#good feeling except makes me feel like my skin is too small for my body yeah

[b4cch4nte]

when u finish watching something or reading something etc and ur paralyzed by the weight of how good it was

[paarksunghoon]

heeseung with a corruption kink and maybe size kink too 🤐 please this man makes me SO horny

you know what, for as much as I love writing y/n to be an absolute bitch who isn’t innocent, this trope is kinddddd of my guilty pleasure

also I was gonna add a short something about a girl who wants to fuck heeseung walking in on them but didn’t because it didn’t flow hahahah maybe next time

read part 2 here

***

You don’t see a clock in Heeseung’s bedroom but it probably wouldn’t matter any way. Why would you need to know the time when he’s lying on top of you and kissing your neck like this?

Heeseung’s breath is hot and jagged as he moves his lips across your skin, occasionally nipping at the open area to hear you moan in his ear. You sound out of practice, like this is something you don’t do very often, and that realization makes Heeseung feel hot all over.

“You smell good,” he mumbles against you. “What perfume are you wearing?”

“Tom Ford,” comes your meek reply. “Got it for my birthday.”

Heeseung pushes himself to the other side of your face and presses his mouth along your jawline. “Wear it more often.” He chuckles when he feels you nodding against him and licks the skin right underneath your ear before kissing it.

Your body delightfully reacts to this sudden pressure and your legs widen even further. Heeseung takes one of your legs and wraps it around his body while the other caresses the side of your other. If there’s one thing you’ve learned about the boy you just met an hour ago, it’s that he knows how to kiss. The sensation of his fingertips in combination with his mouth makes your toes curl.

“Are you shy?” Heeseung asks when your hands remain on his bed. He pulls away to look down at you biting your lip.

“Out of practice.” Though, you’re sure Heeseung can’t tell the difference. You are a little shy, though, but you don’t want to tell him that.

He smiles down at you and bites his lip. It’s unfair how sexy he looks. “That’s okay. It’s what I’m here for, yeah?” Heeseung brings your hands to his arms and encourages you to touch him too. “You can touch me.”

When he sees you nod, he pushes himself up and trails his fingers until they’re pushing your dress up your body. He ghosts just over your pussy and you’re starting to love this kind of attention. “Can I touch you here?”

Heeseung is pleased when you nod. He brings two fingers to rub over you in slow circles and sees the way your brows furrow when he touches you like this. He’s being a bit slow and deliberate. Truthfully, he’d typically choose to sleep with someone who has more experience—he really loves it when a he can force his dick down somebody’s throat—but you were so nice and polite when his roommate introduced you to the small group of friends gathered by the pool table in the foyer of this gigantic house party.

There’s muffled sound from beyond his bedroom door but that does nothing to drown out the sound of your moans when he rubs on your clit.

Heeseung loves girls who get wet really fast. You’re no exception.

“You got wet from a little bit of kissing?” The man above you smiles down like he’s teasing you and when you look up at him all bashful, he can’t help but laugh and kiss your cheek. “That’s okay. I think that’s really hot.”

He taps your covered folds and hears the sound of wetness splashing against his fingers and grunts. You squeeze his biceps and he loves how you’re starting to get bolder with him too, sliding your leg against him as you relax against his touch.

Heeseung resumes kissing your neck and travels down your body. His movements are slow and deliberate when he pulls the top of your dress down until your tits are spilling out of it. He moves to your nipple and sucks on it as your arms find their way to his head. He hums against your chest and toys with the other one, gently pinching and tugging at your hardened nub and moving his mouth over to give it the same treatment.

Eventually, he moves down your body until he’s eye level with your drenched pussy. Heeseung spreads your legs until both feet are planted on his mattress and holds the back of your thighs to prevent you from squirming more than you already are. The way he’s looking at you makes your face feel hot.

“Can I lick you here too?” When you nod, he shakes his head. “Words, baby. Can I? Please?”

How could you ever say no?

“Yes.”

Heeseung smiles at that. His tongue pokes out of his mouth and he uses the tip to trace up your covered slit. He catches your back when you start to arch and coaxes you back down with a gentle touch.

When your hand finds his, Heeseung chuckles against your pussy. His warm breath feels sensational.

“Wanna hold my hand?” You don’t answer but tangle your fingers in his. He’s not used to sex being like this and girls who’ve been in your position usually urge him to go faster and get them off. But Heeseung finds that doesn’t really mind this. “Hold my hand, baby. Give it a squeeze if you need to.”

Heeseung resumes licking you and praises the sheer fabric you decided to wear today. “Your panties are so cute.” He licks you up and loves the sensation of it against his tongue paired with the way you taste. He rolls his eyes back and bucks his hips against the side of the bed, moaning into your pussy at the fraction of pressure. “I bet your pussy’s cuter.”

He pushes your underwear aside and marvels at the way you’re convulsing around nothing. You don’t seem to mind his ministrations either because you don’t protest. In fact, you push your hips towards him and Heeseung takes the hint.

He latches his mouth onto you and kisses your pussy like he’s trying to commit your body to his memory. His tongue glides over your folds and inside of your hole too, methodically bringing you pleasure from his mouth alone.

You think he must really love doing this because you look down and see his eyes are closed. What’s even hotter to you is that one of his hands left your thighs so that he can jerk himself off at the same time. You don’t see it but you see the way his shoulder moves and it makes you moan.

“Yeah,” he mutters against you. “Moan for me.”

You do, so much so that Heeseung keeps licking and sucking until you’re coming on his mouth. He laps it all up until he’s pushing his body upright and taking off his boxers just below his balls to free himself.

He’s so big. It makes your mouth water.

“You have the tiniest pussy I’ve ever seen,” Heeseung says with wide eyes. He strokes his cock a few times with the precum that’s oozing out of him. Heeseung taps your slit with his tip and the warm feeling makes your body arch.

“You ready for some cock, baby?” Truthfully, you aren’t. Not with his size. Him being as big as he is wasn’t something you anticipated. You tell him that much and expect him to kick you out of his room but all he does is pull your soiled panties over your pussy and lets his gigantic dick rest between your slit. He hears you meekly asking to keep grinding and nods, pushing his body down against yours. “We can keep doing like this. I love grinding.”

He doesn’t typically, not that anyone’s given him the chance to really try it out. But his cock is so hard that he thinks this might be the best thing after hard sex. Picturing the two of you having a a wet, rough fuck makes him grind faster.

Heeseung’s got your legs around him and you hold onto his body like a boa constrictor but he loves this type of neediness. He doesn’t get it from other girls and it makes him feel like pushing his cock into your pussy anyway. But he doesn’t. Although he wonders if you’ll ever work your way up to letting him do it.

“This feels so good,” Heeseung moans truthfully. He loves the way your eyes shut and how your mouth parts just wide enough for him to know you love it too. “I wanna fuck you for real one day.”

“I want that too.”

“Is that right?” Heeseung kisses your lips. “We’ll have to work our way to it, won’t we?”

He fucks his cock against your underwear until you cum against him with a choked moan right into his ear. That alone makes his hips stutter. He pulls himself upright and watches as his cum shoots right out of him and onto the fabric, the white ribbons gushing out of him like he’s never seen before.

Heeseung pushes his hips to gather his own release to move it around your mound. It’s so hot the way you’re looking at him. He almost thinks you’d beg him to put it in.

But you don’t. Not yet, anyway. He cleans you up and doesn’t let you get up until he’s sure you’re all good to go.

You think he might kick you out since you know he’s not the kind of guy to let a girl stick around so you start fixing your dress. When you stand up and reach for the door, he pulls you back by the hand and pushes your body against the wall.

“Where you goin’, baby?” That pet name he’s been calling you all night drives you crazy.

“Oh, I, um…didn’t think you wanted me to stay any longer.” He laughs and shakes his head, his lips kissing the side of your neck.

“Wanna get breakfast with you tomorrow. Is that okay?”

***

comments and reblogs are appreciated! xx

[br0kenangel]

BROKEN SOULS: you both hate each other. you both are broken. and you both lost your children. that's why you keep him. because he's the only one left.

TW: dark reader, broken Aegon, non con, reader is the rightful heir, minors DNI.

The dimly lit chamber feels colder today. The smell of damp stone, sweat, and despair fills the air as you walk in, tray in hand. Aegon kneels in the center of the his body slumped forward, chained to the floor like a dog. The clink of his collar as he shifts sends a thrill through you. He's nothing now-nothing but yours.

You set the tray down before him, watching as he avoids your gaze, staring blankly at the floor. His silver hair is matted, his once-proud body thin, broken. Every inch of him screams defeat. The man who had once taken everything from you-your throne, your children, your life- was now little more than a shadow, crawling at your feet.

Your lips curl into a twisted smile.

"Look at you," you murmur, kneeling in front of him, tilting his face up with your fingers. His violet eyes are hollow, vacant, but you see the flicker of recognition there. That old fear. That pathetic dependency. He doesn't hate you as much as he should, and that makes your stomach churn with something like satisfaction.

"You're going to eat" you say softly, but there's a command in your voice. "Open your mouth."

He does, like a trained dog, his lips parting obediently as you press a small piece of bread to them. He chews slowly, his eyes glazed over with tears he's too broken to shed. Your fingers linger on his lips, tracing the cracked, dry skin as he swallows.

"You've been so good lately," you coo, feeding him another bite, watching as he swallows it down like the obedient little creature he's become. "Such a good boy for me."

His breath hitches at the words, something like a sob bubbling in his throat, but it's muted-buried beneath layers of misery and exhaustion. You feed him another bite, and another, until the bread is gone. You wipe a tear from his cheek with the pad of your thumb, smirking as his body trembles under your touch.

"They are gone, Aegon," you whisper, leaning in close, your breath warm against his ear. "My children. Your children. Everyone is gone."

His face contorts in pain, eyes squeezing shut as fresh tears spill down his cheeks. You cup his face, forcing him to look at you, delighting in the way he shudders under your grip. "But we don't need them anymore, do we? No... we'll make something better. Something new."

His lips tremble, and his voice comes out as a broken whisper. "Please... no.."

Your smile grows wider, darker. You can feel the madness swirling inside you, an insatiable hunger that nothing can soothe except the thought of what's to come. "Yes, Aegon. We can. We will. We'll make new children. New little silver-haired babes, just like us."

His body stiffens, his eyes wide with horror, and you feel a sick, twisted thrill at the sight. "No." he breathes, his voice barely audible, a desperate plea. But it's too late for that. Far too late.

You push him down, the chain around his neck rattling as his back hits the cold, hard stone beneath him. His breath comes in ragged gasps as you climb on top of him, your hands already working to untie the gown at your neck. He's shaking now, tears streaming down his face, his body caught between fear, disgust, and that pitiful attachment he can't shake.

"Don't cry" you murmur, your voice soft but dripping with cruelty as you kiss the tears from his cheeks. "We're going to make something beautiful together, Aegon. We'll replace them. We'l make new children, and they'll be perfect. They'll be ours."

He shakes his head, his sobs growing louder as you undress yourself, letting the gown fall away from your body. "Please. don't..." he chokes out, his voice breaking.

But you don't listen. You never listen. You smile down at him, your fingers trailing over his trembling body as you begin to undress him, slowly, methodically, savoring every tear, every sob, every tremor of fear that runs through him.

"We don't need anyone else," you whisper, your lips brushing against his ear as you strip him bare. "We'll have our own family. We'll have everything we've lost."

You bite his neck suddenly, harshly, your teeth sinking into his skin until you taste blood. He gasps, his body jerking beneath you, but there's no fight left in him. There hasn't been for a long time. He sobs quietly as you kiss the wound, licking the blood from his skin, shushing him softly.

"'Shh... it's okay. It's okay, Aegon. You'll give me what I want, and I'l give you everything you need."

He's crying openly now, his body shaking with every sob, but his tears don't deter you. They fuel you. You press your body against his, your hands running over his bare skin as you whisper sweet, poisonous words into his ear.

"Do you want your children back, Aegon?" you ask, voice soft and poisonous. "Wouldn't that be nice? To hold them again. To see their little silver heads running around these halls?"

A sob escapes him, but he doesn't speak. His body quivers under your touch, tears sliding down his cheeks, as you run your thumb over his lips. There's no comfort here, not really, only a twisted kind of cruelty laced with sweetness. He knows it too. Knows that this is all wrong, but he's too far gone to care anymore.

"We can have them back," you whisper, leaning closer until your lips brush against his ear. "We can make them again. Our perfect little babes. Just like before."

He shakes his head, a small, pitiful gesture of defiance, but it only makes you laugh-a sharp, bitter sound that echoes off the cold stone walls.

"Why not, Aegon?" you coo, your tone soft but mocking. "Don't you want to be a father again? Don't you want to have your children back? We can name them after the ones we lost... after you lost them."

His breath hitches, and his tears flow faster. You straddle him, pushing him back down onto the cold stone floor, his chains rattling as you settle on top of him. His body stiffens beneath you, his eyes wide with fear, but there's nothing he can do to stop you.

"Think about it, Aegon," you whisper, your hands trailing down his chest as you slowly, methodically, undress him. "We'll name the first one Aegon. Just like you. Wouldn't that be perfect? A little Aegon, just like his father. He'll be beautiful."

He tries to speak, but all that comes out is a broken whimper. You smile, tilting your head as you run your hands over his trembling body, taking your time, savoring every tear, every ragged breath.

"And then we'll have more," you continue, your voice taking on a lilting, sing-song quality. "We'll name them after your lost children. After our father. Won't that be wonderful?"

You can see the madness in his eyes, the way his mind is breaking under the weight of it all. But there's something else there too一something darker, something twisted. He hates you. You know that. He despises you for what you've done, for what you're doing now. But he needs you. Needs your twisted affection. Needs this warped sense of control, even as it destroys him.

You move slowly, your body pressing against his as you begin to ride him, your pace deliberate and cruel. His breath hitches, and he tries to turn his head away, but you grab his chin, forcing him to look at you.

He sobs, his body shaking beneath you, but you shush him, pressing a finger to his lips. "Shh... don't cry, Aegon. This is what you want, isn't it? You want them back, don't you? You want our little family."

"Look at me, Aegon," you hiss, your voice cold, sharp. "Look at me while we make them. Look at me while I give you back what you lost."

He sobs harder, but his body betrays responding to your touch even as his mind screams in protest. You ride him slowly, cruelly, watching as he crumbles beneath you, his tears soaking the stone floor beneath his head.

"You'll thank me for this," you whisper, leaning down to kiss his tear-streaked cheek. "You'll see. We'll make them perfect this time. They'll be ours, Aegon. Ours alone."

He whimpers, his eyes glazed over with tears and despair, and you can see the last shred of his sanity slipping away. You kiss him again, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood, your fingers digging into his skin as you ride him harder, faster, forcing him to surrender completely to your madness.

"Say it" you demand, your voice harsh now, a cruel edge to your words. "Say you want them. Say you want our children, Aegon."

He chokes on his sobs, his voice broken, barely audible. "I.. I want them..."

You smile, a sick, twisted grin, as you press your forehead against his, your breath hot against his skin. "Good boy" you whisper. "We'll have them. And they will stay alive this time."

He cries beneath you, his body shaking with every sob, but you don't stop. You ride him harder, your hands gripping his shoulders as you force him to give in completely, to surrender to the darkness that's consumed you both.

In that moment, nothing else matters. Not the throne, not the past, not the lives you've taken or the ones you've lost. All that matters is this一the two of you, broken and mad, clinging to each other in the twisted wreckage of your lives.

And when it's ove, when his body finally stills beneath yours, you press a soft kiss to his forehead, your voice sweet and soothing as you coo at him like a mother to her child.

"'Shh... it's okay, Aegon. We'll have our family back. We'll make them again. And this time, they'll be perfect."

He doesn't respond, his body limp, his mind shattered. But you don't care. You've won. You've taken everything from him, and now he's yours. Completely. And he will give you what you want.

They'll be perfect. Perfect little replicas of what you've lost. And this time, nothing will take them from you.

Nothing.

Part 2

@ 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

[xenteaart]

you are not difficult

pairing: chan x reader (i wrote it with idol!chan or producer!chan in mind, but it can fit any au, really) word count: no idea but it's short genre/warnings: er, angst, hurt/comfort, implied suffering w depression, implied history of SH. also implied shitty ex. so PLS keep that in mind before you read. also, it's all good in the end. author's note: it's a self comfort thing y'all but i hope you like it too.

it was yet another night where everything felt too much and you kinda hated yourself for it. bad day, maybe some hormonal imbalance due to a certain time in your cycle, history of mental illness — it's hard to put a finger on the exact cause. you're sick of trying, anyways.

chris was, of course, right there for you, and as you were falling apart in his arms, your entire soul was aching so bad that it made you want to crawl out of your own skin. it's usually like that, everywhere in your body like some sort of extreme inflammation, except physically you're perfectly fine.

