strawbrryvyy

[strawbrryvyy]

Inside.

jeno x f!reader

tags: smut, cockwarming

idea from: @lovelovehaechi link

you’re curled up on his lap, chest to chest, tucked under warm covers while his cock stays buried inside you. not moving. not rushing. just full and quiet and close.

jenos fingertips trace lazy lines down your spine, slow and gentle, like he’s memorizing every inch of you. his other hand rests on your thigh, thumb rubbing soft circles while he watches you with that look.

you flinch a little when he whispers, “you’re so pretty like this.”

your walls flutter around him, tight and wet and needy. you can’t help it.

he hums, lips brushing your temple. “you like when i say that, huh?”

you bury your face in his neck. “shut up…”

he chuckles, low and quiet. “you keep squeezing me. saying you wanna stay like this, but your body’s begging for more.”

he shifts beneath you, hips pressing up the tiniest bit, just enough to make you gasp. his cock nudges deeper and your thighs tremble.

“you wanna be good for me?” he asks, voice thick now.

you nod, too breathless to speak.

“then stay still,” he murmurs, hand coming up to the back of your neck. he holds you there, thumb brushing your jaw, grounding you.

everything feels heavy and warm. you’re soaked, stretched around him, your cunt pulsing without needing friction. it’s not even about the sex anymore. it’s about being this close. being full of him, owned by him, loved by him.

jenos lips find your cheek. your jaw. then your mouth. he kisses you slow, deep, with a little tongue and a lot of feeling. your fingers grip his shoulders, your body clinging to him even though you’re supposed to be still.

“god,” he breathes, “you feel so good around me.”

you whimper against his mouth and try to keep still, but it’s so hard when he’s talking like that. when he looks at you like you’re something soft and breakable.

“you’re perfect.”

your body clenches tight around him, sharp and needy. and he laughs under his breath, not cocky, just... delighted.

“there you go,” he whispers. “knew you’d do that.”

you hide your face in his chest, cheeks warm. but he just kisses the top of your head and holds you tighter.

“it’s okay,” he murmurs. “you can keep clenching, baby. i’ll keep filling you.”

[strawbrryvyy]

┈─★ FILTY THINGS

⚹︎ ︎⠀⠀ .riize ! ꒰ 𝓽he riize members and the filthy little pervy things they did . . .

bf!riize x f!reader

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘀 𝖬𝖣𝖭𝖨 ⠀⠀⠀───⠀⠀⠀ established relationships, perverted acts, masturbation, voyerism, somno, perv!riize, strong language, explicit descriptions, all actions are consented to prior. 𝘄𝗰 1.4k

elia’s notes: these are actually pretty dirty…sorry not sorry

shotaro.

secretly takes pics of you

it started with something innocent, truly. you were laughing at something on your phone, early morning sunlight catching on your cheekbones, hair a little messy from sleep. and he thought, ‘god, she looks so pretty like this.’ so he took a picture. but then he couldn’t stop, and now he does it without thinking. (without you looking.) the way your skirt rides up when you lean over something. the curve of your back when you stretch. your thighs pressed together while you sit comfortably. his favorite, though? the one he snapped from the hallway last night. you in the shower, steam clinging to your body, head tilted back as you rinsed your hair. he hadn’t meant to stare. but his cock was already hardening in his sweats, the shape of your body seared into his brain. and later, when you were asleep, he laid there on the couch stroking himself to the sight of you behind the glass, lips parted, body curved and arched so beautifully. “shit, baby…” he whispered in the dark, voice breathless. “so pretty…always so perfect…” he finishes with your photo still open, cum spilling onto his stomach as he imagines taking the next one—this time, one that you would know about. one with his cock between your thighs and your eyes looking right up into the lens.

eunseok.

films your pussy as you cum

you were still shaking, chest heaving, body limp and spread out on the sheets. alternately, eunseok had his phone already in his hand, and was busy angling it low between your thighs. his voice is deep when he speaks, eyes glued to the phone screen. “just for me, baby…” because he knows you’re too fucked-out to move or oppose. he knows you’ll let him. “just so i can watch it again later, yeah?” he whispers. he watches the slow throb of your pussy as his own cum mixes with yours and slips out of you. your aching cunt catching the light perfectly and glistening on camera. he closely watches the way you clench around nothing, so messy and fluttering and just ruined from how good he fucked you. he zooms in. he wants to replay it when he’s alone. wanting to see your slick mixed with his up close. the twitch of your cunt. the way your body immediately misses him after he’s pulled out. it was something only for him to see. and under his breath, almost reverent, he praises, “so fucking pretty like this…”

sungchan.

searches for porn videos that have girls who resemble you

sungchan doesn’t even pretend anymore. doesn’t pretend everything he does isn’t revolving around you. doesn’t click random videos or scroll for variety. he searches you. your hair, your beautiful skin, the exact shade of your lips when they’re swollen from kissing. he types in everything he can that the website would take. everything he remembers from earlier—the color of your lingerie, the gloss you were wearing, everything. and when he finds her — someone close enough to help just once, he exhales like he’s been holding his breath all day. “yeah…” he murmurs, cock already in hand. “fuck, you look just like her…” he starts stroking slowly, hips twitching as the girl on screen moans. it’s not your voice, but it’s close. close enough for him to imagine your face twisted up in pleasure, body arching for him. “wish it was you,” he groans through gritted teeth, jerking harder. “wish you’d let me do that to you…” he cums with your name on his lips, face in his mind — not hers. spilling all over his stomach as the video plays on, completely ignored. because it was never about the porn, or the girl in the video. it was always about you.

wonbin.

sniffs your dirty panties

he yanked them off of you barely twenty minutes ago. red lace, damp with arousal, your little moans still echoing in his head. you’re in the shower now, not knowing he’s pacing the bedroom with your panties clutched in his fist. he sits on the edge of the bed, bringing them to his face, and moans the second your scent hits him. sweet, sharp, soaked. he buries his nose in the center, tongue darting out to taste the mess you left behind. “fuck, baby…” he groans, cock already leaking in his palm. strokes himself slow while his mouth stays on the lace, cock twitching at the memory of how wet you were for him. “still so fuckin’ sweet…” he whispers, licking once more before pulling them down, slipping the panties over the head of his cock. the fabric, still damp, stretched tight around his tip. it’s warm, wet, so close to the real thing. he whines through gritted teeth, fucking into the lace like it’s your pussy. like you’re still wrapped around him, moaning his name. he cums with a sharp gasp, spilling into the red lace, soaking it all the way through. lets it stay there, sticky and wrapped around him while he breathes heavy. he tucks the panties back into the dirty laundry, under a shirt, like nothing happened.

seunghan.

calls you just to hear your voice while he cums

“fuck…pick up, pick up—please…” you answer with a sleepy little “hello?” his head falls back against the pillow, breath catching deep in his throat. “baby…” he groans, voice thick with desperation, “i’m so close—just keep talking, yeah? just let me hear you…your voice makes me so hard.” you ask him what he’s doing, but he’s already falling apart. “’m jerking off to you,” he pants, “have been all night. needed to hear you. just your voice, that’s all i need—fuck, fuck—baby, need to cum…” you hum softly, innocent but now knowing. “mm, you sound so pretty like this, baby…” seunghan breaks on the last word, breath hitching as he spills over his stomach he cums hard, hot and messy across his fist, hips twitching while he moans into the phone. he can barely breathe, chest heaving, your name falling from his lips like a chant. then silence. just him panting ragged and the wet sound of his fist finally slowing down. “…fuck,” he murmurs, breathlessly and utterly wrecked. “you make me so fuckin’ needy, baby.”

sohee.

jerks off while you sleep beside him

you’re on your side, facing him. lips parted, tits spilling from your tank top with every breath, the curve of your ass peaking out from underneath the covers. so close he can smell your shampoo, see the way your thighs press together under the blanket. sohee tries to look away. he really does.but his cock’s already hard under the blanket, aching as he watches your chest rise and fall. he moves slowly, careful not to wake you. stroking his dick under the covers, eyes fixed on your chest, imagining sliding between them, fucking them while you moan his name. his brain blank with the mental image of watching you moan and squeeze them tighter around him. you shift slightly, a little whimper, and he nearly loses it. “shit…so perfect…” he whispers. he finishes fast. silently. hand over his mouth and cum spilling over his hand. he lays there ruined and sweaty beside you. you shift in your sleep, murmuring and completely unaware. he just swallows hard and stares at the ceiling, whispering, “i’m so fucked up…”

anton.

buries his face in your bra when he finds it in the laundry

he finds it in the laundry pile hours after you leave. soft pink, lacey, tiny bow in the middle, a little worn from being your favorite, or rather, his favorite. anton stares at it for a second too long, swallowing hard. then he’s sinking to his knees, holding it with both hands like it might vanish if he touches it wrong. taking it back to his bed, he presses the cup to his nose first. breathes the smell of you in like he’s starving. then his tongue glides over the lace like he’s tasting your skin through it, mouth working slow and filthy, hips already grinding into the mattress below him. he moans into it, imagining your tits in his face, how you’d whimper if he sucked marks into them. “fuck…you don’t even know,” he mumbles into the bra, thrusting slow, precum leaking into his boxers. “don’t even know what you do to me…” he humps the bed harder, whimpering now. face flushed and desperate, still shoved into the cup. “wish you were still here…” he finishes with the bra still clutched in one hand, cum staining his stomach, breathless and red-cheeked. he completely wrecked by something you haven’t even realized you left behind. afterwards, he lays there, panting, sticky and dazed, holding the lace to his lips with a secret he’ll never confess.

[strawbrryvyy]

seunghannie live

[strawbrryvyy]

7:21 pm|| o.st

pairing: shotaro x reader

word count: 0.8k

genre: smut (MDNI), timestamps <3

warnings: soft dom!taro, dirty talk, praise, overstimulation, dumbification, borderline dacryphilla 😭

a/n: idk man…i dreamt about shotaro and wrote this 😭😭

you can’t tell if it’s minutes or hours. time dissolved somewhere between the third orgasm and the moment you started crying for real. not that he was cruel—never cruel, not really. it’s the way he looks at you, even now. like he loves you more the messier you get.

your legs are useless, twitching around his waist. your throat burns from the whimpering, from the breathless, sob-choked moans that haven’t stopped spilling out of you. your mouth’s open, but you’ve stopped making sense. nothing but pretty sounds. babbling nonsense into the sheets as he fucks you through it.

shotaro’s still behind you, chest warm against your back, breath soft against your ear. it would be tender—almost sweet—if not for the way he’s rolling his hips into yours with devastating precision, every slow thrust hitting that same spot over and over, like he’s trying to brand it into you.

his voice, soft and honey-warm, curls around you.

“use your words, baby.”

you try. you try. but all that comes out is a keening whine and a broken little cry of his name, high and shaky and completely ruined.

he laughs quietly, brushing his lips against your temple. “you can’t even talk anymore, can you? fucked you that dumb already?”

you nod, or maybe you shake your head—you can’t even tell the difference. all you know is that you’re clinging to him like he’s the only thing anchoring you to the world. your hand slips down to grip his wrist, where it presses beneath your navel, holding you in place.

“look at you,” he murmurs, sounding almost proud. “so pretty like this. all wet and shaking and stuffed full of me.”

you whimper again, blinking through tears. your face is wet, your lips trembling. you can’t stop crying and you don’t know why—it’s not sad. it’s too much. too good. too deep.

his hand moves up, brushing the tears off your cheeks, thumb slow and sweet. he hums, kissing the side of your face.

“poor baby. don’t cry. i’m right here.”

you sob harder at that, burying your face in the crook of your arm. it’s overwhelming—the weight of his body on you, the stretch, the rhythm, the way he never once breaks character, never slips out of that soft-spoken, deadly control. shotaro never raises his voice. he doesn’t have to.

“you can take it,” he whispers into your hair. “i know you can. always so good for me.”

his praise breaks something open inside you. your fingers spasm where they grip the sheets, your legs trying to close around him in a desperate, failing attempt to run. he’s everywhere. you can’t escape him—you don’t want to—but your body’s begging for mercy.

he catches your wrists, gently pinning them above your head as his thrusts deepen, each one slow and deliberate.

“you wanna stop?” he murmurs. “say the word, and i’ll take care of you.”

you gasp. shake your head.

“then take it, baby,” he breathes. “please, for me?”

your body arches under him, a fresh wave of tears slipping from your lashes as another orgasm crashes through you—unexpected and sharp, a full-body jolt that leaves you shuddering beneath him.

“that’s it,” he says, holding you close as you sob through it. “just like that. you’re doing so good for me, baby.

you don’t remember collapsing—only that you’re boneless now, trembling in his arms, chest heaving, lips parted as you struggle to come back to yourself. you’re still full of him. still stretched around him. but he’s not moving anymore—just breathing against you, forehead pressed to your shoulder as he murmurs sweet little nothings into your skin.

he pulls out carefully, gently, as if he knows you’ll fall apart if he’s too fast. and you do—a whimper slipping out as you feel his warmth leave your body. everything feels too much.

“shhh, i’ve got you,” he says immediately, pulling you into his lap, one arm curling under your legs, the other around your back as he cradles you. “i’ve got you, baby. it’s okay.”

your face is still wet, tears drying sticky on your cheeks. you can’t lift your head, so you press it to his shoulder, breathing him in—warm skin, sweat, the faint scent of you still clinging to him.

he rocks you a little, soothing, his voice all softness now.

“you were so good for me, angel. you always are.”

his fingers trace gentle circles into your thighs, his mouth brushing your forehead as you tremble in his arms.

“do you want water?” he asks, brushing your hair back. “or a bath? we can go slow.”

you try to speak, but your voice is gone. so you nod, just once.

“okay, baby,” he says, and there’s that smile in his voice again. “i’ll take care of everything.”

and he does.

he always does.

[strawbrryvyy]

ivy imy

my babyyyy i miss you more love😕😕please lets talk ad giggle soon babyyyy

[strawbrryvyy]

pairing ; bestfriend'sboyfriend!sungchan x fem!reader || wc ; 3.8k

warning ; nsfw! cheating, cowgirl, oral (m receiving), a lot of kissing, blowjob, fellation, nipple play (f and slight m receiving), lowkey sneaky fuck, betrayal, creampie, you both are an asshole if you squint, non-proofread nor edited yet.

sungchan would be the biggest liar ever if he didn’t think you were the cutest, the prettiest one out of his girlfriend’s group of friends.

hell, he’s never even seen someone as close to his type as you. you’re practically his dream girl.

he tries to convince himself that it’s just a harmless, normal—natural thought that all guys have. 

but it never goes away.

not when you wear that specific shade of lipstick that makes his gaze on your lips linger a second too long. not when you lean out of habit towards him when someone cracks something funny. not when you sit beside his girlfriend, and he can’t help but to compare—almost everything. 

sungchan shouldn’t notice the way your voice and sighs makes his skin prickle. shouldn’t remember the smell of your shampoo after one hug.

in fact, he shouldn’t think about you at all.

but… sungchan is just a man. and isn’t it a man’s nature to wander? to want? to be attracted to pretty little things?

