#bellzdrafts

You hadn’t meant for it to happen like this, or maybe, somewhere deep down, you had. The night had started out slow and soft, a few drinks, music low and lazy in the background, Mingi stretched across your bed like he owned the space. He was in one of those moods, teasing, comfortable, eyes half-lidded in that way that made it impossible to look away from him for too long.

It was only when he’d stood up, towering over you, that the air started to shift. His height had always been something you noticed, everyone even, you couldn’t not, but tonight it felt heavier, different. You tilt your head back to look at him, and he just smiles down at you, all teasing and knowing.

“What?” you ask, voice already smaller than you meant it to be.

He shrugs, but his gaze stays fixed on your lips. “You’re cute when you pretend you don’t know what I’m thinking.”

Your breath hitches a little. “And what are you thinking, exactly?”

He stepped closer until you could feel his body heat through the space between you. “You really want me to say it?”

You opened your mouth, but he leaned in before you could answer, one hand sliding along your jaw, the other settling at the back of your neck. The kiss started slow, almost careful, but it didn’t stay that way. It deepened, melted into something hungrier, messier. He tasted faintly of whatever he’d been drinking, sweet and sharp all at once, and every time you made a sound against his lips, his fingers tightened slightly, like he was barely keeping himself together.

By the time you broke apart, your heart pounding, lips tingling, his breath mingling with yours as he rests his forehead against yours. “You don’t know what you do to me,” he mutters, voice rough, like it scraped on the way out.

You tried to speak, but the words dissolved when he kissed you again, deeper, hungrier this time. His hands find your hips, drawing you closer until you were pressed flush against him. You could feel your heartbeat hammering feeling consumed by him.

You try to step back, to catch your breath, but he follows, slow, deliberate, until your knees hit the edge of the bed. His hands slide down your arms, catching your wrists gently, thumb tracing the inside of one as his eyes searched yours.

“If you want me to stop,” he said quietly, “say so now.”

You don’t. You can’t. You just nod, fingers curling into your palms.

That was all he needed. He leans down again, capturing your lips in another kiss that left your head spinning. You felt the room tilt slightly as he guided you backward, his hand braced against the mattress beside your head. The bed creaked softly under your combined weight, the air thick with the sound of heavy breaths and barely contained restraint.

His lips trail down to your jaw, then neck, slow, deliberate kisses that made your fingers tighten in his shirt. When you tilted your head back to give him more room, he exhaled a shaky breath, like he was barely keeping himself from losing control entirely.

“God, look at you,” he murmured against your skin, the words half a groan, half a sin. “You fit perfect here.”

You didn’t even know where “here” meant, his hands, his chest, the space between you, but you could feel it. Every word sank straight through you, heat pooling in your core.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, one hand cupping your face, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. His expression had softened, but his eyes, dark, focused, held something unspoken, something that said he’d been waiting for this longer than he’d let on.

Then, softer, “You sure?”

Your confirmation came out breathless, trembling. “Please.”

You don't even get a chance to blink before Mingi has you pinned to the bed, caging you in even more with his body. He's so large above you, it feels like you're drowning in him, his broad chest nearly twice the size of yours, his thighs spread wide on either side of your hips.

His hand, wraps around both of your wrists and pins them easily to the pillow. You tug a little, just to test him, and he only smirks, leaning down so close his breath fans hot over your ear.

"You're so pretty, baby," he murmurs, voice rough. "So small. Look at you... trying to fight me when I could fold you in half without even trying."

Your body burns at the way he says it, at the way his cock, hard, thick, heavy, presses against your heat through both your layers, making your thighs clench. "M-Mingi..."

His hands move to her shirt, guiding it over your head, before his hands skim up your sides again, cupping your breasts, fingers teasing each nipple. Your own hands find the hem of his shirt, tugging at it until he moves to yank it off.

His hand move lower, over your stomach, hooking at the waistband of your panties, pulling them down slowly, teasingly, before shifting his boxers off too.

"Look at you," he says, lowly. "Dripping for me already. Right, baby?" he runs a finger down your stomach, straight to your pussy.

Then he’s sliding a thick finger into your tight heat, then another, curling them just right from the get go, knowing your body better than his own name.

"Tight. You're so tight it's like your body doesn't want me in." His fingers find a steady pace, forcing a whimper past your lips. "But you do want me, don't you?"

You try to answer, but all that came out was a shaky moan. Ming’s smile widens. "That's what I thought baby."

Your high comes fast, body twitching, back arching as his fingers move in and out of you, thumb rubbing tight curled on your clit. He slows gradually when you cum, before pulling his fingers from your soaked hole.

Giving you no time to recover, he settles himself between your thighs, his cock, presses against your slick heat, teasing smirk on his lips. “You think this pussy is ready for me? Hm? You think you can handle all of me baby?"

“Mingi” you whine, hips shifting to catch his tip,

causing you to moan softly.

"Shh," he cuts you off, dragging the blunt head of his cock along your folds, so wet, embarrassingly so, and he laughs under his breath. "You're dripping and I haven't even given you my cock yet.“

He pushes in just past the tip and your back arches, nails digging into your palm. Even just that small stretch feels like too much, and his grin widens as he watches your lips part in a gasp.

"Fuck-Mingi, you're too-"

"Too big?" He thrusts his hips shallowly, making you whimper. "Yeah, baby, I know. I'm gonna split you open. Gonna ruin this tight little body 'til you can't walk tomorrow."

When he finally sinks deeper, you cry out, clinging to him. He shushes you again, kissing your jaw, your neck, but his pace is merciless, deep, slow thrusts that have your legs trembling around his waist. Every time he bottoms out, you swear you can feel him in your stomach.

And he loves it. Loves how tiny you look underneath him, how you struggle to take him, how your body clenches down like it's begging for more.

"You're so fucking wet for me," he groans , sucking at your neck. "Messy girl."

"Ohmygod-fuck—fuck, Mingi-" your a babbling mess beneath him, any thoughts other than him gone from your head.

"You feel that?" he groans, pounding into you so hard the bed starts to shake. "Feel how deep I am? You're so small I'm filling you all the way up."

You whimper, clenching around him. "Don't look at me like that," he teases, dragging his hips back only to slam forward again, making your whole body jolt. "You can take it baby."

Your head falls back, nails digging into his back, digging red marks into it as you sobs out moans as his fingers find your sensitive clit.

When your second orgasm hits you, you cum hard, gushing all over his cock, knees shacking as he grins down at you. “Good girl, so good for me.”

Then he’s manhandling you, moving so you’re on top of him now, grinning up at you, "Ride me, Y/n. C'mon, you want it? Make me cum."

And you do, moving slowly at first, feeling overwhelmed, overstimulated, overstretched. Then you find your pace, hips grinding against his, moans falling from you like a prayer, fucking yourself raw until he's groaning below you.

"I'm gonna cum-fuck, baby, take it—" and you do, feeling his hot, thick load, so much spilling from him. You rock your hips through it, his hands firmly on your waist as his eyes roll and broken moans fall from his lips.

After he comes down, and you’ve slowed to a stop, he places a kiss to your jaw, his grin still cocky even as his chest heaved.

"See? Not too big after all."

The clock on the bedside table glowed faintly in the dark, 2:17 a.m, the same time it always seemed to be when Yoongi couldn’t sleep. The city outside was nothing but a low hum, the occasional sound of a car passing by, a world moving quietly without him. Inside the apartment, everything was still. Too still.

He lay on his side, one arm tucked beneath his pillow, eyes open to the quiet silhouette of you, just a few inches away. The sheets were a tangled mess between you, thin against the early autumn chill. A strand of hair had fallen across your cheek, the rise and fall of your breathing slow and steady, pulling at something inside him that he didn’t know how to name.

It wasn’t unusual for him to wake like this, thoughts loud, body heavy, unable to slip back into dreams. But tonight, the stillness felt different. Softer. It pressed against him like a weight he didn’t want to lift. You’d turned toward him in your sleep, the hem of his oversized shirt slipping off one shoulder, and it was suddenly all he could do to breathe evenly.

He exhales slowly through his nose, gaze flicking toward the ceiling for a moment, as if reminding himself of where he was. Home. Safe. Not a hotel room with walls too white and air too cold. Not a studio filled with endless loops of sound. Here, it smelled like detergent and the faintest trace of your shampoo.

His hand twitched once against the mattress.

He told himself to close his eyes. To sleep.

But then you made a sound, a soft sigh, a mere exhale, and his chest tightened.

There was a time when he might’ve written that sound down, tried to capture it in melody, in the language he understood best. Now, he only listened, letting it settle in the small space between you.

You shifted slightly, your arm sliding closer until your knuckles brushed the fabric of his shirt. It was nothing, an accident of sleep, but it felt like permission anyway. Yoongi swallowed, the faintest curve of a smile tugging at his mouth.

He whispered your name once, so quiet it barely reached the air. You didn’t stir. He didn’t expect you to.

Still, he kept looking at you, not out of need, but out of something gentler, quieter. The kind of ache that felt like gratitude and longing all at once.

And there, in the hush of the half-dark, with the moonlight slipping over the edge of your collarbone and the city breathing somewhere far below, Yoongi thought, not for the first time, that maybe this was what an angel would look like.

He wasn’t sure when looking turned into reaching. It happened slowly, like muscle memory, his fingers easing over the crease of the sheets until they found the hem of your sleeve.

The fabric was warm from your skin. He let his touch rest there, unmoving, the way he might rest a hand on a piano key before pressing down. A breath left him, unsteady. He told himself it was just to make sure you were real, that he wasn’t imagining the softness of this moment.

You shifted again, a faint murmur slipping from your throat. The kind that made something low in his stomach twist. Yoongi stilled. Waited. The seconds stretched, slow and fragile. When you didn’t wake, he let his thumb trace a small arc against your arm, once, then again, the motion barely there.

He leaned in a little, close enough that your hair brushed his cheek. The scent of you was everywhere, faint soap, perfume, and something only you ever carried. It made him dizzy in a quiet way.

