clari stegosaurus

But no one knows how much of a muncher Jisung is more than you do. Because behind closed doors, it's not just food his mouth is munching over. Behind the public's eyes, Han Jisung is a loser lover. If on stage, he does whatever he wants, in bed, he does whatever you say. He lets himself loose, lets himself sway from your words, lets himself go with the flow and rhythm you wanted him.

His mouth was your favorite above all. How that sinful mouth moved every time he raps, cadences that no one can be faster than, and you thought that's the fastest he can get until his face is buried between your legs. His wrists tied together, while you ride his face, suffocating him from his nose, but who is he to complain about it? You grab him by his hair as you move your hips back and forth grinding your slick folds against his mouth and nose.

"F-fuck Ji—" You gasped out when you felt his teeth grated ever so softly on your pulsing buds making your legs shake while you ride his face. 

But instead of pulling away, he doubles down. Tongue and head moving against your cunt like it was his favorite ice cream, his tied together wrist moved to grasp on your shirt as he tried to pull you down further against his face. 

That alone gives you the idea of what he really wanted so you carefully remove the tie binding both his wrists. And without any hesitation, as soon as Jisung felt his wrist free from the bounds, he flipped the position you are currently in. Him how settled in between your legs as you lay down the bed. Your thighs hang against his broad, muscular shoulder, and both arms wrapped around your plush thighs.

Your heels pressed against his back further, your back arching from the overwhelming pleasure because of how nasty Jisung is munching on your folds. It was sloppy, greedy, tongue licking a long stripe from your hole up to your clit and sucked on the buds after. It makes you delirious in so many ways. Eyes rolling at the back of your head while you use both of your hands to grab a fistful of his hair. 

Jisung was already so pussy drunk. When your eyes looked down and met his dazed ones, you could swear that you could have cum right there and there. His eyes were fluttering, wet, and his eyes were hazy trying to maintain the eye contact you both have. His lips suckling on your clit you could see his mouth and chin glistening from your arousals. And when you bit your lower lip trying to hold back your moans, Jisung's eyes rolled from the back of his head because of how good you look for him. 

He's a goner, no thoughts at all, just you and your swollen clit against his tongue. He hasn't even used his hand or his fingers on you but you could already feel the building orgasm on your stomach. His tongue flicked faster against your throbbing clit, head shaking side by side to add more vibrations on it that made you gasped harshly like a breath was stolen off your lungs. Your legs tightens around his neck unconsciously but oh he loves that shit so much. 

You rolled your hips against his mouth out of instinct, out of your sheer will to reach that impending orgasm that had been pooling on your  stomach and making your tummy spasm and churn. And when you finally did, Jisung was gone. He let out a sharp cry that vibrates against your swollen cunt, enabling you to reach the highest peak you could ever have. His tongue is still twitching against your folds, head tilting sideways lazily, leaning against your touch when you cupped his cheeks.

The gasp that left his throat was guttural when you finally let go of his neck, sucking his breath hard pulling out his face from your dripping folds. 

“Holy fuck, baby… that was so good,” he rasped, his voice rough and breathless. “You taste… so fucking sweet. I can’t get enough of you.” His cheek rested against your thigh as he spoke, the warmth of his skin drawing a soft, tired chuckle from you despite your ragged breathing.

“You’re insane for that,” you managed to babble, lips pressing together as your eyes fluttered shut. At last, you let your head sink into the pillows, your body finally giving in to the lingering waves of exhaustion.

Even with weak arms and unsteady knees, Han Jisung still found the strength to lift himself up. Slowly, he brought himself level with you, a wide, almost dazed smile spreading across his face. He looked at you like he was caught in a dream—eyes half-lidded, blinking lazily—his uneven breaths making his chest rise and fall as he tried to steady himself, yet never once looking away.

His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you close as he buries his face into the warm curve of your neck. The moment he settles there, he seems to melt completely, all the tension slipping from his body as he relaxes into your embrace like he’s always belonged there.

“I love you, baby… thank you for indulging me,” he murmurs softly, his voice low and breathy against your skin. He follows it with a trail of gentle, lingering kisses, small and unhurried, like he can’t get enough.

You let out a quiet laugh, your fingers brushing through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. “Of course, Ji. Anything for my loser boyfriend,” you tease, playful warmth in your voice.

He groans immediately, the sound muffled against your neck as he tightens his hold, pulling you even closer. “I’m not a loser,” Han Jisung mumbles, though it comes out more like a pout than an argument.

Still, the way he nuzzles into you, soft and unguarded, makes it impossible not to smile. In this quiet closeness, clinging like this, it’s clear he doesn’t really mind the title—or maybe he even likes it.

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accepting a date with a man you met online three days ago probably wasn’t your smartest decision.

but you were already there anyway.

and if there was one thing you had learned from the long, late–night conversations you’d been having with jisung, it was that he had a dangerous talent for making bad ideas sound like fun.

it had started simply enough.

a clever reply to one of your stories. a joke. and then another message. a little more personal this time.

and suddenly you were hours deep into conversation.

jisung was quick with humor, surprisingly good at listening, and dangerously charming whenever he decided to be. his voice messages were even worse—a low, warm laugh that seemed to linger in your ear longer than it should have.

so when he texted you earlier that afternoon:

“there’s a bar near downtown. want to see if i’m as interesting in person as i am over chat?”

you had said yes long before thinking it through.

now, a few hours later, you were standing in front of him with a margarita in hand, wondering if you had just made the best or worst decision of your week.

because jisung in person was somehow even worse.

taller than you expected, more handsome than his pictures had suggested, and that stupid heart–shaped smile that looked like it had been designed specifically to get people into trouble.

you had barely been talking for a few minutes when he mentioned knowing a quieter spot inside the bar. jisung glanced around the room, scanning the crowd like he was searching for something familiar. you used those few distracted seconds to take him in properly.

the soft curve of his profile. his wide, doe eyes. and his lips… god, his lips.

you took another sip of your drink when your throat suddenly felt too dry at the mere thought of kissing him.

then you felt his hand close gently around your wrist. your eyes lifted at him and you noticed jisung was already looking at you with that same easy smile resting on his mouth.

for a moment, you let all your trust settle right there, in the warmth of his touch.

maybe it was a bad idea.

but right now, you didn’t really care.

the two of you moved through the crowd with relative ease, weaving between laughing bodies slick with sweat and cheap perfume. jisung walked just a step ahead, occasionally shifting people aside with a polite “sorry” or a quick hand gesture.

you tightened your grip around the cold glass in your hand, half worried you’d spill the drink on someone as you passed. when he let go of your wrist, you realized where he’d been heading.

a few small tables tucked away from the dance floor. far enough from the bar that most people forgot the space existed. the music sounded softer here, muffled by distance and conversation.

perfect for actually talking.

“i’ll grab more drinks. want anything?” jisung asked, his attention settling fully back on you.

“a paloma would be nice,” you said.

having his full attention felt strangely dangerous.

you had never met him in person before tonight, but after all those 3 a.m. conversations, it felt less like meeting someone new and more like reconnecting with someone you already knew a little too well.

though that didn’t explain the strange tension sitting between the two of you.

“i’ll be right back,” he said, flashing a quick grin. “try not to miss me too much.”

you rolled your eyes as he headed toward the bar, wallet already in hand.

the moment alone gave you enough time to glance down at your phone. the group chat with your friends had completely exploded. you almost laughed when you saw the sheer number of messages waiting for you. you didn’t even need to open them to know they were all about the same thing.

the mysterious man.

you quickly typed a short response telling them you’d probably spend the rest of the night with him. when someone asked if you were still meeting them later, your fingers hovered over the screen. your gaze drifted up.

jisung was leaning casually against the railing that separated the first floor from the lower level dance floor. he was scrolling through his phone, probably killing time while the bartender prepared the drinks.

then he looked up. and when he spotted you watching him, his face immediately broke into a wide, bright smile.

that decided it.

“you guys can go without me.”

you muted the chat right after sending the message. just for tonight. the incoming wave of scandalized reactions could be tomorrow-you’s problem. for now, you were perfectly content enjoying jisung’s company.

a few minutes later he was back, sliding into the seat across from you while casually talking about things that probably weren’t that funny and yet somehow had you laughing far more than they should have.

your cheeks actually started to ache from smiling. in less than half an hour you had already learned a surprising amount about him.

he was thirty–one, worked for a private security company, and, apparently, had been painfully single for the last six years.

you weren’t going to lie. your heart did something embarrassingly dramatic at that information, warmth rushing up your spine and blooming into your ears.

it probably shouldn’t have made you that happy. if anything, you should have felt a little guilty hearing that his last relationship had lasted long enough for them to live together.

and yet you still found yourself smiling like you had just won the lottery five times in a row.

“we’ve been talking about me all night,” jisung said eventually, sipping from the metal straw in his drink. “but you haven’t told me much about you yet.”

his voice carried genuine curiosity. and those dark eyes had barely left you since you met outside the bar. you shrugged lightly, taking a slow sip from your glass before tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

resting your chin on your palm, you lazily stirred the drink with your straw.

“same as you,” you said. “very single.”

the words came out with a hint of mock disappointment. jisung frowned slightly, as if the idea itself didn’t make sense.

“you’re telling me someone as pretty as you is single?” he blurted, gesturing loosely with his hands.

you quickly discovered his face was extremely expressive. which only made him more charming. and maybe you stared at him for a second too long, because he suddenly laughed awkwardly and waved his hands between the two of you.

“not that being single is bad, obviously- i just meant-”

you laughed softly, waving a dismissive hand. he immediately relaxed.

“bad experiences,” you said with a small shrug. “maybe i’m too picky. things just… never really work out with anyone.”

you looked at him then, searching his expression for a reaction. he seemed oddly still. his fingers were still holding the straw, but he hadn’t moved it. you watched him blink once. then twice.

something in the air had shifted.

“picky how?” he asked quietly, taking another sip of his drink. almost like he needed to keep his mouth occupied before saying something stupid.

the question caught you slightly off guard. you had never really thought about it beyond the vague idea itself.

your fingers toyed with the small pendant of your necklace while your gaze wandered briefly toward the dance floor, like the answer might be hidden somewhere in the crowd.

meanwhile jisung’s attention never wavered. eventually you just shrugged again.