——

“oh—yn, nari’s not home yet…” 

sungchan’s voice was rough, still coated in sleep. He woke up early from the knocks on the front door. his hair’s messy, sticking up in different directions, and his sweatpants hung low on his hips as he just rolled out of bed—apparent by the pillow crease on his cheek. 

you blinked, caught in the doorway like you’ve been caught doing something wrong. “oh,” you said, lifting up the paper bag in your hand. “sorry—uh, nari just told me to come in. i didn’t know you’re in.”

he leaned his shoulder on the doorframe, arms crossed, one rubbing his eyes lazily, squinting down at you from where he’s standing. “no, no—it’s fine.” his lips curled into a small smile. “you should come in,” he said before you could think too hard. “nari should be home pretty soon. you can wait for her inside.”

you nodded and excused yourself inside, trying not to look at the way his gaze trailed after you. 

the door clicked shut behind you with a soft finality. you kept your eyes forward as you slipped off your shoes, but you could feel it—sungchan’s stare on the back of your head, crawling down your spine. 

“i really didn’t mean to wake you,” you said, half-turning to glance at him over your shoulder. 

“nah, it’s cool, yn.” he murmured, running his fingers through his hair. “nari didn’t inform me beforehand.” 

you took a seat on the couch, settling to get comfortable with one leg tucked beneath as you got comfortable. sungchan trailed behind you. “are you guys going somewhere later?” he asked, taking the tv remote off the coffee table and sitting next to you—at an appropriate distance, that is. 

you glanced over at him. “oh, no, no,” you shook your head. “i just wanna drop off the dress i borrowed from her last week.” for some reason, you reached into the bag and pulled it out, unfolding the dress carefully across the lap. sungchan noted that it smelled like you—he figured out you washed it beforehand. 

“cute, right?” you said, smoothing the fabric with your palm. 

sungchan looked over; he hadn’t expected you to show him. his eyes skimmed the dress, then flicked to your face. you weren’t looking at him. “yeah,” he murmured. “really cute.”

your gaze caught him for a moment too long, a flicker of something passing between the two of you. 

“nari has good clothes. i think we all like to borrow from her.” you gave sungchan a little smile, eyes dropping. 

sungchan replied with a small huff of laughter, leaning elbow on the armrest. “yeah, but…” he hesitated, then shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “not everyone pulls them off the same way.”

you raised an eyebrow at his remark. “what do you mean by that?”

sungchan avoided your gaze, his tongue pressing to the inside of his cheek as he leaned back into the couch, suddenly too relaxed to be casual. “nothing.” he said quickly, eyes fixed on the tv. 

but the pause that followed stretched too long.

“sungchan.”

your voice was quiet. just curious.

he glanced at you then, briefly. “what?”

“you meant something,” you said, shifting slightly closer—your knee nearly touched his thigh. “so say it.” 

you saw the way sungchan hesitated—his eyes flickered between you and the screen. “uh,” he muttered. sungchan exhaled through his nose, gaze dropping to your hand on your thigh, and the dress on your lap.

“you look good in her clothes,” he said, finally. voice quiet and low. “but i like the way you look in yours more.” 

your breath caught—chest rose. “you shouldn’t say things like that…” you murmured. sungchan’s eyes lifted to yours, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. 

“well, you asked…” 

sungchan clicked through a few channels before settling on something random—an old classic romance already halfway through. 

you tried to focus on the screen but failed to do so—you were too aware of how close sungchan was sitting next to you; his knees barely brushed yours.

“you like this movie?” you attempted, asking him suddenly. sungchan looked at you, his fingertips tapping absentmindedly his thigh. “not really.” he admitted. 

on-screen, the couple kissed—soft and slow and dramatic. but your attention was on him.

sungchan’s gaze dropped to your lips, just barely. your lips parted slightly, the tip of your tongue licking your lips without thinking.

it happened almost suddenly—your faces moved closer—as if drawn.

you were a breath away from him when it hit you.

you pulled back immediately, eyes wide and breath hitching . “oh—i’m sorry, i—i didn’t mean to—“ you stuttered, leaning against the armrest.

sungchan catched your wrist before you could shift further away from him, his slender fingers wrapped around your curved wrist. “yn—it’s okay,” he said quietly. “it’s okay… just… this once.”

his voice was soft, almost pleading as his thumb rubbed circles on your skin. his fingers slid from your wrist to your hand, gently tugging you toward him.

“just once,” he murmured again like he’s reassuring himself. 

you didn’t stop him.

and when his lips brushed yours, it was soft. tentative, at first—like he was fully expecting you to push him away. 

your eyes fluttered shut the moment sungchan deepen the kiss, tilting his head slightly to really kiss you—his hand slid from your hand to your jaw, thumb brushing the apple of your cheek as his mouth moved against yours. 

your breath hitched as he parted your lips, his tongue brushing carefully against yours. sungchan’s other hand drifted down, his fingertips grazing your thigh before settling there, grounding you. 

it was you who pulled back for air. but sungchan remained close, his lips still ghosting yours. both of you catching breath in the shallow space between. 

“we shouldn’t…” your voice was barely a whisper.

his hand was still on your face. “shouldn’t what?” sungchan leaned in again, attaching his lips once again against yours. this time was slower but somehow deeper than before, almost pushing you back against the armrest. 

you gasped a little into the kiss—wether from surprise or how good the kiss felt—but sungchan took the opportunity to slide his tongue past your lips.

you gripped his shirt instinctively, fingers curling tight as his hand on your cheek travelled down to your waist. sungchan held you like he wanted to feel what it's like to have your body arched into his. his mouth trailed lower—along your jaw, beneath your ear. 

“sungchan… nari—“ her name spilled from your lips.

sungchan merely hummed into your skin, lips brushing along your throat. “what about nari?” he murmured against your lips, catching it again. your hand tightened around his shirt—wanted to remind him that she’s his girlfriend, and she’s your friend. that this is wrong and insane.

but then sungchan’s tongue flicked just under your jaw again, and your head tipped back on instinct, lips parting around a quiet breath. your chest rose against him and he took it as a sign of continuation. 

“she’s not here,” he added, hand slipping further up your thigh and into your shirt, pushing the fabric along. “you are.” 

your heart hammered in your chest out of guilt—but it was drowned out by the way his voice dragged through your spine in that low and coaxing manner. sungchan pulled back just enough to look at you—eyes half-lidded and lips flushed and slick from the kissing. 

“i’m not going to stop,” he said. you stared down at him, breathless and torn between every line you’d just crossed. “so don’t tell me to stop.” sungchan kissed you again—harder and messier this time. his warm hands rested on your waist, pulling you into his lap without asking.

and you? you simply went, too easily. legs sliding around his hips as you settled over him, the two of you barely breathing now, mouths locked in a kiss. 

you felt the way sungchan breathed through his nose, desperate to keep kissing you and swallowing the soft sound you made when his lips moved. your arms moved to wrap around his neck, fingers curled in his hair, tugged slightly, and he groaned.

“yn,” and then you felt his hands—ghost beneath the hem of your shirt. 

you didn’t answer him. not with words.

instead, your hands reached for the hem yourself.

and you pulled your shirt up and over, discarding it behind you on the carper. sungchan’s breath hitched at the view before him—the girl of his dreams—sitting on his lap, shirtless with an innocent, simple, white bra on. your cleavage pushed up nicely and sungchan had to fight the urge to grab them in his hands. 

sungchan felt himself heating up and hardened—as embarrassing as it sounded. 

“i’m not going to tell you to stop,” you finally said something, cheeks reddened and flushed at how bold you were. “so just do whatever you wanna do. just once.” 

sungchan froze for a second, like he was making sure he’d heard you right despite just sharing an intimate moment of kissing a few moments earlier. his eyes searched your face. “just once?” he repeated, almost bitter with disbelief. 

you nodded.

you swore sungchan rolled his eyes for a split second—before his mouth was back on yours. his hands skimmed up your waists before sliding over your covered breasts, cupping it. his fingers gently kneaded into your skin through the fabric. 

not being able to contain it anymore, sungchan pulled your bra up over your chest, letting it rest there. he bent just enough to wrap his mouth around your nipple. your mouth immediately dropped in a whine, back arching slightly in pleasure. your fingers tugged around his hair, almost pushing him deeper against your tit. “oh—sungchan—” you moaned, tugging on your bottom lip.

sungchan merely hummed against your skin, rolling his tongue around it and sucking it in his mouth like a pacifier. his other hand massaged and fondled with your other tit—rolling your perky nipple between the pads of his fingers. “you’re so cute,” he mumbled, leaving a kiss behind before he moved to your other breast—making sure she didn’t feel left out.

your arms tightened around his neck as you shifted slightly in his lap, instinct guiding you before you even could grasp what you were doing. the motion was slow—but enough for you to feel how warm and hard sungchan was beneath you. 

his breath stuttered, fingers tightening around your tit. “fuck—hey,” he murmured, tongue lapping around your bud. you rocked into him, pressing your clothed pussy against his growing tent. you could feel the way his body tensed but you didn’t stop. 

sungchan’s hands guided your hips, making sure he could feel every drag of your pussy against his cock. “i want you, sungchan—mhh,” you moaned, burying your face into his locks. your bodies moved together in sync as sungchan too, pressed himself hard against you. 

he pulled his mouth away from your tits with a pop, a string of saliva connecting your perky nipple and his bottom lip. sungchan tilted his head back slightly, not being able to contain his urge any longer. 

he hooked his fingers around the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head on a swift motion—tossing it somewhere on the couch. he was all warm skin and lean muscle. your hands hovered for a second—then settled on his chest, fingers splaying over his heart.

it was racing.

just like yours.

sungchan leaned in again, his forehead pressing to yours. “i have no regrets.” he said, his voice low and soft like he was letting you in on a secret. you nodded, swallowing hard. nari was still somewhere tucked far in the back of your head—but it’s too late to stop now.

sungchan helped you just enough—your knees pressing into the cushions as you rose slightly from his lap. his hands worked quickly, slipping beneath the waistband of your pants and guiding the fabric down over your hips. 

and then his hands were on your thighs again, pulling you back on his lap, only with your panties on.

sungchan shifted slightly on the couch to pull his pants down—and you gasped at the sight of his hardened cock, throbbing and twitching. he’s huge. a lot bigger than you’d ever expect sungchan to be—thick and long and slightly curved. he bit his bottom lip as he noticed you staring.

sungchan wrapped his hand around the base of his cock, using the head to move your panties just enough to line the head of his cock up with your entrance. but before he could sink your hips down, you wrapped your hands around his wrists. “wait—sungchan, i wanna…” you muttered, getting off his lap. 

you settled on your knees between his legs, using your hands on his knees to push his legs apart a little wider. you glanced up at sungchan through your lashes—watching the way his breath hitched, his eyes locked on you. 

the tip glistened with pre-cum as he gave his cock a few slow strokes before letting it go, allowing it to twitch in the air between you. slowly, you wrapped your hands around his shaft, giving it a few light squeezes before leaning forward, your tongue daring out to lick a bead of pre-cum from the tip of his cock. sungchan let out a ragged breath, his hands hovered at his sides, fists clenched in the cushions to stop himself from holding your head.

“fuck…” 

you wrapped your lips around the head of his hard cock, rolling your tongue across the tip to lick clean his precum before bobbing your head back and forth on his cock,. you’ve never given blowjobs to anyone—not your ex boyfriends nor your flings but the way sungchan looked—slightly flushed and swallowing the lump in his throat—only encouraged you to continue. 

your cheeks hollowed as you worked on sucking him, taking sungchan’s cock as deep in your mouth as you could. you can feel his pulse throbbing against your tongue. he watched you through hooded eyes, chest rising and falling hard.”yn, shit—” he muttered, half a warning, half a plea. 

sungchan eventually threaded his fingers through your hair, gripping it slightly as he started to thrust his hips shallowly into your mouth. “fuck, babe, take it all…” you shut your eyes tightly as he forced more of his thick cock past your lips. 

at one point, sungchan held your head still and used your mouth for leverage as he fucked your throat, his head thrown back against the couch, balls tightened at the feeling of your gags. “fuck, ‘m gonna cum, pretty,” he moaned, groaning. he fucked your mouth like a pussy. 

you nodded and tried to relax your throat, gripping and digging your nails into his skin. you slipped sungchan’s cock out of your mouth to wrap your hands around his shaft once again, moving them back and forth—jerking him off. you lolled and rolled your tongue around the bulbous head of his cock, swiping at the sensitive slit. “mmhm,” you hummed, bobbing your head back and forth, looking up to sungchan who had his lips parted slightly, breathing shallow in uneven rhythms. you could see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers curled tighter around your roots. 

your tongue laid flat against his shaft, dragging it from the base all the way to the head.

woah—nari never gave me a fellatio, sungchan thought. your mouth was warm and slippery and wet and his cock had never felt this good before. 

“fuck, baby, wait—i’m gonna—” sungchan stuttered as he felt himself getting close. he groaned—thick ropes of his cum spurted inside of your mouth, coating it white. sungchan threw his head back in ecstasy to catch his breath before looking down at you—lips smeared with spit and white beads of his cum. you didn’t wipe it off, instead, you darted your lips out to lick and clean the remaining liquid around your mouth before swallowing him cum.

“sorry,” you muttered, the words muffled behind the back of your hand as you tried to hide your mouth. your cheeks were hot and red, eyes flicking anywhere but his. “i’ve never done this before…” 

sungchan blinked, still catching his breath—his body lax but his eyes focused entirely on you. “...you’re kidding,” he said, voice hoarse around the edges. he sat up a little and reached out to pull your hand away from your face. “that was—shit, you’re amazing, yn,” he continued, guiding you back up on his lap once more. 

“i can’t take it anymore.” 

i’m really going to do it—sungchan’s really about to break his girlfriend’s trust. but it’s too late to stop, he had to let his guts and body take over. he promised himself he’s just going to put the tip in…

“don’t tell to stop, yeah?” he said, lining the head of his flushed and wet cock against your entrance, and slowly, sungchan sank your hips down to the base. you threw your head back and let out a moan as his cock stretched your walls. “ah—sungchan,” with a whimper, your hips came to rest against his’. you’re way tighter and wetter than nari is—sungchan had to hold himself back from cumming this quick. 

he lifted you off his lap before letting you slam back down on his thick cock. the head nestled against your cervix with each pounding thrust. “you’re so fucking tight, babe… how…” he moaned as his fingers dug into your hips, guiding your movements with deliberate rhythm. 

you felt it in the way sungchan held you as he coaxed you to move the way he wanted. every shift of your body drew another moan from him, raw and guttural, his grip tightening with each roll of your hips. 