His thoughts weren’t clear lines; they never were. They moved in loops, ‘shouldn’t, can’t, but,’ until they blurred into something wordless. He let them fade, because right now there was only you, and the rhythm of your breathing, and the pulse that beat just beneath his fingertips.

Without meaning to, he leans closer. His lips brushed your temple, a whisper of a kiss, nothing more. The kind that wouldn’t wake you, but might leave warmth behind. He pulled back a fraction, just to watch.

You didn’t move, except for the slow turn of your head, the tiniest sigh. It felt like the world exhaling.

Yoongi smiled then, that small, private kind of smile that never made it to photos. He traced one more featherlight kiss to your shoulder, where the blanket had slipped, and whispered against your skin, words so soft even he couldn’t hear them.

And for a long moment, there was nothing but that: his breath, your calm, but then his hands slowly land on your waist, gentle.

Slowly his hand starts to move as if it has a mind of its own, like he can't resist giving in to the temptation that is you.

His hand moves down over your hip, slowly creeping towards your thigh, fingers brushing softly over your skin, tracing over the bare skin there. His touch is light and gentle, featherlight like he's trying to be careful not to wake you up.

He freezes as he hears you sigh softly once more, lips parting in your sleep, a whisper of breath that ghosts through the quiet room. His fingers tense against your thigh, mind warring with itself.

‘This is wrong’ he thinks, jaw clenched.

But then you shift, just slightly, nuzzling into your pillow, his shirt slipping lower off one shoulder. A strand of hair falls across your lips and without thinking, his hand moves to brush it away. Only his fingers trail down instead, the back of his knuckles grazing your neck, sliding along the curve of your collarbone.

His breath hitches.

And when another soft sound escapes you, a sleepy hum as you shift further toward him, he loses the internal battle with himself.

His other palm glides higher on your thigh now, slow and deliberate beneath the blanket, fingertips dipping under fabric with maddening patience. The warmth of you drives every rational thought away.

"Y/n" he murmurs, like a prayer laced with sin, as if saying your name absolves him for what his hands are already claiming in silence, for the thoughts clouding his mind.

You don’t stir, not yet.

His hand moves again, slow and deliberate, fingers trailing up from your thigh. His touch is still gentle, testing, trembling, not quite believing he’s doing this.

A shaky breath escapes him.

His fingers gliding higher still, heat searing through his skin. Under the edge of his shirt that barely covers your bottom half, his fingers press to your panties, thumb brushing dangerously close to where your clit is.

He leans in without thinking.

“Baby…” he whispers against your skin, voice velvet and sin.

He doesn’t wait for an answer.

Yoongi’s fingers tremble as they slip beneath the fabric, pure heat flooding his senses, his breath stuttering in the silence. He should stop. He knows he should pull back, roll over and fall asleep.

But you're so warm, so soft, and you don’t move. Not even a flinch. Just another sigh again, and it unravels him completely.

His thumb brushes over your clit once, slow, soft, a hushed stroke that makes his own pulse roar in his ears. Possessive. Aching. Reverent.

He curls closer to you, the hand in your panties now delving deeper into forbidden heat, fingers sliding through slickness with maddening care.

"So wet for me…"

Two fingers slide in with no resistance. He watches your face the entire time, eyes dark, lips parted.

“That’s it,” he whispers, fingering you slow and deep. “God, you’re so fucking tight.”

He curls his fingers just right, and you twitch, face scrunching slightly.

You let out a soft moan, grinding helplessly against his hand as you begin to stir. He fucks you harder with his fingers, eyes on your face, until—

Your eyes flew open. “Y-Yoongi?”

He pulled back, dark eyes finding yours. “Hi love,” he murmurs, fingers still steadily curling into you. “sorry I woke you.”

“Fuck,” you whispered, heat pooling at him doing this to you.

He smiles, dark and amused, as he kissed you finally, hard.

“Look at you,” he whispers when they break apart, “Dripping wet for me, always. Wanna taste you.”

And whatever Yoongi wants, he gets.

He slowly slides his fingers out of you, before moving down the sheets, settling happily between your thighs like it’s where he belongs, quickly ridding you of your panties.

“Look at me,” he says lowly. “I want your eyes on me, while I worship what’s mine.”

You did.

And when his mouth met you, slow, skilled, filthy, in no time you’re crying his name, thighs trembling over his shoulders as his tongue flicks with precision. His hands held your hips steady while he devoured you like a sacred offering, groaning into your cunt like he was starving.

His fingers press inside in perfect rhythm when you begin to shake for him, when you cum the first time, it crashes through you like lightning. Your thighs clamp around his head, hands buried in his hair, as you lets out a broken cry.

But Yoongi doesn’t stop.

He doesn’t let up.

You’re breathless, trying to wriggle away as he continued to lap at you, but no, Yoongi doesn’t stop. If anything, he’s slower now, dragging his tongue against you like he’s savoring every second, every twitch, every muffled whimper.

“Mm,” he hums against you, almost lazy, lips curling when you flinch. “What’s wrong, baby?”

He sounds wrecked himself, voice rough, wet mouth shining, hair sticking to his forehead. Yoongi looks fucked out even though he hasn’t had you yet, pupils blown wide like he’s drunk on the taste of you. And still, one hand pin your hips to the mattress, not letting you pull away no matter how much your body jerks.

He doesn’t even give you time to breathe. His fingers are still working slowly inside you, knuckles curling deep, when he crawls up over you, mouth messy, breath hot, eyes dark and heavy-lidded like he’s running on nothing but the taste of you.

“Yoongi—” you gasp, but the protest dies when he smears his wet lips over yours, forcing you to taste yourself on his tongue. He kisses you sloppy, hungry, like he’s starved, grinding his cock against your thigh until you’re whimpering into his mouth.

“See what you do to me?” His voice is low, ragged, but the words are sharp as ever. “Ruins me, having you.”

He pulls you into another messy kiss, fingers slowly pulling out of you, as he grinds his hardness against your thigh, hand moving to free himself from his underwear.

You reach between you both, wrapping your fingers slowly around him, stroking him, staring up at him like his own personal wet dream, all flushed and fucked out alreadh. “I need you Yoongi,” you whispered, tongue darting along your bottom lip. “Need you so bad.”

His hand catches your wrist, stopping your hand on him, eyes burning into yours, before a smirk slowly curls on his lips.

He drags himself slow through your slick, teasing you for just a moment before lining himself up. The first push of him inside you has you gasping, nails digging into his arms. Stretching you around him until your body shook, until your eyes rolled back.

“Shh, baby,” he whispered as one hand came to cup your jaw, though his control was fraying. “You can take it. You were made for me.”

He was slow at first, rolling his hips gently against yours, but once you adjusted, he set a punishing rhythm, hips beginning to slam into you, your body jolting with every thrust. The sound of skin meeting skin echoed through the room, mixed with your moans and his deep groans of pleasure.

“God, you’re so tight, so wet,” he rasped, sweat dripping down his temple. “Listen to that, baby, That’s my cock inside you.”

“Yoongi—fuck—”

“That’s right,” he growled, cock pistoning into you. “Say my name again, baby.”

“Yoongi—oh God—you feel so fucking good—”

He kissed you mid-moan, hips continuing to roll with yours, dragging whines from your throat as he rocked you both into the mattress. Your nails raked down his back, his grip bruising on you thighs, before one moved to find your clit. The sound of skin slapping and breathless gasps filled the room.

“Let me hear you,” he panted, lips on your neck. “Let everyone fucking hear how good I make you feel.”

You couldn’t even speak, just moaned out, eyes rolling back as you clench around him.

He cursed, grinding deeper. “You gonna cum for me?”

You whine, nodding vaguely, legs trembling.

“Then do it,” he growled, kissing you hard. “Cum all over my cock, baby. I wanna feel you lose it.”

And you do, body arching, hands clutching at him as you orgasm zips through her like electric. Your moans were high and shameless, pussy fluttering as your hips ground against his, and that was all it took for Yoongi to follow, hips stuttering as he came inside you with a groan that rumbled in his chest.

He didn’t move for a long second, hips pressed together, your breathing slowly syncing.

Then he leans down to kiss you, softer now, slow and lazy.

“You always do this to me,” he murmurs, brushing hair from your face. “even when you’re asleep, apparently.”

Your voice was gone, your body wrecked, every nerve still humming. Yoongi lay half on top of you, his arm thrown across your waist to keep you close. His eyes were heavy-lidded, lips curved in that small, satisfied smile.

You don’t know how long you’ve been here. Could’ve been minutes, could’ve been hours.

The room was thick with the sound of skin slapping skin, you were bent forward on the mattress, arms trembling as San drove into you from behind. He had one big hand wrapped around your hip, the other spread wide across the curve of your ass, kneading like it was his personal stress toy.

“Fuck, baby,” his voice came out ragged, jaw tight as he stared down at the way your heat swallowed his cock, every thrust pulling slick sounds from between your thighs. “You’re so fucking tight—look at this perfect pussy…” He gave it a sharp slap to your ass as he said it, watching the way it bounced back against him. You whined, cheek pressed to the sheets, toes curling at the sting, overwhelmed as he’d already made you cum god knows how many times this evening.

“You like that, don’t you?” he murmured, running his hand back over the reddening cheek, soothing the burn before gripping you even harder. You can only managed a breathless moan, voice breaking as he slammed into her again and aagin.

He leaned down, chest pressing against your back, lips brushing against your ear. “Bet you’d look so good crying on my cock.” The hand not on your hip slid lower, trailing between your thighs to rub your clit just long enough to make you gasp.

You tensed when he starts to circle your clit in tight circles, a desperate sound leaving your throat. San just grins against your shoulder, slowing his thrusts just to savor the way you clenched down on him. “So fucking pretty for me,” he whispered, kissing along your jaw. “Relax, baby girl. Let me take care of you.”

You can do nothing but moan, as he fucks into you relentlessly, like he has something to prove.

