He didn’t tell you he got it at first. No, he let you find out on your own.

The first time you saw it, you almost brushed it off — a tiny flash of silver, glinting when his tounge moved as he fidgeted while concentrating. It was so quick, so subtle, you convinced yourself you'd imagined it.

Your brain didn’t even process the possibility that it could’ve been a piercing. A tounge piercing. On him. The thought was ridiculous, this was your best friend since childhood. He wasn’t the type to just… do that.

Then again, maybe he was. His style had always leaned towards alternative. Hair dyed in more colors than you could count, smudged black eyeliner that never seemed to fully come off, and ears crowded with silver studs and hoops. That was all normal for him, sure. But his tongue?

Would he really do that?

The next time you caught a glimpse of it, he was mid-conversation with Changbin, voice carrying across the room. They were complaining about a professor they both had. Something about a massive, make-or-break project that could tank their grade if they didn't pull it off.

You weren't listening to what they said, not really. Your focus stayed glued to Jeongin. It was his turn to speak, his mouth moving quickly as he gestured with his hands, expression animated. And then you saw it.

A glint, quick and sharp, catching in the harsh fluorescent light overhead. Something shiny on his tounge.

"It's just saliva," you thought to yourself, clinging to reason. "What else could it even be?"

But the thought wouldn't leave you. The image of that silver flash burned behind your eyes, daring you to believe it was more than just a trick of the light.

After that, you found yourself subconsciously stealing glances at his tongue whenever you were around him. Which, honestly, was most of the time. It became a bad habit, your eyes drifting without permission, curiosity eating at you.

It all came crashing down the day he caught you.

"Why do you keep looking at my mouth?" Jeongin asked, brows raised in mock suspicion. "Do I have a crumb or something?"

Heat rushed over your face so fast, you thought you might combust. Of all the humiliating moments in your life, this had to rank in the top ten. Maybe even top five.

You'd stammered out something about spacing out, waving your hand around like it was nothing. But the look he gave you — half amused, half disbelieving — made it obvious he didn't buy it. he didn't push though, just let the silence stretch.

And so it became a game.

For almost two months, this little dance continued. Jeongin would catch you staring and tilt his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. "What is it this time? Trying to see my soul through my mouth?"

Each time you denied it.

Each time, you invented a flimsy excuse.

And each time, you were absolutely certain he didn't belive you.

But still... he never stopped letting you play.

It had been six weeks since you first caught that flicker of silver on Jeongin's tongue. Six whole weeks of driving yourself to the brink of insanity.

Six weeks of second-guessing every glance, every flash of light, every moment when you had almost — almost — worked up the courage to ask, only to choke on the words before they even left your mouth.

Six weeks of wondering it your were losing it. All because you couldn't let it go.

Now, here you were again at Jeongin's apartment, surrounded by the familiar clutter of his life. The faint hum of his speakers in the corner, a half finished energy drink sweating on the desk, his jacket tossed carelessly over the backrest of the gaming chair.

He was in the shower, steam curling from the cracked bathroom door attached to his room. He’d gone straight in after coming back from the gym, muscles pushed to their limit, sweat still clinging to his skin.

His black comforter felt like it was swallowing you whole as you sank into his bed. Not that it was a bad thing — Jeongin kept his aircon locked at a stubborn seventy degrees year-round, no matter the season. In the fall, you could only hope he had a hoodie or jacket you could steal. He always did.

The faint, powdery scent of his shampoo driftet from the bathroom, carried on the steam that curled under the door. You breathed it in without meaning to, deep and steady, the way you always did. It was a scent you teased him for — too expensive, too clean — but the truth was you liked it more than you’d ever admit.

Exhaustion tugged at you like an undertow. The day had been brutal, your boss storming around the office in the fallout of his messy divorce, snapping at anyone within reach. As if you had been the one to cheat on his wife, and not the random woman he has met on a casino trip with his rich friends. And then, halfway through your shift, the power cut out. Computer dead, hours of progress gone on a project that was due in a matter of days.

Now, here, cocooned in his sheets, the world felt softer. The bedding smelled like Jeongin — warm and familiar — layered with the faint sharpness of laundry detergent. You buried your face into his pillow, flat on your stomach, letting the scent wrap around you.

The steady hiss of the shower blurred into background noise, lulling you. Your eyelids grew heavy, muscles loosened. And before you could fight it, the weight of the day slipped away, pulling you under.

Just as your body begins to melt into the mattress, that blissful edge of sleep pulling you under, the sharp sound of a door opening and closing yanks you back. You groan into the blankets, muffled and annoyed, which only earns you a low laugh from across the room.

