explain. “She was different.”

‎

‎He checks the bar again the next night. And again. And again.

‎

‎He scrolls through socials. Nothing. He doesn't even know what to search.

‎

‎One day, he thinks about asking the bar’s CCTV footage—but he doesn’t want to seem desperate.

‎

‎Until it eats him alive.

‎

‎He opens Instagram. Searches local tagged photos from that night. Scrolls. For hours.

‎

‎And then—there’s a picture. Blurry. Taken across the bar. She’s not even the subject. Just background. A flash of her back. That lace.

‎

‎Jiyong zooms in.

‎

‎“Got you,” he whispers, heart racing. “Now I just need your name.”

‎

‎The blurry photo gives him just enough.

‎

‎A tag on the post. Someone who was there. A friend of a friend, maybe.

‎

‎Jiyong doesn’t hesitate—he messages the person who posted it.

‎

‎hey. random but do you know the girl in the back of this pic?

‎

‎He stares at the message. Deletes it. Rewrites it with a little charm.

‎

‎hey! this might sound weird but i’m trying to find someone and i think she’s in the background of your photo from the bar on friday. any chance you know her?

‎

‎It takes hours.

‎

‎He nearly gives up.

‎

‎Then:

‎"Oh, that’s Juwon’s coworker. Why?"

‎

‎“I think she left something important,” he replies, vague. “I’d like to return it.”

‎

‎Half-true. She left a mark on him he’s not sure will fade.

‎

‎Eventually, someone gives him a first name.

‎

‎Then a profile.

‎

‎It’s private.

‎

‎No posts. One profile pic—blurry, distant. But it’s her.

‎

‎He debates sending a message. Fingers hover over the keyboard.

‎

‎Hey. We met the other night at the bar... You probably didn’t mean for it to happen like that, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.

‎

‎Delete.

‎

‎Too intense.

‎

‎Hey. I think you left something at my place.

‎

‎Lame. And a lie.

‎

‎Finally, he just types what he means.

‎

‎I know it was supposed to be one night. But I can’t get you out of my head. Can we talk?

‎

‎He hits send.

‎

‎Then stares at the screen like it owes him a miracle.

‎Your POV

‎The sheets are tangled around your legs.

‎Warmth lingers on your skin, but the other side of the bed is cold.

‎

‎Jiyong had stirred at some point, pulled the blanket higher over your shoulders, kissed your shoulder in his sleep.

‎

‎You should’ve left then.

‎

‎But you didn’t want to. Not yet.

‎

‎Now, golden morning light filters through the sheer curtains, soft and unbothered by the chaos that had happened the night before—kitchen counters, bedroom moans, lace bunched on the floor.

‎

‎You sit up slowly, dragging a hand through your hair.

‎

‎His scent is all over you. Musky, dark, citrus with something you can’t name but want to keep. You glance back at him—still asleep, lashes casting shadows on his cheekbones, lips parted just enough to remind you of last night.

‎

‎God.

‎

‎You exhale shakily.

‎

‎It wasn’t supposed to be like that. One drink, one night, no names.

‎But you hadn’t expected him to be so soft when he held you, so gentle in the in-betweens.

‎Or to kiss you like he’d been waiting for you.

‎

‎You tiptoe around the room, collecting your things.

‎Dress—wrinkled.

‎Shoes—under the couch.

‎Dignity—somewhere in the sheets, probably.

‎

‎Your hand hovers over the kitchen counter. A pen. A sticky note.

‎

‎You almost write something. Your name. A number.

‎

‎But you don’t.

‎

‎You can’t.

‎

‎If he knows who you are, things get complicated.

‎If he looks you up, remembers where he’s seen you before—the bar isn’t the only place you’ve passed through his world.

‎

‎You know who he is. Of course you do.

‎

‎You just pretended not to.

‎

‎And now you’re pretending you’re brave enough to walk away.

‎

‎Your phone vibrates. Your friend is downstairs, waiting in the car. Perfect timing. You open the door quietly, take one last look at him, and leave without making a sound.

‎

‎Later That Week…

‎

‎You’re scrolling through Instagram when a DM pops up.

‎

‎@peaceminusone

‎I know it was supposed to be one night. But I can’t get you out of my head. Can we talk?

‎

‎Your stomach flips.

‎

‎You hadn’t expected him to try.

‎

‎Your thumb hovers over the screen.

‎

‎Typing…

‎

‎Backspace.

‎

‎Typing again.

‎

‎Should you ghost him? Should you risk it?

‎

‎But the truth is…

‎You haven’t stopped thinking about him either.

‎

‎You stare at his DM for a full five minutes.

‎

‎You type.

‎

‎“You’re not supposed to remember me.”

‎

‎Backspace.

‎

‎You type again.

‎

‎“It was just a night.”

‎

‎Backspace. Backspace. Backspace.

‎

‎Your thumb taps the screen again—faster this time, like if you hesitate, you’ll chicken out.

‎

‎“I didn’t mean to disappear. I just… thought it’d be easier.”

‎

‎You pause. Inhale. Exhale. Your fingers hover.

‎

‎Then, with a kind of reckless honesty:

‎

‎“But I haven’t stopped thinking about you either.”

‎

‎Send.

‎

‎Delivered.

‎Read.

‎

‎You swear your heart skips when the typing bubble pops up almost instantly.

‎

‎“You thought it’d be easier to haunt me like that?”

‎

‎Typing…

‎

‎“You left like it meant nothing. I thought maybe it was nothing to you.”

‎

‎Typing…

‎

‎“But now you’re telling me you’ve been thinking about me too?”

‎

‎Typing…

‎

‎“Where are you.”

‎‎“Come back.”

‎‎“I don’t care if it was supposed to be just one night. I’m not done with you yet.”

‎

‎You stare at the screen.

‎

‎Jiyong's words pulse in your chest like a heartbeat you’ve been ignoring.

‎

‎You type slow this time.

‎

‎“It wasn’t nothing to me.”

‎

‎Send.

‎

‎Typing…

‎

‎“I just didn’t know what it was supposed to be.”

‎

‎Send.

‎

‎“But I think I want to find out.”

‎

‎And after a pause — short, nervous, honest:

‎

‎“Send me the address.”

‎

‎[7:15 PM]

‎

[‎Dropped pin]

‎

‎“I’ll be waiting.”

‎

‎You don’t even change. Just grab your keys, your bag, and leave your apartment like something is pulling you by the wrist.

‎

‎The moment you see him again, standing just outside the door of his building — black tee, tattoos peeking at his neck, eyes locked on you — it’s like time folds.

‎

‎You stop in front of him. He doesn’t say a word.

‎

‎Then:

‎“I knew you’d come back.”

‎

‎And then he’s pulling you into him, mouth crashing into yours — familiar and feverish, just like the last time, but heavier now.

‎More urgent. More real.

‎

‎Like neither of you are letting the other vanish again.

—

Author's note: no cuz when i saw a one more night jiyong edit on tiktok, i knew i had to write LMFAO i had to fucking edit this for the 9th time because the pictures kept on glitching omfg

[saymonsays]

and years later, this photo still has me on chokehold...