“Holy shit—do you feel that? You’re choking my dick,” he growled, his rhythm stuttering. Your eyes roll back, your whole body trembling as you teeter on the edge once again.

He lost it then, rutting into you harder, his hand fisting in your hair to pull your head back so he could watch your face as you fall apart. “Take it, baby—take all of me. God, you’re so fucking good for me.”

You shattered around him, screaming his name once again, orgasm wracking your body while he fucks you through it, fingers still working fast on your clit, cock buried in your pussy, praising you breathlessly as you fall apart once again.

He keeps going, ignoring the way you claw at the sheets, trying to wriggle away.

He wasn’t just deep, he was everywhere. Thick cock stretching your walls, pressing right up into the spot that made your see stars, his hips heavy enough to knock the air from your lungs every time he drove home, especially after all the orgasms he’d ripped from you.

“You hear that? That’s your pussy choking me. So fucking greedy, baby, always soaking me through like you were made for this dick. Need more, don’t you? Greedy girl.”

Your body’s shaking, back arching as he pounds you into the mattress. He laughs when you cum again, crying, but doesn’t slow down, just grips your hips tighter.

“Again? Already? You really are a mess for me, huh? You can take more.” His thrusts grew sharper, his breath ragged. “I’ll make you cum again, I promise. Until all you can think about is me splitting you open.”

Your head falls forward, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes as you moan his name. You’re cock-drunk, babbling nonsense, your body moving on autopilot as you bounce back into his thrusts like you’ll die without it. The overstimulation makes every nerve raw, every slap of his cock inside you dizzying.

“Yeah, that’s it,” San groans, bucking his hips faster. “Milk my cock. Show me how bad you need it.”

When you cum again, it’s violent, your whole body spasming, thighs shaking as you collapse against the mattress. But he doesn’t let up. He holds you down, fucking you just as hard as he can. The wet slap of your bodies fills the room, his balls smacking against your ass.

“You feel that? You’re so fuckin’ tight I can’t hold back—gonna cum so deep in this pussy, it’s never forgetting me.”

He flips you before you can comprehend it, laying you flat, your legs thrown over his shoulders as he slams back inside. The angle is devastating, his cock dragging against your swollen walls, the sound of slick clearer now with every brutal thrust.

You’re sobbing, clinging, nails scratching down his biceps, but your body won’t let go. Every thrust pushes you higher, until suddenly the pressure bursts, your whole body tensing before a hot gush sprays out of you, soaking his abs, the sheets, everything.

“Fuck, there it is,” he groans, watching you squirt all over him. His hips stutter, cock grinding into you even harder. “God, you’re soaking me—look at this slutty hole. Can’t stop fucking gushing for me.”

He doesn’t stop. If anything, it fuels him, driving into you rougher, trying chasing another squirt out of you, his cock splitting you open while you thrash beneath him, gasping, begging, sobbing his name.

“S-San, please— can’t—“ you blubber out, vision blurred from tears, pleasure and the raw overwhelmingness of it all.

“Yes you can. You will, open wider for me. Good girl… don’t run.” he groans from above you, his eyes glazed over with something feral.

“This pussy,” he groans, “mine. Say it.”

“Yours,” you gasps, so fucked out you’d say anything he told you to. “Fuck, San—yours.”

“I know, I know,” he groans, hips stuttering. “You’re doing so good. Just one more for me. Then let me fill you up, baby, c’mon…”

Your eyes locked with his, the intensity there making it impossible to think about anything but him. He pushed in deeper still, his thumb flicking your clit in quick, merciless strokes until you were gasping his name.

“Sannie— I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he growled, leaning down so his mouth brushed your ear. “You’re gonna give me everything.”

It hit you like lightning, a powerful, overwhelming wave that ripped through you, and once again there was a gush of heat you couldn’t stop. You jerked in his grip, dizzy, trying to twist away as pain and pleasure blurred along with your vision.

“Fuck. Fuck. I’m gonna cum, wanna cum inside you,” he groans, hips stuttering more now, as your walls keep sucking him back in.

His thrusts are frantic, sloppy, chasing the high you knew was coming. The way his breath hitched, the deep growl rolling from his chest, you could feel it building.

He’s all but using your body at this point, your legs burning from being over his shoulders for so long, your eyes rolling from the raw overstimulation of it all, hands weakly holding his arms as he ruins you completely.

When his orgasm finally hit him, San buries himself to the hilt, his hips pressing flush to the back of your thighs as his entire body shudders. His groan was ragged, low, right against your skin.

“Fuck—take it,” he breathed, holding you still as hot ropes of cum spilled from him. “So good…so good for me baby.”

He stayed there, buried and pulsing, body sagging into yours with exhaustion. Both of you lay there tangled, spent, twitching. All that can be heard is both your heavy breathing, as you blink blearily up at the ceiling, boneless, mindless and tingling all over.

When he finally pulled back, his lips were swollen, his hair a mess, his eyes glazed with something close to awe.

“Fuck,” he whispered, still buried inside you, just staring down at you for a moment, before he finally pulled out slowly, brushing damp hair from your face, kissing you softly. “You ok? Too much?”

You smile hazily as you shake your head, pulling him close again. “No. That was… you’re insane.”

He laughs at that, arms wrapping around your waist as he melts into you.

“You love it.”

The movie was halfway over, though you couldn’t remember a single plot point.

Maybe it was because Jungkook had stretched out like he owned the whole couch (which, to be fair, he did), legs spread wide enough that your thigh kept brushing his. Or maybe it was the way he kept stealing glances at you, thinking you wouldn’t notice, only to smirk when you caught him in the act.

“You’re not even watching,” you muttered, shifting just slightly to put a little space between you.

“Neither are you.” His grin was lazy, boyish, teeth catching on his bottom lip. “You keep staring at me too.”

You scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Jungkook leaned closer, just enough that his shoulder nudged yours, voice dipping. “I don’t need to flatter myself, baby. You do it for me.”

Your lips parted to fire back, but he chuckled, the sound vibrating low in his chest as he reached for the bowl of popcorn between you. Eyes on yours as he hovers the piece near his lips, before he popped the piece into his mouth.

“Seriously?” You gave him a look, though your pulse had jumped.

He raised his brows, feigning innocence. “What? Sharing is caring.”

“Yeah, except you’re stealing from my side.”

He tilted his head, eyes gleaming. “Guess you’ll just have to take something back from me.”

The words hung heavy in the air, weighted with more than their playful tone should’ve carried.

You rolled your eyes, forcing a laugh. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he murmured, leaning in again, close enough that you caught the faint scent of his cologne, “you’re still sitting right here.”

Your breath caught, but before you could say anything, he tilted his head toward the screen again, like he hadn’t just dropped your heart into your stomach.

You sat there stiffly for a moment, trying not to give him the satisfaction of knowing he was right. But then his hand slid across the back of the couch, fingertips brushing your shoulder in a casual claim, and you caved, leaning ever so slightly into him.

Jungkook smiled without looking, as though he’d been waiting for you to do exactly that.

Minutes ticked by, the movie forgotten. At some point, his thumb began tracing idle circles against your upper arm. Absent-minded, he’d say if you called him out, but you knew better. Jungkook was never absent-minded when it came to you.

“You’re distracting me,” you said finally, voice softer than you meant.

“Good.” He turned, eyes dark, intent, locked on yours.

For a beat, neither of you moved. Then he leaned in, brushing his lips over yours—soft, testing. Like he was giving you a choice.

You kissed him back. Just lightly at first, then again when he tilted his head, deepening it by a fraction. His hand cupped your jaw, thumb grazing the corner of your mouth like he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to kiss you or study you.

When he pulled back, he was smiling. Not smug, hungry.

“You taste like popcorn,” he murmured, thumb still stroking.

“You taste like trouble,” you shot back, though your voice betrayed you, thin with breathlessness.

That grin of his widened. “Guess we’re both addictive then.”

And just like that, he settled back into the couch, arm still slung around you like he hadn’t just lit you up from the inside.

The movie droned on, but all you could think about was the way his eyes lingered, greedy and unashamed, like he was already planning how much more he’s going to take tonight.

Jungkook’s lips were on yours again, hungrier this time. His kiss was a little messy, the way it always got when he couldn’t help himself, teeth grazing, tongue slipping past your lips like he’d been waiting all night. His hand cupped your jaw firmly, holding you steady like he wanted every angle, every taste.

You broke for air with a laugh, breathless. “Thought you wanted to watch the movie.”

“Fuck the movie,” he muttered against your mouth, stealing another kiss before you could say more. “You’re better.”

You melted into him, fingers curling into the front of his hoodie. He took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his other hand sliding from your arm down to your waist, gripping, tugging you closer until you were practically in his lap.

“God, you drive me crazy,” he groaned, tilting his head to suck lightly at your bottom lip.

“You started it,” you teased, though the words came out broken, with a sigh when his palm smoothed over your thigh, kneading through the fabric of your sweats.

He smirked into the kiss. “And I’ll finish it too.”

His hand was bolder now, slipping under the hem of your shirt, fingertips brushing hot skin. He traced along your waist, inching higher, and you shivered at the feel of his calloused touch.

“Jungkook…” you whispered, warning and want tangled together.

“Mm?” His voice was all innocence, even as his thumb stroked just beneath your ribs, teasing.

“You’re… distracting me.”

“Good,” he echoed with that boyish grin, then kissed you deeper, tongue curling against yours, pulling a soft whimper from your throat that made his grip tighten on your hip.

The sound seemed to spark something in him, he shifted, pushing you gently back against the couch cushions, hovering over you. His hair fell into his eyes, his chest rising fast, pupils blown wide.

“You don’t even know how fucking good you look right now,” he murmured, gaze raking over your kiss-swollen lips, your flushed cheeks. His thumb swiped your bottom lip, almost reverent, before he bent to claim it again.

His other hand wandered, over your hip, your thigh, squeezing firmly, kneading like he couldn’t get enough. You tugged him closer, and he obliged, grinding his hips against yours just enough to make you gasp.

