'99 Liner, Capricorn Sun, Capricorn Moon, Aquarius Venus
I just write for funsies, don't expect anything perfect!
I just mostly write for Ateez but don't be afraid to ask! :)
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summary: in which your boyfriend has been teasing for months about wanting to film the two of you so you surprise him for his birthday
warning: dom mingi, sub reader, record yourselves, oral, squirting, fingering, spanking, edging, creaming, unprotected sex, creampie
genre: smut
pairing: idol mingi x afab reader
word count: 5.5k
masterlist
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The apartment was quiet when you pushed through the front door, the kind of quiet she still hadn’t entirely gotten used to since Mingi moved in. Not because he was particularly loud. Actually, that was a lie. He was incredibly fucking loud. If he wasn’t playing music from his phone while wandering around the kitchen, he was singing badly on purpose just to annoy you. If he wasn’t doing that, he was calling to you from another room instead of walking the ten feet necessary to find you. And if somehow none of those things were happening, there was usually a six foot something man draped across whatever piece of furniture you happened to be occupying, demanding attention as though you hadn’t sucked his dick fifteen minutes earlier.
A week without him and the apartment felt wrong. You kicked the door shut behind you and slipped out of your shoes, dropping your keys into the little ceramic dish beside the entrance before glancing automatically toward the clock on the wall. His flight had taken off a little over an hour ago. He had texted you he had gotten on the plane followed by him saying how much he misses you.
And then, because he apparently couldn’t allow himself to be sincere for longer than twelve consecutive seconds, he joked about hoping whatever birthday present you got him was expensive. You had sent back a picture of your middle finger and his response had been three heart emojis and a demand that you pick him up from the airport wearing nothing but a trench coat. Unfortunately for him, Hongjoong had already arranged transportation from the airport for all eight of them.
Fortunately for Mingi… you had other plans. Your gaze dropped toward the black shopping bag hanging from your fingers and a smile slowly pulled at your mouth. “You’re such an idiot,” you muttered, although whether you meant Mingi or yourself was becoming increasingly difficult to determine. You carried the bag toward the kitchen and set it carefully on the island beside the other presents you’d bought him over the past few weeks. Those were already wrapped. A new pair of headphones he’d mentioned wanting. A ridiculously expensive diesel jacket he’d stopped to stare at during one of your shopping trips before deciding he didn’t need another one. A necklace you found months ago and immediately thought would look good on him.
Normal girlfriend things.
The black bag was decidedly less normal.
You stared at it for several seconds before reaching inside and pulling out the box. A brand new camera. Nothing enormous or particularly professional. You hadn’t exactly walked into the store and announced you needed equipment capable of filming your sex life in cinematic 4K. Although the thought nearly made you laugh. You simply told the employee you wanted something small, good quality and easy to use.
The poor man had enthusiastically explained stabilization, battery life and video quality while you stood there nodding along, painfully aware that none of those specifications were the actual reason you were buying it.
Mingi was.
More specifically, Mingi’s big mouth was.
It had started months ago as a joke. No At least, he’d pretended it was a joke. You had been lying in bed one night when he’d made some offhand comment about how unfair it was that he couldn’t see what you saw whenever you were together. You had laughed. Mingi had laughed. Then he’d mentioned a camera and you had turned your head toward him. Mingi had immediately become fascinated by the ceiling. That should’ve been the end of it. Except he’d done it again. And again.
Never asking. Never pressuring. Just little comments dropped here and there, usually accompanied by that stupid grin of his before he’d conveniently change the subject whenever you looked at him for too long. You knew your boyfriend. Mingi joked about practically everything, but there was a particular look he got when the joke contained a little too much truth. The camera was definitely truth.
You ran your thumb along the edge of the box. The funniest part was that you didn’t think he’d ever actually ask you. For all the confidence Mingi possessed, for all the things he could whisper against your ear while buried inside you, the slightest hint of embarrassment, this apparently lived in the tiny category of things capable of making Song Mingi shy.
So you had decided you would surprise him for his birthday. You opened the box. The blue camera sat neatly inside alongside its charger, battery and instructions. You pulled everything out, leaning against the island while you skimmed through the little booklet. Charge battery fully before first use. Easy. Insert memory card. Adjust video settings. Connect to compatible device…
You stopped, eyes slowly narrowing. You looked at the camera. Then at the instruction booklet. Then back at the camera. “Why am I nervous?” The empty apartment offered absolutely no sympathy as you scoffed and pushed away from the counter. “I’ve seen that man naked a thousand times.” You grabbed the charger. “We live together.” You plugged it into the wall. “I know what his morning breath smells like.” The battery clicked into place. “He cried over a dog food commercial last month.” You could feel your heart racing. “He’s had his tongue in my ass.”
None of this changed the fact that your stomach fluttered when you looked at the camera again. Because joking about it was one thing. Actually putting that camera in Mingi’s hands and telling him exactly why you bought it was another. And you knew precisely what would happen. First, confusion. Then realization. Then that wide eyed stare he got whenever you managed to genuinely catch him off guard. Then he’d probably ask if you were serious. Then he’d ask if you were sure.
Because underneath every dirty joke and shameless comment was the same man who still checked in with you over things you have done together countless times. That was part of why you decided you could give him this. You trusted him. The video wouldn’t leave the camera. It wouldn’t be uploaded anywhere. It wouldn’t be stored somewhere either of them couldn’t control. It was theirs, and if you ever decided you didn’t want it to exist anymore, Mingi would delete it without argument. You already knew that. Which left only one remaining problem. Where the hell were you supposed to put the camera?
You slowly turned toward the bedroom and narrowed your eyes. “Oh, Jesus Christ.” Ten minutes later, you apparently became a director. “No.” You moved the small tripod from the dresser to the bookshelf. “No.” Back to the dresser. You tilted the camera slightly downward. “Absolutely not.” You snatched it up again. By the fourth attempt, you were standing in the middle of your bedroom with one hand planted on your hip, glaring at an electronic device as though it had personally offended you.
“This was supposed to be his problem.”
Your phone buzzed from the bed. You glanced down at it. It was Mingi saying they landed. You looked from the message to the camera sitting innocently on your dresser and tossed your phone back onto the bed and stood, turning toward the camera with renewed determination. You picked up the camera again and your stomach flipped. Mingi had spent months joking about wanting this. Tonight, he was finally going to realize his girlfriend had been listening.
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It was nearly past 7:30 when you finally heard the familiar scrape of a key against the lock as you stepped out of the bathroom. “Shit.” Your head snapped toward the bedroom door as the lock turned again, followed by the unmistakable thud of something heavy hitting the floor in the entryway. His suitcase, probably. Apparently wherever he’d been dropped off, Mingi had decided the final stretch of his journey needed to be completed at a sprint.
“Baby?”
“In here!” You tightened the towel around yourself, wet hair dripping down your back as you stepped into the hallway. You intended to shower earlier. You also intended to have his presents arranged nicely on the coffee table, put on the little outfit you picked out and perhaps look somewhat composed when your boyfriend finally walked through the door. Instead, you spent entirely too long fussing with the camera, reorganized the bedroom twice for no logical reason, lost track of time and ended up in the shower approximately eight minutes before Mingi got home.
So much for seduction.
You barely made it around the corner before you saw him. Mingi stood just inside the apartment with his hood pulled over his head, black sweatpants hanging low on his hips and a black Calvin Klein shirt swallowing most of his frame. His backpack was still hanging from one shoulder. His suitcase had indeed been abandoned beside the door, and he looked exactly like someone who had spent the better part of his day navigating airports and sitting on a plane. Tired and rumpled.
His eyes found you then immediately traveled downward as he dropped his backpack and took three enormous strides across the apartment before his arms wrapped around you, hauling you against him so suddenly that you squealed and grabbed his shoulders. “There you are.” His voice was muffled against your neck and your smile softened immediately as Mingi folded himself around you, both arms locked securely around your waist while he buried his face into the crook of your neck.
His entire body seemed to sag against yours, like he’d been running on whatever scraps of energy remained purely because he knew this was waiting at the end of the night. “You’re sweating,” you murmured.
“It feels like Satan outside.”
“And you’re crushing me.”
“Don’t care.”
“Mingi.”
“No.”
You laughed, slipping your arms around his shoulders despite the precarious situation involving your towel. “You have to let me go eventually.”
“No, I don’t.”
“You still have your shoes on.”
“Don’t care.”
“Your suitcase is literally blocking the door.”
“Tomorrow problem.”
You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling too hard for the gesture to carry much weight as Mingi breathed deeply against your neck. His nose brushed slowly along your skin. “You smell good.”
“I just showered.”
“I can see that.” Something about the way he said it made your eyes narrow as one of his hands moved to slide up under your towel and grip your ass. “Mingi.”
“Mmm?” His lips pressed against the side of your neck. Nothing particularly heated. Just one lingering kiss, followed by another closer to your jaw before his face disappeared against you again and his hand squeezed against your ass as you threaded your fingers into his short hair. “Did you miss me?”
Mingi finally lifted his head and his expression made the answer embarrassingly obvious. “A week.”
“You’ve survived longer.”
“Didn’t like it then either.”
You smiled, teasing him. “Poor baby.”
“Exactly.” His arms tightened around you, his hand on your ass lingering. “I’ve suffered.”
“You were in Japan.”
“Without you.”
“With seven of your best friends.”
“Not the same.”
“You called me six times yesterday.”
“Seven.”
“One was an accidental FaceTime.”
“It still counts.”
You laughed again, and Mingi watched you with that sleepy little smile you loved, eyes heavy from traveling but warm now that he was finally standing in your apartment again. Home. You leaned forward and kissed him and Mingi immediately melted into it. One hand spread across the middle of your back while the other remained securely against your ass, pulling you closer. The kiss remained soft. Unhurried. The kind that had less to do with wanting anything and more to do with finally being able to touch each other again.
When you pulled away, Mingi followed you for another kiss and you laughed against his mouth. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
“Happy birthday.”
Mingi smiled. “Thank you.” You kissed the corner of his mouth before attempting to step backward but arms didn’t move. You looked down. Then up. “Mingi.”
“No.”
“I need to get dressed.”
His gaze deliberately traveled down to the towel wrapped around your body then slowly returned to your face. “Do you?” You stared at him for all of two seconds before a laugh slipped out. “Actually…” Mingi’s eyebrows lifted as you made absolutely no attempt to move toward the bedroom or retrieve the clothes you’d supposedly needed to put on so badly. Instead, you stayed exactly where you were, one hand holding the towel securely against your chest while the other settled against his stomach.
“Actually what?”
Your smile grew and Mingi immediately looked suspicious. Last time you had that look, you handcuffed him to the bed. You glanced toward the clock. “You know, you still have a few hours before it’s technically your birthday here.” His brow furrowed. “Okay?”
“And I have an early birthday present for you.”
That changed his expression immediately. “An early present?”
“Mhm.”
“What is it?”
“If I told you, that would defeat the purpose of calling it a present.”
Mingi looked you over slowly, taking in the wet hair, bare shoulders and the fact that you were still standing in front of him wearing nothing but a towel. His eyes narrowed with dawning amusement. “Is the present you?”
You snorted. “You’re so predictable.”
“That’s not a no.”
“You already have me.”
“Best present I’ve ever gotten.” The answer came so easily that you couldn’t help smiling, but Mingi was already reaching for you again. His hands found your waist, pulling you back against him while his mouth curved into a pleased grin. “Come here, then.”
“Mingi.”
“What?” He leaned down, lips brushing your cheek. “You said early birthday present. I’m accepting.”
“You don’t even know what it is.”
“I have a strong theory.”
“Well, your theory is wrong.”
His head lifted and you nearly laughed at the genuine confusion on his face. Mingi glanced down at your towel again before meeting your eyes. “Then why aren’t you getting dressed?”
“Because technically…. I’m part of the gift.”
His grin returned instantly. “I knew you loved me.”
“Unfortunately.”
“Deeply.”
“Debatable.”
“Obsessively.”
“Now you’re just making things up.”
Mingi laughed, wrapping his arms around you again and lowering his face toward your neck, but you caught his chin before his lips could reach your skin. “Wait.”
“What?” There was something about the way his expression changed that made your stomach flutter. The teasing disappeared just enough for him to actually study you. And you suddenly became acutely aware of what you were about to do. Buying the camera had been easy. Imagining his reaction had been very easy. Standing half naked in front of your boyfriend while preparing to tell him you were willing to make the video he’d been joking about wanting for months?
Apparently that was the part your nerves had been saving themselves for.
Mingi noticed. Of course he did. His hands loosened slightly around your waist. “Hey.” His eyes searched yours. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah.” You smiled. “Everything’s fine.”
“You got weird for a second.”
“I’m not weird.”
“You’re definitely weird.”
“Says you.”
“True.”
You laughed softly, and some of the nervousness loosened inside your chest as Mingi waited. You ran your thumb absently along his jaw before dropping your hand. “Remember that thing you’ve joked about wanting?” That gave him absolutely nothing. His face went blank. “You’re gonna have to narrow that down.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I want a lot of things.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“A Ferrari?”
“No.”
“New studio monitors?”
“No.”
“Dog?”
“You have Yunho for that.”
He laughed as you stared at him. “I’m talking about something you’ve joked about wanting us to do.” His mouth opened. Then closed. And for once, Mingi had apparently discovered patience. You could practically watch him sorting through every questionable thing he’d ever said to you before something finally clicked. His eyes flickered over your face. Then widened slightly.
“No.”
Your lips twitched as Mingi stared at you. “Baby.”
“What?”
“No fucking way.”
You couldn’t hold back the laugh this time. “What?”
“Are you serious? You’re finally gonna let me cover you in candy?”
You stared at him with a blank expression and he frowned. “What?” You continued staring at him and Mingi just stared right back. “What?” He repeated and you shook your head. “Nothing.”
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
Instead of answering, you reached down and grabbed his hand. “Come here.” Mingi let you pull him along without resistance, although you could feel his eyes boring into the back of your head as you led him down the hallway toward your bedroom. “So it’s not the candy thing?”
“No.”
“Okay, because your face made that pretty clear.”
“Good.”
“But just so we’re clear, that’s still on the table?”
“Mingi.”
“Another time?”
You pushed open the bedroom door.
“I’m choosing to take your silence as a maybe.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“Too late.”
You were laughing despite yourself as you walked inside, Mingi following close behind. The second you stopped, he nearly walked straight into you. “Okay.” His hands found your hips automatically, steadying you before he peered around your shoulder. “What am I looking at?” You turned in his arms. For someone who had apparently decided thirty seconds ago that his secret fantasy involved candy, he looked remarkably innocent now. His hair was still mussed from the flight, exhaustion lingering beneath his eyes, and there was a tiny furrow between his brows as he waited for you to explain why you’d dragged him in here.
Your nerves returned. Not enough to make you reconsider. Just enough to make your heartbeat pick up as you slipped away from him and walked toward the dresser. Mingi watched as you reached behind the small stack of presents you moved so you could deliberately use them to hide it earlier and picked up the camera.
Mingi’s eyebrows pulled together as you crossed the few steps separating you and held it out. He looked at your face. Then down at your hand and slowly, he took it. “A camera?”
“Mhm.”
Mingi turned it over in his hands, examining it with growing confusion. “You bought me a camera?”
“I did.”
“Why?” Mingi looked it over again. “Baby, I have a camera.”
“I know.”
“My phone has a camera.”
“I know.”
“And I think Hongjoong would actually murder me if I started vlogging.”
You laughed. “It’s not for vlogging.”
“Then what’s it for?”
You said nothing as Mingi looked up and you held his gaze. His brow furrowed as you deliberately glanced toward the camera in his hands. Then toward the bed. Then back at him. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. You almost wanted to applaud him. “Mingi.”
“What?”
“The thing you’ve been joking about.”
“I’ve joked about a lot of things.”
“Yes, you’ve made that painfully clear tonight.”
“So what does a camera have to do with…” His voice trailed off. Finally. His gaze dropped. The camera suddenly looked significantly more dangerous in his hands as Mingi went completely still. You watched realization crawl across his face in real time. His lips parted as his eyes lifted to yours. Then went toward the bed. Then back to the camera. “Wait.” You couldn’t stop your smile as Mingi blinked. “Wait.”
“What?”
He stared at you like you’d just handed him a live grenade. “This is for…” You raised an eyebrow as he couldn’t even finish the sentence. The same man who had spent months making little comments about how hot it would be, who had smirked whenever the subject came up before conveniently pretending he was only teasing, was suddenly incapable of producing more than three consecutive words.
You folded your arms. “Well?”
Mingi looked down at the camera again. Then slowly back at you. “You bought this for us?” You nodded and his eyes widened another fraction. “For us to… Like actually?” A laugh slipped from you. “That’s generally how cameras work.”
“Baby.” The way he said it made your stomach flutter. All traces of joking had disappeared from his face. “You’re serious?” You stepped closer until only a few inches separated you. “You’ve been talking about wanting to record us for months.”
“I was joking.”
“No, you weren’t.”
“I was mostly joking.”
“Mingi.”
“Okay.” His cheeks were already beginning to turn pink. “I wasn’t joking.”
“I know.”
His gaze dropped toward you for half a second before snapping back to your face, almost as though the towel he’d been very interested in ten minutes ago had suddenly become far more distracting now that he understood exactly what you were offering him. “You really want to?”
You smiled. “Happy birthday.”
The silence that followed your "Happy Birthday" was thick, charged with a sudden, heavy electricity that seemed to vibrate in the small space between you. Mingi didn’t move for a long minute, his eyes locked on yours, the shock slowly melting into something far more dangerous. The shy, hesitant man who had been joking about this for months vanished in an instant. In his place was the Mingi you knew behind closed doors, the one who took what he wanted with a confidence.
A slow, wicked smirk spread across his lips, the kind of expression that told you exactly how much trouble you were in. He didn’t say a word as he lifted the camera, his thumb finding the power button with a decisive click. The small red light flickered to life, signaling that the recording had begun. He shifted his grip, angling the lens directly at your face, his gaze burning through you. “Well… then…" his voice had dropped an octave, becoming a low, gravelly rumble that sent a shiver racing down your spine. He didn't ask. He didn't hesitate. The power dynamic had shifted the second that lens was pointed at you. "Take the towel off." The command was blunt, stripping away any remaining hesitation. You felt your breath hitch, your heart hammering against your chest as you realized he had completely taken control.
You looked into the lens, then back at him, seeing the raw hunger in his eyes and slowly, your fingers loosened their grip on the fabric. With one fluid motion, the towel slid down your hips and pooled at your feet, leaving you completely naked in the dim light of the bedroom. Mingi didn't stop recording as he stepped forward, the camera held steady in one hand as he closed the distance. He didn't even put the device down, he wanted every second of this captured. He reached out, his large hand cupping one of your breasts, his palm engulfing the soft curve of it as he groaned low in his throat, his thumb finding your nipple and rubbing it in a slow, agonizing circle, teasing the peak until it was hard and aching. “God, I fucking love your tits," he rasped, his voice thick.
"Look at them on camera. So perfect. So fucking mine." He kept the camera angled perfectly, capturing the sight of his hand against you before he leaned down. He didn't let go of the camera, maneuvering his arm with practiced ease as he buried his face in your chest. He started with your left breast, his mouth hot and demanding as he sucked your nipple deep into his mouth. The sensation was overwhelming, the feeling of his tongue swirling around the peak and the knowledge that the camera was recording every wet, sloppy sound. He moved to the other side, taking turns, his breath hot against your skin, leaving you trembling and desperate for more as your hands found the waistband of his sweatpants, your fingers digging into the fabric as you reached inside to find him.
He was already hard, thick and aching. You began to stroke him, your movements fast and urgent, matching the frantic beat of your heart. Mingi let out a guttural sound, a mix of a growl and a moan, before he abruptly pulled back. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he handed you the camera. "Your turn," he whispered. You took the device, your hands shaking slightly as you pointed it toward him and Mingi didn't waste a second. He stepped back and began to strip, his movements slow and deliberate for the benefit of the lens. You zoomed in as he kicked off his pants and shoved his underwear down, revealing his dick, thick and veined, standing proud and hungry.
"I think the camera makes you bigger," you teased, your voice breathless.
Mingi grinned. "I'm plenty big enough for you, baby." Without another word, he dropped to his knees in front of you. "Keep it on me." He didn't wait for a response. He dove in, his face burying itself between your thighs with a ferocity that made you gasp as his tongue thrust deep into your pussy, tasting you with a hunger that felt like it could consume you whole. He backed you up against the dresser, the hard wood pressing into your lower back as he gripped your thighs, hoisting your legs up onto his broad shoulders to give himself total access. You cried out, your head tossing back as he began to devour you.
The sensation of his tongue flicking expertly against your clit and rotating to thrust into you was almost too much to bear. You held the camera above him, watching the screen, the sight of him kneeling before you, eating you out with such desperation, sent a surge of heat straight to your core. The visual was the tipping point. Watching yourself be ruined by him on camera pushed you over the edge. You began to moan loudly, your hips jerking involuntarily against his face. Mingi sucked your clit hard into his mouth, creating a vacuum of pleasure that made your vision blur as he simultaneously thrust two of his fingers deep inside you, fucking you hard and fast with his hand while his mouth continued to torture you.
"Yes! Give it to me!" he muffled against you.
You started crying out, your voice raw, the camera shaking violently in your hand as your orgasm hit like a tidal wave. You felt yourself begin to squirt, your juices spraying across his face and chin and Mingi pulled back just enough to look directly into the lens, a triumphant, grin on his face as he watched you unravel.
"You getting this, baby? Look how fucking messy you are," he chuckled, his voice dripping with pride as he reached up, grabbing the camera from your trembling hand and lightly smacking your drenched pussy with the back of the device before letting you slide down the dresser.
You stumbled forward, your legs feeling like jelly, and clung to him for support. You pressed your face into his chest, kissing st him while trying to catch your breath. But the fire hadn't gone out, it had only been stoked. Driven by a need to return the favor, you sank to your knees, staring up at him with hooded eyes. “You getting this, baby?" you whispered, mimicking his words and Mingi let out a low, appreciative laugh, holding the camera steady as you leaned forward to lick the length of his dick. You took your time at first, swirling your tongue around the tip, savoring the taste of him. Then, you opened wide and took him all the way in. You started slow, but as you felt him twitch in your mouth, you dug your nails into his ass, pulling him deeper and fucking him with your throat.
Mingi was losing it. He held the camera high, recording the sight of you on your knees, your cheeks flushed and your eyes looking up at him through your lashes. "Fuck, you look so good," he praised, his voice strained. "I'm gonna take this with me on the next tour… just to watch how good you look with my dick choking you while I come in my hand." The filthiness of his words sparked something in you. While still gagging on him, you reached down with one hand and began rubbing your clit frantically. You moaned around him, the sound muffled and guttural, before thrusting two of your own fingers deep into your pussy. You were riding your own hand now and his dick at the same time, a whirlwind of self pleasure and submission that made Mingi’s breath hitch.
Seeing you fuck yourself while deep throating him on camera was too much. Before either of you could reach the peak, he suddenly snatched you up by the waist. He was still holding the camera in one hand and grabbed your wrist and pulled your fingers out of your pussy with the other, sucking your fingers clean with a slow, deliberate lick that made you whimper as he backed you toward the bed, throwing you down until you were sprawled out on your back, legs open and inviting. He hovered over you, holding the camera to capture the angle of your wetness as he reached to grab his dick, rubbing the head of it against your clit and sliding it along the length of your pussy, teasing you, working you up again.
"Look at it," he whispered, glancing at the screen. "Your pussy looks so perfect on camera. So wet for me."
"Please," you begged, your hips arching off the bed. "Mingi, please fuck me."
He teased you for a few more seconds, tapping the head of his dick against your opening a few times, tap, tap, tap, before sinking into you in one deep, possessive thrust. He groaned loudly at the sight on the camera, the visual of his him disappearing into you making him lose all restraint. “You're so fucking loud," he praised, pounding into you with a rhythmic, punishing force making your pussy squelch loudly. "I love how loud you are for me." He didn't stop there. After a few minutes of relentless driving, he pulled out abruptly and flipped you over, making you land on your stomach with a soft thud, and immediately his hand came down in a sharp spank across your ass.
He held the camera over your shoulder, filming the red mark he’d left on your skin. He leaned down, teasing your other hole with the tip of his dick, pressing in and out just enough to make you gasp, before whispering, "Next time." Then he slammed back into your pussy not even giving you a chance to recover as he began pounding you from behind, each thrust hitting your g spot and sending sparks through your nervous system. You collapsed against the sheets, crying out his name, sobbing as the intensity of it became almost unbearable.
Your juices stained the bedsheets, a visceral testament to how thoroughly he was ruining you. And just as you were about to come, he pulled out. “Come here, take this," he commanded, handing you the camera as he moved back against the headboard. He grabbed you and pulled you back into his lap, your back pressed against his chest and your legs hooked over his arms to hold you up. You barely had a grip on the camera, but you kept it pointed at the two of you. On the small screen, you could see the recording, the sight of him filling you from behind while holding you up. The visual was destroying you as he began to fuck upward into you with a strength that made the entire bed shake as you watched yourself on the screen, the way your body jolted with every hit, the way your face was twisted in pure ecstasy.
You were a complete mess. You began to cream him, your walls clamping tight around him as you started to squirt again. The pleasure was so violent that you lost your grip, the camera slipped from your fingers and rolled to the edge of the bed, but it remained propped up just enough to catch everything and Mingi didn't even care about the camera anymore. He locked you in a tight, pinning your arms and hauling you back against him as he pounded into you with everything he had.
You were screaming now, sobbing about how good he felt, telling him that your pussy belonged to him and only him as you came with a force that left you shaking and sobbing his name over and over while he kept fucking through your orgasm, his movements becoming faster and more desperate until he finally let out a guttural moan of his own and came deep inside you, his body shuddering as he collapsed against you.
For several minutes, neither of you moved. You were both slumped together, drenched in sweat. Some of your juices and his own leaked out of you, dripping onto the sheets, all of it caught on the camera as Mingi leaned in, kissing your shoulder and whispering into your ear, "That’s the best birthday present you ever gave me." You let out a weak, breathless laugh, leaning your head back against him. "It's only for you.”
He grinned. "Though… I might show it to Yunho just to see how red his face can get." You let out a loud laugh and slapped his arm playfully. "Don't you dare." He pulled you closer, kissing you deeply and softly. "I love you."
You grinned, tugging his lip between your teeth. “You better.”
☂︎warnings!: smut&plot, childhood friends to lovers to um ?, unhealthy dynamics, slight power imbalance, fingering, control kink, unprotected sex, creampie, some oral, morally gray everything
☂︎ hi...guys pls don't kill me. #5 is here and i've lowkey already started #6 a little :), enjoy and as always read w/ caution!! we're getting into the final stretch of the series, and im super excited!!! oh and i finally figured out my formatting to fit my longer fics with my single line app notifs i include ahhhh!
Your favorite look is the one where his eyes are full of you, and the position when you’re full of him.
His breath catches as you sink down on him, pushing him even deeper into the mattress, his hands reaching up to cup your face, but you’re already moving them to rest on your shoulders. This is what you like, everything feels like a lived-in moment – which it is.
You’re currently fucking him into the ground if you’re being honest with yourself. The mattress is on the floor, no frame, no box spring, no fitted sheets. It’s fitting you think, being on something unsteady but maintaining what little control you have. It lets you control every little pace, and his hips coming up to meet yours.
But the background is just that, a background. You don’t pay attention to the boxes surrounding you, the papers, and the dust flying around, the way the old fan squeaks above. You’re narrowed in on him below, his nose scrunches, and you’re waiting on the moment for those eyes full of you to close.
Sex feels like checkers instead of chess because you’ve made it so. You know each move by heart, his hand will slide from your shoulder to your waist in a few seconds, so you’re already arching before his hand has even made contact. His exhales are always sharp, always vocal for you. The only thing you can do is smile because you’ve earned it, and getting it again will remain the mission.
His hips shift again, trying to find that leverage, but you adjust the angle too quickly. He normally gets impatient at this point, fingers grip harder into your waist as he tries to gain some idea of control. You adjust the angle before he can, slow down just enough that he groans, grip becoming lighter.
Then I give him what he wants.
“Fuck–” his voice breaks, stutters, and you fill in every gap. His next move is to get his mouth on you, you only let your tongues tangle for a moment before you push him back against the mattress.
“Be still.” You whisper, his eyes are open, the room is dim, but his eyes are lit. It’s the look that makes you feel like doing this forever, round after round. You want to repeat this exact moment every chance you get. You lean down to kiss him, and he meets you halfway, hand coming up to the back of your neck.
You just know he’s about to pull you closer to deepen the kiss. Your eyes flutter shut as his thumb brushes your cheek. “Look at me.”
You look for a second, just so you can do your signature smile and roll your hips, which makes his eyes shut again. He says your name in ways that should be illegal, you build along with him. You roll your hips faster, his hands leaving imprints in your sides, but then he stops you.
Wait a goddamn minute.
“Jongho–”
He doesn’t let go but also doesn’t move, his eyes just piercing into you, the ones that are supposed to be closed. His chest rising and falling, you can still feel his cock twitching inside you, but he’s not doing anything about it. He’s waiting, and you don’t know what for.
You try to resume, ignore this change in pace, but his fingers just still you once more. To keep you exactly where you are. Your hands move to wrap around his wrists, move them to where they belong. Your hips roll forward once more, “like this.” You kiss him to shut up anything he was about to say, his eyes back to the hazy state.
The pace is back to being faster, the slapping of his thighs and your ass are all that fill the room, no more squeaky fan in your ears. He’s back. Jongho’s breath is getting rougher, uneven.
“Fuck, you’re—so so”
Perfect, he’s gonna say I’m perfect.
“So so good,” your brain glitches for a second before locking back in, close enough. You clench around him, wanting to hear another breathy groan.
“Yeah?”
“So fucking good.” He repeats again. His hand slides up your body, fingers brushing up your throat to your jaw. His eyes search for yours, but you’re looking into the darkness of the room instead of him.
“Hey,” he says it softly, the voice that feels like covering you in silk, the tone that wants something you’re not able to give. You grin down at him, roll your hips again. “What? You need me to say it back?”
His gummy smile appears, and his hand doesn’t leave your jaw. “Maybe.”
“You’re doing so great, baby.” You tease, squeezing around him to make his eyes close again. His fingers move to press where you need them, where you’ve taught him. How to make the momentum build for both of you.
“C’mon.”
Your body tenses, his name sounding like a chorus you say over and over. He follows a few pumps later, his grip getting harsher. The pleasure crashing through you, as it always does. It was good, always is, never been a doubt in your mind.
You shift off him gently, knowing your empty room is a mess just from the throw blanket bunched at the foot of the mattress, your clothes scattered everywhere, you have no clue where your phone is. You know you should check the time, confirm he’s going to stay, while also mentioning the packing that still needs to be finished tomorrow.
You don’t bother putting clothes back on, you reach for your shirt and then his, folding them to put on top of your many boxes. You pull the blanket back up, smooth it out flat, trying to restore the order of the mess you just made. Jongho’s still catching his breath, his hair a mess.
You find your phone slid under the mattress on the edge. It’s the evening, close to eight. Much later than you thought. “You’re staying right?” You glance back at him, you know the answer, but want to confirm anyway.
He nods, pushes his hair back, and props himself up on one elbow. He watches you look for the mini night light in the corner. “Yeah. I’m stayin’.”
Good. That’s good.
‘i know what you’re used to, but i can’t stand to lose you’
You pick up his jeans and put them with his discarded shirt. Your brain is trying to move a mile a minute, all you can think about is tomorrow’s packing schedule, the donation pickup, and the realtor’s walkthrough. But tonight, this is what you want to remain the same.
You glance over at Jongho again, still shirtless, still completely naked with nothing but socks on. He’s still watching you.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
You hold his boxers out toward him, “Put these on and help me take down this chair.” He takes them from you, but those damn eyes stay on your face for longer than necessary. By the time he’s up, you’re opening up the next box.
The box is labeled KEEP, written across every side in thick sharpie and underlined more than necessary. Then there are the two lonely boxes off to the side labeled DONATE and TRASH.