[saymonsays]

pink hair top save me

[saymonsays]

LOL IM ACTUALLY GIGGLING

‎Play, Pause, Repeat —

pairing: choi seunghyun x reader

Summary: You’ve known Choi Seunghyun your entire life—sharing secrets, inside jokes, and a seven-minute walk between houses. But everything changes when an innocent hangout turns into accidentally discovering his very personal side hustle—one that features his familiar moans, his bedroom, and, well… him. What starts with awkward questions and teasing spirals into something you both can’t walk back from. The only solution? Another seven-minute walk. And a promise to finally cross the line you’ve both been toeing for years.

‎warnings: penetrative sex, unprotected sex, squirting, oral sex, m & f receiving, slight public risk (parents nearly catch them)

wordcount: 24k

‎Saturday – 2:14 PM

‎Your room smells like fabric softener and regret.

‎

‎You’re half-splayed across your bed in the least flattering position known to man—one sock on, one sock missing, a mechanical pencil stabbing your thigh, and some half-finished math homework open in front of you like it personally insulted your entire bloodline.

‎

‎You stab a problem set with your eraser. “Why are numbers allowed to have letters in them.”

‎

‎Your phone buzzes beside your head. You groan, blindly reaching for it like it owes you money.

‎

‎[Seunghyun 🧠]

‎‎come over.

‎parents not home.

‎i have snacks.

‎we can rot together.

‎

‎[Seunghyun 🧠]

‎‎also ur dumb if u say no 😐

‎

‎You blink at the screen.

‎

‎Rotting with Seunghyun usually meant one of three things:

‎‎Watching horror movies too late and accusing each other of sleep paralysis demons.

‎‎Dramatically reading fanfics in British accents until one of you fake gags.

‎‎Falling asleep on opposite ends of his couch mid-snack, then waking up in weird yoga poses.

‎

‎You stare at your homework again. It stares back, menacingly.

‎

‎You reply:

‎‎on my way dumbass.

‎if u eat all the chips before i get there i’m keying ur bike

‎

‎[Seunghyun 🧠]

‎‎bring ur charger i lost mine

‎again

‎also ur toxic lol

‎

‎You snort, rolling out of bed with all the grace of a dying sea lion, grabbing your hoodie, earbuds, and—because you’ve known him since you were five—your backup hoodie. He never has clean ones.

‎

‎The walk to Seunghyun’s house is muscle memory at this point. You could do it blindfolded, backward, and probably drunk, not that you've ever tried. The spring sun is out but being annoying about it—just hot enough to make you regret the hoodie, but not hot enough to justify going back for a t-shirt.

‎

‎By the time you reach his front gate, it’s already open, like always. The “Beware of Dog” sign is still taped to it, even though the only dog in this house is Seunghyun when he eats chips too fast and chokes.

‎

‎You don’t bother knocking.

‎

‎“YO,” you call out, kicking your shoes off as you enter. “I’m here. Hide your shits.”

‎

‎“Kitchen,” his voice echoes faintly.

‎

‎You find him by the fridge, halfway through dumping a family-sized bag of chips into a mixing bowl like it’s cereal. He’s in sweats, hair still kind of fluffy from sleep, and wearing the ugliest Garfield t-shirt you’ve ever seen in your life.

‎

‎“You look like a man who has made peace with failure,” you say, pointing at his shirt.

‎

‎He shrugs. “Garfield’s right. Mondays suck. You’re here. Coincidence?”

‎

‎“Wow.” You drop your charger on the table and grab a chip. “This is how you treat someone who generously walked seven minutes in the heat for your company?”

‎

‎“You did that because you were bored and hate math.”

‎

‎“Don’t psychoanalyze me before 3 p.m., thanks.”

‎

‎He grins and tilts the bowl toward you in apology. “Truce?”

‎

‎You take another chip and nod. “Truce. Now let me rot on your couch in peace.”

‎

‎You flop onto the familiar worn-out couch in the living room, legs sprawled, phone already in hand. He follows behind, grabbing two sodas and tossing one at you without looking. It lands near your ribs. You don’t flinch—he always misses by just a little.

‎

‎“Wanna watch something dumb?” he asks, already grabbing the TV remote.

‎

‎“Obviously. Put on that one where the guy falls in love with a sentient GPS.”

‎

‎“Oh god, that movie is so bad.”

‎

‎“Exactly. Art.”

‎—

‎You’re halfway through the movie—if it can be called that—when Seunghyun starts shifting around like he’s sitting on a cactus.

‎

‎You glance over. “You good?”

‎

‎“I need to shower,” he says like it’s a tragic confession. “I smell like stress and ramen.”

‎

‎“Then shower,” you say, deadpan. “I’m not holding you hostage.”

‎

‎“I just hate leaving you unattended in my house.”

‎

‎“Wow. That sounds like your problem.”

‎

‎He sighs like a martyr and pushes himself up from the couch, grabbing a towel from the back of the chair. “Don’t steal my stuff.”

‎

‎“I’m literally not you. I don’t hoard pens and forget I own clothes.”

‎

‎“Touch my hoodie drawer and I’m calling the cops.”

‎

‎“Already did. They said you dress like a divorced dad.”

‎

‎He flips you off on his way down the hall, and you grin, settling deeper into the couch.

‎

‎A minute passes. Two.

‎

‎Then boredom hits like a freight train.

‎

‎You glance around.

‎

‎TV? Boring.

‎Phone? Dead.

‎Snacks? You ate most of them.

‎Seunghyun’s computer? Lit up and unlocked like an open invitation from Satan himself.

‎

‎You crane your neck.

‎

‎The screen shows a mess of tabs—YouTube, Discord, a few half-written school docs titled “maybe essay FINAL FINAL fr this time,” and…

‎A very pink, very adult-looking website sitting right in the middle.

‎

‎You blink.

‎Lean closer.

‎Squint.

‎

‎No. Way.

‎

‎“Seunghyunnnnnn,” you yell toward the bathroom, biting back a grin. “I’m gonna play Fortnite on your computer, okay?”

‎

‎A muffled, “Yeah whatever!” echoes from behind the door. There’s the sound of the shower running and a shampoo bottle falling with a thud.

‎

‎You scoot into the computer chair like a gremlin and close the innocent tabs first.

‎

‎Then you hover over the not-so-innocent one.

‎

‎You shouldn’t.

‎You really shouldn’t.

‎But curiosity is already punching your morals in the throat.

‎

‎You click it open.

‎

‎The page loads.

‎

‎A creator profile.

‎Blurred thumbnails.

‎Username: TopOfTheClass.

‎

‎You choke. "Oh my god."

‎

‎And then you see it.

‎

‎A video titled “Late Night Study Session 🎧💦”.

‎Posted three days ago.

‎You click.

‎

‎Bad decisions are being made in real-time.

‎

‎And the second the video starts—bare skin, familiar room, that groan you’ve heard before but not like this—you freeze. Eyes wide. Mouth hanging open.

‎

‎The voice.

‎The body.

‎The room.

‎ITS DEFINITELY SEUNGHYUN.

‎

‎You slam the spacebar to pause just as the bathroom door swings open.