The kiss broke on a shared breath, both of you flushed, panting.

He rested his forehead against yours, lips brushing. “Baby…” his voice was low, almost a growl, “if we keep going here, I’m not stopping.”

Your chest heaved, the weight of his body pressing deliciously against you. “Then… maybe we shouldn’t keep going here.”

For a split second he stilled, then his grin curved, sharp and wicked, eyes dark with intent.

“Bedroom?” he suggested, already tugging you up with him, not leaving you the chance to say no.

You laughed breathlessly as he pulled you to your feet, his hand tight around yours, his other sliding possessively around your waist as he led you down the hall.

The movie was still playing when the living room emptied, but the story had shifted, the real one was about to unfold upstairs.

You barely made it down up the stairs before Jungkook was crowding you against his bedroom door, mouth on yours like he couldn’t wait another second. His hands gripped your waist, tugging you flush to him, hips already slotting against yours with a low groan as he guided you into his room.

“God, I’ve been wanting this all night,” he muttered against your lips, voice ragged.

“You could’ve just said so,” you teased, fingers curling into his hair, tugging lightly as you kissed him back.

He pulled back just enough to grin, cocky and breathless all at once. “Where’s the fun in that?”

His mouth found your jaw, then your throat, open-mouthed kisses that burned a trail down your skin. Your hands slid beneath his hoodie, palms skating over the hard planes of his stomach, the heat of his skin making you shiver.

“Take this off,” you murmured, tugging at the hem.

“Only if you do too,” he shot back, eyes dark with challenge.

You laughed softly, but obliged, peeling your top off while he stripped the hoodie in one quick motion. The sight of him, hair messy, lips swollen, tattoos scattered across his arm, made your chest tighten in ways you didn’t want to think about.

His gaze swept over you like he was starving. “Fuck… you’re unreal.”

The way he said it, like it was a fact instead of a compliment, made heat curl low in your stomach.

He kissed you again, hungrier now, guiding you backward until your knees hit the edge of the bed. You fell back with a gasp, and he followed, bracing himself above you. His hand slid under the waistband of your sweats, fingers teasing at the dip of your hipbone.

“Jungkook,” you breathed, arching into his touch.

“Tell me what you want.” His voice was low, commanding, though his eyes gleamed with mischief.

“You already know,” you whispered, dragging your hand down his chest, over his abs, lower, until you cupped him through his own sweats.

He hissed, jaw clenching. “Shit. Yeah, I know.” His hips rolled into your palm once before he caught himself, smirking down at you. “But I like hearing you say it.”

Your lips parted to answer, but his hand slipped further down, fingers skimming the edge of your underwear, and your words turned into a gasp.

He kissed you again, slow and deep, his thumb pressing against the thin fabric where you ached the most. His other hand slid up your ribcage, cupping your breast through your bra, thumb flicking over your nipple until you moaned into his mouth.

“Sound so pretty,” he murmured, lips brushing yours. “Wanna hear more.”

Your own hand wasn’t idle, you tugged at his waistband until you slipped your hand inside his boxers, wrapping around him. His groan was immediate, guttural, his forehead dropping to yours as his hips jerked into your touch.

“Fuck, baby…” he rasped, eyes screwing shut. “You’re too good to me.”

For a moment, the two of you just touched, your hands on each other, stroking, teasing, driving the tension higher with every shaky breath.

Then Jungkook stilled, gaze snapping to the side. The wall-length mirror across from the bed caught both your reflections—tousled hair, flushed faces, hands buried in each other’s pants.

He smirked, leaning down to kiss you again, slower this time. “You see that?” he murmured against your lips.

Your eyes flicked to the mirror, heat flooding your face. “Jungkook—”

“Don’t worry,” he cut in, tongue teasing your bottom lip before biting it lightly. “We’ll get there.”

The promise in his voice made your stomach flip.

And then his mouth was on yours again, more urgent than ever, as you last bits of clothing were tugged off piece by piece, the reflection on the other side of the room caught it all.

The room was quiet except the sound of your breaths, the sheets already tangling around your hips. Jungkook had you pinned to the mattress, mouth locked to yours, greedy and relentless, like he couldn’t get enough.

One hand gripped your thigh, spreading it wide, while the other slid further down, fingers finding you wet and waiting.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned against your lips, the sound raw, almost reverent. “Already this wet for me?”

You moaned, arching into his touch as his fingers slipped between your folds, teasing, circling. His grin was sharp against your mouth. “So we’re, and I’ve barely touched you.”

Your hand fumbled to find him, reaching blindly until you have him hard and leaking in your palm. His groan deepened, forehead pressing to yours.

“Shit,” he hissed, hips stuttering into your grip. “Yeah, just like that—fuck.”

For a while it was just that, teasing hands, messy kisses, moans swallowed into each other’s mouths as you worked him in your hand and he pushed his fingers into you, curling until your back arched off the bed.

“Look,” he panted suddenly, pulling back enough to tilt your chin toward the mirror.

The reflection caught you both—him over you, hair sticking to his forehead, lips swollen, eyes dark with hunger; you writhing beneath him, flushed and open, his hand buried between your thighs.

Your stomach flipped at the sight, embarrassment and lust clashing. “Kook—”

“Don’t look away,” he growled softly, pumping his fingers harder, thumb circling your clit until you whimpered. “Fuck, look at you. Look how perfect you are for me.”

Your grip on him faltered, and he cursed, wrapping his own hand around your wrist to keep your strokes steady. “Don’t stop, baby. Wanna see us both lose it.”

The filthy honesty of it made your thighs tremble. His mouth dropped to your chest, sucking marks along the swell of your breast while his fingers pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

When your release crashed over you, it was almost too much, the sight of your own reflection, shattering under him, the sound of his praise spilling hot against your skin.

“Good girl,” he panted, slowing his fingers as you convulsed around them. “So fucking pretty when you come.”

He pulled away, bringing his soaked fingers to his mouth, licking them clean with a groan that went straight to your core.

“Jesus, Jungkook,” you whispered, dazed.

His smirk was wicked. “Taste like heaven.”

Before you could recover, he was sliding down the bed, hooking your thighs over his shoulders. The first swipe of his tongue had you keening, your hips jerking.

“Stay still,” he murmured into you, his voice low, commanding. “Wanna see you come in the mirror again.”

And then he devoured you, messy, hungry, tongue curling, lips sucking until your vision blurred. His hands gripped your hips hard, pinning you down whenever you tried to squirm.

You tugged at his hair with one hand, the other holding his shoulder desperately.. His groan vibrated against you, his hips thrusting into the mattress subtly.

When you came again, louder this time, his eyes flicked up to the mirror. “That’s it,” he rasped, licking you through it. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful like this. Wanna keep you here forever.”

By the time he pulled away, his chin slick, you were shaking, wrecked. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning like the devil.

“Ready?” he asked, voice husky, already lining himself up against you as he hovered above, gaze flicking between your face and your reflection.

Your breath caught. “Yeah.”

His smirk sharpened, his tip pressing teasingly against your entrance. “Then watch with me, baby. Watch how good I fuck you.”

The first push of him inside you had your breath catching, nails digging into his shoulders. Jungkook groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating through his chest pressed against yours.

“Shit,” he rasped, burying himself inch by inch, slow and deliberate. “You’re so tight—fuck—you feel like you’re made for me.”

Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, dragging him closer. He grinned against your lips, dark and wicked.

“Desperate already?” he teased, voice shaky from restraint.

“You’re one to talk,” you whispered, tugging his bottom lip between your teeth.

His laugh was breathless, swallowed by a kiss that turned messy fast, tongue, teeth, soft whimpers muffled between your mouths as he started moving. Slow thrusts, dragging, shallow, like he wanted to savor every second of sliding into you.

You whined when he pulled almost all the way out before pressing back in again, his pace deliberate torture.

“Relax,” he murmured, nose brushing yours. “We’ve got all night.”

But his eyes weren’t on you, they flicked sideways, toward the mirror, so yours did too.

The reflection caught everything: his broad shoulders caging you against the sheets, the way your body curved up into him, your thighs squeezing his waist as he rolled into you. Your mouth parted in a silent moan as he pressed deeper, and he groaned, gaze fixed on the image.

“Fuck, look at you,” he said, voice almost reverent. “Look at us.”

You tried to glance away, embarrassed heat flooding your cheeks, but his hand came up, catching your chin, forcing your eyes back to the glass.

“Don’t hide,” he ordered softly, a dangerous kind of softness. “Wanna see you fall apart for me. Wanna watch you realize how perfect you look like this.”

Your walls clenched around him at the filth in his tone, and he hissed, burying his face against your neck. “Shit—don’t do that, baby. I’ll lose it.”

Your hand slid down his back, nails scraping lightly, the other fisting in his hair as his thrusts deepened just enough to make you wither. Each roll of his hips pressed you harder into the mattress, each groan in your ear a reminder that he was barely holding back.

“Touch yourself,” he breathed suddenly, lifting just enough to see your face—and your reflection. “Wanna watch that too.”

Your stomach flipped, but the weight of his stare left no room for refusal. You slid a hand down, slipping between your bodies, fingers circling your clit. The instant spark of pleasure made your thighs tremble.

“Good girl,” Jungkook groaned, eyes glued to the mirror. “God, that’s so hot. Don’t stop.”

His thrusts synced with your movements, slower now, grinding deep instead of fast, building pressure until you were shaking, whimpering under him.

When your climax crept close, your eyes fluttered shut, and he growled, hand clamping your jaw, tilting your head back toward the mirror.

“No, baby, eyes open. Look at me.”

The command broke something in you, your body arched, your fingers worked faster, and you felt yourself teetering on the edge.

Jungkook’s pace faltered, hips jerking as his restraint thinned. He buried his face against your ear, voice ragged. “Don’t come yet. Not yet, I wanna cum with you.”

You whined in protest, thighs trembling, but he kissed you hard, swallowing your sounds. His hand slid over yours, pressing your fingers harder against yourself, guiding you, teasing you, making you almost sob out.