Jongho pulls his shirt back on. Wish he wouldn’t have done that, but whatevs. You’re sitting criss-cross on the floor and drag the KEEP box closer to you.
“The other two boxes exist ya know?”
“Yeah, I marked them, remember?”
Jongho looks toward the DONATE box. There is a blanket hanging out of it partially, it’s covered in bears and other woodland creatures.
“That’s your old blanket,” you murmur as he looks closer at it.
“So because it doesn’t fit your aesthetic, you get rid of it without even asking me first?”
You ignore him, go to reach for the object on the stand that hasn’t been broken down, and it looks as if it’s on its last leg. Jongho pulls the bear blanket over his shoulders.
“You don’t even like that thing anymore, it’s been ages dude.”
“Not the point.”
“Then please enlighten me on the point.”
Jongho pauses, looking at the faded bears and the faded navy. “Let me think on that.”
“Fantastic, let me know when you come up with the answer, Einstein.”
You tug open a drawer on the stand while Jongho bends down beside the KEEP box and starts digging through everything you have decided gets to stay during the move. The first thing he finds is your charger that is bent every which way. It’d be amazing if it could even charge anything.
“You don’t own anything this plugs into, babe.”
“I might again, better safe than sorry.”
“This cord could only be inserted into a port that was made like five years ago.”
“And?” You take the charger from his grip and drop it back into KEEP. You go back to digging, and he does the same. Who knew sorting things would be this complicated, this exhausting?
Jongho pulls out an encasement of a piece of tree bark covered in resin. His fingers brush across the surface, which is uneven but smooth in some places. You two covered it in resin when you were both about fourteen. A way to commemorate the destruction of the tree you used to sit under in the field to get away from parents and whatever was plaguing you at the time.
“This is a really terrible job, jesus.” Jongho slightly smiles as he keeps caressing the cloudy block of resin.
“We made it with a kit from the craft store, it was ten bucks. Expectations high?”
“I at least thought we’d follow the instructions.”
“We did, it lasted this long.”
“We absolutely did not. Also, remember you cried when they cut it down?”
“Be quiet, I was in my inner tree-hugger era.”
“You called me at five in the morning.” You flip him off and take the resin from him, put it back in the keep box where it belongs. You’re not sure why he keeps looking for things that you’ve already decided about.
“Fineeee, this one can stay.” He drops the resin back into the box and drops the conversation. You pull the drawer out farther, trying to find the screws, until something scrapes against the wood and slips through the gap on the floor.
Jongho reaches it before you. It’s a small silver key, your initials engraved. He turns it over between his fingers, and the small smile he had earlier completely disappears. “Why do you still have this?”
“You gave it to me.”
“It was for my old apartment.” His thumb runs over the edge of the key. “It doesn’t open anything anymore.”
You hold your hand out, and Jongho looks at it again before putting the key in your palm. His fingers brush yours as you go to drop it into KEEP and put your focus back on the stand.
“Can you help me flip this over?” Jongho gets up without answering and moves to the other side of the stand. You each grab an edge, lift it just enough to turn it onto its back. In the motion of turning it over, the drawer slides free.
Old paper spills everywhere, highlighters, batteries, napkins, and a phone that lands facedown onto the floor. Neither of you reaches for it, he just looks at you instead. “Hey–”
“Is that my old phone?” You lean down before he can finish, picking it up by the cracked edge. Dust is all over the screen, so thick you could draw a picture in it. “I thought I lost this.”
“You did…” Jongho side eyes you, giving you the look.
“No, I simply misplaced it.” You press the power button even though it hasn’t been charged in so many years, and the screen inevitably stays black. “There are pictures on here, and messages. I never transferred any of it.”
He holds out his hand, “Let me see.” You pass it to him, he turns it around, and checks the charging port. “You’re not throwing it away.”
I’m so obviously not.
Jongho glances at his spend-the-night bag, “I might have a charger for this.”
“Why would you have a charger that old? I’m stunned.”
He pushes himself to walk over, “because you’re you.”
“That means?” He doesn’t answer your question, just keeps moving. He digs and looks in the numerous pockets and finally pulls out the correct cord.
He takes the phone and plugs it in, it takes its time to fully turn on. The screen is dim, flickers on and off, then finally settles to its original state that you haven’t seen in years. Old apps start to load, photos, messages, and something called synCink that you don’t remember installing. They all fail to load completely, icons are constantly just spinning.
Jongho watches it all unfold next to you, you can feel his shoulder slightly touching yours. “This thing’s really been dead,” you add, and he doesn’t answer you once again, and he’s zoned in on the screen.
All data floods, and there’s a progress bar shown across the screen while Jongho sets the phone between you both. Then a new window opens.
we found your history with Jongho
want us to put it back together?
press here > RECONSTRUCT
Thank goodness I can recover everything!
You feel relief, all the photos you never transferred, the messages that still hold meaning, they’re all still there, and now something is offering to collect them and organize them. To help make sense of everything, you’ve been too scatterbrained to handle yourself.
You press RECONSTRUCT.
Jongho shifts beside you. He keeps quiet in the moment, just chooses to watch the phone do its thing, to load years of data for you. The screen goes black, then white for another second, and starts scrolling. analyzing locations, cross-referencing, compiling shared moments.
Numbers go up, so many data points, you watch as the percentage moves upward from 30% to 65%, and you notice just how much of your life is sitting in this phone, waiting to come together again. The years of sleepovers, date overlaps, the rides he would give you at 2am when you called. Every photo you took in the same room, all the moments the phone recorded that you never organized.
“That’s a lot,” Jongho says quietly. He looks like he’s about to say something else, but he stops. His jaw has gone tight while still looking at the phone screen
“What’s wrong?”
“Noting. Just—” the progress bar is at 88% now. “It’s kind of wild how much it’s pulling.”
He’s not wrong…But it doesn’t feel invasive just yet, it feels like you’re finally getting what you needed from the phone. Then the bar finally reaches 100%.
analysis complete
The screen shifts again. FOUNDATION IMAGE COMPLETE. You begin reading before he does.
Your body’s response is expected, you feel validated, a weight lifted off your shoulders. It means you’re compatible with the man you’ve secretly been terrified of losing because you stopped being friends and started being lovers.
Jongho is in hard thought, looking at it all, “what’s archived configuration?”
You were looking at the same things but seeing things completely differently.
He’s locked in on the wording, fingers tracing the edge of the phone, but he doesn’t look at you.
current configuration: incompatible with archived template > classification: relational deviation
“It’s just saying we’re different now,” you say to try to help make sense to him. “Because we’re dating.”
“Right.” He says it like it still doesn’t align with his thoughts, it still doesn’t make sense. The phone glows, revealing the relationship it knows through old data.
“We were almost perfect before we complicated things.” There’s sarcasm and a joking feeling exuding from you, but it doesn’t land like it’s supposed to. Jongho is quiet for another moment.
“It thinks it knows about us–this.”
“Maybe it does.” You reach for the phone, scroll to the 99.6%. “That’s a specific ass number.”
“That isn’t the same as knowing what we are.” You look at him, his nose scrunched up again. He’s not angry, it looks more like resignation or recognition of something he was wanting the answer to.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, it has all this data about us being one thing. And–and we’re trying to be something else. And it’s very confident about which version of this is real.”
Wow. How do I eve—even fucking respond to that?
A new notification appears. FOUNDATION REPLAY AVAILABLE.
‘even though we’re just friends, been feelin’ you lately.’
There’s a date displayed below it, an old date. The date of the last time you both slept in this exact house together, before jobs and distance and the simple fact that you’d started yearning for him in ways that complicated everything.
I gotta shit.
“Oh,” your eyebrows perk up at the realization. It’s the last night. The one you haven’t done in years because life always got in the way, because becoming adults came with major responsibilities. Because tomorrow, someone else’s family is walking through this house to imagine their life here. You look at Jongho, and he’s already looking back.
“Do you want to…” You don’t finish the sentence, you two know what the app is actually offering, one more time. The way it used to be, everything exactly as it was when you were both still safe in your childhood innocence.
He takes a breath, decides. “Yeah–yeah we can do that.”
He’s not saying it for the app, and you know the difference damn well. He’s saying it because you want it, and Jongho has always been good at making the things you want make sense.
The phone beams, waiting for the confirmation.
You press the big beaming button, the phone spins for a few seconds, and the screen floods with everything. Rebuilding your whole life from the ground up, then the phone vibrates. FOUNDATION REPLAY INITIATED.
Then an auto shop pops up, you notice it right away, the bright orange lettering AutoZone, the commercial that rings in your head randomly about the shop, the shop you had no idea what you were doing in. The thought of it all makes your body heat. How many years has it been?
synCink shows your purchases from that night, engine oil, wiper fluid, and brake pads. It also shows you making a call to Jongho, and shortly after that call, it shows you returning the wiper fluid. Turns out wiper fluid is NOT ac coolant. You look at him, he’s already looking at the screen, the same way you were looking at your phone when you called him that night.
“Should I press it?”
Jongho nods, gives you the go-ahead to see what you used to be. You click on the data that your phone pulled up from that night. The photo of Jongho’s car parked next to you in the AutoZone parking lot, putting in your coolant with a big smile on his face — he was laughing at you. Despite it being embarrassing in the moment, you felt otherwise as soon as he pulled up just for you.
Just to make sure you weren’t getting screwed over with your car. He drove, disrupted his night to put in ac coolant that wouldn’t have mattered because it was December anyway.
synCink begins to reconstruct the audio captured from the store parking lot, wtf. You hear his voice, not as deep, ‘you’re so silly for this, ya know?’ Then synCink pulls up the text exchange, you complaining about the car, and him responding with no hesitation that he was on his way. He pulled up without being annoyed, like his presence was the point.
The recording of the audio ends, but the app opens another window. SEARCH HISTORY RECOVERED. You’ve never felt your face drop any lower while reading.
can winshield fld go where coollnt goes/?
can windshield fluid go where coolant goes?
where is coolant reservoir
After finally getting your spelling correct, a tutorial and many images pop up, you skim from the beginning to the end for a while before you called Jongho. Jongho reads your search timestamps, eyebrows a little furrowed.
“You already knew?”
“Did you miss the part where I bought the windshield fluid?”
“You knew before you called me.”
“Conflicting information, sir.”
Jongho rolls his eyes, knows you too well. “You quite literally had all the info in your face.” The embarrassment is crawling up your neck, you reach for the phone, but he moves it slightly higher out of your grasp. He keeps staring at it like he’s looking at it from a whole different perspective.
“I just wanted a second opinion.”
“You had thousands of opinions, why mine?”
“Shut up. It’s not that deep.” You pull your knees up to your chest while the corner of Jongho’s lips curves up, his eyes staying on you. Syncink moves on without either of you clicking anything. “Then answer it.”
I literally did?
“You’re deflecting,” Jongho sets the phone down, still showing your search history. You feel stupid, think this is stupid. You lean over to pick up a random piece of tape and start picking at it and peeling it, just to have something to do with your hands.
“You could’ve called anyone.”
“Jesus Jongho—” You toss the tape aside, a little agitated. “What do you want me to fucking say? That I run every decision by you? What are you fishing for?”
He doesn’t waver despite your harsher tone, “not fishing, just askin’.” The room feels hot, the fan whirring doesn’t help, you know he’s not going to let this go, he’s like a dog with a bone. When things matter, he makes them matter, and this autozone memory from years ago is what matters for some odd reason.
“I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t being stupid.”
“You weren’t. You had the right answer.”
“I know that now.”
“You knew it then.” His voice remained gentle, but he is still persistent. “You read it multiple times and you understood it, but you still needed me to confirm it.” He shifts a little closer to you.
You really really dislike when he peels back layers you didn’t want to acknowledge, you want to laugh and make jokes but it’s not coming to mind because he’s ultimately right. He’s always right. “I wanted to hear you say that I was fucking up. That I wasn’t going to ruin my car or look stupid or—” You swallow, push your ego down with your spit, “I needed you to tell me it was okay.”
You can’t look at him, you’re burning holes into the KEEP box, looking at anything but his face. “Okay.” He murmurs, he doesn’t give you a response and nods instead, then reaches for your hands and threads his fingers through yours.
You just sit with his palm warm in yours, the dim lighting coming from the hallway, neither of you move from the position you’re in. Just existing in a space without doing anything extra and he’s allowing it.
“You don’t have to explain it…I’m not asking you to.” His voice is so low you almost miss everything he said. You look up at him, you observe the flutter of his lashes, the mole on his neck that you’ve smothered so much, his eyes that read every part of you.
Little you would be shitting bricks at this being the most natural thing in the world.
“I know that you know but I hate that you know.” You admit, the words hurt to come out at, even as a whisper.
“You’re rambling.”
You begin to laugh, kind of tap his shoulder, his mouth quirks just a little. The silence doesn’t feel too heavy anymore, the knot in your stomach loosens up. You feel safe, the safest you felt in a long while. Then the phone between you lights up.
synCink – ANALYSIS COMPLETE
BEHAVIORAL PATTERN IDENTIFIED: C. JONGHO, decision seeking instances across timeline
resolution: external validation
The app pauses again after populating all the text, both of you very confused until examples pop up.
“Am I overreacting?” (resolved – approved by c. jongho)
“I should sign up for this class right?” (resolved – approved by c. jongho)
autonomous decision making: minimal
archived friendship template: most optimal, verified
current romance template: compromised, dependency escalated beyond parameters
Your eyes buck at the last line, until they scan for the smaller text at the bottom.
syncink notif! continue using verified friendship template?
You’re reading with his hand still in yours, the obvious sitting right in your faces.
We were safer off as just friends.
Before you start your spiraling, the doorbell rings, the camera had been taken down, so you have no clue who it could be.
OH wait–he’s supposed to be coming for the boxes. Yunho said he would be swinging by after his shift. You knew he would be coming by late, he has perfect timing. Jongho lets go of your hand first as you both begin to stand up.
You’ve left the phone on the mattress, it’s still on and glowing bright, you begin to head downstairs with Jongho not far behind. When you open the door, Yunho looks exhausted, can tell it was a long day for him.
“Hey guys,” he rubs the back of his neck, massages it a bit. “Sorry it’s so late, people kept calling right before closing.”
“No, no, you’re sooo good bro—” You’re interrupted as you follow Yunho’s eyes, looking past you into the living room. He’s taller than you, can see just about everything over you and Jongho’s head. Your old phone is sitting on the bar, Jongho had to have brought it down since you initially left it.
Why?
It’s still lit up, and around the interface, there’s a pulsing motion. It’s pulsing slowly and red. That’s when you see Yunho’s expression change. He steps inside the entry of your home, doesn’t sit, doesn’t get cozy. “You’re running a replay?”
You blink, dumbfounded. “A what?”
Yunho points toward the phone, “The red pulsing. That’s what it does when it’s not showing you the person anymore–it’s showing the performance? Yeah, the performance, that’s the best way for me to put it.”
The autozone memory is real, very real. It didn’t fabricate any of those years or how Jongho showed up. Jongho’s staring at Yunho now, there’s a sense of relatability that’s happening between them, and you don’t know how to feel about it.
“How do you know what that is?” Jongho questions. Yunho doesn’t look away from the phone, kind of sighs, “I’ve seen it before.”
That’s all I get?!
Yunho doesn’t expand, doesn’t say who. He just continues to bend over and pick up the donation boxes that you stacked next to the door, and balances them on his hip. “I’ll get these out your way.”
Poof, he’s gone.
You and Jongho stand in the empty entryway, just shoes, nothing else fills it. The phone on the bar hums, and you can tell the screen is changing. night time ritual pending, proceed to final confirmation?
You go to reach for it before Jongho says anything. Before he can tell you what you already know. ‘I’m not sure.’ ‘ Should we really keep going?’
You press the big bold letters: continue
Your feet are moving, and it’s toward the stairs that are creaking under your weight. You’re already halfway up before you notice Jongho hasn’t moved from the entry. You turn back, hand clutching onto the railing. “You comin’?”
He looks at the phone hanging loosely in your hand, then back at you. He hesitates and pauses for a second, but then he follows.
Good boy.
The roof access is through the ceiling of the hallway, there’s a pull-down ladder. Like the ones seen in scary movies, the ladder you haven’t touched in years. Jongho reaches up and tugs the cord, the ladder unfolds while dust comes flying down with it. You climb up first, phone in one hand while using the other to push through the opening.
The night air hits you, smells like it’s about to rain, it’s a lot cooler out. The wind is blowing, you can hear the nearby cars on the street, it’s a place of peace for you. You remember the roof as it’s always been, slanted, some shingles have gone missing over the years, the solar panels, the chimney being a resting place for your back.
positioning archived locations: remain still.
A grid pops up, showing the format of the roof, two dots. One where you’re standing, one leaning against the chimney. You move to the place you’ve always sat. Jongho climbs up through the opening to stand by the chimney, which places him across from you, just close enough to talk. The old phone humming again. confirmed closing line: here, with you. next year.
You haven’t said it out loud in ages, but you know how much it means. It made the distance between visits bearable. “Here, with you. Next year.”
It’s silent, you wait. The wind picks up a little bit more, you see the trees swaying a little more, lifts up your shirt. Jongho is sitting with his knees pulled up, caught a little chill, staring out at the neighborhood where your memories grew.
He didn’t hear me.
You say it again, softer, leaning forward. “Here, with you. Next year.” He still doesn’t move, not an inch, not a muscle. “Jongho–”
“I’m not saying it.”
“Wha—what?”
“I’m not saying it,” he chooses to not look at you when eye contact is such a big thing for him.
You always joked that his eyes were that pretty brown because of all the people he used to melt like chocolate just by looking at them.
That joke isn’t landing anywhere right now.
“It’s just what we say. It’s the thing. You know this.”
“I know. That’s why I don’t wanna say it.”
You stare at him, the phone still waiting for his half of the phrase, the confirmation that would complete everything. Regardless, he isn’t moving. “You’re seriously going to mess this up?” Your voice is a tad sharper. “The last night, the last time we get to do this, and you’re just going to refuse?”
“This house is getting sold tomorrow.” His eyes are now on you, and his expression is dead calm, you feel goosebumps on your arm. “Someone else is going to live here, a family. We’re not kids anymore, we don’t come back here every year. We’re dating now for godsake, our lives don’t always go back to the same place.”
“It’s meaningfu—”
“It’s a lie. I don’t want to say it just because you know I used to. Saying it would make you feel better, but it wouldn’t be true, and I’m tired of saying things just because they’re what you expect.”
Tired?
“I’m not—I’m not making you say a damn thing.”
“No,” Jongho answers and it’s fast, too fast for your liking. “You don’t have to.”
Your face scrunches, twists in every direction. The phone screen is hot in your hand, you flip it over, screen still waiting on his turn. “Then what are you even saying? I didn’t force you up on this roof.”
He shifts his back against the chimney, looking at you again. “You pressed continue before I could say anything. I don’t even think Yunho was out of the driveway yet.”
“Well you could’ve told me no.”
“True.” He’s agreeing with you at every turn, you want him to have some pushback, yell, it’s like he’s not giving you something to truly work with. His expression is too damn calm for me.
“Ok, so explain what the fucking issue is.” You hold your hands out, shake the phone a bit, waving it in front of him. “You’re a grown ass man. If you didn’t wanna come up here you shouldn’t have followed me.”
Jongho nods real slow, scrunches his nose with his tongue pressing the inside of his cheek. Licks his teeth a bit. “You’re right.”
“I know I’m right.”
“That’s the problem.”
You can’t come up with a comeback that doesn’t sound corny in your head. Jongho looks at his hands. “You start moving like I already said yes.”
“You literally make no sense.”
“It does.” He glances down at the phone again. “When it showed that replay shit you asked if I wanted to do it, you looked at me and waited.”
“Then you said yes. Why are we rehashing this?”
“Because I’m trying to figure out how many times I said yes because I wanted something and how many times I said it because I knew you needed me too.”
You want to get defensive, it’s your go-to before properly processing anything. “Hold up. So you’re saying I forced you into this?”
He rubs his hand over his face, an exasperated sigh escaping him. “That’s not what I said.”
That’s what it sounds like. You don’t stop yourself and let your thoughts spill, “you’ve always been able to tell me no. Every time Jongho. I was never holding you hostage.” You begin pacing the roof, mindful of your steps, or it’s a long way down. “You left halfway through a soccer game because I texted and didn’t follow up. You always keep the passenger side cleared because I’m always in it, always keeping a pair of spare socks so I can put my feet on the dash without smearing your windshield. I never taught you anything, you chose to learn me.”
Jongho continues to look at you, his face is back to calm. “I’m not saying I didn’t choose to do those things. I did–I do…But you don’t ever wait for my damn answer. You start moving like your way is the default.”
“That’s not–”
He interrupts, still hasn’t raised his voice enough to yell at you.“You ask me something before a thought is even formed. If I hesitate, you redirect. Does it feel normal? I dunno.”
The wind blows harder, the smell of rain getting even stronger. “So you’ve just been pretending this whole time?”
Jongho shakes his head no, finally showing evident frustration. “I’m saying I don’t know anymore. I don’t know how many times I meant it—I can’t tell the difference.”
“You chose me, asked me out. Did all the things—you said you wanted this.”
“I did want it.” He’s looking at you, at every inch of you. “But I’m starting to wonder if you love me, or the idea of the old me?”
I still can’t wrap my head around anything seriously, feel like I’m repeating myself. “So what? Do you even wanna be with me?” Your voice cracks on that last sentence, it feels big in your throat.
“Mmph, see. That’s what I mean.”
“What.”
“You’re asking me a question that could only have one answer. If I say no, I’m the dipshit who led you on. If I say yes, then we go back to pretending all is well and this convo never happened. You’re not really asking what I want, you just wanna make yourself feel better.”
You know he’s right, you were waiting on the ‘of course I want you,’ in that smooth, soft voice of his, when he makes everything feel right in the world again. You were preparing for that relief. How fucking wrong I am, and it’s all over my face.
Then it’s like all hell breaks loose on the phone in your hand. EXPECTED RESPONSE NOT DETECTED.
restore confirmed response? — (confirmed response is from friendship template)
Your thumb moves toward it, instinctively, the way you’ve been moving this whole night.
“You’re fucking kidding me right now. Piss on my leg and tell me it’s raining.” His voice stops you halfway, he’s fed up, disappointed, and you can see it all over his body movements and face. “Were you about to press that?”
“I wasn’t–” I was. Your thumb is still hovering over the restore button, and he’s staring at your hand. “I’m standing here trying—trying so hard to tell you that I need you to let me answer for myself, and you were about to make the app do it for me.”
You lower the phone, hand trembling. Jongho says your name, and only your name, so tired and quiet. It makes you want to change your name just because of it. The phone is still glowing, the offer still up to choose the man in front of you or the one you know.
Jongho gives you no more words, he climbs down off the roof first. Goes through the ceiling opening without looking back at you, you’re left sitting there with goosebumps on your arm as you hear his footsteps on the wood floor below. Wow, he really left me up here.
You follow him down, there’s no other choice. It’s your house anyway, staying on the roof isn’t going to solve a damn thing. He’s in the living room once you make it down, wrapping glasses in newspaper, he doesn’t ask you anything or look up. He continues with the task at hand, nothing else.
You almost intervene, want to say that it’s a special way to wrap the wine glasses and glass plates, but you manage to catch yourself midway through opening your mouth. He’s still packing up your childhood home when all you were about to do was critique him when it wasn’t needed. You grab the box labeled DONATE, start folding, occupying yourself for a moment. Occupying the insufferable silence.
“So are you going to answer or not? It’s a simple question, Jongho. Do you want to be with me?”
It seems like he wants to almost throw the glasses, “It’s not simple.”
“Yes or no. That’s pretty fucking simple—”
confirmed response available: use c. jongho’s historical audio?
You stare at the screen, you understand what it’s saying. It’s giving you something not in the room, it’s offering you things he’s said before, things he genuinely meant at some point in that past that can be brought to the present you crave. Jongho sees it too, reads the screen and he doesn’t tell you not to press it.
You press it.
The phone hums, whirls a bit, then Jongho’s voice comes through the speaker. ‘of course I want you.’ It sounds just like him, you feel a brief sense of relief, but then you notice the cadence and tone is wrong. It’s the tone he uses when he’s trying to calm you down, that tone that means he’s handling this mess. Not his honest voice, it’s the make me feel better voice.
Jongho is standing across from you now, wine glass half-wrapped. “Look at you. You got your answer after all.”
Shame hits, but it doesn’t last long. “You wouldn’t answer me. What was I supposed to do?”
“Not that.”
“It’s your voice. Those are things you actually said. An app can’t just invent feelings, so if it could give me that, it means at some point in time, this was real. I just needed to know.”
“Using something I meant before isn’t the same as letting me mean it now. You know how backwards you sound?” He sets the glasses down gently on the island, kicks the newspaper on the floor aside. “You keep asking me what I want, like it’s this simple thing you can just get in five seconds. You don’t let me sit in anything, won’t let me figure it out. You need an answer now and correct, like it’s a damn test.”
“Fuck off–You don’t get to do that shit.”
He goes still, reaching down to wrap another glass. “Excuse me?”
“Excused. You built this, so don’t stand there acting like I’m some villain for depending on the person you spent years creating.”
He doesn’t get defensive, he does the opposite. “Mm. Fine. I did that. Sometimes you didn’t need me, I knew you didn’t need me. But I knew you’d keep calling if I kept fixin’ it.”
He looks at you, his eyes look glossy, but you’re not sure if it’s tears or just the horrible lighting your parents never fixed in the living room.
“I made myself useful because useful doesn’t get left behind.”
You realize his love and fear were never separated, it’s not romantic. It’s damning, and it hurts deeper than you can imagine.
“Then who’s to blame?”
“I’m saying we both did this.” He admits, but he still sounds exhausted, you can tell he doesn’t agree with what this has come to. The phone interrupts once more.
subject one: seeks external resolution
subject two: gets security from providing resolution
dependency type is mutually sustained!
Jongho stops reading, but you read it in its entirety. And you can conclude that the app doesn’t care if you’re happy or honest. It just knows you’ll keep coming back despite it all.
The line of guaranteed behavior makes your eyes light up, you ignore the glitch, and knock it off as a normal tech issue. It wouldn’t force you to break up or erase the romance. You do love him, I do love him. It would just stabilize the part that worked for you guys, you wouldn’t be left wondering.
Guaranteed behavior. You press confirm.
You’ve never seen Jongho’s head spin so fast. “What did you just—”
subject one CONFIRMED
awaiting subject two
“You didn’t ask me, once again.” He looks at his name on the screen next to the empty box, waiting for him to verify, but he doesn’t press it.
“I’m not pressing that shit.”
But it won’t work without him…
“I already have you my answer,” He doesn’t elaborate, he walks away to the boxes that are half packed and gets back to taping, the conversation over. You stand there, waiting for him to turn around, but he doesn’t. He’s sealing the box that’s labeled DONATE, the tape noise ripping is pain to your ears.
Fine. You grab a stack of the newspapers and start wrapping what’s leftover of the glasses. You’re frustrated, furious, that his reactions are not the same as yours. That he’s giving nothing, you reach for the tape and he’s already sliding it across the floor. You’re about to move a ceramic cup into the trash box, but Jongho moves it to KEEP. Oh, that is mom’s.
Jongho steadies the boxes that are about to topple over you. You’ve been folding the boxes all wrong, everything loose and unsteady. He’s picking up behind your mistakes without you even asking. The phone is still glowing, on the counter, with text coming across the screen.
verbal confirmation; pending (responder detected)
The ugliest part of me feels validated, like the app is backing you up, showing that Jongho reacts without properly acknowledging it. You don’t dare say I told you so. He notices you staring at the phone, reads it and doesn’t say a word then moves to the other side of the room.
The immediate change is fairly obvious after reading the phone, you’re struggling to lift a box and he doesn’t come over to help. He keeps his back to you as you hoist the box aggressively and shove it harder than necessary. Fuck em, seriously. You begin to start handling things less carefully, independent women and all.
As you’re fastly wrapping, there’s a cracked glass buried in the paper. You don’t notice until the edge slices through the paper and into your palm.
“Shit.” You drop the glass, it doesn’t shatter on the old wood flooring, just rolls. But your hand is bleeding, a jagged line across your hand that stings like utter hell. Neither one of you moves from your respective spots, he’s processing it, you can see it on his face. The blood, glass, his hesitation hurts worse.
Jongho crosses the room despite it all, he takes the broken shard out of your hand gently, set it aside, and inspects your cut. It’s embedded pretty good, he leans towards the counter to get a clean rag and wraps it around your hand, applying pressure. “Hold still. Moving makes it worse.”
distress detected, c. jongho response: immediate
foundation: 99.6% — mutual foundation lock complete
Jongho clicks his tongue, you’re lost in your mind. Questioning every little thing, there’s no clear cut answer for you to trust.
It’s sure past midnight when you both finally stop pretending to pack. Boxes are stacked everywhere, it looks like and smells like a storage unit. The small living room sectional is still here, covered in some dust and old sheets you haven’t bothered with.
Jongho is sitting on the floor, he looks exhausted. Shirt is wrinkled, his chocolatey hair a mess. You haven't said much to each other after the lock was activated. You go to the kitchen to rewrap your hand as it loosened up after taping up some more boxes. Your eyes keep looking at him, and then glancing away.
“Are you staying tonight?” You whisper.
He looks up through his bangs, “yeah.” He doesn’t ask if you want him to, and you don’t ask if he wants to, the conversation is moot. You walk over to him slowly, maneuvering around a box, kicking it to the side as you sit down next to him on the floor.
“This is just fucking weird.” You snort a bit, the one that sounds like a pig rolling in the mud. The one that makes him chuckle too. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
He shakes his head in agreement, he shifts and his shoulder brushes against yours. You don’t even know if he meant to do it or if it was just natural. It must be the lock. You turn toward him, you reach to touch his jaw, fingers caressing his skin. And just for a moment, he leans into it as he closes his eyes.
“Is it alright if I–” You stop your sentence, you feel gullible even thinking about it. Can I kiss you? Touch you? Ask what?
“Yes. It’s alright. You can, you may.”
You kiss him and he joins in without a second thought, hand coming to rest on your waist. You wanna pull back and try to find confirmation, but you know it’s not even worth it. You fall deeper into his arms and mouth. You try to get a better angle, knee knocking into a box, it tips but doesn’t fall.
Jongho laughs, that gummy smile coming into view. He didn’t mean to laugh, which makes you laugh and cover your face. Gosh we’re so stupid. Trying to make out on the floor of your childhood living room surrounded by boxes, how fitting. The laughter fades, tension is gone but the feeling is much less heavy.
“C’mere love.” He stands up, pulling you with him. He moves toward the sectional, shoves the unfolded sheets aside and taps his thigh. You sit willingly to avoid the dust. You can see every feature on his face, he’s focused and present for once. His hands settle on your hips, thumbs brushing your waistband. He reaches to kiss you slowly, tongue sliding in warm. Is he choosing me? This?
You don’t know, there’s no sure fire way to know, but you do know his hands are warm and he’s kissing you like you’re everything. You pull his shirt up, and he helps you get it off, tossed among the mess of your packed up house. You run your good hand over his chest, shoulders, squeeze his neck just a little.
He catches the bandaged hand that stays to your side, “your hand okay?”
You nod, he doesn’t let go. He turns your wrist over, looks at the kiddie bandage you used to cover it beside the rag. Faint red is shown, his thumb brushes over it, you feel the pressure through the gauze. “Jongho—”
He brings your hand to his mouth, kisses the edge of the bandage, your breath catches at the warmth of his lips. Okay. what the fuck
“Does it hurt?”
“A little.”
He kisses it again, this time dragging his tongue along the edge where the red stain is the darkest. He makes goosebumps raise as he looks at you while he does it. His teeth flash as he pulls you down into another kiss and removes your shirt. The air is cold against you, the ac on blast. You close your eyes, try to memorize every minute thing, the things you take for granted in everyday life.
What if this is the last time? You kiss him harder, trying to drown it all out. You can feel him hard beneath you, he groans and his nails sliding down your back, hard enough to sting. “Turn around.”
“Huh?”