"'m sorry…" you blurt out somewhere between your sobs and cries, still unable to hold eye contact with him.

"baby, you have nothing to be sorry for," chan shakes his head and keeps rubbing circles into your back, just between the shoulder blades where the ache feels the most excruciating.

"kiss me?" you squeak. almost pathetic, honestly, but it's always been your way of checking, whether he still wants you. whether he still loves you and desires you, even at your lowest, even with your mascara all smudged over your cheeks, eyes puffy and red, lips slightly irritated and swollen. even when there's a gaping black hole where the heart is supposed to be.

chris doesn't even question it, really. he simply leans in and gives you a long sweet kiss full of both a partner's tenderness and a lover's lust, so, so willing to do whatever it takes to calm the thunderstorm inside your mind and ease your struggle.

the kiss doesn't really satisfy you, the feeling is still there.

"sorry," you whisper again as you breathe out into chan's lips but the intimate contact doesn't last long. chris frowns and makes some distance between you two to look into your eyes.

"why? baby, why do you keep apologizing?" he sounds gentle but still slightly frustrated.

"i dunno? cos 'm difficult? for bein' difficult?"

there's a silence as he blinks a few times, processing and putting two and two together.

"just because it was difficult for them to love you and take care of you, doesn’t make you difficult. you are not difficult. like, at all," he puts on his serious tone, the one he uses for you when you can't see the obvious and he has to remind you.

you don't really know what to say to that, so you keep playing with the tissue paper in your hands, ripping it apart piece by piece just to keep yourself busy and focused on something other than the burning ache in your chest.

"dealing with mental health isn't easy, that one is true, baby, but it's so easy to love you. you are easy to love. even now, looking so small and in pain but it's still you, and my duty as your boyfriend is to take care of you when you can't. and, hell, you're one of the most capable people i know, so please just let me hold your hand through it once in a while, yeah?" chan speaks slowly and quietly, as if to make every single word sink in, tenderly forcing it into your stupid lovely brain that refuses to cooperate sometimes.

chris feels safe. he feels like lighting up a cookie scented candle after a long day at work. he's the feeling of the ocean timidly licking at your feet and burying them deeper into warm wet sand. chris is the first sip of coffee in the morning and the cold side of the pillow at night. he's everything worth living and trying for.

"thank you," is the only thing you manage to say, but in the way you lean back into his embrace he's able to read a lot more.

"do you want a nice mug o' hot chocolate and some fairy bread, baby?"

this question makes you hiccup and sob once again. you nod and nuzzle closer into the crook of his neck.

[carmenberzattosgf]

Smut request! I just had the thought, what if you started seeing Carmy and for some reason you actually kind of expected him to be *smaller* due to his shorter height (but nevertheless love his huge biceps and how gorgeous he is) ...so when you're about to have sex for the first time, you're stunned into surprise and into a sudden massive size kink when you realize how big/thick he actually is... Like an "I don't know if that will fit" bit 😵‍💫🥵💀

Yeah, the first time he pulls down his boxers… you’re a bit shocked. The surprise must show on your face, because a small chuckle leaves Carmy’s lips.

“Like what you see?” He’s well aware of how attractive his body looks. Carmen’s not confident in much, but his physique is an exception. He’s also well aware of how big he is, and he has every reason to be proud of it.

“You’re like a fucking Greek sculpture or something. So pretty.” Carmy blushes at your praise. He’s never had someone look at his body in such a daze before. He naturally takes a step towards where you sit on his bed, completely bare.

“I should be the one complimenting you, pretty girl.” Carmen’s within arms reach now, and you can’t resist reaching your fingers out to touch him. His muscles tense when your nails graze across his abs. He can see how blown out your pupils are as your fingers trace his happy trail right down to his cock.

You take him in your hand, and your fingers barely touch around him. “So big—never taken anything this big. Do you think it’ll fit?” You gaze up at him, breathing heavily. You already looked fucked out, and he hasn’t even touched you yet.

“I’ll make it fit. We’ll go slow, yeah? M’not gonna do anything that’ll hurt you.” He brings a hand up to cup your cheek. God, even his hand engulfs your face. He needs to be in you, now. “If you wanna stop, tell me, and I’ll stop. Okay?”

“Okay. I trust you, Carm.”

Within minutes, he has you underneath him with your legs open wide, waiting for him. Carmy strokes his cock gently to spread the precum that had collected at his tip over his length. He wastes no time, lining up to your entrance.

“Still feeling okay?” It must have been the fifth time he’s asked by now, but he wants to make sure you’re completely comfortable. He’s so sincere it makes your heart flutter.

“Mhm—please, Carm. Need you in me—“ A moan cuts off your sentence as Carmy presses into you. Carmy grits his teeth; it’s taking all the power he has not to just plow into your warm cunt.

“So fucking tight—god, baby. Relax—I gotcha,” he coos. He moves his hand to press his thumb into your swollen bud. Your hips twitch as he runs slow circles onto your clit. “There we go. That’s a good girl.”

Carmy’s thumb distracts you enough that you don’t realize he’s nearly half way inside of you. You’ve never felt so stretched full before. “So—so big, Carm. S’much��holy shit,” you whine. Your hands frantically reach out for him, desperate to feel his skin. They end up settling on his waist. Carmy winces when your nails dig into his skin, but he already knows he’s going to love looking at those scratch marks in the morning.

“Shh—I know. You’re taking it so good, baby. So fucking good.” He lets his hips sink the rest of the way down after you adjust. Tears pool in the corner of your eyes as he bottoms out.

“Please fuck me, I can’t—need to feel you. Please.” You beg.

“Let me know if it’s too much.”

Carmy fucks you deep and slow that night. Every single thrust is deliberate to bring you pleasure. He’s barely even pulling half way out of you, instead focusing the movement of his hips to grind his cock deep inside of you.

The pleasure is mind numbing. Carmy’s cock hits spots that you’ve never felt before, and it makes wild and desperate sounds leave your mouth. “Carmy, Carmy, Carmy. S’deep. Feels like you’re in my stomach—fuck.”

Carmy’s not doing much better. The way your squeezing around him feels like heaven on earth. His hand leaves your throbbing clit to rest right below your navel. Carmen splays his palm and presses down firmly. “Yeah? Can you feel me right here?”

“Mhm—“ a sharp whimper escapes you as he picks up the pace. “Shit—C-Carm. Close—I’m so close, please.”

“Go on, baby. Cum around my cock for me. Been such a good girl; you deserve it.”

With his permission, you hit your peak. Your legs tremble as your wrap them around his waist in a last ditch effort to get him even closer. That’s what sends Carmy over the edge, spilling deep inside of you. Your hips twitch against his as he pumps you full of cum.

You don’t realize you blacked out until you suddenly feel a warm wash cloth between your legs, cleaning you up. You’re still too fucked out to speak properly, so you just look at him with a giddy smile on your face.

The next morning you can barely walk, legs shaking with every step. Carmy profusely apologizes, feeling like absolute shit for not taking more time to stretch you out.

However, you whispering in his ear that you like being reminded of how good he fucked you with ever step you take shuts him right up.

[carlsangel]

CALL IT QUICK

carl grimes x fem!reader

(carl gets quite excited.)

tags: smut (p in v sex, it’s protected for once!)

masterlist here!

go read my series, ghost in the woods.

Carl loves you, and he loves you a lot. One thing about him is that he loves to praise you, he’ll do it all day if you let him. He does it regardless or not if you’re embarrassed. His favorite thing to do is praise you. He’ll tell you how soft your skin is, how beautiful your body is or how much he adores your tummy. One thing you’ve waited for, was the right time to actually have sex.

Your relationship was barely about sex at the time. You were too busy with other things around Alexandria. That being said, you jerked each other off maybe once before and went down on each other once as well but that’s not the point. You both wanted your first time to be perfect and romantic. He cared about you so much that he was willing to wait however long until you were ready. The only thing is that when you were ready, he was a little too excited.

It happened after an event in Alexandria, which you two had snuck off and made out against the side of a house. At some point, in the middle of that make out session, you decided you wanted to have sex for the first time. So you push Carl back instead of pulling away because he was extremely focused but anyway once he retracted his tongue from your mouth, you told him. You told him you were ready. You were back at your house in maybe less than a minute or two.

He basically dragged you up the stairs and your clothes were off just as quickly as well. He has his priorities so he spent time worshipping your body first. He started at your neck, he just placed gentle kisses from there down to your chest, obviously taking your breast into his mouth. He kisses down all the way to your tummy before sitting up right between your legs. “If anything hurts can you tell me?”He asks, reaching over to grab a condom from the bedside table.

You agree to tell him and he rips open the wrapper to slide it on. That just made you realize how much you were in because…well he was really hard. He gently rubs himself over your folds, just to collect some of your slick on himself so it was easier. “You’re so wet…” He looks up at you and you notice how unsteady his breathing is. He looks back down and rubs himself against you some more, eliciting small moans from you. Except he does it for a strange amount of time, it’s almost as if he zoned out while doing it. It just felt so good and he didn’t want to stop.

Little noises fell out of his mouth as he did so, but you had to snap him out of it. “Carl?” You put your hand on his shoulder, causing him to look up at you. “S-Sorry.” He lines himself up with you and gently pushes in, leaning forward as he does so he can kiss you. You both moan into the kiss, him more than you but he does his best to reciprocate the kisses as he feels your wet, warm cunt surrounding him. He was practically aching. His lips linger on yours for a moment and you pull away to see if he was okay but, his eyes were shut tightly and it seemed like he was struggling. Your eyebrows furrow as he hides in your neck. You feel his cock twitching inside you.

Before you know it, he lets out what sounded like a breath of relief. He’s basically panting in your ear. “Did you just..” He nods against your neck and pulls back to look at you. “I’m sorry it was just…very overwhelming. Felt too good.” He looks at you sort of worried that you’re disappointed but you’re not. “I…I’m sorry-” It sinks in and he’s panicked as he realizes the reality of the fact he just came within seconds of being inside you. “Damn it, this is really embarrassing.” He leans his head on your chest. “I promise I’ll make it up to you I really didn’t mean to.” He explains. You smile a little and start to scratch his back.

“It’s fine.” You say quietly. He continues to burrow in the safety of your neck. “I feel like- like I let you down.” He mumbles, a slight frown on his face. “Baby I said it’s fine. I think it’s quite sweet if anything.” You tell him, your hand still moving over his back. “You don’t think it was too fast?” He looks up at you, his expression seeming embarrassed yet hopeful. “Well…I’d call it quick.” He groans and drops his head into your chest.

“Hey…it’s fine, it happens okay? We’ll work on your endurance.” You brush through his hair and smile at his embarrassment. It was just so sweet.

“You better not make fun of me about this later.”

“No promises.”

a/n: hiiiii guys i hope this wasn’t dog shit thanks anon for requesting LOLLL it’s a bit short but that’s how it was requested. ANYWAY!!! go read my series guys! also guys, i know i have a tag list for my series that’s separate from my regular one so if u wanna be added to my general tag list let me know

tag list: @zomb-1-egutzz @lunarnightt @ilikestrawberriesandwomen @hiro--aoki @h00d-tr4sh @callsignwidow

[beomiracles]

for kinktober i'd like to request taehyun + public sex & beomgyu + cockwarming <3 thank u!

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒

DAY 13 : CHOI BEOMGYU + COCKWARMING — “Getting your dick wet isn’t enough?” You seethe, fingers twisting in his dark locks and Beomgyu shivers under you, cock twitching at your words. “Need to get fucked dumb until you’re satisfied.” 

Cock Warming is a sexual act consisting of holding someone's cock in either a mouth, or another orifice, as if to keep it warm with body heat.

pairings beomgyu x fem!reader warnings cockwarming, sub!gyu, meandom!reader, little bit of hair pulling, creampie, kind of edging I guess?, beomgyu gets called puppy, mentions of oral (f. rec) towards the very end.

#serene adds ✎ erm, I love puppy!gyu agenda sorry not sorry :> and I've received more than one request for public sex with taehyun so it's happening too, though in a week or so :3

i’m 20 minutes late because of @bamgyw ‘s fugly ass THIS SHIT ACTUALLY SLIPPED MY MIND SO BAD. this is what i get for not trusting tumblrs schedule option

EVENT POST

“Stay still”, you hiss, the small command is met by a mere whine as Beomgyu’s face buries deeper in the crook of your neck. You tsk, gaze slowly returning to the movie in front of you as you let yourself get immersed in the painfully obvious storyline. It had been a terrible choice of film, and just as you were about to suggest turning it off, had Beomgyu pressed his hard cock against the curve of your ass, murmuring a shy request that you had been unable to deny. 

Alas you continued to sit through the agonizingly cheap and badly directed movie, except this time with Beomgyu’s throbbing erection nestled deep inside of you as he struggles to remain composed. — He’d promised to be good, promised to be both quiet and still, you wouldn’t even know that he was there. That’s what he’d said. But Beomgyu was a terrible liar. 

He’s practically panting against you, his heavy and warm breath fanning across the exposed skin of your neck and shoulder. You feel him swallow, his fingers twitching in the fabric of your shirt as he bunches the garment up. — “Please.” The quiet whisper is almost inaudible and you barely catch it over the lame fight scene on screen. 

“Hm?” You don’t spare him more than a soft hum, not bothering to turn and face him as your eyes remain trained to the Tv. Beomgyu impatiently huffs behind you, thighs tensing before he relaxes against the couch once more. — A minute later, he tries his luck again. “Please, more.” 

His plea makes your brows twitch and you regard him through the corner of your eye. “More? But I thought the whole point was for this to be low maintenance.” — Beomgyu remains silent as he bites the inside of his cheek. The slight shift of his hips makes his cock brush up against you in a way that almost has you shudder and you hold off a small sigh. “Besides”, you continue as you turn back to the movie, “I’m enjoying this one, you can’t seriously expect me to turn it off now?”

That was a lie, the movie was complete trash, but he didn’t have to know that. 

A soft whine escapes his bitten and swollen lips but he falls silent after that as his chest slumps against your back defeatedly. — It was endearing really, having him so worked up beneath you whilst doing something as mundane as watching a movie together. Though you were unable to ignore the way your cunt would occasionally clench around him, drawing strangled moans from him as Beomgyu held his tongue.  

Another fifteen minutes pass, by now you’d manage to guess every single plot twist of the film as well as the obvious ending. The cheap costumes made their budget clear and you wondered why they had even pursued the ordeal. Even the actors were mediocre and awkward, delivering their lines with either too much enthusiasm or none at all. — The only thing keeping you from going completely insane was the consistent throb of Beomgyu’s cock, joined by his labored breaths, fanning across your shoulder blade. 

“Please”, his voice is hoarse, laced with desire as he ignores your previous command of silence, “I-I can’t take it anymore..” Maybe it was the way the words rolled off his tongue, or the way his large hands clawed at your hips, or even the way his body trembled against yours, as if he was on the verge of breaking out into tears. 

With one swift motion, you reposition yourself on his lap, turning to face him, the movie easily discarded. — “Can’t take what?” You jeer, grabbing a fistful of his hair as you pull his head back. “Can’t take the privilege of being allowed inside my cunt?” Your eyes narrow down on him, catching his breath hitching in his throat, prominent adam's apple nervously bobbing as he swallows a gulp. “I give you so much, but it’s not enough for you?” A tug to his hair makes him whine as his hips buck, raising himself off the couch in an attempt to feel you clench around him. 

“Spoiled fucking puppy”, you grunt, leaning forward to press your lips against his in a kiss long overdue. Beomgyu groans into your mouth, practically licking your face as his greedy tongue darts out to meet yours. His sheer desperation was gullible and your body moves on its own as you grind against him. — “Getting your dick wet isn’t enough?” You seethe, fingers twisting in his dark locks and Beomgyu shivers under you, cock twitching at your words. “Need to get fucked dumb until you’re satisfied.” 

He gasps out a shallow ‘yes’ when he feels your throb around him, thighs tensing as his long awaited orgasm approaches. — “Greedy pup”, you moan, teeth closing around his bottom lip as your nails dig into the flesh of his neck. Beomgyu merely whines in agreement as his hips jerk up to meet yours, blabbering complete and utter nonsense as he begs for you to let him cum, telling you over and over that he’d been good. 

“M’was completely still..” He breathes, hands grabbing at your chest, searching for anything to ground himself with. “W-Was good..Wasn’ I?” He wails, big and round eyes searching yours with urgency. — He looked adorable like this, his expression completely dazed and gone, sweaty and shiny, warm and flushed. You couldn’t find it in you to deny him; “Fine, you can cum.” 