Both of you panting, your on the brink, and the mirror reflected it all back at you: two bodies, desperate, greedy for the release he still wouldn’t allow.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze in the glass, sweat dripping down his temple, pupils blown wide as he try’s to keep his composure.

He didn’t last long. He never did when he’d been holding back this much.

One moment, he was buried deep inside you, panting against your lips like he might shatter from restraint; the next, he pulled out abruptly, flipping you onto your stomach with a growl.

“Kook—”

“Shh,” he rasped, already tugging your hips up, pushing your knees under you. His chest pressed into your back for a second, hot breath at your ear. “Look up.”

Dazed, you lifted your head, only to see the mirror again, catching your reflection on the bed. You on all fours, hair messy, lips kiss-swollen, body flushed. Him behind you, muscles taut, cock in his fist as he lined himself up again.

Your stomach tightened.

“Fuck, that view,” Jungkook groaned, dragging the blunt head of his cock through your folds before pushing back in with one sharp thrust.

You cried out, hands gripping the sheets.

“Eyes forward, baby,” he warned, his voice rough, desperate. His hand slid up your spine, tangling in your hair, tugging lightly until your gaze fixed back on the mirror. “Wanna see you take it.”

The angle was different now, deeper, every roll of his hips had you keening, thighs trembling. And the reflection made it worse, so much worse: the way his muscles flexed with every thrust, the way your body jolted with the force, the obscene stretch of him disappearing into you.

“See that?” Jungkook’s voice cracked as he fucked you harder, one hand gripping your hip, the other still holding your hair. “That’s mine. All of it. Every sound, every face you make, it’s all mine.”

Your walls clenched around him, and he groaned, nearly folding over you. “Shit, don’t do that—fuck—gonna ruin me.”

He let go of your hair only to wrap an arm around your waist, dragging you upright against his chest. Now you were both facing the mirror, your back to his front, his cock buried deep as he snapped his hips up into you.

The sight made your head spin. His hand splayed across your stomach, his tattoos stark against your flushed skin, his jaw tight with effort as he watched himself split you open.

“Touch yourself again,” he ordered hoarsely. “Want to see you fall apart while I’m inside you.”

You obeyed, shakey fingers finding your clit, circling desperately as his thrusts shook you.

“That’s it,” he praised, eyes locked on the mirror. “So fucking good. Look at you, perfect girl, taking me so well.”

Your climax built fast, too fast, your reflection blurring with tears as your thighs quivered.

“Jungkook—”

“Cum for me, baby. Cum for me.” His voice broke on a groan, hips slamming into you harder, faster, chasing his own release.

Your orgasm ripped through you, sharp and overwhelming, and you couldn’t look away from the mirror, the sight of yourself unraveling, his face twisted in bliss behind you, the way his arms locked around you like he’d never let go.

He followed a beat later, spilling into you with a guttural moan, burying his face against your neck as his thrusts slowed to a shuddering grind.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The mirror showed everything, two bodies collapsing together, trembling, sweaty, undone.

Finally, Jungkook chuckled breathlessly against your skin. “Fuck… that’s my new favorite spot.”

You let out a weak laugh, still shaking. “You’re obsessed.”

His smile was dark, satisfied, as he kissed your shoulder, eyes drifting back to the reflection.

“Yeah,” he admitted, voice low. “Obsessed with you. Especially like this.”

And the look in his eyes said it wouldn’t be the last time he made you watch.

The studio smelled faintly of turpentine and something citrusy, the window cracked just enough to let in the cool night air. Hyunjin sat cross-legged on the floor in front of his easel, an oversized hoodie slipping off one shoulder, streaks of ultramarine and ochre staining his knuckles. He always looked so at home here, in his chaos of brushes and canvases, the floor littered with pencils, empty mugs, and rolls of sketch paper.

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching him tilt his head as he dragged the brush across canvas, lips pursed in quiet concentration. The way the lamplight softened his features made him look almost otherworldly, like the paintings he created were simply versions of himself he hadn’t decided to show yet.

“You’re staring again,” he said without looking up, voice low but amused.

You pushed off the frame and padded in, careful not to step on the mess he called ‘organized.’ “Maybe I like the view.”

Finally, Hyunjin glanced at you. His hair was loose, falling into his eyes, and the smile that tugged at his mouth was lazy, knowing. “The painting, or me?”

You knelt down beside him, knees brushing his. “Both.”

He set the brush aside, wiping his paint-stained fingers on a rag, before reaching out. His hand caught your chin, tilting your face toward him. Not rough, not demanding, just enough pressure to remind you that even when he was being soft, there was weight behind it.

“That’s a dangerous answer,” he murmured, thumb brushing across your jaw, skimming close, so close, to your throat.

Your breath caught, just a flicker, and his eyes sharpened at the sound. It was fleeting, he didn’t press down, didn’t hold, but the implication hung between you like an unfinished sketch. He leaned in, nose brushing yours, lips almost but not quite touching.

“You want me distracted from my work, don’t you?” he teased, the barest smirk curving his mouth.

“Maybe.” Your voice came out softer than intended, betraying you.

Hyunjin hummed, low and thoughtful, like he was cataloguing your reaction for later. His fingers slid from your chin down to your collarbone, then dropped away as he leaned back again, deliberately breaking the moment.

“You’re trouble,” he said, grabbing his brush again, though his smirk never faded.

“And you love it,” you shot back, settling onto the floor more comfortably beside him, pretending to be unaffected though your skin still burned where his touch had lingered.

But the thing about Hyunjin, about the way he moved between soft and something sharper, was that you knew he hadn’t forgotten. His hand on your chin, that ghost of a touch against your throat… it wasn’t an accident. It was a promise.

You reached out for a spare sketchbook, and begin to quietly draw yourself.

“Don’t sit there looking so innocent,” Hyunjin said, not looking once more. His brush moved quick and deliberate, but his tone had shifted, lower, darker at the edges. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

You raised an eyebrow from where you sat cross-legged on the floor, the book balanced on your knees. “I’m literally just sitting here.”

“Mhm.” His eyes flicked over you, lingering far too long on your bare legs before he bent back to his painting. “Just sitting there, distracting me.”

You leaned forward, resting your chin on your hand, drawing already forgotten “Maybe your focus isn’t as strong as you think it is.”

That earned you a laugh. Hyunjin set the brush down, smearing streaks of red and white over his hand as he pushed back from the easel. “You’re testing me.”

“And if I am?”

He was in front of you before you could blink, crouching down so his knees bracketed yours. Paint-stained fingers reached for your jaw agin, smudging your cheek as he tilted your head up. This time the grip was firmer, unmistakable.

“Then you’ll get exactly what you’re asking for,” he murmured, eyes locked on yours.

You tried for a smart reply, but it caught in your throat when he leaned in, brushing his lips against yours, soft at first, almost teasing. The kiss deepened quick, his hand sliding from your jaw to the back of your neck, holding you steady as his mouth moved hungrily over yours.

The sketchbook slid forgotten to the floor as you fisted your hands in his hoodie, pulling him closer. He shifted, pushing you back against the scattered supplies, brushes rolling, a charcoal pencil snapping under your weight, but he didn’t care. His laugh vibrated against your lips, wild and breathless.

“Look at the mess you’re making in my studio,” he teased, pressing kisses down the line of your throat. His tongue traced heat against your skin before his teeth grazed your pulse, not quite biting. His free hand flattened against your thigh, paint smearing across your skin as his fingers slipped higher.

“You’re the one pinning me down in your art room,” you managed, gasping when he sucked lightly at your neck.

Hyunjin hummed in approval, lifting his head just enough to look at you. His pupils were blown wide, hair falling into his face, a streak of ochre across his cheekbone. “Maybe I like the chaos.” His fingers pressed a little harder into your thigh. “Maybe I like you in the chaos.”

The way he said it, low, certain, dangerous, made your stomach flip. And when his paint-stained hand slid from your thigh up your (his) shirt, to your hip, tightening with an authority you hadn’t expected, you realized just how fast that soft exterior could crack. 

He tugged at your shirt with paint-streaked fingers, peeling it up over your head, the fabric catching for a moment before he tossed it carelessly onto a pile of rags. His gaze lingered, dark and reverent, before he bit his lip, smirk tugging at the corners.

“You look better in my mess than I do,” he said, voice husky as his hand dragged slowly down your bare arm, leaving faint stains of color in its wake. “I should paint you like this.”

“You already are,” you teased breathlessly, glancing down at the smears across your skin.

That earned you a small laugh before his mouth found your collarbone, teeth scraping lightly as his hand pressed firmly to your hip. He shifted his weight, caging you against the floorboards and the scattered supplies. The pressure of his body was unmistakable now, he was in control, and he knew it.

When his hand slid higher, curling around your throat, your breath hitched. He didn’t squeeze, not yet. Just rested there, his thumb brushing lazily along the side of your neck. Testing. Watching.

“You trust me?” he asked suddenly, voice low, his lips ghosting against your ear.

“Yes.” The answer left you without hesitation.

His smirk deepened. “Good.”

And then he kissed you again, harder, hand still firm at your throat, not choking, but holding you, reminding you of his strength. The contrast was dizzying: his soft hair falling over your face, his delicate fingers stained with paint, and that grip, solid and unyielding.

Your hands moved greedily over him, tugging at his hoodie until he pulled back just enough to strip it off, baring the long lines of his torso. His skin was warm, smooth, muscles shifting under your palms as you traced them. He groaned into your mouth when your nails dug in, his control slipping just enough for him to push you flat against the floor, knee slotting between your thighs.

“God, you drive me insane,” Hyunjin muttered against your lips, rolling his hips lightly into yours. His hand tightened the faintest bit on your throat, not enough to cut off air, but enough to make your pulse jump beneath his palm. Enough to make you shiver.

And the look in his eyes when you did? Ruthless.

