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cloudtransprncy · 4 months ago

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Tease

Chaewon x Male Reader | 8k words Tags: manager x idol, secret relationship, pent up, semi-public, sneaking away, horny as fuck, chaewon is hot as fuck, I wish it was me

Chaewon looks too good in that dress. Three weeks without sex. How long before you snap?

Jus sumn quick for yall.

Chaewon [1:42 AM]: I've been touching myself thinking about you every night this week. It's not enough.

Chaewon [1:43 AM]: Good luck keeping it professional tomorrow when you see what they have me wearing for the HOT trailer shoot 😈

You stare at your phone, heat flooding through your body. Three weeks without her. The longest you've gone since you started dating a year ago.

Fuck, she knows exactly what she's doing to you.

Three weeks without her touch has made every message like this a form of exquisite torture. You can practically hear her voice in your head as you read her texts.

You're dating Kim Chaewon. LE SSERAFIM's leader. And you're one of their managers.

It started on a company retreat last spring—a late-night conversation about music that turned into coffee, then dinner a week later, then her pressed against your apartment door, whispering that she'd wanted this since the moment you'd been assigned to their team.

You'd both agreed it would be just once.

That agreement lasted approximately 8 hours.

No one knows. Not the company. Not the members.

Not even Jiyeon, the other manager who works with you handling the girls' schedules.

And right now, your girlfriend is driving you fucking crazy.

The comeback prep for "HOT" has been exactly that—hot, intense, and keeping you both so busy you can barely catch your breath, let alone sneak away to be alone together.

You've tried everything to deal with the frustration. Late-night FaceTiming while she touches herself in her dorm room, biting her pillow to stay quiet. Watching the videos you've made together—her riding you on your couch, her bent over your bathroom sink, her on her knees looking up at you with those eyes.

None of it is enough. You need her. You need to taste her, feel her skin against yours, be inside her.

The warehouse set is all sleek white surfaces and ribbed glass partitions. Floor-to-ceiling windows let in cold natural light that makes everything look clean, sterile, and expensive. The perfect contrast to the fire they're trying to create with this concept.

Staff members in black hurry around with clipboards and equipment, speaking in hushed, urgent tones. This "BORN FIRE" trailer shoot has to be perfect—it's launching LE SSERAFIM's most ambitious album "HOT" yet.

You check your own clipboard, making sure everything's on schedule while trying not to think about Chaewon and whatever outfit has her texting you at 2 AM.

The irony isn't lost on you. Here you are, supervising the filming of a teaser—literally called "BORN FIRE"—while Chaewon herself is the true teaser. She's igniting something in you that's becoming increasingly difficult to contain. The line between her performance for the video and her performance for you is blurring dangerously.

"Manager-oppa, the director wants to run through the toy car scene again," Eunchae says, bouncing up to you in her feathered white outfit. "Have you seen Chaewon unnie? She's next."

"Still in wardrobe," you answer, keeping your voice steady. Like you're not thinking about how Chaewon moaned your name in that hotel in Jeju last month, her body shaking beneath yours as she came for the third time that night.

Sakura walks past with her stylist, the long white dress trailing behind her. You spot Kazuha already positioned on one of the white block structures that fill the set. The whole group is scattered around the space in various stages of preparation.

"Jiyeon-ssi," you call to your fellow manager, "can you check if hair and makeup are done with Chaewon?"

Jiyeon nods and heads toward the dressing area. You turn your attention back to the monitor, where the director is reviewing footage.

Then it happens.

The quiet murmur of the set shifts. You feel it before you see it.

Chaewon walks onto set, and your entire body goes rigid.

Your throat goes dry instantly. God, you love her in white—the way it makes her skin glow, how it emphasizes every curve you've memorized with your hands, your mouth. You force yourself to breathe normally even as memories flood your mind unbidden. She knows what this does to you. She's counting on it.

The white strapless dress is even shorter than it looked in the concept sketches and fittings you'd seen last week. It hugs her body perfectly, showing off shoulders you've kissed a hundred times.

The black belt cinches her waist—the waist you've held in your hands while she rode you until you both saw stars. But it's the boots that kill you. Thigh-high, black, lace-up boots that make her legs look endless.

You force yourself to look away, back at your clipboard. Professional. You're a professional.

But memories flood your mind anyway:

Chaewon straddling you in the backseat of your car, hand pressed against your mouth to keep you quiet while security guards walked past.

Chaewon pressed against your kitchen counter, panties around one ankle, begging you not to stop as you dropped to your knees.

Chaewon in your bed, hair spread across your pillow, eyes locked with yours as you moved inside her, whispering that she loves you.

You still remember the first time she said those words—three months in, both of you sweaty and breathless, her eyes wide with something like surprise at her own admission. You'd felt it too, that terrifying, exhilarating free-fall into something neither of you had planned for.

"You good?" asks one of the camera assistants, noticing how you've been staring at nothing.

"Fine," you say, the word clipped.

On set, Chaewon takes her position. In one scene, she stands tall on a miniature white car, the contrast of the boots against the white making her look like some kind of goddess. In another setup, she holds a diagram against her bare shoulder, eyes focused directly at the camera.

She's perfect. Professional. The director loves every take.

But then, during a lighting adjustment, when everyone's attention is elsewhere, she looks directly at you.

It's quick—barely a second—but in that moment, her professional mask slips. Her eyes darken. The corner of her mouth quirks up.

It's the same look she gave you the first time you told her to get on her knees.

The director calls for the next setup. Chaewon moves into position with the other members, all of them in white, creating a visual that's both innocent and somehow sinful.

You take a deep breath. You've been so good. So professional.

But when she walks past you, she whispers, "Bet you want to take this off me so bad," so quietly only you can hear it, you know exactly how this day is going to end.

You are completely, totally fucked.

You're in hell.

Not the burning, fire-and-brimstone kind. The sleek, white, glass-walled kind.

A special kind of hell designed with surgical precision by Kim Chaewon—your weakness, your fucking undoing.

The "BORN FIRE" shoot continues. It's been three hours. You've managed to stay professional for exactly none of them.

"Cut! Five minute break," the director calls.

The set erupts into controlled chaos—stylists rushing to touch up makeup, lighting techs adjusting gear, Kazuha and Eunchae huddled near the white blocks watching practice videos on their phones.

You stare at your clipboard like it contains the secrets of the universe.

Chaewon moves through the space like she owns it, boots clicking against the polished concrete floor. The sound alone makes your pulse kick.

She stands by the glass partition, sunlight catching on her hair, making it glow against all the sterile white. Your eyes follow her despite your brain screaming not to.

"Manager-oppa," she calls, voice sweet and professional. The sound hits you low in your stomach—the same tone she uses right before she begs you to fuck her harder.

"Can you bring me some water?"

She knows exactly what she's doing. Every staff member sees a hardworking idol asking her manager for a simple favor.

You know better.

You grab a bottle and walk it over to her. That's when she strikes.

Her fingers brush yours as she takes the bottle—deliberate, electric—the touch lasting a half-second too long to be accidental.

"Had a dream about you last night," she murmurs, voice pitched for your ears only.

The cap of the water bottle clicks as she twists it open. She drinks slowly, throat working in a way that triggers a vivid flashback—her on her knees three weeks ago, swallowing around you, looking up with those same dark eyes. You'd gripped her hair so tight she'd moaned around you.

Her tongue darts out to catch a drop on her lower lip. Her eyes never leave yours.

You say nothing. Your grip on the clipboard turns your knuckles white.

Jiyeon passes by, checking her watch. "Chaewon-ah, wardrobe wants to check your outfit before the next shot."

Chaewon nods, all professional sweetness. "Coming!"

She brushes past you, close enough that you catch her scent—something floral and expensive that you've tasted on her skin a hundred times before.

The stylist adjusts something on the back of her dress while she stands in front of the monitor. You try to focus on the schedule, on anything but the curve of her shoulder blades, the way the belt cinches her waist.

"Everything good?" the stylist asks.

Chaewon nods, then turns slightly. Her eyes find yours in the reflection of the monitor. "Perfect."

The tech walks away. You're about to do the same when—

"Woke up so wet this morning."

The words hit you like a physical blow. Your body responds instantly, a rush of heat that makes you grit your teeth.

She doesn't even look at you. Just keeps checking her reflection, adjusting a strand of hair like she didn't just set you on fire.

You step closer, voice low. "Watch yourself."

She smiles—sweet, sharp, fucking dangerous. "Always do. That's why I look so good."

The director calls everyone back. You retreat to the safety of the production table.

You adjust your clipboard, grateful for its coverage. This is what she reduces you to—a professional with years of industry experience hiding an erection like a teenager. The thought should embarrass you, but instead, there's a twisted pride in how she still affects you this way, even after a year together.

For exactly twelve minutes, you breathe. Focus. Reset.

Then she slides into the chair next to you.

"Can I see the schedule?" she asks, loud enough for others to hear. Professional. Proper.

You hand her your tablet without looking up. Three staff members hover nearby, discussing lighting for the next scene.

Sakura sits across the table, focused on crocheting something delicate and blue, her fingers moving with practiced precision. The click of her crochet hook provides a steady rhythm to the chaos around you.

That's when you feel it—her hand on your thigh under the table. Casual. Like it belongs there.

Your entire body goes rigid.

"Chaewon," you warn, barely a whisper.

"Mmm?" She leans in, pretending to point at something on the screen. Her fingers start to move. Slow strokes up, then down. Teasing.

You inhale sharply, willing your face to stay neutral.

The staff members move away. But Sakura is still there, focused on her project, the hook moving in and out of the yarn.

Chaewon's hand inches higher, bolder than she's ever been. Her pinky grazes dangerously close to where you're already hardening against your will.

"Stop," you hiss.

She leans closer, her breath against your ear. "I'm ovulating, you know."

Your vision blurs. Blood rushes in your ears.

"You'd feel it the moment you were inside me—"

Sakura looks up suddenly, her eyes meeting yours across the table.

Your heart stops.

Chaewon doesn't move her hand. Instead, she laughs at something on the screen, all innocent charm. "Manager-oppa, the schedule looks too tight. Don't you think?"

Sakura tilts her head, then returns to her crocheting, seemingly oblivious to the fact that your girlfriend's hand is still on your thigh, still dangerously high.

You wrap your fingers around her wrist under the table, stopping her hand but not removing it. A dangerous compromise.

Her pupils dilate. That's when you see it—she's not just playing with you. She's affected too. Her cheeks flushed, her breathing just a little too quick.

She's as desperate as you are.

The realization hits you like a kick to the chest.

"Two minutes!" someone calls.

She extracts her hand slowly, deliberately. Stands up, smooths down her dress. The movement pulls the hem even higher on her thigh.

"Think you can last the rest of the day?" she asks, a challenge glinting in her eyes.

Before you can answer, Jiyeon approaches. "Chaewon-ah, they need you for the car shot."

Chaewon nods, all business again. But as she walks away, she glances back—just once. Just enough for you to see the hunger there, mirroring your own.

The next hour is psychological warfare.

Around you, the set buzzes with activity. Makeup artists touch up the members between shots. The director argues with the cinematographer about lighting. A production assistant nearly trips over a cable, sending everyone scrambling.

And through it all, Chaewon wages her private campaign against your sanity.

This is high-stakes chess played under fluorescent lights.

Every staff member represents a potential career-ending leak. The director who's worked with three generations of idol groups and has seen every possible scandal. The company photographer who reports directly to the CEO. The stylists who know every whispered secret in the industry.

One wrong move, one lingering glance held too long, and everything you've both worked for collapses.

She steps onto the miniature white car, boots planted wide, the dress riding up her thighs as she poses. The camera loves her. Every angle is perfection.

You remember the first time you took her for a drive, six months into your secret relationship. She'd climbed into your lap at a deserted scenic point, the gear shift digging into her leg as she rode you, both of you half-clothed, desperate, her breath fogging the windows as she came.

Now, as she stands on that toy car, her eyes find yours between every take.

During the group shot with the white blocks, she trails her fingers along the edge of the structure, the same way she's traced paths across your chest in the dark of your bedroom. Her fingernails scrape lightly against the white surface, and you swear you can feel phantom scratches down your back.

Each pose becomes more provocative. Each glance more daring.

When the stylist adjusts her dress between shots, Chaewon stretches her arms overhead, making the hem ride dangerously high. The movement fills your nostrils with the scent of her perfume—jasmine and something deeper—that clings to your sheets for days after she leaves.

In the solo shot with the diagram pressed against her bare shoulder, she turns just enough that only you can see how her teeth catch her bottom lip—the same way they do when you're deep inside her.

Your heart hammers against your ribs. Your skin feels too tight. Every minute is torture, and the fact that you're surrounded by people—Jiyeon checking the time, Eunchae asking you questions, staff members constantly brushing past—only makes it worse.

This isn't just teasing anymore. This is Chaewon pushing both of you to the edge.

Then comes the final blow.

During the last break, when the set is buzzing with activity, she passes by the narrow space between the equipment cases where you're checking inventory.

No one can see you here. Just a sliver of space hidden from the main floor.

She stops, just for a second. Leans in.

"Just fuck me in the changing room already."

The clipboard nearly snaps in your grip.

She walks away, satisfied smirk playing on her lips.

And something in you—the last thread of your control—finally snaps.

You count to ten. Wait until she's back in position on set.

Then you move through the space with purpose, face composed, steps measured.

Professional.

You reach her just as the director calls for a lighting check.

Your fingers wrap around her wrist—firm, decisive.

She looks up, triumph flashing in her eyes.

"Do you wanna get caught, you stupid bitch?" you whisper, the words harsh but your tone almost loving.

Her lips part. A small gasp that only you can hear.

"Manager-nim, is something wrong?" the director asks.

"Wardrobe issue," you say smoothly. "Won't take long."

You pull her away from the set, past curious eyes, past Jiyeon's raised eyebrow.

The changing room is too exposed. Too many people.

Five years in this industry has taught you one thing: discretion isn't just preferred, it's survival.

You've built your reputation on professionalism, on being the manager who anticipates problems before they happen.

Chaewon is the one variable you can never fully calculate, the one risk you can't mitigate. And God help you, you wouldn't have it any other way.

You spot it—a storage room door, slightly ajar. Dark. Empty.

Perfect.

Her breath catches as you change direction, leading her toward it.

"What are you—"

You push the door open. Pull her inside The storage room door closes with a soft click.

And finally—fucking finally—you're alone.

One second passes.

Two.

Then Chaewon launches herself at you.

Her hands grab your face with bruising intensity, fingernails digging into your scalp, your jaw, anywhere she can grip. The heat of her palms sears your skin as her mouth finds yours with desperate precision. The kiss is nuclear—all teeth and tongue and hunger. She bites your lower lip, hard enough to make you taste the metallic hint of blood, then soothes it with the velvety warmth of her tongue, exploring your mouth like she's trying to devour you whole.

Her body presses against yours, tits crushed against your chest, her hips grinding with shameless need. She grabs your hands and places them on her ass, demanding your touch without saying a word.

"Fuck, I missed your mouth," she gasps, her breath hot against your lips as she pulls at your clothes, fingers trembling and scrabbling at your belt, nails occasionally scraping against your abdomen. She can't seem to decide where to touch you—her hands moving from your chest to your shoulders to your neck, back to your belt, frantic and greedy. "Missed your hands. Missed your cock."

You slam her against the shelves, the metal rattling with a satisfying clang that echoes her gasp. Your hands are everywhere—her face, flushed and warm beneath your palms; her throat, pulse hammering wildly under your fingertips; the soft swell of her breasts rising and falling with each ragged breath; the dramatic curve of her waist that fits perfectly in your grip. Every touch relearns the terrain you've been starved of for three endless weeks.

She reaches behind and grabs your wrists, dragging your hands to her ass, forcing you to squeeze the firm flesh. "Touch me everywhere," she demands, voice thick with need. "I've been dying for it."

"You took too fucking long," she pants against your lips, her voice vibrating through you as her hands finally get your pants open, the sudden coolness of air a sharp contrast to the heat of her touch. Her fingers brush against your cock, a teasing touch that makes your jaw clench.

The storage room closes around you—metal shelves on one wall digging into her back, garment racks crowded with costumes exhaling the scent of fabric softener and makeup, cardboard boxes stacked in the corner threatening to topple with each movement. A single fluorescent light buzzes overhead, casting harsh shadows that carve her features into something almost feral with need, highlighting the sheen of sweat beginning to form at her temples, at the hollow of her throat.

She makes quick work of the black safety shorts beneath her dress, the fabric making a soft whisper as it slides down her legs before she kicks them away. The movement is so fluid, so urgent, that your mouth goes dry with anticipation. She grabs your hand, guiding it between her legs, letting you feel how ready she is. "See what you do to me?" she whispers, eyes locked on yours.

You spin her around, the quick motion making her gasp. For a moment, you just look at her—the elegant column of her neck where a few baby hairs escape her bob cut, curling with perspiration; the delicate slope of her shoulders, pale and perfect under the harsh light; the dramatic curve where her waist meets the swell of her ass, emphasized by the black belt that begs to be gripped. The white dress clings to every inch, revealing the heat she's generating beneath it. Your mouth waters just looking at her, tongue dragging across suddenly parched lips.

Your hand comes down on her ass with a sharp crack, the sound startlingly loud in the confined space. She jerks forward, a surprised gasp escaping her lips. The pale skin instantly flushes pink under your palm.

"Hurry up," she demands, looking back at you over her shoulder, eyes dark and glassy with impatience, pupils blown wide until only a thin ring of brown remains. She arches her back, pushing her ass against your hand, silently begging for more.

You grip her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to leave impressions. "Shut the fuck up."

Her breath catches with an audible hitch. You know she loves it when you talk to her like this—can feel it in the goosebumps that rise under your touch, in the way her thighs tremble slightly.

You run your hands up her sides, feeling the heat radiating through the thin fabric, then down to the hem of her dress, bunching the material as you start to lift it. The fabric makes a soft rustling sound that seems obscenely loud in the small space. Your hands slide up her thighs, skin like silk beneath your calloused palms, finding the lace edge of her panties. Black, of course. The contrast against her pale skin is stark and mouthwatering.

Another smack lands on her ass, harder this time. You watch the flesh jiggle under the impact, the imprint of your hand blooming pink against her porcelain skin. "You like that?" you ask, already knowing the answer as she pushes back against you.

"Yes," she hisses, grinding back against your hand. "Again. Harder."

You comply, landing another sharp slap, watching the way her body jerks forward before pressing back, seeking more. "Look at you," you murmur, "So perfect for the cameras, but in here, you're just a dirty little slut who gets wet from being spanked."

She moans at your words, the sound vibrating through her entire body. "Only for you," she whispers, the admission hanging heavy in the air between you.

Spinning her back around, you claim her mouth again, tasting mint and desperation on her tongue as your hand slips between her legs, pressing the lace against her. The fabric is soaked through, warm and clinging to her folds. Her hands are everywhere—gripping your shoulders, sliding down your chest, grabbing at your ass to pull you closer, like she can't get enough of touching you.

"Goddamn," you mutter against her lips, the words a vibration between your connected mouths. "Your pussy's fucking drenched."

You hook your fingers into the lace and yank it aside, the elastic snapping against her thigh. Your middle finger slides through her folds, gathering her wetness, feeling how swollen and ready she is—hot and slick and perfect against your fingertips.

"Look how fucking wet you are," you murmur, watching her face contort with pleasure as you circle her clit, feeling it harden beneath your touch. "Been thinking about this all day, haven't you?"

She whimpers, a high, needy sound that goes straight to your cock as she grinds against your hand. "I told you I've been wet since I woke up," she pants, her breath coming in short, hot puffs against your face. "Thinking about you. About this. About you bending me over and fucking me until I can't remember my own name."

She tries to reach for you, but you catch her wrist with your free hand, her pulse jumping beneath your grip as you pin it above her head against the shelves. The metal is cold against her skin, making her hiss.

"Not yet," you tell her, voice dropping to a growl. "I want you desperate first."

"I'm already desperate," she hisses, trying to rock against your hand, the movement making her belt buckle clink against itself. Her free hand grabs at your shirt, your arm, anywhere she can reach. "Just fuck me already."

You turn her again, pressing her face-first against the metal shelving. The cold surface makes her gasp, back arching instinctively away from it. She braces herself, legs automatically spreading wider on the concrete floor, the heel of her boots making a sharp click as she repositions.

You grab her belt from behind, leather warm from her body heat, using it to arch her back, positioning her ass higher. The positioning makes the dress ride up further, exposing more of her thighs, making her stance more obscene, more perfect.

Another smack lands on her exposed ass, harder than before, the sound cracking through the small room. She jerks forward, a moan ripping from her throat.

"Fucking perfect," you mutter, kneading the flesh you just struck, watching the pink handprint fade and bloom again under your touch. You land another blow on the opposite cheek, evening her out, making her squirm.

The scent of her arousal hits you fully now—musky, sweet, unmistakable. Your mouth waters at the smell of her, cock throbbing painfully in response.

You reach up, fingers finding her hair, gripping the short strands of her bob at the nape of her neck. Not pulling, just holding, controlling. The sensation makes her moan, her head falling back into your grip.

"Please," she whispers, the word a broken, ragged thing as she tries to push back against you.

You keep her in place with your dual grip on her belt and hair. "Please what?"

"Please fuck me," she begs, all teasing gone from her voice, replaced with raw need. "I need your cock inside me. Now."

You release her hair to lean over her, your chest pressing against her back, trapping her heat between your bodies. Your mouth finds her ear, teeth grazing the sensitive lobe. "After all that teasing? All those filthy little comments with people right fucking there?"

You land another hard slap on her ass, watching the flesh redden under your palm. "This what you wanted? Getting your ass slapped while the whole crew is just outside?"

"Yes," she admits, voice small but sure. "Needed it so bad."

You drag the head of your cock through her slick folds, the sensation making both of you groan—her wetness hot and silky against you, making everything gloriously frictionless. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't make you wait longer."

"Because," she pants, voice vibrating with need, "you want this as bad as I do."

She's right, and you both know it.

You guide yourself to her entrance and thrust in with one brutal stroke, burying yourself to the hilt in her tight, clinging heat.

The sound she makes is primal—half gasp, half moan, pure fucking need. Your hand clamps over her mouth immediately, palm registering the warm wetness of her breath, the softness of her lips.

"Shhh," you warn even as you pull back and drive in again, the slick sound of your joining obscenely loud in the small space. "You want the whole fucking staff to hear how you take cock? How their perfect Kim Chaewon is just a dirty little whore in here?"

She shakes her head, but her pussy clenches around you at the words, a vice-like grip that sends stars exploding behind your eyelids. You know she loves the risk, the filth, the knowledge that just outside this door, she's Kim Chaewon of LE SSERAFIM, but in here, she's just yours to use.

"That's what gets you off, isn't it?" you growl against her ear, punctuating each word with a hard thrust. "Knowing they all think you're so sweet, so professional, when really you're in here letting me fuck you raw in a storage room."

Moving your hand from her mouth to her throat, you feel her swallow against your palm, her pulse racing beneath your fingers. You don't squeeze, just hold, feeling the vibrations of her moans traveling through her slender neck.

"That's right," you growl against her ear, teeth scraping the shell. "Remember who you belong to."

Her response is a full-body shudder, her inner walls clenching around you, making you groan at the sensation.

You fuck her hard, each thrust making her body jolt against the shelves. The metal creaks ominously, the sound mixing with the wet slap of skin on skin, the harsh sounds of your combined breathing. Your hand comes down on her ass again, the sting making her gasp, her pussy clenching around you in response.

"You love that, don't you?" you murmur, watching the red handprint bloom on her pale skin. "Love getting your ass slapped while your tight little pussy gets stretched around my cock."

"Yes," she admits, voice breaking around the word. "Love it. Love everything you do to me."

Without pulling out, you grab her left thigh and lift it, the smooth leather of her boot sliding against your palm as you plant her foot against a lower shelf. The new position opens her up, lets you sink even deeper into her molten core.

"Fuck," she whimpers, head falling forward against her braced arm, the tendons in her neck standing out in sharp relief.

"That's it," you growl, watching yourself disappear inside her over and over, mesmerized by the sight of her taking you, by the glistening evidence of her arousal coating you. "Take it deeper."

You grip her belt with one hand, bunching her dress even higher with the other until it's completely out of the way. The sight of her perfect ass jiggling with each impact makes your head swim, blood rushing in your ears. It's already pink from your earlier attention, the skin warm to the touch.

Your hand slides up her spine to grip her hair again, this time with purpose. You gather the short strands in your fist, tugging just enough to make her back arch further, to make her gasp, throat exposed and vulnerable.

"Look at you," you say, voice rough with exertion, the words punched out of you with each thrust. "LE SSERAFIM's perfect leader, taking cock in a storage room, being such a whore. Such a pretty little slut with your ass all red from my hands, your pussy dripping all over my cock."

She pushes back against you, taking you deeper, her body greedily swallowing every inch. "Harder," she demands, voice breaking on the word. "Fuck me harder. Make me feel it tomorrow."

You grip both her hips now, fingers digging into soft flesh, and pick up the pace. The new angle has you hitting that spot inside her that makes her whole body tremble, makes her walls flutter and clench around you. The wet sounds of her pussy taking your cock fill the small space—obscene, filthy, perfect.

"You're so fucking tight," you groan, feeling her walls grip you like a silken vice. "Squeezing my cock like you're trying to milk it dry."

You switch your grip, one hand finding her throat again, feeling her swallow against your palm as you apply the gentlest pressure. Just enough to remind her who's in control, to make her breath catch. Your other hand comes down hard on her ass again, the smack loud enough to make you both freeze for a second, worried it might have been heard outside.

"You've been a fucking menace all day," you growl, your pace relentless, the sound of your bodies coming together a wet percussion. "Strutting around in this dress, whispering that shit in my ear, touching me under the table."

Your grip on her throat tightens fractionally, making her pulse jump against your fingers. Her only response is to push back harder, taking you deeper, her body yielding and demanding all at once.

"You'd let me do anything to you, wouldn't you?" you ask, voice low and rough in her ear. "Slap your ass, pull your hair, fuck you where anyone could walk in and see you—see what a desperate little whore you really are."

"Yes," she admits, the confession barely audible. "Anything. Everything."

The tension builds between you, a tangible thing in the small, overheated room. The air is thick with the scent of sex, with the sounds of pleasure barely contained, with the electric certainty that this is exactly where you both need to be.

You change the angle again, leaning over her back to reach around to her front. The new position grinds your pelvis against her ass with each thrust, your cock hitting new spots inside her. Your fingers find her clit, circling it in tight, firm motions, feeling it swell and harden under your touch.

"Oh fuck," she gasps, her inner walls fluttering around you like wings. "Right there, don't stop."

You don't stop. You keep up the relentless pace, feeling her get wetter around you with each stroke, her arousal making everything slick and hot and perfect. Your fingers on her clit get slicker, the combination of her arousal and your spit making obscene wet sounds that mix with the slap of skin on skin.

"That's right, take it just like that," you encourage, voice strained. "Take it like the cock-hungry little slut you are."

Instead of being offended, she moans louder, her body responding to your words as much as to your touch. You know exactly what she likes to hear, exactly how far to push the fantasy of degradation that excites her so much.

The pleasure is so intense you have to grit your teeth to keep from coming too soon. Three weeks without this—without her tight heat squeezing you, without her desperate little sounds, without the feeling of being buried inside her—has left you balanced on a knife's edge of control.

"You close?" you ask, voice strained, the words feeling like they're being ripped from your chest.

"Yes," she pants, the word almost a sob. "So close."

You reach up with your free hand, tangling your fingers in her hair again, carefully pulling her head back to expose the elegant line of her neck, watching the muscles work beneath the skin as she swallows. You bend to press open-mouthed kisses along her shoulder, right where the dress leaves her skin bare, tasting salt and sweetness.

"Think about this tomorrow," you murmur against her skin, lips dragging over the goosebumps your breath creates. "When you're sitting in meetings, when you're in practice, when you're smiling for the cameras—remember how fucked you look right now. Remember how your ass felt getting spanked while my cock was inside you. Remember what a perfect little whore you are for me."

Her breath catches. Her pussy clenches around you. She's right on the edge, her body wound tight as a bowstring.

"Remember you're fucking mine," you growl, punctuating the words with a particularly deep thrust that makes her cry out before she can stop herself, the sound sharp and startling in the quiet room.

You cover her mouth again, palm feeling the heat of her breath, the wetness of her lips, but it's too late—the sound echoed in the small room. Both of you freeze, hearts pounding, listening for any reaction from outside.

Nothing. Just the continued sounds of the busy set.

The moment of fear transforms quickly back into desperate need. Your thrusts become harder, deeper, more deliberate. Her body responds with renewed hunger, pushing back to meet you stroke for stroke, the rhythm between you perfect and instinctive.

Your hand slips from her mouth to her throat, not squeezing, just feeling her pulse race under your palm, feeling the vibrations of her moans travel through your fingertips.

"You gonna come for me?" you ask, feeling your own orgasm building at the base of your spine, heat coiling tight and insistent. "Gonna come all over my cock like the needy little slut you are?"

She nods frantically, beyond words now. Her body tightens around you, clenching with each thrust, the pressure building visibly in the arch of her back, the tension in her thighs, the way her fingers curl against the metal shelf.

You can feel your own release building, the tight grip of her pussy dragging you toward the edge. You've been thinking about this for weeks—dreaming about it, jerking off to memories of it—and now you're finally here, buried inside her, both of you desperate and filthy and perfect.

Her breath hitches. Her pussy flutters around your cock. You know the signs—she's right there, teetering on the precipice.

One more hard slap on her ass, the sting making her gasp, her inner walls clenching around you in response.

You lower her leg from the shelf, repositioning her with both feet on the ground, but spread wide. You grip her belt again with one hand, keeping up the pressure on her clit with the other. The new angle has you grinding against that spot inside her that makes her go crazy, makes her whole body tremble.

"Come on," you urge, your own control slipping, voice rough and broken. "Come on my cock, Chaewon. Let me feel it. Let me feel what a fucking whore you are for me."

Her body responds instantly, like your words were the final trigger she needed. She buries her face against her arm to muffle the sound as her orgasm rips through her, her pussy clamping down on you in rhythmic pulses, a flood of warmth surrounding you. Her legs shake so hard you have to hold her up with the grip on her belt, feeling the tremors travel through her entire body.

The sight of her completely wrecked, the feel of her convulsing around you, the knowledge that you did this to her—it all sends you over the edge. You thrust deep one last time, grinding against her ass as you come, filling her up with pulse after pulse, the pleasure so intense it's almost pain, radiating from your core to the tips of your fingers, the backs of your knees, the top of your skull.