‎

‎He’s standing in the hallway, towel slung low on his hips, hair damp, expression slowly morphing from relaxed to what the fuck.

‎

‎“What are you doing on my—”

‎

‎You turn in the chair like the guilty raccoon you are, blinking at him.

‎

‎There is a full ten seconds of dead silence.

‎

‎Seunghyun stares at you.

‎You stare at Seunghyun.

‎

‎The paused video stares at both of you.

‎

‎You clear your throat like you're rebooting your entire operating system.

‎

‎“So,” you start, voice cracking like a preteen in puberty, “just to confirm… that’s… you?”

‎

‎He raises an eyebrow, towel hanging dangerously low on his hips. “I mean… yeah?”

‎

‎“Like you-you? Choi Seunghyun? My best friend since we were in diapers? The guy who cried during Toy Story 3?”

‎

‎He shrugs. “It was a sad movie.”

‎

‎“That’s not the point, you absolute lunatic!”

‎

‎You shoot up from the chair like it’s electrocuted you, pacing the room now, hands flailing wildly as you process.

‎

‎“How long has this been happening?”

‎“Why are you doing this?”

‎“Do you get paid?”

‎“Do your parents know?”

‎“Do you moan like that on purpose or—”

‎“Is your username supposed to be ironic or is this a weird flex?”

‎“Wait—did you film that in your bedroom? While I was probably texting you?!”

‎

‎Seunghyun rubs the back of his neck, unfazed. “Uh. Since summer. Yeah. Yes. No. I guess? And it was a Tuesday.”

‎

‎You whirl around. “A TUESDAY?”

‎

‎He smirks. “You were at Chae’s house that day, remember? You sent me, like, 12 selfies of you guys wearing face masks and eating cereal.”

‎

‎You gape at him like he just confessed to murder.

‎

‎“I was sending you memes while you were filming amateur porn in the same zip code?!”

‎

‎“Pretty much.”

‎

‎“Are you hearing yourself?!”

‎

‎He shrugs again, like you just asked if he wants orange juice. “I don’t see the big deal.”

‎

‎You make a high-pitched sound that could kill dogs. “OF COURSE YOU DON’T, YOU’RE NAKED ON THE INTERNET.”

‎

‎He finally cracks a grin, towel still casually riding his hips like it paid rent there. “Well, not fully naked. I crop the face.”

‎

‎You make eye contact with him. Then with the screen. Then back to him.

‎

‎Your voice is flat. “Seunghyun. You literally moaned your own name.”

‎

‎“…Oh.”

‎

‎“I’M TRAUMATIZED.”

‎

‎You throw a couch pillow at his chest with the force of a thousand suns. He catches it, still grinning like this is the funniest thing that’s happened to him all week.

‎

‎“Why are you not embarrassed?!”

‎

‎He plops onto the couch with absolutely no shame, towel riding way too high up his thigh now. “Because I look good. And the lighting was nice. And you’re the one who watched it.”

‎

‎“I WAS CURIOUS—NOT HORNY.”

‎

‎He raises a hand in surrender. “Hey, you do you. Or, well. Me. Technically.”

‎

‎You grab another pillow and scream into it.

‎

‎You're still holding the pillow like it’s a lifeline, staring at him like he just announced he’s an alien. Which, at this point, wouldn’t surprise you.

‎

‎“You’re unbelievable,” you mutter into the fabric.

‎

‎“Thanks,” he says casually, propping one arm on the couch like this is just a Tuesday afternoon with trauma.

‎

‎You sit there for a moment. Still. Staring at him.

‎

‎At the smug expression on his face. At the damp collarbone glistening under the light. At the way the towel is still defying gravity in ways science can’t explain.

‎

‎Unfortunately, your eyes flicker lower for one—one—second too long.

‎

‎And he catches it.

‎

‎His smirk curls higher.

‎

‎“See something you like?”

‎

‎Your soul leaves your body.

‎

‎“I—NO. I was—shut up. I wasn’t looking. I was—panicking.”

‎

‎He stretches, arms over his head like he doesn’t know what he’s doing, and lets out the most unnecessary sigh. “Mmm. You sure? ‘Cause you were really analyzing video earlier.”

‎

‎You scream into the pillow again.

‎

‎“STOP BRINGING THAT UP.”

‎

‎“I’m just saying.” His voice drops just slightly, teasing. “Not everyone gets to see that angle.”

‎

‎You glance at him through your fingers.

‎

‎“Do you… always talk like that after someone finds your sex tapes, or am I just special?”

‎

‎He hums, eyes half-lidded now, like he’s enjoying this way too much. “You’re the first person to ever catch me.”

‎

‎“Lucky me,” you deadpan. “Is there a loyalty card or something?”

‎

‎He laughs—low, warm, familiar. It’s still Seunghyun. But now your brain won’t shut up about the other version of him too.

‎

‎And then it happens.

‎

‎The shift.

‎

‎You’re both quiet.

‎

‎Not like awkward quiet, but the kind where something just clicked into place and neither of you knows what to do with it.

‎

‎His eyes linger on yours a beat too long. Your heart stumbles.

‎

‎He tilts his head, still watching you.

‎

‎“...You wanna ask anything else?”

‎

‎You swallow. “Are you seriously opening the floor for a Q&A about your porn career?”

‎

‎“Sure,” he shrugs. “You already saw the goods.”

‎

‎“SEUNGHYUN.”

‎

‎He leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees, towel riding even lower now. His voice drops again, smooth and a little too calm.

‎

‎“You really didn’t think about it before?”

‎

‎You blink. “What?”

‎

‎“Me,” he says simply. “Like that.”

‎

‎Your breath catches.

‎

‎For the first time all afternoon, you don’t have a snappy comeback.

‎

‎He grins again, this time a little softer. A little more dangerous.

‎

‎“That’s what I thought.”

‎

‎You don’t answer him right away.

‎

‎Because what even is the right response to your best friend sitting half-naked across from you, casually asking if you’ve ever thought about him like that—right after you watched him moan his own name into a camera?

‎

‎You can feel your brain buffering.

‎

‎So, naturally, you go with the dumbest possible response.

‎

‎“…Have you ever thought about me like that?”

‎

‎He doesn’t even blink. “Obviously.”

‎

‎Your entire spine short-circuits. “WHAT—”

‎

‎“I mean,” he says casually, like you just asked if he likes ramen, “you’re hot. It’s not exactly classified information.”

‎

‎“I—I—HOT?!” You sound like a broken microwave.

‎

‎“Yeah. Why are you acting like that’s shocking?”

‎

‎“I don’t know,” you flail, “maybe because you’ve seen me with toothpaste on my face and cry-laughed when I dropped my phone on it.”

‎

‎“Still hot.”

‎

‎“You need professional help.”

‎

‎He leans back against the couch, the towel riding scandalously low now, like it’s in a committed relationship with gravity. His eyes drag over you in a way they never have before—not like a joke, not like your goofy best friend teasing you. Like he’s really looking.

‎

‎“...You ever kissed someone before?” he asks suddenly.

‎

‎You freeze. “What?”

‎

‎“You know. Just curious.” He shrugs. “You don’t have to answer if—”

‎

‎“I haven’t,” you blurt. “I mean—not, like, for real. Just dumb school dares.”

