#class 1-a smut

[muntitled]

Rabid

Pairings: Geum Seongje x Fem!Reader

Summary: You've figured if you paid him, then your debts would be settled and maybe... just maybe he'd let you go

Warnings: Language, Dom!Seongje, Gangsterism, Bullied!Reader, Angst, Neglect, Coercion, Bullying, Extortion, Absent Parents, Violence, Smut +18 (mdni), Sadomasochism, Sadist!Seongje, Fingering, Dark fic, Dubious consent, Exhibitionism, Desperate Sex, Humiliation, Degradation

A/N: Comissioned by @tojii11 ... as always I'm not responsible for the media you consume.

Since you've known him as of late, lying has become almost as voluntary as breathing. It should scare you, how fluidly a lie slips past the confines of your lips. Making you more and unrecognizable to even your own self.

"I'm tutoring late tonight."

"I’m studying at the library,"

“I'm having dinner with a friend.”

You didn't have many of those. Had your parents been the caring type they might have known that friends were a luxury you could not afford.

Still, it bothered you that you were making excuses for him. You were helping yourself get extorted everytime you stole for him and everytime you didn't let a living soul know.

The first few times were as difficult as it ever got. But the more you were forced to work for him, the more he corrupted you-the more that infection spread until it became all you were.

"What do you need that much money for anyway?" You squeeze your phone tighter with one hand while the other sits in your blazer pocket. You maintain a calm, controlled gait as you walk out of the school gates, surrounded by your peers dressed in the same uniform walking in clumps of groups- little ecosystems that they formed to help manage their anxieties. You wish you had their problems: Boys. Makeup. Parties.

You wish you had your own little ecosystem. A group who'd be more concerned with strengthening your mental health, not deteriorating it.

"You think school trips to Bali are gonna be cheap?" It was always easier to lie to her over the phone or through text. There was something biting in your mother's eyes that you couldn't always face. Something that would eat you alive if she found out you've been working for the kind of people you're working for.

"Backtrack on the attitude," her words snipe you through the receiver like barbed wire, "It's just strange that they're organizing a field trip in the height of your assignments like this..."

"It's an incentive I guess. They're telling us about it now for extra motivation to see this exam season through.." lies lies and more lies. Your mouth is full of them.

"I don't know if I want you to be thinking about a trip to Bali during all this work... have you been improving?"

There was no improvement with her. Only perfection. She tried your whole life to wipe you squeaky clean until you were spotless. If only she knew that over the past year you've acquired a spot almost impossible to scrub away. He's irremovable. Or at least you thought he was...

"When did you say your field trip was? Perhaps your father and I will tag along, make a family vacation out of it. We never see you anymore because you're always studying and Bali is lovely all-year round-" while your mother talks, your heart sinks and panic festers. You try to focus your steps on making it across the road, down a path you've walked all year.

"Mom, please don't be embarrassing."

"How am I being embarrassing?"

"You'll be the only parent there." Above you, the afternoon sun sits snugly against the horizon, guiding you down a decrepit lane. Stray cats and empty soju bottles litter the street the farther you walk from the safety of the school grounds. You're getting closer and you needed her to send the money.

"It's my money. I can do with it as I please."

You scramble your brain, searching furiously for a lifeline.

"It's just..." More and more lies, "This trip is actually just Geo-camp. Our teachers planned a few cave explorations. We're gonna check out the different stalactites and stalagmites-your presence might hinder my concentration-"

In the distance, the warehouse looms and your fist in your blazer pocket begins to coil.

"Why didn't you say so in the first place instead of wasting my time?” Your mother tsks, “I've sent the money to your account."

"Thank you ma'am..."

The call ends abruptly, void of any warmth. Void of any love. You pull your phone away from your ear and your nerves settle as you see the money reflecting. You suddenly feel bigger than this warehouse- bigger than life itself- like you're armed and ready to take on anything this rabid dog might throw at you.

You tilt your head back to watch the clouds disappear behind the iron roof and you steal your nerves. Word on the street is that this place once belonged to Baek Jin before his untimely disappearance. Until, naturally, a wolf came in and marked it as his own...

The nearer you get to the slightly opened door, the clearer the sound becomes: You hear the sound of a broken man groaning and your body has a visceral reaction. By now you recognize the sound of a fist slamming against human flesh and bone. You know what that sounds like and it haunts you through those quiet moments at night when it was just you and your memories. You fight the urge to stop walking, something in you tugging and begging to just walk away. It's either this or remain a slave for the rest of your foreseeable future.

That thought is enough to have you sucking in one final breath of air before waltzing into the warehouse. It's dark, the air damp and stuffy with little to no circulation. Despite the location, the interior is somewhat tidy and were it not for the man kneeling and bleeding on the floor, you might have thought the place fitting for any dignified bachelor.

“I didn't expect to see you today,” Seongje addresses you the moment you step in. His fist is paused in mid air and it's pulled back as if you'd just saved the man on the floor from experiencing one final blow.

He smiles at you, as if he didn't have blood on his knuckles. As if he didn't have a man on his knees, pleading for his life. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” Seongje asks, before digging his fingers into the boys scalp. You hide your trembling hands in the pockets of your blazer and you appear as unaffected as you possibly can when Seongje tilts the man's face to look up at you. “This is Eungmin. He's very cute, very small.” Seongje smiles. “Eungmin is getting beat unconscious because he's been stealing some of my money for himself, isn't that right, Eungmin-a?”

The man’s left ise completely disappeared under a swollen mass of flesh. His skin is broken in several places- all is red and yet he still tries… “P-please-” his words are slurred. You can tell he's getting closer and closer to blacking out. His brain can't comprehend the words leaving his mouth and it's far too painful to watch. “My grandfather's sick and- I needed the money-”

“Sob, sob, sob, stories, Eungmin-a,” Seongje lets go of the man's head before tucking his hands into his pockets. Eungmin sways from side to side as Seongje rounds his bruised and battered body, tsking lightly like a scolding parent.

Before you're made witness to any more bloodshed, possibly even a murder, you grab your phone out of blazer pocket and with trembling hands you press a few buttons on your screen.

Seongje's phone buzzes and he pulls it out of his pockets. He taps away at the device with bloodied fingers, his orange windbreaker stained with the same blood and for a moment, all is quiet.

Seongje stares blankly at his screen.

“What's this?” He asks without looking up.

Something in you tells you that you have the upper hand. Power has shifted, even minutely and it gives you the courage to reply back, “It's an incentive.”

Seongje's dark eyes finally flit up to you and you're arrested by that wolfish grin. “Big words.” He smirks. “You want a promotion or something?”

You ready your voice. “Actually, Seongje, I’m looking for a way out.”

More silence but this time, it's fucking suffocating. Even the man on the floor, the man who's experienced the very worst of Seongje's wrath has his mouth slightly open from shock.

“I never want to steal for you again. I never want to do anything for you again.” You find your voice in the rubble of your pain and all your anxieties that have gone unnoticed by the adults around you. “I never wanna see you again.”

He nods slowly. “I hear you.” Seongje's voice is calm. So calm it births a sliver of hope inside you: Maybe he'll just accept the money and you might actually be free. You could go back to being a girl forgotten by the rest of the world but this time, it'd be on your own terms. You'd love to be invisible again. Invisible girls don't get extorted like this.

“It's just… I'm really sensitive-”

The very moment those words leave his mouth, the moment a glimmer of a smile flits onto your lips, Seongje delivers a bone-cracking punch to the man's jaw.

You gasp and cup your mouth with both hands. Shocked.

The man slumps over, face hitting the floor. Knocked out cold.

“This is interesting.” Seongje says but you can't look away at the man laying on the ground. His body twitches periodically until there's barely any movement at all. Were you looking at someone passed out or were you staring at a corpse?

Soengje doesn't care about either outcome because he's already lighting a cigarette, standing as if pondering something else entirely.

“Where'd you get this money from?”

“D-Does-” you swallow thickly, “-it matter?”

He nods his head slightly before sticking the cigarette on the tip of his lips, “I could buy a million cig packs with this. The good kind too,” he chuckles, “Fuck, I could buy a fucking factory-”

“It's not that much-”

“Are you rich?” He asks suddenly, ramping up your nerves as he tucks his hands in his pockets to stalk closer towards you. “Have I been extorting a princess this whole time and I didn't know it?” You make your body an iron rod- your face cold. Something like him can't sense discomfort or he'll play with it.

“Not rich,” you say, “Just desperate…”

His feet stop directly in front of you and you keep your gaze there. Not daring to look up at him until he brings his own index finger under your chin, tilting it up.

“I like that word… Desperate.” He blows out a plume of smoke but not in your face. The small, gentlemanly act is almost laughable.

“Seongje, at this rate I'll be working for you for the rest of my life-”

“The rest of your life…” he nods slowly, looking away in a pensive manner before looking back at you, “That sounds fun, doesn't it?”

“Seongje- please just accept the money…”

“Are you calling me poor?”

“That's not what I'm saying at all and honestly, I feel like you know that's not what I'm saying-” your brows are furrowed, voice rising.

“So I'm delusional then?” He asks with a smile.

“Why do you get off on making yourself a victi-” his hand contracts around your throat and it tightens.

“Lemme stop you from saying what you wanna say because you really won't like the outcome.”

He squeezes one more time in warning before letting you go

“Why would I let you go? You're so perfect for me. We work well together.”

“Seongje, Please-”

“Shh… shh… shh…” he lets the cigarette hang off the side of his mouth before cupping both of your cheeks with both hands. He pushes back a stray braid and you tremble under the weight of not only his hands, but his gaze. His eyes are two endlessly cold voids. You don't wonder what's behind those eyes because you bet there's nothing there.

So focused, you've become, with Seongje's eyes, you barely notice his hand slithering down your neck. He feels you, touches you like he's just discovered something new…

“You've just made me more money than any of these useless scumbags ever have…” He stands closer and you watch as he opens his mouth to let the cigarette fall to the floor. You hear his foot stomp on it but your eyes are hazy with tears.

“I pride myself on being a good businessman… Letting you go?” He tsks, “That's not very good business.”

“Please, Seongje-”

“I do believe in rewards though so…” he lets his hand roam lower and lower. On its way down, he squeezes you tit through your shirt, causing a small gasp to slip through.

“Is it okay?” He asks in a low voice, “That im touching you like this?”

He waits patiently for a response that never comes. Truth is, you're completely and utterly overwhelmed. Caught in a web of feeling good and fucking terrible.

A tear falls.

“Shh,” he pats down your hair while all too slyly inching his hand up your skirt. “Seongje will make you feel better-”

You could tell him to stop, but your mind is clouded with all sorts of contradictions. You can't lie some more and say you don't find him even a little bit attractive. Isn't it fucking terrible how that works? This man has tormented you and yet-

“You're so wet, Princess,” you open your legs wider, only flinching when his fingers rub against your clothed cunt. You don't have the energy to look up at him, but you notice the visceral reaction his body is having from all this.

Over his shoulder, you notice the bloodied man unconscious on the floor.

“You just became wetter-” he whispers into your ear before cursing ever so lightly as his finger pushes aside your panties. You notice his movements becoming less controlled, far more hungry and you begin to pull away.

“Say it.” He urges, before fisting your neck in one tight grip. “I need you to say it.”

In a moment that feels unreal, Seongje pushes you backwards, forcing your feet into motion until he has you firmly pressed against a wall. “Say we work well together- tell me-”

You can't very well say much of anything because he's already sinking his index and middle finger into your cunt. Your mouth flies open and you're caught in a silent cry.

“Fuck- Look at how well we work together…” he says, bringing his fingers up to the light. He watches your slick coat, his fingers and something in you coils with disgust and immense pleasure.

His eyes immediately snap to you the second a small moan croaks out.

“F-Fuck-” you gulp in all the air you possibly can when his grip around your throat loosens. There's absolutely no space between you as he crowds you against the wall, staring down at you with the bad fluorescents reflecting against his glasses.

“You don't get to do that… You don't quit on me. I quit on you.” He's forcing his hand between your legs, this time he fucks you properly. Your cunt clenches around his fingers and a tear falls.

“Say sorry.” He taunts with another manic smile flitting across his face, “I want you to take my fingers and tell me how sorry you are-”

“F-Fuck Seongje-” your hips snap awards and you stare up at him with watery eyes- watery eyes that havr his cocktail straining against his pants. He brings you in close by the nape of your neck while he forces you down until your clit meets the palm of his hand.

“You keep looking at me like that and I'm gonna cum. And I hate cumming first.”

“Shit…” your eyes roll to the back of your head as you force yourself to grind down on his fingers. His hand around your throat is the only thing keeping you somewhat upright. You've slipped into that mental soace where you'll embarrass yourself to achieve orgasm. You needed this.

And him.

“What a greedy slut, huh? Tell me you're done with me. I want you to say it again-”

You can't say much of anything because you grab ahold of his wrist, keeping his fingers inside you as your orgasm crests and breaks.

You're screaming wildly, devoid of all rational thought, unprepared by the fact that a bleeding man still lays forgotten on the cold floor. All you feel is him. Jts all him and its suffocating.

You've quite literally found yourself in the clutches of a sadist and he's guiding You gently through your orgasm… patting your head down lightly like you were a delicate baby bird.

"Why would I ever let you go?"

[k1mbe3rly]

Hii Kimberly can you do something where reader is Geum Seong-je gf. They got into fight. And uhm they do angry sex. (Also can I be your 🥒 anon?)

angry sex

warnings: smut, arguing, rough sex, slight name calling (during argument), baby trapping? talks about pregnancy

Dating Geum seong je was complicated, especially with him being apart of the union (gang), beating people up, and not controlling his anger. You guys are always seen arguing and disagreeing on many things.

Y’all have been arguing all day, no reason just either he picks up an attitude and says something annoying and you just bite back with the same tone, the both of y’all were getting ready for bed but of course he wouldn’t go to bed without an argument, bringing up something stupid about you staring at some guy in a flirt way

“I saw the way you were fucking staring at him i’m not dumb i have eyes.” He says in a cold tone staring right at you, you rolled your eyes getting in bed, “Your just being paranoid, or your just starting something for no reason! let’s just go to bed!” you raised your voice slightly, “I wouldn’t have to start something if you weren’t eye fucking every guy like a slut!” he said raising his voice as well, your eyes snapped at him as you sat up, “I wouldn’t have too if you would just actually treat me better in bed instead of being a little minion!” you said back

He was quick to grab your neck and pin you down on the bed, his face hovered over yours, “what the fuck did you just say? repeat it again you little bitch.” he said, your hand went to his wrist to pull him off as you frowned and glared at him not daring to say anything else, “So now your quiet? now you don’t wanna speak huh?” he said spreading your legs with his knees getting between them

He removed his hands from your neck quickly tearing off your pants without a thought and smoothly, making you gasp in shock as you sat up, “I think..your little pussy just needs some attention. Always fucking complaining. Never shutting up, will this make you shut the fuck up?” he whispered pulling down your panties, he quickly took off his own pants pulling down his boxers low enough for his cock to be out

Roughly spreading your legs as he practically slammed into you, you moaned out loudly at the sudden feeling of him filling you up. “So fucking annoying. So fucking loud.” He said as if he isn’t about to fuck you with all his pent up anger

He started thrusting in and out of you at fast pace, not slow at all, not giving you prep or time to adjust, his movements just as rough and angry as he is, he grabs your throat again squeezing slightly as he fucks into you over and over again, your loud moans falling out of your mouth uncontrollably, the sound of the bed softly creaking and skin being slapped together multiple times, his eyes flash with anger and satisfaction at your loud moans and the sex sounds

“Why do you look at men like you want them to fuck you huh? i’m the one who fucks you, i’m the one who’s fucking you right now” he growled out, his tone slightly breathless, not being able to answer all that came out was moans and moans, his rough pace never slowing down as he than ripped your shirt wanting to see how your boobs bounce all over the place, he smirked like a crazy person his eyes locked on them watching as they spill out your bra

Already feeling your orgasm approach, tightening around him, he suddenly pulls out, flipping you onto your stomach and pulling your hips up, he slaps your ass hard before entering you again from behind, his hands gripping your waist tightly and slamming back in, your head falling into the pillow muffling your moans but not good enough, still loud enough for anyone to hear

He wanted to hear your moans loud and clear as he grabs a fistful of your hair, using it to tilt your head back as he pounds into you relentlessly, your back arched, he looks down to where his cock is connected to you seeing it disappear in and out of you fast, his hips slamming into you, he groans loudly as he throws his head back, his eyes slightly flickering up

Your orgasm was quick to build up again, his stamina was impressive and shocking a bit, the way his pace never slows down not even a bit if instead it goes faster, his cock hitting spots you never thought could be hit, your moans we’re very very loud, you wanted to cum with him but you couldn’t hold it anymore and releasing on his cock, he feels your hot sticky liquid as he looks back down seeing it as he begins to leak, he grins widely

Releasing your hair, he begins to speed up, slapping your ass multiple times, watching as it jiggles against him, he groans again leaning down, “Fuck i’m gonna cum. I’m gonna cum inside you, maybe you’ll get fucking pregnant and be able to stay trapped here with me.” he growls, his cock practically punishing your insides as he groans loudly and cums inside you, he slows down and grinds into you, his pelvis rubbing against you as he softly groans, he chuckles a bit and stays there

After a moment or two he slowly pulls out watching mixed cum leak out of you, “No no no..i wanna keep that inside you..i want my baby with you, would you want that?” he whispers to you his fingers pushing back the juices, you simply just nodded and a soft whine escaped your mouth, he smiles a bit, “Let’s get you all cleaned up..are you okay?” he asks with genuine concern, you nodded again.

[imhaechanshoe]

sweet poison

warnings:toxic relationship,smut,language

The cold rain hammered against the glass of Seongje's apartment windows, a dull background noise to the chaos unfolding between you two.

Again.

"You’re never satisfied, are you?" he hissed, voice low but sharp like a blade. His hand gripped the edge of the kitchen counter so hard his knuckles whitened. "No matter what I do, you always find a reason to fight me."

You stood across from him, soaked from the rain, heart pounding from running back here after another screaming match over texts. Your voice trembled, not from fear — but from rage. "Maybe if you didn’t treat me like something you own, I wouldn’t have to fucking fight you, Seongje!"

That mocking smirk you hated — and loved — tugged at his lips. "Own you?" he repeated, stepping closer. "You are mine. You knew what you signed up for the second you let me fuck you against that club bathroom mirror."

Your breath hitched, a fresh wave of fury and desire tangling deep in your gut. He always did this — twisted everything, blurred the lines until you couldn't tell if you hated him or wanted him more.

"You're toxic," you spat, backing away as he stalked toward you like a predator, slow and deliberate.

"And you," he growled, grabbing your wrist and yanking you against him, "keep coming back for it."

His mouth crashed onto yours, brutal and demanding. You fought him, pushing at his chest, but it only fueled him more. His hands dragged your soaking jacket off, tossing it somewhere behind him without care. His fingers dug into your hips through the wet fabric of your clothes, anchoring you against his hard body.

You hated him. You needed him.

Without breaking the kiss, Seongje shoved you backward until your thighs hit the cold marble island in the kitchen. He ripped your shirt upwards, impatient, yanking it off. Your nipples stiffened immediately in the freezing air.

"Look at you," he breathed, voice dripping with lust and venom as his hungry eyes devoured you. "Always acting like you hate me... but your body fucking loves me."

He pushed you down onto the counter roughly, the marble biting into your back. His mouth trailed fire down your throat, teeth scraping harshly. You gasped, hands fisting in his hair, torn between pulling him closer and pushing him away.

"You think you can leave me?" he rasped against your skin, hips grinding against you so you could feel the heavy bulge pressing into your stomach. "Even if you try, you’ll come crawling back. You always do."

"I hate you," you whispered hoarsely, but your thighs parted instinctively as he jerked your pants and underwear down in one angry motion.

"No, baby," he said darkly, lining himself up without even fully undressing. "You hate how much you love me."

Without warning, he slammed into you, raw and deep. You cried out — half in pain, half in desperate need — as he set a brutal rhythm, snapping his hips against you over and over. The sound of wet skin and harsh breathing filled the room, the rain outside only amplifying the ferocity between you.

Seongje grabbed a fistful of your hair, forcing you to look at him.

"Say you’re mine," he demanded, punctuating each word with a sharp thrust that made your entire body jolt.

You bit your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction. His eyes narrowed. His hand slid down between your bodies, cruel fingers finding your clit, circling it with wicked precision.

"Say. It."

You whimpered, bucking against him despite yourself, tears pooling in your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure and frustration.

"I'm yours," you gasped finally, and the second the words left your mouth, he slammed even harder into you, a deep groan ripping from his throat.

"That's right," he growled, claiming you like he was trying to brand you from the inside out. "You belong to me. No one else touches you. No one else gets to see you like this."

Your orgasm crashed into you suddenly, shattering you with a violence that left you sobbing his name. Seongje followed, grunting low in his throat as he spilled inside you without a second thought, still grinding his hips against you through the aftershocks.

You clung to him, hating how much you needed the contact, the feeling of being completely possessed.

After a long moment, he pulled out, dragging you off the counter and forcing you to stand on shaky legs. His hands gripped your jaw tightly, forcing your eyes to meet his.

"You’ll never leave me," he said with a terrifying calmness. "You’re fucking addicted."

And deep down — no matter how much you wanted to deny it — you knew he was right.

[giogiobb]

Off The Radar

Geum Seong-Je x Reader

tags: vulgar language, sadomasochism, smut, shotgunning, smoke play, choking, overstimulation, dacryphilia, scratching, biting, auralism, cream pie, pet names, mildly toxic relationship.

Takes place after the scene in episode 7 where Seong-Je saves Jung-Tae from the union members.

It has been a few days since you heard from Seong-Je, and honestly, it’s not a big surprise that he is off the radar again. However, he always calls you on the third day at the latest. He left you wondering why it was different this time, and the radio silence from him was starting to become troubling.

You sat at your desk, bouncing your leg up and down, anxiously chewing away on your fingernails. Reaching towards your phone, you hurriedly found his number and tried to reach him again. “The number you dialed is not available…” Voicemail, again.

You stood up and started pacing around your room, wondering what to do and how to find him. You weren’t the biggest fan of Na Baek-Jin, but he was your best option at this point.

You went through your contacts and found his number to call him. “Hello?” an uninterested voice came from the other side. “Hi, Baek-Jin. How are you?” You spoke with hesitation. “What do you want from me? Don’t know where Seong-je is?” He asked with annoyance. “Actually, yeah. Can you tell me where he is?” You asked nervously. “Hmm.” He said after a bit of silence and hung up on you.

A minute later, he texted an address. It’s an address to a warehouse that you had never heard of. You quickly thanked him and sneaked out of the house without alerting your parents. Though they wouldn’t even care if they saw you leave.

You ran your way there as it surprisingly wasn’t too far away, and your fear of not seeing him even tonight grew a pit in your stomach, making you rush. You reached there and took a moment to catch your breath before sliding the door open and walking in.

His head shot towards the sound of your foot shuffling in, almost dropping his newly lit cigarette onto the ground. He looked confused and stood up to walk towards you.

You let out a sigh of relief before lunging yourself at him and hugging him with all the strength you could gather. “I missed you. Were you here all this time?” You asked with a hint of worry. “What are you doing here?” He asked in his raspy voice. You let go of him and looked towards his face. Caressing a fresh scar on his face, you smiled softly until you realised that he hadn’t called you for days, for no fucking reason. Slowly, your expression changed from shocked to anger, and before you knew it, you slapped him across the face.

The cigarette in his mouth went flying to the other side of the room. He slowly turned his head to you with his jaw locked in anger. “What the fuck was that for?” He asked sternly. “You haven’t called me for days, what’s wrong with you? You usually send me a text at least.” You shouted at him with annoyance. However, slapping him and shouting at him was the last thing he needed from anybody, especially not from his girlfriend. His pent-up anger was not going to do either of you any good tonight, and he knew it.

He glared at you before reaching his hand to the back of your head and began dragging you towards the couch by your hair to push you onto it. It took you a second to realise that you had fucked up as he scowled towards you before reaching into his pocket and getting a new cigarette. He lit it and took a long drag of smoke from it before sighing.

He bent down to your eye level before gripping both your cheeks using his hand with bloody knuckles. It felt so harsh to the point that your eyes started to tear up in fear. Seong-Je isn’t a bad boyfriend, but he has his moments which make you fear him, and this was one.

He took a slow drag of the cigarette, eyes locked in with yours, and blew the smoke towards your face. You felt yourself start to cough because of it, but his grip on you became stronger until he spoke. “Though you’re my girlfriend, what gives you the right to slap me, huh? You think you’re so tough, princess.” You began squirming in your seat, uncomfortable, scared, and aroused.

A little secret about you is that you love when Seong-Je is terrifying. You love when he speaks to you sternly in his low voice, because you trust him enough to know that he would never truly hurt you. He noticed your squirming before letting go of your face with a harsh enough push to be thrown onto the couch. 

You moved up towards the couch when you saw him get on the couch to climb towards you while taking a long drag of smoke. You didn’t know what his next move was and it made you curious. He grabbed your throat and bent down to kiss you roughly. Shotgunning smoke into your mouth, teeth clashing and saliva dripping from the sides. It felt as if you both were fighting for dominance but of course, he easily won and pushed his tongue into your mouth exploring it. You felt the smoke taste in the back of your throat and his glasses dug deep into your cheeks which hurt to the point that you reached towards it and pushed it over his head. He pulled away and reached for the glasses to set it down on the table next to you both before resuming with the kiss. Both your hands were now wrapped around his bloody hand that was on your throat to try and remove it. As the minutes went on, you felt the lack of oxygen in your body.

He finally lets go and you gasp trying to take in as much air as you can into your lungs. He looked at you with a smug smirk on his face as you struggled to breathe. You felt his hands reach towards your shirt and unbutton it slowly. You reached towards his zip-up hoodie and began unzipping it as your hands trembled with desperation.

He took his hoodie off and then pulled your shirt from your arms and tossed it to the side before unbuckling your bra and doing the same to it. You suddenly felt shy when you realised how naked you were compared to him. You tugged his shirt that was under the hoodie indicating that he should take it off. “What, should I be as naked as you now?” He asked teasingly. You nodded shyly, all while hiding your breasts under your arms.

He obliged accordingly, because he wanted you as badly as you wanted him. Maybe even more than you did. He grabbed your arms with one hand and pinned them above your head onto the couch before grabbing one of your breasts and squeezing it while licking the other like a hungry animal. You felt yourself become wetter, making you arch your chest towards his face, wanting more. He left little nips and hickeys across your chest and neck before moving to lick your stomach.

He let go of your hands and looked upwards at you before biting the elastic waistband of your shorts to pull it down. Your hand went onto his hand that was still on your chest, and you moved it to your nipple, wanting some more friction to try and relieve how aroused you felt. 

He used his other hand to take off both your panties and shorts fully and placed his cigarette on the table next to you both. Afterwards, he settled his hands on your waist, gripping it tightly as he dipped his face down towards your heat, giving it kitten licks just to tease you. Your hand flew towards his hair to try and push his face towards you more, wanting to reach climax. He began licking you more aggressively, mouth covered in your wetness.

You couldn’t help but start rolling your hips against his face and moaning loudly as he stimulated your clit. His one hand reached downwards and circled your entrance before plunging two fingers into you. He began fucking you with his fingers that reached deep inside you. You felt yourself going lightheaded with all the stimulation that was starting to become too much. You indicated this by trying to push his face away from you.

He looked up when you began trying to push him away from you. He began getting more excited feeling you try to fight the pleasure he gave you. His hand easily took both of your hands and locked them into place like before and began kissing you making you taste yourself all while fucking you with his fingers. He felt himself growing a boner in his pants, which was starting to become bothersome because of how aroused he was. Not even seconds after he began kissing you, the climax washed over you aggressively, making you moan into the kiss.

He slowly let go of your hands and lips to examine your fucked-out face that was filled with bliss as you slowly caught your breath. He removed his fingers from you, making you shiver a bit. He then moved to unbuckle his belt and jeans. He took his belt and brought your hands together to restrain it, before flipping you over onto your stomach. “Ass up, beautiful.” He quietly spoke into your ear before biting it. You felt the pain of the bite, making you quickly obey his words.

He gave his cock a few pumps before burying himself in your wetness. He groaned in satisfaction, because believe it or not, he missed you so much, even though he would never say it to your face. You felt so full and was trying to adjust to his size after weeks of not doing it, as you both had been busy even before he went off the radar.

He began a slow pace before fastening, creating a rough rhythm, making you whine and making him moan. He reached over to the cigarette to take long drags of smoke while fucking you. After all, doing it with you was ecstasy to him because he worshiped your body like no other. While he did love you so much, he also loved to see you cry in pain.

