#~muhan

[ink-on-paper]

Excessive response

Walking in the room

Eyes on me

Following

Outside, people

Together, an amalgamation

My breath got cut

I'm on the front line

Something is wrong

But everyone is smiling

We're happy

So why am I trembling?

I wish for pain

For a reason to be afraid

For someone to hurt me

So I'll be allowed to bite

Or I'll just be forever

terrified of life

~Muhan

[pedropascalsx]

[gdinthehouseee]

Like a Villain: KWON JI-YONG x READER

summary: you get invited for a cameo in infinity challenge's muhan company segment, playing a rival character to your boyfriends' and the on-screen chemistry is undeniable.

word count: 3284

tags: fluff; flirting, teasing, tension (in a good way)

ao3 link

The set of Muhan Company is as lively as ever—staff members adjusting the lighting, cameras rolling in place, and the cast running through their lines with a mix of focus and playful chaos. Ji-yong, dressed in his iconic grey suit, leans against the director’s chair, his usual calm and collected demeanor in place. He’s used to this by now. Variety shows, scripted comedy, rolling with the unexpected—it’s all second nature. Even playing a company worker caught up in absurd business scandals feels almost normal. Today should be no different. Or at least, that’s what he tells himself.

“Your rival’s coming in soon,” one of the writers tells him, flipping through the script. “Should be a good scene—intense, dramatic, real high stakes.”

Ji-yong just hums in response, nodding absentmindedly. He knows you’ll be playing his on-screen rival today, but it’s nothing he’s not prepared for. He’s watched you act before, seen the way you fully embody a role. It’ll be fun—maybe even a little challenging, but nothing that could shake him.

Then, you walk onto the set, and everything changes.

You’re dressed in a sleek, perfectly tailored suit, exuding confidence with every step in your matching designer heels that click against the floor. The kind of presence that turns heads and demands attention. The kind of presence that makes it hard to remember this is all scripted.

Ji-yong swallows, watching as you adjust your cuffs, completely unfazed by the way all eyes subtly shift toward you. His jaw tightens when you finally look up, meeting his gaze with that same sharp glint you always get when you know you have the upper hand.

“Ready, Mr. Kwon?” You ask smoothly, voice dripping with challenge.

He shifts in his seat, his fingers pressing into his palm before he exhales through his nose, forcing himself to stay composed. “Always,” he replies, keeping his tone cool, but there’s a flicker of something in his expression—something the cameras aren’t rolling for yet.

“Look at him. He’s already breaking character.” Someone chuckles to themself behind you, and you can’t help but smile at the comment. 

“No, I’m not.” Ji-yong says immediately, clearing his throat. He turns his focus back to the script in his hands, but the words blur for a moment. 

You smirk, knowing exactly what you’re doing to him. “I can’t wait to see how this plays out… try to keep up, sir.” 

He exhales a small laugh, shaking his head. “You just worry about yourself.”

Ji-yong sits at his desk, a picture of composed authority. His fitted suit is crisp, his tie impeccably knotted, every inch of him exuding the effortless charisma that made him the perfect choice for this role. One hand rests idly on the desk, fingers drumming a slow, thoughtful rhythm. The other holds a pen he isn’t using, simply twirling it between his fingers as he surveys the room with an expression of calculated disinterest. It’s all part of the act, of course. His character, the ruthless department head, doesn’t flinch—doesn’t need to. No matter the crisis, he remains in control.

But then, the door opens. The click of your shoes against the tile is the only sound that follows, sharp and deliberate, cutting through the quiet like a blade. The weight of your presence is immediate, an unspoken authority settling over the room.

Ji-yong’s fingers still against the desk.

You don’t just walk in—you command the space, the subtle tailored lines of your suit precise, every movement purposeful. There’s no hesitation in the way you carry yourself, no uncertainty. You take your time, surveying the room, gaze dragging over every inch of the office before finally landing on him.

He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move. But beneath the surface, his pulse flickers—just for a second, just enough that you would notice. Your lips curve into the faintest smirk.

There’s no real question in your tone—only amusement, edged with something sharper. “I expected something… bigger.”

The silence that follows is thick, suffocating. The rest of the office remains unnervingly still. No one moves, no one reacts. If anyone so much as breathes too loudly, it isn’t heard. Ji-yong watches you carefully, his expression unreadable. Then, with excruciating slowness, he leans forward, resting his forearms against the desk. His gaze is steady, unwavering.

