#youngbae

FUCK Seungri

FUCK OT5s

FUCK ALL OT1s

FUCK Seungri defenders

FUCK any one that calls Jiyong "gdruggie" and still accuses him of being on drugs when he was cleared

FUCK anyone that makes TOP a villain after almost a decade

FUCK anyone that calls Daesung a killer

FUCK anyone that makes Youngbae and Daesung feel like they're not good enough

FUCK anyone that says Jiyong doesn't care about the other members

PAIRING: gdragon x reader

CONTENT: smut, angst, situationship/toxic relationship, power imbalance, praise & degrading, fingering, dacryphilia (the tiniest bit), accidentally wrote him with a neck fetish or smth idk, bondage, oral & unprotected sex, orgasm denial, knife play, he’s not emotionally abusive he’s misunderstood i swear !!

SYNOPSIS: you knew who he was to the world: confident, untouchable, power incarnate. but behind closed doors, you saw something else— something raw. when he touched you, it wasn't just desire— it was desperation.

AUTHORS NOTE: first smut fic ahhhh 😓 i honestly had sm fun with this what the flip, writing this made me miss my ex #comebackhomebae

also apart of the übermensch series !!

words: [4.5k]

YOU should’ve known the moment the line between love and lust blurred, everything would fall apart. At first, it was sweet, innocent, perfect. But as the months went by, your relationship warped into something more depraved.

Every day, there was a new issue at work. Usually, you’d comfort him and reassure him that it would pass, but over time, he started growing cold toward you. He ignored your messages, passed you without a word— like you were already gone, and every time it happened, a sharp ache spread through your chest.

You kept telling yourself it would get better, but it never did. Whenever you tried to talk to him about it, another argument would start. It was like he didn’t care about fixing things anymore.

So, you ended things. Told him if he wasn’t going to try, then what was the point? What hurt the most was that he didn’t even seem to care. Instead of accepting his mistakes and trying to make things right, he acted like none of it had ever mattered to begin with.

“Jiyong, I can’t do this anymore,” you said, voice trembling as tears threatened to spill from your eyes, throat raw from holding everything in for too long.

He didn’t even look at you. “Do what?”

“This! Us! I’ve tried so many fucking times to get through to you, but you don’t even care!” Your voice cracked as the tears finally fell, cheeks wet and burning. “I understand work is hard, but that doesn’t give you the right to treat me like I’m nothing. I’m not your punching bag— I’m not just here to take your anger!”

He let out a slow exhale and shrugged. “Then don’t.”

You froze, eyes wide. He didn’t even flinch. You stared at him in disbelief. After everything— after every night you held him as he cried over the pressure, every time you stayed up just to hear about his day— this was his answer?

“If you’re so tired, just leave. What do you want me to do? I can’t change how you feel.” he muttered, still refusing to meet your gaze, as if your pain was a burden to him.

You stepped back like he’d slapped you. “Unbelievable.” you whispered. “Do you even hear yourself? You really don’t give a shit, do you?”

He scoffed under his breath and leaned back, arms crossed as if he'd already checked out of the conversation.

And just like that, something inside you snapped.

Your sadness turned into blinding rage. All the late nights, the ignored calls, the way he made you feel invisible— it all came rushing up like fire in your throat. You snatched your purse, your keys, anything that belonged to you with shaking hands.

“I fucking hate you,” you spat, pain laced in every syllable. You didn’t mean it— you loved him so deeply it hurt— but in that moment, you needed him to hurt too. You wanted him to feel every bit of the pain he left you with.

Fuming, you stomped out the front door with your arms full, not bothering to look back. You decided that if he never cared, you wouldn’t either.

That had been a month ago. At first, your breakup went somewhat smoothly. Neither of you called each other— no texts, no profile views, nothing.

But after the first week, none other than Jiyong appeared at your front door, claiming he left some of his things.

Long story short, you ended up doing more than just finding his belongings— being left with countless hickies and rather sore legs. It didn’t stop after that, though. Every couple days since then, Jiyong stopped by with another lame excuse— and you let him in each time. Because as much as you hated yourself for it, having a piece of him still felt better than having nothing at all.

Now, it had been over a week since he last came, and as much as you hated to admit, you missed him. The smell of his cologne on your sheets, the way his voice rasped your name against your skin, the weight of his body tangled with yours like you were something he couldn’t let go of— even if you both knew that wasn’t true.

Your life dulled into a head-throbbing silence after the breakup. No unexpected knocks at the door, nobody to hold as you went to sleep after a long day. It was just you now — you and the thoughts you tried so desperately to outrun.