The mattress dips as Jeongin climbs on, settling cross-legged in front of you. He's close — too close — the kind of close that makes the air feel thick in your chest.

“You look tired,” he says, eyes locking on yours like he’s trying to pin you down with them.

You scoff, rolling your eyes. "Mmm, thanks. Just what i wanted to hear."

A sly grin spreads across his face. "I mean it in a good way," he chuckles, voice light but gaze sharp.

You shove his knee with your foot in protest, but he catches your ankle with ease. His grip is firm, teasing, and before you can wriggle free he tugs you down, pulling you flat against the mattress.

"I don't think looking tired is a good thing." you murmur, peering up at him.

"To me it is," Jeongin replies, tone dipped low, his grin softening into something more dangerous.

Your pulse skips. You shove his knee again, trying to defuse the tension, and he only answers by sticking out his tongue in a childish gesture.

That's when you see it.

The flash of silver. Small, gleaming, unmistakable. A piercing.

Your breath hitches, eyes widening as your whole body stutters between shock and something heavier. The smile on your lips falters, dissolving into stunned silence.

You give his leg another playful kick, though the look on your face betrays you—half teasing, half utterly undone.

"I knew it!" you finally gasp, voice sharp with betrayal and awe. "You bitch — you didn't tell me you got your tongue pierced!"

Jeongin doesn't even bother to defend himself. Instead, he tilts his head slightly, the corner of his mouth curling as he drags the tip of his tongue slowly against the silver ball, letting it glint deliberately this time.

Your stomach flips, your mouth goes dry.

"What?" he says, voice dipped into something heavier. "Jealous you weren't the first to find out?"

You swallow hard, trying to regain your footing in the conversation. "Jealous? Please, as if." The words come out weaker than you intend, more breath than bite.

"Mm." he leans in just enough that you feel the heat radiating off him, his grin spreading into something more dangerous. "Could've fooled me. You've been staring for weeks."

Your face burns. "I was not."

"Sure." His eyes glint with mischief as his thumb brushes lazy circles against your ankle, the causal touch sending a shiver up your spine. "You've been dying to ask, you just never did."

You force a laugh, shoving at his knee again, though it does nothing. "You're imagining things."

"Am i?" He teases, tongue darting out again just to flash that silver at you. "Because if I didn't know better, I'd say you're curious."

The words hang between you, thick and daring, making your pulse stutter. "That's — that's not—"

But before you can finish, he tugs on your ankle, dragging you down the mattress until you're flat on your back again, caged beneath his gaze.

"Relax," he murmurs, eyes dark and locked onto yours.

"Shh." His grin turns wicked as he presses his palms to your thighs, spreading them apart with an ease that leaves your body trembling. The air between you grows thick. Heavy with something unspoken that's finally about to snap.

"Let me prove it."

He slips your shorts down slowly, the fabric dragging against your skin in a way that makes you shiver. His fingers hook around the black waistband of your underwear, curling tight as he tugs it down inch by inch, until the flimsy fabric bunches at your knees.

Jeongin's ring-clad fingers spread across your thighs, sinking into the soft flesh as he pulls you apart with deliberate care. The cool air of his room brushes over your heat, but it's nothing compared to the weight of his gaze as he finally lays you bare.

"Awh..." he exhales, low and reverent, his eyes drinking you in. "What a pretty pussy. So wet for me already."

Before you can form a reply, his tongue drags up your slit in a slow, steady stripe, ending at your clit where he sucks you into his mouth with sinful ease. The cold press of metal shocks you — a deliberate swirl of his piercing against your clit, circling once, testing, playing.

Your back arches off the mattress immediately, legs trembling around his head. A sound tears from your throat, long and needy, closer to a whine than a moan. Pathetic, yes, but there's no stopping it.

The corner of his mouth curves as if he expected it. Without hesitation, he repeats the motion, slower this time, dragging the piercing across your swollen bud like he's savoring your every twitch.

Your hips jolt upward when a deep groan vibrates against you. He's loud with it, shameless, letting you feel the way your taste affects him.

"Please, more," you cry out, the pitch of your voice cracking under the plea. "Need more, Innie."

Jeongin hums into you, smiling against your slick. His voice is muffled, rough with hunger, when he murmurs, "My needy girl."

Then he dives in deeper, mouth sealing over your slit. He sucks hard, greedy, like he's intent on pulling every ounce of slick from your body. The room fills with obscene, wet slurps that echo in rhythm with your broken moans. Somewhere beneath it all, the faint hum of his old rock playlist leaks from his speaker, the low guitar only highlighting the lewd symphony of your bodies.