“And you are?”

You tilt your head slightly, considering him.

“Oh? Didn’t they tell you?” A pause. Then, a slow, deliberate step forward. “I’m your new competition.”

Another beat of silence.

Ji-yong’s jaw tightens, almost imperceptibly. The weight of your words settles over the room like a storm rolling in—slow, inevitable. But he exhales steadily, barely a flicker of emotion on his face as he tilts his head slightly. “Competition?” His lips curve into something between a smirk and a scoff. “That’s funny.”

With practiced ease, he leans back, regaining every ounce of the power you dared to shift in your favor. “I don’t remember asking for one.”

“Good thing for you, I’m already here.”

The space between you is minimal now.

Ji-yong’s fingers flex against the desk, his grip tightening for the briefest second before he smooths it over. The air between you crackles—charged, almost unbearable in its weight.

A pause.

Then, your voice drops, just for him.

“What’s wrong?” You murmur, tilting your head ever so slightly. A smirk plays at your lips, your next words a dangerous whisper. “You look nervous.”

Something sharp flickers behind Ji-yong’s gaze.

A challenge.

The silence stretches, suffocating in its intensity. No one moves. No one speaks. The weight of the moment presses down on the room, thick with something unspoken yet entirely unmistakable. Then—

Ji-yong exhales sharply through his nose, something between amusement and frustration ghosting over his expression. But he doesn’t break. Instead, he matches your smirk, slow and deliberate.

“Me? Nervous?” A soft chuckle, low and dangerous. He shakes his head. “You must not know me very well.”

“I guess I’ll just have to fix that.”

The moment lingers for a fraction longer—an unbearable stretch of tension before the director finally calls, “Cut.”

Only then does the office seem to breathe again. Ji-yong exhales, leaning back into his chair fully, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the weight of the scene. His gaze flickers to you, unreadable. You? You simply smile. Unbothered. Unshaken. And Ji-yong knows, without a doubt—this is going to be very interesting.

You stand across from Ji-yong, the tension from the previous scene still lingering like a spark in the air, waiting to ignite. The office setting around you—the stark desks, the bland overhead lighting—feels almost suffocating in its normalcy, unable to contain the electricity humming between you.

Ji-yong plays his role flawlessly. Seated at his desk, he exudes effortless dominance, one leg crossed over the other, fingers resting loosely against the polished wood. His suit remains pristine, but there’s something different now—a tautness in his shoulders, a glint in his eyes that betrays the otherwise cool exterior.

The lines between fiction and reality blur as you step closer. Your character—his rival, his equal—moves with the same unwavering confidence as before, but this time, there's an unmistakable shift in your approach. The challenge remains, but now, it simmers with something more dangerous, something almost indulgent.

You place both hands on the desk, leaning in just enough to invade his space. He doesn’t flinch. But you see the way his fingers tighten against the surface, the minuscule shift in his expression. A slow inhale, controlled but deliberate.

“You seem tense,” you murmur, your voice smooth, edged with amusement. “Having trouble keeping up?”

His gaze flickers to your lips for a fraction of a second. Almost imperceptible—almost. The room is silent, but the weight of a dozen unseen eyes presses down, watching, waiting.

Ji-yong tilts his head, his smirk lazy, his amusement practiced. “You think very highly of yourself.”

You let out a quiet chuckle, shaking your head as if to say you have no idea. Then, ever so slightly, you push forward—close enough that if either of you moved an inch, the lines between character and reality would blur beyond recognition. Ji-yong doesn’t move back. You swear you hear a chair creak somewhere in the background. The air between you tightens, stretches—until—

“Uh… am I interrupting something?”

The moment is shattered by the next scripted interruption. A nervous employee clears his throat from the doorway, shifting awkwardly as if he’s walked into something he shouldn’t have. The tension breaks, but not entirely.

Ji-yong exhales slowly, a faint chuckle escaping him as he finally leans back, reclaiming his space. He doesn’t break eye contact, though. If anything, he holds it longer than necessary, as if memorizing every detail of the expression you wear now—your smirk, the unspoken dare in your eyes.

“Not at all,” he finally says, voice smooth but laced with something unreadable. “We were just finishing up.”

