• soobin is definitely either a soft dom or sub honestly. if you want to take charge during this time, he wastes no time in leaning back and watching you use him as a toy

• he’s definitely top 10 pussy eaters on earth. he prefers giving oral more than receiving because he like to know that he’s the one making you feel good

• when eating you out, he knows all those spots like make you moan and whimper. he likes hearing your moans as he flicks his tongue over your clit, circling those bundle of nerves in a way that makes you go brain dumb

• soobin is also a big fingering fan. his fingers work like magic, curling and pumping at the right spot with a perfect pace. the combination of his finger and his tongue makes you just wanna explode

• as he eats you out, he mumbles a bunch of words like, “you taste so fucking good”, “your so wet, it’s perfect”, “this pussy is mine”

• sometimes with this combination, it just feels way to good to be true that it sometimes makes your squirt. but man, soobin love it. he smiles with pure happiness when you squirt and he quickly licks off the liquid off your aching cunt

• since he’s a god at eating you out, it doesn’t take long for you to cum. once you do, he licks it all off, savoring the taste as if its cake

• when he finishes, he already painfully erect, a small stain of his pre-cum on his pants already formed

• soobin is also pretty big and girthy. probably around 7 1/2 inches. he’s also pretty groomed down there because he doesn’t really want to have a full blown bush

• his favorite position is basic but he loves it to a crazy extent, missionary

• as a soft dom, he’s not rough with his pace. he thinks sex is a big connection, so he through with pleasuring you

• his cock is so big and girthy, it always expands your walls even if you two have sex all the time. his cock already stretched you out in the best way possible, making sure every inch of his dick is filling up every spot of that sweet pussy

• he fucks at a reasonable pace, filling up the room with those lewd noises that gets him more horny by the second

• since missionary is his favorite, he always grips on your boobs as he thrust into you. he’s a big boob guy so he either might hold them while fucking your or start sucking on them. soobin also liked watching them bounce while fucking you, it turns him on a lot

• he likes it when you wrap your legs around his waist, bring him in closer. it makes his mind go wild, focusing on how bad you want him

• soobin is definitely vocal in bed. he not scared to let out moans or whimpers when fucking you.

• he talks you through it, “that’s it, you’re such a good girl”, “look at me when i fuck you, i wanna see you moan”, “your taking me so good baby, so deep”

• he likes holding you down when fucking. he either holds you down by your waist, pulling your arms and hand above your head, or by your legs and thighs

• one of his things his likes doing in missionary is making you suck on his fingers that used to be in your cunt just 10 minutes ago

• one round can last as long as he wants, depending on his pace but usually lasts up to 10-15 minutes

• but soobin has a high sex drive so be prepared for any other rounds after

• when he’s close to cumming, he gets really sloppy with his pace and thrust and lets out the most beautiful moans when he’s close to letting go

• “fuckk, im cumming pretty girl…let be cum inside your pussy babe, please… shut your so fucking sexy im gonna cum..”

• after you two drive through your orgasm, he quite literally lays on top of you, cock still inside, making sure every drop of his cum stays inside you

• always praises you after, “always so good for me”, “you’re so perfect, love you so much”

• when he finally pulls out, he secretly likes watching some of his cum drop out of you’re sore pussy. it makes him feel like he marked what was his, even if some people didn’t see it

• after care king! he cleans you up well, helps you in the shower, and changes you into comfortable clothes. he always spoils you with kisses after and always suggests to watch a movie and cuddle after sex

It started so softly. A blind date. “And he’s really handsome,” she cooed through the phone as you walked toward the restaurant, the evening light golden and harmless. “Okay, I’ll be the judge of that. I’m hanging up now.” You laughed. You remember laughing. You hung up and walked inside, greeted the host, gave the name. She led you to the table, and there he was. Already waiting.

Soobin stood. He opened his arms for a hug, and you accepted because that’s what polite girls do, isn’t it? That’s what sweet girls do. “Wow,” he said, his voice a low and silken thing. “You’re so pretty.” You laughed again. “You’re not too bad yourself.” And for one hour, one small stupid, hour you believed this was just a nice night.

