#kpop smut

[yieldtotemptation]

PYTHON ft. Danielle

danielle x male reader smut

17k words

“You really need to stop showing up like this,” you’re saying, knowing full well that it’s falling on deaf ears. But it doesn’t hurt to try.

Danielle tilts her head. Glossy lips part, flashing a smile. It’s pretty. So clearly practiced, and so fucking obvious. Worst of all—it absolutely works on you. “Like what?”

“Unannounced,” you start, before swerving, “Naked.”

“Well.” Danielle takes a step closer. Then another. Suddenly making you feel like a stranger in your own apartment. “If you really had a problem with it, you’d have changed the door code by now. Or told my sister what we’ve been up to.”

You need to correct her before this can get any further out of hand, there’s no we to tell anyone anything about, but—look. She’s half-right. You were going to get around to changing the locks. Eventually. The other part, the nuclear option, the sister of it all—“You know I can’t do that.”

“Then you’re just going to have to deal with me until you can,” she says, casually.

Doing that thing all pretty girls seem to have built into their genetic coding. Standing there, posing, like she’s the sum of a dozen happy accidents—the hip cocked just so, the hand at her impossibly tiny waist. The wet hair, the pout, the fucking collarbone.

Accidents—yeah right. 

Anyone else but her, and maybe you’d buy it. 

“Besides, I’m not completely naked,” she adds, smile sharpening into a grin, and—fuck.

She is far too gorgeous for her own good. She is also extremely, without a shadow of a doubt, bad news, persona non grata, unbelievably off-limits.

“I'm wearing your towel, after all.”

—

(Okay, okay, okay.

You’re well aware you’re the only person on this planet that wouldn’t be delighted to have Danielle stepping out of their shower.

But maybe consider the following points:

1)      You’re still raw, wound’s barely scabbed over from the last woman you let into your home;

2)      Your whole career kinda rides on the fact that you keep your head fucking straight and free from any distractions, especially the kind that’s crazy enough to break into your apartment and hot enough to make it seem like a perfectly good idea; and

3)      If you were going to ignore points 1 and 2, and just decide you’re going to let that towel drop and let whatever happens, happen (hopefully something with a lot of moaning and a lot of sweat and a lot of giving up on what little modicum of peace you’ve managed to claw back from the world)—she’s your ex-girlfriend’s sister, for fuck’s sake.

Counterpoint:

She’s Danielle fucking Marsh.)

 —

Clearly you should’ve ended things a week ago when she first showed up—kicked that irredeemably cute, tight ass out of your apartment and slammed the door behind her. 

You should’ve seen Danielle for the walking, talking red flag that she is: a jump-scare in skin-tight jeans, or a barely-there top, or more frequently than necessary (or not frequently enough, depending on how honest you’re feeling) in nothing but your towel that’s now clearly found its home around her razor-thin waist.

The girl is apparently allergic to clothes.

“I’m gonna make some ramyun,” she’s calling from the kitchen, rifling through your fridge. Voice carrying over the sound of a week’s worth of meal-prepping and pre-blended protein smoothies being carelessly shuffled out of order. “You want some too?”

No, not a ‘would it be okay for me to help myself’, or even a simple ‘do you mind?’. Just straight up making herself at home, helping herself to your bathroom, your kitchen, and after a very strong suggestion, one of your old sweatshirts.

Your casa; now her casa. Or something like that.

“I don’t have any ramyun,” is your answer. It comes out weak.

To that, she whips around, cradling in her arms her bounty—a pack of noodles, a tub of kimchi, and a cut of pork belly you’ve been saving for a special cheat day. Throws you a far-too-easy grin that you’re realising is her signature. “I know. I picked some up on the way here.”

“Of course you did.”

“It’s a good idea to eat normal people food every once in a while, instead of whatever this is,” she says, nodding her head to your stacks of perfectly portioned containers; your towers of health and virtue.

“I think I’m good,” you reply, cautiously. Resisting the urge to let your eyes wander and get caught for the nth time. Don’t want to give her even more ammunition in her campaign against your very clumsily-established boundaries.

At least not until you’ve made your cursory attempt to get her the fuck out of here. Trying (and inevitably failing) to come up with a compelling argument that would convince her to leave. Something to illustrate that this isn’t going anywhere, she doesn’t do a thing for you, let alone register as anything other than a mild strain on your already tenuous relationship with your ex-girlfriend.

Yeah, you don’t even believe that shit yourself.

Regardless, recognise that your first instincts, like always, are terrible ones. Ignore all the parts of your brain that are telling you to do things that could end with you buried in some unmarked grave along the DMZ. Ignore how good she looks wrapped up in your oversized sweatshirt; how it looks so lovely draped over her body, stopping short of the tops of her thighs, letting the damp, pale skin peek out and glisten and—

Fuck.

Maybe you should take the sweater back. Peel it right off her body and—

Again. Fuck.

“Trust me, you’ll want some. Everyone thinks they don't, right up until they do,” she says, and there she goes, pursing her lips together, throwing you a wink. God knows what she’s insinuating.

“Do whatever you want,” you’re saying, leaving out the implied—‘not like I can stop you’.

“Careful with your promises,” she’s laughing to herself, turning away and setting her culinary treasures next to your stove. “I just might have to hold you to them.”

That you pick up on immediately. But she lets it rest, putting a pause on the flirting-that’s-totally-not-flirting, busying herself with the task on hand. Reaching for your pots, your spices, navigating around your kitchen like she’s done it a million times before. So at ease, so… natural, in your space.

It’s eerily intimate.

Wearing your clothes, cooking for you, chatting over her shoulder as if she’s the sister that you have the years of history, of baggage with. First times and fuckups. All the messy, complicated shit in between.

(No matter how well she fits the role, a reminder: she’s not.)

There’s all these incidental miracles too—a curtain of chestnut brown hair sweeping aside as she stirs, a hint of bare shoulder, a column of porcelain along her neck. The sag of her collar until it’s falling down one arm, and there’s no sign of a top underneath, no strap, nothing to curb your imagination from running wild.

And it's all extremely unfair, how the hemline rises with each sway, how it clings right to her waist and curves around the flare of her hips. It wasn’t built for someone like her, wasn’t designed to withstand being worn like this.

But it tries it’s best. You do too.

You really should force your eyes elsewhere. The living room, the TV, the window. Anywhere but her. But you can’t help yourself.

“So,” she starts, happy to let the dish come together on its own. Asks, apropos of nothing, “You ever wonder why my sister never wanted to leave us alone together?”

You blink, torn from the hypnosis of her bare skin. “What?”

Danielle’s facing you again, leaning over the kitchen island. Playing with a loose strand of hair, looping it around her finger. Taking the dumb look on your face as an answer. “I mean, before all these little hangouts we never even had a full conversation, just me and you. One-on-one. Isn’t that weird?”

No. It never occurred to you, because it’s not weird at all.

Because Danielle is, and this is plain fact at this point—not in any way, shape or form exaggeration—unfathomably, quite offensively hot, and very much aware of the devastating effect she has on the people around her just by simply existing.

You hardly trust yourself at the moment.

“Then again, she probably knew what I’d do if given the chance.”

Danielle bites her lip, and you make the mistake of staring for just a second too long.

Yeah, it makes a lot of fucking sense.

(Back in the kitchen, the pot boils over.)

—

(It was somewhere close to the end of things; when it became more common to talk in loud accusations than sweet whispers, that your ex was telling you—“I do love her. But I swear sometimes, I can’t stand her.”

“Who?” You’d asked, because playing dumb was much easier than accidentally stumbling into some new argument you weren’t quite prepared for.

“Dani.”

“Your sister?” you replied, too quickly, and without thinking, “I don’t know—she seems sweet.”

There’s a pause, a tension in the car and your hand clenches around the steering wheel as you realise what you said, and the entire world holds its breath. Then, she laughs. Something sad and bitter that makes you wince. “Sweet? Yeah, sure. She’s a fucking angel.”

And before she can even elaborate on that, she’s looking out the window, leaving you to wonder how you’re at fault this time.

So, you decide then and there to never mention her again, never even look in said sister’s direction when she’s around. Push her out of your mind completely. As far as you’re concerned, she never even existed.

That lasts right up until the next time you see Danielle, and she’s all smiles and friendliness and barely-dressed and so painfully attractive and so very happy to see you. And sure, maybe you smile back, reciprocate the hug, blush when she kisses your cheek, hold your hand on her lower back for that extra millisecond too long, bounding over that ephemeral line and right into flagrantly inappropriate territory.

All the while, somewhere over your shoulder your ex spits out the corner of her mouth—“Typical.”)

—

“I thought I already explained?” Danielle starts, the next time she shows up uninvited, half-naked, bright and early and ready to completely fuck up your day.

Despite the number of times you’ve witnessed the same routine, it still floors you every time she sashays into your kitchen, towel draped low on her body, wrapped around her ridiculously tiny frame, water droplets clinging to her flushed skin like a layer of glitter.

Fresh from a shower. She’s always just fresh from a shower.

She’s already rolling her eyes at whatever she’s about to say. Takes a deep breath, then: “There’s a whole thing going on with my living situation at the moment. You probably don’t need to know anything other than sharing a bathroom with four other girls can be a bit of a nightmare, and your place is so conveniently close, and your water pressure is actually unbelievably good, so—”

You’re very slowly realising that she’s never imagined a reality where this would actually be a problem for you. “And so you decided that the next best option was a complete stranger’s apartment?”

Danielle drums her fingers over your kitchen counter. Your eyes follow the beat. “You’re not a complete stranger.”

“You don’t even know me,” you say, trying to play the part of the responsible adult. Danielle scoffs, because you’re failing spectacularly.

“Well, according to my sister, I have nothing to worry about when it comes to you,” she says, adding, “she told me the two of you broke up because you were gay.”

“She said what?”

She recites, “He prefers rolling around with men than with me—were her exact words.”

“M-M-A. I do MMA.”

“Hm.” Danielle’s baring teeth now, a dangerous slant to her smile. “Is that a new addition to the acronym? LGBTQI-MMA? What colours are your flag?”

“It’s fighting,” you clarify, ignoring the heat creeping up your neck. “Mixed martial arts. I’m not—not that there’s anything wrong with that, but I’m not—”

“Sure.” She pushes herself upright and rounds the counter, swinging herself around and over to you. “And here I thought you had all those muscles for show.”

“I’m very straight.”

Her laugh fills the room, makes it warmer, the air sweeter somehow. You choke on it. “Good to know.”

She closes the distance in much fewer steps than you’d like, bare feet gliding across heated flooring, until you’re forced to notice that she’s taken the liberty of using all your shower products too, and you’re starting to rationalise the perfectly normal response it's eliciting. The shortness of breath, the thumping in your chest, the stickiness of your palms.

All perfectly normal.

Stand your ground, what’s the worst that could happen? You’re taller, probably twice her weight. You could pick her up and throw her out if you had to. Or onto one of the many softer surfaces in your apartment.

Erase that thought.

“If it really helps, maybe all we need to do is get to know each other better,” she says, all honeyed-sweet and fucking hazardous, and when she’s this close, you can’t avoid looking.

You try not to, but you’re absorbing all the details—how are her lips this pink, how do they look this soft? How does her skin look so smooth, how does vanilla and coconut and sandalwood smell so much better on her?

It’s fucking troubling how much of her sister you can see in her, except it’s all skewed in directions that make your brain short-circuit. Similar eyes, same shape, but darker; less warmth, more heat. That same mouth, the curve is a mirror when she smiles, but on her its natural state is a pout or a grin over anything close to reassuring.

The dial’s been turned up, the sliders are all wrong, no one should look this good with this little effort.

“For starters, how about we just exchange numbers? So I can call ahead before I come up next time. Avoid any unnecessary surprises,” she throws out, noncommittal. “Even though that’s the best part.”

It should stun you, the smoothness of her request. So innocent in its construction. Yet she loads it heavy, suggestion stacked on suggestion.

She continues, when she catches the look on your face, “I promise I’ll only contact you in strictly emergency shower situations. Would that be okay?”

“That’s fine,” you answer, making liars of you both.

“Then it’s decided then!” She practically cheers, jumps in your arms, wraps you in a hug. Looks up at you, all smiles, all teeth; all wide eyes and hopefulness and fucking hell she’s so close.

Instinct has you leaning closer, has you maybe letting your hands rest a little too comfortably around her waist.

Panic has you recognising that you need to get out of here before she catches on to the involuntarily reactions she’s coaxing out of you. Eyes dipping down to the towel, heart bursting out of your chest, and your co—

“It goes without saying, but you can contact me too. For anything. Emergency or not.”

Yep, it’s about time to get the fuck out of here. Peeling her arms off you, bailing on this conversation before you start agreeing to even more things you know you shouldn’t. You declare, rather robotically, “I should be on my way out.”

“Guys waiting for you to roll around with?”

You sigh, “Something like that.”

“Well, I’m always available if you want someone more fun to practice with,” she says, before amending. “Or, on.”

Again, this can absolutely not happen. You’re not usually one for rules, but it goes without saying—no fucking around with your ex’s sister. It’s like the golden rule of dating, or human decency, or something.

Besides, it’s not really about you that she's into. It’s about the idea of you—the one person who won’t immediately give her what she wants.

That’s all.

She’s just a brat that’s dealing with denial for the first time. Right?

Danielle pouts when it’s clear that you’re not going to feed into any more of her flirty delusions. Twirls on her heels, the towel dancing around her waist. You’re pretty sure you could write a whole essay on the physics of it all.

“Guess there’s no point in me sticking around if you’re not going to be here.”

You avert your eyes. No need to watch her disappear into her room.  

Correction—your room.

But then you hear it, and your head whips around so quick you get fucking whiplash.

Witnessing Danielle time her exit just right so the last thing you see before she rounds the corner is the sweep of her back, the drop of her towel, and the flash of her tight, bare ass that will burn itself into the back of your retinas and stay there for the rest of the day.

—

(You really should’ve seen this coming.

Or maybe you did, and the lesser angels of your nature thought it wouldn’t be so bad to let it happen.

Whatever, it’s too late to come back now because Danielle’s taken to sending you messages throughout her day. All mundane updates; what she’s doing, who she’s with, what’s she eaten for breakfast, lunch, dinner. Little things throughout the day that somehow remind her—through bizarre and barely tangential logic—of you.

You read them, pretend to ignore them.

You choose not to reply.

She chooses to start sending photos.)

—

It really, really doesn’t help that Danielle is everywhere.

She’ll be in your kitchen, your living room, your bedroom when she conveniently forgot to bring a change of clothes and the ones that she came over in are way too sweaty and sticky to put back on. Hopefully you don’t mind washing it for her?

You’ll leave your apartment thinking you’re finally free, only to find her flashing that grin on giant screens hanging off buildings, or on the side of the buses you take to the gym, or on the cover of every magazine at the convenience store where you used to dive in for a quick snack without ever even having to worry about her existence.

Her music plays in the café you get your afternoon caffeine fix; her commercials show up on every single app on your phone—she’s selling everything from headphones to sneakers to fucking bank loans. All with that same sweet, annoying, lovely voice that haunts you with unabashed innuendo and questions about where you keep your fabric softener and why your apartment is completely barren of anything that could be considered a snack.

It's a sick, sick joke the universe is playing on you. Throwing her in your face every five minutes when all you can think about is how she looked that morning when she took her time putting herself together—just lounging on your couch in nothing but a pair of glasses and a towel, kicking her legs up in the air while she laughs over some meme that's completely skipped your generation.

The legs. Can’t help but think what it would be like to run your tongue over them.

She'd probably be thrilled to let you try.

“Hey,” Danielle says, choosing the moment when you’re trying to figure out just how high her legs go to catch your attention. “Did you and my sister ever do it on this couch?”

“What?” —the fuck.

“Just asking,” Danielle sing-songs, taking the opportune moment to adjust the knot on the towel. Higher up her chest, higher up her thighs. “It’s got good cushioning, you know.”

“That’s,” and really, stop right there, because you’re not about to rehash the greatest hits with her. Not going to even get close to dipping your toes into an innocent, casual chat about ghosts long exorcised—about all the nights you had your ex spread out like a buffet, her legs around your neck, her nails digging into your back; her whispers and pleas, the sweet taste of her—and fuck, now the memory of her face is twisting and morphing and you’re seeing Danielle in those same positions and—

You shake your head, clearing the fog.

"Not going there."

Danielle feigns innocence, batting those doe-eyes. You’re already sick of that sugary-sweet giggle. "Where?"

“Anywhere. With you.”

“You never know, it could help,” she’s teasing. Possibly the most dangerous sentence you’ve ever heard. “Replace all the old memories with some new ones? A little less her, a little more," she pauses for great emphasis, and it feeds right into the mouth of the devil on your shoulder, "me?"

“Danielle—”

“You know, you can just call me Dani. All my close friends do.”

Alarm bells are blaring. Take the easy way out, just leave again. Maybe leave forever. Get out of here and don’t look back. She can have your apartment as far as you’re concerned—the backseat of your car isn’t that uncomfortable.

But before you can make a break for the door—"I just meant we could watch a movie or something.”

And again, you find yourself asking so often these days, “What?”

“You know a little bit of Netflix,” she suggests, and you’re already anticipating the grin before it spreads across her face, because she’s far too smart to play dumb, “and a bit of chill?”

“Danielle—” you try once more, then correcting before you can think better of it, “Dani.”

Danielle blinks. Adjusts herself. Pats the cushion next to her.

Her legs spread, then cross over each other. Just to give you some room.

The towel holds on for dear life.

—

It all goes to shit in a matter of days.

Truthfully, you can’t be blamed for this one, no matter how predictably it plays out.

Danielle’s fogged up your mind with thoughts you’d rather not be having, really been hard at work convincing you of just how available she is.

(Translation: Look at me, aren't I just so damn fuckable?)

Even though it’s all been common knowledge from the get-go, her cards have been on the table since she first stepped out of the steam and rented a space inside your brain, whether you want to be honest with yourself or not.

She wants you, badly.

You want her too.

It’s all you think about.

So, it’s no surprise your coach sends you home early from training after taking one too many unanswered shots to the head. Pushes you out the door and yells at you to get over or on top of whatever the fuck is going on in your personal life.

You know he’s right.

And it’s in this state, where your brain is mildly-concussed and filled with the images of Danielle—the ones of her wearing next to nothing except that fucking wry, knowing smirk of hers, like she’s just counting down the moments until you finally, inevitably give in—that you stumble into your apartment.

You don’t even have the strength to close the door properly.

You barely notice the closed blinds, the heating turned up too high, the light coming from your room, the scent of something much more sweeter; something that doesn’t belong here at all.

No, you don’t notice anything at all—until you do.

A moan from down the hall.

Louder as you approach, joined by noises of shuffling bedsheets, the unmistakable rhythmic squeaks of your mattress. The slick sounds of skin on skin, and—oh fuck.

You push open your door.

Danielle’s there to greet you, flat on your bed, fingers deep inside her cunt.

Wearing your sweatshirt and nothing else.

Crying out your name.

It’s game over.

Every filthy, lurid though, every half-imagined fantasy, everything your brain has conjured up whenever you've caught a glimpse of Danielle's bare skin, brought to life.

Fucking gorgeous, pretty, even like this. Wrecking herself so sweetly, fucking herself with her fingers so deeply and carefully, half-naked and wet and begging.

“Ah, God—” She’s sinking into herself, not even registering your presence, nor the fact that the door’s even opened.

Her face is locked into this smile, and you clock it as the same one she wears every time she catches you watching her, every time she manages to make that crack in your armour widen just a smidge. It’s a trap. A challenge. An invitation.

You hover by the door, unable to move, unable to breathe, unable to do anything but watch as she works herself over, eyes fixed shut, cheeks red, burning hot.

You shouldn’t look.

You should turn around.

You should do anything but stay.

But you don’t.

You just witness her, in your bed, chanting your name in tempo with her own fingers. Your body betrays you—you take a step forward.

Her eyes open. Unsurprised. “Hey.”

She keeps going.

One more step couldn’t hurt. Moth to her flame, fly to her sweet, sticky trap.

The sweatshirt is a crime against humanity, hiding her like that. You could reach down, rip it off her, expose all her secrets to the cold air. Finally see it all.

But instead, you keep your eyes trained, transfixed, as she arches her back, her breasts pushing up against the cotton, points of her nipples poking through. Abs—chiselled, firm, tense—revealed inch by glorious inch.

Your name on her lips, moaned into your ears.

And her pussy. So pretty. Pink, plump. Perfect.

Sopping wet and making a mess of your bedsheets. The mattress will never be the same. 

“Welcome home,” she gasps out. Loving this turn of events. Spreads her legs wider, no intention to stop. Just going on and on.

She stretches out your name for good measure, fucking herself faster. Fingers plunging in and out of herself, hips rocking back and forth. Eyes locking onto yours, daring you to do something about it.

“How’s the view?” She’s grinning, aiming for seductive, nonchalant, but her voice is all broken-up and fucked up. Too turned on to be anything but earnest.

“Fucking hell,” you find your own voice much the same. Really, it’s a miracle that your lungs aren’t clogged up with the thick, heavy air that’s settled in your room. Or that your tongue isn’t a dry, useless slab of meat in your mouth.

“I’d say it’s rather—gah—” Danielle says, taking your words, twisting them into something that sounds like a whine as her eyes slowly shut, a fresh wave of pleasure washing over her. She opens them again, focuses on you. “Heavenly.”

You should have more to say. Something locked and loaded to navigate your way out of this specific situation, because face it, this was always going to happen one way or another the day you let her have free reign of your apartment, of your life, of your thoughts.

Your mouth opens, hoping something disarming and with enough wit comes out to end this whole farce, only Danielle beats you to the punch—“I bet it tastes heavenly too.”

And then the words come to you. You grit out, “Stop.”

Danielle laughs. Unconvinced. “Why should I?”

You repeat. “Stop.”

She just keeps fucking herself. “Make me.”

“Stop,” you let your voice come out deep, firm. Like it's a threat. Taking the closest ankle in your grip, lifting her leg up.

Danielle gasps. Her hand stills.

“Stop and let me.”

Danielle’s whispering now. “Then go ahead.”

You’ve never imagined yourself as that guy. You’re a romantic, you swear. Grand gestures, sweet kisses, candles, roses, the works, making love slow and soft until the sun comes up.

Nothing like this.

Like wanting to ruin something beautiful. Take the hottest girl you’ve ever met, probably ever lived. Cross lines so thick you’d typically need a buzzsaw to cut through. Make her forget about anything that isn’t you, anything that isn’t you. Make her need you in the worst way.

Make her come apart in your fucking hands.

The look on Danielle’s face gives you all the permission you need. Her words are just the cherry on top. “Please.”

You start small.

A kiss on the sole of her foot, and Danielle’s already trembling, giggling, at the light touch. More kisses, building, keen attention on the arch, the ankle, the calf, and she’s shivering. Muscles tensing under your lips, body tightening in anticipation.

She’s a ticking time bomb, was on edge when you walked in, so you don’t drag it out. Just long enough to make her whine. Get a few, “God you’re so—”, gasps and half-formed sentences that die the higher you get.

You kiss your way past her knee, and she’s properly whimpering now. Her fault that her legs are so long. A ladder of sweetness, salt on her skin, and you’re starving. She is right. It tastes heavenly. You’ll do your part by devouring it, bite by fucking bite.

“This is torture,” the words slip out of her, but it hardly sounds like a complaint. Moreso a confession. Something to say while her shoulders sink into the mattress and her fingers dig into the sheets. “Sweet torture.”

A chuckle into her inner thigh, where the skin is softest, smoothest, and her wetness has leaked down far enough to coat your cheek. Because this is the first time Danielle’s been anywhere close to a position of submissiveness to you. Let the mask, the control slip. The game, the pretences. All it took was the right use of your tongue.

“Higher, please, just eat me already,” she’s pleading now, and it sounds so lovely coming from her lips. And fuck, the scent of her, her arousal, sweet and heady. Calling for you to just dive in face-first.

But you want her to beg. Make her as desperate as she’s made you. It’s only fair.

Your nose meets the bottom of the sweatshirt. You push up, ghost your lips, the warmth of your breath higher up her thigh until her hips are practically stuttering.

Lean in, nibble the flesh just beside her pussy.

She convulses then and there. Arches off the bed, a sharp cry leaving her lips.

Only a moment to revel in it before your hair is snatched in her hands, pulling you closer, and you finally give her what she wants. Tongue darting out, tasting her.

“Right—yes—fuck!”

Her scream drowns out the groan climbing out from your throat, as your lungs are filled with the depths of her. No waiting, really, she’s fucking soaked already. Primed, prepared for your tongue. For the sucking, licking, kissing; every part of her that’s been begging for attention, waiting for you.

Her hips buck, but your palms shoot up, press down against the flat of her stomach, feel the ridged abs, the tiny waist under your fingertips. Holding her down with a firm hand. Letting her know the truth of it all. She’s yours now.