“i guess… it’s not enough for someone to be interesting,” you said slowly. your eyes met his again. “i need someone who actually knows what to do with that.”

jisung went very still. like a deer caught in headlights. then he let out a short laugh, something crooked pulling at the corner of his mouth as he held your gaze. under the table, his foot brushed lightly against yours.

the comment hadn’t been accidental.

and neither was the way his eyes briefly dropped to your lips.

“does that happen often?” he asked carefully.

you shrugged again. your lips wrapped slowly around the metal straw before answering.

“not very often.”

the tension between you thickened almost instantly. heat crept up both of your necks.

you noticed the way jisung subtly shifted in his seat. you leaned back into the cushioned booth while finishing the last sip of your drink. he raised an eyebrow, licking his lips slowly.

“what a waste.”

you followed the movement of his mouth without meaning to. your pulse was suddenly far too fast. the heat under your skin made it difficult not to lean forward and kiss him just to see if it would finally satisfy the strange thirst building in your chest.

you looked away first.

“so…” jisung continued, resting his elbow casually on the table. “would you say you’re wasting your time tonight?”

his tone wasn’t uncertain. if anything, it sounded challenging. the kind that made you want to push back just to see where the game would lead.

you nudged your empty glass until it lightly tapped against his. your fingers brushed his for a brief second before pulling away again. jisung exhaled slowly.

“that depends,” you said. “do you know how to make things interesting?”

a slow smile spread across his face. almost like he had been waiting for that exact question.

“i like to think so,” he said. then he leaned slightly closer. “would you like to find out just how interesting i can make them?”

your grin widened. both of your hands rested on the table as you leaned forward, catching the collar of his jacket and tugging him a little closer.

“finally,” you murmured. “now we’re speaking the same language.”

the look you exchanged left absolutely no room for doubt.

and when jisung asked if you wanted to get out of there your smile was answer enough.

getting into the man’s black car felt strangely final. like a decision had been made somewhere between your last drink and the way he’d looked at you across the bar.

not that you wanted to turn back.

between the red glow of traffic lights, scattered streetlamps, and the quiet shimmer of distant stars, the drive passed quickly. music blasted through the speakers, filling the car with bass heavy enough to vibrate through your ribs, yet somehow the two of you kept an easy conversation going—small jokes, teasing remarks, anything to keep the spark alive.

the night was still young, after all.

when the car finally slowed to a stop, you glanced out the window before unbuckling your seatbelt.

“a lookout?” you teased, arching a brow. “how romantic.”

jisung clicked his tongue, laughing under his breath as he shifted in the driver’s seat to face you more fully. the motion made the leather creak softly.

your eyes traced the line of his body without shame. your heart was already beating faster.

you were hungry.

and right now, it felt like only jisung could satisfy it.

“there’s never anyone here,” he explained casually, letting his hand fall onto your thigh as if it belonged there. his fingers began to stroke slowly, deliberately. “good view… quiet.” he tilted his chin toward the city glittering far below the cliff. “good enough.”

you laughed softly, already understanding exactly where this was going. you weren’t stupid.

still, you leaned back in your seat, watching him with a slow, playful smile.

“so this is interesting to you,” you murmured, blinking slower than usual. the warmth pooling low in your tummy was becoming impossible to ignore.

“something like that.” his hand squeezed your thigh lightly. just enough to make you jump in surprise. he chuckled. “do you like what you see?”

“more than you think.”

jisung didn’t hesitate after that.

his hand slid up to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing lightly along your cheek before his mouth crashed into yours. the kiss you’d both been circling all night.

your fingers tangled instantly in the hair at the back of his neck, pulling him closer like the few inches between you suddendly felt unbearable.

the kiss turned messy almost instantly.

your teeth bumped, breath was stolen. soft, breathless, obscene sounds filled the small space between you as restraint dissolved completely.

god.

it was so much for playing it cool.

you leaned further into him, chasing more of his mouth, more of the warmth of his body, but the cramped front seats made the problem obvious fast.

jisung noticed at the same time you did. his lips curved against yours before he jerked his head toward the back seat. a second later both of you were scrambling there, half-laughing like teenagers about to get caught doing something they absolutely shouldn’t.

the moment the door shut again, the laughter dissolved and rhythm returned immediately.

your mouths collided with renewed urgency. within seconds you were straddling him, the heat of his hands sliding up your waist, over your ribs, squeezing your hips like he needed to prove you were really there.

the contact made something hot coil low in your tummy. jisung kissed you like he’d been starving for it all night.

your nails dug into his shoulders when he pulled you closer, your chest pressed against his, his breath stuttering against your mouth in a way that sent a sharp little thrill through you.

under you, you felt him grow hard. the way he tensed. the way his grip tightened slightly. it made your pulse jump.

because it made you suddenly, painfully aware of yourself—of the warmth pooling between your thights, of how your body had apparently decided hours ago that this was happening.

his jacket hit the floor first, followed quickly by his shirt. the air inside the car felt thick now. warm, close, and heavy with the smell of skin, alcohol, and the faint sweetness of your perfume.

through the fog beginning to bloom across the windows behind him, the city lights outside blurred into soft streaks of gold. you barely noticed.

not when jisung suddenly pushed you back against the seat. a quiet sound slipped from your mouth before you could stop it. your eyes dragged slowly over the man above you.

his tattoos across his chest. the warm of his skin. the way his chest rose and fell a little faster now.

you were about to eat well tonight.

this had been a dangerous idea from the start. and yet watching him fumble slightly as he kicked off his pants only made a small, wicked smile pull at your mouth.

you hurried to shrug out of your own jacket and jeans, the cramped space making everything awkward and clumsy.

your legs wrapped around his waist the moment he leaned down again. your hips collided and both of you gasped. you tilted your head slightly, lips brushing his as you spoke.

“think you can meet my expectations, ji?” you purred.

his pupils were blown wide now. his lips—already swollen from kissing you—curved into a cocky smile as his hands slid up your thighs. the warmth of his palms made you inhale sharply.

“let me show you what i can do, baby.”

the low edge in his voice sent a pulse straight between your legs.

damn.

a few kisses and a couple of filthy words, and you were already dripping. jisung seemed to notice immediately. his fingers brushed lightly over the damp fabric between your thighs—slow, deliberate. your head tipped back with a shaky breath.

for a moment the only sounds filling the car were the quiet music from the speakers and the uneven rhythm of your breathing.

without waiting any longer, jisung pushed your panties aside, his fingers finally finding you properly.

your mouth crashed into his again, trying to swallow the moans that escaped despite your efforts. your hands clutched at his shoulders, nails pressing into firm muscle.

fuck. he was strong.

the realization made something twist low in your stomach.

you needed him inside you right now.

your lips trailed down his neck and collarbone, leaving slow licks and playful bites that turned harsher every time he whimpered under your touch.

your hips rolled instinctively against him. the movement, paired with the heat of your mouth on his neck, had his breath catching harder with every passing second.

jisung finally pulled back, though the reluctance was obvious. just enough to free himself. just enough to guide himself toward you. he stilled there for a moment. his eyes searched yours, silently asking for permission before the last piece of control snapped.

your gaze met his, glassy with anticipation. you answered with a soft hum.

and that was all he needed.

he pushed in slowly, the stretch deliberate, unhurried, until his hips finally pressed flush against yours. your nails dug into his back immediately and your hips moved without thinking.

and just like that, the last thread of his restraint broke.

jisung began moving at a steady, purposeful rhythm. slow enough to drag tension from every motion, deep enough to make your breath hitch each time. you bit down on your lip, your body already melting around the sensation.

soft curses slipped past your mouth, completely unfiltered, and each one seemed to spur him on further.

his hands gripped your thighs firmly, fingers pressing deep enough that faint marks would probably appear later.

neither of you cared.

your entire world had narrowed to the sound of skin brushing skin, the rhythm of it turning almost hypnotic in the small space of the car.

jisung watched your face like it was the only thing that mattered. every twitch, every gasp, every little reaction he managed to pull from you.

he kissed you again, biting your lower lip without mercy, and the sight of your flushed cheeks and glassy eyes seemed to satisfy something deep in him.

still… he wanted more.

slowing his pace slightly, he tugged your shirt over your head before unclasping your bra with practiced ease. one hand returned to your chin while his mouth dropped to your chest.

he took his time there, until enough marks bloomed across your skin that anyone looking would know exactly who had been there first.

the thought alone seemed to ignite something reckless in him because his rhythm grew rougher.

your legs tightened around his waist, trembling as the pressure inside you built higher and higher. your nails raked down his back when the first shivers hit.

“i’m close,” you whispered into his ear, your voice barely steady.

jisung laughed under his breath, far too pleased with himself. he shifted, pushing your legs higher over his shoulders as he drove deeper with each movement.

your mind felt like it was melting. the world tilted pleasantly around you.

“is this what you expected, baby?” he murmured between heavy breaths.

you nodded quickly, already teetering at the edge. he grabbed your jaw, forcing your eyes to meet his.

“answer me,” he said quietly. “i want to hear you say it.”

your throat burned from all the sounds you’d been making, but you forced the words out anyway.

“you’re so good, ji,” you whimpered. “you’re- fuck- you’re doing so well…”

and that did it.

your praise hit him like a spark to dry fuel.

seconds later your body arched as your orgasm crashed through you, fingers gripping the back of his neck as the sensation ripped through every nerve.

jisung followed not long after, burying his face against your shoulder with a low, breathless groan.

for a moment neither of you moved. both of you were breathing hard.

then jisung started pressing small kisses all over your face: your cheek, your forehead, the corner of your mouth. murmuring soft nonsense between them.

he might be a menace in bed, but apparently he was also the type to kiss every inch of your face afterward like he was making sure you were still there.

you weren’t complaining. not when it made you laugh softly under his attention.

eventually he sat back with a lazy stretch, checking the time on his phone.

1:00 a.m. still early.

his gaze drifted over you again. your relaxed expression, the faint marks scattered across your skin. no regrets there. your own eyes had settled on his neck.

at least the marks looked good next to his tattoos. you snorted quietly at the thought.

then reality caught up with you as you glanced out the window and saw the city lights below.

“great,” you muttered. “now all that’s missing is the police catching us up here.”

jisung burst into laughter while struggling back into his boxers and pants. your eyes betrayed you, tracing every inch of his body until it disappeared under fabric again.

“relax,” he said, climbing back into the driver’s seat. “i’ll drive us out of here and it’ll be like nothing happened.”

he leaned back to steal a quick kiss before you could protest about being abandoned in the back seat.