But here’s the thing about nice nights. They end.

The bill came. He reached for it. You stopped him with a hand on his wrist. “Hey, let’s split it.” A flicker. Just a flicker. His eyebrow twitched. “What kind of man would I be,” he said, slower now, “if I let you pay the bill?” The sweetness in his voice cracked like thin ice. 

“It’s only fair,” you said, trying to smile, trying to ease whatever this was back into something normal. “No,” he said. “I got it.” But you didn’t back down because you are stubborn, because you are proud, because you didn’t know yet what happens to women who don’t back down. “No,” you said again. “We could split it.”

And then he repeated it. Louder. “No. I got it.”

The tables around you went quiet. You felt their eyes like small, hot coins on your skin. You laughed and now, with his hands on your hips and your head turned sideways into the pillow so he won’t see you cry, you understand that laugh was the moment he knew he’d see you again. Whether you wanted to or not.

He paid. You left. “This was nice,” you lied. You could already taste the lie going sour on your tongue. “Let’s do it again,” he said. And then, because he hadn’t yet shown you his teeth, “Wanna hit up a bar?”

You were already on your phone, scrolling for an Uber, heart rabbiting in your chest. “That sounds fun,” you said and you hate yourself for that, don’t you? For the smile you painted on. For the way you couldn’t just say no. “But I have work tomorrow.” His smile dropped. Not faded. Dropped. Like a mask slipping. “Oh,” he said. “I see.”

Your Uber pulled up. “This is my ride,” you whispered. He smiled again and leaned in. A hug. A kiss. You didn’t wait to find out which. You dodged. Stepped back. “See you later,” you said, and you got in the car, and you waved through the window like nothing was wrong. You watched him shrink in the side mirror. He didn’t wave back. You told yourself, That’s the first and last time. You’ll never see him again.

But you were wrong. You were so wrong.

Because now his forehead is pressed against yours, and his breath is warm and wet on your lips, and his fingers are wrapped around your throat not squeezing, not yet, just resting there like a promise. And he is whispering something. The same thing. Over and over.

“What kind of man would I be if I let you go?”

You didn't tell your friend what happened. You just said you two didn't click. She understood. Didn't press. And you..God, you tried so hard to move on from that date. Erase him. The way his eyebrow twitched. The way his voice dropped. The way he looked at you when you dodged his kiss. You told yourself it was nothing. Just a bad night. Just a man with a bruised ego. You almost believed it. Almost.

You're behind the counter at the convenience store. It's late. The lights hum their sickly song. The air smells of stale coffee and bleach. You're stacking cigarettes, thinking about nothing, your feet hurt, your shift ends in an hour, maybe you'll watch something stupid on your phone when you get home. Normal things. Safe things.

Then the doorbell rings. That cheerful little chime you've heard a thousand times. You look up to greet the customer. And your body goes dead. Soobin.

He's standing in the doorway. The night behind him is black and wet-looking. He doesn't look surprised to see you. Not even a little. That's the first thing your brain registers the absence of surprise. He knew. Somehow, he knew you'd be here. He found out where you work. 

But you don't run. You don't scream. You just stand there like a rabbit under a slow-moving car, because that's what happens, isn't it? Your body forgets how to obey you. Your blood turns to cold syrup.

He walks through the store aisles.. His fingertips skim the shelves like he's playing a piano made of cheap packaged goods. He doesn't look at you again. Not yet. He wants you to watch him. He wants you to feel every second of this. You hear his shoes on the floor. Hear him pick up a candy bar. Put it back. Pick up something else. He's taking his time. He's enjoying this. Your hands are shaking. You hide them behind the counter.

Finally, he comes to the register. A few items in his hands. Nothing you remember. Nothing that matters. He sets them down and you scan them. The sound is obscene in the quiet.

He doesn't say anything. Neither do you. You tell yourself, Just cash him out. Just get him out.