All she can do is whine, “I—I—God, I need—”

“Need me to taste you? Lick you, suck you right up, ruin you with my tongue?” The things coming out of your mouth, the aggression in your tone, it surprises you. But there's not enough time to ponder on what manner of beast she's turned you into so quickly, there's only what's next—press the flat of your tongue against her folds, give a rough, firm pressure, make her squirm.

It’s from here that you can witness it all: the bend of her neck as she throws her head back, the tightness in her stomach, the sharp inhale and heavy exhale of her chest. The tremble in her thighs against your cheek, her breath hitching and her pussy quivering over your mouth.

And it comes to you, so easily, like it was always there. Filth being composed in the back of your mind anytime she was in your presence. Everything you've ever wanted to do to this girl. Everything you've wanted to inflict upon her cunt.

“I'm gonna make you into a fucking mess all over my face, down my chin, all over my bed. Fuck this pussy, Danielle. I could get drunk off it. So fucking sweet.”

“It’s—fuck—” and you’re really enjoying this now, having her be the one that’s lost for words for once. “—whatever—all of it. Do whatever you want, please, because I’m so, so close.”

“I didn’t need your permission,” you tell her, speaking into her cunt. “But it’s appreciated anyway.”

And Danielle’s well and truly wrecked. Drenched cunt so swollen and desperate and really, truly in quite a state. So desperate for you, her body thrumming with it. Cunt pulsing like a fucking heartbeat.

You could take it slow. Could drag out the torture a little longer.

Fuck that.

Tongue goes higher, fixes upon her clit. Danielle falls apart.

“Fuck—fuck—fuck—” Her words are slurring together, choked out, gasps, whines. Barely coherent, and yet, “your mouth—tongue—please—”

The pleases you recognise, they come in staccatos as you lick her from bottom to top. Long, slow drags that make her legs shake.

“You’re going to scream for me,” you declare, a prediction more than an instruction. “Beg for me. Going to make you cum so hard. So loud. Going to make you remember it. Remember me every time you think about touching this sweet cunt.

“Sadist,” she manages, breathless, but it’s hard to detect anything from her other than pure glee. “I can see why my sister would always come home so—fuck—so worn out from seeing you.”

“Don’t,” you spit on her cunt. Take a long, gratuitous lap of your tongue against her folds. Force her hips against your face.

“I’m only wondering—” she says, and there’s an edge to her voice, and you know that whatever’s going to follow is going to make you fucking crazy— “Did she taste as good as me?”

You try your best to ignore the taunt. Just push your tongue inside her, feel the way she clenches around the muscle. Fuck her for making you even think about your ex.

“Or did she ever even get to feel like this? Did she let you? Or maybe you never gave her the honour. Because I can't imagine ever letting go of someone like you."

“Enough,” you murmur, not even sure if it’s a warning or a plea. Your teeth graze her clit. Danielle jolts. “This isn’t about her. It’s about you.”

A barely there—“Me?”

“You started this,” your voice is gravelly now, coloured with something mean, “Just had to be too pretty to ignore. Fucking cocktease.”

“Then—oh—give me what I deserve.”

“That would take hours.” The laugh that comes out of your mouth is anything but warm, and she tries to fire back with one of her usual quips—something that dances on the line of flirty and sarcastic and completely charming all at once, the full Danielle experience.

But that all dies on her lips when your finger pushes through until you’re knuckle-deep, curling up inside her.

“Ah—fuck—” That’s all she’s got, and it’s all you need.

You kiss her cunt, suction around those puffy lips. Her pussy is just so, so pretty; like the rest of her, same as every single fucking inch of her. Even now, all huffing and groaning and fucked-up on your tongue—so effortlessly beautiful.

“Baby,” comes out, all velvety and warm, and then again and again. Pitch rising, falling, voice getting louder, a crescendo dictated by your mouth.

Creamy thighs fit snug over either side of your head, but you’re not going anywhere. You need to make her cum—as hard as she can. Make sure she remembers.

You lick, kiss, suck. Danielle doesn’t require much precision, just intense passion. Showing her how much you love her cunt, love making her fall apart. Really sloppy with it, it’s the pace that matters at this point—giving her everything that’s been boiling deep inside her since she ever laid eyes on you.

Swirl your tongue around her clit, flicking it in a way that has her knees shake and bang together. Suck deep against her folds, making her fingers knot themselves in your hair. And when you moan into her cunt, vibrate your lips against her while your fingers—one, then two, now three—work her over, well—

She can’t fucking do anything but try to breathe, try to keep herself together. Be anything other than the excruciatingly cute and beautiful and fucking delicious mess you’re turning her into.

“Right—right there—right there—” Unnecessary instruction, really. Because you already have her dissolving underneath your tongue. Filling your bedroom, your apartment with noises of her cunt being properly fucked, the sighs and moans that bounce off the walls, echoing around your skull. Putting you in some heavenly torture chamber where the only way out is through her orgasm.

And it’s somewhere in her pleas for a higher power that you feel the beginnings, or the very rapidly approaching endings of it all. The tightness in her thigh, the convulsions. The waterfall dripping down your tongue, your fingers, onto the palm of your hand and pooling underneath her ass.

“This is—this is too much—"

Too much means not enough. Not enough of her, not when you’re so in love with the sound of her breaking apart. The smell of her on your nose, your chin. The feeling of her cunt colliding against your lips.

“Oh God, fuck, please, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t—"

You breathe in, take all you can from what little oxygen she’s left in the room, and bury your face in her. You don’t let up until her cries become screams, until she’s bucking against your face, until her nails are digging into your scalp.

You don’t stop until you feel the first pulse in her climax, until her cunt clenches around your fingers like a fist, until she’s painting your face with her wetness.

And that’s when you reach your other hand around her, urge your fingers underneath those tight, firm cheeks. Push a finger up into her ass, press into that puckered button, making her seize like you just sent a bolt of lightning through her.

“What the fuck, it’s so—God!”

For a moment, she’s yours. Completely and utterly yours.

Her stomach tenses, abs bunching and knitting together. Not a single muscle in her body moves, just frozen in place, locked in pleasure.

Tiny, little shakes, building and building, until it’s a full-body experience; quakes all over her skin, shaking your whole bed. And then—

“Daddy!”

There’s a right word for this—flawless, absolute, divine. Or just plain perfect.

The way she cums is so at odds with who she is. It’s not pretty, it’s not subtle. God, it’s fucking apocalyptic. Orgasms herself into an out-of-body experience onto your chin.

It’s all so fucking obvious; people in the next building over will be able to feel what she’s going through just by the timbre of her voice when she cries out for some sort of God, or spits a filthy curse, or just screams your name in a dozen different ways.

“You’re fucking—yes!”

You need both hands back on her body to fix her to the bed, make sure she doesn’t fall off the fucking edge of the world. Help her bear it, through gritted teeth and sharp hisses, that one final push into oblivion.

A whine signals the end for her; a final real, loud, teary-eyed whine. The most honest sound you’ve ever heard from her and fuck you’d do anything to hear more of it. Give up everything for just an echo of the sweet obscenities that fall from her lips when she cums.

Danielle exhales.

Tries to relax her way out of it. But the trembles haven’t left her, still bubbling underneath her skin. Her legs fall away from your head, leaving your ears ringing, and you ease back. Wipe your mouth with the back of your hand.

You massage her, run your hands up to her waist, underneath the sweatshirt. Stroke the lines on her body to coax her back down to the land of the living. Let it all slow down.

Her eyes are still hazy, glazed over, pupils all fucked-up and blown wide.

“Animal,” she says, when her lungs begin to fill again. She giggles, and there’s all the sweetness returning to her body. Radiating off her in this afterglow. Twisting herself a little beneath you to work out all the tension that you’ve just built up and wrecked her with.

“You asked for it,” you tease, hovering over her. Rightfully smug.

Danielle huffs. Looking so pretty behind all the tears. “And I will again.”

And you exhale too, because now you don’t know what the fuck you’ve gotten yourself into.

But Danielle doesn’t give you time to dwell on your thoughts. Scoots up and shifts so she’s on her elbows. Takes your chin in her fingers. Kisses you.

Inhales you deep, tongue immediately pushing past your lips, scraping around the edges. Licking up all the evidence that’s still stuck on the roof of your mouth.

You fall into her, hands rising up her body. God, you just need to feel her nipples harden beneath your palm, her body fold back into yours. Get to know every curve, every dip. You’ve tasted heaven, now you want to map it out with your fingers.

Your hips urge against her waist, pushing her legs apart, and that tells Danielle all she needs to know.

But her tongue leaves yours, escapes the chase of your own.

“Not yet,” and she’s laughing because you actually believed for a heartbeat that you were the one in control here. That you weren’t the one that was going to be left begging. Aching. Left with nothing to do but commit the taste of her to memory.

She draws her tongue across your jaw, your cheek. Licks your face clean, leaves it sticky. Smiles against your skin.

“But maybe later.” She pushes back, hand at your chest. Gets herself up and off your bed, turns away from you so you can only imagine the grin playing on her lips.

Her ass tilts. Her pussy drips onto your floor.

She looks over her shoulder, blows you a kiss, a wink. “Gotta take a shower first.”  

—

(This is the part where Danielle pulls her greatest trick yet—radio silence.

A week without hearing from her—not a text, not a peep, nothing. Turning your brain inside out. Leaving you with nothing but this tangled mess of thoughts about thighs and abs and moans and questions of did whatever the fuck that was really happen?

The worst part of it all is, you know exactly what she’s doing when she’s not busy haunting the edges of your apartment, leaving her fingerprints in every room, over every surface, just waiting for you to find them.

She’s quite easy to be found. She’s still everywhere.

Everywhere except the one place you need her to be.

It’s too early in the evening to be lying in bed, staring at your phone, nothing but the background noise of heaters, TVs and air purifiers to make you seem less alone.

You should really have much better things to do then to hover your thumb over her name.

Your screen lights up with a message—immediately disappointing you when you realise it’s not her. Just your training partner, sending a cursory group invite to anyone else that fancies a night out to break up the routine of getting punched in the head on the daily.

Fuck it.

It’s as good a time to drink as any.)

—

You’re barely in one piece when you get home; which is really par for the course for the past few weeks.

Dazed, horny, tired, concussed—and now, stone-cold drunk.

Habit has you collapsing on your bed in a heap, flicking on your phone, dragging your finger over the screen and taking an embarrassing amount of attempts to unlock it. The blue glow lights up your room, the screen immediately blasting you with the most recent thing you were looking at—the last photo Danielle had sent you.

The one she took in front of your bathroom mirror, where she’s leaning over the sink. A hand perched on the counter, hip cocked to the side. Towel hanging on by a thread, dipping, just so. Tongue poking out, lips looking so shiny and soft.

Eyes right down the barrel of the camera. Knowing the reaction it’ll force out of you. The power she has to stir your cock to life with just a single image.

It’s so fucked up. How in such a short amount of time, she’s occupied every corner of your mind, every corner of your digital life. Unavoidable. Inescapable.

And there’s truth in that: you’re flying too close to the sun; you’re going to get burned but you can’t help but soar a little closer anyway. Heading headfirst into tears, heartache, or worse, a very awkward family reunion.

And you hate that you miss her.

Hate that you’re calling her.

She answers.

“Hey—” you slur, making a stellar start.

You’re picturing the smug smile on the other end of the line. “Is this a drunk dial?”

“I—yeah.” No point in lying. You’re not good at it, and she’s not that dumb.

“Well, I’m flattered,” and there’s pure amusement seeping out of the speaker and into your ear. She sounds like she’s laughing at you. But it’s warm, familiar, and for a second it’s like she’s right here, in your room, in your bed, her naked body pressed against yours. “To what do I owe the honour?”

Since you’re too inebriated to be anything other than honest, you just outright say it—“Got drunk. Can’t sleep. Missed you.”

There's hesitation on the other end. Surprise, you guess. "Then that makes two of us."

"You're drunk too?"

"Unfortunately not. Just the insomnia and the yearning on my part."

“Why aren’t you here?” comes right out your mouth, before you can even stop it.

Her breaths come through the phone. Slow. “Because I’m in a hotel. Hong Kong.”

You roll onto your back, close your eyes. Picture it. Danielle, prettier-than-perfect, curled up on some plush, extravagant bedspread. A complimentary towel getting the luxury of being around her tight figure. Her long legs stretched out in front of her, painted toes digging into the sheets.

You still remember how they felt against your lips.

“I don’t believe you,” you decide, and demand, “Turn on your camera.”

“Oh, you’re very drunk,” is Danielle’s reply, right before the chime of your phone and—

There she is. Scarily accurate to your imagination. Only now, the details are colouring in the rest of the picture—the contrast of hotel white against her dark hair. The glint of light off her sharp cheekbones. Her lips absolutely wicked.

No towel, though. A bathrobe this time.

“It’s fucked up how pretty you are,” you say, because it’s true and you can’t hold back. “Like, Christ.”

Danielle giggles, and it’s also fucked up the things the sound does to your stomach. Forcing you to realise how much you missed having it in your apartment. She leans closer to the camera, head tilting a little to the side. “Very, very drunk.”

“Don’t have to be drunk to recognise how good you look.”

“I always look good.”

“If you were here right now—or if I was there—”

“You’d what? Bury your face between my thighs? Ruin me with your tongue?” She’s smiling. Teasing. Thank God you can see her face again. “Make me call you Daddy?”

“I didn’t make you do anything. That was all you.”

“And you just happened to love it,” she says so easily. Full of confidence. “What else would you love to make me do?”

It comes to your mind immediately, the thought of it—“Your shoulder.”

Her eyebrow jumps up at that, expression settling into something curious. “My shoulder?” She angles herself, gives you a better look. Leaving it bare, the bathrobe droops, doesn’t bother to hide the line of her throat. “Nothing about my neck, my eyes, my lips?”

“I’d get to that. But I’d start with your shoulder,” you recite, letting her in on the journal entries you’ve been writing in your mind. Notes on Danielle. “You’re always just leaving it out there. Your shoulder, collarbone. I’d kiss there first.”

Your words do something to her, you can see it through your bleary eyes. She shifts on top of her bed, twists herself around to settle into a more comfortable position. Leans back into the headboard of her bed. Juts her shoulder out so the bathrobe drops further down her arm.

Has you follow the path of her camera as she angles it lower, and it doesn’t help that she’s biting on her lower lip, and you can’t see where her other hand has gone, and she’s spurring you on by asking:

“Would you kiss me lower too?” The bathrobe parts, plush cotton revealing a single line of her sternum, and then further still, the shadow of her cleavage just out of view.

You nod, swallow. A strained, “Yeah.”

“And here?” The robe slips, falls further down. Revealing the swell of one perfect breast. A nipple, stiffened from the cold. Or the thought of your lips.

Your eyes are locked onto the image of her creamy skin, the darkened areola. You don’t care that you’re groaning, that your hand is already reaching down to palm your erection through your sweatpants. You don’t care that she probably knows.

It’s what she wants.

“Yeah, I’d kiss you there. Lick it. Get it between my teeth, and—”

“Sounds like you’ve thought a lot about me,” she murmurs, but she’s only saying things that you both are keenly aware of. You are—have been—putty in her hands. A man lost at sea with only her voice as a compass. The camera moves in closer still. You can feel the heat of her skin through the screen. “What if I told you I’ve been thinking about you too?”

Her free hand returns in view. Up to her chest. Teasing her own nipple; pinching between her thumb and forefinger. She gasps, breathes heavy down the line, and you swear you can feel it too, a phantom softness at your own fingertips.

“I’ve been thinking about what you did to me with your mouth, been thinking about it—” she’s panting, and her hand’s moving. Thumb tracing lazy circles around her breast, and you’re thinking that it’s the exact path you’d take with your tongue. “Every. Single. Night.”

It’s too much and nearly not enough. No where close to satisfying the ache she’s built inside you. You want her here, in your bed, underneath you. You want to show her what you can really do to her. How you’d kiss her until she couldn’t breathe, lick her until she couldn’t think, fuck her until she’s nothing more but a shivering mess, leave her begging.

And then, as if announcing your own thoughts back to you— “I want to cum,” she sighs, barely a whisper. “But I don’t want to do it alone.”

“Show me.”

There’s a beat, two, where Danielle mulls it over. Nothing but pants heard through the speaker. Her nipple still in view.

Until she turns, phone hitting the bedside table with a gentle thump. Screen still on, camera pointing right at her face. But the angle’s off—she shifts it downward and returns to the bed.

It sobers you up, puts you on alert. Danielle. Lying on her side. The soft, pale swell of her breasts, the dip of her vanishing, practically non-existent waist. The curve of her hips down to the long, smooth legs. The robe slides down, baring her other shoulder. Her neck. The cut of her clavicle.

Fuck.

Her breathing hitches when she sees you, the look on your face. So low, so quiet, when she says, “Now, you too.”

A mirror of her actions—your phone finds a spot to lean on. Hands wobbly, vision blurs as you rush to get the angle right. Sweatpants disappear, freeing your cock. The waistband catches on your length, causing it to spring out hard.

It’s Danielle’s turn now to groan out a “Fuck.”

And for a moment, it’s just heat and silence. Hot, laboured breaths filling the space between the two of you. Her hand drifts down, skating between her abs, lower—

“Tell me,” she says, fingers crawling to the hood of her pussy, gliding over where she’s most sensitive. Her thighs part slightly, slowly, showing herself to the camera, to you. How wet she is, how delicious she looks. You want to taste it. You’d die to feel the heat of her against your tongue once more.

But you’re not there. You’re both stuck in this digital limbo. Two people desperate to fuck each other through a screen. It won’t be enough. It just can’t be. But it’s all you’ve got, so it’ll have to do.

“Tell me everything.” Her eyes close, hand starting to move with purpose. Spreading her folds. Glistening clit standing proud. “Everything you’d do to me. All of it. I know you’ve been thinking about me. Give me every little detail. Make it dirty, make it good, make it—”

“I—” you start, only to stumble, “I want to fuck you.”

“Obviously,” she’s smiling into the camera, and yeah, you’re realising it was a stupid way to begin things. “Please don’t make me do all the work here. Where’s the guy that said he’d make sure I remember him every time I touch this tight, little cunt?”

“Sweet cunt.”

“You would know.”

You clear your throat. Adjust yourself. Angle your cock towards her so she can see how much you mean what you’re about to say. “Danielle—”

“Dani, please.”

“Dani,” you restart, “After your shoulder, your collarbone, after I’ve left those fucking tits all marked up—I’d run my tongue back up to your neck, suck on that spot right here—” you bring your other hand up, tap it over your pulse. Danielle’s eyes shoot open. Follows your finger. “You know the one.”

Her hand falters, she chokes on a breath. She’s picturing it. Feeling it. “Yeah,” she stammers. “Yeah, I know.”

“And then—then you’d feel my fingers. Pushing in,” you continue, hand tightening around your own shaft. Pre-cum making it slick. Recalling her heat, the tightness of her cunt. The clench around your digits. “So fucking slow. Watching your face as you take them. One, two. Three. Yeah, you’d look just like that.”

Her own fingers dip, bringing your words to life. Eager to follow word for word, whispering these hushed little pleas, and then a moan, and then— “Don’t—don’t stop.”

“Slowly, Dani,” you make her whine, as if you’re right there, holding her hand, forcing her to balance on that edge. “Just like that. God, you look so pretty. You would look so pretty. Coming apart on my fingers. I don’t think I’d ever be able to stop telling you, because fuck.”

You break it down—break her down. Tell her the steps, one by one. The way you’d kiss her, taste her. How lovely it would be, lips as sweet as her cunt was. Kiss so deep that you’d steal the breath from her lungs, make sure she knows what it’s like to be consumed. The way you’d kiss her neck, her ear, make a mess on her tits. Every spot that makes her quiver.

There’s tension in her shoulders, tightening across her muscles. Eyes clenched shut, fingers dancing over her every inch that you tell her you’d explore once you’ve finally stripped her bare.

Leave her in her natural state: naked, beautiful, fucking breathtaking.

Her hand’s a blur now, thighs trembling with each pass of her fingers, and she’s chewing on her bottom lip so hard you can see the indentation. Whining, pleading, these divine little noises, intermittent—“Keep going, don’t stop, tell me more,” —pure bliss articulated,  and you’ve lost track of how many times she’s asked, “and then?”

“I’d spread you wide open, Dani,” you tell her, and watch as her legs part, leaving her splayed out on her bed. Image so fucking wanton it’s biblical sin. “God, look at you. You’re so fucking wet I can hear it through the phone.”

Danielle can’t help herself, “It’s you,” she’s gasping, panting, fucking herself with her fingers so intently that the sounds of her cunt are coming through loud and clear. “It’s all because of you. So, so wet. I’ve been like this all week.”

A thought, you realise, “So that’s why you stopped messaging me.”

The tightness in her voice confirms it for you, “Yeah. Couldn’t stop thinking of you. Reaching out would’ve made it too fucking much.”

This revelation hangs in the air, thick and palpable. Pushes aside any remaining inhibitions. You stroke yourself harder, faster, matching her rhythm, her breaths. Joining the slicks of her own cunt with the sound of your skin slapping against your palm.

“But it didn’t help. So, fuck it. I needed to let you see. Let you know. How much I want you. Need you.”

“Was never much a secret.”

“Never said I was good at hiding it,” and Danielle’s grinning now, looking so beautifully lost and downright filthy and there’s really only one thing left to ask, “Tell me how you’d fuck me.”

“Hard.”

One word and she fucking loves it.  

“Flip you over, from behind. Against whatever hard surface I can push you up against. Nothing sweet about it. Giving you what you fucking deserve.”

“God!”

“Leave you out of fucking breath. Just take my cock deep. You can see it can’t you? How big it is. How fucking hard it is for you. I’d make you take every inch fucking fast and rough. Make you mine. My own personal cocksleeve. Daddy’s little cocksleeve, how do you like the sound of that?”

Danielle’s back arches, chest rises and falls. Hand moving faster, fucking herself, really going for it. Head thrown back, eyes open, on you. Like she’s memorising the way you’re looking at her. Unable to do anything but look when you’re puppeteering her body across an entire ocean, words dictating every little shiver, every little pulse.

“Pin you against a wall, Dani. Make it so you can’t move. Can’t do anything but feel me. So deep inside you that you’d feel fucking empty without me.”

“Fuck, that sounds so—” Dani’s barely breathing now, and whether by some reflex or just a need to make your words feel a little more real, she rolls onto her stomach. Ass up in the air, pushing her face down into the mattress. You can see the muscles in her back ripple, the fingers disappearing between her thighs, and she’s biting down on the sheets but you’re making out the— “Just like that. Yes, yes, like that. Fuck me like that. Make me—”

It’s the view of her tight ass and it's like she's inviting you to tell her, “I’d spank you—leave you all nice and red. So you’d feel it after. Have you screaming until you can’t even speak. Make sure the last word you’ll ever say is my name.”

“You’d pull my hair too, right?”

“You wouldn’t have a choice.”

Danielle screams your name; the first time you’ve ever heard it sound like that. Somewhere between worship and pure desperation. It’s fucking heavenly. Your cock flexes in your hand, and you want to drop everything and rush over to her hotel room right now and shove it directly in her face.

But you’ll have to be content with what you’ve got.

With Danielle, an utter disaster; soaked cunt and all, splashing down onto the bed. And it’s going to be a problem, an explanation she’ll have to provide. How the perfect, idol-princess left her room stained and forever ruined with the scent of her cum-drenched sheets.

She’ll lie, of course. Spin something about a spill, or a new perfume she’s trying, or maybe she’ll fucking own it.

How some guy over the phone left her shaking with his words alone. Made her scream his name until she got noise complaints from rooms on the opposite side of the hall. Caused a fucking mess that the hotel laundry service would never be able to scrub out.

She’s so close, so fucking close. You know because you’ve been on the same tracks as her, charting it through the throbbing of your own cock, the tightening in your balls.

She’s just dying for release. For your permission.

“I’m just—I can’t—Can’t believe you’re going to make me—”

“Just fucking cum then, Dani,” you command. An order.

She follows without question.

Hand builds speed—faster, faster, faster. ‘Fuck—fuck—fuck’ spilling from her lips until it’s all just one noise buried in a mess of pleasure and bliss. Until she’s just a heartbeat in the palm of your hand.

Fucking God, she cums hard.

You do too.

You swear the camera shakes, it’s not just your vision, the head spin, the alcohol. It all vibrates around you and you can’t see straight.

Watching Danielle; her abs tense, back bow, collapsing into her bed. Eyes squeezed shut, choking on sheets as she tries and fails to muffle herself. Orgasm ringing through your phone, a chorus of sin. Your own cock is bucking, moving with her hips, and you’re fucking her, fucking her through it all, making her fall apart again and again, making her shiver, beg, cry out your name and—

It’s a fucking masterpiece.

“Cum for me please, Daddy!”

Like a gunshot, a trigger, and you’re gone too.

A mess—sticky, warm. Fucking satisfying.

And then it’s over.