‎

‎He pauses. “Huh.”

‎

‎You squint. “Why ‘huh’?”

‎

‎He shrugs again. “Me neither.”

‎

‎Your brain does the math.

‎

‎Choi Seunghyun. The guy with the porn account. The guy whose body you just accidentally studied like a science project. Also a virgin?

‎

‎“But—then—why the—”

‎

‎“I was curious,” he says, a bit quieter now. “And it was kinda fun to mess around. Just didn’t wanna do stuff with someone I didn’t actually... care about, y’know?”

‎

‎You blink.

‎

‎And suddenly everything feels louder. The clock ticking. The silence between you. The air buzzing with something sharp and sweet and terrifying.

‎

‎You’re still sitting across from each other—but now it feels like you’re on the edge of a cliff, one more step from something you can’t undo.

‎

‎Seunghyun’s voice cuts through the quiet.

‎

‎“...Do you wanna try?”

‎

‎You blink again. “Try what?”

‎

‎He looks at you. Really looks.

‎

‎“Kissing. With someone you actually care about.”

‎

‎Your heart slams against your ribs.

‎

‎He’s not smirking now. He’s not teasing. He’s just... waiting. Soft. Real. Bare.

‎

‎You swallow.

‎

‎“You're weird..But…Okay.”

‎

‎The tension is thick, clinging to the air between you like smoke.

‎

‎Your heart is beating too fast, like it’s trying to run away from you, but your body is frozen in place. Seunghyun’s still watching you, calm and steady, but his eyes are darker now—like he’s thinking too much about the words he just said.

‎

‎You lick your lips, trying to steady your breath, but it doesn’t help. It only makes you more aware of how close he is, of how the room suddenly feels too small, too intimate, and the space between you feels like it’s buzzing with this wild energy.

‎

‎“Are you…” you start, but your voice is hoarse, caught in your throat. “Are you sure?”

‎

‎Seunghyun leans in a little, just enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him. His hand shifts on the couch beside him like he’s trying to control himself too, but his fingers twitch—almost brushing yours. But not quite. He’s teasing, even in this moment.

‎

‎“I’m sure,” he murmurs, his voice soft but steady, like he’s trying to pull you into this new reality between you. “We don’t have to rush it, though. I can just—”

‎

‎He stops. His gaze drops to your lips for a second. Then he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in the soft light. And that’s when the energy shifts. He’s the one leaning in now, his knee brushing against yours, and you can feel it—that spark—the need, the want, everything building up.

‎

‎Seunghyun’s fingers barely graze the side of your face, and the touch is electric. He pauses, as if waiting for you to pull away, but you don’t. You don’t move.

‎

‎“Are you sure you want this?” he asks, his voice just a whisper now.

‎

‎You nod, a little breathless. “Yes.”

‎

‎That’s all the permission he needs.

‎

‎His hand moves from your face to the back of your neck, his touch firm but gentle, guiding you closer. You can feel the heat of his skin on yours, the way his thumb softly brushes against your jaw, and your heart skips a beat.

‎

‎The first kiss is soft—tentative. You close your eyes, and his lips meet yours in a way that’s almost too sweet, too innocent. It’s like both of you are testing the waters, trying to figure out what comes next.

‎

‎Then, without warning, Seunghyun pulls you a little closer. His hand at your neck tightens just enough that you’re drawn in, your lips parting instinctively. And that’s when he deepens the kiss, just slightly—gently at first, but then more insistent, like he can’t help himself. His hand slides to your waist, pulling you closer, and that’s when you feel it—the pressure, the way his body fits against yours, how it feels too natural, too right.

‎

‎You let out a soft gasp, and Seunghyun takes advantage of it, his lips moving against yours with more urgency now. One of his hands slides lower, skimming the edge of your shirt before stopping, like he’s unsure, like he’s waiting for you to pull away or tell him to stop.

‎

‎But you don’t. You don’t pull away.

‎

‎Instead, you shift a little closer, your own hand resting on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart. His lips are on yours again, but this time it’s different—faster, deeper, the pressure building between you, and you can’t even think straight anymore. All you can feel is the heat, the electric pull of his touch, the way his hands are so gentle and yet so insistent, like he’s trying to pull you into him.

‎

‎His fingers press against the curve of your waist, and you gasp as his touch slides a little lower. It’s innocent, and yet not at all. Your whole body feels like it’s on fire, like you’re both testing boundaries, seeing how far this can go.

‎

‎“Seunghyun,” you breathe, breaking the kiss just for a moment. “Wait…”

‎

‎He pulls back slightly, eyes clouded with need and curiosity. He doesn’t speak, just waits, his hands hovering at your waist as if asking for permission to go further.

‎

‎You don’t know what you’re doing—you have no idea. But you’re so close now, both of you, standing on the edge of something new, something that feels like it could break everything between you.

‎

‎But you don’t want it to break. You want to fall. Together.

‎

‎You tug him back in, kissing him with a newfound urgency. And this time, there’s no question—everything you’ve been holding back comes rushing forward. His hands trail lower, his touch is everywhere, and there’s no going back now.

‎

‎Your shirt comes off first.

‎

‎Neither of you really says anything. It just happens—your hands tugging at the hem because the air is too thick, and you’re too warm, and Seunghyun’s kiss is burning you alive. He pulls back just enough to help you, his fingers trembling a little as they slide under the fabric.

‎

‎It’s the first time he’s seen you like this. Really seen you.

‎

‎And for a second, he just stares.

‎

‎You try to cross your arms instinctively, self-conscious—but he catches your wrists before you can.

‎

‎“Don’t,” he whispers, voice low and rough. “Don’t hide from me.”

‎

‎You swallow, heart thudding hard, and he leans in again—pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to your shoulder, your collarbone, your neck. His hands roam like he’s memorizing you, like he’s waited years to touch you but didn’t realize it until now.

‎

‎He kisses down your body like he’s on a mission—slow, purposeful, dragging his mouth over your chest, your stomach, until he’s between your thighs and your brain short-circuits.

‎

‎“Wait—Seunghyun—” you gasp as he presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh. “Y-you don’t have to—”

‎

‎He looks up, already flushed, lips slightly parted. “I want to. Just… let me?”

‎

‎And before you can answer, his mouth is on you.

‎

‎Hot. Wet. Unreal.

‎

‎His tongue moves in slow, steady strokes through your folds, pausing to suck on your clit like he knows exactly what he’s doing—which makes no sense because he shouldn’t. But his hands are firm on your thighs, keeping them spread, his mouth locked onto you with messy, filthy dedication.

‎

‎“F–fuck,” you moan, your hand flying to his hair. “S-Seunghyun—”

‎

‎He hums into you, the vibration making you jolt. His tongue circles, flicks, presses, and then—without warning—he slides one finger inside you.

‎

‎You let out a choked cry, hips bucking. He groans.

‎

‎“So wet,” he murmurs against your cunt. “God, baby, you taste so fucking good.”

‎

‎“D-don’t say that—” you whimper.