He dragged his thumb across your bottom lip, paint and all, before pushing it between your teeth. “Open,” he ordered softly, and you obeyed, the taste of him sharp on your tongue. His smirk was wicked, satisfied.

The painter was gone. The boy who had been humming to himself over an easel half an hour ago had been replaced by something darker, more commanding. And yet, in the back of your mind, you knew—this was still Hyunjin. The same hands that created beauty on canvas now claimed you with equal fervor.

And with his grip on your throat tightening by degrees, you realized he was only just beginning.

You whimpered when he squeezed lightly, the pressure making your head swim, and his smirk curved sharp against your lips.

“Such a pretty sound,” he murmured, voice low, velvet and dangerous. His thumb stroked over your pulse before tightening again. “You like this, don’t you? My hand right here.”

“Yes,” you gasped, breath catching, and he rewarded you with a slow grind of his hips against yours.

“Good girl.” The praise burned, made you clench around nothing. “You’ll take everything I give you.”

Hyunjin sat back on his heels, tugging your panties down in one fluid motion, leaving you bare against the cold floor. He didn’t give you time to cover yourself, his eyes dragging over every inch of you, dark with hunger. Then he leaned down, mouth tracing your stomach, faint paint-streaks across your skin from his earlier touches, as he continues down.

The first lick of his tongue against your heat made you arch upon surprise, a startled moan spilling from your lips. Hyunjin groaned in return, gripping your thighs and forcing them wider, holding you open as his mouth worked you over. He licked, sucked, teased relentlessly, his nose brushing your clit as his hand crept back up to your throat.

The dual sensation, the sweetness of his tongue and the pressure of his fingers, made your vision swim.

“Hyun—!” You gasped, half-wild, hands tangling in his hair.

He pulled back just long enough to smirk up at you, lips shining. “Taste yourself.” And then he was climbing up your body, slotting his lips with yours once he was above you, fingers tightening slight more around your throat, making your pulse jump once more.

“Fuck, you’re perfect like this,” he groaned, grinding against you through his sweats.

Your hands wandered too, fumbling with his waistband until you shoved it down enough to free him. He hissed when your hand wrapped around him, stroking firm and slow.

“Oh, you want to play, too?” His laugh was breathless, his composure slipping. “Greedy girl.” He shifted so to kneel above you, l you leant up, lips brushing the flushed head of his cock, and when you sucked him into your mouth, a strangled curse escapes him.

“God—fuck, yes,” Hyunjin groaned, hips jerking despite himself. His hand tangled in your hair, guiding your mouth as you took him deeper, the taste of him sharp and intoxicating. For a moment he let you set the pace, let you suck him until his breath came ragged, before tugging you back with a wet pop.

“Not yet,” he growled, thumb smearing spit across your swollen lips. “I’m not wasting myself in your mouth tonight.”

You barely had time to protest before he flipped you, pressing you face-down against the floor. His chest pressed hot to your back, one hand pinning your wrists above your head while the other curled firmly around your throat, pulling you up right.

“Wish you could see yourself” he whispered against your ear, hips grinding against your ass. “See just how ruined you already are for me” His grip tightened just enough to make your moan crack.

“I’m going to fuck you right here,” he promised, voice gone ragged. “On the floor. In my paint. With my hand on your throat. And you’ll thank me for it.”

Your body trembled in anticipation, heat pooling low as he lined himself up against your entrance, teasing the stretch.

And when he finally pushed in, filling you in one long, merciless thrust, your cry echoed through the chaos of the studio, raw, desperate, and utterly his.

“Fuck, so tight,” he groaned, his hips grinding forward in a slow, deliberate thrust. His hand clamped around your throat, pulling you up more against him, arching your back so he could drive deeper. “Taking me so well already.”

Your nails scraped uselessly at your thighs as he began to move in a steady rhythm, each thrust rocking you against the floor. The stretch burned in the most intoxicating way, every inch of him filling you until you were gasping for air.

“Jinnie, please…”

“Please what?” His voice was sharp, teasing, his fingers flexing at your throat as if to remind you who was in control. He squeezed just enough to make your pulse thrum against his fingertips. “You don’t get to beg without telling me what you want.”

“I want—I need—” Your words fell apart as he snapped his hips harder, making your moan shatter into the air.

“That’s what I thought,” he smirked, lips brushing your jaw. “You just need me to fuck you stupid, don’t you?”

You nodded desperately, earning a low growl of approval as his pace quickened, hips slamming into you with ruthless precision. His free arm banded across your waist, pinning you firmly to him so you couldn’t move an inch without his say. The sound of skin meeting skin, the wet drag of him inside you, filled the messy silence of the studio.

Every time your breath hitched under the pressure of his hand, every broken sound you gave him, his groans deepened. He was unraveling, but he wasn’t giving up control. Not yet.

“God, look at you.” Hyunjin’s teeth grazed your ear as he fucked into you harder, his hold on your throat tightening with every thrust. “All mine. The perfect canvas.”

Your body trembled against him, the coil of heat tightening low in your belly, your nails leaving half-moons on you. And then, suddenly, he stilled.

“No,” he murmured, voice dark and final. He pulled out in one sharp motion, ignoring your desperate whine. “Not like this. I want to see you.”

Before you could protest, Hyunjin had you flipped, manhandling you onto his lap as he sat back against the leg of an easel. The move was effortless, practiced, like he’d been planning it.

He guided you down onto him with a groan, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise as he sank deep inside you once more. The stretch made you moan out, your core clenching around him.

“That’s it. Take me.” His head tipped back for a moment, hair falling loose around his face, before he looked up at you with dark, wild eyes. One paint-stained hand slid up your stomach, between your breasts, curling tight around your throat again.

“Move for me,” he commanded, voice rough, though his hands kept your rhythm in check, dragging you up and down his cock exactly how he wanted. “Ride me like you mean it.”

You obeyed, hips rocking, thighs trembling with the effort. But even here, on top, straddling him, you weren’t in control. Hyunjin’s grip dictated every motion, holding you, dragging you down to take him deeper, harder, until your moans were broken things.

“You look so fucking good like this,” he groaned, slamming you down onto him with a force that rattled the floor beneath. “Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop.”

Your world narrowed to his hand on your throat, his cock stretching you full, the feral gleam in his eyes as he claimed every inch of you. And when his other hand came down to rub tight circles over your clit, you knew you wouldn’t last long.

“Cum for me,” Hyunjin ordered, voice dark and merciless, hips driving up to meet yours as his hand squeezed your throat just enough to make you quiver. “Now.”

Your orgasm ripped through you like a wave, leaving you shaking in his lap, clenching around him as your vision blurred. He held you steady, riding you through it, his own release threatening but restrained, because Hyunjin wasn’t done. Not yet.

Your body was still trembling, lips parted, breath coming in desperate, broken gasps. You sagged against Hyunjin’s chest, overwhelmed, every nerve alight from the orgasm he’d just ripped from you.

But Hyunjin didn’t stop.

His hand loosened on your throat only enough to let you gulp air before his grip tightened again, guiding your hips down onto him with punishing force. His cock slid deep into your still convulsing walls, dragging a sharp cry from your lips.

“Ah—Hyun, I—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he growled against your ear, his voice ragged, sweat-damp hair sticking to his cheek. “You’re going to. Again.”

His pace was merciless, hips snapping up into you with relentless rhythm as his hand held your throat, keeping you upright, keeping you his. Every thrust sent shockwaves through your oversensitive core, tears pricking at your eyes from the sheer intensity of it.

“Look at you,” he panted, pupils blown wide, jaw tight. “Falling apart in my lap. So fucking perfect for me.”

Your nails dug into his shoulders, clinging to him as the overstimulation blurred into another crest of pleasure, building faster than you thought possible. His hand left your throat only to slap down against your clit, circling hard, ruthless, making you almost scream his name.

“That’s it,” Hyunjin groaned, the sound feral, almost broken. “Give me another. Come on, baby, cum for me again.”

And you did, your second orgasm crashing over you like cold water, your cry muffled against his shoulder as your body twitched around him.

That was all it took for him to lose it.

“Fuck—fuck—” His grip on your hip turned bruising as his thrusts turned sloppy, desperate. His forehead pressed to yours, teeth clenched as his release hit, spilling into you with a guttural moan. His other hand was still at your throat as he came, a possessive anchor, until he finally sagged back against the easel, chest heaving.

The studio was wrecked, brushes scattered, a half-finished canvas smeared with fingerprints and sweat, paint faintly streaked across both your bodies.

For a long moment, Hyunjin just held you there, both of you trembling, catching your breath in the silence. And then, slowly, his grip softened. The hand that had held your throat so firmly slid down to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing tenderly across your cheek.

“You okay?” he whispered, voice hoarse but gentle now.

You nodded weakly, resting your forehead against his shoulder. “Yeah. More than okay.”

A small, exhausted smile tugged at his lips. He kissed your temple, then your neck, soft, reverent kisses where his fingers had pressed moments before. His hands traced soothing circles over your back, gathering you closer as if to shield you from the chaos he himself had created.

“You’re so good for me,” he murmured, voice barely audible. “My muse. My everything.”

The room smelled faintly of sandalwood and something cleaner, almost clinical. Your hands ached against the soft ropes binding your wrists to the bedposts, the knots tight enough that you couldn’t wiggle free even if you tried. At first it was easy to breathe through; now, every slight shift sent a pinch of strain up your arms, and the helplessness prickled deliciously at the back of your neck.

“Shh… look at you,” Seonghwa murmured, voice low and velvety, drifting from in-front you. You tried to twist, but the rope refused you. “So… good. So pretty for me.”

Your chest rises and falls with deep breaths, quivering already. Praise like that, it wasn’t just words, it wrapped around you, curling under your skin. You whimpered softly, embarrassed at how much it made your pussy wet, at how easily his approval had you teetering on the edge of everything.

“You’re doing so well for me,” he continued, stepping closer, the sound of his bare feet brushing the floor somehow magnified in the quiet room. “Even when it’s hard. So beautiful.”

