Lαɳα

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It’s been thirty minutes. 

Thirty minutes since he touched you last, since he meticulously undressed you and laid you down on the pool table next to his DJ’ing equipment. He had just finished his set, turned the camera off and checked that the recording came out alright before he packed it away in its travel case. Then, he had turned to you, waiting for him on the couch just off-screen. 

Most of the day had been spent shopping in the city, both high-end and thrift stores alike. Doesn’t matter that your boyfriend is worth millions, he still is a firm believer that thrifts can hold valuable gems of clothing that luxury ones don’t. He throws so much money at you on a regular basis, but especially in Los Angeles. The air of celebrities gets to your boyfriend like no other place in the world. It’s like his own celebrity alter ego takes over as soon as the plane lands at LAX. Suddenly you’re in a 1960’s Cadillac convertible, top down and driving through Malibu. You walk out of multiple designer stores with a member of staff carrying your bags to the car. Every five-star restaurant has a reserved, private table waiting for you. 

Honestly though, you’re just happy to be able to spend some time with your boyfriend. Chronically busy and a workaholic, it’s nice to come here and see him relax for once. You love that he invites you to the recording studios, getting the chance to watch your boyfriend work with artists he has loved for years, learning more and teaching them in return. He lets his guard down as much as he’s able to – there’s still fans he has to be careful of – and he has the chance to be authentically himself in every way. 

Including tonight. 

Everything nice and doting about him changes once the sun goes down. The celebrity ego has its own dark side, too.    

The single, overhead light makes you feel like a bug under a microscope. A spotlight that highlights everything he’s not doing to you. Something about the Los Angeles air brings out his inner rich socialite, as well as the hidden sadist within him. Every time you’re here with him, you always leave with marked skin and a renewed submission to your boyfriend.  

By the looks of it, this trip won’t be any different. 

Hongjoong’s left you alone and untouched, splayed open on this fucking pool table for thirty minutes. You glare at his hoodie, that he still hasn’t taken off. An offending extra layer that keeps him away from you. Meanwhile, there’s not a stitch of clothing, or fabric of any kind for that matter, anywhere near you. You have a sneaking suspicion he’ll float the idea of you not wearing anything tomorrow as well. 

Perv. 

He massages the back of his neck, torturing you with quiet groans. He knows what he’s doing. And yet you can’t say or do anything about it. You could, but then there’s a really good chance of not being touched or fucked at all for the rest of the trip. That threat is enough to keep you right where you are. No matter how much you want to reach for him and complain that you’ve been waiting long enough, he’ll only make you wait longer. 

One time, he fully left you for two hours, even closing the door behind him. He can and will make you wait. 

He stretches his neck and sighs, finally looking down at you again. You can’t help but whimper, a quiet plea to do something to you already. But he just smirks, electing to ghost his fingertips just above your skin. So close you can almost taste it, but not feel anything at all. It’s maddening. 

The smirk widens just a little. Enough to drive you crazier than before. 

“Shhh… stay still, love. Don’t move.” He whispers, just barely tracing your cheek with his lips and letting the warmth of his breath linger. So you’re sure to feel him even when he steps away. Bastard. 

You watch him through teary eyes, walk around the pool table and towards the kitchen. You hear a wine bottle open with a quiet pop! and he slowly pours himself a glass. Taking all the time in the world to do so. You want to cry for him to come back, to whine that you need him. But even more than that, you want to be good. So, you try to relax, your back pressing into the hard woolen felted surface of the pool table, and your tailbone digging uncomfortably into the raised side of it. 

You are so hyperfocused and yet delirious at the same time. It’s like your body can’t function properly without him. Every sound coming from the kitchen is heightened, the soft sound of a cabinet closing behind you may as well have been a gunshot. Your eyes burn and start to turn dry from being directly under the light. 

He walks back over to the pool table at a leisurely pace. Wine glass in one hand, phone in the other. He doesn’t even pay attention to you as he comes back into your line of sight. A sharp pang hits you in the chest, makes your eyebrows turn up, tears ready to fall again. 

God. When he wants to be, he can really be mean. 

He scrolls through Instagram and his messages until half of his wine is gone. He makes you watch the whole thing. 

Not soon enough, he eventually pockets his phone and takes another sip. Casual, and calm. Your breaths are short as you wait. Your whole nervous system is shot to hell by now with the amount of anticipation with no reward. But this is how it is. This is what you love. 

And he loves to see you like this, completely exposed in every conceivable way possible. Open and raw, emotionally and physically. He can watch the whole process play out right in front of him; how you gradually and inevitably fall apart. Because of him. Only for him. All of this is for his eyes only, and that might just be the best part. His darling girl, reduced to a teary, begging mess without even being touched. 

Not yet. 

Outside of these types of scenarios, he hates seeing you cry. He’s so protective of you, always making sure you’re safe and happy, and always knowing full well how much he loves you. He spoils you in everyday life. He can afford to humble you during times like these. 

Embarrassment creeps up the back of your neck as you look up at him, trying to ignore how you’re on full display. Not only in front of him, but also in front of the entire city. The sprawling, lit-up landscape of Los Angeles stretches across the view of the floor-to-ceiling windows, your audience for the night. Although, this may be the closest you’ll ever get to Hongjoong showing you off like this to people. No, this is just his. No one will ever get to see you like this. The visual of you in such a state is for his eyes only. 

But sometimes, even he likes to flirt with the idea of a whole city being an unknowing audience to your unraveling. Courtesy of one Kim Hongjoong. 

It’s starting to drive you crazy that you can’t see him. But this is part of it. The power play. A clear statement of dominance over you that you can do nothing about, apart from waiting for him to join you ‘on your level’. He’s got you so bad like this that now every time he so much as takes off his watch, you look at him expectantly, ready to do whatever he wants. Wherever, whenever. 

You take a couple deep breaths and close your eyes to calm down. Luckily, he lets you. Sometimes he doesn’t let you look away from him at all, but he allows you this small mercy for now. A small solace you find is that you can just focus on the familiar scent of his cologne. You designate that scent with safety and home. It’s one of the only things that can keep you sane throughout this ordeal. At least he’s here, in close proximity. You’d rather him be in the room with you, just barely touching you, than outside and not at all. 

A small ‘please’ tumbles from your lips, barely audible. But he hears it. He draws absentminded shapes into the felt of the table right next to your ribs. Tantalizingly close. Centimeters away from the bare minimum. 

“Hm?” He tilts his head, taunting you further. 

You squeeze your eyes shut even tighter, humiliation burning your cheeks, but he snaps his fingers twice, right by your ear, making you open them again.  

“You want something, darling?” He asks. 

You nearly explode. He knows damn well that you’re about ready to drool and pant for him like a dog. Hell, you’ll even start barking for him if that’s what will get him to touch you. Do something. You have to remember the payoff, although it’s nearly impossible while stuck in the middle of this torture. 

But if you want something, you have to ask. Nicely. 

“I want you, Joong. Please?” 

He doesn’t respond right away. He just continues drawing his little circular patterns next to you, letting his eyes travel up and down your body. Nothing is hidden from him. 

If you move your leg slightly to the left, you’ll touch him. The thought is so tempting. Just for one second of contact with him. He knows, too. He inches himself closer, silently daring you to do it. You can almost feel the fabric of his hoodie. A mix of swears and curses directed at him stays stuck in your head. You wouldn’t dare say any of them out loud. 

“‘Want me’, huh?” He echoes you with a small smile, “You don’t need me?”

Dammit. Fuck! You want to slap a hand over your mouth, as if that will erase what you said. Now you’ve done it. 

“I do need you, I misspoke, I’m sorry. Please, I need you so badly, please touch me.” You scramble to try and do some damage control. But your stupid word choice has already dictated his next actions. 

When he moves farther away from you again, you almost reach for him, desperate to pull him back, but he shoots you a deadly glare when he sees your arm twitch to do so. You go rigid again, keeping your arms glued to the table, by your side, just like he told you. Thankfully, he lets it slide. A strike one. 

There will not be a strike two. 

He walks around the table, out of your sight again, but you hear and feel him right behind you. If you crane your neck and risk a pulled muscle there, you’d be able to see him. When you feel him brush his fingers through the ends of your hair, you stop breathing. One wrong breath, too loud or too sharp could ruin it all. You refuse to even chance that happening. 

It’s unclear how long he stays there. You count the minutes by how many airplanes pass by the windows – seven – and the amount of distant police sirens somewhere down in the maze of streets – two. Your eyes threaten to flutter closed. Getting your hair played with is a well-known way to make you sleepy. Maybe that’s what he wants, for you to be caught in the middle of consciousness. It sounds like a nice place to be. You’re already halfway there. 

You’re almost drifting when his voice snaps you out of it, low and velvety right by your ear. 

“So beautiful,” he says, watching you blush. “I wanna hear my pretty girl beg for me again.” 

A small noise escapes you, half whine, half hum of agreement. You repeat your previous plea, with the correct wording this time, and pray that that’s enough to persuade him to touch you more than he is right now. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t give you any hints that you’re on the right track, getting close to what you want – or, need. 

“Please,” you try to look up as far as you can, trying to find him. “Joongie…please?” 

His hands leave your hair entirely, and you panic. 

“W-wait–!” Now you really try to crane your neck to see him, see what he’s doing. If he’s about to leave you. “Please, I’ll be good! I wanna be your good girl, Joongie, please stay.”

You can just barely see the hood of his sweatshirt, and an ounce of relief is granted to you. He’s not going anywhere. Not yet, anyway. You wait for him to say something, to tell you what you did wrong. Nothing comes. 

Instead, in the prolonged silence, that’s when his hands return. Brushing through your hair like he never left. This time, he even touches your scalp, and you freeze again. 

“Beg.” He directs again. 

But you… you are. He just asked you to. Are you not doing it the way he wants you to? You double down, being more specific. Again, you do as you’re told. You beg him in all the ways you know how. But he’s determined to push you further, deeper into near hysteria. The threat of a potential second strike looms over you, it stays right next to that damn overhead light. Tears well up, a couple of them escape past your waterline and disappear into your hairline by your ears. 

Hongjoong takes his hands away once more.          

“Beg.” 

Now you’re borderline sobbing. 

“I-I’m– hm– try-trying,” you whimper pathetically, “I don’t know what else you w-wanna hear.” 

Your hand moves to wipe your tears, but you remember his first order, given to you thirty minutes ago when this all started: don’t touch. Not you, not him. Don’t try to fix yourself. He wants to see what he does to you, how everything affects you. 

“Just beg, darling. Keep begging me.” 

And you do. For a good chunk of time that feels like eighty years, you beg him. Over and over. A warbling, incoherent, repeated ramble of pleas and promises that fall on seemingly deaf ears. He just lets his eyes wander over your body, listens to your desperation, touches you where you don’t need him. It’s humiliating. He watches greedily as a new wave of sobs wrack through you, hopeless and discouraged. And still trying. You’re almost afraid to stop. 

“Please, please, please touch me, I’ll do anything. Please, Joong, I just need you. I need you so bad, please do something.” You punctuate your begging with fresh, hot tears rolling down your cheeks. 

Hongjoong moves back around the table again, getting just a little too close to you, and the slight breeze of his movement against your core is almost too much. His gaze is fixated on how you clench seemingly around nothing, and the glistening of your lower lips under this lone overhead light. Like a spotlight. You’re the star. 

You’re his star. 

He leans over you, caging you between his arms on the pool table. He’s careful to not touch you at all though. Still. A sick part of him wants to see just how long it’ll take for you to snap. Or, if you will at all. You’re a tough little fighter. 

Your begging becomes quieter, more spaced out. Tiny hiccups of pleas flow from your lips, trying to figure out new ways to phrase what you want, new tactics to convince him. It’s just repetitive rambling, nearly incoherent and watery. You’re beginning to become completely hopeless. You doubt that he even had plans to touch you like that at all tonight. You’re just kidding yourself. It’s humiliating. 

You want to close your legs and preserve some of your dignity, but you know it belongs to him. Everything does. Body and mind, heart and soul. Any honor or dignity has already been handed over to Hongjoong a long time ago, and he ultimately decides what to do with them. Plus, if you’re wrong and he does plan on giving you what you want, and you do something to make him change his mind, that’s worse. That’s always worse. Last time you were in West Hollywood with him, that happened, and he didn’t touch you until you got back to South Korea. 

That was the worst seventy-two hours of your life. 

So, defeated, your legs stay right where they are, heels digging uncomfortably into the raised wooden edge of the pool table. Another plane goes by – eight – and you can hear a car blasting music as it crawls up the road, passing by the rented house and disappearing up into the hills. 

You look up at Hongjoong, face flushed and puffy from crying. The way he gazes down at you makes your heart flutter. There’s such a deep love for you, pure adoration in his eyes that makes the wait worth it. You know that by now, you probably look crazy, but none of that matters to him. On the contrary. To him, you look beautiful. So beautiful when you’re this desperate for him. God, he feels so lucky. 

He supposes he can be a bit nicer to you.  

A large part of his confident attitude tonight is because of where he caught your eyes straying during his set. Rarely did you look away from his hands, manipulating sound and tempo, switching the vibe seamlessly, each song flowing into the other. Ending on a remix of ‘In Your Fantasy’ was particularly diabolical, and that’s what cued you in, in terms of what awaited you tonight. A hint meant for you, shown to the entire world. 

He takes a moment to think about how nice he wants to be right now. Specifically in terms of whether or not he’ll take his hoodie off. You know all too well that he’s wearing a T-shirt underneath it, and he knows just how much you like seeing his tattoo while he touches you. Who knows what it is about it, but whatever it is, the sight of it flexing with his bicep as he fingers you makes you absolutely feral. You tend to finish quicker when his tattoo is out – which is something you think he doesn’t know.

Oh, he absolutely does. 

You’re lucky, he decides. Since he has been particularly mean, and you only have one strike against you, he’ll finally give you what you’ve been begging for all night. He sets his glass down on the edge of the table and takes the hoodie off, unzipping it and tossing it onto the floor somewhere. 

Immediately, your eyes go right to his right arm to see the tattoo peeking out from underneath the sleeve. No matter how much you try to conceal how it affects you, your body gives you away. The way your lips part slightly, eyes fixed onto it, how you clench around nothing. If he wants to really be nice, he’ll let you bite it one day. 

You’re too focused on that visual, that want, to notice that his hand is moving right towards you.  

The first touch feels like an electric shock. 

After almost an hour of nothing, feeling his touch all at once nearly sends you spiralling again. Hongjoong cups your cheek, and you can feel the cold metal of his rings cooling your skin. He shushes you quietly when you gasp, not expecting it. 

“It’s alright, my love,” he murmurs, placing a lingering kiss on your temple. “I’ve got you.” 

Your eyes threaten to flutter shut again. All you can think is: finally. Impatience is something that Hongjoong never rewards. You know that for a fact, but it’s helpful to get a refresher every so often. Even if it drives you up the wall. It’s a hard-learned lesson, one you will remember forever. 

Hongjoong ghosts his lips just above yours, hovering there for a few seconds before connecting them. Your hands ball up into fists, wishing for something better to hold onto. Like him. Your back aches for a more comfortable surface to rest on. However, you’ll stay put until he moves you. 

With the last of your focus, you kiss him back, trying your best to not come across as needy as you obviously are. There’s no hiding anything with him. 

It’s when you start to relax into the kiss that he throws another curveball. 

You gasp into his mouth at the sudden pressure against your clit. The pads of his fingers move deliberately slowly in a circular motion, quite similar to how he touched the turntable during his set. His touch is maddeningly gentle. Controlled, calm, and patient. 

He doesn’t react. He just continues kissing you, as carefree and relaxed as ever. As if he’s not working you up. Like he has no idea what he’s doing to you.  

You’ve been wet without any proper attention for so long today. His fingers find no resistance whatsoever gliding through your folds, teasing you once again by pausing right where your entrance is and then retreating back up to circle your clit. 

Whatever happened to being nice? 

Hongjoong can’t stop the smirk that tugs at the corner of his mouth, but he tries to hide it by deepening the kiss. He should start playing fair, but teasing you is just too much fun. 

Once your lips part, and his tongue slips into your mouth, that’s when he pushes his fingers into you, sliding in as far as he can reach. He’s timing everything perfectly. Again, you gasp into his mouth. Your tongue puts up no fight for dominance whatsoever, you’re too focused on finally being filled. His free hand presses down on your hip. A silent reminder to keep still, to not chase. 

It doesn’t take long at all for you to get close. A low, burning heat in your stomach threatens to overpower you as two of his fingers stoke that fire over and over again. You can feel how much you’re dripping for him. It’s definitely running down his wrist at this very moment. Your cheeks burn again. The once quiet, wet sounds from your core slowly amplify, becoming an audible clue as to how affected you are, and how close you are to coming. 

“J-Joongie…” you stutter, struggling to keep your voice steady. 

He hums, already knowing. 

“Gonna cum, darling?” 

You nod, frantically. A loud moan escapes your throat as his mouth latches onto one of your nipples, sucking on it lightly. A shudder runs through you, your body on high alert to all sensations. Your nails threaten to break the skin of your palm. You can only hope he lets you hold onto him at some point tonight. 

It seems he has other plans, though. 

“Beg,” He says. The dreaded word is accompanied by a wicked grin, and a challenge in his eyes. 

You want to pull your hair out, honestly. It would hurt a lot less than this. 

Just a single word is enough to make you mentally crack, and he knows that. He can’t help himself, even when he’s being his own version of nice to you. Unbeknownst to you, he has no intention of making you wait that long again, but he loves to see the fear on your face at the possibility of that happening. He just wants to see if you’ll disobey him, try to touch him, make him stop. This is all a sick trust exercise for his own sadistic pleasure. 

He curls his fingers deep as he listens to your cries, the repeated pleas, the promises that you’ll do anything, and his favorite: how much you need him. 

“Cum for me, darling.” He purrs next to your ear, tilting his head down to watch your body shiver and fall apart around his fingers. His eyes flick back up to your face as your breathing stops, a clear sign that your orgasm is hitting you now. He drinks in every possible detail. 

You clench around him hard, calf muscles seizing from how hard you’re tensing. Still, he continues to coax his fingers in and out at a slower pace, unwilling to draw them out just yet. Despite everything, you make sure to thank him once your body starts to come down from the high. You’re truly so grateful he decided that he’ll play with you tonight, and not leave you hanging. You remind yourself to thank Los Angeles in some way as well. Whatever this city does for him, definitely works for you. 

