prod. by 3racha

You’d been with Felix long enough to know all his little quirks, his nervous laugh when he tried to hide something, the way his freckles dusted darker in the summer, the habit he had of stealing your hoodies no matter how many times you swore you’d cut him off.

Living together only made it worse. Or better. Depending on the day.

Your apartment was warm with the late-summer heat, the lazy kind of afternoon where you were supposed to be running errands but got caught up scrolling on your phone instead. Felix had been quiet most of the day, claiming he was “working on music,” which wasn’t unusual. He’d holed himself up in the bedroom, door shut, lo-fi humming faintly through the walls.

You’d left him be for hours, figuring he was caught in one of his creative streaks.

But then-

A noise.

Soft, muffled, like a breath caught too roughly in the throat.

It made you pause. At first, you thought he’d just dropped something, or maybe stubbed his toe, but then you heard it again. Low, shaky, like someone trying hard not to make a sound.

Curiosity prickled through you, the kind you couldn’t ignore. You padded down the hall, steps light, heart beating a little too fast for no real reason.

The bedroom door wasn’t locked. It never was. And when you pushed it open just an inch-

What you saw made your stomach flip, heat licking low between your legs before you could even breathe.

Felix was on the bed, sprawled out with one hand wrapped around his cock, pumping slow and deliberate. His head was tilted back, lips parted, chest rising with each shaky inhale. And in his other hand-

Your pink lace panties.

The ones you’d worn yesterday.

Bunched up against his face as if he were inhaling you like oxygen, desperate and unashamed.

You froze in the doorway, pulse hammering, torn between the urge to gasp and the urge to bite your lip and watch.

You didn’t mean to stare. Really, you didn’t.

But the sight of him there - spread out on your sheets, his fist gliding over his length while your lace pressed against his face - rooted you in place. The quietest whimper slipped from his throat, low and desperate, and you felt your knees weaken.

You’d seen him needy before, plenty of times, but never like this. Never caught in the act, trembling with the risk of being found, using something that had clung to your skin just hours ago.

Your panties.

The corner of your mouth curved, heat blooming in your chest. Instead of barging in or clearing your throat, you leaned against the doorframe, folding your arms like you had every right to enjoy the show.

“Felix,” you drawled, letting his name drip with amusement.

His entire body jolted. The panties tumbled from his fingers, landing somewhere on the sheets, and his wide eyes darted to you.

“B-baby-” His voice cracked, freckles blooming red across his cheeks as he scrambled upright, cock still hard in his hand before he tried to cover himself. “I-I wasn’t-fuck, I didn’t know you-”

You arched a brow. “Didn’t know I’d catch you? Or didn’t know how much you wanted me?”

His throat bobbed. He shut his eyes for a second like he could will himself into the mattress.

You stepped into the room, the floor cool under your bare feet, each step deliberate. “Seoul’s noisy enough. Good thing these walls are thick, huh?” Your gaze flicked down his body, landing on the twitch of his cock. “Otherwise, the neighbors might’ve heard how pretty you sound.”

He groaned softly, fingers tightening around the sheets. “Baby, I-I wasn’t trying to-”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” you cut in, your tone sharp enough to make his lashes lift. The flush on his neck deepened. “You were thinking about me, weren’t you? Couldn’t help yourself.”

His lips parted, a helpless nod.

You reached the edge of the bed, your hand brushing the lace where it had fallen. Holding it up between two fingers, you let the delicate fabric dangle in the air. “These? You like the way I smell on them?”

His groan turned into a whimper, his hips jerking minutely against nothing.

“I… fuck, yes,” he admitted, voice barely audible. “I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

You tilted your head, a smirk tugging at your lips as you climbed onto the bed, straddling his thighs without giving him a chance to retreat. Your panties were still in your hand, the lace brushing across his stomach as you leaned in close.

“Then show me,” you whispered against his ear. “Show me how bad you need it while I watch.”

Felix’s chest rose and fell beneath you, fast and shallow. His hands twitched like he wasn’t sure if he should reach for you or hide himself again. You caught one wrist, pressing it back down against the sheets.

“Don’t,” you murmured, your lips ghosting over his. “Don’t you dare stop now. I want to see you finish what you started.”

He let out a ragged breath, his pupils blown wide, freckles dark against the crimson heat in his cheeks.

Slowly- hesitantly - his hand wrapped back around his cock, precum smearing across his fingers. His eyes stayed locked on yours like he was waiting for you to scold him, waiting for you to tell him this was too much.

