Babygirl

The first sign something is wrong is the silence.

Your cottage is never silent.

Even when the forest outside settles into its afternoon lull, even when the wind forgets to stir the chimes hanging from your eaves, there is always something—the low hum of magic in the walls, the crackle of wards humming contentedly, the soft padding of paws against wooden floors.

Wooyoung’s paws.

So when you step inside and hear nothing at all, your heart stutters.

“Wooyoung?” you call, nudging the door shut with your foot. Your basket of herbs thumps softly onto the table, bundles of thyme and moonflower rustling. “I’m home.”

No answering meow. No offended chirp.

No dramatic flop onto your feet like you’ve committed some unspeakable crime by leaving for three hours.

Your brow furrows.

Magic lingers in the air—familiar, warm, threaded with your own—but there’s an odd tension to it, like a spell stretched too thin. The wards hum, but unevenly, as if confused.

You take a step further inside.

“Wooyoung?”

Still nothing.

A prickle runs down your spine.

He never ignores you.

Wooyoung is many things—dramatic, mischievous, catastrophically curious—but he is never quiet when you come home. Even when he’s sulking, he makes sure you know it.

You move slowly through the cottage, fingers brushing instinctively against the charm at your waist. 

Not fear—just caution. The kind a witch learns early.

The kitchen is empty. The hearth is cold. No black tail flicks from beneath the table. No golden eyes glare at you from atop the cabinets.

Your bedroom door, however, is ajar.

A soft pull tugs at your magic.

You push the door open.

And freeze.

There is a man on your bed.

For half a second, your mind refuses to process it. Some absurd thought flashes through your head before the details snap into place.

He’s tangled in your blankets like he belongs there, dark hair mussed, lashes resting against flushed cheeks. One arm is slung over your pillow. The other is tucked close to his chest.

He’s wearing your sweater.

Your favorite sweater.

The one Wooyoung likes to knead with his claws when he’s sleepy.

And perched atop of the man’s head. 

Two very familiar black cat ears twitch.

Your breath leaves you in a whisper.

“…Wooyoung?”

The name does it.

His eyes flutter open.

Golden. Startled.

For one suspended moment, you simply stare at each other.

Then he yelps.

He bolts upright, promptly getting tangled in your blankets and nearly rolling off the bed. He catches himself at the last second, clutching the sweater to his chest like it might protect him.

“I—! You—! This isn’t what it looks like!” he blurts.

You don’t move. You don’t blink.

You just stare.

Finally, very carefully, you say, “Why is my cat a boy.”

He winces.

“…Okay, when you say it like that, it sounds worse.”

“Explain,” you say flatly.

His ears flatten. His tail—tail, oh gods—flicks nervously behind him.

“So,” he starts, and already you know this is going to be bad, “you know how you said don’t touch the transformation charms?”

“Yes.”

“And you know how I’m very bad at listening when you say that specific sentence?”

“Yes.”

“Well—”

He gestures at himself again, helpless and sheepish and annoyingly adorable.

You press your fingers to your temples.

“Wooyoung.”

“I didn’t mean for it to stick!” he rushes. “I swear! I just wanted to see what it felt like. You’re always turning mice into teacups and back again and I was curious and then I found the charm and it looked lonely and—”

“You activated a human transformation charm,” you say slowly.

“Yes.”

“Without supervision.”

“…Yes.”

“Inside my house.”

“…Technically it’s also mine, but yes.”

You let out a long breath.

Silence stretches.

He peeks at you through his lashes.

“…Are you mad?”

You look at him. Really look.

It’s still him. You can feel it in the magic—his presence woven into your own like it has been for years. 

The same warmth. The same spark. The same soul that chose you, curled up at your feet the night your magic first manifested and refused to leave.

“I should be furious,” you say.

He nods miserably.

“But,” you add, stepping closer, “you’re not hurt.”

“No! Not at all. Honestly, this is great. Stretching feels amazing.”

You snort despite yourself.

That makes him grin, ears perking, tail swishing in a way that makes something warm bloom in your chest.

You reach out before you can stop yourself and flick one of his ears.

He purrs. Out loud.

Your heart gives up entirely.

“Oh no,” you murmur. “You kept that.”

He beams. “Perks of being a shifter.”

You sigh, but your lips curve upward.

“Get comfortable,” you tell him. “This might take a while to undo.”

He brightens instantly. “Does that mean I can stay like this?”

“For now.”

He flops back onto the bed with a pleased hum, immediately curling into your blankets like a cat returning to a sunbeam.

“…Can I keep the sweater?”

You laugh.

“Only if you don’t shed on it.”

He looks offended. “I do not shed.”

His tail flicks.

You don’t call him out.

Instead, you sit beside him, magic already stirring as you prepare to figure out what, exactly, your familiar has done to himself—and what it might mean that the bond between you feels warmer than ever.

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By morning, you’ve learned three things.

One: human Wooyoung sleeps like a cat.

Two: he snores.

Three: he is physically incapable of respecting personal space.

You wake to warmth pressed flush against your back, an arm slung over your waist, fingers curled lazily into the fabric of your nightdress. His face is buried between your shoulder blades, breath slow and even, the softest little purr vibrating against your spine.

For a long moment, you don’t move.

Your cottage glows faintly with early light, magic drifting through the air like dust motes. 

The wards hum softly, content. Everything feels… peaceful.

Dangerously so.

You glance down.

Black tail. Wrapped loosely around your thigh.

You inhale. Exhale.

“Wooyoung,” you whisper.

He hums, nuzzling closer.

“Wooyoung.”

“Five more minutes,” he mumbles, voice rough with sleep. “Sun’s warm.”

“That’s the window.”

“Mmh. Knew that.”

His hand tightens slightly at your waist.

Your face burns.

You gently pry his fingers away and sit up. Instantly, he whines.

“Nooo,” he protests, blinking up at you with bleary golden eyes. His ears droop. “You left.”

“I am right here,” you say, swinging your legs off the bed.

He watches you like you’ve personally betrayed him.

“You don’t usually leave,” he says quietly.

Something in your chest softens.

“I usually don’t have a human familiar attached to me,” you reply gently.

He perks up at that. “Human familiar,” he repeats, pleased. “I like that.”

You shoot him a look. “Its are not permanent.”

He just smiles, entirely unconcerned.

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Breakfast is… an experience.

Wooyoung insists on helping, which you immediately regret when he nearly sets the curtains on fire trying to light the stove with magic that is very much not his anymore.

“I used to just think about warmth,” he complains, hopping back as sparks fizzle. “Why do humans have to do things manually?”

“Because the universe hates us,” you mutter, taking the flint from him.

He hovers nearby, peering over your shoulder, tail swaying dangerously close to open flame.

“Wooyoung.”

“Hm?”

“Tail.”

“Oh—!”

He yelps, jumping back and knocking over a jar of sugar. White crystals scatter everywhere.

You stare at the mess.

He freezes.

“…I can clean that.”

“You don’t have thumbs for cleaning instincts,” you say dryly.

He gasps. “Rude.”

Despite everything, you find yourself smiling as you sweep the sugar away. He follows you around the kitchen, curious about everything—opening cabinets, poking at jars, sniffing herbs like he’s expecting them to run away.

“What’s this?” he asks, holding up a bundle of dried flowers.

“Moonflower.”

“Can I eat it?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’ll hallucinate and climb the ceiling.”

“…Tempting.”

You give him the look.

He grins.

Eventually, you manage to sit him down with a bowl of porridge and fruit. He eats like he’s never seen food before, eyes lighting up with every bite.

“Oh,” he says reverently. “Oh this is good.”

“You’ve eaten it before,” you point out.

“Yes, but this is different,” he insists. “It tastes… better.”

You laugh. “That’s just having a human body.”

He hums thoughtfully, then glances at you. “You made it.”

“Yes.”

His ears flick forward.

“…I like when you make things for me.”

The warmth returns, low and steady.

Later, you spread your spellbooks across the living room floor, diagrams and notes scattered everywhere. Wooyoung lounges nearby, half on the couch, half on the floor, tail flicking lazily.

You mutter under your breath as you flip pages. “The charm shouldn’t have bound this tightly…”

He rolls onto his stomach, chin in his hands. “Is it bad?”

“No,” you say honestly. “Just… unusual.”

“Unusual how?”

You hesitate. “The familiar bond is responding to your new form. Adapting.”

“To what?”

You meet his gaze.

“To you being… closer.”

His ears flush pink at the tips.

“Oh,” he says softly.

The air between you shifts.

He clears his throat and flops onto his back dramatically. “Well! Guess I’m just irresistible.”

You snort. “You were like this as a cat too.”

“I know,” he says proudly. “You still let me sleep on your chest.”

“That was different.”

“How?”

“…You weighed less.”

He laughs, bright and warm, and the sound fills the cottage in a way you didn’t realize you’d been missing.

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That night, as rain taps gently against the windows, you sit together by the fireplace. Wooyoung curls into your side without asking, head resting against your shoulder, tail tucked neatly around both of you.

You absently scratch behind his ears.

He melts instantly, purring loud enough to rival the rain.

“You’re doing that on purpose,” you accuse softly.

He doesn’t deny it.

“You’re very good at it,” he murmurs. “You always have been.”

You lean your head against his.

For the first time, the thought flickers through your mind—quiet, dangerous, tender.

What if he stayed like this?

The fire crackles.

Wooyoung shifts, fingers brushing yours.

He doesn’t pull away.

Neither do you.

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The first kiss is not planned.

It’s not dramatic, or moonlit, or accompanied by some great surge of magic. It happens on an ordinary afternoon, with rainclouds looming low and the cottage smelling faintly of cinnamon and wax.

It happens because Wooyoung trips.

Again.

“Why are human legs so far apart,” he groans, sprawled on the floor at your feet. “As a cat, I had four. This is a downgrade.”

“You’ll learn,” you say, not even looking up from the potion you’re stirring.

“I’ve been human for two days.”

“Exactly.”

He huffs, pushing himself up—and promptly slipping on the rug.

You reach out on instinct.

He grabs your wrist just as quickly.

The pull sends you stumbling forward, potion forgotten as the ladle clatters to the floor. Wooyoung’s other hand comes up to steady you, fingers warm and firm at your waist.

You end up chest to chest.

Too close.

You can feel his breath. His heartbeat. The way his tail freezes, then curls slowly around your calf like it’s acting on instinct alone.

For a heartbeat, neither of you moves.

Wooyoung swallows.

“You smell like cinnamon,” he murmurs.

“That’s the potion.”

“I like it.”

Your magic hums, responding—bright, electric, suddenly aware of his proximity in a way it’s never been before.

You should step back.

You don’t.

His eyes flick to your lips.

“So,” he says quietly, voice no longer playful. “Witches… they can kiss their familiars, right?”

Your breath catches.

“…You were a cat.”

“Still me.”

The truth of it lands softly, undeniably.

You nod.

He leans in slowly, giving you every chance to stop him.

You don’t.

The kiss is gentle—almost hesitant. His lips are warm, a little clumsy, like he’s not sure how much pressure to use. His hand tightens at your waist, just slightly, as if grounding himself.

Magic flares.

Not wild. Not dangerous.

Just warm. Familiar. Like home.

When he pulls back, his eyes are wide, shining.

“…Wow.”

You laugh, breathless. “Was it that bad?”

“No,” he says quickly. “It was— I just—”

He presses his forehead to yours.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”

Your chest aches.

“You used to lick my face,” you point out.

“That was different,” he says solemnly. “That was love.”

You freeze. He does too.

“Oh,” he adds, belatedly. “I said that out loud.”

You should probably address that.

Instead, you kiss him again.

This time, he smiles into it.

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After that, things change.

Not all at once. Not dramatically. Just in the quiet spaces between moments.

He starts sitting closer. Touching more—your sleeve, your hand, the small of your back when he passes behind you. You find yourself reaching for him too, fingers brushing his hair, his ears, the base of his tail where it makes him melt instantly.

“You’re doing that again,” he purrs one evening as you scratch just right.

“You’re encouraging it.”

“Obviously.”