“Turn around,” his hands are guiding your hips, “on your knees, face the back of the couch.” Your stomach flips, he never tells you what to do, but you can tell he’s being serious. You reposition yourself so you’re kneeling on the dusty cushions, hands gripping the top for balance. The noise of his zipper is all you hear.
“Babe–”
“Just let me, geesh.” His fingers hook into your waistband, pull your panties and pants down to your thighs, keep you bound but just open enough for him. Your fingers dig into the couch, you’re restless, you don’t have the usual control. “Is this—” you start just to stop as his hand slides between your legs.
“You’re already wet.” His fingers slide through like butter, circles but doesn’t enter. “How are you this fucking soaked, I fuck you dumb every damn day.”
“Please.”
“Please what?” His hand grips your hip, thumb pressing into your back. “Tell me what you want.” You hate having to ask, having to describe what you need, having to think is this really him or the lock or some combo. Something I’ll never be able to untangle.
“Touch me, damnnit.”
Two fingers push inside, your head dropping against your arm. Jongho fucks you with his fingers fast, you feel every thrust as he’s almost hitting your cervix, the old couch creaking beneath you. “Like this? This what you need, baby?”
“Yes—fuck, yes.” He adds a third finger to stretch you even more, your legs being bound by your pants makes everything tighter. You can feel yourself dripping down his hand, knowing it’s about to make a mess that you’ll have to worry about later. Then he removes his fingers. He removed his fucking fingers.
“Don’t move.” You can hear him shifting, then his hands on your ass, spreading you open and the pressure of his cock replaces his fingers so cleanly. Jongho pushes in slowly, you’ve been with him awhile but his size is something you always have to adjust to. “Oh my–.”
He stays still inside you for a moment, then pulls out to ram right back into you. His hips snap against you brutally, each thrust earning a whimper out of you that you have no control over. I need to ask—
“Stop. Just feel all I’m giving you.” His fingers find your clit, rubs circles mercilessly till you almost come undone. There’s sweat gathering on your back where his hand meets it, your bandaged hand is aching where you’re gripping the couch.
“Ooo. You’re almost there, you’re so tight.” He speeds his fingers up to match the pace of his cock, your orgasm slamming so hard your legs give out. He holds you up as you clench and shake around him, your gushing and Jongho doesn’t stop fucking you through it all.
“Fuck fuck fuck, tell me where, tell me where.”
“Inside inside.”
He sobs and slams in deep, you feel the warmth of him feeling you up. His forehead drops against your shoulder blade, he’s shaking right along with you. He softens inside of you, all fluids dripping onto the couch, it’s going to the trash at this point, it can’t be saved.
He pulls out carefully, you hiss at the sensitivity. More dripping down your thigh, he helps turn you around, licks up the mess he made. Presses kisses to your inner thigh and clit before pulling your pants back up. His hair is dripping sweat, his lips swollen, his pulse trying to settle.
“Was that—”
He cups your face, his other hand still drenched with you. “I don’t know…I don’t know what’s me anymore and what is learned.”
You close your eyes, lean into his touch, your body is satisfied but your chest aches that doesn’t bring you pleasure.
“But I wanted this,” he adds and you open your eyes. “Right now. I wanted you, and I need you to know at least that.”
‘somethin’ new.’
You kiss him, the phone is somewhere on the floor, you don’t reach for it just yet. The dark wet stain that’s definitely not coming out makes you laugh, it’s unhinged. “This couch is fucked.” Jongho looks down, still breathing hard, his laugh joining in with yours. “Your parents are going to think we committed a murder.”
“No no we’re throwing this thing out immediately.” You wipe your eyes, could be tears or sweat, but you look a mess. He glances at himself, pants undone and an equal mess, “We look horrible.”
“We look like we fucked gorgeously,” you correct, laughter coming up that makes your ribs ache. You both eventually make your way back to the floor, backs against the sectional. His shoulder making contact with yours.
It’s quiet again for a moment. “Is this you?” Or the lock?”
He’s silent to your question, head tilted back. “I don’t know. Does it matter?”
“Of course it fucking matters—”
“No, I mean-” He turns to look you in the eyes. “If I can’t tell the difference, if I’m sitting here wanting to touch you and I don’t know if it’s because I chose it or because an app decided I would, does that really make it less real?”
You’re about to argue once more, but the uncertainty is the point.
“I’m here,” he says as his hands find yours, fingers threaded carefully around your hurt palm. “I’m choosing to be here and that’s all I’ve got.” You squeeze his hand, feel the drying sweat. He shifts, pulls your head to lie on his shoulder, he plays in your hair, caresses your face.
We’re a mess, a big one.
You try not to mention the phone, the app. You sit there in the empty house, the fan squeaking, racoons running in the ceiling, sirens blasting nearby.
“Next year,” you say, testing.
Jongho doesn’t finish it. He presses a kiss to the top of your head and whispers “Maybe. If we figure out how to mean it.” You close your eyes, just stay in the moment. Try to find realness in whatever that means.
“We’re throwing that phone out by the way,” you nod towards the phone on the floor, “we don’t need it.” The screen wouldn’t go dark, nothing would make the app close out no matter what you tried anyway.
“What?”
“The app, the lock. All of it. Gone.” You push yourself off the floor, legs shaky. “We’ll figure it out ourselves babe.” You then reach for the phone, it’s hot, overheating. Jongho’s hand catches your wrist.
“Wait.”
You turn, and he’s staring at the screen, he’s gone pale, eyes locked onto something you haven’t noticed yet.
“What is it??” Jongho takes the phone from you gently, turns it towards you so you can see properly.
creation lock: engaged!
subject one: confirmed
subject two: confirmed
status: PERMANENT
You try to make sense of the words, but the words pending or awaiting confirmation are nowhere to be found. Nonexistent.
“I didn’t—” your voice cracks. “I didn’t press it. I didn’t confirm for you.”
Jongho’s thumb scrolls up, and a timestamp appears. Bright as fucking day.
12 am – subject two confirmed, other form of authorization used.
That…that was right after when I held him. Right after when your hand was on his face and his pulse was racing, and you were looking at him like he’s the last thing you could ever lose.
“You pressed it.” He says it quietly and factual, not even angry. “While I was—you pressed it.”
“I didn’t mean to, I wasn’t thinking, I–” You reach for the phone, trying to find an undo button, a cancel option, just anything. “We can turn it off, right? We can delete the stupid app and we can—”
“It says permanent.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“It means permanent.” His voice being dead calm makes your skin crawl, you hate it. “Look at the damn terms. ‘Behavioral lock cannot be reversed once mutual confirmation is done. It begins immediately.”
You scroll frantically, but he’s right. There’s no undo, no emergency override, just a simple message at the bottom: thank you for choosing a guaranteed connection!
“Jongho, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t trying to—”
“I know.” He sets the phone on the counter, when he turns back to you the tension in his face is gone, shoulders have dropped, he looks settled. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay, I just—”
“What do you need?”
You stare, “what?”
“Your hand.” He reaches for your fucked up hand with gentleness. “Does it still hurt? I should rewrap it. The gauze isn’t too good anymore.”
“Jongho stop.”
“And you haven’t gone to pee after we had sex.” He’s guiding you towards the bathroom, “I think there’s still some toilet paper left.”
“Stop.” Your voice is sharp and he does stop, immediately. He turns to you like the most attentive student in class would. “What do you need?” He asks again. He’s looking at you like you’re the only thing worth breathing for, waiting for just your direction.
“I need you to be mad at me,” you whisper.
His head tilts slightly, “why would i be mad?”
“Because I just–locked you into—” You can’t even say it out loud because it feels so wrong,
“You made sure we’d stay together. That’s what you needed. I understand.” His voice is as gentle as it’s ever been, it reminds you of your teenage years where he was so soft spoken with you.
“No, you don’t understand, I took away!--”
“I’m here.” He crosses back to you, takes your face in his hands without hesitation. “I’m choosing to be here, that’s all that matters.” But it’s not a choice anymore, and that horror is engraving itself into your bones as you look at him and he can’t choose to leave even if he wanted to. You got exactly what you wanted.
He can’t abandon me.
And now you’re looking at a shell who will never tell you no again, who will never pull away. Will never choose himself over you.
“Please. Please tell me you’re angry. Tell me you hate me for this, please!” You’re desperate, so so desperate, but your pleading is useless. He smiles, it’s soft but empty of anything that isn’t meant for just you. “I could never hate you,” he pulls you into his arms.
You stand there, being held by someone who can’t let go. This is the relationship you were always going to create, the one where you have all the control and none of the choice. You got your guarantee and you’ll never know if he means any of it ever again.
You ended the night falling asleep on the messed up sectional, but you wake up with his arm draped across your waist. For just a second, it feels normal.
Welp, that didn’t last long. You shift and his arms tighten, pulling you closer before you can move an inch.
“You’re awake,” his sleepy voice makes you want to melt, but you don’t answer. Your mind is running a thousand miles a minute to figure out if he knew you were about to move. He presses butterfly kisses to your neck and sits up to reach for the blanket that slipped off in the night. You didn’t feel cold till now.
“I’ll grab your slippers.” His voice is gentle, moving towards the keep box to pull out your Little Mermaid slippers you’ve had since high school. All your shoes are packed up, but this is his way of warming you up from the cold wood floors.
He slides them on your feet as if you really are a Disney princess and he’s Prince Charming. He knows how much you’d like that feeling when the both of you were younger.
“Thank you,” it comes out hollow. He smiles, the same smile that was empty from last night. “Anytime, love.”
The realtor is coming around lunchtime, both of you aware. The house has to be empty by then and cleared out, no evidence that a soul has ever lived here. Jongho starts moving all boxes toward the door, making it easy for the movers to grab. You’re still sitting on the couch, twiddling your thumbs and watching him work.
“Do you need help?”
“Only if you want to.”
‘i know what you’re used to.’
He’s trying to make me feel not guilty, holy hell. You stand up, hand still aching from the cut. You reach for a box, but he’s already taking it away from you gently. “I got it.”
“I know baby, but you’re hurt.” He gives you a smile. The empty one. He carries the box to the door, picks up another and continues. No argument. You then follow him into the hallway, past the ladder to the roof. It’s super empty in the house at this point, all boxes gone except for the rest in the living room.
The walls are bare with no more of your ten year old art, or the picture of you and Jongho at taekwondo class hanging up, furniture covered in sheets, ready for a new family to come take over what was once yours.
Jongho moves like he’s five steps ahead of you, when you pause in the doorway to your old bedroom, he’s already waiting.
“You okay?” he asks.
No. I’m watching you become a perfect mirror of me, it hurts my heart.
“Yeah.”
He believes you, or at least pretends to, you can’t even tell anymore. Thirty minutes ahead of schedule, the house is empty. Your keys and the copies are on the counter, Jongho is standing by the front door with the last box in his arms, waiting for you to walk out first.
You give yourself a moment for the dramatics, look back at the house one more time. At the living room where you used to host “concerts” for your family, the hallway where the roof ladder is tucked away. The space where everything was real.
“Ready?”
He’s looking at you with patience, not trying to rush you. He will stand there for as long as you need, even until his arms give out from carrying that box. He will follow you to the ends of the earth, all because an app told him to.
"EAT YOU UP" ── casual things about you that turn them on
ateez ot8┆ reader
what makes them want to take you aside and fuck your brains out
content: fluff! and also +18 MINORS DON'T INTERACT some of these are suggestive, car sex, mentions of being a bit possessive, praising, public sex ?), one single case of choking, p in v
wc: 2.8k
Hongjoong — possesiveness
All that Hongjoong has ever wanted was someone to match the level of intensity with which he loves. Sometimes he feels like the term "ride or die" falls short, and he's aware it might be a bit unrealistic. He always thought it might be asking too much, too specific of an expectation to have; until he met you.
You stare at him from the corner of the room, watching him speak with a woman you've never seen before. Maybe he has mentioned her, but you doubt it. She doesn't seem that interested in him, but that doesn't really matter to you. Hongjoong can feel the hole you are burning on the side of his head where you've been staring. He can't help but to smile mid-sentence, amused. He knows that will also make it worse, especially with the way the girl he's talking to stares at his lips and gives him a smile of her own. He's psyched when he can feel you moving through the crowd to get a hold on him, watching you out of the corner of his eye.
"Can I speak with you for a second?"
You grab onto his wrist before he has time to answer, leaving the girl to deal with the confusion on her own. He lets you drag him to a quiet corner, a playful smile on his lips as he waits for you to turn around with a scowl and a slight pout. You tug at his arm, your nails digging on his waist as you hold him closer. Hongjoong bites his lower lip in anticipation, dick already getting hard with the possessive way you hold onto him.
"What is it?" he teases "What's the emergency?"
"I don't like anyone that close to you"
He chuckles, endeared and aroused.
"She wasn't that close"
"Close enough"
He bares his teeth in a crooked smile, enjoying the way your eyes harden at the mention of the girl back at the event room. He doesn't even remember her name, but he's so grateful for her friendliness. Now he gets to watch you like this.
"You need to start controlling yourself" he tuts, holding your chin and making you look up at him through your lashes.
You chew at the inside of your mouth, looking away in frustration.
"I can't help myself" you complain "I hate it when I see you with someone else like that"
He really can't help himself either. When you are so cute and greedy like this all he wants is to pamper you and let you have it your way. He pretends he's exasperated, like you are not leaving him any other choice when he drives you both back home and doesn't wait until you get to the bedroom to take you the way you've been begging him to. Lifting the edge of your dress up to your waist, pushing your panties to the side and bending you over the arm of the couch.
"Is this what you wanted?" he asks, voice almost lost between the sound of his hips thrusting into you, the lace of your panties dragging deliciously against his cock "Are you happy now?"
Seonghwa — compliments
He's already giddy when he parks the car in front of your house. Six o'clock sharp, as he promised. He fixes a few strands of hair that fall in front of his eyes in the rearview mirror as he waits. He's about to text you when he sees you approaching the car, his breath catching on his throat when he sees you walk through the doors of your apartment building. He gets a better look when you open the door and come inside. He usually would have come out of the car, greeted you and opened the passenger door for you, but he was too shocked to do that.
A large, beautiful bouquet of flowers rests on your lap as you close the door behind you. He has a hard time deciding whether to look at your beautiful face, or the flowers that sway with every little movement you make.
"Do you like them?" you ask, a bit shy.
Seonghwa's eyes are slightly wide and shinning impossibly bright as he eyes every detail of the gift.
"Of course I like them" he says, an overwhelmed breathy laugh slipping past his lips "But why?"
You shrug and look away.
"Can't I get some pretty flowers for my pretty boyfriend?"
Now, Seonghwa hates arriving late to reservations. Not showing up to them is of course inconceivable for him, that is unless he has a good reason for it. Having your legs spread open as he fucks you on the passenger seat, reclined all the way back parked in an empty parking lot is one of these good reasons. Pants barely pulled down below his ass, low enough for him maneuver in the small space. It's tricky and uncomfortable, his knees and legs struggling to keep steady, but it won't stop him.
"Is it okay?"
The worry laced in your moans makes him thrust harder.
"Don't worry"
He almost feels bad about the beautiful satin dress you had picked for your date, now full of wrinkles. The makeup he can tell you've put so much effort in is now smeared on your face, your gloss making your lips stick to his with the faint scent of strawberry. He does feel bad, but he can't deny the sight makes his cock twitch where it's buried inside your tight walls. You push the strands of hair away from his face, eyes darting around his features, intense despite the fucked-out expression on your face.
"So pretty" you mutter.
An almost pained whine escapes Seonghwa's throat as he thrusts deeper into you, nails digging on the learher seats.
Yunho - clinginess
Some people might be worried about being too much: texting too often, asking to meet whenever possible, calling every day. You don't have to worry about that with Yunho.
He wants you blowing up his phone, calling him every night to tell him about your day. It might not be that obvious at first, but you can feel the shift in his tone if you don't text him that much or insist on knowing when you'll be meeting next.
"I wanted to call you all day, but work has been... you know"
"You must be so tired; are you finishing now?"
"Yeah, just leaving"
"How are you getting back home?"
Usually, you would catch the bus, bearing the dreadful hour-long commute back that leaves you relatively close to your apartment building. There is a silence, and Yunho waits, not as patiently as he likes to pretend he is. He can hear the hesitation in your voice, anticipation seething in his stomach as the seconds pass.
"You said you are off today?" you ask in a small voice and Yunho smiles. He makes an affirmative sound.
After a few seconds of silence, his patience is running out.
"Ask me" his tone is sweet, but there is an edge to it that makes you swallow.
You feel your pulse racing when you finally ask:
"Can you pick me up?"
"Be there in twenty"
He has to wait until you get in the car with him. He does his job as a proper boyfriend first: getting out of the car and trapping you into a tight, comforting hug before opening the passenger door for you. He watches you put on the seatbelt before he leans in and kisses you deeply. You feel the tightness in your shoulders ease at the touch, and he can feel it too.
"Did you miss me?" he asks, a pleased glint in his eyes when you nod "You should tell me"
"I missed you"
He drives you back home with his large hand settled on your thigh, warm and possessive. There is something about the way he holds you, the way he easily manoeuvres the wheel with only one hand that has you clasping your thighs together. He smiles and his fingers flex, digging slightly on the plush flesh of your inner thigh.
"Just a few more minutes. Then I'll take care of you"
San — affection
There's nothing that awakens the warm, not-so-innocent flutter in San's stomach as much as a chaste kiss pressed against the back of his hand. A soft caress on at the base of his nape, knuckles stroking his cheek with a light touch while holding eye contact.
The heated makeout session with hands tugging at clothes and lip biting do work on him, but it's the calmer, slow-paced way in which you kiss him that truly sets his body aflame. The way you leave soft kisses around his face, taking your time to let him feel how much you love him with each one has his heart swelling and feeling like he's about to burst with affection. You guide his lips open, the tip of your tongue teasing his for a second before you break the kiss, diving in for another one right away. Your breath fans on his face and he draws in a sharp inhale when his now obvious bulge presses against your leg. He swallows the moan that slips from your lips with a satisfied groan, his fingernails cratching at your lower back with restrained want. They move upwards until they settle on your face, pressing it against his as close as he can, buckling his hips again to chase that jolt of pleasure whenever they meet your body.
"Can we take my pants off?" he asks, lips still pressed against yours, warm and soft "Please"
Yeosang — obliviousness
Ironically, what some would consider Yeosang's biggest problem is also his biggest weakness when it comes to you. It's at these times that he can understand why everybody finds it so charming on him.
When you ask "Are you okay?" after he's been quiet for a while, placing your hand dangerously close to his crotch. He looks up at you, surprised, only to find genuine, unadulterated concern.
"Yes, of course"
You don't notice how his voice comes out a bit strained and just pat his thigh before going back to the conversation you had been having with Mingi and San.
When you kneel down to tie his laces that have come undone. It is not enough that his heart flutters at the action, but he can also feel the heat crawling downwards when your neckline exposes your lace bra to him from this new angle. You are completely unaware as you look up at him with a fake pout.
"You are a handful, you know that?"
He can feel the blush spreading across his cheeks and how restraining his pants feel all of a sudden. He brings a hand to his mouth, covering the nervous laugh he can't stop from bubbling out of his chest.
"What's that about?" you ask, amused yet confused.
Yeosang waves his hands in front of you, telling you to not even worry about it while he calms down himself. Finally, he grabs your hand.
"Can we go home?"
You tilt your head.
"Already? I mean, sure. Is everything okay?"
Yeosang nods with a throaty, affirmative noise. You suspect nothing on the way home, but when you close the door of your apartment you barely have time to set your keys down before he's got you caged against the wall. He is not aggressive nor hurried, arms wrapping around you in what some people might misunderstand as an intimate hug. But you know better.
"What is it?" you ask, teasing.
Yeosang simply buries his face on the crook of your neck with a shy smile and presses his whole body against yours, hard on pressing against your lower stomach through the rough fabric of his jeans. The sound you let out makes him shudder, and he holds you closer as he humps you right there in the middle of the hallway. There's only the sound of clothes, breathy moans, and dangling keys that you still have in your hand, shaking with every thrust of Yeosang's hips against your body.
"You are so cute..." he breathes against the shell of your ear, and you finally drop your keys.
Mingi — desire
There's nothing that strokes Mingi's ego and makes his heart flutter more than knowing how much you want him. The way your eyes drag across his body, slow and deliberate, drinking up every detail of his stage outfit before going up again and setting on his again. Pink has bloomed on his cheeks and ears, alongside a cocky, yet slightly nervous, toothy smile.
"Do you like it?"
He sees the way you swallow before answering, and it makes him bite at his bottom lip. You are trying so hard to look composed, all while he can see the hunger in your eyes, in the way your body has stiffened at his question.
"You look incredible"
His heart swells at the compliment. Mingi can feel his body growing hotter under your gaze, and the way he can tell you are aching to touch him both pleases and makes him pity you. He wants to give you what you want. Wants you to take what's yours.
After the show, the empty waiting room remains locked, but the truth of what's going on behind it is loud enough to be heard from the outside. Mingi sits on the couch, stage outfit still on while you ride him in a way that has his head titlted back an hands trembling at your sides. His legs are spread wide, pants unzipped, and boxers pulled down enough for you to fuck him. Your hips rut against his at a frantic pace, desperate to feel all of him as your hands travel all over his body.
"You look so good" you praise with a whiny moan "Thank you"
A few more sweet words in his ear, and Mingi doesn't last much longer. But you won't stop, and he will let you.
Wooyoung — understanding
With Wooyoung, it's easy to assume playful banter and laughter might be what he feels attracted to the most. However, when the laughter has died down and he becomes that quiet version of himself that isn't in the mood for jokes or to entertain it's almost like a test. He sometimes retracts in one of his moods, and can't bring himself to be the cheerful version of himself that charmed his way into your life, almost as if chekcing if you will stay.
When he has so much pent-up anger he ends up venting to you for minutes, hands cutting through the air in sharp, frustrated motions before you grab at them, fingers curling around them gently. You listen to him, to his voice that becomes broken and incredibly high-pitched, but you never ask him to lower it. You don't pull away, instead your hand settles on his lower back, drawing slow, soothing circles over his soft skin. That's when he has the intense need to hold you close until your bodies melt together. He wants sweat making your skin cling onto his like hot leather as he rolls his hips against yours, dick buried as deep as humanly possible inside your pussy.
"More" he moans against your neck.
He continues to push forward, refusing to pull out at all and abandon the warmth of your insides for even a second.
"Can't--" you whine undernat him, overwhelmed by the never-ending feeling of fullness. You pull at his hair in desperation "Wooyoung, please move"
But he doens't listen.
"More... more--"
Jongho — bashfulness
For Jongho, it's the way he can see the obvious way he affects you whenever he amps up the romanticism and intimacy, whether it's in public or in private. No matter the place or the occasion, there is always a brief moment in which he can see the way your eyes shy away from him and heat crawls up your face.
"You look beautiful today" he says, squeezing your hand a bit tighter.
You feel yourself melt under his gaze, so soft and yet so charged. You look away, fighting back a nervous smile.
"Thank you"
Jongho loves the effect he has on you, that bashful expression that you show only to him when he makes you feel pretty. Or when he has your wrists pinned above your head and you have nowhere to hide from him. His free hand grips at your jaw, forcing you to face him as he continues to fuck you, drawing embarrassing sounds out of your swollen lips.
"Why are you hiding that pretty face from me, hm?" his fingers slip around your neck, pressing hard enough to pin you in a way that makes it impossible for you to turn your head. You'll have to look at him, with your glassy eyes and embarrassed expression that makes his cock throb inside of you "You know how much I like it. Be good"
note to self: do not fucking fall asleep in jung wooyoung's bed after fucking him
🎤︎︎ wooyoung x fem!reader | college au series, part 15/?
🎤︎︎ 18+ | 7.7k words | reader is the host of a sex podcast, wooyoung is a frat boy whore | smut minors dni, So Much Fucking Kissing, fingering, oral, pinv, dirty talk, choking, multiple orgasms, praise kink, hair pulling, biting condom used, wooyoung sexy, alc consumption?? aftercare is just Them being Them | also my first pov switching without adding a break so Keep Your Eyes Peeled And Brains On
THIS ISN’T YOUR FIRST TIME IN Jung Wooyoung’s bedroom. The first time, you were trying to get Yeonjun to fuck you in his bed. The second time, you showed up with the sole intention of begging him for advice, to help you save your relationship. The third time, you walked in on him fucking two women, a threesome you never wanted to see, a memory you wish you didn’t keep. You’ve been to Wooyoung’s bedroom to have sex, but never in your fucking life did you think you’d come up here to have sex with Wooyoung.
He didn’t say another word after you told him to bring you upstairs, he grabbed your wrist and dragged you through the living room, up the stairs. He’s still pulling you, his fingers firm around your wrist, his grip intentional. You swear you don’t see a single face on your way up, as if everyone disappeared, or maybe it’s because your eyes are glued to his back, the twin dimples at the base of his spine with every step up.
Heat pools with every step you take, your gut leaden with anticipation. He opens his door, tugging you inside, closing it and locking it with one quick motion, and there’s not even a second before he’s grabbing you by the hips. You brace your hands on his chest, looking up at him, and he keeps his face close enough to share breath, but he doesn’t close the distance.
He asks a question you finally know the answer to. “What do you want?”
“This,” you whisper without thinking about it. You don’t need to fucking think anymore. “You.”
His eyes drop to your lips. It feels slower than it happens, him connecting his lips with yours, soft, careful; like he doesn’t want to cross a line, even after all this time. Your hands slide up his chest, cupping his cheeks, and you surprise yourself by deepening it, parting your lips in a silent command to continue.
When you taste him, beer, vodka, a hint of vermouth, your stomach flips. “Wooyoung,” you whisper into his mouth, and he responds by kissing you harder, faster. His hands tighten in the belt loops of your shorts, pushing you backward, your hands finding his hair as you let him, crossing the room until the backs of your thighs hit something sharp.
“Hold on,” he whispers in your mouth, and you attach your lips again instead of obeying. He bends you backward, the edge you’re up against cutting into your skin, you don’t care. He grins into you, but his order is clear, “Hold on to me.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” you quip, but you swing your arms around his neck anyway, gasping as he grabs you by your thighs, lifting you up on what you can only assume is his desk– you’re so fucking drunk on the taste of him you can’t bare to part from him and look.
You hear shit falling, you don’t care, he doesn’t so much as twitch toward it. Your body sways backward with the force of him, his hands sliding up to your waist, fingers tugging at the hem of your top. It’s a blink of an eye, getting your shirt over your head, your lips on his again. It’s messy, a clash of teeth and tongue, tugging at his roots while his hands pull you toward him by the waist, your spine bending.
“Yours, too,” you mutter as your hands find the hem of his tee, tugging it upward. He pulls it over his head by the collar, and it feels like slow motion, the reveal of his abdomen, his chest, the two lines diagonally sinking into his briefs. You curse under your breath, lifting your eyes to him again, and it’s like you’re in sync, the way you grab for each other like animals in fucking heat.
You kick your boots off behind his back before crossing your legs behind him, pulling him toward you, his hips meeting yours, tipped off the edge of the desk. He grits out a rough noise, “Fuck.”
“Yeah,” you whimper at the feeling, his body pressed against yours, his hips digging into you like he’s acting without a brain. He reaches behind you, unclipping your bra with one hand, and you smirk into his mouth, “So easy.”
“Always,” he quips, throwing it to his floor, one hand grabbing your waist again, pulling your chest flush to his. You wish you could muster up an equally cocky rebuttal, but instead you moan into his open mouth, his lips that have already found yours.
You stay there for what feels like forever. Bodies pressed together, your hands in his hair, his fingertips grazing your back, feeling each other like you don’t want to miss even the smallest detail. He’s smooth, as soft as he looked earlier, but so sculpted you can feel every ridge of his abdomen, his chest flexing against you.
He grits out a harsh noise into your mouth, his nails sinking into your sides like he’s had enough. His fingers tug at the belt loops of your shorts as he mutters, “Want these off.”
“Why are you telling me?” You’re no better, immediately untangling your legs from around his back, arms extending behind you, palms flattening against his desk. “Take them off.”
His eyes are low, chest rising and falling rapidly, visibly reaching the point of losing restraint. You don’t think he’s ever been more attractive. Your brows raise just a little, and his fingers work the button of your shorts so fucking fast you barely have time to lift your hips to get them off.
His hand finds the side of your neck to pull you toward him, his other hand slipping between your bodies, and you gasp a sharp sound into his mouth as his fingers press against you, over your panties.
“Gonna make you cum on my fingers,” he tells you, two fingers rubbing tight circles over your clit, the dampness of lace clinging to you. “Then you’ll do it again on my cock.”
“Just twice?” you tease, hips twitching toward him. Your tongue pokes out, running along his teeth, “You can do better than that, no?”
There’s a faint smile playing on his lips before he silences you with his teeth clamping over your bottom lip, fingers pulling your panties to the side. “I wouldn’t say that if I were you.”
“Why n–” you’re cut off by his fingers slipping inside, your slick that soaked your panties welcomes him in without resistance. You choke on a moan, back going rigid, knees twitching upward.
“F-fuck,” you manage to get out, jaw pried open, eyes squeezed shut. His lips find your neck, your head tilts back as his fingers curve into you, finding the spongy spot inside like he can see through your skin.
“So fucking wet,” he mumbles against your skin, his voice a vibration you can feel down to your core.
His teeth graze as his fingers curl, pressing purposely against that same spot, making your moans raise in pitch. You cling onto his shoulders so you don’t collapse on his fucking desk as he picks up speed, sucking on your neck, teeth sinking into your skin, you can feel him smile as your moans grow louder.
You try to say his name as your nails claw into his shoulders, you can’t manage anything more than a measly mumble of syllables as his fingers hook upward. He finds your lips again, kissing your non-responsive lips, the pleasure is overwhelming, too much to focus on anything else.
“Look at me,” he says, and his voice is stern. Your eyes flutter open at the command, and one look at him, the way he’s looking at you, makes you kiss him back. Another clash of teeth and tongue, your spine bends, hips tilting into his fingers even if he can’t fuck into you any deeper. He tries anyway, curling into you with every thrust of his fingers, a perfect pace, perfect rhythm.
You can feel heat spreading, and it barely dawns on you that he hasn’t touched your clit once. Your hips are warm, gut heavy, a slow bleed of pressure building steadily. His other hand stays tight wrapped around your jaw, thumb on your chin keeping your lips open, you’d kiss him if you could. He’s drawn your mind empty, enough pleasure to make your body stiff, you want to cum.
“Please,” you find yourself begging, your voice no more than a pitiful whimper. “Ple– Wooyo– please, please please.”
“Don’t beg,” he says into your open mouth. “Take what you fucking want.”
He doesn’t change his rhythm, his pressure, his pace. Your toes curl, socked heels lifting to try and find leverage against the edge of the desk, it’s too high. Somehow it’s worse, legs dangling, body stiff, the pleasure carves out something vital inside you until you have nothing else to give.
“Woo–” your voice is edged, panicked. He swallows it as he pushes you to the edge, you can’t kiss him back, so wound up with pleasure it takes every bit of focus to allow it to crash over you. It’s a different kind of orgasm, stronger, longer; it begins in your hips, spreading to every limb, every nerve ending, he holds you steady with his hand around your jaw as you convulse, what would be an embarrassing display of pleasure if you could form a single fucking thought.
“Yes, yes,” he encourages, voice coated in awe. “Knew it, fuck, baby, let me see you cum.”
Your thighs are shaking, your body folds, knees lifting up into your clenching abdomen, you don’t know what sounds are leaving you, if any at all. He kisses your unmoving lips, fingers fucking you through the waves of pleasure, the orgasm that lasts so long you can’t remember when the fuck it started.
You whimper as the rush dies down, body still twitching, thighs falling back down to the desk. You kiss him back when your body returns to you like it’s instinct, like you’ve already gone too long without his tongue in your mouth to go any longer without it. You trace the crescents your nails left in his shoulders, you can feel the raised, bumpy lines you left, you don’t remember dragging your nails across his skin, but you don’t care.