Instead, you dragged the lace panties across his jaw, down his neck, circling lazily around his chest. “That’s it,” you praised softly. “Pump your cock for me. Pretend I’m not even here. Just you and the smell of me on these.”

He choked on a groan, hips jerking upward into his own fist.

“God, baby,” you teased, your voice dropping low, husky, “you’re so hard. All from thinking about how wet I get in these little pink things?”

His hand sped up, his thighs tense beneath you. “Y-yeah,” he admitted, shame and arousal tangled in his tone. “Always - fuck- always think about you, how you’d taste, how you’d ride me in them.”

You leaned down, brushing your lips over the shell of his ear. “Say it louder.”

He whimpered, knuckles white where he gripped himself. “Always think about your pussy - how it smells, how it feels around me. Can’t get enough-”

“That’s my boy.” Your free hand slipped to his wrist, guiding his pace, forcing him to slow down when you knew he was close. His cry of frustration made you grin. “Not yet, Lix. You’ll come when I say so. Understand?”

His head fell back against the pillows, a desperate nod. “Yes, fuck, yes.”

You dragged the panties down his chest again, teasing them over the head of his cock. He nearly sobbed at the sensation, his body trembling under you.

“Good boy,” you purred. “Now stroke yourself nice and slow. Let me hear those pretty sounds.”

He obeyed, his moans spilling out shamelessly now, each stroke wringing more out of him. His eyes fluttered shut, mouth open, completely undone beneath you - just the way you liked him.

“Fuck- please,” Felix whimpered, his voice cracking, his cock straining in his fist as you held his wrist steady. His knuckles were wet with precum, each stroke slick and messy now, and you swore you could feel the heat radiating off his skin where you straddled his thighs.

“Please what?” you taunted, tilting your head as you dragged the pink lace across his chest again. His nipples hardened instantly, his whole body jerking at the touch. “You want to come already? Hm? After I just caught you being a filthy little boy in our bed?”

His hips bucked, and his voice came out wrecked. “Yes, fuck, please, I-I was thinking about you, baby, only you-”

“Of course you were.” You pressed the panties harder against his chest, then slid them up over his lips. His eyes widened, but you leaned close, whispering, “Open.”

He obeyed without hesitation, his mouth parting, and you pushed the lace between his lips. He groaned low in his throat, sucking instinctively, the taste of your arousal still faint on the fabric.

“That’s it,” you praised, your own breath catching at the sight. “Suck on them while you stroke your cock. Show me how desperate you are.”

His hand moved faster, his entire body trembling under you. He was trying so hard to stay quiet, but you weren’t about to let him. You grabbed his chin with your free hand, forcing his face up so you could see every twitch, every struggle, the lace still stuffed in his mouth.

“Louder, Lix,” you ordered, your tone sharp enough to cut through his haze. “I want the neighbors to know how good I make you feel. Moan for me.”

His eyes rolled back as he let go, a guttural sound ripping from his throat. His cock throbbed in his fist, precum dribbling down over his fingers, his wrist straining as you held it in rhythm.

“Good boy,” you murmured, pressing your lips to his jaw. “That’s my perfect boy. Look at you—jerking yourself off while I watch, drooling on my panties. You’re so fucking dirty.”

He whimpered around the lace, thighs trembling violently.

“Don’t stop,” you warned, tightening your grip on his wrist when his strokes faltered. “You don’t come until I say so.”

The frustration in his eyes nearly undid you. His brows pinched, his chest heaving, his cock twitching like it was seconds from spilling, but he obeyed. He always obeyed.

“Fuck, baby,” he gasped when you pulled the lace from his mouth, strings of saliva clinging to the fabric. “I-I can’t hold it-“

“You can,” you corrected, pressing the panties against the head of his cock now. He nearly sobbed at the contact, his body arching helplessly off the mattress. “You’re going to hold it because I told you to. You’re going to stroke that pretty cock just the way I want, and you’re not going to come until I tell you.”

“Yes-yes, baby, please, please-”

You bent down, your lips ghosting over his ear, your voice a low growl. “Beg for it.”

His voice cracked again, the sound pitiful and raw. “Please let me come, I need it, I need you so bad-I’ll be good, I swear, I’ll do anything-”

The panties in your hand dragged over his slit, smearing precum across the lace. His back bowed, his strokes erratic now, his thighs shaking violently under you.