“there’s a blanket back there,” he added, glancing at you through the mirror. “you can use it if you want.”

you followed his suggestion, wrapping yourself loosely in the blanket while pulling your clothes back on.

a quiet thought finally pushed past the warmth of the moment.

“what… what are you going to do now?”

jisung stilled slightly, phone still in his hand.

the car filled with the low hum of music and the distant sounds of the city below.

he looked at you properly like he was deciding something. a small knot twisted in your stomach.

maybe this had just been that.

a good night. a good fuck. a funny story for tomorrow.

jisung let out a soft laugh. then leaned back against the seat.

“honestly…” he murmured. his eyes flicked over the marks on your neck, the blanket around your shoulders. “i didn’t expect the date to go this well.”

date.

the word hit you like a spark. you stared at him, searching his face. he noticed immediately.

“what?” he said, amusement creeping into his voice. “technically it was.”

he pulled his phone from his pocket and waved it toward you. your own phone buzzed a second later. you looked down and your heart squeezed pleasantly in your chest.

jisung: second date?

you lifted your eyes slowly.

“did you seriously just ask me out by text while we’re sitting in the same car?” you asked, unable to hide your smile.

“i’m maintaining narrative consistency,” he replied. “everything started in the chat, remember?”

you laughed, tossing your phone aside before leaning forward and pressing a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth.

jisung froze for a second.

“that doesn’t answer the question,” he muttered, though the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.

you slid into the passenger seat, still grinning.

“drive.”

“where to, baby?”

you fastened your seatbelt and looked out at the glowing city ahead. something about the night still felt unreal.

and you were more than willing to see where it went next.

you turned back to him, eyes bright.

“somewhere we can test if the second date is better than the first one.”

jisung laughed, starting the engine and turning the music up again.

as the car rolled slowly down the mountain road, your phone buzzed one more time.

The restaurant is warm and low-lit, the kind of place Chan loves, exposed brick, soft jazz, and a menu that makes everything feel a little luxurious. He’s across from you in a black button-down with the sleeves rolled up, showing off those forearms that always make your brain short-circuit. Dinner has been perfect: good food, easy laughter, his foot occasionally brushing yours under the table like a promise.

You’re finishing the last of your wine when he leans in, elbows on the table, voice dropping to that deep, velvet tone he only uses when he’s about to ruin you.

“So… later, can I lick honey butter off of them?”

You blink. The wine glass pauses halfway to your lips. “Off of… what?”

Chan’s eyes flick down to your chest, slow, deliberate, then back up to your face with a tiny, wicked smirk. “You know exactly what I mean, baby. Those pretty tits. I want to cover them in warm honey butter and take my time licking every single drop off while you squirm under my tongue.”

Your breath catches so hard you nearly cough. Heat floods your face, your neck, straight down between your legs. The couple at the next table has no idea the man who just ordered dessert is talking about eating melted butter and honey straight off your nipples like it’s the most casual request in the world.

“Chan..” you whisper, shocked, thighs pressing together under the table. “Here? Right now you’re asking me that?”

He shrugs, all innocent except for the dark hunger in his eyes. “We’re almost done. Figured I’d give you time to think about it on the drive home.” His foot slides higher up your calf. “But if you say no, I’ll behave. Promise.”

You’re speechless for a second, heart hammering. The mental image hits you hard, his mouth, that tongue, warm sticky sweetness sliding over your skin while he watches you fall apart. You swallow, voice barely audible.

“Yeah. Fuck. Yes.”

Chan’s smirk turns into a full grin. He flags the waiter for the check before you can even blink, pays in record time, and has you out the door with his hand possessively on the small of your back.

The car ride is pure torture. He keeps one hand on the wheel, the other resting high on your thigh, thumb stroking slow circles that make you ache. Every red light he leans over and murmurs filthy little details..“Gonna melt the butter just enough to drip down your nipples… gonna suck them clean until you’re begging… maybe I’ll fuck you while they’re still sticky” until you’re squirming in the passenger seat, panties soaked.

The second the dorm door shuts behind you, he’s on you.

He doesn’t even bother with the lights. Just backs you straight into his bedroom, mouth already on yours, kissing you deep and hungry while his hands work your dress off. The second your bra hits the floor, he groans at the sight of your bare tits, nipples already tight and waiting.

“Stay right there, baby.”

He disappears for thirty seconds and comes back with a small bowl he must’ve prepped earlier, warm, melted honey butter, golden and glossy, smelling sweet and sinful. He sets it on the nightstand, strips off his shirt, and guides you onto the bed, propping you up against the pillows so you’re on full display for him.

“God, look at you,” he murmurs, voice rough. He dips two fingers into the warm mixture, scoops up a generous amount, and starts painting it over your left breast in slow, deliberate circles. The butter is hot enough to make you gasp, sliding thick and sticky over your skin, dripping down the curve. He does the same to the right, coating your nipples until they’re glistening, honey-sweet rivulets running toward your ribs.

Then he leans down.

The first slow drag of his tongue across the underside of your breast pulls a broken moan out of you. Chan hums like he’s tasting heaven, licking broad stripes up to your nipple before sucking it into his mouth, hard. The combination of warm butter, his hot tongue, and the gentle scrape of his teeth has your back arching clean off the bed.

“Fuck..Chan..”

He doesn’t rush. He takes his time, licking every inch clean like he’s savoring a five-course meal. Long, filthy strokes of his tongue, soft sucks that make obscene wet sounds, little nips that send sparks straight to your clit. By the time he’s finished with the second breast you’re panting, thighs shaking, fingers twisted in his hair.

“Still with me, baby?” he asks, voice wrecked, lips shiny with honey butter. His hand slides between your legs, finding you dripping. “So fucking wet for me already.”

You nod frantically. “Please..need you..”

He doesn’t make you wait. He shoves his pants down, cock thick and hard, and slides into you in one smooth thrust while his mouth returns to your tits, licking up the last sticky traces as he fucks you deep and steady. Every thrust pushes more little gasps out of you, the sweet taste of honey butter still on his tongue when he kisses you.

You come hard around him, moaning his name, and he follows right after, burying himself deep with a low groan that vibrates against your chest.

After, he collapses beside you, pulling you into his chest, both of you sticky and breathless and laughing softly.

He presses a kiss to your temple, voice hoarse but smug. “Told you it’d be good.”

You’re already half-asleep against him, but you manage a weak laugh. “Next time… we’re doing this with chocolate sauce too.”

time always seemed to crawl whenever you were there.

you scrolled through your phone in boredom, replying to messages with little interest, lazily flicking between unfinished conversations and videos of cats doing something adorable or ridiculously unnecessary.

the day was uncomfortably hot. the heat felt suffocating, sticky, heavy. and the laundry room wasn’t helping at all.

the man beside you, crouched down with a deep frown etched across his face, muttered curses under his breath as he shoved clothes into the washing machine like each piece was personally responsible for his misery.

you sat perched on top of the dryer, legs swinging idly near jisung’s face. the machine hummed beneath you, vibrating softly, blending into the thick tension filling the small room.

a mischievous smile slowly spread across your lips.

“maybe if you worked with a smile on your face, you’d finish faster,” you hummed, eyes never leaving your phone.

jisung clicked his tongue and tossed a shirt into the washer harder than necessary. then another and another until his patience finally snapped.

he let his palms fall heavily onto his knees before straightening just enough to look at you. his expression was tinted with that deliciously familiar, childish annoyance.

“this is unfair,” jisung declared, his voice thick with indignation, as though he were the victim of some elaborate conspiracy.

you rolled your eyes, letting out a soft laugh. setting your phone aside, you crossed your arms and looked at him with shameless amusement.

“you agreed to the bet. you lost,” you listed with mocking calm. “i don’t see the injustice.”

you leaned forward slightly, just enough to ruffle his hair. his scowl deepened instantly, making him look like a sulking cat.

"all i see is a sore loser, ji."

jisung jerked away from your touch as if it burned. he began stuffing clothes into the machine in careless piles, clearly determined to get it over with as fast as possible.

he was in a mood today.

which was… curious.

anyone watching from the outside would have assumed you were sworn enemies.

but not.

quite the opposite.

you had been best friends for years. changbin had been the original culprit. a casual introduction with no expectations that somehow turned into an instant connection.

since then, you’d been practically inseparable.

that didn’t stop the constant friction, of course. or the endless teasing.

provoking each other.

pushing boundaries with a dangerously comfortable familiarity. after all, you’d always known exactly how far you could go without crossing the line. or at least, usually.

this wasn’t supposed to be any different.

after a stupid bet based on "who could get someone to believe the most ridiculous lie" —which jisung had lost spectacularly in less than twenty-four hours— your teasing hadn’t stopped.

and there you were, two weeks later, on a sweltering summer afternoon at jisung’s place, arguing yet again about that same ridiculous bet.

“no. it’s unfair because you know how gullible felix is,” he shot back, pointing at you with genuine irritation. “of course you’d win if you talked to him!”

“and yet you never thought to do the same. there weren’t any rules against it, sweetheart.”

the detergent and fabric softener landed in their compartments with far more aggression than necessary. jisung clenched his jaw, clearly searching for inner peace somewhere deep in his mind.

he shouldn’t have been taking this so personally. he never really did.

but something felt different today. something tense that threatened the fragile thread holding your friendship together.

he simply clicked his tongue, shoved the laundry basket aside, and threw you a dangerous look before walking out of the room like a walking storm cloud.

maybe this was that limit you both knew so well.

maybe the smart thing would’ve been to leave it alone. go talk about something else, make tea, eat cookies, and watch one of those stupid dating shows you both loved mocking.

but not.

something in your brain urged you to keep going. to push him just a little further. to get some kind of reaction.

you didn’t know whether it was boredom or jeongin’s words from that morning.

“jisung’s been acting weird about you lately. i’m not saying anything, but… there’s something there.”

the slam of the refrigerator door pulled you from the memory. you walked into the kitchen with your usual calm, eyes landing on jisung’s tense back as he moved around gathering ingredients for a hastily made sandwich.

with an easy hop, you seated yourself on the counter. you watched him closely, studying how he reacted to tiny frustrations like the cheese tearing or the knife not being where he expected.