An idea popped into his head as he was fucking you, which caught you by surprise. Your eyes widened as you felt hot circles of burn on your butt. It didn’t take you long to realise that he was putting off the cigarette on your butt. You panicked and began fumbling with his belt on your wrists. “What are you doing?” You asked hurriedly, trying to see. He chuckled and said, “What do you think?”

He then tossed the cigarette to the side before licking his hand to calm down your burn marks. You quietly sobbed as he did it because, one, it hurt and two, it felt good at the same time that you felt embarrassed. He noticed that you were crying and couldn’t help but smile. He reached to your hair and pulled your head up from it and took a good look at your face before licking your tears and peppering your face with kisses. You couldn’t help but whimper as you felt loved, how ironic. He whispered in your ear, “You know I love you, right?” You knew very well, after all, he was always loyal to you no matter how he treated you at times.

He always looked after you when you felt down about anything. Whenever a guy would even look at your way or try to approach you, he would be like a guard dog ready to fight them off. He treasured you a little too much to the point that he was scared of how possessive he felt over you. “Yes my love, I know.” You croaked out weakly but happily.

He flipped you over to admire your face while he fucked you deep. He placed a palm of his hand on your lower stomach while holding your waist so he could feel himself fuck you. This pressure pushed you over the edge making you see stars and made him groan.

After a while of doing so, he got rid of his belt on your wrists so you could reach out to him and hug him as he fucked you to reach his climax, but Seong-Je always puts your sexual needs above his and makes you reach it before him.

He kissed you as he held you close, both of you moaning into each other's mouths as your fingernails scratched his back with aggression. He locked his eyes onto yours before giving a few final thrusts which made you both reach the climax together. You couldn’t help but bite his shoulder to mask your moan as he filled you up with his cum. This made him moan and groan a little too loudly than he would’ve preferred, which you loved.

You let go of his shoulder and peppered a few kisses from his shoulder to his face while caressing it. He pulled out of you and laid beside you while breathing heavily and hugging you close to him.

You felt his heart beat loudly against his chest. At this point, you didn’t even care for an explanation as to why he gave you radio silence for longer than you would’ve liked. He was there, and you were in his arms; it was all you needed to feel all the comfort in the world.

hope you guys enjoyed this. ♡

word count: roughly 2260 words

[slaybinnie]

ALLEYWAY BOY

╰┈➤ sieun x fem!reader

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 warnings: explicit sexual content (18+ MDNI), violence, explicit language, no sexual protection.

about: while at your new school, one student catches your attention. when you help him during a fight you’re welcomed into his friend group. now in university, sieun begins to open up more, emotionally and physically.

⤷ WORD COUNT: 5k

The classroom was loud with chatter as everyone waited for the teacher to arrive for the first class of the day. You had transferred to Eunjang High School just a week ago and were still trying to find your place among the complex social hierarchy. 

No one really stood out except one person. You noticed him immediately. A boy sitting alone by the window, his face expressionless as he stared outside. Something about him drew you to him. While everyone else moved in groups, laughing and talking loudly, he existed in his own bubble. You had occasionally seen him hang out with three other boys but most days he was to himself. 

Oh. You’re looking at Sieun?” Whispered the girl sitting next to you, catching you staring. “He doesn't talk much. He transferred a little before you. Apparently he killed someone at his old school.”

You nodded, trying to look disinterested even as your eyes kept drifting back to him.

Your chance to actually meet him came a few days later. You had stayed late at school to complete a makeup test and were walking home alone when you heard yelling in the ally way. You should’ve taken that as a sign to turn around and take a different way home but curiosity got the better of you. 

You looked around the corner and saw four guys surrounding someone. When they moved around, you caught a glimpse of Sieun, standing there with the same frown on his face.

“You think just because you took down Seongje means we’re scared of you?,” one of them was said.

Sieun's voice was quiet but firm. “No.”

What happened next was so fast you barely registered it. One moment one of the guys was lunging toward Sieun and the next moment he was on the ground clutching his stomach. The others rushed in but Sieun moved with a quickness, fighting back. 

In less than a minute, all of them were on the ground. The first guy Sieun took down pulled out a small knife, and that's when you gasped involuntarily. Everyone froze. Sieun's eyes snapped to where you stood, and in that moment of distraction the knife-wielder lunged. Without thinking, you shouted, “Behind you!” 

Sieun dodged it just in time, the blade missing his face by inches. He grabbed the guys wrist and twisted until the knife fell to the ground.

All four boys fled and Sieun turned to you. You expected him to show anger for you interfering but his face didn’t show anything actually. 

“You should go home,” he said finally. “It's not safe here.”

“You're bleeding,” you pointed out, noticing a cut on his cheek.

He touched it softly. “It's nothing.”

Instead of leaving, you dug into your bag and pulled out a packet of tissues and a small first-aid kit your mother had insisted you carry. “Let me help.”

For a long moment, he just stared at you. Then, to your surprise, he gave a single nod and leaned against the wall, allowing you to dab at the cut with a wipe.

“Why did you warn me?” he asked suddenly. “You don't even know me.”

You focused on cleaning the cut, avoiding his intense gaze. “Should I have let him stab you instead?”

He exhaled a breath. “Most people would have run away.”

“Well I didn’t want to see a fellow Eunjang student hurt,” you replied with a smile on your face.

“Yo, Sieun!” a voice called. Three boys approached, the one with a basketball jersey frowning when he saw the signs of a fight. “What happened?”

“Nothing important,” Sieun replied, straightening up.

The basketball jersey boy's eyes shifted to you, suspicious. “Who's this?”

“A classmate,” Sieun said before you could answer. “She helped.”

The introduction was short and sweet. You learned that Baku was the one with the jersey on. Junate and Gotak were the other two boys. These were the boys you had seen Sieun hang out with every now and then. 

From this moment you were cautiously accepted into their friend circle. Sieun rarely spoke to you directly at first but sometimes you would catch him watching you when he thought you weren't looking.

It took months to break his walls down with you. You had slowly earned his trust and got to learn about the story behind his fighting skills and the way he kept everyone at a distance. You learned about his troubled past, his friend in the hospital, and got to know his personality more. 

By the start of your senior year everything was starting to look up. Suho, Sieuns hospital friend, had woken up, Eungjang high was no longer bothered by the union and your friendship with Sieun developed into something more.

One year later and you’re all now in University. The campus coffee shop was loud with voices and machines as students rushed to grab their caffeine before afternoon classes. You sat at a corner table, textbooks spread across the surface as you tried to make sense of your class assignment.

University life had been treating you well, balancing classes with part-time work and a social life was challenging, but manageable. 

Sieun hadn't changed much since high school. His face still carried that same deadpan expression, sharp eyes that softened only for you, and a quietness that intimidated most people. What did change was your goals for him and you. 

Since starting university, you'd made it your mission to get more reactions out of him. It had become something of a game between you and him trying to maintain his composure while you tried your best to break it.

Sieun walked in the coffee shop, his dark hair slightly messy from the breeze outside. He looked so good. Despite being your boyfriend for almost six months now, the sight of him still made your heart skip a beat.

“Hey,” he said, sliding into the seat across from you. “Sorry I'm late. The professor wanted to discuss my project”

You smiled, pushing your untouched ice tea toward him. “No problem. How did it go?”

“Better than expected.” He reached for the drink, his fingers brushing against yours. Even after months of dating, these small touches still sent electricity through your body. “He thinks I might be able to submit it to receive a full ride scholarship.”

“That's amazing” Your genuine excitement made him bow his head slightly, still unused to praise despite his talents.

Sieun took a sip from your drink, using the same straw you had been using. When he realized what he'd done, a faint blush crept across his cheeks. He quickly set the drink down.

“Sorry,” he muttered, looking anywhere but at your face.

You couldn't help but laugh. For someone who had faced the craziest situations in high school, it was interesting how flustered he could get over such small intimacies. 

“Sieun…” you started, taking another sip from the same straw, “ you know sharing drinks is what couples do.”

His blush deepened. “I know that.”

“Do you?” You leaned forward, resting your chin on your palm. “Because sometimes I wonder if you remember we're dating.”

Sieun's eyes met yours, embarrassment written all over his face.  “Of course I remember we’re dating.”

“Then why do you still get so flustered when I do this?” You reached across the table and gently brushed a strand of hair from his forehead. As expected, he stiffened slightly before relaxing into your touch.

“I'm not flustered,” he insisted, though the color in his cheeks said otherwise.

You laughed softly. “Sure baby.” 

Honestly, you found his shy reactions adorable. Sieun had always been reserved, even after you'd started dating. Breaking through his walls had been a slow process but every small victory felt significant. You loved to see him gradually allow himself to be vulnerable with you.

“How's your assignment going?” he asked, clearly trying to change the subject.

“It’s going horribly,” you admitted dramatically. “This subject makes no sense to me.”

Sieun scooted his chair around to sit beside you, his shoulder pressing against yours as he looked at your textbook. “Let me see.”

As he began explaining concepts  you found yourself watching the movement of his lips more than listening to his words. When he paused to see if you were following, you impulsively leaned in and kissed his cheek.

He froze mid-sentence, eyes widening. “What was that for?” he asked, voice slightly cracking.

"I just wanted to kiss you,” you replied with a shrug. “Is that okay?”

Sieun swallowed hard. “Yeah... it's okay.”

You smiled and turned back to the textbook, acting as if nothing had happened, though you could feel the tension radiating from him. You had to have a nice balance with Sieun, pushing just enough to help him become comfortable with affection without overwhelming him.

For the next hour, you studied together, gradually shifting closer until your thighs touched under the table. Every so often, you would find excuses to touch him. You’d reach across to point at something in the book and let your arm rest against his. Each touch left him momentarily flustered before he composed himself again. 

“We should get going,” he said, closing his textbooks and glancing at his watch. “We're supposed to meet the others for lunch in twenty minutes.”

You groaned, remembering the lunch plan. “Do we have to? I was hoping to have you to myself today.”

A small smile played on his lips. “They'll never let us hear the end of it if we bail.”

“Fine,” you sighed dramatically, gathering your books. “But you owe me.”

“Owe you what?” he asked, helping you pack up.

You leaned in close, your lips nearly brushing his ear. “Time. Just us. No interruptions.”

The blush returned full force, spreading from his neck to his ears, and you couldn't help but laugh softly. There was something addictive about making Sieun flustered.

As you walked across campus to meet your friends, your hands occasionally brushed until Sieun finally took the initiative and laced his fingers with yours. It was a small gesture, but knowing how much he disliked public displays of affection, it meant everything to you.

The campus restaurant was crowded when you arrived, but you spotted your friends immediately. Baku was gesturing wildly, telling some story that had Juntae rolling his eyes. Suho noticed you first, waving you guys over. 

“Finally!” Baku exclaimed as you sat down. “We thought you two might have gotten distracted.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. 

“We were studying,” Sieun said simply. “Unlike some people.”

Gotak laughed. “He's got you there, Baku. When's the last time you stepped foot in the library?”

“Libraries are for people who have to read to learn,” Baku said with a big grin, tapping his forehead. “Me? I just stand near smart stuff and it jumps into my brain!”

“Is that why you're failing statistics?” Juntae asked dryly making the whole table laugh,

As your friends fell into their usual banter you noticed how clam Sieun was. This friend group was good for him. Everything felt right. 

“How's the new apartment?” Suho asked Sieun between bites of his lunch.

“It's alright,” Sieun replied with his typical shortness.

You rolled your eyes. “What he means is that it's great but he's still living out of boxes because he refuses to properly unpack.”

“I have a system,” Sieun defended himself.

Sieun had moved into his own place just a month ago, leaving the dormitories for a small studio apartment off-campus. You had helped him move, shocked by how few items he actually owned.

“You should see it,” you told the others. “The only decoration he has is a plant I bought him, which is somehow still alive.”

“It's just a place to sleep,” Sieun shrugged. “I don't need much.”

Baku leaned forward. “So, Y/n, how often do you stay over at this minimalist paradise?”

You kicked him under the table while Sieun suddenly became very interested in his food.

“None of your business, Humin,” you replied sassy.

The truth was, while you had been to Sieun's apartment many times, your relationship had progressed slowly in physical terms. Sieun wasn't one to rush, and you respected his pace. You were fine as long as he was by your side. 

As everyone prepared to leave for afternoon classes, Suho pulled you aside briefly.

“He seems good,” he said quietly, nodding toward Sieun who was arguing with Baku about something. “More settled.”

You smiled, watching your boyfriend's rare animated expressions. “I think he is. You being here is definitely a big reason why”

“It’s not just me. It's because of you too,” Suho continued. “He was always so... contained back then. Even with me. You've given him something the rest of us couldn't.”

“What's that?”

“Permission to be a normal guy,” Suho said simply. “To care about something besides survival.”

Before you could respond, the others joined you, and the moment passed. But Suho's words stayed with you as you and Sieun split from the group to head to your next classes.

“I have to finish a lab report tonight,” Sieun said as you guys reached his next class. “But maybe after…”

“After?” 

He met your eyes, something determined in his gaze. “Maybe you could come over. We could watch that movie you've been talking about.”

You smiled, knowing the invitation was not just to watch a movie, but to spend time together in his personal bubble. “I'd like that.”

For a moment, he stood there, seeming to debate something. He looked around quickly to ensure no one was watching and leaned in to kiss you briefly. Before you could react, he had already pulled away, a flush spreading across his cheekbones.

“I'll text you when I'm done,” he said rushed, then turned and walked into the building, leaving you standing there with a surprised smile.

It was 8:30 when you got the text from Sieun, "Lab done. Come over if you still want to.”

 Pf, of course you still want to. You quickly washed up and headed over to his apartment, giving his door a soft knock. The door opened almost immediately, revealing Sieun in a simple black t-shirt and gray sweatpants. His hair was damp from a recent shower. He looked so handsome. 

“Hi,” you said, suddenly feeling a little nervous without knowing why.

“Come in,” he replied, stepping aside to let you enter.

The apartment was indeed minimalist, just as you'd described to your friends. A bed in one corner, a small seating area with a couch and coffee table, a tv stand with a tv, a cute small kitchen, and a desk with a laptop, the plant you gave him, and neatly arranged textbooks on it. 

But something was a little different. You noticed immediately that he had finally unpacked some of the boxes. A bookshelf now held his small collection of books and a few framed photos, including you in them. One of the two photos with you in them was from the end-of-year festival in high school.

“You unpacked,” you said, unable to keep the surprise from your voice.

Sieun shrugged, but you could tell he was pleased that you'd noticed. “Had some time after finishing the lab report.”

You moved to examine the photos more closely. “I can't believe you kept this,” you said, picking up the festival photo.

“It was a good day,” he said simply, coming to stand beside you.

You remembered it well. A day full of fun. The day had ended with him awkwardly asking if you wanted to “maybe go out sometime,” his confidence completely absent as he stumbled over the words.

Setting the photo down, you turned to face him. “I can put on the movie,” you said picking up his remote and turning on  the TV, “but I'm also fine with just talking if you're tired.”

“I’m good with the movie,” he replied, “I made food. Nothing fancy, just ramen.”

“Fancy ramen or instant?” you asked with a smile.

“Somewhere in between.” He gestured to two bowls on the coffee table, steam still rising from them. You noticed he'd added eggs, green onions, and a few other ingredients to elevate the simple dish.

After putting the movie on you settled onto the small couch suddenly aware of how intimate the space felt. You had been here before, but something about tonight felt different. Sieun joined you on the couch, sitting close enough that your shoulders touched. 

For the first twenty minutes, you both ate and watched in comfortable silence but as the main characters in the film shared their first kiss, you became hyperaware of Sieun sitting beside you.

Setting your empty bowl aside, you casually leaned into him. After a brief moment of tension, he lifted his arm and placed it around your shoulders, allowing you to rest against his chest. You could hear his heartbeat, slightly faster than normal.

“Is this okay?” you asked softly, tilting your head to look up at him.

Instead of answering, he surprised you by leaning down and pressing his lips to yours. The kiss was gentle but lingered longer than his usual hesitant kisses. When he pulled back, his eyes were dark with an emotion you rarely saw him display.

“More than okay,” he finally answered, voice slightly rough.

You reached up to touch his face, tracing the line of his jaw with your fingertips. He remained perfectly still under your touch, watching you with an intensity that made your heart race.

“I've been thinking,” you said softly, “about us.”

“What about us?” His voice was quiet.

“About how far we've come. From that day in the alley to here.” You continued tracing patterns on his skin, moving to his neck where you could feel his pulse jumping beneath your touch. “You used to flinch when I got too close.”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “I wasn't used to it.”

“And now?” you asked.

Instead of answering with words, he kissed you again, deeper this time, his hand moving to the small of your back to pull you closer. The movie continued playing but it was completely forgotten as you lost yourself with Sieun's lips against yours.

When you finally broke apart you couldn't help but smile at the cute look on his face.

“I'm still not used to it,” he admitted quietly. “But in a different way now.”

“Explain,” you encouraged, your hand now resting on his chest.

Sieun took a moment to gather his thoughts, “Before, it was unfamiliar. A little uncomfortable. Now it's unfamiliar because it feels too good. Like I don't deserve it.”

Your heart ached at his words. Despite all your time together, parts of his past still haunted him.

“You deserve every good thing, Sieun,” you said firmly, taking his face in both hands so he couldn't look away. “Every single one.”

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours. “I'm trying to believe that.”

“Let me help you believe,” you whispered, and kissed him again.

The kiss deepened quickly, a year of careful restraint giving way to something more urgent. Sieun's arms tightened around you, pulling you practically onto his lap as his lips moved from your mouth to your jaw, then your neck, causing a shiver to run down your spine.

His usual composure was slipping, and you reveled in it, your hands sliding under his t-shirt to touch the warm skin beneath. You felt his muscles tense at the contact, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he made a low sound in the back of his throat that sent heat flooding through your body.

“Sieun,” you breathed, needing to hear his response, to know he wanted this as much as you did.

“I'm here,” he mumbled against your skin, then pulled back slightly to meet your gaze. “I'm always here with you.”

Something about those simple words, the sincerity behind them, made your heart swell. This was Sieun. He was a man of few words but had deep feelings. He expressed himself through actions rather than speech. You loved him.

Slowly you moved to straddle his lap, careful to make sure he was comfortable with your weight on him. Your eyes never left him to ensure this was okay. His hands settled on your waist, his breathing was noticeably uneven now.

“Is this too much?” you asked, knowing his boundaries had always been important to respect.

He shook his head, but still looked slightly overwhelmed. “Just give me a moment.”

You stayed still, watching the emotions play across his face. His hands tightened on your waist, then relaxed again.

“I've wanted this,” he admitted softly, the confession clearly difficult for him. “For a long time.”

“Me too,” you whispered, leaning forward to press your forehead against his again. “We can go as slow as you need.”

A small smile pulled at his lips. “We've been going slow for years.”

The observation, so accurate and yet so unexpected coming from him, made you laugh. “True. But that's okay.”

His smile widened slightly, and in that moment, he looked younger, lighter, and unburdened by the weight he always carried. You vowed to yourself to make him smile like that more often.

Sieun's hands moved from your waist to your back, pulling you closer until your chests pressed together. “Maybe,” he said, voice low, “we could go a little faster now.”

Your breath caught at his words. “I'd like that.”

Siuen grabbed your hand and dragged you towards his bed. He gently pushed you down on the bed and followed you down. He captured your lips once again and you sighed into the kiss. Your hands found their way under his shirt and traced his stomach. Sieun shivered at your touch. 

You tugged at the hem of his shirt and he understood, pulling his shirt over his head. The sight of him shirtless wasn't new to you. You had seen him like this before but the context was different now. It was more intimate. Your eyes traced his chest, faint scars littered all around, reminders from his past.

 Sieun watched you look at his chest, heat rising to his cheeks. “Your turn,” he said softly, his fingers playing with the edge of your top.

You sat up, allowing him to remove your shirt. His eyes darkened as he took in the sight of you in your bra. His hand came up to trace your face all the way down to the curve of your cup. His hand found the clasp of your bra and hesitated for just a moment until you nodded.  He unfastened your bra, the straps sliding down your arms.

Your chest was bare in front of him and your nipples hardened when the cool air touched them. Sieun reached to touch your breast, gently gliding his hand against them. You couldn't help but shiver at the contact, your body responding to his exploring hands. 

“You're beautiful,” he whispered. 

You reached up to touch his face, drawing him back to your lips. The kiss deepened as his hand continued to caress your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple and pulling a soft moan from your throat. The sound seemed to embolden him, his movements becoming more confident.

Sieun broke the kiss and moved his head down towards your left breast. He looked up at you, making eye contact before kissing your nipple then sucking it into his mouth. 

The pleasure that crashed through you was immediate and intense. Your back arched slightly, pressing your breast further into his mouth. Sieun's free hand moved to your other breast, thumbing over your nipple as his tongue swirled around your other nipple.

“Sieun,” you gasped, your fingers threading through his dark hair, holding him to you.

His mouth moved to your right breast, giving it the same attention while his hand replaced his mouth on the left. 

Sieun pulled back and thumbed at your nipples to make up for his mouth moving away. He was breathing hard and his eyes were full of lust. Sieun kissed your nipples one more time before his hands moved to your waist, his fingers tracing the waistband of your pants.

 “Can I?” he asked.

“Yes,” you breathed, lifting your hips to help as he carefully slid your pants down your legs, leaving you in just your underwear.

Sieun took a moment to look at you, his eyes traveling over your body with such intensity that you could almost feel it like a physical touch.

“Your turn,” you said with a small smile, copying his earlier words. 

He removed his sweatpants, leaving both of you in just your underwear. The sight of him nearly took your breath away. His erection was evident and you could see a tiny bit of pre-cum seeping through his boxers. 

“Sieun.” 

“Hm?”

“I want your fingers so bad.” You said while grabbing his hand and placing it to where you needed him the most. 

Sieun leaned in to kiss you. His hand slipped beneath your underwear and you gasped against his mouth as his fingers found you wet and waiting.

“Is this okay?” he asked, his movements slow and careful.

“More than okay,” you assured him while you guided his hand to your core. 

Sieun was a quick learner. He watched your reactions carefully, noting what made your breath hitch, what made you moan. When he finally found your clit a moan was ripped out of you. “Fuck Sieun! Right there! Keep going.” 

Sieun nodded, feeling emboldened by your response he grew more confident in his movements. He rubbed your swollen clit a bit faster and harder, making you squirm more and more. He lowered his head to your breast, lips closing around your nipple as his fingers worked between your legs. The dual sensation had you moaning his name, your hands tangling in his hair.

Siuen pulled off your breast and moved his fingers down towards your hole, circling your entrance. “Tell me what feels good,” he said softly, his eyes never leaving your face as he kept circling your entrance.

“Everything you're doing,” you breathed, gasping when he slowly slid a finger inside you. “Oh Sieun…”

He added another finger, stretching you gently as his thumb continued to work your sensitive bud. The dual sensation had you moaning beneath him, your hands clutching his shoulder. 

“Sieun. Baby,” you gasped, “I'm close.”

“I got you,” he murmured against your skin. The tenderness in his voice combined with the movement of his fingers sent you over the edge. Your body shuddered as waves of pleasure washed over you with Sieun's name spelling out your lips. 

As you came down from your high, you opened your eyes to find him watching you with a mix of awe and satisfaction. “Did I do good?” 

You smiled lazily up at him, getting cuteness aggression from him wanting approval. “Of course you did, baby.” 

You then reached for him, wanting to bring him the same pleasure he'd given you. Your hand slipped beneath the waistband of his boxers, wrapping around his cock. Sieun's breath hitched, his eyes closing briefly at your touch.

“You’re so hard, baby. Did you get turned on making me feel good?” 

Sieun just nodded. 

You smirked, and guided him onto his back. You removed his boxers then straddled his thighs before stroking him again. His eyes never left yours as you stroked him, learning what he liked by the subtle changes in his expression, the way his breath caught, the tension in his muscles. 

You pulled your hand away making Sieun whine. He quickly shut up when you leaned down and kissed his tip. You licked from his tip to his base, then backwards, teasing him before finally taking him in your mouth fully.

Sieun's head fell back against the pillow, a low groan escaping his throat. His hands hesitantly moved to your hair, not pushing or guiding, just connecting with you as you sucked him off. The sounds of soft gasps and quiet moans encouraged you to continue, taking him deeper.

“Y/n,” he breathed, his voice ragged. “That feels...ah. So good.”

You hummed in acknowledgment, the vibration making him tense beneath you. His breathing grew more erratic as you continued. It was intoxicating to see him like this. 

After a few minutes, his hand tightened slightly in your hair. “Wait,” he gasped. “I'm close. I’m going to-”

You pulled back, wiping your mouth as you looked up at him. “Sorry. I want you to cum inside of me.”

Sieun’s eyes widened but he nodded, complying with anything you said. You pulled him in a heated kiss. “I’m going to ride you.. With no condom, okay?” You whispered against his lips.

“Okay.” Sieun agreed, straightening himself against the headboard. 

You positioned yourself above him and lowered yourself slowly until you were stuffed with his cock. Both of you gasped at the sensation. You stayed still for a moment to adjust. Sieun's hands gripped your hips, his eyes locked on yours.

“You okay?” he asked, always concerned for your comfort even in his own pleasure.

“Perfect. You?” 

“Good but, fuck. You’re so tight.”

You giggled before moving your hips up a little, careful not to pull off of him, then slammed back down his cock. The both of you moaned, Sieun moving his head into the crook of your neck. 

You again started to slowly go up and down, Sieun was still hiding his face on your neck. He was biting his lips, trying to keep himself from moaning too loud. You were so tight around him, he thought he was going to die as you continued your motion on his cock.

You started to get a bit winded and Sieun noticed. Sieun surprisingly rolled you guys over and took charge, pushing into you softly. You both were close, desperation evident from the way you were whining and on the way he was sloppily rubbing your clit while thrusting. 

“Sieun, I’m close. Please. Let’s cum together.” 

Siuen nodded and sped up his hips, his thrusts becoming even more desperate as he chased both your pleasure and his own. His fingers worked faster against your clit, his movements becoming more pleasurable with each of your soft moans.

Sieun nodded and sped up his hips, his thrusts becoming more desperate as he chased both your pleasure and his own. His fingers worked against your clit with renewed determination, his movements becoming more confident with each of your soft moans.

“Y/n,” he gasped, his voice strained. “I can't hold on much longer.”

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper inside you. “Then don't,” you said, your hands gripping his shoulders. “Let go, baby.”

His rhythm faltered as he drove into you one last time, burying himself deep. You felt him pulse inside you as he came, the sensation triggering your own release. Your walls clenched around him as waves of pleasure washed over you both. Sieun's mouth found yours in a messy, passionate kiss that swallowed your cries of pleasure.

For a moment, you stayed locked together, hearts racing, bodies trembling with aftershocks. Sieun's forehead rested against yours, his breathing gradually slowing as he came down from his high. When he finally opened his eyes, they were filled with such tenderness that it made your heart ache.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly. 

You smiled, still feeling the pleasant hum of satisfaction throughout your body. “More than okay.”

He made and a move to pull out of you but you wrapped your legs tighter around him. “No stay.” 

Sieun laughed a little, “Y/n I need to clean you up. My cum is still inside you.”

You pouted, “I don’t care.”

“You’ll care when we’re getting plan b from the pharmacy,” Sieun joked. 

You punched his arm jokingly while laughing, “Stop. I’m on the pill anyways.” 

Sieun visibly relaxed at your words, a small smile playing on his lips. “Still I need to clean us up.” 

He carefully pulled out of you and rolled you to face him. His arm draped over your waist, keeping you close as his dark eyes studied your face. 

“I love you.” He said it so quietly you almost missed it. 

Your heart skipped a beat. Those three words. He'd never said them before even though you’d known how he felt for a long time. Sieun showed his feelings through actions, not words, but hearing it spoken aloud made tears well in your eyes.

You tilted your head up to look at him. “I love you too. So much.” You pressed a sweet kiss to his chin “And I am so happy.” 

You laid your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His fingers traced lazy patterns on your back, occasionally stopping to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Stay the night?” he asked after a while, his voice hopeful.

“Obviously.” You replied, content.

────୨ৎ────

Thank you guys so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed. Please feel free to message me and request stuff! I havent written in forever but WHC woke me up from the dead. <3

[juliettejwnewinesa]

Title: Pressure Point

Pairing: Ahn Su-ho x Reader (Y/N) Setting: Weak Hero Class 1 universe — post-fight tension, high school, hidden romance Rating: 🔞 (Heavy smut, suggestive language, and realistic violence) Length: ~4,000 words

You weren’t supposed to be here. Not in the boys’ bathroom. Not with Ahn Su-ho pressed against your back, knuckles bruised, chest heaving.

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

You first saw Ahn Su-ho the way most people did — drenched in blood.