“you’re so big, ‘chan,” you whimpered, leaning in, hands resting on his chest as you pressed your mouth to his’. sungchan kissed you back almost immediately, hands anchoring you to him as your lips moved together. 

you felt his cock twitching and you swore—he got bigger when you slipped your tongue past his lips. he must’ve liked kissing a lot—you thought. you brushed your thumbs over his nipples, and sungchan chuckled softly in your mouth. your light tugged and pinched his nipples between your fingertips, rolling it inbetween.

down there—his cock dragged against the sensitive tissue of your entrance. his thrusts weren’t messy, they were rough and solid with the curve and the head of his cock hitting the deepest parts of you. sungchan pushed your hips down, cock balls deep inside your tight pussy as he kept you there, burying his cock against your deeper spot. 

“mmh—!” you moaned and nibbled on his bottom lip, drawing slight blood that sungchan couldn’t care less for. he started pounding into you with no remorse, balls slapping your pussy and making wet noises across the living room. his cock only throbbed deep in your cunt as you cried into his mouth, pressing your nipples against his’. 

sungchan’s heart pounded in his chest when his girlfriend’s face came to mind. he almost questioned himself what he was doing—but the thought dissolved just as quickly as they came when you flicked your tongue across his teeth. 

who was he kidding—? he waited months for this. 

your legs were burning and your climax was so close you could taste it. you unlatched your lips from his and cried softly, the tip of your nose reddened. “chan, i—” 

“me too, love, fuck—” he let out a groan that softened into a breathy whimper. “kiss me, yn.” he murmured, leaning in to capture your lips for the nth time. his thrusts were erratic—rough and deep and desperate and merciless. heat coiled in your stomach, deep and pulsing. 

“i can’t hold it back anymore.” you whimpered pathetically into the kiss, nails digging his flesh as you practically started bouncing on his hard cock to chase your own high. the contracting walls of your tight cunt sent sungchan over the edge as well. sungchan moved his hands to cup your asscheeks, fondling and spreading them apart. he used it to control your movements and bouncings on his cock. 

“cum—cum on my cock, babe.” he moaned and snapped his hips against you, hard and deep, in one final, powerful lurch—and that was when your muscles clenched and clamped tightly around his throbbing cock as he pumped and coaxed every last drop of his warm, thick semen straight inside of your pussy. sungchan whimpered against your lips as he unloaded everything inside, his seed leaked from your hole. 

“oh—mmh, fuck…” you whimpered as you let your body relaxed above him, pulling away from the kiss to bury your face into the crook of his neck. you could feel your sungchan’s cock pumping and throbbing as he spurted the last few drops of his cum inside. 

“i… i feel so bad for—hngh! too deep—nari…” you muttered against his skin, shaking your head slightly. the pleasure came in waves—your cunt twitching and thighs trembling as sungchan slowly and tiredly jerked his hips against you, pushing his cum deeper. the boyfriend clicked his tongue and gave your ass a slight squeeze. “you’re wonderful, yn… fuck,” he said in return, obviously pretending he didn’t hear what you just said.

what is there to regret?  

as sungchan came down, he let out a sigh and wrapped his arms tightly around your waist. he placed his chin atop of your head, breath still uneven as he held you close—and still hadn’t pulled out—because he just didn’t want to let go just yet. 

the room was quiet, save for the soft sound of both your breathing, his fingers brushed lazy circles against your lower back. “did… you like it?” he asked quietly. you nodded against him, cheeks warm as you nuzzled into his warmth. “...mm yeah. did you?” 

god you're so cute.

sungchan exhaled through his nose, something between relief and regret flickering in his eyes as he looked up to the ceiling. relief that you enjoyed it as much as he did—but regret because he could see himself seek more from you. 

“i love it a lot,” he replied, kissing the crown of your head. “this really has to be just once?” 

his question hung in the air as you pulled back to look at him. “sungchan… you know nari is—” 

before you could finish, the sharp ring of the doorbell cut through the quiet room. both of you froze.

the ring camera flickered to life, showing nari standing just outside the door. 

💭 WOW. SUNGCHAN IS SOO SWEET HEREEE... if this is wack im so sorry i havent written smut in a while so it was honestly kind of hard for me to visualise positions and capture the essence and emotions of xxx :c

this wont be my last time writing cheating smut because i looooove it so much and im trying to write mean reader but i dont think i can write mean female characters but i'll try :( thank u sm!! as usual reblogs, comments, n inboxes r soo appreaciated. lmk what u guys think <3

[strawbrryvyy]

Wetlook

Pairing: Anton x fem!reader

Warning: smut! pool sex (kinda), unprotected sex

Wc: 1.8k

A/n: i want him wet and sopping like a pervert 😵‍💫

Anton always considered you to be his good luck charm. He loved getting little gifts from you and wearing them for special occasions. Using phone cases and charms, keeping little plushies with him or decorating his room, wearing special jewelry or clothing you gifted him.

What he loved more than reminders of you was you in the flesh. Seeing you at concerts and events, seeing you help him practice swimming, going on vacations together. Nothing bad could happen when you were near him.

You found his love for swimming endearing, always cheering him on even when he was swimming warm up laps. You far from the professional coaches he’s trained with, but knowing your eyes were following him throughout the water and carefully timing him made Anton feel stronger and better when swimming.

He loves how happy you get to be there for him, admiring him throughout all of his endeavors, idol or other.

Finding time off, you were quick to plan a vacation together. You took time off of work well before the trip to ensure you had as much time with Anton as possible. Together you were relaxing in a hotel, opting to spend the first few days in bed before actually sight seeing later on your trip.

You booked this hotel for their olympic sized swimming pool, something you knew Anton would love to see. Even if he didn’t want to swim a lot, you thought he should have the option for this more than anything.

Your first day was spent in bed together, cuddling and ordering room service as you both slept away the stress and recharged in the soft bedding of your room. Waking up, you and Anton felt perfectly rested, able to get up and not feel groggy.

After breakfast, Anton mentioned wanting to see their pool.

“You don’t have to, so soon.”

“No way,” He laughed, “you booked this specially for me! Of course I’m gonna check it out.”

You both made your way towards the pool, carefully covering the swimwear you were in while in the main lobby area. It was in the back half of the hotel, having two french doors open to the sunlit pool. The scent of chlorine was fragrant but not strong, just enough to notice.

You saw Anton warm up, stretching his large arms and jog around to warm his body up. He splashed some water onto his chest before jumping in. You noticed how the swimming shirt stuck around his pecs, sculpting them and broadening his torso.

You bit your thumb and tried shaking those thoughts away. Setting your things down as he began moving throughout the water. You watched him take some practice laps, getting used to the water before he began swimming faster. His arms gliding through the water as he swam, the splashing water spraying everywhere as he reached the end of the pool before diving under and turning around. He was able to stay under the water for a good while before swimming up and catching his breath between strokes.

Reaching back to the wall, he was panting. Floating on the water before asking you to time him.

“Of course.” You smile.

You grabbed the timer as he kneeled in place on the concrete, you gave him a count of three before he soared into the air. Moving into the water, he was quick, able to swim to the middle of the pool far faster than his warm up laps.

You looked around, noticing how little people were here. Scratch that, how no people were here. Anton arrived at the end and you pressed the timer. Telling him his time as he stepped out of the water, grabbing his water bottle to get a drink before sitting down.

“Ah, thank you, y/n. I really love this.”

“Of course.” You kissed his cheek.

“You’re alright?”

“Yeah! I’m just surprised no one’s here. Usually pools are super packed.”

“Doesn’t this place has an outdoor pool, too? Probably there.”

You nodded.

Every time you tried keeping your thoughts straight you’d see how flushed his cheeks were or how tight his shirt was.

“This is really uncomfortable, can you help me?” Anton asked, pulling up the hem of his shirt.

You felt your cheeks warm, “Here.”

You helped pull his shirt up, rolling the fabric up before pulling it over his head to slide down his arms.

“Are you alright, you look a little warm?”

“I’m fine!” You laugh, “Nothing’s wrong, just might be a little-” You tried thinking of some excuse but the time is trying to beat against you.

“Oh, y/n.” He smirked, “Are you?”

“No way.” You shook your head.

“It happens.”

“Not in public, Anton Lee.”

He laughed, “I’d hardly call this public.”

He hands held onto your hips, guiding you closer as he looked up at you.

“What started it? Are you just needy for me?”

“Anton.” You spoke sternly.

His hands drug down to your thighs, feeling how your legs shook as he moved past your pelvis.

“If you want, I could have sex now.” He laid a kiss on your thigh.

“This is so open.” You thought aloud, feeling your face warm even more.

His hands wrapped to hold your ass, “But we’re the only ones here.”

“There could be cameras.”

Anton looked upwards, looking around where the doors were, seeing no possible camera to catch the two of you here.

He pulled you down onto his lap, kissing you as you caved in. He held you up and against him as he basked in the sight of you being so desperate for him. Feeling your hips rut against him as you groaned against his lips.

“Was it me exercising? You like seeing my muscles?” He asked, lips pressed against your ear.

“You’re shirt.” You confessed.

“My shirt?” Anton dropped the sultry voice for a second, purely confused.

“It clung to your chest and muscles,” your hips ground against his again, “you looked really hot.”

“Should I put it back on?”

“No-”

“But you wanna see me wet, huh?”

You took a deep breath.

“That’s it, you wanna see me,” Anton ground himself against your core, “wet and soaked.”

“Yes.” You moaned.

“Let’s hop in.” He picked you up.

“Anton no, this is a pool.”

“It’s fine. Can’t be the first time.”

“Anton-“

He walked you two over to the edge of the pool, letting you fall to your feet as he hopped in.

“Sit on the edge.”

You slowly walked over, sitting down with your legs dangling into the water. He walked closer, standing right by your legs and pelvis. His hands reached out and rubbed your thighs, slowly spreading your thighs as he leaned in closer.

“Can I eat you out?”

“Fuck, please.”

He pulled you closer, pulling your bottoms off before seeing just how wet you were.

“What I would’ve done if I’d knew this sooner.”

“I didn’t even know this before.” You confessed.

He drug his finger along your folds, slowly pushing his pointer finger in. Leaning in, he began lapping at your clit, occasionally licking and slurping up the arousal you were dripping out. Everything felt heightened, his tongue felt hotter and heavier, his fingers reached deeper inside you, the tile was freezing underneath you.

Anton added a finger as he moved down, nose bumping your clit as his tongue lapped at the cum circling his fingers. Your moans grew louder as you felt your legs and core freeze, cumming so quickly as Anton lapped at your core.

You could barely catch your breath as Anton was asking for more.

He pulled you closer off of the edge, “Come in.”

You slipped into the pool, his arms holding you up before you leaned onto your elbows, backed up against the edge of the pool.

He pulled your top down, pushing your boobs outward as he latched onto them. Tongue swirling around the flesh as you began moaning.

“Anton.”

“Your tits look amazing. I see why you like a wet look.”

His hands moved to pinch your nipples, tongue slurping against the bud before wrapping his arms around your waist, pushing his chest against yours. He rubbed his skin against you, further stimulating your sensitive nipples.

His hands moved under the water, rubbing your clit as his mouth stayed latched onto your breast. He pushed his fingers back in, thrusting faster and harder into your pussy.

“Anton, fuck.” You moaned, feeling your hips buck towards him.

He switched between both breasts, teeth occasionally grazing your flushed nipples as he pumped his fingers into you.

“Anton, I’m so close.”

“You can cum anytime, baby.”

Your hips bucked a few more times before you felt yourself come undone. Feeling the clamp and spasm of your walls around his fingers as he stayed attached to your breasts. Pulling his fingers out, his pushed both of your breasts together, kissing and lapping his tongue against them.

“Can I put my dick in you?”

“Please.” You whine.

He got out of the pool, helping you onto the tile. Moving further from the edge, he took his shorts off, revealing his aching penis. Aligning with your entrance, he pushed all the way in. He groaned as he bottomed out as you felt every ounce of air leave your lungs. Taking a deep breath, you began sighing.

“Are you alright?”

“Anton.” You whined.

“Should I move.”

“Please.”

He pulled out before pushing back in, you could feel every vein and curve along his dick. Your head fell back as you were engulfed in pleasure, feeling him stretch you out beyond comprehension.

“Baby, we just started, are you gonna cum again.” He laughed, beginning to speed up.

You grabbed onto his arm, gasping, “I might.”

Anton continued thrusting into you, his head falling forward as he felt your pussy clench around him. His eyes were glued to where you were swallowing him up, quickly speeding up as he saw your hand move to rub your clit.

His hand moved to your stomach, adding pressure as you squeezed around him. His balls slapping against your ass as your moans grew louder. Your grip stayed tight, feeling him stretch you out amazingly as you were in ecstasy.

“Yes.” Your back arched as he continued fucking into you.

His hands moved to pinch along your nipples. Massaging your breasts as you were on cloud nine.

“Harder.” You gasped.

Anton began pumping into you, slower but stronger.

Your back continued arching as you began moaning even louder, if you weren’t so fucked out you would be afraid of someone coming.

“I’m gonna cum, Anton.”

“You’re cumming?”

“I’m gonna cum.”

You felt your walls close in as Anton held your head in place, holding eye contact as you both began cumming. His hips still moving as he filled you with cum. Slowly pulling out, Anton was quick to get something to clean you up with.

Returning to you, he gently wiped at your core. Gathering as much of your mixed cum as he could before handing you your swimsuit back.

“Thank you.” You said.

“Of course. Do you have enough energy to walk around?”

“Yeah, I just need a minute.”

Anton helped lay you out onto one of the pool chairs, catching your breath before enjoying the rest of your time there.

[strawbrryvyy]

nobleman sungchan and the mistress he loves so much 😳

Listen one thing about me is that I live and BREATHE for period pieces, so thank you so much for requesting such an amazing idea.

warnings: cheating and smut

You were nothing but another nameless girl in a sea of many other maids scrubbing the silver on the grand manor that sat like a crown upon the green hills of Hannamdong.

A cage some of the older maids would mutter when the lady of the house wasn’t at home, only there do they dare speak out such things that will behead them if they ever get caught.

The manor belonged to lord Jung Sungchan and his wife lady Jung Jiho.

Lord Jung was a tall man with beautiful features, both his skin, eyes and lips were keen to no other man you have seen before. He was known for his duels and diplomacy in a way he could crush a man with either his sword or his wit. lady Jung on the other hand was a rose. Beautiful beyond words to even describe. Her dark auburn hair was always fastened in jeweled combs and the other noble ladies envied her gowns stitched with pearls. She often smiled but never sincerely. The servants called her "a mirror" because she only ever reflected what others wanted to see.