He pays. Card. No small talk. No how've you been. No fancy seeing you here. Just that smile.  He takes his bag. He leaves. The doorbell sings again and the glass door swings shut behind him. You stand there in the silence. Your heart is a fist pounding against your ribs. You tell yourself it's over. He's gone. He didn't do anything. He just bought some things. That's not a crime.

But your hands won't stop shaking. And outside, through the glass, you see him. He's standing by his car. Not leaving. Not yet. Just standing there. Looking at the store. Looking at you through the window. And he's still smiling. That same smile from the restaurant. The one that dropped so fast. He raises his hand. He waves. Then he climbs into his car and drives off like nothing ever happened. 

You tried your hardest to forget that fucking moment. But forgetting isn't the same as erasing, is it? The memory lives inside your skin now, a splinter you can't dig out. The way he waved. The way he smiled. The way he just stood there by his car, watching you through the glass like you were something he'd already decided to keep.

Your shift ended. A blur of counting change and wiping counters and pretending your hands weren't still shaking. You cleaned up. Cleared the register. Turned the lights off one by one each one plunging the store into deeper darkness until you were standing alone in the red glow of the exit sign. You exited. Locked the doors. The sound of metal sealing shut. Then you started walking home.

It's 1 a.m. The streets are dead. You're on high alert. Not just because of him. You tell yourself it's not just because of him. But your neck prickles anyway. Your eyes keep darting to parked cars, to alley mouths, to the dark windows of shops you passed a hundred times before. You walk faster. You make it to your building. The lobby is empty. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead. You walk to the elevator and "Not in service."

A sign. Taped to the doors. Crinkled, like it was put there in a hurry. Or maybe that's just what you tell yourself. "What the fuck?" you mutter, and your voice sounds small and strange in the open space.

The staircase. Of course. You turn toward it, push the heavy door open, and start climbing. Four floors. That's nothing. You're grateful it's just the fourth floor. You climb. One flight. Two. Your footsteps slap the concrete. Your breath is loud in your own ears. Three. You're on the last flight when you hear it.

Something behind you. You stop. Your hand freezes on the railing. The stairwell goes silent, no footsteps, no breathing, nothing but the distant hum of the building settling. You look behind you. Nothing. Empty stairs. Pale walls. A flickering light. You tell yourself it was nothing. You keep climbing. There it is again.

Closer this time. A soft scuff. A whisper of movement. You whip around, heart slamming against your ribs, and nothing. No one stands on the stairs below you. No shadow detaches from the walls. You are alone in a concrete box with a flickering light and a heartbeat that won't stop screaming.

You quicken your steps. You don't look back. You just climb, climb, climb, your thighs burning, your keys already in your hand, because if you can just reach your door, if you can just get inside, you'll be safe. You'll lock the door. You'll turn on every light. You'll be safe.

Fourth floor. The hallway. Your door. You see it, number 4B, the little scratch on the paint, the welcome mat you bought on sale. Your fingers shake as you ruffle through your bag. Keys. Where are your keys? You find them. Fumble. Drop them. Pick them up. Slide the right one into the keyhole. Turn. Open.

You step inside. Your sanctuary. Your home. You reach for the door to swing it shut, to throw the deadbolt, to finally breathe, a hand stops it. Palm flat against the wood. Fingers curling over the edge. The door shoves open again, and Soobin's face comes into view. That face. Those eyes. That fucking smile.

You scream. His hand covers your mouth before the sound can finish leaving your throat. His palm is warm. Too warm. He pushes you backward stumbling, grabbing for anything and you crash into your own hallway as he steps inside and closes the door behind him.

The deadbolt turns. Not by your hand. By his.

He presses you against the wall. His body is hard and warm and wrong. His hand is still over your mouth. His face is inches from yours. His eyes are dark and soft and gentle in a way that makes you want to throw up. "Shh," he whispers. Like he's soothing a child. Like he's calming a frightened animal. "Shh, shh, shh."