"Fuck, Chaewon, fuck," you chant, forehead pressed between her shoulder blades as you empty yourself inside her, feeling the way she milks every drop from you, her body greedy even in its exhaustion.

For a long moment, neither of you moves. Just the sound of ragged breathing, your heartbeats gradually slowing from their frantic pace, the distant muffled voices of the set filtering back into your awareness.

You're still inside her, softening but reluctant to break the connection. Her body occasionally trembles with aftershocks, her pussy giving your cock little squeezes that make you hiss with oversensitivity, the sensation bordering on too much.

You run your hand gently over her ass, soothing the skin you'd been striking moments ago. It's still warm to the touch, a faint pink that will fade before she has to be back on set. Your touch is gentle now, a stark contrast to the roughness from before.

"You okay?" you murmur against her ear, pressing a soft kiss to the side of her neck.

"Better than okay," she whispers back, voice wrecked but satisfied.

Eventually, you pull out slowly, both of you groaning at the sensation. You watch as a trickle of your come leaks from her, sliding down her inner thigh. The sight sends a possessive thrill through you, primal and satisfying.

She straightens, turning to face you. Her makeup is smeared, her lips swollen and red, her cheeks flushed. Her eyes have that dazed, satisfied look that only comes after she's been thoroughly fucked. A thin sheen of sweat makes her skin glow under the fluorescent light. Her short hair is disheveled where you'd gripped it, sticking up in places that you smooth down with gentle fingers.

You grab tissues from a box on the shelf, gently cleaning between her legs. She watches you, a soft smile playing on her lips—so different from the smirk she's been tormenting you with all day.

"Did I hurt you?" you ask, suddenly aware of how rough you were, eyes searching for marks on her throat, her wrists, her hips, ghosting your fingers over her ass where you'd struck her.

She shakes her head, running her fingers through your hair, nails scraping lightly against your scalp in a way that makes you shiver. "Babe, It was perfect."

You retrieve her safety shorts from the floor and help her back into them, then smooth down her dress. Your hands linger on her waist, not quite ready to let go, feeling the warmth of her through the fabric.

A smirk forms slowly on her face, eyes glittering with mischief as she leans in close, her breath warm against your ear. "Think they heard?"

You press a final kiss to her shoulder, lingering there, inhaling deeply—tasting salt and perfume and her, that essence that's uniquely Chaewon beneath the expensive fragrance. Your lips trace a path to the curve where her neck meets her shoulder, feeling her pulse still racing beneath your mouth.

"Not if you keep your mouth shut next time," you murmur against her skin, unable to resist giving her one more gentle bite.

She hums, the sound vibrating against your lips. "But where's the fun in that?" she whispers, that familiar playful defiance in her voice.

As she attempts to take a step back, her legs buckle. She grabs your shoulders to steady herself, her usual composure completely absent, the bratty confidence from seconds ago vanishing.

"I can't move," she whispers, voice wrecked, blinking up at you with unfocused eyes. All the sharp edges of her personality momentarily dissolved, leaving her soft and vulnerable in a way no one else ever sees. "My legs won't work."

"Good," you murmur, unable to hide your satisfaction as you press a kiss to her forehead, supporting her weight. You hold her close for a moment, feeling the way she melts against you, completely undone.

After a moment, that familiar glint of mischief gradually returns to her eyes. The transformation is beginning; the desperate, wrecked woman slowly rebuilding herself into the polished idol.

In this moment, with her guard completely down, she looks younger, softer. The harsh fluorescent lighting should be unflattering, but somehow it just makes her look more real—smudged eyeshadow, faint red marks on her throat where your fingers were, her hair disheveled despite her attempts to smooth it. For a few seconds more, she's just yours.

She reaches up, her hand cupping your cheek with surprising tenderness. Her eyes, usually sharp and mischievous, soften as she looks at you. She leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips—so different from the desperate ones you shared minutes ago. This one is deliberate, unhurried.

"I love you," she whispers against your mouth, the words barely audible but unmistakable. It's not something she says often—both of you knowing how dangerous those words can be in your situation.

Your hand comes up to cover hers where it rests against your face, holding her there for a moment. "I love you too," you reply quietly, the words filling the small space between you. "Even when you're being a menace."

Her eyes crinkle at the corners. "Especially when I'm being a menace," she corrects, and you can't help but smile.

You glare at her playfully, and she giggles—the sound at complete odds with what just happened, with the filthy things you both just did, with the woman who was begging for your cock and calling herself your whore minutes ago. The contrast is jarring and perfect; this duality of hers that only you get to witness.

She leans in and kisses you deeply, but without the desperate edge from before. This kiss is softer, a promise.

When she pulls back, you can see the clock ticking in her head. Reality intruding.

"You go first," you say, checking your watch. "They'll be looking for you. The shoot needs to wrap in twenty minutes."

She nods, takes a deep breath, and you watch in fascination as she transforms back into LE SSERAFIM's leader right before your eyes. Her shoulders straighten, her chin lifts, her expression becomes more controlled. It's like watching an actress step into character—except you know both versions are equally real.

She checks her reflection in her phone, adjusts her belt, smooths her hair with practiced precision. Only you would notice the slight tremble in her fingers, the pink marks on her hips where your hands were, the satisfied glow in her eyes that the camera won't quite catch but you can see clearly.

"How do I look?" she asks, voice steady now, almost back to the professional tone she uses with everyone else.

Like she's just been thoroughly fucked. Like her thighs are still sticky with both of you. Like she's hiding a universe of secrets behind that poised expression. Like she's yours.

"Perfect," you say instead, swallowing the possessive thoughts.

She smiles—not the coy smirk from before, but something genuine that crinkles the corners of her eyes. Then it's gone, replaced by the polished mask she wears for everyone else.

Just as you think she's about to leave, she presses one last kiss to your jaw, her fingers trailing down your chest with deliberate slowness. Her lips move to your ear, breath hot against your skin.

"I'll be thinking about this all night," she whispers, voice dropping to that register that makes your pulse quicken despite your recent release. Then, even lower, just for you: "And touching myself the second I get back to the dorm."

Before you can respond, she's slipped out the door with a final squeeze of your hand, leaving you alone in the storage room with her promise echoing in your mind, the scent of sex still hanging in the air, mingling with her perfume.

You give it two minutes before following, clipboard held strategically in front of you, expression carefully neutral as you adjust your own mask—the efficient manager, all business.

By the time you return, Chaewon is already back on set, taking direction for the next shot, nodding professionally at the photographer's instructions. Her posture is immaculate, her expression perfectly calibrated—looking as composed and professional as if she'd just been touching up her makeup instead of being bent over a shelf with your hand prints on her ass.

No one looks at her twice. No one notices the way she stands slightly differently, favoring one leg. No one sees the slight darkening at the base of her throat where your mouth had been.

You watch from behind the monitor, maintaining a careful distance, occasionally checking your phone or making notes on your clipboard. The perfect picture of professionalism.

She gets into position, poised and beautiful under the lights, following direction flawlessly. The camera loves her—captures her elegance, her poise, but misses completely the woman you know.

Then she glances directly at the camera, and for just a second—

The look she gives—half-lidded eyes, the barest hint of teeth catching her lower lip, a fleeting microexpression of remembered pleasure—that's just for you.

And you know, watching her seamlessly return to her perfect idol persona, that you'll both be counting the minutes until you can be alone again.

...

AN: Yes I'm a certified CHAEWON simp. This is strike 3 chaewon from me with more coming.

#cloudtrnsprncy #cloudtsmut #malereader #kpop smut #chaewon x reader #kim chaewon #chaewon #chaewon x male reader #lesserafim #chaewon hot

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kwoniele · 5 months ago

Text

thanos headcanons (n)sfw ۶ৎ

warnings: smut, jealousy, sensory deprivation, bdsm mention (they don’t actually perform anything of the sort), fingering, oral (f receiving), public fingering lol, tease, edging, overstimulation, manhandling aaanndd thats all!

𖦹 really unpopular opinion (or so bc i’ve never seen anyone really talk about it) but i feel like he’d be really protective 😭 for example; if you two were on a date, rather than sitting across from you, he’d be next to you so it’s more obvious you two are together etc.

—

𖦹 in the games, he’s very silly and childish and that doesn’t change with you at all. he’s the same goofy person you know, but he will always make sure he gets babied by you lol it’s like healing his inner child.

—

𖦹 will absolutely spoil you if ever he finally voted x (which he would never do but its a headcanon) he’d buy you luxury bags, limited edition jewelry… literally everything you’d look absolutely gorgeous in.

“baby what about this one? this looks cute on you!”

“subong-ah.. that’s $350.?”

—

𖦹 never lets his friends near you lmao 😭😭 nam-gyu would just be talking to you for help with something and he’d butt in and give him advice instead LOOL

“hey, so i was thinking maybe this color would look nicer—”

“looks like shit. absolutely not. go away.”

—

𖦹 definitely the “i know you can, but let me” kind of guy. you could be baking a cake for se-mi’s birthday and then suddenly you look beside you and thanos is putting on a purple apron and cracking eggs for him to whisk up afterward.

“thanos, i can do it myself—”

“i know, but i want to do it with you. so teach me how to do this so next time i can help you better.”

—

𖦹 okay so he’s a very unserious person, but if you were in a vulnerable state, he will always be there to embrace you. he’d rock you in his arms and let you get his shirt all wet bc he loves you and he can’t stand seeing you cry ☹️

“shh, it’s okay. i’m here. i’ll always be here for you.”

—

𖦹 an absolute sweetheart to you in public, fucks you like you’re his slut in private. the things he would do to you oh my goodness 😭 definitely the type to manhandle you, esp when ure being bratty

—

𖦹 loves to edge & overstimulate you lmfao he thinks you squriming and moaning for him is absolutely theatrical 😭

“fuck. subong—”

“what’s wrong baby? need to cum that bad?”

—

𖦹 isn’t the biggest fan of bdsm bc you’re his princess and he’d never want you to feel otherwise BUT this man would def be into sensory deprivation 😭 if you’re asking to be fucked HARD, he won’t hold back and will make sure a blindfold is on and your hands are tied to the bed frame so you can’t touch him at all

“you’re so pretty like this, baby. i could listen to your moans all night. yeah? you want that? want me to fuck your cute pussy until morning? hmm?”

—

𖦹 thanos can be both a soft dom or a hard dom. it just really depends on his mood. if you managed to piss him off by flirting with other guys to pique his jealousy? you won’t be seeing the light of day. if you’re both exhausted and in need of relief? he’ll take care of you so well.

—

𖦹 the absolute MASTER of fingering & eating u out. you are an independent, iconic woman and yet you become the biggest pillow princess around that man. if you were at a restaurant? best believe his hands are on your thigh, slowly hiking up towards your core until he slips in a few fingers into your hole.

“they’re going to hear you, love. wouldn’t want that do we? or do you want them to know how i’m making you feel so good?”

—

𖦹 if you and thanos were living with nam-gyu, min-su, se-mi, gyeong-su … etc they will absolutely tease the both of you bc of how loud you guys are during sex 😭 it’s so bad that they would probably have to move out bc u keep disturbing them at night LOOOLL

“subong-ssi was not holding back last night, huh?”

“se-mi! what the fuck??”

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absinthehyuk · 1 year ago

Note

like a part 2 where the reader just keeps on acting nonchalant like nothing happened and wonwoo gets more and more riled up. cause “why am i the only one going insane here” type of feelings. and he just ends up taking here in a dressing room or something cause damn they need to fuck

she’ll ride the dick like a carnival

pairing. idol! wonwoo + new staff! fem reader!

summary. since that one fateful night at his apartment, jeon wonwoo realizes that he is fucked. but not really, since he can’t seem to get you in his bed.

warnings. [PLEASE READ] dom/sub dynamics, slight dom wonwoo, dirty talk, use of nicknames, THICK dick and lowkey desperate wonu, reader is VERY nonchalant, implied mirror sex, riding, wonu almost cries… AGAIN, sloppy kisses on the tits, subtle jizz play — 18+ MINORS DNI!

note. desperate sex that turns steamy and passionate is my favorite genre holy shit 😭 first time answering an ask! hope you like it :)

find part 1 here

jeon wonwoo could only watch you from across the waiting room as you pranced around in a midi skirt, chatting happily with the staff.

he wanted to cuss you out.

shifting in his chair, he pushed his glasses further up his nose, angrily sniffing.

how could you act like this?

how were you so nonchalant? so unbothered about the fact that you had him seeing stars merely 72 hours ago?

it had been 3 days since you had sucked the soul out of his body. 3 days since he couldn’t stop rutting his cock into his fist to the thoughts of you. 3 days since he had become insane.

he tried to get your attention, he really did. the poor boy would keep trying to pry anything out of your mouth that gave him a hint about your feelings.

but you were unpredictable, just as he had thought.

your face was like a wall — completely emotionless. any thought that passed through your head could barely be understood and wonwoo wanted to smash his head into the concrete at that realization.

“jeez, what’s got you this tense?” mingyu sits down next to him, adjusting his costume as he stared at his best friend. “i’m just… worried about the performance, nothing else.”

mingyu knew that wonwoo was lying.

hell, even wonwoo knew he was lying.

but none of them seemed to question each other as they sat in silence, each immersed in their own thoughts.

“wonwoo-ssi?” your voice called out to him. the boy singled out you and your sound amid nearly 50 people in the room, surprisingly springing to his feet as he walked towards you.

“your outfit is ready, follow me.”

the man silently walked behind you, striding toward the secluded attached room in the corner.

he pulled the curtain and stepped inside, and he was immediately handed his clothes. the outfit was simple— a sleeveless shirt and some baggy white jeans.

“i’ll be outside,” you nodded, bidding him farewell as you pulled the curtain.

sighing, wonwoo turned to look at himself in the mirror. his hardened cock stared at him in the face— a haunting image of the effect you had on him.

how am i the only one who is this riled up? he wondered. i can’t be the only one… right?

he wasn’t.

you would be lying if you said your panties weren’t glued to your core since you walked in. the sight of him had your head spinning, wanting nothing more than to strip him down and pull his dick into your throat.

but of course, you were not some depraved whore.

you set boundaries after that night. he was your client, and you were his stylist. of course you weren’t supposed to suck him off!

the fitting next morning after the incident had made you lose your self control. you recall how you had to get yourself off in the bathroom, relishing in the thoughts of seeing wonwoo in a tight fitted suit.

but of course, you would never voice these thoughts out loud. being in the same room as him was punishment enough to remind you of your sins. you wondered if applying for a styling job for a different member would work—

“uh?” wonwoo’s deep voice cut off your lewd thoughts, making you shake your head to clear them out. “a little help?”

“you good?" you sighed. “i’m coming in,” sucking in a breath as you stepped inside the small box.

wonwoo was leaning against one of the mirrored walls, one leg up on a stool in the corner. “what’s wrong?” you searched for a solution in his face.

“i seem to be stuck in a seemingly hard situation.”

one look down to his hands, you immediately realized the problem.

wonwoo’s dick was hard, the bulge over his boxers made that evident. the problem? the sheer size of his chub was not allowing the zipper of his jeans to zip up.

the man had a small waist but also had weirdly broad hips. his pants always had to be altered so that they suited his body type.

however, this was a problem that no other stylist had ever had to deal with.

“what do i do?” wonwoo whined, pouting his lips as he pushed up his glasses.

“wonwoo-ssi,” you spoke. your voice remained surprisingly stable, despite the fact that you could feel your pussy pulsating.

“i think you need to solve this problem on your own,” you looked into his eyes, almost feeling bad at how he panted.

however, before you could turn around and leave, wonwoo pushed his glasses up his nose and caged you between his arms.

your back hit one of the mirrored walls, as a surprised gasp fumbled from your mouth.

“wonw—”

“for the love of god woman, do you not see what you do to me?”

the desperation in his voice made your knees buckle as you stared into his eyes, gaze alternating to his lips as he bit them.

wonwoo heaved as he inched closer towards your face. “give me one good reason why you shouldn’t take care of my problem. you’re the one that caused it after all.”

hearing him voice out his thoughts, you turned your head to the side, embarrassed by the effect his voice had on you. how was this even your fault—

but with a harsh grip, jeon wonwoo grabbed your chin with his fingers, forcing to you look at him.

“can’t think of anything can you?” his head dipped down, tracing his teeth along your neck. the sensation made you hiss silently. “help me, please. what would carat think if i went out on stage looking like this?”

“sit,” is all you managed to say, voice enamoured with need.

you all but pushed wonwoo onto the iron stool in the corner, hauling yourself onto his lap as you crashed your lips into his.

fuck, your lips were way better than he had ever imagined. they were soft and pillowy as they engulfed his mouth, tongue grazing against his own as you ground down on his crotch.

wonwoo’s free hand pushed your head impossibly close as he licked into your mouth, wanting to memorize every crevice.

spit dribbles from your connected mouths, sloppy and wet kisses sounding obscenely loud in the secluded area. the man does not care that drool is now staining his tank top. he could never get enough of this.

his other hand gripped tightly onto your ass, groping and fondling the fat. after a second, he pulled away from you, glasses foggy and lips swollen as he tried to catch his breath.

“shit baby, i can’t take it anymore,” he whisper-screamed, tears coating his lashes. you wished you could burn this image into your head for the rest of your life.

you could only nod, ready to sink to your knees before wonwoo stopped you, tutting. “pull your panties to the side, doll,” he commanded, chest heaving.

the change in his tone had your thighs tingling. you pulled your midi skirt up, tucking the ends into the hem as you exposed yourself.

at the sight of your baby blue cotton panties, jeon wonwoo nearly growled.

the material was thoroughly soaked and ruined, a deep blue patch staining the cloth. as you pulled them to the side, he noticed how slicked up your heat was, a string of arousal connected your folds to the cotton.

you gripped onto his shoulders for support in your half-sitting position as he glided two fingers against your folds.

“so wet for me already, huh? don’t even need to work you up for my cock,” he smacked his lips. “filthy girl.”

wonwoo strained his ears to listen for any footsteps near the area as he sucked his dampened fingers into his mouth. your taste was making him dizzy, breath faltering as he rolled his eyes to the back of his head.

without wasting any more time, you pulled his cock out of its confines, sliding his boxers down just enough to free his length.

the sight of him always made you salivate. however, it was clear that he didn’t want that happening today.

steadily, you positioned yourself over him, hovering before you finally pushed his fat tip in.

the sensation had you moaning out loud— before he slapped his hand over your mouth. “shh! don’t be so loud baby, they will hear us,” he cooed.

you nodded frantically, slowly inching downwards as his dick began to fill you up. once he was bottomed out, you couldn’t help but sob into his palm.

“i know baby, i know. feels good yeah?” he smirked, shushing you with sweet words as he let you adjust to his size.

wonwoo’s thick dick was buried up to your hilt, and you felt so incredibly full. your poor walls clenched around his cock, nearly making him bust.

without a word, the man beneath you grabbed at your waist, moving you up and down on his length, slowly. with him pistoning in and out of you, you could feel your senses going into overdrive.

wonwoo tugged your top down with his teeth, suckling along the valley of your breasts to keep himself quiet. your pussy felt incredibly tight, creaming him for all he was worth.

his strong arms continued to guide you, until your legs automatically adjusted to the pace. your body began to move on its own accord— tits jiggling in wonwoo's mouth with each bounce.

"f-fuck!" you whimpered, beginning to lose your mind. for a moment, he looks up at you through his glasses, smiling widely from between your breasts.

the bastard's cheeky grin has you forgetting your own name as he lapped his tongue around your skin like he fucking owned it.

"already going dumb on my cock? shi— you ride so well baby."

your bounces show him just how stretched you were, making wonwoo's stomach clench as he split you apart. you tease him a little by slowing down, grinding down on him as he bites his lips and throws his head back.

as his hands grab onto your cheeks to spread them, he accidentally catches a glimpse of your back in the mirror opposite to you two.

god, you looked so fucking hot.

without knowing why, you felt him twitch inside. "not gonna— oh shit! — last very long now baby."

at the sound of his confession, you bring a hand down to rub at your clit. taking the hint, he begins to rut back into you, using all his strength to fuck into your heat.

"p—please wonwoo hah! cum inside, please please please,"

you're not sure why you beg, but you're too cock drunk to process anything but the fact that you want him filling you up, stuffing your cunt full with his release.

"you su— fuck fuck fuck—" wonwoo whispers, biting down on your right tit to subdue the moan that was about to leave his throat.

with that and a grunt, he cums inside your pussy, filling you up to the brim. his length twitches inside you, shooting out excess spurts. feeling himself soften, wonwoo pulls out of you. you whine at the sudden sensation of feeling so empty.

the boy stays mesmerized at the way your cum mixes together, escaping your spent hole in small globs.

as a pathetic attempt, he uses two fingers to plug the release back inside you, making you whimper again at the sudden intrusion. "sorry," he apologizes, before placing your panties back where they belonged.

with a fluid motion, jeon wonwoo tucks himself back into his calvin klein boxers and then zipping his pants up, meeting your dazed eyes with another cute smile. "see? it fits now."

you can’t help but smile back at him, panting to catch your breath.

your thighs hurt from the awkward position, but you were sure that you would never have it any other way.

so, that's how you end up walking around the rest of the working day— wonwoo's cum safely filled up inside you, as you and him exchanged comically wide-eyed looks every few minutes, a shade of pink grazing your cheeks.

#jeon wonwoo smut #jeon wonwoo #wonwoo smut #wonwoo #seventeen #wonwoo asks #seventeen smut drabbles #svt x reader #seventeen drabbles #seventeen thoughts #svt hard thoughts #svt x you #seventeen smut #kpop hard thoughts #kpop hard hours #kpop smut

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authorhjk1 · 6 months ago

Text

A queen's night

(IU X Irene X Karina X Yujin X Yeji)

He could lose his job for this. But there's no turning back now. Not after getting paid in advance. And it's not like he can return the payment.

Jieun's manager takes a deep breath, before finally taking the next turn. He is leaving the route he usually takes to drive her home. His knuckles turn white, sweat starts to run down his neck. Glancing at the rear view mirror, he sees Jieun scrolling on her phone. Looks like she didn't notice anything yet.

"Please turn left."

Taken by surprise, the man in the driver's seat almost shouts. He is so on edge, so afraid of Jieun finding out, that he forgot to mute the GPS. What if she hears it and realizes he isn't driving her home?

After finally shutting it off, he focuses back on the road. Another turn. The longer he drives, the more he is afraid of getting caught. Another turn. What if he gets fired for this? Isn't this basically kidnapping? Another turn. Sweat starts to build on his forehead. Maybe he should turn around? Another turn.

After a minute or two, the screen of the GPS finally shows their destination. He slows down, looking for the right building.

"Oppa."

A cold shudder runs down his spine.

"Where are we?"

"Huh?.... Well,.... We're taking a shortcut."

Eyes narrowed in suspicion, Jieun looks out the window. She's never been here before. And this doesn't really look like a shortcut. Haven't they always chosen the quickest route so far?

"Maybe you took the wrong turn?"

He decides to ignore the question.

"Oppa?"

A relived sigh leaves his body, when he finally spots the bright neon sign.

"We are here."

Jieun looks around.

"What does 'here' mean?"

The street, almost an alley, is pretty dark. Except for a couple of street lights and a neon sign, everyone and everything seems to be sleeping.

"I'm supposed to give you this."

Jieun accepts the envelope, while glancing at the rear view mirror. Her manager usually doesn't sound this scarred or afraid. It's not like she's gonna kill him, because they got lost.

She opens the envelope carefully and then takes out the card inside it.

"Third floor, second room on the left."

"What is this supposed to be?"

Her brows furrow, her question is directed at her manager.

"I don't know, Jieun. The... The CEO gave it to me this morning. He... He said to drive to this address and give you the envelope."

"This address?"

Jieun looks out of they window again.

"Yes. The Queen's Motel."

The woman in the backseat stares at the neon light. This looks more like motel for one night stands than a proper meeting place.

"Fine."

Jieun sighs and steps out of the van with a heavy heart.

"Don't worry. I'll pick you up later."

"Sure."

Jieun's manager sees her hesitate one more time, before she finally walks towards the entrance. His eyes follow her when she opens the door and steps inside. He finally groans in agony, all the tension leaving his body. Was it really worth it? Were they all worth it? We're they all worth her reputation?

He reaches into his pocket for his phone. Quickly heading to his gallery, he scrolls through the pictures he took while Jieun was on stage earlier.

He almost had a heart attack when someone suddenly opened the door to her dressing room, while he was watching her performance.

"Hello, manager-nim."

The young girl's sweet voice and smile made him stand up and bow.

"Hello, Yeji-ssi."

"I'm a big fan of IU and I was hoping you could give her this."

Yeji was holding an envelope in her hand. It was red and sealed.

"For Jieun"

"Sure. Of course I can do that."

He was surprised that Yeji came to him and not directly to Jieun.

"I'll give it to her right when she comes back."

He couldn't help but glance at Yeji's midriff. Her top was not covering much of her upper body, showing off a lot of skin. He thought he'd never get a chance with her at all. She's an idol. A celebrity. And he's significantly older than her. No way a young woman like Yeji would even look at him twice. But he had seen her dancing on stage, right before it was Jieun's turn. He still remembered the way her hips swayed to the music.

"Could you maybe wait for a while, until you give it to her?"

"S...Sure. I'll give it to her, when she's at home."

To his surprise, Yeji shook her head.

"Would it be possible for you to drive her to this address tonight?"

She took a piece of paper out of her pocket and handed it to him as well. After glancing at the address, he shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Yeji-ssi. I can't just drop her off somewhere in the city."

"Manager-nim..."

His eyes grew wide when Yeji pouted at him, her voice dripping with sweetness.

"This is really important to me. Can't you trust me?"

"Of course I trust you, Yeji-ssi. But I can't just drop off a celebrity at a random address."

Yeji smiled at him and he felt his resistance crumbling.

"Oppa..."

The word made him feel warm as it left her pretty lips.

"I really need you to do this for me."

He was aware that Yeji had just closed the door behind her. He took a deep breath, hoping this was just a dream. Or maybe was he hoping for it to be real?

"I'll reward you, of course."

"Reward me?"

A victorious smile played around her lips.

"Take out your phone, oppa."

He felt his blood rush into his cock, whenever she called him that. Just the idea of a chance with her...

"You're welcome to take as many pictures as you like."

"Pictures?"

"Do you want me to pose for you?"

Her warm smile made him eagerly nod his head.

He quickly took a picture of her, afraid she would change her mind.

"What do you think of this?"

Yeji closed on eye as if she was winking, while biting one of her nails.

The manager felt his cock harden as he quickly shoot two more pictures.

"And this?"

She bit down on her lower lip, while hooking her thumb under her belt as if she was gonna take off her pants.

His mouth was opened wide as more and more pictures filled his phone. By now he almost took pictures by the second as Yeji made a show out of pulling the transparent plastic straps of her top off her shoulders.

"Do you like it when I strip in front of you?"

He was too busy watching her and capturing the moment with his camera to respond. With a knowing smile, Yeji turned to the side, her hand followed the curves of her body.

"Do you like how slim my waist is? I'm sure you'd love to get your hands on that."

When her hand finally reached her chest, she used her other hand to playfully wag her finger.

"No peeking, oppa."

She turned around completely, so he could get a great couple of shots of her back. He held his breath when he watched her slowly slide down her top. Her upper back was now fully exposed.

"You have to promise to drive her to that address, oppa."

It took him a moment to realize she expected a response.

"Of course. I...I'll get her there."

"Do you really promise it?"

"Yes. Yes, I promise."

"Thank you so much, oppa."

Yeji sent him one last smile over her shoulder, before slowly turning around.

Jieun's heart is pounding in her chest as she raises her hand to knock on the door. Third floor, second room on the left. Who's gonna be in that room? No one is gonna make her do weird things, right? She got some inappropriate requests before. But if her CEO told her to go here, it can't be something bad. He'd want her best after all, right?

She takes a deep breath and knocks on the door. She doesn't hear any noises inside the room. After waiting for a good 20 seconds, she knocks again. Still nothing. Jieun places her ear on the wooden door. No one is talking. Or moving. It seems like the room is empty. So maybe she just needs to get inside? Is she supposed to meet someone? If they aren't here yet, when are they coming?

Jieun sighs in frustration and reaches for the doorknob. The fact that she's totally clueless and unprepared makes her feel unsafe and awkward. But eventually, she slowly opens the door.

The room is bigger than Jieun imagined. It's pretty large actually. A huge bed, a couch, a coffee table and... Her breath hitches as she takes a closer look at the left side of the room, behind the couch. Is that a....a sex swing that is hanging from the ceiling? She slowly steps into the room as she notices two cardboard boxes next to the bed. This can't be a sex room or something, right? Her CEO would never do this. Or is it him she's now waiting for?

Jieun's throat feels awfully dry as she bends down to open one of the boxes. She's hoping for something that would explain all of this. Maybe it's just a prank? Or an escape room? Her imagination starts to run wild.

Opening the box, her eyes widen at the first two things she sees. Both black. But both have entirely different purposes. One of them is silicon dildo, it's length making Jieun already sick. Does anyone expect her to take this? With shaking fingers, she reaches for the other item. A whip. A leather whip. She was never a fan of any hardcore stuff. And this is definitely too much. She feels something uncomfortable bubble up inside of her. As if she's getting sick. Her eyes land on a door on the right side of the bed. A bathroom? The lights are on. Maybe just in case...

She suddenly hears something that makes her blood run cold. The door she stepped through earlier has just been closed. Jieun's grip around the whip tightens. She takes a deep breath and then turns around.

"Unnie?"

Irene is standing between Jieun and the door.

For a moment, she is relived. A familiar face. A friend even. But Irene's cold expression soon takes away the feeling of hope.

"What...What are you doing here?"

Without a word, Irene walks towards the couch. Jieun catches her letting a key fall into the pocket of her red jacket. The key for the door?

"Why don't you take a seat?"

An evil smile plays around Irene's lips as she says that.

Jieun hesitates. She thought she could trust Irene. But she's the one who just locked the two of them inside this room.

"Are...Are you the one who gave my manager the envelope?"

Irene lets out an annoyed sigh instead or an answer.

"Just do what I tell you to do."

"Excuse me?"

Jieun is slowly starting to get irritated, even angry. Why the hell is she here? In this place? She could be home by now. Lying on her bed. Recovering from today's busy schedule.

"You heard me. I already took a picture of you at the front door outside. The reporters would love to know why you're in a place like this. Don't you agree?"

"I...What do you want?"

Irene opens her mouth slightly as if she just thought of something. She looks Jieun up and down.

"Why don't you..."