He had someone pinned to the concrete, their nose half-caved in, rage etched deep into the corners of his mouth. But it wasn’t the violence that caught your eye. It was the control. Su-ho never snapped unless someone deserved it. He didn't throw punches like a thug — he moved like someone who calculated the cost of every broken bone.

He wasn’t reckless. He was deliberate.

So of course, you started watching him.

Of course, he noticed.

It started with glances in class. Then passing comments. And then, somehow, it turned into something else.

Not dating — not quite. But moments behind the gym, hands brushing. Words spoken too low for others to hear. Secrets passed like cigarette smoke. You didn’t tell your friends. He didn’t have any.

And that was the most intoxicating part.

Because when he looked at you — really looked at you — it felt like you were the only thing tethering him to reality.

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

Something snapped.

It started in the courtyard — some idiot from Class 4 mouthing off, saying something disgusting about you. Loud. In front of everyone.

You’d rolled your eyes, walked away.

Su-ho didn’t.

By the time you caught up to him, there was blood on his collar.

"Su-ho," you hissed, grabbing his sleeve. "That guy’s not even worth it—"

But his eyes were sharp, cutting. "He talked about you."

"And now he's spitting blood! Congratulations!"

Su-ho just kept walking. Fast. Focused. Into the building, down the hall. Your feet moved before you even processed it. He pushed into the boys’ bathroom like a storm with no forecast, and you followed.

You shouldn’t have.

But you did.

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

The door slammed behind you.

The air was thick with sweat and disinfectant. One flickering light above the sink buzzed like static. Su-ho stood in front of the mirror, breathing heavy, gripping the edge like he wanted to rip it off the wall. His reflection looked broken. Beautiful.

You locked the door.

He didn’t speak. Not right away. Just stared down at the sink, jaw tense.

"You didn’t have to do that," you murmured.

"I know."

You stepped closer, cautious. "Then why?"

His voice was low. Controlled. "Because he deserved it."

Your hand touched his back — warm even through his uniform. He flinched, just slightly, like even gentle things might hurt.

"I’m not yours to fight for," you whispered, not knowing if it was a lie.

His head turned slowly, eyes finding yours in the mirror.

"Aren’t you?"

It was like something broke inside him.

He turned around so fast you barely had time to react before his hands were gripping your waist, walking you backwards until your spine hit the wall between sinks. His lips hovered inches from yours — breath warm, scent of blood and soap and something distinctly Su-ho.

"You keep looking at me like that," he murmured, voice tight. "Like I’m the only thing you see."

"Maybe you are."

His hand slid up your side, under your uniform blazer, fingers grazing skin.

"This isn’t a game," he said. "I don’t do halfway."

"Good," you whispered. "I don’t want halfway."

And then his mouth crashed into yours.

It wasn’t soft.

It was need.

Your back hit the tiled wall with a thud, but you didn’t care. Su-ho kissed like he fought — all intensity and focus. His hands were everywhere: one gripping your hip, the other fisting the collar of your shirt like he might tear it off. His knee pushed between your legs, anchoring you there, caged in his heat.

You gasped as his mouth moved to your neck, biting just enough to leave a mark. The tile was cold but his body was fire.

"Tell me to stop," he rasped.

"Don’t you dare."

Clothes became a blur — your skirt pushed up, his belt undone, the sound of zippers, buttons, breath. You fumbled, frantic, feeling the hard press of him through his boxers.

He growled against your skin. "Y/N..."

"Please," you whispered.

And that was all it took.

His hand slid between your thighs, fingers teasing, testing, spreading the slick proof of your want like he was memorizing it. You moaned, biting your knuckle, head knocking against the wall.

"Look at me."

You did.

His gaze was molten. Focused on every twitch of your body, every shudder of your breath. He rubbed slow circles, pushing just enough pressure to make your knees shake.

"Feels good?" he asked, almost smug.

"Yes—fuck, yes—"

"Then say my name."

"Su-ho."

He leaned in, lips at your ear. "Louder."

You gasped as he slipped a finger inside you, slow and deliberate, curling just right.

"Su-ho," you choked. "Oh my God—"

He pumped deeper, adding another, mouth dragging down your collarbone, biting, sucking, leaving marks you’d have to hide tomorrow. But right now, you wanted more.

You needed all of him.

He didn't ask. He didn’t need to.

Your body gave permission in every breathless moan, every desperate grind against his hand. When he finally pulled your panties aside and lined himself up, you gasped at the pressure — the stretch — the heat.

“Shit—” he grunted, burying himself inch by inch, gripping your thighs like he’d never let go.

You clenched around him, nails scratching down his back, eyes fluttering.

"Y/N… you feel—" He cut off, voice breaking into a groan. "So tight."

He started to move — slow at first, grinding deep, then building into sharp thrusts that rocked you against the wall. The mirror across from you shook with every motion. The sink creaked behind his back. Your name spilled from his lips like a prayer between curses.

And then he looked at you.

Not just with hunger — with need.

Like this was the only way he knew how to feel anything anymore.

You cupped his face. "I'm here. I'm not leaving."

He kissed you like he believed it.

His rhythm grew rougher, deeper — the kind of fucking that wasn’t about love, but something closer to ownership. His hand gripped your jaw, tilting your head up as he pounded into you with zero restraint. You cried out, breathless, overwhelmed, chasing the edge.

You felt it building — low and electric — your entire body tensing around him.

"You're close," he muttered, forehead pressed to yours. "I can feel it."

You nodded frantically, gripping his shoulders. "Don’t stop—"

"Look at me when you come."

That was it.

You shattered.

Body arching, mouth falling open, thighs trembling around his waist. You came with a sob, stars behind your eyes, clenching so hard he cursed loud into your neck.

He wasn’t far behind.

With a deep groan and a final thrust, he spilled inside you, hips stuttering, jaw clenched like it physically hurt to let go.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

Just heavy breathing. Sweat. Heat. Silence.

Then his hand found yours.

Fingers tangled.

Like a promise.

The room still smelled like sex and disinfectant.

Su-ho helped you fix your skirt, adjust your blazer. His thumb brushed your lip, wiping off the smear of gloss and bite marks. He didn’t say sorry. He didn’t have to.

"Next time," he said, voice low, "don’t follow me into the boys’ bathroom."

You smirked, heart still hammering. "Next time?"

He arched a brow. "You think this was a one-time thing?"

You swallowed. "I think I’m in trouble."

He leaned in, voice brushing your throat.

"Only if they find out."

[iloveaustinelvisandmannymore]

Twisted for you.

Pairing: Geum Seongje x reader.

Summary: For his love, you'd do anything.

Warnings: Public humiliation, Public Oral sex, Obsession, Master x Pet.

You always prided yourself on being smart. Maybe not so book smart but sure as hell streets smart. You never hung around the wrong crowd, Never spoke out, nor talked to anyone who made your gut stir with uneasiness. You didn't drink or smoke. All around Good girl. How did you get here? How did you end up kneeling before The Geum Seongje, one of the top dogs of the Union, the strongest besides their leader Na Beak-jin, and the most Sadistic member of the gang?

His cock, weighed heavy on your tongue and throat as his fingers curled into your locks, forcing you down until your stretched lips kissed the trimmed bush covering the base of his dick while, inhaling the addicting nicotine of a cigarette as he sat uninterested in a meeting with his fellow members.

You remember going to the bowling alley that a few of your wilder friends had dragged you to. Loud laughter and bowling balls hitting the pins down the slick aisle, along with money being passed around from bets, was overwhelming. You liked being alone but you never regretted that night. That was the sighting of your beloved monster. His mere presence commanded acknowledgment. The boys stopped their actions to bow before him but he didn't stop his stride to spare a glance at them, his hands in his jacket pocket and a slightly bored expression grazed his handsome face.

And something snapped in you.

Your eyes rolled back as you greedily sucked on his cock, tongue lapping on the vein leading down to his base, the mixture of his pre-cum and your saliva created a milky white slobbery mess on his lap.

The day he finally confronted you flashed in your mind

It was just another day of following him, phone camera up and posing, ready for that lucky shot. You walked behind him a good distance down the dark tunnel when he stopped and his amused low drawl filled the silence. "Do you really think I would notice you?" He asked, still looking forward. He snorted In clear amusement when you didn't say anything, and he turned to face you.

A chilling smirk on his face. "Are you so fucking desperate to stalk me? What a pathetic thirsty bitch."

You made a noise of surprise as Seongje stood up after flicking his cigarette on the floor and his hands gripped the back of your scalp. His head was thrown back as he pushed you back onto his cock, thrusting wildly into your willing mouth. Your nails dug into the back of his thighs as you took the brute force of his member down your throat until the salty taste of his cum flooded your senses.

This was where you belonged, by his side.

Ready to be used for his pleasure, to be a release, to be a toy.

This was your purpose.

[chanifesto]

ᯓᡣ𐭩 mr. fix it | yeon sieun

pairing: yeon sieun x afab!reader (weak hero)

synopsis: yeon sieun was notoriously known as your program’s tech handyman. when he wasn’t hunched over calculus problem sets, sieun was busy fixing his peers' laptops, for a price of course—one that was nonexistent for you because you seemed to make his software hard.

genre: another smutty university au

word count: 6.9k

warnings: [MDNI!] explicit sexual content, grinding, making out, oral (f rec.), pussydrunk!sieun, piv sex, protected sex, many consent checks, sieun is so so gone for you, you are literally his pretty little angel, if devotion was a person it would be him, sieun can’t figure out his goddamn integral

reader notes: written with afab reader in mind. reader has breasts and a vagina. reader is described to look ‘small’ at one point. all characters are consenting and over 18 yo.

this fic was requested – thank you so much, i loved coming up with the concept .ᐟ

۶ৎ  𝑙𝑒𝑒'𝑠 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑢𝑑𝑒  ࿐ park jihoon uggghhhh need need need him. had the most exquisite time picking out the concept pictures.

“You broke it again?”

  His voice sounds flat, but there's a tinge of hope, a sense of subdued anticipation perking his last few syllables.

  Sieun stares at the half-solved integral on his desk, phone pressed to his cheek, screen cold against his skin, fingers loosely gripping the sides. The warm glow of his lamp casts a nimbus over the mess made of a barely punched in calculation and his calculus textbook, pages worn from flipping back and forth between the chapter problem sets and appendix answers. Outside his window, the campus sky is dim, too gray for six in the evening.

  “I didn’t break it!” Your voice crackles through the line, scratchy with frustration. Sieun can hear your breath over the receiver, rough and rushed.

  “It just won’t turn on,” you continue, “I don’t know what happened. I just opened my tabs, and then—dead.” 

  He exhales. “And you tried plugging it in?”

  “Yes, Sieun. I tried everything you taught me—nothing worked,” you huff, “I have an essay due Monday, and everything I need to write it is on this damn laptop.”

  You sound slightly breathless, your voice hoarse with the kind of air that clings to lungs on chilly evenings. Wind rushes past the speaker, muddling your words with static. Sieun’s ears pick up on this.

  “Where are you,” he asks, dull, but more abrupt than intended.

  You’re silent for a few beats.

  “Outside.” Another gust of wind bleeds through the receiver.

  He feels the warmth of perspiration prick across his palms. “Where?”

  The brisk, hollow rustle of plastic, and then, “Walking to your dorm.”

  Sieun feels his breath dissipate in the back of his throat.

  “I’m sorry,” you start. Sieun squeezes his eyes upon hearing these words in your soundwaves, words he thought were too unnecessary when masked in your voice.

  “I saw the forecast, there’s going to be rain—shoot, I forgot my umbrella, I knew I was forgetting something—anyways, I figured I'd head over to yours before it hit,” there’s an unmistakable sincerity in your voice, “I really need you right now, Sieun.”

  Need to murder him, he thought. Clearly, that was more fitting for the illusive objective of your last sentence, one that roused his hand to the back of his neck, called his fingers to smooth over his golden skin, wailed for them to curl against his flesh in hopes of helping him get a grip of himself. Literally.

  He sighs, half flustered, half enlivened. “You’ll be here soon?”

  “Yeah, just five minutes more.”

  There’s a pause. “Okay.”

  A quick exhale breaks past your lips, a restrained puff of air that had been trapped in the back of your throat, waiting for a green light to let it loose. “Thank you, Sieun.”

  He can still feel the ghost of icy plastic against his cheek when you cut the call. Unfocused eyes cloud over the sheets and pens and smudged writing lazing atop his desk.

  Of course. 

  Of course you’re coming over. Because why wouldn’t you? Your laptop’s dead, and he’s the tech guy, and this is just what happens. He fixes things.

  And right now, you need him to fix your things. He couldn’t help but feel his heart jump at the idea, an eagerness creeping into his chest, fogging up his lungs and grabbing hold of the air that dared to escape up his trachea.

  Sieun, as cold as he seemed, felt warmth fixing your things, like he’d swallowed the sun and it dissolved into his blood. Unlike the peers on your campus, he does it for you free-of-charge—hell, he thinks he’d pay you just to let him fidget around with your laptop’s battery that burns to touch or the program functions you can’t seem to figure out even after using the ‘help’ tab. He’d never admit to it though.

  Not yet, at least.

  His eyes flicker to the unfinished problem adorning his notebook, numbers and symbols half-formed, abandoned mid-line. The solution sits just out of reach.

  Much like you.

  His unfinished integral mocks him.

  Your cheeks are flushed, supple and radiant, the dermal symptom of cool drizzle and dewy autumn air. Sieun’s eyes surf the strands of your hair, glinting from subtle rain droplets that catch even in the dim fluorescent light of his dorm hallway.

  You look small like this in his doorway, backpack straps sagging over your shoulders, your sweater sporting little wet spots that are sure to smell like petrichor. Your hands tightly clutch a white plastic bag to your abdomen, the vertices of a cardboard box poking out at him.

  You smile at him, small and sweet and a little flustered. “There was some drizzle when I turned onto your lane.”

  Sieun’s gaze, currently traveling across the ridges tenting your plastic bag, snaps to your face.

  “Oh.” It’s a soft expression, a barely-there phoneme he manages through concern for you—how dare the clouds cry over your angel face?—and some muffled curiosity.

  Sieun just can’t help the fall of his gaze. He stares blankly at the bag in your hands. He’s not surprised when you take notice.

  “It’s brownie mix!”

  He peers at you again.

  “Brownies?”

  You grin sheepishly, fiddling with the plastic handles. “Yeah, I thought, well– you work so hard, you deserve a fun break, one you can get a sweet treat out of!” You pause. “And, I guess it’s also thanks for my laptop. You’ve saved me a lot of money I already don’t have, more than once now.”

  He’s still staring at you, face blank, unreadable, lips sealed in a line, but his eyes gleamed. Whether it was annoyance or humour, you weren’t sure, but his dreamy, tired eyes gleamed.

  Your eyes go wide. “Oh gosh, I should’ve asked you if brownies were okay. They looked so good on the box, I just had to pick them up. You could be allergic to chocolate, or maybe you don’t even like brownies–”

  “Brownies are cool.”

  Sieun watches your lips halt their rambling, configured mid-sentence, before they slowly spread into a toothy grin, one that radiates a warm feeling into his bones and almost—almost—makes his lip twitch up to match yours.

  All you needed to do was force start.

  That’s all.

  No hardware to trifle with, no delinquent software meddling with your computer programs.

  All Sieun had to do was press a couple buttons in tandem before your screen lit back up to life, resurrected from its cry of wolf.

  Your cheeks had heated, bashful from your ignorance, but also a little humoured.

  They blazed further when you caught sight of the calculus massacre on his desk, hurried apologies spilling past your pretty lips to wash out the guilt that crawled up your chest.

  Sieun reassured you all was well—It’s fine, I was almost done anyways—with a look in his eyes that had you capitulating to his sincerity.

  “Can I repay you with brownies?” you had prompted, fingers twiddling behind your back as if it would have subliminally helped rouse the answer you sought after.

  Sieun slowly flattened your laptop to a shut before his Bambi eyes peaked at you and whispered exactly what you needed to know, exactly what you wanted to hear.

  So, you’d both clambered in his tiny, cozy dorm kitchen, ingredients and bowls and utensils scattered across granite, instructions serenading the walls in your voice, Sieun’s hands working to mix the dark sea of cocoa batter.

  You had assumed the role of a conductor but managed to pull a mess over you like a magnet. Whatever hadn’t been mixed into the warm batch of brownies basking atop Sieun’s countertop had found consolation on your being—cocoa powder and melted butter and drying batter decorated your skin and sweater.

  Sieun thought it was the cutest thing he’d ever seen.

  Of course, Sieun had missed any defiant ingredient attacks entirely.

  You’d both picked up a piece each, melted chocolate furnishing your mouths while Sieun, starry-eyed and attentive, listened to you babble about your stress baking and how, no matter the many times you made something, you’d always be left with a bit of a messy souvenir from the process.

  It was during this instance when the rain had hit.

  Hard and harsh and pattering ferociously against the window of his measly living room. You and Sieun had snapped your heads at the sound, sticky embellishments of chocolate coating your fingers.

  You’d looked so worried, so consumed in the thought of how you’d walk home through what was practically a typhoon. You hadn’t checked for a storm warning, all you’d known was a chance of rain. Your umbrella wouldn’t have stood a chance.

  You’d looked so worried, so it felt almost natural when Sieun suggested you just stay over.

  “...Really?” Your eyes were breaking past their sockets, and Sieun had nerely felt the weight of his words crash over him until your orbs softened and he saw the ghost of a smirk brush past your lips.

  “Yeah, you can’t get home through that,” his voice had been tinged with his radiation of care for you. His eyes swept over your chocolate-covered frame. “You can use my shower if you want. I’ll give you some clean clothes to wear.”

  You’d obliged. Quite happily.

  And now, Sieun sat at his desk, unfinished integral staring up at him, the muted sound of his shower silking through the wall, almost louder than the merciless storm outside his window. 

  Sieun hadn’t touched his sheets or pens since he’d retreated to his room, changed into his own set of nightwear, and lowered himself into his desk chair. He couldn’t focus.

  How could he? When you were just a dozen feet away, naked and wet under the rush of his shower.

  He knew he shouldn’t think about it, begged himself not to, but when his mind slipped over the way you had chocolate powder flowering your neck and underneath your sweater, he couldn’t help but let his mind run, just a little.

  Run over the way your fingers probably tucked under the bottom of your sweater, dragging it up along your beautiful body and over your head. What had you worn underneath? Had you even worn anything? 

  In Sieun’s little fantasy, you hadn’t. You’d been bare for him under your clothes, and he’d been ready, quick to ravish you, to kiss and suck and bite at your warm skin.

  But, that was just a fantasy.

  In reality, it didn’t matter whether or not you’d worn anything underneath your sweater. Sieun had just helped you out, made things a little easier for you, eased your anxiety by offering an innocent sleepover so you wouldn’t have to sacrifice yourself to what was the making of an ocean outside his dorm.

  It didn’t matter, just like his integral, still unfinished. Deferred. Mocking.

  The blood had barely made it to his cock before it was rushing back to his brain.

  A couple minutes more of unsuccessfully undressing the math symbols littering his half-blank page and you were padding your way into his room, feet bare, heels marginally lifted off the cold floor of his dorm. Your clothes were folded, carried atop your forearms, and your cute body was swallowed in his t-shirt and shorts, sleeves too long, neck hole too wide, fabric swaying just over your knees with each of your scampered steps.

  You gaze at Sieun from the edge of his bed, clothes now tucked away in your backpack, the hem of his shirt twirling in your fingers. 

  God, Sieun thought you looked ethereal, bare-faced and in his clothes. The warm, mellow glow of his desk lamp illuminates your face like a halo. Your sweet angel eyes are drowning him far past the storm outside.

  Sweet oblivious angel eyes. If only they could see the mess he’d made of you in his head.

  “Are you ready to sleep, or do you want to study some more?” Your voice is so soft, so melodious bouncing within the confines of his skull, and your eyes twinkle just right, brightened from his lamp and the mere cast of moonlight simmering through his window.

  “I’m done,” Sieun starts, “You take the bed. I’m going to sleep in the living room.”

  He’s about to push himself up when you cross your cute arms, defiant and determined. He watches your eyes narrow, eyebrows dip with a scrunch.

  “Absolutely not!” you chide, your squint piercing. Sieun stares, half stood. He sits back down.

  “It’s not fair to you! I showed up, practically unannounced, had you press a couple buttons on my laptop because I was too incompetent to figure it out myself, then made you make brownies with me against your will since you don’t take any economic compensation! And I know you’re not done with your problem set, I can see it from here. It’s exactly how you left it before we made those godforsaken brownies! I completely butted into your evening and messed up your studying, so you best believe you’ll be sleeping in your own bed and getting a good night’s rest!”

  You puff at the end, like you’d said it in one breath, forearms glued to each other, fingers digging into your biceps.

  Sieun is still staring at you, face blank, eyes gentle.

  “You’re not incompetent.”

  You blink.

  “That’s not the point, Sieun.” You huff, pointing to his blankets. 

  “Now, get to bed.”

  His eyes flick, your attention on his bed now shared. There’s an ease in the air, one that helps to hoist Sieun from his desk chair, click his lamp off, and carry himself over to the side of his bed. He lifts the corner of his duvet, slides underneath, and lets it fall over him. All without a peep.

  His eyes scan to your frame, still at the edge of his bed, still in his too-baggy clothes, still looking too ethereal for him to indulge below the moonlight’s gaze, even in your quarrelsome stance.

  You stare back at him.

  “Okay… good.” You sound stifled, almost suspicious of his obedience.

  Your arms unclasp, a little dazed at how fast he’d listened to you. With a hesitant scratch to your neck, you shuffle to what would be your side of Sieun’s bed, just for tonight.

  Even though Sieun wishes it could be a less transient arrangement.

  But he was doing this to help you. 

  Afterall, you’d looked so worried.

  Sieun watches your warm body roll onto his mattress, feels it dip with your added weight from across. You shamble to face him, the duvet bunching in your hands, a relaxed, content tilt gracing your lips. Your cheek presses against the pillow, eyes squinting with warmth and kindness and gratitude and what Sieun could describe as a fatally contagious ray of tranquility.

  You look so sweet like this, cuddled into his bed in clothes—his clothes—that swallow your body whole. The rain had slowed, granting permission to an even larger crowd of moonlight to flow over your face.

  Sieun thought you were unreal, a mythical being from a dreamy world far beyond the current celestial limits.

  A mythical being who saw him only for his technological abilities.

  You were only here for tonight. Sieun was just helping you.

  Because you had looked so worried.

  So, he rolls onto his side, nearing the edge of the bed, hands tittering close to an abyss.

  “Goodnight,” he grumbles. He doesn’t bother to pull the duvet to his front, lets it hang just over his side, as if any extra movement would make him appear more visible to you.

  You gape at his back.

  “Sieun!”

  Sieun closes his eyes. Perhaps the world around him wouldn’t see him if he couldn’t see the world.

  You puff, a frustrated push of air that has Sieun squinting his eyes shut further. He feels the duvet minutely ruffle behind him, feels the dip of the mattress sink gradually.

  “I don’t get it, are you actually upset?” Although you were quiet, you sounded so disgruntled, confused. Sieun could only wish he was better at this so he wouldn’t have to bear your honey-like voice convey such emotion, like thrones stuck in a cloud.

  But, Sieun was Sieun. A man of minimal words who spoke the truth and nothing but—until now.

  “No, just trying to get a good night’s rest.” Just trying to keep my mind off you, so close, for just one night.

  “Ugh! Will you just turn around so I can talk to you?”

  Your hand reaches out and grips the collar of Sieun’s shirt, a tight grip pulling him towards you, a gentle grip to avoid attempted murder.

  His eyes pop open, a hand catching onto the taut fabric around his neck. If there was the slightest chance Sieun’s conscious was to succumb to strangulation tonight, he thinks he’d only remember the warmth of your fingers fogging over the back of his neck.

  Sieun yields to your force, falling onto his back. Why are you so damn strong?

  With a hatch of his neck, his eyes find yours in the dark room, the patch of moonlight from his window dimmed from the roar of thunder and familiar strikes of heavy droplets against the glass.

  There’s light provocation simmering through your face, playful like a child in a game of tag.

  “Talk about what?” His voice is quiet but firm, his body a statue sandwiched between the mattress and sheets, daring not to move a millimeter.

  You peer at him, words hanging along the tip of your tongue, as if debating whether they were worth speaking into the medium shared between your beings.

  You decide they are.

  “I know you take a fee from others when you fix their laptops.” There’s a quirk in his neck, a twitch at the corner of his lips that urges you further. “You’ve never taken one from me, even when I mention it. Why is that?”

  Sieun feels a gradual quickening of his heartbeat at this concoction of your voice, and, like the start of a tornado, the thoughts in his head rampage into a whirlwind.

  To be or not to be? Sieun, who previously seemed to lack any cognitive resources to solve his monster integral, was now calculating his next move with rigorous intricacy.

  Maybe it was the kick in adrenaline that had him instigating your little game.

  Sieun chose to be.

  “Why do you think?”

  Your eyes narrow in an instant, the entire play a chain reaction. Were you also debating your next actions, words? Were you also aware of the string snapping taut between you, tense and nearing a strong, sudden tear?

  Sieun definitely was. Like always, he knew what he was getting himself into, knew he was igniting something far beyond repair, unlike the many laptops he’d resurrected.

  Sieun knew what he’d started. He’d calculated it, perhaps from the very beginning, from the moment he uttered the word “stay.”

  He was just helping you, for one night. Just one night.

  You’d looked so worried, of course.

  Perhaps Sieun had wanted your eyebrows to furrow from another force of nature—him.

  Say something.

  A quirk to your lips. Dark shadows in your eyes.

  And a hand reaching out for his neck, this time to pull him to the plushest centre of your visage.

  His lips graze the fullness of yours when you whisper in a breath.

  “I knew to force start.”

  Sieun isn’t spared a chance to retaliate his sockets stretching back when you press into him.

  The dense pressure molds his own lips flush against yours, an electric fog swarming your face and down the flanks of your neck.

  It’s a reflex, an abrupt, consuming, greedy reflex, when his arm curls over your back, big hand hastily grazing along your spine to knot into your hair.

  Had Sieun fallen asleep?

  This has to be a dream.

  But your lips were too soft against his, too warm.

  And your back curved so well along his forearm, strands so luxurious curled around his fingers.

  Your hand on his chest, basking down his torso… Sieun believes he doesn’t possess even a speckle of the imagination required to muster a feeling as heavenly as that.

  Definitely not enough to muster a feeling as heavenly as your hand sliding over him through his thin flannel pajamas.

  You were a fallen angel who had come to play unsacred games.

  And Sieun proved to be a worthy opponent.

  His fingers grip around the base of your skull to pull you from his lips.

  His eyes are heavy with a murmur of inquisition, flitting over your lips before boring into your own with words unspoken. You mirror his gaze with equal weight, savouring his quiet inhale when you push further down over his hardening curve, feathering your hand up to rest against the supple part of his abdomen.

  “You know where this is going.” It was a statement, a quiet, breathless, almost restrained mutter carrying all the responsibility and uncertainty and anticipation littered within Sieun.

  You gaze, knowing, unbothered.

  “This is what you want? This is what you came for?”

  “Yes,” you whisper, “Take it as part of my thanks.”

  “I thought the brownies were your thanks.”

  You smirk. “That was just the appetizer.”

  Sieun scoffs quietly, a humble pfft to accompany the fingers gently rubbing over the bottom of your scalp, a means of easing into his next utterance.

  You were drowning in his milk chocolate orbs, a velvety sea full of nothing but care and adoration and awe for you.

  “Are you sure you want to go further?” Any quieter and the storm battering upon his window would have drowned his sound completely.

  “Yes, Sieun.”

  That was everything he needed to hear.

  A gentle push to your neck has your lips pressing back into the plushness of his own.

  It’s a slow kiss, chaste but blazing with the need you’d both been bearing for months. You move against the other, the ghost of anticipation urging you further into it.

  Sieun definitely is not dreaming.

  All his prior frustration, graced from his still unsolved practice set and the many long, agonizing weeks of indirect contact with you, melts away, leaving a tender warmth to dry in its place. Your lips feel as soft as—no, they were softer, so much softer, and warm like sun rays on cold skin—the many times he’d imagined the ghost of them wisping against his.

  A transient ghost, barely lasting a mere tortuous ten seconds. He’d stop himself from savouring it, pry the ghost away before his hopes shot higher than the sky above him.

  But now, you were here, tangible, with your mortal lips on his. They were so supple, so plush and warm and real. And they were flush against his. No one else but him.

  Sieun had spent so long denying your fabricated being, the one who would distract him from his problem sets, urge him to isolate from the many gadgets his peers would throw his way in times of technological misfortune.

  Sieun decided it was finally time to show you what your ghost had been doing to him.

  He sucks in your bottom lip, hands grazing over your hips to pull you over his growing hardness with a delicate hold, treating your vessel like original vintage artwork. Fragile. Authentic. Godly.