You let out a shaky breath, your voice barely audible. “I… I can’t…”

“You can,” he corrected gently, sliding a hand up your calf as he makes it to the bed. The touch wasn’t harsh, it never was, but it was enough to send a shiver through you. “I know you can. You’re so strong, even like this. Even tied up for me.”

Your pussy clenches at his words. You hated that your body betrayed you with every shiver and moan, every whine that slipped out. And yet, when his fingers traced soothing patterns along your leg, his thumb brushing your knee lightly, you couldn’t help the helpless gratitude that flooded your chest.

“Look at you,” he whispered again, his breath warm against your ear, as he crawls up the bed. “So patient. So obedient for me. That’s my good girl, all…” He trailed off, leaving the words dangling in the air like silk.

You closed your eyes, trying to ground yourself in the feeling of his presence, of his words and touches washing over you in waves. Even with the ropes biting into your skin, even with the desperation curling in your belly, you felt safe, seen, even.

“You’re mine,” he said finally, voice firm but gentle. “Mine to take care of, mine to make a mess of… mine to love exactly like this.”

A soft whine escaped you again, and he chuckled, low and approving, like a melody made just for you. “Yes,” he said, voice coaxing, “that’s it… exactly like that. You don’t have to do anything else. You just stay like that baby, let me take care of you.”

You tilt your head up and kiss him, lips moving softly as his hands begin roaming your body. Seonghwa captured your bottom lip between his teeth, before his lips travel down your body.

His mouth left a trail of wet kisses as he moved lower, lower, until his face hovers before your dripping pussy. He inhaled softly, licking his lips. “Fuck Y/N, gonna treat you so good.” You bite your lip, hoping he’d use his mouth, hands, anything, on you. He grabs your thighs and spreads you open.

Like he could hear your thoughts, his head drops between your legs, tongue dipping out to taste you. His eyes are on your face when his tongue flattened, licking a broad stripe over your core, making you shiver at the contact. “I could eat you all day.”

“Seonghwa… Fuck.” Your eyes flutter closed, senses heighten as you can only move so far. One of his hands comes to work you open, fingers teasing you before sliding in to your walls, tongue swirling over your clit, causing you to pull on the restraints. He could feel you fluttering around his finger, adding another. Your moans and pants sound so pretty, his movements become quicker, more intense, getting lost in you.

He moans against your heat, suctioning his lips to your clit. Your hips buck softly, whimpering his name as you feel your orgasm begin to build. Your chest heaves as you wither against the rope, before feeling your orgasm rush over you.

You cry out, thighs trembling, grinding into him as your orgasm hits hard, He groans low, licking you through it, before pulling away, his chin slick with your release.

He slowly kisses back up your body, lips swollen and pink. He cradles your face once he’s back hovering over you, leaning down to kiss you. You tasted yourself on his lips, moaning softly.

“Are you ready for me, baby?” Seonghwa whispers, had reaching for his cock, pumping himself slowly, eyes on you the whole time.

“Hwa… please.” you whine softly, wrist pulling at your restraints once again, hips shifting to try and meet his.

“Don’t worry baby, I’m going to fuck this pretty pussy, be patient.” he murmurs as his cock teases your slick entrance. His eyes met yours, looking for any sign of discomfort, seeing you smile softly, he slowly rolls himself inside you. Both of you moan out as he pushes in, your walls sucking him in. His hair falls across his forehead, eyes closed as he bottoms out, waiting for you to adjust.

After a moment, his eyes open, looking down at you, dark with lust, hands firmly on your hips as he pull out until just his tip remains, then rolling his hips hardly forwards once more. You whimper in pleasure, feeling every inch of him stretch you to his shape. “Fuck… you’re so tight baby.” He grits out, jaw tight as fucks into you.

Seonghwa’s pace was hard, steady, the intensity of his thrusts was enough to have your eyes rolling to the back of your skull. “Feel so good, Hwa.” you moan against his shoulder. Your juices leak out of you, the sound of your slick, your slapping hips, his groans, it was overwhelming.

“Shit Y/N, should tie you up everytime.” he moans, your core clenching at his words. “Fuck.”

“Such a dirty girl, you’d like that would you? Tied up for me, dripping wet for me. Such a good girl.” He angles your hips up, thrusting into you almost animalistically as his deft fingers found you clit once again, the bed creaking with every roll of his hips. The coil your abdomen tighened, feeling your climax approaching. “Hwa, m’close… shit, I-!” You cry out as you fall over the edge, Haw fucking you even harder, fingers still working over you clit to prolong your climax. The way you moan, say his name, suck him back in with each convulsion of your gummy walls, had him close too.

“F-Fuck, your pussy is choking the shit out of me baby. Shit, look so perfect f’me.” Sweat coated his skin, as he continued to plough into you. “Need you to come again baby, please. Come on, cum for me, like a good girl.” His fingers circled your clit faster now, his pace not faltering even as he teetered on the edge himself.

You pull hard on the restraints as your third orgasm rapidly approaches. “H-Hwa” you stammer out, breathe stuttering. “Me too baby, please, cum for me baby girl.” his thrust turn sloppy as he looses himself in the feeling of your heat. You let out a silent scream, pleasure ripping through you, as his hips stutter, then still as he releases into you with a loud groan, eyes closing, mouth parting, brows pinched together. You whine, watching as his face twists in pleasure.

Seonghwa gently pulls out after a moment, reaching blindly to free your wrists. He notices the red marks, taking your hands in his, before kissing them softly. “Did I hurt you love?”

“No, you were perfect Hwa.” you respond softly, smile curling on your face at his gentleness. Now that your hands were no longer tied, you pull him down into you and kiss him.

He shifts and laying on top of you, wanting you close to him. “How does a bath and some food sound?” he asks softly, his fingers tracing along your skin.

The apartment door clicked shut behind you with a low thud, muffling the laughter that had followed you all the way up the street. The kind that started harmless, then turned sharp once you realized Seungmin had stopped laughing back.

You kicked off your shoes, still riding the adrenaline of the night, the jokes you’d made at his expense, the playful taunts about how serious he always was. He’d brushed them off at first, chin tilted, mouth twitching like he was humoring you. But sometime between dessert and the drive home, the warmth in his eyes had cooled to something quieter. Controlled. Dangerous, even.

You’d noticed, of course. That’s why you kept pushing.

Now, the silence in your shared living room was heavier than it should’ve been. He set his keys on the counter, deliberate, not looking at you. The soft clink sounded louder than it should have.

“You’re quiet,” you said finally, aiming for light but missing the mark. Your voice came out too small.

Seungmin hummed. “Am I?”

You folded your arms, trying to sound braver than you felt. “Don’t do that. Don’t act like I did something wrong when I was just joking around.”

He turned then, slow, precise. The faintest smirk tugged at his mouth, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’ve been ‘just joking’ all night.”

You took a step back, bumping into the edge of the couch. He didn’t move closer, but somehow the air between you felt crowded anyway.

“I thought you liked when I tease you,” you tried, smiling, but the edges trembled.

“I do,” he said, voice steady. “Until you forget when to stop.”

The words landed low, calm, but they burned. You opened your mouth to argue, but his gaze pinned you where you stood, quiet, unreadable. He’d always been sweet, patient. The one who let you get away with too much. But tonight, something in him had shifted, and you weren’t sure what version of him you were looking at now.

“You’ve been pushing me all night,” he continued, walking past you, not toward, but close enough that you caught the heat off his arm, the faintest brush of his skin. “I figured you wanted to see what happens when I stop being nice about it.”

Your breath hitched before you could hide it.

He stopped near the window, hands in his pockets, looking out like he hadn’t just dropped the temperature of the entire room. Then, quieter.

“Careful, Y/N. You might just get what you’re asking for.”

The silence that followed wasn’t angry. It was worse, expectant.

And when you moved closer, it wasn’t because you meant to. It was because he had gravity. He looked at you then, and this time, the corner of his mouth lifted faintly, like a secret he wasn’t sharing yet.

Then, softer than you expected, he said, “Come here.”

You hesitated. For a second, neither of you moved, his words hanging between you like smoke.

Seungmin didn’t repeat himself. He didn’t have to. That was the thing about him, when he meant something, you could feel it. 

So you move. Slow at first, then faster, like you had to be next to him .

He didn’t reach out when you stopped in front of him. Just watched you, eyes dark and steady, the barest flicker of amusement ghosting across his face. You hated that he looked so calm when your pulse was thrashing.

“Now what?” you tried, soft, testing the air.

His gaze dropped to your mouth, then back up. “Now,” he murmured, “you listen for once.”

You blinked, thrown by the tone, quiet, clipped, but it left no room for argument. “Listen to what?”

He tilted his head. “To me.”

Your first instinct was to scoff, to sass back just to prove a point, but the words lodge in your throat. There was no warmth to his tone, just a steady patience but with something underneath it.

You shifted, arms crossing over your chest again. “You’re mad at me.”

“I’m not mad,” he said. “I’m done.”

That stung. “Done with what?”

“With pretending you don’t know what you’re doing.”

You froze. For a moment, there was only the hum of the city outside and your heartbeat tripping over itself.

“You’ve been trying to get a reaction out of me all night, haven’t you?”

He took a step closer this time. The space between you thinned until you could feel the heat from his body, could smell the faint cologne clinging to his shirt.

“I wasn’t—”

“Liar,” he said. Not cruel, just certain. “You push, I pull back. You test, I let you. And you keep wondering how far you can go before I stop you.”

Your throat goes dry.

“And tonight,” he says lowly, leaning down just enough for his breath to brush your cheek, “you’ll finally find out.”

Something in you stirred, not fear, but arousal, you really want to see how far you can push this. You tilted your chin up, meeting his stare head-on.

“Then stop me,” you whispered.

A pause, one heartbeat, two, and then he did.

Not roughly, not like you’d imagined, but with a quiet precision that stole your balance. His hand found your jaw, thumb resting just below your lip, guiding your face up to his.