A sly smile plays around her lips.

"Why don't you get on your knees?"

"What? Do you want me to beg or something? This is ridiculous."

She can hear her voice becoming louder. But Irene just slowly shakes her head.

"You heard me."

Now she's pointing at the floor.

Jieun swallows hard. If Irene really took a picture, it could be come really dangerous. She realized by now that this is a love motel. Not some ordinary hotel. And it'd be of no use to explain that someone told her to come here, if Irene would really leak the photo.

Slowly, trying her best to give Irene her best death stare, Jieun sinks to her knees on the black carpet.

"Come here."

Irene slowly crosses one leg over the other, her eyes set on Jieun.

The young woman hesitates, but she realizes that there's no way out of this. If doing what Irene says will make this be over quicker, so be it.

An amused chuckle leaves Irene's lips as she watches Jieun carefully crawl towards her. She avoids eye contact until she is kneeling right in front of her.

"Good girl."

Irene's degrading tone makes Jieun roll her eyes, her face partially hidden by her hair.

"Clean them."

"What?"

Her head shoots upwards.

For a moment, she thought Irene was joking. But she's just moving her right foot a little closer to her face.

"Clean them. Or your career will be over by tomorrow."

Jieun grimaces as she takes a look at Irene's feet. They're clad in elegant black high-heeled sandals, which feature an open toe design and a slim ankle strap tied with a delicate bow in the front. Her toenails are painted in plain white. It's not like Irene has ugly feet, it's the opposite really, but the humiliation is almost too much for Jieun. The two of them might be the only ones in the room. But she could never ever face her, once she started.

After taking a deep breath, Jieun closes her eyes and sticks her tongue out. She licks her instep from the bottom to the top, until she reaches the bow. She quickly does the motion a second time, hoping that Irene had enough. But the older woman, slightly tilts her foot signaling Jieun to keep going. She sighs and starts to lick both sides of Irene's foot, until her tongue has covered every inch.

"Take it off."

Jieun quickly fumbles for the bow, hoping she's now halfway done. To her dismay, Irene just wiggles her toes after her shoe hits the floor. Jieun grits her teeth, but then takes Irene's toes into her mouth, one after the other. She sucks on them, lets her tongue clean them thoroughly. Once Irene had enough, she lifts her foot higher. With a crooked eyebrow, she silently tells Jieun to lick the bottom of her foot as well.

"Good girl."

Her praise almost makes Jieun shake her head in disgust. But when Irene finally lowers her foot to the floor, she sighs in relief.

"I hope for your sake you do a better job with the second one."

Jieun nods, resigning herself to her fate. She sticks out her tongue as Irene holds up her left foot. Once more, she licks Irene's instep with closed eyes. Afraid that Irene might become unsatisfied, Jieun does her best this time. She thoroughly cleans Irene's foot in every way she can. Just while she's sucking on two of her toes, she hears someone else's voice.

"I think she's starting to like it."

Jieun jumps. She looks to her left and stares with wide open eyes into the camera of someone's phone.

"Smile, unnie."

The girl's sweet, seemingly happy voice, confuses Jieun. What the hell is going on?

Looking past the phone, she quickly recognizes the culprit.

"Y-Yujin?"

"I hope you don't mind us. Just keep going."

"Us?"

Jieun looks around and realizes she has been too focused on satisfying Irene. Yujin is standing on her left and another girl on her right.

"Yeji?"

"Hi, unnie. Seems like your manager really liked my photos."

"What?"

Jieun feels even more confused and surprised than when she first stepped into this room. What is going on? Why are they all here?

Suddenly, someone else strokes her hair from behind.

"I always wanted to get a chance like this, unnie. I bet you're tight."

Jieun can't believe that someone would say these things about her. And she immediately recognizes the voice

"Karina?"

In the back of her head, Jieun is still wondering where the three girls came from. But she's focused back on Irene, who leans down a little.

"You really thought you'd get away with this, huh?"

"A...Away with what?"

Jieun can hear her own voice trembling.

Yeji rolls her eyes.

"Your popularity has increased throughout the year."

She looks her up and down with a dissatisfied look on her face

"For some reason."

Irene takes Jieun's chin into her hand.

"And I'm sure you can understand why we're annoyed by that, huh?"

"Well, I-"

"I still don't get it."

Yujin interrupts her.

"You have literally nothing to offer. No cool dancing, no real popular songs, nothing."

Jieun's initial shame gets partially replaced by anger. She didn't work this hard for years to just get bullied by these four girls.

"Leave me alone already. Maybe you should work harder."

Yeji scoffs in disbelief. Jieun feels Karina's hand in her hair again, but this time it isn't as gentle as before.

"Work harder? Oh please."

She pulls her hair a little, making Jieun look up at her.

"I'm sure the only work you ever did was sleeping around with rich men, so they buy your albums."

"That's right. How else would you be able to sell so many copies."

Yujin chimes in.

"I didn't sleep around with anyone! I-"

"Silence."

Irene's cold voice would've been enough to make Jieun stop talking. But the older woman even covered Jieun's mouth with her naked foot.

"I don't want to hear excuses. From now on, I expect you to tone it down. Got it? Maybe take a break from releasing music or something."

Her voice sounds threatening and Jieun is still very aware that Irene has those photos of her. Actually, Yeji seems to now have photos of her, worshipping Irene's feet. That's even worse. Maybe Jieun should just take this lecture and leave.

"Now, I'm sure you get what I'm saying."

Irene lowers her foot and leans back.

"But, to make sure you really understand, we should teach you a lesson."

"What are you talking about?"

"Why don't we start by getting that little dress off?"

Yujin whispers into her ear, a finger already hooked under one of the brown straps.

"Wait! You can't do this!"

Jieun looks to her left, when Yeji pulls the other strap off her shoulder as well.

"Trust me, unnie. We can."

Karina reaches down from behind her and opens the big belt that covers Jieun's chest. As the dress slides down, Jieun instinctively moves her hand to cover her chest. She isn't wearing a bra.

"Don't get all shy now, unnie. You looked like you really enjoyed it earlier."

Jieun shakes her head at Yujin's words.

"What is there to cover anyways?"

Karina grabs the older woman's wrists and pushes them down. Jieun struggles against her, but she doesn't stand a chance. Her cheeks burn with embarrassment as she's now kneeling topless on the floor, the four girls around her.

"What is this supposed to be?"

Karina runs a hand over Jieun's tits, after Yujin and Yeji both took one of Jieun's hands.

"You're older than me, unnie."

Yujin perfectly mimicks that concerned tone.

"But you have nothing to show off."

Jieun would hang her head in shame, if it wasn't for Karina's hand in her hair. She was always a little insecure about her size. Most of the other idols and actresses have at least something. But she always felt like she wouldn't even need to wear a bra.

"I really don't have a clue to why you're so popular."

Karina's voice in her ear makes Jieun shiver.

"You don't even have tits."

"Her fans are probably all girls."

Yeji's comment makes Karina nod her head in understanding.

"I guess so."

She pulls at Jieun's hair again, making her look up at her.

"Look at this."

With her other hand, Karina grabs the hem of her black top and pulls it upwards. She isn't wearing a bra either. Her tits basically spring free, after the restricting top is gone.

"Jealous?"

A wicked smile plays around her lips.

Before Jieun can answer, Karina leans down, covering her face with her chest.

"Why don't you be as kind to me as you were to Irene, unnie?"

A tug at her hair makes Jieun understand that it wasn't a question. Karina isn't waiting for an answer.

Jieun closes her eyes once more and carefully sticks out her tongue. She can't believe she already had her mouth on Irene's feet. And now she has to do it with Karina's tits too?

She feels someone pulling her dress off even further, but she can't resist. She diligently licks every spot on Karina's tits that she can find, hoping for a quick end. When Karina pulls away a little, she guides Jieun towards her nipples. The older woman takes one of them into her mouth, sucking on it for a while, before focusing on the other one.

"Damn, have you done this before?"

Karina sighs, visibly satisfied.

Still occupied with the younger girl's tits, Jieun doesn't respond. But she almost yelps in surprise, when she feels someone's hand slip inside her dress. Her panties get pushed to the side. Jieun suddenly feels a little hotter than before. A weird sense of anticipation rushes through her for a moment. She feels a finger brush against her folds.

"Here you go, unnie."

Jieun hears Yujin's voice. But it seems like the words weren't directed at her. The finger quickly gets replaced by something else. Something harder and slightly colder. Jieun feels it pushing against her folds, slowly penetrating her pussy. It's size makes her moan into Karina's tits as her walls stretch around the mysterious object.

It takes a her a moment to figure out what it could be.

"Oh god."

She sighs, her voice muffled by Karina, who makes her suck on her nipples once more. While she's coating them in her spit, she feels the dildo push further into her. Is that the huge black one from one of the boxes? She can't tell, but it certainly feels like it. Just when she's about beg for them to not push it all the way inside of her, she hears Irene's voice.

"Jieun, look at me."

Karina lets go off her and moves back a little. Jieun opens her eyes. She's about to glance down at herself, when she sees Irene. The oldest is still sitting seemingly relaxed on the couch. But something has changed. Jieun recognizes the whip she is holding. The one she found earlier. But that's not the only thing that changed. Her eyes grow wide when she takes a closer look at Irene's lap.

"W...What is that?"

"I'm sure you know what it is."

Irene moves her free hand down. She looks at Jieun, while teasingly stroking the strap on she is wearing.

"Why don't you get your pretty lips over here and give it a lick?"

"I...I thought you'd let me go after-"

"Let you go?"

Irene has trouble holding back her laughter.

"We haven't finished your lesson yet. And the way you're behaving right now tells me we might be here all night."

"All night? No, I can't. I have to go home and-"

"You look so pretty here, unnie."

Yeji interrupts her and shows Jieun her phone screen. She recognizes herself. On her knees. Her lips wrapped around Irene's toes.

For a moment, Jieun feels like her heart stopped beating. For a moment, she wonders if she should just leave now. Let them publish the photos. She could go to a remote place where no one would find her. The humiliation would be huge. But it would be better than this. Right?

Jieun glances at herself in the picture once more. She takes a deep breath and leans forward. Sticking her tongue out, she places it on the silicon tip of Irene's blue strap on.

"Good girl."

Irene purrs, making Jieun close her eyes. She slowly drags her tongue along the length of the dildo, until it reaches the base. She's still very aware of the other plastic object, which is still inside of her. But no one has moved it for a while now. So maybe it won't be too bad?

Jieun keeps her tongue glued to the silicon and soon wraps her lips around it as well. It takes her a couple of moments, but eventually she is able to imagine herself with a really handsome man. Of course it doesn't feel the same. But it might make it easier. She pretends to really like him. He is very attractive. His cock tastes amazing as her lips glide up and down his shaft. He showers her with praises. How beautiful she is. How good her lips feel. How skillful she is with her tongue. When Irene takes a hold of the back of Jieun's neck, she pretends she is the man she's sucking off. The older woman pushes her head further down, making her take more of the dildo.

As Jieun gets more and more into it, the three keep watching her for a while. But eventually, Karina and Yeji walk over the two boxes next to the bed. Yujin can't help herself though. One hand gives her breasts small squeezes through her own top, while her other hand has slipped past the waistband of her pants.

"Come on, you can do better."

Irene's voice seems sweet as she pushes Jieun's hair out of the way.

"Make it all wet. For your sake."

Jieun barely registers her words, already too deep into her own fantasy. But the further Irene pushes her head down, the sloppier her blowjob becomes. Soon, Jieun is taking the whole dildo. It barely grazes the back of her mouth everytime her lips kiss its base. Yujin has now taken her leather pants off, her panties are lying next to her. She can't look away as she watches Jieun sucking cock. Two of her fingers are buried inside of her.

Meanwhile, both Karina and Yeji have each put on a strap on as well. Karina's is larger than Yeji's and Irene's with Yeji's being the smallest of the three. In addition to that, Karina took out a pair of nipple clamps from one of the boxes, while Yeji is holding a red rope.

"You know what? Why don't you help your dongsaeng out? Looks like she needs a little help."

Jieun's fantasy vanishes as Irene pulls her off her strap on. The younger woman glances at Yujin, who is leaning against the backrest of the couch, cute moans leaving her lips. Jieun had never had sex with another woman before. She's never tasted someone else's pussy. For a moment, she thinks about declining. But the threat of the pictures don't give her much of a choice.

"Do it. Eat her out like it's your last meal."

Irene's words finally make Jieun move. When she does, she remembers the dildo inside of her. She lets out an involuntary moan. She's been stretched out for a couple of minutes now. Her pussy already got used to it. But now that she's moving, it seems to reposition itself inside of her.

Yujin moves her hand away when Jieun leans in. Her breath hitches as the older woman places her lips on her pussy. Jieun tries to mimick the motions from when she herself got eaten out in the past. She takes it slow at first. Licking Yujin's folds, inserting her tongue into her cunt, sucking at her clit. She keeps alternating between all these options, slowly turning Yujin into a moaning mess. Maybe if she made her cum, she'd have a chance to leave? Jieun is doubtful, but all she can do is hope.

She focuses on pleasuring Yujin, truly trying to make her orgasm. The younger girl starts to push Jieun's head further into her core, trying to get even more of her tongue inside of her. Meanwhile, Yeji has handed the rope to Irene, who is now kneeling behind Jieun. Before she can react, Yeji takes a hold of her wrists once more. Jieun instinctively struggles against her grip. But Yeji is too strong for her. And Yujin pushing her further into her pussy doesn't help at all. She can feel how Irene starts to tie her hands together with the rope. At the same time, Karina has moved to Jieun's left. She reaches underneath her head.

Jieun almost screams at the unexpected pang of pain. Karina has put one end of the metallic nipple clamps onto her left nipple. Jieun almost sees stars, but tries to concentrate on Yujin. If she endures all of that without complaint, they might let her go sooner. Karina now attaches the other end, which is connected with the left one by a small metal chain, to Jieun's right nipple. This time, she's prepared for it. It still hurts, but she can keep it under control.

"Unnie."

Yujin whines. The scene in front of her and Jieun's work brings her closer to her orgasm. She bucks her hips forward, her grip on Jieun's head tightening.

"Oh, damn!"

She cries out as Jieun makes her climax. Her juices spill out of her, partially staining Jieun's face. The older girl is about to wipe it off, when she remembers that her hands are tied behind her back.

"I hope you can take this well."

Irene's cold voice suddenly rings in her ear. Jieun feels how something pokes her rear entrance.

"Wait! I never-"

Too late. Irene is already pushing forward, the strap on slowly disappearing into Jieun's puckered hole. Her eyes roll to the back of her head. The nipple clamps, the dildo inside her pussy and the dildo inside her ass overstimulate her. She's never felt like this before. So full. So...So turned on. She can't really explain it. Mere minutes ago, she never thought she'd ever eat another woman out. She was disgusted by the thought of having to worship Irene's feet. But here she is now. The first time someone takes her ass and Jieun can't do anything but moan out. It's almost like her body is betraying her. Her mind is still fighting this. She's ashamed. But at the same time, her body is starting to welcome all of this. It welcomes every thrust of Irene's dildo.

Surprisingly, it doesn't take her that long to get accustomed to it. Just when Irene is about to fuck her properly, Yeji turns Jieun's head towards her. Her mouth lands on her strap on and Jieun instinctively lets it part her lips. Moments later, her mouth, her pussy and her ass are all filled with dildos. She has never felt like this before. She never even dreamed of this. But for some reason, her punishment is turning into something special. Something good. Unconsciously, Jieun begins to ride the dildo inside of her. The friction which is caused by that and Irene's strap on makes her eyes roll to the back of her head. She does her best to keep sucking off Yeji, her tongue swirling around the plastic tip, whenever the dildo threatens to slip out of her mouth. Now she doesn't mind being tied up. Jieun starts to enjoy the attention. It's almost like all the pleasure and degradation has changed her mind. She isn't bothered by Karina occasionally tugging at the chain between the nipple clamps, making her nipples hurt even more.

"You think, if I keep doing that, you might have a chance of going up a bra size?"

She isn't bothered by Karina's words. And she still isn't bothered when Karina starts pulling harder, actually stretching her tits a little.

"Maybe then it's worth it for you to wear a bra. The smallest size of course."

She isn't bothered by Karina's degrading tone. And Jieun definitely isn't bothered by Irene slowly picking up the pace.

The longer her holes are filled, the more she falls in love with the feeling. At some point, Yeji and Karina change position. Now, Jieun is sucking on Karina's strap on. But instead of just tugging at the nipple clamps, Yeji stole the whip from Irene. She first tries out the new toy on Jieun's ass cheeks. It doesn't hurt her much. The pleasure is almost too much for her to feel any pain at all. But soon her cheeks are covered with red marks. Once she's satisfied, Yeji moves onto Jieun's tits. She uses the whip on them as well. This time, it definitely hurts more. Jieun occasionally lets out a yelp around Karina's dildo, whenever Yeji hits her a little harder.

"I want to ruin her too, unnie."

Yujin's whine makes Irene come to a hold. Jieun sighs in disappointment as some of the pleasure leaves her body. When Irene pulls out, her ass feels so empty. The unsatisfying feeling almost starts to drive her wild. By now, Jieun has started to get used to being filled completely.

"Please..."

She tries to talk with Karina's dildo in her mouth.

"Please use my ass."

Irene smirks at her words. She knew that Jieun wouldn't last much longer. She once heard her moan inside her dressing room at an award show maybe one or two years ago. Since that moment, she knew that Jieun had the potential to be a slut. She knew that this would be the best way for everyone. Perfect to pressure Jieun into taking a backseat, while the other girl's popularity could skyrocket. And also just over all beautiful to see Jieun slowly break down. Slowly succumbing to this guilty pleasure.

"Let's move her to the bed."

Moments later, Jieun is straddling Karina's lap, her strap on angled at the older woman's cunt. When she sinks down on it, a relieved sigh leaves Jieun's lips. Another one soon follows, when she feels Yujin slowly push her new dildo into her ass. She already feels full again. The two fake cocks inside of her make her head spin. When she starts to moan, Jieun quickly gets silenced by not one, but two dildos filling her mouth. She does her best to give them both equal attention. Her tongue aims for every part of their dildos it can reach. Her lips glide along both shafts.

Jieun can feel the chain between the nipple clamps hit her stomach as Yujin increases the pace. In return, Jieun rides Karina's dildo even faster. She really needs to feel that friction between the two strap ons. It just feels amazing. It's almost impossible for her to describe this feeling.

"What a good slut you are."

Irene caresses Jieun's bulging cheek.

At the beginning, Jieun would've felt disgust after hearing those words. But now she's silently begging Irene for another compliment. She leans her head into her hand as much as possible.

"You're liking it now, do you?"

Jieun is unable to nod her head, but her eyes say everything.

She's already forgotten all about the pictures, when the four of them move her to the sex swing. She is barely moving by now. They've successfully turned her into a pleasure addicted toy. Once they're all in position, Irene pushes her dildo into her ass once more. It's still wet with Jieun's saliva. It feels perfect inside of her. Every one of Irene's thrust makes the swing move. Karina is now standing in front of her. Whenever Irene bottoms out inside her ass, Jieun gets pushed onto Karina's dildo. She does her best to suck on it, before Irene moves back again. It only takes a couple of thrust from Irene, until the three of them have found the perfect rhythm.

Both Yujin and Yeji have taken a break from punishing Jieun. They're both lying on the couch, Yeji on top of Yujin. They're enjoying each other, while eating each other out. Their moans sync with Jieun's as she gets basically spit roasted by Irene and Karina.

There really seems to be no end in sight for Jieun. She doesn't know what time it is. Curtains are covering the windows, not letting any light inside the room. Is it morning already? It doesn't matter. Her body is completely worn out, completely used. But the four women don't stop using her. She's now lying back on the bed again. Her hands are still tied behind her back, but a couple of minutes ago, Karina tied her feet together as well. So now Jieun can't move at all. She feels like she isn't even inside her own body anymore. It's like she is watching a movie. But only small parts of it.

"Please let me cum."

She whines as Irene drives her towards the edge, just so she can deny her her orgasm again. And because her limbs are tied, Jieun can't do anything about it. She can only lie on her stomach, her hands on her back, waiting for Irene to start moving again. But Irene has other plans.

"You still have one more foot to go."

Jieun looks at Yujin's right foot. The younger girl is sitting at the head of the bed. The left one has already been cleaned by Jieun. And now, she has to clean the right one too, before Irene starts to fuck her again.

Jieun starts by taking one of Yujin's toes into her mouth. She slowly sucks on it, still not really accustomed to the feeling. But when she suddenly feels the leather pieces of the whip sliding teasingly over her ass cheeks, she quickens her pace.

It's too late though. Irene wasn't satisfied. The whip cracks and a second later, Jieun's right cheek starts to burn.

"Unnie."

She whines, unable to hide her pain. But she quickly moves onto the next toe. Another hit from the whip and both her cheeks hurt. Irene is just starting to enjoy herself. No matter how quick or thorough Jieun is, she feels the whip hit her ass every couple of seconds. She knows Irene won't stop, until she completely cleaned Yujin's feet.

A couple of minutes later, or maybe even an hour later, Jieun has completely lost her sense for time, she finds herself being carried by Yeji and Karina. Yeji is standing behind her, lifting her up and down, her cock sliding in and out of Jieun's ass. Which also means, Jieun is forced to take Karina's strap on as well. Her pussy and her ass are getting stretched out at the same time. She's eye to eye level with Karina, who keeps degrading her.

"Have you ever thought of just getting implants?"

"I...No. I-Oh, god! I haven't."

"Trust me you should. Your fans would appreciate it."

Karina gives her a wicked smirk, knowing full well that that would never happen. Even if Jieun would want to do that, the company would say no.

"Of course everyone would know your tits are fake. But who cares, right? At least you'd look less pathetic."

"Maybe work on your ass little more too."

Yeji speaks up from behind, her dildo still stretching out Jieun's puckered hole.

"You could put on the tightest dress and no one would see a single curve on your body."

Jieun sighs and whines in protest in their arms, trying to defend herself. She's completely fine with being used. She's fine with all four of them ruining all her holes. But the degradation still gets to her.

"I...I thought you wanted me to get less popular."

"Oh, you think because of fake tits you're gonna be more popular?"

Karina laughs at her face, while Jieun can only bite her lip, trying to hold back an orgasm. She was so desperate for one earlier. But now she doesn't dare to climax, while Karina and Yeji are basically body shaming her.

"No way. You'd lose all your real fans and only horny guys would jerk off to you."

"I'd love to see that."

Yeji groans into Jieun's ear. The older woman is small and light, but eventually even she becomes too heavy.

"The only thing you have going for you are your tight holes."

"Maybe that's what you should start selling, instead of music. What do you think?"

Karina's mocking smile makes Jieun turn her head away. But it's already too late. With an embarrassed whine leaving her lips, she orgasms hard. Her pussy clenches onto Karina's dildo, her walls tightening further and further. Her body shakes in their arms.

"Pathetic."

After all four of them put their dildos inside of her for the first time, she started to lose control. Parts of her memories don't really connect together. She remembers being bent over the sink inside the bathroom, someone using her pussy like a fleshlight. A minute later, she's sitting on the sex swing with both Yeji and Yujin trusting their strap ons into Jieun's used pussy. All memories of the night mix together into one blur. To Jieun nothing makes sense anymore. The four of them seem to have endless stamina.

In the end, Jieun finally wakes up from a deep sleep. She gets scared when she realizes she can't move. She's lying on a bed, staring at the ceiling. Her arms are tied together, but not behind her back. They're placed above her stomach. Her ankles are tied together as well. But with enough room for easy access to her pussy.

Jieun hears the same noise that seems to have woken her up. She slightly lifts her head and immediately lets it fall back onto the mattress. Shame colours her cheeks, just like the night before.

"Jieun-ssi."

Her manager calls her name softly. The four girls must've left while she was passed out. She is alone in the room, her manager standing in the doorframe. When she lifts her head again, Jieun notices his phone in his hand. He definitely took pictures of her. But now, his eyes are glued to the wide open hole between her legs. Her body is still experiencing the aftermath of her punishment.

"I hope you don't mind if I just..."

He doesn't finish his sentence. Instead, he lowers his phone and starts to unbuckle his belt. Jieun wants to say something, but quickly notices that someone stuffed her mouth with her own panties.

When her manager lets his pants drop to the floor, Jieun finally understands the message. Her lesson isn't over yet. And it never will be.

---------

Hi, everyone!

I hope you enjoyed the story. It was a little harder to write, because I've never written something like this before.

I got feedback on the other two fics before this one, specifically mentioning that some parts feel rushed and aren't connected perfectly. I'd love to use my lack of sleep as an excuse, but that wouldn't be fair to you guys. In this fic, I've tried my best to correct my mistakes from before, but I also feel like slightly rushed scenes and abruptly cut off scenes actually fit IU's experience here.

I'll try to get on top of the current problem as best as I can. But from now on, I'll prioritize quality over the schedule, which means, I might push the release dates of the other two stories a couple of days back. I hope that's okay with you guys. I'm sure you'd rather read a top tier fic a day or two later, instead of reading a sloppily written story on time. I'll let you know on Saturday, if I'm unable to post the next story on Sunday. It shouldn't take me longer than one or two extra days anyway.

I apologize for the inconvenience.

Have a great day and stay healthy!

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lastoneout · 7 months ago

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It really is kinda awful how many job listings will just straight up lie to you about what you "need" to be able to do to screen out disabled applicants. Like fucking Safeway will be looking for a cashier and the listing is like "you ABSOLUTELY MUST be able to stand for 8+ hours a day, NO exceptions" as if you can't do everything required to run the check out line sitting down. Old Navy is like "you must be able to understand body language and facial expressions and make eye contact" like sorry dude I think autistic people can sell t-shirts just fine without doing all that, like honestly what the hell does understanding facial expressions have to do with telling someone where the clearance section is. Don't really think the customers at TJ Max are going to go full Purge mode if one employee can only perform a task requiring fine motor skills 15 times a minute instead of 30, like idk maybe you don't need the lines to move thst fast actually. Maybe everyone can chill out and wait a second. I think the people at Starbucks will be okay if the barista isn't great at multitasking and can't make small talk with every single customer while also running the drive through and making 15 different drinks.

It's such horseshit, none of these job require these things but they can just lie and say they do and disabled people will clear out because we know it's just a big neon sign saying "crippled freaks need not apply", even if that sentence is followed by some fake ass fluff about you being an equal opportunity employer. Like you would not be insisting your underpaid cashiers be able to "make eye contact and understand body language" if you cared about not discriminating against disabled people, that wording specifically is straight out of the DSM-5, what you're doing is fucking obvious and pure goddam evil.

The best part too is then you get denied for SSI benefits because you "can" work, they don't actually care that every single job listing is tailor made to tell us to fuck right off. The potential to be able to work and actually being able to be hired are too different things entirely but sure. I can work. If I find an employer that doesn't care that I'm in a wheelchair and can't make eye contact or life heavy objects or that I need to only work 4 hours a day so I still have the energy to take care of myself outside of work and also have to take 10 days a month off for doctor's appointments and unpredictable health flares. And also crucially does NOT require a fucking degree or drivers license. Find me a job like that that and I'd be overjoyed to work.

But trust me, jobs that can accommodate me simply do not fucking exist, and unfortunately for all of us that is very much by design.

2K notes · View notes

melanchoire · 21 days ago

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THE EDGE OF THE GLORY ──── jang wonyoung.

── ( 👜 ) jang wonyoung, the untouchable darling of the k–pop world, finds her meticulously crafted facade crumbling after a fiery argument with her long-suffering stylist exposes the raw vulnerability and anger hidden beneath the surface, threatening to unravel her career and leaving her questioning if the price of perfection is worth sacrificing her sanity.

pairing. mean dom!idol!gp jang wonyoung x sub!stylist!fem reader

warning(s). blowjob, breeding + creampie, clit play, cunnilingus, degradation, fingering, hair pulling, making out, multiple orgasms, nipple play, throat fucking, wonyoung being the “mean girl” that the antis talk so much about.

word count. 5,5k

request? no.

the fluorescent lights of the dressing room hummed, a sterile counterpoint to the vibrant chaos within. makeup artists swarmed around the ive members, their brushes dancing across faces, transforming them into the flawless idols the world adored. jang wonyoung sat rigidly in her chair, her usual doll–like features pulled into a tight frown.

being jang wonyoung was a gilded cage. she was a star, a name whispered with reverence, a face plastered on billboards and magazines. from the moment she’d stepped onto the produce 48 stage, her charisma had captivated the public. now, years later, that initial spark had ignited into a blaze, making her one of the most sought–after idols in south korea.

but the blaze was fueled by relentless pressure. schedules were unforgiving, a constant blur of photoshoots, music shows, variety appearances, and fan events. sleep was a luxury, a stolen hour here and there. the line between wonyoung the idol and jang wonyoung the young woman had blurred, almost to the point of disappearing altogether.

wonyoung sighed, the sound barely audible amidst the bustling chaos of ive’s dressing room. the university performance loomed, a dark cloud on her already bleak horizon. she stared at her reflection, a flawless visage staring back, yet the eyes held a storm of discontent. being jang wonyoung, the nation’s darling, was an exhausting performance in itself. the constant smiles, the perfect poses, the endless schedule — it was a gilded cage she longed to escape, if only for a moment.

today, however, the cage felt particularly constricting. her gaze flicked towards you, her stylist. your hands hovered around a clothing rack overflowing with shimmering fabrics and intricate designs. you were relatively new to the team, and wonyoung had yet to fully gauge your intentions. was it purely professional, or did you fall into the category of people who treated her more like a commodity than a person?

you pulled out a skirt. It was undeniably eye–catching, a vibrant shade of fuchsia, embellished with sequins that caught the light. but even from across the room, wonyoung could tell it was short. painfully short. and tight.

her frown deepened. “is that...really the outfit you chose?” she asked, her voice laced with a delicate edge that could slice through steel.

you turned from the rack of clothes, a smile playing on your lips. you were proud of the outfit you’d chosen — a vibrant, youthful ensemble perfect for a university performance. “yes, wonyoung–ssi. i think it looks fantastic on you! the bright colors will really pop on stage, and it’s playful, just right for the occasion.”

wonyoung’s eyes narrowed slightly. youthful and energetic? was that supposed to be a compliment? she was barely an adult herself. sometimes, she felt like everyone wanted to keep her perpetually frozen in that image of the innocent, wide–eyed girl from produce 48.