‎

‎But he’s not listening. He’s locked in, eating you like it’s the only thing that matters. His finger curls inside you and his mouth focuses on your clit—lips soft, tongue relentless—and the pressure builds fast.

‎

‎Your legs start to tremble, a scream bubbling in your throat.

‎

‎“I’m gonna—oh my god—Seunghyun, I—I think—”

‎

‎You’ve never done this before. Never even thought you could. But the way his mouth works you, how he fingers you deeper, faster—something snaps inside.

‎

‎And you squirt.

‎

‎With a loud, helpless moan, your body jerks, back arching off the couch as a rush of liquid spills out of you, coating his mouth, his hand, the couch cushion under you. Your vision goes white for a second—your brain short-circuiting from sheer intensity.

‎

‎Seunghyun pulls back, soaked and panting, staring at you like you just performed a magic trick.

‎

‎“…Did you just—” he breathes, licking his lips, “—fuck. That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

‎

‎You cover your face with both hands, mortified. “Oh my god. I didn’t mean to—what even was that—?!”

‎

‎“That,” he says, voice low and way too satisfied, “was you squirting all over my face.”

‎

‎You groan into your hands. “I’m gonna die.”

‎

‎He grins, kissing up your body, his face still damp. “You’re not dying. I won’t let you. Not until I fuck you—”

‎

‎Your heart’s still racing, your body buzzing, your thighs sore in the best way. His cock flushed and leaking, and positions himself between your legs.

‎

‎“You sure?” he asks, breathless.

‎

‎You nod. “Seunghyun, please—”

‎

‎And just as he’s about to slide in—

‎

‎A car door slams outside.

‎

‎You both freeze.

‎

‎“…No,” he whispers.

‎

‎Footsteps. Keys jangling.

‎

‎You both look at each other, wide-eyed.

‎

‎“No no no no no—” you whisper, scrambling to grab your clothes.

‎

‎Seunghyun’s already off the couch, tripping over his towel. “Why are they home early?!”

‎

‎You grab your shirt backwards, underwear? God knows where, your legs still literally soaked. The condom’s on the floor. Seunghyun tosses it in the drawer in a panic.

‎

‎And just as the front door opens—

‎

‎You dive behind his bed, shirt barely on, heart racing like a siren.

‎

‎7:02PM

‎‎Seunghyun’s mom calls out from downstairs, keys jingling as she drops them in the bowl by the door.

‎

‎“We’re home! Seunghyun, did you remember to—what smells like Febreze in here?”

‎

‎You are barefoot, pantless, and hiding behind his bed like a damn war criminal, still trying to catch your breath while wiping your thighs with the nearest hoodie (his). You hiss-whisper toward him:

‎

‎“Why do you keep Febreze under your desk?!”

‎

‎“In case I microwave fish,” he hisses back.

‎

‎You shoot him a look like boy what.

‎

‎Downstairs, footsteps thump closer. Seunghyun throws on some sweats and a hoodie like he wasn't half a second from rawing his best friend, then grabs your shirt and whispers, “I’ll get you out through the garage. Just follow me.”

‎

‎You clutch your clothes and army crawl behind him until you make it to the hallway—silent, stealthy, adrenaline pumping like you’re in a spy movie. He holds the garage door open, signals you to go, then closes it behind you like a damn criminal disposing evidence.

‎

‎You finally make it to the street, panting. Hair messy. Lips swollen. Hoodie ten sizes too big. Underwear = MIA.

‎

‎Seunghyun cracks open the side gate a few minutes later and slips out like a raccoon.

‎

‎You both look at each other, disheveled and wide-eyed, then—

‎

‎burst into hysterical laughter.

‎

‎“I cannot believe that just happened,” you wheeze.

‎

‎“I’m so sorry you had to crawl around my house with post-squirt legs,” he says, tears in his eyes from laughing.

‎

‎“Why’d you say it like that?!” you smack his arm. “You’re so annoying!”

‎

‎Sunday, 3:41PM

‎‎Chae (🌀): u didn't reply last night. r u dead

‎You: No

‎You: I was with Seunghyun

‎Chae (🌀): girl.

‎

‎Later that evening

‎

‎You’re at a convenience store, trying to decide between two types of instant ramen when Seunghyun’s name lights up your phone.

‎

‎Seunghyun 🦖: so are we just not gonna talk about how i made you squirt and then didn’t even get to put it in

‎Seunghyun 🦖: is this the universe’s version of edging

‎You: STOP

‎You: I WAS FINALLY NOT THINKING ABOUT IT FOR 5 MINUTES

‎Seunghyun 🦖: u weren’t thinking about how u soaked my face and moaned my name and almost broke my neck with ur thighs?

‎You: BYE

‎You: actually blocked. report.

‎Seunghyun 🦖: 😏

‎

You: …but also

‎You: what the hell are we now???

‎

‎A beat.

‎

‎Then—

‎

‎Seunghyun 🦖: …do you wanna come over tomorrow?

‎Seunghyun 🦖: for the unfinished business

‎You: ??

‎You: bring the febreze.

‎

‎Monday – 6:39PM

‎

‎You stare at Seunghyun’s text one more time as you stand outside his house:

‎

‎Seunghyun 🦖: doorbell’s working. don’t act shy now.

‎Seunghyun 🦖: and don’t forget to wipe that ‘i squirted on my best friend’s face’ look off your face. my mom’s home.

‎

‎You: 😐

‎Also you: ringing the doorbell anyway like a criminal returning to the scene of the crime.

‎

‎The door swings open.

‎

‎“y/n!” Seunghyun’s mom beams like sunshine in an apron. “Aigoo, you came again? So pretty, always polite—come in, come in!”

‎

‎You smile with a bow, trying not to visibly sweat guilt. “Hi, Mrs. Choi. I—um—just here to hang out again.”

‎

‎She pats your shoulder and leads you into the house like it’s totally normal to have the boy who made you squirt waiting upstairs. “I just made pizza. Homemade dough! You young people love this Western food, right?”

‎

‎“Of course! Thank you so much,” you say, sitting at the kitchen island like you didn’t almost get your back blown out in this house 48 hours ago.

‎

‎Just as she’s slicing a piece and setting it in front of you—

‎

‎“Yah.”

‎

‎You turn your head and nearly choke.

‎

‎Seunghyun is leaning against the hallway wall in the same grey sweats from his last crime. Black hoodie. Wet hair from a recent shower. Barefoot.

‎‎Unholy.

‎

‎“She’s not here for pizza, Mom” he smirks, eyes on you.

‎

‎“Don’t be rude!” his mom scolds. “She likes my pizza. Sit and eat.”

‎

‎“She likes other things more,” he mutters under his breath.

‎

‎You nearly drop your slice.

‎

‎He leans closer while his mom’s back is turned. “Upstairs. In five.”

‎

‎You nod once, trying not to pass out from anticipation (and dehydration).

‎

‎Upstairs – Seunghyun’s Room – 7:21PM

‎

‎Door clicks shut.

‎

‎You haven’t even turned around yet when he’s already behind you, arms wrapping around your waist.

‎

‎“I missed you,” he murmurs, kissing your shoulder.

‎

‎“You saw me two days ago.”