Through the small aftershocks, he gently pulls you to sit upright, keeping your head resting on his shoulder to combat any dizziness. The two of you stay like that for a minute or two, just breathing together. 

The house is silent again. Your body instantly feels better now that it’s not up against the hard wood of the pool table, if not a little sore. Hongjoong helps you sit up on the edge, your legs dangling off the side. He steps back to look at you properly. But before he can say anything, you beat him to it. 

“Can I…?” You gesture towards the growing tent in his pants. Without finishing your sentence, he knows what you want. You may or may not have an oral fixation. Again, it’s something you’ve never fully admitted, but Hongjoong has picked up on the cues and evidence that prove its existence. 

He pauses like he’s thinking about it. As if he doesn’t already have a set plan for what he wants to do with you. 

“Maybe later,” he hints, helping you off the table. 

Once grounded on the floor again, you stand up on your toes to kiss him, but you see that his eyes are locked onto the windows to his right. You look over too, into the skyline. In the stillness of the house, and the lack of any external noise from the city, it really does feel like you’re the only two people in the world right now. 

He’ll definitely make you scream like you’re the only two people in the world. 

Without wasting any more time, Hongjoong takes your hand and pulls you right up to the window, pressing you against the double-paned glass. Your breath fogs up as you gasp, blurring your view of the city. His hand is firm and flat against your spine, keeping you pinned. With the other, he wraps it around your throat, making you tilt your head back so he can lick and bite your neck. You push back against him, feel any kind of friction possible, and he lets you, enjoying how much you clearly want him to fuck you already. 

With your back to him, you can’t see how much he clearly wants to fuck you. 

His hips dig into your ass, letting you feel how hard he is. You nearly sing, whining for him and continuing to beg without being asked again. 

“Please, Joong, please fuck me. I need it so bad.” You pout and arch your back for good measure. 

He hums, the vibration against your throat driving you crazy. “Yeah?” His hand leaves your back, reaching around to rub your clit again. “Need me to fuck you like this, darling? For the world to see?” 

A broken gasp leaves your throat, and your nails dig into the glass. “Yes–! Yes, please.” 

“Greedy,” he chuckles, kissing your neck. “You just want me to give you everything, don’t you?” 

You nod, unashamedly. Why lie? 

If he’s willing to give you everything, why not ask for it? Sure, it may sound selfish, but you’re willing to give him everything as well, and you would not even hesitate if he asked. 

He hums again, already knowing how you would answer his question. He pulls back from your neck just enough to admire the dark bruises that have blossomed across your skin. They’re beautiful. Unique. Possessive. Clear indications that you are spoken for, taken care of properly. That you submit to him, and him only. 

Hongjoong glances out the window, towards the skyline. You shudder against the glass as his fingers pick up speed and press just a bit harder onto your clit. Your knees already threaten to buckle. Then, it’s gone. 

You feel his breath, hot on your shoulder as he shoves his pants and boxers down just enough to free his cock. You can hear him spit on his fingers. The anticipation is actually killing you, even though he’s trying to make this more comfortable for you. You’d take him with zero prep if he ever decided to. Not that he ever would. 

The press of the blunt head of his cock is already enough to make your eyes roll back. You’re gone by the time he pushes in. Your shuddering breaths mix together as he leans back over you. He bites your shoulder when he sinks deeper, groaning as he stretches you out to accommodate him. 

“Fuck… oh god– fuck, Joong, yes.”

He may not fuck you without prep, but he rarely gives you a chance to get used to him once inside. As soon as his length is fully enveloped, he’s drawing his hips away just to slam back in. A set pace is made, and so it begins. 

“Eyes open,” he orders, gripping your hips to keep you still. “Let every fucking person in this city know who you belong to.”      

Realistically, you know with one-hundred-percent certainty that no one can actually see you from below the hills. Still, the thought and visuals are enough to make you clench around your boyfriend. Tight. You hear him snicker behind you. 

You two are so similar. 

Made for each other. 

You struggle to keep your eyes open, like he wants you to. Especially when his cock is hitting you just right, the angle making your eyes water and your voice rise in pitch. Your moans are practically pornographic, fogging up the mirror even more. The lights from the distant city begin to blur, the buildings turning into shadows against the starless night sky. The fantasy remains. 

3.8 million unsuspecting people, all being shown who you belong to. It thrills you to no end. 

The excitement of the thought is most likely borne from a confined reality of secrecy. If he could, you know Hongjoong would shout from the rooftops who his heart belongs to. Even with the lack of a dating ban, he refuses to let you be potentially targeted. He’s so protective over you, it would be his worst nightmare if you were subjected to the level of hate and torment that he has seen other idols deal with. Here, you can both pretend. Safe from view, and yet fully exposed at the same time. A shared thrill for exhibitionism created from strict privacy. 

You play into it. 

You scream his name. 

It’s something you can’t ever do back in Korea, part of why because of the aforementioned reason, and partly due to the fact that it would be rude to Wooyoung and Jongho to be so noisy in the shared dorm. Hotels and his studio are only so private. 

Here in the hills, you’re both anonymous. Another young couple with new money. 

So, whenever you’re allowed to be vocally reckless, you take the opportunity every damn time. Especially when he’s making you feel this good. 

“Feel so fucking good–” he moans, biting your shoulder. “My girl… all mine.” 

You groan into the window, trying to catch your breath to no avail. With each thrust deep inside your pussy, he damn near knocks the wind out of you. If it wasn’t for him holding you up, you’re confident that you’d be in a crumpled mess on the floor by now. 

“Say it, darling. Tell the whole fucking world who you belong to.” Hongjoong punctuates this by spitting onto his fingers, bringing them down to your clit once again, rubbing it in the same gentle, circular motion. A stark contrast to what else he’s doing to you. 

The added stimulation makes you sob. Despite the overwhelming, building pleasure, you pull yourself together as much as you can. He gave you an order. 

“H-Hongjoong, I belong to you, only you. You’re th– the only one who c-can fuck me like this,” you cry out, struggling to keep your voice from pitching up every time the head of his cock hits your g-spot. 

He straightens you up against the window, wanting you to be as upright as you can. So LA can see you fully. Your chest presses against the glass and it feels so nice on your heated skin you can’t help but sigh in relief. 

“Mhmm,” Hongjoong purrs, his breaths starting to become erratic. Less controlled. “Good girl. My good girl. Taking me so well. Fucking made just for me.” 

You nod, your cheek rubbing up and down the glass. “I-I– I'm yours…” your voice trails off as you become dumber. “‘M close…” 

At the mention of being close to coming, he presses his free hand over your lower stomach with enough pressure to be able to feel his cock pistoning in and out of you. Again, your knees weaken. The window only helps keep you upright so much, but Hongjoong doesn’t let you fall. 

“Give it to me, darling. I’ve got you.” He encourages you right to the edge. 

Your second orgasm slams into you. Your nails claw the glass and your screams echo through the house. He fucks you through it, only slowing his pace slightly while his fingers on your clit continue. He holds you close as your body shudders violently and places kisses up your back, up to your neck, until he gets to your mouth. You whimper against his lips, and he gladly swallows every noise you make as you come down. 

Less than a minute later, the pace resumes. 

You sob, so sensitive after just coming down from a second climax only to be thrown towards another so soon. 

“One more,” he says, straightening up to stand behind you. His hands reposition themselves back on your hips, pulling you back towards him to meet every thrust. “Gonna show everyone how needy you are. So fuckin’ desperate for me. Always gonna let me take you however I want.” 

His words make you whine and moan. It’s all true. Every word. 

A choked sound rises from your throat as you feel your third orgasm already brewing. There’s no escaping this, not when he knows your body as well as his own. Not when his cock is perfectly made for you to take. You can feel everything. Every inch and vein deliciously dragging against your inner walls. Not once does he miss your g-spot, hitting it every time you two have sex. And you know which buttons to press for him as well. Feeding right into his ego, being loud for him, looking up at him with doe eyes when you want something.  

The two of you are made for each other in every way. 

You cry out his name as the pleasure spikes, throwing you further into the deep end yet again. “H-Hongjoong, please–” 

“I know, darling,” he coos, his steady, calm voice the complete opposite of how brutal his thrusts into you are. 

One of his hands sneaks back around, this time going up to your mouth. Two fingers slide in, and he watches as you physically relax. You fight back a smile, and wrap your lips tight around them, afraid he’ll take them away before you have a chance to enjoy the weight of his touch on your tongue. Hopefully, he’ll let you go down on him later. The real thing is always better, and he deserves to be taken care of too. 

Right now though, your brain is actively short-circuiting. 

Hongjoong presses his fingers down, just how you like it, and you gently suck on them as he gets you closer and closer to your third orgasm. He groans, imagining your mouth somewhere else. The visual of you doing that is always enough to get him close to the edge as well. And though his fingers are stuffed in your mouth, you don’t get any quieter. You continue to moan around them, his name coming from your mouth all garbled and muffled. 

He has to squeeze his eyes shut, fully concentrating on not coming yet. Not before you do. One more time. 

Your legs shake, and your hands twitch against the window, a silent signal to him that you’re not going to last long. 

“Such a good girl… taking everything I give you,” he groans. 

He twists his other hand into your hair, pulling you back from the window, arching for him even more. The sounds of his hips colliding into your ass seem to amplify. You can feel yourself dripping down your inner thighs and you whine as the heat in your lower stomach begins to take hold of your whole body.   

“Gonna give me one more? Hm?” 

You nod frantically, noises pouring out of your mouth continually. 

“Wan– wanna cum with you,” you plead with him. You so desperately crave the combined feeling of him spilling his warm seed into you as you milk him dry, clenching around his length. 

“Yeah?” He grins, wanting the same. “Fuck, okay, darling. Cum with me.” 

All it takes is him saying that, and you’re gone. Both of you are. 

“H-Hongjoong–!” You shriek, nearly rattling the glass. If the neighbors haven’t heard you this whole time, it’ll be a damn miracle. You don’t care. You’re being given one of the best orgasms of your life by the man you love most. 

He’s not far behind at all. Once he feels your pussy spasm around him, clenching and sucking him in harder than before, it’s easy to let go. His forehead rests on your shoulder, trying to catch his breath as he releases into you. It’s just as you wanted: the feeling of his warmth pouring in. Claiming you as his. Completely his. 

He lets go of your hair in lieu of wrapping his arms around you to keep you upright, close to his chest. He still has his damn clothes on, you forgot. 

Blearily, once you know you can stand on your own, you turn around, which causes him to slip out, and you press your back against the window. He watches you carefully, ready to catch you if you lose your balance. Your hands dip under the hem of his shirt, needing to feel his skin on yours, pressing your palms into his back. He kisses you deeply and slowly. There’s no rush.   

You don’t black out or lose consciousness per se, but you don’t exactly remember getting into bed either. 

Somehow, Hongjoong was able to lead you to the bedroom without your legs giving out. Maybe he carried you. You don’t remember your feet ever touching the floor. The first thing you take note of, once in bed, is that he’s coming back in from the bathroom, equipped with a warm towel. You almost fall asleep as he gently cleans your thighs, the feeling more than soothing enough to do the trick. But you’re stubborn. You want to be present with him for as long as you can. You dread the day of the flight, upcoming and looming over your vacation. This Tuesday. Only two days away now. There are worse things, you suppose. But not being able to go through security, nor sit anywhere near him at the gate, and pretend you don’t know who he is for the duration of the twelve hour flight is as close to actual torture as you’re willing to get. He hates it just as much as you. It makes both of you antsy and irritable while on high alert. Not a great mix. So, quiet moments like these, all alone together, are cherished as much as possible. 

Tossing the towel into the hamper, he finally gets into bed next to you. Like a magnet, you instantly attach yourself to his side. He sighs contently, letting you nuzzle into him. Soon enough, you’re both tangled together in the sheets, a mess of limbs and combined heartbeats. Neither of you say anything for a long time. Cricket song drowns out any distant sounds of the city that manage to seep through the walls and windows. Everything is warm. Your worlds are at peace. 

You hear him inhale through his mouth and hold the breath captive for a moment, like he’s trying to decide how to use it. Does he break the silence by speaking, or does he simply let the moment speak for itself? An answer comes quickly to him.  

“One day, everyone will know…” Hongjoong says, almost to himself. You look up at him without saying anything, letting him continue. 

His eyes flicker down to meet yours. “Everyone will know that you belong to me, and that I belong to you.” 

If you had any energy left, it’d be spent attacking him with kisses. Everywhere and anywhere you could reach. You make up for it by throwing your arms around him properly, hugging him tight, and kissing his cheek. 

“I love you,” you whisper against his warm skin, meaning every word. Every syllable, every letter. 

This, he doesn’t make you wait for. 

“I love you, my darling.” 

Ceo!hongjoong who prioritizes you over his own work and company. He doesn’t care if he’s in the middle of a meeting, if you called. He’d come.

Ceo!hongjoong who always keeps a picture of your wedding showcased on his desk, always glancing at you and your smile for motivation on why he keeps working.

Ceo!hongjoong who doesn’t care about his public appearance, if you’re feeling overwhelmed he’ll kiss your temple or forehead while whispering sweet and soft reassuring words to try to help make you feel better.

Ceo!hongjoong who keeps a keychain if your childhood nickname engraved into it.

Ceo!hongjoong who always looks at you like you hung the moon, even when you’re at home doing nothing. Because to him, you’re not just his wife. You’re his good luck charm.

Ceo!hongjoong who always referrers to you as ‘my angel’ whenever he’s calling for you, or simply even talking about you to others.

— “I’m busy.” “I’m sorry..” “Oh! No, my baby. You stay.”

Ceo!hongjoong who prefers to hold hands while in missionary, it brings him that emotional closeness he needs after a long day.

Ceo!hongjoong who trails soft kisses across your collarbone, whispering ‘my sweet, pretty girl’ with each thrust of his hips.

Ceo!hongjoong who whimpers and arches his back whenever he feels you clench around him. The pleasure ends up being unbearable for him.

Ceo!hongjoong who hold your legs up so he can go as deep as possible inside your cunt, always right before his strokes become sloppy and needy.

Ceo!hongjoong who presses on your lower stomach out of habit to encourage you to try to match his timing.

Ceo!hongjoong who whines and moans ‘please’ over and over a few moments before he cums, even though he’s the one in complete control over the situation.

Ceo!hongjoong who prioritizes you over his own work and company. He doesn’t care if he’s in the middle of a meeting, if you called. He’d come.

Ceo!hongjoong who always keeps a picture of your wedding showcased on his desk, always glancing at you and your smile for motivation on why he keeps working.

Ceo!hongjoong who doesn’t care about his public appearance, if you’re feeling overwhelmed he’ll kiss your temple or forehead while whispering sweet and soft reassuring words to try to help make you feel better.

Ceo!hongjoong who keeps a keychain if your childhood nickname engraved into it.

Ceo!hongjoong who always looks at you like you hung the moon, even when you’re at home doing nothing. Because to him, you’re not just his wife. You’re his good luck charm.

Ceo!hongjoong who always referrers to you as ‘my angel’ whenever he’s calling for you, or simply even talking about you to others.

— “I’m busy.” “I’m sorry..” “Oh! No, my baby. You stay.”

Ceo!hongjoong who prefers to hold hands while in missionary, it brings him that emotional closeness he needs after a long day.

Ceo!hongjoong who trails soft kisses across your collarbone, whispering ‘my sweet, pretty girl’ with each thrust of his hips.

Ceo!hongjoong who whimpers and arches his back whenever he feels you clench around him. The pleasure ends up being unbearable for him.

Ceo!hongjoong who hold your legs up so he can go as deep as possible inside your cunt, always right before his strokes become sloppy and needy.

Ceo!hongjoong who presses on your lower stomach out of habit to encourage you to try to match his timing.

Ceo!hongjoong who whines and moans ‘please’ over and over a few moments before he cums, even though he’s the one in complete control over the situation.

“See…” a hand snatched the thong from him, dangling them in his face. “pervert.” San was grinning with Jongho laughing beside him. “Give them back!” Yunho snatched at them only for San to move out of the way. “Why are you carrying around thongs for anyways?” San passed them to Jongho when Yunho stood, towering over both of them. Annoyed. And his eye twitching. If only San knew who those thongs belonged to….. “They’re not mine.” Yunho snatched them from Jongho and shoved them back into his bag.

“Oh….” Jongho bumped his shoulder with San. “someone has a girlfriend he hasn’t told us about.” That made San perk up. “Oh! Is that why you’ve been so…. loose lately? You’re getting laid?” Him and Jongho laughed again all in good tease. The two of them and Wooyoung were like three annoying younger brothers sometimes. “It’s none of your buisness.” Yunho picked his bag up and started walking towards the small little change room Mingi disappeared into just a minute ago.

“He’s deflecting. That means we know her.” Jongho grinned as San laughed. The change room door slammed shut behind him and Yunho groaned making Mingi look up at him where he was pulling on his shoes. “Who pissed you off?” That’s the thing with Mingi. He could read Yunho like an open book. Yunho rolled his eyes as he started changing his clothes, letting the ones the stylist put him in drop to the floor. “San and Jongho found a thong in my bag…”

Mingi stares at him and Yunho just stares right back. Then Mingi burst out laughing. “Damn…. Didn’t know you were into that.” Yunho glared at him. “They’re not mine. They’re Y/N’s.” That made Mingi stop laughing for exactly seventeen seconds before he started laughing again. “Oh my god…. You mean… you’re telling me that San found his sister’s thong in your bag and he doesn’t even know it? I told you this was going to blow up in your face!”

“First of all,” Yunho pulled his shirt on. “she’s his step sister. And secondly, she’s a grown woman.” Mingi had tears in his eyes at this point as he stood up. “Doesn’t change the fact if San realizes then you’re a dead man.” And he wasn’t exaggerating either. San was a little overprotective of his sisters. He proved that a couple months ago at his eldest sister’s wedding when he threatened her husband that if he makes her cry he’d make him disappear all while he was doing that, Yunho had you, his younger, beloved, the one he’s most protective over, sister bent over an old table behind his parents house. He’d kept your panties that day too.