The small confirmation made his hips violently buck against yours one last time before his warm release spread inside your clenching cunt. Beomgyu’s lips fervently latch onto yours as he seals you in a messy kiss, saliva seeping from the corner of his mouth as he moans onto your tongue. — You let him have his way, feeling his cock spasm inside you before it softens. And only when he’s fucked his cum back into you throughly, does he withdraw with a small pout. 

When you climb off of him, he nearly whines, and you have to ignore the throb between your legs as you push him down onto the floor between your feet. — Confused, he glances up at you, a question waiting on his lips. “Well go on, clean me up puppy.” 

Beomgyu doesn’t need to hear it twice before his face is nestled between your legs, tongue eagerly lapping against your soaked cunt. Like a good puppy.

kinktober taglist (send an ask to be added) — @sweetpotatogyu @aduh0308 @joieouioui @inkigayocamman @bambammtori @hkplushier @gyusoulz @eliluvsjjunie @velvetmoonlght @izzyy-stuff @hwanghyunjinismybae @lunathewritingcat @ninitorih @run4gyu @beestvng

© all rights reserved ─ @beomiracles 2024

[kisses4kaia]

god college!luke makes my emotions go haywire 😡😩 i’d honestly start dating someone else to spite him

you know what anon. ima need you to claim an emoji bc ur thoughts are TOO GOOD (also thank u sm for 1.5k💋)

so we’ve discussed previously that luke castellan does not get jealous easily.

however.

he never thought you would go this far. sure, you had danced on other guys at parties to get a rise out of him, maybe flirted here and there in front of him, but never this.

getting into a relationship—a serious relationship—with his frat brother? that was a new low. so what if he’d purposefully lead other girls into gross bathrooms at bar outings so you would see? this was uncalled for. how dare you?

so naturally, at your new boyfriend’s birthday party, when you’re sitting on his lap, helping him unwrap your present of a jean-paul gaultier cologne he’d wanted, luke—in classic luke fashion—thought this would be his chance. your sorority sister, drunk off of her wits—bless her heart—came up to you and whispered some slurred imperative about how you needed to get to ‘the square’.

your eyebrows furrowed at her as her eyebrows raised, questioning the significance of ‘the square’ and why the man who prompted her to ask chose there. you said no words, excusing yourself after finding her a water and alka seltzer.

“you really couldn’t help yourself, huh?” are the first words you say to luke, button up shirt open and lying on his back on the false grass. “me? you’re one to talk, sweetheart,” you rolled your eyes at his use of the nickname, crossing your arms as you stand over him.

beneath the twilight, your exposed shoulder skin glistened like the moon, just a sliver of it visible in the northern night sky. luke had obviously had something to drink or smoke, or both, because he slurred his words as he patted the turf next to him. “sit down. c’mon, like the good ol’ days,”

‘the square’ was a small patch of land in the middle area between his frat’s and your sorority’s backyards. it was insignificant to most everybody else, but you and luke had claimed it as yours on drizzly nights like these, when the owl called and adolescence snored. it didn’t even hold sexual reminiscences, for each night you spent on the square was spent just talking. he would gloat about some things he did over the summer, interrogate you on your sex life, laugh at your offense and crack bad jokes. he was the worst person to spend valuable time with, but you returned every night, nonetheless.

“i’m surprised, castellan. been here a full sixty seconds and you haven’t tried to fuck me,” you remained standing over his lax body, crossing your arms over your chest. “do you want me to try to fuck you? because i’m down,” he looks up at you with that smile of his. that toothy, million dollar, smile that reassures whomever it is on the receiving end that everything is okay and there’s not a thing to worry about.

you snort, giving in and sitting down. luke pulls you into his lap before your butt can even hit the cool grass, eliciting a yelp from you. his lips press against your shoulder, strong, warm arms wrap around your waist and you can’t help but melt into the body beneath you. “luke,” your voice is meant to be a warning, supposed to remind him and yourself that you belong to another and this was not right, but he did nothing except for hold you tighter and smile against your skin.

“he doesn’t make you feel like i do.” he spoke the words out of your mind, the voice of truth you swallowed down with a knowing conscience that it would rise to the surface eventually. this wasn’t what you wanted. your single goal wasn’t to make luke jealous, it wasn’t even to show him what he was missing. you just wanted it to be different. you wanted somebody to take you seriously enough to call you theirs.

but anybody who did wasn’t him.

“luke,” this time, you weren’t trying to ward off anything. this time, you were welcoming him and all his invasive, rude, luke-like, traits and the pain you knew would come with letting him in once more. “i know, baby, i know.” he said no further words before flipping the pair of you over and letting your back onto the ground. you focused on none else other than the feeling of his lips finally landing on yours, the trace of his fingers across your denim skirt’s hem. “can i?” luke’s fingers dipped past the fabric, drawing swirls on your skin. “mhm, yeah,” your smile is audible and spreads to luke’s lips.

if there was one thing luke always did, it was worship you. this time was no different. his lips were everywhere, and when they weren’t pecking kisses all over you, he was breathing praises like you were a mortal saint against your skin. and when he entered you, he fucked you like he couldn’t believe he got the chance to feel you again. but he knew what the outcome of this would be; of course he did.

you didn’t know him as a particularly selfish lover, but the way he chased his high, rutting his hips against yours to the point of overwhelmed stuttering suggested that to be true.

and when it was all said and done and the past hung in the air like a wonder of the world, luke stood and looked down at you like you previously did him.

“break up with him.”

“why?”

“you know why.”

there was no denying that, so you did none else than nod.

“yeah. i do.”

[forlix]

𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠・h.h.

— you're uninviting, there's no doubt about that, your resolve like unpolished diamond and tongue like broken glass. but hyunjin finds you're not half as impossible as everyone assumes you are.

words・11.1k

pairing・idol!hyunjin x female stylist!reader (inspired by this)

genres・fluff, angst, eventual smut so MDNI, some hurt/comfort, some humor, mc is a bad bitch and hyunjin is a #simp, enemies? to lovers, sexual tension, workplace relationship, mutual pining, slow burn, nonlinear narrative

warnings・reader vividly remembers an anxiety attack, alcohol is consumed, lots of compartmentalization and imperfect communication, complex people feeling complex emotions, smut warnings under the cut

playlist・farewell, neverland by txt・like crazy by jimin・black friday by tom odell・collide by justine skye・crying lightning by arctic monkeys

a/n・call me victor frankenstein bc i've given birth to a MONSTER (except i actually love and care for mine ofc). this was easily the greatest challenge of my fanfiction-writing career and it feels like my magnum opus; i hope it's worth the wait! also a huge shoutout to sahar for being my voice of reason and my biggest supporter :’) i don’t deserve u i love u

smut warnings・cunnilingus, overstimulation, creampie (practice safe sex!!), mild dacryphilia

Present day. Cannes, France. 5:54 P.M.

You’ve long made peace with the fact that Hwang Hyunjin is incapable of shutting up for more than five minutes.

As it is, the man has a mouth that runs like a cross-country marathon; then throw in his uncanny aptitude for annoying you, and what do you get? A nonstop slew of terrible jokes and teasing quips, tailored according to his thorough mental manual of what gets under your skin hardest and fastest.

This is the reality you live in, presumably because you were evil in your past life, and you’ve steeled yourself to see it through.

But twenty minutes have passed since you and Hyunjin ducked into the back of a cab and gave the driver the show’s address—and, as stunning as the red rooftops and lazuline coastline of Cannes are, you find you’re more interested in Hyunjin’s peculiar silence.

You move your gaze to his face. He’s looking outside, his chin resting upon the palm of his hand, the afternoon sunlight dusting over his chiseled features like polish on pottery; his complexion an exuberant gold against the cream-colored linen that makes up his clothing.

Maybe it’s because you opted for a simpler makeup look today, leaving the most telling contours of his face warm and bare, or maybe it’s because you’ve spent the last year committing his every mannerism and expression to memory. Nevertheless, you see through his pursed lips and tight brow right away.

“Nervous?” 

Hyunjin’s head swivels towards you with a small snap, like he’s forgotten you’re here. His lips fall open, their glossy peach color glinting with the small shift.

“No,” he replies reflexively, but then his facade flickers. “Fuck, maybe a little. It’s just hard to believe, you know?”

You do know. It was a huge honor for both of you when Hyunjin was named the newest global ambassador of Versace. For you to be attending the brand’s pop-up show in one of the most beautiful cities in Europe, among some of the world’s most prolific creatives, is truly incomprehensible. Even you’ve been feeling antsy since you landed; you can only imagine Hyunjin’s anxiety.

You have never been good at consolation. You think your mouth is too coarse, your propensity for honesty too strong. But you’ve always known just what to say when it comes to him.

“Just remember who you are.”

Hyunjin takes a few seconds to process your words, but his understanding washes over his whole body; straightens his back; hardens his gaze. You don’t see this change in posture, though. You’re too busy looking anywhere else, all of a sudden feeling quite embarrassed.

Nor do you see the private smile that disperses across Hyunjin’s lips; his eyes softening so, so marginally when they peer at your profile; his hand twitching where it rests on his knee, as if contemplating reaching for you with a mind of its own.

Thirty seconds. That is the amount of time you have left to bask in this otherworldly tranquility. And then he speaks.

“I want you to meet my parents.”

Your arm reacts before your mind can. Without having to turn your head an inch, you smack him squarely in the bicep, sending him crumpling against his door with a bark of a laugh; “please,” he adds, and you’re biting back a smile as you hit him again, with less conviction this time.

The cab driver nearly misses an exit, too busy wondering about the peculiar pair in his backseat and the nature of your relationship. He can’t tell if you hate each other or if you’re married.

One year ago. Seoul, South Korea. 8:42 A.M.

“I still can’t believe you’re abandoning me.”

“For my newborn daughter.”

“Yeah, okay. I still can’t believe you’re abandoning me for your newborn daughter. What does that brat have that I don’t?”

“My genes, to begin with.”

“That’s unfair. She’s using—”

An important-looking pair of women step out of the nearest elevators, the clacking of their heels ricocheting sharply off the lobby walls. Hyunjin straightens his back so quickly he thinks he pulls a muscle. He and Seojun incline their heads in perfect sync, their “good morning”s prim and professional.

“She’s using cheats,” Hyunjin hisses the second the women are out of earshot again, and this wrests a laugh from the older man at last.

Around one month prior, Seojun confided in Hyunjin that he and his partner were expecting their first child soon, and that he would be putting his career on indefinite hiatus to welcome her into the world.

Hyunjin had never felt so conflicted in his life. On one hand, he’d grown closer to his stylist over the last two years than he’d thought possible, and he knew it was stupid to be anything but delighted for him and his expanding family. On the other hand, it was precisely because they’d become so close that he wanted to grab the man by the ankles and shake the decision clean out of his body. He couldn’t imagine a dressing room or tour bus without him.

Today is a Saturday, but it’s also Seojun’s last day with the company. Hyunjin dragged himself to the JYP building at half past eight with much less reluctance than he let on. He wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

“Fourth floor,” Seojun instructs after the pair enter the elevator, and Hyunjin presses a knuckle to the according number. “Thanks.”

The doors slide shut; the floor numbers tick upwards.

“What was her name again?” Hyunjin asks.

“Y/N,” Seojun returns. “Y/L/N.”

“Is she here already?”

“No, she’ll be here at nine.”

There’s a small pause. 

“Hyung.”

“Hm?”

“I feel like I’m being married off to another family for political reasons.”

“God, I can’t wait to be free of your theatrics.”

At this, the two men make eye contact; exchange smiles. The elevator announces their arrival to the fourth floor, and they step through the doors.

“You’ll be in good hands,” Seojun reassures. “She’s the best of the best. I hear she’s basically running the industry these days. I’m surprised she agreed to take you on.”

“I’m surprised an old fry like you knows someone like her,” Hyunjin replies, and the look Seojun gives him is so withering that he thinks he pulls a muscle again with his apologetic bow.

“You’re not wrong, though,” Seojun concedes. “We happened to work on the same project back when she was still a small name, and we’ve kept in touch ever since. She’s a great kid. Ambitious, hardworking, strong as hell—”

They arrive outside their destination, and Hyunjin holds open the door to the conference room. Only to find that Seojun has stopped in his footsteps, temporarily stunned by a new realization.

She reminds me of him.

“He’s forgotten how to walk,” the him in question whispers like he’s narrating a nature documentary, and the moment is over. “Is this what fatherhood does to a man?��

Seojun kicks Hyunjin into the room by the seat of his pants.

The minutes pass slowly. Seojun moves his eyes between the door and his phone every few seconds, visibly antsy about the imminent meeting. In the meantime, Hyunjin makes the groundbreaking discovery that these office chairs are absurdly and almost suspiciously comfortable. All it takes is a chin upon his palm and a few seconds of shut-eye, and he’s suddenly slumped over the table, snoring softly into the crook of his elbow.

At 8:57, Seojun’s phone lights up with a new notification. At 8:58, he notices that Hyunjin is asleep, and closes his hand around the crumpled receipt in his pocket. At 8:59, he scrunches said receipt into a ball and launches it in Hyunjin’s direction. It hits him squarely on the head, and the boy is nearly knocked to the floor like a bowling pin.

“For that,” Hyunjin sputters, “I’m the godfather.”

“Absolutely the hell not.”

Then, it is 9:00.

When the door of the conference room opens, Hyunjin is still trying to gather his wits, wondering if the bastard is leaving the makeup industry to secretly pursue a career in professional basketball. He just barely notices the unfamiliar figure who steps into his line of vision.

“There she is,” Seojun greets warmly, rising to his feet right away. “God, how long has it been? Two, three years now?”

You’re not doing anything remarkable when Hyunjin sees you for the first time, simply walking across the room and bowing graciously in Seojun’s direction, but he is immediately under the vague impression that you’re cutting through space as you move, scorching the particles of air that dare obstruct your path. 

With his head cocked slightly to the left, like a fascinated puppy, Hyunjin watches the stunning smile that forms on your lips when you take Seojun’s hand; your finger as it tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear with the elegance of rippling silk. His mind feels impossibly slow, like you’ve tapped open his skull and robbed him of his ability to think.

Then, you toss Hyunjin a look over your shoulder, and he’s reminded of lightning forking towards the earth. Terrifying, volatile, beautiful.

“Something like that,” you say, turning back to Seojun, and time starts to move again. “It’s great to see you again, Mr. Lee. Congratulations on the baby.”

“Please, Seojun is fine,” he answers hastily. “And thank you. Thank you for all of this, actually. I can’t tell you how excited we are to have you.” 

“You’re too kind—I’m excited too.”

Upon uttering the word “we,” Seojun delivers Hyunjin a fleeting side-eye; he takes the hint and pushes himself to his feet, feeling uncharacteristically clumsy as he moves towards you.

The second time he meets your gaze, it feels wrong, almost, for him to hold it for as long as he does. Like he’s approaching your throne with his chin held high and eyes fixed forward instead of his head sweeping the ground.

Except he swears he senses a strange warmth within the rings of your irises, and he spends every second of eye contact following, chasing it, almost craning his neck with how badly he wants to get a closer look. Until he’s as close to you as is socially acceptable for a first meeting and comes to a halt.

He ends up losing its trail, but he won’t forget that it’s there. 

“My client, I’m guessing?” You say, extending your hand. “Y/N. It’s a pleasure.”

Your fingers are freezing cold where they meet his, and Hyunjin already knows that melting the permafrost that coats your flesh and guards your soul will be the tallest task of his life.

But he finds his next words accompanied by an involuntary smirk; he’s nothing, if not tenacious.

“Hyunjin,” he returns. “Pleasure’s all mine.”

Nine months ago. Paris, France. 6:16 P.M.

Hyunjin isn’t sure why—maybe you forget that he can still steal glances at your reflection over your shoulder or through the gaps of your fingers—but he’s learned over the last four weeks that you’re different, gentler, when you’re doing his makeup.

Your cold hands request instead of demand that he angle his head a certain way or suck in his cheeks. Your syllables are rounder somehow, your voice never traveling above a murmur. Even your eyes mellow out when you move in really close, your pupils dilating as you detail the final touches to the fresco you’ve painted upon him.

Your expression doesn’t give you away (it never does), but his hunch is that there’s a sprinkle of doting somewhere among the intense focus. That would explain why he feels like a flower in the moments when your fingertips and gaze move so carefully over his skin, like you’re touching his petals, trying not to tear them.

Too bad you never let him daydream for long.

“Close.”

“Huh?”

“Your eyes. Close them.”

His lashes have hardly brushed his lower lids when you begin to empty what feels like an entire bottle of setting spray on him. At the moist surprise, Hyunjin’s features scrunch up around his nose and he lets out a distraught hack like an old man.

A few seconds later, the barrage stops, and he cracks open a wary eye to scope out his surroundings. You wait until he does this to give his face one last spurt.

“Witch,” Hyunjin mutters, clawing back up the vanity chair.

“Thank you,” you reply, completely earnestly.