‎

‎“Yeah, and I dreamed about you twice after that,” he says, lips trailing along your neck. “I woke up hard both times.”

‎

‎You open your mouth—maybe to tease him, maybe to insult him—but it turns into a gasp as his hand slips under your hoodie, fingers stroking your bare skin.

‎

‎“Still warm,” he whispers. “Still soft. Still mine?”

‎

‎You nod. His lips crush yours instantly, devouring, demanding. The kiss is messy this time—urgent and deeper. Your back hits the wall and you feel his thigh between yours, pressing just right. You roll your hips down into it without thinking, chasing friction, chasing him.

‎

‎“Fuck,” he breathes. “You’re gonna make me lose it before we even get to the bed.”

‎

‎You laugh, breathless. “So lose it.”

‎

‎He groans and suddenly scoops you up like it’s nothing—one arm under your thighs, the other at your back. He drops you on the bed, crawling over you with his hoodie falling off his shoulders, revealing that long, lean torso you definitely remember tasting.

‎

‎“You sure?” he asks, voice gentler now. “If we start this, I’m not stopping until you’re shaking again.”

‎

‎You stare up at him, heart pounding. “I walked for 7 minutes to get here. again. What do you think?”

‎

‎He grins.

‎

‎“Good,” he says. “Lie back. Let me make you cry a little.”

‎

‎

‎Your clothes come off piece by piece, each one slower than the last. His lips trail every exposed inch of your skin like he’s memorizing it.

‎

‎And when you’re bare beneath him, he kneels between your thighs, palms pushing your knees apart.

‎

‎You squirm.

‎

‎“Still nervous?” he asks, voice low.

‎

‎“No,” you whisper. “Just—don’t tease.”

‎

‎He smirks. “I won’t.”

‎

‎And then his mouth is on you.

‎

‎No warning.

‎

‎Just heat and tongue and pressure—so good it knocks the breath from your lungs. He licks you slow at first, lazy circles that make your hips twitch, then faster, deeper—lips locking around your clit while two fingers slide inside you.

‎

‎You grab the sheets. “S-Seunghyun—”

‎

‎He hums against you, the vibration making your eyes roll back. His fingers curl inside you just right, hitting the spot that makes your toes curl.

‎

‎“You close already?” he murmurs, eyes still locked on you. “Didn’t even take ten minutes.”

‎

‎You whimper. “D-Don’t stop.”

‎

‎“Wasn’t planning to.”

‎

‎He sucks harder and you snap—back arching, body jerking as you squirt again, thighs shaking uncontrollably.

‎

‎“Oh my god—Seunghyun—!”

‎

‎He groans, licking you through it, not stopping until you’re pulling at his hair and gasping for air.

‎

‎He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning.

‎

‎“Still sweet,” he says, leaning in to kiss your lips. “You taste like you missed me.”

‎

‎You’re still trembling when you flip him over.

‎

‎“My turn.”

‎

‎‎You straddle him, tugging off his sweats and boxers in one go. He’s hard, thick, and leaking already.

‎

‎You wrap your fingers around him and his whole body jerks.

‎

‎“You good?” you ask, cocking your head.

‎

‎“Not for long,” he pants.

‎

‎You smile and lower your mouth to his tip, licking him slowly—then all the way down until he hits the back of your throat.

‎

‎“Fuck—” He slaps a hand over his mouth, the other gripping the bed. “Oh my god.”

‎

‎You suck him slow at first, using your hand to stroke what you can’t reach, then faster, wetter, your tongue swirling just under the tip.

He’s whining now—whining, high and breathless.

“You’re—shit, you’re too good at that—”

You pull off just enough to whisper: “Thought I was sweet?”

“You’re evil,” he groans, hips bucking.

You lick him once more and crawl back up, lips slick and swollen.

You’re already dripping, his hands trembling just slightly. Not from fear—no, you’ve seen him hold you steady with the confidence of a boy who’s wanted this forever—but from restraint.

He lines himself up, tip brushing against your entrance, eyes flicking up to yours.

“You sure?” he asks one last time, breathless.

“Seunghyun,” you whisper, wrapping your legs around his waist. “Please.”

He pushes in slowly—inch by inch—until he’s fully buried inside you.

You both freeze.

He’s breathing hard through his nose, jaw clenched. “Fuck.”

You’re stretched around him, throbbing, full in a way you’ve never been. The sting is real, but it’s nothing compared to the way your body clutches at him, needy and wet.

“You okay?” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You nod. “Just… don’t move yet.”

His thumb strokes your hip gently as you adjust, heart pounding like a drum.

“You feel like heaven,” he whispers. “Better than I ever imagined.”

Your walls flutter around him at the words. Your hand claws at his back. “You imagined this?”

“All the time.” He kisses your jaw. “Especially after you moaned my name in my shower.”

You laugh—then gasp when he thrusts just once, deep and slow.

“Still funny?”

You shake your head, lips parted.

He starts to move—deep strokes, slow but firm, like he’s trying to touch the bottom of your soul. Each time he sinks back in, you feel it in your chest. Like you’re being filled with something more than just his cock—something bigger, something known.

Your fingers twist in the sheets. “Seunghyun—”

“Talk to me,” he pants, pace steady. “Too much?”

“Not enough.”

That does it.

He grabs your thighs and pushes them further apart, tilting your hips up. His rhythm changes—deeper, faster, grinding into you like he’s trying to make you forget everything else.

You moan louder now, the sound echoing off his bedroom walls.

“That’s it,” he groans. “Let me hear you.”

“God—Seunghyun, I—I can’t—”

“You can.” He leans down, nose brushing yours. “You’re doing so good, baby. So fucking tight.”

You don’t even realize you’re crying until he kisses the corner of your eye.

“Hurts?”

“No,” you breathe. “It’s just—too good.”

He slows again, hips rolling deep and smooth. Your legs tremble from overstimulation, but you’re chasing it now—chasing him. He reaches between you, rubs your clit with gentle, messy circles.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Come on. Give it to me.”

You fall apart under him, body locking up, muscles tightening as your orgasm rips through you like a wave. Your nails dig into his back, your voice catching in your throat.

“Fuck—you’re squeezing me—” he groans, losing rhythm as he starts to unravel too.

“I want it,” you whisper. “Come inside me.”

That’s all it takes.

He shudders, curses, and buries himself to the hilt as he comes—groaning into your neck, hips twitching through the aftershocks.

The world is silent afterward, save for your tangled breathing.

He doesn’t move right away. Just lays there, still inside you, holding you like you’re the only real thing he’s ever known.

Then he whispers against your skin: “...I’m in so much trouble.”

You laugh weakly. “Why?”

“Because I don’t think I’ll ever stop wanting you now.”

—

Author's note: yea.. thats mostly it LOL T°T

[saymonsays]

From Diapers To Desires

pairing: dad!daesung x mom!reader

wordcount: 9190 (i think T-T)

‎Flashback: The Dating Era

‎Before the twins. Before the wedding. Before you knew how many ways a toddler could color on a wall.

‎

‎It was just you and Daesung.

‎

‎And the city.

‎

‎And an argument over fried chicken.