But something about the way he says it feels far from finished.

The director calls cut again, and for a moment, no one moves. The weight of the scene lingers in the air like static before the set finally exhales, the background noise rushing back in all at once—crew members adjusting cameras, staff murmuring as they prepare for the next shot. Ji-yong exhales, running a hand over his jaw before finally looking at you again.

There’s a flicker of something behind his eyes—something unspoken but unmistakable.

“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” He murmurs low enough that only you can hear.

Your lips curve into an infuriatingly slow smile. “A little,” you admit, tilting your head. “Why? Are you?”

Ji-yong doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he simply shakes his head, amusement flickering across his features before he exhales through his nose. And then, just before the next take begins, he smirks to himself and steps off to the side. He’s no longer in frame, but he can’t take his eyes off you. 

The scene unfolding in front of him is a power play—one designed with precision, meant to shift the balance in your character’s favor. And you? You step into it like you were born for this role. The office space has transformed. No longer a dull, fluorescent-lit wasteland of mundane bureaucracy, it now bends around you, molding itself to accommodate your presence. The weight of your authority is unmistakable as you stroll toward the center of the room, shoulders relaxed, chin tilted just enough to exude effortless control.

Then, without looking, you reach into the pocket of your tailored coat and pull out a cigarette.

He watches as the room reacts. There’s no hesitation. The moment you bring the cigarette to your lips, workers scramble. Someone nearly trips over a desk in their rush to grab a lighter. Another fumbles with a matchbox, hands shaking slightly as they strike it against the strip. You don’t acknowledge them, don’t even spare them a glance—just stand there, perfectly composed, waiting.

The first flame flickers to life, but before it can reach you, another worker shoves a sleek silver lighter forward, the polished metal catching the artificial light. The first one withdraws immediately, wordless in their defeat.

Your eyes flicker downward—just slightly—before you lean in, allowing the flame to kiss the end of the cigarette. You take your time, inhaling slowly, the ember glowing brighter, smoke curling at the edges of your lips before you exhale in a slow, unbothered stream.

The entire set is holding its breath.

Ji-yong’s jaw tightens. He swallows, watching the way you angle your head, the way your fingers rest lightly against the cigarette as you shift your weight, draping yourself against the edge of a desk like you own the place. And maybe, in this moment, you do.

You glance across the room, surveying the office workers with the detached amusement of someone who knows they’re untouchable. Then, with practiced ease, you remove the cigarette from your lips, tapping the ash into an abandoned coffee mug on someone’s desk—utterly indifferent to the stunned silence that follows.

Ji-yong lets out a slow breath. It’s annoying, really. The way you slip so effortlessly into this role, the way you command attention without a single wasted movement. The way the tension builds around you like a slow-burning fuse, pulling everyone into your orbit. It’s annoying. But it’s also—

“Cut!”

The director’s voice shatters the moment, and the crew finally exhales, the tension dispersing as staff members move in to reset the scene. Laughter bubbles up somewhere in the background—staff murmuring about how intense the moment was, how natural you made it look.

Ji-yong doesn’t laugh.

He just watches as you step out of character, rolling your shoulders before stretching your arms overhead, the cigarette now discarded. You say something to one of the stylists, something lighthearted, and they laugh as they adjust your coat.

And then—

As if sensing the weight of his stare, you turn. Your gaze meets his across the room, and for a split second, something passes between you. Something heavy. Something unspoken. Then, your lips curve into a slow, knowing smirk.

Ji-yong exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head before dropping his gaze. Annoying. Absolutely annoying. But damn if it doesn’t make his pulse quicken.

The shoot stretches on, scene after scene unfolding like an intricate game of chess, each move calculated but never predictable. Ji-yong finds himself locked in an unspoken battle—not just between the characters but something deeper, something that lingers even when the cameras cut. The rivalry dynamic is perfect. Too perfect. With every take, you slip further into character, wielding power and confidence like second nature. Your presence commands every scene, your movements sharp and deliberate, your words laced with something just sharp enough to sting but smooth enough to feel dangerous. The cameras adore it, capturing every flicker of intensity between you and Ji-yong, every slow glance, every near-imperceptible smirk exchanged between battles of wit.