He doesn’t slip his fingers out, he leaves them hooked inside, massaging so slowly it’s nothing more than a lingering, steady pressure. Your body rides the aftershocks, he follows each twitch, kissing you until your body softens, melting into him again.
“What–” you finally manage, voice ragged and wrecked. “How?”
“What do you–?”
“You didn’t even touch my clit,” you cut him off, pulling away to look at him, consciousness in your eyes again mixed with genuine confusion.
You cry something sharp as his fingers crook inside you, legs lifting off the desk. He smiles like it was intentional. “Never done that before?”
“I’ve tried,” you whimper, because he’s still fucking fingering you. Your head droops, eyelids fluttering, “S-shit– I’ve tried, but I never– fuck.”
Slower is worse, you’re already overstimulated, and even if it’s not enough to get pressure building again, it’s enough to render you boneless. He grins, lips pressed against your forehead, “I’m sure there’s more than that, too.” Your head picks up. “Plenty of things you had no idea you could do that you can.”
You don’t know how, for a split second there, you forgot who he is. This is the second time now that he’s proving his skill to you, showing you that he can play your body like a well-tuned instrument, that he can make you feel things you’ve never felt before. You want… you want to see him lose himself.
You grab him by his hair, tugging him down to kiss you again by his roots. His fingers glide now, but instead of sinking into the pleasure you reach for them with one hand, pulling them out of you. You lift off the desk, still kissing him as you push him backward, willing strength into your shaky legs. He lets you, much to your surprise, even if nothing about tonight should be surprising anymore.
You want to see what he looks like consumed by pleasure, you want to hear what he sounds like when you’re the one giving it to him. Your nails claw down his abdomen as he meets the edge of his bed, you make quick work of his jeans, his belt, the button, the zipper. His fingers are in his mouth before his ass hits the mattress and you throb at the visual, wanting so badly to crawl on top on his lap and fuck yourself stupid, but you force yourself to stay focused.
You’re speaking as you sink down to your knees, “Wanna taste you.” He says your name softly, as if he means you don’t have to. Your fingers slip into the elastic of his briefs, “Please?”
He stares at you for a second, reading your expression before he mumbles, “Hearing you beg is almost as fucking foul as hearing you apologize.”
You smile, “So, yes?”
He nods, and your body ignites with thrill as you tug on his briefs, he lifts his hips to help you get them down. You don’t even read the fucking tattoo on his thigh as his length springs against his hips, curved, long, red and fucking eager, precum gathered at his tip, your mouth waters at the sight. There’s no part of Jung Wooyoung that isn’t jaw-droppingly beautiful.
You lick your lips, realizing Wooyoung probably receives more head in a month than you’ve given in your entire life. Your cheeks heat up, but your determination outweighs your insecurity. You lift your gaze, “Tell me if I’m doing– if I’m making you feel good.”
“You will,” he nods, cock twitching against his hips. “Get out of your head.”
It’s not enough to get your body to relax, but it’s enough to lean forward, taking his length into one hand. His brows twitch together, lips parting ever so slightly. You watch him as you wrap your lips around his tip, ease barreling into you as he lowers himself onto his elbows, head tilting, face twisting up in pleasure. Your tongue slides against the underside of him as you take him deeper and his head tips backward, a low groan tumbling out in the shape of your name, your thighs clench together at the noise.
Salty, natural, him; you take him deeper, saliva sinking between your palm and his cock, you use your hand and your mouth to form a rhythm. “Fuck,” he grits out, voice rough, chest heaving. You can see his tattoo, unreadable words on his ribs, dark, dainty lettering against his flushed skin. His head lifts up like he wants to see your face, “Just like that.”
It sends electricity through your veins. You use your other hand to push your hair out of your face and he leans forward to gather it as you take him deeper with every bob of your head.
“So fucking good,” he keeps encouraging, you feel like you’re on fire. You swallow around him and his hips twitch, grip tightening on your hair. “Look so pretty like this, full of me. Keep using your hands.”
Your grip tightens, using two hands around his length, lips swirling around his tip as your pace quickens. His breath catches before he moans, and the sound is music to your fucking ears, arousal floods you so thoroughly you moan, too. He holds your hair with one hand, the other finding the mattress, clawing at the sheets like it’s all he can do to stop himself from fucking his hips into your face.
You pull your hands away, clawing at his thighs as you sink down until your nose touches the patch of hair at the base of him, swallowing. He moans again, higher in pitch, almost panicked; he tugs on your hair to pull you off of him, “Gonna fucking cum if you do that.”
You meet his eye for a split second, breathlessly muttering, “Then cum.”
Doing it all over again, his hips twitch up into your throat, making you gag. Your fingers claw into the skin of his thighs as he hisses an apology, “I’m so– Too m– fuck, gonna– I’m gonna cum.”
You don’t let up, your body so consumed with his pleasure, you need to see it through. Your eyes squeeze shut as you take him as deep as you can, moaning around him when his fingers tighten in your hair, stinging your scalp. It’s enough to push him over, and you barely taste it, you can feel him twitch, the warmth sliding down your throat. You can hear the bright, pitched moans as he empties himself inside your mouth, but he’s too deep for you to taste a drop.
He curses roughly as you bob your head again, pulling you off his length by your hair. You’re already smiling by the time you see him, flushed, panting, lips glossy, eyes low and dark. There’s pride in his gaze, surprise, arousal, your grin spreads as soon as you see him.
“Good?” you ask, voice as raw as your throat.
He doesn’t answer, he lets go of your hair, knees spreading to reach for your cheeks with his palms, attaching his lips to yours before he guides you upward. You crawl over him, into his lap, throwing your arms over his shoulders, getting lost in the taste of him all over again. It’s easy when his hands squeeze your ass, sliding up to your chest, thumbs brushing against your nipples, tongue licking into your mouth like he’s trying to taste himself.
“I wanna fuck,” you whisper into his mouth, taking his cheeks into your hands.
He huffs a small laugh. “Ever heard of a refractory period?”
“Didn’t think you needed one of those.” You’re smiling, running your hands through his hair. “I assume your dick is just eternally hard, I think.”
His brows raise, amusement dancing in his eyes. “I don’t think you thought that through.”
“I try not to think about your dick,” you shrug, taking your bottom lip between your teeth. You feed him a short peck, then whisper into his mouth, “If I think about it for too long, I want it.”
You’re kissing between words, smiling into each other’s mouths. “Then why are you just coming to get it now?”
“Loaded question.” Your panty-covered clit catches against his cock, he hisses out a sharp noise. “Your refractory period will be up before I get through half of it.”
He laughs at that, soft, genuine. Then his hands find your hips, “Let me eat you out then.”
“No,” you press your finger against his chest, smiling. “Fuck me.”
He uses his hands on your hips to flip you off of his lap in the blink of an eye. You yelp as your back hits the mattress, still processing the move as he pulls you to the edge of the bed, you almost miss his mumble of, “Too fucking bad.”
He tugs at your panties, marveling at how the lace sticks to your core before getting them down your thighs, throwing them to his floor. Your knees fall apart on instinct, arching when the cool air of his room hits your glistening folds. He stares with low-lidded eyes, and you swear if you look hard enough you can see the saliva forming behind his lips.
“Get hard again,” you order him, reaching for authority you don’t have right now.
He looks up at you through his brows, “One taste and I will be.”
Your grin is lazy, you don’t have a comeback, nor do you want one. He curls his arms under your thighs, bringing his tongue to your slick folds like a dog to a bowl of water. You reach for his hair automatically, a shallow moan falling off your tongue, and he responds with a groan so guttural you want to take back every beg for him to fuck you.
His lips swirl around your clit, tongue flicking over it, and your face scrunches together as something pitched escapes, fingers tightening in his hair. You moan his name, head falling backward, heels digging into his back. His tongue is warm, heavy, but a weapon as it rolls over your clit steadily, building rhythm.
You moan his name again, with more urgency. You want him inside you. He ignores you, eyes closed, blissed out. Like he could do this for hours and not get bored, like he’ll refuse to let himself get tired. You want to sigh, but the sound is stolen from you as his teeth graze over your clit, your body goes rigid, eyes nearly popping out of your skull.
He’s grinning, amused as he stands up. Your brows are furrowed as you bark out, “Did you just fucking bite me?”
“No,” he shrugs, reaching into his bedside table. “But I could if you liked it.”
“Not my fucking clit,” you argue, but you did kind of like it. “Well, at least not like, hard.”
His amusement is verbal as he grabs a condom, ripping the packet open with his teeth. You frown at the foil, an involuntary reaction. He doesn’t look at you as he says, “Don’t even fucking complain.”
“I wasn’t going to!” you defend yourself, voice pitched. Your legs are still spread, the rest of your body relaxed. “Is it so bad that I wanna feel you?”
“Is it so bad that I don’t want chlamydia again?” he asks, brows high as he rolls the latex over his hard length.
Your jaw drops. “You think I have chlamydia?”
“Don’t start an argument,” he holds up a finger. “Not when I’m literally about to fuck you.”
“Fine,” you respond, short. He stares at you with a flat expression. You basically fucking twitch with anticipation, “Oh my god, fuck me. I’ve been waiting long enough.”
A tiny huffed laugh sneaks past his lips as his hands find your knees, pushing them toward your chest. Your breath gets caught in your chest as he holds your shins with one hand, lining himself up with the other. You want it so fucking bad, you want him so bad you’ll fucking cry for it, but nerves ebb their way up your spine, surprising you, unwelcome.
“Wait,” you whisper, knees spreading under his grip. He glances upward, brows already raised, pausing immediately. Your tone comes out uneasy as you whisper, “Come here.”
Keeping you at the edge of the bed, he leans over you and lets you guide him to your lips. One pass of his tongue against yours and you’re whispering, “Okay.”
“You sure?” he mumbles into your mouth.
“Please,” you whimper, kissing him again. He doesn’t say anything else, blindly lining himself up, brushing his tip through your folds, swallowing your breathy noises as he slowly pushes inside. His lips find your neck as your body bends, his cock filling you up thoroughly, curving up against the spot his fingers were abusing earlier.
Your nails find his back, knees up by your shoulders, your face is scrunched in pleasure as you feel him splitting you open. He moans into your throat, his cheek replacing where his lips had been, like he’s too overwhelmed with the feeling to focus on kissing you, either.
“I get it,” you choke out, body tight with pleasure. He mumbles out a curious, questioning noise, like words are too far for even him right now. “Why everyone wants to fuck you. I get it.”
He huffs a laugh into the pocket of your shoulder, “Are you fucking serious right now?”
“Yes, I’m fucking–”
Your words are cut off as he rolls his hips, fucking into you sharply. Breath escapes in a wheeze, and he moans as you clench around him, pushing himself up onto his elbows that cage in your head. “Fuck,” he mutters roughly, glancing between your bodies. Then he looks up at you, finding your eyes that are only half-open, “Gonna get addicted to this.”
“To what?” you ask, absentmindedly. He doesn’t answer, rolling his hips, and as he starts moving you’re reminded of every single story you’ve ever been told about him. He’s perfect, you think; the shape of him, how he feels inside you, how he smells, his weight on top of you. It’s very fucking plausible that you might get addicted to this, to him, too.
It’s a nasty, slow grind, his hips fucking into yours, but each thrust knocks more air out of your lungs, brings you another wave of growing, steady pleasure. Your hands find his face, his cheeks, hitting his teeth in a messy, shaky kiss.
He presses his forehead to yours as he steals your hands from his cheeks, “Pussy so fucking tight, baby, gotta stop clenching around me.”
“Can’t,” you cry, shaking your head, your wrists victim to his grip.
His brows are scrunched, jaw slacked. “Swallowing me,” he whispers, almost in awe, like your cries mean nothing to him. His hands cradle your cheeks as he moans out, “Fuuck, baby. So fuckin’ good.”
He’s close enough for your lips to graze, all you can do is make pitiful, strained noises into his mouth. You grab at one of his hands on your cheeks, sliding it down over your jaw, guiding him until his palm is resting over your throat. His brows raise a fraction, a smile tugging at his lips, and your returning grin is lazy like you can read his mind, and he can read yours.
His grip tightens as his hips pick up speed, adding pressure to both sides of your neck, he moans when your eyes roll backward. All you can feel is him, inside you, on you, wrapped around you, every single sense has been stolen by him, and you fucking love it.
“Pussy so perfect,” you can barely hear his muttered words, your ears starting to ring. “Everything so fucking perfect, oh my god–”
Your pulse throbs against his grip, vision going blurry at the edges, the pressure in your belly builds. Warmth spreads quickly, fast enough to make you panic, fingernails sinking into his grip on your throat, he lets go as your nails make contact. You blink, sucking air into your lungs, blood flow returning to your veins. The pressure fades too quickly.
You urge, “Do it again.” He kisses you. You add pressure over his hand, stubborn, whining, “Do it again.”
“Trust me,” he says, barely finishing the words before he’s kissing you again. Trusting him is easy, especially as his hips pick up, fucking into you impossibly harder, faster, angling his hips so his cock hits the same spot inside you over and over. The pressure starts building again.
You moan his name, the following sounds heighten in pitch as you twitch beneath him, grabbing at the sheets on either side of you. “So good,” you moan, forcing air down. “G’na fucking cum.”
He keeps his hips angled, bullying the same spot so aggressively your tear ducts burn. “Little more,” he mumbles, voice tight, eyes focused. Pleasure spreads, your cries turning into babbled words, incomprehensible bullshit you’re sure he can’t decipher, either. As your orgasm approaches, clawing its way up, his hand wraps around your throat again.
You don’t know how he keeps fucking into you steadily, your body thrashing beneath him with the force of your orgasm. Your nerve endings sizzle with pleasure, the pressure blowing at a magnitude. Your vision whites out, ears ringing, but never once does his rhythm falter. Never once does he not hit that spot inside you perfectly.
When your hearing returns, all you can hear is yourself. “...Again, again, please, again–”
You don’t know when he let go of your throat, you don’t know when your orgasm ended. He pushes up, pulling out to turn you over, on your stomach. He shoves a pillow under your hips, and you’re still fucking babbling as he crawls over you, shins bracketing your thighs, and slips inside you again.
You claw at the sheets with one hand, reaching behind you with the other, “Wooyoung–”
“I know,” he says, soothing words, grabbing your outstretched hand. “I’m here, baby, you can take it.”
“Yes,” you whimper, nodding. “More.”
“Give you whatever you want,” he seems as far gone as you are, his chest pressing to your back, arm snaking under your body as he picks up his pace all over again. “Keep fuckin’ coming for me and I’ll give you whatever you want.”
You’re nodding as his palm holding yours lands at the base of your neck, splayed across your chest, your thighs pinned together tight enough that every thrust feels ten times deeper. The angle renders you silent, moans caught in your chest, only tiny squeaks escaping with every sharp snap of his hips.
“Did I fuck you stupid?” You can hear the smile in his voice, a nasty smirk. “Did I fuck the words right out of your pretty lil’ head?”
You whimper, a pathetic noise. You can hear the rumble of his chest, the amusement tumbling off his tongue. He kisses the side of your head, “Just lay there and take it.”
“No,” you manage to get out, strained, raw. “Kiss me.”
He uses his arm wrapped around your front to lift you with him until you’re both sitting on your shins, you settled in the space between his thighs, his cock still buried inside you. You twist to catch his lips, and he lets go of your hand to squeeze at your chest, the other sliding down your front, between your thighs.
You bounce automatically, moaning into his mouth, fucking yourself against him as two of his fingers circle your clit. He groans, hips twitching against you, but he lets you decide the rhythm, he lets you fuck yourself as you please. It’s a slow grind, his tongue tangling with yours, fingers rubbing at your clit like every movement is solely to get you off.
Your jaw goes slack, lips unmoving as pleasure blooms. Your head dips, your hand coming up to your chest, fingers tangling with his. He keeps his mouth close to your ear, humming before he asks, “Gonna cum around my cock again?”
You nod, eyes rolling, squeezing his palm. “Uh-huh.”
He bucks his hips into you and you cry out, hips twitching, but his fingers follow, circling your clit. “Cum,” he whispers into your ear, tongue poking out to lightly lick the shell. You shiver, eyes screwing shut, crying out a broken sound, his name, you think. “Cum for me baby, let me feel– wanna feel you cum around my cock.”
His hips pick up when yours fail, following you as you lift onto your knees, fingers still working your clit steadily. One cry bleeds into a long noise of pleasure, a song of an orgasm, your hips convulse as it crashes over you, falling into him, but he fucks you through it until your cries turn to staggered whines.
“So fucking good for me.” With one hand on your hip, he folds you. “Do whatever I fucking want you to.”
Your elbows hit the mattress, knees falling apart, and the speed he fucks into you with is brutal. He’s chasing as you’re still coming down, his other hand splayed at the root of your spine, arching you into the perfect shape for him.
“Wooyoung,” you moan, turning your head to the side, barely seeing him through your wall of hair. You can see his strong thighs flexing with every thrust, the tattoo you still can’t read.
“Pussy so fucking tight,” he says it like a curse, rough and under his breath. “Feels so fucking good, baby, you feel so fucking good.” You moan at the praise, as his fingers sink into the plush of your ass, fucking you against him. “Wanna cum inside, wanna fill you up.”
Your moans grow louder, toes curling. The noise that leaves him sounds like a laugh, maybe a broken groan. “Clenched around me,” he muses, low, ragged. “You want me to? Want me to fill you up?”
You nod, even if you’re sure he can’t see you. “Want it,” you moan. “Do it.”
He grinds out something harsh, a noise that sounds something like restraint. “Fuck, don’t fucking say that.”
“Please,” you moan, fucking back against him. “Wanna feel it inside me, wanna feel you.”
His hips twitch, pace staggering wildly like he’s approaching the edge fast. You clench around him again, wishing he’d take off the fucking condom and do it.
“Holy s-shit,” he grits through his teeth. “Do that again, baby, please.”
It takes everything in you to do it again, but it’s all he needed, a few more strokes and he’s stilling inside you, a choked-out broken moan tumbling off his tongue, followed by a heavy exhale. You can feel the warmth even if it doesn’t spread, it makes you shiver, moaning with him.
“Fuck,” he says after a second, the word rough. His hands soothe your skin, gently running over your ass, the arch of your back before he asks gently, “You alive?”
You mumble something noncommittal, too deep in bliss to form words. You assume he smiles, because he forgoes a response, pulling out slowly, softly. You shiver, whining at the feeling, the loss. He shushes you, using his hands on your body to lower you down to the mattress, laying you down with a touch you didn’t expect. You don’t know what you expected.
“I feel like jelly,” you mumble into the bed, ears still ringing, bones still vibrating. He laughs at that, and you hear the bed squeak, mattress dipping behind you.
“Is that a good thing?” he asks, and you hear him tying off the condom, throwing it in the trash. You don’t even know where the trash is.
Your grin is lazy, fucked out, even if he can’t see it. “Yeah.”
The bed dips again, you can feel his body heat before his touch. He moves your hair out of the way, and you blink at the brightness of the room, at him, leaning over you. “Talk to me, tell me how you’re feeling.”
“Good,” you mumble out, turning over beneath him, wiggling yourself into the small amount of space he gives you beneath him. He’s glowing; tan skin flushed, eyes sparkling like he’s a fucking demon who needs sex to survive. Jennifer’s Body. Wooyoung’s Body. It’s a useless question, but you ask it anyway, “What about you?”
He shrugs, shoulders rising, hands planted on either side of your head. “I feel great, but I’m not the one who just got the life fucked out of me.”
You run your hands over your face, muffling your laugh, you push your hair away from your face and then scoop it from under your neck, laying it behind you. “You did the fucking, though. Should I ask about your bones? Your muscles? Your dick?”
He laughs, head dipping down like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Are you ever fucking serious?”
You smile, brightness returning to your eyes and Wooyoung swears it might be the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. He can’t stop himself from leaning down, catching your lips in his, kissing you with a softness he rarely uses. You’re everything he imagined you’d be. You’re more than that, he thinks, and he fucking meant it when he said he might be addicted. He might be fucked, actually.
Your soft hands cradle his cheeks like he’s something delicate, your tongue slipping into his mouth like you’re addicted to him all the same. He wonders. He wants to ask. He doesn’t, because he’s terrified of the answer.
He breaks away to rest his forehead against yours, asking the question that’s been bugging him all night. “Are you ever gonna tell me what happened today?”
Your smile falters and he wants to cut his tongue out of his mouth. You sigh, hands falling to your chest, looking to the side for a moment before giving your gaze back to him. “We workshopped a story in class and people were picking it apart, asking me questions and stuff. It just…made me feel seen in a way I didn’t like.”
He watches you for a moment, just a second before his lips tighten to one side. “Do you feel better now?”
“Much,” you mumble, smiling again, pushing his hair away from his face. “Thanks for getting me out of my head, again. You’re weirdly good at it.”
He gives you a close-lipped smile, huffing feigned amusement through his nose before crawling off you. His skin crawls, he doesn’t want to be good at making you do anything other than cum. Or at least he tells himself that to keep his heart rate even. “A favor,” he says, his voice even as he lays back into his bed normally, head finding a pillow. “We’re good at the favor thing.”
“Ooh!” you sit up, eyes wide like you just remembered something. His brows twitch together as you crawl up his bed, laying beside him, your head finding another one of his pillows. “Wanna know what I was thinking about the other day?” He raises his brows, silently saying continue. “I was thinking about your car. What if they can’t fix my car and I have to buy an old, piece-of-shit car? What if it’s manual, and I don’t know how to drive a manual?”
His face morphs into disdain, he should bet money on the next words out of your mouth. “I don’t like where this is heading–”
You sit up on an elbow, pointing at him with your other arm, “You should teach me how to drive stick.”
“How the fuck is your car not fixed yet?” he asks, brows tied together in confusion. “Also, fuck no.”
“Come on,” you pout, brows upturned, pinched together. “Please?”
“You’re going to blow up my transmission by stalling eighty times,” he sighs, sinking lower into his bed, reaching for his duvet. “Don’t waste your breath.”
He pulls it over his body, closing his eyes, waiting for the rebuttal. It doesn’t come. When he opens one eye, you’re staring at him, pouting. He turns his head, closing his eye again.
“Come on!” you whine, and he genuinely can’t believe he’s having this conversation right now. He can’t fucking believe you’re butt-ass naked, talking about his fucking car.
He turns his head, “If I say no enough times, will you stop?”
“No?” you say it like he’s stupid. His face flattens out. “Hi, are we meeting for the first time?”
He groans, folding his duvet over his chest. “I’ll take you out one time, and if you stall it more than three times, you’re done.”
“Yay,” you say, satisfied, laying down on your back, head on his fucking pillow. He looks at you from the corner of his eye, and to his surprise, you grab his duvet and pull it over your body, too. Your head turns toward him, but your eyes are focused somewhere at the foot of his bed as you ask, “Are you going to Jungwon’s tomorrow?”
“If everyone goes, I’ll go,” he shrugs, looking where you’re looking, like maybe there’s something fascinating at the foot of his bed. “Debatable whether or not everyone will be too hungover.”
“I think a whole floor of his home dedicated to sex is a little absurd,” you mumble, under your breath. The laughter starts in his chest before it shoots out of his mouth. You look at him, a little smile on your lips, “What?”
“It is absurd,” Wooyoung nods. “It’s kind of gross if you really think about it. How often do those rooms get cleaned?”
You’re smiling as you add, “How do they get all the stains off that couch?”
Wooyoung’s laughter just gets louder. “The couch is probably what gave me chlamydia.”
You snort, and Wooyoung turns his head to see you laughing into his duvet, shoulders shaking. He smiles at the sight. You lift your head, still giggling, “You think a fucking couch gave you chlamydia?”
“Okay, maybe not the couch, but the people on the couch–”
You shriek, “People?”
His finger slides out from the duvet to hold it up to you. “I’ve cleaned up my act since last year.”
“Oh, cleaned up your act?” you retort, brows raised. “This… you, that I know now, is the Wooyoung that’s cleaned up his act?”
He shrugs, “You complained about the condom, not me. Oh, and let me fucking add that you just basically begged me to take it off and cum inside you.”
You groan, bringing the blanket up to cover your face, voice muffled as you say, “That wasn’t me, that was someone else.”
“That was you,” Wooyoung says, an amused finality to his tone.
“That was me with you,” you argue, and as soon as the words fall off your tongue, your lips snap shut. He stares at you for a second, unblinking, letting the words sink in. You look away, “I don’t act like that with anyone else, you brought it out of me. It’s your fault.”
His insides feel so fucking strange. He hates it. He doesn’t know if he hates it. He looses a breath and pretends it’s relieving. “If it was anyone else they would’ve taken off the condom and busted inside you, so it’s a good thing.”
There’s a moment of silence between you, and Wooyoung isn’t completely sure if it’s comfortable. Maybe he just can't read the room. You break it by asking, “Can you tell me about the couch?”
What the fuck? His head turns, brows tied together, and you look sleepy. Eyes low, duvet tucked up under your nose, lips hidden beneath it. His voice is shallow as he asks, “Why do you want to know about the couch?”
You shrug, the blanket moves with you. “Sounds like a funny story.”
His brows stay tied together, but you don’t budge. So he takes a breath, redirects his gaze to the foot of his bed that has nothing fascinating about it, and begins the story. He did that shit all the time last year, the year before, if he got super fucked up and there was one person on that fucking couch he wanted… He finds himself leaving out details, even important ones, telling a version of one story out of many that made him look the best, the least like an animal.
You already know damning things about him, though, and yet you still ended up in his bed. So why is he trying to make himself sound better?
At the start, you asked a question or two, and then Wooyoung assumed you got locked into the story and wanted to listen. He used his hands as he spoke, pointing out small details, getting side-tracked once or twice, doubling down on things he shouldn’t have been worried about at all. Then his ears catch your breath, even, soft, and when he turns his head to the side, you’re fast asleep.
He stares at you for a minute, maybe longer. You’re asleep, in his bed. His bed. After having sex with him.
He frowns at first, because you probably should’ve peed before falling asleep. Then he can’t believe he’s worried about a fucking UTI, because you’re asleep in his fucking bed after having sex with him. There’s a first time for everything, but never in a million years did Wooyoung think he’d experience this kind of first.
His heart picks up speed in his chest, moisture growing on his palms. Carefully, he peels the duvet off his chest, slipping out of his bed with uneven breath, tiptoeing across his room, pulling a pair of boxers out of his top drawer.
He slips out of his own fucking bedroom like a spy, keeping his eye on you the entire time just to ensure that you didn’t wake up. There’s still a party downstairs. He’s in boxers. He looks to the left and then to the right, running both hands through his hair, grateful that at least there isn’t anyone lingering in the hallway. He goes with his gut, beelining to Yunho’s room, and crosses his fucking fingers that the two of them are in Mingi’s room for the night.
He lets out a breath of relief when Yunho’s room is empty. He crawls into the older man’s unmade bed and collapses, pulling his sheets, his blankets over his body. He stares at Yunho’s anime figures, somehow still visible in the dark, then the thought of them being visible creeps him out, so he forces himself to close his eyes. It isn’t long until exhaustion tugs him into a long, dreamless sleep.
Six hours later, you’re still across the hallway. You remember where you are before you’ve even opened your eyes, and still half-asleep, it brings a sleepy grin to your cheeks. You stretch, arms reaching out on either side of you, just to feel nothing but cold sheets.
Your eyes shoot open. His room is still dim, lighting coating the room in yellow, but there’s no warmth in his bed. He’s not in it. You look toward the bathroom, softly calling out, “Wooyoung?”
His blinds are still closed, your clothes still on the floor. His clothes are still on the floor. You’re still naked. You get up, crawling off the bed, walking on sore legs to the bathroom. “Wooyoung?” you ask again, softer this time as you walk inside the dark bathroom. Your bladder is agonizingly heavy, and as you empty it, you come to the sickening realization that he’s not here. He didn’t sleep here.
Your brain runs through reasons why, but you can’t really come up with anything. He got sick. No, he has a bathroom, he’d be asleep on the floor. Someone else needed him for something. Sure, but why didn’t he come back?
You run your hands through your hair, groaning into your palms. Still on the toilet, you can’t bring yourself to stand up yet. Your head hurts, your stomach feels heavy, your legs are sore. You had arguably one of the worst days of your life yesterday, and Wooyoung was the one who made it better. Wooyoung was the one who made you forget about it, and turned your shitty day into such a fucking good night, and yet he left.
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🖤 𝔓𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤: Wooyoung x Reader
🖤 𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: It was supposed to be a simple drive to the cottage. Instead, the rain forced you off the road and into the last place you wanted to be: a dark, humid car with Wooyoung, a peach lollipop, and every unresolved thing still burning between you. Or Woo is fucking you with a lollipop in the backseat of his car while the storm continues to rage outside.
🖤 𝔊𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢 / 𝔄𝔲 / 𝔗𝔯𝔬𝔭𝔢: Shameless Smut, F2L, Fuck Buddies, Modern Setting!AU, Non-Idol AU
🖤 ℜ𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤: 18+ / 21+ / MDNI
🖤 𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 9.2k
🖤 𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: Dom!Wooyoung, sub!reader, intense sexual tension, car sex, food play - lollipop fuck, unprotected sex, fingering, degrading, pet names, anal play, fingers in the asshole, squirting, titty sucking, nipple play, dirty talk, pussy drunk, overstimulation, oral, multiple orgasms, rough sex, rough oral, power play, praise kink, cum eating, explicit sexual content, explicit language, and more.
🖤 net: @cultofdionysusnet @k-vanity
🖤 𝔄|𝔑: This idea has been on my mind since Wooyoung's Arena Homme+ photoshoot, and now it's finally taken perfect shape. So, I hope my bunnies are ready, because Woo is one hell of a ride.
🖤 ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔶 𝔅𝔲𝔫𝔫𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔗𝔞𝔤 𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 at the end of the post.
🖤 ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔶 𝔅𝔦𝔟𝔩𝔶 𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 - check for more
🖤𝕮𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖗𝖊𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖘 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖜𝖊𝖑𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖉 - Your love makes all this possible
The car park behind the bar was nearly deserted, only a handful of vehicles scattered across the cracked asphalt like their owners had made the same reluctant choice you had — to wait out the storm rather than risk the roads. Rain hammered against the roof and windows in a relentless rhythm, not even stopping to think, while mighty claps of thunder rolled low and heavy across the cloudy sky, shaking the frame of Wooyoung's car with every distant crack.
This wasn’t how the night was supposed to go.
You and Wooyoung should have been halfway to San’s country cottage by now, where you were due to spend the whole weekend amongst your closest friends. Instead, the sky had split open with deafening thunder and a torrential downpour that turned the roads into rivers and bringing traffic to a standstill. Continuing the drive had become not just pointless, but genuinely dangerous.
At that moment, you realised that your dreams of a cosy evening by the fire, Seonghwa’s comforting home-baked treats, and the warm, steady comfort of San’s loving embrace — weren’t going to come true tonight. Not in the next few hours, that’s for sure, perhaps not at all, if the rain continued its relentless assault on the roads and showed no sign of easing up. The storm had already engulfed the city, and with every heavy raindrop, your cottage fantasy seemed more and more out of reach.
Without much discussion, Wooyoung pulled off the main road and swung the car into the empty lot behind the shabby bar on the outskirts. He switched off the engine and allowed the car to come to a standstill, leaning back in his seat as the final vibrations completely died away. The sudden silence that filled the cabin felt tense, almost electric, broken only by the relentless drumming of rain against the roof.
“I’m not risking both our lives for some damn cookie.” Woo declared, voice low and matter-of-fact, before adding, almost as an afterthought, that in his expert opinion Seonghwa’s cookies were mediocre at best and always burnt anyway.
As if you gave a fuck what he thinks.
You’d wanted to snap back, but the words had died in your throat the second he turned to look at you — lollipop stick twirling slowly between his long, clever fingers, and his dark, fox eyes almost devilishly gleaming in the dim neon that bled through the rain-streaked glass in trembling shades of pink and violet. The vulgar bar sign outside painted shifting colours across the sharp line of his jaw, to the inviting curve of his full lips, and the warm, honey-gold skin at the column of his throat where a faint sheen of sweat still clung.
He looked unfairly good like this — dangerous, magnetic, exactly the kind of trouble you had spent the last few weeks trying, and failing, to quit.