You learn his human habits quickly. He still curls up when he sleeps, knees tucked to his chest. He still startles at loud noises. He still seeks warmth, sunlight, you.

And when a spell goes wrong—when a charm crackles too loudly, sending a shard of magic ricocheting through the room—he’s there instantly, shoving you behind him without thinking.

His body tenses, protective.

You blink at his back.

“Wooyoung?”

He glances over his shoulder, sheepish. “Instinct.”

Your heart does something complicated.

Later that night, you find him perched on the windowsill, staring out at the moon.

“You miss it,” you say softly.

He hums. “Sometimes.”

“You don’t have to stay like this,” you remind him. “Once I unravel the charm, you can go back.”

He looks at you.

Really looks.

“And if I don’t want to?”

The question lingers between you, fragile and terrifying.

You don’t answer.

Not yet.

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The choice comes quietly.

Not with thunder or prophecy or some dramatic snapping of fate—but on an evening so gentle it almost feels unfair.

You’re standing in the clearing behind your cottage, the one ringed with stones and wildflowers. Fireflies blink lazily in the dark. 

Your spell circle glows faintly beneath your feet, chalk lines steady and sure.

The reversal spell is ready.

All Wooyoung has to do is step into the circle.

He stands just outside it, barefoot in the grass, your sweater hanging loose on his frame. His tail flicks behind him, betraying his nerves.

“You don’t have to do this,” you say for the third time.

He laughs softly. “You’ve said that.”

“And I’ll keep saying it.”

He turns to you then, golden eyes warm and earnest. “I know.”

Silence settles between you, filled with the hum of magic and the chirring of insects.

“When I was a cat,” he says slowly, “loving you was easy. It didn’t ask anything of me. I just… stayed. Curled up. Protected you in the ways I could.”

Your throat tightens.

“And now?”

“Now it asks more,” he admits. “Its demanding.”

He steps closer, stopping right in front of you, close enough that you can feel his warmth.

“I could go back,” he says. “Be your familiar again. Nap in sunbeams. Knock things off shelves. Guard you in quiet ways.”

You reach for his hands without thinking, threading your fingers together.

“But,” he continues, voice softer, “I don’t want to love you quietly anymore.”

Your breath shudders.

“I want to stand beside you,” he says. “I want to kiss you without spells allowing it. I want to argue with you and cook with you and hold you when you’re tired. I want you to choose me too.”

Tears burn at the corners of your eyes.

“You’re already chosen,” you whisper.

His ears twitch. “Yeah?”

You nod. “Human or cat. Familiar or not. You’ve always been mine.”

Something in his expression breaks—then reforms into something brighter, surer.

He steps away from the circle.

The spell fizzles, harmlessly dissolving into sparks.

Your magic hums—not in rejection, but acceptance. The bond shifts, loosening where it once tethered, tightening somewhere deeper.

Equal.

Wooyoung exhales shakily, then laughs. “Guess that answers that.”

You laugh too, through tears, pulling him into your arms. He hugs you back immediately, burying his face into your shoulder, tail wrapping around your waist like it’s always belonged there.

“I still get to nap in sunbeams, right?” he murmurs.

“Absolutely.”

“And steal your sweaters?”

“You’re wearing one right now.”

“Good.”

You pull back just enough to kiss him—slow, warm, sure. He kisses you like he’s had a lifetime of practice loving you, because in truth, he has.

Later, you curl up together on the couch, fire crackling softly. Wooyoung’s head rests on your chest, your fingers tracing lazy patterns through his hair and behind his ears.

He purrs, content.

“Hey,” he says sleepily.

“Hm?”

“Thanks for letting me choose.”

You smile, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Thanks for staying.”

Outside, the forest breathes. Inside, magic settles—soft, steady, home.

Your familiar is not supposed to steal your sweaters.

But your lover?

That feels exactly right. 

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© lcvejjoong, 2026

bonus scenarios (ft. hongjoong)

You should have bet the money. Hoodie on his upper half, baggy jeans on his lower and tucked into the boots on his feet, Wooyoung has Kyungmin tucked into his chest, one arm around his back, the other cradling the back of his head. He stops twirling, smile staying as he catches your eye at the top of the steps, taking a second before softly placing Kyungmin back on the floor. 

“You’re late,” your voice comes out clipped, one hand still wrapped around the handle of your suitcase. 

He runs a hand through his long, black hair, “There was traffic.”

“I have a flight to catch,” you bite back.

His head tilts, smile deepening to a smirk, “And who’s driving you to the airport?”

“An asshole,” you mumble under your breath, hiking your bags higher over your shoulders, free hand reaching for the railing to keep you balanced before you start for the stairs. 

“Here,” he springs into action, taking it two stairs at a time, taking your luggage from your hand before you can get a word out. “I got it.”

“I had it,” you argue, looking down at him, he just smiles.

“I know very well how capable you are, wifey.”

You smack your teeth, huffing down the rest of the stairs, “How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that?”

“Come on,” he sings, “it’s funny. Wanna open the trunk for me, Kyungminnie?”

“Yes!” Your eight year old shouts, hauling ass out of your front door and sprinting down the lawn to your driveway. Looking at Wooyoung again, it dawns on you like it always does how much the two look alike, especially as your son gets older. 

“You’re seriously not going?” You ask Wooyoung as you close your front door behind you, locking it with the silver key on your split ring. 

He calls over his shoulder as he rolls your suitcase down your driveway, “Unless they call me in, no.”

A conference for your job, two states over. You and Wooyoung have always been employed in the same line of work, opposing companies, but essentially the same job. It’s how you met in the first place, fifteen years ago, when you were both fresh out of college and ready to enter the workforce. The conference was held annually, usually you and Wooyoung would travel together, before you divorced him. 

You hum, storing the information. You whole-heartedly think he was asked to go already, especially since all of your coworkers have already told you the higher-ups in his company were attending, the higher-ups included his name on the list. He must not be going to spare you, and in a way, you’re grateful for it. 

Opening the backseat of his SUV, you throw your carry-on inside, brow quirking at the sight of his bare backseat. “Where’s Kyungie’s booster seat?” You ask over the seats to Wooyoung who’s throwing your suitcase in the trunk. 

“Let me press the button!” Kyungmin shouts, and Wooyoung gruffs a strangled noise as he picks your son up by his waist, lifting him high enough so he can press the button to close the trunk. 

“He’s big as shit, he doesn’t need one anymore,” Wooyoung says casually after putting him back on the ground.

“Bullshit.” Kyungmin is tall as shit for his age. “He’s only eight!”

Wooyoung opens the door on the other side of the backseat, leaning over Kyungmin after he crawls inside to click his seatbelt into place. “Have you read up on it?”

Not recently. 

“He can sit all the way back, bend his knees over the edge, the lap belt is across his hips, the shoulder belt is on his shoulder,” he eyes you from the other side of the car, hand on the car door. “He’s fine.”

“Why didn’t you tell me daddy lets you ride without a booster seat?” You ask Kyungmin, ignoring how Wooyoung clearly did his research. 

Kyungmin smiles and it’s the exact fucking replica of Wooyoung’s sly grin, “You would be mad and then I can’t be big anymore.”

You sigh, tucking your carry-on in once more before closing the car door. Climbing into the passenger seat, your voice is laced with irritation, “There are some things you should discuss with me, y’know.”

“You research everything,” Wooyoung pushes the button beside the steering wheel and the engine roars to life, “my bad for assuming you’d research car safety, too.”

Cheeks hot, you cross your arms, settling into the comfortable seat of his SUV. He had you there. 

It’s a thirty minute drive to the airport, spent listening to soft rock through the speakers, Kyungmin humming along in the backseat to songs you had no idea he knew. So much changes in a year, your son growing like a weed, building a different relationship with his father you weren’t there to supervise. You didn’t need to, you knew that, their time together was theirs, but it’s been a minute since the three of you were together for an extended period of time, outside of pick-ups and drop-offs. 

Pulling up outside the airport, while Wooyoung unpacks your luggage and your carry-on, you’re halfway into the backseat saying your goodbyes to your son. Tears prickling your lashes, it’s always hard to leave him, even if the conference was only for the weekend. 

You close the door and meet Wooyoung on the other side of the SUV, wiping the tears from your eyes, “Call me if anything happens.”

“Nothing’s gonna happen,” he takes the carry-on from his own shoulder and slips it onto yours with care. “Text me when you land, I’ll call you after he showers so you can say goodnight.”

“Thanks again for driving me,” you give him a tight-lipped smile, “I’m sorry, my dad was busy–”

Wooyoung cuts you off by shaking his head, his smile warm, “Go have a drink before your flight, sleep on the plane. Don’t apologize for something I was happy to do.”

“Okay,” you whisper, meeting his eye, “Thanks, Woo.”

“Have fun for me, wifey. Tell Mingi and Seonghwa I say hello.”

Rolling your eyes, you snort as you turn on your heel, “Tell them yourself!”

You always forget how big this conference is until you’re here again. 

Mingi and Seonghwa on either side of you like pillars, you enter the foyer space, the hotel decked out in red and gold detailing, fancy. Men in suits, women in pantsuits, everyone looked about the same, in different fonts. All here for networking until the schedule begins, splitting off into the theater rooms for speakers, boardrooms for workshops, or sneaking off to the hotel bar to ease the chip of performance off their shoulders. 

“Wooyoung’s really not coming?” Mingi asks, gray two-piece suit clinging to his body, buff and broad but slim. 

Seonghwa, Mingi’s smaller, shorter half, adds, “I thought he was guest speaking this year.”

Your brows raise, news to you. Mingi shakes his head, blonde hair gelled back not moving an inch, “I heard he gave it to Choi San.”

“He wouldn’t do that,” you argue, approaching closer to the check-in table. “That would give San the upper hand, he wouldn’t let him have it even if it killed him.”

Greeting the red-haired woman at the table, you tell her the three of your names, and she hands you all lanyards with a tri-fold paper schedule. You thank her, and as you split off towards the theater room, Seonghwa continues, “What if he gave it to San because you’re here? Maybe he just wanted to have Kyungmin for the weekend.”

Black hair, short and cropped, faded along his temples, his deep onyx suit makes his skin appear even more golden than usual. He stands out, beautiful and chiseled, like he should be on a runway instead of in an office. You scoff, “He has Kyungie every other weekend, Hwa. This job is like his second baby, his first baby, he wouldn’t just let San have what’s rightfully his.”

Mingi chuckles, stealing your attention, shoulders shaking with each laugh. Rings on his fingers, tie dark and patterned with streaks of silver, Mingi adds his own style into strict, corporate fashion, you have to respect him for it. You can’t be bothered, half of your closet is from a department store. 

“I seriously think he’s not here because you’re here,” Mingi shrugs, “just my opinion, though.”

“I’m here every year!” You argue, “We’re divorced, not archnemeses.” 

Seonghwa shrugs, “I agree with Mingi.”

“He said hi to you guys, by the way,” you look between the two, taking three open seats at the edge of a row in the middle of the audience, “when he dropped me off at the airport.”

“Wow, he dropped you off,” Mingi feigns surprise, brows pushed up, “intimate.”

You smack your teeth, “Don’t be stupid.”

The crowd gets quiet, the projected screens on either side of the stage lighting up, you cross a leg over your knee and settle into your seat, waiting for the speaker to walk onstage. You should have called Wooyoung this morning, you think, you wonder what Kyungmin’s doing today, if he misses you. 

Reaching into your purse with the intention of texting him, checking the pocket you always keep your phone in, you realize it isn't there. Furrowing your brows, panic in your blood, you pull your purse onto your lap, sorting through it, pushing past the old ziploc bags of snacks, lip balm, hand sanitizer, wipes, tissues, a small bottle of sunscreen. No phone. Eyes blowing wide, you whisper to Mingi, “I don’t have my phone. What if Wooyoung calls me?”

Seonghwa nudges your side, eyes on the stage, “I don’t think he’ll call.”

Looking at Seonghwa confused, you hear his voice blow through the room. Speaking into the mic, voice smooth and velvety yet strict and powerful, your jaw drops to the fucking floor. Wooyoung is onstage, long hair pinned back, in the dark gray business-casual outfit he used to keep in the back of your closet instead of a suit. 