And whatever Hyunjin was going to say next suspends instantly on his tongue when you bring the pad of your thumb to the very edge of his lower lip and drag it across the soft flesh. He wonders if you know how hard he tries not to look at your mouth whenever you tend to his. He wonders if there’s anything you don’t know.

“You smudged your lipstick already.” There’s a small streak of coral pink on your hand when it falls back to your side. “See? That’s why we need the setting spray.”

“Uh huh.” And Hyunjin spots a ghost of a smile flit across your face, gone nearly as soon as it appears. The only evidence of it ever existing is the quickened heartbeat it leaves behind within him.

“You’re done, by the way,” you say, stepping aside. “Take a look.”

He slips out of his seat and moves closer to the vanity, peering at his reflection as curiously as if he’s never seen it before. But that’s how he’s felt since he started working with you.

Seojun was right: you are the best that the makeup industry has to offer. Hyunjin has come to understand this for multiple reasons. Your phone screen is incessantly illuminated by new notifications and incoming calls. The other stylists heed your advice like it’s the law. Brushes and pencils move like water when it’s you maneuvering them. And then some.

He would call what you have “talent,” but he knows it’s more than that. You show him a new version of himself every time you turn a mirror in his direction, like there are facets of him that are visible to you and you only. As much as he delights in the notion that you have such intimate knowledge of him, it should be impossible, considering you’ve only known him for two months. So no, it’s not just talent that you possess. It’s some combination of talent, hawkish perception, and raw artistry that is utterly inhuman—and sexy as fuck.

Speaking of sexy. Hyunjin’s look is relatively rudimentary tonight, the makeup light, the outfit a simple black tank top beneath a jacket and pants made of bright red velvet. But it’s the details that tie the whole thing together: the wide, loose sleeves causing the jacket to slip continually off his shoulders; the inner layer tight in all the right places. His face doesn’t look half bad either, with the sultry carmine powder that fringes his eyes and the intentionally mussed state of his hair. He pushes a hand through the dark locks, regarding himself with thorough appreciation.

You appear in his periphery as you start cleaning up your work station. “You can just take the jacket off when your sweat glands start malfunctioning, by the way. I thought you’d appreciate that detail.”

At this, his smize cracks into a laugh, the sound loud and uninhibited and uniquely yours to hear. “You suck.”

He looks away from his reflection just in time to glimpse another of your phantom smiles, and he thinks it’s so painfully on brand that the two times it’s appeared tonight have both been from you making yourself laugh. You might be the most insufferable person he’s ever met. He might be obsessed with you anyways.

“Well?” You implore. “What do you think?”

“No notes.” 

It’s the answer you’re expecting. You survey him from head to toe one last time, decide that you, too, are satisfied, and slip your makeup into your bag; hike its strap over your shoulder.

“I’ll see you after the show, then.”

You have an important conference call to attend before tonight’s concert, hence why Hyunjin had to come in early for hair and makeup. This is also the reason why the two of you have been the only people in the dressing room for the better part of an hour. 

It’s rare that he ever gets you alone, and he doesn’t want it to end. Not just yet.

“I lied, actually,” he calls. “I do have notes.”

You already have one foot out the door when you hear this, and you turn around so slowly and in such disbelief that he has to fight to constrain his laugh—the concept of imperfection is truly unthinkable to you. Insufferable, like he said.

“Do tell,” you say, dropping your bag back onto the floor.

“You have any jewelry for me?”

You chew on this for a moment. You did have a selection of necklaces prepared for tonight, but they were heavy and numerous, not exactly the best-suited for the group’s dynamic sets. You still like them, granted, and you know Hyunjin would as well.

You articulate all of this to him, and he asks if he can take a look at them anyways. “Come here, then,” you say, the words so tantalizing when they fall from your lips that nearly trips over himself trying to obey.

You take out a flat rectangular box from your bag and set it down in front of the lightbulb-studded mirrors. Hyunjin observes quietly as you show him its contents: three thick, gold chains with varying lengths and boasting different pendants, plus a beaded bracelet and an assembly of rings of the same material. His devious plan aside, he does love the selection.

“You’re sure you won’t be uncomfortable?”

He nods, and you pick up the longest of the three chains; turn to him expectedly. He takes this as his cue to move closer to you, except he overshoots a little, and he feels the tips of his shoes accidentally bump into the ends of yours; discerns the warmth emanating from your body against his own. He expects a withering glare, a kick in the shin, maybe, but you don’t seem bothered by the proximity at all, unblinking as you bring your hands around the either side of his neck and fasten the first necklace with a soft tap. Your fingers then brush over his collarbones to adjust the pendant, and he thinks your hands would have to be numb not to perceive the frantic heartbeat threatening to burst straight out of his skin.

Entire minutes pass before Hyunjin musters the courage to actually look at you. By then, you’re already working on the third and final necklace. It’s not a surprise that your face is mere inches away from his; he’s been watching your reflections out of the corner of his eye; he knows you’re closer to each other than you’ve ever been. But there are parts of you that the mirror doesn’t show—the soft curve of your lashes, the concentrated narrow of your eyes, the shapely protrusion of your pursed lips—and these surprise him so thoroughly that he slips and slides out of his right mind.

You are the type of beautiful that’s been around longer than humans have, the same as that of the true blue color of forget-me-nots. And Hyunjin feels enveloped, intoxicated by you from this minuscule distance. The idea forms numbly in his head that maybe, just maybe, he was put on this earth to admire you.

In this inebriated state, he makes a venturesome decision.

When you finish centering the last pendant upon the his chest, you are about to take a step back and review the updated look, but you’re debilitated by the feeling of fingers grazing over your hip—lightly, so lightly that you mistake them for a gust of wind at first, but the contact is enough to push the small of your back against the edge of the counter. Then, both of Hyunjin’s hands reach behind you, pressing flat against the marble surface, and, just like that, he has you right where he wants you, ensnared between cold stone and hot flesh.

And so begins an equilibrium so fragile that it’ll shatter if one of you so much as blinks the wrong way, your rattled breath fluttering against his lips, his eyes dark and hooded and out of focus as they survey the fine lines of your expression. It still doesn’t give you away (it never does), but he finds that in this moment he just doesn’t care.

“Let me take you out,” he murmurs. “One date.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” You reply under your breath.

“You know what I’m talking about, beautiful.”

Upon uttering that last word, he angles his head almost imperceptibly, the movement challenging, daring you to say something about it. But you don’t. You merely hiss out a whetted “you’re fucking crazy,” and that’s his opening to drag this on a little longer; push your limits a little more.

“About you? Damn straight.”

At this, finally, fucking finally, there is a semblance of something in your face that isn’t just your usual mildly-irritated nonchalance. Instead, he detects surprise in the whites of your eyes as you widen them; as you part your lips with a response that only comes much later.

And he’s surprised by your surprise. Surely, with your skills of observation, you would’ve noticed long ago how his world shrinks down to only you and your gorgeous voice and your confident glare and your shitty sense of humor whenever he’s been granted the privilege of your presence.

This might be the first time he’s admitted it out loud, but he hasn’t tried—hasn’t been able—to hide how he feels about you, not now, not ever. It’s been that way since the moment the sole of your shoe met the carpet of that conference room on the fourth floor of the JYP building.

 “Hwang—” You begin.

“Hyung!”

At the sound of a third, new voice, your arms tense like you’re about to shove Hyunjin off of you, but he only leans in further, so that his lips almost graze your jaw and your hands have nowhere to go except the taut surface of his chest. The surprise is gone; now you’re just pissed. He can feel the heat of your furious eyes and the tremor in your hands as you form fists around the fabric of his top. But he takes his sweet time in scooping up the bracelet and rings, and only afterwards does he pull away from you and straighten to his full height.

“Hey, Innie!” Hyunjin chirps, and Jeongin materializes in the doorway, looking thoroughly perturbed by the older boy’s sunny tone. “What’s up?” 

In the meantime, you turn around to snap the lid of your jewelry box shut, and it takes a singular glance in the mirror for a truly horrible realization to settle upon your shoulders. You don’t think anybody would be able to tell even if you announced it outright, but you know yourself and the little nuances of your face all too well.

You’re flustered.

You feel like a horror movie heroine breaking the fourth wall. 

“Nothing, weirdo. I was just announcing my arrival,” Jeongin says. Thank fuck you did, Hyunjin thinks to himself, completely unaware of the epiphany you’re having behind him. “Chan-hyung mentioned you were here already? Why?”

“She’s in high demand.” Hyunjin points out the she in question by jutting his chin in your direction. “The usual.”

“Ah.”

Jeongin inclines his head towards you in polite greeting. You return his hello, but your expression starts to feel tight when his eyes dart between the strange smile on Hyunjin’s face and your awkward stance (still glued to the edge of the counter) as he drops his duffel by the couch. The boy isn’t stupid, unlike his older counterpart.

“I saw a vending machine on my way here,” Jeongin says, turning to leave the room again. “You want anything, hyung? Noona?”

“I’m okay, thank you,” you say.

“I’ll have whatever you have,” Hyunjin says.

Jeongin flashes a thumbs-up and dips out of the room, perhaps a little more hastily than he intends to come across. And then there are two. Again.

You wait until you can’t hear his footsteps anymore, and then you turn to glower at Hyunjin so intensely that he thinks you’re about to place a curse on his whole bloodline.

Then, your phone starts vibrating, and he knows he’ll live to see another day.

“You still owe me an answer,” Hyunjin calls as you turn around and leave the room.

“Don’t hold your breath,” you reply.

One day, I’ll break her, is the predominant thought that resides in Hyunjin’s head as he slips on the remaining jewelry; watches your figure disappear around a corner. One day, I’ll break his face, is the predominant thought that resides in yours as you stalk away. That’s the two of you, in a nutshell.

Six months ago. Osaka, Japan. 3:03 P.M.

When you walk into the dressing room, you find Haeun hunched over an overflowing photo album with her hands forming fists in her hair, muttering to nobody in particular, “I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing.”

There’s an amused look in your eye as you set your bag down by Hyunjin’s empty vanity chair. She hasn’t noticed your presence yet; approximately three hallways down, the members are rehearsing for tonight’s performance on the main stage of the Kyocera Dome, and the music is so loud that you think you actually saw the walls vibrating while you were in the hallway moments ago.

You rise to your tiptoes and encroach upon her, waiting until she’s within reach to tickle the back of her neck. She nearly flies out of her seat with a shriek that can be heard over the heavy bass.

“Never gets old.” You hand her the photo album that went soaring also, and Haeun snatches it back with an affronted flourish.

“I can’t remember the last time you said hi to me normally, unnie.”

“Me neither, now that you mention it.”

Haeun and Han are your favorite stylist-idol duo in the world because they’re so eerily similar—and it’s adorable. They both illuminate every room they walk into; they both have grins too big for their faces, laughs too loud for their lungs. You always regret leaving your sunglasses at home when you catch sight of the effulgent pair.

But today you cannot detect the usual radiance in Haeun’s voice, nor so much as a hint of her easy grin. Then again, that’s another quality that she and her client share; they’re both well acquainted with the burdens that come with unwavering passion.

Every stylist has their own modus operandi. Haeun’s is a scrapbook of images that she cuts out and saves from catalogs, advertisements, newspapers, et cetera. You’ve seen it many times before, but never in such a state: messy handwriting stuffing the margins to their very brims, numbers and symbols like clusters of rainclouds over a sea of different outfits, arrows and circles and squares highlighting pant cuffs and cascade collars and dangling earrings. Telltale signs that Haeun hasn’t a clue as to what Han will be wearing tonight.

You gnaw on your lower lip, deliberating your next move. You end up placing a firm hand against the album’s cover and pushing it closed.

“Come with me,” you say. “We’re gonna try a new approach.”

Haeun opens her mouth to protest, but unfortunately you have an extensive track record of being right.

“What do you have in mind?” She sighs instead.

“You’ll see.”

With that, you stand up, tuck a small towel under your arm, and angle your head in the direction of the music.

The two of you make your way through the labyrinth of hallways that comprise the venue’s backstage. Eventually, the color of the floor changes from speckled white to solid black, and you step onto the part of the stage that is concealed from the audience by drawn curtains and heavy equipment. You say a quick hello to the group’s manager as you dip past him, and eventually reach the edge of the curtains, where you and Haeun have a good view of the eight members as they run through their setlist for tonight’s concert.

Haeun settles into the spot beside you, still confused as she follows your gaze. 

“Let me ask you this,” you say, just audible over the din. “Can you style a performer if you don’t know how he performs?”

And understanding seeps over her features like poured tea.

“I want you to watch him,” you continue. “Tell me how he performs.”

Han’s part begins, as if on cue. His voice rings out through the empty stadium as he ducks to the front of the formation, a microphone held loosely to his lips, his face taut with focus. Haeun stares at him for some time, silently trying to fathom her observations, but she sees you shaking your head in the corner of her eye.

“Don’t think, Haeun. Just speak.”

She blows out a deep breath before obliging. “It’s hard to picture Han doing anything but laughing or making other people laugh, he’s so goofy and lighthearted most of the time. But he’s like a different person on stage. He’s so intense, it’s almost intimidating. Not intimidating in a douchey way, though—you just get the impression that he’s very confident in himself and his music.

You don’t say another word, but don’t need to. She’s hit her stride.

“His voice and enunciation are so clear. It’s crazy how he sounds exactly like the studio recording. Plus, his delivery feels genuine; he’s not just reciting lyrics, but speaking straight from his heart.

“And this is gonna sound bad, but I didn’t know Han could dance. Like, yeah, I knew that he could dance, but not like this. His movements are so sharp that I feel like my attention is being—”

Right there.

She cuts herself off, reaching the same conclusion.

“It’s his turn to talk, and he wants you to cling to his every word," Haeun articulates slowly. "He’s demanding your attention. He needs you to listen. That’s how he performs.”

A satisfied smile bolts across your face like lightning. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Haeun pictures her scrapbook again, and there are now only a few articles of clothing and accessories that fit the framework you’ve helped her forge. She’s almost dizzy with disbelief, tearing her eyes from Han to look at you instead.

“You’re brilliant, you know that?”

“I do, but I appreciate the reminder.”

She can’t help but giggle. It’s a you answer if she’s ever heard one. “Do you do that with all of your clients?”

Haeun asks the question arbitrarily, without thinking. But you respond in a way that she doesn’t think she’s ever witnessed before, and she’s momentarily baffled by the sight: you hesitate.

As the song’s final chorus approaches, Hyunjin is the one folding himself into the center of the eight-person throng. You can only see his back from this angle, but even then it’s palpable how expertly and effortlessly he molds his body to the modulations of the music; how much fervor and feeling he expresses with every jerk of his spine and flex of his hands.

Within a few short seconds, innumerable descriptors and sensations skim the surface of your mind—but one word knocks the rest clean out of the water, the way it always does when you watch Hwang Hyunjin perform.

Artistry.

“No,” you reply. “Not all of them.”

And where better to find inspiration than inspiration himself?

Haeun furrows a brow, understandably puzzled by this response, but you don’t elaborate. Partially because you feel like being coy, but mostly because you know that any explanation you offer will sound like a confession.

The song ends, leaving your ears ringing with the abrupt absence of sound. The members hold their poses with heaving shoulders, staring out into the empty stands until the stage manager’s voice comes through the monitors.

“And that’s a wrap! We’re all set for tonight. Good work, everyone.”

There is a ripple of movement around the stage as the boys relax. Jeongin jogs over to Minho, hoping to review a particularly challenging dance break; the manager asks Chan if he has a second to discuss travel logistics; Seungmin plops onto the edge of the stage and downs the rest of his water; Hyunjin beelines toward you the second he sees you, because of course he does.

You get a good look at him as he skips closer. Stray blonde locks plastered against his damp skin, tank top dyed several shades darker by the perspiration rolling down his neck, the muscles of his arms actually rippling as he swings them around stupidly, a shit-eating smile plastered across his stunning face.

You’re annoyed before he says a word.

“I didn’t know they were letting fans backstage now,” he hums happily. “Want an autograph, gorgeous?”

“Put a sock in it.” You whisk the towel you’ve been holding in his direction. “Wet freak.”

But he catches and tosses it over his shoulder straightaway, and your heart sinks to your fucking ankle. You’ve seen this movie before. You know how it ends.

“No.” You take a shaky step back. “No, nope, don’t even think about—”

The next thing you know, Hyunjin is lunging towards you and winding his arms around your waist, nearly sweeping you clean off your feet as he pulls you into his sweaty embrace. To your complete dismay, your face presses flat against the clammy plane of his chest. “Call me a wet freak again, go on,” he manages to say through his laughter. 

In response, one of your hands wriggles free of its slippery prison and snatches the cuff of Hyunjin’s ear with impressive accuracy. He yelps and loosens his hold on you, but doesn’t relent completely, not even when he catches sight of the murderous expression on your face and cackles so forcefully his whole head is thrown back.