You try to bite his hand. You try to knee him. You try to move. But he's stronger. He's always been stronger. And he's smiling that same smile from the restaurant. From the store. From the car. The smile that says, I told you I'd see you again.

"Take me to your bedroom."

Soobin doesn't ask. He never asked, did he? Not once. Not at the restaurant when he reached for the bill. Not at the store when he watched you through the glass. He orders. You try to swing at him.

His hand tightens on your mouth and he grabs a fistful of your hair, yanks your head forward, and slams it back against the wall. White light explodes behind your eyes. Your ears ring. Something warm trickles down your scalp.

"Don't make me say that shit again."

Okay. Okay. Okay. Your hands rise in surrender. Your voice is a broken whisper behind his palm. You'll do anything. You'll say anything. You just want him to stop hurting you. He lets you breathe just long enough to walk.

You show him to your bedroom. Your safe space. Your soft sheets and the cheap fairy lights you hung up because you wanted your life to feel pretty. He shoves you onto the bed and you bounce once, twice, and instinct takes over, you scramble, claw at the blankets, try to make a run for it. You don't get anywhere.

His hand closes around your ankle and yanks. You're on your back again. The air leaves your lungs. And then he's there, settling between your thighs like he belongs there, like he's done this a thousand times before. Maybe he has. Maybe there are other women. Other apartments. Other walls stained with their tears.

He pushes your skirt up. Bunches it around your waist. His fingers hook into the waistband of your underwear, cheap cotton, the kind you bought in a three-pack, you never thought anyone would see them like this and your knees come up, a reflex, a pathetic little attempt to hide.

He sits up on his knees. Pushes your thighs down with one hand. And then he slaps you across the face. Crack. Your head snaps to the side. Your cheek blooms hot, then numb. Tears spill over before you can stop them. "Don't fucking try to hide from me."

His finger is in your face. Pointing. Accusing. Like you did something wrong. Like you asked for this. You stop moving. You stop fighting. You just lie there, shaking, as he makes his way back to your underwear and pulls them down your legs in one slow, deliberate drag. The fabric slides over your hips, your thighs, your knees. He brings them to his face. He smells them.

His eyes flutter closed. His lips part. He inhales like you're something sacred, something he's been starving for. And then he folds them carefully and puts them in his pocket. Your underwear. In his pocket. Like a trophy. 

He lowers his face between your legs. You feel his nose first pressed against your clit, nuzzling, breathing you in. And then his tongue. Wet and warm and cruel in how good it feels. He fucks you with it, slow and deep, curling inside you like he's tasting something he plans to remember forever. But his eyes stay on you. Dark. Unblinking. Watching.

Every time you try to look away, every time your gaze drifts to the ceiling, to the window, anywhere but him he pulls off. His hand grabs your chin. Forces your face back down. "Eyes on me." Then he goes back. 

He places his thumb on your clit. Circles it. Slow at first, then faster, matching the rhythm of his tongue inside you. You hate this. You hate this. But your body is a traitor. Your hips twitch. Your thighs tremble. A sound escapes your throat not a sob, not a moan, something in between. He hums against you. Pleased. 

"You taste so fucking good."

You cry. Silent tears sliding down your cheek into your hair. And then God help you, you feel it. That familiar coiling. That heat builds low in your belly. Your body doesn't care that you're afraid. Your body doesn't care that you didn't choose this. He feels it too. He feels everything. "Am I doing a good job?" 

What?

The question is so wrong, so out of place, that for a second your brain stops working. Why would he ask that? Why would he care? You don't answer. You can't. But he doesn't seem to need an answer. He just smiles against your skin, you feel the curve of his mouth and his thumb presses harder.

 "Are you gonna come?"

His voice is soft now. Almost sweet. The same voice he used at the restaurant when he said you're so pretty. The same voice your friend heard when she said he's really sweet. "Come on my face, baby."

Your knee cramps. Your back arches. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream as it crashes over you wave after wave, your body convulsing, pleasure and terror tangled so tightly you can't tell where one ends and the other begins. He stays right there. Mouth on you. Tongue gentle now, lapping, drinking you in.