“Where the fuck is my kid if he’s here?” You’re rigid with terror, ass at the edge of your seat like you were ready to get up and walk onstage, fists squeezing the absolute shit out of the straps of your purse. “He’s supposed to be at home, with my kid.”

Mingi’s hand lands on your flexed bicep, “Kyung’s probably with Woo’s parents, right? He probably got called here last minute, breathe. He wouldn’t leave him stranded or home alone.”

The reminder etches a semblance of relief in your stone bones, but you don’t let yourself feel it. Why didn’t he tell you? You talked to him just last night before he put Kyungmin to bed, he spoke nothing of hopping on a flight and overnighting himself here. 

You could kill him. You hear nothing of his speech, not a single word, too consumed by rage and confusion to even hear the topic. You sat with a rigid spine and bouncing knees for the entire hour, jaw clenched, fists tucked into your purse to hide how they didn’t uncurl once. The moment it was over you were up on your feet, barreling through the side of the theater room up to the side of the stage, face bent down in anger. 

He sees you before you see him. 

“Where the fuck is your phone?” He asks, pulling you by your arm behind one of the screens, standing facing one another, parallel to the back wall of the room. 

“Why the fuck are you here?” You whisper-yell, “Where is my son?”

“Our son is with my parents,” he whisper-yells back, “which you would know if you picked up your goddamn phone, I’ve been calling you since last night.”

Your brows furrow, head shaking in utter confusion, “I-I I left it in the room, maybe it’s dead? I–”

“What, did you get laid as soon as I got off the phone last night?” He looks dead serious, “Too important to answer my call about getting put on a red-eye here in the middle of the night?”

You’re replaying the events of last night in your head, did you not plug in your phone after you ended the call? You ate your room service, watched a movie, you wish you would have gotten laid, but a hotel room means you’re free to be alone with your right hand, watching– Oh. 

Your cheeks flush, “No, Wooyoung, it must have died, I didn’t even think this morning, I was rushing here after the alarm clock went off.”

“You didn’t think to call me?” 

“No!” You shake your head, voice a little louder now, “I didn’t. I think you’re more than capable of taking care of our son without me breathing down your fucking neck, Wooyoung.”

He straightens, face calming, a brow popping in question. “Really?”

“Yes,” you heave a breath, running a hand through your hair, “Jesus Christ. Kyungie’s with your mom?”

Wooyoung nods, “I dropped him off around midnight, I told her we’ll pick him up when we get back, she wants us to stay for dinner. Parked my car at the airport, I got a seat on your flight back.”

Your top lip lifts, “She wants us to stay for dinner?”

“Definitely gonna convince you to take me back,” Wooyoung’s lips flatten in a line. 

You fake a cough into your first, “I think I’m coming down with something.”

He rolls his eyes, “I already told her no, don’t worry. Do you want to call her from my phone?”

“No,” you shake your head, “he’s probably having the time of his life. I’ll leave them alone.”

“Are we all free from the shackles of your velcro- parenting?” He grins, eyebrows wiggling. 

“Fuck off,” you grumble, “I’m going back to my seat. Nice presentation, by the way.”

“Thanks, wifey,” you can hear humor in his voice, the sly grin on his lips. You shoot him the middle finger behind your back before you’re in front of any eyes. 

The rest of the conference is boring. Networking is the only fun part of it, but only when the person you’re talking to hates their job as much as you do. Other than that, it’s small talk of shareholding and statistics, each word off your lips makes you thirsty for liquor. 

“Ah, Wooyoungie’s wifey.”

Eyes pointed, you turn your head to find the perpetrator who approaches your back, you were now seated at the bar to avoid this exact thing happening. Choi San, senior executive of his company, a ray of fucking sunshine if he isn’t talking about the direction of your company or trying to fully recruit you for your skills. 

You force a smile on your cheeks, “Not Wooyoung’s wife anymore, you know this.”

“Is that why you’re drinking alone at the bar?” He raises his brows, coming up beside you, forgoing the bar stool to stand with his elbows planted on marble. 

Your brows slant inward, more annoyed than anything, “Come on, San.”

He chuckles, head dipping low between his shoulders, his dimples visible even engulfed in shadow. He picks his head up, voice teasing, “Are we on a first-name basis now?”

“Mr. Choi,” you correct yourself, voice playful, a grin clawing onto your own cheeks. “Apologies, sir.”

“I like that better,” he eyes your drink, a margarita half watered-down, “now can I ask why you’re drinking alone at the bar?”

“Boredom,” you say through a breath, “nothing better to do than drink tequila. Maybe then I can convince myself I enjoy talking numbers when I’m not being paid to do it.”

His lips purse, smile evident even with the scrunch, “Usually you’re on top of this event.” Humming, he pulls the barstool under him, sitting facing you with his knees spread. “Not interested this year?”

“I miss my kid,” you sigh, cheek landing in your closed fist. 

He frowns, “Most single mothers would be enjoying a weekend of freedom.”

“Then I guess I’m not most mothers,” you bring your drink to your lips, eyeing him with low lids over the rim. You can feel it radiating off him, the attraction, the want. You make a show of batting your lashes.

A rivalry he and Wooyoung have, ever since San started at the company, a constant petty, childish fight of who will come out on top. Who makes more money, who’s more successful, Wooyoung has used your marriage and your son for years in spiteful arguments, something Wooyoung has but San does not. You don’t know if he’ll ever marry or have kids, you don’t know if he has any interest in it at all. 

“Are you flirting with me, Mrs. Jung?” San cracks a smirk, it makes a shiver run down your spine. You’re most certainly not, but maybe the tequila and utter boredom has pulled something frisky in your tone, especially sitting beside a man like him. You don’t answer, placing your glass back down on the bar carefully, and San’s smirk grows. “Dangerous, I can see why Wooyoungie tied you down.”

You pop a brow, “Yeah? Please, do tell.”

There’s no harm in not denying it. Or allowing him to continue, at the very least. You haven’t gotten laid in awhile, haven’t been flirted with, haven’t felt desired in too long. You don’t really care about attention from him, of all people, but it’s kind of nice, in a way– even if you know very well how off-limits Choi San is, and that you won’t let it go any farther. 

San’s voice is hushed, eyes low, drinking up your figure like he’d been waiting for this day to come, “You’re intelligent, successful, you don’t let your kindness make you vulnerable.”

You can’t help the giddiness that begins to form, “So you’re the type that likes brains and not beauty?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know I’d fuck you brainless,” he chuckles a little, settling into the barstool, pulling his suit jacket tighter. “You’ve known that for a long, long time.”

And you’ve ignored it for even longer. It still makes your feet shift on the barstool, deepening the ache in your gut you didn’t have before he sat down, he’s never been so bold before. Over the years, in your marriage, you always blamed his flirty tone, wandering eyes on his and Wooyoung’s rivalry. Which is probably exactly what this is, something to hold over Woo’s head, or at least he’d plan to if you went through with it. Which you won’t, but it’s fun to hear what could be if the circumstances were different. 

“I have,” you nod, picking up your glass again, “is that what you want, Mr. Choi?”

“I’d make you forget Wooyoung exists,” he leans in, voice low, eyes piercing, “I’d fuck you better than he ever did.”

You hum, swirling the watered-down drink in your glass, “Good to know.”

His lips pursed, eyes dancing with thought before he says, “We’re staying in the same hotel, meet me at the bar tonight if you want it, too.”

You give him nothing but a short, small nod before bringing your drink up to your lips again. You watch him as he walks away, his tailored suit painted onto his ass, his thighs, he exuded money. Poise. He’s never gone as far as this, never been so blunt, never fed you a real option. But you suppose he never could, you’ve been married every time he’s talked to you, up until now. 

You laugh a little to yourself before throwing the rest of your drink back. 

Exhausted was an understatement for how you felt after the first day of the conference. Tomorrow would be filled with more guest speakers, more workshops, your body dragged as you hitched a ride with Mingi back to the hotel. Your phone was right where you left it, plugged into the charger, but your charger wasn’t plugged into the fucking wall. 

Undressing yourself, you called Wooyoung’s mom upon your screen lighting up again, having a quick chat with her before she put Kyungmin on the phone. After he ditched you for ice cream, Wooyoung’s mom was back on the phone, asking you how the conference is, then diving into how crazy it is that they put Wooyoung on a red-eye, how important and successful he is, how you’re so lucky to have him. 

“I know mom, thanks, I know,” you mumble between every sentence, face twitching in annoyance, your back pressed to the perfectly made bed, body sprawled out with exhaustion. It’s like she doesn’t even care that you aren’t together anymore.

“You two are coming to dinner on Sunday, yes?” She asks, and you kick your feet out, face scrunching together in a silent whine. “I already bought food at the grocery store today.”

After a silent, agonizing sigh, you answer, “Yup, we’ll be there.”

How could you say no after Woo dropped your son off in the middle of the night?

Her voice raises ten octaves in excitement, “Oh, thank god, we miss you, sweetie. I’m so excited to see you!”

“Can’t wait to see you, too,” your lips fold into a tight, flat smile. “Tell Kyung I said goodnight.”

“I will, we’ll call you in the morning,” you can hear her nod, her voice shaky from sheer joy, “sleep well, sweetheart.”

“You too,” you hang up the phone, then groan, long and low, a sigh following it. Fuck. The most pure-hearted woman, you think you broke her heart worse than Wooyoung’s when you divorced him. Fuck. You can’t believe you agreed to dinner. It’s the least you could do. 

You need a fucking drink. The hotel room only has airplane bottles of wine, all white, nothing red, even in the overpriced fridge selection. Sighing, you drag yourself into the bathroom, taking a quick shower before throwing on comfortable clothes and heading to the elevators at the end of the hall. 

The bar was empty save for one, probably the only person on the entire earth who you didn’t care if they saw you with wet hair and baggy sweats on. “I just got off the phone with your mom,” you say, pulling out the barstool beside him. 

He picks his head up, still dressed in business-casual, “Yeah? I called her when I left the conference, Kyungmin’s having fun.”

“I told her we’d stay for dinner on Sunday,” you reluctantly admit, flagging down the bartender. 

“Put it on my tab,” Wooyoung adds after you gave him your drink order, making you scowl. 

“I can pay for my own drinks,” you mutter. 

Wooyoung smiles, “Consider it my pre-paid thanks for dinner on Sunday, wifey. It'll make her whole year.”

“I’m only coming because she’s watching Kyungie,” you shoot daggers at him, ignoring the nickname, “even exchange. No need for you to pay my tab.”

Wooyoung groans, leaning back in the chair, “Can you go one day without arguing with me?”

Shaking your head, you simply respond, “No, that’s why I divorced you.”

Wooyoung stares at you for a second before snorting, “Ouch.”

“Thanks,” you mumble, both to Wooyoung and the bartender as he places your drink on top of a cocktail napkin. “You didn’t even go up yet? You’re still dressed.”

“Needed to think,” he shrugs, fingers playing with the label on his beer bottle. “They want me to speak again tomorrow, someone didn’t show.”

“Oh, shit,” your face scrunches up as you take a sip, “you gotta make up a new presentation tonight?”

He nods, lips bent, staring at his beer bottle. You lean onto the bar, “Why don’t you let San present?”

He looks up at you, eyes pointed, “Fuck no.”

“Why not?” You make a face like that was the only clear, viable option. “He has one ready to go, does he not?”

“I was asked to present,” his voice grows harsher, “me. Not him.”

“I know, but–”

“You know what, let me ask you something.” He sits up straighter in his stool, eyebrows bent above a look so sharp it could kill. “Are you sleeping with him? Is that why you didn’t answer me last night?”

You blink at him, thrice, “What–?”

“I saw you at the bar today,” he continues, voice utterly venomous, “then he said something to me, insinuating that you fuck. Or fucked. Or are fucking.”

“Do you think that low of me?” Your laugh is out of sheer disbelief. “That I’d fuck him, of all people? He flirts with me, and I don’t exactly stop him, but–”

His laugh mirrors yours, “Exactly. That’s exactly why he said that shit to me.”