Your duties were modest but truly endless, each morning began before dawn when the dew still clung to the lavender hedges and the corridors smelled of woodsmoke and lemon oil. You swept the marble floors of the east wing where the sun shined through the tall glass windows. You polished the silver candlesticks in the dining hall, you folded linens in the laundry chamber where the steam softened your hands and you fetched fresh bouquets from the garden, sometimes your fingers pricked raw by rose thorns. You also had private duties. Duties such as dusting the study where Lord Jung kept his maps and strange artifacts from foreign lands he had visited and YOu would tend the library and where the lord would often retire in the late hours.

He was always watching you came to realize. You knew Lord Jung was a polite man and always composed and you had been working at the manor for nearly a year when you first noticed him watching you.

One afternoon as you polished the silver in the drawing room you heard footsteps but you didn't look up. It was improper.

"You take great care of the house" Lord Jung said

"Thank you my lord" You replied while your eyes still looking down. Your heart though had begun to thrum

“The house is better for it”that was the first time he had spoken to you directly outside of necessity. After that you would sometimes find yourself in the same room as him more often than chance should allow.

One time you ought to have been in the library later than usual. You had offered to stay behind and finish oiling the old walnut shelves. The others had gone and rain started to batter the high windows. You stood on the little stool near the bookcase cloth in hand and wiping the edge of the top shelf and you didn’t hear him enter

“Still working?” The cloth slipped from your fingers and you got startled making your foot miss the edge of the stool and he his hands catched your waist before you could fall and held you just long enough for your balance to return, though the rest of you had already lost it “I’m sorry” you breathed out still in his arms

“You should be more careful” His hands remained where they were and you didn’t move. His hand lifted and his fingertips brushed a loose wisp of hair from your cheek “I shouldn’t”

“You shouldn’t” you echoed back.

But neither of us stepped away and his lips found yours and when he pulled back, you both stood still. He reached for yoor hand and held it for a moment before he walked away, the door closing behind him.

The days that followed were quieter than ever. Outwardly nothing changed. you still rose before dawn laced your apron tight and moved through the halls. you polished the same silver, arranged the same flowers and folded the same linens. After that night in the library you said nothing aloud. He would pass you in the corridor and say nothing yet his fingers would brush yours. When you brought his tea in the morning, you would no longer place it directly on the table as he would take it from your hand instead.

While folding some clothing you felt something in the pocket of your apron.

Tonight. The west wing. After the household retires.

The first time you went, you nearly turned back twice because you knew who was waiting for you there. Nevertheless you moved like a shadow through the quiet manor on your way to an unused guest room where the fire had already been lit and the windows shut. You didn’t speak right away. He looked at you as though he couldn’t quite believe you actually came and you in turn stood there as though any movement might wake you from a dream you didn’t want to admit you wanted. He touched your face first then your hand, further down to the small of your back. You met like that again, and again and each time, you told yourselves it would be the last. yet each time, you let it happen anyway. All while, Lady Jung remained blissfully unaware, flitting between her charities and her friends in town. Some of the other staff even whispered of her affairs with admirals and barons but you never joined in, honeslty you barely spoke at all. you had never belonged less to yourself and yet in the lord´s arms you felt more real and alive than you ever had.

Your guilt grew and so did the fear.

But Sungchan if anything became bolder.

He played the part of the husband well but when his eyes found yours, it was no longer just hunger, no he was longing. and you longed for him to, you feel it in the way your heart would slow when he looked at you and the ache in your chest when he was near and couldn’t touch you. The thrill of knowing you werent alone in it anymore.

you slipped through the garden path and past the statues and hedges toward the framed greenhouse tucked behind the rose wall. He was already there, lighting a single lantern that bathed the space. Ivy curled along the glass and the rain from earlier that evening still clung to the panes fogging the windows. When you stepped inside, he crossed to you in three strides and kissed you before you could say a word “I can’t stand it anymore” he said against your lips “pretending” “You’re the one who said we had to be careful”

“I know and I meant it. But damn me, I don’t care anymore. Not when it comes to you my love” He held your face in both hands and looked at you like a man seeing the only person who made him feel alive “I love you” he said and you believed him “God help me I love you yn”

Before you could speak you felt his hot breath on your now bare shoulder blade that he had been undressing, his lips peppered against your skin as you felt his strong arm wrapping around waist.

“need to be inside of you my love”

he turned you around and his hips were desperately rutting against you from behind, you felt his hard cock against his trouses and you let out a choked whine reaching back to grasp his hand and pull them to your tit and while he was massaging your tit he placed wet kisses up to the slope of your shoulder and your own wetness pooled through your core then he took his fingers underneath your dress and used his two thick fingers to feel the dampening cotton of your undergarments. Lord Jung then tugged the cotton down and pushing your folds apart to he rest his fingers against your clit. Goodnees you needed him just as badly as he needed you. he started slowly rubbing your clit crowding all of your mind and body.

"lord" you moaned out, wanting more from him. So you started moving your hips tp get a little friction while his other hand started playing with your nipple. Sungchan then let his two fingers collect your wetness and smeared it around your aching hole, preparing you. you felt him stretch you open with his fingers working you up. He was moving sloe to let you ease into the feeling before curling his deep inside of you. he continued to work his fingers in and out of you until you came and let you ride out your orgasm on his fingers.

Sungchan then slipped through your wet folds and desperate hole. his tip finally came onto your opening and slowly pushed into you. he was awlays considerate with the way he slipped inside of you and made sure to give you space and time to get used to his size.

“please channie”

he groaned at the feeling of your walls around him making his hips jerk when you clenched down on him. You then feel his finger brush away some hair out of your face to hold it in his hand, while the other made sure to hold you in the angle he wanted to fuck you in

"please move channie"

his hips were moveing now and his thrusts felt deep inside of you making sure you felt every ridge and vein of his cock inside of your aching cunt all while his hand still gripping your hair holding onto it gently as he fucked into you

The lord continued to fuck you in a slow pace lletting your warmth draw him back with every motion. You then started to rock your hips back into him in rhythm with his, driving him toward his approaching orgasm. You could sense him nearing the edge, the way his movements grew less controlled and a little quicker chasing something just out of reach. His body tensed with each motion as his cock continuously kicked and twitched inside of you

"ngh cum inside me" you whine and his rhythm began to falter, less precise though still echoing the slow intentional pace he’d set at the start.

"ngh please channie, please wanna feel your cum" soft and helpless sounds escaped your lips, each one unraveling him further and your voice kept reaching for him trembling with pleas and your eyes getting glassy with tears and with each of his final trembling movements, he buried his cock inside and cum spilling into you. Your body tightening in response and the tears finally slipping from the corners of your eyes as you clung to his body from behind.

The crunch of gravel outside the door made you both freeze. Sungchan was quick to slip out of you, even though he wanted to stay for much longer. He blew out the lantern and the greenhouse fell into darkness. Footsteps drew near and stopped just outside the main entrance and through the fogged glass you both see a silhouette

[strawbrryvyy]

where the hurt went. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ [ j.sc x p.wb ]

chapter two— between storms.

word count 2.7k

cw. : emotional vulnerability. references to substance use. aftermath of dissociation. mental health struggles. light medical themes. disassociation. quiet confrontation. media harassment. implied past trauma.

────── ★ ──────

shooting day three — 9:45 p.m.

the rain soaked right through wonbin’s hoodie, dripping from the hem onto the floor. he didn’t sit. didn’t speak. just leaned against the wall, eyes dark and distant.

wonbin didn’t speak at first.

he stood there dripping on the concrete like he hadn’t noticed he was wet, like he hadn’t noticed he was shaking. he was always like this—either too much or not enough.

sungchan didn’t move. seven seconds passed. long enough to feel like a decision.long enough to remember tokyo in reverse.

the balcony. the thunder. a shared lighter.

wonbin’s mouth on his, tasting like stolen whiskey and panic. the first time he said don’t fall for me. the last time sungchan listened.

“you’re bleeding,” sungchan said, voice flat. wonbin looked down like he was only now realizing it. his heel was cut open, red streaking the inside of his ankle.

“glass in the alley,” he mumbled.

pause. then softer— barely audible:

“you stayed.” wonbin counted.

sungchan didn’t answer.

──────

he didn’t have to. but he didn’t know.

maybe it was habit. maybe it was pride. maybe it was something in wonbin’s expression when he left— that hollow-eyed kind of bravado that looked too much like a goodbye, sungchan wasn’t ready for yet another goodbye.

but mostly, sungchan stayed because something in him wouldn’t let him leave.

he hated chaos. hated people who burned things down just to feel the heat. and that’s what wonbin was, wasn’t he? smoke and ruin and too many second chances.

but that night— the empty chair, the crushed pill bottle, the handprint smeared across the mirror— it hadn’t felt dramatic. it had felt quiet. too quiet.

like the kind of quiet you didn’t come back from. and something in sungchan… cracked.

because it wasn’t about the schedule anymore. or the shoot. or the way wonbin never respected the time sungchan had spent building control into his entire life.

it was about the fact that no one else had stayed. not the team, not the manager, not the label. they all wrote it off. called it a spiral. called it tuesday.

but sungchan had seen the edges of it— the exhaustion behind the eyeliner. the way wonbin laughed like he was trying to distract himself from something louder. and underneath all that mess, there was a human being. and sungchan— the one who never broke, never blurred, never felt more than he was supposed to he realized he couldn’t look away from it.

not anymore.

he stayed because… no one else had. and because for reasons he didn’t want to name yet, he couldn’t not.

──────

they sat there for a while. not touching. not speaking. sungchan handed him a protein bar someone had left behind. watched as wonbin unwrapped it with shaking hands and took the smallest bite. he didn’t finish it.

but he didn’t throw it away either.

they didn’t move.

“you still gonna look at me like that?”

sungchan blinked. “like what?”

“like i’m still one of your problems.”

“you are.”

wonbin gave him a tired smile.

sungchan stood. he didn’t look angry anymore. just tired. he walked past wonbin, grabbed a towel from the props cart and tossed it at his chest. wonbin caught it, barely he was shivering.

“you can’t keep doing this,” sungchan said. “disappearing. making people look for you.”

“you didn’t have to stay.”

“i know,” sungchan said. “i almost didn’t.”

──────

they sat in silence.

sungchan had grabbed the first aid kit. wonbin winced as he poured alcohol over the cut. “you’re not going to ask,” wonbin said.

“ask what?”

“where i went. what i took.”

sungchan didn’t look up. “you want me to ask so you don’t have to say it first you were out there doing drugs weren’t you.”

wonbin laughed, but it sounded wrong. like coughing through smoke.

he picked at a piece of gauze, then said:

“i didn’t take enough to die. just enough to… pause.”

sungchan finally looked at him.

“you said you were clean” sungchan said.

not accusing. just tired. and maybe a little cracked at the edges.

wonbin didn’t look up right away. when he did, his eyes were red — not from drugs. not just from that. but from the weight of every second he couldn’t take back.

“i was,” he said. voice low. ruined. “and then i wasn’t.”

sungchan stayed quiet. waiting. not forgiving. not yet.

“next time, try sleeping to feel the real you. it’s cleaner.”

“you still have jokes.”

“i’m not joking.”

──────

scene — tokyo, fire escape

wonbin had climbed out the window in his socks. sungchan had followed, muttering curses.

“what are you doing?” sungchan hissed, eyes scanning the empty alley like it was dangerous.

wonbin had grinned at him, swinging his legs off the edge.

“breathing.” he’d lit a cigarette with shaking fingers. offered it.

sungchan hadn’t taken it. but he’d stayed. they’d sat like that until dawn.

nothing said. everything heard.

──────

present — back inside

“they’ll drop you,” sungchan said finally. “you know that, right? producers don’t care about your feelings. they care about finishing on schedule.”

wonbin shrugged. “maybe i want them to.”

“don’t,” sungchan said, sudden and sharp.

“don’t sabotage this just because you’re scared.”

wonbin flinched.

then: “i’m not scared of failing.”

“no,” sungchan said. “you’re scared of being seen.”

wonbin looked at him like he was trying to remember who sungchan used to be — the one who knew how to say the exact right thing when it already hurt too much.“you’re not wrong,” wonbin said. “i just don’t know if that makes it better.”

they sat like that for a long time. between them: history. habit. hunger.

then sungchan stood.

“you need to get cleaned up.”

wonbin didn’t argue. didn’t move either.

“you coming back tomorrow?” sungchan asked, heading for the door.

“depends,” wonbin said.

“on what?”

wonbin’s voice was soft now.

frayed around the edges.

“on whether you’re gonna look at me like that again.”

sungchan stopped. turned slightly. not enough to be real. just enough for wonbin to see the side of his face.

“like what?”

“like you remember.”

silence. then sungchan said, barely audible:

“don’t be late.”

another pause.

wonbin closed his eyes briefly, the tension in his jaw easing for a second. “i’m tired, sungchan. tired of pretending.”

“me too,” sungchan admitted, voice rough. they shared a flicker of something fragile— an unspoken acknowledgment. but the silence returned, deeper now. neither ready to cross the gap.

just two damaged people breathing in the quiet, looking outside the window hoping for all to end.

──────

shooting day four — 6:28 p.m.

they weren’t speaking. not because something had happened — not yet — but because it hadn’t. there was too much air between them. too much weight in the wrong places. the kind of silence that had shape and sound, even if no one said anything.

sungchan sat on the couch in the corner of the dressing trailer, scrolling through the day’s call sheet like it might change if he looked at it long enough.

wonbin was at the vanity, not touching his food, smudging the corner of his eyeliner with the pad of his thumb.

“they’re bumping the rooftop scene to tomorrow,” sungchan said eventually.

wonbin didn’t look up. “figures.”

pause. longer than it needed to be.

“you okay?” sungchan asked.

“define okay.”

another pause. this one heavier.

sungchan exhaled, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “look. if you need to talk—”

“don’t,” wonbin said, sharp. “don’t do the thing where you pretend we’re close.”

sungchan blinked. once. didn’t flinch, but something in his face cooled.

“we used to be,” he said quietly.

“used to be,” wonbin echoed. “past tense.”

outside, someone knocked. twice. soft. a pa. “five minutes to touch-up.”

they didn’t move.

when the footsteps faded,wonbin finally said, “you were the one who stopped talking first you pushed me away, didn’t answer my calls it was all you.”

sungchan’s laugh wasn’t loud, but it had teeth. “you think this is about who stopped talking? you cutt-contact first wonbin don’t even get started.”

“no. i think it’s about what we didn’t say before we stopped.”

wonbin stood. walked past him. paused at the door.

“you don’t get to be the one with regrets,” he said. “not when i haven’t got a chance to explain my side of the story.”

he didn’t wait for a response.

just stepped out into the hallway like the conversation hadn’t happened at all.

──────

shooting day five — 10:47 a.m.

the rooftop scene was delayed again.

bad light. heavy rainstorm. tech issues. the usual.

wonbin spent most of the morning pacing the lot with a cigarette he never lit.

sungchan found him near the back fence, staring at the hills like they might tell him something useful.

“you know that stuff’ll kill you,” sungchan said, nodding to the cigarette.