You tighten your grip. “Wet,” you seethe, “freak.”

“Ow—okay, don’t make it hot, what’s wrong with you?”

“Wha—what’s wrong with YOU?!”

As the two of you dissolve into your fatuous arguing, Haeun is no longer sure that she’s still standing here. She’s not even sure if she’s in her right mind anymore. She thinks she might be hallucinating the way everything about Hyunjin softens next to you, or the way your biting tone only seems to nibble when it’s him on the receiving end.

“Psst. We’ve been placing bets on them. You want in?”

Han suddenly materializes next to Haeun, and she would have been jumpscared into a different dimension if she wasn’t so fixated upon the bizarre occurrence before her.

But what if she’s not hallucinating?

No, not all of them, you’d said, like you were disclosing a forbidden secret.

“Yes,” she says, and Han beams. “Absolutely.”

Three months ago. Seoul, South Korea. 2:26 A.M.

On a tranquil Saturday night, you’re sitting at your desk, your knees tucked to your chest, the newest episode of your drama playing quietly on your laptop, a half-empty glass of rosé and open sketchbook laid before you. This is your happy place—a safe haven that the trials and tribulations of the real world can’t reach. But you think you’ve really gone and lost your mind when you find yourself thinking about your job.

Well, not your job, exactly. More like the man who makes your job feel fucking Sisyphean.

You know your way around fabric and foundation better than anyone, but you have never struggled with anything as much as you have trying to navigate Hyunjin. You show up to work every day ready to just put some makeup on the man; instead, you wind up stumbling around the potholes of his dimples and the hills of the veins that run over his forearms and hands like a hopeless drunkard. Scouring the creases of his smile and the oscillations of his voice like they’re topographical maps. Mentally replaying your interactions with him time and time again like you’re monitoring security footage, trying to detect illicit activity in every casual touch he leaves on your shoulder or waist; every babe or gorgeous he throws your way, seemingly without a second thought.

You’ve been trying to understand him and his intentions for seven months now, and your efforts have yielded no fruit whatsoever, save for a few theories that you feel insane for even humoring.

You down the rest of the blush-colored liquid, and as you set down your empty glass you notice your fingers itch with a familiar urge. The pen that you’ve been twirling over your knuckles stills, then swivels; its tip hovers over the last free corner of the sheet of cartridge paper below you. And then it presses upon the surface and starts to move, as naturally as if on its own.

When you were little, you came across a children’s book that you no longer remember the name of, about a little girl with a magical pen that brought her every drawing to life. You decided then that you would one day be that girl.

At some point, the subjects of your incessant sketching became almost exclusively runway models and makeup advertisements. You cemented that you wanted to work in fashion as early as your high school graduation, and by then you already possessed the conviction and charisma of the industry’s most experienced members. Your portfolio was stellar; your personality prophesied of wild success. So your career took off, propelled by the neverending positions and projects that various companies continually laid before your feet.

You stand and pad to your kitchen to refill your glass, only to bring the entire bottle of wine back to your room instead. With one hand, you flick the cap off and lift the whole thing to your lips; with the other, you seize your pen again, not wanting to lose momentum.

For the year or so after you joined the industry, you basked in your idyllic prosperity. Even the doodles you scrawled on random napkins during banal business lunches would appear on some of the world’s most renowned faces the next week. You had indubitably become the little girl from your story; made a career out of giving your imagination tangible form. And what a fruitful career it was going to be.

If only you knew how it would strengthen you in ways you never wanted.

The first time someone called you cold, it took you a while to realize that they were talking about you. The phrase was said so casually and lightheartedly that it sounded at first like a piece of unimportant small talk. But the whisper of cold bitch was then followed by a bout of stifled laughter and what was undoubtedly your name. Your heart stopped along with your footsteps, and you looked towards the source: two interns whose names you had yet to learn, while yours was already in their mouths.

You felt nothing until you were three stops away from your apartment, and then the bottom of the subway gave out beneath you and suddenly you were feeling everything. Only confusion, hurt, and rage at first, but then the other emotions that you’d been smothering tirelessly for who-knows-how-long tore free of their cerebral shackles too, and together they formed an amalgamation of anxiety that closed up your throat within seconds. 

As your pen studs details into a shapely jawline, you remember how you’d shoved your way off the subway and made a mad dash into the night air. You remember how you collapsed against a utility pole in an unfamiliar neighborhood, how your knuckles paled around the ashen wood, how your tears tumbled over your lips and salted your tongue. You remember wanting to go home so badly that you thought your ribcage would cave in on itself with the weight of it. You remember begging for air, for you.

By the time the oxygen had returned to your lungs, the streets were empty save for you, crouched on the curb, your face buried in your arms, spent, shattered, and alone. You were only nineteen at the time.

You are now twenty-two, and the word “cold” has become a regular guest in the lodgings of your heart. You never invite it over, but you’re no longer surprised to find it at your door. It’s a thief, swiping pieces of you when it thinks you’re not looking—a fragment above the fireplace, a scrap from the cracks between the couch—and you know whenever you’re being robbed, know that you lose parts of yourself upon its every visit. But better that than acknowledging what you lose.

You allow it to walk away with full pockets every time.

Hyunjin does not.

“Three words to describe yourself. Go,” he said a few days ago, the two of you heading back to the tour bus after a filming session. 

You were so used to these irrational inquiries of his that you didn’t bother trying to dodge this one. “You first.”

“Smart, sexy, suave,” he said immediately, but burst into a sheepish laugh at the sight of your weary glare. “Fine, fine, let me think. Ambitious, for one. Introspective, definitely—maybe overly so. And artistic. I’d like to think so, at least. Satisfied?”

The most creative person you knew doubting his own ingenuity was absurd to you, but you nodded begrudgingly. It was a good answer, for the most part.

“Now you.”

Honestly, the thief had surfaced the moment you heard the question, but you weren’t sure if you wanted to inform Hyunjin of its existence. Not because you didn’t trust him—you did, more than you had anyone in years—but because you didn’t know what you’d do with yourself if he agreed. You weren’t sure your heart would be able to take it.

When you met the boy’s gaze, though, the carob brown of his eyes was so curious and so comforting that you suspected that was never a possibility.

“Cold,” you mumbled. “I’ve been called cold before.”

There was a pregnant pause. You found yourself holding your breath. And then—

“That’s a joke, right?”

Hyunjin began to count off his fingers.

“Mean. So mean. Impossibly, infuriatingly confident. Talented, stubborn, strong. Funny, sometimes, I guess, though I’d rather you hit me with a metal pipe than admit that ever again.”

At this, you caved; a laugh erupted from your lips, leaving a genuine smile in its wake.

“Determined. Eloquent. Bossy. Some kind of evil, twisted genius. Contemplative, caring, compassionate. Fearless,” he went on. “You get my point. You’re a lot of things, Y/N, but cold isn’t one—”

He was about to say something mind-numbingly stupid. You could sense it in the air.

“—and not just because you’re hot.”

You smacked his bicep, the smile on your face now an uninhibited, helpless grin. And as he vanished into a fit of high-pitched laughter, you thought you sensed him crack open your door and slip your missing artifacts back to their rightful places.

Hyunjin began to climb into the bus, and you caught the cuff of his sleeve, your feet still planted on the pavement.

“Thank you,” you said.

The tremors of his fond chuckle traveled to your very core.

“Idiot,” he sighed softly.

Idiot, you write, and the drawings are complete. 

When you stand up, the bottle is mostly gone—and so are you. You splash some water on your face in lieu of your skincare routine and prod the inside of your mouth a few times using a dry toothbrush, and then you dive beneath your duvet and are dead asleep in minutes. Your slumber is interrupted only by dreams of a world where your theories about Hyunjin aren’t just theories.

If you’d had even one mouthful less of rosé, you might’ve remembered that you picked up your phone and opened your most recent conversation somewhere between steps two and three.

[3:10 A.M.] To: Hwang Hyunjin (Stray Kids, JYP) Audio Message.wav

Hi. I’m drunk and I’m going to regret this tomorrow. But that’s tomorrow’s business. There’s something I need to tell you tonight.

After I moved to Seoul, I used to get these bouts of homesickness. Not in a standard ‘I wanna go home’ kind of way, but in a way that felt like a hole had opened up in the ground below me. I was always ready for it to swallow me alive. I would’ve been happy for it to.

But I haven’t felt that way since I met you. I realized this not too long ago, and it threw me for a fucking loop. I’ve never felt seen the way you see me. I’ve never been known the way you know me. Every time I look at you or hear your voice, it feels so much like returning home that I don’t have to dream of it anymore.

You called me fearless the other day, but you’re wrong. I’m terrified. I’m terrified that history is going to repeat itself, that another home will slip through the cracks between my fingers and there will be nothing I can do to stop it. And that’s why I’m so hesitant towards you, towards whatever this is, because I don’t want to go through that ever again.

So the thing I need to tell you is that I care about you. I care so much that I’m scared speaking it into existence will make it real and vulnerable to all the worst parts of the world. But it’s not speaking it into existence if I’m drunk, right? Maybe I have no idea what I’m talking about. Maybe you’ll never even hear this. So it doesn’t count. That’s how that works, surely.

Sorry if this was totally nonsensical. And sorry that I’m so bad at feelings. You must think I’m impossible, and I don’t blame you.

Good night, Hyunjin. Thank you, again.

One month ago. Los Angeles, United States. 12:37 A.M.

When Hyunjin steps out of the hotel’s tall glass double doors, he’s wearing a teatree facemask, and his bags are draped over the crooks of his elbows like he’s an upper-echelon socialite on his way back from a lavish shopping spree. And then he sees you standing next to the curb, and the situation dawns on him in bits and pieces.

You’re the only one here. The vans that were supposed to take you to the airport are nowhere to be seen. Boarding begins in four minutes.

A soft flinch crimps his features. Oops.

“Tomorrow night,” you’re saying into your receiver, but your attention is on him only, your penetrative gaze putting the dead in deadpan. “The absolute earliest. You’re sure?”

When you finish listening to the manager’s response, you heave a sigh that sags your shoulders and end the call with a jab that should’ve splintered your screen protector.

Then, you start walking towards him.

“Hi,” Hyunjin says, his eyes pleading for mercy. “You are so talented and beautiful. I don’t tell you that often enough, do I?”

He expects you to grab him by the cuff of his ear again, to throw him a retort that’s twice as mean as it is witty, something along those lines. But you merely push your suitcase in his direction, and it is then when he notices that your face is hard enough to chip enamel; that your eyes are eerily, entirely empty. The tendril of warmth that’s always dancing among the subtleties of your expressions, that he’s always pursuing to the very borders of his dreamscapes, is nowhere to be seen.

A shiver travels down Hyunjin’s spine as he curls his fingers around the plastic handle.

Something’s not right.

“We’re gonna have to stay here another day,” you say. “Can you check us in? I have some calls to make.”

“Us?” Hyunjin repeats.

“Junghan could only reserve one room,” you reply, your phone already glued back to your ear. “The hotel is fully booked for the next few months.”

With that, you’re already preoccupied with the next thing, turning to the side to reschedule a meeting. But Hyunjin can only stare blankly at your profile, trying and failing to grasp that he’s going to spend a night with the subject of his every daydream. Though you might be leaning more towards the nightmare end of the spectrum at the moment, considering the way your head snaps back in his direction like a woman possessed.

Go, you mouth, and he obliges.

A few minutes later, Hyunjin is in the elevator by himself. He speculates it’s an ingenious, intentional choice that the lights are turned off, so that whoever’s inside can watch the psychedelic lights of Los Angeles sprawl further and wider the higher they go. But he can’t think of anything except for the subzero nothingness where your irises should’ve been.

Hyunjin’s initial guess was that he crossed a line with this missed plane, but the more he thinks about it the clearer it becomes that this isn’t an isolated issue. It’s the culmination of something bigger. Something continuous.

You have become as familiar to him as the lines of his eyes or the ridges of his knuckles. He’s learned where to look for your feelings when he can’t find them in your face; studied your words and the undertones of your voice like they’re verses of scripture. Yet, it was around two months ago when Hyunjin looked at your side profile and couldn’t recognize you. He’d blinked, startled, and then you’d asked why he was looking at you so strangely, and everything returned to normal. He wrote it off as a side effect of sleep deprivation and paid it no more mind that day.

Except it happened again a few days later; again, not too long after, and Hyunjin began to suspect that he was losing his mind. You didn’t seem all that different—a bit more taciturn than usual, maybe, but you’d been busier than usual, too, your workspace always full of empty coffee cups by the end of the day, the pages of your planner more colorful and crammed than ever. The minor variances never struck him as a reason for worry.

“Stupid,” Hyunjin whispers bitterly.

He replays your interaction one more time. You, shoving your suitcase against his palm, telling him to go check in. Him, fastening his hand around the handle, sensing the bottomless void within you, feeling like he’d been dismissed from before your throne.

As he steps off the elevator and walks towards your designated room, he doesn’t understand how or why—but he can’t shake the feeling that he’s failed you.

Nearly an hour passes. The room only has one bed, so Hyunjin turns off the lights, folds himself onto the armchair by the floor-to-ceiling window, drapes a complimentary robe over his shoulders, and tries to sleep. He doesn’t know why he even tries. He’s exhausted, but he knows damn well there’s no hope of him getting any rest until he has you in his proximity again.

He doesn’t look at the door when he finally hears it open, but the knot of tension in his chest comes undone as soon as your silhouette appears in the hallway. He takes out his first real breath since leaving you at the hotel’s entrance.

You hear the sound it makes. You fall still.

“Hyunjin?”

His heart physically aches at how tired you sound. “Yeah?”

“Oh, you’re awake,” you answer. “Move to the bed. You’re not sleeping on that thing.”

He remains where he is, his chin resting on the side of his fist, his eyes glued to the flickering panorama of neon lights below him. You crouch to unzip something, and there’s a heavy thud of metal meeting cloth, presumably your laptop being tossed onto the bed’s mattress.

“Hello? Did you—”

“Is everything okay?”

A short pause follows his interruption.

“I still have a few emails to write, but everything’s been rescheduled, so as long as you don’t miss tomorrow’s flight, too, we should be—”

The robe slides off his lap as he pushes himself to his feet. “That’s not what I mean.”

The only source of light in the room is the lone light above the entrance, but it’s enough for him to see your face and the surprise etched upon it. You open your mouth, utter one syllable, and stop yourself immediately after, stunned into silence by the sobriety in Hyunjin’s expression.

“Enlighten me, then,” you say finally.

“You really don’t know?”

“What is there to know? That you missed a flight and pissed me the fuck off? Trust me, I’m aware.”

“No, that’s not—”

“So what are you talking about, then? Why are you talking in riddles? Fuck, what is it that you want from me?”

There’s real frustration in your voice, and it’s the first time you’ve shown him any emotion in pure, unadulterated form. With this, Hyunjin understands that he was right; this conversation is heading towards a culmination of some kind, and so are you, with the devastating force of a natural phenomenon.

He wonders if you’re prepared to destroy yourself, too.

“I know how you are around me,” you whisper. “You’re always acting like you’re trying to unearth something, and I figure this ‘something’ must be wonderful, because you look at me like I’m made of stars; you speak to me like you’re serenading a lover. But I am constantly, ceaselessly haunted by the possibility that this ‘something’ doesn’t exist, that you’re looking for the wrong thing in the wrong person. 

“I know it’s selfish to ask for anything more than what you’ve already given me—you’re so kind, Hyunjin, and you’ve been nothing but since the day we met. But grant me one more wish, even if it is the last time you ever do.

“Tell me what you see in me,” you plead. “Otherwise, I will spend the rest of my life mourning the months of yours that you wasted on me.”

With that, it occurs to Hyunjin, falls upon and cracks open his mind like a piece of firewood, that you have never been aware of—never asked for—the throne you sit upon.

For an indeterminate amount of time, the two of you stay there, standing in silence on opposite sides of your dark hotel room. You haven’t felt anything like this in a long time, your chest heaving with your heavy breaths, your vision muddied by both the lack of light and the desperation searing through your windpipe. 

When Hyunjin finally begins to speak, his words wrest the oxygen from your lungs.

“After you moved to Seoul, you used to get these bouts of homesickness.”

Your mind careens; your heart reels. 

“They came in a way that felt like a hole had opened up in the ground below you.” He takes a tentative step towards you. “You thought it was going to swallow you alive. You would’ve been happy for it to.”

You never got to listen to your voice note. You were blacked out when you recorded it and horrified when you discovered it in your chat logs the next morning; the wretched thing was unsent so quickly that you couldn’t check for a read receipt.

But there’s not a doubt in your mind that these are your words falling from Hyunjin’s lips.