He pulls off slowly. A string of spit and your own mess stretches from his lips to your skin. His face is wet. Shining. His lips are swollen and red. He sits up on his knees. Looks down at you. "Fuck," he breathes. 

"You're so much more pretty when you are fucked out."

He's admiring you. That's the worst part. His head tilted. His eyes are soft. Like you're art. Like he painted you himself. And all you can do is lie there, exposed from the waist down, tears drying on your face, your thighs still shaking. All you can do is cry.

He reaches out. Wipes a tear from your cheek with his thumb. Brings it to his mouth. Tastes it. "Don't cry, baby," he whispers. "We're just getting started."

He reaches down to your chest and unbuttons the cute shirt you put on this morning not knowing this is how you were going to end up. He throws the shirt open. Pushes your bra down, making your boobs pop out. And then his hands are on them. Kneading them. His fingers pinch your nipples, twisting until they're hard and aching, and your face twists in pain.

He makes a fake aww sound. "Is your nipples sore, baby? Let me help you."

His mouth is on you. Licking around your nipple, slow and wet, while his hand works the other. He sucks gently at first, then harder, drawing your nipple deep into his mouth, and his tongue circles the tip like he's tasting candy. He keeps at it while looking at you. Why the fuck does he keep looking at you? His eyes never leave your face. He watches every flinch. Every tear. Every time your breath catches.

He moves to the other nipple. Gives it the same treatment, biting just hard enough to make you gasp. He pulls off with a wet pop and smiles at the way your nipple glistens.

He pulls away. His eyes trail down your body, your neck, your chest, your stomach, the wet mess between your legs and then his mouth is on yours. His tongue explores your mouth, sliding against yours, and you taste yourself on his lips. Sweet and salt and you. You bite his tongue.

He just laughs. Keeps kissing you like nothing happened. Like you're two lovers in a movie. He pulls away, his hand holding your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin.

He sits back on his knees. Unbuttons his jeans. Unzips them. And he pulls himself out slowly, like he loves watching the way your face reacts to his movement. He's hard. Thick. The tip is red and wet, and he looks at it, then at you, and smiles.

He spits into his hand. Wraps his fingers around himself and strokes once, twice, three times. His head falls back just a little.

"Shit," he says. "Fuck, I can't wait to be inside you. I've been thinking about this since our date" He strokes himself faster, and his eyes find yours again. "You owe me this, pretty. You owe me."

He makes his way back between your thighs. His knees spread you wider, wider than before, until you feel the stretch in your hips. He uses one hand to grab your thigh and bend it to your chest, folding you almost in half, making you feel more exposed, more nasty than you thought possible. He uses his other hand to guide himself into you.

The tip presses against your entrance. Wet. Hot. He pushes just the head in, and his whole body shudders. "Oh god," he whimpers. His eyes close for just a second. "Oh fuck."

He looks at you as he pushes deeper. Your eyes close due to the stretch, the burn, the fullness, the way he splits you open inch by inch. "Eyes open," he says, and you obey because you're too afraid not to. "I wanna see your face when I fill you up." He pushes all the way in. Your mouth falls open. A sound comes out, half gasp, half sob and he groans, long and loud, his hips pressed flush against yours.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," spills out of his mouth. "Shit, baby. Your pussy is so fucking tight. You're squeezing me like a fucking glove. Oh shit."

He starts moving. Slow at first. Long, deep strokes that pull almost all the way out before slamming back in. You feel him everywhere, inside you, around you, your walls stretching to accommodate him. He's so deep. Too deep.

He leans forward. Places a kiss on your lips soft, almost tender. His tongue slips into your mouth again as his hips start slamming into you harder. The bed creaks. The headboard hits the wall. Your insides are on fire, and you feel him hitting your cervix with every thrust. He pulls back from the kiss. Look down at where your bodies connect. His eyes are dark, hungry, obsessed.