Hooking up with Jiyong, if even for a few hours, had been the only thing that made you feel alive. It was toxic— you knew it. But he brought you to your highest highs, even if he plunged you into your lowest lows right after.

You stared at your phone, debating whether to break the silence. Just one message, just to see if he’d respond. You hated how desperate you felt, hated that your body still ached for someone who had emotionally abandoned you long before the breakup.

But before you could talk yourself out of it, there was a knock at the door. Your heart jumped, you didn’t need to check who it was— you already knew.

Your hand trembled on the doorknob, torn between shutting him out and the part of you that still craved his touch. Finally, with a shaky breath, you gave in— unlocking the door because, deep down, you wanted this.

He stood there, hood up, hands in his pockets like nothing had changed. “Left my charger,” he mumbled, voice low, as if he didn't want anyone else to hear him.

Bullshit.

You didn’t answer. You just stepped aside and let him in, even though every rational part of you screamed not to. Because even now, after everything, a piece of him still felt better than none.

Walking around, Jiyong entered and exited rooms as if he were actually looking for something— but you knew why he was here. It was the same reason everytime.

You hated how much power he had over you. He literally just walked in your house as if he owned it after a week of no contact, and you just let it happen. It was like he put a spell on you.

Leaving your room empty handed, Jiyong turned to you.

“Can’t find it” He said with a smirk on his face that told you everything you needed to know. “Can you help me look?”

You smiled, already knowing exactly where this was going. Your body moved willingly, betraying every protest your mind tried to whisper. You stepped into your room, pretending to search— eyes scanning drawers, fingers tugging open a basket next to your bed, doing anything to look busy.

You told yourself you were only playing along, just going through the motions. But deep down, a part of you wanted this, needed it. Because no matter how twisted he made things, Jiyong was the only one who could make your body forget it all.

You were crouched beside the bed, fingers aimlessly shifting things around when you heard him behind you— voice low, lazy, and dripping with heat.

“You look good like that— bent over.”

A flash of heat rose to your cheeks. You tried to hide the smirk tugging at your lips as you answered, loud and dry. “Whatever, Jiyong.”

But you didn’t move, you didn’t stop him. And he didn’t hesitate.

He stepped closer, voice low and rough. “Can I?”

You swallowed hard, breathless, and nodded. His hand then grazed your lower back, sliding down over the curve of your ass.

His fingers pressed firmly, possessively— like he was reminding you who you belonged to. “I missed this,” he murmured into your ear, lips barely grazing your skin. “Missed you.”

“I need you, now.” you whispered, breath hitching when his hand slipped between your thighs, cupping you through the fabric of your shorts. Your hips jolted instinctively, a soft gasp escaping your lips.

“I know you do, baby.” he whispered, pressing his mouth to the side of your neck, biting just hard enough to make you whimper. “No matter how much you say you hate me.”

You could’ve stopped him, but you didn’t want to— not tonight. Not when your whole body remembered what it felt like to be his. Leaning into him, back arching, your head tilted back to give him more access.

You yearned for his touch, your past issues leaving your mind as soon as he laid a finger on you. He was your weakness, your addiction.

His fingers broke the waistband of your shorts, teasing the skin just beneath as his lips dragged along your neck. The way he touched you made you dizzy— slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world to ruin you piece by piece.

“Already so wet” he murmured, voice low and smug, fingers now gliding through your folds with a dazing rhythm. “Missed me that bad, huh?”

You didn’t respond— you couldn’t. Your body betrayed you with every shaky breath, every low moan spilling from your lips as his thumb brushed your clit, rubbing tight, deliberate circles that had your hips grinding back into him instinctively.

He groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your spine as he pulled you closer, hand gripping your waist like he was holding himself back from completely losing control.

“God, you’re so needy,” he growled, his voice rougher now, almost breathless. Your moans turned into gibberish and incoherent whines as you felt your stomach tighten familiarly, but just when you thought you were about to fall over the edge, he stopped.

“Do you want this, princess?” He asked, removing his hand from your waist to turn your head towards his. “Say the word, and I’ll make you forget every reason you left.”

All your pride, all the promises you made to never let him do this again, evaporated on your tongue as you spoke up, practically whining, “Fuck—yes, Jiyong, please.”

He smirked, satisfied with your desperation, and in one swift motion, picked you up and threw you onto the bed. You barely had time to react before he practically tore both of your shirts off and latched onto your mouth.

“You beg so pretty for me,” he said, pulling away and panting like he’d just run a marathon. “You always do.”