“energetic is good.” she conceded, her tone still cool. “but comfort is also important. we’re performing, remember? i need to be able to move. is this really necessary?” she asked, her voice laced with a cool indifference that belied the frustration simmering within.

you turned, a polite smile gracing your lips. “just making sure we have everything ready, wonyoung–ssi. we want you to look your absolute best.”

wonyoung’s lips curled into a sardonic smile. “my best? or what do you think is my best?”

the air in the room seemed to thicken. ive’s other members, usually a cacophony of laughter and chatter, seemed to sense the shift in atmosphere and quieted down, their eyes darting nervously between wonyoung and you.

“of course, your best.” you replied, your voice carefully neutral. “we always take your preferences into consideration.”

“do you?” wonyoung challenged, her eyes narrowing. she gestured to the offending skirt, a minuscule scrap of fabric barely covering her thighs. “because this… this doesn’t exactly scream ‘wonyoung’s preference.’”

you winced inwardly. you knew this outfit was a risk, pushing the boundaries of wonyoung’s usual sophisticated style towards something more overtly… provocative. but the head stylist had insisted, citing a “youthful and energetic” concept for the university performance. now, you were paying the price.

“the concept for today is a bit more… dynamic.” you explained, trying to maintain a professional demeanor. “we thought it would suit the energy of the performance.”

wonyoung scoffed, the sound sharp and derisive. “dynamic? i have to dance in that thing! i’ll be lucky if i don’t trip and fall on my face.”

“ive isn’t a dance–focused group, wonyoung–ssi. and you aren’t a main dancer. the choreography isn’t overly strenuous. besides, the skirt is lined, and we can add some safety shorts underneath for extra security…” you held up the skirt again, your smile faltering slightly under her intense gaze. “i understand, but the designer specifically wanted you to wear this piece. it’s part of their new collection, and it would be a great opportunity for exposure.”

wonyoung’s lips curled into a barely perceptible sneer. exposure. that was always the excuse. Her body, her image, treated as a tool for someone else’s gain.

wonyoung stood up from her chair and walked towards you, her movements deliberate and measured. the playful glint in her eye was replaced with a storm. “so, because i’mm not the ‘main dancer’ i don’t deserve comfortable clothes?” she asked, her voice dangerously low. “is that what you're implying?”

“and exposure is nice.” she said, her voice dripping with honeyed sarcasm. “but i think my performance might suffer if i’m too busy worrying about whether my skirt is riding up every two seconds. wouldn’t you agree?”

you fiddled with the skirt, your nervousness palpable. “we can make alterations. lengthen it a little, add some inner lining for more security… we can add some safety shorts underneath, wonyoung–ssi. it’ll be fine.”

“alterations?” wonyoung repeated, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “so now we’re admitting it’s a problem? why wasn’t this considered before?”

you bit back a sigh. this was becoming increasingly difficult. you understood her frustration, but her constant condescension was starting to wear thin.

“we try our best to anticipate these things.” you said, choosing your words carefully. “but sometimes adjustments are necessary.”

“your best isn’t good enough.” wonyoung retorted, her eyes flashing. “honestly, sometimes i wonder if you even know what you're doing.”

the words hung in the air, heavy with venom. the other ive members shifted uncomfortably, their gazes fixed on the floor. you felt a surge of anger rising within you, but you fought it down, reminding yourself that she was the client, the star, the one who called the shots.

you felt a knot of anxiety tighten in your stomach. you hadn’t meant to offend her, but you could see that your words had struck a nerve. “no, that’s not what i meant at all!” you quickly said. “i just meant that the outfit is designed to be visually appealing and appropriate for the performance. i wouldn’t put you in anything that would make you uncomfortable or compromise your performance.”

“oh, really? because i feel very uncomfortable right now.” sonyoung said, her tone dripping with venom. ”i feel like i’m being treated like a prop, like my comfort and opinions don’t matter. just another pretty face to be dressed up and paraded around.”

you were starting to feel defensive. you poured so much effort into your work, trying to balance the demands of the industry with the comfort and preferences of the idols you worked with. “wonyoung–ssi, that’s not fair. i always try to consider your preferences. you know that.”

“do you?” wonyoung challenged, her eyes blazing. “because it doesn’t feel like it. it feels like you’re more concerned with what looks good in pictures than how i actually feel.”

the dressing room was silent for a moment, the tension thick and suffocating. you took a deep breath, trying to remain professional. “i’m sorry you feel that way, wonyoung–ssi. but i assure you, that’s not my intention. i’m just trying to do my job.”

“and what is your job, (y/n)–ssi?” wonyoung snapped, her voice rising. “to make me look pretty and shut up? to blindly follow the company’s instructions without considering my feelings? is that what you think your job is?”

you had reached your limit. you were tired, overworked, and underappreciated. you had bent over backwards to accommodate wonyoung’s demands in the past, often sacrificing your own creative vision in the process. but her constant negativity and condescending attitude were becoming unbearable.

“my job is to make you look your best while adhering to the overall concept and guidelines set by the company.” you retorted, your voice trembling slightly. “and quite frankly, i think you look amazing in everything. but it seems like nothing i do is ever good enough for you.”

wonyoung scoffed, turning away from you with a dismissive wave of her hand. “oh, please. don’t try to make me feel sorry for you. you’re getting paid to do this. it’s not like you’re doing me a favor.”

your blood boiled. “that’s not the point, wonyoung! i pour my heart and soul into my work. i spend countless hours researching trends, sourcing materials, and putting together outfits that i think will complement you and ive. and all i get in return is constant criticism and disrespect.”

wonyoung whirled around, her face contorted with anger. “disrespect? you think i’m being disrespectful? you’re the one who’s being disrespectful! you’re just a stylist, (y/n)–ssi! you’re supposed to do what i tell you to do. you don’t get to have an opinion.”

the words hung in the air, heavy and stinging. you stared at wonyoung, your heart pounding in your chest. it was one thing to be frustrated or demanding, but to be so dismissive and belittling was simply unacceptable.

“i assure you, wonyoung–ssi, i am a professional.” you replied, your voice tight. “i take my job very seriously.”

“do you?” wonyoung challenged, taking a step closer, her eyes locking onto yours. “because it doesn’t seem like it. you’re always fumbling, always forgetting things, always making excuses. honestly, it’s embarrassing.”

you felt your cheeks flush with heat. this was beyond constructive criticism; this was a personal attack. you had worked tirelessly to meet her demands, often sacrificing your own time and well–being to ensure she was always perfectly styled. and this was the thanks you received?

“i am doing my best.” you repeated, your voice trembling slightly. “i am always available and try hard at my job.”

wonyoung tilted her head, a cruel smile playing on her lips. “your best? that’s a pretty low bar, isn’t it?”

“wonyoung—”

“one last thing. if ihave a problem with my wardrobe on stage, you’ll face the consequences.”

and that’s how you ended up here.

“i’ve been thinking about your filthy mouth all day, (y/n).” she growled, her hand sliding up to tangle in your hair, gripping it tightly. “and now i’m going to ruin it.”

wonyoung crashed her lips against yours in a brutal, demanding kiss, her tongue forcing its way into your mouth to claim and explore. at the same time, her other hand drifted down to palm your ass, squeezing the firm globe possessively.

she ripped her mouth away from yours to attack your neck with biting kisses, sucking dark marks into your sensitive skin. “get on your knees.” she commanded breathlessly, her voice rough with lust. “i’m going to fuck that dirty mouth of yours until you choke on my cock, you filthy girl.” wonyoung’s hand tangled tighter in your hair as she forced your head down, pushing you to your knees on the rough ground of the dressing room. her other hand fumbled with the button of her skirt, roughly yanking them open and shoving them down her long, toned legs along with her lacy black panties.

“open your mouth, (y/n).” she hissed, freeing her already hard, thick cock. it bobbed in front of your face, the musky scent of her arousal filling your nostrils. “i’m going to fuck your pretty face until you gag on my dick, you dirty slut.”

she grabbed your hair with both hands now, gripping it like a handle as she rubbed the leaking tip of her cock against your soft, plump lips. “don’t you dare try to close it. take it all like a good whore.” wonyoung growled, her voice dripping with dark promise.

with a swift, brutal thrust of her hips, she shoved her thick cock past your lips and into the hot, wet cavern of your mouth. she didn’t stop until she had forced it down your throat, until she could feel your nose pressing against her pelvis and your chin resting against her balls.

wonyoung groaned in dark satisfaction, her fingers twisting painfully in your hair as she held you in place, your nose buried in her crotch. “fuck yes, take that cock, you dirty bitch.” she snarled, her hips already starting to move, to fuck your face with hard, brutal thrusts.

she used your mouth like a cock sleeve, ruthlessly slamming her thick dick in and out, hitting the back of your throat with every thrust. drool leaked from the corners of your stretched lips, tears springing to your eyes as she fucked your face without mercy in the dressing room. wonyoung grinned wickedly as she felt your throat constricting around her pistoning cock, your desperate gagging and choking only spurring her on. she fucked your face with wild abandon, grunting and growling like an animal in heat.

wonyoung’s balls slapped obscenely against your chin with every violent thrust, your eyes watering and throat burning as she used your mouth ruthlessly. she showed no mercy, fucking your face with a single–minded hunger, determined to paint your insides white with her hot seed. “fuck, your throat feels so good squeezing my cock.” she panted harshly, her grip on your hair tightening as she slammed into you particularly hard. “i’m going to fill this dirty mouth with so much cum, you filthy slut. fuck, i can’t wait to make you choke on it…”

she punctuated her words with sharp snaps of her hips, each thrust pushing her closer to the edge. your jaw ached and your lungs screamed for air as she rutted into your mouth, chasing her rapidly approaching orgasm. with a strangled cry, wonyoung buried herself to the hilt in your spasming throat and erupted, flooding your mouth and belly with what felt like an endless deluge of hot, thick cum.

she held you in place, forcing you to swallow every drop as she rode out the waves of her intense climax. finally, with a shuddering gasp, she pulled out, her softening cock slipping from your abused lips with a wet pop. a strand of cum and saliva connected your mouth to her dick before breaking, dripping down your chin and onto your heaving chest.

wonyoung grinned down at you, her dark eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction and dark promise. “fuck, that was hot as hell, (y/n).” she purred, swiping a thumb through the mess on your face and pushing it past your lips for you to clean. “we are definitely doing this again. i have so many more filthy things i want to do to this sexy body of yours…”

wonyoung helped you to your feet, her hands lingering on your curves as she brushed off your jeans. she spun you around and pinned you face–first against the rough brick wall, pressing her lithe body flush against your back. her breath was hot against your ear as she leaned in close, her voice a low, seductive purr.

“you know, i’ve seen the way you look at me when you think i’m not watching.” she murmured, her hand sliding around your hip to splay across your belly possessively. “i know you want more of this, (y/n). i can give you so much more…”

her hand drifted lower, slipping beneath the hem of your shirt to caress the soft skin of your stomach. she circled your bellybutton with a teasing finger before trailing lower still, brushing against the waistband of your jeans.

“i want to spread your legs and bury my face between your thighs until you scream.” she breathed against your ear, her voice dripping with dark promise. “i want to taste your pussy until you're shaking and begging for more. until you’re addicted to the feel of my tongue fucking your greedy little cunt.”

wonyoung punctuated her filthy words with a sharp nip to your earlobe, making you gasp. her hand drifted even lower, popping the button of your jeans and slipping inside to cup your mound through your panties. she could feel the damp heat of your arousal even through the fabric.

“tell me you want it, (y/n).” she demanded breathlessly, grinding her hips against your ass. “tell me you want me to eat this pretty pussy until you're sobbing and drenching my face in your cum. beg me to fuck you with my fingers until you're shaking and seeing stars.”

her fingers pressed harder against your clothed sex, rubbing your clit in tight circles. her other hand slid up to palm your breast, kneading the soft flesh and tweaking your nipple through your shirt. “i want to ruin you for anyone else, (y/n).” she growled, her voice rough with lust and dark intent. “i want to fuck you so hard and so good that no one else will ever satisfy you again. i want to make you my personal fuck toy, always ready and eager for me to use your sexy body however i want.”

wonyoung’s fingers slipped under the hem of your panties, brushing against your slick folds. she groaned in satisfaction as she felt how wet you already were, your arousal coating her fingers. she circled your clit with a teasing touch before plunging two fingers deep inside your tight channel without warning. “fuck, you’re so wet and ready, you naughty girl.” she purred, pumping her fingers in and out of your dripping pussy. her thumb pressed hard circles against your clit, making your hips buck and your back arch.

“that’s it, grind on my fingers like the desperate little slut you are.” wonyoung growled, nibbling and sucking at your neck, no doubt leaving marks for all to see. her other hand slid under your shirt, pushing your bra up and out of the way to roughly palm your breast. she pinched and rolled your nipple between her fingers, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

“i’m going to finger fuck this greedy cunt until you're dripping and begging for my cock.” she promised darkly, her voice rough and laden with lust. “i’m going to make you cum so hard on my fingers that you forget your own name. the only thing you’ll remember is the feeling of me fucking your pussy raw.”

wonyoung curled her fingers inside you, pressing against that sensitive spot deep within your walls that made your vision go white and your knees weak. she rubbed and massaged it relentlessly as she fucked you with her hand, her thumb grinding mercilessly against your clit. she could feel your pussy clenching and fluttering around her invading fingers, your body instinctively trying to draw them deeper. wonyoung growled in approval, loving how responsive and eager you were, how your sexy little body betrayed your desire for her touch.

“fuck yes, squeeze my fingers like that.” she purred, her voice dripping with dark satisfaction. “your hungry cunt is sucking me in, begging to be filled. you need to be filled, don’t you (y/n)? filled and stretched and fucked until you can’t take anymore.”

she pumped her fingers faster, slamming them in and out of your dripping sex with wild abandon. her palm pressed hard against your clit with every thrust, the rough friction sending sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine. wonyoung could feel your arousal coating her fingers, dripping down to pool on her palm and wrist.

her other hand tugged your shirt up and over your head, tossing it carelessly to the side. she unhooked your bra with deft fingers, freeing your breasts to the cool evening air. wonyoung’s hands immediately went to your tits, kneading and squeezing the soft mounds roughly. she pinched and rolled your nipples between her fingertips, tugging on them just hard enough to make you gasp and arch into her touch.

“that’s it, let me hear you.” she demanded, her breath hot against your ear. “i want to hear all those pretty noises spilling from your lips as i play with these gorgeous tits. i want the whole fucking building to hear what a shameless slut you are for my touch.”

wonyoung’s fingers never stopped their brutal pace, pumping in and out of your clenching cunt, curling and twisting to hit that perfect spot inside you with every thrust. she could feel your body starting to tremble, your muscles tensing as your climax approached. her thumb pressed hard and fast circles against your clit, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

wonyoung could feel your body tensing, your inner muscles fluttering wildly around her pistoning fingers as your orgasm rapidly approached. she doubled her efforts, fucking you with fast, sharp thrusts of her hand, her palm slapping obscenely against your dripping sex with every push. her fingers curled just right, rubbing that perfect spot inside you that made stars explode behind your eyelids.

“that’s it, cum for me, (y/n).” wonyoung growled, her voice ragged with lust and dark satisfaction. “cum all over my fingers like the desperate little slut you are. i want to feel this greedy cunt squeezing the life out of my hand as you scream my name.”

she pinched your nipple hard, twisting it just shy of pain, sending a jolt of electric pleasure straight to your core. her thumb pressed down ruthlessly on your clit, grinding against it with fast, tight circles. your hips bucked wildly, fucking yourself back against her hand, riding her fingers with abandon.

wonyoung’s hot breath washed over the side of your neck as she licked and sucked at your sensitive skin, no doubt leaving dark marks for all to see. she wanted everyone to know that you belonged to her now, that this sexy body was her personal fuck toy to use as she pleased.

“come on baby, give it to me.” she purred, her voice a sinful temptation. “i want to feel you cumming on my fingers, drenching my hand in your juices. i want you to scream so loud that the whole fucking school hears what a dirty girl you are for me.”

she could feel your body starting to seize, your thighs trembling and your belly clenching as your climax crashed over you. wonyoung fucked you through it, her fingers pumping in time with the waves of pleasure radiating through your core. your pussy clenched and spasmed around the invading digits, trying to suck them in deeper as your release consumed you.

“that’s my good girl.” wonyoung groaned, feeling your molten heat gushing around her fingers, your arousal dripping down to pool in her palm. “fuck yes, cum for me (y/n). cum so fucking hard on my fingers. you feel so fucking good squeezing me like this.”

she could feel your pussy pulsing and fluttering wildly around her fingers as your intense orgasm ripped through you, your body shaking uncontrollably in her arms. wonyoung groaned gutturally as your scorching juices flooded her hand, your release dripping down to puddle on the ground beneath you. she worked you through it, her fingers pumping in time with your spasming walls until the last aftershock faded away.

panting harshly, wonyoung slowly withdrew her soaked fingers from your sensitive sex, bringing them to her lips to lick them clean. she made a show of savoring your tangy essence, her eyes fluttering shut in bliss. “fuck, you taste even better than i imagined.” she purred, her voice low and dripping with dark promise. “i could get addicted to the taste of your cum, (y/n)."

she spun you around to face her, one hand gripping your hip possessively while the other cupped your chin, tilting your face up to meet her intense gaze. her thumb brushed over your kiss-swollen lips, smearing the remnants of your arousal across them. “you’re mine now, you know that?” she declared, her voice rough and filled with a primal hunger. “I’m going to fuck this sexy body whenever and however i want. and you’re going to be a good girl and take it like the eager little slut you are, isn’t that right?”

she crashed her lips against yours in a brutal, dominating kiss, plunging her tongue into your mouth to claim and conquer. she kissed you like she owned you, like your lips belonged to her and only her. when she finally pulled away, you were both left panting and wanting, your lips red and raw from her fervent attention.

she chuckled darkly, her hand sliding down to possessively cup your ass, squeezing the firm globe. “mhm, you want me to breed this tight little cunt, huh?” she purred, her voice dripping with sinful promise. “you want to feel my hot cum flooding your womb, filling you up until your belly is swollen with my seed?”

she spun you back around and bent you over the arm of a nearby arm couch, hiking your hips up and exposing your dripping sex to the cool evening air. wonyoung dropped to her knees behind you, her hands gripping your ass cheeks and spreading them wide. she leaned in close, her breath hot against your slick folds as she spoke.

“i’m going to ruin this perfect pussy.” she growled, her voice rough with lust and dark intent. “i’m going to fuck you so hard and so deep that you'll be feeling me for days. i’ll pump you so full of my cum that it takes, that my seed takes root in your fertile little womb.”

wonyoung licked a slow, teasing stripe up your slit, her tongue delving between your folds to taste your arousal. she groaned in satisfaction at the flavor, her eyes fluttering shut as she savored your essence. “fuck, you taste divine.” she purred, before sealing her lips around your clit and sucking hard.

wonyoung’s hands gripped your hips tighter as she pulled you back against her mouth, grinding your dripping cunt against her face. she licked and sucked at your sensitive flesh, her tongue delving deep to taste your essence directly from the source. she could feel your body trembling, your hips rocking instinctively against her mouth as she pleasured you.

“that’s it, grind this pretty pussy on my face.” wonyoung growled, the vibrations of her voice sending shockwaves through your core. “ride my tongue like the desperate little breeding slut you are. i want to feel you cumming all over me as i eat this hungry cunt.”

she sealed her lips around your clit and sucked hard, flicking the sensitive bud with the tip of her tongue. at the same time, she plunged two fingers deep into your dripping channel, pumping them in and out in time with the lashes of her tongue. she could feel your walls clenching and fluttering around the invading digits, your body eagerly sucking them in deeper.

“fuck, i can’t wait to fill this tight little fuckhole with my thick, hot cum.” wonyoung panted against your sex, her fingers never stopping their relentless pace. “i’m going to pump you so full that it gushes out of you, that you’re dripping with it for hours. i want everyone to see the evidence of me breeding this perfect pussy, marking you as my personal fuck toy.”

she could feel your climax rapidly approaching, your body tensing and your breath coming in sharp, desperate gasps. wonyoung doubled her efforts, fucking you with wild abandon, determined to make you cum harder than you ever had before. she wanted to ruin you for anyone else, to make it so that no one could ever satisfy you like she could.

“come on baby, give me that cum.” she demanded, her voice ragged with lust and dark hunger. “i want to feel this greedy cunt squeezing the life out of my fingers as you scream my name. i want the whole fucking world to hear you claiming me as the only one who can make you feel this good.”

she could feel your pussy starting to spasm and clench, your release barreling down on you like a freight train. wonyoung groaned against your sex, the sound sending delicious vibrations through your core. she pressed her thumb down hard on your clit, rubbing tight circles against your throbbing clit as she slammed her fingers in and out of your gripping sex. she could feel your release surging through you, your pussy clamping down on her invading digits like a vice as you screamed her name to the heavens.

“yes, that’s it! cum for me, (y/n), cum so fucking hard on my fingers!” wonyoung growled, her voice muffled against your spasming sex. she licked and sucked your clit mercilessly, pushing you through your intense orgasm with the skillful flicks of her tongue. your arousal gushed out around her fingers, dripping down to puddle on the ground as your body shook and jerked with the force of your climax.

as the last waves of your release ebbed, wonyoung slowly withdrew her soaked fingers from your fluttering sex. she brought them to her lips, making a show of licking them clean as she gazed up at you with a wicked, satisfied grin. “delicious.” she purred, savoring the taste of your essence. “i could get addicted to the flavor of your cum, (y/n). i think i’ll be eating this pretty pussy every fucking day until you’re swollen with my baby.”

“just breed me already.” you whimpered pathetically, words coming out of your mouth that surprised even yourself.

wonyoung stood up, a dark chuckle rumbling from her chest at your desperate plea. she quickly shed her remaining clothes, revealing her soft, feminine body — all lean muscle and smooth, caramel skin. her cock was already hard and throbbing, the thick shaft jutting out from a perfectly trimmed patch of dark curls at the apex of her thighs. she stroked herself slowly as she moved to stand behind you, the swollen head of her dick catching on the curve of your ass cheek.

“fuck, i’ve never wanted to breed a cunt so badly," wonyoung growled, her voice low and dripping with primal hunger. she gripped your hips hard enough to leave bruises as she notched the tip of her cock against your dripping entrance. “i’m going to ruin this perfect little fuckhole, (y/n). i’m going to stretch it out and fill it up until you're overflowing with my seed.”

with one brutal thrust, wonyoung buried herself balls–deep inside you, her thick cock splitting you open and driving the air from your lungs. she didn’t give you any time to adjust, immediately starting to fuck into you with hard, deep strokes that rocked your whole body. the bench creaked and groaned beneath you with the force of her thrusts, the metal biting into your skin.

“fuck, you’re so goddamn tight.” wonyoung snarled, her hips slapping lewdly against your ass with every push. “this cunt was made for my cock, like it was molded to fit me perfectly. i’m going to fucking wreck you, (y/n).”

she gripped your hair, twisting it around her fist and using it as a handle to yank your head back as she pounded into you from behind. her other hand drifted around to your front, finding your swollen clit and rubbing it in tight, fast circles. she could feel your pussy clenching and fluttering around her pistoning cock, trying desperately to draw her in deeper.

“that’s it, fucking squeeze my dick.” wonyoung growled, her breath hot against your ear. “milk it with this hungry little cunt. i want to feel you squeezing every last drop of cum from my balls as I breed this perfect pussy.”

she could feel her climax approaching, her thrusts growing erratic and her grip on your hair tightening. she could feel her cock throbbing and pulsing inside you, growing even harder as she fucked you with wild abandon. wonyoung’a hips snapped forward with a final, brutal thrust, burying herself to the hilt inside your spasming sex. she threw her head back with a guttural moan as her orgasm crashed over her, her hot seed erupting from the tip of her cock to paint your insides white.

“fuck, take it all!” wonyoung roared, her fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips hard enough to leave livid bruises behind. she ground her pelvis against your ass, pushing her cock in as deep as it could go as she filled you with spurt after spurt of her thick, virile cum. she could feel it flooding your womb, your belly starting to swell slightly from the sheer volume of her release.

“yes, fuck yes, i’m breeding this cunt.” she gasped out, her voice raw and ragged with pleasure. “i’m pumping you so fucking full, (y/n). gonna make this belly big and round with my baby. you’re mine now, all mine to fuck and breed whenever i want.”

wonyoung collapsed against your back, both of you panting and trembling in the aftermath of your intense coupling. her softening cock stayed nestled inside your cum–filled sex as she rolled your hips, stirring her seed deeper into your womb. she nuzzled under your jaw, pressing sloppy kisses to your neck and shoulder as she murmured filthy promises into your ear.

“gonna fuck you every goddamn day, (y/n). gonna keep this pussy full and dripping with my cum. gonna make you my personal breeding bitch, always ready and eager for me to fill you up again. you’re fucking mine now.”

#wonyoung #wonyoung x fem reader #wonyoung x reader #wonyoung smut #g!p wonyoung #jang wonyoung #jang wonyoung x fem reader #jang wonyoung x reader #jang wonyoung smut #g!p jang wonyoung #ive #ive x fem reader #ive x reader #ive smut #g!p ive

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gohyemi · 2 months ago

Text

Our Imperfect Forever K.M.G

"Shit..." she muttered, rubbing her temples as a wave of nausea rolled over her. She wasn’t sure when everything had spiraled so far out of control — but she knew exactly where it started.

It had been a blurry night, a mess of laughter and too many drinks. One guy — someone she had trusted — had helped her when she stumbled out of the bar, and somehow, they ended up in a hotel room together. She remembered waking up tangled in sheets, both of them naked, her heart pounding with a mixture of shock and regret.

Panicking, she had snuck out before he could wake, silently vowing never to see him again, even if it meant cutting off the friendship they had built over the years. She was determined to bury the memory and move on, pretending it had never happened.

But now, staring down at the two pink lines on the test, her hands trembling, she felt like the ground had been ripped out from under her. The room spun. Her promises crumbled into dust. How could she walk away from this? How could she face him — or herself?

"Dude, that phone’s not going anywhere. Why are you staring at it like it’s about to explode?" Minghao pointed out, raising an eyebrow.

Mingyu barely heard him, his teeth worrying at his nails — a nervous habit he hadn’t been able to shake. It had been four weeks since she last contacted him. Four painfully long weeks. Even though they worked in the same building, she somehow managed to avoid him like a ghost, slipping away before he could get close.

Was it because of that night?

His stomach twisted at the memory. He had to admit it — he lost control. She had looked so beautiful, so heartbreakingly seductive that night. Even though a dozen voices in his head screamed at him to stop, to think, to not cross that line... his body had betrayed him before his mind could catch up.

When he woke up to an empty bed, the cold sheets beside him, guilt crashed down on him like a tidal wave. He knew — he knew — she must be furious with him. Maybe even disgusted.

But how was he supposed to apologize when she kept disappearing every time he tried to approach her?

Mingyu stared down at his phone again, desperate for a message, a sign, anything from her. His chest ached with things he wished he could undo, and even more with things he wished he could say.

"Y/N, please!" Mingyu reached out, trying to grab her arm, but she moved faster, slipping out of his reach.

She was overwhelmed — more stressed than she had ever been in her life. Maybe it was the weight of everything happening at once... or maybe it was because of the little bean growing inside her.

A month had already passed, and Mingyu was at his breaking point. His performance was slipping, his mind constantly preoccupied. The members started to worry.

And the news he had just heard only fueled his frustration.

— A few hours earlier —

"Why were you in the meeting room, hyung?" Mingyu asked, frowning as he caught Seungcheol coming out.

Seungcheol glanced left and right, making sure no one was around to overhear their conversation. His expression was serious, almost hesitant, before he finally leaned in closer and lowered his voice.

"She’s going on hiatus... and honestly, I think it has something to do with you, Mingyu ah" Seungcheol said, his tone heavy with meaning.

Seungcheol was the only one Mingyu had confided in about what happened that night. When he first found out, Mingyu had gotten an earful — and nearly a punch — from his leader. The anger had been explosive, but eventually, it simmered down into a heavy, tense silence between them. They didn’t talk about it again after that... but the damage was already done.

-back to present-

"What, did I not make it obvious enough? Mingyu-ssi, are you dumb, or should I draw it out for you?" she snapped, her voice sharper than she intended.

Ouch. The words hit Mingyu right in the chest, like a punch he hadn’t been ready for. But he didn’t back down — not this time. He was determined to settle this once and for all.

Noticing the curious whispers and glances from people gathering around them, Mingyu cursed under his breath. Without thinking twice, he grabbed her arm firmly but carefully, pulling her away from the growing crowd.

"Let go of me—!" she protested, but he didn’t listen.

He dragged her down the hallway, weaving through corridors until they reached her studio room — a quiet, tucked-away space where no prying eyes or ears could reach them. He pushed the passcode and entered, pulling her in. The door closed behind them, the soft click of the lock echoing loudly in the thick silence between them.

Breathing heavily, Mingyu finally turned to face her, his eyes filled with a storm of emotions. "We’re not leaving this room until you tell me everything," he said, voice low but trembling with urgency.

Y/N crossed her arms tightly over her chest, glaring at him with a mixture of anger and fear. "There’s nothing to talk about, Mingyu. Just let me go," she said, her voice cold, but her hands betrayed her — she clenched her trembling hand slightly at her sides.

Mingyu stepped closer, his tall frame blocking her way. "Nothing to talk about?!" he growled, frustration finally bubbling over. “You suddenly want to announce your hiatus, avoiding me for a month, and you call that nothing?"

She scoffed, looking away. "It’s none of your business."

"It is my business!" he snapped back. "You think I can just forget what happened that night? You think I can just pretend you don’t exist?!"

Her jaw clenched as she stared at the floor, refusing to meet his eyes.

Mingyu ran a hand through his hair, pacing back and forth like a man on the edge. "God, Y/N... I know I fucked up. I know you hate me. But don’t you think I—" His voice broke, and he took a shaky breath. "Why are you avoiding me? It’s killing me. Do something... say something instead of punishing me with this silence."

The room buzzed with thick, suffocating tension. The air between them was heavy — weighed down by everything they never said, everything they couldn’t take back.

"You’re unbelievable," Y/N hissed, shoving at his chest when he tried to block her path again.

Mingyu caught her wrists — not harshly, but firmly enough to keep her from running. His voice was low and desperate. "Stop running away, damn it! Just say it!"

She laughed bitterly, the sound sharp and painful. "What do you want to hear, huh?! That you broke my trust? That you almost ruined my life?!" Her voice cracked as she struggled against him. "Because you did, Mingyu. And now... here I am, fixing everything alone."

Mingyu's grip on her wrists loosened just slightly, his anger faltering as the weight of her words hit him like a punch. His heart twisted in his chest, the guilt flooding in.