Deep down, you knew that Wooyoung was absolutely right, but you would rather have risked everything — and this had nothing to do with Seonghwa’s huge, sparkling eyes or his frankly mediocre cookies — than be stuck here with the one and only Jung Wooyoung.
It wasn’t that you didn’t love him; rather, it was that you loved him too much – or, or more accurately, that you craved the way he fucked you far too deeply to walk away cleanly.
You had wanted something serious, something that didn’t leave you feeling like you were standing on thin ice every time he smiled at you like he already knew exactly how this would end. And just as you had finally made up your mind to put an end to your the casual nights, the late calls, and that endless stream of filthy texts that always left you wrecked and aching for more, the universe had decided to trap you here with him instead, while the storm raged outside, as if to remind you that some desires refused to be reasoned with.
It was always the same when the two of you were alone, even though you tried your hardest to keep your distance.
But Wooyoung was… Wooyoung.
He was bad news wrapped in golden skin and a wicked mouth — unreasonably sexy, unfairly attractive, and carrying that ridiculous ego as big as the universe, like he was the only right answer to any question. Wooyoung knew it. He leaned into it with the bold, self-assured confidence of someone who had never been told no and never intended to hear it, always so certain he was right about everything, including you.
Woo was intense in a way that burned hot one moment and froze you in place the next, leaving you with no real choice but to follow wherever he led, drawn to the wild, consuming ride he offered even when you knew better. Every encounter with him felt like a fireworks display of sensation and emotion — overwhelming, addictive, impossible to look away from. And the worst part, the part that made him truly dangerous, was that Wooyoung was absolutely, devastatingly good at fucking.
Mr. Fucking Golden Dick.
Wooyoung always knew exactly how to kiss you like he was trying to ruin you for anyone else. He knew the precise pressure of his fingers, the exact filthy praise that made your thighs shake, the way to drag an orgasm out of you until you were sobbing his name into his neck and hating yourself for how much you loved it. No one else had ever come close.
You slightly shifted in the passenger seat, the leather creaking softly beneath you, as you crossed your arms over your chest like that might somehow create distance in the small, stuffy space.
The rain drummed harder. Neon flickered across Wooyoung’s face as he slowly pulled the lollipop from his mouth, tongue darting out to catch a stray bit of sweetness on the plush flesh of his lower lip. His captivating asymmetrical eyes never left you.
“You've gone a bit quiet, over there, sweetie.” Wooyoung said, his voice was warm and low, yet there were clearly teasing undertones in it. “Mad I ruined your little cottage fantasy? Or just mad it’s me you’re stuck with instead of your favourite bunny boy, Seonghwa?” Woo gives you one of his famous, irritatingly smug smirks and boldly raises an eyebrow, daring you.
You pursed your lips in frustration, shooting him a sharp, indifferent glance even as heat licked up your cheeks.
“Keep talking like that and I might actually head out into the storm.” You said, tone dry. “At least then I wouldn’t have to listen to your shit for the next hour.”
There’s something charged in the air, and you sense you’ve said something wrong the moment you catch the way Wooyoung’s dark eyes sparkle — sharp, intense, and heavy with an emotion you can’t quite name. It’s a strange, dangerous mix of jealousy, envy, raw lust, and something darker, more foreboding beneath it all. But whatever it is, it makes your pussy clench instinctively in anticipation.
Wooyoung’s mouth curved into that slow, malicious smile — the one that always meant trouble. He twirled the lollipop stick once more between his fingers before sliding it back between his plush lips, the glassy caramel surface clicking softly against his teeth as those dark fox eyes glittered with amusement and something far more mean.
“Well, I don’t think you’d mind being stuck with me for a while, sugar.” Woo said, his tone soft yet dangerous, the very one that always made the air feel hotter, thicker, almost stifling. “You never seem to mind when we’re alone… or am I wrong, Peach? In fact…” His voice dropped just enough for the words to drag against your skin as his deliberate gaze slid over you, slow and unapologetic, taking in the way your arms were still crossed tight and the way your thighs pressed together under the damp fabric of your clothes. “I’d say you usually like it when I keep you trapped… especially when my dick is deep inside you.”
A bright flash of lightning momentarily lit up the cabin, and for a second the electrical glow tangled in Wooyoung’s bleached, tousled hair before melting away. A deafening clap of thunder followed somewhere in the distance and the air inside the car seemed to tighten, charged and heavy, before the rain hit the windows harder — as if the sky itself was laughing at you.
You hated how right he was.
And you hated even more how your body was already reacting to him — the low, familiar pull deep in your stomach, the way your skin felt too warm and sensitive despite the chill outside, the traitorous flutter of your pulse at the base of your throat. You’d been doing so well. Weeks of keeping your distance, of telling yourself you were done letting Jung Wooyoung crawl under your skin and into your bed whenever he felt like it.
Now here you were. Alone. In a car that suddenly felt far too small, far too charged. With the one person who knew every single way to make you fall apart.
Wooyoung didn’t look away. He just watched you, the lollipop stick moving lazily between his fingers, that knowing, wicked little smile still playing at the corner of his plush mouth like he could already taste exactly how this night was going to end.
Outside, the storm showed no sign of easing — if anything, it was only growing stronger.
You could have handled it if it had stayed just sex. But it was the after that always wrecked you.
Woo would go soft in the most dangerous way — clingy, gentle, excessively affectionate. His hands would stroke your back like you were something precious, his mouth would press slow kisses behind your ear, and he’d touch you like you meant something to him. Like he hadn’t just had his tongue buried deep in your cunt, licking every drop of his own cum out of you while you shook and sobbed his name.
It left you dizzy. Confused. Around him you always felt like the mouse being played with by a cat who already knew how the game would end. The mixed signals weren’t even about lust anymore — they were about the way he could ruin you in bed and then hold you like he wanted to keep you.
And still the pull between you had always been magnetic. Inevitable. You both knew it. Leave the two of you alone long enough and you would end up fucking — it was only ever a matter of time.
The second he killed the engine, the air inside the car had thickened with sexual tension, that heavy, otherworldly pull that always settled between you. You didn’t need a fortune teller to know exactly where this was heading.
And as it turned out, your instincts had been entirely correct. It had taken less than half an hour for the tension to snap.
Now you were in the back seat, settled deep on Wooyoung’s lap with your back flush against the solid, radiating heat of his chest, his arms locked around you like he had no intention of letting you go anywhere.
One large palm splayed low across your belly, fingers spread wide, pressing you down firmly so you stayed exactly where he wanted you — seated fully against the rigid, throbbing length of his cock straining hard against his low-rise jeans. The thick heat of it pulsed steadily against the curve of your ass, hard and insistent. His other arm was draped across your chest, the peach lollipop still hanging between his long fingers as he brought it back to his mouth.
The back seat felt impossibly small. The air was heavy, humid, thick with the scent of rain-damp clothes, the subtle spice of his perfume, and the sweet, artificial peach of the candy he’d been sucking on for the last twenty minutes. Outside, the storm still hammered against the roof and windows, a steady, muffled roar that only made the charged silence inside feel more intimate, more dangerous.
Wooyoung let the lollipop slip from between his lips with a wet, obscene pop that seemed to echo in the thick air. His tongue followed immediately — broad, pink, glistening — tracing slow, unhurried circles around the glossy sphere. Thick strands of saliva stretched and snapped against the plush swell of his lower lip as he coated the candy again and again, those dark fox eyes locked on your face the entire time, gleaming with pure mischief and undisguised hunger. The corner of his mouth curved into that cheeky, devastating smirk that always meant he was about to ruin you.
The sight alone made your pussy clench hard around nothing. Fresh slick flooded between your folds, soaking the thin cotton of your panties until the fabric clung to every swollen, needy contour. You hated how fast he could do this to you. How the simple sight of him — the warm smoothness of his honey skin, those tempting veins flowing along his forearms, blonde hair messy and damp, that wicked tongue working the lollipop like he was already imagining using it on you — could shred every wall you’d tried to build.
He noticed, of course. He always noticed. That son of a bitch.
A low, dark chuckle escaped from his throat as Woo brashly lowered his hand between your spread thighs and pressed the cold, wet candy straight against your soaked panties.
The contrast hits like a shock — chilled, sticky surface pressing against your overheated, dripping heat through the thin, clinging fabric with deliberate precision, so that the glittering sugar presses tightly on your sensitive clit.
“Fuck, Wooyoung…”You let out a loud, ragged gasp before you could stop yourself, as your hips jerking forward sharply welcoming the cold, sticky pressure. One hand flew back to clutch at his thigh, nails digging hard into the coarse denim, while the other reached up blindly to curl around the back of his neck, fingers sliding deep into his blonde hair and gripping tight.
“What happened, Peach?” His voice was low and rough right against your ear, his warm, moist breath ghosting over the sensitive skin, and that sensation sends shivers down your spine. Your throat went dry. Tiny beads of sweat begin to form on your neck from the sudden surge of desire, and you close your eyes tightly, feeling every touch and every breath from Woo more clearly than ever before. Your whole body answered him without permission, wetter, hotter, more desperate with every second. “Already soaking through these pretty little panties for me, babydoll?” He dragged the glistening lollipop in slow, filthy strokes along your dripping slit, the cold sticky candy gliding over the thin, soaked fabric with deliberate, unhurried pressure.
The damp, thin material molded obscenely to every contour, outlining the plump swell of your labia as they parted for him, the sticky peach sweetness mixing with your own slick until the fabric was a wet, clinging mess. You can almost hear the sloppy, sticky sound as your labia spread apart, revealing the opening and your swollen, throbbing clit. Chunky silver rings flashed on his fingers as he forced the cold candy against your hypersensitive bundle of nerves, rubbing it in slow, deliberate circles that made the wet fabric cling even tighter.
“Look at you, baby girl.” Woo’s voice was dark and teasing, thick raw sexual desire. “That slutty, pretty fuckhole clenching so sweetly around nothing, just from a little candy. Does it feel good when I rub it right here, Peach? Or do you want me to shove it in deeper? ‘So deep, until your greedy little cunt is finally satisfied.’ Wooyoung was practically purring in your ear, his words caressing your soft skin, and you could have sworn you felt the touch of his tongue on your earlobe.
“You’re such a motherfucker.” You breathed, voice already thinner, betraying you completely.
“Perhaps.” His plump, moist lips brushed sensitive spots on your neck, soft and warm. “But that’s exactly why you keep coming back to me, isn’t it, sugar? Because no one else makes this pretty pussy this wet.”
He dragged the lollipop in slow, lazy strokes, pressing harder with every pass so the soaked cotton clung tighter and tighter to every fold. The thin fabric molded obscenely to the plump, swollen contours of your pussy, sticky peach sweetness mixing with your warm, profuse flowing slick into a glossy, wet sheen that caught the dim light. Each deliberate drag made your clit pulse hard, your silky inner walls fluttering helplessly around nothing as fresh arousal flooded out of your tiny, needy hole, turning the panties into a dripping, translucent mess.
A soft, broken sound escaped you, something that sounded dangerously like his name as your head tipped back against his shoulder, baring the vulnerable line of your throat. Wooyoung’s mouth was on you immediately. His plush, luxurious lips dragged hot and open over your skin before his tongue followed in a slow, wet lick that made your breath hitch.
His hand that possessively splayed across your belly pressed down harder, pinning you firmly onto the thick, rigid ridge of his cock straining against his jeans. You felt it twitch hard against the curve of your ass in answer, and your hips rolled once without permission, grinding back against the heavy bulge of his erection.
Wooyoung never stopped working the candy. The chunky silver rings on his fingers brushed cool against the soft skin of your inner thigh as he guided the sticky, glistening lollipop with almost sadistic slowness. The rounded head glided over your throbbing clit again and again through the ruined fabric, the cold, viscous surface dragging across that hypersensitive bundle of nerves with maddening, luxurious friction. Every slow stroke pulled another rush of slickness from you, your walls clenching and fluttering in desperate, empty pulses while he kept you trapped exactly where he wanted — wet, eager, and completely at his mercy.
“Such a good girl, keep moving like that, Peach.” Wooyoung’s voice was low and rough against your damp skin, the soft, high pitch he used in public was long gone — replaced by something darker, heavier, thoroughly soaked in lust. His hot, wet tongue flicked out between words, tasting the subtle salt of your throat in slow, lingering strokes. “Let me feel how badly this pretty pussy wants it.” The words left his sinful mouth thick and unhurried, like warm honey dripping straight onto bare skin.
You shivered hard at the filthy praise, a broken little sound catching in your throat. Your hips rolled again, grinding down against the thick, heavy bulge of his cock while simultaneously pressing forward onto the sticky candy. One hand slid down to cover his palm on your belly, fingers lacing tightly over the chunky silver rings as you pressed him harder against you, silently demanding more pressure, more friction, more of everything Woo was already giving.
“That’s it.” His voice rolled out low and dark, thick with satisfaction. Wooyoung circled the lollipop more deliberately over your swollen clit, the soaked fabric dragging with just enough rough, sticky friction to make your breath hitch and your toes curl hard inside your shoes. “Feel how wet you’re getting already? This needy little cunt is soaking right through these panties. Been fighting this all night, haven’t you, Peach? Pretending you don’t want my cock stretching you open again… but your body knows better. It’s already begging for me.”
Rain kept its steady, relentless drumbeat against the roof and windows, drowning the soft slick sounds of the candy moving against you. Inside the car every tiny gasp, every shift of wet fabric, every low, pleased sound that left him seemed amplified, wrapping around the two of you like another layer of thick, humid heat.
Your resolve was fraying fast. Desire rose hot and insistent, burning through the careful walls you had tried so hard to keep intact, the same walls that always crumbled the moment he touched you like this. It had been too long since you’d let yourself have this, since you’d let him have you. And now, with his chest pressed flush to your back and that wicked candy working you into a slow, helpless frenzy, it was becoming impossible to remember why you had ever wanted to stop.
You shifted restlessly on his lap, feeling the massive, tense length of his cock press hard against your ass, twitching with every slow breath he took. Your hand reached back blindly, fingers tangling in his blonde hair as you pulled him closer; the other stayed pressed over his palm on your stomach, guiding the pressure exactly where you needed it most.
“Wooyoung…”The moan of his name left you desperate, soaked in lust. Your hips jerked forward again, chasing the sticky glide of the lollipop. “You’re… fuck, you’re really going to make me...”
Woo cut you off without a word, turning your face toward him and taking your mouth in a kiss that bloomed instantly — lazy, filthy, and deliciously open-mouthed. His long, lewd tongue slid deep into the warm, moistness of your mouth, moving persistently within and trying the mild taste of lavender matcha and white chocolate. Those excessively plump, plush lips enveloped yours with ravenous hunger, as if he wanted to devour every last inch. Yet beneath this devastating pressure, there was a strange, melting deliberateness, like he had all the time in the world to ruin you slowly. Woo pulled your tongue into his own mouth and sucked on it — slow, filthy, thorough — before drawing back just enough to let a thick string of saliva stretch between you.
And God, you wanted more.
You licked at his impossibly soft, swollen mouth, tracing the perfect plump curve of his lips with the tip of your tongue until they shone even wetter, then drew him back into a deep, lewd kiss. Your tongues met in a slick, greedy tangle as you tried to suck him deeper. Saliva flooded almost immediately, messy and excessive, spilling from the corners of your mouth and trailing down your chin. The wet, obscene sounds of it filled the small space of the car, louder than the rain outside.
All the while the lollipop never stopped. The sticky candy continued its torturous path between your legs — circling your swollen clit through the soaked fabric, then sliding lower to press lightly against your entrance, stretching the thin cotton just enough to make your walls flutter and clench helplessly around nothing.
The artificial, cloyingly sweet taste of peach from the lollipop flooded your senses, but beneath it was pure Wooyoung — warm, sweet, and filthy, like vanilla cola mixed with passionate sex and pure trouble. He drove you mad. Intoxicated you. He was as addictive as cheap cigarettes, vintage porn, and 90s music. You could feel him in everything, in every charged second, and you didn’t want him to ever stop touching you.
You moaned straight into his mouth, the sound muffled and needy. Your hips arched toward his hand again, chasing more friction from the candy while his tongue continued to fuck into you with wet, relentless hunger.
Wooyoung’s free hand came up to grip your jaw, tilting your head exactly how he wanted so he could fuck your mouth deeper. Every slow, deliberate thrust of his tongue produced another wet sound, another rush of saliva that dripped messily down your chin and onto your chest. Your fingers tightened in his blonde hair as your hips jerked in helpless little movements, inner walls fluttering and clenching around nothing in empty, aching anticipation.
The lollipop slid between your folds with more confidence now, teasing, pressing against your entrance through the soaked panties again and again, stretching the thin fabric, forcing you to clench harder every time he denied you.
“Not yet, Peach…” The words left him against your lips between the deep, filthy kisses — almost tender, yet threaded with clear mockery as the candy once again pressed against your tight entrance and pushed lightly, making your walls spasm in desperate response. “First I want to hear you beg for it… how that greedy little cunt of yours is going to beg for me to finally fuck it. You have to earn it first, before I stick my tongue in your sweet, tight fuckhole and make you come all over my face, sugar doll. You want that, don’t you? You want to rub this pretty pussy against my face, yeah?”
A needy, plaintive whimper escaped your throat. You writhed on his lap, back flush to his chest, hips trembling in small, helpless movements. A vivid image flashed behind your eyes — that same hot, wet tongue circling your clit, relentless and deep, licking and sucking until you shattered — and from the thought alone you grew even wetter, juices flowing more freely, soaking the sticky candy further.
“You always come so hard when you dance on my tongue, you little peach.” He groaned, the sound thick and strained as it vibrated straight into your mouth. His heavy cock jerked hard against your ass through his jeans. “You drip into my mouth and squirt all over my face like a filthy little slut. But you know how bloody much I love it, don’t you, sweetheart? Daddy loves it when you squirt and feed him this pretty pussy.”
You pressed your palm to the thick base of him for a fleeting second, feeling how the pulsing length strained the fabric, then pulled him closer by the hair while your hips made a small, desperate grind back against his cock.
“Wooyoung… please…” The words left you broken against his lips. “I can’t take it much longer. You’re driving me insane… You’re a damn sadistic motherfucker…” You pulled firmly on his hair. The sharp tug only made him roll his eyes back in pleasure and let out a deep, satisfied moan.
A dark, pleased sound rolled out of him. The lollipop dragged another sticky path over your swollen folds, circling your entrance with lazy cruelty, still denying you both the pressure on your clit and the stretch you were aching for.
“You’re such a fucking tease. That’s not fair.” You exhaled into his mouth, no longer angry, only plaintively aroused, almost pleading, as your fingers clutched at his wrist, trying to guide him where you needed him most.
Wooyoung only smiled crookedly into the kiss. Without another word he used two fingers to hook the thin fabric of your panties easily to the side, fully exposing your hot, glistening cunt to the dim light inside the car.
Now the wet, sticky lollipop touched you directly. The cold, caramel surface, still slick with his saliva, dragged slowly over your swollen, silky folds, gathering the warm, viscous juices that kept spilling from you in thick, glossy trails. He took his time, coating the rounded head thoroughly in your slick, pressing just enough to make your hole flutter and clench around nothing before Woo finally lifted the candy away and brought it to his own mouth.
Wooyoung locked eyes with you as he wrapped his plush, shiny lips around it and sucked — slow, filthy, deliberate. A thick string of your arousal stretched between the lollipop and his tongue. He rolled his eyes back for a second, a low, drunken little sound vibrating deep in his throat as he licked every drop of you off the glossy surface, coating the candy even thicker with his own saliva. When he finally pulled it free, his lips were swollen and wet. Woo swiped his tongue filthily across them and grinned at you, cocky and dazed with lust.
“Your pussy tastes like a peach, baby.” The groan that left him was loud and openly pleased, vibrating against your flushed, hypersensitive skin like the purr of a large wildcat. “I’m fucking addicted.”
Then Wooyoung leaned back further into the seat, shifting you with him. One strong arm hooked under your knee and lifted your leg higher, opening you wider and leaving your dripping cunt fully exposed and vulnerable. The new position left your chest completely accessible for him.
“Show me those pretty tits, sugar.” Woo ordered softly.
You obeyed without thinking, pulling your top up and freeing your breasts to the cool air. The second they were bare, Wooyoung’s mouth closed around one nipple. He sucked wet and greedy, tongue flicking and swirling over the stiffened peak before his teeth grazed it - light, then firmer, tugging just enough to send a sharp, delicious spark straight down between your legs.
While the blonde worked that nipple with filthy focus, your own hand rose. You brought two fingers to your mouth, wetting them thoroughly with saliva, then reached for your other breast. You twisted the neglected nipple between slick fingers, rolling and pinching it, kneading the soft flesh as Wooyoung continued to lick, suck, and gently bite the first one.
At the same time the cold, saliva-slick lollipop returned between your legs. Woo didn’t thrust it in right away. Instead he pressed the rounded head against your entrance and began to tease — pushing just the tip inside, twisting slowly, stretching the thin, sensitive edges of your hole with deliberate, luxurious patience. Every tiny movement made your walls flutter and clench around the intrusion.
Only when you were trembling and dripping did Wooyoung finally push the lollipop deeper in one smooth, decisive movement, angling his wrist so the hard, rounded tip pressed exactly against that sensitive, spongy spot inside you. His mouth never left your breast, sucking harder, tongue lashing the swollen nipple while you continued to play with the other.
“Holy shit, Woo… this is… so fucking good…” The loud, broken moan tore from your lips as your back arched sharply, hips jerking forward.
Sharp, almost painful pleasure flared deep inside, forcing your walls to clench convulsively around the thin stick while the sultry blonde sucked greedily at your nipple and fucked you with the candy in slow, filthy, precise strokes.
He kept the rhythm slow and deliberate at first, dragging the hard candy in and out of you with unhurried intent. Every deep stroke forced the rounded tip to grind directly over that swollen, spongy spot inside you, sending sharp, electric sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine.
Wooyoung’s lewd mouth never left your breast — long, skilful tongue lashing wetly over the stiffened nipple, soft lips sealed tight as he greedily sucked hard enough to hollow his cheeks, teeth occasionally scraping the sensitive peak just enough to make you cry out.
Your own fingers kept twisting and pulling at the other nipple in time with the thrusts, the dual stimulation making your head spin and your thighs tremble. The wet, filthy sounds of the lollipop sliding in and out of your dripping pussy filled the car — sticky, obscene squelches that mixed with the soft, greedy noises of him suckling at your chest. Clear, glossy slick coated the thin white stick more with every movement, running down over Wooyoung’s fingers in thick, messy trails as your walls clenched and fluttered desperately around the intrusion.
His free hand wasn’t idle. The sultry blonde’s ringed fingers moved with filthy curiosity, sloppily pawing at your puffy labia — spreading the plump, glistening folds apart so he could watch every detail of the way the candy disappearing inside you, then rubbing along the slick edges, gently tugging them open even wider.
The wet, sticky sounds of it were indecently loud as Wooyoung stroked and played with the swollen flesh like he had all the time in the world, occasionally brushing over your throbbing clit just to make your hips jerk.
Then those bold fingers slid brazenly slid lower. Woo’s thumb found the tight, tiny furl of your asshole and began to massage it in slow, deliberate circles, coating the sensitive rim with your own slick. The pressure was firm but patient, teasing the muscle until it softened under his touch. A moment later the tip of his thumb slowly pushed inside, sinking into the hot, narrow heat of you with pleasant ease. Wooyoung fucked the tight asshole lightly with it — shallow, filthy little thrusts that stretched you just enough to make your breath catch.
The sensation dragged a vivid memory to the surface.
A few weeks ago. His apartment. Bent over the cold kitchen counter, cheek pressed to the marble while Wooyoung’s thick, veiny cock slowly forced its way into your ass. The burn had been sharp at first, then overwhelming, then perfect as he buried himself to the hilt and started fucking you in deep, rolling strokes. His fingers had worked your sensitive clit the entire time, and his mouth had left hot, open, dirty kisses along the side of your neck as he told you how pretty you looked stretched around him. You had come so hard you squirted violently across the cabinets, your whole body shaking, while his thick, milky cum slowly leaked out of your ruined ass and down your thighs.
The memory hit you like a searing wave of heat, making your skin tingle. Your cunt clenched hard around the lollipop still buried inside you, and a broken, needy sound escaped your throat as Wooyoung’s thumb continued its slow, filthy invasion of your asshole.
“Fuck… look at you, sweetie.” Wooyoung murmured against your breast, voice rough and thick with lust. He gave the nipple one last hard, wet suck before releasing it with a lewd pop, only to drag his tongue slowly across the swollen, spit-shiny tip. “Taking this candy so fucking well… your pretty little hole is sucking it in like it never wants to let go. Listen to how wet you are, Peach. You’re dripping all over my hand.”
Your hips began to move more urgently, meeting each thrust, chasing the pressure. The pleasure was building fast, too fast — a tight, aching heat coiling low in your belly and spreading outward until even your fingertips tingled. Every time the rounded head dragged over that perfect spot inside you, your walls spasmed hard around the stick, forcing more slick to spill out and coat his fingers.
“Woo… fuck, deeper, please...” You gasped, voice already breaking. "‘I want you so badly, baby, so fucking badly. Fuck me harder, Woo. Fuck me harder... " Your head is spinning in a whirlpool of agonizing pleasure, and your cunt is ridiculously wet and sloppy.
He only chuckled darkly against your breast and kept the same torturous pace, fucking you with the lollipop in slow, deep, filthy strokes that never quite pushed you over the edge, only wound you tighter and tighter, leaving you trembling, dripping, and completely at his mercy.
“I want your mouth…” You whimpered plaintively, voice already breaking. “Your mouth, your cock… give it to me, baby… please, I want to feel your thick cock in my mouth, in my pussy, anywhere...” Your words trembled and dissolved when Wooyoung's fingers finally let go of the lollipop stick that was still buried inside you and instead pressed his thumb firmly against your plump, hypersensitive clit.
He dragged the pad of it over the swollen bundle of nerves in wide, lazy, devastating circles, watching with dark satisfaction how it jumped and twitched under his touch, pushing you closer and closer to the edge with every slow pass.
“Come for me first, my little peach.” Woo coaxed, the words rolling out of him low and thick, like molten gold laced with poison. "Come for Daddy, naughty girl, get this candy wet."
A fresh wave of horrified arousal crashed through you as you realised you were already obeying. Your hips moved on their own, grinding against his hand, cunt greedily clenching around the candy still lodged deep inside you. But the stubborn part of you still didn’t want to give in so easily. Even though you knew it was pointless, you couldn’t help arguing back.
“I’m not a dog, you're a fuckin' smug bastard. I can’t just...Ohhh… Wooyoung...” You started, but you never managed to end it.
The coil inside you snapped without warning. The careless, lazy figure-eight he was drawing against your clit tore a raw scream of his name from your throat. You writhed on his lap, hips jerking in helpless, violent spasms as your cunt clenched and fluttered convulsively around the thin stick, pushing out thick, hot, clear slick that ran down the candy and over his hand in messy, glossy rivulets. The orgasm rolled through you in waves so sharp, so overwhelming, and seemingly endless— leaving your thighs shaking and your walls pulsing wildly around the intrusion.
“Sorry, what was that?” The corners of Wooyoung’s full, sensual lips curved into a smug, deeply satisfied smirk as he slowly pulled the lollipop from your still-spasming hole. He deliberately dragged the glistening stick back through your wet, silky folds and pressed the cold, sticky head directly against your hypersensitive clit, making you jerk hard from the overload. “Because it sounded like you cum… such a good girl, even when you try to argue with me. Coming so beautifully and abundantly all over my sweet.”
“You could… stop…” Your cheeks burned with shame and residual pleasure, body still trembling finely. You suddenly felt unpleasant emptiness as Wooyoung slowly withdrew his thumb from your ass at the same time, leaving you aching and strangely, desperately thirsty for more.
“No, I don’t think I will.” The soft, almost tender laugh that left him vibrated against your skin.
With a loud, filthy squelch he pulled the lollipop free from your well-used pussy. Long, glossy strands of your thick mucus stretched and clung to the rounded head of the candy before finally breaking, glistening wetly in the darkness of the car as neon light from a bar sign flickered and melted through the fogged windows. The sight was obscenely beautiful.
Wooyoung ran his palm slowly up your sternum, the sticky lollipop now held between his thumb and forefinger, and tapped it lightly against your swollen lower lip.
“Hold this for me, baby.” He sang softly, pressing the glistening candy to your mouth.
You obediently opened. When his finger pressed lightly, your tongue came out on its own, wrapping around the peach lolly. You drew the lollipop into your mouth and tasted yourself — thick, hot, creamy sweet, and couldn’t help the low, broken moan that escaped around it.
“See how delicious you are?” Wooyoung’s voice was dark with satisfaction, rich and slow. “So sweet… just like your pretty cunt.”
He gently but firmly pushed you forward so you slid off his lap and leaned between the front seats. You braced both hands on the seat, back arched, while he stayed seated behind you and spread your buttocks wider with possessive, unhurried ease and exposing your slippery, slutty little holes. Then the sultry blonde leaned in and pressed a long, open-mouthed kiss directly to your still-sensitive, swollen clit — warm, wet, and dirty with a lot of tongue and saliva. Your thighs jerked hard in response, a sharp, involuntary twitch that only made him grip them tighter as he settled in to devour you.
Wooyoung started with a wide, slow, filthy drag of his tongue, licking from the bottom of your dripping entrance all the way up through your swollen folds, tasting the mixture of your slick and the lingering peach sweetness. He did it again, slower, pressing harder, before gripping your thighs tighter and pulling you fully against his mouth.
The lollipop still between your lips knocked against your teeth when your hips jerked. You pressed it to the inside of your cheek, drooling around the stick and swallowing thickly as the sultry blonde ran his tongue over every slick, sensitive fold with deliberate, hungry precision. He flicked the tip of his tongue rapidly along the outer lips, then curled it to trace the full length of your slit, collecting every drop of wetness before circling the delicate, fluttering edges of your hole.
The rain outside drummed steadily against the roof, mixing with the wet, obscene sounds of his mouth working between your thighs.
“Fuck… fuck… fuck…” You whimpered when he finally pushed his tongue straight into your tight, pulsing entrance, lapping greedily like a man starved. He fucked you with it in slow, deep strokes, curling and twisting inside you, before pulling back just enough to lick the stretched rim with filthy thoroughness.
Wooyoung gathered more of your wetness onto his tongue and dragged it up to your clit, licking faster, sharper, while two of his fingers slowly pushed into you in one smooth, stretching motion. He curled them immediately, knowing exactly where to press, and began thrusting in measured, deep strokes that dragged every knuckle against your fluttering walls. At the same time he used his thumbs to gently spread your entrance wider, holding you open so he could push his tongue back inside alongside his fingers, licking into you as deeply as possible.
“You’re so damn tight, baby girl.” he murmured against your cunt. The wet, filthy sounds of his fingers and tongue fucking into you mixed with the rain. “Need to stretch this pretty hole properly for my cock, baby… such a good girl, already gripping me so greedily.”
“Woo…” You cried, voice breaking as when you wiggled your butt, rubbing harder against Wooyoung's handsome face. “I’m… close… please… I can’t hold it—”
He took that as permission.
Wooyoung’s full, sensual lips closed around your clit and sucked hard — greedily, cheeks hollowing — while his dark eyes looked up at you, hungry and unwavering. His fingers kept thrusting and curling against that sensitive spongy spot with every stroke, rubbing in short, relentless circles that made your vision blur.
The dual sensation was overwhelming: the wet heat of his mouth sealed around your clit, the steady stretch and pressure of his fingers, the way his tongue still occasionally flicked down to push inside you between sucks. He ate you like he was starving for it, wet and loud and completely shameless, driving you higher with every filthy, expert movement of his mouth and hand.
“Oh, fuck… You fuck me so good, baby, so good…” You whined, nails scraping over the soft leather of the seats as you tried and failed to ground yourself. You were balanced right on the edge, body no longer obeying you at all. Every muscle in your thighs trembled violently. Clear, hot slick poured out of you in messy rivulets that coated Wooyoung’s hand and chin and dripped down onto his lap and the floor of the car.