“You haven’t felt that way since you met me, though.” He is only a few feet away from you now, and getting closer still. “You’ve never felt seen the way I see you. You’ve never been known the way I know you.”

God, you said that? Did you propose to him too?

“You’re terrified that another home will slip through the cracks between your fingers and there will be nothing you can do to stop it.” Hyunjin flattens his left hand upon the drywall next to your ear; pushes you back ever-so-gently against the hard surface. “I must think you’re impossible.”

And he brings his face so, so close to yours; looks at you with so much adoration, so much tenderness, that you feel the final bulwark around your heart fracture—

“I don’t,” Hyunjin breathes, cradling your cheek, “because you’re not. And I want to prove it to you, even if it takes me the rest of my life. That’s what I see in you.”

—and crumble.

You form fists in the lining of his hoodie. Hyunjin’s hand tightens where it lays over the curve of your jaw.

When you crash your lips upon his, he tastes the metallic sheen of electricity and the salt of tearwater both; he witnesses crying lightning, for the first time in human history.

Present day. Cannes, France. 9:15 P.M.

Hyunjin never thinks when he fucks you. 

One part of it is that he physically can’t; his cognitive facilities shut down when he has you quivering beneath him, like his desire to pleasure you is too overwhelming for his mind to bear. The other part is that he doesn’t want to. He’s afraid that the voices of cynicism and trepidation that plague his mind every waking moment will taint the actualization of his wildest dreams.

Lucky for him, you manage to erase his mind on a daily basis with only one accidental touch or an apparition of a smile, so he doesn’t stand a chance whenever you let him between your legs.

“Trust me?” He whispers, imprinting the words upon the inside of your thigh.

“More than anyone,” you breathe, and just this has him tenting against his satin slacks.

Hyunjin used to see you scolding managers or moving racks twice your weight and think that was you in your element—tonight, he learned otherwise. You were so confident that even just the way you puffed your chest out prompted heads to turn and low voices to ask for your name; so charming that even by the end of your self-introduction you had every guest you spoke to eating out the palm of your hand. 

Eating out your pussy, though, is Hyunjin’s privilege alone.

He wraps his fingers around the hem of your dress and pushes it upwards, creating a halo of red fabric around your midriff; slides your panties off your legs and tosses them over his shoulder. All obstacles out of the way, Hyunjin winds his arms around your thighs and pins your hips to the mattress, slotting himself between your knees as they fall apart. Your ankles fold over the top of his head, and you’re about to ask if he’s okay like this, but then you feel the hot muscle of his tongue trace over your dripping folds—and every word of every language you’ve ever known is dispelled from your brain and your mouth in the form of a stuttered, euphoric moan.

He teases you first, drags his mouth over you so that he’s lapped up all of your slick, and just when you feel your patience thinning he pulls you apart with reverent hands and begins to suckle on your clit, as attentive to your every solicitation as always. You arch your back so high off the bed that your ankles knock Hyunjin’s head down a few inches, but the new angle is even better; grants him access to more of you.

He reinforces his grip around you, presses his torso right up against the side of the mattress, and gorges: sluices your labia until you’re spilling from his chin onto the sheets; flicks against your bundle of nerves until it’s pulsating and swollen on his mouth; fucks his tongue against your favorite spot until you’re curling your toes, seeing the whole solar system. 

“Coming,” you blabber after some time. Tell me something I don’t know, he thinks to himself. “Coming, Hyune. I’m—fuck—”

Hyunjin is aware of the way you clench so hard around nothing that your pelvis hurts. He is aware of the way you’re so dilapidated from pleasure that you’re genuinely struggling to breathe. He doesn’t care. He wants to get the cadences of your climax tattooed into the gray matter of his brain, and there can’t be rests in the sheet music, can there?

He presses a hand flat on your stomach in preparation for your body’s protest, then returns his face to its place between your thighs; starts to leave kitten licks around the edges of your puffy folds before you can finish riding out your high. You press your tongue against the back of your front teeth, emitting a pained hiss as you draw a sharp breath, tears stinging at your eyes.

“Son of a bitch—”

“Trust me?” He asks again, his voice vibrating against your sore cunt, and your complaints quiet into whimpers as you bring a hand over your quivering mouth, and nod. 

At least Hyunjin bridles his thirst the second time he eats your pussy open, his lips smacking openly and slowly over your every inch except the one that would be truly unbearable for you right now. He’s so rough and so fucking careful at once like he can’t decide between obliterating and worshipping your cunt.

He’ll end up doing both.

Within a few minutes, your legs have gone slack on either side of Hyunjin once again, and another coil has begun to tighten behind your bellybutton, equal parts pain and pleasure—but he knows your pussy just as well as he does your person by now, and it’s not long before the former is compounding with the latter.

Round two has a faster ascent and a steeper drop. He finds your spot again with the precision and ease of a trained marksman and fixates upon it like a man starved. It has your cries devolving to incoherent profanities and, to his unfettered delight, your foot actually shaking, your heel tapping against the back of his neck every time it comes down.

As if referencing a metronome, Hyunjin matches the rhythm of his tongue to your accelerando. Only when your leg is nearly convulsing does he wrap his lips back around your clit; slide two fingers into the place he leaves empty and pumps them into you until you are liquifying, igniting around him, your mewls lamenting the second orgasm he plucks from your core.

After your body has stilled, Hyunjin lifts his head, his face drenched in perspiration and saliva and you. His eyes travel over the slopes of your arms and the hills of your breasts, over the tears streaming from your eyes and staining the pillow you lie on. It is this last bit that has him shrugging off his shirt and undoing his dress pants with one hand, palming his throbbing cock with the other.

He clambers over you, and the kiss that follows is filthy, your mouth falling apart when he rolls your nipples between his fingers, strands of spit suspending between your tongues before dripping down onto your collarbone. You can sense what he wants in his craving lips, his pleading tongue—and you know he won’t ask for it. He’s tested you enough tonight; he’d rather your comfort than his pleasure.

But you guide his leaking head to your entrance, returning his stupefied look with a watery smile.

“Love me?” You ask this time, for the first time.

There is not even a nanosecond of hesitation when he answers, “with everything in me.”

He comes inside you the moment he bottoms out, your name leaving his lips in breathless, desperate repetition like a broken prayer as he topples off the same cliff he’d dropped you from moments ago. You curl a hand in his hair as he stutters against you, bring your lips flush against his ear, and whisper that you love him too—and the sight of you beneath him blurs he also starts to tear up.

This is the reality Hyunjin lives in, presumably because he was a saint in his past life, and it would be his utmost pleasure to see it through.

Two years later. Milan, Italy. 11:28 A.M.

For the last half hour, a ray of sunlight has repeatedly struck the diamond that sits between the second and third knuckle of your ring finger, and the Vogue journalist on the other side of your desk thinks he is slowly losing his vision. But when he asks his final question, your hand comes to a much-appreciated stop, the fountain pen you’ve been twirling around clattering to your tabletop.

“Where do you find your inspiration?” 

As the journalist blinks the phosphenes from his eyes, he finally manages to get a good look at the face of Versace’s newest designer, and he detects something ineffable and warm in your expression.

“My inspiration, hm?” You fall silent for a short time, thinking. “If you asked me this at the start of my career, I’d have said ‘people.’ Their postures, their expressions, their wardrobes. I knew I was a goner when I watched a fashion show for the first time and noticed how the models’ attire helped them harness their innate power and grace—I wanted to orchestrate that kind of symbiosis, too. In that aspect, nothing has changed, actually. I still find wonder in human beings, and not just the ones on the runway. I think it would be difficult not to, don’t you?

“Some time ago, a good friend of mine was having trouble with an outfit for her client. She asked me a similar question, and only then did I realize that it was no longer just people that inspired me most, but a singular person. I had always been skeptical of the idea of a ‘muse’ until I met him. But I could only spend so long denying how he ventured closer to my soul than anything ever had, how he knew me and saw me like nobody ever could. He understood my art. He was my art, so—”

Your eyes dart over your ring, and the journalist would’ve flinched out of habit if he wasn’t so mesmerized by your eloquence.

“—where better to find inspiration than inspiration himself?”

A few seconds elapse, and then you clear your throat and straighten your back, returning to your office from your trip down memory lane. 

“That’s the long answer, anyways. The short answer would be my fiancé.”

The journalist laughs, and he doubts you’ll give him this next piece of information—but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try.

“And who would that be?”

He’s right. You don’t answer the question. But you do flash him an enigmatic smile, and for some reason it reminds him of lightning.

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe

© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other works here. thanks so much for the support ♡

[0omillo0]

Han x Reader … Hurt/Comfort

this is a vent post

꒰ 🗯️ ꒱

The argument had started over something trivial—maybe the dishes, or a canceled plan. You couldn’t even remember. But now it had escalated, words flying between you and Han like daggers, sharper than intended. The tension had been simmering for days, both of you stressed from work, from life, from everything that felt like it was pulling you in opposite directions.

Han stood a few feet away from you, his arms crossed, his jaw tight. You could see the frustration etched into his features, the way his brows furrowed in anger, and it made your chest tighten. The air felt heavy, oppressive, and the weight of it was pressing down on you, making it hard to breathe.

“I don’t get it, y/n. Why can’t you just—”

“Just what, Han?!” you cut him off, your voice rising in defense, tired of feeling like you were constantly falling short. “I’m trying! I’ve been trying, but nothing’s ever good enough, is it?”

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “That’s not what I’m saying! You’re twisting my words.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, adrenaline mixing with anxiety as you felt yourself being cornered. You had been here before. This exact feeling. You’d grown up in this kind of chaos, in the shouting, the accusations. In a home where every argument turned into a battlefield, and you had always been the one caught in the crossfire.

“I’m not twisting anything,” you shot back, but your voice trembled, betraying the fear you were trying to bury.

Han’s face was strained, his eyes dark with emotion. And then it happened—the moment he raised his voice, the moment his tone shifted. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t even directed at you, but it was enough.

“Goddamn it, just listen to me for once!”

His words echoed in the room, louder than they needed to be, and in an instant, everything inside you collapsed. You froze. Your breath caught in your throat, and it was like you were transported back to a time when every raised voice had meant danger, meant pain.

Han saw it—saw the way your entire body went rigid, the way your eyes widened in fear. His face softened, his mouth opening as if to apologize, but it was too late. The damage was done.

You couldn’t be here. You needed to get out. Now.

“Y/n, wait—”

But you were already grabbing your jacket, your hands shaking as you fumbled with the zipper. Without another word, you turned on your heel and bolted for the door, your heart hammering in your chest. You barely heard Han calling after you, his voice muffled by the roaring in your ears as you sprinted down the street, the rain hitting your skin like icy needles.

---

You didn’t know how far you’d walked or how long it had been. The rain was relentless, coming down in heavy sheets that soaked through your clothes, plastering your hair to your face. You couldn’t feel the cold anymore; you were numb. Numb to everything except the pounding of your heart and the ringing of Han’s raised voice in your ears.

Eventually, you found yourself standing in front of a Seven-Eleven, the neon sign flickering like a dying heartbeat. It wasn’t much, but it was shelter. You pushed the door open, the warmth of the fluorescent lights washing over you as you stepped inside, dripping wet and shivering.

The clerk glanced at you with mild concern, but you ignored it, heading to the back of the store where the windows overlooked the storm outside. You sat down on a bench by the vending machines, curling into yourself, your arms wrapped tightly around your knees as you stared blankly at the rain pounding against the glass.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, but you ignored it, the weight of everything pressing down on you. You felt stupid. Why had you run? Why had you let yourself fall apart over something so small? But it wasn’t small. It had never been small. The years of trauma, of living in a household that was a constant war zone—it had left you fragile in ways you hadn’t even realized until now.

Your phone buzzed again. And again. The screen lit up with Han’s name—ten missed calls, and the eleventh one ringing through.

On the twelfth, you finally answered, your voice barely a whisper. “What do you want, Han?”

His voice was breathless on the other end, tinged with desperation. “Y/n… thank God. I’ve been calling you. I was so worried. Please, just tell me where you are.”

You sniffed, wiping at your eyes though they were already wet from the rain. “I—I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. I know you’re not. Please, y/n, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to raise my voice, I swear. I—fuck, I didn’t realize… Please, let me come get you.”

Your throat tightened, the tears finally spilling over as you choked out a sob. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Tell me where you are. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

“I’m at the Seven-Eleven on 4th Street.”

“I’m coming. Don’t move.”

---

He arrived quicker than you thought he would, his car screeching to a stop outside the store. You watched through the glass as he jumped out, his hair and clothes instantly drenched in the rain, but he didn’t seem to care. The moment he walked inside and saw you sitting there, his entire face crumbled with guilt.

He rushed over to you, kneeling in front of you, his hands hovering near your arms but not touching you, as if he was afraid you’d pull away. “Y/n… I’m so, so sorry.”

You couldn’t even look at him, your gaze fixed on the wet floor beneath you. “Why did you yell at me, Han?”

His breath hitched, his voice low and raw with emotion. “I didn’t mean to. I swear, I wasn’t thinking. I—God, I’m such an idiot. I didn’t realize how much that would hurt you. I never wanted to scare you.”

The sincerity in his voice made you look up, and when you saw the anguish in his eyes, something in you softened, despite the pain still lingering in your chest.

“You don’t get it,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I grew up with yelling. It wasn’t just yelling—it was—”

“I know,” he said, cutting you off gently, his hand finally reaching for yours. “I should’ve known. I should’ve been better for you, y/n. I never want to be like them. Please believe me.”

You swallowed hard, your heart aching with the weight of it all. You didn’t want to be afraid of him. You didn’t want to run from him.

“I was scared,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want to be, but I was.”

His face crumbled, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I’m so sorry, baby. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if that’s what it takes. Just… please don’t shut me out.”

You stared at him for a long moment, the rain still beating against the windows like the storm between you was fading. Slowly, tentatively, you reached out, your fingers brushing against his cheek. He closed his eyes at the contact, leaning into your touch, as if it was the only thing grounding him.

“I don’t want to run from you,” you whispered.

He opened his eyes, locking onto yours. “Then don’t. Let me be your safe place.”

Without thinking, you leaned forward, pressing your lips to his in a slow, tender kiss. It wasn’t rushed, or desperate—it was an apology, a promise. When you pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin.

“Let’s go home,” he whispered, his fingers entwined with yours.

For the first time that night, you nodded, knowing that home wasn’t a place—it was him.

[hazelfoureyes]

Hi sorry if this is a weird ask but my birthday is the 24th and I would love it if I could wake up that morning to both Lucifer and Alastor absolutely ravishing reader. Just pure smut and aftercare please

I did fem reader I hope that’s okay, it’s who I write the most so I thought maybe you just wanted what I commonly wrote. sorry it’s a little late, and also shhh it’s a secret because I can’t write birthday stories for everyone due to time. But you were the first to ask and you asked so far in advance so—

Surprise!

「warnings/promises: Alastor x FemReader x Lucifer, smut, barely a plot, tug of war, you are the rope, slight kink with breath play and restraint, attempt at aftercare, lost balloons, mention of dead deer (roadkill)」

🎂 Minors please no 🎉 🎈 this an an 18+ only party 🥂

You weren’t sure what you were expecting when the typically reserved Alastor now (seemingly) tipsy invited you to his room. He was always touchy, but the more he drink the longer his hands would stay on you. So naturally you said nothing at all and followed him out of the parlor.

And you had no idea what to think when the King of Hell saw you being pulled by the wrist and stopped you both.

There was some bickering about where you were going and what Alastor thought he was doing. The overlord making a joke about height and size. The former angel mentioning experience. 

Soon both wrists were being held but by different demons.

Ripping you apart seemed like a possibility, but somehow you ended up in an even more difficult situation to accept than second death.

Both refusing to go to the other’s room you were dragged to your own. 

Arguing around you, you were moved and turned before Lucifer snapped his fingers and your clothes fell off you at the seams. You turned to see both men nude and slowly leading you to bed. No complaints, you enjoyed just following their directions.

You couldn’t be sure how they came to their final agreement but soon you were lying on top of Alastor, impressive cock rubbing against your clit and a large portion of your lower stomach as Lucifer was fucking you from behind. The way he angled did feel practiced, so the king of lies wasn’t bluffing earlier.

Alastor's body was so warm under yours, the leaking of his precum spreading across your skin with every thrust from Luci’s hips. Your swollen clit and wet lips were sliding up and down Alastor’s base, stroking him harshly as you had no power over the movement.

“Good girl,” Lucifer’s hands roamed down your body, “Let me hear your voice.”

You could barely speak, the feeling of Luci’s large cockhead dragging along your walls was keeping your mouth busy with moans.

Another surprise, Alastor’s arms coming up and wrapping around you tightly. Any space between you was gone. With your body immobilized except for where your hips moved as you were pierced by Lucifer, Alastor began to hump up against you for the chase of release. The faster he moved, the louder and more uncontrolled your noises became.