It started new years. KQ threw this big party and all the member’s families were invited of course. It didn’t take long after you had gotten there for Yunho to have you riding him in Mingi’s studio on the third floor. It was supposed to of just been that one time. But then it kept happening. Now it’s been six months and you were both taking it steady behind San’s back. “He won’t find out.” Yunho sounded like he was more trying to convince himself than he was Mingi.

Mingi snorted. “You have pictures of her naked on your phone…. all it’s gonna take…”

“He’ll never see them.” Yunho clenched his jaw. Mingi was never of supposed to of seen them either. But then a month ago his best friend grabbed his phone while Yunho was sleeping, looking for some unposted unit comeback photos he knew Yunho had and instead found you. You in nothing but one of Yunho’s shirts pulled up over your exposed ass. You wet right out of the shower. You with Yunho buried inside you. That one had been a video.

So, yeah….. maybe Yunho was a bit of a pervert.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The dorm was quiet other than the low hum of the central air as Yunho and Yeosang dragged inside. “I’m getting a shower.” Yunho wasted no time dropping his duffel off in his room and then crossing the hall to the bathroom. The steam from the shower enveloped around him as his muscles relaxed under the heat. That was the only thing that relaxed. His mind? Not so much. All he could think about was you. Your thong in your brother’s hands. San finding out…… he’s seen San pissed only a handful of times through the years. And honestly, Yunho wasn’t so sure it would be the fact he’s seeing you but more so that he was sneaking behind San’s back. And San hated being lied to.

His neck popped as he rolled his shoulders stepping back out the shower. Water clung to him as he grabbed a towel, drying in haste, leaving his hair to just air dry. He had no shame as he stepped out of the bathroom completely naked and walked out towards the kitchen. Yeosang blinked at him from where he sat on the couch. “You’re just…. dangling ….. very largely everywhere.”

Yunho rolled his eyes. This was nothing new and maybe it was one of the reasons why Yeosang also joked he has perverted quirks. It being just the two of them, Yunho was naked often. There was sometimes sweat stains left in his gaming chair from his ass. Yunho opened the fridge and grabbed a beer, the first swig making him close his eyes and let out a sigh. Then his eyes snapped open as the front door opened. The voices of San, Wooyoung and you trailing inside. He tried sprinting back to his room but as soon as he moved, Wooyoung’s ecstatic giggle stopped him in his tracks.

“Ahhh…. Yunho,” San grabbed you and spun you around, still oblivious that you have seen every detail of Yunho. No idea that you’ve had every inch that was on display buried inside you multiple times. “See! You fucking pervert.”

Wooyoung was ogling. “I say let him keep it out.” He grinned at Yunho as he moved to sit beside Yeosang and you shoved away from San. “Will you move? I’ve seen a dick before.” San gaped at you as Wooyoung laughed and Yunho’s ears started turning red. “Well you’re not gonna see that one.” San grabbed the throw pillow Yeosang had in his lap and chunked it at Yunho. “Cover that thing up!”

Yunho clutched the pillow and held it against himself. His dick barely staying hidden behind the small material. He turned around to get to his room and get dressed but your voice stopped him. “Nice ass.” He could practically hear the smirk in your voice. He was sure you were staring at the fading scratches you left there from a few nights ago. You loved his ass. Loved gripping it when he rutted inside you like he was trying to empty his soul out.

“Y/N!”

Yunho could feel the tips of his ears burning as he disappeared into his bedroom. He was gonna make you pay for that. He was already thinking of many scenarios to make you pay that would have San ready to commit murder. The thought alone made Yunho snort as he tossed the throw pillow he was still holding onto his gaming chair. He casted a glance at his reflection in the mirror on his wall. His roots were starting to grow out in the blonde but he was holding out dying it since you loved it too much. He was realizing he was starting to do a lot because you liked something. But you also did a lot because he liked something. And Yunho was starting to think that maybe whatever this was the two of you had wasn’t so casual anymore…. that it wasn’t exactly steady.

“Knock, knock.”

“Jesus!” Yunho jumped, turning around and glaring at you. “What the hell are you doing?” Because he was still naked and San, Wooyoung and Yeosang…..

“Relax.” You waved him off as you walked into his room, shutting the door behind you. “They all went to get food.” You dragged your gaze down his body, eyes lingering on his shoulders, noticing how much broader he’s gotten lately. Then your gaze dropped lower to where his dick hung heavy. “San said he found some girl’s thong in your bag today….” You started moving closer. “I think he’s convinced you’re hiding a girlfriend.”

Girlfriend. That hit hard. Neither of you had put labels on it yet. On what you were. But Yunho certainly wouldn’t deny it if that’s what you wanted. “San’s nosy.” He watched you trace a hand up his abdomen, then back down and his dick twitched a little in anticipation. At just the thought of having you while your brother was out getting food and would be back any moment. It was a rush. And Yunho could be an adrenaline junky.

You dropped to your knees in an almost haste, now barely eye level with his dick and Yunho let you take over for a minute. Just stood there and watched. Stood there and groaned when you gripped him, bringing his hardening dick to your mouth. Stood there and watched as your lips stretched wide around him and he let you take your time to feed his length deeper into your mouth. The tip bumped the back of your throat with every slow thrust, spit dripping down your chin and onto your shirt.

He pulled out just enough to rest the heavy length on your tongue, tapping the wet tip against it a few times before dragging it across your flushed cheek, leaving a shiny trail of spit and precum. He didn’t give you time to catch your breath. Both hands gripped the sides of your head and he shoved himself back in, hips snapping forward until your nose pressed against his pelvis. The sudden force made your eyes water, but your fingers dug into his ass, nails biting deep enough to leave fresh red marks across the skin and Yunho groaned at the sting, loving that slight little tinge of pain as he started fucking your throat with steady strokes that made wet, obscene sounds fill the room.

“Look at you,” he rasped, voice low and rough. “Gagging on my dick like a desperate little slut. Bet you’re dripping just from having your throat used, aren’t you? Gonna come just from me fucking your face?” You moaned around him, the vibration making his hips stutter and he held you there a moment longer, buried to the hilt before pulling out completely letting strings of spit connect your now swollen lips to his glistening dick. “Strip,” he ordered, tracing his thumb on your bottom lip before you stood.

You snatched your shirt off first. The fabric dropping to the floor. Your pants were next. The jeans sticking at your wet thighs from how soaked sucking his dick made you. When you moved to reach to drag your panties off, he stopped you. “Leave those on.” He hauled you up and onto the bed, positioning you on all fours. You expected him to yank the black lace aside and sink into you, but instead he stayed behind you, one hand smoothing over the curve of your ass. “Nice ass?” he repeated, echoing your earlier words with a dark chuckle. “Saying that in front of your brother? Brats like that should be punished.”

Yunho wrapped his fingers around his dick and dragged the tip slowly over the thin black lace covering your pussy, pressing the fabric against your soaked folds. He stroked himself like that for a long second, letting the tip glide back and forth through your wetness, the lace growing darker and stickier with every pass as your hips started to twitch, trying to push back, but he only teased, never sinking inside you. He pulled back long enough to reach over to the bedside table. You heard the soft click of his phone unlocking. The camera light coming on, the lens aimed straight at where his dick was rubbing again at you.

“Please,” you whispered, voice hoarse and growing desperate. “Fuck me…. Yunho… I need it.”

He hummed in amusement. “Oh, I will.” The recording stayed on a few more seconds, capturing every desperate wiggle of your hips before he locked the screen and tossed the phone aside. Then he dragged one finger up through your slick, gathering the mess and grabbing your hair, pulling your head back, bringing it to your lips. “Suck.” You opened obediently, tongue curling around his soaked finger and cleaned it. Yunho’s thoughts drifted for a second….. yeah, San and Jongho might’ve been onto something when they joked he was a pervert.

He let your hair go, pulling his finger back and yanked your hips up. His dick, shiny with your juices, pressed against your entrance and he thrusted into you, bottoming out with a groan as you cried out. He bit his bottom lip as he thrusted slow and deep, coating himself with you before pulling back out. His tip dragged upward, circling your ass, smearing slick over the rim as he gave you one heartbeat to adjust before sinking in, inch by inch, until his hips met your ass and a low groan left him at the tight heat.

He stayed still for a few seconds, knowing the others could walk in any moment but he was starting not care, he wanted to give you time to breathe. To adjust. Until you started pushing back against him, voice shaky but defiant. “I know you can go harder than that.”

“Brat,” he growled, the word vibrating through his chest as his hands clamped on your hips and he started pounding into your ass without another second to breathe, the slap of skin loud and filthy. One hand slid beneath you, two fingers pushing into your dripping pussy while his dick kept driving into your ass, the dual stretch of his fingers fucking you and his dick buried in your ass making your vision blur and for pleasure to coil tight and fast until it snapped. Your scream muffled against the sheets as your whole body shook through the orgasm, squirting on his fingers and his bed sheets.

He didn’t stop though. Yunho just fucked you through it, fingers still working inside you until his rhythm faltered and he buried himself deep, dick pulsing as he filled your ass. He stayed inside you for a minute, breathing hard, before pulling out and letting his cum start to trickle down your ass as he dropped to his knees behind you, tongue dragging over your used hole, licking up the mess he’d left before moving lower to lap at your soaked pussy. The wet sounds of his mouth were almost as obscene as him fucking you had been.

When he finally pulled back, he hooked his fingers into the ruined black lace of your panties and peeled them down your legs. “Mine now,” he said, voice still rough, and tucked the damp fabric into his pocket.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

Yunho had just finished pulling on his favorite pair of grey sweatpants when he heard the others get back. Yeosang said something about never going anywhere with Woo and San again. Their laughter echoed down the hall and into his bedroom. It had only been about fifteen minutes since Yunho had you a mess on his bed. Now you were in the living room, dress. Missing your panties. And his bed was still a mess.

“Hey….” San peaked into his room to let him know they got pizza and immediately froze. He furrowed his brows, sniffed the air and frowned. “It smells like sex in here.” Yunho blinked at him, clearing his throat and lied straight through his teeth. “I jerked off.”

San had a look of pure disgust as he retreated from his door. “Oh my god, Yunho! While my sister was in the living room? I was right. You are a pervert.”

Yunho didn’t even try to deny it this time.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

A week later and Yunho was covered in sweat after Ateez set for BST. The London heat almost suffocating. But that heat didn’t compare to you also being there. You had begged San to let you come which he caved instantly. And Yunho was holding on by a thread.

You wore a white tank top that let him see the slightest sweat glistening on your shoulders. The shorts you had on barely covered your ass and he had to stop himself multiple times from just outright staring. And now? Now you were walking towards him, handing him another bottle of water. “You’re like…” you dragged your eyes down him, staring at his arms on display. “sweating everywhere.”

Yunho uncapped the bottle of water you gave him. “Trust me, I know.” He tipped his head back and your gaze lingered at his throat and the way his adams apple bobbed as he drank. “Mhm…” you stepped a little closer. Just enough for only he could hear. “I’m gonna do things to you with my tongue that your good lord never wanted to bear witness.” Yunho choked. Literally. He shouldn’t be shocked. Because he may be a pervert according to the guys. But you were just as much of a freak.

The water sputtered out of Yunho’s mouth as you laughed and patted at his back. The commotion had San’s attention now. He narrowed his eyes at the two of you then he froze. Blue. Lace. Strings peaking out the back of the top of your shorts as you bent over to grab a dry towel to hand to Yunho. No. No. Absolutely not. It clicked fast after that. Blue lace thongs. You for months now wanting to travel with them when you were allowed. Always going with San over to Yeosang and Yunho’s. Always at their dance practices. The lingering looks he’d catch Yunho give you but ignored because he just thought Yunho thought you were hot. A few of the guys did. But the other guys didn’t carry around your thong…..

“YUNHO, YOU ASSHOLE!”

Everyone froze then. Yunho finally stopped coughing. You and him stared at San as Mingi seemed to put two and two together and pulled his phone to record. “Here we go.”

San marched over, still a little breathless from performing. He seemed more shocked than angry. Ok. Maybe he looked a little angry. “You’re fucking my sister.” The accusation landed like a slap and neither you or Yunho denied it as chaos erupted around you.

“What?” Hongjoong looked exasperated.

“That explains a lot.” Seonghwa snorted as he grabbed himself a bottle of water as Wooyoung laughed. Loud. Tears forming in his eyes as a cackle tore from him. Yeosang didn’t look surprised at all. Being Yunho’s roommate, he’s already heard things he wish he hadn’t.

“Wait….” Jongho looked like he won the lottery. “THE THONGS WERE HERS?” He started laughing, pointing at San. “Man…. You picked up your sister’s used underwear! Used by Yunho!” He made the situation so much worse instantly because now San did look mad. Really mad. Disgusted and mad.

“We’re not fucking.” You argued, then slipped your hand into Yunho’s sweaty one. “We’re dating.”

“This is fucking gold.” Mingi was enjoying this way too much.

Yunho gripped your hand back. Clearing his throat and looking down at San. “Sorry…. we didn’t know how to tell you.” He had to play like he wasn’t absolutely losing his mind over you saying that you were dating.

For now, Yunho was just thankful San had no idea what perverted evidence he had with you on his phone.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

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Horny!hongjoong who couldn’t resist teasing you when you were trying to post an outfit of the day.

Horny!hongjoong who comes home from work, stressed as ever so he had to use his favorite stress toy.

Horny!hongjoong who got jealous over another man flirting with you at the bar, so as soon as you got home. He needed to remind you who you belonged to.

Horny!hongjoong who is mainly a rough man, but sometimes he just wants to be gentle and show you that he’s a mommy’s boy.

Horny!hongjoong who likes to fuck you in Seonghwa’s bed whenever the dorm is completely empty.

Horny!hongjoong who gets so pent up that he’ll start fucking you with the pure need to breed you.

Horny!hongjoong who loves whenever you get needy in public.

Horny!hongjoong who loves whenever you wake him up with morning sex, it’s not often you take what you want from him. But when you do, he always cums quickly.

Tonight had worn you out. The gala’s glitz and glamour left you feeling bitter, and the small talk was as empty as the champagne flutes you kept refilling. You leaned back in the leather seat, watching city lights blur past the tinted windows as the car hummed along.

Every day, you wondered if keeping the family business going was worth it. Your father’s legacy and the board’s expectations pressed on you like a migraine you could never shake. Guilt gnawed at your insides, knowing that money and power were the only things that brought you even a shallow sense of pleasure in your hollow existence.

As you sat in the backseat, you sighed, looking down and grabbing your phone that was in your lap. You didn't even enjoy scrolling through social media anymore. It was just the same thing over and over again. You decided to scroll through your music library instead, searching for something to dull the edge of your irritation. Your thumb hovered over the play button.

"How was the Gala, ma'am?" your bodyguard, San, asked from the driver's seat, his eyes never leaving the road. His voice was a gentle rumble in the quiet car, a stark contrast to the chaos of the night you'd just left behind.

You grumble and set your phone face down. "Wouldn't you like to know? Same as always. Surrounded by people I couldn't give a damn about."

San chuckled softly. "You never did enjoy those sorts of events."

"Thanks for pointing out the obvious." You couldn't help the sarcasm that laced your words.

San glanced at you through the rearview mirror, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "You're more than welcome to vent. I've got a pretty thick skin, you know."

"Are you a therapist?" You snapped back, your eyes narrowed at the reflection in the mirror. "Great to know I have one."

San's smile never wavered. "No, ma'am, just a concerned bodyguard."

Your eyes rolled so hard you felt them threaten to get stuck in the back of your head. "Well, don't bother. I can handle my own shit."

San remained unfazed. "I'm sure you can, ma'am, but sometimes it helps to have someone listen."

"Yeah, well," There was a long pause, your eyes staring out the window. "I'd rather not burden you with it." You didn't need his pity, and you certainly didn't need his advice.

San only smiles softly. "Was Mr. L/N with you? Did he come in another car?"

"I don't want to talk about that fucking loser of a husband. Just drive," you bark at San, your voice a mix of anger and exhaustion. San's eyes remained on the road ahead, his knuckles tightening slightly around the steering wheel.

"As you wish, ma'am," he responds calmly, not bothering to hide the concern in his voice.

"He was probably in that hotel room fucking that whore of a woman." You spat out, your voice laced with anger. You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, the humiliation of knowing that everyone at the gala had probably seen the tabloids about your husband's latest affair.

"Fucking that— that dog. That stripper— how could I have not known he was fucking a prostitute of all people?!" Your voice echoed in the confined space of the car, your nails digging into the leather armrest as you let out a furious growl. The car remained silent except for the steady rhythm of the engine, and you could feel San's gaze on you, his eyes filled with a blend of pity and concern.

"Ma'am," he began cautiously, "you know I'm here to protect and support you, no matter what. You can talk to me if you need to."

"I'm fine, okay?!" you yell, the sound of your voice bouncing off the leather interior of the car. San's eyes flit to the rearview mirror, meeting yours for a brief moment before returning to the road. You can see the question in his gaze, the silent inquiry that asks if you're really okay, if you're not just hiding your pain behind a mask of anger.

"Ma'am, I just-" San starts to say, his voice tentative.

"There's nothing to even fucking talk about! H-He fucked some other woman!" You shout, your voice cracking with anger and a hint of hurt. San remained silent, his eyes focused on the road ahead as he drove through the quiet streets. You felt a pang of regret for taking your frustration out on him, but the rage was still burning within you.

"Then had the audacity to lie to me about it," you go quiet for a moment. "Didn't even bother to speak to his daughter. He had to tell me through a text message that he's leaving us," you spit out, feeling the bitterness of the words on your tongue.

"H-He had the audacity to lie to those goddamn reporters and say those nasty things about me! About my body! As if I don't work hard enough to keep this company afloat!" You rant, the anger in your voice growing with each word. The pressure in your chest builds, your breath coming out in harsh pants.

San's eyes remained on the road, his jaw tightening at the mention of the tabloids. He knew better than to argue with you when you were like this. But his silence didn't stop you. "And then he says I'm cold! That I don't know how to love! What the fuck does he know about love?!" You shout, slamming your hand on the armrest.

You rest your elbow on the armrest and cover your face with your hand, trying to hold yourself together but failing miserably. You don't know why you're telling San all this, but it feels good to let it out, even if it's just to the bodyguard you've had for the past five years. San's eyes never left the road, his knuckles still white on the steering wheel.

You sniffle and cover your mouth, breathing shakily. "Pull over."

San's eyes widen slightly before he nods, turning the car into the first empty alleyway he sees. He puts the car in park and turns to face you, his expression one of genuine concern.