“Why should I stop him?” You argue back, “It’s nice to hear that someone fucking wants me, my life is nothing but work and Kyungmin. Even when we were still married my life was nothing but work and Kyungmin, you had no interest in–”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” his voice is steady but bruising, “I’m not starting this argument with you again.”

“What, did you forget why I divorced you or something?” Your hands fly, eyes wide and piercing, “That I was sick of being married to a fucking machine?” 

Wooyoung turns to face the bar again, shaking his head, “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m unbelievable,” your laugh has no warmth in it, “you just started being a father and I’m unbelievable.”

“I just started being a father?” He turns his head again, eyes wider than yours now, baffled. “Did you hit your fucking head or something?”

“We split up over a year ago,” your voice is nothing short of theatrical, “drop the fake-surprise, Wooyoung. It’s nothing you haven’t heard before.”

“And it’s all the same bullshit you’ve been spewing for years,” he takes a long sip of his beer, “maybe you should fuck San, he might be a better fit for you, you’re both liars.”

Slowly nodding, you sink into your seat, voice taunting, “He did say he’d make me forget you ever existed. That he’d fuck me better than you ever did. Should I find out? He’s coming down here tonight to get me, to bring me back up to his room…”

Wooyoung’s grip tightens around his beer bottle, eyes laser-focused onto the bar like the swirls in marble was the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. You grin. 

“…He seems big, real strong, too. Bet he’d throw me around the room, maybe even get me pregnant again. Kyungmin would like a sibling, don’t you think?”

“What are you doing?” He finally looks at you again, voice ragged, angry and blunt. 

You shrug, “Since you think me and Sannie would be so great together, I’m exploring options.”

As if it were a movie, something straight out of fucking Netflix, Choi San walks through the deep oak double-doors, still in his tailored suit, a cocky smirk spreading when he sees you. It widens, dimples showing when he spots Wooyoung beside you. 

Wooyoung lets out a nasty chuckle, “You’re not kidding.”

“Why would I joke about it?” You lift a brow, “I told you, it was nice to feel wanted.”

“You wanna give Kyungmin a sibling?” He’s looking at you again, and his mismatched eyes are asking more than one question. Heat curls low, it’s been a long, long time since he’s looked at you that way, since he’s said anything more than a passive joke. 

You swallow, words caught in your throat. 

“Answer me, jagi,” he leans in closer, voice still laced with anger, but it’s morphed into something deeper, rooted in jealousy, in possession. He hasn’t called you that since before you brought up separating, it makes your lips part, eyebrows folding in just enough to crease at the center. “If you’re gonna give him a sibling, it’ll be with his father.” 

Licking your lips, seeing nothing but truth and determination in his eyes, you find yourself nodding, whispering a short, “Okay.”

“Charge it to my room, 1117,” he tells the bartender, slamming a bill on the marble before grabbing you by the wrist, dragging you right past San without as much as a glance. You don’t even look at him, you don’t need to, clearly you’ve lost your fucking mind following Wooyoung to the elevators. 

The moment the doors open he’s pushing you inside roughly, caging you in against the wall, forehead pressed to yours. “You wanna get fucked?” 

You arch into him, whispering, “Yeah.”

“You want me to fuck you full? Get you pregnant again?”

“Fuck,” you whimper, fingers finding his jacket, “yes.”

You tug him closer by his jacket, tilting your head up to find his lips with your own. Your head is fuzzy, body charged with electricity from your argument, being in a goddamn elevator with him pressed to you, your leg lifts to clamp over his back, tugging him impossibly closer. 

Nostalgic isn’t the word, it’s like muscle memory, how your lips messily tangle, tongues slotting into each other’s mouths how you’ve always done, two people who know each other better than anyone else. He groans, hips rutting into yours, making you moan into his mouth, hands flying up to his hair, tugging at his roots. 

“You don’t want San,” he mutters into your mouth, breath heavy, voice rough. “You want me.”

“Shut up,” you mumble back, chasing his lips, he doesn’t let you have them. 

“Say it,” he urges, fingers digging into your sides, pushing you harder against the wall. “Say you want me.”

“I want to be fucked,” your voice is clipped, annoyed, “do it, before I go back to the bar.”

His chuckle isn’t amused nor entertained, it’s harsh and unforgiving and makes a chill down up your fucking spine. The elevator dings and he pulls away from you, turning around, leaving the elevator as if he’s completely unaffected. You follow after him, on his heel as he makes for his room, he doesn’t say anything as he places his card up against the sensor, pushing the door open when it rings green.

“Oh, you’re coming in?” He asks, face unreadable. 

You pause with one foot through the doorway, “Does it look like I’m coming in?”

He lets go of the door as you walk inside his room, light walls, bare, it mirrors yours. He takes off his jacket, hanging it in the closet, “Thought you were gonna go get fucked by San, you want him to throw you around, don’t you?”

You whine, “Wooyoung.”

He pulls his shirt over his head, exposing his bronzy skin, his sculpted abdomen, his hipbones that poke out from above his waistband. You’re salivating taking in the sight of him, it’s been so long since you’ve seen him, touched him. 

He starts unbuttoning his slacks, staring at you like he’s bored, “You want me or him?”

You don’t know why you’re putting up a fight. You agreed to this already, your lips still feel swollen, your fingertips are buzzing with need– but admission is letting him win, and you can’t let him win. 

“I want,” you mumble as he pulls his zipper down, purposely flexing his body, staring at you through lowered brows. Your breath grows shallow, licking your lips as he pushes them down his thighs, “I want–”

“What?” He tilts his head, voice taunting as he kicks them off his feet, taking a step toward you. His length is prominent through his briefs, a wet spot clear on onyx nylon, “Tell me, jagi.”

“I want,” your fingertips tug at the hem of the zip-up on your upper half, eyes locked into how his veiny hand curls over his length, voice small from how deep into the daze you’ve sank already, “you.”

Approaching you, his height engulfing you, making you feel small, your head tilts upward to see him. His smirk grows, two fingers landing on your zipper, “You want who?”

He slides it down before you answer, jacket falling off your shoulders, revealing the black, lacy bralette you wore underneath. It’s comfortable, and you wore it for that sole reason, despite how it looks, but his jaw ticks when he sees it, chocolate eyes going deep, melted, burnt. 

You watch as his fingers find the center, tugging on the elastic band, letting it snap back against your skin. You gasp, a small sound, looking back up at him with glassy eyes, “Stop toying with me and do something.”

“I’m not touching you until you do as I say.” Fingers sinking into the waistband of your sweats, he bends to tug them down your hips, leaving you nearly bare, slowly standing up straight again, his nose so close to your skin he nearly touches you. “Tell me who you want to fuck you.”

“You, you fucking prick,” your back arches as he reaches his full height again, “I want you to fuck me.”

An amused smirk spreads across his cheeks before he feigns a pout, “That was mean, mommy.” Taking his hands to your shoulders, his fingertips trail down your sides, dancing against your skin, his touch, that word, his tone making you shiver. “Be nice to me and I’ll be nice to you.”

“Why are you teasing me?” You huff, each touch feeling like zaps of electricity, it’s clear he wants to take his time, wants to get you worked up. You want him to fuck you, to ruin you, to put a baby in you, you don’t want him nice. “Fuck me already, Wooyoung.” 

“We have time,” his hand hinds your hair, scratching into your scalp before running his fingers through it, cupping your cheek afterward. “No kid, no interruptions, just us. When’s the last time we had that?”

“Way before we split up,” you melt into his palm, soft against your skin, comforting. Home. Your voice comes out airy, almost a whisper, “Fuck, we shouldn’t be doing this.”

Guilt– already sneaking up your spine, he catches it before it has the chance to spread. “Why not?” His hand that was on your cheek slides down to your jaw, smiling down at you viciously before his grip tightens, “You want a baby, don’t you? Wanted to get fucked so badly you planned to fuck my coworker.”

You whimper as he moves you backward, eyes wide, skin sizzling. He pushes you down onto the bed with nothing but his palm on your face, “You wanted this, and you know there’s no one else who fucks you like I do. Say it.”

“No one else,” you whisper, back already arching as he crawls on top of you, “just you, Woo, no one else fucks me like you do.”

He sucks in a breath, almost a hiss, brows furrowing as his fingers hook into your panties, knees pressed to the mattress on either side of your legs. “You want my mouth? Or my cock? When’s the last time this pussy was stretched out, huh?”

“Mouth,” you lift your hips easy for him as he tugs your black panties down your thighs, “long time.”

“Long time?” He smirks, back to taunting, “Was the last person me?”

“Fuck you,” you grumble out, “do something.”

He sits up straighter and you can feel the cool air of the room on your already-wet core, knees pinning together. “Hiding from me now?” His voice makes you want to rip your fucking hair out. “When I’m the only person who can make this pussy cum? Be nice to me, mommy.”

“Stop calling me that,” your fingers tighten in the comforter below you, “it’s fucked up.”

“I used to call you that all the time,” his brows furrow, “you remember what you used to call me?”

You shake your head, whining, “Stop playing games, Wooyoung.”

“Just give in,” he smacks the side of your thigh, “I’m here, right in front of you, waiting for you to hump my nose like a bitch in heat like you always fuckin’ do. Just say the words, jagi.”

His words, the sting makes you moan, thighs tightening just to get some friction. Resistance is a band pulled taut, you finally feel something vital in you crack, the band snapping, your lips move before you can think about the defeated words leaving them. “Yes, the last person was you, daddy. Need your mouth, your cock, need you to do something– fuck me, please.”

His smile is feline, “There she is.”

Two hands on your knees spread you wide, he dives down to press his tongue flat to your core, eyes flying back into his head when he tastes you. You moan at the same time, your fingers flying down to tangle in his slick roots as he starts lapping at your folds, drinking up every drop you’ve accumulated. 

“So sweet,” he moans into you, “missed this pussy.”

Your breath is leaving you in short, shallow puffs, but a cocky, hazy smirk forms on your lips despite the pleasure, “Who’s pussy?”

“Mommy’s,” he says with a smile, eyeing you from between your legs, so shameless it makes you giggle, cut off by a sharp, strangled moan when his nose runs over your clit. “Forget I know you? Like the back of my hand?”

“Been a long time,” you lift yourself up on one elbow, your other hand in his hair, feet hooked over his back as you grind your hips up against his mouth, his nose. “Fuck, feels good.”

His eyes flutter closed, letting your hips grind against him, tongue pushed out pointed, catching on your entrance with each grind of your hips. Your clit ghosts his nose and you gasp, you’re sensitive, you haven’t gotten head in years, you think. “Sh– it,” you stutter, “so good, Woo, ohmygod.”

He groans into you, arms wrapping around your thighs, fingers digging into your hips. Keeping you in rhythm, not letting you falter, he fucks your hips onto his face with perfect pace, each movement strategic, practiced like he did this regularly. It has you weak, toes curling, head dipping back, hips moving recklessly, quicker with each drag over his hot, wet mouth. 

He’s loving it, face knitted up in bliss, his hips rutting into the mattress like he needed the relief. The noises you make are loud, lewd, a hymn of pleasure only he could give you, in harmony with the squelching sounds of his mouth against your core, so dirty and nasty it edges you further, brings the pit in your stomach forward like his mouth was a toy.

“Close,” you gasp and his fingers tighten on your hips, head nodding faster, in tune with your rocking hips. Your breath catches as his nose flicks over your clit, the same pace, same pressure, same rhythm, you stutter babbles as the pressure in your gut builds, sounds growing in pitch, muddling closer together, “Fuck, daddy, I’m g’na fucking cum.”

He moans into you like he knew the vibration of his voice would push you over the edge and it fucking does, the sound that leaves you is strained, loud, vulnerably shrill. Joints locking up, face scrunching, head tucked into your chest, you spasm beneath his hold and he rocks you through it, keeping you steady, his rhythm never once faltering as your pleasure hits his peak, rushing through you like a tidal wave, the strongest orgasm you’ve had in a long time. 

He slows down with your shaking limbs that lose their speed, breath finally returning to you, heavy and desperate and relieving all at once. “Holy shit,” you breathe through the words, fingers loosening in his hair, tucking your arm beneath you, leaning on both elbows to look down at him. “Intense.”