"I didn't— I never meant to hurt you, Y/N," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "I swear to you, I didn’t—"

"Then why did you?" she interrupted, her eyes filled with tears that she could no longer hold back. "Why did you let it happen?!" Her chest heaved as she tried to steady herself, but the tears came anyway.

She pulled her wrists free from his hold, taking a shaky step back. Her voice cracked, raw with emotion. "I’m pregnant, Mingyu. I’m pregnant, and I’m terrified."

The words hung in the air between them, thick with a truth neither of them had been ready to face. Mingyu froze, his body stiffening as he processed what she had just said. His mind raced, but the only thing that made sense was the overwhelming feeling of both fear and urgency flooding through him.

"You’re... you’re what?" His voice was barely a whisper, the shock and disbelief obvious in his eyes.

"I didn’t want to tell you," she said quickly, her voice a mix of anger and vulnerability. "I didn’t want you to have to deal with it. I didn’t want to make you feel like you had to be responsible for me. But I’m scared, Mingyu. I can’t do this by myself if you keep approaching me,”

Mingyu’s mind was a blur, his emotions a whirlwind of confusion, guilt, and panic. He opened his mouth, but the words stuck in his throat, as if the weight of everything he had done stood between them like a wall.

Seeing his reaction — the stunned, broken look on his face — Y/N felt her knees buckle beneath her. She stumbled to the couch and collapsed onto it, her body trembling. Burying her face in her hands, she broke down completely, the sobs tearing out of her like a wound that refused to close.

"Just go, Mingyu..." she whispered hoarsely through her cries. "Please... I forgive you. I don’t want to ruin your life... your career. Let me carry this burden alone." She struggled to catch her breath, every word slicing her open. "Let’s just pretend none of this happened... pretend that night never existed."

Her voice cracked on the last word, and for the first time, she sounded utterly defeated — like she had already decided to carry the pain alone, even if it destroyed her.

Mingyu snapped out of his daze the moment her broken words sank in. Without thinking, he dropped to his knees in front of her. Hugging her felt wrong — like she might break if he squeezed too tightly — so instead, he gently rubbed her knees, grounding her, trying to say with his touch what his mouth struggled to form: I’m here. I’m not leaving.

"Y/N-ah..." he whispered, his voice trembling. He didn’t even know what to say. How could he?

He had a child. Inside her. Their child.

The realization slammed into him — terrifying, overwhelming — but even through the panic swirling in his mind, he knew one thing with certainty: She was carrying this weight alone, and he had been too blind to see it sooner.

Yes, he had always dreamed of having a family someday... but he never imagined it would happen like this, so sudden, so chaotic. And yet, looking at her — broken, trembling, trying to carry it all by herself — he realized none of that mattered. The fear, the shock, the uncertainty... he could figure it out. They could figure it out. Together.

Mingyu kissed her knees and rested his forehead lightly against them, squeezing them gently, his voice low and filled with emotion. "You’re not alone anymore, Y/N. I’m sorry I made you feel like you had to do this by yourself." He looked up at her, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "I’ll learn... everything. I’ll do whatever it takes. Just... please don’t shut me out."

For the first time since that night, Mingyu didn’t feel scared of the future — he was scared of losing her.

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut, her heart breaking all over again at his words. She wanted so badly to believe him, to trust that he meant it. But the fear wrapped around her like chains, heavy and unrelenting.

"You say that now..." she whispered bitterly, her hands gripping the fabric of her pants tightly. "But what about later, Mingyu? When does everything get harder? When do people start talking? When it’s not just the two of us hiding in this room?" Her voice cracked, so fragile it almost didn’t sound like her.

Mingyu’s hands tightened slightly on her knees, his face full of raw, aching sincerity. "Then we’ll fight through it. Together," he said firmly. "I don’t care what people say. I don't care how hard it gets. You and our baby are more important than anything else. You hear me?"

Y/N shook her head, tears slipping down her cheeks faster now. "I’m scared, Mingyu..." she confessed in a broken whisper. "I’m scared you’ll leave... that you’ll wake up one day and realise you didn’t want any of this."

Mingyu moved closer, his hands sliding up to gently take hers, prying them from the death grip she had on herself. He brought her knuckles to his lips, pressing a soft, trembling kiss against them.

"I already chose you, Y/N. The moment I realized what you mean to me — I chose you. And I’m choosing you again right now, and every day after this," he said, voice shaking but firm. "I’m not going anywhere. I swear to you."

For a long moment, Y/N just stared at him, searching his face for any sign of a lie, any crack in his resolve. But all she found was desperation. Honesty. Fear... but also love.

Slowly, almost cautiously, she let out a shuddering breath and slid down from the couch into his arms. Mingyu caught her instantly, holding her like she was something fragile and precious, burying his face in her shoulder.

They stayed like that — broken, terrified, but not alone anymore — as the weight between them finally began to lift.

— A few years later —

"Guys, please don't feed them anything weird, okay?" Mingyu called out, eyeing his members warily as they gleefully carried his twins deeper into the practice room.

Hoshi and Seungkwan were already chasing after his son, their laughter echoing through the room, while his daughter had made herself comfortable on Joshua’s lap, sweetly demanding Woozi to sing her a song.

Mingyu let out a long sigh, slumping his shoulders in defeat.

“Wow, and I'm suddenly not their most important person...?" he muttered under his breath.

He and Y/N had come so far — from the terrifying, uncertain days of her pregnancy to watching their twins grow up happy and healthy. It hadn’t been easy.

The hate, the cyberbullying, the harassment — it had all come crashing down on them like a storm they weren’t ready for. But through it all, they faced it together, hand in hand, weathering every insult, every sleepless night, every moment of doubt.

The road had been messy, painful, and full of detours — but somehow, they made it. Stronger. Braver. Unbreakable.

Mingyu smiled softly to himself, watching the chaotic, beautiful scene before him. This was proof he hadn’t failed — this laughter, this love, this little family they had built from pieces by pieces.

He wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

As Mingyu watched the chaos unfold, the practice room door creaked open quietly.

He turned — and there she was.

Y/N stood at the entrance, her hair pulled back casually, a warm smile playing on her lips as she watched their twins terrorising Seventeen. She looked tired — he could always tell — but there was a glow about her that never faded, not in his eyes. The kind of glow that only love, strength, and years of surviving storms could create.

Mingyu’s heart squeezed painfully in his chest. Even after all these years, even after everything they had endured, she still took his breath away.

Without thinking, he walked toward her, weaving through the chaos of his laughing members and squealing kids.

When he reached her, he didn’t say a word — just pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly like he never wanted to let go.

Y/N chuckled softly, resting her cheek against his chest. "They're causing trouble again, aren’t they?"

Mingyu laughed, the sound low and full of adoration. "They’re ours. Of course they are."

He pulled back just enough to look at her, brushing a stray hair from her face. "I hope you know... I still choose you," he murmured against her forehead. "Every day. Every moment."

Y/N smiled up at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears — but this time, they were happy ones. "And I still feel thankful to you for that, love. Thank you for beeing with me and do more than this”, she whispered back.

Their twins' laughter filled the room once again, and for a moment, everything else faded away — the hardships, the battles, the past.

All that was left was this. Love. Family. Home.

Suddenly, a loud wail echoed through the room.

Their son had burst into tears out of nowhere, startling both Mingyu and Y/N.

"Mingyu-ah!!" Dokyeom shouted in panic, waving frantically as he tried — and failed — to calm the crying boy.

Y/N couldn't help but laugh, quickly grabbing Mingyu’s hand. "Let’s go. Fast. They said they wanted to babysit, right?" she whispered mischievously.

Without waiting for another second, they both slipped out of the practice room, muffling their laughter as the chaos behind them grew louder.

In that small, stolen moment, laughter and love, it didn’t matter that they were parents now, or that the world sometimes felt too heavy. They were still them. Still, the two messy, stubborn, heart-first people who had chosen each other once upon a time. And they would keep choosing each other, again and again.

Always.

#seventeen fluff #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #svt imagines #seventeen imagines #mingyu x reader #mingyu fluff #mingyu angst #mingyu smut #kim mingyu angst #jeonghan #seventeen angst #kim mingyu x reader #kim mingyu imagines #svt angst #svt fluff #seventeen fanfic #seventeen scenarios

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spartev · 2 months ago

Text

Practice - Giselle x reader

SYNOPSIS: AESPA's dance practice becomes more interesting when Y/N shows up seeking forgiveness from her angry girlfriend.

CONTENT WARNING: smut, face ride, more?

A/N: Babes what can I say? I'm just a little obsessed with hot bad girls. Hope you like It :)

It was a tense moment. After months of waiting, the group's return was announced. Now the days were busy, filled with incessant training and endless practices.

They would leave at eight in the morning and return to the dormitory around midnight. It's a tough routine. If you don't have the necessary preparation, physical and mental strength to face the stress and pressure, you'll collapse.

The company hallway was silent, unlike the various practice rooms scattered around the floor. Like a good girlfriend, you went to visit Giselle and her friends.

Upon entering the AESPA training room, the view was of the girls practicing the choreography for the main song for what seemed like the hundredth time. The room was filled with the sound of uneven breathing and sighs of deep exhaustion.

The sound team and choreographers on the side, watching and evaluating the group performing the choreography. The main choreographer's assistant, Yeeun, sees you, waving her hand at you to come closer.

"Hey Y/N, it's been a while since we've seen you around here." The main choreography, Hyejo, says as she approaches.

"Yeah, classes have been getting a little more intense lately so I haven't had much time to come." You say lightly as you place the snacks you brought on the table in the corner.

"Y/N!!" Ningning ran to you as soon as she saw you, the sound of her voice attracted the eyes of the team and members. You turned to her as she threw herself into your arms, making you laugh.

She whimpers into your shoulder as she holds you tightly in her delicate arms. You look around at the girls, receiving gentle glances and small smiles, until you make eye contact with your girlfriend, without receiving the expression you expected.

Karina and Winter breathe heavily as they walk over to greet you. Yizhuo tightens her hold around you, refusing to let go when the girls tap her shoulder for her to let go.

"Yah Ning, we want to talk to her too." Jimin mumbles playfully, smiling at the younger girl's affection.

"Yeah, at this rate we'll have to take you away from her by force." Minjeong threatens lightly and you laugh at the way the Chinese girl quickly loosens her arms, sneaking to your side.

"We're finally seeing you, hm?" Your arms wrap around the pale girl gently.

"I missed you too, Minjeong-ssi." You smile at her, going to hug the group leader.

"I thought you abandoned us." Karina pouts her lips as she throws her arms around your neck.

"You're so dramatic, is it because of the music?" You joke as you turn to look at Giselle watching from afar while sipping some water from the bottle.

"I brought you some snacks, there's coffee too." You say, as the girls nod in thanks.

"Just to let you know... She's not in such a good mood right now." Jimin says, following the younger girls as they head towards the snacks.

"Thanks for letting me know." You give her a half smile, taking a deep breath as you turn to walk over to Giselle.

You walk over to Giselle, slowly, as if testing the waters. She's sitting on a couch in the corner of the room with a bottle of water in her hand, her gaze never returning to you, she keeps it on the floor as if her mind is elsewhere.

"Babe?" You call as you approach. She takes a moment to look at you. In a cold way that you think maybe it would be better if she stared at the ground.

She just raises her eyebrows, waving for you to continue.

You sigh, tired of this bad atmosphere between you.

"Babe, please..." you beg, your eyebrows furrowed as you crouch down next to her, staring into her eyes.

"What do you want?" She asks seriously, now enjoying the way you look down at her with puppy dog eyes, so sorry for having misbehaved.

"I'm sorry, I... You know I didn't mean to upset you." Your hands travel to her knees, lightly steadying them, Aeri looks down at your hands and quickly looks back up.

"Yes, I understand." She says it so formally that it makes you shiver in your boots.

"Tell me, what do I need to do to make you forgive me?" Your hands move a few inches up her legs. You watch her chest rise from her deep breath, and your fingertips taste her warmer skin

Her eyes stay on yours for a few seconds, you can feel the energy radiating from her gaze, her pupils dilating in the soft brown of her corneas.

She was analyzing, analyzing the situation, analyzing you and, above all, whether you deserved to be able to prove that you were sorry.

That look that exudes your thousands of thoughts per second, that makes you feel small and vulnerable, exposed.

It's mesmerizing to watch her, her eyes roaming your face. Admiring her silky hair and the way its hue reflects off the glow of her skin. So fucking perfectly gorgeous, standing over you, watching your soul writhe in your body.

"Ask Hyejo for a break." Her voice sounds low in a clear tone of command as her head tilts in defiance.

"Aeri, I..." You try to dodge, hesitant to follow the older woman's orders. "Yeah, sure." You confirm with a sigh, standing up in readiness. Turning to find the team having their few minutes of rest as they chat and eat some of the food you brought.

"Hm... Unnie." You call out to her discreetly as soon as you get close enough. Your hand is on the sleeve of her shirt as you try to drag her to the closest and most private corner.

"Unnie... Aeri told me they've been practicing for a few hours... With few breaks." You swallow hard, feeling a little nauseous at the following request.

I wanted to ask this for them. Wouldn't there be a few minutes for them to recharge their batteries? Sorry, unnie, but you know how tiring it is, right?" You look at her reluctantly, your fingers now playing with each other under the choreographer's gaze.

"Oh... Yeah, yeah. Sure, Y/N, we can give you a few minutes, yes." She smiles at you before turning to the team and announcing thirty minutes of rest before resuming.

Sighs of relief and a few high-pitched squeals of excitement were heard as the voices faded away and you saw the team and the girls in the group leave the room.

"Unnie, are you guys going to stay here?" Minjeong asks Aeri before leaving.

"Yes, I'll wait here, don't worry, Y/N will stay with me." She gives Winter a calm smile, she waves at you before leaving, closing the door.

You immediately feel her gaze on you as soon as the door closes. As if magnetic, your gaze meets hers, your breathing automatically quickening and your chest warming with anticipation.

"Come here." She says, waving her finger at you. "Do you understand what you did?" Her voice sounds like a whisper, so soft. All she gets in return is the shake of your head, confirming her question.

"Kneel." Her command cuts through the air to your ears like a melody, bringing you to your knees easily. You don't look at her face, fixing your gaze on her crossed legs, your kneeling body almost the same height as her sitting one.

Your eyes close as you feel her soft hands contrasting with the sharp nails running through your hair. She tilts your head back, lifting your face to look at her, her eyes closed as she tries to control her hands for herself.

One of her hands keeps running through your hair and the other one touches your face.

"Do you want this?" She asks so close you can feel her cool, warm breath fanning against your face. "Do you want redemption?"

"Yes. Yes, please." You said quickly, almost stumbling over your words as easy as they were. You could feel the heat spreading from your face to your belly and you were sure of the redness of your own body.

Her nails ran over your skin, tracing the path of your face and neck, sending shivers down your spine wherever you went. She stood over you, making her figure more imposing, now not only because of the intense features of her face, but also because of the feeling of magnitude in relation to you.

God, she loved seeing you from above. Your eyes half closed in a tearful expression with teardrops blurring your vision. Your reddened chest rising and falling quickly and your tongue wetting your lips dry with desire. She loves seeing her little girl ready for her, so desperate to prove that she deserves your forgiveness, desperate to feel her.

She unbuttons the button on her jeans, looking at you in silence. Watching you gasp as she lets the view of your lingerie out. Of course, Giselle is the kind of woman who always walks around in the sexiest lingerie she has, regardless of the occasion.

God, she pulls her own shirt up her torso, revealing more and more of her skin. Exposing the voluminous mounds covered by a lacy bra that left little to the imagination. So fucking sexy, making your mouth water as she removes her shirt completely, running her fingers through her strands to adjust them.

"Touch." A sigh escapes you at the order. Your hands tighten in on themselves to finally follow the desired path, your warm palm feeling the lacy fabric of the hem at your hips, rising towards the soft skin of your abdomen.

Your hands move towards her waist, caressing her ribs and finally resting on the clasp of her beautiful bra. Your eyes go to hers, noticing her rosy face and her heavy breathing, silently asking for permission and silently receiving her approval.

Your fingers open it with practiced ease, slowly removing the garment and revealing inch by inch of the most beautiful breasts you have ever seen. Your breath catches and you feel your body shiver slightly with the desire to touch and feel their texture, heat and taste.

Your eyes return to hers and it's your turn to notice the desire in her gaze. Your fingertips brush the surrounding skin, sending shivers down her spine as if electricity were running through her veins. When your fingers finally reach the tips of her breasts, she arches toward you with a longing moan, and you feel your belly tighten in response.

Her hand angled towards the back of your neck, gently pulling your face towards her breasts.

"Hmmm..." You could hear as soon as you slid your tongue into the most sensitive and soft part. The pink of your lips became more present as they received the grip of your teeth, refusing to let out the sounds of satisfaction, you still don't deserve it.

Your eyes watch her face contort and her neck shows as she throws her head back at the small nibble on her beak.

Her nails dug into her hair, forcing her mouth inside her. Her breasts began to ache from the force of her tongue pressing and sucking, and the bites leaving light teeth marks.

"Down, down there." She whispers, her barely contained tone showing her eagerness. Your mouth obeys quickly, you don't even have to think when your mouth is on her, she commands and you obey, she has trained you so well.

Her hands force your head, pressing her body into your mouth with each kiss and swipe of your tongue that you leave along her abdomen until you reach her groin.

Your mind clouded by the perfume she exudes, and fuck, the color of her skin in contrast with her panties.

You barely blink before she reaches down and removes the fabric covering her. And you can tell, she looks even more beautiful like this, on top of you, her eyes vibrating with anger, her pussy shining in front of your eyes and her hands pulling you towards her.

You take a deep breath before sinking your lips into her, feeling the pressure of her nails on the back of your neck increase.

"Oh." She moans so subtly, controlling herself, trying to remember why she can't just moan your name so loudly that the whole company knows who you are. "Fuck..."

Your tongue dips between her lips, collecting your delicious taste. Your lips close around her clit, which results in her hips grinding even harder into your face. She wants to melt into you, wants to ride you so hard that your scent won’t leave your face for days, and fuck, knowing that you crave it as much as she does makes her dizzy.

She can't hold back, her hips roll masterfully, rubbing her pussy against your open mouth, ready to feel it, releasing a moan louder than the others.

"Y/N!" She utters tearfully as your tongue comes down to rub her entrance, pressing the tip inside her.

With your eyes closed, you enjoy the deep sounds she makes as she drags her pussy slowly and hard across your face.

You could taste her everywhere, your face wet with her juices, feeding your lust. Your hands wandered to her ass, feeling the rounded shape fill your entire hand, pulling it towards your face, squeezing and feeling the skin heat up.

"Fuck, you like that, don't you?" She lets out harshly between her own moans. Feeling you nod, coinciding with the movements of her tongue. "Love feeling mommy's pussy on your pretty face, hm?" She whispers in a melodious voice as her legs tremble slightly.

"Yes, yes." You confirm in the brief moments that your mouth isn't full of her pussy. Fuck, she fucks you so good, her clit scraping against your teeth every time she pulls away, the tip of your nose pressing against it as her hips move back with speed.

"Ah..." She moans louder at the way you seek to taste her.

"Mommy, please cum for me. Please let me feel it." You gasp, your words blurring together as she intrudes on your mouth. The wet sounds of your face touching her crotch, of her restrained moans and breathless sighs, fill the room.

"My slut, hm... You want mommy's pussy so bad." She says throwing her head back and her pussy in your mouth, pressing your face in the same place so she can fuck you well.

"Ah... Ah..." She repeats as her legs tremble. Her groin clenches in pleasure as her cum drips from her entrance straight to your lips.

Your head could hurt from the force she puts into your hair, pulling like there's no tomorrow, but your mind is so focused on the way she rubs herself making sure you get every drop of what she has to give.

"Hmm..." Your tongue invades her seeking more of her cum, letting out grunts because of the delicious taste that blooms on your face.

“Oh, Y/N!” Your ears burn from the force her legs exert on the sides of your head. Your hands drag from her ass to her thighs, trying to spread them to continue working her pussy, but her hands hold you back. “Ughh.” She grunts and exclaims desperately when your tongue reaches her clit, flicking over it.

Her body writhes on top of you, your hands pinning her legs to keep her upright as your hands work to spread her open. Your steady, steady movements make her eyes roll back in her head, a moan ripping from her throat as she feels the heat rise once more.

"Please." You whimper, muffled by her intimacy.

She rides your face seeking satisfaction, moving her hips inconsistently and eagerly. You see her sob with her abdomen contracting due to pleasure, her flavor floods your mouth again, blessing you with the taste of her pleasure. She drags her pussy on your face for a few seconds, quickly pulling away, unable to bear any more touch.

Her breasts rise and fall quickly, following her uneven breathing, her hands brushing away the strands of hair stuck to her forehead as she gasps. She approaches again to run her thumb over your lips, feeling her own wetness.

"Such a good girl for mommy." Spreading kisses all over your face, you receive them with your eyes closed, enjoying her approval with a smile.

"Did you like it?" The question comes out so innocent that she almost forgets how you were eating her pussy so fiercely.

"You did well... Very well." There's nothing better than pleasing your mommy and still having her taste flooding your senses.

You stand up, feeling your legs tingle slightly. Helping to pick up Aeri's clothes so she can get dressed as quickly as possible. You help her by pulling her panties up her beautiful legs, buttoning her jeans and trying to fix the messy, wet threads.

Her smile is inevitable when she looks back at you. Her eyes now transmitting the warmth of her love for you. She couldn't be more beautiful, more delicious.

You walk over to kiss her, enveloping her mouth with yours, she moans feeling her pronounced taste. Your hands roam over her back, bringing her body to yours.

"You didn't even touched yourself, it seems like you really regretted it." She says smiling as she moves away a few inches to look at you.

"Yeah, and I almost exploded because of that, I hope you forgave me." You pout sadly, feeling your wet panties sticking to your pussy.

"Yes, you know you did wrong, but you made amends, so you're forgiven. We're good." Your noses touch. "I think you should wash your face." You share a playful laugh.

"You should comb your hair then." You blurt out to tease her.

"I assure you that you are not better." She laughs, grabbing you by the hand and taking you to the bathroom in the dance room. You arrange yourselves as much as you can so that your actions are not noticed.

As soon as you leave the bathroom still holding hands, the door to the room opens revealing Minjeong.

"Ah, so you guys stayed right here." She said, approaching with the other women behind her.

"Yeah, were you busy?" Jimin asks with an amused smile, noticing the wrinkles in Aeri's clothes.

"Talking." You reply.

"Practicing." She answers at the same time. You stare at each other for a few seconds before answering again.

"Practicing." You reply.

"Talking." She answers over the top, drawing a long laugh from Jimin and Minjeong.

"I think I got lost.” It was Yizhuo’s turn to speak, which only made them laugh even more.

"Well... She was practicing, I was talking." You explain, trying to escape this awkward situation.

"Yeah, good conversation, huh?" Aeri asks with a smile, putting her arm around her shoulders.

"Yeah, nice moves." You comment, laughing lightly with the girls, giving each other knowing smiles.

"Seriously, I don't think I understand yet." Ningning said, scratching her head.

"Oh Ning..." You laugh, hugging her. "Let's get you some candy, hm?" She cheers, jumping as she walks with you by her side.

You turn to look at your girlfriend, receiving a flying kiss, catching it and bringing it to your heart, smiling at her.

#Aeri #aeri uchinaga #giselle #f!reader #Aeri x reader #Giselle x reader #aespa #aespa giselle #aespa aeri #karina #ningning #winter

367 notes · View notes

saymonsays · 1 month ago

Text

Unreleased track and Secret Sessions

pairing: idol!jiyong x idol!reader

wordcount: 9k

‎2012

‎

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

‎

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

‎

‎That’s what they thought, anyway.

‎

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

‎

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

‎

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

‎

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

‎

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

‎

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

‎

‎That made Jiyong pause.

‎

‎Chills?

‎

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

‎

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

‎

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

‎

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

‎

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

‎

‎to: Y/N

‎from: G-DRAGON

‎subject: collab?

‎

‎A week later — YG Studio A, 2012

‎

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

‎

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

‎

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

‎

‎He looked up as you stepped in.

‎

‎And smiled.

‎

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

‎

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

‎

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

‎

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

‎

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

‎

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

‎

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

‎

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

‎

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

‎

‎That was the beginning.

‎

‎Not of the album.

‎

‎Of the collaboration.

‎

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

‎

‎Of the thing no one else knew.

‎

‎Of the thing that would one day haunt Track Seventeen.

‎

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

‎

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

‎

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

‎

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

‎

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

‎

‎“I think I like you.”

‎

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

‎

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

‎

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

‎

‎No cameras. No stylists. No producers.

‎

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

‎

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

‎

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

‎

‎Flashback: Summer 2014 — Somewhere in Europe

‎

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

‎

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

‎

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

‎

‎You kissed him before he could finish the chorus.

‎

‎Flashback: 2016 — Right Before the Breakup

‎

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

‎

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

‎

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

‎

‎“Yeah.”

‎

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

‎

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

‎

‎It wasn’t love that was the problem.

‎

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

‎

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

‎

‎Because it was.

‎

‎Back to Present — 2025

‎

‎Nobody ever knew.

‎

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

‎

‎Just seventeen tracks no one had ever heard.

‎

‎Until now.

‎

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

‎

‎And maybe… it was.

‎

‎The Internet Explodes

‎

‎The album drops at midnight.

‎

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

‎

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

‎

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

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

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

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

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

‎

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

‎

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

‎

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

‎

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

‎

‎It matches.

‎

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

‎

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

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

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

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

‎

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

‎

‎You — 7:22 AM

‎

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

‎

‎You didn’t sleep. How could you?

‎

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

‎

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

‎

‎You almost dropped your phone.

‎

‎Your body remembered things your heart tried to forget.

‎

‎The lyrics?

‎

‎They weren’t metaphor. They were memory.

‎

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

‎The moans? That one night in Jeju.

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

‎

‎God. You were ruined.

‎

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

‎

‎Enough to make you want to text him.

‎

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

‎

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

‎

‎To: Kwon Jiyong

‎[Sent at 7:43 AM]

‎

‎I listened to the album.

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

‎You moaned my name.

‎You didn’t even try to hide it.

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

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

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

‎‎Or maybe you knew I’d hear it.

‎‎You always did know how to get my attention.

‎‎– You know who

‎

‎From: Kwon Jiyong

‎[Sent at 8:11 AM]

‎

‎I wasn’t sure you’d listen.

‎‎I wasn’t sure you’d recognize it.

‎But I guess I was wrong on both.

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

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

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

‎‎I wanted you to hear it and know.

‎That I still remember.

‎That I’m still haunted.

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

‎‎But if you say no, I’ll understand.

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

‎

‎The Award Show – Present Day

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

‎

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

‎

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

‎

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

‎

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

‎

‎You freeze.

‎

‎You already know who it is.

‎

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

‎

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

‎

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

‎

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

‎

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

‎

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

‎

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

—

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

‎

#bigbang x reader #bigbang #bigbang fanfic #kwon jiyong #gdragon #kwon jiyong x reader #gdragon x reader #kwon jiyong fic

140 notes · View notes

scoupsakakitty · 6 months ago

Note

Can you do Hoshi x member of a 4th gen group please, y/n is younger than hoshi like 5 years, born in 2000s thank you!!

Five Years Apart | idol!Hoshi x idol!Reader | fluff

The sound of heels clicking against polished floors echoed down the narrow hallway. Y/N held her breath, clutching the edges of her oversized jacket, as her reflection flickered in the mirrors lining the walls. She had spent the last fifteen minutes pacing outside the rehearsal room, trying to gather enough courage to step inside.

Today wasn’t just any rehearsal. It was the day she’d be meeting Hoshi.

The Hoshi—the man whose performances had made her want to become an idol in the first place.

And now she was about to rehearse a special collaboration stage with him.

Five years. That’s how much older he was. In the industry, five years could feel like a lifetime. He debuted before she even finished middle school, and now here she was barely out of her teens trying not to look like a nervous wreck.

Before she could spiral any further, the door suddenly swung open.

“Ah—sorry!”

Y/N took a quick step back, nearly tripping as she looked up and froze.

Hoshi stood in the doorway, dressed in loose sweatpants and a sleeveless shirt, his hair slightly damp as if he’d just finished practicing. His sharp eyes softened as he took in her startled expression.

“Oh,” he said, his lips curving into a grin. “You must be Y/N.”

She nodded quickly, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks. “Y-Yes! I mean… yes, Hoshi-ssi.”

His grin widened. “No need to be so formal. Just call me Hoshi.”

“I—okay, Hoshi-ssi.”

He let out a laugh, the sound light and genuine. “Close enough. Come on, let’s get started.”

Y/N followed him inside, her heart pounding as the door clicked shut behind them.

———————————————————————————-

Rehearsals went smoother than Y/N had expected mostly because Hoshi made it impossible to stay nervous for long.

He cracked jokes whenever she messed up, showing her tips and tricks instead of scolding her. He treated her like an equal, even though he was miles ahead of her in experience.

But there were moments, moments when his hand would linger a second too long on her waist while fixing their formation, or when he’d lean in just a little closer to whisper instructions that sent her pulse racing.

She told herself it was just admiration. She’d grown up watching him perform, after all. Of course she’d be flustered.

But then there was the way he looked at her.

“You’re a quick learner,” he said one evening after practice, handing her a bottle of water.

“Thanks,” she replied, taking a sip to avoid meeting his gaze.

“You remind me of myself, actually,” he continued.

That made her look up. “Really?”

“Yeah.” He leaned back against the mirror, arms crossed as he watched her. “I was like you when I started out young, eager, always pushing myself too hard.”

Her stomach flipped at the word young. There it was again that reminder of their age gap. Five years. It wasn’t huge, but it felt significant when she was barely in her twenties, and he was already an established star.

“I guess I still feel like I have to prove myself,” she admitted.

Hoshi tilted his head. “You don’t.”

“What?”

“You don’t have to prove anything. Not to me, not to anyone. You’re already good enough.”

Her breath caught. She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, he reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair out of her face.

The gesture was so sudden, so intimate, that it sent a shiver down her spine.

“You’re going to be amazing out there,” he said softly, his voice steady but his eyes unreadable.

And just like that, he stepped back, leaving her heart racing and her thoughts spinning.

———————————————————————————-

It was the night before their performance, and Y/N couldn’t sleep.

She sat on the rooftop of the venue, wrapped in a jacket to block out the cool night air. The city lights stretched out beneath her, but her mind was stuck on rehearsal—on him.

“Couldn’t sleep either?”

She turned at the sound of Hoshi’s voice and saw him stepping onto the rooftop, hands shoved into his pockets.