You both slump down, dissolve into your own individual puddles. Needing deep, heaving breaths. Sweat sticking to your skins, to the sheets. It makes her glow.

Just laying there. Not bothering to clean up. Evidence of your lust smeared across your hands, your stomachs, your beds. The trophies earned.

The silence stretches out, and it’s weird because it’s just like she’s breathing right in your ear, coming down next to you. Warmth against your neck, hand sliding down your body. Fitting right in your arms.

Her eyes finally open. Slow movements have her hand dropping away from her pussy, sliding over the wetness to her side. A mess, and there’s a new kind of smile on her face. A little lazy, weak. Satisfied.

“Fuck.”

“Tell me about it.”

She watches you for a beat. Runs a tongue over her lips. “Can’t wait to see you again.”

“When?”

“As soon as I fucking can.”

 —

(It feels good—too good—to be honest for once.

The games are still there, but now that you’re a willing participant, Danielle’s tactics shift.

It starts innocently enough—a good morning text here, a photo of her breakfast there, a meme you’d both find funny.

And then the escalation.

Here’s what I’m wearing. Here’s what’s underneath. You want to see more?

Reciprocate.

Every notification from her has you running to the bathroom, or at least somewhere with a little privacy, because it’s always a photo or a video, a little slice of heaven to get you through the day or completely ruin it just by seeing her picture.

And fuck, you do look.

And then there’s the last photo—and of course there’s a bathroom and a mirror and your sweatshirt hiked up to her chest and she’s completely bare otherwise and you’re thinking she’s laughing here because she knows you’re going to zoom in and find the tiny caption left for you to discover between her thighs.

One word.

Your cock jumps, a silent cheer.

Tomorrow.)

—

It's borderline problematic how you have to hold yourself back from sprinting down your hallway when you get home. Just because you hear the sound of running water.

Danielle's here again.

She’s fucking back.

And that’s how you find her; the door to the bathroom’s been left wide open, an invitation you don’t really need—nothing could stop you at this point.

But it doesn’t take away from the surprise of it at all, you're knocked off your feet when you meet her in the shower.

Danielle, head thrown back, letting the hot water cascade over her. Down her neck, her shoulders, her breasts. She’s soapy, skin a canvas of bubbles, your bottle of body wash in her hand, flipped upside down and dripping on her tits.

There’s a smile in the opposite mirror for you, and fuck, for a second you’re believing in love at first sight or the existence of angels or just the fact that maybe you were put on this planet to procreate.

“You’re late.”

You clear your throat, steam starting to warm it up for you. “I was at the gym.”

And she giggles, and she’s smug, and you missed her presence so much more than you anticipated. “Then it sounds like you should join me.”

She reaches out, grabs you by the wrist, and you have mere seconds to get rid of your shirt and your sweatpants and anything you don’t want to get wet because you’re falling into her. Threading your fingers through wet mattes of hair, pushing her into cold tile, and kissing the prettiest fucking girl you’ve ever met in your entire life.

“Missed you,” she murmurs into your lips, warm and steamy words that taste like mint. “Really fucking missed you.”

She’s too real now.

In your shower, beneath your fingertips, water running in rivulets over her body. Moisture evaporating off her skin, sticking to yours. Photos, videos, everything from that fabricated reality of pixels and soundwaves, could never do enough to come close to having her right in front of you.

You run your hands over her body, hers are doing the same down yours—as if needing multiple points of contact to confirm that you’re really here, that this is really happening. Her skin’s like silk under the water, slippery and smooth. You trace the outline of her waist, her ribs, the curves of her ass.

And her abs. Fucking hell. Sculpted, each ridge a testament to her dedication, to hours spent. To the sweat, the tears, the sheer fucking willpower it takes to become an idol. A map of her life’s work, and they’re begging to be touched. Appreciated.

You do.

A soft touch. Reverent. She responds with a gasp that sends a shiver down your spine. Danielle’s eyes are on yours, watching, as your thumb traces the line of here stomach.

You get the obvious out of the way. “You’re so fucking pretty, Dani.”

She arches a brow. “Just pretty?”

You smile, kiss her shoulder. Lap up the water pooling in her collarbone. Stuck between the need to take your time to worship her body like it deserves, and the primal urge to just claim her, take everything about her that’s good and soft and hot and make it yours. “It doesn’t even cover it. I don’t think any words do.”

“Then show me.”

So, you pull her closer, hands cradling her face, thumbs brushing against the soft skin of her cheeks. Kiss her until she’s melting into you, until her body’s pressing into yours so tightly that you can feel the heat of her.

A palm falls to her hip, thumb resting at that glorious spot where her waist sinks right in just before curving out to her ass. Your fingers dig into flesh, and Danielle’s moan; the sweet, sweet sound fills your mouth, vibrates down your throat.

Her hand wraps around the back of your neck, gripping tight; she’s not shy of about touching you either. About asking for more. More of everything. More of this. More of you. You kiss her harder, like you’re trying to break her apart and rebuild her in your own image. Like you’re trying to brand her with your mouth.

“This is,” she breathes between the kisses, slurring against your chest, “so much different in person.”

“How so?” You ask, and follow her eyes southward.

Her cheeks flush, and she looks up at you through wet lashes. “Bigger.”

You laugh, feeling something unlock in your chest. It’s so absurd. Like all at once, your entire destiny's been flipped on its head.

Danielle’s fingers take hold of your cock, stroking you gently. Staring at it in wonder. She’s worshipping it. This goddess, and it’s your cock that’s her idol. She squeezes at the top of your head. The glee in her eyes when you groan.

“God, it’s—” Danielle voice cracks, and she gives the words their proper weight when she says, “Taken too long.”

You can barely think anymore. Not when her hand is winding up and down you in these long, smooth strokes. Like she's somehow been practicing, rehearsing for this exact occasion, studied upon every sensitive spot and how to hit it just right.

“Could’ve had this from the start,” Danielle tells you, and you’re throbbing so hard in her hands. “Could’ve had this any time you wanted,” she says again; like it’s fact, a simple truth of the universe.

And suddenly nothing really makes sense anymore. Whatever logic you had leading up to this point—why didn’t you just reach out and take her? All the times she was right in front of you, on your couch, in your bedroom, or in this very shower, with the door unlocked.

“Could’ve had me whenever you liked,” she whispers, pushing herself closer, her pert little nipples pointed against your chest. “I’ve been so wet and desperate and ready for your cock this whole time. All you had to do was take it.”

You’ve got nothing but an uncommitted, “Couldn’t.”

To that she laughs, presses her lips into your jaw and her grip’s tightening. There’s pre-cum beading from your tip and leaking onto her palm, you both see it clearly before it gets washed away. “I know. That’s why I tried my best to be patient.”

You need a reality check, make sure she’s at all aware of the damage she’s been wreaking. “You? Patient?”

“Oh, you think this only started a few weeks ago?” Danielle taunts, and it’s with an air of ridicule. Incredulous that you could be so naïve. “You have no idea.”

But the honest truth is—you do. You’ve been aware of it—aware of her—from the start. Her sister had probably been aware of it even longer.

Probably why you chose to bury your head in the sand.

But there’s no avoiding it now. This girl—woman. This dream. A picture of youth and beauty; a masterpiece painted by time and genetics, with a touch of that special something that makes you want to frame her and hang her up on every wall in your apartment—make everyone see her the way you do.

And even then, strip that all away, and it's just those lips—the grin, the smile, the pout—and the intention behind each expression that is your true undoing.

It’s the smirk this time when she makes her point, “I’ve had the biggest crush on you since—” And that does it. That does you in. “Forever.”

“Yeah,” you tell her, falling straight into confession. “I think I have too.” 

Danielle’s pace picks up, the rhythm building until it’s starting to drive you crazy. Making you lean into her, pushing into the warmth of her small hands. She’s back to kissing into your throat, your ear lobe, any part of your skin she can get her lips to when she whispers, mockingly, “Is this the part where you tell me—I want to fuck you—again?”

That’s an unfair callback.

Danielle quirks an eyebrow. Daring you to do something about it.

You push off her. Slip out of her grasp. Hand trapping her wrists above her head before she can grab you again. You're the one grinning now.

"No. This is the part where I spread you wide open. Pin you against this wall. Make you scream my name.”

Her eyes dilate, pupils blown wide. She licks her lips, “Spank me?”

“And pull your hair.”

“Then go ahead and do it.”

But you pause. Wait. Hold her wrists above her head and stare into her eyes. Give her the chance to put the magic words together herself. Your grip tightens.

Danielle’s smile widens. “Please, Daddy—”

She’s so fucking small, light, practically weightless in your hands. Easy enough to take her hips and lift and spin her around before she can even register that she’s moving. She catches herself on the tile when you set her down, bracing herself against the wall; palms flush, fingers splayed out. Legs naturally split just slightly.

All this build-up and you can’t help but rush.

She turns to look back at you. Needs to see you, needs you to see her, all of her. Giving up on all ideas of teasing, of whatever game took you to this point. Just need. Just burning desperation.

“Need it,” is everything she’s wanted to say, everything she’s tried to tell you over and over again. Everything that makes her vanilla thighs tremble, her knees all wobbly, her cunt drip onto your shower floor.

Your cock twitches, and there’s first contact, sweeping against her folds. Heat sticking to the tip and fuck, yeah, this is not going to be one of those slow, tender moments. You press into her, align yourself between her thighs. One hand at her hip, the other joining her palm against the wall because judging by the way she’s shivering, she just might slip away completely without it.

“Need it now, Daddy,” Danielle whines, so fucking cute and honest, and when you drag your cock so it’s kissing against her entrance, it turns into a demand of, “Inside—please, fuck, put that big cock inside my—”

A push of your hips, and she’s so fucking soaking wet that you slide right in.

Her moan.

You think she’s trying for ‘Daddy’ again, but it’s all fucked up and muddled. Lost in the clench of her muscles, the tension across her body, the way her face screws up and holds and makes all the noises that come out strained and whiny.

So fucking nice.

“God—fuck—finally—”

Fitting so perfectly around you; folding her body into yours. It’s partly the angle—her back arching into yours, her hips urging backwards so nicely, ass squishing against your waist. Her pussy. Hotter than hot, wetter than wet. A fucking vice, a perfect grip that makes you feel like this is where your cock was always supposed to be.

Buried deep inside Danielle’s hot, tight, fucking glorious body.

It’s all just so easy, everything about her, so easy to fuck. Not that she’s not tight—the feel is so fucking divine it’s enough to make your eyes roll back in your head—but because she moves with you, like you’re two parts of one machine, two bodies meant to be joined at the hip; or at the cock and the cunt.

She’s made for you. Tailored to each line and curve and angle of your length.

It takes several strokes—euphoric, mind-breaking, soul-shattering strokes—before Danielle gets some bearings on herself. Panting through it all, making some effort to tear off the bathroom tiles with just her nails, but she’s got enough breath to whisper over her shoulder, “Feels so good. I knew—knew it would be like this.”

A small hand leaves the wall, reaches behind her. Fingers dig into your thigh because she needs something else to hold onto. Something real.

“Knew I’d be perfect for you.”

You want to laugh, chalk it up to her doing her usual cocky little thing. But she’s got you too deep inside her, you’ve sunk all the way in so quickly your lungs are still in recovery trying to catch your breath. Got you so far up her cunt that it’s difficult to manage anything that isn’t a moan. So you just nod. Thrust harder. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“God this is exactly how I thought it’d go,” she keeps going, slowly finding her voice again. Each word like a spell, a curse. “I thought about it—what you’d be like—how you’d fuck me—”

“Danielle,” you grunt out, surprising yourself with how easily it comes out. Then again, it's always been on the tip of your tongue.

“I used to think it’d be nice and sweet—gentle—” she says, shakily, “But this—rough—fucking me like you own me—like you can’t get enough—it’s so much better than I ever imagined. So much better—”

Her words cut off into a gasp when you kiss into her throat. Her hand snakes back up to your neck, pulling you closer, nails scraping along your skin, leaving little white lines. The sting is nice. A welcome distraction from the fire burning through your veins.

Your lips drift higher, and she twists her body to draw you into this clumsy, uncoordinated kiss. Sloppy in construction, she’s kissing at the corners of your mouth, your tongue is dragging up to her cheek at one point. But it’s all communicated in the clash of lips and teeth and the way she’s panting into you, moaning down your throat, “So good, you’re so fucking good, Daddy—”

And then just—

“More,” and she’s at your mercy, and she just loves it, is so fucking earnest for her need for you to just keep going. “Harder, please, I need—”

But you already know. She needs to be fucked, handled rough and just nailed like she’s wanted you to for weeks. Months. Maybe a year at this point. She’s done watching from the sidelines while you were too stupid to realise that she was what you needed all along. Done being the outsider, the third party, watching you go by unappreciated, watching you not get what you needed.

Your name bounces off the shower walls and back into your ears. Impossibly loud; the sound hardly sweet or loving, but it’s pure music. Everything you’ve ever wanted to hear.

It’s joined by the wet smacks of skin on skin. The slick of her cunt around you. Her breaths hitching and catching every time you bottom out and rut your cock so deep in her bowels that it takes a herculean amount of effort to pull it back out again.

Her ass just bounces back against you. The perfect handful—slapping into your thighs with every push. And then, the idea thought of in tandem, two minds as one—“Didn’t you say you were going to—”

A smack ripples across Danielle’s ludicrously tight cheeks.

“Fuck!” She cries out, eyes start to moisten, but she just pushes her ass back. Ready for more.

So you give her another.

A snap; your palm against her. Making the flesh pink up, making it jiggle just right.

Her eyes squeeze shut, mouth opens. Forces out these adorable little sounds, mewls, whimpers.

And then another, and another, and her pussy tightens around you with every hit. You can hear her breath catch in her throat; and fuck she clenches even tighter down on your cock. It’s so dangerous for her because the way she’s reacting, practically thanking you with her moans and sighs and lovely tightening of her cunt around you—it’s making you so greedy.

Greedy to mark her up, to really draw a work of fucking art on her skin. Leave your handprints on something beautiful.

“Again,” she begs, and her voice is absolutely shot. Just raspy, desperate, needy. “Harder, please, Daddy. I’ve never, no one’s ever—"

You smack her again.

And again.

And again.

Leaving her cheeks red and stinging. Leaving her trembling. Just a boneless mess of beautiful sighs and blissful pleasure. You can see it, in the bumps rising on her skin, the way her toes are curling in ecstasy, her cunt gushing down your own thighs. There’s no hiding it. Without a doubt, this is what she’s always deserved.

It’s a hard thrust, a harsh smack, each following one after another in rapid succession. Fucking her apart, fucking her in two. Fucking her into oblivion.

Each spank, each perfect spasm of her abs, her cunt, it’s all a quiet mercy. Pain pushing her closer and closer to pleasure, balancing on that precipice where her pussy is strangling the fuck out of your cock so perfectly.

There’s only one word for someone who’s loving this kind of treatment, someone who’s this fucking filthy and vulgar and dying for more.

“Slut,” you bite into her ear, and the gasp that rises from her throat confirms it. The second word, “Cocksleeve," nearly shatters her completely.

You could never imagine someone like her, someone that could live in the torture if only because it brings out so much joy.

You know it, she knows it, but you still let her know, “You’re going to cum for me.”

And she whimpers and bucks against you because she sees it for what it is. A promise. And it’s all because she’s so fucking responsive, so eager for it, so fucking reactive. A pinwheel in a tornado, spinning and spinning until it’s just a blur of colour and motion and all you can do is watch in amazement.

“I will,” she promises back, and fuck you’re not far behind. “I'll cum for you. All over your beautiful fucking cock.”

It keeps you going, makes your strokes erratic, wild, just harsh, punishing thrusts into the depths of her cunt. And she keeps taking it, walls gripping around your cock with unreal pressure, like she’s trying to keep you there forever. Like she’s afraid you’ll pull out and leave her unsated.

But she’s wrong.

You let her know with your next spank. The hardest one yet.

“Fuck you’re—” and it’s your name, and curses, and filth, and begging and just “yes, yes, yes” again and again. Screaming it into your ear, crying it into your neck; she’s baring the deepest, darkest part of her soul.

Locked in place, cumming.

Unable to move, because her back’s to your chest, and she’s up against a wall so all she can really do is tremble and shiver and shake until she’s completely dissolved.

And it’s somewhere in all this that you come to terms with the fact that it’s not enough. You’ve crossed the line and you don’t even dream of settling. You’re going to make her cum again. And again. And again.

She’s spent all this time offering herself up to you, crafting herself into this toy for your amusement, a fuckdoll for you to play with; as if you were only going to take this one taste and let her go.

But you do give her a break, if only for a moment.

You massage her ass; soothe the sting with your fingertips. A little tenderness amidst the storm.

“Good girl,” you catch yourself kissing into her, and the words are like a password to some hidden part of her, something that makes her nearly collapse onto the shower floor.

Her cunt pulses, once, twice, milking you. Her muscles start to give out, and you need to wrap your hand around her body to keep upright. Fingers at her tits, squeezing, twisting her nipples because you’ve always wanted to and you know she loves it. Because she needs the sensation to keep her on her feet.

“Mine,” you grit out, and there’s no disagreement from Danielle. No, her eyes are too glassy, glazed over and not even looking at you anymore. Just feeling you, feeling what you’re doing to her.

There’s tears in her eyes too; it’s not just the water raining down overhead. She’s sobbing well and truly, because you’ve fucked her so thoroughly that it’s all she can do. It’s all her pretty eyes can show you to tell you just how fucking good it feels for her. So perfect. So much more than she ever hoped for.

Letting you see every bit of her. Every tear that falls down her face, every quiver in her legs. Every time she chokes out your name.

“Mine,” you repeat, kissing it into her shoulder.

Her response is a nod. She’s caught her breath. “Always have been.”

She’s just so soft, even as she’s still quivering. Legs somehow still holding her upright, even when the architecture's been threatening to crumble and collapse this entire time.

So you start to move again. Slower, gentler, almost apologetic.

Danielle ends all ideas of that very quickly. “Hey,” she kisses your cheek. Aiming for your lips, but misses entirely. You don’t mind much.

“Dani,” you groan, because God, even when you’re trying to take it slow, a little easy, it’s still so fucking agonising. So dangerous. Like you’re the first to ever get his hands on her. You’ve discovered fire, now you just can’t keep your hands off it.

“Don’t you dare go taking it easy on me now. Not after you just made me cum my fucking brains out,” is what Danielle rasps, “Remember, I’m yours.”

She kisses you again, gets your mouth this time, tongue pushes in. Convinces you with the sweetness of it that it’s far from over. Not until you’ve done exactly as you’ve promised to her—fucked her so hard, so deep, until she couldn’t move, until she’d feel empty without your cock inside her.

“Your slut,” she slides down you, until it’s only the tip of your cock that remains nestled at her entrance, “your cocksleeve,” her hips snap back, a rush of air exits your lungs and fuck, you’re in deep again, “and you still haven’t pulled my hair yet.”

Yeah.

Grab a fistful of chestnut silk, yank back, and she’s yours. Back to speed, fucking her open and raw, having this effect on her.

Seeing it blossom from her thighs, up her abs, her ribs, her tits, around her throat until it’s bubbling out of lips and the corner of her eyes. This girl is yours. This petite, perfect, fuckable body is yours to do as you wish—to use, to pleasure, to ruin.

You tell her to take it—she takes it. You tell her to beg for it—and she cries and pleas and makes it seem like the only thing that could settle her soul is your cock.

And when you command her to scream your name, and it's just so fucking soul-destroying—the loveliest noise from the filthiest tongue, and everything that comes with it. The ‘just like this’, the barely coherent ‘your slut, Daddy, I’m your slut’, and these encouraging quivers from her lips that take the shape of ‘give your good little girl all of your hot fucking cum and—”

“Fuck, this pussy is incredible,” you breathe into her, and your grip is tightening into a fist, tugging her back even further until she’s leaning into it, her back arched so beautifully like some mathematical wonder.

Head tipped back, throat bared, and she’s trapped. Trapped underneath your weight, trapped in your hands, trapped against the wall with nowhere to go but further down your cock.

It only seems right. After all she’s put you through; the mind games, the seduction, the fucking audacity. You’ll give it right back. Fuck her as hard as she’s been fucking with you. Roughness as penance, finding forgiveness in the soaked and messy and now red and swollen recesses of her cunt.

Fingers drift higher, two past her plump lips, into her mouth. She bites down. You don’t even care anymore. Pulling harder on her hair, fixing her body to yours, and God, even like this, wrapping her up in your body, having her as close to you as possible, being as deep as you are in her. It’s not enough.

She chokes on your digits, collapsing. “Fuck. Too good. Fuck!”

Getting wetter and wetter, messier and messier, thank God you’re already in the shower.

Telling you these things with every whimper, with every twitch of her body, every squeeze of her cunt around your cock. Find out, is what you’re getting. Find out how good she is at being a slut. Where her limits are—how much she can take. Find out how quickly she can make you cum.

“You want this, don’t you?” Danielle reads your mind. Had your number since the beginning, figured you out before you knew. “You don’t need someone nice. Someone sweet, someone good for you. You need someone who’ll—fuck—push you to the edge and then—and then—fucking kick you off. Someone who’ll let you do the same to her.”

Yeah, you’re fucked. Never had someone lay it out so bluntly. So perfectly.

“Daddy wants to cum so bad,” Danielle’s being whiny, slutty, drooling down your fingers, because there’s nothing else she can do. Just taunt and tease and be fucked senselessly. Helpless to take it—harder, deeper—faster, faster, faster. “Daddy needs to fill his slut’s cunt, doesn’t he?”

“I will,” you growl into her ear, and the quivers around your cock are nothing short of rapturous.

It’s all coming to a head—the shower’s a steamy mess around you; water’s cold now, but Danielle’s getting even hotter around you. Can’t stop moving; don’t you dare give her a moment to catch her breath. Not when she’s this close. Not when you’re this fucking close.

Her nails dig into your arms, you’re leaving bruises on her hips. You know it. You can feel them. She’s thanking you for them.

And then a glimpse, the light hits the glass walls of the shower just right and you’re seeing it. Danielle, grace and elegance in a package so tight and wet and perfect and it's all going to hell. Your hand in her hair, the water running over your fingers, splashing onto her back, hitting the gorgeous, sweet pink of her well-spanked ass.

You’re just fucking her. Like it’s all you can do. Like it’s all she’s good for.

Eyes fastened shut. Mouth—beautiful, kissable lips frozen into an even circle, letting out these wails. Danielle’s perfect. So flawless it hurts to look at her. And you’re ruining it all. Dumping a bucket of paint on a priceless work of art, watching the colours run down the canvas.

“God, just—“ Danielle tries, but it takes several attempts until she can piece together the words she really wants you to hear, loud and clear: “Just fuck your cum deep into me. Daddy, I’ve earned it, haven’t I?”

You’re not sure what noise you make as a reply. It’s very likely not something nice.

“Please, please, Daddy,” Danielle’s pouting, and there’s the brat again. The girl that gets what she wants with just the jutting of her lower lip and a voice so sweet it’s undoubtedly terrible for your blood-sugar levels. Just pleading for you to let her bring all your filthiest fantasies to life—fuck her deeper, fill her with all the cum you have, spank her, pull her hair, choke her, even. Letting you know there’s no limit to what she’ll do just to have her cunt spilling out your cum. “It’s what I need right now. It’s my reward for being such a good girl. That’s what good girls get, right? Their Daddy’s cum?”

Christ, this is going to become a problem.

You can never go back.

Not to anything less than fucking to incoherence; to cumming as gratitude. To using someone so pretty, so God-damn lovely, the embodiment of everything wholesome and good in the world; with all the angelic hopes and dreams and aspirations, and reducing it to a simple dumpster for your cum.

To destroying someone with just your cock, and being thanked for the privilege.

“Fuck you, Dani,” you spit at her, and you mean it. “You’re too fucking perfect. Too good of a slut, too needy of a cocksleeve. I’ll give you everything. Fill you with it. Every tight, needy hole, paint every inch of your body. Fuck you against every single surface in this apartment. Fuck.”

“Good,” and it’s fucked up how she blushes, only seeing the praise, the compliments in your words. Yeah, she’ll be all those things, and then some. She’ll be every pornographic fantasy you can think of and then show you even more you could never imagine. She’ll make sure to drain you dry and then drill deep inside you to get out every last drop. “All of those things. Do all of those things. But now—just—cum!”

Your hips meet, you nearly fuck her off her feet.

She cums, or you do, or you both do, it all gets lost in this noise. A wave of sound that could wake the fucking dead—you’re not sure who jumps first, no point in trying to figure it out. Just a blur of sensation and release, crashing through your veins and you’re going to tear her in half, or she’s going to swallow you whole; it’s two and one and fuck.

You try to hold on—her hands around your neck and then your thigh, yours straight to her tits; more of her, you need more of her.

