#allyz

The practice room was quiet, the only sound the rhythmic hum of the air conditioner and the soft scuff of Arno’s sneakers against the polished floor. He was alone, his reflection in the mirror mirroring a look of quiet concentration that he only ever dropped for those he truly trusted.

You watched from the doorway, a warm coffee in hand, hesitant to break his flow. When he finally noticed you, his gaze softened instantly, that familiar, slight curve appearing at the corners of his eyes.

"You're late," he teased, his voice low and smooth, carrying that unique, slow cadence that always seemed to ground you. "I brought peace offerings," you replied, holding up a Convientstore bag filled with goods.

He crossed the room, the scent of rose and light woodsy notes trailing after him. Instead of reaching for the bag, he took your hand, his touch light but deliberate.

"Stay?" he asked, not as a command, but as a quiet hope. He didn't need grand gestures. For Arno, love is shared silences and the way he looked at you like you were the only one who truly saw him.

He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours for a fleeting moment. "I missed this. Just us. I've been so busy lately. I haven't even had time for my girlfriend. I'm sorry baby."

Slowly Arno leaned to kiss your temple. Then he started to move down and kiss your lips. Slowly, but hungry, full of lust, that he hadn't expressed in weeks. "Babe, slowly down it's okay" you say as Arno starts sucking at your neck.

"Ive just missed you soo much baby, you don't understand" "I know, I know, but let's continue this at home, yeah?" Arno agreed, and started to pack up his stuff. The ride home felt longer than it should have.

The second you both walked into your apartment, Arno pushed you towards a wall and started kissing you, like he hasn't eaten anything in days. "Mmphh, babyyy", you moan out, getting wetter by the second.

Arno starts to take of his and your shirt, as he says, "băo béi, I still need to shower, I'm all sweaty from practice. How about you join me, so we don't lose time." You quickly agree. You both head to the bathroom and undress completely.

"Look so pretty baby, missed this so much" Arno says in between kisses. Arno is quick to push two of his fingers into you. You moan out loudly as he pumps them into you at a fast paste. "Hmphhh, shitttt. Keep going, dont stop" you whimper. Arno enjoys seeing you so full of pleasure. He keeps pumping into you and sucking at your felt tit, until you start clenching around this large fingers.

You frown as soon as you feel this fingers disappear "babeee, why did you do that" you pout at him. Arno chuckles. "Jagiii, I need you. Please do something" You don't let him tell you that twice. You get on your knees and start kissing his pink flushed tip. Once you start to put his head into your mouth, he throws his head back instantly.

"Shittt, yesss just like that baby" Arno groans out. You start bobbing your head faster, once you hear Arnos moans and whimpers. Your desperate to feel his hot seeds flow down your throat.

As you start gagging around the base of his cock, Arno starts stroking your head. "fuckkk, is it too much for you baby, hmm? Just a little longer princess. I'm close." You suck his tip and lick up his big long vein at the bottom of his cock. Then you feel his cum on your face, you quickly frap your mouth around his dick again and feel his seeds flowing down your throat.

"You're such a good girl. I'm so proud of you sweetheart. Swallowed every drop of me, yeah" Arno whispers into your ear, with a low voice, making your knees weak. Arno sees this and wraps his arms around your hips, to pull you up. You wrap your legs around his torso and he positions his cock at your entrance. He starts teasing you, as he runs his big cock up and down you folds.

"Ughhh, stop teasing meee. I've been a good girl daddy, why are you punishing meee" you whine out. Arno chuckles at your statement and pushes his cock into you. Inch, by inch, your full of his thick dick. "Fuckkk, your so big, I feel so full babe" you moan out. Arno doesn't move for a bit, to make sure, that he doesn't hurt you.

Once he starts thrusting into you, you can't stop the moans and whimpers from spilling out. "Yes, yes, yes, fuckkk to much baby, to much. Ah-hh ughh.just like that, shittt" you scream out. You move your head away and start biting his shoulder, to muffle your moans and screams.

"Shhhh princess. Your pretty noises are getting to loud, we don't want to wake up our neighbors, right?" Arno tells you and moves your head to the other side. He chokes your neck and forces you to look at the mirror, that is covered in steam.

But you are already gone. Your eyes blurred by lust and pleasure, lips swollen from kissing him and sucking his dick. Spit is also slowly running down the corner of your mouth. You tried to get him to stop, just to give you a minute to breathe and calm down, but how could he? He has missed you like crazy. He hasn't been able to see you, because of work and let alone fuck you.

"Don't worry jagia, I'm close and I can feel you clenching around me. You're doing well." He praises and starts kissing your neck again.

It only takes a few more hard thrusts, until you start cumming around his cock. But Arno still thrusts into you, chasing his climax. Arno holds you close for a few minutes and slowly sets you down, as soon as he feels like your able to stand again. He quickly rinses and dries both of your body's, before carrying you bridal style into bed.