“I… yeah,” she admitted as he sat down beside her.

For a while, neither of them spoke. They just stared at the skyline, the silence oddly comforting.

Then Hoshi broke it.

“Do you think it’s weird?”

She looked at him. “What?”

“That I feel so…” He hesitated. “Drawn to you.”

Her heart stopped. “W-What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” he said with a small laugh. “Maybe it’s the way you remind me of myself, or how you keep surprising me every time we practice. But I look at you, and it’s like—I don’t know how to explain it.”

Y/N swallowed hard. “Hoshi, you’re—”

“Older?” He finished the sentence for her, his smile fading.

She nodded.

“Yeah, I know. Five years.” He looked down at his hands. “I thought about that too.”

She bit her lip, unsure what to say.

“But the thing is,” he continued, looking up at her, “it doesn’t feel like it matters when I’m with you.”

The air between them felt heavier, charged with something unspoken.

“I know it’s probably crazy,” he added, “but I needed you to know.”

Y/N’s pulse thundered in her ears. “It’s not crazy,” she whispered.

His eyes widened slightly. “No?”

She shook her head. “Not to me.”

For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, slowly, he reached out and took her hand, his thumb brushing gently over her knuckles.

“You make me feel like I’m starting over,” he murmured.

And just like that, the gap between them the years, the experience disappeared.

———————————————————————————-

The performance was over, but Y/N’s heart was still racing as if she were standing under the blinding stage lights. Applause and cheers echoed in her ears, but all she could focus on was him.

Hoshi stood just a few feet away, drenched in sweat but smiling brighter than the spotlights. He caught her gaze, and in that instant, the crowd disappeared.

“You did it,” he mouthed, his lips curling into that familiar grin.

Y/N felt her cheeks flush. She wanted to say something back, but before she could, their manager ushered her away toward her waiting group members.

Even surrounded by people, she felt the absence of his presence beside her.

Later that night, Y/N stood in the dimly lit hallway outside the dressing rooms, nervously twisting the fabric of her jacket. She wanted to see him needed to see him but doubts gnawed at her.

What if she had imagined everything? The looks, the lingering touches, the way his words had made her feel like she was the only person in the room?

Before she could turn and leave, the door opened, and there he was.

“Y/N?”

Her breath caught. “Hoshi.”

He leaned against the doorframe, his expression softening as he took her in. “You’re still here?”

“I… wanted to talk to you.”

“Me too.” He stepped out, letting the door close behind him. “Let’s go somewhere quieter.”

———————————————————————————-

The rooftop was quiet, just like the night before, but this time, the air felt heavier. Charged.

Hoshi leaned against the railing, his hands gripping the cold metal as he looked out over the glittering city.

“I meant what I said earlier,” he began, his voice steady but low. “About how I feel when I’m with you.”

Y/N swallowed, her heart pounding. “And what exactly do you feel?”

He turned to her then, his gaze intense. “Like I can’t stop thinking about you. Like every time I see you smile, it’s the best part of my day.”

Her breath hitched.

“But I keep asking myself if it’s fair. To you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re so young, Y/N. You’re just starting out, and I don’t want to hold you back.”

She stepped closer, her voice trembling but firm. “You’re not holding me back. If anything, you make me want to be better.”

Hoshi exhaled sharply, as if he’d been holding his breath. “You really mean that?”

She nodded. “I don’t care about the age gap. I don’t care what anyone else thinks. I just…” She paused, searching for the right words. “I just want to be with you.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then, suddenly, he closed the distance between them, his hands cupping her face as he looked down at her.

“Say it again,” he whispered.

“I want to be with you.”

And before she could say anything more, his lips were on hers.

The kiss was soft at first hesitant, as if testing the waters but it quickly deepened, years of tension and unspoken words pouring into that single moment.

When they finally pulled apart, both were breathless, their foreheads resting against each other.

“I guess there’s no turning back now,” Hoshi murmured, his thumb brushing lightly against her cheek.

“Good,” Y/N whispered. “I don’t want to turn back.”

———————————————————————————-

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kaoriartss-blog · 1 month ago

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Starburst:

Chapter 1: "The Beginning"

Masterlist Next Chapter

Pairing: Poly Skz OT8 x Reader idol

Genre: Romance, angst, female Oc

Warning: Use of Oc, romance, angst, swearing, Idol x Idol, 18+ progressive, use of swear words, use of translator.

Series: Starbursts

Summary: The story centers on Lia, a newly debuted solo idol struggling to find her place in the K-pop industry. Despite her talent, she feels like she's missing something, a special connection that helps her shine. The members of Stray Kids, who are at the height of their careers, are drawn to Lia's unique energy when she's invited to collaborate with them on a new album. As they work together, the connection between Lia and the boys intensifies.

With pressure from the media and fan expectations, they must find a balance between their careers and personal lives.

Comment: First of all, I want to clarify that English is not my first language. I speak Spanish, but I didn't want to deprive you of this story. I'll be using a translator, so it's possible that some phrases might get lost or be incomprehensible. Second, I thank you in advance for taking the time to read. I'll also be uploading the chapters to Wattpad in Spanish and to Ao3 in both Spanish and English

It is said that in ancient times, humanity possessed two pairs of legs, two pairs of arms, and a head shared by two faces. Feared for the power of these creatures, Zeus split them in half. Since then, humans have been searching for their other half, their soulmate.

Or so the story goes.

Recently debuted as a K-Pop soloist, Lia felt that even though she shone on stage, something special was missing—the spark of a soulmate.

A young woman with a voice like a nightingale’s song and an energy that lit up any room, Lia had worked tirelessly to reach where she was. Every rehearsal, every performance, every effort had led her to become an idol admired by many. However, despite the fervor of the applause and the dazzling lights, a feeling of emptiness persisted in her heart.

One afternoon, while strolling through a park, she observed couples laughing and enjoying the moment. The image of those who had found each other among the crowds made her reflect on her own loneliness, even when surrounded by admirers.

“Maybe, somewhere out there, someone is looking for me too,” she thought.

That morning, she had done an interview for a magazine about her latest single. Afterwards, she went to her favorite café for a coffee with cream. She had brought along her puppy Mochi, a five-month-old long-haired Shih Tzu whom she loved to decorate with colorful bows. She was supposed to have the rest of the afternoon free for herself.

Suddenly, her phone rang. Curious, she checked and saw it was her manager, Lee Sue, so she answered without hesitation.

"Hi, what is it, Noona?"

“Lia-ssi, I need you to come to the company as soon as possible.” That made Lia worry, and she got up from the bench where she had been watching her puppy play.

“Did something happen?” On the other end of the line, the woman laughed and sounded more excited.

“Yes, JYP just approved a new project in collaboration with the members of Stray Kids.” Lia was in shock; she couldn’t believe it.

“Tell me you’re joking…”

“If you want it to be, I can cancel the offer.”

“No! Don’t do that, I’m on my way. I’ll drop Mochi off at home and take the car; tell them I’ll be there in 15 minutes.” After a few more words, the call ended, and Lia looked up at the sky, still in disbelief at what was happening.

Mochi was curiously watching a butterfly that had landed on a rock. With a giggle, Lia approached and picked her up.

“Say goodbye to Mrs. Butterfly, Mochi, we’re going home.” The puppy gave a little bark and started licking her owner's cheeks as they walked away from the park and crossed the street—Lia’s apartment was right across from it. “I’ll ask Uncle NamGil to come take care of you; Mommy has to go out for a bit, okay?”

As she entered the apartment building lobby, she pulled out her phone and got into the elevator, leaving a voice message for her twin.

“Nee Nam Oppa, I got a last-minute call from work and need you to come take care of Mochi for a while; I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. I’ll explain later.”

By the time she got to her floor, she received a reply from her brother.

“This better be important. You owe me. I’ll be there in 5 minutes, get going.”

She smiled at the message and entered her apartment, leaving the puppy at the door so she could run into the living room. Lia followed and swapped the puppy’s bag for her work bag in the closet.

She looked at herself in the entry mirror to make sure she looked presentable. Internally, she was grateful she hadn’t taken off her interview makeup that morning, and that her hair still held its shape.

“Uncle’s coming soon. Mommy’s leaving now, love you!” And with that, the dark-haired girl left, grabbing her car keys on the way out.

The drive to the company was filled with nerves. Her mind ran through every possible scenario—from a possible mix-up and the offer not being meant for her, to not getting along with the guys and them hating her.

It was the first time she was collaborating with another idol group—especially this one. This wasn’t just any group; these were the current leaders of the fourth generation.

Though she was also under JYP, they had never interacted, except for the occasional polite greeting with their leader at company events. She was still a rookie—having debuted just two years ago. Her name was known, but she wasn’t a major impact.

Upon arriving at the company, she checked the time and luckily she was right on schedule. She parked in the lot and entered the building. Her manager had sent her the meeting room location, so she headed there.

Upon arrival, she knocked, and after hearing a confirmation, took a deep breath and entered the room where they were waiting. Her manager greeted her and gestured for her to come closer. Eight heads, barely familiar to her, turned to look at her curiously. Aside from them, there were two people she assumed were the group’s representatives, and she recognized a man and two women from the executive board.

“Good afternoon, sorry for keeping you waiting,” said the petite girl shyly, entering the room with slight discomfort from all the eyes on her.

“No worries, we’re sorry for interrupting your day off,” said a serious-looking woman who now stood, holding a folder.

“Oh, it’s no trouble; I’m always available when needed.” Lia smiled, approaching her manager.

In front of her were eight men who couldn’t stop scanning her with curiosity.

“Allow me to introduce Mr. Bang Christopher Chan, leader of Stray Kids.” With a hand gesture, her manager pointed to the young man, who immediately shook her hand gently and with a big smile. He seemed excited.

“Nice to meet you, miss. You can call me Chris, if you’d like. These are my members: Lee Know, Changbin, Hyunjin, Han, Felix, Seungmin, and I.N.” Lia nodded, returning his smile.

“He definitely seems like the leader... And he’s cute.”

“Nice to meet you, Chris oppa. My name is Kim Narim Lia—you can call me whatever you like.” The rest of the boys gave her polite smiles and nods of greeting, piquing her curiosity.

“Please, take a seat.” The executive spoke as everyone sat down. He and his colleague began handing out folders with information. “As you may know, Mr. Bang requested a collaboration with our soloist Lia, and after discussing the details, the project was approved.”

Lia was stunned. She didn’t expect Chris to be the one to personally request the collaboration. She was just a rookie. This felt like a dream, and she hoped she wouldn’t wake up anytime soon.

“All the details are in the documents provided, including the contract and its clauses. We ask the managers to read them carefully and raise any questions or changes.” Her manager and the boys’ manager started reading attentively. “Mr. Bang, since you initiated this collaboration, would you like to share your plan?”

“Of course.” Without losing his smile, the boy looked at everyone, then directly at Lia. “Actually, it was also Felix’s idea. Lia-ssi, I’m not sure if you know, but the three of us produce our own music under the name 3RACHA.” Chris gestured to himself, a boy with chubby cheeks and a charming smile, and a more muscular one with glasses, seated beside him.

“I’ve heard a bit about that. I’ve also produced some of my own songs.” Lia smiled as she responded, now noticing Chris had a bit of an accent. He seemed excited at that detail.

“Really? That’s awesome.” The boy with the big cheeks—Han—spoke up.

“We’ve been thinking about our next album, and even though we have a lot of pre-recorded songs, none conveyed the message we wanted,” Chris said, turning to a freckled blonde who couldn’t stop smiling. “Until Felix walked into our office listening to your latest song, and as if it were fate, inspiration hit us. We all agreed to invite you to be part of the project.”

The blond, having been mentioned, blushed. Lia did too—this felt unreal. She couldn’t believe it.

“Oh, wow… Thank you so much for this opportunity. Honestly, I can’t believe this is happening.” The black-haired girl let out a nervous laugh, looking away as all the stares made her more nervous. She heard a few of the boys chuckle softly at her awkwardness.

“No need to thank us; your work is amazing. You’re very talented and your vocal range is impressive.” This time, the muscular guy—Changbin—spoke, adjusting his glasses with a smile.

“And your stage presence is unique. We’re really excited to work with you.” The long-haired one, Hyunjin, added with a smile. Lia could swear he looked like he’d been sculpted by angels.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Sue, her manager, raised her hand. The other woman gave her the floor. “Here it says the project will last 6 to 8 months and you’ll live together—could you elaborate?” Lia’s eyes widened, and a few of the boys looked equally surprised.

“Certainly.” The man in the suit adjusted his glasses and stood, signaling to one of the women, who turned on a laptop and connected it to a projector.

> > “The company is heavily investing in this collaboration’s success. Inspired by Mr. Bang’s idea, we’ve decided to turn this collaboration into a reality-style project.” Images of a large house appeared on the screen. “You’ll be relocated to this fully-equipped residence for the duration.” Images of the house’s interior followed. “The facilities include, aside from common areas, 9 rooms with private bathrooms, a pool, a recording studio, a dance practice room, a backyard, and an office.”

The room fell silent. You could cut the tension with a knife.

One of Stray Kids’ managers raised a hand.

“It also says here you’ll be under 24/7 surveillance. Honestly, my colleague and I don’t agree with that.” The fox-eyed boy looked toward his manager and read what was written.

“Me neither; I can’t agree to that,” Sue said firmly, lowering the contract and placing it on the table with a serious stare.

“We can compromise. We’ll remove that clause if everyone agrees to regularly film vlogs and social media content. Some of our cameramen will drop by on certain days.”

“I’m fine with that. I’m very active with my fandom,” Lia said while her manager showed her the clause in question.

“We agree too, as long as there aren’t cameras recording everything nonstop,” Chris quickly added, noticing some members looked uneasy with the idea. Plus, it was already a lot for the girl to live with eight guys.

“That’s acceptable then.” The man nodded to the woman with the laptop to make the correction and reprint the contracts. “Anything else?”

“Yes, I have a question,” Seungmin said, looking at the boys, then at Lia, then at the man. “I assume this is also to make the chemistry and the song feel genuine, right?” The man nodded. “Then why so long? I mean, no offense, but with the right tools and inspiration, a song doesn’t take that much time.”

“A valid question. Besides recording the song, music video, and all the behind-the-scenes and fan content, we’re planning a tour, live performances, and fanmeetings across Korea. Also, your regular schedules won’t stop—you’ll keep working as usual.”

A collective nod followed. They now understood what the collaboration truly entailed.

“And I assume our image will be altered too,” Lia said, looking at her manager, who checked some papers and nodded.

“Yes, but not until a concept and group image are determined.”

“Alright, I can work with that. If there’s nothing else, I’m good with it.”

Stray Kids exchanged glances, then Chan spoke up.

“I proposed this; I’m not backing out. But first, I need to confirm with my guys. We’ll be back shortly.” With a nod, the group left the room.

Roughly three minutes later, they returned, looking more determined—and some even happier.

“We’ll do it—as long as Miss Lia’s privacy and comfort are respected. If she ever says no to something, we’ll stop immediately, no matter what.” Chris, as always, spoke for the group, but this time he was more serious. He looked directly at the man, and Lia’s heart raced.

No one, besides her family or manager, had cared that much for her comfort since she entered this world.

“Then it’s settled. Please sign the contracts now if possible, and we’ll handle everything else.” Sue nudged her gently, handing her the revised contract and a pen. She signed and handed it to the suited man. “Perfect. The house is ready for you to move in whenever you’re set. The collaboration announcement and filming will start next week. Thank you all for your time.”

With that, everyone began gathering their things and leaving the room, except the idols and their managers, who stayed behind discussing how they would handle their artists’ cohabitation.

Lia was still lost in her thoughts, going over everything that had just happened. In disbelief.

#stray kids x reader #seungmin x reader #poly skz x reader #skz ot8 x reader #bang chan x reader #lee know x reader #changbin x reader #hyunjin x reader #han jisung x reader #felix x reader #kim seungmin x reader #jeongin x reader #in x reader #stray kids #stray kids ot8 #poly stray kids

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sweetdreams1994 · 3 months ago

Text

Chapter 8: Game Start

Summary

As a hardworking trainee, you’ve spent years pushing yourself to debut. When the final evaluation comes, you’re chosen as the sole candidate—but what you don’t realize is that your fate was already sealed. BTS, the seven men you idolized, manipulated everything to make sure you were theirs.

At first, their attention feels like a blessing to aid you as a trainee. Then, it becomes suffocating. Their possessiveness turns them against each other, each one willing to destroy the others just to have you alone.

⚠️ Content Warnings: ⚠️

Intense competition & high pressure, verbal & emotional manipulation, psychological stress & anxiety, favoritism & corruption, Strong language, detailed smut, y/n is 18+, drugging

The room was filled with flashing lights, the hum of quiet conversations, and the occasional click of a camera shutter. The aftermath of your debut was a whirlwind of emotions and media attention, and now, sitting before a panel of reporters, you were expected to maintain your composure under the scrutiny of the public eye.

The three senior members and leader sat around you, forming some protection. Yoongi was to your right, his expression unreadable, his fingers tapping lightly against the armrest of his chair. Hoseok sat to your left, his body angled slightly toward you, an ever-present smile on his lips, though his eyes told a different story. Jin and Namjoon were placed next to Yoongi and Hoseok , making sure you were comforted within their presence. Safe. The world might not have noticed, but you did.

The interviewer, a polished woman with sharp eyes, offered a practiced smile. "First of all, congratulations on your debut! It was a breathtaking performance. How does it feel to finally step onto the stage after so much preparation?"

You swallowed, willing your voice to remain steady. "Thank you. It still feels surreal, honestly. I’ve worked so hard for this moment, and being able to finally share it with everyone means everything to me."

Namjoon, ever the leader, nodded beside you. "She’s incredibly dedicated. We’ve all watched her grow into the performer she is today, and we couldn’t be prouder."

The interviewer turned her attention to Yoongi. "I noticed you were watching the performance very intently. As someone known for your sharp critique, how would you say she did?"

Yoongi’s lips quirked up, but his eyes remained calculating. "She was mesmerizing. Every moment on that stage belonged to her. She’s not just a performer; she owns the music, feels it in a way that draws you in. That’s not something you can teach."

The air around you shifted, thickened. The weight of his words settled over you like a brand, and for a second, you found yourself lost in his unwavering gaze. There was something possessive in his tone, something that told you his praise wasn’t just for the public—it was a reminder.

The interviewer chuckled. "High praise from you, Yoongi-ssi. It’s clear you all have a strong bond with her. I imagine training together must have built a deep connection. How has your mentorship been? Anyone taken the lead in creating the wonderful star we see infront of us?"

Yoongi’s fingers tapped lazily against his knee, but his eyes were sharp as he listened.

The interviewer smiled. “It’s clear you all have a strong bond with Y/N. Who would you say took the lead in mentoring her?”

Hoseok didn’t hesitate. “That’d be me,” he said smoothly, shooting you a knowing look. “We spent weeks together, perfecting her performance. Every move, every detail—I made sure she was ready.”

Yoongi let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Yeah? And who do you think kept her from falling apart after those practices?” His voice was casual, but the edge in it was unmistakable.

Hoseok’s smirk faltered for just a second. “Training can be tough. We all helped.”

Yoongi leaned forward slightly, gaze dark. “Some of us more than others.”

The air grew thick, and the interviewer glanced between them, sensing the tension. But before it could escalate, Namjoon spoke, voice calm but firm. “We all played a role. She put in the work, and we supported her—that’s what matters.”

Hoseok’s hand briefly brushed against your knee, so subtle it could have been mistaken for an accident. "She’s family to us," he said smoothly, though you caught the slight edge in his voice. "We’ve made sure she’s always supported, both on and off stage."

The word 'family' sent an unexplainable shiver down your spine. It should have been comforting. Instead, it felt more like a declaration of ownership for some reason.

The interviewer nodded before flipping to a new card. "There have been some whispers about potential solo projects down the line. Is that something you're considering?"

Your lips parted, but before you could answer, Namjoon spoke. "Right now, she’s focusing on growing within the group. We believe in taking things step by step." His words were carefully chosen, his voice even, but when his eyes met yours, there was something else there. A silent warning.

They weren’t going to let you go that easily.

The interview continued, polite questions met with equally measured responses. But beneath the surface, there was an unspoken tension. A silent war between the members for something unnameable. You could feel it in the way Yoongi’s gaze lingered on you, in the way Hoseok’s hand remained just a little too close, in the way Namjoon took control of the narrative before you could speak for yourself.

Then came the real twist.

A reporter toward the back suddenly cleared his throat, pushing his glasses up his nose. "There’s been a lot of speculation about a certain senior-junior relationship within the company. Some have noticed a particular closeness between you and—"

Before he could finish, Jin let out a laugh, effortlessly shifting the mood. "She’s close with all of us. We’re like a family. Isn’t that right?"

The moment was expertly diffused, but you felt the shift, the ripple of tension that passed between them. The way Yoongi’s fingers curled into a loose fist. The way Hoseok sat just a little straighter. The way Namjoon exhaled slowly, as if reigning in something unseen.

The interview wrapped up shortly after, but the energy in the room remained charged. As you stood to leave, Yoongi’s hand found your wrist, stopping you just as the others moved ahead. His voice was quiet, almost too soft.

"Be careful what you say next time."

You blinked up at him, searching his face. "What—"

His fingers tightened just slightly before he let go. "Just be careful."

From across the room, Hoseok was watching. And when you met his gaze, you knew—you weren’t the only one Yoongi was warning.

Something had shifted between them, between all of you. The performance was over, but the real show was only just beginning.

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

It had been late one night, long after practice had ended. Most of the members had already gone to their rooms, but he had found you in the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge with tired eyes and a furrowed brow.

“You know, most people sleep at night,” he had teased, leaning against the counter with that easy smirk of his.

You had glanced up, unimpressed. “Most people don’t have a schedule designed to kill them.”

He had laughed at that, genuinely amused. “Fair point. What are you looking for?”

You sighed, shutting the fridge with a little more force than necessary. “Something edible. But apparently, there’s nothing.”

Jin had tsked, stepping forward. “That’s because you don’t know where to look. Step aside, rookie.”

You had raised a brow but moved back, watching as he skillfully gathered ingredients with the ease of someone who had done this a thousand times. Within minutes, he had a pan sizzling on the stove, the rich aroma of garlic and butter filling the space.

“I can handle myself, you know,” you had said, crossing your arms as you leaned against the counter. “I don’t need someone cooking for me.”

Jin had glanced at you, a slow smirk tugging at his lips. “Oh, I know. But I also know you’ve been running on nothing but caffeine and stubbornness all day, and if you collapse, the company will probably blame me for not feeding you.”

You had scoffed but didn’t argue, which he had taken as a small victory.

As he cooked, you had stayed close, your usual guarded demeanor softening just a little. You had watched him, curiosity flickering in your eyes, and for a moment, he had thought—maybe—this was it. The moment you would finally let your walls down, finally look at him the way he wanted you to.

But then, the moment had shattered.

Just as he had placed the plate in front of you, the door had creaked open, and Yoongi had walked in. His sharp eyes had flickered between the two of you, his expression unreadable, but the weight of his presence had been enough.

You had stiffened almost immediately, your attention shifting from Jin to Yoongi like it was instinct. And just like that, whatever progress Jin had made had slipped through his fingers.

Yoongi had said nothing. Hadn’t needed to.

He had simply looked at you, and you had followed—offering Jin nothing more than a quiet, “Thanks,” before leaving your half-eaten meal behind and walking out with him.

Jin had stood there, staring at the untouched food, annoyance curling in his chest.

That night, he had realized something crucial.

You weren’t just playing hard to get.

You were already being pulled in a thousand different directions, your mind tangled in the web they had spun around you.

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

The current night was quiet, save for the occasional hum of a passing car outside the dorm. The rest of the members were scattered—Yoongi was in his studio, Hoseok had disappeared somewhere after practice, and Namjoon was likely buried in some book, deep in thought.

Jin, however, had spent the past hour watching. Observing.

You had retreated to your room after the interview, exhaustion evident in the way you barely spoke on the ride back. The day had been draining—being paraded in front of the cameras, answering questions designed to spark rumors, dealing with the ever-watchful eyes of the boys who seemed to think you belonged to them.

Jin chuckled to himself. That was their mistake.

They hovered over you, suffocating you with their presence, thinking it would make you fold. Yoongi with his silent intensity. Hoseok with his suffocating control. Namjoon with his calculated dominance. Even Taehyung and Jimin, playful as they seemed, were watching, waiting.

It was pathetic, really.

They thought brute force would be enough to claim you. But you weren’t some naive girl, dazzled by attention. No, you were smarter than that. Stronger. That’s why his usual tricks hadn’t worked on you.

And yet… he knew you could be won.

It just required a different approach.

Jin had stayed in the background for a reason. He wasn’t like the others, driven purely by impulse and desire. He knew how to wait. How to strategize. How to make sure that when he moved, the victory was absolute.

He had tested the waters before, back in the kitchen with YN, hinting at his plans, gauging how you reacted to charm. It hadn’t been enough he quickly realized. So now, he would do what he did best.

He would play the long game.

You needed an escape from them, from the weight of their obsession. And he would be that escape. He wouldn’t rush. Wouldn’t overwhelm. He would be patient. Steady. The one you turned to when the rest became too much.

And when you did—when you finally let him in—he would make sure there was no way out.

Jin smirked as he pushed off the kitchen counter, finally heading toward his room. The others could fight over you all they wanted. They could hover, stalk, suffocate.

But in the end, it would be him you ran to.

And once he had you, he wouldn’t let go.

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

The morning after the interview, the media frenzy had exploded, and the headlines only deepened the cracks forming between the members. The articles and social media posts flooded in, each one more explosive than the last. Your debut was now surrounded by rumors, speculation, and a growing divide among the members.

One of the articles that caught your attention was titled “BTS's New Star: Mentorship or Rivalry?” It analyzed the tension between Yoongi and Hoseok, focusing on their differing approaches to your mentorship during the interview. They’d both declared themselves as instrumental in your success, but it was the undercurrent of rivalry that the media fixated on. The article suggested that their close bond with you wasn’t just about guiding you to success, but about something far more personal.

"Yoongi, who is known for his stoic nature and sharp critiques, seemed to imply that he had been the one to truly guide the rookie, while Hoseok, ever the optimist, declared himself the one who had prepared her for the spotlight. Their conflicting claims have led fans to question whether there is more to their mentorship than meets the eye."

It wasn’t just the words that hurt, but the images that accompanied the article: pictures of the two of them exchanging heated glances, the tension palpable. The implication was that this wasn’t just about your talent—it was about ownership. And beneath it all, the question lingered: Who did you belong to?

The articles speculated wildly. Some even hinted at a romantic relationship, suggesting that Yoongi’s intense gaze during the interview and Hoseok’s more overt attempts to gain your attention could be signs of competition, not just for your attention, but for something more. But none of the articles truly understood what was happening. None of them understood the jealousy, the possessiveness, the claim each of them had already staked on you.

As the articles snowballed, the fans’ reactions grew even more extreme. The pressure mounted. You received death threats on your social media accounts, your inbox filled with vile messages. “Stay away from them, you don’t deserve Yoongi!”“Hoseok has been nothing but kind to you. Yoongi doesn’t care about you, he’s just using you!”

The fans were clearly divided, some of them already picking sides based on the media portrayal. It was suffocating, and you found yourself retreating to your room to escape it all.

That evening, the members gathered for a meeting in the living room, the atmosphere tense. Namjoon was the first to speak, his voice steady but filled with concern. “We need to address this. It’s getting out of hand. The media’s twisted everything, and it’s putting Y/N in a really difficult position.”

Yoongi was the one who responded first, but his tone was colder than usual. “I’m not mad about the articles,” he said flatly. “They don’t matter. What matters is that no one sees the truth.” His gaze locked onto Hoseok. “The truth is, I’ve been the one to guide her. I’ve been the one who’s been there for her when things got hard.”

Hoseok bristled at Yoongi’s words, his normally cheerful expression replaced with a flash of irritation. “That’s rich, Yoongi. You act like you’re the only one who’s had a hand in her development. She’s not some doll you can claim as yours.”

Yoongi’s eyes narrowed, his voice laced with frustration. “I never claimed she was a doll. But you don’t get it, do you? She’s mine. She’s mine in a way that you’ll never understand.” His words were sharp, a dangerous edge creeping into his tone.

Hoseok’s jaw clenched. “That’s where you’re wrong. I’ve been by her side from the start. I’ve helped her build herself into who she is. You’ve been too busy trying to control everything, making her into some kind of puppet.”

Yoongi didn’t flinch, but his anger simmered beneath the surface. “I’m not controlling her. I’m making her into someone who can stand on her own. But she wouldn’t have made it this far if I hadn’t been there—if I hadn’t shown her what it meant to truly own her power.”

Namjoon intervened, his voice calm but firm. “Both of you need to stop. Fighting like this only makes things worse. The last thing Y/N needs is for you to act like children over who’s been a better mentor.”

Yoongi ignored him, his gaze still locked on Hoseok. “She’s mine. You don’t get to act like you’ve had more of an influence. I’ve shaped her. I’ve made her feel what she needs to feel. I’ve been there when she broke, when she needed someone to pick up the pieces. You don’t even see it. You’re too busy trying to make yourself look good.”

Hoseok shot to his feet, his frustration boiling over. “You think I haven’t been there for her? You think I haven’t helped her through her struggles?” His voice raised, and there was a dangerous intensity in his eyes now. “I’ve made sure she feels safe. That she doesn’t feel like she’s drowning under the pressure. And if you want to pretend I haven’t had a hand in that, then fine.”

Namjoon stepped in again, this time with more force. “Enough.” He looked between Yoongi and Hoseok, trying to keep control of the room. “We’re not doing this right now. We need to stop pretending this is about who did what. This is about Y/N. We need to fix this before the press tears us apart.”

Yoongi’s expression softened, but his eyes still held an intensity that made Hoseok falter for a moment. “She doesn’t belong to anyone but me,” Yoongi said, his voice low and dangerous, as if it were a statement that was both an ultimatum and a promise.

Hoseok didn’t respond immediately, his fists clenched. He wasn’t about to back down. Not now.

The room fell into silence, the tension palpable. No one spoke for a moment, each member lost in their own thoughts. It was clear that things had shifted, and there was no going back. The feud wasn’t just about mentorship anymore—it was about control, about who would get to claim you fully.

And as they sat there, the truth hung heavy in the air: the real battle wasn’t just over who would guide you, but who would ultimately have you for themselves.