  The duvet shifts against your back while you shift over him, the core of your heat finding solace over his own. The hem of his borrowed t-shirt rides up your torso like it knows what’s coming.

  It’s an abrupt, consuming, visceral feeling when you first connect with the stiff rod bulging against the stressed material of Sieun’s pajamas.

  It’s the same for Sieun, so when a small groan muses from the depths of his throat at the feeling of your heat radiating along his length, he remains basking in its aftermath.

  Lips still working into each other, you almost don’t acknowledge the slow, tantalizing roll of your hips.

  Sieun does, and it drives him crazy.

  Sieun, who was always so cool, composed, and distant was now growing hot and undone, all while pressing himself further into you, meeting you at an undefined middle, ridding any and all separation from your heating bodies from the insufferable vexation of need.

  His hands knead into your hips, bearing your heat further along him, before they configure to push himself up while embracing you flush against his chest.

  You’re consuming him, physically and mentally. Your lips on his, your body wrapped tightly around his own, hot cunt slowly grinding over the hard curve of his cock, a barrier of too much fabric plastered between your beings and pushing you both into frustrated desperation.

  Your name, your scent, the suppleness of your skin, they all fog his head, conquer it with the ghost of you.

  Both your mortal and immortal forms had possessed him, consumed him whole until he was nothing but a spec of utter devotion to you and you only.

  Your hips grind again, slow, sinful, and Sieun’s breath stutters against your mouth.

  You feel the shiver that rebounds through him like a tremor, feel the tight grip of his hands at your waist falter before steadying again, tighter this time, as if he needs to anchor you, or maybe himself.

  His lips leave yours only to trail hot, desperate, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, your neck, your crescent of skin beyond the shirt’s collar, the devotion in each press of his mouth turning you molten.

  “You feel…” he murmurs, barely audible, like he’s speaking to himself, “…too good. Too good to be real.”

  You tilt your hips forward again, slower, answering him with equal desperation, and Sieun’s head tips back, a ragged exhale pulling from his throat. The sight strikes you—his lashes trembling, his brows knit together in pleasure so raw it borders on pain. He looks ruined.

  Kiss-swollen lips and flushed cheeks, shades of pink colonizing his visage in the shower of eventide luminosity.

  You don’t realize you’ve gasped until his gaze finds you again, pupils blown wide and gleaming with disbelief. His thumbs rub along your hip bones, a fragrant sensation even through the fabric of his shorts you adorned.

  Your hands glide under his shirt, pushing up until he’s reaching for the edge himself, prying the shirt past his head and letting the fabric fall to the cold hardwood beneath his bed.

  His hands slip beneath the hem of your own, and his touch is hesitant, wavering, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he reaches too far.

  “Can I…?” he asks, voice husky and threadbare, already tugging at the fabric.

  You nod. His hands glide up, slow and reverent, brushing over the curves and valleys he’s only ever imagined, each touch leaving heat in its wake. 

  He drinks in the sight of you like he’s been thirst-starved for days, gentle eyes falling over your face and down to your taut peaks. You weren’t a ghost anymore—you were a dream, glowing and radiant beneath the muted haze of damp moonlight.

  And when your bare chest presses to his, skin to skin, nothing between you but the thundering pace of your hearts, Sieun chokes out a soft, desperate moan.

  The ghost of you has vanished.

  What remains is you—real and soft and warm and all his.

  And he’s no longer a boy haunted by longing. He’s a man who’s finally allowed to feel.

  Your fingers find the nape of his neck, weaving into the soft strands of his hair, and the sound he lets out—broken, hushed, completely unguarded—settles somewhere deep in your chest.

  Sieun’s lips return to yours with more urgency now, less caution, the kind that only comes when desire and restraint blur into the same overwhelming thing. His tongue traces your bottom lip before slipping inside, gentle, exploratory, worshipping, like he’s memorizing you.

  Every movement of his hips under you is hesitant but needy, as if he’s still trying to slow himself down, still trying to process that you’re not slipping away.

  “You’re driving me insane,” he whispers against your mouth, voice hoarse and cracking like lightning behind the storm-glassed windows.

  He kisses you again, softer now, almost like an apology for how his hands are now gripping at the swell of your thighs with mounting desperation.

  Then, with a breath that shakes against your lips, Sieun pulls back. Only just.

  “Lie back,” he murmurs, voice low, thick with something you’ve never heard from him before. Anticipation, maybe. Hunger, definitely.

  You do, painfully unlatching from his warmth and sinking into the pillow behind you.

  Sieun follows, crawling down the length of your body like a man crossing sacred ground, his drowsy gaze never leaving you. It lingers on the slope of your neck, the lines of your collarbone, the tender stretch of skin bare to the cool air of his bedroom. Each inch he memorizes like scripture, utterly fascinated and unspeakably enamoured.

  “You’re…” he begins, almost too quiet to even comprehend, but trails off, like no word quite fits what you are to him.

  And then you see it. The way adoration turns to ache.

  A valley of creases between his brows, a marginal slit parting his pout, the quickened wisps of air trailing out of him. He’s wrecked, far past.

  And you had barely touched him.

  Sieun’s hands slide up your thighs, calloused fingertips brushing along the waistband of the very shorts he lent you, the ones riding too low on your hips, the ones he's dreamed about you in far too many nights to count.

  He kisses the inside of your knee.

  Then your thigh.

  Then the soft dip just above your hip bone.

  His hands move, thumbs hooking into the waistband. There’s a beat—one last, wordless check—and then he draws them down.

  And stops breathing.

  You’re bare beneath them. No panties. Just slick, glistening proof of how long you’ve wanted this too.

  “Fuck,” he breathes, like it’s been torn from him. His jaw goes slack, eyes shadowed with affection and disbelief. “You didn’t wear—?”

  He doesn't finish. He can't.

  His hands twitch.

  You’ve rendered Yeon Sieun speechless.

  Sieun blinks once, twice, like he’s trying to process the sight before him, trying not to let it undo him entirely.

  But it does.

  It does.

  He swallows hard, jaw flexing as his eyes drag along the slick sheen glistening between your thighs, warm and glimmering and pooling out of you sans constraint.

  His hands settle on your hips again, firm, needy, desperate.

  “You’ve been like this this whole time?” he whispers, voice hoarse, eyes flickering up to meet yours, the question half-shattered already. “Wearing my shorts… like this?”

  You don’t have time to answer.

  Because Sieun leans in, drawn like a man starved, mouth ghosting just above your heat and breathing you in.

  His composure fractures there.

  A low, guttural sound breaks from his throat as he presses a slow, devoted kiss to your core. Just one.

  Then another. Then again, deeper, wetter, until his tongue slides through your dampened heat with a shuddering groan of restraint and craving colliding all at once.

  Your hips twitch and Sieun’s grip tightens instinctively, his fingers digging into your waist to anchor you to him like you might vanish otherwise.

  His tongue moves again, slow and patient, still trying to worship even while losing his mind.

  But you’re so wet, and he’s so gone.

  Each soft moan that slips from your lips draws another shaky exhale from him, each roll of your hips a crack in his control.

  He tries to keep it measured. Gentle.

  But then he hears you gasp his name, all broken and raw, and something inside him snaps.

  His pace quickens.

  He licks into you deeper, more desperate, tongue flicking, flattening, circling like he’s chasing a high that stubbornly runs just a step out of his reach. His nose brushes your clit and he doesn’t even think to pull back.

  He wants it all.

  You feel his moan against you, deep and wrecked, and you realize:

  Sieun isn’t composed anymore.

  He’s hungry.

  Possessed.

  And completely, unbearably devoted to the taste of you.

  You’re gasping now, each breath shallower than the last, and Sieun can feel you trembling beneath his palms.

  It spurs him on, wrecks him in ways he never knew were possible.

  His thumbs rub slow circles into your hips, as if to soothe you, steady you, but his mouth is relentless, nose tirelessly working into your nub. His tongue is languid one moment, then firmer the next, lapping through your folds with aching, focused precision, memorizing all that makes you fall apart.

  You roll into a nimble arch, head tipping back, and your thighs quiver where they rest over his shoulders.

  “Sieun—” you whimper.

  His name breaks in your throat, and that’s what crumbles him.

  He groans into you again, the vibration shooting straight through your core as he licks you harder now, deeper, more rhythmic, mouth coaxing you right to the edge, right to the place he’s been aching to take you.

  His hands are cradling your hips now, keeping you spread open, helpless, vulnerable, his.

  And then he whispers it, barely audible, a prayer into your skin.

  “Come for me.”

  Your breath catches.

  “Let me taste all of you,” he mumbles again, like he’s asking for divinity, like your pleasure is holy.

  And when you finally do, when your body tenses and your thighs clamp tight around his head and that beautiful cry of his name leaves your lips, Sieun doesn’t stop.

  He groans into you, licking you through it, drinking it in like he’s never tasted something more sacred.

  Like he’s never belonged more to anything—anyone—than he does to you in this moment.

  And even after the tremors still, even when you’re limp and gasping and glowing beneath him, he keeps kissing you softly, as if he can’t bear to let you go just yet.

  As if this is how he says I’ve wanted you like this forever.

  You’re still panting when he pulls back, lips slick and pink, eyes hooded and blown wide with awe. He looks stunned. Disheveled. Like a man undone by worship.

  But you, squirming and aching and desperate to have all of him, manage to find your voice.

  “Sieun,” you whisper, reaching for him. Your fingers trail along his jaw, coaxing him up until he’s hovering over you again. “I want more.”

  His breath hitches.

  Your palm slides over his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath his ribs. “I want you inside me.”

  Sieun stills completely.

  And then his eyes close, jaw tightening as if your words alone could undo the last shreds of his composure.

  “Fuck,” he breathes, voice rough with disbelief.

  He kisses you, not hard, not hurried, but slow and deep, like it’s all he can do to keep from losing control. You savour the heady taste of your slick coating his lips. He presses his forehead to yours, and mutters shakily, “One second.”

  You watch as he reaches for the drawer beside his bed and pulls out a condom from the crumpled blue box Hu-min had shoved at him weeks ago with a stupid grin and no explanation.

  He’d meant to throw them out. He hadn’t.

  He tears the foil open with controlled fingers and slides his flannels and boxers off his body, finally bearing himself free.

  He’s thick, flushed, already leaking from the tip. He hisses under his breath as he rolls the condom on, fingers twitching like he’s barely holding it together.

  When he settles between your thighs, eyes drowning in your sight, the air changes.

  Gone is the boy who’s too quiet, too closed off, too powered from the urge of indignation.

  What remains is Sieun drowned in passion, eyes wide and dreamy and dazed by the sight of you spread open for him, the warmth of your body beckoning his own.

  “You sure?” he asks again, voice almost too tender.

  You nod, pulling him down into a kiss, and guide him with a soft whisper, “Yes. Please, Sieun. I want all of you.”

  He exhales shakily.

  Then he lines himself just beyond your heat, and with a leisurely push of his hips, he slides inside.

  You both gasp.

  You’re hot and wet and hug onto his inching cock, and he sinks in like he’s always meant to belong there. 

  “God—” he grits, arms quavering on either side of you as he tries not to lose it too fast, forehead dropping to your shoulder.

  “You’re…” His voice cracks. “So good. So—gosh, I don’t—”

  You wrap your legs around him, anchoring him to you, and moan when he rocks forward again, deeper this time. You feel everything, every inch, every pulse, every lazed drag.

  He starts slow, shallow, testing your fit, his own restraint. His hips roll into yours with a tender kind of ache, like he’s afraid to break you, like each inch of him inside you is a miracle he can’t fully comprehend.

  But your body answers with desperate softness, clinging to him like silk caught in wind. You tilt your hips, chasing more friction, and whimper at the way his cock presses deeper, fuller, perfectly where you need him.

  Sieun moans, a sound so broken and quiet it nearly guts you.

  “Please,” you breathe, clutching at his back, your voice hitching with each movement. “Don’t hold back.”

  His jaw clenches. His eyes flutter shut.

  And then he moves deeper, hips rocking into you with a fluid rhythm that makes your breath stutter and your legs tighten around him.

  The friction is delicious. The stretch, overwhelming yet cosmic.

  Sieun presses closer, burying his face further into your neck, panting softly against your skin.

  “You’re so—” He chokes on a groan as your walls flutter around him. “You feel unreal.”

  You drag your nails lightly down his spine, whispering back between moans.

  He fucks into you slowly, like it’s sacred. Each thrust is a vow, a prayer, an unraveling. His hands are everywhere—one gripping your thigh to anchor you to him, the other cradling your jaw like you’re too precious to let go.

  Your body sings for him. You meet each movement with your own, hips rising to greet him, rolling and shifting to take him deeper, to keep him close.

  Your moans mingle with his gasps, the heat between you building with every thrust, until there’s nothing left of restraint, only the desperate, languid drag of two bodies finding rhythm in devotion.

  Sieun lifts his head to look at you—really look—and what he sees makes his hips stutter.

  Your face, flushed and shining, lips parted, still pink and swollen, eyes glassy with bliss and admiration.

  You’re breathtaking. And right now, you were his.

  He moans again, broken and stunned, and leans down to kiss you like he’ll fall apart if he doesn’t, slow, messy, teeth grazing lips, all while his hips begin to move faster, harder, chasing something he’s never dared imagine before you.

  Your bodies are slick with heat and need, the world around you reduced to nothing but the way he fits, the way he fills, the way he worships you with every thrust.

  Sieun is whispering your name like a lifeline, like it’s the only word he knows, murmured into the skin of your throat, your jaw, your lips, as if it can tether him to reality while he teeters on the edge of something vast and consuming.

  “You feel so good,” he rasps, voice hoarse and reverent. “So perfect—you’re perfect.”

  Your back arches, body shuddering as he angles his hips just right, deep and slow and precise, hitting that spot inside you that makes gush over his length.

  Your moans turn high and breathless, desperate.

  “Sieun—” you gasp, legs tightening around his waist, pulling him in deeper. “I’m close—oh god—”

  He knows. 

  He feels it, the way you start to flutter and squeeze around him, the way your breaths collapse into whimpers. And even through the haze of his own rising pleasure, Sieun slows down just enough to draw it out for you, to feel every quivering second of it.

  “I’ve got you,” he whispers, breath stuttering. “Come, please.”

  And you do.

  It rushes over you in waves—white-hot, pulsing, unstoppable—your climax washing through your entire body with a strangled moan, your limbs tightening, your voice shaking as you cry out his name.

  Sieun swears under his breath, something desperate and soft, and then he loses it.

  The way you clamp around him, slick, pulsing, so warm, is all it takes to send him spiraling. His rhythm falters, hips stuttering, muscles trembling as the pressure finally breaks. He groans, deep and guttural, and spills into the condom with a few last shallow thrusts, his whole body curling into yours like he’s trying to fuse the two of you together.

  And when it’s over, when the tremors in both your bodies begin to subside and your chests press together in exhausted, blissful rhythm, he stays. 

  Buried in you, breathless, consumed. His forehead pressed to yours, his lashes fluttering, lips ghosting your cheek.

  And finally, his lips quirk at the corners, gracing his features with a small, gentle smile.

  Because he decides he won’t be washing his shorts.

  And he thinks he’ll get you to ruin another pair when you bring your laptop over for him under the guise of fixing it again.

৬ৎ  𝑙𝑒𝑒'𝑠 𝑝𝘰𝑠𝘵𝑙𝑢𝑑𝑒  ࿐  i decided for a soft, feral rendition of sieun’s university au. this will be the last weak hero fic i write before i move onto skz and atz! need more? you can read hyuntak’s version over here  ⌯⌲  smart girl

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© chanifesto

[sumluckr]

Wolf at the door

Pairing: Geum Seong-je x female reader

Summary: One impulsive night leads to a secret you can’t escape. When your sister brings home her new boyfriend, everything you tried to forget comes back to haunt you.

Warnings: explicit sexual content, blackmail, toxic dynamics, non-consensual power dynamics and psychological manipulation.

The bass-heavy music thrums through your body as neon lights flash across the packed club. You stand at the edge of the dance floor, heart rattling in your chest. This isn’t you – or at least, it’s not the you everyone knows. Good girls from respectable families don’t sneak into clubs on a weeknight, don’t let strangers buy them drinks, and definitely don’t fantasize about reckless, illicit thrills. But tonight, you’ve shed your perfect-student skin. Tonight, you’re rebellion in a short black dress, determined to forget the suffocating expectations that cling to you like a second skin.

You down the last of your cocktail, sweetness and alcohol burning down your throat, and sway your hips to the music. It’s dizzying and a little liberating to be here alone – no parents hovering, no teachers, no judgment. Just for a few hours, you want to be someone else, someone free and bold and bad. Your eyes drift over the sea of strangers under pulsing strobe lights. Bodies move in dark silhouette. Laughter and shouts cut through the throbbing bass.

That’s when you feel his eyes on you – a prickle of heat at the back of your neck. You glance over your shoulder and catch sight of a figure lounging against the wall near the bathroom hallway. Even in the erratic neon glow, he stands out. Tall and lean, he’s dressed in a fitted black jacket and ripped jeans, exuding a casual menace. His hair is dark, a few unruly strands falling over one eye. And those eyes… fixed on you with an intensity that sends a thrill up your spine. In the shifting light, you can’t discern their color – only that his gaze is bold, unabashed, and dangerous.

Your pulse skips. A sensible voice in your head whispers that nothing good can come from locking eyes with a stranger like him. He’s exactly the kind of boy you’ve always been warned about – the kind your parents would never approve of, the kind who radiates trouble. Perhaps that’s precisely why you hold his gaze a second longer than you should. Why a spark of defiance flares to life inside you, challenging your own good sense.

He smirks when he sees you looking. It’s a lazy, confident curve of his lips, as if he finds your attention amusing. Under the flashing club lights, he pushes off the wall and begins to cross the room toward you. Instinctively, your breath catches. He moves with a predatory grace, weaving through the crowd without taking his eyes off you, as though he’s already decided you will be his next conquest.

Your heart thunders. Part of you wants to turn away, break the spell, retreat to safety. But your feet remain planted, curiosity and rebellion rooting you in place. The air seems to thicken as he approaches. You catch a better glimpse now: sharp features, a strong jaw marked by a fading bruise near his cheekbone, and a split in his lower lip as if he’s been in a recent fight. A white bandage peeks out from beneath the collar of his jacket, taped at his shoulder or neck. He should look beaten up, rough, scary… and he does. Yet none of it diminishes his appeal – if anything, the bruises and bandages only intensify the dangerous aura around him. He’s like a storm contained in a human frame.

When he reaches you, the scent of smoke and something musky washes over you. He’s a head taller, forcing you to tilt your chin up to meet his eyes. In the flicker of neon, you see now they’re a deep charcoal-grey, penetrating and cold. A shiver races over your skin. Too late to run now.

He doesn’t ask to dance. He doesn’t ask anything. Instead, the stranger’s hand lifts, fingers brushing a stray lock of hair off your face. The gesture is oddly tender for someone who looks like him, but the glint in his eyes is anything but gentle.

“What’s a pretty little thing like you doing here all alone?” he drawls, voice low to be heard over the music. There’s a hint of amusement in his tone, laced with something dark that you can’t quite name. Up close, his charm is edged with danger, like a knife cloaked in silk.

Your stomach flips. A dozen possible answers flit through your mind – a lie, an excuse, anything to preserve your dignity – but what slips out is the raw truth: “Trying to have some fun.” You’re surprised by the boldness of your own words. Normally you’d never admit that to a stranger, but the alcohol and adrenaline are dissolving your filter. If my parents heard me now… The thought almost makes you laugh.

He chuckles, a low rumble that you feel in your chest more than hear. His thumb trails lightly down your cheek in a mockingly affectionate stroke. “Oh, I can give you fun,” he says, leaning in. His lips hover by your ear, the heat of his breath making you tremble. “Question is, can you handle it?”

A bolt of heat spears through you, half excitement, half fear. The challenge in his voice and the flirtation ignite something reckless inside you. This is precisely what you came here for, isn’t it? To prove you’re not just the obedient daughter, the straight-A student, the well-behaved sister. To feel something real and wild, even if it’s just for one night.

You don’t trust your voice, so you answer by arching a brow, hoping to appear braver than you feel. “Try me,” you manage, the two words coming out steadier than the hammering of your heart.

His eyes darken, that predatory smirk widening. Without another word, he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you onto the dance floor. The abrupt closeness knocks the breath from your lungs. He’s solid muscle under that jacket; you can feel the tension coiled in him, like he might spring into violence or passion at any second.

The music shifts to a sultry, grinding beat. He moves with confidence, hands sliding low on your hips. You follow his lead, letting him press you back until your body meets the hard plane of his chest. It’s intoxicating – his heat, the way he guides you as if he owns your body. You can smell a faint trace of blood mixed with his cologne, or maybe it’s your imagination. Either way, it sends a thrill through you. This is dangerous. He is dangerous.

And you’ve never felt more alive.

You dance, though it’s less dancing and more an excuse to touch. His hands roam over your curves in time with the heavy bass. When your arms loop around his neck, your fingers graze a row of bandages along the side of it. You realize they’re covering what look like half-healed cuts. Your eyes flick to his in question, but he only gives a lazy shrug and pulls you closer, grinding against you in answer. The message is clear: Don’t ask. So you don’t. You shut off the cautious part of your brain that wants to know what happened to him. All that matters is right now.

His thigh pushes between your legs as you sway together, and a small gasp escapes you at the pressure against your already thrumming core. You swear you feel him smile against your temple at the sound. Embarrassed by how quickly your body is responding, you turn your face up, intending to reclaim some control by kissing him first – but he beats you to it.

He swoops down and captures your lips in a bruising kiss that steals all thought. It’s not gentle or slow. It’s teeth and tongue and heat, a clash that sends sparks through your veins. You whimper into his mouth, and he takes the sound as invitation to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that makes your toes curl. You taste a hint of copper – maybe from the cut on his lip – mixed with the alcohol on both your tongues. The metallic tang shouldn’t be arousing, but it only reminds you that this man is raw and real, not some polished prince charming.

His hand moves up your back, tangling in your hair, tilting your head to his liking so he can kiss you even harder. It’s like he wants to consume you, and you find yourself yielding, letting him set the pace. When he finally pulls back, both of you are breathing hard. Your lips tingle, likely swollen from the ferocity of the kiss. A satisfied gleam lights his eyes as he looks at your dazed expression.

“Fun enough for you?” he purrs, voice dripping cockiness. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip, which you realize is stinging slightly from a bite – his or yours, you’re not even sure.

A flush heats your cheeks. You bite back an instinctive polite reply. Good girls say thank you or demur. You force those impulses down and, mustering your bravado, give a soft, breathless laugh. “Not bad…,” you tease, trying to match his nonchalance, though your voice betrays you with a slight tremor. “But I thought you promised me fun. Is that all you’ve got?”

His eyebrows lift at your challenge, surprise flickering over his features. Then that wolfish grin returns, more wicked than before. He leans in so that his nose almost brushes yours. “Careful,” he murmurs, and you feel his hand tighten at your hip, fingers digging in possessively. “I might just have to prove I can blow your sweet little mind.”

Your heart skips at the promise laced in those words. Before you can form a reply, he captures your hand in his. “Come.” It’s an order, not a request. You barely have time to snatch your purse from a nearby ledge before he’s tugging you through the crowd.

There’s a surreal thrill in letting yourself be led. Normally, you’d balk at anyone manhandling you – but something about his confidence, the deliberate way he navigates through throngs of people with you in tow, is intoxicating. Part of you can’t believe what you’re doing. You met this boy mere minutes ago. You don’t even know his name. This could be incredibly stupid… No, it is incredibly stupid. And yet, you don’t resist. Whether it’s curiosity, desire, or the rebellious anger at your own sheltered life driving you, you follow him.

He pushes open a heavy door in the back, leading you into a dark hallway that smells of spilled beer and cleaning bleach. The sign on the door that slams shut behind you reads Restrooms. The bass from the main room fades to a muffled thump through the wall, and the sudden relative quiet makes your ears ring. The hall is lit only by a flickering fluorescent light. To your left, the door to the ladies’ room stands closed; to your right, the men’s. He ignores both, instead zeroing in on a third door at the very end – a single unisex bathroom or maybe a staff washroom. A small paper sign taped to it reads “Out of Order,” but he twists the knob and shoves the door open without hesitation.

Your pulse jackhammers as he pulls you inside the tiny bathroom and locks the door behind you with a sharp click. It’s a cramped space – just a sink, a cloudy mirror, and a toilet stall with a busted-looking door half off its hinges (so that’s why it’s out of order, you think absently). The only light comes from a single dim bulb overhead. The walls tremble faintly with the bass from outside, and through the vent you can hear the muffled chorus of the current dance track.

Suddenly, in the confined quiet, reality presses on you. This is really happening. You’re in a dingy club bathroom with a dangerous stranger, about to cross lines you’ve never come near before. A flicker of nerves finally cuts through the haze of lust and liquid courage. Your instincts rear up with a warning – this is too fast, too reckless. What if he hurts you? What if you regret this?

Sensing your hesitation, he steps forward, backing you against the sink. The porcelain edge presses into your lower back. He places his hands on either side of you, caging you in. There’s a thrill in knowing the exit is right behind him and you’d have to get through his strong body to reach it. Thrill… or terror. Possibly both. Your breathing quickens, but you lift your chin, refusing to show fear.

He notices – he notices everything, it seems – and one corner of his mouth twitches in approval. “Nervous?” he asks softly. He brings a hand up to your face and trails a finger slowly from the hollow of your temple down to your jaw. His touch is surprisingly light, almost a caress, at odds with the dangerous gleam in his eyes.

You swallow hard. “No,” you lie. Your voice is barely above a whisper in the quiet bathroom. The word comes out too fast, betraying you.

He actually laughs – a dark, husky chuckle that curls low in your belly. “Liar,” he murmurs. His finger tilts your chin up. “I can feel your heartbeat.” He presses his body against yours, and you realize he can likely feel it, given how hard your heart is thudding against your ribs. It’s practically vibrating through you.

Instinctively, your hands come up to press against his chest, whether to push him away or just to touch him, you’re not sure. They end up fisting in the material of his shirt. Beneath the thin fabric, his muscles are taut, and you become acutely aware of the warmth and power coiled there. He feels like a loaded gun in the shape of a man – all potential energy, ready to go off.

He dips his head, lips ghosting over the side of your neck. You gasp when you feel the scrape of his teeth against your sensitive skin, not quite biting, but threatening to. “If you want me to stop, you better say so now,” he breathes against your neck. It’s not really a question, more like a sly dare. The hint of sarcasm in his tone tells you he’s not used to anyone telling him to stop. He’s mocking the very idea that you might not go through with this.

Your pride flares, overcoming your nerves. You did not come this far to chicken out. If you back out now, you’ll return home to your perfectly curated life and lie awake every night wondering what would have happened if you’d been braver. And beyond that—your body is on fire for him, desire already coiling low in your belly. Fear is there, yes, but it only seems to heighten your arousal, sharpening every sensation. The danger is part of the thrill.

So you answer by grabbing the lapels of his jacket and crashing your mouth to his. It’s messy and ungraceful, but it sends your message loud and clear: Don’t stop. A low growl of approval emanates from him, and then everything becomes a blur of heat and motion.

He kisses you fiercely, drinking in your surrender. Your world narrows to the wet slide of his tongue against yours and the way his hands roam your body, claiming it as his. One hand cups your breast through your dress, fingers deftly finding your nipple and pinching just hard enough to make you yelp into his mouth. The sharp sting sends a lightning bolt of pleasure down your spine. Any lingering inhibitions crumble; you arch into his touch, craving more.

“Hmm, sensitive,” he notes with a dark chuckle, breaking the kiss just to watch your reaction as he gives that hardened nub another squeeze. You bite your lip to stifle a moan. He tuts disapprovingly. “No, let me hear you.” He pinches harder suddenly, catching you off guard. A cry escapes your lips before you can stop it, echoing in the tiny bathroom. You slap a hand over your mouth in shock at your own volume, eyes darting to the door. The music outside is loud—hopefully loud enough that no one heard.

He grabs your wrist and pulls your hand away from your mouth, eyes gleaming almost fever-bright in the dim light. “Don’t.” It’s a command. “We’re far from the only ones screwing in this club, don’t worry about them.” The crude confidence of his statement sends a flush through your cheeks. Before you can respond, he’s tugging the straps of your dress down your shoulders, not bothering to be gentle. The fabric slinks down, exposing the lacy pastel bra you’d worn – ironically one of your prettiest, daintiest pieces, chosen this evening on a hopeful whim.

He lets out a low whistle of appreciation at the sight of you, running his tongue over his bottom lip. “Better than I imagined,” he purrs, and you flush hotter knowing he’s been imagining you. The thought that this dangerous man picked you out of everyone in that crowd, and was picturing what’s under your dress… it sends a heady mix of power and vulnerability through you.