"what’s your problem now? you’re crankier than usual."

okay… maybe not the best choice of words.

jisung glanced at you over his shoulder. his dark eyes carried something you couldn’t quite name. he abandoned everything he was doing and turned fully toward you.

he closed the distance in long, determined strides, planting both hands on either side of your thighs. his knuckles were white from the unnecessary force. his body leaned in, face dangerously close to yours.

"you're being more bratty than usual,” he said, voice tight. “you haven’t stopped pushing my buttons since you got here. what’s up with that?"

you rolled your eyes, casually running your fingers through your hair.

"you're just being sensitive, ji. drop that and let's do something fun," you said sweetly, flashing him a gentle smile and batting your lashes.

your foolproof trick. jisung could never resist that.

except today… he didn’t budge.

“no thanks. you can go watch tv. i’m going to my room.” jisung cut, his voice sounding irritated.

but he didn't move an inch. he seemed to be waiting for something from you. your breathing stalled as you finally became aware of just how close he really was.

his breath brushed against your lips. his gaze locked onto yours. his tongue slowly swept across his own lips. your body reacted before your mind could catch up. a tense heat coiled deep in your tummy.

something dangerously familiar.

jisung suddenly let his head fall forward, resting against your chest. an old habit. one born from the first heartbreak he’d ever suffered. you’d always been his safe place. where he could breathe, reset, gather himself when the world became too heavy.

now you were the one unraveling him. and it was costing him more than he wanted to admit.

“you’re messing with my head…” jisung whispered, his voice vibrating against your skin.

saying it felt like a release. one that somehow trapped him even more. never, not once, had he imagined the day he’d stand this close to you and confess how completely insane you made him. he could feel your racing heartbeat and your uneven breathing against his neck.

you didn’t know whether to lean further into the moment or shatter it with some terrible joke like always.

but that was impossible now.

you were already far too deep. pressing your lips together, you gently stroked his hair, staring into nothing as you searched for some kind of answer.

“do you really not see it?” his voice cracked more with every word. “am i reading this wrong?”

you couldn't run now.

you swallowed hard. your pulse screamed at you to get out, to break away. but when jisung lifted his head and looked at you again, eyes glassy and painfully vulnerable, you knew you couldn’t leave him hanging there.

with a soft sigh, you cradled his face carefully, as though he were something fragile that might shatter with the slightest misstep. it had been so long since you’d seen him this distressed.

and it hurt like hell knowing you were the reason.

"hey, i don’t know what you mean. but we can talk. what’s going on?"

his silence only tightened the knot in your chest. adrenaline rushed through your veins. jisung’s hands settled against your waist with something almost reverent.

"do you like me...?"

not the usual way.

not as friends.

“of course i do. what kind of question is that?” you laughed weakly, thumb brushing lovingly across his cheek.

“no. i want to know if you like me… the way i like you,” jisung murmured, his voice barely rose above a whisper.

the world seemed to stop.

you hesitated before speaking. you needed to be careful. but his doe eyes simply made thinking rationally nearly impossible. they begged for something you weren’t even sure you could admit to yourself yet.

"and how exactly do you like me, jisung?"

he straightened abruptly, intensifying the electricity between you. his grip on your waist tightened as he looked at you with unmistakable urgency. your heart pounded, caught somewhere between anticipation and caution.

slowly, he pulled you closer, sliding you along the counter until your legs rested on either side of his hips. your hands trembled as they came to his chest, fingers curling instinctively into the fabric of his shirt.

your breathing grew heavy, erratic. the heat in your tummy deepened, clouding your thoughts completely. and your eyes traveling from his eyes to his lips only worsened the feeling that was growing inside you.

this was so fucking wrong.

but you were already leaning in.

“i can’t keep pretending this is nothing… i could kiss you right now,” jisung declared. his fingers pressed firmly into your hips.

it wasn't a warning or a threat. it was something even worse: a confession.

your grip on his shirt tightened.

the air between you became unbearably thick, charged with something that had been building for far too long beneath jokes, petty arguments, and lingering glances neither of you had ever dared analyze.

the consequences could haunt you later.

fuck it.

you yanked him forward by his shirt, and the collision of your lips was clumsy, almost violent. completely desperate. anything but graceful.

his mouth crashed into yours with a raw, unfiltered urgency that stole the air from your lungs, teeth bumped, breaths tangled, noses pressed awkwardly, but neither of you cared. it was messy, heated, years of tension detonating all at once.

jisung let out a strangled sound against your lips, something wracked and helpless, vibrating straight into your mouth. your tummy tightened violently at the noise.

your legs instantly wrapped around his hips, locking him in place, pulling him impossibly closer. the heat of his body slammed against yours, solid and overwhelming.

“y/n…” he breathed, the word dissolving between your mouths.

his hands slid down your sides with frantic impatience before gripping your ass hard enough to make you gasp. fingers digging in, possessive, desperate. and then, suddenly, you weren’t touching the floor anymore.

the sharp intake of your breath between you as jisung lifted you with startling ease, your bodies pressing together even tighter. your chest crushed against his, his racing heartbeat hammering wildly against your ribs.

the world shrank to mouths moving feverishly against each other. kisses turned erratic, hungry, borderline reckless. your tongues clashing without rhythm, teeth grazing lips, jaw, whatever skin they could reach. every breath came out shaky, broken.

jisung stumbled toward his bedroom, movements clumsy but determined. you could feel the tension coiled tight in his body, the barely restrained urgency in the way he held you. he bumped lightly into the doorframe.

“mmh– shit…”

you laughed softly against his lips, breathless, your mouth still chasing his.

even now, he was still jisung.

the moment you crossed the threshold, your lips abandoned his mouth, trailing down to his neck like gravity itself had taken control.

the reaction was immediate.

a violent shudder ripped through his body and ended on his crotch. you felt the way his hips jerked involuntarily as his grip tightened. a sharp, broken gasp tore from his throat.

“ah– wait– not there…”

his voice came out wrecked, trembling, completely betrayed by the way his body arched into your touch.

you didn’t wait for shit.

you sucked, bit, and licked at his skin like it was your final mission in life, lips moving hungrily along the sensitive column of his throat. his skin burned beneath your mouth, hot and slightly damp. jisung’s breathing completely lost its rhythm.

“f-fuck…”

his knees hit the mattress in a graceless collapse, dragging you down with him. the impact sent a jolt through both your bodies, a tangle of limbs, heat, and desperate hands.

the air in the room felt thick and charged. you settled astride his lap, thighs pressing against his hips. instantly you felt his hard, heated cock pulsing insistently beneath you.

the sensation sent a sharp spark of heat straight through your core. your hips reacted instinctively, a slow, testing grind that pulled a broken whimper from jisung’s lips.

“look at you…” you purred.

his chest heaved beneath you, breath coming shallow, eyes blown wide as he stared up at you like he couldn’t quite believe this was real. like you might disappear. his hands slid up your waist agonizingly slow, being a stark contrast to the earlier desperation.

his fingers dragged over your sides, memorizing, savoring, burning a trail across your skin. the touch was almost reverent, sending goosebumps racing along your body despite the heat pooling between your legs.

your hips moved again in a subtle, torturous grind. the friction was soft, maddening, yet utterly delicious. jisung’s head fell back with a shaky exhale.

his fingers slipped beneath your blouse without hesitation, sliding against bare skin. the contact drew a sharp gasp from his throat, his entire body tensing under you.

“i– i always wanted to…”

his voice fractured completely. he couldn’t even finish the sentence, no matter how much he wanted to. but you felt it in the way his hands trembled, in the way his breath stuttered, in the way his cock twitched beneath you.

his hands wandered everywhere like he’d lost all sense of direction: your belly, your waist, your thighs. fingers pressing, ripping, sliding, like he needed to feel everything at once. like he was starving.

and when his hands reached your breasts, the air left his lungs entirely. his mouth parted in a silent, stunned inhale. a broken, incoherent curse fell from his lips. the look in his face made heat explode low in your tummy.

pure awe and adoration.

like you’d just handed him something sacred.

the kiss that followed was different. it had become a slower, deeper motion that carried something dangerously intimate. mouths moving together in an intoxicating sway that made your head spin. his lips were warm, soft, slightly swollen against yours.

clothes vanished between clumsy hands and nervous laughter. a few stubborn buttons, a shirt caught around your wrist, a breathless “wait”, and suddenly—nothing. cool air kissed your heated skin.

you lay naked against his rumpled sheets, chest rising unevenly, skin buzzing with anticipation. jisung stared down at you like you’d committed some unforgivable crime. his pupils were blown wide, his breath completely wrecked, and his lips parted in stunned disbelief.

“what are you waiting for?” you whispered against his ear, teeth grazing softly.

jisung let out a trembling whimper that sent a sharp pulse of heat straight between your legs. "god... you’re driving me insane."

his hands gripped your hips tight, yet he still didn’t move. instead, his lips found your jaw, your neck, your mouth in slow kisses that burned and lingered.

kisses that made your body ache with every second he refused to give you what you both wanted. like he wanted to savor this. like he wanted to torture you.

“you’re always so bossy…”

“and you’re always so slow…”

that crooked smile appeared on his lips. the same smile you used when you challenged each other in the university cafeteria or when you started a dangerous fight that ended in raucous laughter.

and then, finally, jisung aligned himself with you.

the first push inside was slow enough to make your entire body jolt. a sharp, breathless moan tore from your throat as your walls stretched around him, the sensation overwhelming, almost too much.

jisung’s breath hitched violently and his forehead dropped against yours. neither of you moved. both of you just felt the fullness, the unbearable tension of being joined like this. completely. he didn’t move again until he was fully buried inside you.

the stretch made your toes curl. your fingers clutch desperately at his shoulders meanwhile your breathing collapses into something shaky and broken. and then his movements began slow, deep, and torturously deliberate.

each thrust dragging pleasure through your body like a slow burn. your nerves felt raw, hypersensitive, every tiny motion amplified. your breaths merged into one. jisung let out a broken sound.

"fuck…"

your nails dug into his shoulders as you felt him pulse inside you, warm and wrenchingly perfect. your eyes locked, and no words were needed.

you both knew you could completely lose control.

and jisung didn’t need anything more.

his hips began moving without mercy. the rhythm snapped violently from slow to desperate, thrusts turning chaotic, knocking the air from your lungs. your body jolted with every impact, pleasure crashing through you in violent waves.

your nails scraped down his back, leaving burning trails across his skin while his fingers dug brutally into your hips. the wet sounds of your bodies filled the room obscenely, mixed with gasps, moans, and breathless curses.

jisung's necklace brushes against your skin, the cool metal being a ridiculous contrast to the inferno consuming your body. each swing of it sent tiny sparks of sensation across your overheated nerves.