But your knees are buckling. Your breaths are haggard. You’re pushing her into the wall, her cheek is squished against the tile and she’s slurring things that get lost in the water like God, fuck, this is so perfect and if you were paying more attention you might catch it when she says it’s all I’ve ever wanted.

You do hear your name.

“Thank you, thank you, it’s so fucking good, just fucking thank you—”

She’s on her tiptoes when you feel the rush down her thighs, when her cunt makes its final effort around your cock, and it’s all coming out in whispers and prayers and unholy verbal contracts to never let this end.

Her body jerks, hips slamming back into you, and the wall's cold on her face, but it's the heat from your chest that’s all she needs to soothe her shivering; her chattering teeth repeating, "Fill me, fill me, fill me, Daddy!"

Fuck, you’ve lost count how many times now, but you’re spurting inside her. Unbearable pressure, blissful release. You can’t see the end of it, but you don’t want to escape—only sink into the feeling of her cunt around your cock, the gasps of her breath in your ear, the pleas and overtures for you to keep going. And you do, because this is now your heaven, and you’re feeling more religious by the second.

Shot after shot into her, feeling it fill her up, pool inside her pussy. She tells you it’s not enough, her cunt tries to milk every single drop out. You’re okay with that. You’ll give her everything you’ve got. Just to see her stumble out of this bathroom with your cum leaking out of her. Witness her waddling down the hall, globs of it dripping down her thighs. That’s the power play right there.

And somewhere in all this obscene debauchery, she says, “I love this,” and there’s a kiss that follows.

Suddenly tender; still sloppy, and yet—gentle. Softer than any of the bruises you’ve left on her skin.

Danielle’s still holding onto your neck, your fingers are glued to her tits, but for the first time you give her the space to breathe.

Her body relaxes, the fight leaves her legs and she’s just a ragdoll in your arms. And you hold her. Just hold her there, still inside her, cum leaking out of her and running down her thighs, mixing with the shower water and going down the drain.

And you’re unwilling to let her go, you might never, because maybe if you pull out, she’ll vanish. Maybe you’re dreaming. Maybe it’s all some sick, twisted, fucked up fantasy spurred by every thought she’s filled your head with over the past month.

But when you blink your eyes, she’s still there. Real and present and just as fucked up as you are. And she’s smiling.

You lean into her, catching your breath. Danielle’s panting too, happy to let you carry her weight, and so content. Back to being so smug. Another round of fucking might fix that.

“Told you we’d be perfect together.”

“You told me a lot of things.”

Danielle's lips meet the back of your hand. Your wrist, up your forearm. Says, “I also told you that I’d have you screaming my name so loud you wouldn’t be able to speak.”

"I said that."

"And yet here I am, voice still intact."

You roll your eyes, take a slow, careful step back. Your cock slips out, accompanied by a groan and a splash of cum hitting the floor between your feet. Danielle’s laughing, still shivering in your arms, body still quaking with aftershocks. You kiss her back, her neck, her shoulder, her ear.

Anything to keep her here.

Finally, the taps are turned off, and Danielle shifts in your arms. Cheeks flushed, eyes half-open, but undoubtedly—satisfied.

You manage a weak chuckle. “What now?”

Danielle takes you by the chin, plants a kiss on your lips and yeah, this feels right, this feels like providence, and this is going to last until the universe says otherwise, and even then. “Now?” She says, and another kiss, on your chin, on your cheek, down your chest and lower and lower and, “Now, I go back to your room, and you come with me, and we do this all over until we pass out.”

—

Again, there’s the kiss.

Only you’re both on your bed, and it’s peppered down the underside of your cock. Then her tongue's dragging along your shaft, staining it in her glossy saliva. Slow and languid. More occupied with enjoying her new favourite toy than your pleasure. It’s the simple things, you guess.

And as she’s doing it, she’s talking. Planning out the rest of your day, your lives, you realise, and you’re just nodding along like you’re listening, but all you’re hearing is the wet smack of her lips around your cock, her tongue lolling and swiping around the head.

You look down at her, and she’s smiling, so goddamn happy, your heart fucking splits in half.

She’s curled up against your thigh, and she kisses into your cock, "God, I could never get tired of this."

"Really?"

Danielle pulls away, a sad pout on her lips, and you realise you may have offended her. Repeats, with emphasis, "Your slut."

And it's funny how easily that assuages you. You probably should be worried. Maybe deal with the very likely outcome that this will not end well—reality tends to have complications that the simplicity of just lying in bed with an impossibly beautiful woman cannot anticipate.

Yet, it's okay to just believe for a second that things will be alright. It's okay to lean back into the pillows and let her have her way. Let her suck you until you're seeing stars, and then climb on top of you again and fuck you until you've forgotten how to function and you can't even see past your nose, let alone whatever comes the morning after.

"Of course, I'll remember that."

"And here I am doing my best to make you never forget, Daddy."

Only, one final, stupid, silly little question—"I never asked, how did you know the code to my apartment?"

Danielle laughs, letting your cock pop out from her lips, stifling her giggles against your thigh. "My sister's birthday. Got it first try."

"Ah," you answer, and then, "Fuck. Probably should get that changed."

"Definitely should get it changed," she answers, then tacking on, "Especially if I'm going to be spending more time here."

"Even more than you already are?"

Danielle just grabs her hair in her fist, loops it around and tightens it into a makeshift ponytail. Lifts her chin and looks up at you. Defiant. "Where else would I go?"

And for now, it'll have to be enough, because really, all you can think of, as she sinks her lips back down onto your cock, takes you deep into her throat, and her eyes start to water and you're already throbbing and ready to release, is that she's claimed total victory over you, and for that alone you'll let her have it all.

To the winner, goes the spoils.

Everything she wants, everything she needs.

With a gasp, Danielle lifts her head up; pre-cum, saliva, drool falling off her lips and grins so fucking adorably that you're already thinking of rushing towards words that she’ll never let you take back.

She reads it on your face, sees it take shape on your lips and stops you. Her hand reaches up to cover your mouth, her eyes wide and gleaming.

“At least let a girl earn it first.”

And so you let it rest, because right now you’re exactly where you should be—in your bed, nearly reduced to a puddle of basic needs, with Danielle in your sweatshirt with all her otherworldly beauty and loveliness straddled right on top of you.

Her mouth full of you, your heart full of her.

“Then don’t ever stop,” you tell her, knowing full well that she never had any dreams of slowing down. Your thumb pads her cheek. She leans into your touch. “Keep going, just like this.”

[smutoperator]

Erotic Ballet

Nakamura Kazuha x Male Reader

Tags: acrobatic positions, anal, ankles over her head, ballerina, facefucking, facial, gape, (lots of) floor sex, instructor/professor, leg lifting, leg stretching, mirror sex, nude dancing, pile driver, practice room, prone bone, (lots of) splits

Word count: 5041

You have just arrived at the Source Music installations for your job as the new designated ballet instructor for one of the Le Sserafim members. As you approach the practice room, two girls greet you and show you the way. "Zuha is inside already," Chaewon says. "I think you two will have a blast, she's got amazing ballet skills," Yunjin tells you. "We'll do some shopping and come back later," they tell you.

Indeed, as you open the door, a gorgeous yet super athletic girl is right there waiting for you.

"You must be our ballet instructor. It's nice to meet you," Kazuha tells you. "It's a pleasure as well," you answer. As you look at her beautiful body, you feel like pictures don't do justice to her. From her princess face to her muscular long legs, everything about her looks amazing.

"Let's start dancing," you command to Kazuha. The beautiful Japanese girl follows, putting a classical ballet song on the speakers, and you quickly get impressed by the way she moves. She's very graceful yet extremely strong, landing her moves to perfection as she works her long legs, opening them in very wide angles and performing hard landings with extreme ease.

"Wow, I knew you were a ballerina before, but you haven't lost a step despite no longer doing ballet regularly, I should have known that already, from seeing your practices I could tell your transition to hip-hop dancing was very smooth," you tell her. "Thanks, professor, I always want to stay sharp at all the dances I learn, glad you liked it," Kazuha answered.

The more Kazuha kept dancing, the more you became enamored with her. Watching her get all sweaty, those long, toned legs working out, her beautiful face, her sexy butt, everything about her was perfect, she truly felt like a real-life doll, and you were finally ready to make some moves.

"Let's take a little break," you told Kazuha, giving her butt a little tap just as she had started doing her signature move of lifting her legs over her head. "Sure, professor, did I look good in my ballet performance?" she asked. "Definitely, but we still have to make some adjustments," you told her.

"What kind of adjustments, professor? I can do this right now" Kazuha asks you as she finishes drinking some water. "I think we should explore the full fluidity of your body, let you dance gracefully with no clothes on, have you ever tried that?" you ask her.

"P-professor, do you want me to dance completely naked? Isn't that inappropriate?" Kazuha asks you. "Most instructors would say so, but my method works, it makes ballerinas lose their inhibition and get less afraid to make their moves on stage," you tell her. "I know you've got great stage presence already, Zuha, but after this, you'll never be the same," you continue. "If you can dance in front of me without any clothes on, you can deal with any audience," you finish.

"Sure, professor," Kazuha says, taking her clothes off as she starts dancing naked, showcasing her body in full display. Your eyes go straight into her fit abs, as this is the first time you've seen them in person, you are still baffled that such a pretty face like hers got an even hotter lower body.

As you predicted, Kazuha starts her nude dancing performance much more restrained. "Lose your inhibition, forget about me, stay concentrated, and perform as if you're the only person in this room," you tell Kazuha. She tries to do as you ask, but at the same time, she's also starting to get turned on by looking at you as she dances.

Just as you told her, Kazuha finally loses her inhibition, but instead of performing to herself, she starts teasing you, pulling out some erotic moves out of her bag, starting by performing a full split on the floor while she grinds her pussy on it, coating it with a mix of sweat and her juices. She then opens and closes her legs, spreading her cheeks in your direction to gape her little pink asshole for you, finally ending the performance with her signature leg lifting with one of her fingers pointing right at her pussy.

"Professor, can we dance together?" Kazuha asks you. "Sure, let's dance, Zuha," you tell her, pouring some oil into her naked butt and rubbing it before giving her ass a little spanking. "You're gonna shine a lot with me," you tell her.

Kazuha starts softly moaning as she fully embraces her horny ballerina character. "Shall we start with some floor exercises, professor?" she asks you, pushing your body in the direction of the practice room's wooden floor, promptly teasing you with her big butt to a point you can't resist, diving between her cheeks as you start licking her folds.

"Slow down, professor, looks like you're losing your inhibition," Kazuha says as she starts feeling your tongue in her pink holes. "Get on the floor and please me for being an A+ student," she continues, as Kazuha starts spreading her legs until she does a full split, sitting right in your face with her beautiful big ass.

"Ahhhh, ahhhh, fuck, professor, your tongue is so good in her pussy," Kazuha says as you waste no time eating her out. Drops of her sweat fall all over her body and soon her juices also start coating your mouth. "AHHHHH, AHHHHH, AHHHHHH, AHHHHHH," Kazuha moans louder and louder, taking advantage of being in a soundproof room while starting grinding her folds on your face.

You eat Kazuha's pussy with such intensity she ends up closing her legs a bit to deal with the heat. "I want them fully open at all times, show me you're one of the best," you tell her, Kazuha promptly obliging and getting herself back into a full split position, your tonguing in her cunt more intense than ever.

Kazuha looks down, watching your tongue emerge even with your face buried under her big ass, licking her pussy right between her clit and her trimmed bush. She keeps grinding, closing her eyes, and moaning as you tongue her meaty clit that pops out of her cunt. "AHHHH, AHHHH, AHHHHH, AHHHHH," Kazuha keeps moaning.

"That's right," Kazuha says as you reach to grope her little tits while eating her out. "AHHHHH," she feels a big contraction in her abs as you increase the speed of your tonguing, making her close her legs once again, grabbing her slim waist and then unzipping your pants just enough to start jerking your cock off.

Kazuha quickly gets impressed with the size of that throbbing cock, itching more and more to have a taste of it, moaning loud as you pull it back in your pants to touch her tits. "I want to suck your cock, professor, put it back out," she tells you.

"Such a hungry girl," you tell Kazuha, grinding her naked body against your clothed cock while you finger her pussy. "AHHHHH, AHHHH, AHHHHH," she moans loudly as you massage her clit before putting her legs down and worshipping her body. Kazuha then gets on the floor, opening her legs in a full split as she starts sucking your cock. "Ohhhh yeah," you tell her. "I knew you had a big cock," she tells you, popping it in and out of her mouth.

Kazuha spits hard and bobs her head at full speed in your big cock. "Stick your toungue out," you tell her, slapping your cock in Kazuha's mouth before she licks your balls while jerking them off. "Fuckkk," you groan, grabbing her hair as you push it deep into her throat while she grinds her pussy against the wooden floor.

You test Kazuha, pounding her face and then choking and spitting on her a little bit, before going back to the facefucking session. Much to your surprise, she takes it like a champion, even moving her head by herself. "Damn, looks like someone already taught you a lot about that," you tell her. "Yes, my unnies told me all I needed to suck that cock," Kazuha answers, pushing it harder in her mouth.

The faceufucking continues as you try your best to make Kazuha gag on your cock, but she's no slouch, slapping your thick cock all over her pretty face and bobbing her head hard, then stroking your cock fast, enjoying your tip pop in and out of your foreskin. "I love this big fucking cock," she tells you, slapping it again.

Kazuha is so sweaty and her mouth gets your cock so wet so quickly that you can no longer resist the urge of fucking her. "You want this cock in your pussy, don't you?", you say to her. "Look in the mirror, you're so beautiful," you tell her, pushing Kazuha in its direction, pinning her against the ballet barre, grinding your cock against her big ass while she moans.

You take your shirt off as Kazuha spreads her right leg in the barre. "OHHHHHH, OHHHHHH," she moans as you reach to finger her pussy as she squirts on the floor. "I always dreamed of getting fucked like that, professor," she tells you. "Then let's fulfill those dreams," you tell her, lowering your pants just enough to push your big cock up her tight pussy.

"AHHHHHH, AHHHHHHH, AHHHHHH," Kazuha promptly starts moaning loudly as your cock stretches her pink pussy. You don't ease up, pumping her pussy hard from the get-go as her tight walls clenching over your cock drive you crazy. "Show me you're the sexiest ballerina ever," you tell her as your right hand grabs her ass.

"FUCKKKKK, FUCKKKK, FUCKKKK, FUCKKKK," Kazuha curses as her pussy gets pounded nonstop, holding as hard as she can to the barre as your thrusts get faster each time. "YEAH, YEAH, YEAH," she screams as your balls start clapping hard against her throbbing clit, you grabbing her waist as her body bounces.

"OH SHIT, AHHHHH," Kazuha screams again as you surprise her by hitting her big ass. Your pants get lower and lower as you pound her pussy, you now choking her neck and letting out animalesque groans while fucking the Japanese ballerina. "What a delicious pussy you've got to your professor," you tell Kazuha. "Glad you liked it," she answers.

You start massaging Kazuha's butthole as you keep taking her pussy. "AHHHH YESS, PROFESSOR, WORK YOUR MAGIC IN MY ASSHOLE, YEAH, YEAH YEAH" she begs as you drill her pussy hard. You tell Kazuha to look in the mirror as you choke her hard. "Look at how slutty you are with your professor's cock deep in your tight pussy," you tell her.

Kazuha clings hard to the barre as you push her further apart from it while drilling her pussy at full speed. "AHHHH, AHHHH, AHHHH," she keeps screaming as your thrusts get more and more animalesque and your hips clap against her plump asscheeks. "OH MY GOD YOU FUCK ME SO GOOD, PROFESSOR," she screams.

"Get on the floor," you tell Kazuha as you finish the first pounding session. The Japanese beauty quickly obliges, positioning herself in a crab position facing the floor while you take your clothes completely off. "Oh that's perfect," you tell her, getting on your knees and shoving your cock straight into her mouth,

You massage Kazuha's tits and kiss her beautiful abs as she bobs her head on your shaft, then slowly reaches to finger her pussy to put more pressure on her. Zuha resists, moving up and down your cock like a champion. You start fucking her face hard, slapping and sucking her tits as you use her mouth like a fleshlight. "Oh fuck," you groan as Kazuha's lips wrap all over your throbbing shaft.

Kazuha shows massive strength, barely budging as you pound her face and finger her cunt. "You like that professor's big cock, you fucking slut?" you ask her, Kazuha not answering cause her mouth is full of your cock.

After you're done, you lift Kazuha up and stick your cock back in her pussy, carrying her back into the ballet barre. "AHHHHH," she moans as you stay with your cock inside her at all moments, her legs fully spread as your thrusts push her hard against the barre. "YES, YES, YES, YES" she screams, the barre creaking as her big ass grinds against it, Kazuha clinging to the room's walls between the mirrors just not to fall.

"FUCK ME HARDER, PROFESSOR, PLEASE," Kazuha begs as you mercilessly destroy her cunt. "If you say so," you tell Kazuha, grabbing her tall body and lifting her in the air, pounding her pussy hard as you carry-fuck her and your balls clap hard against her cheeks. "AHHHH, AHHHH, AHHHH, AHHHHH, YEAHH, YEAHH, YEAH, AHHHH, AHHHH, AHHHH," Kazuha can't stop screaming as she gets drilled hard. "Such a sexy ballerina," you tell her.

You put Kazuha back on the ground but she quickly flips herself upside down. "Hold my legs and grab my ass, professor," she tells you, planting her palms on the floor while spreading her legs, putting her recently pounded pussy right in your mouth. "Eat it, professor," she tells you, as you massage her butt and lick her clit.

"So good, my pussy is so amazing, isn't it, professor?" Kazuha asks as you savor it to the fullest. She pushes her head closer to your cock, stretching hard to perform an extremely acrobatic 69 as she bobs her head on your cock. "I want more of that fucking cock inside me," she says.

"Watch this, professor," Kazuha says as she gets back up and lifts her left leg over her. "Is this your favorite position?" you ask her. "Yes, professor, put it back in my pussy," she tells you as you guide your cock back inside her. "Oh yes, so good, so deep in my tight little pussy," Kazuha says as you grab her leg and fuck her, making sure she doesn't lose her balance, but she once again proves to be strong.

"OH FUCK, OH FUCK, OH FUCK, AHHH," Kazuha screams as you attack her pussy harder, grabbing her bouncy little tits as well. "YES, YES, YES," she continues to scream, stretching her body as much as you stretch her cunt, you now choking her neck as she stands. "FUCK ME, PROFESSOR, JUST LIKE THAT, YOU'RE MAKING MY PUSSY SO FUCKING WET, DON'T FUCKING STOP, RIGHT THERE, RIGHT THERE, YESSSS" she continues to scream as she gets drilled in just one leg.

"That's incredible, you fuck me so good, professor," Kazuha says as she tries to finger her pussy, but you fuck her so hard she has to preoccupy herself more not to fall down.

You drop Zuha back to the ground, her quickly getting her knees to suck your cock. "Professor, you got such a great cock, wanna see me doing the splits on it?" Kazuha asks. "Of course," you promptly answer, dropping to the floor. as Kazuha slowly descends her pussy down your cock and starts splitting her legs more and more the deeper your cock gets inside her.

You spank Kazuha's plump butt, giving her the signal she needs to start bouncing on your cock. "Oh fuck," she moans as your cock impales her pussy. But Zuha shows her strength once again, quickly increasing the pace of her ride and giving you a perfect view of her big butt as she moves up and down that thick cock.

"OH FUCK, THAT'S SO DEEP IN ME, YOUR DICK IS SO FUCKING GODO," Kazuha moans as she keeps squatting on your cock with her legs performing a full split. Of all ballerinas you have fucked before, she seems to easily be the one that uses her flexibility the most to her advantage, as she keeps smashing your cock with seismic bounces that produce an earthquake every time her big butt hits your crotch.

"FUCK ME, FUCK ME, FUCK YEAH," Kazuha keeps moaning, making good work of your cock. You can no longer resist the urge, pumping your cock up her pussy and grabbing her ass as you pound her hard. "DON'T STOP, DON'T STOP, DON'T STOP, FUCKKK," Kazuha screams, matching your thrusts with even faster bounces, her cheeks making loud sounds multiple times each second.

"I want to fuck that ass," you tell Kazuha. "Of course you do, professor, no one can resist a big fat ass like mine," she answers, flaunting her backside assets while she bounces them hard on your cock.

Kazuha gets on all fours on the floor as you start eating her asshole and preparing it for your big cock. She spreads her ass, letting your tongue deeper into her pink anus. You kiss and spank her big butt, diving your cheeks between as she shakes her ass. "You really like my big butt, professor," she tells you.

"Yes, I do. But I'm not gonna fuck it in a conventional way, show me you can be an elite anal acrobat," you tell her. "I'll do what you want me to do, professor," Kazuha answers you.

You put Kazuha's right leg up and insert your cock in her tiny pink asshole. "OH YEAH, HOLY SHIT," Kazuha screams as she tries to hold herself with both hands to the floor, her asshole getting slowly stretched out by your big cock. "OH YEAH, YOU FEEL SO GOOD IN MY ASS, PROFESSOR, FUCK ME, FUCK ME, FUCK ME," Kazuha moans.

You spank Kazuha's butt hard as you clap her cheeks louder and louder. "OH I LOVE THIS BIG COCK IN MY TINY LITTLE ASS," Kazuha screams. "FUCK, YOU STRETCH ME SO GODO, PROFESSOR, YOU'RE GONNA MAKE ME CUM, AHHHHH," Kazuha screams, her asshole getting relentlessly drilled, her legs in a 180-degree position, her butt getting spanked nonstop. "YES, YES, YES, STRETCH THAT FUCKING ASS," she begs.

Kazuha's tight asshole gets destroyed, her having to cling to any support on the floor to cope with the hard drilling you give deep in her butt. "OH MY GOD, YES, FUCK ME," she begs as you put her right leg back on the ground, taking advantage of her weakness and pounding her with her face down and ass up. "Suck this cock, come taste your sweaty ballerina ass," you tell her as you finish the first session, fucking her face hard as Kazuha gags all over your asshole-flavored cock.

"You want more, you slutty ballerina?" you ask Kazuha. "Yes, please, professor," she answers. You promptly give what she wants, mounting on top of Kazuha as you go back to pounding her butt. "Face down, ass up," you tell her. "FUCKKKKK," she screams as your cock finds her anal entrance once again.

"SHITTT, IT'S SO BIG IN MY ASS, FUCKKK," Kazuhs screams as you stretch her asshole wide open, her struggling with the hard pounding you give her, opening a massive gape in her butthole as her face is completely on the floor, Kazua losing her breath as you cover her mouth while on top of her. "I still have a lot of work to do in that ass," you tell her amidst more and more screams from Kazuha.

Another round of Kazuha getting your cock wet with her saliva is enough for you as you quickly insert it back in her but. "Put that head down and throw that butt in that cock," you tell her, spanking Kazuha's ass one more time as she moves up and down your cock while staying on all fours. "Good girl," you tell her, before grabbing her butt and taking control of her hot muscular body. "FUCK, YOU'RE SO BIG, PROFESSOR," she says in between more and more spanking.

"FUCK MY ASS, FUCK MY ASS, PLEASE," she keeps begging, getting exactly what she wants you pick up the speed and attack Kazuha's asshole hard, her screaming and moaning against the floor. You can't resist the urge and put your feet on her head, showing Kazuha you own her as you stomp on her face while relentlessly fucking her ass.

"Whose instructions are you going to follow, you big butt slut?" you ask Kazuha. "ONLY YOURS, PROFESSOR, YOU OWN ME, I'M YOUR BIG BUTT SLUTTY BALLERINA," she moans.

"Then show me," you tell Kazuha, putting her upside down once again and spreading her legs at a 180-degree angle. Her once tiny asshole now looks massively gaped. as you insert your cock with ease. "Can you take it on a pile driver position with your legs wide open, Zuha?" you ask her. "Yes, professor," she answers.

"OH MY GOD, YESSS," Kazuha screams as the looks from the floor at your cock stretching her butthole. "FUCK ME, FUCK ME, YES FUCK ME," she begs as you show no mercy for her, pounding her ass balls deep while fingering her clit. "PROFESSOR, YOU'RE GONNA MAKE ME FUCKING CUM," she announces as you choke her and spank her beautiful porcelain face. Kazuha is getting number and number, her asshole getting more and more sore. "YES FUCK ME, FUCK ME HARDER" she begs, you getting more and more committed to making her unable to walk after this erotic ballet session.

"Let's do some more floor exercise," you tell Kazuha, dropping both your doeies to the floor as you dive to eat her pussy while the pushes her right leg up. After a little pussy-worshipping, you slide your cock back into her ass in a spooning position. "OH YEAH, OH, OH," Kazuha moans, increasingly losing her breath and struggling with her sore asshole.

You grab Kazuha's waist and pound her, groping her tits from behind while she tries to cope with the heat of your cock by fingering her pussy. "OHHHH, OHHHH, OHHHH, YESSS, YESS, YESSS," she moans. After a slow start, you quickly go back to clap her cheeks hard, making her close her eyes as your cock uses her asshole to the fullest. "HMMMM, YEAH, YEAH, YEAH," Zuha moans loudly.