He alternates between messy, hungry slurps and ruthless suckling on your clit. His hands kneading hard into your thighs as if holding you open is the only thing keeping him tethered. His desperation makes your chest tighten — he's devouring you like a man who's been starving, and you're first taste of water in the desert.

You can feel your orgasm building fast, the tension coiling in your stomach with every

grind of your hips against his mouth. The old bedframe beneath you creaks in protest as your body bucks uncontrollably.

Your fingers slip into his hair, clutching the strands you've always teased him about bleaching too often. He groans at the tug — loud, guttural, vibrating against your clit — and you freeze, panic sparking in your chest.

Shit. Did he groan from pain?

You release him instantly, letting your hands fall flat to the sheets on either side of you, afraid you've hurt him.

But the moment your hands leave his hair, Jeongin pulls away.

The sudden lack of touch makes your body jolt. A strangled, confused sound escapes you as you push up onto your elbows. Your chest heaves, thighs still quivering around his shoulders.

"F-fuck... what's wrong?" You pant, eyes wide as you search his face.

His chest heaves as he stares up at you, lips glistening, jaw tense. For a moment, he doesn't move — he just studies you, brows knit like he's torn between frustration and restraint. But his eyes — god, his eyes shine like you're the only thing in the world. Dark and hungry, reverent and greedy all at once.

Your stomach twists under the weight of his silence. "Jeongin.." you breathe, uncertain, "What's wrong?"

Finally, his mouth curves — not into a smile, but something darker, hungrier.

"You stopped." His voice is low, rough, coated with want.

Your brows pinch together. "Stopped..?"

His eyes flick up to yours, then deliberately down to your heat before meeting your gaze again. One of his hands trails from your thigh to your wrist, fingers curling firm as he drags your hand back up, placing it against the messy strands at the crown of his head.

"Don't let go again," he mutters, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Heat floods your chest at the implication, your fingers curling instinctively into his hair. The moment you give the smallest tug, his eyes flutter shut and a groan rumbles out of him — deep, filthy, the kind of sound that shoots straight through your body.

"That's it," he exhales against your skin, the air making you jolt.

His mouth is on you again before you can respond, tongue and piercing pressing flat against your clit, working you over with renewed ferocity. It's messier, hungrier now — like you've unlocked something he'd been waiting for. Like he needs the pull of your fingers in his hair just as badly as you need his mouth between your thighs.

Every time you tug, he groans louder, and the sound reverberates straight through your core, leaving your body thrumming with overstimulation.

Your head tips back against the pillow, lips parting as the moans fall freely from you. And all the while, his voice hums against your slick, desperate and unrestrained, "Yeah... just like that. Don't stop."

Your fingers tighten instinctively, tangling in his hair as you try to ground yourself. The moment you give another tug, Jeongin groans into you — louder this time, guttural and needy. The vibration rocks through your clit and makes your entire body shiver.

His grip on your thighs tightens in response, thumbs digging into your skin like he's anchoring himself to you. He works you ruthlessly, dragging his tounge up and down your slit before circling your clit with that teasing metal ball, all while letting your grip dictate his rhythm.

Every time your fingers slacken, he eases up, slowing his pace just enough to make you whine. But the second you yank in his hair again, he growls, burying himself deeper, lapping at your slick with a hunger that leaves your thighs trembling.

"Y-yeah, just like that," he mumbles against you, voice muffled and rough. His piercing flicks your clit again, harder this time, and your back arches off the mattress. "Don't let go of me."

Your breathing grows ragged, chest heaving as the tension in your stomach coils tighter and tighter. Your thighs clamp desperately around his head, but Jeongin doesn't relent — he groans like he loves the pressure, finally pushing his tongue inside of your cunt.

The slurping is obscene. Echoing in the small space of his bedroom, mixing with your high-pitched moans and the faint rasp of the old rock track still humming in the background.

You fist his hair harder than before, tugging so hard you’re afraid you'll hurt him — but the reaction it earns makes your toes curl. Jeongin moans shamelessly into your cunt, the sound vibrating all the way through your body, and the heat in your stomach snaps.

Your orgasm crashes over you with a violent force. Your thighs shake around his head, hips bucking uncontrollably against his mouth as broken cries spill from your lips. He doesn't stop — not for a second. He sucks at your clit like he's intent on wringing every drop of pleasure out of you, the piercing flicking mercilessly as you fall apart.

Your vision blurs, your voice cracks, your body shudders helplessly against him. And all the while, Jeongin stays buried in your heat, hands gripping your thighs so they stay still, hair clenched tight in your fists as if he can't get enough.