“shit… look at me, y/n…” jisung whined.

his fingers tilted your jaw, forcing your gaze back to his. his face was a work of art. he looked wrecked, beautifully ruined. hair damp and clinging to his forehead, lips bitten raw, and eyes blown wide with pure pleasure.

“look what you do to me… completely fucked because of you…”

each thrust tore sounds from your throat you could no longer control. pleasure rose like an unstoppable, hot, and overwhelming wave.

“mmh– just like that… fuck, ji–” all the words dissolved into muffled, broken moans.

your body trembled violently beneath him, muscles tightening, pleasure spiraling uncontrollably higher.

the rhythm faltered, movements turning erratic, desperate. like both of you were tumbling toward an unavoidable edge.

“i’m so close…” he gasped against your ear.

your legs shook and your tummy tightened violently. your entire body coiled around the unbearable pressure building inside you.

"ji… ah– fuck–" you whimpered.

the world seemed to shrink at the overwhelming sensation of his cock filling you completely.

your entire body tightened and shattered. the orgasm ripped through you like a brutal electric shock, pleasure detonating violently, your back arching as a broken cry escaped from your lips.

jisung completely lost control seconds later.

a few sloppy, desperate thrusts, a strangled groan, and then he collapsed. your walls tightening mercilessly around him, clenching and dragging the orgasm straight out of him as he came hard inside you.

he fell beside you with a weary gasp that lasted longer than necessary. there he was. your dramatic, teasing, hopelessly clumsy jisung. you laughed softly, still gasping for air, weakly hitting his bare chest.

the silence afterward felt deafening. your ragged breaths merged into one, your hearts pounded, and your bodies trembled.

that is, until the beep of the washing machine completely broke the atmosphere, announcing that its cycle had ended.

you both remained silent for a few seconds. then turned to each other in perfect sync and burst out laughing. because obviously that had to happen right now.

jisung tried to sit up first. yes, he tried.

“shit- my legs!” he groaned, touching his legs dramatically.

you laughed loudly, nudging him with your foot and receiving a dirty look. from where you stood, the view was dangerously tempting. biting your lip, you slipped on his oversized graphic tee before he could reach it.

“you should move the laundry to the dryer, ji,” you teased playfully.

your fingers traced his bare back and a shiver immediately ran through his entire body.

he turned to look at you, smiling at the sight of you wearing his shirt, hair messy, expression thoroughly satisfied. he gently wrapped an arm around your waist, pressing a soft kiss to your head.

“when i get back… you wanna…?” he tilted his head suggestively.

you flopped back onto the bed, wiggling your brows as you tugged the hem of the shirt higher, revealing your thighs with a shameless grin. jisung let out a low whistle, leaning against the doorway, eyes dragging hungrily over your body.

“don’t think i’m gonna stop calling you a sore loser after this, baby,” you stuck your tongue out.

jisung rolled his eyes with a fond smile, like he already knew he was completely doomed when it came to you. as he walked toward the laundry room, he started laughing under his breath like he’d just heard the best joke of his life.

and watching him disappear down the hall, you could only think one thing.

he mumbles under his breath about deadlines and “noodle anatomy,” so softly you almost think you imagined it. at other times, he just stares at the ceiling, unmoving, as if some divine inspiration might drip down from the drywall. and every now and then, he groans so dramatically it sounds like he’s dying, only for you to find out he’s just trying to draw a bent knee.

he’s quiet. not shy, and not in a way that makes you feel obligated to fill the silence. just… contained. coiled. the kind of quiet that holds weight— his thoughts are vivid and volatile, too loud to voice, so he seals them between the pages of his sketchbooks. it’s safer that way. nothing escapes. nothing catches fire.

you’ve never seen him bring anyone home.

not once. not even after those late-night figure drawing classes, or the weekend studio exhibitions where people tend to get a little too wine drunk and giggly. you’ve never heard him talk about crushes or hookups or even eye someone on the quad. never even caught him flirting. he barely acknowledges strangers in passing, doesn’t register compliments from the girls who sometimes stop to peek through the dorm windows and whisper about “that one hot art guy.”

he doesn’t go out much either, never really parties, barely shows up to campus events, and treats grocery runs like hostile field missions. most of the time, he’s holed up in his room with the door cracked open, back hunched over his tablet or sketchpad, headphones in, eyes glazed over with focus.

there are moments he doesn’t respond when you speak. you’ll knock, pass his room more than once, and the only hint he’s still breathing is the dim glow of his monitor. you pause, staring in, wondering— not for the first time— how long he’s been cooped up in there. whether he’s eaten. whether he’s slept. whether he’s working on something normal, or… something else entirely.

because you know what he draws.

he told you. casually. one night, when you were both cross-legged on the floor, splitting leftover takeout and surrounded by plastic chopsticks and empty bubble tea cups. you asked what his senior portfolio theme was, expecting something pretentious, or maybe poetic.

“manga,” he said, chewing absently.

“oh, cool,” you replied. “what genre?”

“ecchi.”

you raise a brow, confused. “…what’s that?”

he looked up slowly, eyes wide, expression borderline unreadable. “tasteful porn.”

you immediately choked on your noodles.

and that was that.

you never brought it up again. but the image of him calmly saying “tasteful porn” with the straightest face lives in your head rent free. still makes your ears burn if you think about it too long.

what’s worse is that you shouldn’t even be surprised.

but you were. maybe because hyunjin doesn’t quite fit the mold of some guy who spends most his nights hunched over his tablet, painstakingly rendering the way sheer fabric sticks to flushed skin. the way lips part, the way spines arch. he’s too pretty, ethereal even— too clean to be that filthy in private. soft jawline, delicate wrists, lips always stained pink from strawberry pocky. he uses cherry blossom shampoo. wears fuzzy socks. once, you caught him microwaving hot chocolate at two in the morning while humming the sailor moon theme song under his breath.

by all logic, he should be drowning in girls. flirty art majors, clumsy lit students, curious econ girls who like the idea of a mysterious artist boyfriend. he should have people throwing themselves at him, sliding into his dms, leaving their numbers on napkins.

but he’s not.

and maybe, just maybe, that’s because hyunjin is a total, certified goon.

the type of guy who probably jerks off to his own hentai panels with one hand in his sweats and the other still holding his apple pencil so he can make edits mid-stroke.

the type who’s too obsessed with his imaginary girls to even look at a real one.

and unfortunately for you— you’re one of them.

+

you agreed to model for his senior art portfolio last month.

he’d asked you during one of your late-night kitchen run-ins, voice low and uncertain, sketchpad balanced on one knee while he waited for his ramen to finish spinning in the microwave.

“it’s not explicit explicit,” he said, peeking up at you from under his lashes, his thumb absently smudging the corner of a half-finished eye on the page. “it’s more suggestive. tasteful.” his tone wavered between hopeful and rehearsed, like he’d been planning to ask you for a while but hadn’t quite worked up the nerve until now.

“think… moody lighting,” he added, as if that would somehow soften the blow. “lace. maybe a garter belt.”

you blinked. “a garter belt?” the words came out with an airy laugh, light and teasing, a little incredulous but not entirely opposed.

he didn’t flinch. instead, he perked up with faux earnestness, flipping his pencil between his fingers like a conductor’s baton, brows lifted in dramatic flourish. “it’s for the drama,” he insisted, as if that explained anything at all. as if drama alone justified sketching someone in lingerie.

yet somehow… you ended up agreeing.

you needed the extra cash, your campus job barely covered groceries, and your last textbook rental had drained what little remained in your savings. but part of you was flattered, too. no one had ever asked to draw you before, and definitely not like that.

but if you were really being honest, a small part of you liked the way he looked at you when you posed.

he made you feel like art. something worth preserving, not just for the shape of your body or the softness of your skin, but for the way you existed in stillness. the rhythm of your breath, the curve of your spine, the light pooling into the hollows of your collarbones. he watched with quiet fixation, eyes moving from page to skin, jaw clenched in concentration, and everytime his pencil scratched against the paper, it’d sent a phantom shiver down your spine.

he made you feel beautiful.

you hadn’t realized you were making a mistake.

not until tonight, when he’d left for his night class and you were rummaging behind his desk in search of your charger, the one you always forgot in his room. you’d been reaching behind a pile of books and folders when your elbow bumped something, knocking it to the floor with a dull, soft thud.

a sketchbook.

black, unmarked, a little worn around the edges. it didn’t look important or any different from the others he always left lying around. you bent down without thinking, planning to toss it back where it came from.

but it had fallen open.

you froze. you told yourself you wouldn’t look, that it wasn’t yours to see.

and then you looked anyway.

curiosity, or something worse, pulled you toward the page.

and there you were.

not soft. not modest. not the dimly lit, “tasteful” pose you’d assumed he’d capture.

you were drawn sprawled out, every inch of you on display. legs spread wide, toes curling into fabric you recognized as your own sheets. your back arched off a pillow from your bed. one hand gripping the edge of the blanket. the other buried deep between your thighs. your face was flushed, lips parted, eyes hazy, mouth frozen in a moan that felt way too specific to be imagined.

and it was detailed. painfully so.

you could see the shading where sweat would gather. the tension in your calves. the wrinkle in your brow. your own hair drawn strand by strand, fanned out like a halo.

your stomach flipped. heat bloomed somewhere low and unsteady.

you turned the page, almost on instinct, heart already pounding.

there were more.

you on your knees, spine arched, wrists tucked behind your back. your head tilted at just the right angle to show off your throat, the delicate notch above your collarbone. the lingerie you wore last week— sheer lace cups, dainty silk bows, garters clipped to thigh-highs—recreated in uncanny, microscopic detail. every clasp, dimple in your skin, subtle ripple of imagined pleasure inked in with a hunger that felt… dangerous.

you stared at the pages, transfixed. breath caught somewhere in your chest, hands beginning to tremble. you hadn’t meant to look, hadn’t planned to turn the first page, let alone the second… but once you did, you couldn’t stop. every drawing felt intimate, obsessive, memorized. the way he rendered you with such aching precision—each curve of your body, every fold of lace, every imagined tremble of your thighs, made it nearly impossible to look away.