The kiss wasn’t what you expected either. It was slow, deliberate, the kind of kiss that told you exactly who was in charge without a single word. You tried to chase it when he pulled back, but he didn’t let you; he just watched you with that same unreadable calm.

“That’s the problem with you,” he said, thumb still resting lightly against your chin. “You don’t know when to stop asking for trouble. You don’t know when to stop being a brat.”

Before you could protest, his lips meet yours harder, opening you up immediately, his tongue sliding against yours like he’d been waiting all evening.

“Seungmin,” you say between takes of breath, your hands holding his shoulders desperately, as his free hand anchors to your hip.

“You drive me insane,” he groaned against your mouth, hands gripping onto you slightly tighter around the back of your neck. “What gave you the impression that you could act like that towards me, with not consequences?”

Your eyes are in his, all that talk from earlier gone, now having no idea what to say. There’s a glint to his eyes, almost a hardness behind his usually soft gaze.

“You wanted me like this,” he murmurs, lips brushing yours, “don’t act shy now.”

His kisses grow deeper, hungrier, his body pressing into yours, guiding you back until the backs of your knees meets the couch, where he lays you back, hoovering above you.

He pulls back just far enough to look at you. His gaze is dark, sharp, a predator’s focus.

“You really don’t know what you do to me, do you?” His voice is lower now, almost a growl.

Before you can answer, he pins your wrists above your head, his body caging you in. The sudden dominance steals the air from your lungs. He leans down, lips ghosting over your ear.

“I’ve been soft with you all night,” he whispers. “But you want more, don’t you? You want me to ruin you.”

Your thighs press together instinctively, and he notices, smirking like the devil himself.

“Say it,” he demands, grinding his hips down so you can feel how hard he is. “Say you want me to wreck you.”

“S-Seungmin…” you whimper, but that’s not enough. His hand tightens around your wrists.

“Say it, Y/N.”

“I— I want you to wreck me.”

That’s all it takes.

He kisses you again, nothing sweet this time, it’s filthy, biting, devouring. His free hand slides under your skirt, fingers teasing your panties before shoving them aside. He groans against your lips when he feels how wet you are.

“Fuck, you’re soaked already,” he hisses. “All this from acting up? Pathetic. My needy little slut.”

Two fingers slide inside you without warning, pumping hard, curling just right to make you arch off the couch. His thumb circles your clit mercilessly. You’re moaning into his shoulder, trying to twist your wrists free to hold onto him, but he doesn’t let you.

“You don’t get to touch me until I say so.” His smirk is sharp, cruel. “You’re mine. You take what I give you.”

The pace of his fingers builds until you’re right there, whimpering his name, begging, but he pulls out just before you fall apart. You sob at the loss, trembling under him.

“Please,” you cry. “Min, please—”

“Shh.” He unzips his pants with one hand, pushing them down just enough to free his cock, thick and hard, tip already wet with pre-cum. He fists it slowly, watching your eyes go wide. “You’ll get what you want. But you’ll take it how I want to give it.”

He pushes your skirt up and panties aside in one rough movement, spreading your thighs wide. Then he presses in, no teasing, just a hard, deep thrust that knocks the breath from your lungs. You cry out, nails clawing at his hand, wrists still trapped above your head.

“Fuck—” he groans, head falling into your neck. “So tight. You take me so good every time.”

He sets a pace that's devastating, slow, deep thrusts, filling you completely, dragging along every nerve until tears prick your eyes. His grip tightens on your wrists, his mouth at your ear.

"Feel how good you take me? Fuck, you're mine."

His teeth sink into your shoulder, not gentle, and you yelp, but the pain only makes the pleasure sharper.

“You love it, don’t you?” he snarls into your ear. “Wanted me to fuck you like this, use you like this.”

“Yes—! Yes, Min, I love it—”

Your cries only drive him harder. He lets go of your wrists just to hook your legs around his waist, folding you in half so he can pound deeper. His hand wraps around your throat, just enough pressure to make your head spin, his thumb stroking your jaw almost tenderly, as his other hand works your clit.

“Look at you,” he pants, watching your fucked-out expression. “So beautiful when you fall apart for me.”

Your orgasm hits hard, blinding, your body shaking under him as you scream his name.

And he doesn’t stop at one orgasm. Not Seungmin. He fucks you through it, makes you whimper and claw at his shoulders, forces you to come again and again, his fingers in your bundle of nerves relentless, until you’re begging him to let you breathe.

His response? A dark chuckle, lips ghosting your throat.

“You think I’m done with you? Not even close, baby.”

He flips you easily, your chest pressed into the sofa cushions, his hand on the back of your neck to arch your spine. He takes you hard like that, hips snapping against you, his voice low and steady, filthy words muttered in the calmest tone. When he feels you start to unravel again, he reaches between your legs, rubbing your clit with slow circles.

“That’s it. Give me another. I want you ruined on my cock.”

Your orgasm hits harder than anything you’ve ever felt, mind numbing, your body shaking below him as you chant his name, like it’s the only word you can remember. He doesn’t stop, chasing his own release, fucking you through it until he’s groaning, spilling inside you with a shudder.

He keeps himself buried in you, hips grinding lazily as his eyes wander down to see the mess already leaking out.

For a long moment, the only sound is your ragged breathing. Then, slowly, the firm grip on you fades, replaced by the gentle touch you’re used to again. He leans down to plant a kiss on the back of your neck, softly, sweetly, so different from moments before.

“Did I scare you, baby?” he teases gently, brushing hair from your sweaty forehead back over your shoulder. “Or did you enjoy that?”

You can only whimper his name again, still trembling, and he grins to himself, satisfied.

You shouldn’t be doing this. But here you are.

Lying on your back, legs in the air, lace barely covering anything. Laptop open, camera on, and him on the other side.

He’s been watching you for thirty-seven minutes already. “Lemme see,” he says, voice low and thick, words dragging out like warm caramel.

Your body glows in low pink LED light of your bedroom. Wearing that tiny white set, the one he bought you. Matching panties of course, not that they stayed on long. You’re teasing him again. Obnoxiously slow. Deliberately bratty. And the worst part?

You know exactly what you’re doing.

“Do you like this angle, baby?” you purr through the speaker, syrupy sweet. “Or should I spread wider?”

Hongjoong throat works hard as he swallows, “Y/n,” His voice is wrecked. “You’re really doing this to me right now?”

“Doing what?”

Little fucking menace.

On the screen, you suck a finger, before slipping it between your thighs, eyes fluttering shut for half a second. Just enough to drive him wild, before opening again, trained on him. Lethal.

“You’re the one who said you missed me,” you coo. “Said your hand wasn’t enough anymore, I’m just trying to help, Joongie.”

“You’re a little brat, you know that?”

You grin. “And you’re obsessed with it.”

“Fucking hell, baby.”he groans, his own pants down to his knees.

You tilt your head, smile innocent. “You like it?”

He doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t need to.

His cock is so hard it hurts, he’s fisting it roughly, biting his bottom lip to keep from groaning. His laptop’s perched at the perfect height, camera tilted just so, but it’s not enough, not even close.“Spread your legs,” he growls.

Your brows shoot up. “Now that’s more like it.” But you obey, slow and smug , reclining more on your plush pillows as you spread your legs more. Lace panties barely cling to you ankle now, soaked and shoved aside. Your wet. Soaked actually. And Hongjoong could die like this.

Your all mouth and mess and moans, still teasing. “Wish you were here,” you whine, two fingers slipping in and out of yourself. “Wish it was your cock stretching me out instead.”

His hips buck forward involuntarily. “Fuck, baby—”

“You’d pin me down, wouldn’t you? Like last time in the studio?”

He remembers. Oh god, he remembers, you bent over his mixing desk, crying his name between broken moans while he made you beg for it. You came twice before he ever gave you his cock.

Now? He’s not even touching you, and you’re unraveling for him.

“You still stroking that pretty dick for me, Joong?”That bratty lilt makes his head spin.

He stokes himself faster, hips lifting from the chair now, desperate and rough. “I’m gonna fly you out,” he pants. “Tomorrow. No, tonight. I’m done watching. I need to feel that pussy squeezing me. I need to feel you, baby.”

You moan out, eyes fluttering shut, before you hear him once again.

“Eyes on me,” he growls, voice suddenly darker. “Wanna watch you fall apart for me, baby.”

His words punch straight to your pulsing core.

You whimper, other hand coming to play with your clit, eyes hooded as you watch him. “Make me cum first, then I’ll think about it.”

“You don’t think anymore, baby. Not when I tell you what to do. You’re such a slut for this, aren’t you?” he mutters. “Sitting there like a fucking pornstar, showing me everything.”

You arch as you orgasm washes over you, his lewd words getting you there quicker than you’d anticipated. Your body tenses, thighs shaking. But you don’t stop, your fingers keep going, wet noises coming though his speaker.

“Baby— shit, fuck— fuck,” he’s panting now, pumping harder, eyes locked to your every movement. “Need you to make a mess. Can you, for me baby? Gotta see you soak the bed.”

You’re moaning too loud to answer, back arched off the bed as you chase your high once again, hips grinding desperately against your hands. “Joong— fuck— Hongjoong!”

And that’s it, Hongjoong loses it.

He orders you to get on her knees, camera down. You hesitate for one second, still shaking from your two releases, before smirking like the cocky little brat you are, and shakily obeying, tits bouncing as you drop to the floor and adjust the camera angle.

He jerks himself harder, matching the rhythm of your fingers, his voice low and vicious. “Look at you. On your knees, playing with yourself for me.”

“Mmm. Am I your little toy, Joong?”he moans at your words, panting still. “You’re my slut, Y/n. Say it.”

“I’m your slut, your dirty fucking girl… please can I cum, please, Hongjoong—”

He lets go just as your body shudders, fingers deep inside your squelching pussy, mouth slack as you fall apart onscreen for him, just as he explodes across his stomach, chest heaving, your name falling from his lips like prayer.

Silence. Then, “…So, about that flight?”