"YOU FUCK MY ASS SO HARD, DAMN," Kazuha screams as your anal drilling seems to have no time to end, moving your body in and out of her asshole and reaching now to finger her clit. "AHHHH, AHHHH, YES, TOUCH ME RIGHT THERE, MAKE ME CUM," Kazuha begs. "You like that, you slutty ballerina?" you ask her. "YES, YES, YES," Kazuha screams.

"HOLY SHIT, YOU'VE GOT SUCH A BIG DICK," Kazuha screams as you wrap your arms around her, never stopping to pound her gaped asshole. You kiss her and choke her as you hammer her ass faster than ever. "FUCK ME, FUCK ME, FUCK ME, AHHHHH," she continues to scream.

"Wanna do the splits on that cock one more time?" you ask Kazuha. "Yes, please," she answers. Without ever pulling out of her ass, you stay on the floor, pushing Kazuha's body on top of yours. "Sit that ass on my big fat cock," you command to her.

Kazuha promptly obliges. She starts slow, only taking the tip up her butt, before slowly adjusting to your massive length, doing a full split on your dick while you massage her butt. "That's what I want, all the way in," you tell her as Kazuha rides your cock with your hands all over her ass. "You look so hot with that big cock up your booty," you tell her. "Thanks, pro…FUCK," she answers before letting out another scream.

You spank Kazuha's butt harder than ever and at a faster pace than ever, taking advantage of her ass in prime position and just within reach of your large hands. "Bounce faster," you tell her. "OH YEAHHHH," she moans, trying to follow your instructions, her big ass making loud noises against your hips.

But you aren't completely satisfied. "If you don't bounce it harder I'm gonna pound that ass myself," you tell her, thrusting your cock up Kazuha's butt. "AHHHH, FUCK, YES, YES, YES," she moans as you drill her ass hard from down low. "AHHH, AHHHH, AHHHH, AHHHH," Kazuha continues to scream, you showing no signs of slowing down, using all the strength in your body to pound her butthole.

Kazuha soon tries to respond, moving her hips faster against your cock. "Yes, baby, good girl, that's what I want," you tell her as Kazuha grinds fast on your cock, smiling as she moves her legs just enough to meet your thrusts. "PROFESSOR YOU FUCK ME SO GOOD, YOU MAKE ME SO WET."

You let Kazuha grind her ass a bit on your cock, before giving her the next command. "Keep those legs spread, I'm gonna push that sexy body right to the floor," you tell her.

"I want more, professor, I want your dick stretching my asshole hard and deep," Kazuha begs as you put your cock back in her butt in a prone bone position with her legs fully spread. "My pussy is so wet, I'm covering the floor with all my juices," she says. "Gape my asshole, I want you to stretch it hard, FUCKKKK," Kazuha keeps begging.

You enjoy the gape in Kazuha's butthole, fucking her very slowly, before finally topping her again, pushing your cock deeper in her ass. "RIGHT THERE, AHHHH," she screams, you picking up the speed. "I'M FUCKING CUMMING, AHHHH, SO GOOD" Kazuha screams as you go faster and faster up her butt, losing her breath so hard that her asshole starts winking to the rhythm of her panting.

"YOUR COCK IS SO FUCKING DEEP, I CAN FEEL IT INSIDE MY STOMACH," Kazuha screams as she gets drilled nonstop. "RIGHT THERE, RIGHT THERE, FUCKKK, DON'T STOP," she continues to beg. "I LOVE HOW YOU FUCK MY ASSHOLE NICE AND DEEP," she says.

"Shake your ass for me," you tell Kazuha, giving her a little time to breathe before you start hitting her butt once again. "Spank me, 'cause I'm a bad girl, I'm the sluttiest ballerina you've ever instructed, professor," she says, enjoying you turning her big ass cheeks red before going back inside her ass.

"OH MY GOD STRETCH MY ASSHOLE LIKE THAT, SO GOOD, SO FUCKING GOOD, AHHHHH" she moans, squirting all over the floor. "Bounce, bounce," you tell Kazuha as she squeezes your cock between her ass cheeks, moving them sideways while you destroy her asshole. "FUCK YOU'RE COCK IS WRECKING MY ASSHOLE SO HARD, THAT'S SO GOOD, MAKE ME CUM AHHHHH," Kazuha screams as more of her juices coat the floor.

"Let's end this right where we started it," you say to Kazuha once you finish it, pushing her back in the direction of the ballet barres. Just like the first time, Kazuha puts her right leg in the barre. You tease her a bit fingering her pussy, but this time you take her in the ass.

You pound Kazuha as she faces the mirror, taking your final turn in her asshole while you choke her hard. "AHHHHH, AHHHHHH, AHHHHH, OH YEAH," she screams, her ashole barely able to handle more thrusts after 40 minutes of fucking. You slide her legs between the barres, grabbing her waists and fucking her while she sits on the bottom barre. "OHHH FUCK, FUCK, FUCK," she keeps moaning.

You take Kazuha off the barre and tie her arms behind her back. "Look in the mirror, you should be ashamed for being such a slut," you tell her. "YES PROFESSOR, BY I'M YOUR SLUT, I'M A BALLERINA WHO LOVES TO DANCE ON THAT BIG FAT COCK," Kazuha screams as you pound her asshole, before muffling her moans against the ballet barre by putting her mouth on it.

"I wanna hear you screaming, Zuha," you tell her, pushing her body in your direction and giving her a rough pounding on a standing doggy. "AHHHH, AHHHH, AHHHH, AHHHH," Kazuha indeed screams, now you can see her naked body in full display in the mirror. Her beautiful doll face, her perky little tits, her insane abs, her pink pussy, and her insanely long legs, all that while you use her beautiful ass like a pillow to absorb your hard thrusts into her backdoor.

"You like that dick up inside that tight asshole?" you ask her one more time, you two fully visible in the mirror now. "YES, I LOVE IT, I WANT YOUR COCK FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE," Kazuha begs. "Who owns this slutty ballerina body?" you ask her. "YOU DO, PROFESSOR, YOU FUCKING OWN ME," she answers.

"I'm gonna cum all over your fucking slutty face," you tell Kazuha. "Give me your fucking cum, please, cum in my face," Kazuha begs. You soon pull out of her ass and start stroking your cock, as Kazuha gets on her knees in anticipation of your load. And what she gets is even better than expected, as you hit her with two huge bullseye cumshots and a pair of smaller loads, covering her face with your sperm over 10 times, her licking your cock and thanking you for the erotic ballet training session.

But just as Kazuha is slapping the still throbbing tip of your cock on her tongue, the door of the practice room opens.

"Zuha we're back… OH MY GOD," Chaewon says, dropping her shopping bags to the floor as she sees Kazuha on her knees sucking your cock with her face completely drenched with cum.

"Looks like they had a lot of fun while we were away," Yunjin says. Chaewon moves in your direction, touching your cock and grabbing a little bit of your cum with her fingers, before putting it in her mouth "Delicious, I can see Zuha must have had a lot of fun," she says, noticing the big gape in her groupmate's asshole.

"How about we have some fun too?" Yunjin asks.

"Sure, bring the plugs on," Chaewon says. Kazuha can only watch, her ass still sore from so much pounding, but always shocked at how her unnies can instantly flip a switch and go full slutty in a second.

Chaewon and Yunjin get close to the ballet barres and pull their pants down, showing her beautiful big bare asses right in your face. Yunjin grabs a pair of buttplugs, inserting one in each of their assholes, before Chaewon asks you a question.

"Can you teach some ballet for us too?"

[lustspren]

IMPURITIES EP. 1 | N.Y. State of Mind

Male reader x Yunjin, Chaewon

First chapter of this LSF mini-series.

word count: 8.3k 

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When HYBE made you sign that contract over two years ago, you had no idea that you were going to be managing five wild, unruly girls. If you had known, maybe your signature wouldn't have been on that piece of paper, but at that point in your life, you needed the job; it was either that or starve. Besides, as a frequent K-Pop fan, it really was your dream job, so there weren't many issues with it; it was perfect.

But you never imagined that at your age, you would feel so close to going gray because of the behavior of those girls.

Maybe you were exaggerating and being a little grumpy. After all, they were girls around your age, so you could easily put yourself in their shoes and understand what was going through their heads. However, with all that, there were things that you would never be able to understand in your life simply because you weren't a woman. It might sound sexist, but it was the only explanation you could find.

At first they were little angels, as always happened in such cases; you were a stranger to them, and of course they weren't going to behave like unruly teenagers from day one. But as the days went by—yes, days, not even months—, the ones who seemed to be well-behaved and obedient girls turned out to be a pain in the ass 70% of the time.

To be honest, you couldn't say you didn't love them all. They were unbearable most of the time, but they were also endearing, and you could say you considered them good friends. What other choice did you have? You couldn't be at odds with the girls you would spend seven years of your life with, so there had to be a joint effort on both sides to not make discord the status quo. The results were positive, and even though they continued to do their misdeeds, you had learned to tolerate them for your mental health.

Two years later you were practically a family, having gone through both ups and downs. The emotional journey had been intense and rough, both for you and them. The things you had to deal with were rubbish: tight schedules, physical and mental overload, and most often, tons of hate on social media from out-of-work mentally retarded people. But like the family you had become, you faced each adversity with a firm grip.

And now you were facing the most stressful thing an artist could go through: a damn tour. But not just a tour, also a performance at one of the biggest music festivals in the world, something that even you were terrified of, and if you were terrified, you couldn't even imagine how they felt at what would be one of the most important moments of their careers.

You were all excited, though. The arrival in Los Angeles was smooth and uneventful, both at the airport and later at the hotel. However, things started to go wrong the very next day, at the sound and stage checks for the festival. As a manager, it was your job to absorb the vast majority of those problems so that the girls didn't have to worry, but due to factors beyond your control, it ended up affecting them directly and therefore, it also affected their final performance.

It wasn't a great performance; everyone was disappointed, but you remained strong and encouraging for them to keep them from falling apart, especially in the days to come when social media was at its hate peak and the criticism just kept coming. It was part of your job, but more than a manager, those couple of days you were just a friend to them, and the bonds became even stronger. It was hard to have to get to the point of having to disable all comments on every platform, but it was the best measure you could suggest as a professional who looked after her artists.

Coachella aside, preparations for the rest of the tour were going great. There weren't too many dates due to scheduling issues for the next few months, when the girls would have to start preparing for their next comeback, so you would only visit a few big cities until next year, which is when you would go to Europe as well.

The first stop of the tour was none other than New York, the city where Yunjin had grown up. You had arrived from Los Angeles in the morning, and at noon you were already checking in at the Park Hyatt for your stay for the next three days. The day of arrival was free, then the next was the rehearsal at the venue and the last day was the concert.

"Okay, listen to me everyone," you said, standing in the middle of them with the room cards in hand. You were in the lobby, near one of the many bars in the hotel. "You have a room for each of you, but if you want to share that's your problem," you handed each of them their cards. "If you're going to leave the hotel please notify me or I’ll kill myself and then blame you in your dreams."

"I'm not planning on doing anything today," Sakura said, taking her card. "I'm exhausted and I just want to finish knitting the hat I was making."

"Can you teach me?" Eunchae asked, standing next to Kura and holding onto her arm.

"What, knitting?" Sakura looked at her. Eunchae just nodded with a pair of bright, excited eyes. "Alright, I'll see what I can do."

"I'm playing Overwatch with a friend later," Kazuha said. "So I won't be going out either."

"What friend?" you asked, out of curiosity.

"That's not your problem, why do you want to know?"

You sighed.

"I'm literally just asking."

Chaewon and Yunjin were muttering things to each other, between giggles and knowing glances. You looked at them with a raised eyebrow.

"And what about you two, anything to say?"

They both looked at you with their arms linked, their eyes innocent and their lips pursed to keep from laughing.

"Nope, nothing," Yunjin shook her head.

"You're lying," you looked at Chaewon. "You're going out tonight, aren't you?"

"We already told you no!" she protested. "Why would you distrust us?"

"I can list the reasons and finish tomorrow."

"Oh come on, you're exaggerating," Yunjin patted your chest a couple of times. "We're not going out, really."

"Yeah, we're just going to eat snacks and watch a couple movies," Chaewon nodded.

You narrowed your eyes and looked at both of them for a few seconds. Suspicious, too suspicious. You weren't sure if they were really going out, but they were up to something, that much was obvious.

"Fine, I'll choose to believe you," you said. "Now go, I have a meeting with the venue staff and I can't be late."

The girls went to their rooms, and you asked one of your assistants to take your luggage to yours. The meeting was an hour long, but you had to be there at least twenty minutes early, so you hurried out of the hotel to the venue, to arrange everything related to the logistics of tomorrow and the day of the concert.

The meeting in question started at 1 in the afternoon and ended at 4. Then you and part of your team went to lunch, and at around 7 you were back at the hotel. Your day was not over yet, but the rest of your work could be done calmly from the comfort of your room.

Upon going up and entering your room you went straight to take a shower, then put your laptop on the desk next to the hallway and got to work, with headphones on and a can of Monster that you had bought during lunch.

Your inbox was full, and you were a bit of a workaholic, so you immediately locked in and got going. In these situations you always lost track of time, which was pretty unhealthy but you couldn't help it no matter how hard you tried. But you had to admit that this time you had gone too far, because it was 3 in the fucking morning.

There were still some things to attend to, but it was time to draw the line and set a limit, because otherwise you would end up seeing the sunrise when the next day you should be in full physical and mental prime. So you closed your laptop, rubbed your eyes and took off your headphones before standing up.

Whenever you went to sleep after sitting for a long time you had the habit of taking a walk to stretch your legs, and since there was no space in your room to do it comfortably, you opted for the hotel hallways. So you grabbed your phone, a small jar of M&M's, and left the room.

As expected, the hallways at that hour were deserted. To other people it would have seemed spooky, but to you it was relaxing for the simple fact that no noise pollution of any kind reached your ears, just the sound of the ventilation and the videos you occasionally watched on Twitter at low volume.

But soon you were no longer alone. Just as you reached the elevator to turn around and go back to your room, the elevator dinged and the doors swung wide open.

What you didn't expect was that the ones coming out of there would be two hot girls in cocktail mini dresses and high heels, and that...

Wait a fucking minute.

"Oh this has to be a fucking joke," you sighed, bringing your hands up to your face to lift your head and run both through your hair.

"M-Manager-nim, uhm, we can explain!" Chaewon hurried to say, exiting the elevator with Yunjin.

“Don’t talk to me,” you said, holding up a finger. You didn’t want to know anything, so you turned around and started walking back to your room.

“No, wait!” Yunjin said, chasing after you. “Where are you going? U-Uh… What are you going to do?”

“I said don’t talk to me,” you replied, looking ahead. The two of them walked behind you, right behind your shoulders. “I’ll report you to HYBE so you can get into trouble.”

"No! Please don't!" Chaewon pleaded, shaking your arm slightly. "No no no! We're sorry!"

"It was my idea!" Yunjin snapped. "It's just that if we told you what we were going to do, you wouldn't let us!"

"I wonder why," you said. "I can smell the alcohol coming off of you two."

"We're not even drunk!" Chaewon said. "I swear! Please forgive us!"

"I don't care, you crossed the line," you shook your head. "It would have been easier if you had just been honest with me from the start."

"So you refused to let us out?" Yunjin asked, defiant. "It was easier to just sneak out and be done with it! And besides, what the hell are you doing up at this hour?"

"Managing your reckless ass and looking out for your future. But I see you don't care about that."

At that moment you arrived in front of your door, but before you could put your hand on the knob, Chaewon stepped in between to stop you. Your bodies were very close, and only then did you pay attention to how she was dressed. It was a short, tight black dress, with a considerable neckline and long sleeves that went from her shoulders to cover her hands. She looked so hot in it that it distracted you for a moment, but not enough to forget your mission.

“Kim Chaewon, step aside,” you demanded.

“Aniyo,” she shook her head.

“Oh come on, manager-nim,” you heard Yunjin say quietly behind you, close to your ear. She put her hands on your shoulders and squeezed them gently. “Why don’t you relax a little?”

“Don’t tell me to relax when you guys lied to me so blatantly,” you replied, still looking at Chaewon. “Get out of the way.”

Chaewon glanced at Yunjin over your shoulder and showed a hint of a smile, before stepping away from your door and closing the small distance between you.

“We already told you we were sorry, manager-nim,” Chaewon said, placing a hand on your chest. You felt her breath against yours. “There’s no need to be so grumpy.”

She very subtly pressed her body tight against yours, looking into your eyes with slightly parted lips. You knew perfectly well her intentions because you were no fool, and you wanted to respectfully push her away and enter your room, but a stronger part of you kept your feet rooted there.

“Chaewon-ah…” you sighed, trying to change her mind.

Yunjin pressed herself against you as well, making you feel her chest against your back. She wrapped one arm around your abdomen and slipped the other hand into the left pocket of your sweatpants.

"Why don't you come with us to the pool so you can reconsider this whole thing?" the redhead asked in your ear.

"Yeah, I think all those emails have saturated your mind," Chaewon said, wrapping her arms around your neck. One hand stayed on your shoulder and the other went up to ruffle your hair. "Let us help you clear your head a little."

Before you could say anything, Yunjin lowered her hand from your abdomen and brought it to your bulge, just rubbing it up and down with her palm. Then any desire you had to go to your room and write that email vanished. Still, you didn't want to get too proactive just yet, you wanted to keep some of your dignity and see how far they would take it.

"So? What do you say?" Yunjin insisted, slowly making you hard. "You coming with us?"

Again the words got caught in your mouth when Chaewon suddenly pulled you into a kiss. Everything happened too fast for you to resist, and before you knew it you were wrapped up in a sensual kiss with her, your hands on that small sexy waist. Yunjin was now massaging your already hard cock, her head on the side of yours as she watched you and Chaewon kiss. That was what finally got you into the whole deal.

“You know this is wrong, right?” you asked against Chaewon’s lips, and you turned around to face Yunjin, who thanks to her heels was just as tall as you. Her dress was even shorter than Chaewon’s: burgundy velvet, strapless and an A-line skirt, perfect for showing off that perfect pair of legs. “Not only because I’m your manager, but because you have a sound check later.”

Yunjin put a hand on your shoulder and pressed herself against you. You instinctively wrapped one arm around her waist to hold her. It should have put you off by the fact that you'd never touched her like that in two years, but fuck, you were two people almost the same age, and she was a hot girl; you weren't going to miss that golden opportunity no matter how upset you were with the two of them.

"I've been on more important errands on less sleep, honey," she said, running the tip of her tongue along the side of her upper lip. Her hand still playing with your cock over your sweatpants. "So I don't care."

"Yeah, I know you don't care," you said before kissing her.

Yunjin had probably the most attractive lips you had ever seen, and it didn't surprise you that she knew how to use them so well in a kiss. Your heads went from side to side, as you tasted each other's lips and filled the hallway with wet sounds. Her hand squeezed your bulge and rubbed the outline of your cock, and you just lowered your hand from her waist to her left ass cheek and left it there.

"Hey, hurry up," Chaewon said from behind you. She had you by the waist, giving you little kisses on the back of your neck. "I want to cool off in the pool."

Yunjin pulled away from your lips and looked at Chaewon over your shoulder.

"You and I both know that's not what you want," she said with a giggle, and looked at you. "You're in then?"

"You guys dragged me in," you corrected her. "And I already have my hand on your ass. Now I have no choice."

"Then let's go!" Chaewon said, and she moved out from between you and the door to walk towards the elevator.

Yunjin gave you a couple more small kisses and took your hand to lead you to follow Chaewon. Once inside the elevator, she cornered you against the back wall and kissed you again with her hands on your neck. You returned the kiss, taking her by the waist. A few seconds later Chaewon stood to your left, and you moved away from Yunjin's lips to grab the blonde by the face and crash your lips against hers.

The floor where the pool wasn’t too high, so the kiss didn't last long. Once the elevator doors opened, the three of you walked out to a small hall before the pool area on the left. Behind the counter was only a girl who worked at the hotel. She looked up from her phone and watched you walk towards her.

"Oh, sorry, the pool is closed guys," the girl said.

"Yeah honey, we know," Yunjin said ahead, going to lean against the counter with her purse on the top. From there she pulled out five $100 bills and slid them towards the girl. "Why don't you go take a break for an hour and let us keep watch? Oh, and leave us three towels please."

The girl stared at the bills for a few long seconds until she reluctantly took them.

"You better not make a mess and not make any noise," she warned, pulling the towels out from behind the counter for you. "Because you'll get me in trouble."

"You don't have to worry, sweetheart," Yunjin said as the girl got up from her chair and walked around the counter. "We'll be ghosts."

"Just hurry up," the girl reiterated, going to take the elevator.

As the girl waited for the elevator, Yunjin led you and Chaewon by the hand towards the beautiful pool area. The first thing that stood out to you was the huge wall of windows right in front of your eyes, and the series of cube-shaped pendant lights that hung from the high ceiling and ran from one end of the pool to the other. But the overall atmosphere was modern and intimate, with the white lights of both the pool and the lower ceiling area where you were at a dim level, making a gorgeous combination with the gray matte porcelain floor and the marble walls and pillars.

Yunjin went to leave the towels on the chairs to the right, in a small raised area with white light below that had a few lounge chairs; she left the towels piled on one of them and went with Chaewon to the pool, which was L-shaped with the bottom cut out. They approached the stairs, took off their heels and dipped their feet in the water to stand on the first step.

"Oh god, the water is freezing," Chaewon said with a giggle, while Yunjin pulled her hair up into a high bun.

"It's perfect for washing down the alcohol, whatever," Yunjin said, then turned to look at you. "Ready for a little show?"

"At this point I won't be surprised by anything you two do," you replied from the raised area, arms crossed.

False. You wish you hadn't said that so you wouldn't look like a fool, as Chaewon and Yunjin both pulled their dresses up over their breasts, quite efficiently tucking the skirts at the neckline so that it held up like a top. This revealed both pairs of delicious bodies to you, as the only thing they were wearing were their respective panties. Chaewon's were white, thong-like ones. And Yunjin's were high-waisted black cheeky ones.

"What happened, manager-nim?" Chaewon asked with a giggle, seeing how you were stunned by their half naked bodies. "I thought nothing would surprise you."

"Yeah, well..." you couldn't find anything to say, and you definitely couldn't stop staring at them.

Yunjin and Chaewon laughed and went together into the pool, which was the perfect height for the three of you. While Chaewon's was shoulder-high, Yunjin's was just below her breasts. You went with them as they swam to the long end of the pool, rolling your sweatpants up to your knees, taking off your slippers, and sitting on the edge with your feet in the water.

"Huh? What are you doing there?" Yunjin asked, swimming to your feet. Chaewon swam backwards behind her, careful not to get her hair too wet. "Aren't you coming with us?" She grabbed your ankles, and you felt it as a warning.

"Uhm, I'm actually freezing," you replied, trying to get out of the situation. "I could catch a cold and die."

"Why worry about the cold when we can keep you warm down here?" Yunjin insisted, stroking your calves up and down. “Or did you forget why you came with us in the first place?”

Yunjin moved one of her hands up your calf to your crotch to meet your newly formed erection because of them. She squeezed it between her fingers and massaged it. 

You sighed.

“Are you really going to make me enter those Antarctic waters?” you asked, tilting your head.

“Oh yeah,” she nodded, biting her lip. “Unless you don’t want to get wet with us.”

“Some emotional blackmail you put on, woman,” you shook your head, and reluctantly stood up to take off your hoodie and sweatpants. Now in your boxers, you sat back down on the edge of the pool and slid in.

You gritted your teeth, tensed your body, and closed your eyes to keep from complaining, because the water was so cold that you felt it soak into your bones and freeze them. Yunjin immediately hugged you, both her arms and legs wrapped around your torso. You hugged her back, delighted to be able to feel that delicious body and that soft skin under your fingers.

"I know, I know..." Yunjin murmured, seeing that you were having a hard time with the water temperature. She made sure to be pressed against you, with as much skin as possible against yours. "Let me warm you up, manager-nim," she gave you a soft kiss. "Although I know a way to warm you up even more."

Chaewon swam to your back and hugged you and Yunjin at the same time, her chin resting on your left shoulder.

"And what way would that be?" You asked, already feeling more relieved to be in the middle of that sandwich. Your hands moved down from her waist to her buttocks, giving them a light squeeze and rubbing them up and down.

"Don't play dumb, manager-nim," Chaewon said in your ear, and slipped a hand between your body and Yunjin's to bring it inside your boxers. She grabbed your cock and held it between her fingers. "You know the answer, so you're going to say it."

"Yeah, but we know you well, and we know you won't say it that easily," Yunjin said. "So we're going to make you say it."

You chuckled.

"Are you going to drown me in the pool every time I refuse or what?"