“that’s the idea.”

sungchan didn’t smile. “you’re not funny.”

“never said i was.”

they stood in silence for a moment.

finally, sungchan said, “you still writing music?”

wonbin looked over. didn’t answer at first.

then: “sometimes.”

“that’s not a yes.”

“it’s not a no, either.”

sungchan leaned against the fence beside him. “i miss your songs.”

“you don’t even listen to them anymore.”

“how would you know?”

wonbin turned to him. really turned. eyes sharp. “do you?”

sungchan hesitated. then nodded. “the demo you posted last year. the one that disappeared after twenty-four hours.”

“that was never supposed to go up,” wonbin said, voice low.

“it sounded like a goodbye.”

wonbin didn’t answer. just crushed the cigarette under his boot and walked away.

──────

shooting day five — 4:19 p.m.

the scene they finally shot that afternoon wasn’t supposed to hurt.

just a walk-and-talk. a conversation about a shared past that the characters pretended didn’t matter anymore.

but when sungchan looked at wonbin across the set, when he delivered his line — “you don’t look like yourself in the mirror lately” —

wonbin’s reaction was off-script. not in the words. in the way his voice cracked on the next line. in how his hands fisted at his sides, not for the camera, but to keep from shaking.

they finished the take. the director said “cut,” and everyone clapped.

wonbin didn’t speak to anyone for the rest of the day.

──────

shooting day five — 11:12 p.m.

later, after wrap, sungchan knocked on the door of wonbin’s trailer.

no answer. he tried again. “it’s me.”

still nothing.

he was about to leave when the door cracked open, just slightly. wonbin stood there in a hoodie, face washed bare of makeup, eyes red-rimmed. “you look like you haven’t slept,” sungchan said, before he could stop himself.

“i haven’t.”

“can i come in?”

wonbin hesitated. then opened the door wider.

the trailer was dim. quiet. a song was playing from a phone speaker — low, lo-fi, acoustic. something old. maybe his.

sungchan sat on the edge of the built-in bench. watched wonbin move to the corner, curl up like he’d done this before. like the space had memory.

just… there.

finally, wonbin looked at him.

“i saw you in the audience. at that solo gig. the one in shibuya.”

sungchan’s breath caught. “you looked right at me.”

“i didn’t think you’d come.”

“i wasn’t going to.”

“why did you?”

sungchan looked down. at his hands. at the floor.

then: “i missed you.”

wonbin closed his eyes.

and for the first time in three years, he didn’t ask sungchan to leave.

──────

the first show sungchan went to after all that happened was a basement venue in shibuya.

wonbin wasn’t supposed to play it. not publicly. not under his name. but word got out.

sungchan stood at the back, hoodie up, mouth dry. he hadn’t heard wonbin’s voice live since berlin.

hadn’t seen his body move on stage since that last show — the one where he disappeared after, left him alone with nothing but echo. the one where he called after 6 months.

the lights dimmed. wonbin came out wearing black. no eye makeup. no rings.

his hands trembled around the mic. and then — he sang.

not cleanly. not confidently.

but honestly.

his voice cracked in the second verse.he wiped his nose with his sleeve. he almost dropped the guitar.

and sungchan? he couldn’t breathe. he pressed his nails into his palms and stared at the boy he loved, the boy who broke him, the boy who looked so goddamn young on that stage, like he never meant to be famous, like the world dragged him into it kicking and screaming.

and in the middle of a song sungchan didn’t know, wonbin looked up — into the crowd — into nothing — and for half a second, it looked like he saw him.

────── ★ ──────

[💌] hello yes thank you for coming to my sad boy cinematic universe. this was short but trust me the next ones as long as the road trip u and your friends planned but didnt happen. in this chapter, we find out that wonbin is in fact not okay™ and sungchan is the emotional equivalent of a locked file folder slowly being forced open by one gremlin with bleeding knuckles and abandonment issues. no they are not kissing. yes, you are mad about it. yes i planned it that way.

[strawbrryvyy]

PLS ONG THIS IS SO GOOD

where the hurt went. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ [ j.sc x p.wb ]

chapter three— marks that don’t show on camera.

word count 3.3k.

cw. : addiction. substance use. toxic themes. emotion abuse. implied physical and mental abuse. relapsing. overdose.

────── ★ ──────

shooting day six — 3:14 p.m.

the scene wasn’t supposed to be romantic.

it was scripted as a confrontation — two characters with too much history and nowhere to put it. but somewhere between take five and take eleven, it shifted.

maybe it was the way sungchan’s jaw clenched when he stepped into frame. maybe it was how wonbin wouldn’t meet his eyes at first, or how his fingers trembled when he shoved him.

maybe it was the silence between their lines, the air thick with things neither of them were allowed to say. cut.

reset.

again.

the camera operator muttered something about “undercurrent” and “chemistry” and “jesus christ, are they doing this on purpose?”. by the twelfth take, the director had stopped giving notes. he just watched. “take it from the mirror scene,” he said eventually, too softly.

wonbin sat on the edge of the hotel bed prop, hands limp in his lap, fake blood still smeared at the corner of his mouth from a stunt punch gone too hard. sungchan stood across the room, hands fisted at his sides, the reflection of his expression distorted in the glass behind wonbin’s head.

“i don’t know how to help you anymore,” sungchan said, voice low.

“you were never supposed to help me,” wonbin snapped. “you were supposed to leave.”

silence.

long enough that someone off-set dropped a pen and it echoed like thunder. sungchan walked across the room slowly. sat down next to him. not touching. not yet. he reached up slowly and brushed a thumb under wonbin’s eye. not scripted.

wonbin didn’t flinch. also not scripted.

the room seemed to freeze.

“you were bleeding,” sungchan said. not the line. not even close.

wonbin blinked. his mouth opened slightly, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

instead, he leaned into the touch. barely. just enough to be noticed.

cut.

silence.

“let’s break,” the director said, almost dazed. “jesus.”

──────

shooting day six — 7:42 p.m.

they didn’t talk during dinner.

wonbin sat on the floor of his trailer, back against the wall, microwaved rice bowl untouched beside him.

sungchan stood leaning against the kitchenette counter, arms crossed, his reflection fractured in the metal cabinets.

“you didn’t have to do that,” wonbin said eventually, quiet.

“do what?”

“touch me like that. in the scene.”

sungchan didn’t move. “it felt right.”

“for the story?”

a pause. “no,” he said.

wonbin finally looked up. his face was unreadable, like he was trying very hard to keep something in. “do you ever get tired of pretending it’s all just acting?” he asked.

sungchan opened his mouth. closed it again. “sometimes.”

wonbin stood, slowly. stepped toward him.

“you ever wish we could stop?”

“stop what?”

“this.”

sungchan’s voice was rough. “define this.” but before wonbin could say anything— there was a knock. not gentle. urgent. a voice from outside: “wonbin. you need to come. now.” wonbin’s expression dropped. he looked back at sungchan, something unreadable flickering in his eyes — fear? guilt? or worse: familiarity.

“don’t.” sungchan said quietly. “not again.”

but wonbin was already reaching for the door.

wonbin’s fingers hovered over the handle for just a second too long. not long enough to change his mind. just long enough for sungchan to see it — the hesitation, the war going on behind his eyes. like his body had already made the decision but his mind was still screaming not to.

he opened the door. the light from outside sliced through the room like a blade, catching both of them in harsh contrast. a P.A stood there, slightly out of breath, headset askew. someone was speaking into her earpiece, tinny and frantic.

“there’s been a—uh something happened. the director’s asking for you. now.”

wonbin nodded. no questions. no reaction.

just that mask again, sliding on like a reflex.

sungchan stepped forward. “wait. what kind of something?”

the pa’s eyes darted between them. “he didn’t say. just that it’s urgent and—look, can you both come? he said sungchan too, actually.”

that surprised them both.

but not enough to slow them down.

──────

shooting day six — 7:54 p.m.

they arrived at the production tent to chaos. phones ringing. a script supervisor crying quietly in the corner. the director pacing with a cigarette that wasn’t lit.

“we have a problem,” he said. wonbin was already folding in on himself, shoulders drawing up like armor. sungchan asked the obvious. “what kind of problem?” the director didn’t answer. just picked up a tablet and turned it toward them. a paused video. pixelated. grainy. from a security camera.

sungchan leaned in. the footage showed someone stumbling out of a black van behind the set lot. wonbin.

or— someone wearing what looked like his hoodie, his gait, his everything. except in the footage, he didn’t walk like someone leaving work. he staggered like someone barely conscious. behind him, another figure. face blurred. a hand on his back. pushing? guiding? the timestamp was from last night. 2:03 a.m. sungchan felt his stomach turn cold.

wonbin said nothing. but his hands… were shaking again.

“tell me this isn’t what it looks like ” the director said. “please.”

wonbin didn’t meet his eyes. “it’s not.”

“but you won’t say what it is either, were you out doing drugs again ?” sungchan muttered. wonbin looked at him then. really looked at him. like he wanted to say help me but couldn’t say the words out loud without them collapsing in on themselves. the silence stretched. then someone stormed into the tent.

it wasn’t a crew member.mit was the showrunner.mand she was holding a manila envelope. “everyone out,” she said. “except sungchan and wonbin.” no one argued. when the flap of the envelope opened, sungchan saw the photos. high-res.mnot from a security camera but from a telephoto lens. a tabloid leak.

wonbin, slumped against a car. someone else, holding him up. an unlit cigarette in his hand. a split lip. a glaze in his eyes that sungchan hadn’t seen since three years ago.

the showrunner didn’t yell. she didn’t have to.

“i need to know ” she said, voice calm.

“are we about to have a scandal on our hands?”

wonbin didn’t speak.

sungchan’s heart was pounding.

the silence that followed lasted exactly seven seconds. then wonbin said quietly:

“it’s not a scandal if my addiction never stopped.”

sungchans gazed flickered up to wonbin’s.

finally: “it’s him, isn’t it? the man in the footage? “

wonbin didn’t look up. “does it matter?”

“you said he was gone.”

“i lied.”

sungchan stopped walking. the trailer felt smaller now. “you’re not going vanish this time and expect things to be like before when you return.”

wonbin stood. “i know.”

wonbin let his head hit the wall behind him, like it might knock the memory loose.

“he caught me after the shoot. asked if i wanted to ‘feel real’ for a second. said no one had to know. that i deserved something easy. something warm.”

sungchan let out a bitter laugh. no humor in it.

“but that’s the thing, sungchan. he doesn’t know the difference between warm and burning.”

sungchan’s jaw clenched. but still — silence.

“i didn’t do it because i missed him,” wonbin said. “i did it because i missed who i was before he broke me.” his voice cracked on broke. just a little.

“and maybe… maybe i thought if i went back there, just for a night, i could drag that version of me out.”

he stood up slowly, unsteady but not falling.

“but he’s not there anymore. just ashes. just the echo of every time he told me i was nothing without him.” a long beat. breath like static.

“but you looked at me like i was someone, sungchan. like i could be.” and then — quieter, but steady now:

“it’s over. him and me. the pull. the pattern. all of it.” he stepped closer, eyes locked on sungchan’s like it was the only anchor he had left. “i’m not clean. not yet. but i want to be clean again but this time not for the headlines. not even for the music.” his voice dropped, raw and shaking:

“for you. for me. for whatever this is.” he didn’t reach for sungchan.

but he didn’t run either. and that — that was the difference. this time, he stayed.

──────

──────

3 years ago — somewhere in downtown L.A

wonbin wasn’t drunk.

he wanted to be. he’d tried. but alcohol had stopped working on him around the time he stopped knowing who he was off-camera.

the loft he loved in wasn’t filled with energy. it vibrated with the kind of desperation only the rich and deeply unsupervised could afford.

sungchan was there too. that night. that first night. not supposed to be, but there.

“you shouldn’t be here,” wonbin had said, breath fogging in the cool spring air behind the building.

“you called me.”

“you weren’t supposed to come.”

“why’d you call then?”

wonbin didn’t answer.

he was wearing sunglasses at 2 a.m. he hadn’t been on a tour in almost a year. not since the incident with his ex-bandmate, not since the industry buried it under ndas and favors and rehab recommendations that were all optics and no help.

sungchan had come anyway. no manager. no driver. just him in a hoodie and a too-familiar look on his face.

“you looked scared,” he’d said.

“i wasn’t.”

“you are now.”

wonbin had turned away.

and then sungchan had said the words that haunted him even now:

“ if you disappear again, don’t expect me to follow and find you next time.”

──────

three years ago —

wonbin wasn’t an actor. he didn’t need the fake tears or perfect lighting. he had stages, sold-out arenas, guitars he’d smashed mid-breakdown on world tour stops just to feel something. he wrote lyrics like confessions and bled into the mic every night.

and then there was dohyun.

an older musician. more famous. more reckless. their tour together was chaos from the start — fire and gasoline in leather jackets. fans shipped them. tabloids stalked them. no one saw what happened when the lights went down.

dohyun loved to own things. people, too.

he’d tell wonbin to change his setlist. his outfit. his tone. he’d criticize him, then kiss him onstage. say it was part of the image. “rockstars don’t fall in love,” he said once. “they crash.”

later dohyun had found out. about wonbin and sungchan.

not officially. not publicly. not enough to name it. but he saw the shift.

saw wonbin smile at his phone after rehearsals. saw the way he stopped flinching when dohyun raised his voice. stopped apologizing for speaking first in interviews. stopped letting himself be edited out of his own songs.

and dohyun—older, sharper, brutal in the ways only the jealous can be—cut him down with precision.

“ you’re only special when i let you be. “

“ don’t start thinking you’re worth more than what i made of you”

“does your new boyfriend make you feel this important too?”

wonbin denied it. of course he did.

because they weren’t together. not really.

but dohyun didn’t need proof. just the suspicion. just enough leverage to start pulling strings.

he started rewriting setlists. cutting wonbin’s verses from songs without warning. humiliating him onstage with “jokes” that weren’t jokes.

and when that didn’t work, he tried the old tricks—the backstage whispers, the pills, the drinks, the lines drawn on hotel bathroom counters.

wonbin slipped.

not all at once.

just enough to push sungchan away when he called again.

just enough to disappear.

and when wonbin finally walked away — two weeks before their final joint show — the fallout was brutal. dohyun leaked demo tapes. accused him of ghosting the band. rumors of overdose spread faster than facts.

wonbin disappeared for six months. until one night he decided to call sungchan.

and now he was back. sober. solo. and, somehow, standing on the set of a drama that was supposed to be a comeback, not a relapse.

──────

──────

“you sure he’s done with you now? if you keep in contact he’ll take you down with him. again.”

wonbin met his eyes finally. “that’s not the point.”

sungchan’s voice was flat. “did he ever hurt you?…..physically? emotionally?”

wonbin didn’t answer. which was an answer.

sungchan stepped forward. “so why not tell everyone?”