His hands slide around your back, and with an expert flick, he unhooks your bra. It falls loose, and you hesitate only a split second before allowing it to slip off your arms, baring your breasts completely to his gaze. The hungry way he stares could devour you whole. Self-conscious, you start to cross your arms over your chest, but he catches your wrists and pins them back against the mirror behind you. The cold glass presses into your skin.

“None of that,” he chides softly. “Don’t hide from me.” Again, that note of command. He’s not asking – he’s telling you to let him look. The dominance in it makes your breath catch, a mixture of indignation and unwilling arousal. You’re used to being in control of yourself; giving it up – even in this small way – feels foreign. But when you meet his gaze, the open heat and lust you see there sends a pulse of warmth straight between your legs. He wants you. Wildly, ravenously. Perhaps as much as you want to be wanted.

Slowly, you lower your arms, leaving yourself exposed to him. A slow grin spreads across his face. “Good girl,” he murmurs, and strangely, the praise – however mocking it might be – sends a thrill through you. Good girl. It’s what you always strive to be, what everyone calls you. But on his lips, in this context, it feels deliciously twisted, almost dirty.

Before you can dwell on it, he dips his head and takes one of your nipples into his mouth without warning. You cry out, the sensation of wet heat and suction pulling taut at that sensitive peak. His tongue flicks and circles expertly, while his hand finds your other breast, rolling and teasing the nipple between calloused fingers. Pleasure jolts through you, and you feel yourself growing wetter by the second, your panties dampening with arousal.

You clutch at his shoulders to steady yourself, head falling back against the mirror. Each lick and gentle bite he gives your breasts sends sparks skittering through your nerves. He alternates between them, clearly enjoying the way he can make you squirm and moan with just this. When he finally lifts his head, both your nipples are pebbled tight and aching, glistening with his saliva. The cool air of the bathroom hits the wet skin and you shiver.

The stranger’s breathing is heavier now, his eyes dark with lust as they rake down your body. “I knew you’d be responsive,” he mutters appreciatively, almost to himself. “Act so pure, but your body’s just begging for it, isn’t it?”

You should be embarrassed, maybe even offended by his cocky assumption – but the truth is there’s no denying how turned on you are. Your legs feel weak and an insistent ache is building between them. You bite your lip, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of admitting it aloud. Instead you reach forward boldly and brush your hand over the front of his jeans, feeling for the hardness you know must be there. You’re rewarded with the discovery of a sizable bulge straining against the denim.

His breath hisses through his teeth at your touch, eyes flashing. It’s the first time you’ve seen him react with something like surprise. “Careful,” he warns, but there’s a slight catch in his voice. You realize with a heady rush that you have an effect on him too. The great thing about egotistical boys is they’re often unprepared when you call their bluff.

You palm him more firmly through the fabric, emboldened. “Who’s nervous now?” you whisper, throwing his words from earlier back at him.

A dangerous grin spreads across his face, equal parts amused and aroused. “Alright,” he growls, “you asked for it.” In one swift motion, he grips your thighs and lifts you up onto the sink counter. A surprised laugh bursts from you, cut short as he steps between your legs, spreading them wide around his hips. The skirt of your dress hikes up to your waist in the process, and you flush as you realize how exposed you are – only a thin scrap of silk panty preserves your modesty, and even that is soaked through with evidence of your desire.

He notices, of course. Nothing escapes those sharp eyes. He runs a finger over the front of your panties and it comes away glistening. He holds it up, and even in the dim light you can see the slickness coating his fingertip. “All this from a little kissing and groping?” He tsks softly, though the pride in his voice is evident. Your cheeks burn with embarrassment. “And you claimed you weren’t nervous. Maybe it’s not nerves at all… maybe you’re just aching for a bad little adventure.”

You’re spared having to answer – or lie – because he doesn’t wait for a response. He hooks his fingers into your panties and, with one rough yank, tears them aside. The delicate fabric doesn’t stand a chance; it rips with a startling sound, the ruined pieces sliding down your thighs. A shock of cool air kisses your now bare sex, and you instinctively try to close your legs, a surge of shyness hitting you at being so exposed. But his body stands firmly between your knees, preventing any escape.

“Don’t hide,” he reminds you darkly, grabbing your knees and pushing them further apart instead. “Let me see.” The audacity of him just taking this without asking should anger you, should scare you – and yet the command in his tone only fuels the heat in your belly. You’re quivering with a potent mix of humiliation and arousal as he gazes down at your most intimate place.

“Perfect,” he murmurs under his breath, almost reverently, as one of his hands slides up the inside of your thigh. You feel a fingertip brush your folds, testing, exploring the wetness there. You choke back a moan when that finger lightly flicks over your swollen clit. He notices that too – the slight jolt of your hips – and rewards you by circling the sensitive nub slowly, sending waves of pleasure radiating outward.

“You’re so wet for me already… such a naughty girl,” he says softly, and for the first time there’s a hint of something almost gentle in his voice, though the words are degrading. It confuses your pleasure-fogged brain; you don’t know whether to be ashamed or pleased. The one thing you do know is that you need more. Each teasing swirl of his finger is driving you mad, winding you tighter.

“Please…” The word slips out before you can stop it, and you hate how desperate you sound.

He arches a brow. “Please what?” he prompts, mercilessly slowing his finger to an agonizing crawl. He’s making you say it. The smug bastard wants to hear you beg.

Your pride and need war inside you. A strangled whimper escapes your throat as he barely grazes your clit, denying you the pressure you crave. The ache is too much; pride crumbles. “Please,” you pant, swallowing your dignity, “more… touch me.”

His grin is triumphant. “Good girl,” he practically purrs, clearly satisfied at hearing your plea. In reward, he plunges that finger suddenly into your entrance, all the way to the knuckle. You cry out, back bowing at the sudden intrusion. He’s thick and his finger curls expertly inside you, dragging along your inner walls in a way that lights up every nerve. You clamp a hand over your mouth to muffle your moan.

He doesn’t chide you this time for quieting yourself – frankly, you couldn’t stop the moan from spilling through your fingers even if you tried. Instead, he inserts a second finger, stretching you. It’s a tight, hot pressure that borders on too much, but you’re so slick that he works them in easily. Soon he’s pumping them in and out, setting a relentless pace while his thumb resumes tormenting your clit. The combined sensations make you see stars.

“Shit—” you gasp against your palm, your free hand clinging to the edge of the sink as pleasure coils tighter and tighter in your core. He’s watching your face with rapt attention, as if cataloging each expression that crosses it. And he looks… hungry, like your pleasure is feeding something primal in him.

“You like that?” he hisses through his teeth. “Knew you’d feel good…” He scissors his fingers inside you, stretching you further, and you bite your lip hard to keep from screaming. It’s so much sensation, bordering the line of pain and pleasure in the most exquisite way. Every pump hits a spot deep inside that has you quivering. Your thighs begin to shake around his waist, and you realize with a shock that you’re already hurtling toward orgasm. It’s humiliating how fast he’s pushing you to the edge, but you can’t hold it back – he’s too skilled and you were too pent-up, too eager for this.

“Come on,” he growls, noticing the way your body tightens. He leans in, his breath hot on your ear as he works you ruthlessly. “Let go. Come for me, and maybe I’ll give you what you really want next.”

His raspy command is the final straw. With a muffled cry, you shatter. Pleasure crashes over you in a blinding wave. Your inner walls spasm around his thrusting fingers, and you clutch at his shoulders for dear life as your climax ripples through you. He continues to pump you through it, drawing out every last second of ecstasy until you’re trembling and limp against the mirror.

As you sag, catching your breath, a warm flush of embarrassment and relief floods you. You’ve never come that hard with anyone – not that your experience is extensive – and certainly not so quickly. The stranger withdraws his fingers from you slowly, and you whimper softly at the sensitivity. Through hazy vision you see him hold up his hand, coated in your arousal, and without breaking eye contact, he brings those fingers to his own lips and licks them clean.

The lewdness of the act makes your cheeks burn. “Tastes sweet,” he murmurs, smirking when you look away, flustered. “Don’t go shy on me now.” With his other hand, he grips your chin and guides your gaze back to him. You’re still dazed, the aftershocks of orgasm tingling through you. He presses forward, and you feel the unmistakable hard ridge of his erection nudging against your still-throbbing core.

A spike of nervous anticipation cuts through your post-climax haze. He’s clearly not done – not by a long shot. Your eyes dart down between your bodies as he uses one hand to unzip his jeans and free himself. You suck in a breath at the sight. Even in the low light, what he’s packing is… intimidating. Fully hard, he juts out thick and long, the tip flushed deep red and already glistening with a drop of precum. For a moment, a sliver of doubt flickers in your mind – will that even fit?

He notices your eyes widening and lets out a dark chuckle. “Don’t worry,” he says smugly, positioning himself, the head of his cock rubbing slickly against your entrance. “I got you nice and ready.” He’s not wrong – you’re still dripping from both your own release and his ministrations – but you still tense up instinctively at the pressure.

“Relax,” he orders, softer this time, almost as if he’s coaxing you. One hand strokes down your thigh in a parody of soothing. “Not getting cold feet, are you?”

“N-no,” you stammer, and to prove it, you force yourself to unclench, will your muscles to loosen. You hook your legs around his hips, drawing him closer in encouragement. The movement causes his tip to breach you, just an inch, and both of you gasp in unison – you at the sudden stretch, him at the tight heat enveloping him.

“Fuck… so tight,” he hisses, fingers digging into your hips. His control wavers; you see a flicker of strain in his jaw as he fights not to slam into you all at once. The idea that he’s holding back, even a little, for your sake in this moment is strangely… flattering. And reassuring. Maybe he’s not completely cruel.

You take a shuddering breath and nod. “Do it,” you whisper. I can handle it, you tell yourself, echoing your bold words from earlier. I want this.

His eyes lock onto yours, and for a split second, something like respect glints there. Then his composure snaps. With a guttural groan, he thrusts forward, burying himself inside you to the hilt. The stretch is incredible – bordering on painful for a heartbeat – but the slide is eased by how wet you are, and the slight burn quickly melts into a shockwave of pleasure at how deep he is. You cry out, nails raking across his back under his jacket, clinging to him as he fills you completely. He’s big enough that you swear you can feel him in your stomach, stealing the air from your lungs.

“Fuck, you feel amazing,” he growls against your shoulder, where he’s dropped his forehead as if to gather himself. His breathing is ragged, each exhale warm on your skin. You’re panting too, adjusting to the fullness. There’s a dull ache, but it’s overwhelmed by the raw sensation of him throbbing inside you. You hadn’t realized how empty you felt until now.

He doesn’t give much time for you to adjust. Lust and perhaps impatience drive him to move almost immediately. Pulling out an inch, he slams back in, jolting a gasp from you. Then again, faster – setting a pounding rhythm that quickly has the sink creaking beneath your bottom and the mirror at your back shuddering. He holds your hips in an iron grip, using it as leverage to fuck up into you hard and deep.

It’s feral and unrestrained; he takes you like he has a point to prove. Perhaps he wants to mark himself on you from the inside out, to ensure you never forget this night. Each stroke rubs against that sweet spot he found with his fingers earlier, and soon you’re keening with each thrust, any pain transforming wholly to pleasure. The filthy sounds of sex echo in the small bathroom – skin slapping on skin, your ragged breaths, his low grunts of effort, and the wet squelch each time he drives into your drenched heat.

Your head falls back, thumping lightly against the mirror. The coil in your belly, unbelievably, is tightening again so soon. He angles his hips and grinds against your clit on the next thrust, making you mewl and see stars. It’s overwhelming – he overwhelms you, consumes you. The room feels like it’s spinning, and you cling to his shoulders, lost in sensation.

He notices you tipping toward another climax and lets out a dark laugh, clearly proud of how quickly he’s wrecking you. “Gonna come again for me, huh?” he pants, punctuating his words with particularly sharp thrusts that make you cry out. “Such a greedy little thing… I bet no one’s ever fucked you like this, have they?”

You shake your head frantically, beyond shame, beyond words. It’s true – nothing in your sheltered life has ever felt like this. No boy you dated (under your parents’ watchful eye) ever came close to unraveling you so completely. You feel tears prick your eyes from the sheer intensity of it all.

He groans in satisfaction at your wordless admission. “That’s right,” he snarls, voice thick with possessive glee. One hand leaves your hip to grasp the back of your neck, pulling you forward off the mirror so he can latch his mouth onto yours in a bruising kiss as he fucks you. It’s all tongue and teeth, more claiming than affection, but it sends a thrill through you nonetheless. You can taste yourself faintly on his tongue, mixed with the copper of that cut on his lip that’s reopened from exertion.

“Mine tonight,” he growls against your lips, giving a particularly rough thrust that sends you both sliding a few inches along the counter. “Say it. Say you’re mine.”

In the haze of pleasure, you don’t even question it. “I’m yours,” you gasp obediently, anything if he’ll just keep going, keep giving you this mind-numbing bliss. The words echo strangely in your head – you’ve never said such a thing to anyone. You barely recognize your own voice, breathy and wanton.

He rewards you with a hand slipping between your bodies, finding your overstimulated clit and rubbing it in tight, slick circles as he pounds you. The sudden extra stimulation rips a wail from your throat. Your nails dig into the back of his neck, surely scratching him, but he seems to only relish the slight pain, growling and thrusting even harder in response.

“That’s it… come for me again,” he grits out, sounding as unhinged with lust as you feel. “Come all over my cock, baby.” The crude command combined with the relentless attention on your most sensitive spot sends you careening over the edge for a second time. Your orgasm crashes through you, white-hot and all-consuming. You convulse around him, inner walls squeezing like a vice. He curses loudly as your climax milks his length.

With a few more erratic thrusts, he suddenly stills, buried as deep as possible. His grip on you is almost bruising as he groans into the crook of your neck, and you feel a burst of warmth flooding your core as he finds his own release. The sensation of him spilling inside you, the filthy reality of it, prolongs your pleasure in a sinful aftershock. He rides it out with a few shallow grinds, as if trying to push his seed even further.

For a long moment, the only sound is both of you gasping for air in the aftermath. Your heart is pounding so loudly in your ears, you barely notice the muffled thump of the club music or the faint ringing silence that follows your screams. Your body feels boneless, thoroughly used in the best way, and for a fleeting moment you understand why people get addicted to this kind of reckless passion.

He finally draws back enough to look at you. His hair is disheveled, damp with sweat at the temples; his lips are swollen and red; his pupils blown wide. He looks thoroughly debauched and extremely pleased with himself. You flush and glance away, suddenly shy now that the haze of lust is lifting and reality starts to seep back in.

He isn’t having that. Gently – almost surprisingly gently – he turns your face back to him with a finger under your chin. “Don’t go all shy now,” he murmurs. For a moment, his thumb strokes your cheek and you catch a glimpse of something like softness in his expression, a crack in the cocky facade. “That was…” He trails off, searching for the word. Instead of finishing the sentence, he just smirks and lets out a satisfied exhale. “Damn.”

A shaky laugh bubbles from your lips, relief and agreement in one. “Yeah. Damn.” You can’t help smiling a little, and his grin widens in response. For a strange second, you feel a connection – like you shared something beyond the purely physical. But before you can name it, he pulls out of you and reality rushes back in.

You wince slightly at the emptiness and the trickle of combined fluids already leaking out of you. With a mix of embarrassment and practicality, you hop off the sink on unsteady legs and reach for some tissue from a dispenser on the wall, quickly cleaning yourself as best you can and dropping the soiled paper into the waste bin. He watches you, tucking himself back into his jeans and zipping up. There’s a predatory satisfaction in his gaze, like a wolf that’s just feasted.

Your dress is still bunched around your waist. You tug it back up over your breasts, realizing belatedly that your bra is hanging around your elbows, completely undone. You flush and turn slightly away, trying to fasten it. Your hands are shaking, making the simple task frustrating.

Wordlessly, he steps close again and bats your hands away. Before you protest, he fixes your bra for you with quick efficiency, then slides your dress straps back over your shoulders. It’s an oddly intimate gesture – helping you dress after ripping you apart – and it leaves you momentarily breathless in a whole different way.

“Th-thanks,” you stammer, not sure what else to say. Your mind is a jumble. What do you even say after doing something like this? There’s an awkwardness creeping in that you don’t know how to navigate. The initial thrill of rebellion is wearing off, and a faint whisper of guilt tickles the back of your mind, uninvited: What have I done?

He tilts his head, studying you. In the quiet, you notice a faint purple bruise forming on the side of his neck – your doing, likely, from your desperate kisses or bites. Your cheeks heat at the evidence of your own loss of control.

“You okay?” he asks unexpectedly. The question surprises you; you hadn’t pegged him as the type to care after getting what he wanted. His tone is gruff, though, like he’s a bit uncomfortable asking.

“I’m fine,” you reply quickly – reflexively. It’s the good girl response, automatic, and it tastes bitter on your tongue given the circumstances. Were you fine? Physically, aside from the pleasant aches, yes. Emotionally… that’s harder to parse. You feel exhilarated, sated, and yet also strangely hollow now that it’s over. But you’re not about to divulge that to a stranger.

“Good.” He nods, seemingly satisfied. A beat passes where neither of you speak. The reality of your situation settles in heavily – you just had a raw, unprotected hookup with a violent stranger in a club bathroom. And now what? Does one exchange numbers after something like that? Part of you doesn’t even want to know his name; it’s easier to compartmentalize this as a one-time reckless fling if he remains a nameless fantasy.

Sensing the shift in atmosphere, he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. He taps one out and sticks it between his lips. He doesn’t light it – likely because we’re indoors – just lets it dangle there as he watches you with an unreadable expression. The earlier softness is gone; he’s cloaked himself back in cool detachment.

“So,” he says casually, voice echoing slightly in the tiled bathroom. “That tick the fun box for you?” He’s back to that cocky, almost mocking tone, and it puts you oddly at ease. It’s easier to handle than any attempt at tenderness.

You manage a wry smile. “It was… definitely not boring,” you reply, trying to sound nonchalant, though your pounding heart hasn’t quite settled.

His lips curl around the cigarette. “Glad to be of service.” There’s a beat, and then he adds, “You got a name, good girl?” The nickname drips with ironic emphasis.

For a second you hesitate. A part of you likes the anonymity. But it feels awkward not to introduce yourself, given he’s been inside you. “Y/N,” you answer quietly, using your first name only.

He repeats it, as if testing how it feels in his mouth. Something about the way he says your name sends a shiver through you – perhaps because in your mind it’s still shocking that this dangerous boy even knows your name now. This is real, you remind yourself. It happened.

“I’m Seong-je,” he offers after a moment, surprising you. You hadn’t expected him to volunteer anything personal. The name rings faintly in your mind – Korean, obviously, and unusual. You wonder if it’s a nickname or family name, but don’t pry.

“Seong-je,” you echo softly. He smirks at your pronunciation – maybe you said it a bit awkwardly – and for a brief instant, the corner of his eyes crinkle like he’s holding back a genuine laugh. The sight makes something flutter in your chest.

He steps back, running a hand through his mussed hair. Now that you’re not drowning in lust, you can’t help but take in more details about him. The smear of your lipstick is on the edge of his jaw. His shirt is rucked up a bit, revealing a slice of defined abs – and another bruise blooming near his ribs. Just what kind of life does he lead to be this banged up? The rational part of you whispers that this man is trouble, possibly more than just casual bar-brawl trouble.

As if sensing your thoughts, he reaches out and tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear – a gesture almost sweet if not for the cruel curve of his smile. “Don’t overthink it, Y/N,” he chides lightly. “We had a good time. End of story.”

End of story. Right. This was always meant to be a one-night thing, no strings, no messy complications. That’s what you told yourself coming here. You should be relieved he’s on the same page.

“Right,” you say, forcing a bright tone that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Just… two people blowing off steam. I won’t read into it if you won’t.”

He nods once, seemingly satisfied. Then, without warning, he leans in and steals one last kiss – a swift, biting press of lips that leaves you breathless all over again. When he pulls back, he’s grinning. “For the road,” he says, winking.

And with that, he unlocks the bathroom door. Cool air from the hallway trickles in, and you suddenly realize how stifling the small room had become with heat and the scent of sex. Seong-je glances out, checking the coast. You’re keenly aware of the state you’re in: dress wrinkled, hair a mess, thoroughly fucked. If anyone sees you leaving together, it’ll be obvious what happened. A flush of embarrassment and strangely, pride, warms your cheeks.

He steps aside and gestures. “Ladies first.”

You slip past him, and he follows. The hallway is empty save for a drunk couple stumbling into the main restroom giggling. The club music is still pumping, oblivious to the small drama that unfolded in the back.

You and Seong-je stand there for a moment, facing each other under the harsh fluorescent light. There’s an odd look in his eyes – something like smugness, but also a flicker of… regret? No, probably just your imagination.

“So, uh… have a good night,” you offer lamely. You cringe internally at how stupid that sounds, but what else is there to say? Thanks for the mind-blowing illicit sex? You want to slap yourself.

Seong-je doesn’t seem to mind. He just exhales a stream of smoke from the cigarette now lit between his lips, even though he’s not supposed to smoke here. He flashes you one more of those insufferably attractive smirks. “Night, good girl.” The pet name lands differently now, making your heart give a confusing little twist.

With that, he turns and strolls away down the hall, as casual as if he’d just finished taking a piss rather than you. You watch his retreating back for a second – the confident saunter, the broad set of his shoulders – and then he’s gone, disappearing into the strobe-lit chaos of the club.

You press back against the wall of the hallway, legs still trembling, and exhale a shaky breath. What the hell did I just do? The gravity of it threatens to crush you now that you’re alone. But beneath the swirl of guilt and shock, an echo of pleasure thrums, and a tiny rebellious smile tugs at your lips. I did that. Me. The good girl broke bad for a night, and no one will ever know.

After gathering yourself, you slip out of the club and into the night, hailing a taxi home. As the city lights streak past the window, you replay the last hour in your mind on a loop. With every replay, you’re not sure if it feels more like an empowering victory or a dangerous mistake. Perhaps both. You tell yourself it’s over – a secret memory to treasure on lonely nights and nothing more. In a day or two, you’ll bury it and return to your regularly scheduled life of perfection.

As you quietly sneak into your house, still smelling of sweat and cigarette smoke, you have no idea that this night – far from staying a secret – is about to shadow your life in ways you can’t imagine.

⸻

Two weeks later, the memory of that reckless night still visits you in heated flashes. You’ll be in class or eating dinner, and suddenly your mind will drift – the music, the neon lights, his hands on your body, his voice growling in your ear. Every time, it makes your cheeks burn and your stomach flutter, equal parts shame and longing. You try to push it away. After all, what good is dwelling on it? You never even exchanged numbers. Seong-je was a stranger – a dark, thrilling stranger – and that’s all he was ever meant to be.

You haven’t told a soul about that night. Not your best friend, certainly not your sister or parents. It remains your illicit secret, something you hold close with a mix of pride and mortification. By day you throw yourself into your studies and chores with renewed vigor, as if being extra good now can erase how dirty you’d been that night. By night you lie in bed restless, sometimes waking in a sweat from dreams where rough hands and bruising kisses find you in the dark.

It doesn’t help that your sister has been chattering about some guy she met recently. Apparently she literally bumped into him at a café on her campus and spilled coffee on him, which led to exchanging apologies and phone numbers. The sheer rom-com sweetness of it made you smile politely while internally rolling your eyes. She’s been on a few dates with him, and from what she’s said, he’s “sweet, a bit quiet but really charming when he opens up.” You’ve been happy for her, albeit a bit envious of how wholesome her budding romance sounds compared to your own recent debauchery.

When your mother announces over breakfast that your sister is bringing her new boyfriend to meet the family tonight, you hardly react beyond mild curiosity. Good for her, you think. It’s been a while since she dated anyone seriously enough to introduce him. You only vaguely wonder what he’s like – picturing some clean-cut college boy from a good family. Whoever he is, he’ll have to withstand the polite grilling your parents are sure to give.

All day you go about preparing for the evening. It’s a casual family dinner, but your mom insists on breaking out the nice dishes and even nags you to wear a “pretty dress, but nothing too revealing.” You oblige, choosing a demure knee-length skirt and a soft blue sweater that your mother approves with a smile. It’s almost amusing how starkly different you look from the girl who stumbled into a taxi two weeks ago in a rumpled club dress and no panties. Good girl, back in uniform, you think wryly at your reflection.

By the time the doorbell rings, the table is set, the house smells of your mom’s famous japchae, and your dad is finishing a lecture to you about proper behavior. “Be polite, ask him about his studies, no phone at the table, and for heaven’s sake, don’t mention anything embarrassing about your sister,” he rattles off. You nod along, only half-listening, your thoughts wandering to whether this boy will get the Dad Speech about treating her right. Probably.

“I’ll get the door!” you chirp, glad for an excuse to escape Dad’s fussing. Padding to the foyer, you pull the door open, prepared to greet some awkward but earnest college guy.

Instead, the world flips upside down.

There, standing on your front step next to your beaming sister, is him.

Your dangerous stranger from the club is on your doorstep, one hand casually slung in his pocket, the other arm wrapped around your sister’s waist. He’s out of the club gear and bandages tonight – wearing a crisp white dress shirt under a beige blazer, looking for all the world like a picture-perfect boyfriend. His wavy dark hair is neatly combed, and perched on his nose are a pair of familiar half-rim glasses that give him an air of studiousness. He looks clean-cut. Polite. Deceiving.

But nothing can disguise those eyes – sharp and piercing, the eyes that haunted your dreams. In the split second of seeing him, your heart plunges into your stomach. A rush of heat and then cold washes over you. This can’t be real. Perhaps you’ve finally lost it, guilt conjuring hallucinations. But no – he’s real, solid, standing right there.

He meets your gaze, and for an agonizing moment, his eyes widen almost imperceptibly in recognition. You see it – the spark of surprise that flares and is quickly controlled. Yet on the surface, he remains the picture of composure. His lips curve into a polite smile, the kind you’d give a stranger.

And that’s exactly what he does. With a slight bow of his head, he says in a warm, respectful tone, “Hello. You must be Y/N.” As if we’ve never met. As if he wasn’t buried inside you, coaxing screams from your throat.

You realize you’re staring, frozen, mouth slightly agape. Words. You need words. But your brain is short-circuiting, flashes of that night ping-ponging wildly – his face over yours in pleasure, the feel of his hands pinning you down, the way he snarled your name. It collides with the sheer absurdity of him standing here, looking like the ideal suitor.

“Y/N?” your sister’s voice breaks through, a note of concern. She’s looking at you quizzically, no doubt wondering why you’re gawking.

You snap out of it, plastering on a shaky smile. “S-sorry! I…” Think, think. You pretend to fumble with the door. “It caught on the rug,” you lie weakly, stepping back. “Come in.”

They step inside and you shut the door behind them, hand trembling on the knob. This isn’t happening. But the scene continues to unfold, whether you’re ready or not.

Your sister is nearly vibrating with excitement. “Everyone, this is Geum Seong-je,” she announces proudly as she leads him into the living room where your parents stand waiting. “Seong-je, these are my parents, and you already met Y/N at the door.”

He offers a respectful bow to your parents. “Nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. L/N. Thank you for having me.” His voice is polite, deferential – a complete 180 from the husky, taunting tone you heard in that bathroom. It sends a chill through you how convincing he is.

Your parents, of course, are immediately charmed. Your mother clasps her hands, clearly pleased by his manners. Your father shakes his hand and asks what he studies.

“Ganghak High, sir. I’m in my final year,” Seong-je answers smoothly. “I plan to attend university next year. I’m considering business or economics.” The ease with which the lie rolls off his tongue is chilling; you know for a fact he’s no ordinary high schooler – he’s a gangster, a delinquent, something dangerous. But here he is selling himself as a model student. And why wouldn’t he? He looks the part right now, all tidy and earnest.

“Ah, same year as Y/S/N, good, good,” your father nods approvingly.

You linger near the periphery, hands clutched together tightly to stop their shaking. Your heart hasn’t slowed since opening that door. You feel like you’re in a dream – or a nightmare. How is he here, in your home, holding your sister’s hand and charming your parents? Does she have any clue who he truly is? Who he is to you? You swallow hard. Of course she doesn’t. No one knows. And for the sake of everything, they can’t know.

Your eyes flick to your sister. She looks radiant, happier than you’ve seen her in a while, as she gazes at Seong-je with obvious affection. Jealousy twists in your gut unexpectedly – not the romantic kind, but a bitter envy that she can look at him like that, all hopeful and smitten, blissfully unaware of the monster behind the mask. You, on the other hand, know exactly what lurks beneath that sweet boyfriend veneer. You’ve felt it, bruising your skin and setting you on fire.

Suddenly the room is too warm, the air too thick. You force yourself into motion to avoid suspicion. “I-I’ll go help Mom with dinner,” you mumble and scurry off towards the kitchen.