Chaewon's response was to yank your boxers down, releasing your throbbing cock under the water. She wrapped her fingers around it, and slowly began to masturbate you. You gasped, and Yunjin smirked, unwrapping her legs from around your torso to press herself against the side of your body, leaving room for Chaewon to comfortably move her hand.

“Tell me something, manager-nim,” Chaewon murmured, giving you pecks on the side of your neck and then catching your earlobe between her lips. “In these two years, have you ever masturbated thinking about us?”

The question left you as cold as the pool water did when you got in, and your well-known answer made you blush. They were four of the stupidest hottest girls you had ever seen in your life, and they were all recently at their peak of hotness; it had to happen sooner or later for you.

“I...” you took a deep breath, trying not to look Yunjin in the eyes out of embarrassment.

“You have, huh?” Yunjin said, her gaze fixed on you. She held onto your shoulders with one arm while rubbing your abdomen with the other. "You don't have to be ashamed... it's not like we blame you. I've been given outfits that leave little to the imagination."

"How did you imagine us, manager nim?" Chaewon asked in a sexy murmur, still moving her hand on your cock. "Doggy style? From behind against the wall? Us riding you?"

"Or maybe sucking your cock?" Yunjin said, to spread kisses on your cheek near your lips. "Did you imagine my pretty lips around it?"

"I'm sure you also imagined yourself pounding my tight pussy," Chaewon said, moving her hand faster. Yunjin replaced it a couple seconds later.

"Or me jumping on your cock," the redhead said, jerking you off at a fast, steady pace. "Come on, don't be shy, manager-nim. Tell us."

"Please, manager-nim," Chaewon moaned into your ear, massaging your balls before replacing Yunjin's hand with her own. "We want to know."

You would have loved to be able to say something, but Chaewon was moving her hand so well on your cock that you were lost in the limbo of the physical and spiritual realm. You were brought out of your trance by her abruptly stopping her hand from moving.

"Ugh, no!" you whined, clenching your fists. Yunjin and Chaewon giggled.

"Then answer," Yunjin said, circling your tip with her index finger. "Have you masturbated to us or not?"

"Fuck, yes," you huffed. "More times than I'd like to admit."

Yunjin was the one in charge of grabbing your cock again and resuming the handjob, now faster.

"See? It wasn't that hard," Yunjin said with a giggle.

"You're such a pervert, manager-nim," Chaewon said, kissing your neck, while her hands roamed your chest. "Why don't we go outside and let us finish the work? Then maybe we can fulfill some of your little fantasies."

"What if the worker comes?" you said between gasps, since Yunjin was still jerking you off. "I don't want to get kicked out of the hotel with two days left here in New York."

"It's only been 10 minutes," Yunjin said, and let go of your cock. "We've got a good while left to have some fun."

"Then hurry up and get out," you said, trying to get out of the way of the two of them.

Chaewon and Yunjin stepped away from you and swam towards the pool stairs. You followed close behind. As you climbed out of the water you took the lead, heading straight to the small raised area near the exit to grab a towel and dry yourself off as much as you could, having to remove your boxers so as not to wet the lounge chair once you lay down on it. The girls certainly didn't mind, in fact they followed your lead and removed their panties, keeping their dresses bunched up around their chests.

They knelt on their lounge chairs facing you, and bent forward to bring their faces close to your cock, giving you a hot view of their arched backs and wonderfully raised cakes. You weren't shy at all, and as they peppered each side of your shaft with kisses and licks, you groped and squeezed their ass cheeks.

"Fuck, you have a very juicy cock, manager-nim," Chaewon panted, one hand on your thigh and the other around the base of your cock.

"I always knew he was packed," Yunjin said, stroking your cock from the middle up. You looked at her with a frown. "I should have seduced him earlier; now I see I had it pretty easy."

"Are you calling me a slut?" you asked between gasps, making them laugh.

"Considering how quickly you gave in," she shrugged and pondered the answer for a moment. "Yes."

Before you could answer Chaewon took you into her mouth, slowly pumping her head for a few inches and making you gasp. Yunjin joined in by using her tongue on your base and balls. You leaned forward a little, so you could extend your arms further and get your fingers between their ass cheeks and finger their pussies.

Chaewon moaned around your cock, quickly taking as much of your length into her small mouth as she could to pump faster and faster. A few seconds later she pulled out, giving way to Yunjin's perfect lips, which wrapped around your tip and went halfway down before coming back, in a pace that soon became fast and messy.

You rubbed your fingers between their soft and already wet folds as you watched Chaewon give you a sloppy blowjob, in aid of Yunjin's tongue and lips on the rest of your shaft. You didn't want to cum too fast to prolong that experience as much as possible, so you looked up and left your gaze on the cube-shaped lamps while you gasped.

But as hard as you were trying, Chaewon and Yunjin forced you to watch as they both slurped the saliva they themselves left on your cock, over and over again in a toe curling double blowjob that had you moaning like the slut Yunjin said you were. A few long seconds passed, until you couldn't control it, and you came as they were making out with your tip in the middle.

"Oh god!" You moaned, watching as Yunjin and Chaewon were still kissing each other even as your cum poured out in thick rivers and stained their tongues and mouths. They lapped up every drop, glad to swallow as much of your load as they could before using their mouths to get your cock clean and shiny again.

You didn't wait for either of them to say anything before you got up from your chair and went to kneel on the floor behind Chaewon, grabbing her firm ass cheeks and planting your face between them.

"Oh fuck!" she moaned in a small start, feeling your tongue move up and down her folds. "You were hungry for it weren't you?"

"You have no idea how much," you replied, squeezing her ass cheeks and eating her pussy like deep down you always wanted to do.

Within a few seconds Chaewon let her moans flow, soon drowned out by a kiss against Yunjin's lips. You devoured that tight pussy with devotion, with the sole goal of making her feel as good as she had made you feel just a couple of minutes ago. She let you know you were doing a good job by twisting her hips and pushing them back, urging you to keep going until you made her cum.

Her climax came not long after, thanks to the quick licks you gave to her clit and the intense way you groped her ass. She fell back with her hands braced against the chair Yunjin was on, writhing between cute moans and spasms.

“My god!” Chaewon groaned as you licked and kissed between her folds. “Why did you never say I was this good at eating pussy?!”

“I remind you that I’m your manager, Kim Chaewon,” you said, and stood up to spank her. An intrusive thought you let win. “I don’t think it would have been appropriate to tell you two days after your debut.”

“Ugh why now we women are the ones who have to make the first move!” she whined, now lying on her side to look at you with that adorable, usual expression she made when she got angry.

"I wasn't going to risk my career on whether you wanted cock or not. Don't be a bitch," you said, and walked around the front of the chairs to climb onto Yunjin's, who immediately hugged you by the neck and kissed you, pressing your torsos together and making your cock rub against her lower abdomen.

After a few seconds of making out with Yunjin you grabbed her by the thighs and made her sit down, with her back against the slanted back of the chair. You sat on the lower edge with your knees resting on the floor, leaning forward and bringing your mouth directly to Yunjin's pussy.

"Oh fuck yeah," Yunjin moaned, one hand on your head as you ate her out. "I should sneak around more often if this is the result."

"Don't push your fucking luck," you muttered, making her laugh. "If you want me to eat your pussy you just have to ask me nicely."

Yunjin moaned as you reached her clit and sucked gently on it.

"Mmmgh, really?" she asked, arching her back a little.

You smiled.

"Yeah, just fax me and get in line."

"Son of a bitch!" Yunjin squealed in annoyance and pulled at your hair, but her anger didn't last long as it didn't stop you from trying to give her the best pussy eating of her life.

Yunjin relaxed in the chair, leaning back and with her legs wide open to let you work. As the seconds passed she became more restless: she arched her back, tugged at your hair and breathed more heavily, until she ended up enclosing your head between her thighs. The grip was strong, with her calves crossed on your back, and you felt your head about to explode, but that was just like coal to your boiler.

"Fuck! Mmmgh!" Yunjin moaned, fingers clenching in your hair as you attacked her pussy mercilessly. “Right there manager-nim, yes, yes!”

Seconds later Yunjin exploded in your mouth, lifting her pelvis and holding onto your head with both hands. She bucked in her chair, moaning maybe a little too loudly, so you reached up and covered her mouth with your hand as her orgasm passed. When it did, she released your head and you pulled away from her pussy.

“Let’s go to my room right now,” you said, standing up to go get your clothes.

“What, why?” Chaewon asked. “We still have like half an hour.”

“If I fuck you guys the way I want to I’ll lose track of time,” you replied, picking up your sweatpants to put them on without your boxers as they were still wet. “And I don’t want the worker to come and find us in the middle of intercourse.”

"Yeah, that's fair," Chaewon said, and stood up to grab a towel and wrap it around her waist.

Once you were dressed you went to help Yunjin stand up and do the same as Chaewon did. You then grabbed all the wet underwear, wrung it out in a corner and carried it in your hand as the three of you left the pool area heading for the elevator. Upon reaching your floor you rushed to your room, and once inside, the two of them removed both their towels and what was left of their dresses from their bodies to jump into bed.

You stripped down at lightning speed and climbed into bed with them. Chaewon greeted you with her legs spread as you climbed on top of her to kiss her, wrapping her arms and legs around you. Yunjin settled on the left side next to Chaewon, and reached between your bodies to reach for your cock and stroke it; she had it hard in a moment, and without either of you asking, she took it inside Chaewon's pussy.

Chaewon squealed, and bit your lip unintentionally in shock. She dug her nails into your scalp, slightly tense as your cock forced its way between the tight walls of her pussy. You continued to kiss her, stifling moans of satisfaction until you finished with your entire length inside her.

"Mmmgh, manager-nim?" Chaewon moaned against your lips.

"Yes?" you gasped.

"Next time be a little bolder and ask me," she panted, stroking the hair on the back of your neck. "I can't believe I'm finding this out two years later."

"Or I could just sneak into your room and fuck you like the whore you are every chance I get," you replied in a sarcastic tone, beginning to move slowly.

"Oh, would you do that?" Chaewon asked with a giggle.

"Jeez, you're hopeless," you shook your head, moving from her lips to her neck to kiss it.

"You can always pretend you have an emergency and woosh! Catch him," Yunjin said from your left, kissing the other side of Chaewon's neck.

"Great Jennifer, give her ideas," you said between gasps, enjoying the way that tight pussy suffocated your cock every time it went inside. "As if I don't have enough with all the shit you two do on a daily basis already."

"You're overreacting, manager-nim," Chaewon moaned, tightening her grip on your torso, hands now on your neck. "We're not that unruly. But you made a big mistake, because now we're really gonna be bad bitches for this cock."

Mother of god, where the fuck have you gotten yourself into?

You forced Chaewon to release your torso and straightened your back to put her legs open, one over Yunjin, and with your hands on her thighs you began to go harder and harder. Chaewon sought out Yunjin's lips, and the two of them shared a steamy, sexy kiss as you fucked her pussy and made her moan against the redhead's lips.

Yunjin played with Chaewon's perky tits, pinching her nipples and massaging her mounds in the process, then moving her hand down her abdomen and to her pussy to rub her clit in quick circles. Chaewon pulled away from Yunjin's lips and arched her back, holding Yunjin's head with one arm and clutching a pillow over her head with the other.

"Does that feel good, Chaewonie?" Yunjin asked, bringing her mouth closer to one of Chaewon's tits to suck on it, circling her clit faster. You thrust harder, pounding that pussy between moans and with your fingers digging into her thighs.

"It's the best cock I've ever had in my fucking life!" Chaewon moaned, her mouth parted and her eyes fixed on you. "Please don't stop!"

Yunjin focused on licking Chaewon's nipple and moving her fingers faster, while you leaned forward a little just so you could thrust faster. Chaewon started moaning so loud that the very pillow she was clinging to became her muzzle, which she bit down on before covering her face with. An instant later she uncovered her face and exploded with a squeal, squeezing your cock as her orgasm made her shudder.

"Mmmm that's so fucking hot," Yunjin groaned, and got on her hands and knees beside Chaewon to reach over to her crotch, pulling your cock out of her pussy and bringing it into her mouth to suck on it for a few seconds. "You want me to ride you?" she asked.

"Who wouldn't want to be ridden by you?" you asked, and she smiled slowly stroking your cock.

"Wow, you're getting more and more points every time," she giggled. "This was quite a triple."

Yunjin made room for you to lay down in her spot with your head on the pillow. Already settled she straddled you, her pussy pressed against the back of your cock. She made eye contact with you as she untied her hair, and as she let it go she placed her hands on your chest and slowly ground her hips back and forth to rub your intimacies together.

"Are you gonna keep teasing me, Jennifer?" you asked with your hands on her thighs, looking into her eyes.

"Why? Are you desperate to be inside me, manager-nim?" she asked back and bent over you, running her hands up to cup your face. You brought your hands to her waist and then to her ass to squeeze it. "I think you want it even more than I do."

"You better shut the fuck up," you said, and reached for your cock to press it between Yunjin's folds. She giggled, and cooperated by slowly lowering her hips until she was fully impaled on your shaft.

"Oh god this feels better than I expected," Yunjin moaned with her ass resting on your pelvis and her hands on your shoulders. "I hope you know you just created a monster."

"I remind you again that I'm your manager, woman," you panted as she began to move up and down. "You're playing with fire and you might burn me by accident."

"Don't be like that, baby," she panted, giving you small kisses as she moved gradually harder. You had her red hair all over your face, but that and you groping her ass only made it hotter. "No one has to find out, right? It'll be our little secret."

“As you wish,” you replied, squeezing her ass cheeks before dropping your hands to the sides of her lower back. “But if it starts to affect your career or mine I will turn you off immediately.”

“Deal,” Yunjin said with a smirk, and crashed her lips against yours before going wild.

Yunjin grabbed your face and stuck her tongue inside your mouth, seeking to take control of the kiss. You happily gave in, content to let her do whatever she wanted with you as long as she kept moving on your cock, with those hip movements that were slow, deep, and deadly. After a few seconds she moved to your neck, to fill it with sucks, kisses, and finally biting you. She cried out when you spanked her with both hands, which prompted her to move faster and with less control.

"Hey, don't even think about leaving me out," you heard Chaewon say on the left, and she somewhat roughly pushed Yunjin off your chest to climb on top of you and sit on your face with her calves on your arms.

With your view now blocked by Chaewon's ass you had no choice but to adapt to the situation and put your mouth and hands to work. She pushed her hips back, smothering you between her perfect ass cheeks, which you held onto to spread  them and allow yourself to breathe while you ate her pussy.

"Can't you stop seeking attention for five minutes?" Yunjin asked Chaewon, planting her feet on the mattress to squat on your cock, fast and hard. "Oh god I was riding him so good!"

"And now you're bouncing on his cock," Chaewon replied between moans, her hands on your chest. You could hear her sharing sloppy kisses with Yunjin. "What's the fucking difference?"

“That I like looking into guys' eyes while I ride them!” Yunjin protested, moaning louder and louder as she bounced faster on your cock.

Chaewon didn’t say anything else as the two of them began to kiss and muffle their moans against each other’s lips until Yunjin came, grinding her hips with your cock buried deep in her pussy and shaking on top of you. Her orgasm having passed, Yunjin climbed off you and collapsed to the side. Chaewon then raised her hips and knelt beside your head.

“Manager-nim,” Chaewon told you as you sat up, staring at you with those puppy subby eyes. “You’re not going to tell HYBE anything about us sneaking out tonight, are you?”

You looked at her with a poker face.

"What kind of dishonest man do you take me for? Of course not," you replied, brushing a lock of sweaty blonde hair from her cheek. "Next time just tell me and I'll go with you."

Chaewon's eyes lit up like two cute lanterns.

"Really?"

"Aha," you nodded. "Only if you're a good girl and get on your hands and knees for me."

Chaewon complied with the order and turned around to bend forward and rest her hands on the mattress, knees apart and ass raised high for you. You positioned yourself behind her, and with one hand on her waist you went back inside the tightest pussy you'd ever been in. She looked at you over her shoulder and hugged the same pillow from a moment ago tightly, biting it the moment you started to thrust.

The view you had was perfect, and enviable to the you of a few months ago, who could only access it through a very lucky wet dream. But now it was for real: you had a hot view of Kim Chaewon, with that appetizing ass that looked small but whose shape was perfect, and that milky attractive back that had you salivating since the Smart stages.

"Go hard, honey," Chaewon moaned, still looking at you. "Please forget your position and fuck me like I'm all yours."

"Oh, if you insist that much," you nodded slowly, and let out a spank so hard that the shape of your hand was instantly marked in red. Chaewon squealed into the pillow. You then started going really hard on her, making the sound of her ass slapping against your pelvis reverberate through your room.

"Fuck! Just like that!" Chaewon squealed, and buried her face into the pillow. You gave her another spank to make her scream. "Fuck!! More!" another spank. "MORE!!"

One more spank, and this time you grabbed a handful of her blonde hair and pulled it back, in turn separating Chaewon's face from the pillow. Now her moans were fully audible as you pounded her pussy like she was a human fleshlight.

Yunjin had already recovered, and without asking Chaewon's permission, she did her best to get under her and stack their pussies together. Before the baby tiger could protest, Yunjin began kissing every corner of her face and neck to make her melt quite efficiently, as Chaewon was still entirely focused on you and your cock.

"God you are such a pillow slut," Yunjin teased Chaewon, grabbing her ass cheeks and spanking her in the same spots as you. "A little more and you'll be calling him daddy."

"Stop giving her ideas, Jennifer!" you growled through clenched teeth at how good Chaewon's pussy felt in that position.

"I'm gonna cum daddy! Mmmgh fuck!!" Chaewon squealed, burying her face in Yunjin's neck.

"Late," Yunjin laughed looking at you. You just shook your head. "It's your fault for falling into our trap."

"Listen here you little piece of..." you said, being interrupted by Chaewon's orgasm and cute whimpers. You placed a hand on her lower back, fucking her slowly until her body stopped shaking. Then you pulled out of her pussy to switch directly to Yunjin's.

"Hey!" Yunjin squealed when you got balls deep inside her again. "Warn me!"

"For what?" you raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure you got down there because you were desperate for me to be inside you again."

Yunjin blushed and rolled her eyes, which was enough to prove you right. You smiled, and grabbed her thighs to press them against Chaewon's. With her, you took off at full speed from the start, already in search of your own climax, which was only getting closer by leaps and bounds.

Yunjin clung to Chaewon with her arms around her neck, moaning in her ear as you hammered her pussy even harder than Chaewon. Sweat was already pouring down your temples, proof that you were giving it your all when you were already exhausted after so many hours of work. It was definitely worth it, because just like Chaewon's, Yunjin's pussy felt so good that it made you use energy reserves you didn't even know you had.

But what kept you going at your best wasn't that, it was the possibility of seeing those two girls go crazy with pleasure thanks to you, and Yunjin's face being fucked mercilessly was like an expensive piece of art in the Louvre museum, especially when a couple of minutes later she came for the second time on your cock.

"Dear fucking lord please cum honey!" Yunjin screamed as you fucked her like an animal through her orgasm. "Oh my god cum!!"

Seconds later, when you felt yourself about to explode, you quickly pulled yourself out of her and went to kneel right next to both of their heads. They both turned their faces towards you, and stuck their tongues out as you stroked your cock rapidly, until with a loud moan you exploded.

The thick strings of cum came out in strong jets and landed on both of their angelic faces, every corner being painted white and getting sticky. What fell on Chaewon's face spilled onto Yunjin's, who collected most of the drops in a pool on her tongue. By the time your climax passed those two were a mess, so covered in cum that Chaewon kept one eye closed and Yunjin had her lips stuffed.

"Oh my god..." you gasped, mesmerized by the sight. "Stay there."

Even though you felt on the verge of collapse, your protective manager instinct kicked in and you were forced to go to the bathroom to get some toilet paper and help them clean themselves up. But as you did so, you realized something that you hadn't realized in all the fuss, something that left you staring into space.

Sakura's room was right next door.

Shit.

[enhaflixer]

psh - king of tears.

Chaebol Husband!Sunghoon | Queen of Tears AU FULL FIC

📌 summary: your marriage to park sunghoon was supposed to be a fairytale—until it wasn’t. now it’s cold stares across the dinner table, separate bedrooms in a mansion too big for the both of you, and divorce papers waiting to be signed. you were ready to walk away. he let you. so why does he look at you like he’s the one who lost everything?

word count: 20K genre: angst | slow burn | second chance romance | marriage in crisis | Queen of Tears AU | SMUT ANGST FLUFF (in that order) content warnings (explicit, minors dni!):  a marriage falling apart but neither of you can let go, divorce papers as a weapon but neither of you sign them first, staring at an empty side of the bed and pretending it doesn’t hurt, pregnancy, watching him struggle alone but being too proud to help, , high society pressure, and pretending everything is fine when it’s not, angst-heavy sex (sex while crying, sex while angry, sex while pretending it doesn’t mean anything) "we’re supposed to be over, so why are you still fucking me like you love me?" breathless, mentions of a miscarriage, desperate sunghoon (bc when he breaks, he breaks) sunghoon is sick, weak, exhausted—but still strong enough to pin you down "i don’t love you anymore." // "then stop moaning my name.", luxury penthouse sex but it’s tragic, a hand around your throat but it’s not just about control—it’s about possession, he fucks you like he’s trying to remind you who you belong to, aftercare that isn’t really aftercare bc he still won’t say he loves you,

The room is filled with laughter, delicate clinks of fine china and crystal flutes, and the low hum of a jazz quartet playing something elegant and forgettable in the background. The city’s elite have gathered here tonight—not just business moguls, but socialites, investors, and politicians, all dressed in designer labels, all engaged in carefully curated conversations.

The air is thick with power and wealth, a reminder of the world you and Sunghoon exist in. A world where appearances matter more than emotions, where a marriage is not just about love, but about status, about alliances.

You’re used to this now—the expectations, the smiles, the weight of scrutiny disguised as admiration. You’ve mastered the art of being Park Sunghoon’s wife.

Sunghoon stands beside you, dressed in a sleek black suit, looking every bit the composed, untouchable CEO that people admire and envy in equal measure. His features are as sharp as ever, but there’s something distant in his gaze, something almost clinical in the way his hand rests lightly against the small of your back.

To an outsider, it’s a gesture of affection. A claim. A reminder that you belong to each other.

To you, it’s just for show.

"Smile."

His voice is low, quiet enough that no one else hears. It’s not a request. It’s a command.

Your lips curl into something effortless, something practiced. It’s not real, but it doesn’t need to be.

"Ah, our favorite couple has arrived," a familiar voice calls from across the room.

Turning toward the source, you’re met with the warm but calculating gaze of Chairman Park, Sunghoon’s father. His mother stands beside him, dressed immaculately as always, a refined smile on her lips.

"We were wondering when you two would make your grand entrance," she says smoothly, reaching out to take your hands in hers.

Her grip is light, delicate. Deceptive.

"You look beautiful, dear," she adds, her sharp eyes scanning you from head to toe.

You already know she’s assessing. Cataloging. Comparing you to the polished, obedient daughter-in-law she expected you to be.

Sunghoon’s father, however, has other interests.

"You’re glowing tonight," Chairman Park remarks, taking a sip of his whiskey. His eyes crinkle slightly at the edges. "It must be a sign that we’ll be hearing good news soon."

You barely have time to process his words before another voice chimes in—one of Sunghoon’s aunts, a woman who has made it her life’s mission to interrogate you at every family gathering.

"Yes, yes!" she gushes, already leaning in as if she’s about to hear a confession. "It’s been what? three years since the wedding? We were just saying the other day how we still haven’t heard any news!"

There it is. The question that always comes, in one form or another.

The polite, well-mannered, socially acceptable way of asking: Why haven’t you given him a child yet?

You see it before you hear it—the way Sunghoon’s fingers tighten around his champagne flute, the subtle twitch in his jaw. But he doesn’t say anything.

Of course, he doesn’t.

So you do what you always do. You smile. You deflect. You play your part.

"Work keeps us busy," you say smoothly, taking a slow sip of champagne. "There’s still so much we want to accomplish first."

The aunt clicks her tongue, shaking her head. "Ah, but what’s all this success without a family to share it with?"

You feel it then—the weight of your in-laws’ eyes on you, the expectation pressing against your ribs like an iron cage.

Sunghoon’s mother hums, a soft, carefully measured sound. "Children bring a different kind of happiness," she says, voice light but laced with meaning. "Of course, it’s ultimately your decision… but I do hope you aren’t waiting too long."

Another aunt leans in, faux sympathy dripping from her tone. "There aren’t any problems, are there?"

It’s a dagger cloaked in silk. The insinuation. The unspoken judgment.

You don’t have to look at Sunghoon to know he’s bristling beside you. You can feel the tension in his silence.

Still, he says nothing.

The moment stretches, uncomfortable and suffocating. And then—

A soft laugh. Controlled. Collected.

Sunghoon turns his head slightly, his expression unreadable as he finally speaks.