His mouth found your neck in no time, sucking on that spot he knew drove you crazy, while he fondled your breast using his free hand. With each bite to your neck, he rolled your nipple between his fingers, making you grind up against him out of pure need.

“Not yet, pretty,” he teased. “Gotta get you ready first. Don’t you wanna have fun?” He smiled— just as cocky as he was when you were together.

You whimpered under him, the ache between your thighs unbearable as he continued to toy with your body like it belonged to him— because in a way, it always had.

“Jiyong,” you breathed, fingers curling into the sheets as his tongue dragged lazily along the edge of your collarbone. “Please…”

“Oh? Now you’re polite?” he teased, voice soaked in poison. “Didn’t sound so sweet when you walked out that door, did you?”

His words stung, but the way his fingers slipped between your legs silenced every ounce of pride you had left. He pushed your shorts down your thighs, then leaned back to take in the sight of you— panting, flushed, and needy for him.

“Look at you.” he muttered, dragging his fingers slowly over your soaked panties. “You hate me, right? But your body…” he smirked as he pressed against your clit through the fabric, causing you to gasp, “doesn’t lie.”

The way his fingers circled and teased was enough to have your back arching, your chest heaving as your body screamed for more. Jiyong held your hips down, forcing you to stay in place and endure his restless teasing.

He leaned down again, lips brushing your ear. “Tell me how bad you want it.” he whispered, “Beg for me like you mean it.”

You bit your lip, not wanting to give up your pride— but the words fell out anyway, breathless and broken. “I want you, Jiyong. I need you.”

With that, he yanked your panties down and spread your legs, gaze darkening as he settled between them. “Good girl,” he said lowly, kissing the inside of your thigh. “Let me remind you exactly who you belong to.”

Then his mouth was on you— hot, skilled, relentless. Every flick of his tongue, every graze of his teeth had you unraveling more and more beneath him, gripping the sheets like a lifeline as he devoured you without mercy.

Your thighs trembled as his tongue worked you over with slow, devastating precision. He knew every inch of your body— every spot that made you squirm, every rhythm that made your eyes roll back, and he didn’t let up— not even for a second.

“Fuck— Jiyong,” you moaned, back arching as you tugged at his hair, needing something— anything—to ground you.

He groaned at the sound of his name on your lips, gripping your thighs tighter as he sucked on your clit just long enough to have your legs threatening to close around his head.

“Oh no, baby,” he muttered, pulling back from inbetween your thighs just enough to look up at you, lips glistening, eyes dark and full of lust. “Keep those legs open for me. You wanted this, remember?”

You nodded frantically, too close to stop, too far gone to care about anything but the knot building inside you— tight, hot, and on the verge of snapping.

He slipped two fingers inside you with no warning, curling them perfectly as his mouth returned to its place between your thighs. His pace was brutal, overwhelming, yet perfect.

“I can feel how close you are.” he muttered against your core. “You gonna come already? Hm?”

A string of broken cries left your lips as your hips bucked against his face. He held you down firmly, tipping you over the edge with a deep suck to your clit that sent your vision blurring.

You came with a gasp, voice catching in your throat as your body flooded with pleasure. He didn’t stop until you were shaking and whimpering from the overstimulation, trying to push him away.

Only then did he pull back, licking his lips with a smug grin like he hadn’t just completely ruined you. “Still hate me?” he asked, voice low and hoarse as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

You blinked up at him, chest rising and falling rapidly, as your lips hung open, unable to speak— because the truth was, you didn’t even know anymore.

Your breathing was still uneven, body trembling from the sensitivity when Jiyong stood slowly, towering over you like he owned every inch of you. His eyes were dark, hungry— but calculated. Like he had more in store.

“You think we’re done, baby?” he asked, voice low and commanding, tugging your jaw up to meet his gaze.

Before you could even answer, he gripped both of your wrists and pinned them above your head with one hand. His grip was tight, possessive—but beneath it, you caught a flicker of desperation. Like he was afraid of losing you more than anything.

You heard the faint clink of something metal before you felt the cool press of leather circling your wrists. He strapped you to the headboard with deliberate care, then tugged on your arms a couple times, making sure you couldn’t move.

“Jiyong,” you whispered, testing the restraints, “What are you—”

“Shh.” He kissed your temple. “You okay? Are you comfortable with this?” he asked, eyes still on the belt as he pulled it snug.

Nodding quickly, Jiyong made a low ‘tsk’ sound as he shook his head. “Gotta use your words, baby.”

“Yes, please touch me, Jiyong.” you breathed.

A dark smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “That’s my good girl.” He reached into his back pocket and, to your surprise, pulled out a small, familiar knife. Your body tensed, heart pounding in your chest. Not from fear— from thrill.