it was clear he hadn’t just sketched you from reference; he’d studied you, remembered you. poured hours into capturing the parting of your mouth when you sigh, the subtle shift of your hips in that particular set of lingerie, the way your body folds, stretches, and exists on the page, alive and familiar.

you were still staring when you heard the jingle of his keys at the door. your heart clenched instantly, breath stuttering as you snapped upright, hands suddenly clammy and slick with heat. your thighs instinctively pressed together before you could stop yourself. there was panic, yes, caught red-handed with something you were never meant to see— but tangled beneath it, humming in your veins like a low, slow current, was something far darker. not dread or guilt. something warmer. hungrier. the realization bloomed slowly and thickly at the back of your throat, and you swallowed it down like a secret; what you felt wasn’t entirely fear. it was want.

the door clicks open behind you, followed by the soft creak of the hinge, the muted scuff of sneakers hitting hardwood, and some more indistinct shuffling near the entryway as he drops his things. hyunjin steps inside, expression dulled with exhaustion, shoulders loose, hoodie slipping off one side of his frame. he moves like he always does after a long day— quiet, fluid, like he’s still half inside his head.

until he sees what’s in your lap.

his sketchbook.

his secret.

you.

he halts mid-step.

for a second, he doesn’t say anything. no words, no movement, not even a blink. his eyes trace the shape of the moleskin cover, the way your fingers are curled around the edge of a page, your gaze is wide and locked onto his, like you’ve been caught doing something unspeakable. maybe, because you have.

but the reaction you expect never comes. there’s no stammering apology, flustered excuses, desperate attempt at backpedaling or some pathetic plea to forget what you saw.

instead, he smiles.

and it’s not the kind of nervous, sheepish grin you might’ve imagined if this moment had played out in your head. no. it’s something far more sinister. cooler. slow-spreading and deeply smug, as if this was inevitable and he’s known all along.

“you weren’t supposed to see that,” he says, voice low and smooth, like he’s just commenting on the weather.

he walks toward you with the kind of unhurried confidence that makes your throat go instantly dry, his footsteps soft against the floorboards, eyes never leaving yours. he stops just in front you where you’re still frozen, sketchbook heavy in your hands, heart beating loud enough to feel it in your teeth.

“but…”

his head tilts slightly as he crouches in front of you, long fingers curling over the edge of the cushion near your knee. the shift in posture shouldn’t feel as intimate as it does, but it roots you in place. he’s close— close enough that you can see the faint flecks of lead still dusted on his fingertips, the faint ink smudge on the side of his hand, the crescent of dried eraser shavings caught beneath his nail.

“…since you have…”

his voice dips even lower now, almost playful. like he’s testing you and he knows you’re too curious to say no.

“do you wanna see the rest?”

you shouldn’t.

you really, really shouldn’t.

but you nod.

and something in him clicks.

he reaches for the book, knuckles brushing your thigh as he takes it gently from your lap. doesn’t ask again or give you time to second-guess. just shifts his weight to sit beside you, so close your knees bump, and flips to the next page with the ease of someone completely unashamed.

the next drawing makes your breath catch.

you— on your stomach, wrists bound above your head with a ribbon that trails off the page. your thighs are spread wide open, panties pushed to the side, one heel still hooked halfway off your foot. you can see your expression sketched in detail, mouth parted, brows drawn tight, eyes looking up with something caught between desperation and bliss.

he turns another page.

this one’s rougher. messier lines, heavier shading. you’re riding something, someone, but only the vague silhouette of a figure is visible beneath you. the focus is all on your body. the way your tits bounce. the tremble in your thighs. the glint of a tongue drawn wet and flicking out from behind your lips. your head is thrown back, hair wild, and between your legs— slick. so much slick. rendered in obsessive strokes that make you shiver.

you blink. “hyunjin, what the fuck—”

“what?” he says lightly, not even looking at you. “it’s art.”

he’s already on the next page.

you reach for it instinctively, trying to stop him, but he only laughs, quiet and amused, and tilts the book slightly so you can see better.

“thought you wanted to see the rest.”

your stomach twists. “how many are there?”

“depends,” he shrugs. “just the ones of you?”

you freeze.

he turns another page. this one’s so filthy your face burns.

you’re gagging on something thick, your hands gripping at the base, tears drawn in delicate lines down your cheeks. your mascara is smudged. your spit is dripping off your chin. there are notes in the margin, little technical observations. ‘make angle of throat curve more exaggerated,’ ‘adjust hand position,’ ‘redraw drool line thicker.’

you glance at him, stunned, but he’s completely calm. flipping through pages like this is the normal shit ever and he’s showing off a vacation album, not a growing collection of depraved, hyper-detailed hentai of you.

“why..” your voice cracks, and you clear your throat. “why me?”

he finally looks at you then.

really looks.

there’s no hesitation in his face. no shame. just a flicker of something deep and unwavering.

“you said yes,” he says simply. “you stood in front of me in that stupid lace and let me stare. what did you think i was gonna do? draw a fucking fruit bowl?”

“i thought it was for your portfolio—”

“it is,” he says, smiling again. “you’re the whole thing.”

you swallow hard. “you should’ve told me.”

he laughs, dry and low.

“would you have still posed?”

you don’t answer. because you don’t know.

he proceeds to turn another page.

this time, you’re bent over the kitchen counter in this one. there’s cum dripping down your thighs.

“you didn’t tell me to stop,” he says softly.

your pulse jumps. “i didn’t know what you were doing.”

“you never asked.”

the silence stretches.

he flips another page. then another. each sketch more obscene than the last. erotic positions you’ve never even imagined. angles that make your skin burn. and he narrates them all with a kind of detached pride, fingers gliding over each line like he’s showing off fine china.

“this one took me all night,” he murmurs, turning the book slightly so you can see the details. “couldn’t get the way your mouth stretches quite right. ended up using a mirror.”

“jesus,” you whisper, barely able to look away. “hyunjin, you’re insane.”

he grins, leaning closer. “and you let me draw you.”

his voice is low. warm. full of something dangerous.

“so what does that make you?”

you don’t answer.

you literally can’t.

because you’re still staring at the next page, and your thighs are pressing together before you even realize it.

+

it’s hard to say who came onto who first.

whether it was you, him, or the invisible thread between you finally pulled taut and snapped— you aren’t sure. but the sketchbook lands somewhere on the floor long forgotten, and then hyunjin’s hands are suddenly on your thighs, warm and steady. the next thing you know, you’re pressed into the mattress of his bed, his body hovering close, like he’s exactly where he’s meant to be.

you’re still breathing hard, dizzy from everything you saw. your body’s betraying you, flushed and prickled with heat, and he sees it. god, he sees everything.

his voice is low, right beside your ear. “you’re still looking at me like i’ve done something wrong.” his thumbs press lightly into the soft flesh just above your knees, parting them further until your legs fall open around him. “but you haven’t said stop.”

you should. you could. your lips fall open like you want to say something, but the words never physically come out.

he chuckles.

“that’s what i thought.”

his fingers trail up your bare thigh with an artist’s touch, slow and reverent, tracing invisible lines like he’s mentally drafting his next sketch. his eyes never stray, just stays locked on your face. not your lips, not your chest, but your eyes— studying every twitch and flicker as if he’s trying to memorize how your shame turns into arousal.

and fuck, it’s working…

“do you know,” he says, almost idly, as though it’s just casual conversation. “how many nights i’ve spent drawing you from memory?”

his hand slides higher, dips beneath the hem of your shorts, brushes against the dampened fabric of your panties. his smile sharpens.

“you always wear the cutest little things. i couldn’t help it.”

you choke on your breath when he presses the heel of his palm against your cunt. not enough to relieve anything, but enough to remind you who’s touching you. who’s seen you like this, over and over again, in his head and on paper and in every single fucked-up sketch you were too horrified, and too curious, to stop looking at.

he leans in, mouth grazing the shell of your ear.

“you don’t know what it’s like,” he murmurs, “to spend hours perfecting the way your lips wrap around something thick. or the way your thighs shake when you’re close. i studied that. every twitch. every fold. every drip.”

his tone darkens, the words clinging to you like sweat.

“and it still wasn’t enough.”

he pulls back to look at you, fingers still nestled between your legs, his hand heavy and possessive like he owns what he drew— and maybe he does. he always has.

“you wanna know the real reason i never bring anyone home?”

you blink, mind hazy. “what?”

he slides your panties to the side with maddening precision, but his fingers stay light, barely ghosting over your folds.

“because i didn’t need anyone else.”

you whimper when the pad of his middle finger circles your clit, featherlight and cruel.

“i had you.”

a slow exhale leaves your chest, shaky and broken, and he watches you unravel, patient and quiet, savoring it the way someone might linger on the best part of a page.

then he kisses you without warning.

his mouth is soft at first, almost deceptively gentle. but the moment you lean into it and give in, he deepens it, tongue sliding over yours with the same practiced hunger he puts into his art. he kisses the way he draws: greedy, precise, a little filthy.

your hands fist into his hoodie, and he grins against your lips.

“fuck,” he breathes. “you taste better than i imagined.”

he pushes his fingers deeper between your folds, finally giving you the pressure you need. your hips jolt, a whine slipping from your throat, and that’s when you feel it.

his other hand has moved to your wrist.

he’s guiding it down.

and, fuck, he’s so hard.

you palm him through his sweats, wide-eyed and breathless, and he shudders, grinding into your touch shamelessly.

“you did this,” he says through a clenched jaw. “you and your fucking poses and that look on your face like you didn’t know what you were doing to me.” his hand moves with more purpose now, two fingers pressing inside you slow and deep while his thumb rubs tight, messy circles against your clit. he groans when you clench around him.

“this tight already?” he whispers, nose brushing yours. “and i haven’t even started drawing tonight.”

you try to reply— something, anything— but all that comes out is a pathetic, broken litttle moan.

he smirks, biting your bottom lip.

“so desperate. is this why you went snooping? hoping to find something to get off to?”

you shake your head. “i didn’t- i didn’t mean to—”

he laughs. “no?”

he curls his fingers just right and your whole body jerks, hips stuttering. he hits that gummy spot inside you that already has you seeing stars, mouth falling open around a breathless moan.

“then why’re you dripping all over my hand, sweetheart?”

your face contorts with pleasure, heat rushing to your cheeks as his fingers slowly withdraw, slick and shining. he raises them between you, holding the evidence up for you to see.