“because no one believes a rockstar wants to be safe,” wonbin said. “they believe we want chaos. drugs. sex. scandal.” he paused. “and maybe sometimes we do.”

sungchan looked at him for a long time. then, softly: “you said that scene yesterday — the one where i touched you — wasn’t just acting.” wonbin nodded.

“neither was this,” sungchan said, reaching out. thumb brushing gently beneath wonbin’s lip, where a tiny scab from a guitar mic still lingered.

wonbin shivered.

“you’re not afraid of me,” sungchan said. “no,” wonbin breathed.

“then stop running.”

wonbin’s breath hitched. “you don’t get to say that anymore.” sungchan’s face twisted, pain, disbelief, something else he didn’t want to name.

wonbin stepped closer. “you don’t.”

there was silence. and then sungchan whispered, “you called me.”

“what?”

“back then. that night. you say it didn’t matter. that i shouldn’t have found you . but you called me.”

wonbin looked away. “it was a mistake.”

“you meant it.”

“stop.”

“you didn’t want to be alone.” sungchan was so close now. closer than scripted. closer than he’d allowed in three years. and then—

he was always like this — unreadable in the ways that mattered most. a master of withholding. of knowing exactly how much distance to keep between his heart and the camera.

wonbin used to think it was control. now he wasn’t so sure.

he laughed, once. bitter. “things happened exactly what dohyun said would happen if i ever decide to leave him alone.”

sungchan flinched.

wonbin didn’t miss it. “yeah. he knew. he always fucking knew.”

“he was wrong,” sungchan snapped.

“was he?”

wonbin’s voice dropped.

“he said nobody would stick around if they saw what i looked like when the lights were off. when the fans left. when i couldn’t keep it together long enough to play the part.”

he was looking at sungchan like he was remembering something and trying to forget it at the same time.

“you never showed up back then when i collapsed berlin don’t know if you weren’t aware….. or me pushing you away had hurt you bad enough to not visit me” he said.

sungchan looked like he’d been slapped. “i did—”

“you didn’t” wonbin corrected.

a pause.

“wonbin you’re so wrong.” sungchan replied. “i came to the hospital. infact i was the one that took you there.” sungchan said, almost inaudible.

wonbin went still. the air left the room.

“what?”

“before the berlin show, after the… after you collapsed i took you to the hospital but they wouldn’t let me see you.”

“what? they never told me.”

“you never asked.”

“i woke up to no memories of the night after i walked into the alley, they told me it was a stranger that found me.”

“they lied.”

wonbin looked at him, expression unreadable “you were there. that night. you saved me.“

“was it you that blocked my number the day after, well you know?” sungchan followed.

wonbins brows furrowed.”i never blocked you— what? i always thought you changed your number or— that you had blocked me.”

“who returned your phone to you after you woke up?”

“…oh.”

“who was it wonbin?”

wonbin did not reply.

but that was all suncghan needed to know who did it. dohyun that son of a bitch.

“….i had no idea. no wonder my calls never went through, i sent you million of voice messages too suncghan, if only i knew.” wonbins eyes were shaking.”if only i knew i would’ve never hated you.”

──────

──────

three years ago — downtown berlin.

the night everything cracked. wonbin hadn’t meant to go out that night. he was supposed to be in rehearsal — prepping for the last leg of the tour, doing press photos, sitting in a chair while stylists made him look more alive than he felt.

but dohyun had texted:

“come to the studio. just for a minute. i need you.” and wonbin—

wonbin had never known how to say no to him.

the studio was a penthouse loft in downtown berlin that someone’s label paid for. it wasn’t soundproof, not really. it smelled like expensive incense and cheaper liquor. dohyun was already high when he opened the door. “you’re late,” he’d said.

“i wasn’t coming,” wonbin answered.

“but you did.”

he always did.

──────

by midnight, the fight had started. nothing dramatic. just hands that gripped too hard. words that cut like glass. a push. a stumble. the sound of something breaking—

a guitar? a lamp? wonbin’s chest? no one remembered.

dohyun had been spiraling. jealous. paranoid. he’d seen the grainy fan photo from tokyo, from that rooftop, from that afterparty. wonbin and some actor sitting too close.

knees touching. smiles too soft.

he’d laughed when he saw it, then thrown a bottle. “he’s nothing,” dohyun had hissed. “he doesn’t know you like i do.”

“you don’t know me at all,” wonbin had snapped.

wrong answer.

dohyun’s voice had gone cold: “you’re not a person, wonbin. you’re a product. and i made you sellable again.”

that was the last thing he remembered clearly.

──────

1:52 a.m.

wonbin stumbled out into the alley behind the building. barefoot. dazed. bleeding from somewhere near his temple. he didn’t have his phone. didn’t have his wallet. didn’t even have his name, really— just noise in his head and shaking in his bones. he hit a wall. literally. collapsed against it. slid down. someone found him there. not a stranger.

sungchan.

he wasn’t supposed to be there. he’d flown to berlin for a commercial shoot. hadn’t told anyone. but he’d gotten the text. from wonbin. one line. no punctuation.“if i disappear don’t look for me like last time.” he’d gone anyway. when he found him, wonbin couldn’t speak. just looked up at him like maybe he’d imagined it. “you came,i fucking told you not too.” he croaked.

sungchan crouched beside him. jacket already coming off. “you shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“i wasn’t,” wonbin whispered. sungchan didn’t ask what that meant he couldn’t, wonbin had blacked out.

──────

2:24 a.m.

the emergency room. they told sungchan he wasn’t allowed in. he stayed in the waiting room until sunrise. no one from wonbin’s team showed up. by 7:00 a.m., a label handler arrived. cleaned things up. signed forms. called it “exhaustion.”

wonbin was moved to a private recovery clinic in malibu. sungchan was told, gently, to go home. his found out his number was blocked within the week.

──────

──────

when sungchan looks at wonbin now — all sharp edges and practiced calm —he sees that night under his skin. the version of him no one else ever got to hold. the one who asked for help. he sees blood. and broken glass. and an apology that never came.

he sees a boy who texted:

“don’t look.” and hoped someone would anyway.

wonbin sat down like his knees gave out. “so what now?” he asked. “your agency thinks i’m a scandal. the tabloids have footage. the director’s ready to pull the plug.”

“i don’t care what they think,” sungchan said. “i care about you and besides they have dealt with the footage” it was too late and too early for confessions. and yet — it hung there. real. raw.

wonbin looked at him, expression unreadable. “you’re three years too late,” he whispered. sungchan stepped closer.

“then let me be early for whatever comes next.” a breath. then another.

then—

knock knock knock. a voice from outside, not urgent. just… tired.

“they need you both. final blocking for tomorrow’s shoot.”

neither of them moved. wonbin closed his eyes. just for a second.

“we should go,” he said.

sungchan didn’t argue. but before they stepped out, he reached for wonbin’s wrist.

not to stop him. just to touch.

to remind him: i’m still here.

and this time, wonbin didn’t pull away.

────── ★ ──────

masterlist. | prev. | next.

[ 🪼 ] started writing this as “what if an actor and a rockstar had a messy confrontation” and accidentally made it gay & i also somehow managed spiral it into three years of unresolved trauma, backstage breakdowns, and more yearning than a mid-2000s indie film soundtrack. wonbin has main character trauma, sungchan is just trying to keep him alive and he prob needs to kiss him gently in between takes. dohyun is the human embodiment of red flags with a guitar. there is enough tension in this to power the entirety of berlin’s nightlife. thank you for reading my thoughts about messy healing, late-night confessions, and emotionally repressed men who whisper “don’t touch me” while leaning into the touch. if you made it to the end of this chap congrats— you, too, may be eligible for emotional damage compensation 👅 !

[strawbrryvyy]

gonna kms this is so good and NO I WONT TOUCH GRASS

where the hurt went. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ [ j.sc x p.wb ]

chapter one— bruised fruit.

word count 2.1k. . cw. : substance use and addiction. emotional abandonment. anxiety. mention of blood. implied overdose. toxic relationship dynamic.

────── ★ ──────

wonbin walked in late. of course he did.

sungchan didn’t look up at first. not because he didn’t notice — he felt it. the shift in the room. the sound of footsteps that matched a rhythm he hadn’t let himself remember in years.

three years, and wonbin still walked like he was about to bolt. still showed up drunk to his schedules, still dressed like he didn’t care who was watching, but moved like someone who knew everyone always was.

he was thinner now. sharper around the edges. but it was still him. the same crooked smirk. the same tattoo peeking out under his sleeve — the one sungchan had once traced with his thumb in the dark, right before everything broke.

sungchan knew the only reason wonbin had agreed to take the role was to build back his ruined reputation.

──────

flashback — three years ago — tokyo, afterparty rooftop.

the first time wonbin met sungchan, he was barefoot on a hotel rooftop and halfway through a bottle of jack.

sungchan was looking for someone else. stumbled into the wrong door. ended up staying for two hours.

he didn’t recognize him at first. not the stage version of wonbin—makeup smudged, boots off, voice raw from screaming lyrics he hadn’t written sober.

they talked.

about music. about endings. about how both of them wanted out, just in different directions.

sungchan was filming a drama in tokyo. wonbin was headlining a tour he didn’t remember agreeing to.

“what do you miss most?” sungchan asked him.

“being no one,” wonbin had said. “just a guy. just… me.”

and sungchan, who knew what it was like to live with cameras in your lungs, had said nothing. just sat beside him. their knees touching. quiet.

they never kissed.

not that night.

not ever, if you asked either of them out loud.

but something worse happened instead.

they got comfortable.

wonbin started texting him. late. weird hours. from rehearsal rooms, dressing rooms, hotel bathrooms. voice notes instead of typed messages. half-finished lyrics. glimpses of vulnerability with the edges still sharp.

sungchan answered every time.

they weren’t anything.

they didn’t need to be.

but also—they were something.

the kind of something that didn’t need to be defined to be dangerous. not in their world. not with their names.

wonbin wasn’t just lonely. he was tethering himself to something that wasn’t built to hold that kind of weight. and sungchan, for all his poise, didn’t know how to stop catching him.

he showed up to two more cities.

quietly. no posts. no headlines. just a hoodie and a plane ticket and a backstage pass someone else had left behind.

they shared ramen in osaka at 4 a.m., on the floor of wonbin’s hotel room. shared a cigarette in seoul two months later, backs pressed against the alley wall of a studio neither of them remembered walking into.

wonbin told him, once, during soundcheck in taipei:

“you make me want to stay clean.”

and sungchan didn’t say anything, because how do you answer that without ruining everything?

──────

sungchan kept his expression flat. professional.

wonbin didn’t. he froze when he saw him.

half a step. that’s all. barely enough for anyone else to notice. but sungchan did. of course he did.

three years without contact. not after the last fight. not after L.A not after the voicemail sungchan never returned.

and now they were here.

co-stars.

“wonbin,” the director greeted, distracted, flipping through the call sheet. “you’ve met sungchan, right?”

wonbin’s voice was hoarse. not from talking — from not. “yeah,” he said. “we’ve met.”

his eyes never left sungchan’s.

something unspoken passed between them.

a reel of memories with no soundtrack:

tokyo. bare feet on concrete. lyrics hummed against shoulder blades.

the silence of a call never returned.

sungchan broke the moment. barely. “you’re late,” he said, cool.

wonbin’s mouth twitched. not a smile. not quite.

the director, oblivious, clapped his hands. “chemistry read in ten. let’s warm up.”

wonbin didn’t move. not yet.

just one last glance at wonbin and suncghan noticed the eyes, it felt like reading a script only they knew existed.

like they were asking : do you still still love me? or does it just hurt less now?

sungchan looked away.

and for the first time in a while. wonbin felt cold.

──────

shooting day one — 12:30 p.m.

the director clapped his hands once— sharp, impatient— and the room stilled like animals sensing a shift in the weather. “ chemistry, boys.” he called out, his voice echoing through the half-empty warehouse. “we’re selling a love story, not a funeral.”

wonbin, already half out of his chair, flicked his cigarette ash onto the concrete floor with deliberate indifference. his eyeliner was smudged like war paint. he didn’t bother to hide the bite in his voice. “then get me someone i can actually stand to look at.”

the room stiffened. stylists froze. a makeup brush clattered to the ground.

sungchan didn’t flinch. didn’t even blink. he looked up from his mark with that same practiced calm— the kind that made people mistake quiet for weakness. his voice, when it came, was low and clean. razor-sharp.

“maybe if you showed up sober, you’d know how to act.”

the silence that followed was brutal. not even the wind dared to move through the rafters.

wonbin’s jaw ticked. his hands curled, then relaxed. sungchan had hit something— not hard, but precise.

no one spoke. no one intervened.

because the thing was— they didn’t need to fake tension. it was already there. it clung to them like cigarette smoke and sweat and somewhere behind the camera, the director smiled. this was exactly what he wanted. not chemistry.

combustion.

──────

between takes, sungchan stood with arms folded, watching wonbin laugh with the makeup girl. he had a pretty laugh. high and reedy, like he hadn’t yet drowned in the city. like maybe there was something left. something untouched.

for a second, sungchan almost forgot who he was looking at. almost.

but then wonbin turned his head— too fast and the smile dropped like it was never real to begin with.

his fingers twitched near his mouth. he started chewing the inside of his cheek again, eyes going distant, glossy.

he wasn’t looking at anyone. he was looking through them. like the whole set had vanished and he was somewhere else— or maybe nowhere at all.

it unsettled sungchan more than he wanted to admit. he didn’t like things he couldn’t categorize. didn’t like people he couldn’t categorize and wonbin…

wonbin was all contradictions stitched together by eyeliner and instinct. one second, he was electric— laughing, leaning too close, humming under his breath. the next, he was ice. brittle. unblinking. like the wires inside him were frayed and sparking.

sungchan didn’t trust it. didn’t trust him. he’d worked too hard to be paired with someone this chaotic. he didn’t have the luxury of softness.

his career was built on control— on showing up, shutting up, getting it right. the press called it discipline. his agent called it branding.

but sitting there, watching wonbin’s smile dissolve like sugar in rain, he didn’t see branding. he saw a slow kind of ruin.

and it pissed him off because despite every instinct screaming otherwise, some buried part of him wanted to know what had ruined him.

and even worse, if it could be undone.

──────

shooting day three — 3:12 p.m.

the day unravelled slowly.

wonbin had shown up on time— or close to it— which almost made people hopeful. he looked tired. not just the kind that sleep fixes. something deeper. something unraveling under the surface.

he went through makeup in silence. didn’t flirt. didn’t complain. on camera, he was electric. off camera, he was flickering. by hour four, he was nowhere to be found.

at first, no one noticed. they just assumed he’d gone for a cigarette, or to smoke something else. but then ten minutes passed. then thirty.