Taglist:

@misbangtan @knjkitten @mystica1whore @mageprincess7 @illnevertrustmyselfagain @princess-angele333

#bts fanfic #bts x reader #jimin x reader #jungkook x reader #namjoon x reader #taehyung x reader #bts ot7 #idol au #yoongi x reader #bts #yandere bts x reader #hoseok x reader #jin x reader #jungkook

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whimsimille · 5 months ago

Text

KEMPS!

Minsung x Fem! reader

Summary: Where Minho uses sex and rough words to forget how shitty his life is. It all works pretty well until he meets two people that can only ruin his game.

alpha x alpha x alpha

Word count: ~ 10000

Warnings: angst with happy ending, ptsd mention, coping mechanisms, sex, smut, +18, toxicity, use of alcohol and drugs, knotting, piv, creampie, roughness, dom and sub undertones, f and m receiving, oral, anal, dp, light bondage, breeding kink mention

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"When will I see you again?"

"There we go again."

Every time, the same scene played out: him tying off the used condom, thumb and forefinger working in sync while his gut churned with familiar self-loathing. His tanned legs slid from between the cheap cotton sheets like a lizard escaping midday heat and his shirt, reeking of cigarettes and bearing the evidence of pink lipstick on its collar, returned to its place along with what remained of his dignity.

"You didn't answer my question," she insisted, sitting up with her breasts exposed to the stale air. Her nose, red-tipped like she was fighting back tears, twitched as she caught his scent beginning to sour. "Why do you always run away like this? Is it because I'm a lower-class omega? Because I work at a convenience store instead of some fancy office?"

He had a headache, the kind that started at the nape where his undercut needed a trim and crawled upward. The kind that made his eyes throb as if someone was performing brain surgery with a rusty hammer. He needed to go home. He needed to go to her. He needed a scalding shower to burn away the shame. He needed to stop fucking thinking.

"Listen carefully because I won't repeat myself," he drawled while adjusting his hair in the mirror. "I'm not interested in seconds. I don't do repeats. I thought I made that crystal fucking clear. Or should I draw you a diagram?"

"But Minho-ssi..." she started, biting her lower lip in a way that probably worked wonders on lesser men.

"Cut the honorifics bullshit, Marina. We just fucked; we're not at a business meeting." He yanked his belt through the loops. "Got any coffee in this shoebox you call an apartment? And aspirin. Definitely need aspirin. My head's fucking killing me, and your omega pheromones aren't helping."

"Kitchen," she responded, finally pulling the sheet up to cover herself as if modesty had suddenly become a priority. Her nose wrinkled involuntarily as her own bitter strawberry pheromones filled the room, mixing with his acidic alpha scent to create something that smelled like regret. "First door on the right. We're out of sugar though. And for the last fucking time, it's Melissa. Not Marina, not Mariana. Me-li-ssa, you entitled knothead."

"Perfect. Sugar's for people who can't handle reality." He fished out the crumpled pack of Marlboros from his back pocket, tapping one against his wrist. "Don't wait up, sweetheart. Or better yet, don't wait at all. Find yourself a nice beta who'll remember your name and buy you flowers or whatever the fuck it is you're looking for."

And he wasn't lying, not even a little. Despite the fact that this omega—Melissa, definitely not Marina or whatever the fuck he'd been calling her—could do things with her tongue that would make a Catholic priest renounce his vows and had a laugh like wind chimes in a summer breeze, Minho simply didn't keep dead weight in his deck. Melissa was nothing but a two of clubs in a hand that needed aces.

It was like a game of Kemps, the same one he played on Sunday afternoons with his friends drunk on soju in Chan's apartment. In the game, four players formed two pairs, each receiving four cards from the French deck. The objective? Get four matching cards before the opponent, discreetly signaling your partner to shout "Kemps!"—a wink, absently scratching your nose. If you were wrong and shouted without your partner having four matching cards? You lost points, just like in real life you lost your sanity. If you missed your partner's signal? More points lost, like the nights of sleep he lost thinking about persistent ex-lovers. It was a game of observation, timing, and strategy.

In the game, as in life, Minho was an expert at this. A pair of toned legs here, full lips there, a cheeky smile elsewhere—he picked up the cards that caught his attention and handed useless ones to the other players. Players like Hyunjin, with his preference for frustrated betas with colored hair, or Felix, who had a thing for alpha literature students who wore thick-framed glasses and quoted Bukowski between one orgasm and another. Minho had been doing this with men and women for years, receiving his cards—their sweaty bodies writhing beneath him, their moans, their phone numbers saved as "NEVER answer"—and discarding those that never made sense with his game. Simple. Quick. Practical. Avoided hysterical screaming at three in the morning, endless crying, ex-lover sex fueled by regret, pathetic relapses fueled by cheap vodka.

But then, on some October night, with the smell of burnt caramel not so characteristic of an alpha and jazz playing softly, there was his jack, the highest card in the deck after the ace. The jack that passed from hand to hand each round like a curse, disrupting the flow of the game until the next round started and the card kept circulating, destroying strategies and ruining plays that seemed perfect on paper. Everyone had to deal with it eventually, but no one wanted to play that card.

That night, as you moved above him with the precision of a hunting feline—hips undulating like waves breaking on the beach, slender fingers tightening around his throat until he saw stars—you had become his jack. The card he held so tightly that the corners were starting to crease, even when he should have discarded it long ago.

Serious relationships and monogamy were never his style. How could he be? His mother taught him that lesson at 8 years old, after swallowing an entire box of Rivotril and writing an apology, not to him, but to her ex. He still remembered the sound her nails made scratching the wooden floor while she convulsed, glazed eyes fixed on the ceiling as he screamed for help. But for you? For you he had tried. Really tried.

"Stay," he whispered, tongue darting out to wet his lips as his fingers traced meaningless patterns on the condensation-slick window. His reflection looked pathetically hopeful. "Just... stay for breakfast this time." A pause. "I make decent scrambled eggs."

You shifted on the bed. "Define 'decent.'"

"Edible enough not to kill you," he replied with a laugh that sounded too raw, too honest. "Maybe even good enough to convince you to come back for seconds."

It turned into months of domestic bliss—or his twisted version of it. Months of biting back territorial growls whenever you walked in carrying traces of other wolves' scents. "Just work," you'd say with that infuriating half-smile, and he'd nod like the lovesick fool he'd become. He ignored Chan's concerned glances over soju shots, Changbin's muttered warnings about alpha-alpha relationships being psychological warfare. Tried playing the reformed playboy even when some omega calling herself @sexygirl22 slid into his DMs with explicit photos and "Remember last week's quickie in the club bathroom?" while you danced barefoot in his kitchen, humming "Somebody to Love" and making condensed milk pudding like some domestic deity.

"This pudding..." His finger traced the edge of the mold, stealing a taste of caramel. The gesture was so childlike, so unguarded, you had to suppress a fond smile. "Tastes exactly like my grandmother's."

"Your grandmother made pudding?" Like a flower in bloom, your legs opened naturally as you leaned over the counter. A few centimeters up, the hem of your shirt—it was actually his, stolen a week ago—rode up, exposing that constellation of freckles on your hip that he loved mapping with his tongue.

"Every Sunday after lunch," he answered, eyes fixed on the exposed bit of skin. "She used to say that sweets made with love tasted different."

It's that in the beginning it was simple: you rode him like you were born for it, scratching his chest and whispering obscenities in his ear that would make even a demon blush. It was about smoking a joint on the balcony at three in the morning, your skilled fingers rolling the joint while he kissed your thighs still trembling from orgasm, waiting for the knot to deflate. "I'm getting addicted," he would murmur against your skin, and you both knew he wasn't talking about the weed. It was about the sacred ritual of watching you dress in the morning: first the black lace panties, then the bra that made your breasts look like works of art, the thigh-high stockings he loved to remove with his teeth, the jeans that hugged your curves like a possessive lover. It was about how you never asked about the scars on his left wrist but kissed them with such reverence that sometimes he found himself crying after you left.

"Why do you do that?" he asked one night, voice thick, his fingers digging into the sheets.

"Do what?"

"Kiss me... like that. Like they're not scars. Like they're not..." he swallowed hard, "ugly."

"Because they're not just scars. They're part of you."

Until it became something different: he stopped you from running out after sex one Sunday morning, pulling you by the waist for another round in the jacuzzi. That's when he discovered you were a teacher at a school in the south zone and taught literature to rebellious teenagers, while he was heir to a chain of five-star hotels spread across Asia. That you loved Seoul with its violence and chaos, the underground bars and narrow streets full of people, while he longed for the peace of Jeju, with its deserted beaches and the smell of tangerines in the air. That you had three rescue cats—Sylvia, Virginia, and Edgar, all named after dead writers—who were your fur children and that, surprisingly, he developed a genuine affection for these creatures, even when Sylvia vomited hairballs on his shoes.

It happened when you stopped being a scheduled fuck and started pulling out, one by one, his fingers from the little bag he always kept next to his heart. You never even said anything, never stopped him from leaving and always left the door ajar, because you hated trapping people and making them feel obligated to stay.

"You can go, if you want," you would always say, wrapped in messy sheets. "You don't have to stay."

And maybe it was exactly that—that frightening freedom, that lack of demands—that made him want to stay. Until he didn't want to anymore.

That's why he bailed.

With your makeup all over the bathroom counter and your underwear discovered beneath the bed like evidence from a crime scene, he couldn't stand you taking up space like a terminal illness. Couldn't stand your caramel perfume and alpha pheromones impregnated in the pillows, your toothbrush next to his, you parading naked through the 300 m² penthouse as if you owned the place. Hated you burying your face in his neck when he woke up screaming at 3:47 in the morning.

"Shh, I'm here," you would murmur, running your fingers through his damp hair, your lips brushing his temple. "It was just a nightmare."

But the real nightmare was the dangerous glimmer of hope he began to see reflected in his own eyes every time he shaved while you played in the bathtub, humming "Here Comes the Sun" by The Beatles.

One day, his hand froze mid-stroke with the razor, watching your reflection dance in the fogged mirror as soap bubbles crowned your head. With the sun creeping through the window and painting your eyelashes gold, Minho's fingers twitched around the razor handle. His phone buzzed in the counter (probably that cute bellboy from the Peninsula Hotel confirming their afternoon rendezvous, or maybe the yoga instructor sending another photo of her impossibly flexible poses). He should check it. Should definitely not be watching you emerge from the water like some fucking deity, all glistening skin and grace.

His thumb hovered over the screen, already pulling up his contacts list. Delete them all. Ask you to be his. Only his. The thought made his stomach turn even as his pulse quickened and he gave up.

At the sound of his loafers, you lifted your head while he perched on the edge of the tub like some lovesick fool, watching droplets trace paths he'd memorized with his tongue.

"Keep staring like that and I might start charging admission," you drawled, reaching for the shampoo.

"You're going to make me deaf with that caterwauling, little alpha," he shot back. "And since when did you become such a Beatles fanatic? Thought you were more of a 'We Will Rock You' kind of bitch."

"First of all," you said, pointing the shampoo bottle at him like a weapon, "the Beatles are fucking transcendent, you philistine. Second," your lips curved into that infuriating smirk that made him want to bite them bloody, "you were the one moaning 'Yesterday' in your sleep last night. Right after you called me 'baby' and tried to spoon me."

"That's bullshit and you know it," he snarled, but his ears burned red at the tips. "I don't fucking cuddle."

"Oh really?" You stretched languorously, water sloshing against the tub sides. Wet toes brushed his thigh, leaving wet prints on his expensive slacks. "Because I distinctly remember you nuzzling my neck and whimpering when I tried to move away. Face it, Min," you purred, and the nickname sent a jolt straight to his groin, "you're going soft on me."

"Keep dreaming, sweetheart," he managed, even as his throat closed around the lie. "I just needed something warm to stick my knot in."

"Mhmm," you hummed, unconvinced. Your foot slid higher up his thigh. "That's why you sent flowers to my work last week? Because you needed somewhere to stick your knot?"

It was like watching an orange tree growing in the middle of his chest: first just a timid sprout, then branches spreading between his ribs, until the roots began to intertwine with his veins and arteries. And when the first white flowers bloomed, perfuming his entire circulatory system with possibilities, he knew he needed to cut it at the root before the fruits ripened and he found himself addicted to the bittersweet taste of your presence.

"Minho! What the actual fuck? It's four in the fucking morning, and you're here smelling like a distillery had an orgy with a perfume store."

"Still looking like a snack, my little alpha. Even with all these..." His hand made a vague gesture at your new appearance, "changes."

You watched as he staggered slightly, his bloodshot eyes trying to focus on a fixed point. Fragmented memories of a yellow taxi and questionable decisions in dark alleys flashed through his mind like a silent film. That you were different—unrecognizable, maybe—was the only thing that was certain. Your hair, now long and sprinkled with platinum highlights, framed your face in a profane halo. The thorny tattoo serpentined down your neck, disappearing beneath the loose collar. Beneath the typical caramel, you had a masculine, woodsy scent that made him sick to his stomach.

"You know what's funnier? I always knew you would do this. Always knew you'd leave me and then show up at my door wanting to stick your knot in some hole. It was just a matter of time, wasn't it, Lee Minho?"

Sylvia, that four-legged traitor who had always preferred him to you, was now rubbing against his ankles while trying to reach her favorite human. You pushed her away with your foot.

"Let's... let's talk properly, love. Smoke a joint, whatever. Like the old days, remember?" His hands were shaking so badly he had to shove them in his jeans pockets. "We always solved everything after..." A laugh escaped his lips. "Fuck, why is it so hard to talk about feelings without being high? Must be... dunno, must be the age, right?" The taste of blood in his mouth intensified. This time, he had bitten his tongue.

You let out a scoff—a sound that seemed to have been torn from the depths of your throat with a rusty hook. "Age?" Your head tilted to the side, and for a moment, Minho saw his mother in that same movement—moments before she swallowed the pills. "You were twenty-fucking-seven when you stood in the middle of Changbin's birthday party, so wasted you couldn't even spell your own name, and announced to everyone that I was, what was it again? Oh right! 'just another desperate hole begging for your premium alpha cock.' All because I had the audacity to ask if we could try being exclusive. Remember that night, Minho? Or did you drink that memory away too?"

As you eventually allowed Sylvia to come closer, he saw the cat rubbing her muzzle against your ankles as though she was aware of the precise location of the pain.

Love should heal, shouldn't it? Should stitch together the parts that were never united, fill the voids that echoed inside the chest like empty rooms from childhood. Minho knew this better than anyone—he had been sexualized his whole life, used and discarded like a broken toy.

"You don't have that right," you continued. "You don't have the right to show up here reeking of whiskey and..." Your hands gestured in the air, searching for words. "And talk about 'old times.'"

Minho swallowed hard, watching how your fingers now trembled against the doorframe—not from nervousness, but from contained rage that made your knuckles turn white.

Until his lungs pleaded for air, he had tried everything to fill the void you left: cigarettes. Strange bodies in his bed that never reached the right places, hands that tried to stitch him back together but always using the wrong thread. Like thieves in the dark, all stealing pieces from each other, but never finding what they were really looking for.

"Just let me in, yeah?"

A sob escaped his throat before he could contain it, words tangling in his mouth. Sylvia was now sitting between the two of you, her tail moving in a hypnotic rhythm.

You had been the only one to see through the cracks, the only one who didn't try to fix him like he was a puzzle to be solved. The only one who understood that sometimes a cat's rough tongue on the heels could mean more than a thousand empty words of comfort.

But he wouldn't, couldn't show you how much he loved you. Sex and dirty words were safer territory, familiar ground where he could pretend this was just another meaningless encounter.

"Do you still have that purple vibrator?" The words slurred out as his alcohol-heavy tongue caught on his canines. "You could use it on me today, yeah? Make me beg like I used to?"

Like a desperate merchant hawking counterfeit goods in some back alley, it was pitiful how he still attempted to use sex as currency. As if his body, marked with the fingerprints and teeth marks of countless strangers, was the only thing of value he had left to barter with. As if you still wanted that particular damaged merchandise. You had long since learned that his empty promises and fleeting affections were not worth the price.

"I guess old habits die hard, huh? Still the same horny kitten as always, Minho-yah."

At the sound of that old endearment, Minho's narrow hips jerked forward involuntarily, his lean body betraying him like a puppet with tangled strings. A bead of sweat traced the sharp line of his jaw as the lavender scent of his arousal began to saturate the air, mixing with the sour notes of whiskey and desperation.

"Just... just one more time," he begged. "I promise I'll disappear after. I swear on my mother's grave..." A sob ripped from his throat, more wolf than man. "I just need to feel you one more time. Need to remember what it felt like when someone actually gave a fuck about me."

It was almost poetic, you thought. The way Lee Minho could transform desire into pathology, how his lust manifested in muscle spasms and empty promises whispered through teeth that probably cost more than your yearly salary. His eyes, usually a warm chocolate brown, had taken on a reddish tinge that reminded you of blood diluted in water.

"Get out of here, Minho." You clutched Sylvia closer, her warm body and steady purring acting as a shield against the tsunami of alpha pheromones he was trying to drown you in. Her claws pricked your skin through your thin shirt. "Before I call the police."

"You'd never. You care too much; that's always been your problem."

"Try me." Your fingers found your phone in your pocket. "The last bus passes in ten minutes. But I think you'd prefer if I called your private driver. What was his name again? The one who always brought you aspirin and clean clothes after your... episodes?"

Minho's hand flew to the collar of his leather jacket, adjusting it with trembling fingers. "I don't need your fucking pity."

"I know you don't, Minho." You sighed, watching his shoulders hunch forward like a wounded animal. "But I also know you probably left another black credit card in the lost and found of whatever overpriced bar you were drowning in tonight. I bet you left without any cash. Again. Just like that time at The Rose, when you tried to pay for your cab with your Rolex."

"How the fuck..."

"Love, everything okay?" A sleepy voice emerged from the shadows of the apartment, warm and rough like honey mixed with gravel. The powerful scent of freshly ground cinnamon and handcrafted coffee filled your apartment and permeated the door, causing Minho's nostrils to uncontrollably twitch.

"Fucking hell," Minho muttered under his breath, watching as a figure emerged from the shadows.

Dyed an impossible shade of midnight blue that seemed to swallow what little light remained in the hallway, the man's hair stuck up in wild tufts, as if he'd been wrestling with insomnia rather than sleeping. A thin, silvery scar bisected his right eyebrow. Despite his cherubic cheeks and full lips, there was something lethal in the way he held himself, the casual violence of a loaded gun left on safety.

"Who the actual fuck are you supposed to be?" Minho's words slurred together.

The stranger's bare feet made no sound as he crossed the distance between them. Silver rings caught the fluorescent light as his hand found your waist, fingers splaying possessively across your hip.

"Han Jisung," the man's voice was deceptively soft. His tongue flicked out to play with the silver ring in his lower lip, a gesture that drew Minho's attention despite himself. "And you must be the infamous Lee Minho. The one who thinks it's acceptable to harass people at four in the morning because his wolf is feeling lonely."

The air grew thick with competing pheromones, your caramel sweetness, Minho's lavender, and Han's cinnamon colliding and transforming into something acrid and metallic, like blood left to oxidize. Minho's temple throbbed visibly, and he chewed the inside of his cheek until copper flooded his mouth.

"Christ, is this what you're into now?" Minho's eyes raked over Han's form--the scattered tattoos visible beneath his thin tank top, the messy blue hair, the multiple piercings. "Trading in a pure-bred for some street mutt with a DIY paint job?"

Han's scent soured, turning sharp enough to make your eyes water. "Babe," he addressed you without taking his eyes off Minho. "Should I call the cops, or would you like to watch me teach this trust fund pup some manners? Because I'm really curious if he's as tough when he's not marinading in scotch."

"Oh, sweetheart," Minho purred, stepping close enough that his breath ghosted over Han's face. His fingers played with the collar of Han's shirt, twisting the fabric like he was testing its breaking point. "You've got quite the mouth on you. Makes me wonder what other tricks you know." His gaze flicked to you over Han's shoulder, lips curling into something cruel. "Always did have a weakness for strays with attitude problems, didn't you, love? Tell me, does this one beg as prettily as I used to?"

Han didn't back down, but you saw how his fingers contorted—not into fists, but like claws ready to tear apart.

"Get. Your. Hands. Off." Gripping Minho's wrist, Jisung twisted it until he heard the gratifying sound of tendons being stretched to their breaking point.

What happened next made your breath catch in your throat. Minho—proud, arrogant, never-submissive Minho, who once told an alpha CEO to go fuck himself with a golden spoon—let out a sound that was pure, instinctual submission. His head tilted, exposing the vulnerable column of his throat where fading hickeys told stories of nights you didn't want to imagine.

The gesture was so fundamentally wrong, so against everything you knew about him, that for a moment you thought the expensive whisky had finally corroded something essential inside him. But then his eyes found yours across the space between you—wide, confused, and terrified—and you saw it: his alpha, for only the second time since you'd known him, recognising another as superior. It had been with you the first time. Normally curled in that angry smirk, his lips quivered.

"What the actual fuck..." With surprise, Jisung's eyes grew wide, and the scar through his eyebrow stretched taut. His grip loosened fractionally, more from shock than mercy. "Did you just..."

"Ah," Minho's voice cracked, desperation bleeding through as he fought to regain control. As he attempted to balance himself against the wall, his hands trembled. "So the puppy has fangs after all. Want to show me how to use them properly, Han Jisung-ssi?"

It played out like a slow-motion car crash, stunning in its destruction. Jisung slammed Minho against the wall with enough force to make the cheap prints rattle in their frames. Something dark and broken slipped out of Minho's lips as his forearm pressed against his throat.

"So fucking predictable," Minho rasped around the pressure on his windpipe, his pupils blown so wide the brown was almost swallowed by black. "All you baby alphas..." His fingers found Jisung's bicep, nails, leaving crescent moons in the flesh. "So easy to provoke. So desperate to prove yourselves. Tell me, blueberry, how many others have you pinned like this?"

"I said," Han snarled, pressing harder until Minho's breath came in wheezing gasps, "shut that pretty mouth before I shut it for you. You reek of spoiled lavender and mommy issues, street pup. Did she not hug you enough? Is that why you're here, trying to ruin what isn't yours anymore?"

Following that, there was too much movement to follow—a haze of tattoos and high-end clothing. Suddenly Minho had reversed their positions, pinning Jisung against the wall. Han grunted in surprise at the impact, his teeth clicking together so forcefully that you winced with pity.

In an attempt to humiliate the wolf who had dared to assert its superiority, Minho's thigh pushed upward between Han's legs and degraded him. Trembling but determined, his fingers tangled themselves into Han's blue strands.

"Who's the street pup now?" Minho tilted his head, letting his lips brush the shell of Jisung's ear. "So docile suddenly. Where's all that protective alpha posturing? Or does it only work when you're trying to impress my leftovers?"

What tore from Jisung's throat wasn't anything you'd heard before—not in your years of teaching children, not in nature documentaries about wolves, not even in your darkest nightmares. Kind of sound that made your bone marrow freeze and your hindbrain scream danger. At a frequency that made your teeth hurt, the cheap metal numbers on your door vibrated. A picture frame crashed to the floor.

Your own alpha stirred beneath your skin like a serpent uncoiling, recognising the precipice of violence you were all balanced on.

Sylvia pressed herself against your arms. Her tail lashed the air like a whip, pupils blown so wide the green was just a thin ring. You knew, with the bone-deep certainty of prey watching predators circle, that this wouldn't end with just bruised egos and wounded pride. The territory—you, this hallway, perhaps even this entire narrative—had already been marked with invisible blood.

"That's enough! Both of you, stop this-"

But the words died in your throat as Jisung moved. One moment he was pinned against the wall; the next he was pure kinetic energy unleashed. His body curved like a question mark before springing forward, teeth finding the vulnerable juncture where Minho's neck met.

The sound that followed would haunt your dreams for months: wet, obscene, like overripe fruit being crushed under combat boots. Blood, startlingly bright against Minho's shirt, bloomed like a macabre watercolor.

—-----------

As soon as Minho stepped out of the rehabilitation center, his fingers began the routine dance of coffee, lighter, and cigarette. His eyes, still heavy from group therapy, focused on the cracks in the concrete while he tried to juggle the cheap coffee cup and red Marlboro. A curse that reverberated throughout the alley was evoked by the hot liquid that trickled down his hand.

"Fuck's sake, I can't even do this right," he muttered, licking the coffee that dripped between his fingers.

It was a total and utter catastrophe for him. First, Seungmin had shown up at his apartment at 6 AM with some green tea mixed with ginger and honey that looked more like rat poison. "For detoxing," he'd said, pushing the steaming cup into his hands. Then, Bang Chan practically broke down his door, dragging him out of bed while yelling something about "corporate responsibility" and how the shareholders were concerned about his erratic behavior. As if he didn't know the hotel franchise was crumbling under his fingers since you left him.

To top it all off? Jisung was the embodiment of his headache. An irritatingly attractive alpha who had the gift of making his blood boil—and not necessarily in a good way.

Since the incident that led them to the police station (and subsequently to the emergency room, where Minho needed five stitches in his neck and had to pray the bite hadn't been right on his scent gland, linking Jisung to him in a way that gave him chills just thinking about it), the judge had sentenced them to five months of group therapy. Two hours per week sitting in a circle with other "violence-prone individuals," as Dr. Park—a beta who always smelled like old socks—liked to call them.

And now, to make matters worse, whenever he had the chance, Jisung liked to rub his scent gland against yours right in the middle of the room, masking your natural scent. It was as if he wanted Minho to witness firsthand how you had moved on—the way he adjusted his motorcycle helmet every night after the session, his fingers lingering on your nape; how he whispered stupid jokes in your ear that made you laugh in that way that used to be reserved just for Minho; how he made sure to leave visible marks on your neck, transforming everything that once screamed "Minho" into cinnamon and a blue-haired alpha.

"Hey, princess, still haven't learned how to drink coffee without making a mess? Or do you need me to teach you how adults do it?"

Eyelids fluttering, Minho closed his eyes. After four months in this therapeutic hell, his fingers, now bitten down to raw flesh, involuntarily contracted, imprinting his palms with tiny crescents.

"Jisung, I thought we'd agreed to keep our distance outside of sessions. Or is your memory as short as your self-control?"

"Yeah, but then I saw you here alone," Jisung approached. The smell of cinnamon and coffee invaded Minho's personal space like an unwanted heat wave. "And I thought: 'What a waste.' All this drama, all this tension... for what?"

Carelessly, Minho propped one foot on a crushed trash can and leaned against the filthy alley wall. The cigarette hung loose between his chapped lips, smoke dancing in lazy spirals around his face.

"Go fuck yourself, Han."

"Your ex 'little alpha' is doing that quite well," Jisung responded, running his tongue over the piercing in his lower lip provocatively. "Thanks for asking."

Minho clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. The taste of cheap coffee still burned his tongue when he raised his eyes to face Jisung. There was something there, hidden in the shadows of those puppy eyes, that almost made Minho choke on the smoke—something hungry, dangerous, electric. Jisung seemed to be planning something behind those long eyelashes, and Minho recognized the familiar crossroads: run or face it.

He should run, of course. Especially after Han had made his alpha behave like a submissive puppy with a simple touch to the wrist. But Minho never had a sense of self-preservation, and if he was going to die today—if Jisung decided to finish what he started that night, now that you weren't here to stop him—well, maybe it would be an appropriate end to all this mess.

"What do you want?"

Old combat boots scuffing the concrete, Han stepped forward. Gently, he reached for the cigarette trapped between Minho's lips. The touch was brief, but it sent electric shocks down his spine, as if someone had connected his nerves to a car battery. Han's eyes, dark as spilled coffee, never left Minho's as he twirled the cigarette between his fingers before crushing it under his sole.

"Sleep with us," Han said simply. "One night."

Time seemed to freeze. Minho felt his toes curl inside his shoes, as if searching for something to grip onto. Like a bird in a cage, his heart pounded against his ribs, and his tongue felt too heavy for his mouth.

"What the fuck?" The laugh that escaped his throat sounded hysterical even to his own ears. "After all that shit at the police station? After the stitches?" Unconsciously, his fingers brushed the scar on his neck.

Han shrugged. "You think I don't notice?" He moved closer. "How your eyes follow her during sessions? And how you stare at me when you think I'm not paying attention? How your pheromones change when I'm around?"

Minho knew your story with Jisung—it was impossible not to know. In the corridors of the rehabilitation center, the whispers reverberated like poisonous snakes. How you, the beloved suburban teacher, had started frequenting Han's studio to cover old scars. How the tattoo sessions turned into confessions, then into coffees shared in paper cups, then into stolen kisses against walls covered in faded flash tattoos. How Han had restored each broken piece of you—not with empty words or grandiose promises, but with small gestures: americanos left in paper cups with your name always intentionally misspelled, colorful post-its hidden with silly cat drawings, nights spent simply holding you while the world collapsed around you. How he spoke of you with a kind of reverent love that made Minho want to vomit—because he only knew how to express affection through bruises and cutting words.

But if Han loves you so much, why is he here offering you up like a piece of meat?

"You're sick."

Han tilted his head. "Maybe. But so are you. And her..." He paused, letting the word hang in the air like smoke. "She wants us. Both of us."

"Spare me this bullshit," Minho spat the words. "You talk like she's your property. Like you can just throw me into your bed like a new toy and expect me to..."

"Don't be naive," Jisung interrupted, taking another step forward. Tattooed fingers found Minho's chin, forcing him to maintain eye contact. "She has more free will than both of us combined. And knows exactly what she wants." His thumb traced Minho's lower lip, collecting a drop of blood where he had bitten too hard before bringing the same finger to his mouth. Minho almost moaned at the sight. "Just like I know exactly what you need. What all three of us need."

"You don't know shit about what I need."

"No?" Han teased, his voice dropping to a hoarse whisper. "Then why are you trembling?" His fingers moved up to Minho's nape, playing with the short strands there. "Why is your heart beating so fast I can feel it from here?"

"Tell me then," Minho challenged. "What does someone as fucked up as you think I need?"

"Mutual destruction," Jisung murmured against his ear. The cold piercing made Minho's earlobe twitch. "The kind that burns everything to the ground and rebuilds something better from the ashes. The kind that only three equally broken people can create."

A sound escaped Minho's throat. His hands found Jisung's chest. He didn't know if he wanted to push or pull, if he wanted to punch that irritating smile or taste it.

"You're poison," Minho whispered, his nails digging into Jisung's chest through the thin shirt. "The kind that kills slowly."

"And you," Han smiled against his skin, "are too thirsty to care about the antidote."

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

Your diaphragm fluttered like a moth stuck to your ribs as you let out a deep breath. Main focus? Not choking on the saliva accumulated behind the gag.