"Fuck," he laughs. "Is that your cervix? Is that where I'm hitting, baby? Do you feel that? You feel how deep I am?" He thrusts harder on purpose, making you cry out. "Yeah. That's it. That's your fucking cervix. I'm gonna bruise it. I'm gonna make sure you feel me for days."

He slows down. Starts moving in deep, rolling strokes like he's trying to memorize every curve inside you. His eyes drop to where you're connected, watching himself slide in and out of you, your wetness coating him.

"Ah, fuck. Look at that." He laughs again, soft and breathless. "Look at my cock inside you, baby. Look how pretty you look wrapped around me."

He speeds up again. Fucks you harder. The headboard slams against the wall…thump, thump, thump and his hands grip your hips, fingers digging into your soft flesh hard enough to bruise. You turn your face to the wall, trying to black out what's happening, tears running down your face.

But he won't grant you that small mercy.

He grabs your neck. Forces you to face him. He's a blurry figure through your tears, but you can still see his smile. His hand leaves your hip and wraps around your throat not squeezing yet, just resting there, feeling your pulse hammer against his palm.

"Fuck," he moans. "You get so much tighter when I choke you. Shit, baby. You like that, don't you? You like when I take your breath away." He squeezes. Just enough. Your vision spots. Your mouth opens but no sound comes out. And you feel him twitch inside you…that telltale pulse, that swelling, and you know what's coming.

"I'm gonna come," he gasps. "Fuck, I'm gonna come. I'm gonna fill this pretty little pussy up, baby. You want that? You want me to pump you full?" He slams into you one last time deep, so deep and his body goes rigid. His head falls back. His mouth opens in a silent groan. And you feel it. Hot. Spilling. Rope after rope inside you, filling you up, leaking out around him even as he stays buried to the hilt.

He stays there for a moment. His forehead drops to yours. His eyes are closed. His breath is hot on your lips. He's still inside you, softening now, but he doesn't pull out. Not yet. Then he places a kiss on your cheek. Soft. Gentle. Like he loves you.

He looks down at where you're connected. Pulls out slowly. You feel everything, the drag, the emptiness, the way his come immediately starts leaking out of you and onto the sheets. He looks at you. Your tear-stained face. Your bruised neck. Your naked body, still shaking, still spread open for him.

"Fuck, love," he whispers. His thumb traces your lower lip. "You looked so fucking beautiful. Every second of it. The way you cried. The way you came on my face. The way you squeezed my cock when I choked you." He smiles, horrible. "Wanna know something? You're mine now."

He leans down. Kisses your forehead.

And somewhere in the building, a door opens and closes. Footsteps in the hallway. People living their normal lives, not knowing that three doors down, something irreparable just happened. You lie there. Staring at the ceiling. Feeling him drip out of you.

Soobin stretches out beside you like he belongs there. Like this is the beginning of something. For you, maybe it is.

jo never fucks you face down.

you never questioned it—always assuming that he wasn't a fan of the position. thinking he preferred the gentle closeness, the way he could cup your jaw with a featherlight grip to have you face him—brows furrowing when be leaned into the kiss, his mind on overdrive.

he always handled you with such care when the two you had sex. his breathing shaky as he was constantly whimpering out an, "are you alright? what do you need from me?" his warm palms tracing your hips and stomach and waist.

but everything he's doing tonight is completely out of character, and you're doing your best to take advantage of it.

his hands are pressing down on your lower back, practically forcing an arch out of you as your cheek pressed against the freshly cleaned sheets of his.