Your body slumps against the mattress, chest heaving as your orgasm rips through you, leaving your muscles weak and trembling. You expect him to slow down, to give you a second to breathe — "He has to." — you think.

But Jeongin doesn't stop.

If anything, he gets hungrier.

The second your grip in his hair loosens, he growls, his hand shooting up to press yours back down against his head. "Don't." He mutters against your slick.

Your breath catches, and with shaking fingers you tangle back into his hair. He groans like it's his reward, and immediately his tongue dives deeper, pushing past your folds. He licks into you, hot and wet, spreading you open with his mouth before fucking you with his tongue.

A broken sob tears from your throat. "J– fuck Jeongin–"

The piercing shallowly grazes your walls as his nose nudges against your clit, the double sensation making you convulse. Your hips twitch upwards helplessly, but he pins them down with bruising strength, forcing you to take every single drag of his tongue.

It's relentless, messy. His mouth moves back and forth between thrusting into your entrance and lashing at your clit, building the sensitivity until it feels unbearable. Slick drips down his chin, his groans rumbling through your core, the filthy sounds of him devouring you echoing over your moans.

"Too much!" you gasp, voice breaking, thighs quivering violently around his head. "Innie, I can't–"

"You can," he whispers against you, tongue plunging back inside, curling just right before sliding out to circle your clit again. "You will."

The overstimulation hits like lightning — sharp, consuming, rolling through your body until your eyes squeeze shut and your mouth falls open in a silent scream. Another orgasm claws up your spine before the first one has even fully faded.

Your thighs convulse, kicking against the mattress as you grind helplessly into his face. The bedframe creaks, the sheets twist beneath your fists, your nails digging in as your whole body spasms around him.

He doesn't give you an inch of reprieve. His tongue thrusts deeper, faster, curling and tasting, before pulling out to lap at your soaked folds like he's addicted. Every time your hips try to squirm away, his grip drags you right back down.

By the time the second orgasm crashes over you, it's overwhelming, blinding, a tidal wave that has tears stinging the corners of your eyes. Your voice gives out into strangled cries, your body shaking uncontrollably. But Jeongin eats it up, moaning into your cunt like he's starving and you're the only thing that could ever satisfy him.

Your whole body is already trembling, nerves sparking like live wires under your skin, but Jeongin doesn't give you a single breath of reprieve. His tongue fucks into you again, hot and relentless.

You try to pull back, whimpering, but his grip on your thighs is like iron. "Stay still," he breathes against your soaked folds, voice rough and vibrating through your core. "I’m not done with you yet."

A sharp gasp rips out of you when his hand leaves your thigh and slides upward, over the curve of your stomach until it finds your breast. His palm cups it roughly through your shirt, thumb brushing over your nipple until it hardens beneath the thin fabric. He squeezes, not gently, pinching and rolling the bud between his fingers before kneading the soft weight of your breast in his hand.

"Fuck– Innie–" Your voice cracks, body arching into his touch even as your thighs quake around his head.

He moans against your cunt in response, the sound guttural and raw, like he can't get enough of the way you're unraveling for him. His tongue thrusts deep one last time before pulling out — and then his fingers replace it.

Two of them slide into you without warning, the cool press of his rings stretching you open as he pushes in to the hilt. He curls them immediately, searching, hitting that spot inside you that makes your back bow off the mattress.

"Right there," he mutters, like he's confirming it for himself. Then he thrusts harder, faster, his knuckles slamming against you with each push while his tongue returns to your clit, cool piercing flicking mercilessly against it.

The double sensation is devastating. His fingers pounding into you, his tongue circling and sucking at your swollen bud, his other hand tugging and twisting your nipple through your shirt — it's too much, it's unbearable, and yet your body begs for more.

Your moans turn ragged, pitch climbing higher with each wave of stimulation. "I– I can't– " you sob, clutching at his hair like a lifeline, tugging hard enough to make his groan vibrate straight through your clit.

"Yes, you can," he growls against you, voice muffled, feral. "Give me another. Don't hold back."

And then he devours you. His mouth seals tight around your clit, sucking so hard your thighs slam shut against his ears, while his fingers piston into you ruthlessly, curling with every thrust to milk every reaction from your body. His free hand never stops kneading your breast, thumb flicking your nipple until it aches.

Your entire body convulses, hips jerking helplessly as your third orgasm tears through you like fire. You scream this time — raw, high, desperate — your nails clawing at his scalp as you grind down against his face. Slick gushes around his fingers, dripping down his wrist, but Jeongin only groans and fucks into you harder, chasing evey drop.