‎

‎“I’m telling you, soy garlic is superior. It’s balanced. It’s elegant. It’s—”

‎

‎“You’re full of it,” you laughed, snatching a drumstick off the plate. “Hot & spicy is the OG. The Beyoncé of flavors.”

‎

‎Daesung gasped like you’d personally offended his ancestors. “I can’t believe I’m dating someone with no palate.”

‎

‎“I can’t believe I’m dating someone who thinks 'elegant' describes fried chicken.”

‎

‎He squinted at you over the table in that over-the-top, exaggerated way only he could pull off. “This is betrayal. I should break up with you.”

‎

‎“You say that every time I win an argument.”

‎

‎“That’s because you cheat!” he whined, flopping back dramatically in the tiny restaurant booth.

‎

‎You leaned forward with a smirk. “Is it cheating if I’m just smarter?”

‎

‎He didn’t respond.

‎

‎Instead, he grabbed a piece of chicken, leaned across the table—and smeared sauce on your nose.

‎

‎“DAE—”

‎

‎You chased him out of the shop with napkins and laughter, the sound of your footsteps echoing down the street. He didn’t even run fast, just enough to keep the game going.

‎

‎And when he let you catch him—because of course he did—you both stumbled into each other, breathless and grinning under the flickering streetlight.

‎

‎Then he kissed you.

‎

‎Greasy fingers, spicy lips, and all.

‎—

‎Flashback: The Wedding Chaos

‎Your wedding was supposed to be elegant.

‎

‎Keyword: supposed to.

‎

‎White roses. A simple garden setup. Classical music. Everything minimal and classy. You’d gone out of your way to make sure Daesung didn’t sneak in confetti cannons or a gospel choir last minute.

‎

‎You even made him sign a handwritten contract that said:

‎‎“I, Kang Daesung, solemnly swear I will not cause a scene at our wedding.”

‎‎(Signed with a smiley face and a doodle of you two kissing.)

‎

‎So of course, the first thing you saw when you arrived at the altar was…

‎

‎Daesung.

‎

‎Wearing sunglasses.

‎

‎And holding a mic.

‎

‎Your maid of honor whispered, “You’re marrying a menace.”

‎

‎You were already walking down the aisle when he started singing. Not even a romantic ballad—no, this man chose to serenade you with a ballad remix of Taeyang’s ‘Eyes, Nose, Lips’, except he changed the lyrics to make it about you.

‎

‎And he cried halfway through.

‎

‎Loudly.

‎

‎Like, ugly sobbing.

‎

‎Half the guests were crying with him. The other half were trying not to laugh.

‎

‎Then came the vows.

‎

‎You wrote something sweet. Gentle. Loving.

‎

‎Daesung pulled a scroll from his suit pocket.

‎

‎An actual scroll.

‎

‎“I may not be good with words,” he began (a lie), “but I made a list of 67 reasons why I love you.”

‎

‎He read all of them.

‎

‎Even number 45:

‎‎“I love how you yell at me when I steal your fries. It makes me feel loved.”

‎

‎Even number 52:

‎‎“I love how your laugh sounds when you snort. You say it’s ugly, but I think it’s magic.”

‎

‎Even number 67:

‎‎“I love that somehow, some miracle, you said yes to me.”

‎

‎And when the minister finally pronounced you husband and wife, Daesung kissed you—dipped you back like it was a scene from a movie.

‎

‎Except he tripped.

‎

‎You both went down.

‎

‎There’s a wedding photo where your dress is tangled around his leg, your shoe is flying in the air, and both of you are wheezing on the grass.

‎

‎You kept it framed by the bedside.

‎

‎Because it was messy. Loud. Disastrous.

‎

‎And so, so you two.

‎—

‎Flashback: The “Oh My God, I’m Pregnant” Moment

‎It started with a craving.

‎

‎You were halfway through demolishing an entire jar of pickles at 9:43 in the morning, wearing one of Daesung’s old hoodies, sitting on the kitchen counter like it was your throne.

‎

‎Daesung walked in, blinking blearily, scratching his head.

‎

‎“…Are you okay?”

‎

‎You blinked. “Yeah. Why?”

‎

‎He stared. “You hate pickles.”

‎

‎You stared back.

‎

‎And then slowly looked down at the half-empty jar.

‎

‎“…Oh.”

‎

‎You both froze.

‎

‎A beat.

‎

‎Then in perfect unison:

‎

‎“No way.”

‎

‎The pregnancy test sat between you two like a live grenade.

‎

‎You were pacing in the bathroom. Daesung was sitting on the toilet lid, hands clasped like he was praying to every higher power in the universe.

‎

‎“What if it’s positive?” you whispered.

‎

‎“What if it’s negative?” he countered.

‎

‎You both paused.

‎

‎“…What do we want it to be?” you asked, barely audible.

‎

‎Daesung looked up at you.

‎

‎“I want it to be you and me. Forever,” he said.

‎

‎And then the timer beeped.

‎

‎You snatched the test off the sink like it burned.

‎

‎Looked.

‎Stared.

‎‎Looked again.

‎

‎Two lines.

‎

‎“Holy shit,” you breathed.

‎

‎“Holy shiiit,” Daesung echoed—grinning like a maniac now. “WE MADE A HUMAN??!”

‎

‎“DAE—!”

‎

‎He jumped up, lifted you off the floor in a spinning hug, nearly knocked the test out of your hand. “BABY BABY WE’RE HAVING A BABY—”

‎

‎“I’M GONNA THROW UP—”

‎

‎He put you down instantly. “Right! Okay! Breathe! Sit! Where’s the pickles?!”

‎

‎And that’s how your morning turned into the two of you sitting on the floor, snacking on weird food combos, alternately panicking and giggling and planning a life you suddenly couldn’t imagine without each other in it.

‎

‎Daesung pressed a kiss to your temple and whispered, “You think we’re gonna be good at this?”

���

‎You looked down at your tummy.

‎

‎Then at him.

‎

‎“You’re gonna be insane at this.”

‎—

‎Flashback: The Pregnancy Meltdowns (Plural.)

‎Three months in, and Daesung had already read three baby books, subscribed to two parenting YouTube channels, and downloaded five different pregnancy tracker apps.

‎

‎“Look!” he said one morning, shoving his phone in your face. “The babies are the size of lemons this week!”

‎

‎You blinked. “They feel like bowling balls.”

‎

‎He paused. “Okay. But like… tiny bowling balls?”

‎

‎You glared.

‎

‎He backpedaled immediately, kissing your forehead. “I’ll get you ice cream.”

‎

‎Smart man.

‎

‎Then came the baby name war.

‎

‎“I want to name them something meaningful,” you said, sprawled out on the couch with swollen feet and an emotional support donut.

‎

‎Daesung, holding a notebook filled with name suggestions, grinned. “What about… Cherry and Berry?”

‎

‎You deadpanned. “We’re not naming our kids like a smoothie order.”

‎

‎“Okay, okay. What about Sky and River? Earthy. Poetic. Kinda hot.”

‎

‎You squinted. “Do you want our kids to be a boyband or the Avatar?”

‎

‎“…Maybe.”

‎

‎The next day, you found “Princess McSnuggles” on the list.