As you flee, you dare one quick glance back. You catch Seong-je watching you retreat, an indecipherable expression in his eyes. Something like amusement flickers across his face as he notices your obvious panic. He gives the slightest wink – so quick you’d miss it if you blinked. Your stomach drops. That single gesture says it all: He’s not going to pretend nothing happened between us. Not entirely. He’s enjoying this.

In the kitchen, you grip the counter and inhale deeply, trying to steady your racing pulse. Your mother is humming as she stirs a pot of soup, oblivious to your turmoil. You desperately wish you could confide in her, or anyone, but there’s no world in which that wouldn’t implode everything. What would you even say? Mom, that boy out there had me against a bathroom sink two weeks ago and— No. You’d rather die than let your parents know you were involved in something like that. Besides, it would break your sister’s heart and likely your family’s trust in you.

No, you have to handle this on your own. Somehow.

You plaster on a facade of normalcy through dinner. It’s one of the hardest things you’ve ever done, sitting across the table from Seong-je while your sister and parents engage him in pleasant conversation. You mostly push food around your plate and nod or give one-word answers if addressed. Hopefully they’ll chalk it up to you feeling shy or just letting your sister’s guest have the spotlight.

Meanwhile, he is infuriatingly perfect. He compliments Mom’s cooking, discusses a few books Dad brings up, and even laughs modestly when your sister teases him about how he tripped when they first met. A story which he recounts with self-deprecating charm, saying he was so distracted by her pretty face that his feet forgot how to work. Cue your mother’s cooing approval.

It’s sickening. It’s terrifying. You can hardly reconcile this respectful young man with the sadistic, impulsive delinquent you know him to be. But you catch glimpses – subtle things only you would notice – that hint at the truth. The way his smile sometimes doesn’t reach his eyes. The slight impatience that flickers on his face when Dad talks too long about some political issue. The way his hand occasionally tightens on the utensils with a white-knuckle grip, as if restraining irritation. He’s acting. All of this is an act. And everyone is buying it.

Except you.

You can’t even swallow a bite of food. Nausea roils in your gut every time his gaze ghosts over you. He doesn’t overtly stare – that would be too obvious – but there are moments you feel the weight of his attention. It’s like a silent game to him: make you squirm without anyone else noticing. Under the table, you clench your fists in your lap, nails biting into your palms to ground yourself.

At one point, your sister gushes, “Seong-je’s been so helpful with my volunteer project too. He jumped right in to help organize the school supplies drive for underprivileged kids. Isn’t he just the best?” She leans her head on his shoulder, and he flashes a humble smile.

Your father nods approvingly. “Very commendable. Good to see young men caring about community service these days.”

You nearly choke on your water. Community service? Underprivileged kids? The cognitive dissonance is astounding. This is a man who in reality likely spends his free time beating people to a pulp for kicks, now cast in the role of altruistic boyfriend.

In that moment, bitterness momentarily outweighs fear. You find yourself speaking before you can stop. “That’s surprising,” you say, trying to keep your tone light, as if genuinely curious. “Someone your age juggling school and still finds time for volunteer work? You must have a lot of energy.”

It’s not much, but you hope he catches the barbed undercurrent: I know what you really do with your time. It’s petty, maybe even reckless, but a part of you wants to see a crack in his façade.

A brief silence falls. Your parents glance at you, slightly perplexed by your sudden interjection. Seong-je’s eyes meet yours. For a split second, something dangerous flares in them – a warning. Did the others catch it? Likely not; it was gone in an instant, replaced by a genial chuckle.

“What can I say, I like to keep busy,” he responds smoothly, lifting his glass of iced tea in a casual gesture. “Idle hands, devil’s playthings and all that.” His lips curve into a smile that to anyone else seems playful, but you feel the needle of that phrase aimed at you. Yes, he certainly had firsthand knowledge of devil’s playthings – your hands hadn’t been idle that night, nor had his.

You swallow, looking down quickly. Point to him. All you managed to do was earn yourself a subtle rebuke. Your cheeks burn and you resolve not to poke him again.

After dinner, everyone moves to the living room for dessert and continued conversation. You linger in the kitchen under the guise of clearing dishes, needing a moment alone to steady yourself. You grip the edge of the sink, staring at the running water as you rinse plates, mind racing. How are you going to survive this evening without slipping up? You thank your lucky stars that he’s pretending not to know you – it’s the only thing keeping you sane. But it unnerves you that you have no idea what he’s thinking or planning.

He must be loving this – fate practically handing him a loaded gun to mess with you. The knowledge that he could destroy you with one word, reveal to your entire family what you did… it hangs over you like a guillotine. You have to ensure he has no reason to actually drop that blade. As much as you loathe it, cooperating with his charade is your only option. For your sister’s sake, for your own, you have to play along and pray he eventually loses interest and goes away.

“Y/N, bring out the tea, please!” your mother calls from the other room.

You take a deep breath and carry the tray of tea and sliced fruit into the living room, your face composed in a mask of pleasant neutrality. You will not break. You’ve survived endless high-pressure exams and family expectations – you can survive one evening of this.

But the universe isn’t done testing you. As you set the tray down on the coffee table, your sister suddenly exclaims, “Oh! I almost forgot, I have something to show you.”

Your sister jumps up. “It’s in my car, I’ll be right back!” She pecks Seong-je’s cheek quickly making your stomach clench and dashes out the front door to retrieve whatever this thing is.

Your parents chuckle, engrossed in their own banter about something, and your mom heads to the kitchen to fetch some more honey for the tea, leaving you, your father, and him briefly in the living room. Your father stands by the window, preoccupied with adjusting the blinds. And then, just like that, you find yourself momentarily alone on the couch with Geum Seong-je.

Every muscle in your body tenses. You place a tea cup in front of him on the table with what you hope is a steady hand. He takes it, and for a moment, his fingers purposely brush yours. It’s subtle, to anyone else an innocent contact. But the touch is electric, and you snatch your hand back as if burned. Your father’s back is turned; he notices nothing.

Seong-je leans back casually, crossing one ankle over a knee. The posture of a young man relaxed and at ease – yet when he speaks under his breath, barely above a whisper, his words are a knife’s edge. “Careful, little lamb. Your family might think you’re afraid of me.” He sips the tea, hiding the smirk that tugs at his lips.

Little lamb. The phrase isn’t particularly special, yet hearing it from him sends a jolt of recognition and dread through you. It’s the tone – low, taunting – the very same he used in that bathroom when he teased and degraded you. And afraid? Damn right you are. But you can’t let it show.

You force yourself to sit down at the opposite end of the couch, smoothing your skirt. Taking a deep breath, you murmur back, voice tense, “What do you want?” It comes out more pleading than firm. You hate that – but you���re desperate for some hint of his intentions.

He doesn’t look at you. Instead, he swirls his tea lazily, feigning interest in the delicate cup. “What do I want…” he echoes, as if pondering a simple philosophical question. “That’s a long list. But at this very moment?” He turns his head slightly toward you. Behind the sheen of civility in his eyes, you see the spark of cruel amusement dancing. “I want to enjoy a nice evening with my girlfriend’s lovely family. That’s all.”

You grit your teeth. Girlfriend. Your stomach churns. He’s loving this power play, knowing you can’t call him out. “Why her?” you whisper, barely audible over the clink of plates as your mom returns from the kitchen. “Why my sister, of all people?” It slips out, the real question burning inside you. Is this some sick joke of fate or did he plan this?

His smile is slow and predatory as he regards you. He sets the teacup down with a soft clink. “Why not her?” he murmurs back. “She’s pretty, sweet, comes from a respectable family.” The emphasis isn’t lost on you. “And she practically threw herself at me that day in the café. Who was I to refuse such a polite invitation?”

Anger flares within you. His casual cruelty toward your sister – reducing her to some convenient naïve girl – ignites a protective spark that momentarily douses your fear. “She’s a good person,” you snap under your breath, eyes flashing. “She doesn’t deserve to get tangled up in… whatever you are.” You stop short of saying “monster” or “psycho,” but your tone says it for you.

He chuckles, a dark quiet sound. “Relax,” he says softly, danger lacing each syllable. “I’m not here to hurt her. I quite like her, actually.” He glances toward the doorway where your mom is chatting with your dad now. No one is paying you two any mind. Emboldened, Seong-je shifts closer by just an inch, his knee nearly touching yours. “In fact,” he continues, voice like velvet menace, “I think I might keep her around for a while.”

The implication makes your blood run cold. Keep her around. As if she’s a plaything. Does he genuinely like her? Or is she just a pawn in whatever twisted game he’s set his sights on now – a game that now clearly involves you.

You open your mouth to whisper a retort, but at that moment your sister bustles back in, a scrapbook and some papers in hand, Mom trailing behind her. You snap your mouth shut and spring up. The sudden movement draws your father’s curious glance. “Everything alright, honey?” he asks.

“Fine!” you answer, voice a bit too high. “Just thought I left the stove on, but I didn’t.” Another stupid lie, but no one questions it.

As everyone gathers to see what your sister is showing (some certificates and photos from her volunteer project, which she wants to share), you find yourself drifting to the corner of the room, letting the others cluster around the coffee table. You cannot stand to be near him right now – not with the way your insides are roiling with fear and helpless rage.

From your corner, you watch the scene: your sister excitedly talking about her project, your parents listening proudly, and Seong-je – Wolf in sheep’s clothing that he is – with one arm comfortably around your sister’s shoulders as he listens attentively. He occasionally chimes in with a supportive comment or a gentle squeeze of her arm that makes her beam at him.

It’s nauseating how convincing he is. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was genuinely the caring boyfriend he appears. You wonder if, in some twisted way, he does like aspects of this normal life. Or is every smile, every touch, purely calculated for your torment?

At one point, your sister pulls out her phone to show a short video. Everyone’s heads lean in, including his. He glances up briefly, and his eyes snag on you, hovering apart from the group. A subtle frown creases his brow, as if he doesn’t approve of you distancing yourself. You realize your aloofness might be noticeable. Blend in, you remind yourself sternly. Act normal.

So you step closer and feign interest in the video, peering at the phone from over Mom’s shoulder. It’s a harmless clip of school kids thanking donors. But you hardly see it, hyper-aware that now you’re standing only a foot from Seong-je. You swear you can feel the heat radiating off his body, and it makes your skin crawl and tingle all at once.

Suddenly, you feel a light touch at the small of your back – feather-light, quick. You jolt, startled. It was his hand, you know it. The others remain oblivious, eyes on the phone. You don’t dare react overtly, but you shuffle a half-step forward out of his reach. The nerve of him, touching you right behind your unsuspecting family.

Your heart is thudding again. Thankfully, the evening begins winding down soon after. Your parents, clearly satisfied with this meeting, exchange approving smiles. It appears Seong-je has successfully won them over. Your mother even sends you a pointed look as if to say why can’t you date a nice boy like that? You swallow back a hysterical laugh at the irony.

As your sister and Seong-je prepare to leave, you stand stiffly by the door. Your mind races for a way to handle future encounters. Surely this won’t be the last time – if he’s her boyfriend now, he’ll be around. The thought makes you dizzy with dread.

Your family bids their warm goodnights and “come again soon”s. Your sister hugs you and you hug her back tightly, whispers of “Congrats, he’s great” somehow leaving your lips because that’s what a supportive sister would say. You hate yourself for lying, but the alternative is impossible.

Then it’s your turn to face him. He extends his hand to you, the perfect polite gesture. Your parents watch expectantly, so you have no choice but to take it. As you shake, his grip firms just a hint more than necessary – a silent assertion of dominance. His eyes lock on yours, dark and knowing behind those glasses.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Y/N,” he says, voice smooth and cordial. Only you notice the faint trace of mockery hidden in the word “pleasure.” Your cheeks flame, recalling just what that word entailed between you two.

“Likewise,” you somehow manage to reply without your voice cracking. You retrieve your hand from his as quickly as possible, palms clammy.

He smiles – that lovely deceptive smile – and then he’s out the door with your sister, waving goodbye as they walk to his car.

The moment the door closes, you feel your knees wobble. Excusing yourself hastily, you retreat to your room and collapse onto your bed, heart pounding. You bury your face in your pillow and let out a silent scream of frustration and fear.

What am I going to do?

⸻

You spend the weekend in a state of high-strung anxiety. Every time your phone buzzes, you jump, half-expecting an unknown number to be him. But no text comes. No calls, no messages passed through your sister. It’s eerie, this silence. It gives you too much time to think of worst-case scenarios.

By Monday, you’re a nervous wreck but try to soldier on at school. At least there you can distract yourself with exams and friends’ gossip. But right after your last class, as you approach the school gates to head home, you freeze.

Leaned against the wall by the gate is Seong-je.

He looks out of place on your campus, not wearing the standard uniform that the other senior boys are in. Instead, he’s in that Ganghak High red blazer you’ve heard rumors about – a symbol of fear, some say, for other schools. And indeed, a few students hanging around whisper as they notice him, giving him a wide berth.

Your heart thuds painfully. How long has he been there? Did he come for you? How does he even know what school you go to? Perhaps from your sister or from some stalking.

Before you can retreat, his head turns and those wolfish eyes lock onto you. Caught. He smirks and pushes off the wall, strolling toward you with lazy confidence.

You glance around; some of your schoolmates are watching curiously, including a couple of your friends. Crap. The last thing you need is rumors flying that you’re talking to some notorious Ganghak guy. Taking a steadying breath, you force your feet to move and meet him halfway, hoping to get him away from prying eyes quickly.

“What are you doing here?” you hiss under your breath when he’s close enough, trying to appear like you’re just casually chatting.

He looks you up and down, making your skin prickle. “Is that how you greet your dear friend?” he chides with a soft laugh. Deliberately, he raises his voice a notch, loud enough for others to catch. “It’s been a while! I was just in the neighborhood and figured I’d surprise you after school, Y/N.”

Your eyes widen slightly. Friend? Surprise you? He’s giving anyone eavesdropping a false narrative. Why? To cover his tracks or to trap you further? You have no idea, but you play along, weakly replying, “Uh, yeah, long time no see.”

He grins as if pleased. “Walk with me a bit?” Without waiting, he throws an arm over your shoulders in a chummy way and steers you out the gate. The gesture looks friendly to an outsider, but to you it feels possessive, oppressive – his fingers dig just a touch into your shoulder in warning.

Once you’re a block from school, away from the curious eyes, you shrug off his arm and step out of his reach. “Seriously, what do you want?” you ask, keeping your tone low and urgent.

He tilts his head, feigning hurt. “Can’t I just want to see you?” He steps closer and you back up instinctively until you’re pressed against the brick wall of a closed bookstore. The afternoon rush hour masks your little confrontation; people pass by on the street without giving you two a second glance.

“I’ve been dying to talk to you,” he continues, voice dropping to a silken threat. With one hand, he braces against the wall next to your head, leaning in. The proximity floods you with a cocktail of feelings: fear, anger, and disturbingly, that unwanted spark of excitement your body still remembers around him. You curse yourself for it.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you whisper, chin lifting in defiance that you don’t quite feel. “I’ll stay out of your way, you stay out of mine. Just… leave me and my family alone, okay? You made your point.”

He chuckles, clearly amused by your attempt at bravado. “What point do you think I made, hm?” He brings his face dangerously close, and you shrink back against the wall. “I haven’t even started making points.”

Your mouth goes dry. “Please,” you try, softening your tone to a plea. “Don’t hurt them. They haven’t done anything.”

He blinks, then laughs outright. “Hurt them? Why would I hurt them? They’re lovely.” His hand moves from the wall to brush a stray strand of hair off your cheek in a mockery of tenderness. You flinch. “It’s you, little lamb, who I think could use a reminder to behave.”

You swallow hard, eyes stinging with frustrated tears you refuse to shed. “I haven’t done anything to you,” you manage, voice trembling despite your effort. “Why are you doing this?”

His expression hardens slightly. “Not yet. You haven’t done anything yet. But see, I know your type. Act all quiet now, but guilt can be a powerful thing. One day you might just crack and feel the need to spill your guts to sis or mommy or daddy about your naughty escapade. Maybe out of some misguided attempt to save your sister from the big bad wolf.” He sneers the nickname. “And we can’t have that, can we?”

Your blood runs cold. He’s essentially admitting he’s keeping you in line to secure his secret relationship with your sister. And likely for the sick thrill of having you at his mercy, toying with you.

“I wouldn’t… I would never tell them,” you insist urgently, grabbing his jacket lapel in desperation. “I swear. I know it would only hurt them. I won’t ever say a word.”

His eyes flick to your hands fisted in his blazer. One brow lifts. You realize you’ve touched him of your own accord – a bold move. You release him quickly, but the ghost of a grin on his face tells you he found that interesting.

“I’m glad to hear it,” he replies coolly. “But I’m not just going to take your word for it.” He leans in, his nose almost brushing yours. From afar it might look like an intimate moment between friends or lovers, but his words are pure threat: “You’re going to prove to me that you can keep your pretty mouth shut.”

“H-how?” you stammer, heart pounding.

He tilts his head, pretending to consider. Then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. To your confusion, he hands it to you. The screen is open to the new contact screen.

“Put in your number,” he says simply.

Your fingers tremble as you take the phone. You hesitate – but it’s not like you can refuse. With a few taps, you enter your cell number and name. He takes the phone back and presses dial. A second later, your own phone buzzes in your bag. Now he has your number, and you have his, presumably.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, that moniker making you cringe now. He pockets his phone. “Now, you and I are going to keep in touch. See, I want to make sure everything stays nice and quiet. And you’re going to help me do that by being very cooperative.”

You lick your dry lips. “What does that mean?”

He smiles slowly, and there’s genuine delight in his eyes – the kind a predator has when the prey is cornered. “It means, Y/N, that from now on, you and I have a little secret of our own. And you’re going to do whatever I ask, whenever I ask, to keep it.” His hand slides down the wall, and a knuckle deliberately grazes your thigh just below the hem of your skirt. The touch is barely there, but it jolts you. “In private, of course,” he adds, voice dropping. “We wouldn’t want to upset dear sister.”

Your breath shudders out. So this is it – his endgame. He wants to use you, the sister of his girlfriend, for his own twisted pleasure, right under her nose. It’s so perverse, you feel like you might be sick.

The sensible part of you screams to refuse, to run, even if it means telling someone the truth. But then images of your sister’s devastated face, your parents’ disappointment, and the havoc that could ensue – not to mention what he himself might do – flash through your mind. He could destroy your family as easily as snapping a twig, whether through violence or simply revealing your indiscretion and making it look like you seduced him. Who would your parents side with? Their dutiful elder daughter and her “nice” boyfriend, or you – the younger daughter caught lying about sneaking to clubs and sleeping around? The thought is sobering. Your credibility would be in shreds.

He reads the turmoil on your face and his smile widens. “Shh,” he coos mockingly, “no need to panic. If you’re a very good girl, this can even be… fun.” His finger trails up your arm lightly, as if in a caress, but it only makes your skin crawl (and, traitorously, tingle). “I won’t do anything you don’t secretly want, hmm?”

You glare at him, bristling. How dare he insinuate— But the words die in your throat, because some treacherous part of you had wanted him, that night. And the confusing part is, despite everything, your body still reacts to him; you can’t deny that your pulse quickened under his touch just now in more than fear. It’s disgusting and shameful, but he’s keenly aware of it. He’s weaponizing your own desire against you.

Seeing you speechless, he chuckles and steps back, giving you space. “Go home now, Y/N,” he says lightly, as if this were a normal goodbye. “I’ll be in touch very soon. Don’t ignore me.” The pleasant tone doesn’t mask the threat beneath.

You wrap your arms around yourself. “And if I… if I don’t show up when you…?” you ask haltingly.

His eyes harden to steel. “That would be unwise. I wouldn’t want to have to explain to your sister how I recognized her adorable younger sibling from a certain club bathroom video.” He pauses to let the horror sink in. “Yes, I know the club has cameras in the hallway. It’d be a shame if some footage fell into the wrong hands.”

You blanch. Did he actually get footage? He might be bluffing, but can you risk it? The mere idea that a video could exist of you in that state – or even just entering that bathroom with him – could ruin you if he shared it around.

“I understand,” you whisper, defeated.

“Good. Now run along.” He adjusts his blazer, then leans down, shocking you by planting a chaste peck on your forehead. To an onlooker it’d appear affectionate, but you feel the mockery in it. You flinch but stay still, heart hammering.

He walks away then, hands in pockets, whistling a tune. After a few steps, he calls back casually without turning, “Oh, and one more thing: don’t even think about trying to get a new number or block me. I have… other means to reach you and I’d be very unhappy. You wouldn’t like me unhappy.” He tosses a two-fingered wave and merges into the crowd, leaving you trembling against the wall.

You press a hand to your mouth, stifling a sob. The gravity of your situation settles in fully now. You’re trapped in a nightmare of your own making, blackmailed by a sadistic wolf wearing a prince’s clothing.

After composing yourself as best you can, you make your way home. You feel like a ghost moving through your own life. That evening, you can barely meet your sister’s eyes at dinner. She chatters on about how Seong-je surprised her at her campus today with lunch and how sweet he is. Each word is like a knife twisting deeper into your gut.

You force smiles and nods, throat tight. Inside, you’re screaming.

⸻

True to his word, Seong-je doesn’t wait long to make use of his new leverage. The following Friday evening, you get the text you’ve been dreading:

From Seong-je: Miss me? 😉 – Meet me tonight. 10pm. I’ll pick you up at the corner of your street. Don’t keep me waiting, lamb.

Your stomach plunges reading it. It’s 8pm when that arrives. You’re in your room supposedly studying, but in reality you’ve been on edge all day knowing he’d call on you soon.

Hands shaking, you respond simply: Ok. You consider begging him off, claiming you can’t sneak out, but you suspect he’d see right through excuses. And after four days of mounting threats – subtle touches or glances at school, another dinner at your house where he brushed his foot up your calf under the table – you know he’s done being patient.

Making an excuse to your parents that you feel restless and might go for a walk (which earns a puzzled look but no argument), you slip out at 9:50, heart in your throat. It’s drizzling lightly, the pavement shiny with rain under the street lamps. You wait under an awning, pulling your light jacket tighter.

Right on time, a black car turns the corner and rolls up beside you. The passenger window slides down, and there he is behind the wheel, looking effortlessly devilish in a leather jacket, his glasses notably absent – which sends a spike of nervous adrenaline through you. He only takes them off when he expects a “fight,” or some physical action. The significance is not lost on you.

“Get in,” he says mildly. You hesitate only a moment before obeying. The seat is cool against your thighs, which are bare beneath your skirt. At his earlier command, you’re wearing the outfit he told you he liked on you at the club: a short skirt and low-cut top, effectively your rebellion attire that he now uses as your humiliation attire.

As soon as you buckle in, he reaches over and, to your surprise, gently brushes a damp strand of hair off your face. The gesture is almost tender, but you know better now. “Glad you made it, baby,” he purrs, and his free hand gives your thigh a squeeze. You jump, biting your lip.

He chuckles and pulls the car away from the curb. “Relax,” he says, as if that’s remotely possible. “We’re just going for a little ride.”

“Where…where are we going?” you ask, voice unsteady, watching the neighborhood streets give way to a more industrial area.

He hums thoughtfully. “Somewhere private. I wouldn’t want any interruptions while we… chat.” The way he says “chat” sends chills down your spine.

Within minutes, he’s pulled into a deserted parking lot behind what looks like an old closed workshop. The area is dark and shielded from the main road. He cuts the engine. When he turns to you, the playful mask drops from his face, leaving something hungry and unhinged in his eyes.

Instinctively you shrink back against the car door. Your heart is pounding so hard it hurts.

He unbuckles his seatbelt and then yours, the metallic click loud in the silence. “Come here,” he says softly.

You hesitate a second too long. In a flash, he grabs your wrist and pulls. With surprising ease, he manhandles you from the passenger seat over the center console onto his lap. You gasp as your legs straddle him automatically to keep balance, your skirt riding up to your hips in the process. Suddenly you’re face to face, your hands braced on his broad shoulders, noses nearly touching.

He smirks up at you, hands settling on your waist firmly. “That’s better,” he murmurs.

Your breath comes in shaky pants. This position – it’s too familiar, too reminiscent of that night except now you’re painfully aware of the depravity of doing this while he’s dating your sister. “Seong-je, we shouldn’t—”

He tuts, silencing you. “We’re not in the mood to argue, are we?” His grip on your waist tightens, fingers digging in warningly. “You’re here to do whatever I want, remember that.”

You nod quickly, fear spiking. “I-I remember.”

“Good.” He drags one hand slowly up your body, from your waist to your ribcage, then higher to cup your breast through your flimsy top. You suck in a breath. His thumb rolls over your nipple, and despite yourself, it responds, hardening. He feels it and grins. “No bra? You actually listened. Good girl.”

Humiliation burns through you. Wearing no bra (and even no panties) were part of the instructions he texted earlier. You’d complied, cheeks flaming as you dressed. The proof of that compliance is now evident as his thumb circles lazily over the taut peak.

You bite your lip, stifling a whimper. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing your body still reacts, but it betrays you eagerly.

He watches your face avidly. “You’re blushing,” he teases, pinching your nipple suddenly. You yelp, reflexively grinding down into his lap at the shock of pleasure-pain. The friction rubs right against your bare slit on the crotch of his jeans, sending a jolt through you. He inhales sharply, feeling it. “Fuck, you really came out here with no panties. How obscene,” he growls appreciatively.

You squirm, trying to lift off the bulge that’s growing beneath you, but he clamps an arm around your lower back, forcing you down onto it again. Both of you moan softly at the contact.

“Please…” you whimper, not even sure what you’re begging for – mercy, or more.

He tilts his head. “Please what? Use your words.” His other hand comes up to grab your chin, thumb pulling your bottom lip down. “Be honest with yourself.”

Tears of frustration gather in your eyes. “I… I don’t—”

A sudden CRACK! jolts you as his palm smacks down on your rear, hard, beneath your skirt. You cry out in shock more than pain, the sound echoing in the car. The sting spreads over your buttock, and you realize with horror and unwanted excitement that he just spanked you.

“Don’t lie to me,” he hisses, eyes flashing. “You came here dripping for it. You knew exactly what would happen.” He shifts his hips up, grinding his erection against your exposed folds. The thick ridge parts your slick lips, nudging your clit, and you can’t help the moan that spills out.

He smirks. “See? Your body doesn’t lie.” His hand that smacked you now soothingly rubs the sore spot, then sneaks lower, under your skirt and between your legs from behind, one finger sliding into your wetness with ease from that angle. You jolt, nails digging into his jacket.

“Already soaked… You act so terrified, but you’re enjoying this, aren’t you, you little slut,” he breathes against your ear, slowly pumping that finger in and out, each movement pressing you down more firmly on his cock from the front and invading you from behind at once. It’s overwhelming and filthy, being taken from both angles even in this small way.

“N-no, I—” you protest weakly, but even as you say it, your hips have begun to rock, chasing the sensation. The dual stimulation sends sparks through you.

He clicks his tongue and withdraws his finger abruptly, making you whine involuntarily at the loss. He brings the finger around between your bodies and holds it up – coated in your arousal, strands of it glistening in the dim light. “Liar,” he whispers, before pushing that same finger past your lips.

Your eyes widen as you taste yourself on his skin. Instinct says pull away, but his arm on your back holds you firm. “Suck,” he orders quietly. Trembling, you obey, tongue swirling around his digit, because what else can you do? He watches, pupils blown, undoubtedly recalling your mouth on a different part of him that night.

“Better,” he groans, sliding his finger out with a wet pop. You’re panting now, humiliation and desire in equal measure flooding you.

Seong-je then moves fast. He yanks your top down, stretching the neckline until your breasts spill free. The sudden exposure to the cool air makes your nipples pebble up painfully. You flush and instinctively try to cover yourself, but he grabs your wrists and pins them behind your back. The action arches your chest forward, presenting your breasts to him.

He licks his lips, gaze raking over you. “God, you’re perfect,” he mutters and lunges. His mouth latches onto one nipple, sucking hard, while his free hand mauls the other, squeezing and rolling. You cry out, back arching more as a wave of pleasure crashes into you. The position has you grinding directly on his length; you can feel every inch of him through his jeans rubbing against your slick folds.

It’s all happening so fast. The car windows fog with your combined heat. The smell of rain and sex permeates the enclosed space. You’re losing yourself – it’s as if your body is remembering the ecstasy he gave it and is powerless to resist sliding right back into that state.

He alternates his mouth between your breasts hungrily, nipping one while pinching the other, then soothing with his tongue. You squirm and mewl, the pain and pleasure mixing intoxicatingly. It dawns on you dimly that he’s not even asking you to do anything; he’s simply taking what he wants, using you like a toy for his pleasure. And worse… you’re letting him, body yielding traitorously because it feels so damned good.

He releases your wrists, only to grab your hips. “Enough,” he grits out, voice rough. He’s reached the end of his patience. “I need to fuck you. Now.”