"Ma'am, are you okay?" San's voice was softer now, a hint of worry seeping through the professionalism he usually maintained.

"I said I was fine." You don't know why you're pushing him away, but you do it anyway.

"…Get in the back seat." You order, your voice still thick with anger. San nods and opens the driver’s side door, his movements careful and precise. He rounds the car and opens the door opposite you, sliding in gracefully. He's so close now that you can feel the warmth of his body, and his cologne fills the small space between you. It's a comforting scent, something you've grown accustomed to over the years, but tonight it only serves to irritate you further.

"San, am I…" you begin, wiping your tears away with the back of your hand, trying to regain your composure. "…Am I beautiful?"

San's eyes widen at the question, taken aback by the sudden vulnerability in your voice. "Ma'am, of course, you are," he says gently, his voice sincere. "You're one of the most beautiful people I've ever seen, inside and out."

You glance at him and don't respond, the question hanging in the air. San's heart thuds in his chest, his mind racing as he tries to navigate the sudden shift in your demeanor. He's seen you upset before, but never quite like this. Normally, you're the one in control, the one calling the shots, but tonight you seem…broken. And it's tearing him apart to see you this way.

"Why would he… cheat on me?" You whisper, your voice barely above a whisper. San's heart aches as he watches the strong, independent woman he's sworn to protect crumble before his eyes.

"Ma'am, I can't say why he did it, but I know that you're worth more than his lies," San replies, his voice soft and soothing. He reaches for your hand but stops just short, unsure if the gesture would be welcome.

"I had his child." You spoke through gritted teeth, looking down at your hands. "And he throws it all away for some cheap slut."

San's gaze remained on you, his heart breaking with each word you spoke. He knew the kind of man your husband was, knew the kind of pain you must be feeling. But he also knew that you didn't mean the harsh things you were saying to him. You were just hurt and lashing out.

"You're not cold, ma'am," San said firmly, his voice a gentle counterpoint to your anger. "You're just tired of him."

You stare at him for a little while, wiping any more tears that fell down your cheeks before gulping. "San,"

"Yes, ma'am?" San's voice was a gentle rumble in the quiet car, his eyes never leaving yours as he waited for you to continue.

You scoff, the sound a harsh, bitter echo in the small space. "Why are you always so nice to me? I treat you like absolute shit and you still… You’re still nice to me." You spit out the words, your anger now directed at him. It wasn't fair that you had to deal with all this shit while he just sat there, looking perfect, smelling like heaven, and acting like nothing was wrong.

San's eyes never leave yours, his expression calm and composed, even as he's on the receiving end of your wrath. "It's my job, ma'am," he says, his voice steady. "But it's also because I care about you."

You scoff and look out of the window for a moment. "Do you know what it feels like to know that the person who promised to love you forever doesn't want you anymore?"

San remains silent for a beat before responding, "I can't say that I do, ma'am, but I can imagine it's incredibly painful."

You look back at him. "San," you shake your head and sigh. "I want to feel wanted again."

San's heart skips a beat at the raw need in your voice. He's heard the pain, the anger, and the frustration, but this…this was something new, something raw. And as much as he wants to tell you that you don't have to look outside yourself for validation, for want, he knows that's not what you need to hear right now. So instead, he remains silent, giving you the space to continue.

"Don't stare at me like a fucking dumbass like you don't know what I'm talking about." You barked, the words leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. San's expression remained unchanged, his eyes still filled with that damn concern that made you want to scream.

"Ma'am, I assure you, I'm not judging," he says, his tone calm and even. "I'm just trying to understand how I can help."

"…" you go silent for a moment. "Sex. I want you to— to fuck me."

San's eyes widened slightly, but his expression remained neutral. He'd been your bodyguard for years, and he'd seen you at your best and worst, but he'd never seen you so…desperate. He knew that you were hurt and looking for something to fill the void that your husband had left behind. But this was crossing a line that could never be uncrossed.

"Ma'am," he began carefully, his voice steady. "I'm your bodyguard. That— this isn't appropriate."

But you're beyond caring about propriety. You've had enough of being told what's appropriate and what's not. “Exactly. You’re a bodyguard,” You lean over, pulling your faux fur wrap off your shoulders and discarding it in the seats behind yours. "You’re supposed to do as I say," you hiss.

"And I've seen the way you look at me. Even when I was still married. Before my husband even thought of cheating on me." You accuse, your voice cold. San's expression remained unreadable, his eyes never leaving yours. "Don't tell me you haven't thought about it," you whispered, your voice now filled with challenge.

San took a deep breath, trying to keep his cool. He knew that you were hurt, that you were looking for something, anything to make you feel better, but this wasn't the answer. "Ma'am, I understand that you're upset, but-"

You cut him off. "Don't 'ma'am' me," you growl. "I don't want your understanding, I want you to do as I say."

San's eyes searched yours, looking for any sign that you weren't serious. But the fire in them told him you were dead set on this course of action. He swallowed hard, knowing that this was a line he could never come back from, but also knowing that he couldn't leave you in this state of pain.

"If that's truly what you want, ma'am," he said, his voice tight with tension, "I'll do what I can to help you feel better."

"Thank you." The words leave your mouth, sounding more like a demand than a genuine expression of gratitude. You can feel San's tension as he nods, his eyes still on yours. You know he's just trying to do his job, to protect you, but right now all you want is to feel something other than anger and betrayal.

"…Eat me out."

San's eyes widened, but he remained silent, his hand frozen in mid-air. You grab and push his hand down, guiding it to the apex of your thighs, where the heat of your anger meets the ache of your desire. San swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry as he felt the softness of your skin beneath his fingertips.

"Don't pretend like you haven't thought about it," you sneered, your eyes never leaving his. San knew that you weren't being fair, that you were just looking for someone to blame, someone to take out your anger on. But he also knew that he couldn't deny his attraction to you. So, instead of arguing, he gently began to massage your thigh, his touch feather-light as he tried to gauge your reaction.

You jerked slightly at the contact, but you didn't push him away. Instead, you spread your legs wider, giving him better access. San took a deep breath, his heart racing as he slid his hand higher, his fingers grazing the soft fabric of your underwear. You bit your lip, trying not to let the anticipation show on your face.

You tried to avoid eye contact, biting your finger gently and repositioning yourself so your back was against the door. Thank goodness your car's backseat was huge. "Get to it."

San's eyes searched yours, looking for any sign that you weren't serious, but the fiery determination in your gaze made it clear that you were. He sighed internally, knowing that this wasn't the time to argue. Instead, he leaned in, his breath hot against your skin as he peeled your dress up and over your hips. You watched him through narrowed eyes, daring him to back out now. But San was nothing if not professional, even in this unprofessional situation.

He kissed the inside of your thigh gently, his hands steady as he pulled aside your underwear. His eyes met, and you could see the conflict within them. He wanted to make you feel better, but he also knew that this wasn't the way to do it. Yet, he didn't pull away. He knew that pushing you away now would only make things worse, so he continued, his tongue tracing a line from your knee to the sensitive folds of your sex.

You hiss as his warm breath teases against your skin, his movements methodical and precise as he positions himself between your legs. He's so close now that you can feel his breath against your core, and the anticipation is almost unbearable. San takes a moment to appreciate the sight before him, the way your body tenses with every touch. He leans in, sliding your lace panties down your legs and throwing them to the floor. He lifts your legs as his tongue tentatively brushes against your clit, and you can't help the gasp that escapes your lips.

His hands are steady as they grip your thighs, holding you in place as he starts to explore you with gentle strokes and soft kisses. You try to keep your face neutral, to hide the pleasure that's already building inside of you, but it's no use. The feeling of his mouth on you is too much, too intense, and before you know it, you're squirming in your seat, desperately trying to hold back the moans that threaten to spill out.

"Shit," you grab onto his hair with both hands, your knuckles turning white as you try to hold back the moan that's fighting its way up your throat.

San's eyes meet yours, and the sight of you, so powerful and in control, losing yourself to pleasure, sends a jolt of heat through him. He leans in closer, his tongue delving deeper into your folds as he tastes you completely for the first time.

You try to keep your breathing even, but the feeling of his tongue on your clit is making it difficult. You can feel your body start to shake as the tension builds with each stroke. San's eyes are locked on yours, watching the way your pupils dilate and the way your mouth falls open slightly as you struggle to keep quiet.

"I-It's n-not-" you start to protest, but the words die on your lips as San's mouth finds your center. You grip the leather seat, trying to hold on to some semblance of control as his tongue works its magic. His movements are deliberate and skilled, a stark contrast to the unpracticed fumbling you're used to from your husband.

San adjusts his position, getting more comfortable as he settles in, his strong hands gripping your thighs firmly. He's taking his time with you, savoring every moment as if it's the first time he's ever tasted something so sweet. You try to keep your breathing steady, to remain stoic, but the pleasure is too intense. You're not used to being the one to lose control. You're the CEO, the one who's always in charge, but here, in the backseat of the car with your bodyguard, you're nothing but a woman on the brink of ecstasy.

His tongue swirls around your clit, and you bite your lip hard to keep from crying out. Your nails dig into the leather upholstery as he starts to suck, the pressure building with each pulse. You can feel yourself getting wetter, your body betraying you as it responds to his touch. You're not just letting him do this; you're craving it. Your hips start to rock against his face, and he groans in response, the vibration sending a new wave of pleasure through your core.

"S-San, oh my god," you whimper, your eyes squeezed shut as you feel his tongue swirl around your clit with expert precision. His hands grip your thighs, keeping you in place as he works his magic, his movements slow and deliberate, savoring every inch of you. The sound of his mouth on your skin fills the car, mingling with the faint sounds of the city outside.

He pushes your legs further back, your knees almost connecting with your shoulders as he settles into his task. San's eyes never leave yours, watching as the pleasure slowly starts to take over your features. You bite your bottom lip, trying to keep the moans at bay, but it's a futile effort. The way his tongue flicks against your clit, the gentle suction, and the occasional nip with his teeth, it's all too much for you to handle.

Your breaths become shorter, panting as you try to keep yourself from screaming out his name. San's hands are firm on your thighs, keeping you open for him as he explores you with a hunger you didn't know he had. His tongue delves deeper, finding that perfect spot that makes your toes curl, and your eyes roll back in your head. You're lost in the feeling, your mind a haze of sensation as you give in to the pleasure he's giving you.

"Fuck, don't stop, oh my god," you whisper, your voice strained as you feel your orgasm building. San's eyes never leave yours, his focus solely on the task at hand. He can feel the heat radiating from your body, and he knows that you're close. He doubles his efforts, his tongue moving faster, his teeth grazing your clit gently as you start to shake.

Your moans become more frequent, and you can't help but rock your hips against his face. The leather seat is cold against your back as you arch off of it, the tension in your body tightening with each stroke of his tongue. You're so close, so fucking close, and you never knew it could feel like this. You've never been with anyone who's made you feel this way before. San's hands grip your hips, holding you in place as you start to thrash against the seat.

"San-" you throw your head against the window, finally giving up on holding your moans in. You feel your body tighten, your toes curling in your expensive heels. The pleasure is so intense it's almost painful. San's tongue is relentless, flicking and swirling, driving you closer and closer to the edge. You can't believe this is happening, that you're letting your bodyguard of all people make you feel like this. But you don't care anymore. You just want to feel something other than anger and pain.

San's eyes never leave your face, watching as your control slips away. He can see the tension in your jaw, the way your chest is heaving with each ragged breath. His own body responds to the sight of you, his cock straining against his pants, but he pushes the thought aside. Right now, this is about you. He slides two fingers into your wetness, curling them up to hit that spot that makes you see stars.

"Fuck-!" you cry out, uncontrollably grinding your hips up and down against San's face. His fingers delve deeper, hitting that spot that makes your eyes roll back. He's relentless, his tongue never leaving your clit as he works you closer to the edge. You're a mess of emotions, your anger momentarily forgotten as pleasure takes over.

"San!" and with one final cry of his name, the dam breaks and you come apart, your body shaking with the intensity of your orgasm. San doesn't stop, his tongue lapping up your pleasure as your thighs clench around his head. You're a mess of moans and gasps, your hands still gripping his hair tightly as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you.

He pulls away slowly, giving your sensitive clit a final, gentle kiss before sitting back up, his eyes searching yours for any signs of regret. But all he sees is a look of pure, unadulterated satisfaction. You take a deep, shaky breath, your chest heaving as you try to compose yourself. Your cheeks are flushed, your eyes glazed over with lust.

"That was…" you start, but you can't find the words to finish your sentence. San nods, a hint of a smile playing on his lips as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He can feel his own arousal, his heart thundering in his chest, but he knows this isn't about him. This was about you, about giving you what you needed in this moment.

You stare at the very obvious bulge in his pants, the fabric straining against his hard length. It's both embarrassing and strangely satisfying to see him like this, to know that you're the one causing his painful need. But you don't comment on it. Instead, you lie back against the cool leather, closing your eyes as he continues to kiss and lick your thighs.

"San, um," you gulp. "I need… I want you to, um, be inside of me." You stutter out, your cheeks reddening with embarrassment. But the need is too intense to ignore.

San's eyes widen in surprise, but he quickly regains his composure, moving to remove his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. "Ma'am, are you sure?"

"If I wasn't sure, why would I ask you?" you retort, your voice still shaky from the intense orgasm. San nods, his eyes never leaving yours as he shifts his body, moving to get into a more comfortable position between your legs. He takes off his jacket, revealing the holster that holds his gun and the tight black shirt that clings to his muscular chest.

God, he was so handsome. San's dark hair fell into his eyes as he hovered over you, his chest heaving slightly with each breath he took. You could feel his hardness pressing against your inner thigh, and despite the situation, a thrill of excitement shot through you. You'd never seen him like this before, never knew that he was capable of making you feel like this.

"Listen to me, San," you say, your voice firm despite the tremble in your body. "You're going to do as I say, and you're going to do it right now. Do you understand?"

San nods, his eyes never leaving yours as he moves to the backseat with you. He takes a deep breath, his mind racing with the implications of what's about to happen. But he's seen the pain in your eyes, and he can't stand the thought of you hurting anymore. He'll do whatever it takes to help you find some semblance of peace, even if it means crossing a line that can never be uncrossed.

"Push your pants down and fuck me. Can you do that or are you too dumb to understand? Because you're staring as if you don't get it." You snarled, the words leaving your mouth before you could even think twice about it. San's eyes darkened at your tone, but he didn't argue. He knew you needed this release, and as much as he wished he could take away the pain you felt, he knew that wasn't possible.

San's hands trembled slightly as he unbuckled his belt and pulled down his pants, his cock springing free. It was thick and hard, and you couldn't help but stare for a moment, the sight of it making your stomach flip. You've seen your husband naked countless times, but somehow, San's body was different. It was like a work of art, sculpted and perfect in every way. He was your bodyguard, but in this moment, he was also your salvation.

He settled between your legs, his eyes on yours as he positioned himself. You could see the want in them, the need that mirrored your own, and it made your heart race even faster. He pressed his tip against you, and you couldn't help but gasp as you felt the heat of him. San pushed into you with a slow, deliberate stroke, filling you completely. You bite down hard on your lip to keep from crying out, your eyes never leaving his as he starts to move.

The first thrust stole the breath from your lungs. His size in comparison to your husband's was laughable. Where your ex had been soft and underwhelming, San was relentless. Every inch of him carved space inside you like he was mapping uncharted territory. Your fingers scrabbled against the leather seat, nails digging in as he set a slow, torturous rhythm. "Faster," you demanded, voice ragged.

He looks at you with something between amusement and concern, like he knows exactly how much you're unraveling, but obeys without hesitation. The next thrust punches a gasp from your throat, your back arching off the seat as he drives deeper. San's hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise, holding you steady while his pace turns punishing. The wet slap of skin fills the car, mingling with your ragged breaths.

He places a hand on the door's armrest, the other holding your hips down. His thrusts grow deeper, harder, each one a perfect counterpoint to the ache in your chest. The leather creaks beneath you, the scent of sweat and expensive cologne thick in the air. You hadn't expected this, hadn't expected him, to feel so devastatingly right.

"F-Fuck, wait... slow down," you gasp, but San doesn't comply. His grip tightens as he drives into you with deliberate precision, the muscles in his forearms flexing with each thrust. You can see the conflict in his darkened eyes. Professional restraint warring with raw need, but his body moves with single-minded purpose. The car rocks slightly with the force of his movements, the windows fogging from your mingled breaths.

"You told me to go faster, right, ma'am?" San's voice was a low growl, rough with exertion and something darker. Something possessive. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your hips as he pulled you harder onto his cock, each snap of his hips making the car's suspension groan.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, stilettos scraping the back of his clothed back. Your husband was never able to make you feel this good with only penetration, but San’s cock had you seeing stars with every thrust. Tears pricked at your eyes, all coalescing into something raw and overwhelming. You dug your fingers into his shoulders, feeling the way his muscles flexed beneath your grip.

"S-San," you whimper, the syllables fracturing in your throat as he angles his hips just so... a merciless twist that sends lightning up your spine. His breath is hot against your ear when he leans down, lips brushing the shell as he murmurs,

"You're taking me so well, ma'am." The honorific shouldn't make your stomach clench, but it does, the paradox of reverence and violation unraveling you further. You shudder from his voice alone, the way it scrapes against your nerves like velvet-coated steel. San's teeth graze your earlobe as he pistons into you, the wet heat between your thighs obscene in the best way. The car's suspension groans with each punishing thrust, his cock hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision blur.

"I always hoped to have you like this," He breathed against your skin, the words slipping out before he could stop them. His thrusts stuttered for just a second, an uncharacteristic loss of control before regaining their brutal rhythm. You barely registered the confession through the haze of pleasure, your nails raking down his back as he drove into you with single-minded intensity. "I couldn't help myself. When you gave me this opportunity,"

Your fingers tangled in San's hair as his hips snapped forward again, the brutal pace leaving you breathless. The confession hung between you, but neither of you acknowledged it. Not when his cock was buried to the hilt inside you, not when your thighs trembled around his waist.

"If only you weren't married," He sounded desperate as he whispered against your neck, biting down hard enough to bruise. The pain blended with pleasure, making your toes curl inside your heels. His hands moved from your hips to your ass, lifting you slightly to change the angle. Just enough to make you see stars. "But now..." His thrusts became erratic, his control slipping as he chased his own release. "I have you."