“That’s it, my sweet girl.” Woo purred the words directly against your cunt, the vibration of his voice shooting straight through your swollen clit. “Come. Just like that… give it all to me.”
Saliva pooled thick and sweet in your mouth as you fought not to swallow around the lollipop still wedged between your cheek and teeth. Your body was no longer yours. It trembled and surrendered completely, hips twitching in small, helpless spasms while Wooyoung guided you through the orgasm with focused, relentless hunger.
His fingers rubbed that spongy spot inside you with quick, energetic strokes, curling and pressing hard with every thrust. At the same time his tongue lashed against your clit in sharp, filthy flicks — fast, then slower, then fast again, twisting in tight figure-eights, drawing patterns, never letting the pleasure crest and fade. One strong palm pressed firmly against your lower belly, holding you down and anchoring you as wave after wave crashed through your body.
Your walls clenched and fluttered convulsively around his fingers, squeezing, releasing, then squeezing even tighter as more clear slick gushed out of you in hot, messy pulses. The orgasm seemed to go on forever — sharp, overwhelming, endless, leaving you shaking and dripping and sobbing brokenly around the candy in your mouth.
Only when the worst of the trembling finally began to subside did Wooyoung slowly straighten up behind you. He leaned forward, carefully eased the sticky white stick from between your teeth, and watched your face with dark, deeply satisfied eyes as you obediently parted your lips and let him take it back. He slipped the lollipop straight into his own mouth without hesitation, the candy shifting to the inside of his cheek as he sucked slowly on the mingled taste of you and peach, eyes never leaving yours.
With one hand Wooyoung unfastened his tight jeans just enough to free his cock. The heavy, flushed length slid out, already glistening with pre-cum, thick veins standing out prominently along the shaft, the blunt head swollen and dark with need. He dragged it slowly through your still-pulsing, silky folds, coating himself generously in your slick. The hot, velvety head rubbed up and down between your labia, pressing lightly against your entrance without pushing in — just letting you feel how thick and ready he was.
For a moment the broad head pressed against your asshole, so thick and warm, slapping lightly against the sensitive rim before Woo gently pulled you back onto his lap, your back flush against his sweat-damp chest.
Wooyoung lined himself up properly and pressed the oozing, swollen tip against your trembling hole. Then he drove his cock into you with one sharp, deep thrust, stretching you wide around his girth in a single, perfect glide. The sudden fullness punched a broken, high moan from your throat as your walls fluttered and clenched desperately around the heavy intrusion, forced to yield to every thick, heavily veined inch of him until he was buried to the hilt.
“I want your mouth empty,” He said against your ear, voice dark and rough with restraint. “so I can hear every single sound you make when you come on my cock… You always look prettier when you’re falling apart like this.”
With your mouth finally free, every sound spilled out unrestrained as Wooyoung began to fuck you in earnest.
He moved with slow, deliberate hunger at first, dragging his massive cock almost all the way out until only the thick, flared head remained inside you, the stretch at your entrance almost cruel, then thrusting back in deep, filling you completely until his hips were flush against your ass.
You felt every ridge, every prominent vein, every hot, throbbing inch stretching your sensitive walls as he claimed you. Your body yielded without resistance now. You started to bounce on his hard length, lifting yourself only to sink back down with greedy, rolling hips that took him even deeper every time. The wet, obscene sounds of your slick cunt swallowing him mixed with the steady drum of rain against the roof.
One of Wooyoung’s hands slid up to wrap around your throat, fingers pressing just firmly enough to make your head spin deliciously, controlling the pace and owning every movement. His other hand slipped between your spread thighs, rubbing your swollen, oversensitive clit in slow, filthy circles that sent sparks racing through your already overstimulated body.
“You’ve no idea how much I love fucking you, sweetie,” Woo said against your ear, the words thick with dark satisfaction. His fingers lewdly parted your swollen, sticky labia so he could feel himself sliding in and out of you, while his heavy balls slapped wetly against your cunt with each deep thrust. “Ride my cock like you were made for it… Look at you, so greedy for every inch, your pretty cunt gripping me so tight like it never wants to let go.”
You moaned brokenly at his words, hands clutching at his sinewy, tattooed forearm as you bounced harder, chasing every inch of friction. Your hips rolled in desperate little circles every time he bottomed out, grinding your swollen clit against his fingers while your walls fluttered and squeezed greedily around the massive, silky length buried deeply inside you.
“Woo… fuck, yes...harder. ” You gasped, voice trembling and raw. "Give me more!"
His fingers on your clit pressed firmer, rubbing faster in perfect time with his thrusts. The pressure on your throat made every sensation sharper, more intense, almost dizzying. Your body betrayed every last shred of earlier hesitation — walls pulsing and squeezing around his cock with every downward bounce, slick arousal dripping down his length and coating his fingers and balls as he worked you relentlessly.
A low, deeply pleased sound vibrated through your back where his chest pressed flush against you. He tightened his grip on your throat just a fraction more while his other hand never slowed.
“Such a good girl, taking me so well… I can feel how close you are again, that sweet pussy fluttering around my cock like it’s begging to come all over me. Go on, bounce for me.”
You obeyed without thought, bouncing with increasing abandon. Your thighs trembled hard from the effort and the overstimulation. His cock hit that perfect spot deep inside with every thrust, the blunt, flared head dragging heavily against it on every stroke, while his fingers circled your clit in tight, relentless patterns. The pleasure built hot and fast, your moans growing louder, more shameless, mixing with the wet, filthy slap of your bodies and the rain’s steady rhythm outside.
“Please, Woo… I’m...oh god, right there...” You let out a drawn-out moan; your words were disjointed and sounded more like a pitiful whine than anything coherent or intelligible. Your nails digging into his skin as your hips jerked and rolled, taking him even deeper, cunt clenching greedily around his thick length.
“Come on my cock, doll.” Wooyoung growled, voice dripping with filthy praise. “Come for me while I choke this pretty throat and rub that needy little clit… That’s my good girl, let it all go. Let me see you squirt for me, make a mess.”
Your body surrendered completely. Your walls convulsed around him in rhythmic, powerful spasms, gripping and milking his cock as pleasure crashed through you in wave after overwhelming wave. You kept bouncing through it, hips stuttering but never stopping, chasing every last spark while clear slick poured out of you around his thrusting length. Wooyoung groaned low and deeply satisfied against your ear, fingers never slowing on your clit, drawing every tremor and aftershock from your body as he fucked you straight through the orgasm. His hand on your throat eased just enough to let you gasp his name in broken, ecstatic, almost sobbing cries.
He didn’t stop.
Even as your orgasm began to ebb, Wooyoung continued fucking you with deep, relentless thrusts that prolonged every spasm and made your oversensitive body jolt with each stroke. Your hips still rolled back to meet him, helpless and greedy, even as the last waves of pleasure crashed through you in hot, shuddering pulses.
Then, without warning, he pulled his thick cock free. The sudden emptiness made you whimper in protest, but before you could form a proper plea he thrust two long, skilled fingers deep inside you instead. Woo curled them mercilessly against that swollen, spongy spot and began rubbing in quick, focused strokes that had you squealing from how intensely good it felt.
The stretch was different now, more precise and more cruel, every crook of his fingers dragging over that hypersensitive place until your thighs began to shake uncontrollably.
The car had grown hot and stuffy, the air thick with the mingled scents of rain-damp fabric, sweat, and sex. Neither of you noticed that the storm outside had eased to a gentle drizzle, nor did you register the constant buzzing of your phone on the seat beside you — San and Seonghwa’s messages lighting up the screen one after another, demanding to know where the hell you were.
Wooyoung’s fingers worked you relentlessly, pumping and curling with focused intensity until a fresh, heavier wave of pressure built low in your belly. Your needy cunt fluttered and clenched around his fingers as broken, desperate pleas spilled from your lips.
“Wooyoung… I’m...don’t stop, please, it’s so good...” You moaned, the sound high and almost squealing as the pleasure crested again.
He pulled you back against his chest and took your mouth in a deep, filthy kiss, swallowing every cry as his fingers continued their merciless pace inside your pulsing heat. When the second orgasm finally broke, it hit with a sudden, warm gush that soaked his hand and the seat beneath you. Your body trembled and released in uncontrollable spurts while you moaned loudly into his mouth, completely lost to the overwhelming sensation. Your walls spasmed hard around his fingers as clear, hot slick poured out of you in messy, rhythmic pulses, leaving you shaking and dripping and utterly spent.
Only when the last tremors subsided did Wooyoung slowly ease his fingers free, gently stroking your messy, oversensitive pussy with tender, soothing touches that made you shiver hard in the afterglow.
Through the haze you realised he still hadn’t come. His heavy cock was still hard and slick against your thigh, twitching with every slow beat of his heart. You turned in his lap breathlessly, voice soft and eager.
“Let me… let me take care of you. I can suck you off or jerk you off, baby, just tell me what you want.”
Wooyoung casually brushed the damp strands of hair from your face with surprising gentleness. His gorgeous, asymmetrical fox eyes softened for a moment as he leaned in and pressed a tender kiss to your forehead — the contrast with his earlier roughness making your heart twist in that familiar, confusing way.
“It can wait.” Woo said, voice low and steady, almost quiet. “At least until we get back to my place and I can fuck you properly into the mattress. Although first I’d prefer you shut your little bunny boy up and let him know he needs to get the fuck off what’s mine. You know I don’t share, Peach… especially not my girlfriend’s pussy.”
“You’re a bastard.” You slapped his hand lightly, rolling your eyes even as a reluctant smile tugged at your lips.
“Yeah.” Wooyoung answered, warm and completely unrepentant. “But I’m your bastard. Just yours, Peach.” He ran his tongue slowly down the column of your neck until his mouth pressed to your ear, the words dark and slow, like something thick and sweet dripping over skin.
“And one day soon… you’re going to admit you want more than just my cock. You’re going to admit you want me for the rest of your life.”
thank you guys so much for 1k >_< i'll probably do a small event to celebrate but im not sure what to do yet :/ but thank you for appreciating my writing and hyping me up all the time <3
you lean against the brick wall of the clubhouse, the afternoon sun beating down on the motorcycles parked in a line. the boys are scattered around, some nursing beers while others tune up their bikes.
yeosang's motorcycle sits in its usual spot, polished to perfection. nobody touches it, no one even thinks about breathing near it. you know the rules.
but yeosang is taking too long, and you're starting to feel restless.
you glance around, a smirk tugging at your lips as you saunter over, swinging one leg over the seat and settling onto the leather. your hands hover near the handlebars before gripping them lightly, fiddling with the grips.
"damn, i forgot how comfy this thing is," you murmur to yourself, grinning.
the entire lot goes dead silent, tools clattering to the floor as heads turn. they know yeosang's bike is basically sacred and off-limits, and they were waiting for the explosion.
you hear boots crunch on the gravel, and you don't need to look up to know it's yeosang.
he stops right in front of the bike, and you finally meet his eyes. he scans your body, the way your legs part over the seat, skirt riding up slightly.
yeosang steps closer, long fingers sliding over yours, adjusting your grips on the handlebars, pressing your palms into the right spots as his thumbs brush over your knuckles.
"comfy?" he asks, voice low and deep, sending sparks straight between your legs. some prospects let out low whistles, as the two of you remain in your bubble.
your cheeks burn as you nod, biting your lip, "yeah.. it's really comfortable."
a faint smirk falls on his lips as he swings a leg over the bike behind you, his chest pressing to your back and his arms cage you in, gripping the handlebars outside your hands.
"good," he murmurs against your ear, breath warm, "you look good on my bike."
the engine roars to life beneath the two of you, making a gasp fall from your lips as yeosang revs it once. he pulls out of the lot, keeping you tucked tightly against him, the wind making your eyes water.
yeosang pulls around to the back roads, down a dirt path lined with trees, slowing at a small clearing. he kills the engine, hands resting over yours again, stroking your knuckles softly.
"did you think i'd get mad at you?" he asks, chuckling softly.
you turn your head slightly, observing his side profile, "i mean.. you get mad at everyone else.."
"they're not you," he whispers, brushing his lips against your jaw. one hand leaves the handlebars to slide down your side, gripping your hip to pull you back harder against him and you can already feel him hardening through his jeans. "nobody touches her.. but you can ride anything of mine you want."
you shift on the seat, pressing back into him, pulling a groan from his throat as he nips at your neck before he kisses the spot he bit, soothing it with his tongue. his free hand slips under the hem of your skirt, fingers tracing up your inner thigh until they brush the edge of your panties.
your breath hitches as he presses two fingers against your clothed slit, rubbing firm circles in the fabric, making a whimper fall from your lips.
yeosang lifts you effortlessly, turning you around so you're facing him, pulling your legs over his thighs on the stationary bike. his hands grip your ass, kneading the soft flesh as he pulls you against the bulge in his jeans. you grind against him instinctively, the rough denim dragging over your damp panties.
his mouth crashes into yours, tongue sliding in easily, causing you to moan into the kiss. your hands thread through his hair, tugging enough to pull a growl from his chest. he breaks away to trail bites down your throat, sucking marks into your skin so everyone knows you're his.
"been thinking about fucking you since i saw you on her," he admits, voice gravelly as one hand pushes your panties aside, fingers gliding through your slick folds, "so wet already. all from sitting on my bike with me?"
"yes," you breathe, rocking against his hand. yeosang slips two fingers inside you without warning, curling them to hit that spot inside you that makes your vision blur.
he pumps them slowly, thumb circling your clit in teasing little circles. yeosang's other hand works open his belt and jeans, freeing his cock, hard and leaking. you wrap your hand around him, stroking him from base to head, enough to make yeosang hiss and buck into your fist.
"on the bike," he commands, lifting you higher to line himself up with your entrance, the head of cock nudging against it, "ride me right here."
you sink down onto him inch by inch, stretching you open until your ass meets his thighs, groans falling from both your lips.
yeosang's hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise as he grinds against you, "fuck.. so tight.. made for me."
his hand guides you up and down on his cock, and he thrusts up to meet your rhythm. he yanks your top down, mouth latching onto one nipple and sucking hard while the other pinches the other. you arch into him, allowing his cock to slip deeper into you.
"yeosang- oh god, right there-" you whimper, grinding into him.
he switches sides, biting gently before soothing with his tongue. one hand slides back to your ass, spreading you wider as he fucks into you harder. the other slips between you, rubbing your clit in time with is thrusts.
"cum on my cock," he growls against your skin, "let me feel you."
you shatter with a cry, walls pulsing around him as you soak his lap and the leather seat of his bike. yeosang keeps thrusting through it, chasing his own release.
he flips you suddenly, bending you over the tank of the bike, your chest pressing against the metal as he slams into you from behind. one hand fists in your hair, the other reaching around to rub your clit again, pushing you toward a second orgasm.
you clench around him as he buries himself to the hilt, cumming with a guttural groan, filling you up in hot ropes. yeosang falls over you, chest pressing to your back as he presses soft kisses to your shoulder.
"easy, baby," he murmurs against your neck, one hand stroking up your thigh as the other smooths your skirt down, "you did so good for me."
you sigh as you melt into him, head tipping back onto his shoulder. yeosang reaches into his jacket, pulling out a small cloth, wiping between your legs where his cum is starting to leak out.
"still comfy?" he asks with a faint smile, adjusting you so you're nestled against him again, legs draped over his.
"yeah," you whisper, turning your face to nuzzle his neck, "don't wanna move yet."
The pass is cool against your palm for only a heartbeat before warmer hands take it from you.
Come take a bite.
They will take you somewhere hotter, wetter, darker — a place where the only language left is the soft, wet sound of skin against skin and the broken way you start saying their names. Someone’s mouth finds the side of your throat. Someone else’s hands slide under your clothes as if they have always belonged there. They know exactly how this works. They have done this before. They have ruined prettier girls than you and they plan to do it again, slower this time, deeper, until your legs shake and your voice turns into something helpless.
“Good girl… look at you. Already not so sure anymore.” A low, dangerous laugh brushes against your ear. A thumb presses under your chin, tilting your face up into the dark. “That’s my favourite part. Watching a pretty little thing like you lose it for us.”
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Yeosang stared you down through the mirror, his fingers circling over your clit with a cruel pace. He hooked your legs over his, keeping you spread open for his viewing pleasure. Yeosang wrapped an arm around your waist, stilling your wiggling hips. He was being mean; even he knows it. But he just adores seeing your brows furrow and pretty tears well up in your eyes when he deprives you.
He hums with a shadow of a smirk on his lips as tears streak down your face. He slides his fingers through your slick folds, making you whine as he presses the pads of his fingers against your hole. “You want it, honey?” You never nodded your head faster, nearly doubling over as Yeosang pressed two of his fingers into your sopping cunt at once.
He buried his fingers in your wet pussy, curling them against your sweet spot. Your back arched off his chest, your thighs trying to close but forgetting they’re hooked over his legs. You cried out as Yeosang’s fingers abused your sweet spot, pressing against it with quick movements. “C’mon, don’t cry that it’s too much now, baby. You wanted this, didn’t you?”
God, you hated how easily you fell apart in his hands.
WARNINGS: (NSFW / 18+), Rough sex and power dynamics, Explicit dirty talk and soft degradation, Light choking, Explicit oral sex and face-fucking, Themes of possessiveness and jealousy, Unprotected sex.
SUMMARY: It’s easy to get lost in the noise of the practice room and the usual banter. Everyone thinks they know exactly who Kang Yeosang is, and you thought you had him figured out too. But some invisible lines are better left uncrossed. It only takes one casual comment to realize that silence doesn’t always mean shyness… sometimes, it’s just a warning.
Only for adults (18+). If any of this is offensive to you or if you're under 18, please don't view it! All based on fictional events, none of this is real.
NOTE: Hi everyone! Thank you so much for joining me on this journey with our beloved Yeosang. I hope you all enjoyed it.
I've decided to end the series here. I started writing the next chapter a few days ago, but I got stuck halfway through because I couldn't come up with anything new, and I really didn't want to repeat the same scenes over and over. As always, I read all of your feedback! Big hugs! 🌼
You had been pacing around the house for two hours. Jessie had left at noon after giving you a final, meaningful hug and a silent reminder with her eyes: talk to him. Since then, the silence in your apartment had been crashing down on you.
Whether you wanted to admit it or not, nerves were eating you alive. You took a long shower, trying to let the hot water wash away the tension in your shoulders, and took your time getting ready. Yeosang had explicitly texted you that he didn't want you wearing a skirt, so you chose a pair of fitted dark jeans and a black knit top—simple, but hugging your body in all the right places. You let your hair down, dabbed a subtle touch of perfume on your wrists and neck, and looked at yourself in the bathroom mirror.
You looked amazing, and you hated yourself a little for wanting him to notice it so badly. Your head was a mess: on one hand, your stomach was tight with the desperate urge to feel his hands again; on the other, the fear of being nothing more than a physical distraction was burning in your chest. You had to take a stand; you needed to know what you were to him.
At ten o'clock sharp, your phone vibrated in your hand.
I'm downstairs. Let me in.
You pressed the intercom button with fingers that trembled slightly. You listened to the elevator ride up, the echo of his footsteps down the hallway, and before he could even ring the bell, you pulled the door open.
You leaned against the frame, trying to maintain a facade of calm you didn't actually feel.
Yeosang was standing there. He wore an oversized hoodie, a black cap pulled low almost covering his eyes, and a mask on. He looked like the same anonymous guy he always was, but the second he raised his head and his dark eyes locked onto yours, the air turned heavy.
He didn't move. He just stood there on the landing, taking his sweet time scanning you completely from head to toe, without a shred of shame. His gaze lingered on your jeans, traced up the line of your top, and finally rested on your lips. He drank you in with a slowness so deliberate you felt like he was stripping you right then and there.
You swallowed hard, holding his gaze as best as you could.
"Are you planning on coming in," you said, a touch of irony in your voice to hide its tremble, "or are you going to stand there all night?"
The moment the words left your mouth, Yeosang took a step forward, stepped into the apartment, and shut the door behind him with a sharp thud.
He pulled off his cap and mask in one fluid motion, tossing them onto the entryway table without caring where they landed, and came straight for you.
There was no foreplay, no clever remarks. He cornered you against the hallway wall, trapping you between his body and the cold surface. His hands—large and warm—slid directly up to your neck and jawline, forcing your head back as he slammed his lips against yours.
It was a hungry, fierce kiss, loaded with all the frustration and pent-up longing of a week spent apart. His tongue claimed yours with a brutal urgency, yet at the same time, it wasn't like the other times. There was none of that cold distance of someone who just wanted to dominate; he pressed you against his chest so tightly, weaving his fingers through your hair, that you felt as if he wanted to erase every single mile that had separated you. He held you as though he was terrified you might disappear if he loosened his grip even a millimeter.
He pulled back just a few millimeters from your mouth, panting, his breath burning against your skin. He didn't let go of your face. He stared straight into your eyes with an intensity so overwhelming it took your breath away.
"I told you the mirror in that hotel room was shit," he whispered, his voice broken, deeper and raspier than usual. "But the worst part was that you weren't in it. Fuck... you have no idea how long this felt."
The confession struck you straight in the chest. That "you weren't in it" swept away half of your fears in an instant, leaving you completely defenseless against the sheer brutality of the way Yeosang was claiming you. You didn't have time to process it before his lips trapped yours once more, devouring you with a need that made you arch your back against the wall. His hands slid down from your face to your waist, gripping your hips tightly through your jeans, pulling you so flush against him that you could feel his erection—hard and urgent—pressing into your stomach.
"Yeosang..." you gasped against his lips as his mouth descended to your neck.
He bit the sensitive skin right above your collarbone—a firm bite that pulled a muffled groan from your throat, followed immediately by the damp stroke of his tongue.
"I promised you'd see for yourself in person," he whispered against your ear, his warm breath sending your pulse racing. "You have no idea how much I missed you."
The contrast of hearing that vulnerability mixed with the raw force of his hold set you ablaze inside. His fingers urgently fumbled for the button of your jeans, unfastening them with a quick, clumsy movement that betrayed just how close he was to losing his control, too. He shoved your pants and underwear down together, forcing you to take small, awkward steps until you managed to kick them off completely, leaving you in just your black top, your skin exposed to the cool hallway air.
Yeosang lifted you up in one swift motion, gripping your thighs. By pure instinct, you wrapped your legs around his waist, clinging to his shoulders as he carried you into the dark bedroom. He dropped you onto the bed, but before you could even settle in, his heavy body was already hovering over you. With one hand, he shed his own pants while using the other to pin you to the mattress.
"Take it off," he ordered against your ear, referring to your top.
You obeyed, your hands trembling. At the same time, he pushed himself up slightly and, with a fluid movement, pulled off his own shirt, revealing the broad, defined silhouette of his shoulders in the dark.
When you were left completely bare before him again, Yeosang lowered his gaze to trace your body. His fingers slid along your ribs, instinctively searching for the strap or the clasp of a bra, but found only the uninterrupted softness of your skin.
He tensed above you. His eyes widened slightly, locked onto your chest. He hadn't expected you to be this ready for him. A ragged breath escaped his lips, and that small moment of surprise seemed to strip away his usual composure, replacing it with an urgency far more primal.
He pinned your wrists beside your head, lacing his fingers through yours, and set the tip of his length against your entrance, which was already dripping with anticipation.
He entered you slowly—one long, deep, deliberate thrust that filled you completely and forced your back to arch, drawing a sharp groan from your throat that lost itself against the ceiling. But instead of pounding into you with the wild intensity of the studio or the couch, Yeosang paused. He stayed completely still inside you, buried to the hilt, allowing both of your bodies to absorb the perfect fit of the connection.
He leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours, forcing you to look straight into his eyes in the dark. His breathing was heavy, ragged.
"You have no idea how badly I wanted to feel you wrapped around me," he growled low, his voice broken—genuinely frayed from holding back. "The whole fucking week thinking about this. About how tight you feel."
You swallowed hard, your eyes glinting with tears from the sheer intensity of having him there, so deep, so overwhelmingly still. Your hands, trapped beneath his, tightened their grip.
"Move..." you pleaded in a thread of a voice, tilting your hips up just a fraction of an inch.
"No," he replied, and for the first time, that refusal didn't sound like a dominant punishment, but a plea. "Slow. I want to savor you. I want to remember every single second."
He leaned down and kissed you. It was a slow, slick, deeply passionate kiss. While his tongue tangled with yours with an agonizing leisure that sent shivers straight down your spine, Yeosang began to move. The rhythm was torturous: deep, endless thrusts that brushed against your every internal wall. He pulled out almost completely, only to sink back in without any rush, making you drag your whimpers out against his mouth.
Sex with him had always been a whirlwind of adrenaline and control, but this was different. This was a physical surrender so dense it tore at your chest. You could feel the frantic beat of his heart against your breast, the beads of sweat from his forehead dripping onto your neck, and the way his hips sought complete, unbroken contact with yours with every subtle stroke.
"Look at me," he begged, breaking the kiss without breaking his steady, deep rhythm. "Look at me, please."
You opened your eyes, blinking to focus on him in the dim light. His features were tight with pleasure, his jaw set so hard it looked painful. There was no distance in his face; he was completely exposed before you.
"You're mine," he whispered, and this time the words didn't sound like a directive for the mirror, but like a truth he needed to claim so he wouldn't lose his mind. "You're mine, right?"
"Yes..." you gasped, wrapping your legs tightly around his back to drive him deeper, losing your head from the relentless friction against your clitoris. "Yours, Yeosang."
Hearing that seemed to break the very last dam holding back his patience. The agonizingly slow pace transformed into something far more fierce, more brutal, yet without losing an ounce of that passionate connection. He began to drive into you hard, making the bed creak and your nails dig into his bare shoulders. He was fucking you with a feral possessiveness, locking eyes with you every single second, devouring your whimpers and your desperate pleas for air.
The pleasure coiled in your lower belly like an electric storm. You were so full of him, so utterly shattered by the way he looked at you as he unravelled you, that the orgasm hit you all at once. You came hard, pulsing violently around his length with spasms that ripped a guttural groan straight from his chest.
Yeosang clenched his teeth, accelerating his pace brutally through your final contractions, giving everything in four or five wild thrusts that lifted you off the mattress. With a raspy roar that he smothered against your shoulder, he came deep inside you, driving in to the hilt, filling you with a thick warmth as his entire body shuddered from the strain.
He collapsed heavily on top of you, burying his face in the crook of your neck, breathing as if he had just run a marathon. His arms wrapped tightly around you, holding you flush against him, making no move to shift or pull away just yet.
You stayed like that for a while, until the heat became too heavy. You patted Yeosang lightly on the arm to get him to move.
"Yeosang, seriously... you're heavy and I'm roasting," you protested, your voice raspy.
"No," he complained, burying himself a little deeper into the crook of your neck. "I'm not moving. I'm right where I want to be."
Those words melted your heart in a ridiculous way, erasing any remaining urge to complain. You stayed still, smiling in the dark, until he finally gave in. He slowly pulled away, flopping down onto the mattress beside you, but before separating completely, he leaned over to press a soft, lingering kiss to your temple.
You sat up slowly, your body feeling heavy and sticky, and got up to head to the bathroom. Just as you were about to close the door to get some privacy, you heard firm footsteps behind you. You turned around. It was Yeosang, completely bare, walking right up to you.
"What are you doing?" you asked, blinking.
"I thought it'd be a good idea to take a shower together," he answered, taking you in from head to toe without a shred of modesty. "I'm drenched in sweat from the flight and... well, from this."
Under his direct gaze, instinct won out and you crossed your arms over your chest, trying to cover yourself up. A genuine laugh escaped Yeosang—a clean, warm laugh that, with the deep timbre of his voice, made you smile despite yourself.
"What are you even doing?" he teased, taking a step toward you. "I've already seen every single part of you. Five minutes ago you were screaming my name, and now you're feeling shy?"
You laughed, dropping your arms, defeated by his logic. He stepped past you, walked into the shower, and turned on the tap. He waited for the water to run warm and then extended his hand to you. You stepped in with him, and both of you let out an identical sigh as the warm droplets soaked your hair and skin.
Yeosang grabbed the body wash and began smoothing his hands over your skin, washing you with a slowness that immediately made the air thick with tension again.
"Yeosang..." you warned, shooting him a look from the corner of your eye.
"Okay, okay," he said, raising his hands with an innocent smile. "I'll let you rest. But only for a little while."
In the end, he wrapped his arms around you from behind as the water fell over you both. You pressed your back against his chest, feeling his arms wrap firmly around your waist—no ulterior motives this time, just seeking closeness. It was a moment of intimacy so pure it almost hurt. The Yeosang who controlled you in front of the mirror and the one holding you under the water seemed to fit together seamlessly in the same person, and that scared you just as much as it fascinated you.
When you got out of the shower and dried off with towels, you looked at him as he ran a hand through his wet hair.
"You must be hungry, right? Is it okay if I order us something to eat?"
"You read my mind," he admitted. "I'm starving. I barely touched my tray on the plane."
While you waited for the delivery, you went to the closet to find something comfortable. You slipped into a cozy t-shirt and handed him your largest top. The second Yeosang tried putting it on, a laugh escaped him. The shoulder seams sat way too high, and the fabric barely reached his waist.
"It's short on me," he said, checking himself out in the mirror.
"Like you even care," you reminded him, amused. "I seem to recall you wearing crop tops on stage more than once."
"I don't choose the outfits," he countered, raising an eyebrow, though he made no move to take it off.
In the end, you both stayed in your t-shirts and underwear, completely at ease in the living room. However, the second the delivery guy rang the doorbell, Yeosang sprang into action purely on instinct: he threw his sweatpants back on at lightning speed and went to get the food himself to make sure no one caught sight of you.
You sat on the living room floor in front of the coffee table, food spread out between you. You didn't turn on the TV or play any background music; the quiet of the night was enough.
At first, the conversation was light. He shared stories from the shoot—how San had tripped over a cable right in the middle of a serious scene, or how much Hongjoong had complained about the freezing cold on the outdoor set. You laughed at his dry comments, but your mind kept running in circles around the same thing.
During a lull in the conversation, Yeosang nudged your shoulder gently, catching your attention.
"Are you going to tell me what's going on in that head of yours yet?" he asked, setting his chopsticks down on his plate.
"Nothing, I'm fine," you lied, looking down at your food.
"Yeah, right. I felt it even while we were having sex. You're different. More... guarded."
You froze. He leaned in slightly toward you, his eyes softening.
"You can trust me. You know you can tell me."
"It's stupid, really. It's just my own head getting to me," you muttered.
"If something 'stupid' is making you this quiet, then it's not that stupid," he insisted, with that grounded maturity so characteristic of him. "I'm listening."
You took a deep breath, setting your chopsticks down as well. You laced your hands over your knees, searching for the exact words so as not to sound desperate.
"I don't want you to take this as me trying to put pressure on you, I really don't," you began, without looking at him. "We both agreed to no labels and just seeing what happened, but... the truth is I'm developing feelings for you, Yeosang. And I'm scared that this is just a game or sex to you, because for me, it isn't anymore."
You held your breath, bracing yourself for an awkward look or a cold silence. However, when you finally found the courage to look at him, Yeosang merely let out a deep exhale, resting his elbows on his knees.
"I've been thinking about it, too," he said, staring straight ahead.
You looked at him, astonished.
"You have?"
"Yeah," he admitted, turning to lock those dark eyes of his onto yours. "During the days I was away... I missed you too much. So much that it even caught me off guard. I wanted to talk to you at all hours, send you texts over every little thing, but... I didn't want to be a nuisance, either. After all, we don't have a label on this. I didn't know if I had the right to do that or if I'd end up smothering you."
A light laugh escaped your lips—pure disbelief.
"Yeosang... every time we have sex, you remind me in every possible way that I'm yours, and then you're too shy to text me extra?"
The corner of his mouth twitched, looking a bit embarrassed.
"It's different," he confessed, running a hand over his neck. "It's been a long time since I felt like this about someone, and I didn't really know how to handle it. I started realizing how fucked I was when I listened to the guys talk about you at rehearsal. It drove me crazy whenever someone got too close to you, or even when Mingi touched your shoulder... I was terrified you'd meet someone else while I was away and decide this wasn't enough for you anymore. I don't want you to be a secret, and I don't want you to just be a four-walls thing, either."