Your heart stutters. Despite everything, the word fuck said so rawly sends another pulse of heat through you, but also fear. Here, now? In his car? While he’s technically your sister’s boyfriend? Your conscience screams that this is so very wrong.

Sensing your hesitation, he narrows his eyes. “Don’t even think of denying me now,” he growls. One hand tangles in your hair at the back of your head and tugs, forcing you to look up at him. “You owe me this, and you know it.”

Tears spill over your cheeks, both from the pain of your scalp and the emotional agony. “I… I know,” you choke out. “Just… please, be quick.”

He regards you for a moment, then wipes a tear from your cheek with his thumb. Surprisingly, he chuckles, a dark, almost sad sound. “So eager to get it over with? We’ll see.”

Then he’s maneuvering you off his lap. Confused, you start to move back to the passenger seat, but he grabs your thighs and turns you around so that you’re facing the windshield, your back to him, still straddling his legs. Before you can process, he pushes your upper body forward. “Hands on the dashboard,” he commands.

You obey shakily, pressing your palms to the cool dash and leaning over it. This angle presents your ass perfectly to him, and you hear him groan appreciatively behind you. The remaining scraps of your skirt are hiked up over your hips, leaving your butt and dripping sex completely exposed. You feel utterly debased… and frighteningly, that only heightens the illicit excitement coiling in your belly.

There’s the sound of his zipper unfastening, the rustle of clothing, a condom packet tearing – thank god he at least thought of that, or maybe he always carries them. Then his warm hands grip your hips, and you feel the thick head of his cock glide through your folds from behind, coating himself in your arousal.

You tense up, anticipating the thrust. He slides back and forth a few times, not entering, just teasing both of you. It has you quivering, a strangled whine escaping your lips as the fat tip nudges your clit on each pass.

“Do you want it?” he asks, voice strained – he’s clearly holding himself on a taut leash right now.

You screw your eyes shut, pride warring with need. He slows the movement deliberately, almost pulling away entirely, leaving you frustratingly empty. Your body betrays you as your hips subtly push back, seeking him. “Y-yes,” you whisper, barely audible.

He yanks your hair. “I didn’t catch that.”

“Yes,” you say louder, voice cracking. “I want it… please.”

The satisfaction in his grunt is the only warning you get. In one powerful thrust, he buries himself to the hilt inside you. You both cry out – you at the sudden fullness stretching you, him at the tight heat enveloping him.

“Fuck,” he curses, stilling for a moment as your body adjusts, fluttering around his intrusion. He’s every bit as thick and long as you remember, maybe even more so in this position that lets him hit deeper.

There’s a brief flare of pain from the abrupt entry, but it quickly gives way to an incredible pressure that has you clenching around him. A guttural groan rumbles from his chest. “So tight… You missed my cock, didn’t you?” he pants, pulling out halfway and slamming back in, drawing a yelp from you.

He sets a bruising pace at once, clearly too far gone for gentleness. The car rocks with the force of his thrusts. His fingers dig into your hips hard – you know they’ll leave marks tomorrow – using them as leverage to pound you from behind.

Your moans mix with the lewd slap of skin on skin. It’s raw and animalistic, nothing like any romantic coupling. It’s use. He’s using you like a personal fucktoy, and the most shameful part is how your body responds eagerly. Each drive forward rubs that devastating spot inside you that makes you see stars. The angle, bent over the dash, allows him to hit even deeper than at the club. Sparks of ecstasy light up your nerves despite the sting of his roughness.

“You feel that?” he growls, one hand leaving your hip to snake around and press down on your lower belly while he impales you. The added pressure internally is intense. “Feel me splitting you open? Hnh, say who’s fucking you.”

“You… you are,” you gasp out, tears of pleasure at the corners of your eyes.

He lands another sharp smack to your ass. “Name.”

“Se-Seong-je…!”

Another smack, harder. The sound echoes. “Not what I meant.”

It clicks. He wants the perverse title. The humiliation of it sends a shameful thrill through you. “Wolf,” you sob, skin burning with embarrassment and arousal. “Wolf is fucking me!”

He growls in approval and as a twisted reward, his hand between your legs shifts, two fingers strumming over your swollen clit in rhythm with his thrusts. You keen, the added stimulation hurtling you toward the edge with frightening speed.

Your legs shake, and you scrabble for purchase on the smooth dash as your mind goes blank with rising ecstasy. Sensing your impending climax, he pistons into you faster, chasing his own end now too. “That’s it, come for me,” he bites out, breathing ragged. “Come on my cock like the needy little slut you are.”

The degradation pushes you over the precipice. With a wail, you shatter around him, inner walls clamping down hard in pulsating waves. Your vision whites out; you’d collapse entirely if he wasn’t holding you up by a firm arm across your waist now.

“F-fuck!” he chokes as your orgasm milks him. With a final deep thrust grinding as far as he can go, he stills and you feel his cock twitching, releasing into the condom, his own rough cry filling the car. He clutches you tightly to him as he spends himself, teeth scraping your shoulder in the throes of it.

For a few moments, the only sound is both of you gulping in air, hearts pounding in tandem. Your body continues to spasm weakly around him, drawing out every drop. You’re distantly aware of how utterly sinful this is – in a car, behind your sister’s back, with a man who’s effectively your blackmailer. Yet in this haze of climax, none of that matters; all that exists is the afterglow and the man throbbing inside you.

Eventually, as clarity slowly returns, so does the crushing guilt. You stiffen, a sob catching in your throat. What have I done?

Seong-je, still draped over your back, must sense the shift. He gently – almost tenderly – kisses the nape of your neck, an unexpected gesture that makes your heart lurch in confusion. Carefully, he withdraws from your sensitive body. You wince at the loss and collapse onto the dash, boneless.

He ties off the condom and tosses it aside, then pulls your skirt back down to cover you, and your top up over your breasts. You feel strangely numb as he helps you back into the passenger seat. Neither of you speak immediately. The silence is heavy with things unsaid.

You keep your gaze fixed on your trembling hands in your lap. You flinch when you feel his hand brush your cheek, turning your face towards him. His expression is unreadable in the dim light, but his eyes roam over your features, lingering on your tear-streaked cheeks, your swollen lips, the fresh marks blooming on your neck and shoulders from his mouth.

For a moment, you think he might apologize – there’s a flicker of something like confliction in his gaze. But then it’s gone. He smirks lightly, thumb grazing your lower lip. “You look thoroughly fucked,” he says, almost in admiration. “Wear those marks with pride, baby. Only you and I know what they mean.”

Shame floods your face, and you turn away, hugging yourself. It’s too much – the way he shifts back to callousness so easily.

He starts the car, and you’re surprised when he drives you not back to the corner where he picked you up (which might arouse suspicion if someone saw you returning from nowhere) but around the block, pulling up discreetly by your house’s side gate. He knows the layout from previous visits.

“How—”

“I pay attention,” he answers your unfinished question, shutting off the engine. “Now, before you go…” He grabs your chin again, but gently this time. “Remember our arrangement. You answer when I call. You do what I say. And in exchange, I keep our dirty little secret safe and maybe treat your sister like the princess she believes she is. Understood?”

Your throat tightens. You nod faintly, drained.

He leans in and kisses you – not rough, but slowly, deeply, leaving you breathless all over again. When he pulls back, he murmurs against your lips, “You were perfect tonight. Don’t disappoint me, and maybe I’ll even let you enjoy it again.” The arrogance in that statement would normally earn an eye-roll, but horrifyingly, you did enjoy it in some twisted way, despite the anguish of what it means.

Tears prick your eyes anew. He pulls back, his thumb wiping one away. “Shh. Now go, before you’re missed.”

On shaky legs, you exit the car. He watches as you slip through your side gate and creep into your house. Thankfully, your parents are asleep. You collapse into your bed, the scent of him all over you.

In the silent darkness, hot tears finally overflow freely. How did it come to this? You’ve betrayed your sister, your own morals, everything. And worst is, you’re not even sure you can fully blame him – because your own body and some secret part of your soul responded to the thrill. That knowledge shackles you in guilt.

A single text pings on your phone, lighting up the gloom:

From Seong-je: Sleep well, little lamb. 🖤 See you soon.

Clutching your pillow, you sob quietly until exhausted sleep claims you, his words and the ache between your legs a constant reminder that this nightmare is far from over.

⸻

The following weeks pass in a tense, clandestine haze. By day, you put on your best performance of normalcy – attending classes, eating dinner with your family, exchanging hollow small talk with your sister about her “wonderful” boyfriend. You even smile when she gushes over the bouquet of roses he sent her “just because” one afternoon. Inside, each lie and each praise for him is like swallowing broken glass.

By night or stolen moments, you live under his shadow. He calls, and you have to invent an excuse to slip away to answer, heart in your throat. Sometimes he simply talks as if you’re old friends, his tone disarmingly light – asking about your day, teasing you until you begrudgingly respond with more than one-word answers. Other times, his voice drops to that low timber that makes your stomach flip, and he describes in lurid detail the things he wants to do to you next time, asking if you’re touching yourself as you listen (you always say no; he always sees through it).

And there are the meetings – the secret rendezvous that you wish you could say you dreaded, but in truth, you now ache for with a twisted mix of craving and shame. In abandoned classrooms after school, in the backseat of his car in dark parking lots, even once in a restroom at a department store while your sister waited outside unaware – he takes you, again and again. Fast or slow, cruel or almost tender, but always intense, always leaving you boneless and soaked with guilt.

Each time, you tell yourself it’s the last, that you’ll find a way to break free. But each time, he lures you back in – with threats, with dark promises, with the simple undeniable pull he has over your body. He is a drug and you’re deeply addicted, even as you hate yourself for it.

And through it all, your sister remains blissfully oblivious. She notices maybe that you’ve grown quieter, paler. You claim stress about exams; she buys it, too wrapped up in her own happiness. The guilt of it gnaws at you till you feel hollow.

One evening, a particularly charged family dinner finds you nearly at breaking point. Your sister excitedly announces that she and Seong-je plan to attend a charity ball together, and she’s already dress-shopping. Your parents toast to the lovely couple. Seong-je – who’s dining with you all – reaches over to squeeze your sister’s hand affectionately. “I’m a lucky man,” he says with a charming smile.

His foot brushes yours under the table at that exact moment – a secret touch that makes you jump. He smirks subtly without missing a beat in conversation. You can barely eat; nausea and twisted arousal churn in your gut.

Later, as you clear the table, he corners you in the kitchen while the others talk in the living room. He presses up behind you as you stand at the sink, his hand sneaking under your skirt.

“You’re so quiet tonight,” he murmurs, nuzzling your neck. “Jealous of the ball? Don’t worry, I’ll make time for my favorite girl after.” His finger finds your slit, discovering you shamefully wet. “Already soaked? Naughty… We just did it this afternoon.”

“Stop,” you whisper, mortified and aching. Your parents and sister are mere feet away beyond the door. The risk is insane.

He only chuckles and slips a finger inside you, making you bite down on a moan. “Meet me later,” he whispers, pumping slowly. “Midnight, my place. I want you in my bed for once.”

Your eyes widen. His place? You’ve never been. Too dangerous. You shake your head frantically. He hooks another finger inside you and rubs your clit with his thumb, a ruthless combination that has your knees buckling. “Midnight,” he repeats softly, “or maybe I’ll have to entertain a different guest. Perhaps your sister—”

“I’ll come,” you gasp quietly, grabbing his wrist to halt the devastating movements before you cum right there.

He withdraws his fingers and licks them clean, winking. Then he’s gone, back to the others, leaving you trembling over the sink.

Midnight finds you standing outside a sleek apartment complex, hood up and heart rattling. He buzzes you in. The elevator ride up to the 10th floor feels like ascending into some surreal fantasy.

He opens the door shirtless, grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips. The domesticity of it – seeing him in a home setting – does strange things to your heart. “Right on time,” he purrs, ushering you in and locking the door.

The next hours blur in a fever dream. True to his word, he takes you to his bed – a large, plush bed in a surprisingly tasteful room. There, he peels off every layer of your clothing with agonizing slowness, worshipping every inch of exposed skin with lips and tongue until you’re writhing. This isn’t the hurried coupling in cars or bathrooms; this is drawn-out seduction.

You try not to think about how many girls he’s brought here or if your sister has been in this very bed. But he seems to sense your distraction. “Tonight, you’re the only thing on my mind,” he whispers at one point, as if reading your insecurity. And disturbingly, you want to believe it.

He ravishes you thoroughly: going down on you until you sob his name, then taking you in languid strokes that feel almost like an erotic caress rather than punishment. He even kisses you – really kisses you – throughout, as if you’re lovers. By the end, you’re nestled against his chest in a tangle of sheets, your sweat and his mingling, both of you spent and breathing softly in the dark.

For a fleeting moment, it feels like something normal. Like after all the depravity, you’ve circled around to a tender peace. In that vulnerable haze post-orgasm, you dare to ask the question that’s been buried in your heart.

“Why are you doing this… really?” you whisper, tracing an old scar on his shoulder absentmindedly. “You have her. You could just let me go and… be happy with her. Why keep tormenting me? Is it just the blackmail and sex, or…?” You trail off, afraid to voice the hopeful alternative your silly heart stupidly wonders about in the darkest recesses – that maybe, somehow, he feels something for you beyond just control.

He’s silent for a long time. You can’t see his face in the dim light, only feel the rise and fall of his chest under your cheek. Just when you think he won’t answer, he sighs. His hand idly strokes your hair.

“I’m not a good man, Y/N,” he says quietly, almost gentle. “I hurt people – because I like it, and because it’s the only way I survive in my world. Your sister… she’s a pretty doll. An escape maybe. But you…” He tilts your chin up, and even in the dark, you feel the weight of his intense gaze. “You stumbled into my life and saw the real me from the start – and you didn’t run. Hell, you fucked the real me.” A bitter chuckle. “You have no idea how… addictive that is. You make me feel—”

He stops himself. Your heart hammers. Did he almost admit to feeling something?

Abruptly, he pulls away and sits up on the edge of the bed, back to you. “This was a mistake,” he mutters, voice hardening. “Getting cozy.”

Panic flares in you. “No, I– I didn’t mean to upset—”

“Get dressed,” he snaps, standing. The sudden coldness in his tone is like a slap. You jolt up, clutching the sheet to your naked chest. His walls are back up, brick-solid. “I’ll drive you home.”

Tears prick your eyes. You scramble for your clothes, dressing in heavy silence. He’s already fully clothed, mask of detached calm in place. The vulnerable man who held you minutes ago is gone.

The car ride is silent and tense. When he pulls up near your house, you turn to him, desperate. “Seong-je—”

“Stop,” he cuts off, not meeting your gaze. His grip on the wheel is white-knuckled. “Don’t read into this. Our arrangement stands. Go.” His voice cracks slightly on that last word, betraying a hint of emotion that twists your heart.

You want to reach for him, to say something that might break through. But fear and pride hold you back. With a trembling exhale, you exit the car. This time, he doesn’t watch to ensure you’re safely in – he’s already driven off, tires screeching softly on the pavement.

You stare after the car’s tail lights until they disappear. A fresh wave of pain settles in your chest. Somewhere along the line, you realize with despair, your dark tormentor became more than just that to you. Inextricably, you’ve fallen for the one person you absolutely should not – the cruel, broken boy behind the monster.

And that, you think as you wipe away tears and steel yourself to creep back into your house, is perhaps the darkest tragedy of all.

Inside, the house is quiet. You slip into your bed, the scent of him still clinging to your skin. You know this twisted game can’t last. It’s a matter of time before it all combusts disastrously – secrets like this always do. But for now, you’re caught in his web, bound by desire and fear and something achingly like love.

As you drift into a fitful sleep, one thought echoes in your mind: There is no way out of this unscathed. And the little good girl inside you curls up and cries, even as another part of you – the part irrevocably claimed by Geum Seong-je – whispers that, given the chance, you’d do it all over again.

[daughterof-aphrodit]

𝕊𝕖𝕩 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕎𝕖𝕒𝕜 ℍ𝕖𝕣𝕠 ℂ𝕝𝕒𝕤𝕤 𝔹𝕠𝕪𝕤

Sieun x Reader , Suho x Reader , Seongje x Reader , Juntae x Reader , Beakjin x Reader

Sieun, this guy is sex-starved. Okay, maybe it doesn't seem like it, but you know your boyfriend well. 

Another point related to this is: he simply doesn't know how to verbalize that he wants to have sex with you. We know that Sieun is a man of few words, so we know that he won't ask you directly. But he will give you THAT LOOK, you know the look I'm talking about. That bright look of his, with the most beautiful eyes you've ever seen. 

When Sieun looks at you like that, you almost fall to your knees to fulfill his wishes. 

This man LOVES to eat you out, seriously, he loves doing it. 

The first time you had sex, he didn't have enough courage to ask you to do it. But after you had sex the first time, he read about how to make a woman cum with his mouth, he learned how to use his fingers well. And after some studying, he fucked you for the first time. And my god, it was good. This guy seemed to be in heaven between your legs. He eats you out with great skill, but with affection.

After that, he became addicted to having his head between your legs.

Suho, sex with him is something very spontaneous and at the same time fun. You know how funny your boyfriend is, and this is reflected a little in the intimate moments between the two of you. HE IS VERY PROVOCATIVE. He likes to say things like: 

“Wow, my love, I fucked you yesterday, and you’re already desperate for my cock again.” 

He likes the idea of ​​fucking you in front of a mirror so he can see your expressions well. So imagine, the two of you having sex in front of the big mirror in your house, he makes you lean on the bathroom counter, while he fucks you from behind and pulls your hair, with that provocative smile on his face.

SeongJe, this man is intense. That's the best word to describe him. Everything with you two is intense. The sex, the kisses, the fights, everything. 

This guy fucks you mercilessly, and you like it of course. He's the type who loves to give you a good spanking, and makes you beg to fuck you. "What do you want, huh? Tell me." 

After some discussion between the two of you - for the same reason as always - he stops fighting for nothing. As a good apology, he lays you down on his bed, and fucks you looking into your eyes. He tries to be romantic sometimes. Distributing kisses on your neck while fucking you.

Juntae, he's so sweet to you. Inside and outside of your sex. He's the type of guy who focuses so much on your pleasure. And even though it's not your first time, he still blushes when he sees you naked. 

He loves it when you mount him, and use him for your own pleasure. He likes the feeling of being useful to you. He also loves it when you compliment him. Please do this, he's been so good to you. 

Give him a gift of kisses and slow sex after he gets a good grade on some random test. He'll love it.

BeakJin, he may be cold to others, but he is completely different with you, his baby. This man would protect you with his life, and he makes that very clear to everyone.

Having sex with him is something slow - but firm - romantic, something super intimate. You feel like a queen the way he treats you.

Sometimes he can be a little more intense, but strict, more cruel. The stress of work affects your sex. And sometimes he just needs to fuck you stupid to feel relief. He will make you cum so many times, he will want to hear you scream his name.

[anonimusunnoaniswriting]

Geum Song Je X Reader | MDNI 18 + Smut, Dark Themes, Red flag (obviously, its Seong Je) Reader used to be Na Baek Jin's girl. Now he's dead. But fortunately for her Geum Seong Je is taking up his abandoned responsibilities. Including you. idk what else.

Part 2 is here | Part 3 is here

The end of Na Baek Jin would have always spelled doom for you. 

Once upon a time, you had hoped that you’d have the opportunity to go back to a better life – your previous life – but that was just a pipe dream. Your previous life held a previous girl. One that didn’t exist anymore. 

It had been a cold, wet day that you’d caught the eye of the young delinquent. Not particularly good at school or at sport, best at keeping your head down and managing your own affairs, he’d caught you trying to scurry past him and his gang that evening, after you’d finished up cram school; your head bowed, trying in vain to fend off the worsening drizzle. He – recognising the uniform – signalled one of his underlings to bring you to him. 

Worried that he would beat you up, you had stammered out a “P-please I just want to go home. I have no money.” 

The statement made the guys around you laugh. 

“Money?” Na Baek Jin had asked. This upper lip twisted into a cruel smile that would send shivers down your spine. “I have—” He stopped mid way. Thought for a moment and then started again. “Well, if you can’t give me money, then I think it’s best you give me your company.” He held your chin in his hand, lifting your head blowing gently into your face. 

After that, Na Baek Jin kept you by his side. He helped you with school work, resulting in your grades getting better. You left the cram school and spent every evening with him. But when it wasn’t school work – there were other things…

Baek Jin always treated you with a gentle hand. You had seen how badly those fingers could hurt and yet, they knew the other too. Soft lingering touches at your waist. Burning trails left on your sin that remained long after the two of you had parted for the day. And worst of all, a need for him that, somehow, would never be satisfied. 

For Baek Jin, pleasuring you was as much of a delight as his math solutions. He’d work you for hours, slowly pumping his fingers in and out – deliberate drawn out movements – till you were no more than a dripping wet mess. Your sweet  begging, calling out his name, tears dampening your lashes – it never failed to spur him on. His cold calculated moves stood out in contrast to your scorching body; leaving you gasping when he suddenly died…

***

Na Baek Jin was gone. The Union was in disarray, and the two boys, once his closest stooges, were laughing with no care for who might see. 

Geum Seong Je entered the funeral room alone. Everyone else had already left, even Baku, dragged away by his friends – who tried to comfort your weeping figure but quickly gave up seeing your lack of response. Seong Je called out to your hunched over form, and kneeled down to meet your eye. You didn’t look up. 

He placed a finger under your chin, lifting your head to his. His thumb brushed against your lower lip. Such a gentle touch, so much like Baek Jin.  He wasn't wearing his glasses and you could see the little mole under his eye clearly.  

“You’re not alone.” 

You nodded your head. 

“I’ll be taking over the Union. And I’m taking you with me. I know Baek Jin would have wanted the same.” 

Something about the certainty in the tone of his voice made you wonder if he had orchestrated the whole thing. The fight with Eunjang, the heightening pressure. A thought crossed your mind. What if he had done it all to make sure he got that coveted spot at the top…  

Seong Je lifted you off the cold floor with ease. You were carried out in his arms while wide eyed glances were ignored. The bright fluorescent lighting hurt your eyes and he encouraged your head to seek refuge in the crook of his neck. He smelled sweet. Sweat, men's deodorant, and an undercurrent of iron. You took a deep shuddering breath.

“Where are you taking me? Seong Je?”

“Home.” 

The cab driver waiting outside barely spared you a second glance. Perhaps visions like this were commonplace at the exits of funeral homes. The man wouldn’t have stopped to wonder whose funeral you had been attending. Perhaps he thought Seong Je was a kind friend, or an elder brother. Someone with thoughts that were pure and wholesome. But the iron grip on your wrist as he pulled you into the makeshift bed at Daesung Motorcycles spoke differently. His chest was hot.

Hotter than Baek Jin.

Immediately you felt a pang of guilt and pulled yourself away. Seong Je’s eyes bore into you watching you fight him. 

“Tsk — what, what is it? Not soft enough? Need more pillows?” 

You shook your head. “Seong Je… I love Baek Jin. I– I–” 

He clicked his tongue again. “Whatever you need darling. I’ve waited this long. I can wait a little more.”

You felt your heart pounding against your rib cage. “What do you mean, you’ve waited? You know I was with Baek Jin. Did you know he would die? Did you– did you–”

The man cut you off with a searing kiss. The shackle on your wrist tightened. You gasped for air but he climbed on top of you with ease. Suddenly you were all too aware of how short your skirt was, and how easy it would be for a person like him to pull off your underwear. 

“Baek Jin—” 

“Stop!” The sharp order overpowered your whimpers. “He’s dead! He’s not here anymore… I am.” His voice was so steady, almost reinforcing the idea in your head about the manner of your lover's death. But underneath it all you knew, there was more to it than what was visible. 

Seong Je smirked and got up. "I'm not going to force you. You're gonna want me. You're gonna crave me. You're gonna beg for me." He cocked his head to the side. Almost adorably. "That'll be so much more fun."

Your eyes followed his figure as he walked to the doorway to the adjoining warehouse, and suddenly you couldn’t help yourself. “Why?”

He half turned. The lights from the street painted him in dark gold. “I’ve always imagined what you’d sound like.” 

You lifted yourself off the mattress, shooting him a quizzical look. 

“What you’d sound like, moaning my name.” 

He left the room, you heard the click of the lock.

Sleep came to you easily, but it wasn’t restful. Your night was plagued with visions of Baek Jin’s body, lying beaten and bloodied. Alone. His black eyes seemed to be asking you for something. Help? An explanation? Revenge? You couldn’t tell… 

[muntitled]

Boa

Pairings: Geum Seongje x Fem!Reader

Summary: You're just a kid, caught in a gangster’s crosshairs. What happens when you don’t deliver like you should…

Warnings: Language, Dom!Seongje, Gangsterism, Bullied!Reader, Coercion, Bullying, Extortion, Mentions of Rape, Smut +18 (mdni), Dark fic, Dubious consent, Public Sex, Exhibitionism, Desperate Sex, Humiliation, Degradation

A/N: I'm not responsible for the media you consume. I wrote this for me so...

Ever since you've started working for him, you've learned to get extremely acquainted with the floor.

"I'm sorry, Sir…” your voice is brittle as you try to make yourself heard in the suffocating internet cafe, “I'm short on delivery today..."

Hardwood. Tile. Linoleum. It's become all too familiar to you. The floor is all you see in his presence.

You never looked Seongje in the eyes unless he addresses you first. He likes that, you suspect.

It's kept you alive this long so you must be doing something right.

"I got assigned a kid to tutor and..." you clear your throat, not daring to make direct eye contact, choosing instead, to keep your eyes trained on the dirty, cold floor.

The internet cafe is the very last place you'd want to be on a Friday evening. You were caught right in between two challenging essay due dates- one for English and one for AP English. Both hung gravley over your head, threatening to set off your sympathetic nervous system and have you fainting from academic stress. Seeing him was the very last thing you needed.

"That tutoring time fucked with my system and-" despite all your achievements, despite the academic prestige and the boundless knowledge… in Seongje's presence you feel insignificant.

A bug he's letting scurry around for no other reason except his enjoyment. You didn't want to get stomped on. You saw what happened to the other kids under his thumb and it kept you up at night. All that blood. All the merciless sadism.

You aren't dumb enough to hope an exception would be made for you.

"I'm sorry,” you conclude, and for a second, you get no response. He plays his game. His friends remain silent.

That's all until he pushes the bridge of his glasses up further against his nose. A calm, quiet sigh leaves his lips.

“Before you started working for me, do you know what you were?" Seongje doesn't take his eyes off the screen. His fingers run deftly over the keys as he speaks to you without ever really acknowledging you, "You were in an alleyway, about to get raped by Eunjang scum."

"Yes, Seongje, I know-"

"And in return for my kindness, what did I ask of you?"

"FUCK- COVER ME BRO!" Your eye snaps up to the source of the loud and sudden burst of energy. Your frightened and pitiful eyes find a boy seated adjacent to Seongje and his goons. He's bent over his screen, clearly not a part of the group. Clearly far too young.

Your heart sinks when you realize Seongje's eyes are trained on the boy too.

"Ya…” Seongje raises his voice a decimal above the cacophony yet it has you flinching. “Too loud,” he says to the boy, “Didn’t anyone teach you shut up when adults are talking?” he asks monotonously to the boy- a child really- still mourning the loss of his avatar on the screen. He doesn't pay Seongje any mind.

Of course he doesn't. He's a kid.

How could he have known?

He came to an internet cafe to play a game with his friends.

It's the boy's innocence that hurts the most.

He doesn't know that the monsters under his bed are very real.

They walk where he walks.

They don't hide.

They move about freely.

Your heart makes like the titanic and sinks.

"Excuse me for a second." Seongje addresses you politely, finally giving you a fleeting glance before pushing himself out of his gamer chair. You see his entire row of friends (if that's what one could even refer to them as) remain unfazed as Seongje rounds the table to stand directly behind the young boy.

He’s bigger, far bigger as he pushes the rims of his glasses up, staring directly at you

"I know you're smart so you're probably aware that your fuck-up won't be tolerated-” he says to you, despite slithering his arm around the boys neck like a boa as he squeezes. Everyone keeps their eyes trained to their computers. Your fist curls at your side. You want to look away but you can't because you're speaking to Seongje. You wouldn't want to aggravate him further by showing him his mindlessly violence bothers you. So you try not to flinch.

You try not to let the casual violence scare you. How nonchalantly he speaks while an elementary school boy flails in his arms, begging to be released from the headlock making his lips turn blue

“You knew there'd be a punishment,” Seongje is still speaking to you. You hold your breathe in solidarity with the boy choking in his arms, “-for fucking up your delivery-” crimson blossoms onto the little boys face but Seongje keeps his eyes on you, appearing unfazed by the boy flailing like an animal in arms, "And yet you came anyway. That's the kinda work ethic, I like-” he smiles, “I like it alot-"

Eventually, after what feels like forever, he lets go of the boy. You finally breathe as well, watching as the kid slumps forward ingesting the air in horrid gasps.