“look at that,” he murmurs, softly.

your arousal glistens in the low light, coating his fingers, dripping down his wrist. he slides them into his mouth and moans, eyes fluttering shut for just a second before they snap open again, dark and hungry.

“better than i imagined,” he breathes, already sounding wrecked.

“but we’ll keep going, yeah?”

his hand finds yours again, guiding it back to the bulge straining in his pants— heat pulsing through the fabric, through your palm, through the space between your bodies that’s disappearing by the second.

“you’ve only seen the sketches.”

+

you were half-expecting him to crumble when you climb into his lap.

at least, you wanted him to.

he’d spent the past thirty minutes sounding like the world’s most depraved art school simp, flipping through sketch after sketch like some perverted little museum curator. and now? after everything he’s admitted. you’re wet, twitchy, and riding the high of control. he’s throbbing under you, eyes wide, flushed to the tips of his ears. you think maybe he’ll let you ruin him. maybe he wants that.

but then his fingers dig into your hips. hard.

and the shift is immediate.

his back straightens. his mouth parts, but no breathy little beg ever comes out.

just a low, measured murmur in your ear:

“take your panties off.”

your brain short circuits.

“what—?”

he grips your jaw and tilts your face toward him, gently, never rough, but his touch is firm. decisive.

“you wanna climb into my lap, ride my cock like some spoiled little muse?” he says, tone deceptively calm. “fine. but you’re gonna do it the way i imagined it.”

your breath catches. your heart pounds. your cunt pulses.

fuck.

you strip without thinking. panties discarded somewhere on the floor, shorts shoved down past your knees. he watches, shamelessly, licking his lips once as his eyes drag down your body.

“there,” he says, like you’re finally arranged the way he likes.

he strokes a palm up your inner thigh, fingers ghosting over your folds, smearing slick deliberately. your hips twitch forward, chasing his touch.

he tuts. “so needy. bet you soaked the pages of my sketchbook, didn’t you?”

“hyunjin—”

“don’t act shy now,” he murmurs, voice darker. “you flipped through every page. stared at every filthy little pose i drew you in. legs spread, gagging, dripping.”

his fingers part your folds. dragging through them.

“this wet for me already, and i haven’t even put it in?”

you gasp when he presses the blunt head of his cock against your entrance, not pushing, just teasing, smearing precum over your folds like he’s painting.

“beg,” he says softly.

“hyun—”

“you were bold enough to go through my stuff,” he cuts you off, thumb pressing against your clit in painfully slow circles. “now beg.”

and god, you do.

you don’t even try to hold onto what little pride you had left. not when he’s touching you like that, looking at you like he already owns you, like he’s just recreating a scene he’s drawn a thousand times.

“please,” you whisper. “i want it.”

“say it properly.”

“please, let me ride your cock.”

he grins, smug and breathless, and finally, finally, lets you sink down on him.

and it’s perfect.

so thick you swear it stretches something deeper. you brace against his chest, gasping as he fills you up, each inch a slow, merciless press that has you trembling, mouth agape, nails biting into his skin.

“shiiit,” you whimper. “feels so—”

“tight,” he grits out. “fuck, baby, you’re so fucking tight.”

he lets you sit there for a second, fully seated on him, cunt fluttering as your body adjusts, becoming more attuned to his length. you were expecting him to move, to take over.

but he doesn’t.

“go on then,” he instructs. “ride me. show me what you learned from those drawings.”

you start moving, tentatively at first, slow little rolls of your hips— and his hands were simply there to guide you. firm and assured, shaping the rhythm as if he’s sculpting the moment himself, dragging pleasure from you at the exact pace he wants.

“there,” he hisses. “that’s it, just like that, bounce for me- yeah, baby, just like that.”

you ride him harder, chasing the friction, hips grinding down with more purpose as your moans rise in volume, ragged and desperate. and then his hand wraps around the base of your throat. not enough to block any major airways, just holding you there as an anchor.

“don’t cum yet,” he whispers.

you nearly sob.

“hyunjin- fuck, ’m so close—”

his hips buck up into you and your whole body jerks, another sharp gasp leaving your throat as your cunt clamps down hard, tight, pulsing around him, overwhelmed by the sudden depth and force.

“not yet.”

you clench your fists against his chest, thighs quivering, the ache mounting unbearably.

“please, please, i need—”

he shifts, arm wrapping around your waist, and slams you down onto him as he thrusts up again, harder this time, hitting your walls so deep you couldn’t help but scream.

“you think you get to snoop through my private sketchbook, make me beg, and then cum on my cock whenever you want?”

he flips you before you even get the chance to answer. he moves fast, smooth, overwhelming. now you’re flat on your back, and he’s towering above you, hand gripping your thigh, shoving it up against your chest as he sinks right back into you.

“you’re mine now,” he groans. “gonna fuck you until you forget your own name. gonna redraw you like this- cumming around me, crying for me.”

he thrusts deep and sharp and mean.

“gonna sketch you full of my cum.”

“hyun, fuck, please—”

he leans down, kissing your jaw, your cheek, your lips, almost sweet even as he rails you into the mattress.

“i got you,” he pants. “fuck, baby, i got you. you can cum now.”

and when you do, practically shaking and crying, cunt gripping him so tightly he’s nearly on the verge of blacking out. he follows immediately, moaning against your neck as he spills his thick, hot seed inside you.

he stays there for a moment, still buried deep, panting hard, chest pressed to yours and rising with each unsteady inhale. then he pulls out slowly, eyes fixed on the way his cum spills from you and drips down your thighs, letting out a satisfied hum.

“don’t move,” he says, already reaching for his sketchbook that was left abandoned on the floor.

“hyunjin—”

“shhh,” he coos, “you’re perfect. let me draw you like this.”

he pauses, glancing down at the creamy mess between your legs.

“maybe from memory again.”

You were bored.

But luckily, you’ve found a really nice distraction. You were sitting in your bedroom in your apartment, phone in your hand.

Your boyfriend just texted you a message that he was in an Instagram live with one of the other members. Jeongin looked so pretty, even if it only was on the screen. Changbin was beside him and they talked about something unnecessary - just yapping away. You couldn’t concentrate either way, Jeongins appearance had something that was captivating you, even though it was just a casual comfy outfit and ruffled hair.

You actually internally debated if you really wanted to send these pictures you took. It was temping but you didn’t know if you wanted to face the consequences. Well, if you were really honest, that was the most intriguing part of it. You grinned and of course you went back into the messenger, your thumb already pressing on the send button.

You immediately switched to instagram again, watching and waiting what would happen now. He didn’t really seem to be too aware of his phone, you pouted and added a “Bought these shoes online.. What do you think?” to the pics.

You asked a friend to take a few Polaroids of yourself on the bed, showcasing your newest pair of heels and mostly not wearing anything else. They were hot, you had fun taking them and you just knew Jeongin would appreciate it.

After you’ve sent the additional message, he really glanced down on his phone, not taking it into his hand immediately. He probably wanted to make it look casual, like he wasn’t that excited that you texted him.

It sometimes gnawed at you that he refused to make your relationship public. He not even wanted to talk to the other members about it. He thought he would get in trouble because you were a few years older than him.

Even though this thought was prominent in your head right now, you couldn’t really be mad. Not when you were witnessing his reaction to your little photoshoot right now.

His lips were parted as he stared onto his phone and you very clearly could see the faint pink color on his cheeks. He squirmed in his seat as if it got very uncomfortable all of the sudden. You bit your lower lip.

“What’s wrong?”, Changbin asked, obviously noticing Jeongins change in behavior and trying to look on the screen of his phone.

“Nothing!”, your boyfriend exclaimed.

You tilted your head when you noticed Changbins look on his face. He had definitely seen something, you wondered which one of them it was. Thinking about it, you felt a tingle running down your spine. You pressed your thighs together in anticipation, this whole situation was just so fun.

Jeongin coughed, muttering something under his breath and rolling his eyes when he saw his band members grin. The dark haired furrowed his eyebrows while Changbins grin got even wider and whispered something out of the microphones range.

Oh, Jeongin was pissed.

And it turned you on.

He waved into the camera and gave an explanation that he sadly had to take care of something and that he was sorry that he had to leave early. There was a hint of something in his dark eyes that was especially meant for you. You knew it.

As soon as he left, you also left the live video, well aware he would come over now. Your apartment was actually pretty close to the ones of the boys so it wouldn’t take him that long and you already made all the precautions needed.

You’ve already changed your outfit, now in a red lace lingerie set with your bathrobe on top of it so the surprise isn’t ruined from the start. Now you were just waiting impatiently until you heard the familiar sound of Jeongins spare keys clicking in your lock.

You were sitting down on your bed, leaning back and holding yourself up with your hands.

“What the hell were you thinking?”, he asked first thing, kicking off his shoes and shrugging off his jacket.

“What do you mean?”, you said sickening innocent, looking at him with big eyes.

“These photos”.

“Did you like them?”, you asked with a grin.

He scoffed, pushing his hair out of his face.

“That’s not the problem-“, he started.

“So you did like them?”.

Jeongin groaned in frustration, looking at you with an intense stare.

“I did”, he confessed, “And Changbin probably too. Why did you send these while I’m with him?”.

You stood up, approaching him and clinging to his shirt. You looked up at him, still smiling.

“I just wanted to see your reaction, Innie. My sweet baby always looks so cute when he’s flustered”.

“He saw them”.

Your hands reached for his neck, slightly grazing his scalp with your nails. You knew he liked that.

“They were not that scandalous”, you answered.

“You were basically naked, Noona”, he growled, “You think I want him to see my girlfriend like this?”.

He didn’t budge when you wanted to pull his face down to you, you pouted. You thought him using that nickname was the sign he wasn’t that mad about this.

“I just wanted to show off my heels”, you stretched yourself to reach him and place a kiss on his jaw.

“More like show off your pussy”, he finally put his hands on your hips, so it was a success, “Did you want him to get a glimpse?”.

You let your hands travel down, palming his muscles through the fabric of his shirt and fidgeting with the hem to slip your fingers underneath it.

“Jealous?”.

His grip got tighter, he grinned.

“Why are you acting up like this?”, his voice was rough.

You chuckled quietly, stepping back a bit and opening your robe. Jeongins eyes followed your movements when you let it fall and pool around your ankles. You could clearly see how he was gritting his teeth.