"J-Just fuck me," you gasped, your voice breaking as San's thrusts grew impossibly deeper. His fingers dug into the flesh of your thighs, leaving marks you knew would linger. Your stilettos slipped against the car door, one heel hanging precariously as your legs trembled around him.

"You sound so pretty," San murmured against your neck, his breath hot and ragged as his hips pistoned into you with relentless precision. "You're doing so good for me."

San's voice cracked on the last word, the strain in his tone betraying how close he was. He lifted you a little, now placing your legs on his shoulders and sitting up, basically pulling you onto his cock. The new angle forced a choked cry from your throat suddenly, he was everywhere, pressing deeper than you'd thought possible. The leather seat groaned beneath you as San's thrusts turned frantic, his control fraying at the edges.

"San! Mmh!" Your cry dissolved into a strangled moan as his cock hit a spot so deep your vision whited out. Your dress was bunched around your waist as San fucked you with single-minded intensity. His fingers dug into the backs of your thighs where your legs draped over his shoulders, the bite of pain only amplifying the pleasure coiling tighter in your gut.

Your eyes shut tight as San's thrusts turned erratic. Short, desperate jerks of his hips chasing something neither of you could articulate. The wet slap of skin was deafening in the confined space, mingling with your ragged breaths. One of his hands slid up to tangle in your hair, tilting your head back.

"Uh uh, eyes open." San's command was rough, his fingers tightening in your hair as he forced your gaze to meet his. The intensity in his darkened eyes pinned you in place more effectively than the bruising grip on your thighs. You whimpered, unable to look away as he drove into you with relentless precision, each thrust pushing the air from your lungs. The car's windows were completely fogged now, sealing you both in this humid, desperate space where nothing existed but the slide of his cock and the way your body clenched around him.

"S-San, I'm close," you gasped, fingers scrabbling against the car's door as his thrusts turned punishing. The angle was too much, his cock hitting places inside you that shouldn't exist, your body stretched obscenely around him. San's breath hitched when your walls fluttered around him, his grip on your thighs tightening as he growled,

"Come for me."

You gasp, immediately gripping his arm tightly as the orgasm crashes over you with terrifying force. Your whole body locks up, thighs quivering violently against his shoulders while his name spills from your lips in a broken sob. San doesn't stop, driving through your convulsions with deep, measured thrusts that prolong the pleasure until it borders on unbearable. Tears leak from your eyes. You're not crying, you're just unraveling.

"Breathe," San murmured against your temple, his voice rough with restraint even as his hips kept moving, slower now, dragging out the aftershocks until you whimpered. His fingers traced idle patterns on your inner thighs where your skin still trembled. "Good. Just like that. Let it last."

You tried to blink away the haze, but his voice. His goddamn voice. Low and textured like whiskey-aged sin wrapped around you tighter than his arms ever could. "Breathe," San murmured, lips grazing the shell of your ear as your body seized around him. His fingers traced the frantic pulse at your throat while his hips rolled in slow, deliberate strokes, drawing out every aftershock until you whimpered.

"T-t-too much," you choked out, nails scoring down his coat. San's chuckle vibrated through you, dark and pleased.

"No such thing," he murmured, catching your earlobe between his teeth just as his thumb found your clit. "You'll take it. You're too greedy not to." The words shouldn't have sent another bolt of heat through your belly, but they did. Especially paired with the way his cock twitched inside you, like he was savoring the way your walls fluttered around him.

"Will you let me come inside of you, ma'am?" San's voice was a rough whisper against your ear, his fingers tightening against your trembling thighs. You could only nod, your body still shuddering with aftershocks as he pressed deeper, his cock twitching inside you.

"Words," he demanded, kissing your jaw.

"Yes— yes, god—" you gasped, your hips jerking helplessly against his as San's thumb circled your oversensitive clit. His thrusts had slowed to a torturous grind, every inch of him dragging against walls still fluttering from your last climax. The wet sound of your bodies meeting filled the car, mingling with the ragged hitch of your breath when he angled his hips just right.

"Tell me," San's voice scraped against your ear, each syllable vibrating through your oversensitive nerves. His hips rolled in a slow, deliberate circle that made your thighs jerk involuntarily. "Tell me how it feels."

"So good," you slurred, the words thick in your mouth as San's cock dragged against that spot again, the one that made your vision pulse white at the edges. His chuckle was dark, his breath hot against your temple.

"I'm so close, baby." The nickname slips from San's lips without permission, his voice ragged as he rolls his hips in slow, devastating circles. His fingers dig into your trembling thighs, holding you open while his cock drags against every sensitive ridge inside you. "Feel how deep I am? How full you are?"

You nod desperately, fingers scrabbling against his back as San's thrusts grow uneven. His breath comes in short, sharp bursts against your neck, damp puffs that send shivers racing down your spine.

"Tell me you want me to fill you up." San's voice was ragged, his breath hot against your ear as his hips pistoned into you with slow, deliberate strokes. Each thrust dragged against oversensitive nerves, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of your climax. You whimpered, fingers tightening in his hair as he angled his hips just right. "Say it."

"I— I want it," you gasp, arching against him when his thumb finds your clit again, the pressure just shy of painful. San groans, his forehead pressing against yours as his rhythm stutters.

San's groan vibrates against your throat, a rough, shattered sound that matches the way his hips jerk erratically against yours. His fingers dig into the meat of your thighs hard enough to bruise as he shudders through his release, his cock pulsing deep inside you. Heat floods your core, thick and insistent, and you gasp at the unfamiliar sensation. Your husband had always pulled out after your first child, always kept that final intimacy at arm's length. But San? San fills you completely, his body bowed over yours like a man praying at an altar.

The aftershocks pulsed through you like slow, liquid heat. San's weight pressing you into the leather seat, his breathing ragged against your collarbone. His fingers traced idle patterns on your hip, where your dress had ridden up; the touch was incongruously gentle compared to what had just transpired. The car smelled like sweat and sex, the windows still fogged from your mingled breaths. You stared at the ceiling, acutely aware of the way his softening cock still nestled inside you, the sticky warmth between your thighs.

Neither of you said anything at first. The silence stretched between you, thick with the weight of what just happened. San was the first to move, pulling away carefully. His fingers trembled slightly as he adjusted his pants, the quiet click of his belt buckle sounding absurdly loud in the confined space. You stayed where you were, legs still splayed indecently, the cool leather biting into your overheated skin.

He stayed quiet as he began to clean you up with the silk pocket square from his jacket, the fabric catching on your oversensitive skin. You watched him, really watched him for the first time since this began. The way his eyelashes cast shadows on his sharp cheekbones, the slight tremor in his usually steady hands. The silence was a living thing between you, swollen with unasked questions.

"San," you whisper, the name cracking in your throat like thin ice. His hands pause where they're smoothing your skirt down your thighs, knuckles brushing against the damp mess he'd just wiped away. The overhead car light catches the sweat still clinging to his temple, the undone collar of his shirt revealing the rapid pulse at his throat. "Will you... stay with me tonight?"

The lecture hall is silent, not because people are learning.But because everyone is collectively thinking: why is he like this.

“He’s so fucking weird,” you rant, flopping dramatically onto Wooyoung’s bed like a Victorian woman with consumption. Wooyoung doesn’t even look up at first. He’s halfway through a juice box like a five-year-old, laptop balanced on his knee as he scrolls through his module.

“If it’s that bad,” he hums, finally glancing at you, “I’ve got a friend who took that psych subject last semester.” You narrow your eyes. “If you say you, I’m dropping out.” He ignores you, “High school friend. Got like… a 95 or something.”

You sit up immediately. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” he nods. “Remember San? The guy I introduced you to during orientation?” You do remember Choi San. Unfortunately. Because nothing about that man screams “psychology major.”

He looks like he invests in crypto for fun. Hoodies, varsity jackets, and now because it’s summer, collared polos that make him look like he’s about to discuss property investments over brunch at a country club. Add in the slightly slicked-back hair and those stupidly attractive “professor glasses” Wooyoung won’t shut up about? Yeah. If anything, he looks like the type to say “trust me, bro” before losing your life savings.

But annoyingly, he’s actually good at teaching.

Like, actually good. Patient. Clear. Explains things without making you feel like a complete idiot. Which is impressive, considering you have the attention span of a drunk raccoon in a nightclub.

two. 

Every Thursday at 3pm, without fail, you show up at his student dorm. The sun is brutal, like “if I step outside any longer I might legally evaporate” levels of heat and the pavement looks one degree away from melting into soup. His building is… depressing. You take note of that the first time you visited, looking up from Google maps and thinking to yourself “is this a minimalist prison?”. A soulless, overpriced shoebox where the entire personality is “neutral tones” and “minimalist’s wet dream” 

You text him and wait near the front entrance, he opens the door. You step inside. And then; awkward silence.

The elevator ride up is always quiet. Not uncomfortable. Just… weirdly formal. Like you’re both pretending this is a professional tutoring session and not whatever this is.

His room is small. Entryway, wardrobe on the left, bathroom on the right. Tiny kitchen with two stovetops that look like they’ve never experienced joy, a desk, a bed, and a window overlooking the university park. There's his things scattered around, which does help make it feel more alive, but that's about it.

You take the plush chair on his desk, and he takes the plastic one.

Week one.

You are the picture of academic validation; Notes. Questions. Engagement. You prepared,  You revised beforehand so he wouldn’t think you’re dumb. You’re nodding like you understand everything. You’re saying things like “that’s interesting” unironically.

You are a liar, but at least you are a convincing one.

Week two?

Forty minutes in, your phone comes out, subtly. Like you think you’re slick.

San notices, of course he does. His friend (your cousin) has the same habit of finding whatever view is the nearest more interesting, tongue in cheek, before fiddling with his fingers whenever he finds something annoying or uninteresting.  But you’re still answering everything correctly, so he just lets it go.

You’re also dressed for the heat, henley top, a few buttons undone, short skirt, because the weather decided to cosplay the sun. San, mid-explanation, pauses for half a second. His Adam’s apple bobs, and he looks away. Mouth agape for a second but shut the second he regained composure so you wouldn't think he's a creep. 

Then he continues, like nothing happened. You pretend you didn’t notice, of course. But as it turns out. 

You both pretend a lot of things.

Week three?

He realises something. You are, unfortunately, the same breed of menace as Wooyoung.

Which explains everything, actually. When he talks, you nod. Then slowly, your hand drifts to your phone. At first, he’s offended. You can tell. He pauses more, and his jaw tightens. But over time, he just exhales and resigned to continuing his ramble.

“...as long as you’re listening,” he mutters once while flipping through his notebook

You are listening, surprisingly. He is good at explaining.

You’re just also on TikTok, scrolling through videos. You are a multitasker, after all. 

three. 

“So, neutral stimulation essentially—” He stops mid-sentence for the first time, his jaw clenches before inhaling slowly like he’s trying very hard not to commit a crime.

You, completely oblivious, stretch in your chair. Arms up, back arching slightly.

Your shirt rides up just a bit, just enough to expose some of the skin of your stomach. 

San immediately turns his head, and the window suddenly becomes the most fascinating thing he has ever seen. You drop your arms, glance at him, and smirk. “Lose your train of thought, professor?”

He doesn’t even look at you, murmuring as he flips through his notes from last semester “Don’t call me that.”

“Oh?” you tilt your head, sweet and insufferable. “But the glasses—”

“Continue reading page 42.”

“Wow,” you lean back, crossing your legs slowly, deliberately. “Authoritative.”

Silence.

“You’re failing this subject.”

You grin at him, the same grin that Wooyoung has. Physically it's different, but it radiated the same amount of mischief and playfulness. 

“Not with you teaching me” you purr at him. 

He mentally rolls his eyes at you. 

Tonight he's on classical and operant conditioning. You know this because he said classical and operant conditioning twenty minutes ago and you said okay and opened TikTok.

"The unconditioned stimulus," San is saying, somewhere to your left, "produces an unconditioned response without any learning. So Pavlov's dogs salivated at food before any conditioning occurred. Are you following."

"Mhm," you say, to your phone

"So," San says, and something in his voice has shifted, just slightly, just enough that some animal part of your brain lifts its head “let's say you're crossing a road, you press on the pedestrian button. Do you think that counts as classical or operant conditioning?” He turns to you, your eyes are still glued to whatever interesting video your friends are sending you as you hum, “operant. You receive reward or feedback from an action.” 

“That's correct,” San says,  "if every single time you wear a short skirt," a beat, "and I get hard, is that a voluntary or involuntary response?” 

You hum again, trying to think. But then your brain rewinds and tries to register his words, and your thumb stops scrolling.

You look up, and  San is looking at you with an expression you have never seen on him before. His eyes that's usually warm, usually easy, the eyes of someone Wooyoung described once as annoyingly likeable, are sharp. Dark at the edges. His notes are still spread in front of him and his pen is still in his hand and his jaw is tight in a way that makes something in your stomach drop several floors 

"Hold on," you say. "Wait."

"You've been teasing me," he says, simply. Not an accusation. Just a fact he's decided to present. "For three weeks."

"I haven't—"

His eyes drop to the skirt, comes back up.

You have been. You know you have been. You are not going to say that.

"San"

"Voluntary or involuntary" he says. "Answer the question."

Your mouth opens. Your psych knowledge, what little has survived three weeks of looking at him instead of his notes, scrambles for purchase. “Involuntary” you say, because the skirt was before the.. because the response would be… because…

"Good," he says, and the word lands differently than you expected, low and warm and doing something to your pulse that you would like to not examine right now  "so if I talk to you like this" his voice drops, just slightly, just enough, "and you get wet"

Your face goes hot.

"That's an involuntary response," he continues, calm, clinical, San, who has been Wooyoung's friend since high school and is now looking at you like you're something he's been patient about  "isn't it, dove." The dove goes directly into your sternum and stays there.

"That's—" you start  "Unconditioned," he says. "Means you can't help it. Means it's not your fault." He tilts his head, just slightly. "You're already wet, aren't you."

You are not going to answer that.

 The answer is yes, you are not going to say yes. You are better than a dog during mating season. 

He nuzzles against you and something in him just snaps. Three weeks. Three weeks of short skirts and tiktok and that mouth and the way you tilt your head when you're actually listening which is always, annoyingly, always  three weeks of being patient and good and sitting in the plastic chair out of courtesy while you get the comfortable one and explaining conditioning theory while you cross and uncross your legs like you're doing it on purpose. 

Three weeks of blue balls in his own dorm room on a Thursday at 3pm like clockwork and he is done. “ your pupils dilated when I moved closer. That's not something you can fake, dove." San’s eyes are like laser beams staring into yours, and you have to pretend that you're not intimidated. 

“I have no idea what you're talking about” you say, you try leaning backwards even more if that's even possible, because your back is already against his chair and it's getting suffocating. “You've been conditioning me too” San says gently “every Thursday you always wear these..short skirts and slightly unbuttoned henley tops” his eyes flickered down to your slightly exposed chest “did you think I wouldn't notice the pattern, dove?” 

You decided to bring Wooyoung into the conversation as a last resort, somewhat of a ‘hail Mary'. “What will Wooyoung think about this?” Your voice comes out small and raw, your throat feels as dry as a desert and suddenly the afternoon sun shining through his window feels too much. 

San actually pauses at this, he considers it.

 "Wooyoung," San says, thoughtfully, "would say you've been asking for this for three weeks." A beat. "He knows you.". "Same mouth," San says, almost fond, sliding his hand up your thigh, "same deflection tactics. Doesn't work on me either.”

The position he's got you in is embarrassing. 

He's kneeling in front of you, kneeling between your legs that are placed on top of his broad shoulders. His fingers are playing with the hem of your skirt, this is probably the most awkward and tense lead up to sex you've ever had if it wasn't for the pounding in your chest.  He presses his face against your mound and breathes it in. "San I don't think this is appropriate—" 

 That voice, that voice that is all Wooyoung, sassy and deflecting and nervous underneath, and something behind his eyes makes a decision that his patience has been vetoing for twenty one days. His hands find your underwear and he pulls them down fast, none of the gentle peeling he'd planned, just off, gone, your ankles and then the floor and then he looks at you and exhales through his nose hard like a man who has been waiting a long time and is now very close and cannot be reasonable about it 

He open mouth and kisses you hard, not soft, not polite, lips and tongue and heat all at once, messy and immediate, his hands pushing your thighs apart when they try to close and holding them there with a grip that means no, stay, and you gasp so loud it bounces off the walls of his small neutral-coloured dorm room. 

San licks into you rough and thorough, not slowly, not academically;  hungry, is the word, three weeks worth of hunger and his tongue working through you fast and deliberate and the sounds he's making are low and continuous and genuine and nothing like the patient tutor, nothing like country club polo shirt san, nothing like anything she's seen from him before surfaces. Chin soaked. Eyes absolutely wrecked. Jaw tight.

"I was right," he says, and his voice has dropped into something rough and frayed at the edges, "involuntary response." He pushes your thighs wider and looks at you and his chest is heaving slightly  "you're wet." Thumb parting your labia, proving his point, watching your face twitch "you've been wet, haven't you."

"San—"

"How long," he says. Not asking gently. His grip on the meat of your thighs tightens. "How long have you been sitting in that chair like that"

"I don't know what you're—"

"Dove," he says, and the word comes out low and sharp and nothing like when he said it before, "I have your underwear on my floor. We are past the part where you pretend.”

"Three weeks," he says, and something in his jaw is doing the thing, the tight furious fond thing, "of that skirt and that mouth and you sitting in my chair crossing your legs every five minutes—" he ducks down and licks into you hard and fast and you cry out and your hand flies into his hair and grips and he groans against your cunt, as if saying yes, there, before he finally surfaces again immediately, breathing rough. "You've been doing this on purpose."

You open your mouth to say something. 

"Don't," he says. His eyes are dark and his mouth is slick and he has never once in three weeks of Thursdays looked like this, the gentle hunk is somewhere else entirely, this is what was underneath the polo shirt the whole time  "don't tell me you weren't." His hands shove your thighs wide and he goes back down and this time he doesn't surface, just stays, tongue working into her rough and relentless, no warmup no mercy no academic pace, just three weeks of patience cashing out all at once  and the sounds coming out of you are embarrassingly immediate and loud and you’re grinding against his face before she means to and he groans like that's exactly what he wanted, like he's been wanting her to stop being polite about it.  His fingers push in without warning.  two, immediately, rough and deep and you gasp so hard you choke on it, your back arches clean off the chair and his tongue doesn't stop, won't stop, is working at your clit fast and relentless while his fingers curl and drive and find the thing that makes your thighs shake around his head. God, he loves it when you squeeze his head with your legs. He's always wanted those thighs wrapped around his face. 