Seongje bends forward, patting the boy on the back.

"No more interrupting when I speak, yeah?" Whether the boy was new to this particular internet cafe, it was unclear, but you hoped to whatever divine being that he wouldn't dare come back.

"So I'll let it slide-" He turns his attention back to you and you watch, still shaken up as Seongje leaves the little boy to make his way back to his side of the table. When he breezes past you he smells like nothing. Like his eyes, everything about him is empty.

"Thank you, Seongje-"

He nods before adding, "After you get on your knees." The goon sitting nearest to you, all the way at the end of the table, his fingers hover over the keys, and just like before, the room is rid of all air.

"Excuse me?”

He pulls out his chair for you, like some mimic of a perfect gentleman he opens his arm, gesturing you in.

"I want you on your knees, under the desk.” His words hang above you all. It has tears threatening to spill. Bile rising.

“What’s with the face? Its not like I’m asking you to suck my dick,”

"Seongje, I need to get home-"

"If you can't do it yourself I'm more than happy to help."

That has your legs moving into action. In your periphery, it feels as though everyone's watching you. A thing in psychology called the imaginary audience. When you're so self-conscious you concoct this idea of being the center of attention… only this time, it's real. You know they're all watching you. You know no one will do anything about it.

"Under the desk you go," he chuckles before sitting down and pushing his chair back in. You back away, creating intense distance between you. Your back hits dirty wires and your knees press hesitantly down onto the grime just to achieve a more comfortable position. Everything you see is his legs, his friends legs and you're suddenly hit with the overwhelming urge to cry.

You want to scream at him to let you go. He's hijacked you from your endless pile of homework and yet the very thought of standing up for yourself causes a sea of nausea.

So you sit there in the dark, not knowing when this punishment would conclude. When would he let you go home? That sends you into another spiral. You've heard Seongje could game for 24 hours straight. Maybe more if he was in close vicinity to food and a bathroom. You knew this internet cafe would close eventually, that gives you the smallest sliver of hope and so you do your time.

Never once does he acknowledge you- the girl under his desk. Unbeknownst to Seongje, you catch one of his fellow gang members sneak multiple glances at you under the table. They all do. Like they enjoy seeing you under here. As time passes, and you slip further and further away from the stress, you realize that down here, on the floor, under his desk, the world is small. It's quite comforting actually and that wasn't the trauma talking.

You've always liked small spaces.

It definitely beat dealing with whatever he had going on up there half the time.

Slowly, your body begins to shut down. Your energy plummets from all the stress and all the thoughts. This is the first time you've been forced into a spot for too long doing nothing. No essays. No tutoring.

Due to tendencies from your childhood that you should've gotten rid of, you find yourself curling up against his leg. He stiffens and you snap out of the exhaustion long enough to reel back. Especially when you see his hand reach under the table. Your heart hammers in your chest, not a single word spoken as his hand searches for something. You move a bit closer until his hand catches on your hair. You wince as he drags you closer, pushing your head against his leg as you had done.

He leaves you there. You try to regulate your breathing as you feel him adjust in his seat above you.

You shift as well. Not your head. He clearly wants you there. But your legs are uncomfortable. You try to kneel and it's ridiculous because your head never leaves his leg.

No position seems comfortable enough until he stretches his leg out, right in between yours and you're made to straddle it. Above you, his fingers are still hitting the keys and you try to disassociate from the fact that his leg is pushing against your cunt. You try to sneak a peek at the surface, his glasses are trained on the screen. Not knowing whether it's your exhaustion making a reappearance but you could've sworn you hear the words, "good girl," release from him in a low drawl.

Something in his tone has you shifting over his leg. Your cunt warms against his leg and you fight the urge to buck against him. All you had to do was remember who it is that you're currently touching. That conscious reminder has you once again hellbent on doing your time with concrete resolve.

That resolve breaks.

It shatters when he eases his back against the chair, enough to once again slither his hand down towards you.

He curls his fist into your hair and tugs.

He pushes you down and lifts you up and you mindlessly follow his movements until you realize he's coaxed you into riding his leg.

He lets go of your hair, satisfied when your hips move out of their own accord.

You hate how good it feels to quite literally be beneath him. You look up and you whimper oh so quietly when you see that small smile play on his lips while his eye remains on the screen.

He's given you new instructions now and so you don't dare to stop moving your hips against him. Despite the damp spot forming on the seat of your underwear. You're not sure what it is that allows you to lose yourself so easily. Perhaps it's all the expectations that melt away when you're doing something so pitiful. You're breaking for him and he's letting you. You're not in control of anything and there's freedom in that.

“F-Fuck-” you didnt mean for the words to slip. There are still other people here but you also couldn't help the wave of pleasure that pushed up so suddenly. Your clit is moving against the fabric of his pants just right and your eyes threaten to roll to the back of your head.

The second that whimper escapes your mouth, he stiffens again.

You watch as he leans back again, this time his hand isn't reaching out for you. It's to ghost over the bulge forming in his pants. Somehow that spurs you on more.

You grind against him desperately and before he can take his hand away, this time you reach up for him.

You watch him closely. The glare from the screen reflects on his glasses. His jaw, tight.

He controls the game easily with one hand, while you bring the other into your mouth.

You're not sure where this other side of you came from. This vixen who rolls her tongue out and forces his index and ring finger into her warm mouth.

He becomes more and more restless… His breath hitching. Seongje's fingers hit the keys more aggressively, while his right hand forces his fingers further down your throat. His hips buck upwards and you can see the damp spot forming where his cock is straining against his pants. He's about to cum in his pants and you're about to cum on his leg and it's far too much for you.

You know his friends are about. You try to preserve even a sliver of dignity but it all goes out the window.

“Fuck-” he spits out, slamming his fist on the table before abandoning the game. There's a fire in his eyes as he sits back to watch you peer up at him with complete and utter desperation.

“What a fucking slut-” he snarled, cleaely audible enough for not only him but his friends too. It has your mouth snapping open. Your back arches as you try to watch him watching you cum on his leg.

You've never held his attention for this long and it sends you off the edge.

“S-Seongje-” you barely squeak out as your cunt spasms against his leg. You rut uncontrollably, spurred on by the name That fell from your lips as if your body needed a reminder of just who it was making you cum. Your tormentor.

It has you seeing stars.

For all of 11 seconds.

Until it comes crashing down on you. Your pitiful act has you reeling. Mind spinning.

You don't want to look up at him but you have nowhere else to look. Your heart sinks when you see a smile form slowly across his lips… Somehow you knew you'd never be rid of him.

[k1mbe3rly]

Geum seonje as toxic bf. I definitely know he's toxic.

_🥒

he’s definitely toxic omg

Geum seong Je toxic boyfriend headcannons

- Dating Seong je is actually so complicated there is no denying it, he toxic, manipulative, and big liar

- He does lie about a few things like he’s going to this place or he stopped smoking

- HE IS OBSESSED with you trust me, even tho he lies and manipulates you he never CHEATS on you, he is super loyal and worships you

- He does do daily phone checks to make sure you aren’t texting anymore in a flirty way, even better he has your passwords to almost everything

- He does embarrass you in front of others, often making “jokes” about yall sex life or anything you don’t want other people knowing, which he later dismisses as teasing when you get upset

- Geum seong je has a huge victim mentality, he always says that it’s never his fault and makes himself the victim, especially in arguments he makes you feel about for even arguing with him in the first place

- He reminds you of all the good times you've had together to manipulate you into staying in the relationship when your trying to break up with him

- When he’s in the union, he doesn’t really control his anger but he never hits you, maybe like punch a wall to scare you, when he actually lets you go out with your friends he does send someone or even himself to go stalk you

- He is a very jealous person and accuses you of cheating a lot, and demands to “talk” to the guy you were speaking too and later on sends the union to beat the guy up

- Even tho he is very toxic trust me that DIH IS GOOD

[imhaechanshoe]

Title: quiet confessions

pairing: yeon sieun x reader

rating: 🔞,pregnancy kink,established relationship, NSFW, emotional smut

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He sat on the edge of your bed, quiet. More than usual.

You were curled next to him, head resting on his shoulder, trying not to cry. Neither of you had spoken for a while — not really. He had said goodbye to Su-ho, to Si-eun’s few things in the classroom, to the school rooftop. But he hadn’t said goodbye to you. Not yet.

You leaned in and kissed his shoulder. “You can still visit. Call me. Text.”

He didn’t answer. Just stared straight ahead, hands gripping his knees.

Then, out of nowhere, he asked it — voice calm, but low. Serious.

“Can I get you pregnant?”

You blinked, pulling back. “What?”

“I don’t want to lose you,” he said. “If you were mine… really mine… I wouldn’t be scared.”

Your heart pounded. “Si-eun—”

“I know it’s selfish,” he said, finally turning to face you. “But if I leave tomorrow… and you have my kid… I’d have to come back. You’d be mine forever.”

You stared at him. The boy who never said how he felt unless it was breaking him open. The boy who always held back — now asking for something so raw. So permanent.

You swallowed.

“I’m not on anything,” you whispered.

“I know.”

He leaned in. His kiss was slow, shaky — almost reverent. His hands held your face like you might disappear if he didn’t. You kissed him back, just as desperate.

And when you whispered, “Okay,” against his lips…

Something in him shattered.

He moved over you, gentle but full of quiet hunger. There was no hesitation now. No stopping.

Your clothes fell away piece by piece, tossed somewhere in the dark. You wrapped your legs around his hips, feeling his length against your thigh — hard, aching.

“I want all of you,” he whispered into your neck. “I want to fill you up.”

You gasped as he slid his length into you, bare and slow, every inch stretching you open in the most intimate way. He buried his face in your shoulder, groaning softly.

You were already soaked for him, body trembling from the weight of it all — the love, the loss, the need.

His thrusts were deep and steady, hands gripping your hips like he couldn’t get close enough. You could feel every pulse, every twitch. His lips brushed your collarbone, your jaw, your lips again.

“You’re mine,” he said against your skin.

“Yes,” you moaned. “I’m yours.”

“gonna come inside you.”

Your breath hitched. You nodded.

“yes please, do it.”

And he did — his body tensing, stuttering as he spilled into you, warmth flooding deep. You moaned at the feeling, at how full you felt.

He didn’t pull out.

He stayed there, chest pressed to yours, breathing heavy.

After, his fingers laced with yours.

“I’m scared,” he admitted quietly.

You kissed his forehead.

“You don’t have to be. You’re still mine too.”

[hannie-berrie]

Courtside Confessions 🏀❤️

18+ Minors DNI

Pairing: Hoomin (Baku) X F reader

Genre: smut, protected sex, college, semi public, school’s changing room, cocky but romantic Hoomin wants you hihi

Warnings: semi public sex

wc: Around 3.2k ?

Disclaimer: I made this for a friend (YAYYY) thanks to my pookie who’s reading this, ya know who you are! For other readers, sorry my first language isn’t English, so please excuse any mistakes I make or weird sentence structures I might’ve made!!

It was one of those golden evenings where the air in the gym practically filled with anticipation. The stands were full, the music was loud, and every time Hoomin touched the ball, the crowd went wild.

He wasn’t just good at basketball, he lived for the crowd’s cheers. Every spin move, every no-look pass, every high five with his teammates was a performance.

The grin on his face practically gleamed under the gym lights. The confidence? Off the charts. The cockiness? Absolutely earned. The attention? He was soaked and could almost drown with it.

But still, even in the middle of the game, his eyes searched the bleachers until they found you. He’s kinda like an idol, everyone swears they’ve made eye contact with him, or swear they caught his attention.

You were already looking at him, holding up a sign you’d made just to mess with him. Big bold letters: “Try not not get hit by the ball, big head” You blew him a sarcastic kiss.

He laughed mid-play, actually missed a pass because of it, and got elbowed in the ribs by a teammate.

Worth it.

After the game, everyone surrounded him, teachers, friends, total strangers. A lot of girls of all grades jumping in the crowd, hoping to get an interaction with him. But he weaved through the chaos like he always did, looking for you like a magnet.

You were waiting in the hallway just outside the locker room, leaning against the cool brick wall like you had all the time in the world.

“Look who it is,” you hiss as he approached, gym bag thrown over one shoulder and sweat still shining on his neck and forehead. “I noticed you missed a bunch of shots, wonder why the crowd still applauds you” you joke

Hoomin gave you that signature smirk. “Are you jealous of all the attention I get, or just mad I didn’t wink at you mid throw?”

“Your ego is so fambloyant I thought it was the sunlight hitting me through the window” you retorted, but you were already smiling.

He stepped closer, invading your space just enough to make your heart skip. He said, voice low. “You always keep your eyes on me.”

That earned him an eye roll, which he clearly loved. You tried to play it cool, but the warmth radiating off him was too hard to ignore.

Especially when he leaned one arm above your head against the wall as if there wasn’t plenty of room next to you to lay against the wall. His head tilting enough trying to make you nervous.

It was always like this with Hoomin. A constant flirtatious energy in the air, playful but electric. He flirted with everyone, but when he flirted with you, it felt personal. Or maybe that’s what each of them felt like.. maybe you were just as delusional as all the others.

You both stood there, close enough to feel the heat between you, the hallway quiet like the calm after the storm. He glanced down at your lips, then back at your eyes.

“You keep playing games,” he starts, “but every time you show up to my games, sit in the front row, wear my number… I know you’re not just messing around.”

You puffed just slightly. “Maybe I like watching you.”

“Yeah?” he asked still out of breath, eyes not leaving yours “What else do you like?”

You didn’t answer right away. Your heart pumped hard in your chest as you stared at him, his loud breath only sounded more serious. He wasn’t just being cocky anymore, he was being real.

“I like it when you’re not trying to impress everyone,” you said quietly, finally breaking eye contact from the pressure. “When you’re just… this version of you. With me.”

His breath caught.

“God, you make it hard to keep my cool,” he muttered, suddenly reaching up to push a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers brushed your cheek, warm and slow.

You felt your whole body tense at the intimacy of it, your usual witty retort completely gone.

“I like it when you mess with me,” he added. “But I love it when you look at me like that.”

“Like what?” you asked, genuinely curious, your voice smaller, vulnerable.

“Like you see past all of it.” He gazed from your left eye to your right, like it was the entry to your soul.

The air between you was different now. Hoomin leaned in, close enough that his lips grazed your cheekbone. “I could kiss you right now,” he whispered, his voice shaky.

You swallowed hard. “You’re all sweaty.”

He laughed, warm and throaty. “You like it.”

Maybe you did. You didn’t answer.

His hand dropped to your waist, fingers brushing over your shirt lightly, almost testing you. You shivered instantly, trying not to show it but the smirk that spread across his face told you he noticed.

“Come with me,” he said, tugging your hand gently. “Locker room’s empty now.”

You raised a brow. “You’re inviting me into a sweaty locker room? How romantic.”

He leaned in close again. “I’ll make it worth your time.”

Your heartbeat quickened. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of how flustered you were, but the truth was, you wanted to follow him.

Even though you always teased him.

Even though you claimed you weren’t impressed.

Because this wasn’t just the cocky basketball star anymore. This was Hoomin, with his ridiculous grin and his stupidly perfect smile and his rare, unguarded moments that made you melt.

And when he looked at you like that, like you were the center of his universe, it was hard not to give in.

So you followed him.

And for once, you didn’t feel like messing with him at all. He couldn’t believe how easily you’d listen to him without making little comments.

Hoomin had half the school wrapped around his finger most days, flirting came as easy as breathing.

But with you? Every comeback you gave him, every playful joke, every little smirk you gave him, it knocked him off his game in ways a basketball couldn’t match.

The locker room was quiet, dim except for the faint overhead light humming above the rows of lockers. He dropped his bag with a loud sound and turned to you, taking in the way your eyes scanned the space, curious, but you also felt out of place, this is a boy’s restroom.. pretty much.

“You know,” his cocky tone softened, “You’re the reason I missed so many shots” he dried his face with a towel

You tilted your head. “Why’s that?”

He was hesitant, not his usual kind. He almost looked.. shaken up? Vulnerable even. “You make jt hard to focus” He was only more and more confusing. He’s far from the type to beat around the bush but it’s like he was hiding the craziest secret from you right now.

He just closed the gap between you, one hand finding the small of your back, the other rising to cup your jaw. His thumb brushed your cheek as he leaned in suddenly, slow, sincere, and soft, giving you every chance to pull away.

Your eyes widened, the sudden gesture making your body warmer than it already was. But you didn’t pull away.

The kiss started soft. Testing the waters. Plump lips pressed against yours with focus, like he was memorizing how you tasted. But then your hand fisted in his shirt, and that was it, he deepened the kiss, lips parting, breath unbeat with yours as he pulled you in tighter.

Everything slowed down.

He felt the way you sighed against his mouth, the way your hands moved from his shirt to his waist, gripping lightly like you didn’t want him going anywhere.

He wouldn’t have even if you asked him to.

When he pulled back, just a little, he rested his forehead against yours. Both of you breathing harder now, caught in the moment. Looking at your pretty zoned out face from up close.

“God, you drive me insane,” he murmured. “You always act like I don’t faze you, but then you’re looking at me like that and I—” he broke off, laughing softly. “You make me so uncertain, like no other”

That look, vulnerable, wide-eyed with uncertainty but hope he gave you? It was lethal.

“I make you uncertain?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m scared of making mistakes when it comes to you” he said without hesitation.

And then, because he couldn’t help it, he kissed you again. This time, slower. Deeper. Your hands slipped around of his boxer line, fingers brushing over the warm skin of his back. His breath hit against your lips.

“Careful,” he murmured, smiling into the kiss. “If you doing that, I won’t be able to let you leave for a while.”

You giggled, you actually did. And that did something to him he didn’t expect. Not lust. Not hunger. He looked at your smile in admiration, trying to print the image in his mind like you were going to dissipate into thin air the next second.

You could feel the tension in his muscles, still buzzing from the game, and he could feel your heartbeat, fast, just like his.

“You’re not just a game to me, you know that, right?”

You nodded, “Yeah. I know.”

You laughed at him a little, “Who knew the cocky basketball star had a soft side?”

He grinned. “Shut up and kiss me again.”

And for the first time in a long time, the noise in Hoomin’s world faded, and all that was left was you.

He may say he doesn’t want to play with you, but gosh did he kiss like he played, confident, fast paced like he did this many times before, but full of passion and something close to affection.

Your fingers drawing little circles on his back his his boxer line again, and your hands slid underneath the fabric.

“You like messing with me,” he said between kisses, lips brushing along your jaw, your throat, down to your collarbone. “But you’re all flustered now, huh?” He loved to tease you more than anything in this world.

You tried to respond, but you held your breath as his teeth grazed your skin.

“Mmhm, that’s what I thought,” Hoomin stepped back and threw his jersey over his head and tossed it somewhere away.

He pressed you gently against the lockers, a hand sliding beneath your shirt, fingertips skating up your back. His touch wasn’t rushed, it was reverent. Like he’d been imagining this and didn’t want to screw it up by moving too fast.

Your shirt soon left you and was throw somewhere along his.

After so much heated kissing, his head rest on your naked shoulder, letting the both of you catch your breaths, hearts pounding in sync.

“We don’t have to go further,” he took your hand, still breathing in the crook of your neck “We can just… stay here.”

You looked up at him, brushing his sweat damp hair back with your fingers. “I want to” the words slipped out your mouth quicker than you could even realize it.

The next moments blurred together, your too peeled away, fingers tracing lines of skin, heat building between soft laughs and murmured names. Hoomin just wanted to take care of you, there were moments where he’d stop just to look at you, to brush his thumb over your lip or trail his fingers down your side.

And you, Gosh you were just as guilty of it. Letting your guard drop, your playful mask melt away, realizing just how much you’d wanted to be close to him like this, under all the jokes and signs and flirting.

6:37pm

Half an hour of just feeling each other went on and you haven’t realized that you were both only wearing your lower underwears.

The whole school was probably home by now so you didn’t have to worry about getting caught. The gym had closed a while ago, after the game.

Both of you were light headed from all that intense kissing. Hoomin took a moment to analyse the current situation.

It felt like a fever dream, he had you all for himself after so much eager and hesitation. His fingers found their way down between your thighs, teasing you with his ring finger. His other hand traveled behind your back, pressing your bodies together.

The small and teasing circles he drew around your bud soon caused heat in your panties and he let out a sigh.

“Fuck If I knew I could have you like this, I would’ve done this long ago, you drive me nuts” you only whined in response, thoughts dissipating like he was blowing them away.

His breath became more controlled, his touches precise and his words intended, like he has set himself a mission to send you beyond your limits.

When your head rolled back, you felt his presence lower down your body, his breath on your lower stomach area, and his finger moving your pantie to the side.

You looked down in surprise not expecting him to have kneeled down crotch level, his lips met your inner thighs a few times before digging into your core.

“Shit H’min slow down” his kisses on your bare skin flew raw. His kisses felt more like he was making out. Hands gripping your thighs to keep you steady and stable as he ate you like you were his last meal.

A wave of pleasure washed over you, forcing your back into a slight arch, his face burying itself further into you. When you twitched, he made sure to control your body enough so he wouldn’t lose the build up he’s made on you.

Your heavy breaths transformed into mumbles and soft moans he swear he could die for. In this moment, time felt inexistent, you had no idea how much time had passed by. Maybe you should worry, but you simply weren’t able to when you had the boy of your dreams, tongue twisting around you, looking deep into your eyes, just waiting for your hums of approval.

Your hand naturally wraps itself through his hair, tightening your grip everytime you felt you got closer to your end. His eyes flickering under the slight pain but he’s not one to complain.

When he noticed your lips parting and legs slightly trembling, he knew you were close, so he gave his tired mouth all he’s got one last time, room filled with the noise of his lips sucking so passionately.

He doesn’t give you time to recover from your sudden release he’s already searching (digging) through his bag for protection.

“One second baby I got it”

The sudden nickname had your already flaming cheeks turn pink. He wasn’t even trying, the right words just came to him at the right times.

Ripping the condom wrap with his teeth, he checks up on you once again. “You sure this is okay?” You just nod at him, with what he thinks are the prettiest eyes he’s ever met.

There isn’t much hiding behind his boxers anyway, his bulge is way too obvious you can mentally prepare yourself. He takes his rocking hard crotch in his hands and pumps himself a few times, teetch biting his lower lip from the pain of how hard he was.

Your help him slide the condom on his dick, it was on the larger side, probably average length but bulky. Your arms wrap around his neck, anticipating the sharping pain in between your legs but he plunges his lips on yours again, to distract you from hurting.

He’s not the quiet type, he wants you to know how good you make him feel and loves for you to reciprocate it. He groans and moans deeply against your lips as he buckles his hips up and down in you at a slow place, giving you time to adjust.

When he feels your grip loosen enough around his length, he speeds up his pace, the noisy skin slapping sound taking over and almost making your head spin.

You could feel him in your depths, and it wasn’t as uncomfortable as you thought it would be, maybe the kiss made it better or he just has his way with you.

Hoomin’s hands grip your thighs and without a warning his lifts you up the cold floor and wraps your legs around his waist. Maybe he was flexing a little too hard, or he could never get enough closeness with you.

He couldn’t help but grunt a little everytime he thrusts into you, feeling himself completely losing his sanity every minute that would pass.

You were too dumb fucked to think properly, “fck baby you can’t look at me with those eyes, I won’t last long” you weren’t doing it on purpose, the feeling of his buried inside you is better than anything you’ve ever felt before. And the way he could just handle you the way he wanted to, gosh you could have a climax from that alone

He puts you back onto your feel when his arms tire out, turning you around like he owed your body and knew exactly how to fold you. You were facing the wall, his hands attaching to your hips like they were his sole source of stability and he entered you again, this time was much more easy, he could practically slip in from how wet you were.

Hoomin’s first instinct was to lean down and bite your ear. “You’re lucky everyone’s gone by this time, you’re so loud I bet even the upstairs classes would’ve heard you” he mocks you but thrust hard into you when you open your mouth to argue back

“fucking you so dumb you can’t answer me?” He teases the fuck out of you as he always had. And even worse when you reach your second climax. Your knees felt like they were about to fail you, vision blurry and hands gripping onto absolutely- nothing.

“That’s right baby, you’re doing so good, I’m close too hold on just a little more, you can do this” Hoomin’s swallowing back moans threatening to escape through every bit of sentence and dirty talk he gave you.

His pace soon got saccadic, hips bucking into you at a messy speed, losing his rhythm. And with a few last thrusts he completely loses it, eyes shutting, trying to take all of the feelings, your pretty voice mixed with the heat of your body glued against him but also his pride and stress release hitting him.

He didn’t have to worry about doing things wrong with you anymore, he knew you were crazy for him the same way he was for you.

⸻

Wrapped in one of his hoodies, curled up beside him on the bench after everything slowed down, you felt it for the first time, not just desire, but something deeper humming quietly beneath it all.

And when he pulled you close again, kissing your temple and whispering something stupid just to make you smile, you knew you liked him, a whole fucking lot.

Part 2 - Meet and Greet

MASTERLIST HERE

[gotaksboyfie]

Sieun x reader nsfw hcs? Just like Gotak’s!! Really enioyed his!!

sieun nsfw hc's

female reader + male reader + general

» extremely nervous for the first time. you even catch him legitimately studying erogenous zones on girls, with him taking notes and all. fortunately, it seems like all the studying worked when he makes you feel good in places you didn't even know existed

» when it comes to eating you out, he's very coordinated with his fingers and mouth. they move in tandem, never giving you a break from the constant pleasure. he really likes fingering you too, massaging your sweet spot

» likes playing with your tits while you ride him. his eyes are filled with fascination as he squeezes tugs at your nipples, gauging your reaction

» would be open to pegging, but slightly hesitant at first. once it's fully in though, he falls in love with the feeling instantly.

» bottomest bottom to ever bottom. 100% a pillow princess. sieun's content to lay there and take it, letting you lead. he can cum untouched most times, just feeling you hit his prostate over and over is enough for him to tip over the edge

» loves it when you're rough with him. it gives him a moment to stop thinking for once, and fully focus on the pleasure he's feeling. when you leave bruises on him, he'll press on it when he's alone and jerk off to the thought of you fucking him again

» sieun has a slight gag reflex, so he can't deepthroat you fully. still, he can take most of you. when you start grabbing his hair and pushing his head up and down, sieun starts to unconsciously grind against your leg. he doesn't actively seek his orgasm, because the feeling of you facefucking him is more than enough

» a real moaner. he's on the quieter side most of the time. if he's bottoming, he'll be much louder and more whiny. however if he's on top, his moans dwindle down and are closer to airy grunts.

» loves your hands on him. feeling the physical contact makes him feel more grounded and safe. he'll never say it out loud, but one of his favorite things that you do during sex is when you reach out to hold his hand

» leans a lot towards the submissive side, but can have a dominant streak whenever he's feeling possessive or pent up.

» likes having his hair pulled a lot. the pain is more than welcome to sieun. the sensation of getting tugged around by his head makes him feel dizzy from how hot it is. always moans so prettily whenever you tug particularly hard

» has little stamina. after 2 orgasms, he's usually tired enough to be knocked out cold. on rare occasions he can go up to 3, but only if he's extremely pissed.

» to make up for his lack of stamina, he'll find other means to make sure you feel good. if you have a high libido, he'll have you ride his thigh or sit on his face. he also has 2 perfectly good hands to help you

» doesn't get extremely jealous often but when he does, he won't show it in public. but when you're in private he'll go rough on you. he'll mark and bite you, making sure it's obvious that you're taken. the jealousy is usually enough to have him fucking into you hard, making even the neighbors aware of who you belong to

» he's average sized. around 5" and somewhat skinny. what he lacks in size, he makes up with other means

» loves getting edged. having a lack of control over his orgasms always gets him so worked up. gradually, he'll get louder and louder until he's openly sobbing for any relief. fat tears stream down his cheeks as he tries to puppy dog eyes his way into being given permission to cum

» likes edging you too, but he always goes soft and lets you cum way too early. even if you want him to stretch it out longer, he likes seeing your blissed out expression too much to hold back. he's also completely useless against your pleas, always giving in

» favorite body part of yours is your waist. he'll always have one hand holding onto it when he's topping. otherwise, his eyes will be glued to how your waist moves

» only likes fucking in private. public fucking is something sieun's just not up for. he doesn't want anyone else to see the both of you doing such intimate things. that's reserved for only him.

» not the most kinky person out there, but a big one of his is dacryphilia. seeing you burst out into tears from pleasure lets him know that he's doing a good job, and even urges him to do better to see more tears drip down your face. being a slight crier himself, he likes letting go enough to start crying. it heightens what he's feeling, letting him bask in it more.

fin