And Ji-yong? He gives as good as he gets. His character is arrogant, slick with confidence, but there’s a tension beneath the surface, a tight coil that threatens to snap every time you step closer. Every time you invade his space, tilt your head, let a slow, knowing smile curl your lips just enough to challenge him.

The others play their roles well, reacting to the dynamic without overstepping, their silence amplifying the tension between you both. There are no remarks from the other cast members, no teasing from the production team—just the quiet, collective awareness that something is happening. Something charged. Something addictive.

The pacing of the shoot is relentless, jumping from power plays to verbal sparring, from stolen glances to high-stakes confrontations. You throw accusations like knives; Ji-yong dodges them with a smirk but never unscathed. The push and pull is intoxicating, an unbreakable rhythm that builds with each take.

“That’s a wrap!”

The room exhales all at once. Crew members shuffle to power down equipment, stylists and managers step in to check on their talents, and the once-cloaked tension finally lifts—at least, for everyone else.

Ji-yong, however, stays where he is. He watches as you shake hands with the director, exchanging words of gratitude before slipping seamlessly back into yourself—your character melting away with an easy stretch of your shoulders, a relaxed sigh of relief. It’s such a stark contrast to the commanding presence you carried mere minutes ago that it’s almost disorienting. Almost. But not quite.

You turn, scanning the room, and your gaze locks onto his instantly yet again. And there it is again—that unspoken thing, that electric current that hasn’t fully let go. 

He tilts his head slightly, arms still crossed as he leans back against one of the desks, watching, waiting.

You, on the other hand, have the audacity to smile. Not the slow, knowing smirks from earlier. Not the sharp, calculated ones you wielded like a weapon throughout the shoot. No—this one is softer, more playful, almost as if you’re amused by the way he’s still lingering, still watching. As if you expected it. Slowly, you make your way over, casual, unhurried—like you have all the time in the world.

“You survived,” you remark, voice light but tinged with something teasing as you come to a stop in front of him.

Ji-yong huffs a quiet laugh through his nose, finally uncrossing his arms. “Barely.”

Your smile widens. “You looked like you were having fun.”

He exhales, running a hand over his jaw as he lets his eyes flicker over you—still dressed in your tailored outfit, still carrying the remnants of that razor-sharp confidence.

And then, after a beat, he shakes his head, lips curling just slightly. “You’re dangerous.”

It’s not an accusation. It’s not even a complaint. It’s a fact. One you both know all too well.

Your laughter is quiet but unmistakable as you lean in just a fraction—close enough that only he can hear when you murmur, “You seem to like it.”

He doesn’t answer right away. He just watches you for a second longer, lets the weight of the day settle between you before finally—finally—he exhales, shaking his head as he lets a slow, exasperated smile break through.

“Annoyingly so.”

And with that, the spell is broken.

The set continues to wind down, the world slowly pulling you both back into reality. But even as stylists and staff begin ushering you away, even as managers call for Ji-yong’s attention elsewhere, that lingering energy between you remains.

By the time you and Ji-yong leave the set, the internet is already on fire. It starts with a single clip—just a short, seemingly harmless teaser from one of the camera operators who uploads a behind-the-scenes moment to social media. Just a glimpse of the intense back-and-forth between you and Ji-yong, the smirks, the near-touch, the weight of every unscripted glance.

And that’s all it takes.

Within an hour, it’s trending. Fans are losing their minds. The fan edits start rolling in at an alarming speed. Dramatic black-and-white gifs, slowed-down clips with sultry background music, captioned screenshots dissecting every microexpression between you and Ji-yong. Someone even edits a fake movie trailer, cutting your scenes together as if the two of you are the leads in a high-stakes corporate thriller with a dangerously romantic subplot.

Ji-yong sees all of it. Judging by the way his phone has been vibrating non-stop, so has everyone else.

The moment you both step into the back of the car, leaving the studio behind, he exhales dramatically, tossing his phone onto the seat beside him before turning to you.

“Do you see what you’ve done?” His voice is somewhere between exasperation and amusement.

You glance at your own phone, scrolling through the chaos with a barely concealed smile. “Me? I did this?”

“You know what you did.”

“The people have spoken. They liked it.”

“Liked it? They’re acting like we’re starring in a whole new drama piece.”

You laugh, scrolling through the comments. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

He side-eyes you, lips twitching. “You enjoyed this way too much.”