"San, San that's too—" He doesn't stop. His fingers pump into you rough slick and loud, the wet sounds obscene in the small room, and he makes a low hungry noise against your clit that vibrates through your entire body and the grip in his hair tightens. He surfaces one more time. Breathing wrecked. Hair destroyed from your hands. Eyes dark and satisfied and still sharp. "You want this," he says, rough, his fingers still moving inside you. watching your face fall apart, "say it."

"Three weeks, dove," his fingers curl,  "say it."

"I want it " it comes out broken and small and honest and he smiles.  "Good girl," he says, finally, warm underneath all the rough, and pulls you off the chair and onto the bed in one motion, "was that so hard?"

You don't give an answer because his fingers are still inside and your brain has stopped providing useful output and somewhere on the floor the psych notes and your underwear are keeping each other company and it's thursday at 5 pm. The sun is giving the dull room a golden glow.

 Wooyoung is never finding out about this.

He's got one hand on your waist, guiding your head towards the edge of his bed. Your head is almost tipping back off the mattress until the world inverts and you're looking at the wall upside down, the ceiling and the underside of his desk, and San who's still got that slight flush on his cheek. Everything is making you slightly dizzy and warm in a way that's wrong in the absolute best way. 

Your clothes are still half on, skirt shoved up, shirt slightly pushed down so San could see your bra. He considers taking the entire thing off but hormones said no and he'll take what he can get. You're a mess, general evidence of someone who got relocated mid sex, you make a noise of protest about the position but San places a hand on your sternum gently as a warning. From this angle he's just a shape above you. Dark eyes looking down at her inverted face, jaw tight, hair slightly messed from your hands, and he looks big, from here, the perspective doing something to the gentle hunk image that makes your stomach swoop hard

You hear his zipper.

"Three weeks," he says, conversationally, from above you, "of sitting in my chair." You feel him, the blunt warm press of him against your lips, and your mouth opens automatically,  conditioned response, you think deliriously, unconditioned response, whatever, you don't care. 

 "open wider, dove." He taps on your lower lips. You open wider.

He pushes in slow from above and gravity does the rest and the angle is.. the angle is everything, the stretch of your throat, the depth he reaches without trying, and you gag immediately and he makes a low sound that is definitely not an apology 

"There she is," he says, fond and rough simultaneously, his hand coming to rest on your throat,  not pressing, just feeling, feeling himself there, and the intimacy of that makes your eyes prick "been wanting to see this for weeks." His hips start to move. Shallow at first, just enough to feel the flutter of your throat around him, and simultaneously his other hand finds you still slightly wet and pushes in  two fingers, immediate, curling and the sound you make around him is muffled and desperate and your hips jolt up as an involuntary response. "Stay still," he says, and he sounds wrecked already, voice low and tight, "you're going to take both."

You try. You cannot stay still. His fingers are working into your gummy walls rough and deep and his hips are rolling forward. You're upside down and dizzy and full from both ends and the blood is rushing to your head and everything feels static and warmth. 

"So good," he breathes above and you can hear it in his voice, the crack in it, the three weeks worth of wanting underneath the composed psych tutor "you're so good, look at you" his fingers curl and you gag around him, he hisses sharply  "taking it like you were made for it". Yout hands find his thighs from below, the only anchor you have. “Mean girl," he says, low and fond and rough, hips pushing deeper, fingers pumping fast and slick "three weeks of that skirt"  you gag. "and that mouth" his fingers curl.  "and now look at you." You can't look at anything. The room is sideways and warm and his hand on your throat feels every sound you try to make before it gets past his cock and your eyes are streaming from the position and the fullness and the fingers working into you without mercy 

"Involuntary response," he says, somewhere above you, strained and quiet and almost gentle "see. Your body always knew." His thumb finds your clit and presses, your muffled cry vibrates around him and his rhythm stutters.  "Gonna be good for me from now on," he breathes, and it lands somewhere soft and permanent, fond underneath all the rough "aren't you, dove."

You squeeze his thighs. He takes it as the yes it is.

He finishes with his head tipped back and his hand braced on the mattress edge and a sound that isn't a word, just air leaving him rough and involuntary, his hips pressed forward and his fingers buried and your throat working around him milking every last bit of it down. He stays there for a moment, catching himself. The room is loud with both of you breathing, then he pulls out slow and you cough immediately, turning your head, gasping, the sudden absence of him leaving your throat raw and your lungs grateful and your whole upside down world spinning. he gets his hands under your head before it can drop, careful now, guiding you back up to horizontal and then sitting you upright on the edge of the mattress and crouching in front of you, hands on your knees, watching your face with those sharp warm eyes gone soft at the edges. 

"Look at me," he says, quietly. Tutor San is back, checking for feedback. You look at him. Streaming eyes, wrecked throat, hair absolutely destroyed, and you meet his gaze and don't tap, don't pull back, just breathe and blink and hold his eyes, and he reads you the way he reads everything, thoroughly, and something in his shoulders drops half an inch. 

Then his eyes go down.

His fingers are still slick. His hand, the one that had been inside you, and the bedsheets beneath where you'd been are wet.  he goes very still for a moment looking at the evidence of what you did somewhere between the third finger and the ceiling, while you were crying and muffled and shaking.  He groans. Low and genuine and a little devastated about it.

"You came," he says. Not an accusation. Just awe, slightly. Like you've done something to him personally. Your face goes hot. You say nothing.

"All over my fingers," he continues, and his voice has done the thing again, the rough fond thing, and his jaw shifts "and my sheets." He looks up at you. "Dove."

"I didn't mean to." You say, sounding somewhat normal for someone who just got their throat destroyed. He pushes you back toward the headboard.Not roughly but with the particular energy of someone who has just been handed new information and intends to do something with it immediately, guiding you up the mattress until your back meets the headboard and you're against it and he's kneeling over you and his hands find your legs.  One goes up. One stays down. The split is immediate and exposing and your whole body protests the stretch and you grab his shoulder 

"San, wait.  I'm still—"

"I know," he says, and lines himself up, and you can feel the thick blunt head of him and you're shaking, you've been shaking for ten minutes, your thighs are trembling and your throat is raw and you are not prepared. He pushes in whole. One go. Slow but complete and entirely without mercy, seating himself fully while you're still adjusting to the split of your own legs, and the scream that comes out of you is immediate and loud and his hand claps over your mouth fast, dorm building, is the distant thought, neighbors.  The scream goes into his palm and he feels it and his jaw does the tight thing and his eyes close briefly like he needs a second. 

You're full. Impossibly, completely full, the stretch of him in the split position deeper than anything, kissing parts of you that have never been introduced to anyone, and it hurts, the good kind, the kind that lives right next door to more and shares a wall.  He opens his eyes and looks at you. Hand still over your mouth. Your eyes are streaming again, fresh tears, and you're shaking underneath him and gripping his arm hard enough to leave marks 

"Oops," he says.

You stare at him.

"Should've been more gentle," San says, and his voice is wrecked and his jaw is tight and he is buried to the hilt inside you and he is smiling, just slightly, just the corner of his mouth,  the gentle hunk smile, the country club smile, worn by a man who is currently doing the opposite of gentle and is not sorry about it in any capacity. 

You bite his palm.

He tips his hips forward just slightly and you make a muffled sound against his hand and stop biting.  "There," he says, soft, fond, wrecked, his forehead dropping toward yours, "there she is." His free hand finds your hip and grips. "Hold on." He starts to move, your breath is knocked out of your lungs.

four. 

The view outside his window has always been your favourite. Overlooking a park near University and slightly covered by a tree, right now the view is indifferent to whatever just happened as the sunlight seeps through. San’s sun-kissed skin looks more golden as he's thrusting on top of you, courtesy of the warm ball of fire thousands of kilometres away. He starts slow. That's almost kind of him. Deep and rolling, the split position is already devastating on its own, and you're trying to breathe through it, trying to find the rhythm, your hands in the sheets and your eyes at the ceiling and your whole body doing the recalibration it needs to do when someone is that deep.  Then he makes a sound. Low and involuntary. And stops being slow.

"Fuck—"

He shifts. One fluid motion, hoisting himself upright from braced over you to sitting, changing the entire geometry of it,  your leg still up, perpendicular, his hands finding purchase, and the new angle makes the world tilt and you make a sound that isn't a word because he's deeper, somehow deeper than before, deeper than you thought the position allowed.  He looks down at your stomach.

Goes very still for exactly one second.

"San—"

He presses his right hand flat against your lower abdomen. Palm down. Feeling. And then his hips pull back and drive forward and his hand feels it and his jaw drops open slightly and he makes the most wrecked sound you have heard from him all afternoon 

"Oh,"  he says, soft and devastated, "oh that's—"

His hips snap forward again and he watches his own hand, watches the slight shift beneath it, and his expression does something that has no business being as attractive as it is,  dark eyes wide and jaw loose and chest heaving and he looks like someone who has just made a discovery he wasn't prepared for and intends to repeat the experiment indefinitely.  The tears come back immediately. Different this time,  not from the throat, not from the fingers, just from the sheer overwhelming fullness of him at this angle, kissing your cervix on every stroke, his right hand pressing down and feeling himself move inside you and his left hand finding your face. Not covering your mouth this time. Just  cupping your cheek. Tilting your face up toward his. Catching the tears with his thumb while his hips work into you rough and relentless and his right hand stays pressed flat on your stomach watching.

You cry into his palm and he lets you.

"Look at that," he breathes, eyes still down, hips snapping forward,  you feel the bulge shift under his hand and sob  "look at—" another thrust,  "you're taking all of me—" his voice cracks on it  "feel that?" You feel it. You feel it everywhere. You feel it in your spine and behind your eyes and in the specific place where coherent thought used to live.  "San, San it's too much!"

"It's not," he says, and his left thumb wipes your cheek gently while his right hand presses down firmly on the next thrust and you cry out and your back arches and your hands scrabble for something to hold onto and find his knee, grip it hard and he looks at your hand on his knee and then back at your face and something in his expression cracks clean open Fond. Devastatingly, helplessly fond. Underneath all the rough and the jaw and the right hand monitoring the bulge like a researcher who has found his life's work.  just fond. "Doing so well," he says, quiet, almost to himself, hips rolling forward deep and slow for just a moment, giving you a breath,  his left hand stroking your cheek while his right hand just rests, warm and present  "taking it so well, dove."

You make a sound against his palm that has no dignity left in it whatsoever. "Yeah," San says softly, and his hips snap back to rough, and his right hand presses down, and he watches with those dark wrecked eyes as the evidence of him moves beneath his palm and his head tips back for just a second, jaw tight, the sight of it doing something to him that three weeks of thursdays have clearly been building to.  "Mine," he says, at the ceiling, rough and quiet and certain, his right hand pressing down and his left hand cradling your face while you cry and take it. 

The university park is outside the window. The psych notes are on the floor. Your underwear is somewhere near the desk. and you are never going to be able to sit in that plush chair again without thinking about how your psychology tutor rearranged your guts on this very date. 

"No more," you're saying, and you mean it, you think you mean it, "please San, I can't no more" He tips you into missionary like he's rearranging pillows. One hand on your hip, one on your thigh, and you go over easy because your body has stopped taking instructions from your mouth, which he knows, which is maybe why he doesn't answer you  just settles between your thighs and looks down at you, wrecked and tear-streaked and shaking, and his chest is heaving and his hair is destroyed and his polo shirt is somewhere on the floor and he looks unhinged, is the thing, the composed patient tutor has left the building entirely and what's left is this jaw tight, eyes dark, breathing rough, a man who has completely lost the plot and is not looking for it. 

"San please I'm serious" your whines fall deaf on his ears. He pushes back in. The sound you make rolls up from somewhere deep and involuntary and your eyes go wide and your hands fly to his chest and he catches your wrists, pins them above your head in one hand, and bottoms out and stays there, fully seated, looking down at your stomach. He goes very still.

His free hand moves to your lower abdomen. Presses flat. Slow. Deliberate. Feeling.

He pulls back slightly and pushes in and watches his hand and the sound he makes is not sane. "Shit" low and wrecked and wondering, "shit, I'm—" he thrusts again and his hand feels it and his jaw drops  "I'm in so deep, baby"

You're drooling. You realize this distantly. The position and the crying and the overwhelming fullness and his hand on your stomach has shorted something out and your mouth is just  open, tears and spit, every refined thing about you completely dissolved,  you are drooling on your own chin and your eyes are doing the thing where they're not focusing on anything in particular and you can't bring them back.

He looks at your face and laughs. Not a mean laugh, or not only a mean laugh. It's genuine, delighted, slightly unhinged, the laugh of a man who got a 95 in psychology and spent three weeks being patient and is now watching his carefully maintained study partner drool on herself on his mattress and finding it the funniest most devastating thing he's ever seen. 

"Look at you," he breathes, still laughing, jaw tight and eyes crinkling and nothing about this is composed anymore  "look at your face" he thrusts rough and watches your eyes roll and laughs again, softer, rougher, the laugh turning into something else at the edges. "where'd your mouth go, dove, hm?" Another thrust. "All that attitude"  thrust  "three weeks of that smart mouth".  His hand presses down on the bulge. You drool more. Your eyes go completely. "Pathetic," he says, and he sounds fond about it, devastatingly fond, like pathetic is the best thing he's ever seen, his hand covers your mouth now, palm flat, catching the drool and the muffled broken sounds you're making and he feels you against his palm, every sob, every whine, every attempt at please and no more that has no real weight behind it. 

He presses down on your stomach with his other hand and thrusts hard and watches the bulge move under his palm and his laugh dies into something low and reverent and barely human.  "Fuck," he breathes, "fuck, that's—" pressing down, thrusting in, watching his jaw is working like he's biting down on something, teeth catching his lower lip, the expression of a man doing long division to stay functional. "so deep inside you baby, you feel that?"

You feel it. Your eyes are somewhere in the back of your head. You are drooling into his palm and making sounds that would embarrass you if embarrassment was something you still had access to.

"Ruined," he says, rough and laughing and wrecked, his hips snapping forward and his hand pressing down,  watching your stomach, watching your face, watching your rolled eyes and your open mouth and the complete and total wreckage of the girl who showed up at his door with her short skirt, tiktok videos and her smart mouth every thursday. 

 "I ruined you." Not a question. Just  awed. Delighted. Then he laughs again, quieter now, the mad fond laugh of someone who didn't expect this to happen and cannot believe it has. "three weeks and I completely ruined you" He presses down hard on the bulge and holds and drives in and your muffled scream goes into his palm and he watches your eyes roll back with the expression of a man who has won something and intends to collect. "Smart girl," he murmurs, soft, his thumb stroking your cheek even now, even through all of it, the gentleness underneath the rough that has always been there  "my smart girl,  where'd she go, hm?"

You’re gone. completely gone. drooling into his hand on a Thursday afternoon with psych notes on the floor and definitely not coming back for a while. San laughs again, low and quiet and completely mad about it. "There she is," he says. Another laughter rip from his chest, cold and unforgiving but still has the undertones of the sweet and patient San you know. 

You have a feeling that this will go on till the golden hour passes and the evening hues taken on the room, and you’re proven correct as San turns you over. You let out a yelp of disagreement, but it is quickly muffled by a pillow. You could feel his looming presence behind you as he prepares himself again. 

Your awareness was at an all time high.

It felt like your nervous system was teaming up with your body to try to warn you of a potentially dangerous situation. Goosebumps spread across your skin. You had a sinking feeling in your stomach as if something had you in their sights and nothing could take their attention away.

It was what you assumed a small animal in the forest felt before coming face to face with a tiger.

Which wasn't too much of a stretch, exaggeration wise, when it came to being under Hongjoong’s watchful eye.

You had been out for a little over an hour now, your friends had invited you to a celebration of- someone? For- something they had done?

The intent wasn’t explained clearly to you and you weren’t sure there even was a real reason for the party apart from just having a party. You were told to show up at Hongjoong’s place, ready to drink, and ready to have a good night.

And you were prepared to take those rules very seriously.

Drinks had been pushed onto you the second you walked through the door. Your friends’ intoxication levels had let you know that they had been at Hongjoong’s place prior to when you were told to show up. Not that you were on time, but it wasn’t late enough for them to get this wasted.

You hadn’t reached that level yet, not for lack of your friend’s trying, but due to being continuously pulled to the “dancefloor”. The dancefloor being the center of Hongjoong’s living room.

You had managed to get about a drink and a half in you in the moments you were able to sneak away from your friend Seonghwa. Who had been “forcing” you to be his dancing partner, since he had managed to tire everyone else out.

It was after the second time he had caught you drifting towards the kitchen that you noticed Hongjoong. You had wondered where he was when you arrived, but due to the constant pulling of your friends you hadn’t had a chance to find him. Typically, he would’ve sought you out the second you arrived but you didn’t blame him for keeping his distance from the drunken group that had clung to you.

As Seonghwa wrapped his fingers around your wrist and drugged you into the scattered bodies between the couches, you felt a disturbance.

That disturbance was Hongjoong.

He was sitting in a far off corner of his living room, the people around him aimlessly talking at him while his attention was on you. His elbows rested on the tops of his thighs, his fingers laced together as his head tilted off to the side, his eyebrow knitted in what you assumed was confusion.

Since that moment, you didn’t have a second where it felt like he had looked away. You would glance over occasionally, thinking the feeling was just in your head, but you were always proven wrong. His eyes stayed glued on you.

You tried to signal for him to join, but he just shook his head, the movement small and slow.

The people around him continued to laugh and talk and he would respond to them, but his gaze never left you.

It would’ve been unsettling if he was anyone else.

Hongjoong and you had been close since you met, the two of you had a chemistry that should be studied. You challenged each other every time you hung out. You could bounce off his jokes, you could retort any remark he shot out, you would help him when he was stuck creatively, and on occasion you would help relieve each others- tension. Both mentally and physically.

It wasn’t a secret and it had gone on long enough that your friends had stopped questioning why the two of you weren’t in a relationship yet.