"We appreciate your concern," he says, voice smooth as glass. "But when we have something to share, you’ll be the first to know."

There’s nothing in his tone that suggests anger, but the way his mother’s lips press together ever so slightly tells you she’s caught the warning beneath his words.

The conversation shifts, flowing into another topic, but you no longer hear it. You’re still holding your champagne flute, fingers gripping the stem a little too tightly.

Sunghoon doesn’t look at you. Not even once.

The meal is extravagant, an elaborate showcase of wealth and refinement. Each course is served with meticulous precision, arriving in waves of delicate flavors and carefully plated masterpieces. Crystal glasses remain full, refilled before they ever have the chance to empty, while waitstaff glide through the room with the kind of quiet efficiency that only comes from years of training. Around you, conversation flows as smoothly as the wine, punctuated by occasional bursts of laughter from tables where people have had just enough to drink to let their guard down.

The atmosphere is lively, engaging. A room filled with the kind of people who measure success in numbers and influence rather than in anything tangible like love or happiness.

You and Sunghoon don’t speak.

It isn’t new.

It’s been months—maybe even longer—since you’ve had a real conversation. These events used to be something you faced together, an exhausting but necessary part of maintaining appearances in your world. There was a time when he would lean in close, whisper something wry against the shell of your ear just to make you laugh, his hand resting on your thigh beneath the table as a silent reminder that, no matter how long the evening stretched, you would leave together.

Now, his presence beside you feels like nothing more than habit. The weight of expectation.

To everyone else, you are still Park Sunghoon’s wife—flawless and poised, an extension of his success, the perfect image of a woman who belongs at his side. But to each other, you are barely anything at all.

You watch as he listens intently to the conversation at hand, nodding along as one of his board members drones on about upcoming market trends. His features remain unreadable, his fingers steady as he lifts his glass to his lips, sipping at his wine without a second thought. His ability to be present yet completely unreachable is something you once admired about him. Now, it’s something that drives you insane.

At some point during the meal, while the conversation has drifted toward a discussion on recent company acquisitions, a new voice cuts through the air.

"You remember Soojin, don’t you?"

It’s not a question so much as a strategic opening, delivered with the practiced ease of a woman who knows exactly what she’s doing.

You shift slightly, already knowing where this is going before you even turn your head. Sunghoon’s mother is smiling, her expression warm and pleasant in the way that only someone raised in high society can master. It is a look that has fooled many, but not you. You’ve spent too many years in her presence to mistake it for anything but a well-placed maneuver.

Her gaze flickers toward a table across the room, drawing your attention to the woman seated there. Soojin.

She is beautiful in the way that women in your world are expected to be—polished, refined, her makeup flawless, her hair styled to perfection. The kind of woman who commands attention without even trying.

The kind of woman Sunghoon’s mother would have preferred as her daughter-in-law.

"Her father’s company just finalized a deal with ours," she continues, lifting her glass to her lips. "It’s an impressive partnership."

You say nothing.

She doesn’t need you to.

"She’s always been such a sweet girl," she adds, her smile never faltering. "Smart. Beautiful. And her family is so well-connected."

The words are light, conversational, but the weight of them is suffocating.

She doesn’t say it outright, but the message is clear.

You are not the only option.

There are women who would make the perfect Mrs. Park—women who would be better suited for the role, who would know how to uphold the family name, who would understand the responsibilities that come with being married to someone like Sunghoon.

Women who would not have made the mistakes you did.

Your grip tightens around your fork.

You keep your expression neutral, refusing to react. You won’t give her the satisfaction. You won’t let her see that the words sting in a way they shouldn’t, that they burrow beneath your skin, scraping against wounds that never quite healed.

"I’m aware," Sunghoon says, finally setting his wine glass down with deliberate ease.

Two words. Nothing more.

His mother studies him for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then she smiles again, as if the moment never happened.

The conversation moves forward.

You exhale slowly, setting your glass down, your fingers still curled around the delicate stem. No reassurance. No defense. No effort to correct what was just implied.

I’m aware.

A bitter taste lingers on your tongue, but you swallow it down, lifting your chin slightly as you redirect your attention to the meal in front of you.

You already know how this night will end. The same way it always does. With silence.

-

The moment you step inside the penthouse, the carefully constructed facade of the evening begins to crumble. The sterile glow of the overhead lights does little to ease the weight pressing against your chest, the silence between you and Sunghoon thick with something sharp, something unsaid.

You hear the quiet rustle of fabric as he shrugs off his suit jacket, draping it over the arm of a chair before undoing the first few buttons of his dress shirt. His movements are methodical, controlled, as if he’s following a script that no longer holds any meaning.

You should keep walking. You should disappear into the bathroom, wash the night off your skin, lock yourself behind a door like you have so many nights before. But instead, you linger, fingers still curled around the strap of your bag, your gaze tracing the familiar lines of his back, the tension in his shoulders.

"You didn’t say anything."

The words leave your mouth before you can stop them. Your voice is quiet, but there’s an edge to it, a challenge buried beneath the exhaustion.

Sunghoon doesn’t turn. "About what?"

You exhale sharply, shaking your head. "About what?" you repeat, laughter bubbling up, bitter and humorless. "About your mother. About your aunts. About all of them sitting there, questioning me like I’m some failed investment."

A pause.

Then, finally, he glances over his shoulder. "What did you want me to say?"

The way he says it—steady, detached, devoid of any real curiosity—makes your stomach twist.

"Anything," you say, because that’s the truth of it. You just wanted something.

His lips press together briefly before he turns back toward the dresser, rolling up his sleeves. "It wouldn’t have changed anything."

And there it is.

That unbearable indifference.

The quiet, unshaken finality of a man who has already made peace with his own silence.

It shouldn’t feel like a slap to the face, but it does.

"You never fight for anything," you whisper, voice barely audible over the hum of the city outside.

He doesn’t say a word, but you can feel it—the way his gaze trails over your bare skin, the way his fingers twitch at his sides, like he’s holding himself back.

It only takes a step. One step forward, and everything snaps.

His hands are on you before you can think—gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him, the heat of his body bleeding into yours. His mouth crashes against yours, rough, unyielding, a kiss that isn’t sweet or tender, but desperate, punishing. You gasp against him, your fingers tangling in his hair, nails scraping against his scalp as he presses you back against the dresser.

"You always do this," he mutters against your lips, his breath hot, his voice sharp. "Come to me when you need to forget."

You don’t answer.

You don’t need to.

His hands slide up your thighs, pushing them apart with ease. He’s impatient, reckless, fingers slipping beneath the lace of your panties, dragging them down before you can protest. A sharp inhale leaves your lips as he presses two fingers against your clit, circling slow, teasing, just enough to make your hips jerk forward.

"Already wet," he muses, dragging his fingers through your slick folds. His tone is mocking, but his voice is hoarse, strained. "That desperate for me?"

You bite down on your lower lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. But your body betrays you, hips rolling against his hand, chasing the friction that he’s refusing to give.

Sunghoon chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. Just something bitter, something dark.

Without warning, he presses two fingers inside you, stretching you open with a slow, deliberate pace. Your breath hitches, nails digging into his shoulders as he curls his fingers, stroking the spot that makes your knees tremble.

"You can pretend all you want," he murmurs against your throat, his lips trailing down, teeth scraping against your skin. "But your body knows who it belongs to."

His free hand moves to your chest, fingers tweaking your nipple, rolling it between his fingers before his mouth replaces them, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin. You arch into him, a whimper slipping past your lips, your thighs tightening around his wrist.

"Sunghoon," you gasp, a plea or a warning—you’re not sure.

He pulls away, his fingers slipping from you, leaving you empty and aching. Before you can protest, he turns you around, pressing your front against the cool surface of the dresser, his body crowding you from behind. His hands roam your body, over the swell of your ass, down to your thighs, spreading them apart as he presses the hard length of his cock against your heat.

You exhale sharply as he grips your hips, dragging the tip of his cock through your folds, coating himself in your slick before pressing forward. The stretch is sharp, deep, and you gasp, gripping the edge of the dresser as he sinks into you, inch by inch, filling you completely.

"Fuck," he groans, his fingers tightening against your hips, like he’s barely holding himself together. 

He gives you a second—just one—before he pulls back and thrusts into you again, setting a brutal, relentless pace. Each movement is rough, deliberate, the sound of skin against skin mixing with the soft, breathy moans slipping past your lips.

The dresser rattles beneath you, your body rocking with each thrust, and you can do nothing but take it, the pleasure sharp and consuming. Sunghoon grips your hair, pulling your head back as he leans in, his breath hot against your ear.

"Let them keep talking," he mutters, voice ragged, punctuated by the snap of his hips. 

Your breath catches, your walls clenching around him at his words.

Sunghoon lets out a low groan, his thrusts growing deeper, sharper, his fingers moving back to your clit, rubbing slow, torturous circles. The tension coils tighter, your body burning, unraveling beneath him.

"Cum," he murmurs, his voice softer now, breathless.

And you do—pleasure washing over you in waves, your thighs shaking, your moan muffled as he presses a hand against your mouth, keeping you from making too much noise.

He follows soon after, his grip tightening, his cock pulsing inside you as he groans low against your shoulder, spilling into you with a shudder.

For a moment, there is only silence.

Then, just as expected, he pulls away.

Rolls onto his back.

Says nothing.

You stare at the reflection of yourself in the dresser mirror—flushed skin, swollen lips, empty eyes. You should leave. You should.

But you don’t.

Instead, you slip beneath the covers, curling away from him, pressing your knuckles against your mouth to keep yourself from shaking.

Because tonight, at least, you don’t want to feel alone.

- 

The morning is quiet.

You wake up to an empty bed, the sheets beside you already cold. The absence of warmth shouldn’t bother you—it hasn’t in months—but today, it does. The ache in your body from the night before lingers, a dull, throbbing reminder of something you wish you could forget.

For a moment, you stay still, staring up at the ceiling, tracing the patterns of light and shadow that spill through the curtains. The penthouse is bathed in soft gold from the rising sun, a warmth that contrasts the cold emptiness beside you.

There was a time when mornings like these meant something. When you’d wake up tangled in Sunghoon’s limbs, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns along your back, his lips pressing lazy kisses against your shoulder. When the weight of his body against yours felt grounding instead of suffocating.

Now, there’s nothing but space.

You take a slow breath, blinking against the dryness in your eyes before finally sitting up. The silence is deafening, the type that only exists in places too large for two people who no longer belong to each other.

When you step out of bed, your legs feel unsteady, soreness creeping up your spine. You ignore it. You move toward the bathroom, turning on the sink, splashing cold water on your face as if it’ll rinse away the heaviness in your chest. It doesn’t.

Your reflection stares back at you, eyes slightly swollen, lips faintly bruised from the way he kissed you last night. You press your fingers against them, swallowing down the memory of his touch, of the way his hands had held you so tightly as if he could keep you from slipping away.

But he didn’t.

He never could.

By the time you make your way downstairs, the smell of freshly brewed coffee lingers in the air. The sight of Sunghoon sitting at the dining table shouldn’t make your stomach tighten the way it does. He looks like he always does—effortlessly composed, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a steaming cup of coffee in one hand while his other scrolls through his phone.

Like nothing happened.

Like last night was just another night.

The illusion of normalcy almost makes you hesitate. Almost.

Instead, you step forward, setting the folder down on the glass surface of the table with a deliberate thud. The sound cuts through the silence, drawing Sunghoon’s attention as his eyes flicker up to meet yours.

He doesn’t speak, doesn’t react, just studies you for a moment before his gaze drifts downward to the document between you.

Divorce Agreement.

His fingers pause against the rim of his coffee cup.

"Where were you?," you say, your voice steady, carefully controlled.

"Work," he replies, taking a slow sip of his coffee.

You cross your arms, exhaling through your nose. "You knew this was coming." Your voice is measured, even, despite the tightness in your throat.

Sunghoon finally sets his mug down with a soft clink, his expression unreadable. "I did."

"Then sign them."

A long silence stretches between you. You hold your ground, standing tall, watching as he leans back slightly in his chair, his fingers idly tapping against the surface of the table. He doesn’t look at the papers, just at you.

"You really want this?"

The words are simple. Too simple.

You hate the way they make your stomach twist. Hate the way your throat tightens because this shouldn’t be hard. This shouldn’t be something that makes your hands curl into fists at your sides.

"Yes."

His lips press together briefly before he exhales through his nose. Without another word, he pulls the folder toward him, flipping it open, skimming the terms with the same impassive ease he applies to every contract he reviews at work.

For a second, your breath catches.

You almost expect him to argue, to fight, to say something—anything.

But he doesn’t.

Not when he turns the page. Not when his eyes flicker across the fine print. Not when he reaches for the pen beside him.

And then—

He stops.

His fingers hover over the paper, the tip of the pen barely touching the page. Then, instead of signing, he clicks the pen shut and sets it down.

The air in the room shifts. Your stomach twists.

"Not tonight." His voice is smooth, final.

You blink. "What?"

He leans back, crossing his arms over his chest, his expression completely unreadable. "I’ll think about it."

Something in your chest tightens, frustration curling in your throat. "Think about what?" You gesture to the papers between you. "This isn’t something that needs consideration, Sunghoon. This is happening. It’s already over."

His gaze darkens slightly, but his face remains composed. "Then why are you still here?"

Your breath catches.

Because you haven’t left yet. Because some part of you still needs this conversation. Because some part of you is waiting for him to say something that changes everything.

The silence stretches, heavy and unbearable. His fingers drum against the glass once, twice, before he reaches for his whiskey glass instead, taking a slow sip. His lips part slightly, as if he’s about to say something, but then he just shakes his head.

"You’ll have them back tomorrow."

But you already know—he won’t sign.

Not tomorrow. Not the next day. Maybe not ever.

 - 

Park Enterprises runs on three things: money, power, and the ability to avoid Park Sunghoon and his soon-to-be-ex-wife in the same room at all costs.

This isn’t an official company policy, but if you asked anyone—from the executives to the janitorial staff—they’d all agree: keeping their two highest-ranking officials away from each other is the best way to ensure the company doesn’t collapse in on itself.

This is why, over the past few months, a silent, unofficial, yet highly efficient system has developed.

It begins every morning.

6:45 AM: Sunghoon arrives, coffee in hand, barely glancing at the receptionist before disappearing into his office. If he sighs immediately upon entering? Bad day. If he slams his office door? Get the emergency evacuation plan ready. 7:15 AM: You arrive, headphones in, already on a call, looking like you’re mentally preparing for battle. If you greet anyone? Good day. If you walk straight to your office without making eye contact? Avoid, avoid, avoid. 7:30 AM: Your PA, Nishimura Riki, updates the "Safe Zones" list. Any floor occupied by both you and Sunghoon is immediately deemed a no-go area.

By 9 AM, the "Daily Avoidance Protocol" is in full effect.

Incoming text: 📲 [Riki → Legal Team] 🚨 Sunghoon spotted near the finance department. Legal team, take the back elevators. DO NOT, I REPEAT, DO NOT TAKE THE MAIN LOBBY.

Incoming text: 📲 [Sunoo → Executive Team] 🛑 Your boss is stomping through the 18th floor like a woman on a mission. She just told an intern to "never, ever look that stressed in front of her again" and I don’t think she was joking.

Incoming text: 📲 [Riki → Sunoo] i heard ur boss threw his pen at the wall this morning lol wtf did u do to him

[Sunoo]: nothing yet but im about to stir the pot for fun.

[Riki]: bet.

And then, of course, there’s lunch.

There used to be a time—back when things were different, when things were better—when you and Sunghoon would eat together. Now?

Now, entire lunch routes are planned out in advance to make sure the two of you never end up in the same restaurant, let alone the same hallway.

Incoming text: 📲 [Sunoo → Riki] Depressed male boss is heading toward the rooftop restaurant. tell ur people to evacuate the 10th floor cafe IMMEDIATELY.

Incoming text: 📲 [Riki → Legal Team] 🚨 ABORT. ABORT. DO NOT GO TO THE CAFÉ. I REPEAT, DO NOT GO TO THE CAFÉ.

By 3 PM, most employees think they’ve made it through the day safely. Until they check the meeting schedule. And realize. There’s a joint executive-legal meeting scheduled at 4:30 PM. Which means.

They have to be in the same room.

- 

The boardroom at Park Enterprises is a high-stakes battlefield.

The executives and legal team are already seated, carefully keeping their faces neutral, their eyes trained on the reports in front of them. No one dares to speak. Everyone is pretending to be busy, flipping through documents they’ve already memorized just to avoid being caught in the crossfire of what is about to happen.

At one end of the table, Sunoo twirls his pen lazily between his fingers, a small, knowing smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. Across from him, Riki updates the betting pool on his phone, typing at lightning speed while shooting occasional glances toward the door.

It’s only a matter of time before the two storm fronts collide.

The first arrival is you.

You stride in with effortless confidence, shoulders squared, back straight, file in hand. Your heels click sharply against the polished floors, announcing your presence before you even reach your seat.

You don’t acknowledge Sunghoon’s presence.

Your team watches as you settle into your chair, flipping open your folder with a level of precision that makes it very, very clear you are not in the mood for incompetence today.

Riki immediately clocks the stiffness in your posture. He subtly pulls out his phone under the table, fingers flying over the screen.

📲 Incoming text: [Riki → Legal Team] boss lady is MAD mad. don’t make eye contact, stay low, survive.

Barely thirty seconds later, Sunghoon walks in.

He doesn’t look at you.

Instead, he exhales sharply as he takes his seat, flipping open his laptop with measured ease, his expression unreadable. The sound of his pen clicking open is the only thing that breaks the silence.

he just sighed. that’s a bad sign. let’s all start praying now.

For the first ten minutes, everything is fine.

Reports are reviewed, revenue projections are discussed, and for a fleeting moment, there’s the illusion of normalcy. You make your points with cool efficiency, and Sunghoon listens without interruption.

"The merger contract," one of the executives finally says, carefully glancing between the two of you like he’s about to light a match in a room full of gasoline.

You don’t hesitate. You already know where this is going.

"The terms still require legal review," you state, flipping to the necessary section in your file. "The current liability clauses remain too vague for approval."

Sunghoon doesn’t even look up from his laptop. "The legal team has had two weeks to finalize those clauses."

Your brows lift slightly. "And yet, they’re still a problem. Imagine that."

The temperature in the room drops.

Sunoo, who had been casually taking notes, suddenly stops writing. His eyes flicker between you and Sunghoon, realization dawning.

Riki, seated to your right, visibly winces. His grip on his pen tightens before it slips from his fingers and rolls off the table.

Sunghoon finally looks up, his dark eyes meeting yours with quiet intensity. "You’re delaying a time-sensitive deal over minor details."

Your lips curl, the faintest hint of amusement playing at the edges. "Minor details? You mean, like, the ones that could potentially cost us millions in damages?"

His jaw tightens. "There’s a deadline for a reason."

"And there’s a reason you need my approval before proceeding," you counter, tone perfectly composed. "Which, let me remind you, you don’t have yet."

The silence that follows is deafening.

Sunoo leans back in his chair, murmuring to Riki under his breath. "They’re fighting in full sentences today."

Riki nods slowly, still typing. "This is worse than last week’s passive-aggressive email exchange."

Sunghoon exhales sharply, sitting back in his chair. His fingers drum once—just once—against the table before he speaks again.

"Fine," he says smoothly, but his tone is sharp. "Take another day. No more than that."

You hum thoughtfully, feigning consideration as you flip another page in your file. "I’ll let you know if that’s feasible."

Sunoo, who is now openly grinning, tilts his phone toward Riki.

📲 Incoming text: [Riki → Legal Team] the CEO looks like he wants to kill someone but is trying to stay professional. ten bucks says he slams his laptop shut first.

📲 Incoming text: [Sunoo → Executive Team] LMFAO he just clenched his jaw so hard I think he cracked a tooth.

-

Your heels click against the polished floor as you walk further in the penthouse, but you don’t call out for him. You don’t need to. You already know where he is.

The scent of whiskey lingers in the air—subtle, but unmistakable. Your eyes land on Park Sunghoon, sitting on the couch in the dim light of the living room, his posture relaxed, one arm draped over the back of the cushions, his other hand resting near the glass of amber liquid on the coffee table. His tie is loose, the first few buttons of his dress shirt undone, his sleeves rolled up as if he’s been here for a while, waiting.

But that isn’t what catches your attention.

The divorce papers sit between you on the glass surface.

Untouched.

Your throat tightens as something bitter and exhausted coils low in your stomach. You set your bag down near the door with more force than necessary, the sound sharp against the silence. You’re tired—of the fights, of the push and pull, of this thing between you that refuses to die no matter how much you try to smother it.

"You haven’t signed them." Your voice is level, controlled, giving away nothing. But inside, your pulse is unsteady, your fingers curling into fists at your sides.

Sunghoon doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he reaches for his whiskey, taking a slow sip, his movements measured, deliberate. When he sets the glass back down, the faint clink against the glass table feels deafening in the quiet room. His gaze lifts to yours, dark and unreadable, his expression betraying nothing.

"No."

The single word lands between you like a gunshot.

Your fingers twitch at your sides, nails pressing into your palms as frustration flares up in your chest. "Sunghoon—"

"Say it."

His voice is quiet, but the weight of it cuts through the space between you with an edge sharper than steel.

You frown slightly, tilting your head in question. "Say what?"

His eyes remain steady on yours, holding you there, unrelenting. There’s no coldness in them, not like there usually is, but something deeper, heavier, more dangerous.

"Say you don’t love me anymore."

The air in the room thickens, growing heavy with something suffocating, unbearable.

It should be easy.

You should be able to say it, to lie through your teeth and tear the last fraying thread between you. You’ve spent months trying to unlove him, convincing yourself that walking away is the only choice left.

But the way he’s looking at you now—the way his fingers ghost over the edge of the divorce papers but never actually touch them—it makes something sink deep in your chest, twisting into something that feels like regret.

Your jaw tightens, shoulders drawing stiff, as you inhale slowly through your nose. "Don’t do this," you murmur, voice quieter now.

Sunghoon leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees, the corner of his mouth curling into something resembling a smirk, but there’s no amusement behind it. "Do what?"

Your pulse hammers against your ribs as anger rises in your throat, sharp and bitter. "Pretend to care when you never did."

Something snaps.

Fast. Brutal.

Before you can react, you’re on the couch, pinned beneath him, Sunghoon’s hand wrapped around your throat.

Your breath catches as your back presses into the cushions, your pulse stuttering beneath his fingers. The grip isn’t tight—not enough to hurt—but just enough to hold you there, to remind you exactly who he is.

His face is close, too close, his breath warm against your lips, his jaw clenched so tight you can see the tension in every muscle. His gaze flickers between your eyes, searching, burning, filled with something dark and raw.

"You think I never cared?" His voice is low, rough, dangerous in a way that sends heat curling through your stomach.

Your body tenses, then melts, as his other hand trails up your thigh, fingers barely skimming your skin, teasing, not touching where you need him to.

"You think I don’t want you?" His breath is uneven now, his fingers tightening just slightly around your throat before loosening again. His thumb brushes along the side of your neck, slow, deliberate. His body is pressed against yours, solid and warm, every inch of him so close, too close, not close enough.

Your fingers wrap around his wrist, nails pressing lightly into his skin, grounding yourself, grounding him. Your breath is shaky when you speak, barely above a whisper. "I think you don’t know how to want me without ruining me."

A muscle in his jaw ticks.

For a second—just a second—he looks wrecked.

Then, his grip tightens.

Your breath stutters, a soft gasp slipping past your lips as heat pools low in your stomach. His lips brush against your ear, his voice lower now, rough, a quiet warning.

"Tell me to stop."

You should.

Sunghoon waits, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths, his fingers tightening around your waist, his grip flexing against your throat just enough to make your pulse quicken.

"You won’t, will you?" His tone is almost amused, but there’s something darker underneath, something that sounds almost like relief.

You shake your head.

And then his lips crash into yours.

The kiss is deep, hungry, filled with everything you’ve both been pretending doesn’t exist. His hands are everywhere—gripping your hips, sliding up your sides, pulling you closer like he wants to memorize the shape of you all over again.

Your fingers tangle into his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp, and he groans into your mouth, his body pressing you further into the couch, his knee parting your thighs. His hands slide under your dress, rough palms trailing against your skin, teasing, making you ache.

"Still wet for me," he mutters, voice dark, breathless. His fingers slip beneath your panties, dragging over your soaked folds, slow and deliberate, just to prove his point.

You whimper against his mouth, thighs trembling as he strokes you, not giving you what you need, just teasing, just pushing you closer to the edge.

"Sunghoon," you gasp, a plea, a warning.

He smirks against your skin, lips pressing against your throat, sucking at the sensitive skin before sinking two fingers into you, curling just right.

"You hate me, remember?" His voice is taunting, wicked.

Your back arches, hips rocking against his fingers, chasing more, chasing him.

Your breath comes out in shuddering gasps as you whisper the only thing you can manage. "I hate you."