“Maybe.” You shrug, turning to him with a knowing smile. “You did too.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he watches you, the city lights flashing past the window, reflecting off your skin in golden streaks. After a beat, he exhales, shaking his head as he leans back against the seat, voice low and teasing.

“Dangerous.”

“Annoyingly so?”

Ji-yong sighs, throws his arm over your shoulder to pull you closer, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your temple before murmuring against your skin, “…Definitely.”

taglist: @thanosscrossmain @maskedcrawford @mirahyun @riddlerloveb0t @onyxmango @sherrayyyyy @seunghyunwifey @mattsturniolosbabymama @redhoodedtoad @bettelaboure @cinnamonbear22 @xxxicddbr88 @infinetlyforgotten @babygirlewis @loveesiren @tulentiy @babyrvis @ldydeath @wcnderlands @eru-vande @breakmeoff @petersasteria @aizshallnotbefound @allthoughtsmindfull

[gaecoo]

LOVElution

[resinriever]

I'm still pleased as peaches with how this dye job came out! He looks so natural ❤️ (his head cap is the color he started as

[visual-virtue]

tripleS LOVElution a ver scans

[mocchas]

triple S icons

girl's capitalism icons: yubin, seoyeon and hyerin

like and reblog if you save it

[lunarseelie]

[bjdlog]

Muhan's Doll Puppy Box Opening

Mini-box-opening for the doll head I won at NYC Doll Con

Will stay in his box for a bit, but I have some ideas for him already.

[ink-on-paper]

Paesaggio d'ottobre

Nebbia padrona di ottobre, piano si impossessa del mondo, entrando nelle case e negli animi.

Un leggero velo che scorre dagli alberi, delicatamente si appogge sulla pianura. La realtá, cosí oscurata, è lontana.

Tutto pare immobile. Bloccato nel tempo dal freddo vapore autunnale. Luci vicine e lontane hanno la stessa intensitá, tutto è ignoto, oltre il limite del visibile.

La chiarezza viene a mancare, perso in un labirinto senza strade. Piccola bolla sicura, staccata dal mondo, il cielo non può raggiungere i suoi abitanti.

Infinito paesaggio, si slancia nell'orizzonte ormai cancellato. Al di lá nascono possibilitá che rimarranno incolte, intoccate, non trovate.

Staccato dall'umanitá, nebbia perenne nel mio animo. Regole di fumo che gestiscono l'uomo, inafferrabili.

Il freddo raggiunge le ossa, sole e abbandonate nella foresta di pini. Nebbia scende sul viso ormai scomparso. Cielo griglio al calare del sole incornicia gli alberi dormienti, indifferenti.

Sensazioni rapite dal freddo umido dell'aria visibile lasciano un corpo vuoto disteso sul suolo.

La nebbia si rivolge a me con parole distanti e dolci. Irraggiungibile, aggredita, capisce il mio dolore. La calda crudeltá umana è curata dalla sua fredda carezza.

~Ecar

~Muhan

[dormimi-zzz]

I see so many posts of Palestinian art and the Palestinian flag get reblogged far more than the actual fundraisers and it has me concerned.

Please, artists of tumblr who want to support Palestine, help us with their gofundmes by linking them with your art. It would help spread them out so much more so they can be seen by possible donors. I have seen some artists do this, and it has been very effective. This is where art has power.

🌸Here are some fundraisers you can help support.

[kstarvibes]

tripleS Subunit LOVElution Liberate Their 1st Mini Album "LOVElution (Muhan)"

2022 was once a 12 months the place a large number of issues took place within the Okay-Pop scene. From departure, disbandment and hiatus, many teams additionally made their debut, some being in reality a success, basically amongst lady teams. In case you are curious to be told in regards to the teams that have made their debut in 2022, to find out extra beneath. Kpopmap has spotted that there…

[sayruq]

Here are some fundraisers you could support:

Mohamed Hamad

Nora Maliha

Bilal Salah

Tahani Shorbajee

Muhannad Shaheen

Youssef Balousha

Mahmoud Abu Hamam

Wafaa

Momen Alostaz

Mohammed Ayesh

Photojournalist Muhammad Al-Thalateeni

Boost. Donate if you can

[resinriever]

How it started vs how it's going

(mods are so scary y'all lol I'm tryin to trust the process lol)

[bettelaboure]

⊹ Whispers of control ⊹ | Kwon Ji-yong

⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹

⊹ Pairing: Kwon Ji-yong x Reader

⊹ Warnings: power dynamics, mature themes, intense emotional and physical intimacy, a little bit of spicy (i think a little bit)

⊹ Summary: reader's growing attraction to Kwon Ji-yong, who portrays a dominant CEO on a show. Their playful flirtation intensifies off-set, leading to a passionate encounter fueled by the power dynamics of his character. The chemistry between them blurs the lines between acting and reality, igniting their desires.