His smirk returns tenfold, “Of course it was, I made you cum.” 

You flatten out on the bed, a soft giggle escaping you as you roll your eyes, “Cocky.”

He presses one more soft kiss to your clit that makes you gasp, body jerking, “For good reason, did you hear yourself?”

You smack your lips, voice amused, “I have half a mind to leave now, asshole. Thanks for the big O, baby daddy, I’ll go back to my room now.”

He crawls on top of you, pulling your thighs down, flush to his own, leaning down so your foreheads are mere centimeters apart, “Baby daddy? Ex-husband is a better title than baby daddy.”

You tilt your chin up, smiling, “How about sperm donor?”

He presses his lips to yours, rough, soul-sucking, you arch into him, hips bucking up to gain friction again. He smiles into your lips, “So mean for someone who just came on her ex-husband’s face like a dirty fuckin’ slut.”

Something small, pitched and shaky leaves you from the tip of your throat, you throw your arms around his shoulders, pressing your lips to his again like you needed him. Tucking him into you, his hips dig against yours, his bare chest pressed flat, elbows landing on either side of your head. You kiss for a while, sloppy and messy and nostalgic, swapping spit like it was candy, tongues gliding into each other’s mouths like you were making up for lost time. 

His hand slips between your bodies, two fingers adding pressure onto your clit, he groans at the wetness, the heat that bleeds into him. “So wet, she missed me, huh?”

“S-shit, inside,” you gasp, grinding your hips against his fingers, “please.”

He presses his lips to yours, kissing you once, twice before pulling away, keeping your chins touching, both of your lips parted and touching as he slips two fingers inside, moaning into each other’s mouths. 

He curls them immediately, making you cry out, hands finding his hair again, fingertips clawing into his scalp. He hisses, “So tight, fuck, how am I gonna fit, huh?”

“You’ll– shi– ah, y-you’ll fit,” sensitivity looms, body twitching underneath him, clenching around his fingers that sink so deliciously deep. You kiss him again, grinding against his fingers that scissor you open, “You’ll make it fit.”

He smiles against you, fingers making quick work of your leaking core, “Missed this pussy, can’t believe you haven’t given it up to anyone else.”

“No time,” you whisper and he crooks his fingers angrily, making you squeal out a cry, “fuck!”

“Try again,” he slows, bottom lip ghosting yours, “get it right this time, or I’ll stop.”

“It’s yours,” you whimper, “I’m yours, fuck, I’m yours.”

He’s chuckling as he kisses you again, smiling into your mouth as his fingers massage the front of your walls, calculated and angled, like he was trained to make only your body sing. He stops only to tug his briefs down his legs and the chill that engulfs you is conscious, it reminds you who’s on top of you, who’s pulling these noises from the deepest part of your gut. 

Tattoos on display, minus the one at the tip of his spine, skin littered with droplets of mocha, spots you’ve kissed enough times to be burned into your memory. Body lean, strong, angular and unforgiving, all you can do is stare at his beauty, let it calm you, excite you, resurrect you from the loneliness you’ve endured. 

His cock springs up between his hipbones, leaking, red, it begged for you even if Wooyoung didn’t, you wonder if this is how he’s felt this whole time. “Missed you,” it slips out of your mouth, two involuntary words pulled straight from the back of your mind, an area gone untouched for over a year.

“Yeah?” He crawls back on top of you, “Missed me or fucking me?”

“Both,” your hands come up to cradle his cheeks, hooking your ankles over his back, “come over more.”

He laughs as he rests a hand on the back of your thigh, unhooking your legs as he pushes it backward, lining himself up with your entrance, “You haven’t invited me over since I moved out.”

“It’s not like you’ve asked to come over either.” 

You gasp as he starts pushing inside, hands falling, back arching as he sinks into you inch by inch. His cock is heavy, the stretch is tight, it renders you silent, face scrunched up, a streak of searing heat with each new inch. 

“Take it,” he sounds rough himself, voice edged with restraint. “Open up, jagi. This pussy’s mine, it wants me, it’s made f’me.” 

Your fingers find his forearm, other hand clawing into the sheets as a broken cry leaves your lips, “Fuck.”

When he sheathes himself fully he leans down, planting a kiss to your slacked jaw, a soft press of his lips that makes you twitch, breath shaky. He plans another one on your lips, voice low, “I haven’t asked to come over because I know you don’t want me there.”

“I want you there.”

“You divorced me.”

“Then let’s get married again,” your whine is loud, core clenching, grinding your hips against his cock. 

He laughs again before pulling out, a slow drag of his veiny cock against your walls, mushroom tip dragging against the spot against your inner walls, “You’re cockdrunk.”

He slams in all the way and your body locks up so hard you can’t breathe, his smile is condescending, pushing himself up until his back is straight, grip iron on your calf as he holds it over your chest. His abdomen flexes with each roll of his hips, fucking into you so deep you can feel it in your throat, you hold his gaze, eyes watering, brows furrowed, lips pried open. 

“Look at you,” he cooes, “like the day I fuckin’ met you, so hungry for it. So desperate for my cock you wanna marry me again.”

“Shut up,” you whisper, bending your other knee just to feel him deeper, “just fuck me.”

“I am fucking you,” he argues, exuding something vile, “and you’re acting like you can’t get enough, it’s pathetic.”

You moan, back arching, holding your other leg back by tucking your hand under your knee, “I can’t.”

“I know, jagi,” he nods, eyes sliding down to where you meet, watching his own cock split you open, how your folds pulse around him, clit twitching. “No one fucks you like I do, right?”

You shake your head, body burning at the sound of him bullying into you, so wet and loud it’s obscene. Your voice comes out raw, shaky, “No one else, just you, daddy– shit, just you.”

He grunts, reaching for your other leg, bending down to throw them over his shoulders, hands planted down on the mattress on either side of your head. “You want me to fuck you full? Give you another baby?”

You reach for him, pulling him down to kiss you, all teeth and broken noises, “Y–es, daddy, please.”

The noise of wet skin slapping skin dances with your cries of pleasure in the air, Wooyoung’s muddled grunts mixing into the symphony, your hips raised to meet his thrusts and his cock dragging against that spot inside you that has you seeing stars, you wail. It’s too good, it’s overwhelming, you’ve never felt like this before, so consumed by pleasure and passion you don’t notice the tears spilling down your cheeks. 

“Cryin’ for me?” He leans down to lick the tear that runs down your cheek, his tongue heavy, warm. He kisses you after, sloppy and slow, so unlike the brutal pace of his cock. “Gonna take care of you, mommy. Gonna give you another baby.”

You’re clenching around him nonstop, the pleasure sharp, his words making it so much worse. He frees one leg from his shoulder to tuck his hand between your legs again, pressing his fingers to your clit, “Cum around my cock, jagi. Let me feel it, wanna feel you cum.”

Your hips are bucking with no rhythm, an animalistic, pathetic need to obey him, you need him to reward you, to fill you up. His fingers work in precise circles, tight and harsh, it doesn’t take long for the pressure to build with his cock moving in the same flow. You go silent, breath caught, and he smiles.

“Gonna cum on daddy’s cock? Gonna give it to me?”

All you can do is nod, fingers curling into his hair, all you can do is lay there and fucking take it. 

“Cum for me, mommy, c’mon.”

It pushes you over, pressure blowing just as intense as the first time, he fucks you through it, moaning, head turning to sink his teeth into your calf. You seize beneath him, nerve endings fried, mind-blowing pleasure the only thing you can feel, you don’t know what sounds are leaving you, what you’re saying, it’s all too much. He chokes on another moan, cock pulsing inside you, hips stuttering, you watch with glassy eyes as he tucks his bottom lip between his teeth, tilting his head to watch himself fuck into you. 

“Please,” a small, broken word, it’s the only word you can manage, body still locked tight. 

“Did so good,” he shakes his head, “fuck– gonna fill you up so full.”

“Look at me,” you whisper and he picks his head up, face contorted in pleasure, hips bucking. “Look at me while you fill me up, please.”

It makes his face twist, hips stuttering, a loud, extended moan pushing from the base of his gut before his hips move out of rhythm, fucking into you like you’re a toy, relentlessly chasing his own high. 

“Gonna,” he stutters, you nod with each word, “gonna fill you up.”

“Uh-huh, please.”

His hips finally still, body falling forward, down to his elbows as he gives you the last few thrusts, deep enough for his release to hit its mark, to do as he promised. Warmth spreads through you, heavy, full, it racks a shiver through you, swallowing down a moan.

He tucks his face into your neck, breath heavy, he plants a soft kiss against your sweaty skin. With nothing to hold him back, he whispers, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you answer, too earnest for what just transpired, arms wrapping around his back, nails trailing against his soft skin. “We haven’t said that in a long time.”

Face still buried, his words are muffled against your skin, “I think I’ll always love you.”

“So will I,” you say it like it’s obvious, voice heavy with exhaustion, “we have a kid together, Wooyoung.”

His cock twitches inside you, soft and spent, you can feel him smile. “Maybe two.”

“I’m not ovulating,” your hands come up to his hair, pulling his face away from your neck to look at you, “chances are low. You really want another one?”

“I thought you did, too,” his brows furrow, “what did we just say all that shit for?”

You shrug, “It was hot.”

He snorts, lowering his head to press his lips to yours, softer than the rest, slower. Filled with all the time you’ve gone untouched, spent separated, each one tearing down the tall, thick wall of resentment between you, brick by brick. 

“Does this mean anything, then?” He finally pulls away to ask, and you’re becoming uncomfortably aware of him still inside you. 

“Depends,” you whisper, shifting beneath him. Cocking your head, you ask, “Are you still a selfish, narcissistic asshole that only cares about his job?”

He shakes his head, mumbling, “No.”

“Okay,” you lift your chin, “prove it, then. Let San speak tomorrow.”

He snarls, “What the fuck does this have to do with San?”

You smack your teeth, brushing sweaty strands of hair out of his pretty face, “It’s a step forward. Do it and I’ll let you take me out on a date.”

He sits back on his calves, careful in his movements, he slips out of you slowly, intentionally. He leans down, pressing a kiss to your overly sensitive clit and it makes you gasp, hips twitching once. You smile through the stimulation, the feeling is nostalgic, something he used to do every time you had sex. You look up at him through heavy lids as he runs his hands up and down your thighs like he doesn’t want to stop touching you.

He finally huffs, “Okay, but I have to make a few calls and get it cleared first.” Leaning down to press a kiss to the side of your knee, he asks, “Do you wanna stay here tonight?”

“Can we shower and order room service and watch a movie?” The question comes quick, as if you knew he’d ask, you lift yourself up on your elbows as he starts crawling off the bed. 

“Duh,” he grins, “c’mon, shower time and then we’ll call Kyungminnie.”

You gasp, a smile breaking out across your cheeks, “My baby.”

“Our baby,” he corrects, grabbing you by the ankles, pulling you to the edge of the bed, “Up.”

You only manage a weak hum back before he paws at your skirt, reaches underneath it and pulls down your panties. They drop to the floor by your feet. When Jeongin nudges his knee forward again, the cold air hits your soaked folds, making you mewl into his lips.

“B-baby,” you whisper out, “they’ll know we’re gone.”

Jeongin chuckles darkly, his hand surging up to cup your face. His eyes are hooded with arousal as he leans forwards, licks into your mouth possessively.

“Good.”

He sinks to his knees, hot palms sliding up your bare legs, dark, sparkling eyes staring up at you as he hooks one of your legs over his shoulder. He presses a heated kiss into the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, and your knees nearly buckle.

“Because I need Hyunjin to never look at you like that again.”

The giggle that bubbles out of your chest devolves into a long, drawn out moan when Jeongin spreads you open and buries his tongue in your folds, lapping up your wetness with a deep hum. Your hips can’t forward automatically, hands surging backwards to grip onto the cold stone of the sinks.

One of his hands is holding your thigh in a vice grip where it’s resting on his shoulder, the other is still on your waist, holding up your skirt enough so it doesn’t get in the way of him devouring you. He flattens his tongue against you and massages your clit hard and fast before he pulls back and stares up at you.