Yeosang reached across the table and took you by the wrist, pulling you gently until he coaxed you to move and sit between his legs, your back against his chest. He wrapped his arms around you, resting his chin on your shoulder.
"So it's not stupid," he whispered near your ear. "If you want us to be serious, I'm already there. Honestly, I think I've been there since the first time I put my hands on you."
The rest of the night unfolded with a calm neither of you had anticipated. The food grew cold halfway through dinner because you both realized it was so much easier to talk when there were no secrets between you. You ended up curled together on the couch, legs intertwined, whispering confidences back and forth. For the first time, Yeosang set his guarded side completely aside, opening up about his doubts, the pressure of the music industry, and how you had been his anchor over the past few months. That night, Yeosang stayed to sleep with you for the very first time. There was no more sex—just a firm, warm embrace in the darkness of the bed, your breathing in sync, and the quiet certainty that things had changed forever.
WARNINGS: (NSFW / 18+), Rough sex and power dynamics, Explicit dirty talk and soft degradation, Light choking, Explicit oral sex and face-fucking, Themes of possessiveness and jealousy, Unprotected sex.
SUMMARY: It’s easy to get lost in the noise of the practice room and the usual banter. Everyone thinks they know exactly who Kang Yeosang is, and you thought you had him figured out too. But some invisible lines are better left uncrossed. It only takes one casual comment to realize that silence doesn’t always mean shyness… sometimes, it’s just a warning.
Only for adults (18+). If any of this is offensive to you or if you're under 18, please don't view it! All based on fictional events, none of this is real.
Mid-morning, your phone vibrated again. Jessie.
I’ve felt a disturbance in the Force.
Tell me EVERYTHING. NOW.
You sighed, setting your mug down on the counter. You could type out a massive block of text… or you could just call her.
You called her.
"I knew you were gonna ring," was her greeting.
"Good morning to you, too," you replied, rolling your eyes.
"How's your couch?" she asked point-blank. "Did it survive?"
You covered your face with your hand.
"I think it needs intensive therapy," you admitted. "But it's still breathing."
Jessie burst out laughing.
"I want details," she said. "The kind I can't tell Hongjoong because he'd blush to a crisp."
You leaned against the table, staring at a blank spot on the wall.
"It was..." You searched for the right words. "More. Than I ever imagined. More than at the studio. More... him."
"More dominant?" she pressed, dropping all beat-around-the-bush.
"Yes," you whispered.
A brief silence followed.
"And did you like that?" she asked, her voice softening a bit, shifting from playful teasing to genuine seriousness.
You took a second to think it over. Or two. Not because you didn't know the answer, but because putting it into words felt intimidating.
"A lot," you admitted. "A little too much, maybe."
"Too much how?" she nudged, pulling on the thread.
"Too much like..." You closed your eyes for a moment. "Like him telling me 'you're all mine,' and instead of calling him out, I just... want to obey even more."
Jessie didn't laugh. She didn't make a cheap joke. She took a couple of seconds to process it.
"Did you feel bad at any point?" she asked. "Did you feel forced, pressured, like you couldn't say no?"
You shook your head, knowing she couldn't see you, but answered anyway.
"No." You licked your lips. "Every time he did something a bit... rougher, he looked at me. He gave me room to breathe. If I had wanted to stop, I would’ve said so. And I know he would’ve stopped."
"Then," she concluded, "it’s not 'too much' in a bad way. It’s just new to you. And very intense."
You let out a sigh.
"I’m scared of getting hooked on it," you confessed. "On that feeling. On the fact that when he says 'you're all mine,' a part of me actually feels like it's true."
Jessie went quiet for a moment, thoughtful.
"You're not going to become anyone's property just because you enjoy that dynamic behind closed doors," she said calmly. "How you two handle things outside of that is a different story. But from what you’re telling me, outside he’s still the quiet, measured Yeosang, not the guy who grabbed your hair in your living room."
You bit your lip, the memory of that exact moment flooding back.
"It turns me on and scares me in equal measure," you admitted.
"That's completely normal," she replied. "The important thing is that you realize that 'belonging' in that room is your choice, too. It’s not a divine order. It’s a power dynamic that's working for you right now because you trust him. And if one day it stops working, you talk about it and you call it off."
"You make it sound so easy," you complained, half-smiling.
"Because I'm looking at it from the outside," she shot back. "Your hormones are currently in the stratosphere. But you're being self-aware, and that's a huge deal."
A brief silence hung in the air.
"So, what are you guys now?" she finally asked. "I know you hate labels, but... how would you describe it if you had to explain it to a stranger?"
You stared down at your mug.
"We're not a couple," you said first. "There’s no 'boyfriend/girlfriend' thing."
"But we're not just a casual hookup, either," you heard yourself say. "We text every day. We care about each other. He takes such good care of me... even when he acts like he's going to wreck me."
Jessie let out an understanding hum.
"You're... something exclusive that you haven't wanted to label yet," she summarized. "And that's totally valid. There's no rush to put a title on it as long as you both know where you stand and what's okay and what's not."
"That's what scares me, too," you admitted. "That one day he’ll just decide he’s done, that he's tired of this, and I'll be left... stuck here."
"That could happen even with a full-on boyfriend label," she reminded you. "The difference is that here, you're choosing every single step, too. He didn't drag you into this. You went freely. You said yes. You enjoyed it. And you're processing it. You're not a puppet."
You didn't reply right away.
"Besides," she added, her tone lightening up a bit, "from the way you talk about him, the whole 'he gets tired and leaves' thing doesn't really sound like Yeosang. He seems more like the type to get obsessed and stay put."
"Don't use the word 'obsessed,' it makes my head spin," you protested.
She laughed.
"Okay, okay. Let's say... 'hyper-focused on a target.' And right now, you happen to be that target."
It made you chuckle, though it sent a tiny thrill of anxiety through you at the same time.
"I'm only gonna ask you for one thing," Jessie added. "If during any moment—even during sex, even when you're playing the whole 'you're all mine' game—you feel like a line has been crossed, like it's not just a game to you anymore... you call me. And we talk. And if needed, you tell him. Don't normalize anything that makes you feel like shit, okay?"
"Okay," you whispered, a warm, sweet lump forming in your throat. "Thank you."
"That's what I'm here for," she replied. "Well, that, and to tell you that we need to buy you a new couch."
"He said he'd pay for it," you mentioned.
"Oof." She chuckled. "Now that is peak 'reckless husband' behavior. I like him."
You said goodbye a short while later, promising to meet up in person soon. You hung up with a slightly clearer head.
It turned you on. It commanded respect. But you were actively choosing it. Over and over again.
And that changed everything.
The days that followed cemented the pattern.
You weren't with Yeosang 24/7. He had rehearsals, recording sessions, idol life. You had your job, your routines, your wine nights with Jessie, your voice notes with San.
But in the middle of all that noise, there was a constant thread connecting you two.
Text messages from him at any hour:
(photo of your favorite ice cream flavor)
I walked past this place and thought of you.
Are you bringing me one?
It'd melt before I got there. Better if I take you there instead.
And, above all, messages showing he was checking in on you:
Have you eaten?
Yes.
Something that isn't coffee?
I'm on it.
It wasn't overly sweet or cheesy. He wasn't the type to send paragraphs of "good morning, gorgeous." But he was there. Paying attention. Aware of you.
In person, the contrast became even more obvious.
At the studio, in front of everyone else, he was still himself: focused, observant, with sharp, to-the-point comments.
But you were starting to notice the subtle shifts:
If you walked into the room, without anyone else noticing, he’d subtly adjust his clothes or run a hand through his hair, as if wanting to look at least somewhat presentable for you.
If you were sitting in a corner on your phone, he’d usually wander over during breaks and sit next to you without saying anything at first, just silently sharing the space.
If someone—Mingi, Yunho, one of the dancers—got a little too comfortable touching you, his reaction was no longer neutral:
He’d either walk over and position himself on your other side,
make a quiet but cutting remark,
or simply lock eyes with you afterward, silently asking, "You good with that?"
One afternoon, during a long break, San insisted on showing you a new part of the choreography.
"I’m teaching it to you first," he announced. "If you like it, I'll teach it to everyone else. If not, I'll burn it."
"No pressure at all," you said, laughing.
He placed you in the middle of the room, guided your hands, and walked you through the steps. On one of the turns, he spun you a bit too fast, and you almost lost your footing.
A firm, warm arm caught you before you could fall.
Yeosang.
He didn't pull you up right away. He simply held you by the waist, steadying you, his chest brushing against your back for a second or two longer than necessary.
"Don't make her dizzy," he told San, his tone completely neutral. "I'm the one who has to take her home like this later, and she's gonna blame me."
San threw his hands up in defense.
"My bad, my bad," he chuckled. "I got carried away."
That "I'm taking her home" hit you like a direct strike to the chest. It wasn't literal—not here, not in front of everyone. But both you and he knew that, more often than not, it was becoming the truth.
When he finally let go, his fingers lingered on your waist for just a fraction of a second. Jessie, sitting by the speaker, caught it. She shot you a knowing smile.
You were building something strange.
But, for better or worse, you were starting to like it way too much.
It was one of those nights where practice stretched out far longer than anyone wanted.
They had been running the same section over and over again. Hongjoong had already left for a meeting. San was passed out in a corner, completely dead on his feet with a water bottle in hand. Jessie hadn't been able to make it; she was stuck working late. You were sitting against the wall with your jacket folded beside you, watching the choreo repeat for the hundredth time.
The music stopped. Silence. Heavy breathing.
"Again," the choreographer said, though his voice sounded completely drained.
"Last time," Yeosang added, his voice raspier than usual.
They ran it. One last time. And this time, it was perfect.
A collective murmur of relief filled the room. High fives were exchanged, bodies hit the floor, shirts were pulled up to wipe off sweat. The choreographer packed his things, gave a couple of quick notes, and said his goodbyes.
Short after, one by one, everyone started filtering out.
"We're going to grab a bite," Yunho announced. "You coming?" he asked, pointing at you.
"I'm a bit tired," you replied. "Not tonight. You guys go ahead."
San walked over and pressed a sweaty kiss to the top of your head.
"I'll bring you some food tomorrow," he promised. "You owe me a full technical analysis of my favorite part."
"You owe me an odor filter," you countered.
He laughed and headed out with the rest.
Within minutes, the large studio went almost completely empty.
Only you were left, sitting against the wall; Yeosang, stretching his legs by the barre; and a few abandoned water bottles on the floor.
The lights were still on, but one row of fluorescents flickered slightly before shutting off completely, casting the room in a softer, golden glow against the mirror.
You stood up slowly, stretching your back.
"I'm gonna head out," you said, more to break the quiet than anything else.
Yeosang pushed himself off the barre, rolling his shoulders. He was wearing a black tank top, clinging to his skin with sweat, and dark sweatpants. His damp hair fell messily across his forehead.
"Wait a second," he said—not quite sounding like a command, but definitely not just a simple suggestion, either.
You paused halfway between the wall and the door, looking back at him.
"Is something wrong?"
He took a few steps closer, stopping right in front of you, just a couple of feet away.
"You’re gonna go home with your head full of bullshit," he remarked, as if stating a plain fact. "I could see it on your face all through practice."
You scrunched up your nose.
"What face?"
"The face you make when you're overthinking too many things," he replied. "Sitting completely still, staring at a blank spot, but not actually seeing a thing."
You didn't know what to say. Because he was right.
"I'm just tired," you defended yourself.
He took another step closer. Now you were both standing right in the middle of the room, with the giant mirror stretching behind him.
"So am I," he admitted. "But if I leave now, I'm just gonna keep replaying the choreo in my head until three in the morning."
"And you," he added, dropping his voice a octave lower, "are gonna do the exact same thing... but with other things."
You bit your lip, casting your eyes down for a second.
"What... other things?" you asked, even though both of you knew damn well what he was talking about.
He didn't answer.
Instead, he reached out and gently took hold of your wrist.
"Come here."
He guided you toward the center of the studio, right in front of the mirror.
He positioned you both facing the glass: you one step ahead, him slightly behind and to the side. Everything was visible: your reflection, his, your height difference, the space between your bodies.
"Look at yourself," he said.
"What?" You frowned.
"Look at yourself," he repeated, but this time his hand slid up to your hip, giving it a light squeeze—instantly bringing back the memory of how that same hand had held you in very different contexts.
You swallowed hard and raised your eyes to the glass.
You saw yourself: hair a bit messy, dark leggings, an oversized T-shirt, cheeks still flushed from the heat of the practice room.
Beside you stood Yeosang: tank top clinging to his chest, defined shoulders, his jaw flexing and relaxing in that habit of his when he was thinking too much. He was looking at the mirror, yes... but not at his own movements. He was looking at you.
"What... am I supposed to be looking at?" you asked, feeling exposed.
He leaned in slightly closer, his eyes still fixed on the glass.
"What I see," he said.
His hand on your hip slid a fraction of an inch forward, his thumb tracing the line of your lower abdomen beneath your shirt. The pressure was minimal, but the message was crystal clear.
The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly.
The mirror ceased to be a neutral object and became a stage once more.
"Here's the thing," he continued calmly. "You see yourself as someone who's just... there. Off to the side. Watching."
"Me..." His thumb pressed in just a bit firmer. "I see you right at the center."
Your ears burned.
"I'm not always off to the side," you muttered.
"With us, you are," he said, without an ounce of harshness. "Out of respect, out of fear, out of habit. Call it whatever you want."
His fingers crept a little higher up your side, slipping under the hem of your T-shirt, brushing against bare skin.
"But in here..." His eyes locked onto yours through the mirror. "When we're alone, I want you to see what I see."
Your breathing hitched.
"And what do you see?" you asked, your voice dropping lower than you intended.
One corner of his lips twitched.
"I see..." His gaze traveled down your full reflection. "...someone who drives me insane when people get too close to her."
"Someone who bites her lip when she knows I'm watching."
"Someone who lets herself be handled..." His hand slid back down to your hip, squeezing tight, "...and then tries to pretend she doesn't."
That tone, that word—handled—lit a fire inside you.
A sudden flutter hit you low in your belly just from the way he said it.
"Yeosang..." you started.
"Look at yourself," he repeated, softer this time. "Don't look at me. Look at yourself."
You obeyed.
You focused on your reflection. On how his hand—large, firm—stood out against your hip. On how your chest was rising and falling a little faster. On how, without even realizing it, you had parted your legs just a fraction.
He noticed it, too.
"Like that," he whispered, leaning in, his lips drawing closer to your ear. "Start by seeing this."
His free hand, the one not resting on your hip, traced up your arm to your shoulder, then brushed across your neck, along your jawline. He wasn't touching you roughly, but every single movement was dripping with intent.
He forced you to keep your eyes open as he pulled your shirt up, resting it right beneath your breasts. Your nipples were already hard, visible beneath the fabric.
"Look at how your lips are trembling..." he whispered, his thumb lightly grazing your lower lip. "Look at where my hands are."
His palms moved up to cover your breasts, squeezing them possessively while forcing you to watch yourself in the mirror. Then, one hand slid down your belly, reaching between your legs over your clothes.
"And look at how you open your legs for me without me even asking."
Your thighs parted slightly, almost on instinct. Yeosang let out a low, dark, satisfied chuckle.
He pressed himself flush against your back. His hard, warm length was distinctly prominent against your ass. One of his hands moved up to your throat, holding you firmly without squeezing, keeping you upright and forcing you to look straight ahead. His other hand went down without mercy: first over your leggings, rubbing with his open palm, then slipping beneath the fabric.
He pulled down your leggings and panties just enough, leaving them bunched up around your mid-thighs. Your shirt remained hitched up, exposing your breasts. He only pulled down his pants and boxers enough to free his dick, maintaining that rush of "we're stealing this moment."
"Hands on the mirror," he commanded.
"Look me in the eyes," he growled against your ear.
The moment you looked up and caught his gaze in the reflection, he penetrated you in one deep thrust. The moan you let out echoed through the room. He held your hip tightly with one hand while the other remained on your throat, forcing you to keep your head high.
"I want you to watch yourself," he whispered, never stopping his thrusts. "This is how I have you. Nobody else sees you like this. Only me."
Every thrust was hard, controlled, and deep. The sound of skin against skin filled the room. In the mirror, you could see everything: your pleasure-dazed face, your breasts moving with every hit, Yeosang’s hand gripping your throat, his strong body behind you.
"When you look at yourself in the mirror alone..." he continued, speeding up the pace, "I want you to remember how I’m fucking you right now. I want you to see my hand on your body even when I’m not here."
He fucked you with possession, almost with contained rage. His eyes never left your face in the reflection.
"You're mine in here," he growled, biting your shoulder. "In the place where everyone always looks at me. Now I’m the one looking at you. Completely mine."
The pleasure became overwhelming. Seeing yourself being fucked like that, with that expression of total surrender, was pushing you over the edge faster than ever. Yeosang noticed.
"Look at yourself. Look at you coming for me."
You came hard, trembling, groaning his name as your walls tightened around him uncontrollably. Your knees buckled, but he held you firm, keeping you upright and fucking you through the orgasm.
Only when he felt he was close too did he accelerate brutally, pinning your pelvis against his to sink in as deep as possible. With a husky growl, he came inside you, filling you while keeping you pressed against the mirror.
For a few seconds, the only sound in the room was your heavy breathing. Yeosang was still inside you, leaning against your back, both of you staring at the reflection of your joined bodies.
"Now you really are at the center," he murmured against your neck, kissing it with a tenderness that contrasted with the previous brutality. "Where you were always meant to be."
His words lingered between your skin and the glass: "Now you really are at the center. Where you were always meant to be."
You felt the vibration of his voice against your neck, still damp from the kiss he had left there. His chest pressed against your back rose and fell heavily, but slowly began to match your rhythm.
Yeosang didn't move right away.
He stayed inside you for a few seconds longer, holding you with that firm grip of his, as if he needed both your body and his to fully process what had just happened. His hand on your throat loosened into a caress, his fingers sliding slowly down your collarbone until resting his palm on your shoulder.
"Breathe," he murmured, very low.
You obeyed. You inhaled the thick air, heavy with the scent of sweat, perfume, and him. You let it out slowly, feeling how your legs were still trembling.
"If I let go of the glass, I’ll fall," you said, half-seriously, your forehead pressed against the mirror.
He let out a short, almost silent chuckle.
"I’ve got you," he replied.
Even so, he began to pull out of you carefully. The sudden feeling of emptiness yanked a soft sigh from your lips. You felt a faint, warm sensation between your legs—the mixture of both of you—and you swallowed hard, overwhelmingly aware of everything.
Yeosang held you by the waist with both hands as you took a step forward, moving slightly away from the mirror. He turned you around gently so your back was against the glass, facing him now without the mirror between you.
His face was flushed, his hair clinging to his forehead, his shirt pulled up slightly to reveal the firm line of his abs. His eyes… they were the same as during it all: dark, focused, as if he were still processing your every single reaction.
He glanced down for a moment.
Your leggings and underwear were still pulled down around your thighs; your shirt was halfway up, one breast barely covered. The contrast between how undone you were and how you usually were in that room—always neutral, always a "visitor"—drew a deep sigh from him.
He bent down slowly, pulling your clothes up and putting them back in place. There was no clumsiness or lust; it was almost automatic. He pulled the fabric up carefully to avoid snagging it, made sure the waistband wasn't twisted, and smoothed the hem of the leggings over your hips.
Then he grabbed the hem of your shirt and pulled it down as well, covering your chest once more. His knuckles brushed against your skin here and there, but the gesture was deliberately soft—as if, after pushing you so hard against your limits, he needed to personally bring you back to normal, step by step.
Once you were properly dressed again, he pulled up his own pants and boxers in a quick, almost mechanical motion. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to tame it, though it still looked tousled.
"I don’t know what’s going to hurt worse tomorrow," you said, trying to break the silence, "your muscles from dancing, or my legs from this."
"Your legs," he replied without hesitation.
You shot him a look.
"Big ego, huh?"
"I know what I did," he answered simply.
You leaned back again, this time with your back against the mirror, letting your head fall back for a moment. You felt the cold glass against the nape of your neck while the rest of your body was still thumping with heat.
Yeosang took a step closer, but without the previous urgency. He stood in front of you, close enough that his hands could rest against the glass wall on either side of your head, without actually touching you.
"Are you okay?" he asked once more.
"You ask that a lot," you pointed out.
"Today I need to know," he admitted, not dodging the question. "It was... more."
You thought for a second about all the words you weren't used to saying out loud. I loved it, it drove me crazy, I don't know how I'm going to look in the mirror now without thinking of this.
You summarized.
"I'm okay," you said. "And... yeah. It was more."
His eyes softened a bit.
"If at any point it becomes too much," he added, dropping his voice, "you tell me. I don't want something that turns you on like this right now to make you feel like trash two days from now."
"Jessie already gave me that talk," you confessed, half-smiling.
He let out a soft huff, almost smiling too.
"Jessie's got a good head on her shoulders," he admitted.
A small silence fell over you both. The sexual tension was beginning to settle, and in its place remained something else: something denser, more intimate.
He slowly turned you around to face the mirror again, tilting his head toward the glass, looking at you through the reflection this time instead of directly.
"Look at yourself again," he said, softer. "Just... for a moment."
You sighed, but you obeyed.
In the glass, you no longer saw the raw image from a few minutes ago. You saw a girl with messy hair, cheeks still flushed, lips swollen... and an expression in her eyes you had never seen on yourself before: a mix of vulnerability and strength, of surrender and something that looked a lot like pride.
"You're never going to say you don't belong here again," he murmured, without taking his eyes off the reflection.
"I didn't say that today," you corrected him.
"Not today," he conceded. "But you'll say it to yourself some other day. And when that thought comes up, I want you to remember this."
He finally stepped away from the mirror, taking half a step back to give you space.
"Let's sit down," he suggested. "If you stay standing, you're going to collapse."
He was right. You could feel your knees trembling.
You both sat on the floor, backs against the mirror, side by side. He handed you a bottle of water someone had left behind; you opened it and drank.
The room, which you had seen so many times filled with people, noise, shouting choreographers, and blasting music, was now wrapped in a strangely intimate silence.
"You're going to hate mirrors tomorrow," you joked after a sip.
"Tomorrow," he replied. "And the day after, and next month. And every time you walk in here."
He said it without malice, but it sent a small shiver down your spine.
"You're going to be with me in all of them."
You swallowed hard, and it wasn't because of the water.
"That scares you," he observed, not as a question.
"A little," you admitted. "Because I don't know if you want to be there forever."
You turned toward him, expecting some kind of evasive joke.
Instead, you met his steady gaze.
"If I didn't," he answered, "I wouldn't put you at the center."
It didn't sound like a "promise of eternal love." It sounded like a fact. And coming from him—someone who measures his words so carefully—it carried even more weight.
He stayed with you a little longer, right there on the floor, barely touching you except for small, accidental brushes. Then he stood up, offered you his hand to help you to your feet, and checked with much less subtlety than he thought whether your legs were holding up.
"I'll walk you downstairs," he said.
"I can manage," you replied.
"I don't doubt it," he countered. "But I want to go down with you."
You didn't push it.
You walked down the hallway together. In the elevator, you didn't touch. That was your new discipline: you both knew all too well what happened when you did. In the lobby, a quick nod to the guard. At the door, the cool night air.
"Text me when you get back," he asked.
"You always say the same thing," you pointed out.
"And you always do it," he replied.
You stood in silence for a second. Then, driven by an impulse you didn't overthink, you stood on tiptoe and gave him a brief kiss on the corner of his lips.
"Goodnight," you whispered.
He didn't grab you by the neck, he didn't prolong the kiss, he didn't drag you back inside.
He just nodded, lowered his gaze slightly to your lips, and said:
"Goodnight."
You turned around and walked away, knowing that tonight, when brushing your teeth in front of your bathroom mirror, you wouldn't be able to stop seeing—if only out of the corner of your eye—the image of yourself pressed against another mirror, with him behind you, reminding you who had put you there.
In the days that followed, every mirror was a small trigger.
At home, while getting ready in the morning, you would sometimes catch yourself with your hand on your throat—right where he had held it—realizing you were repeating his words over and over in your head.
In the company bathroom, while washing your hands, you avoided looking at yourself directly for more than three seconds... because as soon as you did, your mind reconstructed the angles, the way your eyes had clouded over with pleasure.
In the dance room, back in front of the giant mirror, waiting for the others to arrive, you would sometimes try standing in the center all by yourself. Same spot. Same glass. Without him.
The difference was stark.
You felt exposed. Ridiculous. Out of place.
And yet, a quiet voice kept repeating:
"Now you really are at the center. Where you were always meant to be."
And for the first time, you began to consider that maybe coming out of the corner wasn't as terrifying as you had always thought.
Especially because now, you weren't doing it alone.
There were hands—his hands—that had already held you there.
And you knew they would do it again.
You didn't see yourself as "invisible" as before. There was something different in the way you held your gaze. As if a part of you had already accepted that, at least for someone, you really were at the center.
"That's new," a voice said behind you.
You jumped slightly. You turned around.
Yeosang was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with one shoulder, watching you.
"What is?" you asked, trying to sound normal.
He came in, leaving the door half-open.
"The way you look at yourself," he explained, walking closer. "Before, you only looked in the mirror to make sure you weren't drawing attention. Now... you're recognizing yourself."
You rolled your eyes.
"You've been watching for a long time," you accused him.
"Just long enough," he replied, getting close enough to give you a quick kiss on the corner of your lips.
It was a small gesture, almost chaste compared to other times, but in that room, facing that mirror, it felt heavy with meaning.
"Your trick is working," you admitted softly. "Every time I see a mirror, I remember... that."
He smiled faintly.
"Good."
He gave your waist a gentle tug to pull you a little closer.
"Next time I'll use the ballet barre," he added, as casually as if he were discussing choreography cues.
"You're impossible," you murmured, though your body was already reacting to the promise.
The next time you hung out with Jessie, it didn’t take long for the topic to come up.
You were at your place, both of you wearing face masks, wine glasses in hand, lounging on the couch as usual.
"So, what about the mirror thing?" she asked point-blank. "Are you going to tell me, or do I have to wait for karma to show me a flashback?"
You told her.
Not every single graphic detail (there was no need), but the essentials: how he had positioned you, what he had said, how he had forced you to look at yourself, and how he had completely finished you off with that line about "now you really are at the center."
Jessie listened with her mouth slightly open, a mix of fascination and nervous laughter.
"That man is out of his mind in the absolute best way," she concluded in the end. "He basically rewrote your whole relationship with the mirror in a single night."
"Now I look at myself and..." you searched for the right words. "I don't know. I see myself differently. I'm not going to say 'prettier,' but... less invisible."
Jessie softened a bit.
"That's heavy," she said. "Because it's not just sex. It's your self-esteem, your self-image. And he's messing with it in a strange way, but one that's actually adding to your life."
"It's scary that he has so much power over that," you admitted.
"Yeah," she conceded. "But you have power over him too, even if you don't see it. He's not doing all this just for sport. He's investing a lot of energy in you."
She took another sip of her wine.
"As long as you keep feeling chosen and not used," she added, "we're good. The day that changes, we talk about it, and you cut it off."
You nodded, saving that line as a sort of mental lifeline.
Secrecy in your world wasn't an option; it was the rule. While social media moved along at its usual pace and fans speculated about the dates for the upcoming comeback, behind closed doors the machinery had already been set in motion. The boys had to leave the country for a week to shoot the lead music videos and part of the content for the new album. A leak at that point would have ruined months of strategy, so the travel details were handled with absolute secrecy that only Jessie and you shared for obvious reasons.
As always when Hongjoong left for extended work trips, Jessie had a tough time. The void left by the intensity of her routine with him was an uphill battle, so, following an unwritten tradition, Hongjoong "entrusted" her to you before getting into the company car—with a quick hug and a look that silently said take care of her.
That very afternoon, Jessie moved into your apartment with a small suitcase, an arsenal of Korean face masks, and a couple of bottles of wine.
Your living room became a temporary sanctuary. During the first few days, conversations on the couch stretched on until the early morning hours. You talked about everything: how hard it was sometimes to balance work and personal life, the pressure of the industry, and the invisible toll of loving someone who belongs to the public eye.
Seeing Jessie in her day-to-day life gave you a very raw, yet strangely beautiful perspective on what a real relationship meant in that environment. Out of the corner of your eye, you observed the calls at ungodly hours due to the time difference, Hongjoong’s endless voice notes whispering from some hotel room telling her every tiny detail of the shoot, and the way her face lit up with a simple text message. Their love went beyond the distance, the labels, and the chaos of ATEEZ. It was solid. It was a shared future.
And inevitably, that made you think about Yeosang.
You caught yourself staring at your phone in the middle of the night, with Jessie sleeping on the other side of the bed, wondering what exactly the two of you were building. What you had didn't carry the weight or structure of Hongjoong and Jessie’s relationship. Yours was electric, possessive—a silent pact behind closed doors that kept your heart racing. Was it serious? Or was it just a passing phase fueled by the adrenaline of mirrors and crossed lines? The fear that he would grow tired and leave you hung up on that feeling of "belonging to him" crept back in whenever the apartment fell silent.
Until, on the fourth night of the trip, a message on your screen broke the spiral of your thoughts.
It was almost three in the morning. Jessie was breathing rhythmically beside you. The phone light illuminated the dim room.
Yeosang.
Yeosang's text was only two lines long, but it was enough to make you sit up slowly in bed, careful not to rustle the sheets so you wouldn't wake Jessie.
I don't like the mirror in this hotel. You can't see it well from the bed.
You stared at the screen, feeling an immediate drop in your stomach. Four days without a single word from him beyond quick work-related check-ins, and he came right back to the exact same point, with the same direct, calm tone that completely disarmed you.
Are you still awake?
You typed, with your phone brightness set to the absolute minimum.
We were just finishing reviewing today's footage in Hongjoong's room. I just got back to mine.
A few seconds later, the screen lit up with a photo. The lighting was dim—the typical soft, warm glow of a luxury hotel room. Yeosang had taken off his jacket and shirt from the shoot; he was wearing only gray sweatpants, sitting on the edge of a spacious bed. His hair was slightly tousled and his eyes looked tired, but the gaze he fixed on his phone camera was exactly the same one he pinned on you back at the studio. In the background, against the side wall, you could make out the reflection of a large mirror in a dark wood frame.
Is Jessie with you?
Yes. She's sleeping next to me.
Good.
That way you're not alone.
There was a pause for a couple of minutes—the kind where you watched the "typing..." indicator appear and disappear, driving you crazy.
But I don't like knowing you're sleeping with anyone who isn't me. Even if it's her.
You swallowed hard, rereading the message. The possessive tone didn't fade with the distance; if anything, it seemed to sharpen with the isolation of the trip.
She's my friend, Yeosang. And Hongjoong asked me to look after her.
You replied, trying to keep it light.
I know. That's why I'm not saying anything.
His response came almost instantly.
But here in my room, all I can think about is that this bed is too big. And that the mirror is in the wrong place—because if I had you on your knees against the mattress right now, I wouldn't be able to see how you look at me in the reflection.
A sharp, warm shiver ran down your spine. You glanced out of the corner of your eye at Jessie, who shifted slightly in her sleep, forcing you to hold your breath. Being in your dark, quiet bedroom while he said those things to you from the other side of the world created an atmosphere even more clandestine than the dance studio itself.
You're too far away to be talking like that.
You sent, your fingers trembling slightly over the keyboard.
Three more days.
He replied.
Make sure you leave the living room cleared for when I get back. I don't want to waste time moving cushions.
The next morning, the smell of freshly brewed coffee helped clear the lingering haze of the late night. Jessie was already sitting at the kitchen table, her hair pulled up into a high bun, scrolling through her phone with a faint smile.
"Good morning," she said without looking up. "Hongjoong just sent me a five-minute voice note. He's basically complaining that the cinematographer is a perfectionist, but he says the footage is turning out incredible. How's your morning going?"
You poured yourself a cup of coffee and sat down across from her, resting your shoulders.