“You know I’d never hurt you” he murmured, dragging the blunt edge of the blade down the center of your stomach— slow, teasing, just like the other times. “I just like watching you squirm.”

The cold steel drew along your skin, just enough to make you shiver. Then, it slipped beneath the bridge of your bra. With one clean flick, he sliced it straight down the middle— fabric popping loose, freeing your boobs like they’d been trapped for too long.

You gasped, nipples hardening at the air hitting them. Jiyong returned to your neck once again, hands wandering all around your body as if he were admiring a work of art.

“Spread.” he said as he lifted himself from your body, not raising his voice. You obeyed, opening your legs to display yourself for him under the dim lights.

“Look at that,” he whispered, letting the ice cold blade trail up the inside of your thigh lightly. “You let me back in after everything— and now you’re dripping for me.”

He tossed the knife aside safely, then leaned in, his lips brushing your neck as his fingers slid between your legs. But instead of giving you what you wanted, he hovered, traced, toyed.

One finger pressed in, achingly slow— then out. You felt so embarrassingly empty, like there was nothing but air in your body. You whimpered, pulling against your restraints. “Please, Jiyong… please.”

He kissed your throat, open-mouthed and slow, tongue dragging against your pulse. His mouth left wet trails on your skin, giving you goosebumps from the cold air clashing with it.

“You don’t get to come,” he whispered, lips against your ear, “not until I say so. Not until I’ve fucked the memory of any life without me out of that pretty little head.”

Your breath hitched. You hated how much you wanted that.

He moved between your thighs and dragged his tongue through your folds— slow, precise, agonizing. Every movement was calculated, every groan from his throat deliberate— all to make his teasing that much more unbearable.

“You sound so pretty for me.” he spoke, slipping two fingers inside you and curling them just right. “You always do.”

As you stretched out by his thick fingers, your moans increased in volume. And when your body started to tighten; hips twitching, breath turning shallow— he pulled away again.

You cried out, frustrated, desperate.

He leaned over you, rubbing slow circles on your clit with maddening restraint, just enough to edge you again and again. “Not yet,” he warned with a smirk. “You wanna come, baby? You’re going to earn it.”

Even knowing how wrong it was, you still wanted him— wanted this. You weren’t giving in, you were choosing it. Nodding quickly, your voice nearly broke as you pleaded. “I’ll do anything. Please.”

“Good,” he said, kissing your bound wrists. “Then stay just like that.”

Fondling with the button on his jeans, he unfastened his pants, dragging them down along with his boxers simultaneously. His cock sprang free, slapping against his abdomen with a wet, heavy sound that made your mouth go dry.

He stroked himself once, twice— slow and controlled, eyes locked on you the entire time. “You see what you do to me?” he asked, voice rough, teasing. “You’ve been teasing me too, princess. All those days without texting me… acting like I didn’t exist.”

He climbed over you again, the head of his cock dragging through your soaked folds but never pushing in. Just enough to make you squirm in desperation.

“But now I’ve got you tied to your bed,” he whispered, lining himself up and gripping your hips. “Now you’re mine again.”

He ran the thick head of his cock through your folds once again, gathering every drop of your slick, making you shiver as he teased your entrance. He didn’t rush it. He took his time— dragging the tip up and down, groaning low in his throat as you whimpered beneath him.

When he finally pushed in, it wasn’t aggressive, he had just the right amount of force that made your eyes water.

A steady, stretching pressure that had your back arching, mouth falling open. He eased in inch by inch, watching every expression wash across your face, his hand rubbing gentle circles into your thigh to ground you.

“That’s it, good job, love.” he muttered, voice rough. “Taking me so well.”

Once he was fully seated inside you, he gave you just a second to adjust— his hand running soothingly over your stomach, your wrists still bound above you, completely at his mercy.

Then he pulled out halfway and thrust back in, harder this time, setting a rhythm that was rough enough to leave you gasping, but not enough to hurt. Every thrust was deep yet controlled, performed to drive you crazy, not break you.

“You feel that?” he growled into your ear, hips slamming into yours with a sharp snap. “Every inch of me inside you, stretching you open. You were made for me.”

You moaned helplessly, legs trembling as he kept going, his grip on your thighs tightening just enough to anchor you in place, to let you know you weren’t going anywhere.

“Say it,” he demanded, voice breathless against your neck. “Say who you belong to.” He dipped down to place wet kisses on your chest, tongue drawing patterns on your skin.

“Fuck— You, Jiyong. Im all yours.” You whined, throat going dry as you struggled to get your words out. Jiyong let out a satisfied hum as he kept going, hips snapping into you even faster.