You liked the little arrangement you had, but you also never knew when he was in the mood to be friendly and just hang out or in the mood to pin you against the wall.

The pit in your stomach let you know that from how he was looking at you it would be a night that was the latter of the two.

He had no issue with staking claim on you in group settings. He often made it known when the two of you were around others that they didn’t have a shot entertaining you, so you weren’t sure why he hadn’t approached you yet. But you were going to have fun until he inevitably did.

Your friends had phased in and out joining you and Seonghwa on the dancefloor. Your best friend danced with her boyfriend alongside you both, Yunho would twirl and dip her as your partner tried to do the same. However, Seonghwa’s coordination had been lost about two drinks ago as he flung you around carefully. His arms were never not around your back or waist as he manhandled you and called it dancing.

You were giggling, being tossed around as your other friends drunkenly circled around you. You wished that Hongjoong would join you all, but it seemed he was stuck on the couch in the corner.

As the hours passed, your friends had slowly started tiring themselves out the more they drank. San had tried, and failed, to start about four congo lines before passing out on a nearby couch. Yeosang tried to watch over him as Mingi poked, prodded, and took selfies with his unconscious body. He gave it a good effort to swat him away before ultimately deciding it’d be best to lock him in one of the spare bedrooms with the help of Jongho before the two headed out for the night.

Most of the people had left, leaving only the close group of friends behind. Your best friend was in the process of watching her boyfriend attempt to wrangle Mingi into their car, sending you a quick wave before following close behind the two.

And the party host? Still sitting on the damn couch. Even as people approached him for goodbyes, he’d only offer them a hand to pull them into a half hug but his ass never left his seat. You figured his legs must’ve been numb at this point.

“We’ve lost San.” Wooyoung, the man who invited you to all this, grabbed your shoulders to spin you away from Seonghwa in a panic.

You placed a hand on his chest, “Babe, San is still with us. He’s alive and in the spare room.”

The blonde shook his head with a frown, “No, he’s gone.”

“What do you mean?” Seonghwa questioned as he continued to do the sprinkler with concern on his features. Wooyoung involuntarily started bobbing along to match his rhythm, “He’s not in the room.”

Seonghwa’s hand fell to his sides as he took in a sharp inhale, “Aissh- do you think he made a run for it?”

Wooyoung slowly started getting more into the song playing, stepping side to side as he shrugged.

“He might still be in the house.” You looked between the two of them. “I’ll help you look.”

Wooyoung caught you in his hands before dipping you, “I’ve looked everywhere in this house. He’s gone, all we can do is move forward.”

You pushed yourself to stand with a laugh, “If I ever go missing, I want you nowhere in my search party.”

“If you go missing, I’d likely be with you.” he grabbed your wrist to spin you into his chest. His eyes scanned your face with a soft smile as he pushed back the hair that had fallen across your face.

You couldn't argue with that, you and Wooyoung were close and were probably the most likely to go missing if left alone for too long. As your hands pressed against his chest, the music abruptly came to a halt.

The three of you turned to face the couch where Hongjoong still sat, his phone in his hand with a remote app pulled onto the screen. His eyes locked onto your hands, his jaw crooked with his tongue pressed against the roof of his mouth sharply.

Seonghwa cleared his throat, his hand slapping against Wooyoung’s back. “San most likely started walking home, you know how much he loves sleeping in his own bed. We can probably catch him down the road before he passes out in a bush somewhere.” The taller of the two spoke with a hesitant voice, his attention still on the host.

Wooyoung nodded with a mumble in agreement, his grip on you ending faster than it started.

“Let me grab my stuff, I’ll come with yo-“

“No. No. I think you have your own situation to deal with.” Seonghwa politely waved you off with a laugh, his eyes ticking over to the corner.

You hesitantly looked at Hongjoong. He placed his phone against the arm on the couch before his fingers twitched to call you over. The look he gave you was enough to make your throat tighten as he leaned back to rest into the cushions.

“You’ve always been my favorite, I’ll miss you.” Wooyoung joked, pulling you into him to place a kiss on your forehead. Hongjoong’s intake of breath is audible with the music off. The blonde sent you a weak smile before being pulled off by Seonghwa towards the front door.

The two shouted goodbyes before shutting you in the house alone with a seemingly irritated man.

You felt your body heat as you stood alone in the center of his living room, the same place you had practically made a home in all night. It felt weird without everyone there, like you were on a stage.

Especially with the attention being solely on you.

“The party was great-“ you tried before he cut you off mid sentence.

“Come here. Now.” he moved his hand to point down against his thigh.

“No one lets me talk around here.” you cursed under your breath but your feet carried you towards him without a second thought. It wasn’t a long stretch to where he sat, and you stood in front of him with a pout. “I don’t know why you’re using that tone with me, I didn’t do anything.” you sulked, not fully understanding why he was so on edge.

You had danced with the guys many times on many occasions and it had never been an issue, but you could tell he had one with it tonight. For some reason.

He exhaled deeply, his tone sharp, “You didn’t drink that much tonight so I assume your eyes work.”

Your eyebrows pushed together in confusion as you nodded, “My eyes are fine. Yours seem to have a staring problem though.”

He ignored your remark as the corners of his lips twitched, almost breaking into a smile but he had enough restraint to hold it back.

“That’s not where I’m pointing, is it?” he asked, his finger having not left their original position.

You scoffed, “If you’re going to be a dick, I prefer to fight standing.”

His jaw locked, the intensity in which he glared was intimidating even in his seated position.

He didn’t say anything more, he didn’t need to.

You knew you didn’t have the ability to stand your ground when it came to him being so dominant. If anything, you were using all your strength to stop yourself from flinging yourself on to him. Your heart skips just at the idea alone.

You tried to refrain from giving in, which lasted about ten seconds before you rolled your eyes and perched yourself on top of his right thigh.

He hummed in approval, his hand moving to sit at the small of your back. “You always look so beautiful.” His thumb slowly traced back and forth into the fabric of your dress, “But you look edible in this.”

“And yet, you haven’t spoken to me all night.” you huffed, feeling your face warm as he stared lazily up at you. His shift in tone catches you off guard. A laugh slipped from his lips, “You knew where to find me.”

You relaxed more into him, your arm coming to lay across the back of the couch pushing your side to rest into his chest. “You’re the host, you should be making rounds to greet others.” you pouted, looking down at him.

He mocked your expression, his bottom lip jutting out, “What? Was everyone’s attention not enough for you? You needed more?”

You groaned, rolling your eyes away from him as his free hand caught your chin. “I let the first one go, don’t push your luck. You’re lucky you're sitting and not across my lap.” he spoke through his teeth.

You knew he hated when you rolled your eyes, which is why you did it. If he was going to be annoying, you would be too. “I didn’t do anything.” you spoke through your smushed lips.

“You did plenty.” he let out a dry laugh, “You showed up in that dress and let our friends grab at you all night.”

You immediately realized what was going on, your hand reaching up to pull his grip from your face. He let you move him with no resistance as your lips spread into a smile.

He tilted his head in response, “What’s so funny?”

“You’re jealous.” you teased.

He scoffed, “You knew what kind of man I was when you met me.”

“Being jealous when strangers hit on me is one thing but you’ve never been jealous of Seonghwa and Wooyoung of all people.” You couldn’t help but laugh, they constantly flirted with you for fun in front of him and it had never been an issue. They weren’t even acting out tonight, if anything, they were tame in comparison to other hangouts.

You waited for him to explain himself but he just continued to glare up at you. His chest rising and falling at a rapid rate as you could see him trying to come up with an excuse in his head.

You laughed again, unable to contain it as you tried to cover your mouth with your hand, “It’s Wooyoung and Seonghwa!” The entire situation felt ridiculous to you, you didn’t mean to laugh but you couldn’t help it.

“You find this funny?” he seethed up at you, his expression was angry but his cheeks and ears were flushed. He was clearly embarrassed, but you knew if the roles were reversed he would be doing the exact same to you.

His hand snatched your wrist and pulled it to his lap, using his fingers to flatten it around a very prominent bulge in his pants. Your laughter stopped abruptly as he moved your hand to rub over it, letting out a shaky breath.

“I’ve been dealing with this for hours and you’re laughing?” he gritted through his teeth, his eyes shutting as he released his grip to unbutton his pants before moving to reach for you again.

You let him move your hand to slip into his underwear, your body on autopilot as you began to stroke him in his pants with him guiding you. Your thighs pressed together as you bit your bottom lip. “I haven’t been able to move, watching my friends grab at you in that little dress. Seeing their hands on my girl-” his voice broke, a whimper falling out as you involuntarily squeezed him at the name.

He let out a soft chuckle, his head falling against the back of the couch. “Watching everyone here look at you, scan you over, thinking they had a chance.” he continued in pants as he sped up your pace. His hand on your back slid along to your side, ducking under your arm to grab at your breast and bring you in closer to his chest. “I’ve been so patient.”

He kneaded your skin, moving to slide under the fabric of your bra and pinch your nipple between his fingers. You gasped, letting him puppet you around while you fully gripped around his cock. His precum spreading over it as a lubricant as your breathing picks up to match his without him even fully touching you.

“I wanted to rip this dress in half. I’ve been trying not to kick everyone out or take you over the table while everyone watches.” he grunted, his head tipping over to lean his face towards your shoulder. He opened his mouth to bite into your skin as he whined at your hand closing on him again. “You like that idea? Want the boys to see what a good slut you are?” he grinned into your flesh, removing his hand from your chest to your bare thigh.

His dirty talk always went straight to your cunt, his voice was always so condescending and it made your brain fuzzy. It didn’t matter what he was saying, it was how he said it.

Your teeth dug so hard into your lip you thought you’d draw blood, your eyes shutting as you resisted melting fully into him. “Nothing to say? You like my dick so much that just touching it has that smart mouth of your speechless?” he lifted his head, his tone teasing and light.

His fingers slapped lightly against your clenched legs, the two spreading without a word from him as he smiled at the response. “If you won’t answer, she will for you.”

His arm wrapped around you as he palmed your heat, his hand meeting with the slick material of your underwear as he took in a sharp inhale at the sensation. “This better be from me.” he hissed, his fingers tracing your folds over the garment before quickly pushing it to the side. The pads of his fingertips collecting your slick with a moan, “Tell me who made you this wet.”

He continued to swirl around your entrance. Your hand’s pace didn’t falter once due to his help, you weren’t sure if you’d be able to even focus if it wasn’t for him. You released your lip from between your teeth to breathe out, “You-“

“Who?” he snapped, his fingers stilling.

He had a very strict rule when you two were getting into it, he loved to hear you breathlessly say his name. He hated when you didn’t. Even if you were speaking to him, you were to respond as if you were telling someone else. You knew this, but he had this ability to blank your brain with ease.

You pouted as his hand removed itself from you, “You know, I was going to be nice even after everything tonight but I don’t think you deserve it.”

“No.” you gasped, your eyes shooting open.

There had been many times that your attitude had made him leave you high and dry but you didn’t do anything tonight.

In almost a desperate plea for release, your hand worked harder on him. His body twitching as he laughed, “Fuck-“

His fingertips dug into your skin, gripping against you to ground himself. “I think-“ he started breathlessly, “You need to make it up to me.”

Without another word, he pulled back from you. He nudged your legs, signaling for you to stand. When you did, he lifted himself to remove his pants. He threw them off to the side before spreading out again, his own hand pumping himself as you watched.

You stood to slide the strap from your dress off your shoulder to slip out of it but he tsk’d, stopping you.

“No, keep it on. You let everyone else touch it tonight but I want to be the one to ruin you in it.” he took in a breath as you watched his tip leak into his fist.

You moved between his legs, sinking down to get your head level with his hips. Your hand grasping on the tops of his thighs as your knees dug into the carpet.

He looked down at you with hooded eyes as you looked up at him, the second your eyes met he twitched again. He swore under his breath as his hand picked up speed, “Keep your eyes on me.”

He whimpered, watching as you licked your lips. Your mouth salivating just at the sight of him, like it was preparing itself for what was about to come on instinct.

“Put those pretty lips to good use, yeah?” he said before letting go of himself and stretching his hands along the back of the couch.

You immediately took him into your mouth, his hips lifting in surprise as you sucked him into the back of your throat. “Fuck- Feeling impatient?” he gasped, his hand lacing into the hair at your crown.

You moaned around him as spit dribbled down the sides of his shaft, his mouth hanging open as he started directing your head up and down against him. The tip of your tongue lifted to trace up and down every vein as his hips shuttered up into you.

Moans fell from his lips as they gained higher in pitch with every thrust to meet your mouth, both hands clutched to the back of your head as you did your best to keep yourself from gagging at the speed and force.

Your fingernails dug into the skin of his thighs, making him hiss. “Maybe I should call them to come back, let them see how much you love my dick.” he grunted, his pace slowing but not faltering. His hips were meeting your face in the middle, lifting from the cushion in slow deep thrusts.

You swallowed around him, his groan so deep it rumbled straight between your legs. You thought your whimper was barely audible, but he had caught it. A dark laugh came from him as his head fell back, “So desperate just from tasting me.”

You were desperate, but for him to do something. The frustration building in your core only grew with every sound that fell from his mouth. His moans echoing in the empty space of his living room, making it hit your ears in surround sound.

You hollowed your cheeks, setting your own speed in an attempt to make him impatient enough to slam you against the couch and fuck you.

“Shit-“ he let out a shaky breath, “Don’t be greedy.”

His words meant nothing to you at this current moment, you ignored his warning as you continued to pull him to the back of your throat. Your jaw feels fully stretched around him as your nose hits his pelvis. Tears built in the corners of your eyes as you tried to breathe your way through his size and length.

He whimpered, his moan sounding like a broken cry as he mumbled a string of curses. You repeated this, your tongue swirling his tip every time you reached the top before sucking him back in.

His hands moved to grip your shoulders, stilling you.

“Are you that cock drunk you can’t hear what I said?” he hissed, his fingers pressing into your skin.

You did your best to continue despite the hold, licking him as his breath was rapid and strained. You moaned around him, his dick twitching at the sound.

He pulled you to stand, “You want my dick that bad then fuck yourself on it.”

Your heart skipped, excitement building in your stomach as he removed himself to lean back against the couch. His arms returned to the back of the couch as his hips pushed down to plant his feet fully on the floor. The angle of his body making your favorite chair to sit on.

You looked up at you, his eyebrows raised. He glanced to his lap and back at you impatiently, “I know you don’t need any help, I’m sure you're soaked.”

He wasn’t wrong, the fabric of your underwear had uncomfortably stuck to you at this point. He was the only man who could get you this hot and bothered without even touching you. The arrogant and chalant look he was giving you did not help.

You bent to free yourself from your underwear, pushing your hands against his chest as you straddled his lap. Your rugburnt knees stinging as they hit the fabric of the couch with your thighs already feeling weak as you hold yourself above him.

Typically, he’d guide you. His hands would find your hips or back to keep you steady, but he didn’t move. His fingers gripped into the cushions as your slick covered his throbbing dick.

You teased him more, sliding him between your folds as you adjusted yourself to fit onto his lap comfortably.

He bit his bottom lip but kept his eyes on you, “Are you going to do something or should we just wrap it up for the night?”

Your eyes widened, a pleading “no” slipping past your lips before you could stop it.

He smirked, his ego fueled by your need to have him.

Your hand reached down between your bodies to stand him straight, leaning up onto your knees to line him with your neglected entrance. He sighed, as if he was bored. Your attention snapping back to his face as the sound ignited something deep inside of you.

The desire to fuck him dumb out of spite.

You pushed him inside of you while sitting yourself until he bottomed out. His lips hanging opened as your hips met.

His fingers dug so deeply into the couch that you thought they would tear it apart. But he still didn’t touch you.

You lifted yourself slowly, feeling every inch of his girth before slamming back down. Making not only him but you gasp in unison.

You grinded your hips against him in a steady rhythm, making sure to hold his gaze as you did. Moans falling freely from your mouth with every bounce against him.

His dick filled you completely but you felt like you couldn’t get enough.

Your legs parted more, a burning sensation in your muscles as you tried to take more and more of him with every move. Your clit caught against his shaft whenever you pushed down, causing your brain to short circuit.

Your fingernails were digging into the material of his shirt, using it to ground yourself as you rode him harder than you ever had.

“Is that-“ he panted, a cocky grin on his face, “Is that the best you got?”

Your eyebrows raised as he laughed, your body still grinding against him. “You wanted to get me off so badly earlier, you think this will do it?” he challenged, “Maybe you tired yourself out by dancing with everyone and anyone all night.”

His words were stern, but his face was giving away his facade. He looked as if he was having the time of his life, his hands twitching in resistance to grab you.

You moved your feet to squat on top of him, if he wanted you to fuck him. You were going to fuck him. Hell, you were going to fuck him up if he kept up his attitude.

“Maybe I did, or maybe my mind is elsewhere.” you instigated, slowing yourself to make him feel every single inch of himself slipping in and out of you.

Your body squeezes him every time you push down on him completely.

He looked at you without amusement, his jaw locking as he processed your words and the feeling of you wrapped around him simultaneously.

“Yeah?” he amused, his tone agitated, “You’re thinking of someone else?”

Your tongue pulled your bottom lip to between your teeth, your eyes shutting as you shrugged. One of your hands moving from his chest to grab at your own. His angered expression only helped the tightness in your stomach build as you felt him twitch inside of you.

His breathing quickened, not only in pleasure but annoyance.

Your eyes snapped open as his hands found your hips, fingertips pressing roughly into your skin as he stopped your movements. You whined, attempting to move with no avail.

“Tell me who you’re thinking of.” he seethed, keeping your body still as he planted his feet further into the floor. You opened your mouth to tell him it was a joke but was cut off by his hips pistoning up into you. The force knocking the air from your lungs. He held you steady, grunting as he bounced you against him.

“Tell me. Who do you think can fuck you better than this?” he groaned, his dick feeling like it had reached inside of your guts.

The force was almost too much, your mouth hanging open as your vision blurred. “Tell me. Seonghwa? Wooyoung? You think they can fuck you the way you like?” he continued, your arms giving out as you laid into his chest. His thrusts never faltered.

“You think they’ll be able to fuck the brat out of you?” he grunted, your walls squeezing around him at the name. He let out a breathless laugh, his face falling into your shoulder. His teeth digging into the exposed flesh.

You yelped, the feeling flooding between your legs.