“You’re such a mess,” you whispered, biting his earlobe just hard enough to make him shiver. “All over yourself, whining like a slut because you like the way I smell. Tell me-tell me whose cock this is.”

“Yours,” he sobbed instantly, no hesitation, his voice breaking with the force of it. “It’s yours, baby, only yours- fuck-I’m yours.”

“Damn right you are.” You kissed his temple, soft and sweet, before letting your tone turn razor-sharp again. “Now come for me. Right fucking now. Make a mess for me, Lix.”

The command ripped through him like lightning. His hips shot up violently, his hand jerking fast and desperate, and he cried out your name as his orgasm tore through him. Thick spurts of cum painted his stomach, his chest, even streaked up to the hand still clutching the lace panties. His whole body shook with it, his thighs clamping tight around you as he rode the high, moans spilling out unrestrained.

You didn’t stop him. You guided his wrist through every twitch, every spurt, praising him in a low, steady murmur. “That’s it, good boy… let it all out. Look how pretty you are for me.”

When he finally collapsed back onto the pillows, boneless and wrecked, his hand slipped free of his softening cock, his chest heaving as sweat dampened his hairline. His cheeks were flushed scarlet, freckles standing out like constellations across his skin.

And in his trembling fingers, he still clutched the ruined lace panties, soaked in cum and saliva.

You smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to his swollen lips. “Next time,” you whispered, smirking against his mouth, “you ask me to help instead of sneaking off with my underwear.”

His laugh came out hoarse and broken, his arms wrapping around you to pull you down against him. “Y-yeah,” he panted, utterly undone. “Next time.”

-

It starts with a kiss.

A soft one — slow and unhurried, shared in the warm hush of your bedroom. You’re still tangled in sheets, limbs wrapped around each other, the sun just barely rising.

But there’s something different about the way he’s touching you.

More deliberate.

More focused.

Like he’s memorizing you all over again.

His hand slides under your shirt, trailing slowly up your side, and when you look into his eyes — sleepy and dark and so full of want — your breath catches.

“Binnie…?”

“Just let me,” he whispers, voice still hoarse from sleep. “Let me have you.”

And how could you ever say no to him?

You lay back without a word, heart already pounding, and he follows — kissing your lips once, then your jaw, then lower. His hands are firm but gentle, easing your shirt up, pressing kisses to every inch of newly exposed skin.

“You don’t know how many nights I thought about this,” he murmurs, lips brushing down your stomach. “Being here. With you. Tasting you.”

You whimper when his hands slide under your thighs, spreading you open slowly, reverently, like it’s sacred.

He lowers himself between your legs, eyes locked with yours, mouth hovering just above your center.

“You’re already wet,” he whispers, voice all heat and affection. “God, baby…”

And then he dives in.

Tongue slow at first — a gentle lick from bottom to top, just enough to make you shudder.

You gasp, hand flying to his hair, but he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even blink. Just groans low in his throat and keeps licking, keeps kissing, keeps devouring like he’s starving.

“Fuck—Changbin—”

He hums against you, lips wrapping around your clit, sucking gently. Then firmer.

The rhythm he finds is almost cruel — steady, perfect, toe-curling. Like he knows exactly how to break you apart, and he’s going to enjoy every second of it.

You writhe, tugging on his hair, moaning his name over and over.

“Feel so good,” he breathes, pulling back just enough to kiss your thigh before going back in. “You taste so fucking sweet, baby.”

Your thighs twitch around his head, but he just grips them tighter, anchoring you in place.

“Stay still for me,” he murmurs. “I’m not stopping until you come all over my mouth.”

You’re already so close.

He flattens his tongue, licking broad and slow, then flicks the tip against your clit until you’re whimpering, your back arching, your body trembling like a live wire.

“C’mon, baby,” he coaxes between kisses. “Give it to me. I want it.”

And you do.

You come with a cry, thighs clamping around his head, hips rocking helplessly into his mouth as he works you through every wave.

But he doesn’t stop.

He licks you through your orgasm — gently now, lovingly — until you’re gasping, twitching, completely wrecked.

When he finally pulls back, his lips are slick, chin wet, eyes half-lidded like he just tasted divinity.

“You okay?” he asks softly, crawling back up your body.

You nod, dazed. “Holy shit.”

He laughs — low and proud — and kisses your lips, slow and messy, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

“Next time,” he whispers against your mouth, “I’m doing that until you cry.”