Tears of overwhelming pleasure welled in your eyes as he hit the spot that drove you wild. Suddenly, he lifted your legs up, pressing your knees onto your chest.

The new angle pushed him even deeper inside you as you cried out in pleasure. You tugged at your restraints as he pounded into you relentlessly.

The sound of the headboard knocking against the wall echoed through the room, but you barely registered it. Your focus was on Jiyong— on the way his body moved against yours like he knew you inside and out, like this was the only place you belonged; beneath and completely giving yourself to him.

Your thighs trembled against his hips, legs still folded against your chest as he buried himself deeper, over and over, with an overwhelming rhythm. Your wrists ached in their restraints, every ounce of control you once had belonged to him now.

“Look at you,” he whispered, voice low and dark as his thumb traces firm circles on your clit. “Falling apart just because I’m inside you. Crying for me, begging for me... this is what you needed, isn’t it?”

You whimpered, nodding as your back arched again. The burn in your stomach was unbearable, once again feeling that your pressure in your core. You were close, and he could feel it.

“Not yet,” Jiyong hissed against your ear, slowing down just enough to make you sob out of frustration. “Not until I say so.”

“Please— please, Jiyong,” you choked out, tears slipping down your temples as your body trembled under him. “I can’t... I need to—”

He cut you off with a sharp kiss, biting down on your lower lip before pulling away. “You can. And you will— for me.”

Then, without warning, he shifted his grip, pulled out almost completely, and slammed back into you hard enough to pull the breath from your lungs. Again, then again.

Your orgasm slammed into you like a flood. It ripped through your body with an intensity you hadn’t felt in months— your muscles clenching, vision blurring, cries spilling freely from your lips.

“Good girl,” he praised, voice thick and hoarse now as he chased his own high. “That’s it. Just like that.”

After a few more brutal thrusts, his climax followed. Jiyong's head dropped against your neck, breath hot against your skin as his body tensed above yours.

The room fell silent, filled with your combined panting rather than words. The sheets tangled beneath your bodies like evidence of everything you promised yourself you wouldn't do again.

A heavy ache settled in your chest as reality began to return, creeping in through the cracks his touch temporarily sealed shut. You looked up at the ceiling, wrists still tied, lips swollen, heart pounding for reasons far beyond lust.

After a few minutes, Jiyong finally moved. He slid out of bed without saying a word, pulling on his boxers before disappearing into the connected bathroom. The sound of water running filled the silence, and for a brief moment, you thought maybe he was going to leave.

But he didn’t.

The water shut off, and not long after, he returned— shirtless, damp hair pushed back, a wet washcloth in one hand and one of his oversized shirts in the other.

Without a word, he climbed back onto the bed, gently untying your wrists before wiping you down with the warm cloth. The soft heat of it contrasted with the cool air and the sting still lingering on your skin. He moved slowly, carefully— like he hadn’t just torn you open in every way imaginable.

“Too much?” he asked softly.

You shook your head. “No. It’s what I needed.” Sometimes, you hated how tender he was afterward— how it made your chest hurt in a different way. But this time you felt yourself melting into his touch, as if he were healing all your problems.

After cleaning you up, he helped you into the shirt, his fingers brushing your hips as he slid it over your arms. You winced slightly when the fabric grazed a sore spot, and he stilled, eyes flicking to yours.

“Sorry” he whispered, rubbing your skin with his hands softly to ease the pain

You managed a small smile. “It’s okay, I’ll feel better soon.”

Once you were dressed, Jiyong laid beside you again. The space between you was small but felt so much bigger. The silence was heavy with things neither of you knew how to say.

Your eyes wandered toward your ruined bra, the torn fabric laying limp near the edge of the bed. You gave Jiyong a sharp look.

He caught it immediately, smirking faintly as he leaned back against the headboard. “Don’t worry, jagi,” he said. “I’ll buy you five more.”

After the storm of lust passed, he traced circles on your back softly. “I’m sorry for hurting you,” he whispered, voice raw and honest. You wanted to believe him, and for a moment, you did.

Unfortunately, you both knew that tomorrow, nothing would be fixed. Nothing would be different. Yet here you were again, wrapped in the same cycle.

He knew how much power he had. The way he kissed you like a promise, only to vanish like a ghost. He always came back. And you always let him.

Neither of you spoke, but the silence said enough.

When you looked at him, neither of you said it out loud, but you both knew. This cycle would repeat, no matter how much you wished it wouldn’t.

You hated him and you hated how happy you were to let him in, but most of all— you hated how you still loved him.