“where’s wonbin?” someone finally asked.

no one had an answer. they searched the soundstage. checked the trailers. nothing. it was someone from styling who found it.

his phone, abandoned in the bathroom sink, screen still lit up with missed calls. next to it: an empty pill bottle. not even fully hidden. just… left. on the mirror above the sink, someone had swiped a palm through the condensation— smeared eyeliner trailing behind like a ghost of a handprint.

they called wrap an hour later. people whispered, but no one acted surprised.

except sungchan. he stayed after everyone left. didn’t move. didn’t speak. he just stood there, eyes locked on the chair wonbin had occupied earlier that day. his jaw was tight. his hands were in fists. he wasn’t worried. he was furious. furious that someone so chaotic could slide so easily under his skin.

furious that he cared at all.

──────

shooting day three — 9:43 p.m.

he ran a hand through his hair, paced once, twice— then sat down in that same empty chair, the one wonbin had vanished from. the cushion was still warm.

he hated that he noticed.

outside, the sun had already dipped below the hills. the set was silent now— just the low hum of dying lights, the rustle of wind through scaffolding.

he pulled out his phone. opened the last unread message. unknown number, time-stamped just past three.

> you ever feel like you're gonna disappear and no one would even blink?

no name. no follow-up but sungchan knew exactly who it was from. he stared at the message. his fingers hovered over the screen. and then— a voice behind him:

“you stayed.”

he turned.

and there was wonbin. soaked from the rain. eyes red. hoodie clinging to his frame.

barefoot. bleeding.

alive.

barely.

────── ★ ──────

[ 💌 ] phew. this chapter wrecked me a little it’s the moment everything starts cracking lol the idea that either of them can stay untouched is getting blurry,,,,,,wonbin’s disappearance wasn’t just physical & sungchan’s reaction…that cold fury? yeah 😛 anyway ! the tension is tensioning, the eyeliner is smudging, and sungchan’s emotional repression is crumbling like a gluten-free cookie. we’re not in love yet but like… the universe is plotting.

thanks for reading, crying and enabling <3

drink water. touch grass. or don’t. we’re all going through it.

love always, rin .☘︎ ݁˖

[strawbrryvyy]

where the hurt went. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ [ j.sc x p.wb ]

chapter two— between storms.

word count 2.7k

cw. : emotional vulnerability. references to substance use. aftermath of dissociation. mental health struggles. light medical themes. disassociation. quiet confrontation. media harassment. implied past trauma.

────── ★ ──────

shooting day three — 9:45 p.m.

the rain soaked right through wonbin’s hoodie, dripping from the hem onto the floor. he didn’t sit. didn’t speak. just leaned against the wall, eyes dark and distant.

wonbin didn’t speak at first.

he stood there dripping on the concrete like he hadn’t noticed he was wet, like he hadn’t noticed he was shaking. he was always like this—either too much or not enough.

sungchan didn’t move. seven seconds passed. long enough to feel like a decision.long enough to remember tokyo in reverse.

the balcony. the thunder. a shared lighter.

wonbin’s mouth on his, tasting like stolen whiskey and panic. the first time he said don’t fall for me. the last time sungchan listened.

“you’re bleeding,” sungchan said, voice flat. wonbin looked down like he was only now realizing it. his heel was cut open, red streaking the inside of his ankle.

“glass in the alley,” he mumbled.

pause. then softer— barely audible:

“you stayed.” wonbin counted.

sungchan didn’t answer.

──────

he didn’t have to. but he didn’t know.

maybe it was habit. maybe it was pride. maybe it was something in wonbin’s expression when he left— that hollow-eyed kind of bravado that looked too much like a goodbye, sungchan wasn’t ready for yet another goodbye.

but mostly, sungchan stayed because something in him wouldn’t let him leave.

he hated chaos. hated people who burned things down just to feel the heat. and that’s what wonbin was, wasn’t he? smoke and ruin and too many second chances.

but that night— the empty chair, the crushed pill bottle, the handprint smeared across the mirror— it hadn’t felt dramatic. it had felt quiet. too quiet.

like the kind of quiet you didn’t come back from. and something in sungchan… cracked.

because it wasn’t about the schedule anymore. or the shoot. or the way wonbin never respected the time sungchan had spent building control into his entire life.

it was about the fact that no one else had stayed. not the team, not the manager, not the label. they all wrote it off. called it a spiral. called it tuesday.

but sungchan had seen the edges of it— the exhaustion behind the eyeliner. the way wonbin laughed like he was trying to distract himself from something louder. and underneath all that mess, there was a human being. and sungchan— the one who never broke, never blurred, never felt more than he was supposed to he realized he couldn’t look away from it.

not anymore.

he stayed because… no one else had. and because for reasons he didn’t want to name yet, he couldn’t not.

──────

they sat there for a while. not touching. not speaking. sungchan handed him a protein bar someone had left behind. watched as wonbin unwrapped it with shaking hands and took the smallest bite. he didn’t finish it.

but he didn’t throw it away either.

they didn’t move.

“you still gonna look at me like that?”

sungchan blinked. “like what?”

“like i’m still one of your problems.”

“you are.”

wonbin gave him a tired smile.

sungchan stood. he didn’t look angry anymore. just tired. he walked past wonbin, grabbed a towel from the props cart and tossed it at his chest. wonbin caught it, barely he was shivering.

“you can’t keep doing this,” sungchan said. “disappearing. making people look for you.”

“you didn’t have to stay.”

“i know,” sungchan said. “i almost didn’t.”

──────

they sat in silence.

sungchan had grabbed the first aid kit. wonbin winced as he poured alcohol over the cut. “you’re not going to ask,” wonbin said.

“ask what?”

“where i went. what i took.”

sungchan didn’t look up. “you want me to ask so you don’t have to say it first you were out there doing drugs weren’t you.”

wonbin laughed, but it sounded wrong. like coughing through smoke.

he picked at a piece of gauze, then said:

“i didn’t take enough to die. just enough to… pause.”

sungchan finally looked at him.

“you said you were clean” sungchan said.

not accusing. just tired. and maybe a little cracked at the edges.

wonbin didn’t look up right away. when he did, his eyes were red — not from drugs. not just from that. but from the weight of every second he couldn’t take back.

“i was,” he said. voice low. ruined. “and then i wasn’t.”

sungchan stayed quiet. waiting. not forgiving. not yet.

“next time, try sleeping to feel the real you. it’s cleaner.”

“you still have jokes.”

“i’m not joking.”

──────

scene — tokyo, fire escape

wonbin had climbed out the window in his socks. sungchan had followed, muttering curses.

“what are you doing?” sungchan hissed, eyes scanning the empty alley like it was dangerous.

wonbin had grinned at him, swinging his legs off the edge.

“breathing.” he’d lit a cigarette with shaking fingers. offered it.

sungchan hadn’t taken it. but he’d stayed. they’d sat like that until dawn.

nothing said. everything heard.

──────

present — back inside

“they’ll drop you,” sungchan said finally. “you know that, right? producers don’t care about your feelings. they care about finishing on schedule.”

wonbin shrugged. “maybe i want them to.”

“don’t,” sungchan said, sudden and sharp.

“don’t sabotage this just because you’re scared.”

wonbin flinched.

then: “i’m not scared of failing.”

“no,” sungchan said. “you’re scared of being seen.”

wonbin looked at him like he was trying to remember who sungchan used to be — the one who knew how to say the exact right thing when it already hurt too much.“you’re not wrong,” wonbin said. “i just don’t know if that makes it better.”

they sat like that for a long time. between them: history. habit. hunger.

then sungchan stood.

“you need to get cleaned up.”

wonbin didn’t argue. didn’t move either.

“you coming back tomorrow?” sungchan asked, heading for the door.

“depends,” wonbin said.

“on what?”

wonbin’s voice was soft now.

frayed around the edges.

“on whether you’re gonna look at me like that again.”

sungchan stopped. turned slightly. not enough to be real. just enough for wonbin to see the side of his face.

“like what?”

“like you remember.”

silence. then sungchan said, barely audible:

“don’t be late.”

another pause.

wonbin closed his eyes briefly, the tension in his jaw easing for a second. “i’m tired, sungchan. tired of pretending.”

“me too,” sungchan admitted, voice rough. they shared a flicker of something fragile— an unspoken acknowledgment. but the silence returned, deeper now. neither ready to cross the gap.

just two damaged people breathing in the quiet, looking outside the window hoping for all to end.

──────

shooting day four — 6:28 p.m.

they weren’t speaking. not because something had happened — not yet — but because it hadn’t. there was too much air between them. too much weight in the wrong places. the kind of silence that had shape and sound, even if no one said anything.

sungchan sat on the couch in the corner of the dressing trailer, scrolling through the day’s call sheet like it might change if he looked at it long enough.

wonbin was at the vanity, not touching his food, smudging the corner of his eyeliner with the pad of his thumb.

“they’re bumping the rooftop scene to tomorrow,” sungchan said eventually.

wonbin didn’t look up. “figures.”

pause. longer than it needed to be.

“you okay?” sungchan asked.

“define okay.”

another pause. this one heavier.

sungchan exhaled, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “look. if you need to talk—”

“don’t,” wonbin said, sharp. “don’t do the thing where you pretend we’re close.”

sungchan blinked. once. didn’t flinch, but something in his face cooled.

“we used to be,” he said quietly.

“used to be,” wonbin echoed. “past tense.”

outside, someone knocked. twice. soft. a pa. “five minutes to touch-up.”

they didn’t move.

when the footsteps faded,wonbin finally said, “you were the one who stopped talking first you pushed me away, didn’t answer my calls it was all you.”

sungchan’s laugh wasn’t loud, but it had teeth. “you think this is about who stopped talking? you cutt-contact first wonbin don’t even get started.”

“no. i think it’s about what we didn’t say before we stopped.”

wonbin stood. walked past him. paused at the door.

“you don’t get to be the one with regrets,” he said. “not when i haven’t got a chance to explain my side of the story.”

he didn’t wait for a response.

just stepped out into the hallway like the conversation hadn’t happened at all.

──────

shooting day five — 10:47 a.m.

the rooftop scene was delayed again.

bad light. heavy rainstorm. tech issues. the usual.

wonbin spent most of the morning pacing the lot with a cigarette he never lit.

sungchan found him near the back fence, staring at the hills like they might tell him something useful.

“you know that stuff’ll kill you,” sungchan said, nodding to the cigarette.

“that’s the idea.”

sungchan didn’t smile. “you’re not funny.”

“never said i was.”

they stood in silence for a moment.

finally, sungchan said, “you still writing music?”

wonbin looked over. didn’t answer at first.

then: “sometimes.”

“that’s not a yes.”

“it’s not a no, either.”

sungchan leaned against the fence beside him. “i miss your songs.”

“you don’t even listen to them anymore.”

“how would you know?”

wonbin turned to him. really turned. eyes sharp. “do you?”

sungchan hesitated. then nodded. “the demo you posted last year. the one that disappeared after twenty-four hours.”

“that was never supposed to go up,” wonbin said, voice low.

“it sounded like a goodbye.”

wonbin didn’t answer. just crushed the cigarette under his boot and walked away.

──────

shooting day five — 4:19 p.m.

the scene they finally shot that afternoon wasn’t supposed to hurt.

just a walk-and-talk. a conversation about a shared past that the characters pretended didn’t matter anymore.

but when sungchan looked at wonbin across the set, when he delivered his line — “you don’t look like yourself in the mirror lately” —

wonbin’s reaction was off-script. not in the words. in the way his voice cracked on the next line. in how his hands fisted at his sides, not for the camera, but to keep from shaking.

they finished the take. the director said “cut,” and everyone clapped.

wonbin didn’t speak to anyone for the rest of the day.

──────

shooting day five — 11:12 p.m.

later, after wrap, sungchan knocked on the door of wonbin’s trailer.

no answer. he tried again. “it’s me.”

still nothing.

he was about to leave when the door cracked open, just slightly. wonbin stood there in a hoodie, face washed bare of makeup, eyes red-rimmed. “you look like you haven’t slept,” sungchan said, before he could stop himself.

“i haven’t.”

“can i come in?”

wonbin hesitated. then opened the door wider.

the trailer was dim. quiet. a song was playing from a phone speaker — low, lo-fi, acoustic. something old. maybe his.

sungchan sat on the edge of the built-in bench. watched wonbin move to the corner, curl up like he’d done this before. like the space had memory.

just… there.

finally, wonbin looked at him.

“i saw you in the audience. at that solo gig. the one in shibuya.”

sungchan’s breath caught. “you looked right at me.”

“i didn’t think you’d come.”

“i wasn’t going to.”

“why did you?”

sungchan looked down. at his hands. at the floor.

then: “i missed you.”

wonbin closed his eyes.

and for the first time in three years, he didn’t ask sungchan to leave.

──────

the first show sungchan went to after all that happened was a basement venue in shibuya.

wonbin wasn’t supposed to play it. not publicly. not under his name. but word got out.

sungchan stood at the back, hoodie up, mouth dry. he hadn’t heard wonbin’s voice live since berlin.

hadn’t seen his body move on stage since that last show — the one where he disappeared after, left him alone with nothing but echo. the one where he called after 6 months.

the lights dimmed. wonbin came out wearing black. no eye makeup. no rings.

his hands trembled around the mic. and then — he sang.

not cleanly. not confidently.

but honestly.

his voice cracked in the second verse.he wiped his nose with his sleeve. he almost dropped the guitar.

and sungchan? he couldn’t breathe. he pressed his nails into his palms and stared at the boy he loved, the boy who broke him, the boy who looked so goddamn young on that stage, like he never meant to be famous, like the world dragged him into it kicking and screaming.

and in the middle of a song sungchan didn’t know, wonbin looked up — into the crowd — into nothing — and for half a second, it looked like he saw him.

────── ★ ──────

[💌] hello yes thank you for coming to my sad boy cinematic universe. this was short but trust me the next ones as long as the road trip u and your friends planned but didnt happen. in this chapter, we find out that wonbin is in fact not okay™ and sungchan is the emotional equivalent of a locked file folder slowly being forced open by one gremlin with bleeding knuckles and abandonment issues. no they are not kissing. yes, you are mad about it. yes i planned it that way.

[strawbrryvyy]

”HES MINE!” I scream as they drag me back to the asylum

everyday i wonder if i need to be in a padded room.

[strawbrryvyy]

I'm crying again. Cause you know when your head's all throbbing, can't sleep and your eyes' fuckkkkked out but you still want to write cause you have an idea and your cat's sleeping in between your legs? Funny, right?

....SO INTO YOU

W.C: 2.3k

TW: Suggestive content, bj, just pure NSFW (fuck it)

Pairing: College Sungchan x Student Council Pres!Y/N

--------------------------------------------------

"The hell happened to your face?" Anton asked, raising an eyebrow. Throwing his shoe in his locker.

Sungchan sighed like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. “I got caught loitering behind the library, okay… and thought kissing her would make it better.”

Everyone winced.

“You tried to kiss the student council president?” Seunghan asked, jaw slack.