“Did you do it on purpose, hm? Leaning over the pool table like that"

You shake your head, your hips twitching helplessly, when he digs his thumb into your thigh.

“Looked good …” he mumbles, pressing more wet kisses to the inside of your thigh, “caught him looking and couldn’t even blame him. But he doesn’t get to have you like this, does he?”

You shake your head again, more vigorously this time, and he finally dives back in, the tip of his hot tongue prodding against your hole, licking inside only a little, leaving you aching for more.

He growls when you clench around nothing.

“My baby, my fucking pussy.”

He drags you closer, bending your leg higher, pulling you into his mouth, and then he starts feasting.

His tongue is all over you, flattening against you, lapping at your wetness eagerly, lewd, sweet noises mixing with the sound of the party filtering through the door, so close yet so far. Somebody laughs loudly downstairs. You whimper and throw your head back.

Jeongin circles his tongue around your entrance before dipping in, hot and strong, and you just about manage to mute your whine by slapping a panicked hand over your mouth. He groans and pulls back, reaches out to tug your hand away.

“Lemme hear you,” he slurs, licks his lips absentmindedly, dives back in, laving at your clit until your legs are shaking. “Let them all hear.”

When he looks up at you, there’s something softer in his eyes, his pretty, sparkly eyes.

“I want them all to know how fucking perfect we are for each other,” he whispers, and your heart skips a beat. You reach out, thread your shaky fingers through his hair, running them through his locks softly. He preens, keens into your touch, his eyes slipping shut for a second when you drag your nails over his scalp. But it’s only a second, before he shakes himself out of it, trails his free hand between your legs and grins up at you.

“Now let me make my pretty baby cum.”

And with that, he leans back in, wraps his lips around your clit and rolls his tongue over it and, just like he wanted, the next moan you let out bounces off the tiles of the bathroom, loud enough for you to know everyone heard you. Jeongin hums happily, leans down further, and you gasp out, another deep moan ripping out of your chest when he fucks his tongue into you again and again. Your leg shakes, knocks against the side of his head; he only grabs it harder.

You can feel the coil in your belly already tighten dangerously, when he replaces his tongue with one of his pretty fingers, sliding it into you slowly but steadily, caressing your walls with his fingertips while he laps at your clit like a man starved.

He slides another one in, moans with you when you clench around his finger and your hand tightens in his hair, so much it probably stings. But he doesn’t seem to care, lets you hold him against you as he fucks his fingers deep into you, curling the pads of his fingers against your g-spot until your legs start trembling, and you whimper out a quiet I’m close.

His self-control seems to waver, his voice hoarse, breathless and needy when he moans as he continues to work you up and up, his hand tightening on your hip, his strong shoulder under your leg, holding you up as your legs start shaking harder – and then you’re cumming, your hips bucking into his hand and his mouth as you hold him against you, your head thrown back as wrecked moans echo off the tiles.

He helps you through it, his strong hand holding you up, thumb rubbing soothing circles into your skin, tongue now softly circling your clit until you twitch against him, and only then does he pull his fingers out.

He gets up with shaky legs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, a lazy grin on his handsome face, and you can’t help but pull him in for a deep, toe-curling kiss, one he melts into immediately, his rock-hard cock pressing against your hip, his hand fisted into your shirt. You can taste yourself on his lips and the thought of him walking out of here later, everyone able to smell you on him, drives you nearly insane.

When you pull back, he chases after you, his expression entirely dazed. He hisses when you cup him through his jeans, and you fix him with your best doe eyes, blinking up at him.

“Fuck me, Innie,” you purr, and he blinks twice, and then it’s like a switch is flipped, his one hand buries itself in your hair to pull you into a kiss while the other guides you backwards until you hit the wall. He presses you against it without parting his lips from yours, hauls one of your legs up to rest on the sink, the other only half on the floor, before he unbuttons his pants with one hand and pulls his hard, leaking cock out.

“Baby,” he breathes out, leans forward, rubs the head of his cock through your slick, “fuck, baby.”

You whine, pull him back into your lips, and he guides himself in, twin gasps falling from your lips when he pushes inside, the stretch of him so perfect, so familiar, your insides light up with raw need again. They always do, for him. He makes you feel insatiable.

He holds you close until he bottoms out, lets his head drop to the crook of your neck, kisses a messy trail up until he can nip at your ear, before he finally rolls his hips into you, and you whimper, making his hands tighten on you with a groan.

“Come on,” you mumble, impatient, needy, and he complies, pulls back and bucks into you so hard you choke on a gasp. “Ah, fuck, yeah, like that,” you whisper and Jeongin huffs out a disbelieving laugh before he pulls you into another kiss, one that soon turns into you panting each other’s mouths with every thrust of Jeongin’s cock inside of you, and you can feel your legs get shaky again, though this time you’re not sure if you can even stay on your feet enough for Jeongin to be able to hold you.

“Innie, can’t …” he fucks up into you hard, and you moan, your leg wobbling slightly, “can’t hold myself … my legs.”

“It’s okay, baby,” he mumbles, pulling out gently, shushing your whimper at the emptiness. “I got you.”

He stays close to you while he slowly guides your other leg off the sink, but when your knees buckle immediately, he’s not prepared and he only half catches you before you both unceremoniously land on the bathroom floor in a heap.

You don’t know who laughs first, maybe it’s you, giggling at his weird fall, both legs still stuck in his jeans, or at his startled expression as holds himself above you. Or it’s him, about how you looked when you went down, your eyes immediately crinkling with a silly cackle. But there you are, looking at each other and giggling together on the plush bathmat, legs tangled, faces flushed.

When you’ve somehow calmed down, Jeongin cups your face, gives you a smile that makes butterflies erupt in your stomach, before he leans in and presses his lips to yours again. It’s slow and playful at first, but before long your tongue is rubbing against his, needy whimpers fighting their way out of your chest and then his hard cock is slipping through your folds, and you grind your hips into it needily. He props himself up above you, his eyes locked with yours as he pushes forward, and you gasp when he’s hard enough that the head of his cock just slips in.

He slides in easily this time, fills you up so well like this that your legs come up to wrap around his waist automatically, heels digging into his ass, willing him to move. And when he finally does, you see stars, your breath punched out of you with every filthy press of his cock inside of you, the lewd, wet slide of it so fucking perfect. He gets on his knees, rucks your legs up higher so he can pound into you harder, the sound of skin on skin ringing through the room, and you scramble for purchase, hands sliding under his shirt, all over his shoulders, nails digging in so hard you know you’ll see the marks when he takes it off later.

It doesn’t take long before you can feel the telltale hiccuping of his breath, the faltering of his pace, the haze in his gorgeous, dark eyes.

He slips his hands between you and clumsily finding your clit. His hips slow, fucking into you so deep and hard you’re getting pushed up with every thrust, only held in place by his arm, his fingers sliding messily over your slippery, messy clit and that’s all it takes for you to tip over the edge again, your face scrunching up, back arching as you cum around him, the wetness and the rhythmic clenching of your cunt making Jeongin groan out loudly.

He pumps into you a few more times, wildly, deeply before he slams his hand into the ground next to you, buries his face in the crook of your neck, fucks his hips forward as far as they can go, and then he’s cumming, spilling ropes and ropes of his cum into you, his back muscles ripping under your hands.

It takes you a while to clean up, which isn’t helped by Jeongin trying to convince you to let him fall to his knees again and clean you up with his mouth. But before long, you stumble out of the bathroom, your make-up haphazardly fixed, his mouth haphazardly washed, the bathmat somewhat pulled back into place. But you know you’re not fooling anyone, their incredulous stares meeting you when you stumble down the stairs, holding hands and giggling.

“Next time, you can just go home to fuck instead of defiling my bathroom, you know?” Chan mumbles, a grimace of resigned disgust on his face.

Embarrassment warms your ears, but Jeongin just winds an arm around your waist, pulls you closer. You lean into his comforting warmth, trail your hand under his shirt, ghost your fingertips over his spine, and he shivers, barely noticeably, fingers digging into the skin of your waist. But his cocky grin doesn’t falter. He winks at Hyunjin.

“Sorry, ’t was urgent. Had to make a point.”

skzms' masterlist // ko-fi

taglist: @puppyminnnie @like-a-diamondinthesky @lyramundana @laylasbunbunny @minsflannelwrap148 @caitlyn98s @straystays2345 @3rachasninja @maximumkillshot @sungprotector @stayconnecteed @mellhwang @chlodavids @kookiesbunny @noellllslut @warren-thedarkangel @kidrauhlschik @anyhow-everything @krishastumblernow @cutiespaghetti @hobi-szn @usagi---mochi @stolasisyourparent @steadysuitenthusiast @queen-in-the-shadows @ayoitschannie @starsandrqindrops @redstayrosie @vitrealisbunny @seukijeuxq @bakedlilgoonie @bookworm731 @jazziwritesthings @katsukis1wife @minhos4thkitty @gbskzlover @armystay89 @chuwii3o @foivetimesacharm @palindrome969 @luvyev @binnies-binna @gimmeurtmi @ashareeboobear @seochangbinnnnnnnnnnn

he doesn’t voice these thoughts to you as you come into the room, towel in hand as you dry your hair, clad in one of his old t-shirts. but his body seems to speak for him, eyes snapping open at the sound of you padding to the bed, spine readjusting so he’d sit against the headboard, eager to look at you more intently.

“tired?” you ask, planting a kiss on his temple before retrieving your hair bush from the bedside drawer. the pain in his head subsides, your existence the antidote for all his ailments.

“no, how was your day?” he asks softly, his warm palm resting on your bare knee. you quickly glance at him, at the way his eyebrows scrunch together ever so slightly, as if begging you to speak, to weave the dreadful silence with your sweet voice.

“it was good, i tried a new restaurant today,” you speak gently, combing slowly through your hair.

“yeah, what is it called?” he says, thumb circling your soft skin. he is no longer angry at the light, for it highlights every contour of your features. he no longer yearns for the dark, as in its absence he gets to see you. in all your ordinary glory.

and you look so beautiful.

“blossom, they have the cutest pastries. i think you’d really like their cheesecake. it’s decorated with edible flowers. and their coffee is to die for,” you recall excitedly, your eyes locking on his every now and then.

“mm,” he says absentmindedly, laying his head atop your lap. “what else did you do?”

“i had the most boring class today, you know the one with…” your voice fades into the background of seungmin’s mind, lingering like a sweet dream that doesn’t disappear even after you wake.

he’s focused on your bare face, and the way your lips move with each word you utter, he sees your gleaming eyes, radiant under the light, although unnecessary— the star you harbor for heart enough to lighten you up. he sees your hair settling into the curls he loves the most, wet droplets falling into your shirt—his. he sees the slate of your nose that he loves to peck and the cheeks he always cradles before sleeping. he sees you, at your most vulnerable state, at your most beautiful one, and he loves you. god, does he love you so much.

“are you even listening to me?” you giggle, running your hand through his black hair, the one you dyed between giddy kisses in the bathroom.

“you are so pretty,” he whispers, voice suddenly hoarse with emotion. he doesn’t know where this love tide came from, but he knows that the weariness is gone, that a warmth only you can produce has replaced it.

your cheeks are no longer devoid of color, a faint pink hue seeping through them. you smile, widely, with no hand before your mouth, no intent to hide from him. “i love you, you are the pretty one.”

“i know,” he smiles cheekily, further burying his head in your lap, arms wound around your legs. “keep talking.”

“what am i? your asmr podcast?” you chuckle, leaning down to press a kiss on the crown of his head. his headache is long gone.

“yes, you are mine. only mine, right?” he adds, a bit vulnerably, voice weaker.

As soon as Seungmin came home you could tell he was frustrated. It was obvious from the way he’d rolled his eyes at seemingly nothing, clearly thinking about something that annoyed him. It was obvious from the way he was completely zoned out during the movie, and the way he simply shrugged when you asked him if he wanted popcorn. Ever since he got his braces off he never said no to popcorn.

Something was clearly bothering him. And considering he was still incredibly sweet to you and hugged your knees during the movie—you knew it had to be something that happened at work.