‎

‎You almost threw a pillow at him.

‎

‎He ducked behind the fridge and yelled, “IT’S A WORKING TITLE!”

‎

‎At seven months, you cried because your hoodie wouldn’t zip over your belly.

‎

‎Daesung cried with you in solidarity.

‎

‎At eight months, he got kicked in the face while trying to sing to your stomach. “Baby A is a fighter,” he mumbled, rubbing his jaw.

‎

‎You just laughed. “That one’s mine.”

‎—

‎Labor prep classes? A disaster.

‎

‎Daesung got kicked out of one for “asking too many hypothetical questions,” like:

‎“What if I faint mid-birth? Do I still get the skin-to-skin bonding?”

‎‎“Can I bring a fog machine to the delivery room? For vibes?”

‎

‎You had to physically drag him out while he shouted, “IT’S A VALID QUESTION!”

‎

‎The instructor banned him.

‎

‎You high-fived her.

‎

‎And still—through every mood swing, craving, and absurd baby name debate—he held your hand.

‎

‎Rubbed your back.

‎

‎Talked to your belly like it was already his best friend.

‎

‎“Two little chaos monsters,” he whispered one night, lying beside you. “Just like their mom.”

‎

‎You smacked him half-heartedly.

‎

‎He kissed your bump anyway.

‎—

‎Present Day: Welcome to Chaos (a.k.a. Parenting)

‎Your house has been quiet for exactly 46 seconds.

‎

‎That’s suspicious.

‎

‎Too suspicious.

‎

‎“Where are they?” you whisper.

‎

‎Daesung, who’s sprawled on the couch with one sock on and a glitter sticker stuck to his forehead, sips from a mug that says #1 Girl Dad like it’s whiskey. “Last I saw, they were in the bathroom arguing about who gets to flush.”

‎

‎You blink.

‎

‎“…They’re not potty trained yet.”

‎

‎You both stare at each other.

‎

‎Cue the sprint.

‎

‎You find the twins in the bathroom bathing Barbie dolls in the toilet, shrieking with laughter. The younger one is wearing your bra like a superhero mask.

‎

‎“WE’RE MERMAIDS,” they scream in unison.

‎

‎You look at Daesung.

‎

‎He looks at you.

‎

‎You both start laughing, because of course. Of course this is your life.

‎

‎Parenting with Daesung is:

‎‎Brushing tangled hair while doing Dora impressions (“Swiper, no swiping those bows!!”)

‎‎Cutting pancakes into tiny hearts

‎‎Making up bedtime stories where you and Daesung are superhero spies who fell in love and adopted two chaos goblins from space (the twins’ favorite plot)

‎‎Some days, you cry in the pantry with a cookie in each hand.

‎‎Some days, you fall asleep holding hands on the floor while the girls climb you like jungle gyms.

‎‎Most days, you look at Daesung chasing them around the yard with a tutu on his head and think,

‎

‎God, I love this man so much it hurts.

‎—

‎Nighttime: The Freaky Finale (a.k.a. “Finally, They’re Asleep”)

‎It's 9:47 PM.

‎

‎The twins are finally in bed. After 3 lullabies, 2 pee breaks, 1 tantrum, and Daesung having to pretend to be a dragon who gets defeated by a hug.

‎

‎You collapse on the couch.

‎

‎He joins you a moment later, head in your lap.

‎

‎“They asked me today if I used to be a prince,” he mumbles. “I said yes. Then they asked if you were my queen.”

‎

‎You smile. “What’d you say?”

‎

‎“I said you were my dragon slayer. You tamed me.”

‎

‎You snort.

‎

‎His eyes flick up. Mischievous. “Wanna tame me again?”

‎

‎“Daesung—”

‎

‎He’s already climbing on top of you, kissing your neck, fingers teasing the hem of your pajama shorts.

‎It was going so well.

‎

‎Daesung was shirtless, lips trailing down your neck, hands under your shirt, breath hot on your skin.

‎

‎Your legs were already wrapped around his waist.

‎

‎“I’ve been waiting for this all day,” he growled against your ear.

‎

‎You grinned. “What happened to the tiara?”

‎

‎“It’s in the drawer,” he mumbled, lips moving down.

‎

‎“You’re insane—”

‎

‎Knock knock.

‎

‎Both of you froze.

‎

‎Tiny voice from the hallway:

‎

‎“Mommy? Daddy? There’s a monster in the closet and it stole my unicorn.”

‎

‎You and Daesung lay there, mid-makeout, just staring at each other.

‎

‎He let out the softest groan known to man and collapsed on your chest. “I swear to God if the monster’s name is Sparklecorn again—”

‎

‎You pushed him off, giggling helplessly.

‎

‎Five minutes later, you were both in the twins’ room. One of them was sitting on the floor holding a sock puppet named Captain Fart, the other pointing dramatically at the closet.

‎

‎“It went THAT WAY!”

‎

‎Daesung got on all fours and crawled into the closet like a Navy SEAL, muttering, “This is how I die.”

‎

‎You just stood there, arms crossed, trying not to laugh while holding a very concerned-looking unicorn hostage.

‎

‎Eventually, Sparklecorn was “rescued.” Hugs were given. Blankets were tucked. Goodnight kisses planted.

‎

‎Back in your room, Daesung flopped face-first into the bed with a muffled groan.

‎

‎“We need a lock,” he mumbled.

‎

‎You laughed. “We need a vacation.”

‎

‎He peeked up at you, grinning again. “We need to finish what we started.”

‎

‎You smirked. “Tomorrow night?”

‎

‎He rolled over and pulled you close. “Make it a date.”

‎

‎And even though the freaky finale got postponed...

‎

‎There was something extra romantic about knowing the two little humans who interrupted you were made from nights just like that.

‎—

Author's note: erm thats pretty much it... yes the 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 time was disrupted by the monsters 🧌🧌 i can literally imagine daesung as a girl dad cuz i can clearly see it in my naked eye 😼

[saymonsays]

haiiyuu !! :33 I was err wondering can you (yes you) write a fluffy fic of dad!daesung × mum!reader and they have like twin daughters and they are quite literally chaos junior (dae and reader are chaos senior duh) and its sorta like slice of life i guess?? :33 ty so muchi dw if you can't :pp (erm maybe a sorta 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 ending like at the end of the day and the kids are in bed ;p)

OH EM GEE THIS IS GONNA BE SO CUTE AND SO UNHINGED 😭 let's do a full slice of chaotic family life fic WITHHH:::

dating era: reader and Daesung being the loudest couple on the planet, bickering over fried chicken flavors and crashing karaoke nights.

wedding era: tears, laughter, maybe someone accidentally rapping their vows.

pregnancy era: Daesung talking to your bump like it’s a mic on stage, arguing with your cravings, getting banned from baby classes for being too enthusiastic.

parenting era: twin daughters who are basically Daesung squared—mischievous, dramatic, and wild. chaos 24/7.

ending: post-bedtime 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 hours™ because the real ones know that’s when the parents finally get to be adults again LOL

IM ACTUALLY WORKING ON IT RN T°T MIGHT FINISH IT LATER TOO 🦄