“Yeah,” Sungchan muttered. “She slapped me. She didn’t even blink. Maybe she really doesn't love me.” He said, almost sulky, almost pouting.

Right then, you passed by—books stacked in arms, blazer perfect, expression a whole different breed of cold. Deadpan. Absolute president mode.

You didn’t even glance at Sungchan—just sliced through the hallway with calm authority like he didn’t exist.

“Babe! Lunch later?” Sungchan called after you with a hopeful grin.

You kept walking. Dead silence.

“…you sure she's your girl?” Wonbin muttered.

Sungchan, with a cut on his lip, glared at him. 

Though you ignored him earlier, you still ate lunch together—like always. He looked like a kicked puppy. You? Eating like nothing happened. Cold, composed, flawless.

“Busy?” Sungchan asked, trying to make eye contact.

You just hummed, eyes still on your food and laptop.

“…Do you still love me?” he tried again.

This time, you looked at him—expression unreadable.

“Remember why we’re together?” you asked.

Sungchan blinked, then nodded slowly. “Yeah. You sai—”

“‘Cause you said you’d jump.’” you cut him off flatly, stabbing at your rice. “We were on a rooftop. You made me your hostage. Still am.”

Back to chewing, not even phased.

Sungchan frowned, sulking. “Why are you so cold to meee?” he mumbled under his breath. “You weren’t like that last ni—”

You shoved a piece of chicken into his mouth before he could finish that sentence.

He choked. You sipped your iced coffee, unfazed.

At home, though, you and he were far from being like that. The tension between you dissolved into something warm and familiar. You only want to follow school rules and shit as you've been elected as the Students Supreme President. To the point where sometimes, people would never think anything is happening between you two. Like you were not a couple at all. 

Sungchan’s hands traced up your hips, sliding possessively to cup your waist before squeezing slowly up to your chest. His lips never left the soft curve of your neck, leaving wet, warm kisses as he murmured against your skin.

“I missed you,” he whispered, voice husky and hopeful. He paused over your pulse point, breath tickling. “Can we do it?”

You laughed softly, tilting your head so he could reach your ear. “We did it last night, Channie.”

He pressed a fingertip into your navel and let his hand drift lower. “Doesn’t matter. I could fuck you every day and not get tired.”

Your breath hitched at his words—and at the first slide of his fingers brushing over the waistband of your panties, teasing against your bare skin. “Baby—” you began, voice trembling into a moan as his thumb circled your clit through the thin fabric.

He leaned in and captured your lips in a bruising kiss, tongue slipping past your teeth, tasting you. You melted against him, one arm wrapping around his neck, the other bracing against the counter behind you.

“Channie…” your words turned into a soft whimper as he slipped two fingers inside you, slow and deliberate. “We have class tomorrow.”

His thumb pressed harder to your clit, rhythm matching the curl of his fingers inside you. “Then let’s make this count,” he rasped, kissing down your jaw, every touch coaxing another moan from your throat.

You leaned back into him, hips rolling against his hand, legs trembling as the pleasure built.

“Fuck, yes…” you gasped, nails digging into his forearm.

“Ssh,” he murmured, slipping another finger in to stretch you, then curling them just right, hitting your sweetest spot.

Your back arched, head falling as your moans grew louder, echoing off the kitchen walls.

When you came—body shaking, pussy clenching around his fingers—he held you there, thumb still teasing your clit until every last tremor wrung itself out of you.

You slumped into him, breathless and slick, tears of relief glistening at the corners of your eyes.

He lifted his fingers, kissed each one slowly, then brought them to your lips. You closed your eyes and tasted yourself, moaning softly around him.

He straightened, arms sliding under you, gathering you up.

“Let’s get you to bed,” he whispered against your mouth, voice thick with promise.

You nodded, still panting.

He carried you easily, your legs wrapping around his waist, his fingers brushing through your damp hair as he took you away—toward the sanctuary of your sheet-tangled mattress, where you’d finally rest…

Or pick up exactly where you left off.

Sungchan positioned a soft pillow under your hips, then guided you down so your stomach pressed into it, your ass lifted just right. Your hands moved to rest on your lower back, but before you could brace yourself, he wrapped one hand around your wrist and pinned it flat against your spine—leaving you beautifully exposed.

He settled behind you, cock glistening as he lined up at your entrance. With a low, guttural groan, he pushed in—slow and deep—so you felt every thick inch stretching you open.

Your teeth sank into your bottom lip. “Fuck—Sungchan…” you gasped, voice muffled against the mattress. “God, your cock's so good.”

He pulled all the way out, then slammed back in, harder, meaner. The pillow bounced beneath you with each stroke, lifting and dropping your ass like it was made for this. His free hand came to your hip, fingers digging in tight as he watched himself disappear into you.

“Spread your legs further, angel,” he growled, voice thick and filthy. “I wanna see how I fuck you.”

You obeyed instantly, knees sliding wider, and he fucked up into you from the new angle—his chest pressed to your back, cock hitting that spot inside that made you tremble.

Your moans spilled out, desperate and broken. You tried to reach back, to claw at his arm, but he caught you again—this time pinning both wrists behind you, his grip bruising and possessive.

“Don’t move your hands,” he snapped, voice low and breathless. “Let me watch you fuck yourself on my cock like a good girl.”

You bit your lip harder, eyes squeezed shut, your whole body vibrating with the pleasure threatening to rip you apart.

“Please—harder…” you whimpered. “Fill me up…”

He chuckled darkly, then drove into you like he was trying to ruin you. The mattress scraped beneath you, the room thick with the sound of wet slaps and your ragged moans.

Your body shook under the force of it, heat curling low in your stomach, pulsing tighter and tighter. His name tumbled from your lips like a prayer:

“Sun—gchan—” “Ah, fuck—” “Don’t stop—!”

He didn’t. Not until one last brutal thrust had him buried to the hilt, a strangled groan ripping from his throat as he came deep inside you, cock twitching as you clenched around him. You rode out the shudders together, your body clinging to every wave of his release.

Eventually, his movements slowed. He pulled out with a groan, collapsing beside you and pulling you into his arms, still trembling. Your legs stayed sprawled on either side of him, pussy aching and slick, chest heaving.

He kissed the small of your back, breath warm against your skin.

“Mine,” he whispered.

You turned in his arms, face flushed, eyes barely open, and gave him a lazy, wrecked smile.

“Always,” you murmured back.

You stayed there, tangled and ruined, the pillow still beneath your hips, your wrists sore, and every hard thrust echoing deliciously through your bones.

Sungchan caught your lashes fluttering, exhaustion still heavy in your eyes even as you murmured back at him, “Yeah… I’m okay.” He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, then realized how wet you were.

Leaning over, he grabbed a packet of wet wipes from the bedside table and carefully blotted at your folds, wiping up your leaked juices with soothing, precise strokes. “Open your legs, baby,” he murmured, voice thick with affection. “You’re leaking.”

You gave him a small, playful chuckle and cupped his face with one hand. Your other fingers traced lazy patterns along his jaw as you leaned in, kissing him—wet, slow, lips parting with a soft moan right against his mouth. He tasted himself on your tongue, and the sight of your tender devotion made his cock twitch even against the cool of the sheets.

When you pulled back, your lower lip caught between your teeth in that way he loved, and he couldn’t help but smile. He reached down, wrapping a wipe around his palm and swiping it over himself, cleaning off the last of his release. Yet he stayed just as hard as before.

“Channie, sit up,” you murmured, voice husky.

Obediently, he shifted, settling upright against the headboard. He blinked, not expecting your next move.

You crawled forward, knees on either side of his hips, and leaned in to kiss him again—soft, coaxing. As you pushed back onto his lap, your hands wrapped around his base, pumping him slow.

Sungchan’s breath caught. He tried to say, “It’s okay, you don’t have to—” but you cut him off, lips closing around his tip. You bobbed your head gently, eyeing him through hooded lids.

He watched, mesmerized, as you swallowed him inch by inch—until the base of his cock nudged your throat. You paused, eyes widening in triumphant surprise, then stretched deliberately, angling your jaw forward and guiding him deeper until you could feel him pressing on the back of your tongue.

Sungchan’s hands tangled in your hair, cradling the back of your head. “Oh, fuck…” he groaned, hips twitching off the bed as you began a slow, deliberate rhythm.

You eased back slightly, mouth hollowing into a deeper suction before sliding back down. He bucked once, hips pressing into your face, and you gagged softly, then pulled back up to swallow around him, careful not to bite.

You worked him with tender ferocity, careful not to hurt his tip, yet bold enough to take all of him.

“Y/N…” he breathed, voice low and desperate. “You’re—God, you’re amazing.”

Your cheeks hollowed, throat flexing as you worked him—long strokes that left him gasping, index finger brushing at his frenulum each time you reached his base. He hissed, chest rising and falling.

“Yeah, just like that,” he moaned, voice strained. “Fuck, angel.”

You hummed around him, fingers dancing at the base, sliding up to palm the slick shaft as your mouth continued its feast. Every moan and quiver from him coaxed you to go deeper, faster, until he was teetering on the edge again—caught between pleasure and release.

He began to rock his hips forward, meeting you halfway, your tongue dragging along his underside. “Oh, fuck—” he rasped, legs trembling.

You held him tight, deep-throating him as far as you could, then pulled back to tease the tip with your tongue, licking circles. He groaned, one hand dropping to your waist, lifting you closer until his body tingled with the promise of release.

“Baby— I’m gonna—” he warned between ragged breaths.

You slowed, stroking him with your hand in time with your mouth, squeezing the base if he started to jerk.

With a final, guttural moan, he came hot and fast, bucking into your mouth as you swallowed each pulsing spurt. You closed your lips around him, drawing every drop, then sat back on his thighs, tracing a finger through the mess on his shaft.

He collapsed back, forehead against yours, breathless. Both of you were slick—your hair wild, his chest heaving.

You kissed him softly, then smiled against his skin. “Good,” you whispered. “So good.”

He nodded, pressing a tired kiss to your temple. “You just fucked me out.”

You just chuckled. "Just returning the favor."

For a long moment, you stilled—your legs still draped over his, the warmth of your shared release settling between you.

Back at school, Sungchan trailed behind you like a dog, thinking he had messed up. You were silent—not mad, just… quiet. 

That type of quiet that screamed louder than yelling ever could.

He tried to catch your eye, to do something—anything—that might earn him a glance, but no luck. You walked ahead, posture straight, books tucked in your arm like a blade. Face unreadable. Deadpan. Full-on President mode. Again.

He bit his lip. Your throat was sore. He knew exactly why.

And he also knew how much you hated being treated like you were breakable, especially in public. So he didn’t dare baby you. No arm around you, no carrying your bag, no gentle coos of "Are you okay?" None of that.

Just quiet guilt radiating off of him like steam.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets, keeping the pace behind you. If you acknowledged him even once today, he’d consider it a win.

While everything's in order, in the middle of class, you excused yourself. You went to the nurse's office. Still with the same look on your face. But, yeah, unfortunately, there's your brother on duty. Just your luck. The assigned doctor of your school's clinic. You rolled your eyes and went in. 

Your brother didn’t say anything at first. Just stared at you with the kind of look that made you regret walking into the clinic at all.

“Sore throat,” he repeated, voice flat. Professional, but brother-level judgment leaking through.

He grabbed a tongue depressor and a penlight, motioning for you to sit.

“You’re not getting meds until I check properly.”

“Seriously?” you muttered.

“Open.”

You obeyed, eyes on the ceiling like you were about to ascend out of your body. He leaned in. Penlight on. Expression stiffer than usual.

Red throat. Swollen cheeks. Your breathing still even. No fever. No white patches. And—

Yeah.

He leaned back with a slow, knowing breath.

“I should write you a prescription for self-respect while I’m at it.”

You groaned. “Just give me the damn lozenges.”

He tossed a blister pack onto the table without looking at you, already scribbling notes on a clipboard.

“If that boyfriend of yours comes in here with back pain, I’m referring him to psych.”

You snatched the meds, stood up. “Thanks, Doc.”

“And ice water, not hot tea. And stop looking so smug.”

You're already walking out, mouth shut—but the tiniest smirk tugged at the corner of your lips.

[strawbrryvyy]

PS YALL THIS IS JUST <Y LENGTH WAY OF SAYING IM ON A SEMI HIATUS

hello!! ivy here.,

I want to start iff by saying Thankyou all SO much for all of the support and love you have given me. HONESTLY thankyou for sticking by when I started this blog five months ago.Unfortunately, i have come to a time in my life where i feel like certain thibgs need to be in hold such as this blog. writing for me is a joy i will never let go of and this in NO WAY is a goodbye. Im not deleting this blog nor am I leaving forever, I love riize and nct and for those who know me i will ALWAYS love them. I promise you all i will come back to this blog whether that be tmrw or next week or in ten years. I WILL be back! But for now this part if my life needs to be put in hold . saying this dont be surprised if i do decide to update randomly every few weeks!

i also want to take time to say thankyou for everyone who welcomes me as apart of theri community and for my moots dont worry!! I will still be in tumblr so were still gonna talk! Ill check my notifs everyday and ill definately still support everyone on here!!

Thankyou and always we RISE!

[strawbrryvyy]

hello!! ivy here.,

I want to start iff by saying Thankyou all SO much for all of the support and love you have given me. HONESTLY thankyou for sticking by when I started this blog five months ago.Unfortunately, i have come to a time in my life where i feel like certain thibgs need to be in hold such as this blog. writing for me is a joy i will never let go of and this in NO WAY is a goodbye. Im not deleting this blog nor am I leaving forever, I love riize and nct and for those who know me i will ALWAYS love them. I promise you all i will come back to this blog whether that be tmrw or next week or in ten years. I WILL be back! But for now this part if my life needs to be put in hold . saying this dont be surprised if i do decide to update randomly every few weeks!

i also want to take time to say thankyou for everyone who welcomes me as apart of theri community and for my moots dont worry!! I will still be in tumblr so were still gonna talk! Ill check my notifs everyday and ill definately still support everyone on here!!

Thankyou and always we RISE!

[strawbrryvyy]

hello!! ivy here.,

I want to start iff by saying Thankyou all SO much for all of the support and love you have given me. HONESTLY thankyou for sticking by when I started this blog five months ago.Unfortunately, i have come to a time in my life where i feel like certain thibgs need to be in hold such as this blog. writing for me is a joy i will never let go of and this in NO WAY is a goodbye. Im not deleting this blog nor am I leaving forever, I love riize and nct and for those who know me i will ALWAYS love them. I promise you all i will come back to this blog whether that be tmrw or next week or in ten years. I WILL be back! But for now this part if my life needs to be put in hold . saying this dont be surprised if i do decide to update randomly every few weeks!

i also want to take time to say thankyou for everyone who welcomes me as apart of theri community and for my moots dont worry!! I will still be in tumblr so were still gonna talk! Ill check my notifs everyday and ill definately still support everyone on here!!

Thankyou and always we RISE!