“I bought this, too, what do you think?”.

You made a show out of it, turning around and slightly bending forward to accentuate your ass a bit more. His shoulders slumped visibly before he closed the distance again, gripping your wrists harshly to move your arms behind your back.

“You think you’re smart, huh?”, he asked, lips almost touching your ear.

You took the opportunity of being so close to him to move your hips back with a mischievous grin on your lips, rubbing against his clothed dick. Jeongin snarled, pushing you forward with a hand between your shoulder blades until you were bent to his liking.

“You’re in a mood today, Noona. Can you handle the consequences?”.

You felt his cock twitching against you like this and you couldn’t fight the urge to rock back again. His snarl turned into a growl and he clicked with his tongue because of your behavior. In your relationship it was kind of common for you to tempt him in every way possible, sometimes he decided to be a bit rougher with you. You couldn’t deny that you loved this side of him.

His hand slid down to your lace bra, expertly opening the clasp and letting go off you to pull it away completely. But before you could even do anything, now when he wasn’t holding your wrists together, they were bound again - tied together with his belt.

He shoved you forward to walk with a kind of urgency, sitting down on the bed with you right in front of him. In a position like this, you could see both of you in the mirror’s reflection, right across the room.

“Eyes on me, Noona”, he ordered with a grin, hand sneaking up to your throat to angle your head right to look at him through it.

The other hand cupped your left tit, palming it gently at first before grabbing it a bit more harshly. His thumb swiped over your nipple, making you gasp and arch your back in the process. Jeongin really knew how to push your buttons - how to play you like an instrument and pull every reaction out of you as he wanted.

Both of your nipples were already hard but he didn’t actually seem to care about that. He licked his thumb to moisturize it, rubbing his finger over the sensitive bud again.

“Jeong-“, you whined but his hand was quick to shut your mouth.

“Quiet now”, he grunted, “I don’t want to hear a word”.

He let go of your boobs, over your stomach, hovering over your core. He was teasing you obviously, long fingers tracing the hem of the lace panty you were wearing but definitely not touching you where you needed him the most. You were breathing heavily through your nose, your hips moving to meet his touch.

“Still a brat?”, he asked with a scoff, “Behave, Noona. Maybe I’m not that patient tonight”.

His hand sneaked under the waistband but instead of giving your clit some much needed attention, he decided to plunge two fingers in without warning.

You couldn’t fight against the moan building up in your throat, it only was muffled by your boyfriend’s palm.

Jeongin chuckled hoarsely, scissoring his fingers and angling them up to stroke your g-spot as if the sensation of his fingers inside of you alone hadn’t been enough.

You squirmed in his arms, holding still seemed impossible and not being able to touch him properly just frustrated you. You could only move a little, but enough to turn your hands a bit and palm Jeongins erection through his pants. He let out a grunt and his fingers slipped out of your dripping pussy.

For a short moment you feared you had fucked up but his wet fingertips now circled your aching clit instead. The other hand left your mouth and wrapped around your throat, just in time for him to hear your pathetic sob.

“Hggnnn- Jeongin”.

“I think you need to be reminded who this pussy belongs to, right?”, he grinded his hips into your hand once, twice, for good measure before leaving the spot behind you.

He knelt before you, which was always nice to look at, but the look on his face told you he had something mischievous in mind. You rubbed your thighs together again in desperate need of some kind of friction but the dark haired denied that by prying your legs apart. Oh, that grin on his lips was devastating.

Jeongin kissed your inner thighs, taking his time with it. Littering your skin with open mouthed kisses, he scooted closer with every passing second until his mouth was in a dangerous proximity. But of course, he decided to go up some more, kissing your stomach instead.

“I’d love to hear that pretty mouth beg”, he whispered, straightening his posture and blowing air over your right nipple, “Show me you can actually be a good girl”.

You pouted, he grinned. He knew how to make you fold to his will. Just so slightly, he darted his tongue out - the tip touched you before he licked over it with the full length. You jolted but still arched your back to get closer into his direction.

“I know you want my tongue somewhere else, Noona. Just say so”.

Somehow, you didn’t want to give up that easily so you bit the inner side of your cheek to ground yourself. But it was so damn hard to resist, especially with him sucking your nipple into his mouth, warm fingers enveloping your breast.

“Changbin wouldn’t make me beg”, you teased.

Jeongins eyes were on you, pupils dilated.

His hands were quick to push you down onto your back, which was rather uncomfortable with your tied arms behind you. You felt your heart rate peak with him handling you a bit rougher.

He pulled your panties down and stuffed them into your surprised open mouth.

“Since you can’t be nice today, I think I really prefer for you to stop speaking”.

God, that on its own almost made you cum on the spot although he hadn’t touched you properly yet. He grabbed your thighs and shoved you into a mating press before diving in and pushing his tongue into your entrance.

The sensation was weird and so good at the same time, he was basically fucking you with it. Gathering as much of your juices as possible to drag his tongue over your clit. You moaned, muffled by the lace in your mouth. Your toes curled out of pleasure, chest heaving steadily but fast.

Jeongin hummed, almost moaning into your pussy as well.

You couldn’t really move in a position like this, he pushed you down with so much force that you were pinned to the spot. Your arms hurt, the blood circulation in your wrists cut like this but you couldn’t care any less.

“You taste so sweet, fuck-“, he sighed, “You’re so lucky this cunt is nicer to me than you are”.

He sucked on your clit, lapping at it with precision, determined to get what he wanted. The feeling in your body was unbearable, the assault on your clit making you sob. Tears formed in the corner of your eyes, the stimulation too much.

There were electric shocks running through you, your nervous system working overtime to accommodate to the amount of pleasure. You squeezed your eyes shut to hinder them from rolling back too much.

Every time you felt the crushing wave of your orgasm slowly getting closer, Jeongin would stop or go lower with his mouth. He didn’t let you cum like this, he tortured you in the most delicious way possible.

He continued after a few seconds, tongue circling the most sensitive part of you with enough pressure. The sounds of him making out with your pussy, combined with his grunts and your whines were a sinful symphony and damn, you were so close again.

But he knew, he felt your body clench, and he pulled away again. His lips and chin were glistening in the dim light of your bedroom. The dark haired removed your panties from your mouth, letting you breathe properly.

“Do you have something to say, Noona?”, he cooed.

“Please”, you whimpered.

Jeongin looked pleased with that answer.

“Please make me cum”.

He stood up and for a second you thought that he would deny you your release again but he opened his pants with a grin. You watched him removing all of his clothes a bit too slow for your liking.

“When you ask so nicely”, he chuckled, taking his erect cock in his hand.

His eyes roamed over your body as he was jerking himself off for a moment before joining you on the bed. He shoved and pushed you into a suitable position, manhandling you to kneel in front of him.

“I still need to punish you after all for being a brat, right?”, he massaged your hips a bit, “I’ve been too nice”.

Since you couldn’t hold yourself up with your arms, your right cheek was placed on the mattress so you could still see him. The tip of his cock slipped up and down in between your folds, he coated it with your arousal to slide in a bit easier.

“Don’t worry, Noona. I’ll make you cum”, he grunted, forcing his dick in slowly, “When I feel like it”.

“Haaahh- Jeongin”, you moaned when he bottomed out.

“Thaaats it~”, he drawled, letting his head fall into his neck, rutting his hips forward as if he could go any deeper like this, “Let them know who owns this pussy”.

He gripped your waist tightly, almost bruising you and pulled out a few inches before thrusting forward again. With every snap of his hips, he would pull you back to him in sync, forcefully fucking you into the mattress like this.

But you loved his sounds almost a bit more than the stimulation of your sweet spot. Those grunts and gasps were a devilish harmony and the sight of him with half lidded eyes and an open mouth was just out of a wet dream. The maknae of the group turned out to be the freakiest every time - not that you could tell what the others would be like, but his behavior inside and outside the bedroom was such a heavy contrast.

The pace he picked was merciless, hands moving to grab your ass instead. His eyes were glued to the spot where his cock throbbed inside of you, mesmerized by the rhythm he chose to continue his torture.

“Ughh- fuck”, he hissed, “Already gripping me like that? Already close?”.

Jeongin moved slower again and you sobbed. The desire in your chest almost hurt, it ached and you needed to get rid of it. Fast.

“Jeongin, no! Please! Faster”, you whined.

He just hummed, probably satisfied that you finally gave in a bit more.

“What did you say?”, he leaned forward, his dick reached impossibly deep like this.

You whimpered and hiccuped, probably also drooled on the cushions beneath you.

“Please fuck me faster”.

“You’re going to send me nudes while I’m live again?”, he asked.

“Nooo-“.

Probably. When he manhandled you like this again, you probably would.

“Such a slut and a good girl at the same time”, he mused, patting your ass before slapping it harshly.

Still leaning forward, he gripped the back of your head for leverage and pressed down - shoving your face into the mattress. The other hand dug into the flesh of your hips to hold you steady.

Jeongins thrusts were punishing, going all in and fucking you so deep you could feel him in your stomach. You trembled, head empty.

He was literally fucking you dumb.

Your head felt like it was wrapped in cotton candy - your surroundings blurring, your whole body was so fuzzy.

The plap-plap-plap sound of your ass meeting his pelvis was dizzying you. You wanted to move but you couldn’t, knees weak and you were certain you would’ve buckled under the weight of your pleasure if he wasn’t holding you up.

“Cum on my cock, Noona”, the groan in his voice did the trick for you.

Endorphins and adrenaline were immediately released as you came, walls clenching and spasming around him so pathetically. You thought you were going blind, your climax crashing down so hard you saw white for a second.

“That’s a good girl”, Jeongin cooed, following you and cumming deep inside of you.

He moaned out loud, dick twitching in between your massage. But he didn’t stop, he rode out his high by fucking his cum in deeper, hips thrusting forward in an erratic but forceful rhythm.

The dark haired gripped you, helping you kneel in an upright position. A hand on your jaw angled your face so he could kiss you. It was gentle, such a contrast to how he had handled you before. He moved his lips against yours, breathing against you heavily. You could still taste yourself on his tongue, only a reminder of how he had reacted to your simple tease with your pics.

“Not that I didn’t like those Polaroids”, he whispered, seemingly reading your mind, “But I would prefer the others don’t see them”.

@isa-mi-aldini