⊹ Authors note: I hope you guys will find it entertaining 🫣🤍

⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹

The set of Infinite Challenge was buzzing with energy, crew members shuffling around, cameras shifting angles, and cast members chuckling between takes. But for you, everything else was a blur, because your eyes were locked on only one man.

Kwon Ji-yong sat confidently in the high-backed leather chair in the middle of the faux corporate office. The transformation was unreal. The sweet, loving boyfriend you knew so intimately had vanished, replaced by the dominating and ruthless CEO of Muhan Company. Dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit, his posture screamed authority. His dark, slicked-back hair, the sharp angles of his jawline, and the cold, calculating glint in his eyes made your stomach flip in the most dangerous way.

It wasn’t just the role; it was how he owned it. The way he leaned back in his chair, elbows resting on the armrests like a king surveying his kingdom. The way his deep, commanding voice sent chills down your spine.

And suddenly, you wanted him—badly.

Between takes, you played it subtle. You leaned close, your lips brushing the shell of his ear as you whispered, “You play this character too well, Ji. It’s making me feel things I shouldn’t be feeling on set.”

His lips curled into an amused smirk. “Oh?” His voice dropped, low and knowing. “What kind of things?”

You swallowed, cheeks burning, but you held his gaze. “Things I’d rather show you than tell you.”

Ji-yong inhaled sharply, eyes darkening as they flickered down to your lips before he forced himself to snap back into character for the next take. But you saw the way his fingers twitched. He had felt that too.

Between takes, he didn’t let up. Whenever he walked past you, his hand would ghost over your waist, a teasing touch that left heat trailing in its wake. His sharp gaze would catch yours, holding it just a second too long, making your breath hitch. At one point, as you walked by his chair, he tugged you gently by the wrist, his lips mere inches from your ear.

“Careful, baby,” he murmured, his voice deep and laced with amusement. “Keep looking at me like that, and I won’t be able to hold back.”

Your knees nearly gave out. He let you go with a smirk, acting like nothing had happened while you tried to regain control of your breathing.

⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹

When the episode aired, you curled up on the couch, remote in hand, alone in your shared apartment. The moment Ji-yong’s cold, ruthless CEO persona filled the screen, you bit your lip so hard it almost hurt. Watching him command the room, his sharp gaze daring anyone to oppose him, the way his voice rumbled with authority—it had your thighs pressing together instinctively.

You grabbed your phone, fingers typing out a message before you could stop yourself.

You look so fucking hot like this.

A second later, you added:

I want to fuck that CEO.

He saw it immediately—but left you on read.

Your heart pounded. He was toying with you now, and you hated how much it turned you on.

⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹

The moment Ji-yong walked through the front door, something in the air shifted. He was still your Ji-yong, but there was something else—an edge, a danger that hadn’t quite left him since filming.

He loosened his tie slowly, eyes locked on you as you stood there in your silk pajama shorts and tank top. You were suddenly too aware of how little you were wearing, how heated your skin had already become just from the sight of him.

“So,” he drawled, stepping closer, his voice still laced with the dominance you’d been craving, “you want to fuck my character, huh?”

You swallowed, feigning innocence as you looked up at him through your lashes. “Maybe.”

Ji-yong hummed, tilting his head as he ran a finger along your jaw, tilting your chin up. “I don’t think you know what you’re asking for, baby.”

His lips crashed into yours before you could reply, hands gripping your waist as he backed you up against the hallway wall. The kiss was deep, slow, teasing—his tongue sweeping against yours in a way that left you breathless. His hands roamed your body, fingers slipping under the hem of your tank top, skimming over your heated skin.

“You’ve been teasing me all day,” he murmured against your lips, his breath hot as he pressed his body flush against yours. “Now it’s my turn.”