"fuck, jo," you moan out, your voice rough as your breathed heavy through your mouth. your eyes rolling back as his hips never slowed, slamming into your wet cunt over and over and over.

his grip on your hips vicious, you feel the addicting sting of his fingernails digging into your skin, sure to leave marks. but the way it all felt, you didn't care.

your body twitches involuntarily, your body jerking foward.

he groans, "get back here." he gruffs out, tugging you back to him. he doesn't even sound like your jo anymore.

you feel more juices gush out of you as he roughens. your shaky fingers are digging into the sheets, having nothing else to grip onto.

you feel him pull out, his tip barely kissing the entrance of your cunt. you churn your head around, watching as he stared directly into your pussy. he was regaining himself. he had to, if he didn't, he knows he would've came in seconds.

you laugh, "whats wrong, baby. don't tell me your close already." your voice echoes in his head, he mutters out a curse as he leaned over your body, his chest right against your back.

you groan at the motion, feeling his sweaty, hot chest and rapid heartbeat thumping against your back.

his hand snaked around your body, resting right on your collarbone. "you don't know how hard I'm holding myself back right now." his eyes dark as he stares back at you.

your body slumps, "mmm... i don't know if i believe that." your push your ass flush against his cock, grinding your hips as your hand lowers itself in between your thighs.

drawing your moans as you toy with your clit, your head falling forward and your voice becoming pitchy as you held eye

you could feel the anger bubbling inside him, his eyes darting between your face and your body.

his jaw clenched, "you think this is funny?" his body lifts off of your back. "you're such a fucking brat." he shakes his head, his palm slides down your spine, over the curve of your ass. you're waiting to feel his grip on you there, your hole clenching around nothing.

his hand raises up, hovering right above the skin for half a moment before coming down sharp. the sound cracks im the room as you moan out, the sound erupting from within your chest.

the sting fluttering under your skin, your hips jerking forward as you felt his hand again.

he was thanking all that was holy that you couldn't see him right now, his mind was running wild as his eyes and heartbeat grew frantic.

he never did this to you, always too afraid to mark and dent your delicate skin. he never smushed your face against the sheets or spank you. but he couldn't deny that his cock jumped everytime he did, watching as your eyes rolled back and you gripped on the cotton sheets beneath you.

he knew if you told him to stop, he'd do it in a second.

but not a word as escaped your mouth. he bit his lip hard, poor cock aching for some attention. the head red and leaking, he needed to be back inside of you.

he lines himself up with his other hand, the one on your ass kneading the skin, almost apologetic.

his stills for a beat, rubbing the head in your gushing juices as he listened to the way your squelched, speaking to him. practically begging him.

his cock pushed in, slamming all the way into your tight cunt as it sucked him in. gripping him in a way that made him never want to pull out.

the thick stretch causing a burn between your legs, the most delicipus burn as he never let up. his cock bullying into your gummy pussy, not pausing to check on you.

because he knows. he knows your body so, so well.

and you can tell from the way his thighs slap against your ass, his hands holding onto your hips as he pulled it back against him.

heavy breaths, groans, and moans escaped him. you tried your best to focus on him, but the moment he brought a hand down to rub your clit roughly, so suddenly, you screamed out a moan.

"jo!" your mind completely blanked as your body grew hot. you fell limp against the matress, too weak to hold your body up anymore as sounds escaped you. sounds that don't even sound like you—they're broken, glutteral, desperate.

your walls clamp down on him, spasming around him as you heard him whimper. whimper?

he's holding off his own orgasm, still fucking into you as your body shook beneath him. he groans like it hurts, his hips stuttering as he heard you whine.

"too much, 's too much... i can't jo, fuck." your voice wobbly as tears welled up in your eyes.

fuck. he hates how beautiful you look.

"yes, you can," his long fingers didn't stop even when he slowed his thrusts. your clit throbbing as your hands came up to push his wrist weakly, clearly not working.

you shook your head, head turned as your pleading eyes met him. "y–you're so mean, jo." you pouted, legs shaking as his cock picked up their pace again.

he laughed, laced with amusement. "me? i don't think i was being mean when you pressed your all up against euijoo."

you whine at the memory. "c'mon, I–I wasn't serious!" you pushed out the words, hiccuping as your letters slurred together.

he scoffs, "euijoo thought you were. his face was fucking red and his hand covering his cock when you sat next to him. he's probably jerking off right now," his chest burns as he speaks, a dry chuckle escaping him. "thinking about you, about your body. you like that don't you?" was this really jealousy? he needed this feeling out of him. his mind trying to push the image of his bandmate touching himself to you out of his mind.

you did it all on purpose, of course.

you just wanted to tease your boyfriend, rile him up. and you got that. but you got a completely different jo now, too.