“Stop being selfish, roadkill.” A yank of your hips pulling you a little too harshly down on Lucifer, ass flush with his crotch. A small scream into the radio demon’s chest.

“Now those are pretty sounds.” Alastor said through gritted teeth, ignoring the devil entirely.

Another tug of war, but not with your wrists. One man’s hands on your waist holding you still so he could rut into your soft flesh. The other man’s hands on your hips so he could bring to meet every thrust into your now dripping cunt. 

“Ffuuuck,” Luci clamored on top of you, hips pistoning down like an animal with a singular unmet need. “Gonna cum.”

Why did he feel the need to tell you? You could feel him already pulsing as he pressed against your cervix. Yet the words alone sent a shot of electricity to your lap.

As Lucifer’s hips slowed, Alastor took the opportunity to regain control. It wasn’t clear if he knew how good it felt when he rubbed against you. You clenched around the still stiff and twitching cock buried in you and focused on the increasingly wet slip of Alastor’s shaft over your swollen clit. The pressure of Lucifer’s body weight pressing you down added a new level of arousal you hadn’t felt before, the feeling of being held down, of your breath being restricted just in the slightest. Quickly you found yourself reaching a breaking point, a small mountain you barely made it to the crest of before Alastor came across your stomach and his own, your chest not escaping the impressive shot. The small movements of his hips afterwards and the feeling of him cumming so much pushed you over the cliff and into your own orgasm. 

Lucifer hissed above you, “Woah, that’s— you’re gonna make me cum again if you keep squeezing like that.” With a pat to your ass he pulled out and dismounted. Your shakey arms you lifted yourself off of Alastor, who was already holding a towel and wiping his chest clean. He was muttering to himself about something, his face screwed up at the sight. When you fell face down back onto the bed Lucifer crawled over Alastor to sit just below the swell of your ass, hands rubbing up and down your back. A groan, a mix of pleasured massage and painful bullying of sore muscles.

He was shoved off of you, Alastor rolling you over gingerly to wipe at your stomach and attempt to get your blanket clean as well.

“Definitely worth the brief nudity, dear.” His usual smile soft, you were confident it was a compliment.

Lucifer popped up again, a jack in the box of human proportions, “You’re an ass.” He reached for you hand and rubbed circles into your palms as he spread out the often used muscles there. “Feeling okay?” You nodded, a chill coming over you.

Alastor’s turn now, a green glow and a snap and you found yourself clothed again. Not your clothes, but you didn’t particularly care. Alastor was back to his usual attire, but for some reason Lucifer remained stark naked except his large hat. Had it been there the entire time?

Before you could find the will to ask, the doors burst open with a loud blaring honk of an air horn, “SURPRISE!” The hotel staff and star resident cheered, “HAPPY BIR-,”

“What in the actual the fuck.” Angel pointed at the obvious.

“Dad!”

“Nah I’m out.” Husk let the balloons float to the ceiling and left.

Vaggie pinched the bridge of her nose, eyes clenched with not-at-all hidden aggravation, “What the fuck, you were supposed to trick her into going to the library Alastor! We were waiting for like 30 minutes! Pendejo.” 

Alastor shrugged, “Eh I had a better idea.”

A loud noise above you, a kazoo having appeared in Lucifer’s mouth. His hands shot up with an exhausted excitement, “Happy Birthday!”

why do I love writing reader being walked in on??

[suempu]

Falls to floor your writing is so lovely Do you perhaps have any kabru x reader sfw/nsfw hcs…

thank you so much for the kind words. “lovely” 🥹 ahh you got me blushing anon lmfao

gn reader + on the receiving end !!!

<3

kabru would be the casual type of lover. he’s nothing but calm and suave with you, which is attractive.

he’s quite attentive of people and you’re no exception. although he really goes out of his way to be accommodating when it comes to you if you’re his lover.

mindful of your expressions and body language. once he sees a sign of you being uncomfortable, kabru will pull you away from the group and talk to you softly.

i feel like he’d be good at taking care of his partner, though he’s not the best, he tries.

kabru’s good at talking you down, grounding you into reality whenever you’re on the verge of a breakdown. let’s say you feel very unstable, he’ll whisper in the most softest tone you’ll ever hear while he holds your hand. he asks permission to touch you beforehand of course.

“here, you can feel my fingers, right?”

“mm.”

“my palm, feel it. you’re here with me,”

“i’m here…”

“good job. can i ask what happened?”

he’s good at radiating a calm atmosphere when you need it and he’s always ready to help you.

praises and compliments come out of his mouth like a piece of cake, he’s not shy when it comes to showering you with love. the whole party is grossed out by him whenever you’re around. it’s like when the parents are being all lovey-dovey and the children just groan out an ‘eww’ (its mainly mickbell complaining tho lmao)

i believe he’s had one or two intimate relationships before you, but none of them has ever lasted long enough as yours. so he’s had some experience before you.

he’s certainly a tease. have you seen that face? that face screams unfairness and mischief (in bed)

kabru loves your whining whenever he purposely denies you release. one moment his fingers will go fast and wild on your most sensitive spots, and the next he goes painstakingly slow.

“aww, but if i let you cum this early, then what about me?”

he’s a cheeky bastard. the real reason why he draws out your orgasms is because he believes that edging you will result to a much pleasurable and hard orgasm for later (he’s right.)

you will get overstimulated with this man, no question about it. he strives to make you cum at least 5-6 times in one session, which is overkill but he really loves the way your eyes glaze over.

kabru loves your tears and whining, though it kind of makes him guilty so he makes sure to absolutely spoil you after.

his hips are bad for your body. with the way he thrusts into you so precisely. its like he already knows which spot to hit, he rolls into you as he teases and whispers in your ear. he’s actually fucking crazy.

“right here? oh yeah, here?”

he moans in time with his thrusts. he loves watching your face, how your half lidded eyes look so lost yet so present. missionary is definitely his favorite position. loves being all up on your face, he kisses your cheeks, forehead, lips, and jaw while he’s inside you.

nights with him are long and wild, but he can go slow and be more gentler if you asked him to. he lives for your reactions, he thinks its really sweet how you trust him so much with your body.

kabru makes up for all his teasing with aftercare. he pants as he pulls you close, hands on your back and caressing you gently.

“you okay? did i break you?”

“shut up.” you breath out hoarsely.

he chuckles, “i love you too.”

he gives you a massage after that, quietly kissing your hips and stomach as his fingers rub at your skin. whispers small apologies while his hands work on your body. he always checks in on you whenever he hears a whine or groan when he touches a sore spot.

while he is content with just sleeping and cuddling in your own sweat, he’ll take you to the bathroom if you want to be cleaned.

solid lover, tries his best, just don’t ever have sex in his own bedroom (its messy)

[allfearstofallto]

hii! can i make a request?

I've been thinking about angsty things a bit. say if, reader got pregnant, would she hate it? how would scara/childe react? in my opinion, id like to think that scara thinks of this as a way to tie her down to him more, plus its canon he likes kids!! and as for childe i think he'd be very very happy since he has soooo many siblings, (maybe he wants a lot of kids too??)

and..what if reader miscarried? i have this thought of where scara would still be cold to her but give her breaks and more space than usual, but what if reader completely locks herself in and then when he confronts her about it they get into a huge argument, how would scara tackle that, would he resort to abusive tactics and would it increase readers hatred & distance more?

just a brainrot, you dont have to write about it if you're not comfy^_^

This took me so so so long!! I'm so sorry if you were waiting for it!!

I don't typically write for things like pregnancy because it makes me uncomfortable, but I'd be lying if I said I do not absolutely fucking adore angst and hopelessness.

Parasite

Yandere! Scaramouche x Fem! Reader

Forced Marriage AU

TW: 18+ MDNI, Dark Content, Forced marriage, Pregnancy, Miscarriage, Mentions of Dub/Non-Con

A week late turned into two. Two turned into a month. A month turned into three. And three turned into unusual cravings for foods that didn't go together. Sickness and vomiting clouded the hours of your mornings. Dread filled your body the second you realized what this was. Stress makes your cycles late, you told yourself, stress makes your entire body change, and this was a stressful situation, but stress wasn't causing this, was it?

Scaramouche could tell the changes in you immediately. As someone who constantly kept tabs on your life, it was only fair to assume that he'd noticed your slight fluctuation in weight and lack of asking for your monthly cloths. When you were called into his office, you felt a hot flash all over your body, you assumed it was fear, but it could've also been nausea.

His office was a place filled with dread. The air in the room was too thick and worst of all, he was there. The room made you feel small, the only good thing about it was that he was usually too focused on his mile high stacks of paperwork. Except today. Today his razor sharp gaze was focused on your trembling form as you bowed to him, his eyes following down, then back up.

“Answer me honestly,” he began, hands planted on the wood in front of him, “Are you with child?”

If you could throw up again, you would. Of course, you knew all this time, but you never wanted to say it. You hoped, just hoped and prayed that maybe if you never acknowledged it, it would all go away. It would all be a bad dream. But it was true. There was something disgusting living inside you. And it was his.

“I believe so, my lord,” the words couldn't even completely fall from your lips before you were a blubbering, sobbing mess of anguish and fear. Despite the fact that you were completely breaking down before him, he had a small smile on his face, like he was proud of what he'd done to you.

“That's good,” he said calmly, wiping away your tears and planting a forced kiss upon your face. His touch felt cold as ice, but his hands against you made you want to melt your skin away.

The reaction to the “good news” was immediate, whether that was good or bad was up in the air, but everything changed. The tight obi of all the kimono you owned would put too much pressure on your budding stomach, new one's were ordered to be ready as you grew more in size. Your diet was changed completely, less of the Inazuma raw delicacies and more lean meat and vegetables. Daily classes of calligraphy and tea ceremonies were switched to resting with your feet up or light stretching, everything to keep you happy and healthy during your pregnancy.

The biggest change was Scaramouche himself. A man filled with so much hatred and disgust, was suddenly being kinder. Or trying to at least. You watch him open his mouth to make a comment, only to shut it again in favor of saying something still rude, but less insulting.

The Scaramouche that believed that he could take your body whenever he pleased was long gone, even though that was what got you in this predicament in the first place. He'd taken to leaving you in the middle of the night and going to the bathroom to sate his urges. He'd come back with cold damp hands and lay next to you, a protective hand over your stomach as he kissed your cheek and told you how much he loved you.

The day you saw blood between your legs and felt an aching pain in your stomach was a joyous one indeed. A part of you wanted to scream out in glee, but you didn't want to wake your already on edge husband. The blood that coated your fingers could only mean one thing. One good thing. It was gone. You were free of it. Almost immediately, the dark air that seemed to linger over your body vanished and you let out a sigh of relief.

Scaramouche was informed shortly before breakfast that same morning. You relayed the information to a maid, who then told him, whispering the words in his ear so quietly, it sounded like she was speaking gibberish. His face, his expression, changed to one shock, then horror, then pain. You didn't even know he could make such a face, yet there he was with tears in his eyes.

“Wh-what happened?” There was that tone again. The one you were used to. The anger and distaste for you in his voice. He slammed his fist down on the desk, turning his head away from you as his voice became high and breathy, so desperate for answers, “What did I do wrong?”

You stood in his office awkwardly, even this display from a person you hated, this display of agony was hurting you as well. You thought it would be funny. Seeing the man who pulled you from your home and forced you into marriage in pain was supposed to make you happy, but you felt your own chest clenching, felt your hands tremble.

“I-i suppose…I was stressed, my lord,” you muttered, his already labored breaths hitching at those words. The few months you were carrying that thing inside your body, was when he asked for less from you. He expected you to laze around all day and relax. For your body to fall into a daze like trance of naps and delicious food. He wanted happiness for both you and his child that you carried, yet you were still the most stressed you'd ever been in your entire life, knowing that he had something inside you. Something that would continue to fester and grow, until it eventually ate you alive.

He sat back in his office chair dejected, hurt, and empty. Scaramouche's normally sharp, glaring eyes were wide as he stared at the ceiling, body limp as he bit his lip, “Leave me,” he sighed, his voice barely above a whisper. Had it not been for the quietness of the room, you wouldn't have heard him.

Leave him you did, closing the door as silently as possible and not lingering behind. You felt yourself finally stop tensing, telling yourself that all your woes were over, for now. The thing was gone. You were happy. For once, even if unintentionally, you'd won over your captor.

[shadowdaddies]

Close to You

Rhysand x Reader

A/N: I am exhausted and need Rhys to... comfort me

Warnings: this is mostly fluff but def smut too, cockwarming, somnophilia-ish (that's where this would head if there was a part 2)

The soft rug dragged against your feet as you trudged into your mate’s office, Rhys looking up at you through his reading glasses while you shuffled closer.

A slow smile appeared on his lips, tongue flicking out as he took in the sight of you in your nightgown and bed-ruffled hair. “You are up late, darling,” he purred, violet eyes twinkling like starlight.

A soft, silent yawn left you, limbs stretching as your legs carried you around the desk to where your mate sat. “I missed you,” you admitted, leaning against the desk as one foot crossed over to slide along his thigh. 

Rhys swallowed thickly, his power flickering throughout the room as he struggled to control himself. “What do you need from me, my love?”

Suppressing the wicked smirk you felt within, you allowed your eyes to rove over his body. Rhys’s unbuttoned shirt displayed his tattooed, toned chest, his tightening slacks leaving nothing to the imagination. 

“I just want to be near you.” The admission left you in a breathless whisper, eyes growing hazy as you straddled his lap, settling over the hardened length beneath you.

Settling against his warm chest, you relished in the feeling of your synchronized heartbeats as your muscles relaxed in his hold. Everything in you felt at peace, except for the ache in your core at his arousal pressing against your own, his scent growing stronger and darker in the air.

Rhys’s arms enveloped you, your arms wrapping around his neck as he continued to attempt to work on the papers laid out before him. Leaning forward to gather ink on his quill, your mate’s crotch brushed against yours in a way that evoked a high pitched mewl from you.

Sharp teeth bit into the skin of your neck, tongue flicking out to soothe the sore skin as Rhys’s voice invaded your mind. 

It is very... challenging... to keep my composure, when you make sounds like that.

“Then don’t,” you whispered aloud, leaning back to look in his lust-filled eyes, hands dipping to the waistband of his pants. 

Rhys groaned, hips rolling up against your own, head tilting back against his chair. Your face flushed at the sight of his cock as it sprang free, pussy clenching around nothing at the mere thought of him being inside of you, stretching your walls in painful pleasure as he hit the deepest parts of you.

“I have work to do, though,” he gritted out, voice pained as Rhys looked to you for mercy. “I need to feel you, darling, please.”

Hands cupped his sharp jaw, tilting his face towards your own as fingers slid through onyx locks to tug him impossibly close. The tip of his cock rubbed your folds, making it difficult to focus as your own head fell from his lips, collapsing against his shoulder. 

One hand guiding Rhys’s lips to your neck, the other slid down his toned chest to his cock, lining him up with your entrance. Sliding down, your hand gripped his neck, his teeth digging into yours at the sensation.

“That’s so good,” you murmured. “So deep.”

Another small yawn escaped you, your desire for Rhys at odds with your own exhaustion. 

“Sleep, my love,” he murmured, chest pressed against your own as he picked up his quill to return to his work. “I’ll take care of you soon enough.”

“Mm,” you moaned, half-asleep and warm in his arms, the safest place in the world for you. You felt a kiss press to the top of your hair, love flowing through the bond as you fell asleep with Rhys deep inside of you.

Part 2

[carmenberzattosgf]

needy carmen…perhaps the one time you can make his head completely empty, no lingering thoughts or anxieties. he’d have you in missionary, almost bear hugging you as he rambles praise because he needs to be touching you, needs to feel you pressed right against him with no space. and he knows he sounds pathetic, small ‘uh, uh, uh’s leaving his lips but he can’t bring himself to care, not when you are squeezing him so tight

“fuuuck, just needed you so bad. need this pretty pussy on me all the fuckin’ time.” he’s barely thrusting now, just grinding into you as he holds you tight. “need to feel you cum, fuckin’ give it t’me, be, shhit! be good and make a mess for me, please, please, c-can’t cum before you,” his arms tightening around you and his jaw dropping, “can feel you clenching, c’mon, don’t be greedy, please give it to me—theeeere it is, fuck! good girl, shit, gonna fill you up so good.” -💫

This type of scenario happens when Carmy realizes he hasn’t had sex with you in at least a week. He’s been going into the restaurant early and staying late trying to perfect some new recipes.

Consequently, Carmen grows more irritable in the kitchen as the week goes on, but still doesn’t realize why he’s so on edge. That is, until Richie jokes about Carmy acting ‘so pent up lately’, and a lightbulb goes off in his head.