"Good, just waking up," you replied, taking a sip. "What else did he say? Are they really tired?"
"Exhausted, but you know how he is—when it comes to a comeback, he pulls energy out of nowhere. He says the new choreography is the hardest they've ever done, but visually it's going to be a masterpiece." Jessie set her phone on the table, picked up her toast, and looked at you out of the corner of her eye with a mischievous little smile. "By the way... what about you? Has Yeosang said anything?"
You froze for a second, holding your cup halfway to your mouth. You couldn't lie to Jessie—not after all the nights you had spent sharing secrets in that very apartment.
"He texted me last night," you admitted, lowering your voice. "Well, early this morning."
Jessie’s eyes lit up instantly. She set her toast back on the plate and leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table.
"Oh, really? What did he say? Tell me!"
"He sent me a photo from his hotel room..." you began, feeling your tone shift. "And, well, he mentioned the mirror again. That he didn't like the one in his room because it wasn't positioned right relative to the bed. You can imagine where he was going with that."
Jessie let out a muffled giggle, visibly excited by the gossip.
"My god, that low-key guy is dangerous... He doesn't even rest from thousands of miles away."
However, her smile gradually faded as she noticed your reaction. You weren't laughing. You didn't have that spark of amusement or bashfulness from other times. Instead, you were staring blankly at your plate, tracing the edge of your toast with your fingers.
"Hey..." Jessie said, softening her tone. "What's wrong? You don't look like someone who just got a spicy text from a gorgeous idol. Did something bad happen?"
You took a deep breath, letting your toast drop back onto the plate.
"No, nothing bad happened," you confessed, looking up at her. "It's just that... I love what we do. I really do. The sexual part with him is... incredible. But last night, after I put my phone away, I was left thinking. At this point, Jessie... I don't want this to be just sex."
Jessie listened in silence, nodding slowly. The teasing tone vanished completely from the kitchen, replaced by that warmth of a best friend you always knew you could rely on.
"I'm scared that for him, it's just a game," you continued, a lump forming in your throat. "An escape route from his routine. He treats me great, he takes care of me, he's attentive in his own way... but everything he says that's even a little intense is always tied to possessiveness, to the physical stuff, to having control. And I... I think I'm starting to want something more. I don't want to just be his four-walls secret."
Jessie reached across the table and gently squeezed your fingers.
"It is completely normal for you to feel that way," she said comforting. "You're investing real feelings; you're not a robot. My advice is to talk to him when he gets back. You don't have to demand an engagement ring on day one, but you do need to make it clear where you stand. Yeosang is a mature guy; if he knows how you feel, he'll play fair. But you have to tell him—because men, no matter how smart they are, sometimes don't see what's right in front of them unless you spell it out for them."
You nodded, keeping her advice close to your heart, right as your phone vibrated on the table again. This time it wasn't a private chat. It was the group chat you had with Jessie and San.
San: GIRLS!! 😭
I miss you guys so much. This is exhausting and I have no one to annoy during the breaks.
I bought you the most incredible gifts here. You're going to love them—admit it, I'm the best friend in the world.
You looked at Jessie, and both of you instantly switched gears, smiling at the screen.
Jessie: Alright, San, define "incredible." Because if it's another ugly keychain like last time, you're getting left at the airport.
You: Agreed. Just so you know, we're only accepting you back into the country for the gifts. If they're not worth it, swap your ticket with Yunho's for me.
San: Hey! 😤 You guys are so mean! Zero consideration for my poor little heart. Here I am giving my all for the group and you only love me for material gains. I value myself more than that. 💔
Jessie: Less drama and more practicing. Bring back local snacks and then we'll talk.
You set the phone aside, letting out a soft laugh. That little distraction was a breath of fresh air to help you face the rest of the day, but the countdown was still ticking away.
The days passed, and the trip came to an end. The night before the boys' return, as Jessie was packing her suitcase to go back to her place the following day, your phone vibrated on your nightstand.
A private chat. Yeosang.
Just 1 more day. We land tomorrow afternoon.
Do you have plans, or can we see each other?
You stared at the message, feeling your heart leap. Your head was lost in a spiral between your conversation with Jessie and the overwhelming urge you had to see him. You decided to gather your courage, and instead of sending a submissive or casual reply, you decided to drop a bit of bait to test the waters.
We can see each other.
Do you actually miss me or something?
You held your breath, staring fixedly at the screen as you waited for his answer. It took a couple of minutes—just long enough to make you suffer.
I don't play at missing someone over text.
I'd rather you see for yourself in person. Tomorrow at ten, your place. And this time, I don't want you wearing a skirt. You make it too easy for me, and I want to take my time with you.
He replied.
You bit your lip, pressing the phone against your chest. He was still direct, still taking charge, and using that tension that drove you crazy... but he hadn't answered the question. He was still dodging the emotional side with a physical promise.
Tomorrow was going to be the day. And you knew that, besides dealing with his hands, you were going to have to deal with the truth.
♡ — 𝐕𝐢𝐩 𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 ; @kissmatz @eggielix @miisanthropology @liaaaafixofff @chanscappuccino @eunseoksgirl @threepointstogrifendor @mingkisdoll @groovyravenagain @matznana @smuttaburger @barbtiny @yeosangholic1 @maliabobea15 @pyuddings @mourninglizzy @joonginism @m4rs-m00ni3 send a ask to be added or removed!
A/N — This was so ass bro. Not even worth reading.
Girldad!yeosang who always takes your daughter everywhere with him, even to work sometimes.
Girldad!yeosang who wont admit it, but your kid has him wrapped around her little finger.
Girldad!yeosang who would genuinely spend every last dime he has on your daughter, even if it’s just on a toy she wants.
Girldad!yeosang who refers to your daughter as ‘sweet pea’ whenever he talks about her to literally anyone.
Girldad!yeosang who often plays dress up with your kid, stretching out your good dresses to fit in them as well.
Girldad!yeosang who always sends you pictures of your kid, even if you’re sitting right next to him. His photo gallery is full of nothing but your daughter.
— “We did something…” “Yeo, what did you two do?” “We drew…on the wall…”
Girldad!yeosang who only has alone time with you whenever his parents babysit your kiddo.
Girldad!yeosang who tells you ‘daddy knows what you need.’ Right before burying his face in between your thighs, gripping you so tightly that he leaves finger print bruises. Proving he needed you more than you needed him.
Girldad!yeosang who pulls away right before you cum, telling you ‘we’re not rushing tonight, we’re gonna make another one.’
Girldad!yeosang who rubs his tip against your clit to tease you, he likes hearing you whine and watching your body writhe underneath him.
Girldad!yeosang who doesn’t give you any warning or time to adjust to him burying himself balls deep inside you, biting your neck to keep himself distracted so he didn’t cum right then and there.
Girldad!yeosang who cums quickly inside you, simply from the combination of you clenching around him and scratching his back.
chapter synopsis: he’s is your high school sweetheart, and graduation isn’t enough to separate you. not even attending a different university could split you up. you’re spending the entire summer together anyway, to make up for the time you’ll lose when you both pack up and go. you’re attached at the hip! well, at least in his eyes.
warnings: MDNI, ~5k words, not proofread, characters aged 18, afab fem reader, protected sex, p in v, insecurity, mentions of cheating (doesn't actually happen), & crying.
note: i know this seems short but yeosang will be an important character for the series so please don't hate me for not dropping too much lore :(
series masterlist | next
Graduating high school means real freedom.
It is exactly what you’ve dreamed of since you were a tween, and it definitely helps that your life is playing out like a cliché young adult movie: a summer in bikinis, close friends taking shots at parties, and an incredibly hot boyfriend.
The latter, Yeosang, has been your boyfriend for almost two years and your friend for far longer. Everything happened so naturally with him, and it feels like nothing could really go wrong.
And it hasn’t.
So you stare at his perfect side profile as he drives you to yet another pool party, and you wonder when exactly you lost that spark of excitement you used to feel.
The same songs you listened to on your first date still play from his car’s speakers, and your dates are even more consistent with all the free time summer gifts you. If anything, your love life should be more stable than ever.
“Hey,” he murmurs, soft eyes flicking to yours. The car’s engine rumbles roughly, brakes creaking slightly as he comes to a full stop, “You okay? You’ve been quiet the whole ride.”
Your attention rips away from the small letters on his display. You study his profile, the way his hair curls at the ends to frame his sculpted face and how his forearm flexes as he reaches over the console. His hand rests right over your knee, you make no move to cover it with your own. “I’m alright. Just thinking.”
He accepts the answer easily, sparing you a glance before turning back towards the traffic, “Did you put sunscreen on?”
The question makes your skin prickle more than the sun could ever manage, “Yes. I’m not a baby.”
“Okay,” he gently maneuvers into the right lane, checking the side mirror closer to you, “you forgot last time, that’s all. I'm making sure.”
You shouldn’t be annoyed. He cares, and you hate it. You hate the cologne that floods the car and how he always gives in.
Yeosang says nothing else. He taps his fingers against the steering wheel, gulping down the comment that climbs up his throat. It’s gibberish anyway, unfinished thoughts about your mood and how you refuse to look at him lately. He thinks he might’ve noticed you holding your breath when he greeted you with a hug earlier. The idea slithers around his throat and strangles him. He doesn’t think he minds the burn. But the pressure is starting to dig into his skin.
It doesn’t take much longer to make it to the house party. You’re stolen from him as soon as you set foot through the back door. A group of girls surrounds you like you’ve blessed them with your presence, and soon enough, you’re stepping out of your tiny shorts to join them for a poolside drink. He takes the denim when you hand it to him without so much as a glance.
He keeps his eyes on you. The girls who are pouring liquor straight from the bottle into your mouth are completely unfamiliar to him. He racks his memory and finds nothing. He wonders when you stopped talking about the new friends you made. Or when you stopped introducing him to strangers.
The cooler on a lone beach chair sits invitingly by his side. He tucks your folded shorts under his arm, giving him the leverage to open the container. It’s all beer, the cheap kind he’s surprised a party of this caliber even allows inside. Maybe the mansion is just a front. Probably rented for the night, meant to be trashed and forgotten. He shrugs; it’ll taste good enough when he’s past a few sips.
You nearly choke on a big gulp of champagne, the sweet liquid burning as it struggles to pass down your system. The panic quickly subsides as Chae pats your back from next to you, stifling a giggle.
“By the way, is that your boyfriend?” she asks over the music, peering off to the side. You don’t have to look to know she’s got the right guy. Yeosang always makes a memorable first impression when you arrive anywhere with him. He’s gorgeous. Annoyingly so.
“Yeah,” you lean back on your hands, feet dipped into the clear pool water, “Pretty, right?”
Chae hesitates. She blinks rapidly, unsure on whether she should agree or not, and the bottle of champagne in her hand clicks as she puts it down on hot cement. “Um, you look good together.”
You raise a brow at her roundabout answer. She smiles like she’s been caught stealing.
“Yeah. Handsome,” she finally concedes, throwing another glance toward the beach chairs off to the side of the pool. “I didn’t even know you were dating someone. You don’t post him at all. If I were dating someone like that…”
Your stomach shifts uncomfortably at the comment. You barely know the girl. She’s a friend of a friend. A mutual that randomly sent you the invitation to the pool party through social media. You’re not sure if you’d call the feeling jealousy.
“Yeah, well,” you shrug, taking the bottle swiftly from her hands, “we’re private.”
“Huh.”
You follow her gaze this time, all the way to the opposite side of the pool. He’s opening a beer bottle with a spoon, one hand tight around the bottle’s neck while his wrist flicks effortlessly. The cap flies off, and he hands the green bottle to the girl in front of him with a grin. She says something to him, leaning closer. He shakes his head.
You find yourself wishing he hadn’t. You wish he’d take the bait, flirt with the pretty girl in front of everyone else, give you a reason to leave. But he finds your eyes like always, and you wish they weren’t such a pretty shade of persuasion.
Yeosang knows something is wrong.
Of course, he notices you declining more and more of his invitations to go out. He sees the way you look towards the door while you’re out with him, as if you’d rather be anywhere else. He thinks you might be doubting him. With you two going off to different universities, it’s only natural that you feel insecure about your future.
He wants to reassure you, to tell you that distance could never come between you. He’s been in love with you for so long that he’s forgotten what anything was like before you.
But you refuse to budge. You avoid him in every situation that doesn’t involve you in his bed.
Tonight is no different. After a shared look at the pool, he knows it’s time to go. So he calls a cab, mentally preparing to pick up his car on a random street in the morning. If his hangover didn’t kill him, the stress of remembering where he parked might.
The ride is silent. His house is equally quiet as it is most days, but you lead him to his room as if you need more privacy. You push him to sit on his bed and slowly climb onto his lap, legs draping on either side of his waist and sinking into his mattress. He squeezes your sides gently, attempting to get your attention. But your blood is buzzing with champagne and want.
You press kisses to the line of his jaw, attempting to quell the feeling in your gut. It started with Chae’s unnecessary comments and was fueled by the look he was getting from the beer girl.
You decide you hate both of them. Maybe all three of them.
Another squeeze goes unnoticed, so he gives in, kissing you back as if the exchange could feed him your every thought.
“I want you,” you whisper against his lips, the words feeling light on your tongue, like you’re speaking them to a hot stranger. Overly seductive, devoid of any soft intimacy. But that’s all you could muster anymore: lust.
A breath pushes through his nose before he replies against your lips, “I… think we should talk.”
Reluctance creeps onto your features, but you persist, “Later.”
“You’ve been avoiding me,” he shifts away from you, “you’re acting different.”
The air freezes as he drops his hands from your waist, and you suddenly feel the urge to jump off him. But you stay still, too still, in his hold.
He continues, trying to get you to say it for yourself. To tell him that you’re scared to lose him. “You said we should be open with each other. So, to be honest, I think there’s something that’s making you avoid me. Did I do something wrong?”
Your pulse quickens at the idea of hurting his feelings, and you pull to look him directly in the eyes, “No, not at all. You’re always good to me.”
“Are you sure?” his eyes move away from yours with a quickness you’d long forgotten. “You have nothing on your mind?”
You still make him nervous. It’s more than apparent, with the way his eyes bounce around the room and how you can just barely feel him breathing hard underneath you.
If you wanted him to still feel love for you, it would be endearing. That isn’t the case. You want the easy way out of this. You want him to push you and yell at you that he’s sick of the silence and the awkward pauses and the bored stares.
But he’s much too sweet for that. Always too conscious of other people’s emotions, too afraid to prioritize his own.
“You’re overthinking things,” you lie before you can stop yourself.
He blinks once, twice, and then looks down to where your hand lies over his abdomen. “You… feel a little absent lately.”
“I’m here right now,” you force yourself to smile, a wave of nausea washing over you as you begin to comfort him. He’s giving you an opening. Yet, your mouth moves almost instinctually to shield him from yourself, “We’re good.”
Seeing you smile eases his worries if only a fraction, and he exhales. “You’ll tell me when I mess up, though?”
“You won’t mess up.”
He hums, the tension of his body subsiding as he cranes his neck for a kiss. He knows you’re keeping something to yourself, but he thinks you’ll come around eventually, “I love you.”
You get away with replying to his words with the press of your lips to his.
"It fucking sucks, Sana," you groan into your hands, dragging both of them down your face. Your friend simply hums, continuing to paint her nails as you speak. You glare at her from where you’re seated on her bed, watching her blow air on her hands without a care in the world. “Seriously, I mean it.”
“I know you do,” she tilts her head, swiping some excess paint off her ring finger, “People lose feelings sometimes. I don’t think you’re a bad person.”
That gets you to straighten up, socked feet touching the ground as you scoot to the edge of the bed. She always tries to see the best in people. In rude cashiers who might just be having a bad shift or reckless drivers who might be driving their loved one to the hospital.
You’re not really sure if you need unconditional support right now as much as you need a reality check.
But it feels good to be assured that you’re not an evil entity feeding off your boyfriend’s energy, taking advantage of his cluelessness to save yourself from self-reflection. “You don’t?”
She wipes the skin around her nails with a cotton swab drenched in acetone, a small smile climbing onto her features as she registers your relief. “I don’t. As long as you’re being honest, right?”
You nod in silence, watching her concentrate fully on the pretty shade of pink on her nails. She holds her hand up to the small lamp on her desk, frowning as she spots a small hair on her pinky. She picks it off with caution, adding another layer of rosy pink before stopping her movements.
She glances over her shoulder, regarding you with playfully narrowed eyes, “...right?”
The soft pop playing from her speaker suddenly feels a lot louder as you clear your throat. Sana giggles under her breath, leaning back in her desk chair and turning it all the way around. You press your lips into a thin line, and she looks at you expectantly. Her sparkly eyes ease you into honesty.
“I kinda… start choking up every time I try to break up with him. Last time I thought about bringing it up, we ended up having sex. It was good. Great, actually.”
“Do you still love him?”
Your heart hammers in your ribcage. You’re not even sure yourself. Because if you answer ‘no’, then you’d have to pinpoint when you stopped. And if you said ‘yes’, then you would have to explain what exactly you felt now. Not to Sana, but to yourself. And that’s somehow so much scarier.
So, you settle for the safest answer, “Kinda?”
Her brows furrow, soft voice quieter than usual, “Well, then maybe it’s salvageable, right? If there’s chemistry and love there…”
You sigh, deflating as you lie back on her comforter. It smells like her. Vanilla, strawberry, and everything sweet. You let the scent calm your system, turning to the side to watch her start decorating the nails on her left hand. “Is dating girls any easier?”
She snorts like you said something funny, her pretty features scrunching up as she examines her middle and ring finger. When you reply with silence, she spins around in her seat to face you. “Oh, you’re seriously asking? No. But at least girls are nice to look at. Even when you’re arguing.”
“Yeosang is nice to look at,” you cross your arms, gaze moving back up to the ceiling.
She hums as she goes back to painting white polka dots on her nails. “I seriously think you should bring it up to him. Maybe… if you had really lost feelings, you wouldn’t care this much about hurting him.”
You swing your legs beneath you, taking her words into serious consideration. “Maybe.”
Sana blows on her freshly done nails, watching you closely as you look down at her comforter. You pick lint off of it like you’re getting paid for it, collecting the small balls of fuzz in your hand. She sighs, standing up from her chair to pick a color from the collection in her dresser’s drawer. “Come here. Let me do your nails, and we’ll talk about how we’re gonna decorate our dorm instead, okay?”
After spending the night at your best friend's house, you thought maybe things would go back to normal. Perhaps Sana was right. There is still chemistry between you. He always takes his time with you, litters you with more kisses and touches, pulls you closer, and asks you to stay a little longer.
You feel wanted. You feel the envious stares and the weight of the 'high school sweethearts' title. You feel pretty and funny and sexy with him.
But the very next day, you can barely find the courage to text him back.
5:01 PM | sangie: i miss you :(
5:01 PM | sangie: dinner at my place? my parents have been asking about you
You stare at your phone screen, groaning as you read the messages. The Kang family adores you; they’ve treated you like one of their own for as long as you can remember. But you know that sitting down at their dinner table would only make it harder to address your nausea.
5:07 PM | do you mind coming over instead?
So he does, obeying your words without question as he usually did. When he arrives, your house is completely silent except for his shuffling as he takes off his shoes at the front door.
“Hi,” Yeosang mutters, reaching for your hand and pulling you into a soft peck. “Where is everyone?”
The thoughts swirling in your head still for a moment. A rush of heat spreads throughout your face at the casual affection, but you know the warmth is no longer love. It might be familiarity. Annoyance. Desire. Anything but the feelings that would have once urged you to pull him back for a more passionate kiss.
“Visiting family,” you reply meekly, gaze racking over him unconsciously. Since graduation, his hair has grown out a bit, framing his face in a way that highlights his delicate features. His eyes that were once darkened with exhaustion look more lively. His frame is slightly fuller, muscles more toned. “I’ve been home alone for a few days now.”
“Oh,” he manages to reply, thrown off by your uncharacteristic quietness, “I thought we’d have dinner with your family. That’s okay, though.”
You meet his eyes and immediately regret it, the excited grin on his lips twisting your guts, “I wanted to talk to you.”
“You didn’t greet me like usual,” he interrupts abruptly, eyes distracted by your lips.
Without giving you time to react, he pulls you into a kiss. Your tongue slides against his bottom lip out of habit, and you shudder as you swallow a strangled groan from him. This is something you could live in forever. His lips on yours almost convince you to stay a little longer. Almost.
Yeosang uses the hold he already has on your hand to walk you backwards until you reach a wall. His hand cradles the back of your head to shield you from the hard material, and you shiver at the slide of his hand from your head to your neck. He celebrates the response by moving his mouth to the skin beneath your ear.
You rake your hand through his hair and pull softly, your voice wavering slightly as you call out his name.
He presses a kiss to your pulse point. His hands slide under your shirt, the coldness of his fingertips electric against your warm skin. “You miss me. You never tell me anymore, but I can feel it. You start shaking when I touch you like this.”
The pad of his thumb traces the underside of your bra, and you jump at the sensation. You should push him off. There’s no point in allowing him to continue. You’ve already decided the fate of your relationship.
But everything’s always easier said than done. You watch him sink onto his knees in front of you, his hands moving slowly down your legs. The baritone of his voice wraps around your chest, “Do you want me?”
Your lips form the word “yes” out of habit.
Yeosang closes his eyes, savoring that one syllable and holding it as evidence that he is overthinking. That you’re still there. That he’s still yours.
He pushes through the unconvinced lilt of your voice that he knows too well, one hand traveling up the backside of your thigh, “Tell me.”
“I always want you,” you lie again, suppressing a full-body tremble as he kisses up your inner thighs. He’s lost in you, his eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks as he delicately brushes his tongue over bite marks.
He was never talkative during intimate moments, too focused on watching the tiniest movements of your body as it reacted to his. This is different. He can feel you slipping like water through his hands and he’s doing his best to close the cracks. To remind you.
The waistband of your shorts drags down your legs along with your underwear. There’s no time to waste— he knows this. Warnings swirl in his unconscious, commanding him to do what he knows best: show rather than tell.
He allows muscle memory to guide him blindly. His strong hands carry you to your bed, laying you out gently. He bends at the waist, kisses traveling down from your ear to the skin between your hipbones.
You’re urging him to hurry, but he can barely hear your words. They form a familiar melody, and his body knows every step of the choreography.
“Please,” you manage, hips bucking up when his eyes flicker up to yours. “I hate when you tease me.”
“Liar,” he whispers, but it isn’t a response to your words. It’s an observation, a word that he has been keeping to himself for weeks. It’s too harsh on its own, but he needs you to hear it. Even if you only take it as an offhanded reply to your sinful exchange rather than the beginning of the end.
He doesn’t know when he took the condom out from your nightstand. He isn’t sure when he’d littered all those bruises on your neck. He can’t find it in himself to care.
It was all mindless routine, from when your shorts had hit the floor to when he dropped you on the mattress. But it becomes intentional as he pushes into you, one hand on the back of your knee and the other holding your hand against the sheets.
“Look,” Yeosang murmurs, stilling inside you. He bites back an exhale when you look down to where you’re connected rather than up at him. “At… at me, angel. Please.”
You oblige, loosening your clammy grip on his palm. But you lose sight of him half a second later as he begins shallowly thrusting into you, and you suddenly feel thankful for your inability to keep your eyes open when he has you like this. It isn’t suspicious if you don’t look at the view above you, not if your eyes are too busy rolling back.
The pinch between his brows deepens as your eyes squeeze shut, but he can’t question it when you squeeze around him too.
He falls into a quick rhythm, one hand still pressing yours firmly as the other moves frantically. It cups your face, fixes your hair, pinches sensitive skin— anything that can get a reaction out of you to show him that he’s still desired. That your flesh still burns against his.
His thumb moves down to your clit out of panic. He rubs sloppy circles on it, eliciting a surprised moan from you.
“Mhm,” he searches your expression, thumb pressing much firmer than usual. “‘s good?”
You don’t bother to respond, a whine ripping from your throat when he taps two fingers roughly against your bud. He groans as he watches your reaction.
“I know, I— fuck, I know,” he rambles, body bending down and trapping his hand between you as he closes the space. “Do you remember? Tell me you remember.”
“Remember?” you reply breathlessly, left hand trying desperately to slide out of his grasp but failing. He only holds on that much harder.
He nudges his face right under your jaw, breath fanning against your neck as he responds, “Our first time. You couldn’t stop shaking. I thought I— ah— I hurt you. But I learned. You shake. Every time. Even now.”
The words are nearly nonsensical with how much he cuts himself off with groans, so unlike him, but you hum in acknowledgment anyway. He nods, “I love you. Don’t go. Please.”
You pulse around him, overwhelmed by every sensation. He’s rubbing against you so messily it nearly feels animalistic. You can smell his sweat smearing over your torso, and his deep voice right against your ear. Like clockwork, your legs begin trembling even harder and Yeosang fails to suppress a moan.
“There you are,” he encourages, pressing his face further into your neck and sucking at the sensitive skin, “Come for me. Please, please, I need… I need to feel you.”
Every push is pointed. Mean, so intentional that it knocks the wind out of you.
Pleasure shoots through your nerves like lightning, your head tipping back as he fucks you through it.
He doesn’t let up until his breaths become shallow and shaky against your ear, twitching twice before his body goes limp over yours.
It’s too hot in your room to keep him there. Ragged breaths and warm sheets, the heavy smell of sweat lingers in the air. Your eyes move to the ceiling as you attempt to ignore the way he pushes all the way in before pulling out of you. Your muscles twitch slightly with aftershocks as he slips the used condom off himself.
“You okay?” his skilled fingers tie the plastic and toss it to the bin near the feet of your bed.
You hum in response, nodding absentmindedly as he stares.
Normally, he would save his questions for later so as not to take advantage of your vulnerability. But right now, with your arousal spread all over his pelvis and his bite marks on your neck, his mind is buzzing with too many doubts.
“There’s something on your mind.”
The statement rings in your ears like an accusation. You can’t help but glance at him in surprise, all the hesitance in his expression replaced by determination.
It irks you. That he knows you inside out. That his endless worry encourages his own demise.
“I don’t think this… we are gonna work.”
Yeosang flinches, brows furrowing instantly as a grimace settles on his face.
Both of you sit up, exposed and hearts still beating wildly.
“I’m sorry,” you finalize, not giving him anything to work with.
He looks away, understanding exactly what you’re saying. He’s known it for a while. Subconsciously, he knew, but he had suppressed it. He’d fought logic with feelings. It was a losing game. His voice comes out small as he parts his lips, “Why?”
That’s the hardest question you have to answer. There isn’t a day you could pinpoint, nor a worthy offense to blame. So you keep silent, waiting for him to look back at you. He doesn’t.
“Is there someone else?”
“No! No, Yeosang, I would never do that to you,” you respond instantly, “It’s not anything like that. I just...”
His shoulders relax at your words, as if ruling out the possibility of a third party means your relationship is salvageable. “Just..?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t felt the same in months.”
“Months? Did I do something?”
You shake your head again, frustrated with his lack of understanding even though you give him no chance to look into your mind. “No, this isn’t your fault. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve started resenting you for no reason, and I don’t want to hate you. I loved you so much—”
“Loved?” he interrupts, like the word burns him, “You’re saying you don’t feel anything anymore? Nothing?”
“Don’t you feel that way too? Aren’t you bored of me?”
He huffs at your response, tears welling up in his eyes. “No. Recently, I started missing you even when we were together. I thought my feelings were growing even more. But it’s because you weren’t actually there.”
Your sight blurs as he speaks, but you blink your tears back. “Every time I wanted to talk to you, I’d hold back because I thought this would pass. But it hasn’t and I don’t want to lie to you anymore.”
"It’s not because of college? The distance won't matter to me, I swear.”
You shake your head, interrupting his train of thought, "It’s me, Yeosang. I don't want this anymore."
For some reason, you expect him to lash out. You had never seen him angry enough to raise his voice at someone. Not when you’d met him back in middle school. Not in high school. Not after. But you fear you really surpassed his limits.
You should’ve known that he’d stare at you in disbelief, a deep sadness swirling in his brown irises.
“I don't understand, but if this… if this is what it takes for us to be okay…” he trails off, biting his tongue. He has so many questions. How many times had those lingering voices been right? When had you faked excuses not to see him? Since when had you started avoiding telling him you loved him? Why had you let him lie with you tonight? His urge to protect your feelings overpowered his need to know. “I’ll go home.”
You feel small and immature as he regards you so gently. “Please don’t hate me.”
He smiles, speaking your name softly, eyes narrowing as if you’d told him he had two heads, “I love you. That won’t change. It wouldn’t have changed even if you cheated on me.”
You gasp, the exaggerated words pulling you out of your head, “That’s not a good thing.”
“I know.”
The room falls eerily quiet as he gathers his belongings, but there’s nothing else either of you is willing to say. You’d both told each other your conflicting truths. The more he loved you, the less you loved him. Breaking up is the only compromise. Yeosang was never one to push you for answers, and you don’t want to hurt him with a half-baked explanation.
When you hand him a bag of the gifts he’d gotten you throughout the years, he pushes it back towards you, “Everything I’ve given you is yours to keep.”
Once he reaches your front door, you stand in silence, as if neither of you can muster up a final goodbye. A broken exhale slips from him and you nearly reach out to trace the birthmark near his eye the way you always do when you comfort him.
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𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ; Headcanons on how I view Wooyoung as a stalker.
𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ; Stalker!Wooyoung x Fem!Reader.
☆ — 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 436. ☆ — 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : Smut — DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT. ☆ — 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : One night stand, following, ego is mentioned, petnames, moving, key copying, entering y/n’s home, jealous!woo, masturbation (m!rec), possessive!woo, sex toys, sexual frustration intended, stealing, slight foot fetish, disgusting!woo, and spit.
♡ — 𝐕𝐢𝐩 𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 ; @kissmatz @eggielix @miisanthropology @liaaaafixofff @chanscappuccino @eunseoksgirl @threepointstogrifendor @mingkisdoll @groovyravenagain @matznana @smuttaburger @barbtiny @yeosangholic1 @maliabobea15 @pyuddings @mourninglizzy @joonginism @m4rs-m00ni3 send a ask to be added or removed!
Stalker!wooyoung who originally found you through a dating app, a one night stand for you. But he ended up obsessed with you.
Stalker!wooyoung who follows you around literally everywhere, and no. He does not care if you see him, if you do it gives him an ego stroke.
Stalker!wooyoung who delivers flowers to your doorstep every Friday and Sunday’s with the note of ‘for my doll face. Just know I’m always watching.’
Stalker!wooyoung who always texts you, even though you don’t have his number saved. But he doesn’t care, clearly.
Stalker!wooyoung who moves to the same apartment complex as you, simply so he can be closer to you and have an easier access to your space and home.
Stalker!wooyoung who waits until you’re gone to make a mold of your key hole, making himself a key to your apartment without you knowing.
— “I know you’re receiving this, doll face.” “You have the wrong number.” “I don’t, baby. I don’t.”
Stalker!wooyoung who sneaks into your apartment while you’re on vacation, going through literally every single thing you own, getting jealous when he finds traces of a potential man being in your life.
Stalker!wooyoung who goes to your shower, opening your body wash to not smell it, but he will use it to masturbate with, making sure his cum mixed with your soap so when you use it, you’re marking yourself of him.
Stalker!wooyoung who goes through your dresser, finding your personal sex toy, sticking it in his pocket so the next time you go to self please, you get frustrated.
Stalker!wooyoung who doesn’t steal your panties or clothes, no, that’s too basic for him. Instead he’ll steal the things you don’t think about until it’s a specific thing you need, such as a family heirloom, or even a perfume bottle. He really just wants to fuck up your day, just like you did when you left him that night you had sex with him.
Stalker!wooyoung who grabs one of your clean socks, using it to jerk off with until it was soaked through of his cum, and instead of placing it in the dirty clothes. He placed it back in the drawer so you can find it when you come home from your family vacation. Wooyoung wants himself to be seen completely by you.
Stalker!wooyoung who finds your half empty juice bottle in the fridge, spitting in to it a few times before closing the lid and deciding to leave your house. Smirking to himself over all the damage he created to your ‘safe place’.
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