“Seung, did everything go okay during your lesson?”

“Fine,” he said, entirely too quickly.

You brought your hand to his shoulder, rubbing your thumb against his skin lightly. He exhaled sharply, knowing you caught him in his lie. He was thankful you weren’t pushing him to speak though, and kissed your temple to show his gratitude for you.

“It’s this comeback,” he sighed after a few moments, letting his head fall onto the back of the couch. “It’s kicking my ass.”

“You always say that,” you hum softly, “and it always turns out fine. In fact, you get better with every comeb–”

“--yeah, yeah,” he dismisses quickly, “I know.”

“Then what is it, baby?”

He sighed deeply, letting his eyes scan around the room as he let his thoughts gather in his brain before he could voice them. Then he licked his lips and sighed one more time.

“I’m frustrated,” he started, “hyung keeps saying I’m gonna need a lot of stamina for this song. It’s apparently a really complicated dance and it’s already hard vocally.”

“Then you just need to work on your stamina,” you offered softly.

“Yeah, I know that,” he rolled his eyes, “but I don’t know what the dance is gonna be like so all I can do is practise my vocals while running like some idiot.”

“If that’s what you need to do–”

“--I wish they’d just let me see the dance, but they’re being weirdly secretive about it and I can’t work like this.”

You squeezed his shoulder lightly, trying to distract him from the frustration he was so visibly still feeling. “I can come run with you? Practise the song and we can run around th–”

“--I can’t run anymore,” he shakes his head, “it’s stupid and it’s not even gonna help that much. The stamina you need for dancing isn’t the same as running.”

“Then try and figure out what you need to build your stamina and we can do that if you want,” you try, “or if it’s something you need to do alone. I’m here to help when you need it, Seung.”

“I know,” he turned to you, wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug. “I just need to figure it out until hyung finally teaches us the choreo.”

You didn’t want to wait for Seungmin to figure it out by himself, you wanted to help him even if it was just a suggestion you could offer him, so instead you decided to confer with the only other vocalist you knew.

Jeongin was helpful, you think, as he offered things like weight lifting and dancing to a choreo Seungmin already knew. Seungmin declined both those suggestions however. He hated weights, and dancing to a different choreo was too confusing for him.

When you asked Chan for his suggestions, swearing him to secrecy because you knew Seungmin didn’t want him to worry–he suggested something quite different.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a proven fact. None of my vocal teachers have ever said this to me, which is probably why the other two haven’t thought about it–but sex is known to build your stamina.”

“Chan, if this is your weird way of saying he just needs to get laid–”

“--have fun!”

And then he ended the call.

You thought it over for a few days, thinking surely Chan was just trying to be a little shit. You knew he was protective of his band members and always wanted to help him, but you also knew he loved stressing you out–so surely that wasn’t sound advice.

Besides, you were almost certain Seungmin wouldn’t be able to focus on his vocals if he was fucking you. Sex was surely not the answer you were looking for.

Even so, the next time Seungmin came home from a vocal lesson with frustration deep on his brows, you decided you wanted his opinion on the matter, too. If it helped him you’d do anything and honestly, when Seungmin started working towards a new comeback he was usually too tired to do anything physical with you when he came home. You wanted to convince yourself you were definitely doing this to help him, and not because it was you that needed to get laid. You weren’t being selfish about this, really. Chan said it could help!

Seungmin shared your opinion that he surely wouldn’t be able to focus on singing at all if you were naked and moaning on top of him, so it would be completely pointless.

“What if I sucked you off, then?” You try, as neutrally as possible.

“How will that help?” He chuckled.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, throwing your hands in the air.

“If you want my dick in your mouth just ask, you don’t need an excuse,” he smirked.

“I promise I do genuinely think this could help,” you pouted at him, “and if it doesn’t you still get your dick wet so it’s a win-win, really.”

“Fine,” he sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes to fully sell it as he unbuckled his belt. “I guess you can suck my dick, then.”

You giggled at him, carefully lowering yourself onto the floor.

You watch as Seungmin pulls down his pants, letting them pool onto the floor right in front of your knees. You grab onto his thighs, slowly pulling them apart as you rack your nails across his smooth skin.

You kiss his knee slowly, planting another kiss higher and then higher before nuzzling your face by his stomach. You let your lips ghost near his hip bone, kissing it softly before slowly sucking on the taut skin.

He sucks in a breath, his big hands going to your neck and pushing you closer.

“I can’t hear any singing, Seung,” you say against his skin before making sure to suck a mark into his stomach.

He lets out a small moan, shutting his eyes tightly before he licks his lips.

“Okay, okay,” he lets out, taking in a deep breath, “this might actually work.”

You chuckle to yourself before splaying your hands across his thighs, kneading at the muscles as your lips trail from one hip bone to the other.

Seungmin starts singing, his voice even and strong.

It almost bothers you, how controlled his voice is, and so you run your hand from his inner thigh to his crotch. He isn’t fully hard yet, and you’re sure he’s trying to bring all his focus on the right notes and words.

You’re gonna have to help him, then.

You kiss along his tip, soft and slow. Open mouthed kisses, trailing from the head all the way to the base while you use your other hand to softly run your nails across his inner thigh.

You can feel his cock growing harder, warmer against your lips.

His voice is still too even for your liking.

You spit in your hand, licking the wetness around to make sure it’s fully wet–and it’s then you notice the singing has stopped. You look up questioningly.

“What is it?”

“That was so fucking hot,” he lets out. His eyes are clouded, his bottom lip sucked between his teeth.

“Don’t stop singing,” you order him instead, trying your best to ignore the way your walls flutter at his intense stare.

“Yes, ma’am,” he chuckles, nodding slowly before he tries to remember what part of the song he got to. He can’t really recall, having been too turned on by your actions so he simply starts again from the beginning.

You spit in your hand one more time, Seungmin shutting his eyes tightly at the sight, before you start stroking his cock. You keep going until he’s fully hard, when he starts singing what you think is the chorus–and then you take him in your mouth.

You push him inside your throat until you start choking slightly and then you hollow out your cheeks. You start bobbing your head right away, up and down as fast as you can take it without gagging.

The singing stops again.

You look up at him, blinking a few tears away, waiting for him to keep singing.

He doesn’t.

Instead he brings his thumb to the corner of your eye, wiping the wetness away and moaning.

“Your mouth is so warm,” he sighs, as if in a dream. “You take my cock so good, bubs.”

You pull away. Seungmin brings a hand to the back of your head, trying to push you back down but you push his wrist away.

“That’s not the deal, puppy,” you remind him, “I stop when you stop.”

“I can’t focus on the song when you gag like that,” he whines.

You push up on your knees to kiss him softly on the lips. “Try.”

He groans in response, lulling his head from one side to the other before he opens his eyes with a new found determination in them.

“Alright,” he says, “let’s go.”

Seungmin is known for his dutifulness, is known for his strong mind and level-headedness. You can’t ignore just how wet it makes you to know you have the power to make him lose his focus, but you can’t think about that too much. If you do, you won’t care about helping him anymore and you’d start begging him to fuck you.

No, you can’t do that. You both need to focus on his stamina right now.

You wait for Seungmin to sing again, starting from the very beginning of the song one more time, before you let his dick slide all the way down your throat again.

You make sure to breathe through your nose, swallowing around him every few seconds.

Once you start moving slowly, making sure to tuck your teeth behind your lips as much as you can, you see his stomach clenching tightly as he keeps singing. He’s still hitting all the notes, you think, but he takes deeper breaths between each line.

He doesn’t sound as controlled anymore.

The knowledge of that spurs you on, and you start moving your tongue up and down against the underside of his cock. You can trace the vein there with your tongue, can feel it pulsing heavily inside your mouth.

You move your head up and down, as fast as you can possibly go, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat repeatedly.

Seungmin’s panting above you, his fingers buried in your hair as he pushes you further down his cock. He’s still singing, but only barely, and at this point you aren’t too sure if you care anymore.

You feel spit sliding down the corner of your mouth and you try to suck it all back in, but it’s too late. It’s messy, dribbling all the way down your chin and onto Seungmin’s smooth thigh. You don’t care about the mess, either.

You barely care about the aching wetness between your legs, too busy with the salty taste hitting the back of your throat in small intervals with each time Seungmin messes up and moans mid-note.

You hear him repeating the same line three times, trying to get the notes just right but failing as you gag around his tip after a particularly deep thrust from his part.

You aren’t sure when he started fucking into your mouth but you let him, relaxing your jaw as much as you can and breathing deeply every time his cock hits your throat like that.

He brings his other hand, the one that isn’t pushing and pulling your hair, around your throat.

He doesn’t apply any pressure, but you know he’s trying to feel just how deep he is inside you–and your eyes roll to the back of your head.

You aren’t sure when he started moving and how you didn’t notice, but he buries his hand in your underwear, moaning at your wetness.

“Look how wet you get when I fuck your mouth,” he moans deeply, “bet you actually did make this up just so you could suck my dick.”

You can’t answer him, but you try your best to nod as he pushes his cock in and out of your mouth. It isn’t even true, you did actually want to help, but when Seungmin uses that tone with you you’d agree with anything he says.

“My little baby loves sucking cock so much,” he chuckles at you, sliding two fingers inside you with ease, “gonna get me addicted to your mouth like this.”

You moan, your throat closing in around his dick as you feel the vibrations from your vocal cords around Seungmin’s hand. He grabs your chin, pulling it down further as he pulls your bottom lip down.

“Gonna cum down your throat, yeah?” He asks, just to make sure you can take it–and your wide eyes tell him there’s nothing more you want in that moment.

He slumps back into the couch, both hands on each of your cheeks to keep you in place as he starts fully fucking into your mouth–shameless as he lets his moans spill out into the air.

You aren’t sure what was prettier, this or his singing, but you want to hear either and both for the rest of your life.

You grab onto his knees for some sort of support as his thrusts move quickly and ungracefully–until he’s grabbing onto your hair and spilling inside your mouth.

You welcome the salty taste happily, letting your tongue touch the roof of your mouth as the bitterness takes over your senses. Before you can swallow, Seungmin grabs your chin and opens your mouth.

“Let me see, bubs,” he pants, chest heaving in the aftermath of his orgasm, “show me how dirty I made you.”

You stick your tongue out, trying your best to keep his cum on it and not let it spill, but Seungmin clearly has other plans.

He presses his finger into your tongue, watching as the thick whiteness coating your tongue slips down your lips and onto your chest.

“So fucking dirty,” he mumbles, gathering the cum that hasn’t spilled and pushing it back into your mouth.

As if in a trance, he pushes it in deeper, gathering everything with his fingers before nodding at you slightly–silently telling you to swallow it now. When you stick your tongue back out there’s nothing but spit around your mouth, and Seungmin pushes your chin down to let it spill onto your shirt, too.

“Did it help?” You ask after a few moments, the spaced out look in Seungmin’s eyes still very much present. You can’t ignore just how rough your voice sounds, and it sends another wave of arousal into your pussy.

“Did what help?” He blinks at you.

“The stamina,” your voice is almost gone, “did fucking my face help your stamina?”

Seungmin chuckles, leaning back into the couch and pulling you with him. You ignore the slight ache in your knees–you’re gonna have to treat some rug burns later–and joining him on the couch as he pulls you into his arms.

“I think so,” he sighs, wiping your chin with the back of his hand, “but now I know for a fact every time I sing that song I’m gonna want to fuck your face again.”

You suppress the moan building up in your chest. “Maybe this time you should take me on tour, then.”

“So I can fuck your face every night?” He challenges, eyebrows high on his face.

You nod quickly.

you snatch the lipstick out of his hand, quickly applying a thin layer to your lips. you don’t pay too much thought to the precision or technique of the application, simply smack your lips together when you’re done and turn to your boyfriend.

“i love this colour on you,” he smiles, words soft and gentle.

you smile at him, thanking him softly before grabbing his chin and pulling him towards you. you plant a noisy kiss on his cheek, an audible mwwahh! leaving your lips before you turn his head towards the mirror.