Within the next hour, Carmy’s already come up with an excuse to leave work early, telling Sydney you’ve got a stomach bug and need him to get home. He goes ahead and takes off for tomorrow, too.

The second Carmy walks in the door of your shared apartment, he’s kissing you like his life depends on it. His head empties of every thought except you. His hands move hastily on your body, slipping underneath your shirt to squeeze at the skin of your hips. You’re finally able to speak when his lips trail down your jaw to your neck.

“Carm—baby. S-shouldn’t you be at the work?” you gasp as he nips your skin.

“Left. Took off tomorrow.” He mumbles against your neck in between kisses. “Needed you too bad to wait.”

Needed is an understatement. Carmy’s yearning for your touch. He’s on top of you with both of his arms wrapped around your back. His strong arms pull you tight against him as he buries his head in the crook of your neck.

Soft gasps escape his mouth with every thrust of his hips. The sounds of his desperate whines are obscene, but he can’t find a reason to care about how wanton his voice is when you squeeze around him so perfectly.

“Missed you—fuck—missed this. This pretty pussy is made f’me—holy shit. Never going to go this long without it again.”

He knows you’re close by the way you pulse around him, so he starts grinding his hips into you to stimulate both your clit, and that spongy spot deep inside of you. Carmy holds you even closer as words spill from his lips.

“C’mon baby. Need you to cum f’me. Fuck, fuck, fuck. G-give it to me, please. Be a g-good girl and m-make a mess all over my cock. I can’t cum before you I—I need to feel it baby, please. C’mon I know you can cum for me. F-fucking squeezing me so tight.”

Carmy’s hitting as deep as he can inside of you; the stimulation is mind numbing. Your nails dig into his back as he sloppily kisses your cheek. The moment you wrap your legs around his waist, the slight shift in angle launches you right to that peak. “Carmy, Carmy, Carmy, Carmy,” you whine over and over again as pure pleasure overwhelms you.

“There it is! Holy shit—Good girl—good fucking girl. So f-fucking perfect. Gonna fill you up, yeah? Fill you up till you’re dripping.”

After Carmy cums, he collapses on top of you. Without even meaning to, the both of you fall asleep in each other’s embrace. His cock is still inside you, and his cum slowly leaks out of you during the night. It doesn’t matter though, Carmy will just fuck another load into you when he wakes up.

[lomlhwa]

intern (ot8) [volume three]

pairing: free use intern!reader x office workers!ateez

preview: getting this type of job feels so wrong. but you need money and hey, they're all hot.

tags/warnings: fem!reader, free use, perv!ateez, monster cocks for all of ateez i fear, it's pretty much all dom!ateez but woosan do like to beg to cum so do with that what you will, ties as restraints, hair pulling, spit kink, spanking (with hands and belts), degrading, praise, pet names (slut, whore, cumdump, doll, baby, princess), throat/stomach bulge, sometimes it's one at a time and sometimes it's five, voyeurism, hand jobs, oral (f+m receiving), vibrator torture, crying, anal, two cocks in one hole who cheered, so many creampies [these are general tags for all parts, not all of these will be in every part]

trigger warnings: if i forgot tags, don't kill me

wc: 3.0k

song recs for this fic: moonstruck by enhypen

a/n: woosan girlies be gentle when knocking my door down

previous - next

san carries you out of the lunch room, strutting straight over to your desk. he acts like your weight is nothing more than that of a cat who has decided to sit on his shoulder. he plops you down onto your comfy office chair (the one you had yet to sit in) and you land with a small “hmf.” you look up at san as he admires you, running his tongue over his teeth. wooyoung appears suddenly behind you, basically breathing down your neck. “don’t get too comfy, princess. i think san has something fun planned for you,” he looks up at san with a mischievous look, lust dripping from his smile. 

you have gone through so many different positions in one day that honestly, nothing would surprise you anymore. well, except the fact that you’re learning right now that your chair reclines all the way back like a bed. san drops to his knees and places your legs on his shoulders. he shoves your skirt up so it rests on your waist all bunched up. wooyoung grabs your chin and forces you to look at him towering over you. “sannie is gonna eat your pretty pussy until you can’t remember what day it is. i’m gonna fill your tight throat to the brim until you forget your name. how does that sound?” you don’t even know how to respond to such dirty words leaving such a pretty mouth.

“your speechlessness is full of excitement, so i’m gonna just assume you’re dripping right now. is that about right, san?” wooyoung asks, leaning over to try and catch a glimpse of your sopping core. san groans, drinking in the way that your body twitches. “i’ll take that as a yes. do you wanna know what else we’re gonna do to you?” wooyoung says as san connects his tongue to the skin of your inner thigh. you shudder and nod, wooyoung’s grin growing wider. 

“we’re gonna get you on the floor and get you spread wide open,” san says as he trails his tongue higher. “san’s gonna fill you up with his fat cock that has been begging for your hole all day,” wooyoung adds in a whiny tone as san kisses your other thigh, and you whimper. “and i’m gonna reward you with extra stimulation by treating your puffy clit like a lollipop.” wooyoung concludes as san finally connects his tongue to your core and your whole body jerks. your hands race to grab something, or rather someone, since you ended up gripping wooyoung’s thighs like a vice. 

wooyoung looks down at you with fake pity before wrestling with his belt and dress pants. he drops them to the floor and smirks at you. “open wide, make me feel good like a well behaved whore,” he demands. you obey immediately, your throat welcoming him as he slides past your lips. your head upside down makes for a smooth entrance for wooyoung’s long cock. he lets out a small whine as he watches the bulge of his dick appear in your throat. he gets harder, if possible, watching the bulge move in and out. “o-oh fuck, it’s like your throat was m-made for my cock,” wooyoung’s whole body shakes slightly in reaction. “wooyo, you’re so talkative today,” you hear from a deep voice across the room. mingi. this is the first time you’ve ever heard him speak. 

wooyoung chuckles at his comment. “judging by the way her hips jerk every time i open my mouth, i think she prefers a talkative man. don’t you, my little cumdump?” you attempt at garbling a small ‘yes’ in response but wooyoung is completely blocking your airway. “fair enough. what the whore wants, the whore gets,” mingi replies before going back to typing away at his desk. wooyoung leans down a little to wrap both hands around your throat to feel the way the bulge moves. san and wooyoung act in sync; wooyoung pushes into your throat and san licks a stripe up your core. the whole ordeal is positively mind-numbing. 

san dips his middle and ring fingers into your wet heat, scissoring them to spread you out. you roll your eyes back and cough around wooyoung, your legs beginning to shake. wooyoung whines and whimpers as he uses your throat, catching his lip between his teeth and looking at you with teary eyes. “ah fuck, san, i’m gonna cum,” wooyoung announces and san pulls away from your core to glare at him. “if she can hold it when instructed, so can you. you’re not done until i say you are. the pretty baby gets to cum before you do,” san says in a firm tone. you hear a high pitched whimper leave wooyoung’s throat as his cock twitches in your throat. you can feel just how close to his peak he is and you really can’t tell if he’s gonna be able to hold it. 

san reconnects his mouth to your core and devours you like you’re the last meal he’s ever going to have. your legs shake and spasm around his head, encouraging him to bring you closer to the edge. your back arches as san adds a third finger into your core, digging at the gummy spot inside you. you move your hands from wooyoung’s thighs to san’s hair. your fingers wrap around his black locks, pulling his head further between your legs. you hear a low chuckle from san as your movements become more desperate, rutting your hips against his face to get more friction. 

“san, fuck, i seriously c-can’t hold it much longer,” wooyoung says again. he had stopped abusing your throat and had begun slowly rocking his hips back and forth to try and savour his close orgasm building. you give san’s hair a harsh tug to tell him you’re about to cum and he gives you a nod. “i can’t deny the pretty girl anymore. i want both of you to cum,” san says in a demanding tone. you whole body fills with lighting as you reach your orgasm, pleasure making your vision go white. wooyoung fills your throat at almost the exact same moment, causing you to cough up a mix of semen and saliva. 

wooyoung pulls out of your mouth and san pulls your head by your neck to kiss you. the saliva swapped between you is full of a mix of your release and wooyoung’s. san lifts you up off your chair and places you on all fours, your knees still sore from being like this for yeosang and jongho. you feel wooyoung run his fingers over your slit, collecting remnants of your release, before bringing his fingers to his mouth and sucking them clean. “god, you taste like heaven. i could eat you forever,” he comments as your whole body shudders. you hear the sound of san’s pants and belt hitting the floor, signaling to you that you’re not going to be empty for much longer. 

wooyoung grabs your chin and tilts your head to make you look at him. his hair falls over his eyes and sticks to his face so beautifully that even just his gaze has you clenching. “you remember what i said we’d do?” he asks, and you nod expectantly. “good girl. i’m gonna leave you alone with san for a bit so he can really enjoy you. i promise i’ll come back soon,” he says before kissing your forehead and wandering away. where the hell was he going? you had no time to consider options before san used one hand to spread you open and align the tip of his cock with your entrance.

you gasp at the sudden contact, turning slightly to stare at him. he had completely unbuttoned his white dress shirt, leaving his defined muscle completely exposed. parts of his shirt were becoming see-through from the sweat dripping down his body. his arms flexed as one hand gripped your waist and the other guided his cock into you. his eyelashes fluttered and his face contorted into the most blissful look as he bottomed out. his appearance alone was making you clench around him like a vice.

you lower yourself down from your hands onto your elbows, arching your back even more. san ghosts his fingers down your spine, goosebumps appearing in his wake. he enjoys the feeling of you clenching and unclenching around him for a while before pulling out to the tip and slamming back in. his actions send your whole body jolting forward, your eyes rolling back into your head. your fingers scratch at the floor, trying to find something to grip onto, and finding nothing. 

san starts slowly grinding into you, his strokes slow and deep. the feeling is mind-numbing. you can feel every inch of him rubbing against the sweetest part of you. you hear some shuffling behind you and you turn your head to find that san has completely taken his shirt off, his honey golden skin covered in a sheen of sweat. he has discarded his shirt a few feet away, his focus returning to you. he places both hands on your waist, pulling your hips to his in tandem with his thrusts. 

“you're too quiet, make some pretty noises, my angel,” san demands, landing a harsh smack to your ass. you squeal, your body shuddering. “there you go. so fucking beautiful.” he begins to thrust more intensely, more sounds leaving your throat. he was so far in you that you were convinced he was kissing your cervix. 

you reach one arm behind you to grip his forearm, your nails digging into the harshly flexed muscle. “looks like someone's enjoying herself,” you hear wooyoung finally speak. he had finally returned from god knows where. wooyoung sits cross-legged on the floor in front of you, lifting your head to look at him. he leans down to kiss you, passion and aggression filling his movements. you bite and suck on his bottom lip as his tongue darts out to catch yours.

he tangles his hand in your hair, pulling your head to follow his movements. he whines against your mouth, his cock throbbing in his pants. wooyoung pulls away from your mouth, his eyes darting up to look at san. “san, do you think she's earned what i promised?” you look back at san in a frenzy, your eyes begging him to say yes. you'd been well behaved and done everything he wanted. san smiles at you, his perfect eyes disappearing into crescents.

“i think she deserves it. she's been such a good fucking girl, haven't you sweetheart?” san taunts you, leaning over you to stroke your hair. you nod excitedly, raising yourself back onto your palms so wooyoung could slide under you. wooyoung’s pupils are blown as he watches you get ready for him. “oh, so eager. what a dirty girl,” he drops to the floor and lays on his back before sliding underneath you. he comes face to face with your already filled core, a soft moan leaving his mouth at the sight. 

san begins his slow movements in and out of you once again, your arms already shaking from holding yourself up. wooyoung runs his hands up your thighs, and you shudder at the feeling. he ghosts his fingers over your clit, his fingers brushing san’s cock as it moves inside of you. “i’ve never seen anything more beautiful than you being pleasured, slut,” wooyoung comments as he sinks his teeth into the flesh of your thigh. you squeal, the surge of pain that shoots through your body shocking you a little. “the bulge of san’s cock in your stomach could make me cum just looking at it,” he runs his hand over the part of your stomach that is protruding, san lets out a shaky breath behind you. “fuck, don’t talk about it, i’ll cum.”

wooyoung slowly moves his mouth from the skin of your inner thigh towards your core. he gives your clit kitten licks, your jaw falling open in a silent moan. san speeds up his thrusts, drawing your hips back against his to match his pace. wooyoung wraps his pretty, puffy lips around your clit, sucking on it. wooyoung moves his hands to your waist, holding your body up for you. “come on baby, you know you want my cock back in your mouth,” wooyoung pulls away from your core and waits for you to do what he wants. 

your hands fiddle with the button on his pants, pulling at them urgently once you get it open. he lifts his hips off the floor so you can help him tug his clothes off. you get them off just enough to get access to his leaking cock, wrapping your hands around it immediately. your hands move quickly, wooyoung whining under you. “s-slow down, it’s s-still sensitive,” he whines, you ignore his comment. his hips buck up into your hands, seeking more pleasure despite his pleas for you to slow down. he matches your energy by wrapping his lips around your clit again, sucking and licking at it with intense vigor.

wooyoung wraps hair arms around your hips, holding onto you for dear life. “wooyo, i need to fuck her harder,” san says, sounding out of breath. “she’s a slut, so we have to treat her as such.” san’s face contorts into a sinister grin before drawing his hips back and slamming into you. his thrusts are sloppy and desperate for pleasure. wooyoung teases your already full hole with his fingers. “can you take some more, baby? your desperate little hole is desperate to be stretched,” he teases you. you tug on his cock harder in response, a small squeal leaving his throat. “i’ll take that as a yes,” he retorts before shoving a finger in to follow san’s movements.

you squeeze the base of wooyoung’s cock as he thrusts his finger inside you. “fuck, wooyo, be gentle,” you beg, the stretch burning between your legs. “aww poor baby. you didn’t listen when wooyoung told you to be nice, so why should he listen to you?” san smacks your ass a few times in a row, your skin turning red. “add another finger, wooyoung. it’s what she deserves.” wooyoung wiggles another finger into your hole, your whole body trembling. “it’s good that you’re stretching her out now, she’s gonna need it for us,” mingi raises his hand for a hi-five from yunho and finds him glaring at him. “don’t be so vulgar,” yunho comments before going back to his work. “says you?” mingi responds before huffing and crossing his arms. 

you hear san chuckle behind you, finding the interaction to be amusing. san regains his composure and begins thrusting into you like a wild animal. wooyoung scissors his fingers inside you, stretching you out even more than you already were. you do your best to tug on his cock while he adds to your pleasure, but your mind is so foggy that you can barely even remember to breathe. you take small gasps of air every few seconds when your brain decides to work. 

suddenly, your whole body ignites when wooyoung wraps his pretty lips around your clit again, sucking harder than before, and desperately licking at you to taste you more. “remember how you came for yeosang and jongho? do it again. i know wooyoung wants to drown in you,” san squeezes your hips to give his statement that extra umph. wooyoung responds with a high pitched ‘mhm’ his tongue darting out over your folds in a frenzy. your hands move up and down on wooyoung’s dick faster, wanting to get a release out of him too. “okay, keep going, i-i’m so close,” you say, despite being out of breath.

as if they had spoken to each other telepathically, san and wooyoung focus all of their energy on getting you off. you slap the floor beside wooyoung’s thigh repeatedly, the pleasure making your body move uncontrollably. wooyoung digs his nails into your thigh, moaning and whimpering louder under you. “wooyo, honey, please cum with me,” you say breathlessly and his hips jerk in response. finally, you let the chord in your abdomen snap, san pulling out of you to let your release splash out of you. his jaw falls slack, watching you writhe in pleasure, while wooyoung drinks up your release. he finishes in your hand swiftly after, coating your hand in his cum. 

without warning, san shoves back into you, his thrusts fast and sharp. “let me fill you up, baby. i wanna see my cum dripping out of your perfect cunt,” wooyoung slides out from under you to observe the end of your pleasurable ordeal. san leans over you to whisper sweet praises in your ear. “you’re so pretty. so, so good to me,” he kisses the shell of your ear gently. “nothing will ever feel better than you. fuck, your cunt was made for my cock,” you nod along to his words as you feel another, less intense orgasm building. “i can feel you clenching. do i make you feel so good that you wanna cum again? my cock slut, cum whenever you want. i’m almost there,” his cock twitches inside of you, leaking pre-cum all over your walls. 

“please, cum with me, pretty baby,” he pleads and you can’t help but obey. he fills you up so perfectly, and you cling to him for dear life. you hear some shuffling around behind you as san pulls out and goes to collect his shirt. you collapse onto the floor, completely worn out. you press your cheek to the cold floor, your whole body feeling sore and spent. you hear someone clear their throat behind you.

“don’t get comfy. we’ve been waiting.”

© lomlhwa 2024

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