There you were, tied and exposed like an avant-garde artwork on Minho's carpet. With the city lights watching your debauchery like voyeuristic stars, the floor-to-ceiling windows provided a panoramic view of Seoul's horizon.

A muscle in your left thigh spasmodically contracted, making the rope sink deeper into your flesh. It was a map of knots—legs folded and bound in a way that made you think of the origami cranes Minho used to fold when he was nervous. The hemp rope bit at two precise points: just above the ankles, where the bone slightly protruded, and at the top of the thighs, where the flesh was softest.

The metal spreader bar kept your legs open. Your pussy was exposed to the cold air of the penthouse and to the hungry gazes of both men.

From this height, you could almost convince yourself that the entire city was watching. Your wrists were bound with soft leather cuffs (Minho's contribution, always valuing luxury when it came to his house and sex toys), connected to the bar in a way that made your shoulders project backward, presenting your chest.

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

It all started on one of those nights when the air conditioning failed intermittently, making an irritating noise that competed with the sounds of the city outside. A casual observation escaped your lips while you watched the shadows dance on the ceiling, alcohol uninhibiting your tongue and bringing up memories of Minho in therapy sessions—the way he would shrink in his chair, fingers drumming nervously against his knee, eyes jumping between you and Jisung like an anxious pendulum.

That specific night, you were sprawled on the Italian leather couch that Jisung so hated ("Who the hell spends so much money on furniture that sticks to your skin in summer?"), one leg hanging off the edge while the other rested on the back of the couch. The ice in your whiskey glass had long since melted, diluting the amber liquid into something more palatable.

Sitting on the Persian rug, Jisung's restless fingers were causing the strategically placed tears in his black jeans to further fray. The smell of caramel and cinnamon mixed with the residual aroma of cigarettes he had smoked earlier on the balcony.

"Jesus," you murmured, running your tongue over your dry lips. "Do you remember how he trembled? Standing there against the wall, with your hands on his neck..." Your voice failed for a moment. "Like a damn kitten lost in the rain. God, in all these years, I never saw Minho crawl back to anyone like that. Not once. I always... always gave him space to run when he needed it." A bitter laugh escaped your throat. "Never thought that after a whole year he'd still believe the door would be open, you know? That he'd still find..." You gestured vaguely with your free hand, searching for the right words. "...warm milk waiting."

Jisung tilted his head to the side, and he had that glint behind his eyes—that same look you saw when he was about to do a particularly painful tattoo on someone. "A kitten? What an... interesting choice of words, love."

You propped yourself up on your elbows so quickly that your head spun, alcohol and adrenaline making your heart stumble. Every vertebra in your spine screamed in unison as warning signals crackled through it. Shit. Shit. Shit."Ji, fuck, that's not what I—"

"Is that what you used to call him?" He interrupted while crawling towards you like a predator. "When he was between those thighs of yours?"

When Jisung's fingers found your ankle, your throat became parched. Just enough to remind you that he could, but not enough to cause pain, his thumb pressed the pulse point there.

"I bet it was." His other hand slid up to grab your knee, spreading your legs, "I bet you whispered 'kitten' when he had his tongue buried in that pussy of yours. That you told him what a good boy he was while he tasted you like you were the last drop of water in hell."

Since then, after each group therapy session, Jisung would extract your confessions like venom from a wound. Methodically deconstructed your sanity while fucking you against any available surface—the bathroom wall, the car's backseat, the kitchen table where you were supposedly meant to dine like normal people. He fed that part of you that you tried to keep locked away, the bitter and vindictive part that yearned to see Minho undone by both your hands. The words poured from your mouth unfiltered—how Minho's arrogant alpha became docile under your touch, the way his spine arched when you squeezed his throat ("Harder, please, harder"), how he begged for more when you fucked him with that ridiculously large purple dildo hidden in the second drawer of the dresser. How he moaned your name when you forced him to cum for the third time in a row, his muscular thighs trembling.

"Tell me more. How did he sound? How did he squirm? I want every dirty detail."

You swallowed hard. "He... he trembled. His whole body shook when he was too close. And he bit his lips until they bled, trying to hold back his moans. Sometimes... he cried."

"And when you tied him up?" Jisung played with the elastic of your panties, making small circles that made you squirm. "Did he fight against the ropes?"

"No," you answered, your voice breaking into a moan when he suddenly sank two fingers inside you. His thumb found your clit, making your thighs shake involuntarily. "He... God, Ji... he stayed completely still." Your nails dug into the leather couch when he curled his fingers inside you, easily finding that spot that made stars explode behind your eyelids.

"Fascinating," Jisung laughed, the low sound reverberating against your skin while he felt you getting even wetter around his fingers. "The great alpha Minho, reduced to a submissive and desperate kitten. I can almost see him now, tied up and begging." His fingers sped up their rhythm, making you arch your back. "Do you think he'd do the same for me?"

"Ji..." You arched against him, your fingers burying in his dark hair, pulling slightly. "Please!"

His smile was pure sin against your skin. "Please what, love? Use your words."

Out of your mouth came the thoughts in a torrent of desperation. "Can we... Can we fuck him? It's just sex! One night!" Your voice trembled, betraying the desperation you tried to hide under a facade of casualness. "Just... just once. Please! I need to feel him again. I need to see you destroying him too."

"Shh..." His fingers continued their merciless assault inside you while his other hand rose to squeeze your neck lightly. "It's okay, baby. I thought you'd never ask. We'll make our kitten meow so pretty for us."

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

Minho didn't bother with his belt, fingers trembling slightly as he unzipped his trousers. He reached in, fabric rustling against skin as he freed himself from the confines of his designer boxers.

"You remember how she's good with her mouth, right?" Jisung's voice was honey-thick with anticipation as he sprawled on the sofa, legs spread wide, one hand absently tracing patterns on the armrest.

"God, yes." Minho's throat bobbed as he swallowed, kneeling beside your head. His fingertips ghosted over your temple, barely touching. "She doesn't just do it—she worships. Makes you feel like you're her whole fucking world." The muscles in his thighs twitched as he shifted closer. "You have no idea how I missed seeing such a pretty alpha like this."

"Show him then, darling.” Jisung commanded. "Show him what that mouth can do."

Minho's hand trembled slightly as he reached for the gag. The buckle clinked softly as he worked it loose, his breath catching when your lips parted automatically.

Honestly, Minho wasn't in the right headspace to think. After a terrible day at the hotels, he was thinking about how he would cherish every moment of this one night ever since he got home and was counting down the minutes until you and Jisung arrived. This last relapse. This final chance to have the duke in his hands before handing him over to Jisung definitively.

Due to the ball gag, your lips were red and swollen and glistening with saliva.

"There's that pretty little mouth," Minho breathed, tossing the gag aside. His thumb traced the curve of your bottom lip, spreading the wetness there. "Fuck, I missed this view."

He still kept some photos of you on your knees in front of him, lips stretched around his cock. Most were carefully cropped, faceless and anonymous—they could be anyone's lips, anyone's throat. But nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to the reality of you here, now, looking up at him with those eyes that seemed to strip away every layer of his. He slipped his thumb between your parted lips, a soft groan escaping when you immediately began to suck, your tongue swirling around the digit the way you knew drove him mad.

"Open that pretty little mouth for me," Minho purred.

Without thinking, you opened your mouth and offered a silent sacrifice. As Minho pulled his thumb away, the velvet-steel heat of his cock replaced the metallic tang of the freshly removed gag, leaving your taste buds free of its lingering effect. A single drop of precum pearled at the tip, and your tongue darted out to catch it, earning a sharp intake of breath from above.

Minho was longer than memory served, thick enough that your jaw already ached. The familiar weight of him filled your mouth inch by devastating inch, while his hand cradled your cheek with deceptive tenderness. Your eyes watered as he paused halfway, not from discomfort but from the overwhelming sensation of having him here again, real and solid and trembling ever so slightly.

A groan tore free from his throat as his head fell back.

"Fuck..."

Jisung laughed from where he sat, drinking his whiskey. "Yeah, well, wait until you feel her tight cunt again."

The crude words sent a bolt of electricity straight to your core, making you clench helplessly around nothing but want.

When Minho drew back, his cock dragged against your tongue in a slow withdrawal that had your toes curling against the carpet. He thrust forward with the same measure, but you could see the tension coiling in his thighs, the way his abdominal muscles jumped beneath smooth skin. His gaze raked down your body like physical touch, lingering on the slick folds. The sight alone made his cock twitch against your tongue.

He couldn't remember any of the times when he was the one who dominated—it was always you who reduced him to incoherent pleas against the silk sheets. It was always you who destroyed and rebuilt him as you wished, piece by piece, moan by moan, until nothing remained but a broken alpha begging for more. It was always you who made his wolf—the same one that growled at anyone who dared challenge him in the hotel corridors—wag its tail and lower its ears, submissive as a newborn pup. But now, with the ropes biting into your wrists and Jisung commanding your every breath, he couldn't deny that this was more exciting than any fantasy his feverish brain could have conjured during the long nights without you.

As his hips started to move more purposefully and each thrust struck deeper than the last, his fingers became more taut in your hair. The wet sounds of your throat working around him filled the room, punctuated by his increasingly ragged breathing. Your nose brushed against the dark trail of hair leading down from his navel with each forward motion, inhaling the musky scent of arousal and expensive cologne that was uniquely Minho.

"Look at how well she takes it," Jisung observed. The ice in his glass clinked as he took another sip. "Such a good little cocksucker. Always knew exactly how to make you fall apart, didn't she?"

Minho's response was lost in a choked moan as you hollowed your cheeks, tongue pressing firmly against the sensitive underside of his cock.

Words slipped out between clenched teeth as he cursed in Korean due to the slight constriction that caused him to hit the back of your throat.

"Fuck, fuck, I can't—" His voice cracked as you swallowed deliberately around him again. "She's still so-nghh... So fucking good."

Just before heat filled your mouth, you felt him pulse against your tongue. With a broken sound that could have been your name, he came with fingers that squirmed in your hair, gripping you almost painfully. Oversensitive and quivering, you forced him through it, draining every last drop from his dick until he had to back off.

"Jesus Christ," he staggered back a little and panted. Between your lips and his softening cock, a thin strand of cum-infused saliva stretched before shattering. "I forgot how fucking good you are at that."

Jisung's low chuckle made Minho’s vertebrae tingle in anticipation. "Oh, we're just getting started, aren't we, kitten?" Approaching from behind Minho, his footsteps reverberated on the hardwood floor. "Now scoot."

Minho obliged with the grace of a chastised cat, crawling a few paces away on hands and knees, his designer slacks dragging slightly against the floor. Only then, through the post-orgasmic haze that clouded his vision like morning mist, did he notice Han had undressed. Perhaps he'd blacked out for a moment and lost track of time.

"You doing okay, baby?”

As Jisung pushed deeper than Minho had ventured, you nodded enthusiastically around his cock, your eyes watering. Hissing through gritted teeth, your throat tightened around him. Minho watched in awe as the music sent chills down his spine.

"Fuck yes, look at her take it." Jisung's voice was rough with pleasure as he gripped your hair tighter, the slight pain making your cunt clench. "Such a good little slut for us, aren't you?"

Minho couldn't tear his eyes away from where Jisung's cock disappeared between your swollen lips. A drop of your arousal slid down your inner thigh, and his own spent cock twitched with curiosity. Your hips moved restlessly, searching for friction that wasn't there, and the diamond plug caught the light.

Unable to resist any longer, Minho crawled between your spread legs. Your scent hit him like a physical force—familiar yet somehow more intoxicating than he remembered. His tongue darted out to catch that glistening drop of wetness, tracing it back to its source.

Both men shuddered at the moan you uttered around Jisung's dick. Jisung looked back over his shoulder, pupils blown wide with lust as he watched Minho worship your dripping cunt. That wasn't the damn plan, but you were making such beautiful sounds that it made him reconsider.

"Well, well," Jisung purred, rolling his hips forward until you gagged slightly. "Looks like someone's eager to taste what's mine." His free hand reached back to tangle in Minho's hair, forcing his face closer to your heat. "Go ahead then, kitten. Show me how badly you've missed this pussy."

Minho needed no further encouragement. His tongue delved deep, gathering your wetness like a man dying of thirst. Above him, Jisung's thrusts grew more erratic as your moans vibrated around his length.

"That's it," Jisung groaned, his grip tightening painfully in both your hair and Minho's. "Make her cum on your tongue while I fuck that pretty throat raw."

You clenched again as you gagged. The sight made both men groan in unison.

While two fingers twisted inside you, locating that secret place that caused lightning to dance behind your eyelids, his expert mouth plunged deeper. Legs shaking as they clamped around his head, your spine arched off the floor like a bow being drawn. The tendons in your neck strained against skin as you fought for breath around Jisung's length.

Minho's free hand traced idle patterns on your hip, thumb pressing into the hollow there as if to anchor you to earth. He remembered how you used to fight this—how your alpha pride would make you bite your lip bloody rather than surrender. But tonight was different. Tonight, you were lost in a haze of sensation, caught between Jisung stretching your throat and Minho's wicked tongue.

"I missed those little sounds you make," Minho whispered against your inner thigh while his fingers never stopped their relentless assault inside you. "Remember how you used to fight it? All that alpha pride... But look at you now, dripping all over my chin like the prettiest little slut."

Your only response was a desperate whimper around Jisung the vibrations making him curse and grip your hair tighter. Minho's palm spread across your lower belly, feeling the muscles there coiling tight as a spring. He could read the signs in your body like a familiar book - the flutter of your walls around his fingers, the way your toes curled against the carpet, the endless slick that coated his chin and neck.

It should be impossible, actually. You were an alpha, technically more prepared to lubricate less than omegas and less sensitive, but that was never an obstacle for Lee Minho. He had a talent and he was going to rub it in the blue one's face.

"There we go," he purred, voice rough with want as his fingers found that perfect rhythm. His tongue flicked rapidly against your clit. "Show Jisung what he's been missing. Show him how pretty you look when you fall apart for us. Bet he's never seen an alpha gush like this before."

Unstoppable and overwhelming, the pressure increased like a tsunami. As Minho's tongue pounded viciously against you and his fingers struck that spot with devastating accuracy, your thighs trembled uncontrollably. Above you, Jisung's grip tightened in your hair as he felt your throat contracting around him, your gag reflex working overtime.

"Holy shit," Jisung groaned, watching transfixed as Minho buried his face deeper between your thighs, his nose grinding against your button while his tongue worked magic. "Is she actually going to—?"

“Yeah. Just watch, blue.”

Your muffled scream cut him off as the dam finally broke. Tears streamed down your face, mixing with the saliva on your chin as you came hard around Minho's fingers. He moaned against your pussy, the vibrations prolonging your pleasure as you gushed over his hand and face. You thrashing beneath him, totally undone and beautiful in your surrender, made his own cock harden once more. He didn't stop, though, working you through each aftershock until you were sobbing around Jisung's length, your whole body trembling.

"Such a good girl," Minho praised, his tongue darting out to catch another drop of your arousal from his bottom lip. A muscle in his jaw twitched as he swallowed, savoring your taste like a man starved. "Always so fucking perfect for us. Still tastes like honey and sin."

"You okay, baby?" Han's voice was velvet-soft as he ran a loving hand down the center of your chest, fingers trailing fire under your tied arms and over the plane of your stomach. "You never let me see you like this before."

"Never saw her absolutely drenched like this before, did you?" Minho wiped his chin with the back of his hand, though his face remained gloriously debauched. A drop of your arousal caught the light as it rolled down the column of his throat, disappearing beneath his collar. "Takes someone who knows exactly what buttons to push."

“Funny how you think you know her better after abandoning her for two fucking years, kitten."

Minho's eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, catching the light like a cat's in the darkness.

"I may have left." A cruel smile played at the corners of his mouth. "But at least I knew how to make her fall apart properly when I was here. Every." His tongue clicked against his teeth. "Single." Another click. "Time." His head tilted to one side, challenging. "Can you say the same, blue boy?"

Han’s scent turned sharp enough to burn, filling the room like smoke. "Continue running your mouth like that," his fingers traced patterns on your hip, but his eyes were fixed on Minho's throat. "And I'll show you exactly how I can reduce your precious wolf to a whimpering mutt while I spank that pretty ass of yours until it matches your fucking pride."

Your throat burned deliciously as you swallowed, tasting the remnants of both men on your tongue. Both of them turned back to you as you shifted, the ropes biting into your wrists. "For fuck's sake," you managed to rasp. "Shut up, both of you. Less alpha posturing, more fucking. I didn't get on my knees and let you both use my throat just to watch you measure dicks like teenagers."

"Uhm... Sorry, baby." Jisung's chuckle reverberated through his chest. His fingers traced the curve of your jaw, thumb pressing against your swollen bottom lip. "Since it's this dumb alpha's special day," he shot Minho a look that made the older alpha blush, "I'll let him decide if he wants his knot in your tight little ass or that pretty cunt. Okay?"

With eyes darting between your dripping core and the jeweled plug that winked teasingly between your cheeks, Minho's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.

"I want..." his voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, shifting his weight from one knee to the other. "Both." His fingers flexed at his sides, itching to touch Jisung but not daring. "Please, I need both."

One sharp look from Jisung—just a slight narrowing—and a disapproving click of his tongue was all it took. It was like watching a proud statue fall apart—the change happened instantly. Minho's shoulders curved inward, the proud line of his spine melting into something more pliant. His chest rose and fell rapidly.

Almost apparent, the aroma of cinnamon, lavender, and caramel wrapped itself around Minho like silk strands.

"Cunt," he finally whispered. "Please... I choose her pussy. Want to feel her squeeze around my knot like she used to."

A slow smile spread across Jisung's face. "Good kitten," he purred. His fingers tangled in Minho's dark hair, tugging just hard enough to sting. "Pussy it is. What do you say now?”

“T-Thank you.”

“There you go.”

Jisung's hands were surprisingly gentle as he worked at the knots, each brush of his fingers against your sensitized skin making you shiver. With a whisper, the rope slipped away and gathered on the ground like discarded snake skin.

"Up you go, pretty thing," Jisung whispered as he assisted you in standing up, his palm extending over the small of your back.

Your legs trembled like a newborn fawn's, muscles still quivering from the aftershocks. The room swayed and tilted like a ship in a storm, reality blurring at the edges until Jisung's bruising grip on your hip became your only anchor to consciousness.

Leather greeted your heated skin with a shock of cold that drew a hiss from between your teeth. Jisung's knee pressed insistently between your thighs, spreading you wide enough that the muscles burned. Behind you, Minho's breath hitched in his throat—a sound caught between a whimper and a growl that made your inner walls clench with need. The jeweled plug shifted inside you as Jisung toyed with it.

"Such a greedy little thing," Jisung worked the plug in torturous circles. "Look at how she's clenching around it, Minho-yah. Both holes just begging to be stuffed full, aren't they?" The metal caught the dim light as he finally eased it free, your body fluttering helplessly around the sudden emptiness.

Cool liquid dripped between your cheeks in a meandering trail that made you arch and whine. Jisung's fingers followed, spreading it with the patience of a man who knew exactly how to drive you mad. His knuckles brushed against your entrance with each pass, a teasing promise that had your thighs trembling.

"Here." The single word carried enough command to make both you and Minho shiver.

You heard rather than saw Minho scramble to take the offered bottle, his desperate pants filling the room like a prayer.

"Such a good boy for me," Jisung praised, and you could feel the way Minho's entire being seemed to light up at the words, his scent sweetening with pleasure. "Now get that pretty cock ready. Our girl's been so patient, hasn't she? Look how she's dripping for us both."

With a roughness that sent thrills down your spine—because this was still Han Jisung, still your beautiful, commanding alpha—he manhandled you onto the couch. Your back hit his chest with enough force to drive the air from your lungs, his heartbeat a rapid drum against your shoulder blades. Slick and burning hot, he nudged at your entrance with an insistence that bordered on desperation.

"Gonna split you open so pretty," he growled against the shell of your ear, teeth catching the lobe hard enough to sting as he lined up. "Show our little kitty exactly how an alpha takes care of what's his."

A broken sound escaped your throat as he breached you, the stretch bordering on too much. Sweat gathered at your temples, rolling down to pool in the hollow of your throat where your pulse fluttered.

"Holy fuck," Minho whimpered, his fingers twitching against his thigh as he watched you take Jisung to the root.

As Jisung tipped the last of the whiskey to your lips, the amber liquid burned a trail down your throat, and the crystal tumbler clinked against your teeth. "Gorgeous, isn't she?" His hips rolled experimentally, the new angle making your vision blur at the edges. "But we're not done yet, are we, kitten? Show me just how badly you want to wreck her."

Minho's hands shook as they settled on your thighs, fingertips leaving crescent-shaped marks as he spread you impossibly wider. Already slippery and swollen from his previous attention, the head of his dick pressed against your folds, a string of precum binding him to your heated flesh.

"Please," your voice cracked around the word as your fingers dipped between your legs, spreading yourself. "Need you both. Need to be filled completely." You crooked your fingers, showing him exactly where you wanted him, clenching around nothing. "Show me you haven't forgotten how to make me scream, Min."

What was left of his control was destroyed by the use of his nickname.

As if he had run for miles, Minho's chest heaved as his breath came in tattered pants that muddled the air between you. In an attempt to resist the urge to simply pop a knot in midair, the muscles in his forearms tensed up.

"Such a needy little thing.”

Behind you, Jisung's hands slid up your ribcage, leaving trails of fire in their wake before cupping your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples until they peaked. "Stop teasing her. Unless you want me to take over completely and show you how it's done."

The threat in his voice made Minho's hips snap forward, the head of his cock finally breaching you. The stretch was exquisite—too much and not enough all at once, burning and perfect. Your walls fluttered around both men as they filled you completely, the dual sensation making your toes curl against the leather.

"Fuck," Minho choked out, his forehead dropping to rest against your sternum. "So tight. So perfect. Can feel you both. Can feel how well you take us."

Your fingers found their way into his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp as you felt him tremble. The touch made him shudder violently, his hips stuttering forward another inch as a broken moan escaped his throat. "Move, kitty," you commanded softly, tugging at his hair just the way you remembered he liked.

Minho's eyes devoured every inch of you with an almost feverish intensity, pupils blown wide as his hips snapped forward with urgency.

"Please," he rasped, voice cracking like autumn leaves underfoot. "Need to—shit, need to mark you. Make you mine again." His canines lengthened visibly, pressing against his bottom lip until tiny droplets of blood welled up. His inner wolf screamed for possession as it thrashed against its chains—you ought to be writhing beneath him in his bedroom, your scent blending with the remnants that, two years later, still clung obstinately to his sheets, taking his knot until the memory of any other touch vanished.

"Such pretty begging," Jisung purred, his breath hot against your ear. His free hand snaked around to grip Minho's throat, thumb pressing just hard enough to make the older alpha's breath hitch. "But you forgot something important, didn't you?"

No kissing, no claiming.

The movement caught Minho's attention, drawing his gaze up to where Jisung watched them both with predatory focus. Something molten pooled in Minho's stomach as the younger alpha's lips twisted into that devastating half-smile.

Slowly, Jisung brought the crystal tumbler to his own lips, throat working as he swallowed. A single drop of amber liquid escaped, meandering down the sharp line of his jaw. Minho's tongue darted out unconsciously to wet his lips.

The realization hit him like lightning—Han Jisung, with his ocean-deep hair, lip piercing and cruel kindness, would slot perfectly into the empty spaces in his bedroom too.

What the fuck? No, this shouldn't be happening! The metallic taste of blood invaded his mouth as he bit his lip hard enough to hurt, ignoring how your eyes opened to stare at him when you smelled it.

Fuck! He already has a jack in his hands; he doesn't need another one! The thought burned like acid in his throat. Minho needs to think about other omegas and whores—the girl from Midnight Club with purple hair and tongue piercings, the bartender from Red Light with tribal tattoos running down his tanned neck, the cat-eyed dancer from Velvet Underground. He needs to fuck women and men until the scent of cinnamon and caramel is replaced by sweat and cheap sex, until every memory of you is buried under a pile of nameless bodies, until he erases you from the system, erases Jisung and that damn smile.

He needed to fuck.

"Open that pretty mouth for me, kitten," Jisung commanded, pressing the cool rim of the glass to Minho's lips. His other hand remained firm around the older alpha's throat.

Whiskey flooded Minho's mouth, burning sweetly as it mixed with your lingering taste on his tongue. His eyes fluttered shut, overwhelmed by the dual sensation of your walls clenching around him and Jisung's possessive grip on his throat. The familiar pressure began building at the base of his cock, his knot threatening to swell—breed mate claim mine mine mine.

"Eyes on me," Jisung growled, his fingers tightening until crimson starbursts exploded behind Minho's eyelids. "Show me what a good boy you can be. Match my rhythm—yeah, just like that." His thumb ghosted over Minho's bottom lip, collecting the bitter cocktail of whiskey and copper.

The muscles in Minho's throat worked convulsively beneath Jisung's grip, his pulse a frantic drumbeat against calloused fingers. Sweat-stained skin caused his shoulder blades to shift beneath his curved spine as he struggled to keep up with Jisung's vicious pace.

"I'm sorry, sorry, baby." Minho choked out, his rhythm growing erratic as his knot began to swell, balls hitting your rim with all his might. "Please, Alpha, I can't—need to—"

"Not yet." Jisung's voice was sin incarnate, dark honey and broken glass. His fingers found your clit, drawing tight circles that had your vision blurring at the edges. "Our girl cums first. Show her what those pretty fingers can do and then you are allowed."

When you felt the stretch of both cocks filling you completely, Jisung's teeth at your throat, and Minho's deft fingers joining Jisung's at your clit, the world shrank to pure sensation. Your orgasm hit like a tidal wave, vision whiting out as pleasure crashed through your system. You could feel yourself clenching rhythmically around them both, drawing them deeper as your body demanded to be bred.

"Holy fuck," Minho choked out, his hips stuttering as your walls milked his cock. "Can't—alpha, please—"

Jisung's growl vibrated through your back, possessive and commanding. "Cum for us, kitten. Breed her nice and deep."

As Minho emptied himself inside of you with a broken cry, the command in Jisung's voice caused his entire body to tremble, his knot to fully swell. You could feel him pulsing, filling you alongside Jisung's still-hard length. Your oversensitive walls fluttered around them both, and the sensation was almost too much, almost painful.

"Such a good boy," Jisung praised, his voice rough as gravel as his hips snapped up harder. His fingers twisted in Minho's hair, yanking his head back to expose the column of his throat. "Look at how well you take my commands, how perfectly you fill our alpha."

Minho whimpered, high and desperate, as Jisung's teeth scraped over his scent gland. His hips jerked helplessly, locked inside you by his knot as aftershocks of pleasure wracked his frame.

"Please," you gasped, writhing between them as Jisung's pace grew brutal. "Too much! I can't! Stop!"

Jisung's laugh was dark honey against your skin. "Yes, you can. One more for us, pretty thing. Show our kitty how good we make you feel."

His fingers found your clit again while Minho latched onto your breast. The dual sensation of his tongue laving over your nipple and Jisung's cock dragging against your g-spot had you almost screaming.

Minho's teeth grazed your nipple as he moaned around the sensitive flesh, his own oversensitivity evident in the way his thighs trembled. You could feel his knot pulsing inside you with each thrust of Jisung's hips, stretching you impossibly wider.

"That's it," Jisung growled, his rhythm growing erratic as his own knot began to swell. "Take it all, every fucking drop."

As pleasure verged on pain, your second orgasm struck like lightning, causing tears to fall down your cheeks. Jisung followed with a snarl, his knot locking inside you alongside Minho's as he marked you from the inside out.

For a moment, Minho allowed himself to collapse against your chest, his forehead pressed against your sternum as his breath came in ragged gasps. The steady thrum of your heartbeat beneath his ear was a siren song, beckoning him towards dangerous waters where dreams of permanence lurked like sharks beneath still waters.

"Fuck," he whispered, the word barely audible as his fingers traced meaningless patterns across your ribs. His tongue darted out to taste the salt of your skin, cataloging the way Jisung's and his scent had mixed with your natural sweetness to create something entirely new.

Behind you, Jisung's fingers carded through Minho's sweat-dampened hair, the gentle touch at odds with the possessive grip he maintained on your hip. "Stay still for me, both of you," he murmured, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your shoulder. "Let me take care of you while we're tied."

Minho's eyelashes fluttered against your skin as he fought back the surge of emotion threatening to overwhelm him. He wanted to memorize this moment—the weight of you both, the way Jisung's fingers felt against his scalp, the lingering taste of whiskey and blood on his tongue. Wanted to bottle it up and keep it safe, hidden away with all the other pieces of himself he couldn't bear to examine too closely.

But he couldn't. Wouldn't. The rules were clear—no staying, no claiming, no letting himself believe this could be anything more than what it was. Even as his body betrayed him, cock still pulsing inside you as his knot kept you locked together, his mind was already calculating the fastest way to get you out of his house. Already planning his escape.

"Your heart's racing," you observed softly, fingers trailing down his spine in a touch so gentle it made him want to scream. Or sob. Or both.

Minho said nothing, but his fingers dug into your hips hard enough to bruise.

It was like a game of Kemps, Minho thought hazily, watching the way moonlight painted silver stripes across your skin through his half-closed Venetian blinds. Just like those drunken Sunday afternoons in Chan's apartment. But now he had two jacks in his hand. Two cards that could ruin everything he'd built, destroy the fortress around his heart.

He could already imagine it—lazy Sunday mornings with the scent of condensed milk pudding filling his apartment, the sweet aroma mingling with fresh coffee and Jisung's scent. Jisung's steady hands marking his skin with permanent promises in black ink while vinyl records crackled in the background. You in the bathtub singing "Here Comes The Sun" off-key, bubbles clinging to your shoulders while Jisung lounged behind you reading his worn copy of Murakami, occasionally glancing up from the pages to watch him shave. Movie nights with takeout containers scattered across his coffee table, your head in his lap and Jisung's fingers absently playing with both your hair. The three of you tangled together in his Egyptian cotton sheets, no need for rushed goodbyes or careful distance, just the steady rhythm of shared breaths and intertwined heartbeats.

The domesticity of these visions felt like a noose around his neck, tightening with each passing second. Like his mother's pearls scattered across the bathroom floor, like the bitter taste of failure that had lived on his tongue since that day. The thought terrified him more than any business deal or angry investor ever could.

"When will I see you again?"

For the first time, he was the one that asked this question. His fingers trembled as he considered keeping his jacks instead of discarding them, letting them destroy his perfect game.

After all, sometimes the best strategy was letting your walls crumble, brick by carefully constructed brick, until nothing remained but the raw, beating heart beneath.

Kemps!

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