"Good night băo béi" he whispers and kisses you temple. You're already fast asleep, clinging onto his side. Arno strockes your cheek and admirers your sleeping body, before slowly drifting to sleep...

໒꒰ྀི๑ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ๑꒱ྀིა

Thxxxx, I love hearing ppl say, that they enjoy reading my stories. It really made my day, hearing that you liked it!

I feel like I didn't really write it correctly. I think half way through I kinda drifted away from the request 😖. Ohhh, and I also didn't proof read it...

Paris feels unreal tonight.

The after‑party is a blur of gold lights, velvet ropes, and champagne that tastes like stardust. You’re still buzzing from your first red carpet, the cameras, the whispers, the surreal feeling of stepping into a world you’d only ever watched from afar.

But the real reason your heart is racing is him.

Kim Junseo, in a perfectly tailored black suit, standing across the room like he was sculpted for Paris nightlife. It’s one of his first European appearances with ALD1, and he’s supposed to be focused on networking, on maintaining the group’s image.

Instead, he keeps watching you.

Not subtly. Not casually. Like he’s memorizing every breath you take.

No one knows you’re together. No one knows how long you’ve been hiding it. No one knows how much it kills him to pretend you’re nothing more than a familiar face in a crowded room.

You’re getting a little too drunk on the moment — the champagne, the music, the adrenaline — and maybe on the way he looks at you like he’s unraveling.

But before you can go to him, someone else does.

“Y/N!” Sangwon calls out, weaving through the crowd with a grin. “You looked insane on the carpet.”

Leo appears beside him, offering you a drink. “Seriously. You were glowing.”

They’re harmless. Sweet. But they’re also too close.

Sangwon’s hand lingers on your arm. Leo leans in to say something over the music, his breath brushing your cheek. You laugh — because they’re your friends, because they’re excited, because you’re tipsy.

Across the room, Junseo goes still.

His jaw tightens. His fingers curl around his glass. His eyes darken in a way that makes your stomach flip.

He’s jealous. And he can’t do a damn thing about it.

Not here. Not with cameras. Not with his members.

You excuse yourself gently, but Sangwon catches your wrist playfully. “Dance with us! Just one song.”

Leo nods. “Come on, it’s The Weeknd. Perfect vibe.”

You hesitate — and that’s when Junseo moves.

He crosses the room with quiet, controlled steps, like he’s holding himself together by a thread. He stops beside you, polite smile plastered on, but his eyes are burning.

“Sangwon,” he says lightly, “manager’s looking for you.”

Sangwon blinks. “Huh? Why—”

“Now,” Junseo adds, still smiling.

Leo raises a brow. “You okay, hyung?”

Junseo’s gaze flicks to Leo’s hand — still resting on your waist.

“Fine,” he says, voice tight. “Just… needed to talk to Y/N.”

The two members exchange a look but eventually drift away.

The second they’re gone, Junseo exhales shakily.

“Y/N,” he murmurs, stepping closer, “you’re going to drive me insane.”

You tilt your head, teasing. “Why? Because they were being nice?”

His eyes flash. “Because they were touching you.”

You smile slowly. “Are you jealous?”

He swallows hard. “I’m trying not to be.”

You lean in, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Then don’t try.”

That’s all it takes.

He grabs your hand — discreet but urgent — and pulls you onto the dance floor. The Weeknd’s voice pours through the speakers, low and sinful. You press your back to his chest, swaying with the beat, and he lets out a quiet, helpless sound.

“Y/N… please,” he whispers, breath warm against your neck. “Not here.”

You grind back just enough to make him inhale sharply.

“Then take me somewhere else.”

He doesn’t hesitate.

He leads you out through a side exit, the Paris night air cool against your flushed skin. In the taxi, you slide closer, fingers tracing his thigh, lips brushing his jaw. He squeezes his eyes shut, head falling back.

“Y/N… don’t,” he whispers, voice wrecked. “I want to… but not here. Please.”

He’s not rejecting you. He’s restraining himself.

And that makes him even more irresistible.

By the time you reach the hotel, he’s a mess of quiet whines and bitten‑back sighs. He practically drags you into the elevator.

And the moment the doors close—

He snaps.

He steps forward so quickly you gasp, your back hitting the cool metal wall. His hands come up on either side of you, caging you in without touching you yet — like he’s giving you one last chance to push him away.

You don’t.

You look up at him, breath unsteady, and that’s all he needs.

His lips crash into yours — desperate, hungry, weeks of pent‑up longing pouring out all at once. His hands slide to your waist, fingers digging in just enough to pull you closer, closer, like he can’t get you near enough.

He exhales against your mouth, a shaky, broken sound he tries to swallow but can’t.

“Y/N…” he whispers between kisses, voice trembling. “You don’t know what you do to me.”

Your fingers slip into his hair, tugging lightly, and he lets out a soft, helpless whine — the kind he’d never let anyone else hear. His forehead drops to your shoulder for a moment, breath hot against your skin as he tries to steady himself.

But he can’t.