You gasped as his mouth trailed down your jaw, down your neck, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer, pressing his hardness against you just enough to make your knees weak.

“Ji-yong…” His name left your lips as nothing more than a whimper.

“That’s not what you called me earlier,” he teased, voice dark with amusement. “You wanted the ruthless CEO, didn’t you?”

You trembled as he guided you backward, leading you towards the dining table. His lips never left your skin, placing slow, open-mouthed kisses along your throat. Before you knew it, he had you bent over the table, his hands firmly gripping your waist from behind.

“You love this, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice deep, commanding. One hand trailed up your back, pressing you down slightly. “The way I take my time, the way I make you wait.”

You whimpered, feeling the heat pooling between your thighs. “Yes…”

His chuckle was dark, teasing. “So desperate for me,” he mused, his fingers tracing slow circles over your hips before sliding lower, teasing.

He leaned down, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your spine, his lips trailing lower and lower. Each kiss was agonizingly slow, his tongue flicking against your skin, making you arch beneath him. His hands slid up your waist, fingertips barely grazing your ribs before they trailed back down, squeezing your hips firmly.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured, pressing a lingering kiss between your shoulder blades. “Is this what you wanted, baby?”

His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your shorts, teasing along the edge but never quite moving where you needed him most. His other hand smoothed over your back, gripping the nape of your neck just firmly enough to send shivers down your spine.

“Tell me,” he whispered against your skin, lips trailing along the curve of your shoulder, “do you still want him now?”

You bit your lip, panting. “Yes… please.”

Ji-yong smirked, his hands roaming your body, teasing, torturing, building the fire between you until you were nothing more than a trembling mess beneath him.

“Then, let’s see how much you can take.” He murmured as his fingers trailed over your bare thighs, smirking a little when your body twitched under his touch.

“I know you better than you know yourself, Jagiya.” Ji-yong whispered as his leg slid between your own. “I know what makes you excited, I know what makes you sad,” he brushed his lips against your exposed back, as your tank top rolled up. “I know what makes you scream my name.”

“Please,” you breathed out, desperate to feel him where you needed him the most.

“Ah, my good girl.” His thumb brushing along the soaked material, drawing out a small whine from you, when he circled your clit.

“I’m all yours.” You nodded, hands gripping the edge of the table, desperately trying to grind against his palm.

With a smirk, Ji-yong unbuttoned his shirt and threw it to the side, revealing a toned chest. You slightly tilted your head, watching his hand teasingly slowly unbuttoning his pants. You whimpered out as he slid your shorts down your legs, took your panties to the side and slipped in.

Your mind wandered other places, the ways he could take you and the things he could make you feel practically pulsed through your veins.

“Oh my God,” your whisper seemed to unlocked another side of Ji-yong, the one you have never met. Harder and faster was an understatement, it was the most blissful moment you could have ever experienced.

Ji-yong hit all the sweet spots, much rougher than usual. Especially in this state of mind, intoxicated by lust and passion. You threw your head back, giving a little glance to Ji-yong, seeing him lost in pleasure, a little drip of sweat running down his tattooed neck.

“Fuck, baby. That’s how you wish to be treated?” He thrust harder, in slowly pase to tease you even more, when he can feel that you are close. His hand slids in front of you, circling your clit. “Look at me. Look at me.”

Your eyelashes warily flutter open, head falling back as you let out little moans.

“That’s it. Come to me.” He whispers against your shoulder, arm tightening around your waist.

You shiver in his embrace, enamored by the way he speaks to you. The rough edge to his voice. The way his long fingers toy with your clit as he fucks into you from behind.

“Such a good girl for me.” The way his voice sounds makes you gasp. You know he does it on purpose; you know you asked for it. That’s what does it for you. Staring at him, loving him, feeling him. You come, breath leaving your lungs as he fucks you roughly through your climax, and he is half-second behind. Filling you up as your knees just about to give out from beneath you.

And you love the sounds he makes. You love the way he groans deeply before burying his face into your back. As he tries to kiss you through the slim material of your shirt. And you feel proud of how easily he loses himself for you. How willing he is to wrap himself around your finger.

He slips from you, helping you get up from the table while a burning feeling of exhaustion occupies your body, pressing you to his chest.

“Maybe I should do Infinite challenges more often,” he whispers against your ear, sending shivers through your body.

[mocchas]

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