"you made me wait the whole night. and I couldn't even say anything, not to you, or–shit, to him." his pace quickened, his words breaking as he spoke.

your breath catches as the second wave builds quickly, more intense than the first. thighs clamping shut pathetically as your back arches. "j–jo it feels weird." your brows furrowing as whimpers escaped you, a heavy feeling settling within your lower belly.

"it's okay, pretty, cum for me. c'mon I know you can."

jo's hips stutter against yours, his cock buried deep inside you as he feels your walls beginning to flutter. his dark eyes lock onto yours, watching the desperate pleasure build on your face. "that's it," he groans, his voice strained with his own approaching release. "let go for me, baby."

the pressure in your belly becomes unbearable, like a dam about to burst. "I can't— 's too much," you cry out. his thumb finds your clit again, rubbing tight circles as his thrusts become sloppy.

"fuck, you're so tight," he grunts, feeling your pussy clamp down on him. "gonna make me cum too."

the dam breaks. your orgasm tears through you as a gush of liquid sprays from your pussy, soaking his thighs and the sheets. your vision whites out as your body convulses, a strangled scream tearing from your throat.

"fuck, baby, that's it," he drawls out the words, groaning as his hips still, feeling your pussy gush out its release around him. his eyes widen at the sight of you squirting, his cock throbbing deep inside you. for a moment, he hesitates, clearly torn between filling you with his cum and pulling out.

"god, I want to stay inside," he growls through gritted teeth, the words barely comprehensible as he reluctantly pulls his throbbing cock from your still-spasming pussy. he wraps his hand around his shaft, stroking rapidly as he watches your body trembling through the aftershocks.

with a guttural moan, Jo spills across your back, thick ropes of cum painting your skin as your pussy clenches around nothing. he watches the cum pool in the arch of your lower back before he collapses beside you, breathing heavily as he watches you shudder through the last waves of pleasure.

"fuck," he whispers, trailing his fingers through the mess on your back before leaning down to press a kiss against your shoulder.

he grabs a tissue from the nightstand, gently wiping the release off your body.

he turns you over, pulling your body into his arms, the shift from rough to immediate tenderness making your already hazy mind spin. the aggressive man from moments ago is gone, replaced by the jo you know, his eyes soft and full of concern as he brushes the sweat-dampened hair from your forehead.

"hey," he whispers, his voice raspy but gentle. "you okay? did I hurt you?" his thumbs stroke your cheeks, his gaze searching yours for any sign of distress.

you can only shake your head, your body still tremblingk with aftershocks. "no," you manage to say, your voice hoarse. "just… a bit sore." you say, stretching your shoulders, the ache between them bearable but present.

a flicker of relief crosses his face before guilt sets in. "i'm sorry," he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. "I got… carried away. seeing you with euijoo, I just…" He trails off, his hold on you tightening slightly. "I never thought I would feel this way. I hate the way I felt." He shakes his head.

"It was my fault," you admit, snuggling closer to him. "I wanted to see what would happen. I wanted to see if I could get you like this."

jo chuckles softly, the sound warm against your ear. "brat," he says affectionately, nuzzling your neck. "but you're my brat." his hands begin their familiar gentle exploration of your body, tracing the curves he knows so well, the touch a stark contrast to the rough handling from before.

"let me take care of you," he murmurs, reaching for the water on his nightstand. He helps you sit up slightly, holding the glass to your lips as you drink, his eyes never leaving yours. When you're done, he sets the glass aside and pulls you back against his chest.

"better?" he asks, his fingers combing through your hair.

you nod, feeling the tension drain from your body as you relax into his embrace. "better," you echo, your eyes growing heavy as sleep begins to claim you.

"rest now," he whispers, pressing a final kiss to your forehead. "we'll shower later, pretty.

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