He lifts his head again, eyes dark, pupils blown wide. His thumb brushes your lower lip, slow and reverent, like he’s memorizing the shape of you.

“I shouldn’t…” he murmurs, leaning in again, “but I can’t stop.”

You pull him down into another kiss, and he melts — actually melts — against you. His hands roam your sides, your back, your hips, never crossing a line but making your whole body light up. Every touch is restrained, trembling, like he’s fighting himself with every inch of willpower he has.

The elevator dings softly.

He freezes.

His chest rises and falls against yours, breath unsteady. He presses one last kiss to your jaw — slow, lingering, almost painful in its tenderness.

Then he forces himself to step back.

“I need a cold shower,” he says, voice shaking. “If I don’t… I won’t be able to stop.”

He slips out of the elevator the moment the doors open, leaving you breathless, your heart pounding, your whole body buzzing with the memory of his hands, his voice, his restraint.

The bathroom door opens with a soft click.

Junseo steps out, hair still damp, a few strands falling over his forehead. His shirt clings lightly to him where the steam hasn’t fully faded. He looks composed at first glance — but his eyes give him away the moment they find you.

He stops in the doorway, almost hesitant.

“Y/N…” His voice is quiet, still unsteady. “Are you feeling better?”

You nod. “I sobered up.”

Relief softens his shoulders. He runs a hand through his hair and takes a few slow steps into the room.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t want to push you away. I just… didn’t trust myself to think clearly.”

You rise from the edge of the bed and walk toward him. He freezes again, breath catching, fingers flexing like he’s fighting the urge to reach for you.

“Junseo,” you say gently, “you don’t have to hold back.”

His eyes close for a moment, as if the words land somewhere deep. When he opens them, they’re softer, more honest.

He steps closer. Then closer still.

When he reaches you, he lifts a hand to your cheek, thumb brushing lightly across your skin.

“You don’t know,” he murmurs, “how hard it was to walk away from you in that elevator.”

You lean into his touch. “I didn’t want you to.”

A quiet breath escapes him — half a laugh, half surrender. He rests his forehead against yours, his hand sliding to the back of your neck, drawing you just a little nearer.

“I’m trying to be careful,” he whispers. “But when you look at me like that… everything else disappears.”

Your fingers curl into his shirt, feeling the warmth beneath it. His breath stutters.

“Y/N,” he says softly, “tell me you want me here.”

You don’t hesitate. “I want you.”

Something in him breaks open — not with urgency, but with clarity. He pulls you into a slow, lingering kiss, one filled with everything he’s been holding back. His hands settle at your waist, guiding you closer until the space between you disappears.

The Eiffel Tower glows behind you both, casting warm gold across the room as he kisses you again — slower, steadier, like he’s memorizing the moment.

He pulls back just enough to look at you.

“Stay with me tonight,” he says quietly. “Not because we’re avoiding anything. Just because it’s us.”

You nod.

And when he wraps his arms around you, holding you close as the Paris lights shimmer outside, the world feels small and safe — just the two of you, warm skin, soft breaths, quiet closeness.

Tonight, you stay. And so does he.

The night settles around you like velvet.

Junseo’s arms remain around you, his forehead resting against yours, the Eiffel Tower glowing behind him. The tension from earlier has melted into something steady and real.

He brushes a thumb along your cheek.

“Come here,” he whispers, voice low and warm.

You melt into him, letting the quiet hum of Paris wrap around you. The night becomes a blur of whispered thoughts, gentle touches, and the kind of closeness that doesn’t need to be explained.

No rush. No fear. Just the two of you finally letting yourselves be honest.

At some point, the Eiffel Tower sparkles again, filling the room with gold. Junseo pulls you closer, his breath warm against your neck, his fingers tracing slow patterns along your back.

“Y/N…” he murmurs, half-asleep, “don’t go far.”

You smile. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Even in sleep, his arms tighten around you.

You wake to soft sunlight spilling through the curtains, painting the room in pale gold. The Eiffel Tower stands framed in the window — but the first thing you feel is him.

Junseo is wrapped around you completely, one arm under your head, the other around your waist, his legs tangled with yours like he tried to keep you close all night.

His face is tucked into your shoulder, hair messy, breathing slow and even.

He looks peaceful.

You shift slightly, and he stirs, tightening his hold with a sleepy sound.

“You’re still here…” he mumbles, voice rough with sleep.

You turn toward him, brushing a strand of hair from his eyes. “Of course I am.”

He opens his eyes slowly. When he sees you, something in him softens entirely. He leans in and presses a warm kiss to your forehead.

“Good,” he whispers. “I wanted this. Waking up with you.”

You smile, tracing the line of his jaw.

Outside, Paris glows in the morning light. Inside, Junseo pulls you closer again, burying his face in your neck like he’s found the one place he wants to stay.

For the first time in a long time, neither of you feels like you’re hiding.

Just two people tangled together in a Paris morning, wrapped in warmth, quiet breaths, and something that feels dangerously close to love.