“see? it gets everywhere!” you explained.

jisung smiles brightly at you. “that’s just the excess layer or something, i’m sure now it’ll stay put.”

now you know he’s doing it on purpose but you indulge him either way. you lowly tell him to stand up, and he quickly does, and you’re pushing his hoodie up while you rub your fingers all over his stomach.

you want to squeeze his tiny waist until he can’t even breathe but you stop yourself, instead just grazing your nails up and down his stomach again and again and again while jisung does everything in his power to stay standing on both feet.

you move closer to his tan skin, softly pressing your lips above his belly button. a beautiful red stain is left behind once you pull away.

jisung giggles, actually giggles, and you start planting more kisses around his skin. his neck is redder than it was before and his eyes are tightly shut and his smile is so wide and his puffy cheek has a perfect pair of lips on it in bright red. you dare suck on the skin next, pulling it between your teeth as you mark him with something more permanent than your lipstick.

“do you see what i meant now?” you ask, running your nails over your masterpiece, careful to not smudge any of your work.

“need you to prove it more,” jisung rushes, discarding his hoodie and quickly undoing his belt.

“ji,” it’s your turn to giggle as he quickly grabs the lipstick and asks you to put on another layer.

“wanna see how long it takes for my dick to be covered in it,” he mumbles, already pushing his boxers to the floor.

“i’ll be late—“

"seriously though i can live without eating you out..." you laughed right in his face. to which he rolled his eyes.

the whole argument starting when you asked if you could dom him. his immediate response being a firm no. you couldn't help but whine, even begging for it.

if he could dom you. you could dom him.

his response being "i'd rather be the one in control. i feel uneasy submitting."

so you decided to pry more into it. you wanted to know more. to truly understand him.

"because i feel like my mind will go all fuzzy and i'll look like an idiot" that was exactly why you wanted to take charge. if not for sometime. you were happy even if it was a one time thing.

minho was cute eitherway and he'd be even more cuter on his knees.

and then what really did it for you was when he said he wasn't that obsessed with eating you out.

a lie honestly.

his morning routine consisting of waking you up with his face between your legs. breathless and absolutely horny. grinding against the mattress.

it didn't matter if he had to go out. that always came first. and he was one to give amazing head. always having that confident smirk after making you cum.

.

.

the day one was fine.

he seemed normal. doing his daily tasks. going to the company. coming back all sweaty and laying on your chest. you couldn't help how sweet he was.

day three was when you noticed him staring.

you hadn't even realised the t shirt you were wearing had ridden up. enough to have your panties exposed. he was talking to you about the dance formations when all of a sudden you noticed the way his eyes kept lingering downwards.

so playfully you spread your legs open and closed them. you weren't being obvious. him on the other hand was captivated.

eyes locked onto your covered heat.

"minho." you called out. he looked back at your face so fast you wanted to laugh.

"hm?" he hummed out, casually walking out of the room, mumbling that he was going to shower.

when he did go for a bath, you pressed your ear against the door. a heat pooling in your lower abdomen at the sound of him jacking off.

"pfft and he says he can do without it" you muttered under your breath.

.

"you want my cunt so bad, don't you baby" you teased. loving the way he hid his face in the pillows beside you. it looked like he was throwing a tantrum.

"come onnn just put the collar on and then you can taste me-" you suggested, rubbing his back.

"no no no no no-" he chanted cutting you off mid sentence, voice muffled.

stubborn as hell. there was no possible way he would do it.

.

.

"was it that difficult, huh?" minho stared up at you with crazy eyes.

first of all, to get him on his knees was a hassle. and now he glared at you playfully. you let out a small laugh. he really looked like an angry kitten. the clip on cat ears and black collar around his neck made him look so soft.

"are you gonna be a goo-"

"just let me eat y-" you clicked your tongue. now he was really pissing you off. a bratty smile on his face. you just wanted to slap him.

"yes yes. now can i-"

"thats it. im done" you stood up, ready to leave. until you were pulled back. minho gripping your thighs. a look of guilt on his face.

"i'm sorry. i'll be good" he mumbled, a small pout emerging.

"promise?"

"hmmmm"

you sighed. you didn't trust him yet. so you took the leash out. his mouth opening and closing when you hooked it onto the collar. his eyes locked onto were you clutched the leash.

"wh-"

his original question turning into a breathy moan. his face plummeting between your legs.

inhaling your soaked panties for a good few seconds. before he lifted his head back up.

using his teeth to take off your panties. you could see the way his breath hitched upon seeing your cunt. it had been so long since. he saw your pussy. after days. up close. leaning in.

a firm tug to the collar. a small grunt leaving him.

"you think you can just get right into it?" you raised an eyebrow, looking down at him. he seemed to understand. his pride wouldn't let him. but reluctantly he asked.

"may i...please?"

you nodded. satisfied.

.

you gasped. fuck you hadn't even realised how much you missed his mouth on you. his tongue licking into your cunt.

nose deliciously rubbing against your clit. face practically buried there. you were worried he wouldn't be able to breathe.

so you held onto his collar, pulling him back.

"m-mmmh... i-ive been so good" he whined, breathing heavily. your essence and his spit staining his chin and nose.

you noticed he was hard. precum soaking into his sweatpants.

"don't think i didn't notice you humping my foot" you choked out.

pussy throbbing at the loss of contact. you needed his mouth back on you.

"couldn't h-help it, sorry" he apologised, keeping his head down. as if he didn't deserve it. you ran your hands through his hair, tucking a few strands behind his ear.

"its okay, kitten. use my leg, hm?" you reassured, closing your legs around his head.

"aahmmhh f-fuck" minho cried out. enveloped by your thighs. nevertheless taking the opportunity to slurp at your dripping cunt. lewd noises echoing throughout the room.

his hips slowly moving. beginning to grind against your foot. you unconciously pressed down on his cock.

a muffled whimper escaping him.

"you're such a slut, a-aren't you" you hissed out. his lips wrapped around your swollen clit. as he sucked. pushing his nose against your cunt. trying to take more than he could possibly handle.

"say it, baby. you're a slut.." he gasped, glassy eyes looking up at you. sweat dripping down his neck.

lips swollen and red.

"s-slut for...for your p-pussy" he repeated. begging to make you cum.

"dumb f-for your cunt only ahhh"

"please p-please c-cum m-mommy" your breath hitching at the name. you let him get back. cock begging for release.

"gonna cum?" you whimpered out, nearly your climax. his head shaking as he humped your leg desperately.

"c-come on kitty, make me cum"

you moaned loudly, his wet muscle shoved so deep inside of you. his own high pitched moan joining you. both of you cumming at the same time.

a wet patch on his pants. his hips still bucking as he let his tongue hang out. riding his climax out.

nevertheless he cleaned you up. licking and running his tongue through your folds. making sure to not waste a single drop of your tasty essence.

small little whines leaving him at your taste.

"my perfect kitty" you praised him. minho panting as he looked at you. pouting. asking for a kiss. his head resting against your thigh.

"good k-kitty?"

"did so good for me"

.

.

"yeah okay okay...im a hundred percent drunk on your damn pussy"

"AHAH SO I WON-"

.

.

You brought your iPad, and did some work of your own, but after a few hours of shifting uncomfortably on the studio couch, watching your man work seems far more interesting. You sit up, with your back firmly planted on the couch’s backrest and your socked feet on the ground. You exhale dramatically, making sure to drag your manicured nails across the leather as you do so. You’re bored, and hungry, but not just for food. Changbin quirks a brow, but doesn’t turn around. This isn’t the reaction you wanted, however.

You stand up and walk over to him, stopping just behind his chair. You place your hands on his shoulders and begin to massage the tense muscles. Changbin moans lowly as you knead away the stress. He finally turns around to face you with a smile, grateful for the respite. If he knows your true intentions, he doesn’t mention it, and motions for you to straddle him in his chair. You try to sit down, but the position is awkward so you innocently suggest moving to the sofa you were huddled on prior.

After shoving your belongings aside, you maneuver yourselves back to a seated position. He grabs your hands and holds them in his own, pulling you onto his lap. Much better, you hum as you rub your hands across the expanse of his chest.

Changbin is always handsome, but you especially appreciate when he is barefaced like this, with his natural hair on display. Your cheeks flush as you look up at him, and he leans in to kiss you. You close your eyes, savoring the sweet moment between you. Quickly, your kisses become needy, and you whine into your lover’s mouth.

Y/N? What’s wrong pretty girl?

You pull back with a pout. I’ve missed you so much Binnie. I need to feel you. All of you.

With a smirk, Changbin moves his hands from your waist, and tugs at the end of your shirt. You raise your arms above your head and allow him to undress your top half. You stand up to remove your shorts and panties, and he takes this opportunity to get naked. You settle back on his lap, and place your hands at the nape of his neck. You smile as your lover cranes his neck to kiss your neck, sliding his hands to your ass to cop a feel. You throw your head back and start to giggle, but your breath hitches when Changbin catches your left nipple in his mouth while he pinches the right. You grip his hair as he begins to suck and lick the sensitive peak. Sinful mewls escaped you as you began to rock your hips to get more stimulation.

I know baby, Changbin whispers as he pulls away and trails his right hand up your chin. He moves you to look directly in his eyes, and puts his ring and middle finger on your lips, silently asking for entrance. You hum as you suck on his fingers, wishing he’d let you stuff your mouth with his pretty cock instead. You clench involuntarily around nothing at the thought of being on your knees for him, and as if Changbin could read your mind, whispers Next time love. I want to focus on you…you’ve been so good for me baby…

He maintains eye contact as he circles his wet fingers on your swollen clit, your back arching immediately at the touch. As he finds a rhythm, he licks and sucks on your right nipple, and you grip the couch behind him for support. Your thighs begin to quiver as you approach your high within seconds, wound up from missing your love during promotions. Changbin slips his fingers into your aching hole, kissing the bottom of your jaw as your head falls back once again. Your moans become wails, your breath quickening as his hand moves faster. Changbin looks at you with stars in his eyes as you get close to your release, groaning every time your hips jerk and brush across his swollen cock. His wrist begins to burn, but he pushes that aside to focus on your pleasure. He whispers praises to ground you as you tip over the peak.

It’s okay baby, I got you.

Listen, your pussy is so wet.

You missed me, huh?

I missed you too baby.

There you go, let go.

That’s my good girl.

You share a passionate kiss as you come down from your first high. Changbin strokes your messy hair as he checks in; Do you think you’re ready to take me, pretty? He knows he’s girthy, and he’d be damned if he hurts his princess. You nod and peck him on the lips, guiding his length to your entrance. You lifted your hips to get the angle right, and slowly sank so that your hips were flush again. You set the pace, moaning into your kiss. After a few minutes of riding, your thighs begin to burn, so Changbin firmly plants his feet and grips your hips as he begins to piston into you.

He bites his bottom lip as you moan in ecstasy, mesmerized by how your tits flopped near his face. He attempted unsuccessfully to catch a nipple in his mouth, and you shared a lighthearted laugh. The pleasure is soon overwhelming, and Changbin struggles to make full sentences.

You take me so well baby, like you’re made for me.

Fuck, I love your tight pussy.

Come for me one more time, yeah?

His hips began to stutter, a sure sign he‘a getting close. He angles his hips to hit your special spot, desperately trying to make you come before he does. You stabilize yourself on his sturdy thigh with your left arm, and reach down to furiously rub your clit with your right hand. Your second orgasm was more powerful than the first, and had Changbin not moved to grab you in a bear hug, you would have fallen off the sofa.

Eventually, Changbin pulls away, and you reluctantly get off his lap. You sit next to him and lean your head on his shoulder. He holds your hands, and you can feel the warmth radiating between you.

Thank you for taking the time to come here, he says, his voice low and husky, still recovering from your passionate encounter. You can't help but smile. Spending the day with Changbin was exactly what you needed.

Anytime, you reply. The two of you sit together for a while longer, talking about the upcoming promotions and sharing stories from your weeks. Eventually, Changbin stands up and stretches, and you get cleaned up and ready to leave, including wiping down the couch.

You hug him one last time, feeling the warmth of his embrace surrounding you. You smile as he leads you to his car, knowing that no matter how busy he might be, Changbin will always make time for you.

—