He positioned himself to fuck up into you, his tip sliding to graze your g-spot with every thrust.

You swore under your breath, the feeling knotting at the pit of your stomach.

“Come on, say their names.” he taunted, his shit eating grin confirming he could feel it too. “Tell me who you’re thinking about.” his voice breaking into a whimper as you squeezed him again. His hips stuttered at the sensation.

He took in a breath through his gritted teeth, his stamina picking up as he pushed himself through your tightness. He brought a hand to his mouth, licking his finger tips before sliding it between your bodies.

He found your clit, circling it as he pounded into you. “What’s the matter, baby? Can’t remember?” he moved his lips back to your neck, biting the sensitive skin and sucking it into his mouth.

You wanted to protest, to tease him more but the only name that ran through your brain was his.

“Hongjoong-“ you gasped, the band in your stomach tightening as he laughed.

“You want to cum?” he cooed.

You could barely lift your head to nod let alone speak.

“You think you deserve to?”

You whined, knowing that you were reaching a point where his permission would mean nothing. He felt too good inside of you. His fingers working magic on your bundle of nerves that made your legs shake.

“Beg me.” he moved his lips to whisper in your ear.

Your mouth responded before your brain could process what he had said, “Hongjoong, please.”

“Tell me- who’s the only one who can fuck you like this?” his voice was strained and you could tell he wouldn’t be able to hold off much longer.

“Hongjoong.” you panted, “Only you.”

“Fuck- say it again.” his eyebrows knitted as he pushed into you deeper than you thought was possible.

“Only you, Hongjoong. I only want you.”

His fingers sped, his thrusts becoming sloppy.

“Keep saying my name as you cum for me.”

You took that as the okay you needed, your orgasm washing over you like a wave. Your mind was blank as you repeated his name like a mantra. Each one that left your lips made me slam into you like a punctuation. As if he was trying to fuck the sound of it into you.

Your over sensitive walls clamping around him as his moans became higher and higher in pitch. His teeth digging into your shoulder to muffle the sounds.

You cried out, the feeling of him becoming too overwhelming.

He detached himself from you as you practically flopped against him, your body feeling drained as he continued to use you like a toy.

“I want you to remember me with every step you take tomorrow. I want you to feel me in your thighs the next time you dance with anyone that isn’t me.” he slammed into you, his hip bones hitting you with a bruising force.

“You’re mine.”

“I’m yours.” You managed to agree, your head lolling against his body.

“Tell me again.” he groaned, his dick twitching inside of you as he lost all rhythm at the sound of your voice.

You licked your lips, attempting to soothe the dryness from your panting, “Hongjoong, I’m yours.”

The second the sentence ended, he let out a groan before slamming into you one final time. His body stilling as he came so hard the force of it made you cry out.

The two of you laid there, your body melted into his as he tried to catch his breath. The movement only bouncing you off of him with every pant.

He buried his face into your neck, peppering kisses against where his teeth had marked.

“I don’t think I can move.” you managed to get out, his laugh in response making your head bob against him. “I don’t want to move.” he responded, kissing your neck again.

“Yeah, you seem to really like this spot.” you joked, pushing your arms to lift yourself to face him.

He looked up at you, his pupils blown as his eyes scanned over your face. “It’s my favorite now.” he breathed out, his hand pushing back at your hair before wrapping around the back of your neck.

He pulled you forward, his lips finding yours.

The two of you drained, lips forming against each other in weak movements. He kissed you softly, inhaling as he held you against him. The intimacy of it makes your stomach flutter.

Your head felt dizzy as you felt him smile against you.

He hummed, kissing you again, his fingers lacing into your hair.

“God, you feel fucking good.” he laughed softly into your lips, causing you to do the same.

There was silence for a minute, the two of you just coming down from your highs.

His hand wrapped around your jaw, lifting you from your laying position to look at him. His thumb traced alongside your cheek, “I didn’t like seeing their hands all over you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, “Yeah, you hid it really well.”

He rolled his eyes with a smile, “Forget it.”

Your fingers wrapped around his wrist, keeping his hand against you.

He looked back at you, his eyes warm as they scanned over your face.

“I spent the whole night wishing you were with us.” you admitted, turning your head to hide your face into his palm. Kissing it lightly.

“You did?” he smiled, his voice soft. As if he was nervous you’d take it back. Like you were saying it just to make him feel better.

You bit the heel of his palm, a yelp leaving him as he grinned.

“Yeah, but someone just had to get a hard on.” you rolled your eyes.

His fingers grasped your chin lightly, forcing you to look at him.

You waited for him to scold you but instead he brought your lips to his. He let out a contented sigh as he pulled back, “You really want to press your luck right now?”

He pushed his hips up, still inside of you as your thighs screamed in response. The soreness in your muscles burning hot, “Hongjoong, please.”

He groaned, “Begging me is the last thing you should do.”

You moved to push yourself off of him but he locked his arms at the small of your back to keep you still. “Moving makes it worse.” he joked, laughing as he pulled you into his chest.

You couldn’t stop your giggles if you tried, “I can’t do shit in this house.”

“You can do me.”

“Hongjoong.”

He laughed, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Stay tonight?”

“You physically won’t let me move.”

He scoffed looking down at you, “You couldn’t use your legs right now if you tried.”

You squinted at him before nodding, “You make a solid argument. I’ll stay.”

He laughed in response reaching to grab a blanket from the side of the couch before throwing over the two of you. “We can move to the bedroom in a minute, I just- want to stay like this a little longer.” he confessed, idly drawing shapes into your back as you shut your eyes. Your head against his chest.

His heart was racing. You knew it was probably due to your previous activities but a small part hoped it was from just being with you.

Your heart did the same whenever you were with him, but you’d never admit it. At least not sober. Or unless he had admitted it first.

“Where is everyone?” you heard a voice speak, your eyes shooting open as you flipped your head to face the stairs.

A muscular man stood at the bottom of them, rubbing his eyes with a yawn.

“San, what are you doing here?” Hongjoong laughed in shock, his expression matching yours.

He opened an eye to him, pointing a thumb behind him, “You guys put me to bed.”

“Wooyoung said you weren’t in there.” You shook your head with a smile.

San scratched the back of his neck with an embarrassed chuckle, “I fell off the bed. I was on the floor.”

You nodded, it didn’t surprise you that he didn’t think to actually look in the room.

San scanned you both over with a small smile, his eyes shutting in contentment. “You guys look comfy. Mind if I join?” he started to move forward before you both protested at the same time. Shouting rejections as you processed exactly what was happening under the blanket.

It wouldn’t be the first time one of the guys had caught you two in a compromising position, but it was an instance where you could stop them from seeing anything that might traumatize them.

San stopped abruptly, pouting as his shoulders fell. “I’m going back to bed.” he stated in a defeated tone, spinning on his heel back towards the stairs.

“Go home!” Hongjoong shouted after him as he was already in the process of ascending to the spare rooms. San waved him off as he disappeared from sight.

The two of you sat there, your laughter slowing to contented silence.

You stacked your hands on top of one another at the center of Hongjoong’s chest, your chin resting on the both as you looked up at him.

He glanced at you, "It'd be wrong to go again, right? Now that we know he’s here.”

“It is your house.” you tempted, smirking at him as he gripped you tighter.

His eyes went wide but you felt his dick move in response, “I was fucking joking.”

You boo’d him loudly, raising a hand to give him a thumbs down before he playfully smacked it away.

He pulled you down to rest against his chest, his chin sitting in your hair. “You’re crazy.”

“You like me because I’m crazy.”

He let out a soft laugh, kissing into your crown. “Yeah, I really do.”

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you shake your head. “nope.” you shrug and pick up your phone again and start to scroll through your settings apps. “but it’s not a big deal, really, it’s just another thing to cross off the bucket list.”

seonghwa snorts and peeks over to snoop at your phone, to which you angle it away from him with an annoyed scowl. “i think it may be a little more serious than that.”

you type gibberish into the search bar. "why does it have to be serious, hwa? it's just sex."

its seonghwa's turn to scoff this time, and he pinches the skin of your calf, you swat at him with your free hand. but he does it again, and you bite out an irritated "quit it" as he starts to speak again.

"thats a bad mindset to have, y'know that right?" he lowers his voice to that annoying, mothering tone he uses with you when he thinks you're being stupid. "it should never be "just sex."

"okay yeah, but you can't be so picky and choosy all the time. i'm sure ill get with some guy and when he figures it out, he'll work with me or whatever. teach me or something." you speak of it fleetingly, like it was nothing more than a pesky errand.

seonghwa snatches your phone from you and shoves it into the couch cushions, and you sigh loudly.

"some guy?" he questions with a raise of his eyebrow. you move to fish your phone out of the couch, but he reaches out and gently grabs your wrist, encasing it in his slender fingers and rubbing his thumb over your thrumming pulse point.

"why not me?" he speaks lowly, and you snap your eyes up to his. he stares back at you with an intensity that settles low in your gut. his thumb stroked over your inner wrist slowly, and his other hand twitched at his side on the couch.

the air went thick, the quiet of his living room felt encased in a bubble, and the warmth of his skin suddenly burned.

he sees it. your thighs clenching beneath your body, the conflict flashing over your eyes, your free hand digging its nails into the cushion.

when you don't respond, he lets his eyes fall to where his hand held your wrist, watching with illustrated intent as he traces patterns against the fragile skin.

"i could show you, i've always been told i'm a good teacher." seonghwa tickles the skin of your palm with gentle scratches of his nails.

"thats what friends are for, yeah?" he lifts his pretty eyes back up to you, and something else has shadowed over them, and you feel something inside of you crack. you're aware of the way veins in his hands flow prettily under his skin.

the way his collarbones peak through the thin fabric of his shirt. the slick shine on his bottom lip where he licked to wet it. his tongue poked against his inner cheek and his eyebrows raised again to urge an answer out of you.

"c'mon pretty, don't leave me hanging." his voice is softer than usual, a new tone lacing it you've never heard from your best friend, something heated, something needy.

if deciding to have your best friend teach you how to ride dick was a bad idea, then you could mull on it later. because it wasn't long until he was sitting under you on the couch, legs spread nice and wide, his hands pressing into your hips where he held your body above him.

you straddled him, your thighs resting on either side of his, your knees pressed into the rough fabric of the couch cushions. your hands gripped his shoulders, your nails digging into the flesh of the blades.

he looks up at you through his lashes, as if you were a gift from god himself, his eyebrows knit together so prettily. "its fun up there, huh?" he smiles, dragging his warm hands up your thighs, holding you like you might melt and slip through his fingers.

you could barely keep yourself together; he was so deep inside of you. your thighs shook around him, his tip nudging against that spot so sweet and so dirty. his fingers kneaded the flesh of your hips, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth with a quiet moan when he felt your cunt clench around him.

"it helps that you're, ah… so wet…" his voice cracks lightly, his cock twitching inside of you and sending a jolt of pleasure up your spine.

you shiver and grip his shoulders a little harder, and you begin to lift your hips, but his grip on them tightens, and he pushes you right back down until your ass hits his thighs again, and you groan nice and low as he fills you all the way up again.

"no-no-no-no-no, baby, stop. don't lift." he presses his lips to your collarbone and kisses you there softly, running his tongue over the skin warmly. one hand leaves your hip and runs over your waist before he presses his palm flat against your lower back and pushes until you arch a little.

just enough that he somehow slips deeper into you, and you let out a weak whine when his fat tip presses ever harder against that spot.

"grind." he instructs in a gravelly, soft moan. "rock your hips, back and forth. it'll help me hit that spot for you."

you shake and whimper under your breath, but you obey. you gently move your hips forward, and the feeling is immediate, his cock drags against your soft walls just enough that it feels like pure heaven.

you move your hands and card them through the hair at the back of his head, cradling his skull in your arms as you hide your face in the crook of his neck, moaning softly against his skin as you rock your hips, nice and slow.

it helps that he's so big, each roll of your lower body has him slipping in and out of you just enough to stimulate you, but not enough to where you can consider him fucking you. his tip dragging against that spot like a constant button, your legs shaking uncontrollaby and your whine brushing past his ear like a song.

your clit lightly brushes against his abs, where his shirt has ridden up over his lower stomach. he keeps his hand on your lower back, keeping you arched all the while his other hand stays glued to your hips, pushing and pulling on your lower body, helping you grind his cock into your body.

"there, how's that feel, baby? good?" he whispers in your ear, kissing just below your earlobe as he helps you rock your body around his cock.

you nod against his neck, gripping his soft, dark hair harder and choking out a moan when he teases you with a heavy lift of his hips. then you feel as he encases your hips with both his hands again, and gently he lifts your body ever so slightly.

you squeeze his head even harder, seonghwa's soft moans shaking in his throat as he lifts and pushes your cunt back down on his cock in slow, deep intervals. "don't stop rocking those hips, keep fucking me like you want. grind, deep, slow…"

he guides you perfectly, each time he lifts your hips himself it makes you clench around him harder. you start to feel a little desperate, and your hips start to move a little faster, rocking with a little more rhythm, but seonghwa didn't like that.

one hand finds the back of your neck and grabs it firmly, pulling your head away from his shoulder and pressing your forehead to his. suddenly all you can see is his eyes, and it overwhelms you to the point of tears. you whine pathetically when he thrusts his cock up into your pussy so sharply that a drop of drool falls from your lips onto his chest.

"easy…" he grumbles against your lips, his breath fanning over your face in low, heavy pants. "slow down pretty, no need to rush." his nails dig into the back of your neck, and you shiver when he starts to grind his own hips up into you, so deep it has your stomach caving.

"if i wanted you pounded into the floor i would've put you on your back, but i'm teaching you sweetness. listen to me." his eyes fall low-lidded as you resume your slow grinding, and his mouth falls open in a pretty moan when you tighten around him, the sound of your slickness loud in your ears.

"it's your dick right now, baby, use it. do what feels good, but don't lose your head." he keeps up the torturous movement of his hips, a choreographed grind that makes his stomach roll prettily.

he doesn't let you look away, forcing you to lock in on his needy gaze while he keeps you filled up with him, nudging every deep spot, every nook and cranny of your pussy. there wasn't a single space inside of you that remained untouched.

"s, t-too, mm-" you tried to talk, try to tell him how good you were feeling but it came out in slurred babbles, and he laughed at you. his warm breath shudders over your parted lip,s and he nudges his head up, melding his soft lips with yours and kissing you deep and nasty.

his tongue fills your mouth with a purr, curling and essentially fucking your mouth with it. "it's a lot i know…" he whispers into your mouth, interrupting the kiss with a low moan when you clench so hard around him it makes his entire body fuzzy.

he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, letting go with a wet pop and pressing your hips down so hard onto his cock you thought if you looked down you'd see his tip poking through the flesh of your stomach.

"wouldn't have felt like this with anyone else, baby." seonghwa nips at the corner of your mouth, dropping his head to run his warm tongue flat up the front of your throat. "feel how wet you are? no other man will be able to make you feel this good."

his eyes lift as he sucks marks of possession into the skin of your neck, and when he sees a tear slipping down your cheek, he growls low in his throat and jerks his cock up into you rough and deep, and you yelp as the bliss shoots through you.

"oh no, don't cry. it makes me wanna be mean to you, makes me wanna fuck you til it feels wrong when i'm not inside you."

now he wraps his hands around your throat, pressing his thumbs against those soft spots that melt your brain, his eyes darting all over your pretty little blissed out face, his lips brushing against your in a ghost of a kiss.

"now lift, drop, and roll. fuck me, bunny. its yours, use this cock until you're satisfied. make yourself cum for me."

you coudln't disobey if you tried, working your body and focusing on that rapidly tightening knot in your stomach as you fuck yourself on seonghwa's dick, every delicious drag inside of you forcing your eyes to roll to the back of your head.

he doesn't bother to chastise you for breaking eye contact; he knows you're too lost in it to control yourself. he squeezes your throat tighter, your moans coming choked and broken. seonghwa helps push you over that edge, groaning and purring prettily for you, lifting his hips to match your desperate movements.

"i feel you baby, pussy feels so good around me. so warm, so tight." he lifts his head to press his lips to the shell of your hot ears, moaning and sighing as you ride him to high heaven. your head feels fuzzy with the lack of air, seonghwa making sure that the only thing you could think about was his dick working you out.

“cum as much as you need,” he coos in your ear his voice low and breathless, sinking his teeth into the soft lobe. “ride me, bunny, ride me.”

you absolutely lose it, slamming your hips down onto his dick and shattering, dribbling drool in rivers as you cum. he squeezed your throat in pulsing intervals, giving you air, then snatching it from you, rolling his hips up into your cunt and dragging every drop of your orgasm out of your body.

"oh god…fuck." he grumbles in his throat, overwhelmed by how pretty you looked on top of him, blissed out over your warm, gummy pussy squeezing him so tight he almost came inside of you. "such a quick learner, baby."

he drags his hands away from your throat, cradling your head, smearing your drool all over your cheeks with his thumbs, your face hazy and drunk while he rocks his hips into you in painfully slow, high off the way you shake and whimper, your slick sticking to his thighs and his lower stomach, a messy proof of his effect on you.

"did so good beautiful, yes you did." he praises, and yet his hips never stop moving. rolling, grinding, upwards strokes that make you feel helpless, regardless of the fact that he was beneath you.

"think you can give me another one? lesson's not over yet." he bites out, grabbing your arms and dragging your body down so your forehead rests over his shoulder. then he grips your hips, lifts your body up, and shimmies his hips down just enough so he can plant his feet flat on the floor, before he starts to fuck.

hard, deep, powerful thrusts up into your overstimulated cunt that has your moans coming out in staccato chokes.

"you did your w-work, now let me use this pussy." he groans through gritted teeth, and you feel your body erupt into flames the more he moves. making you feel every inch of him, each thrust touching your brain. making you feel so good.

is that not what friends are for?

part 1: texting chapter

part 2: texting chapter

part 3: texting chapter

part 4: texting chapter

part 5: teasing

part 6: texting chapter

part 7: smoke sesh

part 8: texting chapter

part 9: texting chapter

part 10: dying hj’s hair

part 11: goofy hangout

part 12: dirty girl

part 13: morning after

part 14: texting chapter

part 15: been like this

part 16: conflicted

part 17: two best friends

part 18: 1/2: texting chapter

part 18: 2/2

part 19: afraid

part 20: i’m in love with her

part 21: still beating

part 22: almost