The overstimulation is unbearable, almost painful, but he doesn't let up. He keeps pounding you with his fingers, keeps sucking your clit, keeps pinching your breast until you're sobbing, tears streaking down your temples. Your thighs twitch uncontrollably, your chest heaves, and still, he won't stop.

It's too much. It's everything. It's him.

Until, finally, he pulls back.

The sudden absence makes you collapse into the sheets, limp and trembling. You're soaked, messy, overstimulated to the point of aching, your skin burning hot snd slick with sweat.

Jeongin lifts his head slowly, his lips and chin drenched, the glint of his piercing wet with your slick. His chest rises and falls as he breathes heavy, but his grin is smug — satisfied, like he's just proven something.

He drags the back of his hand across his mouth lazily, then looks down at you with eyes that are still soft despite everything, still shining like you're the most sacred thing he's ever touched.

"Look at you," he purrs, his voice low, and smooth, but warm. "So pretty when you fall apart for me."

You whimper weakly, shifting, trying to steady your shaky breathing. He helps you up with careful hands, guiding you to crawl into his lap. You straddle him, your thighs trembling against his legs as you lay your chest against his, too exhausted to hold yourself up.

His arms come around you instantly, steady and grounding, one hand splayed at your lower back, the other stroking up and down your spine in soothing circles. His lips press into your hair, and for a moment the room is quiet save for the muffled hum of his playlist.

"You did so good," he whispers, fingers tracing your back. "So fucking good for me."

You hum faintly, pressing your face into the crook of his neck, clinging to him as your body settles.

Then you feel him shift. The hand that has been inside you pulls away from your back, and you glance down hazily just in time to see his fingers — slick, glistening, still wet with your cum — brought up to your lips.

"Open," he says softly, but there's no room for denial in his tone.

Your lips part without thought, and he slides his fingers past them, pressing against your tongue. The taste of yourself coats your mouth, hot and sharp, while his gaze stays locked onto yours, unreadable but heavy.

"Good girl," he murmurs when you close your lips around them, sucking faintly. His expression flickering between smug and tender. "Knew you'd take it so well."

You hum around his fingers, your body finally starting to relax fully against his chest as his free hand strokes lazy, soothing lines down your spine. He keeps you there, straddling him, caged in his lap and wrapped up in his warmth, until the aftershocks fade and the only thing left is the quiet comfort of his heartbeat beneath your ear.

You're still pressed against his chest, straddling his lap when he finally leans back against the headboard, settling you more comfortably across him. His hand is still stroking your back lazily, his fingers dipping just under the waistband of your shirt like he can't not touch you. He pulls his fingers from your mouth, hand joining the other.

The silence lingers for a moment, your breaths syncing, until he lets out a low laugh against your hair.

"You came just from me touching your clit," he teases, voice dripping with smugness. His hand slides lower to grip your hip, steadying you, before he subtly flexes his thigh beneath you.

You gasp when you feel it — his thick, muscular thigh pressing up against your overstimulated cunt. The flannel of his blue and green pajama pants rubs directly against your sensitive heat, and a shiver darts straight up your spine.

"Innie– " you whine, trying to lift your hips, but his hand at your waist keeps you in place. He only laughs again, low and satisfied.

"Sensitive, huh?" his lips brush your temple, soft but mocking. "Didn't take much, did it?"

You bury your face into his chest, groaning in embarrassment. "You're insufferable."

"And yet," he says smoothly, lifting his fingers — still damp from your mouth — to tap your lips again, "You keep proving how much you like it."

You glare at him weakly, cheeks flushed hot, but before you can shoot back something cutting, his tone shifts — playfully teasing.

"How do you think your parents are gonna feel," he murmurs, his voice silk against your ear, "knowing their sweet little girl is hooking up with her delinquent friend?"

Your whole body stiffens against him, heat rushing to your face. "You're such an asshole," you mutter shoving at his chest with no real force.

He just grins down at you, all sharp teeth and dimples, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Maybe," he says, his hand squeezing your thigh possessively, "but you're still in my lap."

You groan, hiding your face in the crook of his neck, and he chuckles, kissing the top of your head. The sound vibrates through his chest where you're pressed against him, both grounding and infuriating.

"Don't worry," he adds after a moment, softer now, brushing his thumb against your spine. "I won't tell them."

"Gee, thanks," you mutter, though the smile tugging at your lips betrays you.

"Anytime, baby," he murmurs smugly, tugging you closer until your heart is thudding right against his.