Sunghoon lets out a breathless, bitter laugh.

"Liar."

-

"That’s not how we do things at Park Enterprises, Mrs. Park," Sunghoon muses.

He leans back in his office chair, fingers tapping against the polished surface of the table. The way he says it is deliberate, lazy, like he’s testing you.

The meeting room is as usual, closer to World War 3 (total destruction edition) than a collaborative good-vibes-only space.

You still, fingers curling slightly against the stack of legal briefs in front of you. The flicker of heat that rushes through you isn’t fondness—it’s pure irritation.

"Don’t call me that." Your tone is measured, sharp.

Sunghoon’s lips twitch, but there’s no humor in his smirk. "Habit."

Your gaze hardens, your nails pressing into the contract as you slam it down in front of him.

"Then break it."

The entire room freezes.

Sunoo, seated two chairs down, makes a sound that might be a laugh but immediately covers it with a cough. Across from him, Riki subtly slides his phone out to update the betting pool on how long this fight is going to last.

The tension only thickens when Sunghoon reaches for the contract, flipping through the pages like he isn’t remotely affected. His expression is smooth, almost bored, but you don’t miss the way his jaw tightens just slightly.

"You seem invested in this," he muses, signing his name on the margin like he’s humoring you. "Why? Worried about my financial well-being?"

You exhale slowly, forcing down the irritation curling in your chest. "No. I just don’t like being dragged into your reckless decisions when you know I’ll have to clean up your mess later."

Sunghoon’s eyes flick up to yours. There’s something there, something sharp, dark, something that makes your stomach twist.

"You always do," he murmurs. "Clean up after me."

You refuse to react, refuse to let him see that he’s getting under your skin. Instead, you push back your chair, standing with a level of poise that takes effort.

"I don’t work for you, Sunghoon," you remind him, voice cold. "I work for the company."

His lips press together, but he doesn’t argue. Doesn’t tell you you’re wrong.

Because you aren’t.

📲 Incoming text: [Sunoo → Riki] he just flexed his fingers like he wanted to throw the pen LMFAO ur boss literally just called him reckless in front of the entire room. this is peak entertainment.

📲 Incoming text: [Riki → Legal Team] ceo looks ready to commit murder. we might need security.

📲 Incoming text: [Sunoo → Executive Team] he just sighed through his nose. we are in DANGER.

-

The morning sun spills into Park Enterprises, painting streaks of gold across the marble floors of the top executive offices. Everything looks pristine, polished—exactly the way Sunghoon keeps it. But today, something is off.

You push open the heavy glass door to his office without knocking, a thick stack of contracts tucked under your arm. Your heels click against the floor with precise, deliberate steps, each one punctuating the tension lingering between you.

Without hesitation, you slam the folder onto his desk.

“You’re going to sign this,” you declare, arms crossing over your chest, voice clipped, firm.

Sunghoon doesn’t respond right away.

You expect the usual pushback—some sarcastic remark, a knowing smirk, the casual dismissal of your concerns—but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he stays where he is, leaning against the edge of his desk, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened just enough to suggest exhaustion. His fingers press lightly against the smooth wood surface behind him, as if steadying himself.

He looks off.

Not tired—Sunghoon is always tired. But off.

You narrow your eyes. “What, no argument?”

He blinks at you, slowly, like it takes more effort than it should. His grip on the desk tightens briefly before he exhales, dragging a hand through his already tousled hair.

"Are you okay?" The question leaves your lips before you can stop it.

Sunghoon finally reacts, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips—small, forced. “Worried about me now?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “I just don’t want you dying in my office.”

He chuckles, but the sound is weak, quieter than usual. He straightens up, shifts his weight slightly, but the way he moves is wrong—like he’s trying too hard to make it look effortless.

"If I did," he murmurs, "I’d haunt you."

Normally, that would be enough to pull an eye roll out of you. Maybe even a snarky remark. But something about the way he says it makes your stomach tighten.

You watch him carefully. The way his fingers flex against the desk. The slight tension in his shoulders. The way his smirk falters at the edges.

Sunghoon has always carried himself with control—measured, deliberate, never showing a single crack in the façade. But right now, standing in front of you, he looks off balance.

The last time he looked like this, the last time he held himself together just a little too well, something had been wrong then too.

Something you didn’t realize until it was too late.

The memory presses at the edges of your thoughts, but you push it down.

“Maybe you should sit down before you do something stupid,” you mutter.

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow, clearly amused, but he does exactly that. He sinks into his chair, rolling his shoulders, letting out a slow breath before picking up the contract.

“Relax,” he says, flipping through the pages. “I’ll sign your stupid paperwork. No need to get sentimental.”

Your jaw tightens, irritation curling at the edges of your concern. “I’m not being sentimental. I just don’t want to deal with the PR disaster when you inevitably collapse.”

Sunghoon lets out a quiet huff of laughter, but the way his fingers drift to his temple, pressing lightly, does not go unnoticed. He rubs at the tension there, eyes briefly fluttering shut before he shakes his head, pushing through whatever is bothering him.

“I’m fine.”

You don’t believe him. But you don’t push. Because the last time you did, you lost.

It had been late.

Past midnight. The city outside your bedroom window was still awake, alive with light and movement, but inside, the world had gone silent.

You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, exhaustion pressing into your chest like a weight you couldn’t lift. You weren’t crying. You had already done that. There was nothing left inside you except emptiness.

Sunghoon lay beside you.

Awake. Motionless. Silent.

His back was turned to you.

And the worst part, the part that haunted you even now, wasn’t that he hadn’t said anything.

It was that when you had reached for his hand, he had let you hold it.

But he hadn’t held yours back.

The memory lingers even as you push it away.

You watch Sunghoon as he picks up the contract, flipping through the pages with minimal interest. His fingers tighten slightly when he turns each page, like he’s holding back something.

Pain. Fatigue. Something worse.

"You look like shit," you say finally, leaning against his desk, arms crossed.

Sunghoon hums, barely glancing up. “Charming as always.”

"You should get checked out."

He snorts, shaking his head. “If I wanted medical advice, I wouldn’t take it from my ex-wife.”

"Not ex yet."

And for some reason, as you turn to leave, you can’t shake the feeling that you just missed something important.

-

The Park family never asks for favors.

Not officially, at least.

It’s always subtle, always wrapped in polite smiles and casual requests, laced with just enough manipulation to make refusal feel impossible.

Which is why you’re seated in the Park family’s private lounge, sipping tea that’s gone cold, listening to Sunghoon’s mother and his uncle discuss the delicate legal situation that has suddenly become your responsibility.

“It’s just a small thing,” his mother insists, waving a dismissive hand as though corporate fraud allegations against one of their subsidiary partners are a minor inconvenience rather than a full-blown lawsuit waiting to happen.

You keep your expression neutral, fingers laced neatly over your knee. “It’s not a small thing,” you correct evenly. “You’re looking at a serious case of financial misrepresentation, and if this isn’t handled properly, it could affect all of Park Enterprises. This isn’t something I can just sweep under the rug.”

His uncle chuckles like you’ve just told a particularly amusing joke. “Oh, we know that, dear. That’s why we’re bringing it to you.”

Dear.

You resist the urge to tense, keeping your posture composed.

Because this is what you’ve become to them.

Not a daughter-in-law. Not family.

A lawyer first, a liability second.

“You’ve always been so good at handling these sorts of things,” his mother adds, smiling that elegant, carefully practiced smile that never quite reaches her eyes. “And with your position at the company, it only makes sense for you to oversee it personally.”

Of course. Personally.

They won’t trust this kind of thing to an outsider. But they also won’t officially involve you, because that would mean compensation, responsibility, accountability.

Instead, they’ll let you handle it just enough to clean up their mess. They’ll let you do the work, bear the stress, and take the fall if things go wrong.

And Sunghoon?

Sunghoon won’t say a word.

You glance to your left, where he’s seated quietly, fingers tapping lightly against the rim of his coffee cup. He hasn’t spoken once since this conversation began.

Not to defend you. Not to refuse. Not to say anything at all.

Just… silent.

Your fingers tighten around the folder in your lap.

“I’ll review the case,” you say finally, voice clipped, controlled. “But I won’t guarantee anything.”

His mother beams, reaching forward to squeeze your hand like you’ve just agreed to Sunday brunch, not to clean up yet another one of their family’s legal disasters.

“I knew we could count on you,” she says sweetly.

Sunghoon still says nothing.

Not when his mother praises you.

Not when his uncle jokes about how lucky Sunghoon is to have married such a “resourceful” woman.

Not when the conversation finally ends, and they rise from their seats, leaving you with a stack of documents, a heavier workload, and a headache that has nothing to do with legal strategy.

It isn’t until you’re alone with him in the car, on the drive back home, that you finally let your frustration boil over.

“So that’s how this works now?” Your voice is flat, gaze fixed on the city lights outside the window. “Your family gets into trouble, and I’m the free labor you offer up to fix it?”

Sunghoon exhales, tilting his head back against the seat. “It’s not like that.”

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “No? Because from where I’m sitting, it sure as hell feels like it.”

His fingers flex against the steering wheel. “You’re the best lawyer they know,” he says after a beat, like that somehow makes it better. Like that somehow makes this okay.

You turn to look at him, eyes narrowing. “And that’s all I am, isn’t it?”

-

He went back after dropping you off.

His mother had barely glanced up from her tea. “She’s always been so difficult,” she sighed, setting the cup down with a delicate clink. “It would be easier if she simply cooperated without arguing every little point.”

Sunghoon’s jaw had clenched at that.

His uncle had smirked, shaking his head. “Women like her are sharp, but they forget that they’re meant to—”

“Don’t finish that sentence.”

The room had gone silent.

His uncle blinked, raising a brow. “Excuse me?”

Sunghoon had leaned forward slightly, voice measured but laced with something dangerous. “You don’t get to talk about her like that.”

His mother frowned slightly, but the warning in his expression kept her from speaking.

His uncle, however, wasn’t as quick to read the room. “She’s my niece-in-law, I can—”

“She’s not yours anything,” Sunghoon cut in, tone sharp. “And the next time you speak about her like that, you won’t like how I respond.”

His uncle had scoffed, muttering something under his breath about being too soft on a woman who clearly didn’t respect her place, but the discussion didn’t go any further.

Because Sunghoon had stood up, buttoning his suit jacket, gaze level.

“You wanted her help?” he had said coldly. “You’ll take what she’s willing to give. And if she decides she’s done dealing with your bullshit, you won’t push her. Understood?”

-

The first sign that something is wrong comes in the form of silence.

For the past few days, Sunghoon has been more irritable than usual. Not outright angry, not obviously upset, just… distant. He works longer hours, avoids unnecessary conversations, and brushes off every single instance you or his team ask if he’s okay. It’s nothing new—he’s always had a habit of overworking himself into exhaustion, pushing himself too hard, acting invincible even when he’s clearly not.

You’re used to it.

But today, something feels different.

Maybe it’s the way he barely acknowledged you in the morning meeting, his focus wavering during discussions where he’s usually sharp. Maybe it’s the way his grip tightened just slightly around his pen, like he needed to steady himself. Maybe it’s the way he looked at you—like he wanted to say something, but chose not to.

Or maybe it’s the way his entire office is empty when you pass by hours later, and his assistant, Sunoo, is nowhere to be found.

You stop in your tracks.

"Where is he?"

Riki looks up from his phone, startled by your sudden appearance at the executive floor. “Uh—meeting with finance, I think?”

You frown. “No, that ended an hour ago.”

Riki hesitates. He knows better than to lie to you. “He wasn’t looking too good earlier.”

Your stomach twists.

He’s been pushing himself too hard. You knew this would happen.

You spin on your heel, already moving before you can second-guess yourself.

When you find him, he’s exactly where you feared he’d be.

Collapsed on the floor of his office.

Sunghoon is slumped against the base of his desk, one hand still loosely gripping his chair, as if he had tried to stop himself from falling. His usually sharp, polished composure is completely gone—his dress shirt is slightly undone, his face pale, sweat beading along his brow. His breathing is shallow, his eyes half-lidded like he’s barely clinging to consciousness.

The sight of him like this—weak, vulnerable, not in control—makes something in your chest tighten painfully.

"Sunghoon," you breathe out, dropping to your knees beside him. Your hands hover over him for a second, uncertain, before you press against his shoulders, shaking him lightly. “Hey. Hey, look at me.”

His head tilts slightly, his gaze flickering to you, but it’s unfocused.

“…What are you doing here?” His voice is quiet, hoarse, like he’s barely holding onto himself.

Your heart pounds in your ears. “Shut up.” You tilt his chin up, searching his face, trying to assess just how bad this is. He’s too pale, too warm, and his breathing is far from steady.

"I’m fine," he murmurs, trying to push himself up, but his body betrays him. His limbs shake, his strength is gone, and before he can fall again, you catch him.

That’s when panic sinks in.

You barely register the way your arms tighten around him as you yell for help, your voice sharp, commanding. Within moments, Riki and Sunoo are rushing in, Sunoo already pulling out his phone to call an ambulance.

"Sunghoon, stay awake," you demand, your fingers brushing against his cheek. “Do you hear me? Stay awake.”

His lips curve slightly. Even now, he’s trying to smile.

“Bossy,” he mutters.

Your throat tightens. “Shut up and breathe.”

-

The hospital smells like antiseptic and exhaustion.

The waiting room is too bright, too cold, too suffocating. The dull hum of fluorescent lights buzzes overhead, mixing with the distant beeping of heart monitors and the low murmur of voices at the nurse’s station. You sit motionless, staring at the tiled floor, your arms crossed so tightly that your nails press crescents into your palms.

It’s been hours since they rushed Sunghoon in.

Riki and Sunoo are still here, but neither of them speaks. They hover nearby, their presence a quiet weight in the room, but they know better than to say anything. Everyone knows better than to say anything.

Finally, footsteps approach. A doctor stops in front of you, flipping through a clipboard. “Are you here for Park Sunghoon?”

Your breath catches. You rise immediately, ignoring the stiffness in your limbs. “Yes.”

“He’s stable for now,” the doctor says, voice calm and professional. “We ran some tests, but given his symptoms, this isn’t just exhaustion. He’s been dealing with this for a while, hasn’t he?”

Your stomach twists.

He’s been hiding this.

The doctor’s gaze softens slightly. “Are you his wife?”

The word cuts through you like a blade.

You swallow. Legally, yes. Emotionally? You don’t know anymore.

“Yes,” you say, the word tasting strange on your tongue.

The doctor nods. “Then I need to speak with you privately.”

-

The hospital room is suffocating.

It smells sterile, like antiseptic and something cold, something lifeless. The overhead lights cast a dim glow over everything—too bright, too harsh, too unforgiving. The heart monitor beside the bed beeps in slow, steady intervals, but Sunghoon’s breathing is anything but steady.

He looks wrecked.

His skin is too pale, washed out under the fluorescent glow. His lips are dry, colorless. There’s sweat clinging to his hairline, dampening the strands against his forehead. His fingers tremble where they rest against the blanket, curling slightly like even the fabric is too much to hold onto.

And yet, despite all of it, despite the exhaustion weighing down his body and the fever burning beneath his skin, he still looks at you with something sharp, something unyielding, when you demand the truth.

“How long have you known?”

Your voice is stretched too thin, raw from exhaustion and something deeper, something you don’t want to name.

Sunghoon exhales, closing his eyes for a second like it physically pains him to answer. When he finally does, his voice is quiet, hoarse from fatigue.

“Six months.”

The words sink into you like stones.

Your hands tighten around the metal bedrail, your grip so tight your knuckles go white. Your chest constricts, something ugly twisting inside of you, something that makes your stomach curl in on itself.

“Six fucking months?”

Sunghoon drags a trembling hand down his face, but even that looks like it takes too much effort. His body is failing him, but his voice is still there, still cutting, when he lets out a soft, bitter laugh.

“Would it have changed anything?”

Your breath catches, something sharp and painful ripping through your chest.

You let out a short, humorless laugh, something hollow and unfamiliar.

“Yes.”

Sunghoon finally looks at you, but there’s something haunted in his gaze. A long, unbearable silence stretches between you before his jaw tightens, his voice lowering, turning quiet, cutting like a blade against your skin.

“Did it change anything when I tried to hold you after we lost them?”

The air leaves your lungs.

You freeze, your entire body locking up, the grip you have on the bedrail so tight it screeches beneath your fingertips.

Sunghoon watches you carefully, but there’s no fight in his face, no anger, no bitterness.

Just exhaustion.

And pain.

Your voice barely makes it out. “You never tried.”

His breath catches.

“I did,” he murmurs, voice raw.

Your throat tightens.

“No, you didn’t.” You take a step forward, your pulse hammering, hands shaking. “You shut down. You let me—” Your breath hitches, your voice unsteady. “You let me go through it alone.”

Sunghoon doesn’t argue. He just looks away.

And that’s somehow worse.

“You acted like it never happened,” you whisper, the words barely holding themselves together. “Like they never happened.”

Sunghoon’s chest rises sharply, his fingers twitching, his breathing growing uneven again. His entire body stiffens, but he doesn’t push back.

And then, voice hoarse, shaking, wrecked,

“You think I didn’t care?”

Your hands curl into fists, but before you can say anything, before you can even process what’s happening—

Sunghoon moves too fast.

He tries to stand up, tries to close the space between you, but his body betrays him.

His IV yanks painfully, the needle shifting against his arm, and the wires attached to the monitor tangle around his wrist, pulling tighter when he moves. His breath stutters in pain, his fingers weakly gripping the sheets, but he doesn’t stop.

“Sunghoon,” you snap, eyes widening in alarm. “Sit the fuck down.”

But he doesn’t listen. He tries again to push himself up, stumbling slightly, and this time, his knees give out.

You barely catch him in time.

“Jesus Christ,” you hiss, gripping his arms as his entire weight collapses against you. His body burns under your touch, too warm, feverish, his breathing erratic. His head nearly falls against your shoulder, his body too weak to hold itself up.

His fingers clutch at the fabric of your blazer, something weak, something desperate.

And then—voice wrecked, hoarse, shaking—

“I named them.”

Your entire world tilts.

You go still.

Sunghoon doesn’t move, his forehead nearly pressed against your collarbone, his breath warm and shaky against your skin. His grip tightens, even as his body trembles.

“What?” Your voice barely makes it out, caught somewhere between disbelief and something worse.

“Every night while you were asleep next to me, I whispered their names silently. I prayed for them.”

Sunghoon exhales shakily. His legs shake beneath him, his chest heaving, his entire body drained. He’s burning up, sweat sticking to his temple, his breath shallow.

You grab him by the arms, shaking him slightly. “Say their names.”

Sunghoon winces, he shakes his head ‘no’ his face twisting like the words are physically painful to say. He exhales sharply, breath ragged.

“Say their names, Sunghoon.”

His fingers tighten around your sleeve, his whole body trembling under your touch. For a moment, he just stares at you, like saying it out loud will finally break him.

Then, barely above a whisper, like it’s being torn from him—

“Eunha and June.”

Your stomach drops.

Sunghoon exhales sharply, his entire body slumping like he just let go of something he’s been carrying for years.

“I used to imagine who they’d look like more,” he whispers, his voice so thin, so hollow. “If Eunha would have had your eyes. If June would have had my smile.”

Your throat tightens painfully.

“I wondered if they would have fought like us,” he exhales shakily, his fingers flexing around the fabric of your sleeve. “If they would have been close. If they would have had your fire. If I would have been able to protect them.”

His next breath is ragged, breaking.

“They were my girls.”

Your stomach twists.

His voice isn’t just sad. It’s grief-stricken. It’s empty.

“Mine,” he murmurs. His fingers twitch at his sides, the life draining from his voice as his chest rises and falls too quickly. “Mine and yours and no one else’s.”

A sob breaks past your lips, full and desperate and wrecked.

Before you even realize what you’re doing, you pull him in.

Sunghoon immediately folds into you, his arms wrapping around your waist weakly, his face burying itself into the crook of your neck.

He’s burning up, feverish, barely staying upright.

Your hands press into his back, feeling the too-thin frame of him, the exhaustion pulling at his body, the heat radiating off him in waves.

Neither of you speak.

For the first time in years, there is nothing left to say.

-

You wake up feeling… off.

Your neck aches, your back is stiff, and there’s a strange, rhythmic beeping that’s far too loud for this early in the morning.

It takes a second to register where you are.

The hospital.

Sunghoon.

The entire night before crashes into you all at once. The fight. His fever. The names. The fact that you never left.

Your stomach tightens. You should have left. You should have walked out the second he fell asleep. That was the plan.

And yet, somehow—you didn’t.

Before you can sit up, the door swings open.

“Well, this is unexpected.”

You jump, blinking blearily as Sunoo steps inside, two cups of coffee in hand, his eyes scanning the room with just a little too much interest.

He doesn’t immediately say something annoying, which means he’s definitely about to.

You shift in your chair, sitting up straighter, clearing your throat. “Morning.”

Sunoo doesn’t move, just looks at you. Then at Sunghoon, still asleep in the bed. Then back at you.

Finally—he lets out a small hum. “You stayed.”

It’s not judgmental. It’s not even teasing, really—just surprised. But for some reason, it makes you feel weirdly defensive.

“He had a fever,” you mutter, shifting under his gaze. “It was high. I didn’t think he should be alone.”

Sunoo nods. “Right.”

You hate how knowing he sounds.

Before you can scowl at him, Sunghoon groans, shifting slightly in the bed. His brow furrows, his body tensing for a brief moment before his eyes crack open.

And you know the exact moment he registers Sunoo’s presence—because instead of groaning in pain like a normal sick person, he exhales sharply, eyes barely open but already full of irritation.

“The fuck are you doing here?” His voice is rough, hoarse from sleep, but still so unmistakably Sunghoon that it’s almost impressive.

Sunoo lets out a small laugh, shaking his head as he grabs his own coffee. “Ah, there he is. Same old personality, even after nearly dying.”

Sunghoon barely cracks an eye open before exhaling sharply, pressing his head back against the pillow. “Go away.”

Sunoo, wisely, does not go away.

Instead, he takes a slow sip of his coffee. “I mean, technically, I work here. It’s my job to check on the CEO.” His gaze flickers toward you. “But wow. Look at this. The dedicated wife, staying by his side all night. It’s like something out of a drama.”

You groan, pressing your fingers to your temple. “Sunoo—”

“Oh, don’t worry,” he says, setting Sunghoon’s coffee on the bedside table. “I won’t tell the office too much. But, you know… people talk. Betting pools exist.”

Sunghoon slowly turns his head toward Sunoo.

And in the flattest, most deadpan voice imaginable, he says—

“You’re fired.”

Sunoo chokes on his coffee. “What?”

Sunghoon doesn’t even blink. “Pack your shit.”

“You wouldn’t survive a week without me,” Sunoo mutters, taking another sip.

Sunghoon closes his eyes, like he’s physically holding himself back from committing a crime.

You watch this exchange, unimpressed. “Are you two done?”

Sunoo gestures at Sunghoon. “Tell him. He’s the one being dramatic.”

Sunghoon’s eyes flick open again. “You barged in here at eight in the morning.”

“Nine,” Sunoo corrects. “And technically, I knocked.”

Neither of you remembers a knock.

Sunghoon takes a long, deep breath. “I still feel like shit. And the very first thing I see when I wake up is you. Running your mouth.”

Sunoo hums. “Okay, grumpy.”

Sunghoon glares.

Sunoo clears his throat, wisely changing the subject. “Anyway. You have the day off, obviously, but I have your morning reports whenever you’re—”

“I don’t care.”

Sunoo nods slowly. “Right. Well. I also have—”

“I still don’t care.”

Sunoo pauses. “…Okay, then.”

For the first time, he seems to sense that he’s overstayed his welcome. He takes a slow step toward the door, glancing between the two of you.

Then, mildly—“Try not to murder each other before lunch.”

And with that, he’s gone..

-

Sunghoon exhales sharply as he sinks into the passenger seat, eyes shut, head tilted back against the headrest. His body is still weak, and you know the car ride is taking more out of him than he’d ever admit. He doesn’t complain, though—he never does.

You keep your eyes on the road, both hands gripping the steering wheel, knuckles pressing just a little too hard against the leather. The silence stretches between you, filling the space inside the car, thick but not suffocating. Just there.

It’s not hostile. Not like before. But it’s not comfortable either.

For a while, neither of you say anything. The city blurs past in streaks of yellow streetlights and neon reflections, casting flickering shadows across Sunghoon’s face. His breathing is slow, controlled, like he’s trying not to let the exhaustion show.

But you see it.

You see the way his fingers twitch slightly against his thigh, how his jaw tenses every time you hit the smallest bump in the road. You see the way his chest rises and falls, slower than usual, deeper like he’s trying to regulate himself.

And then, finally—his voice breaks the silence.

“You don’t have to babysit me.”

It’s not sharp, not a challenge. Just… a test.

You inhale, eyes flickering toward him briefly before returning to the road. “I know.”

A pause. Then, quieter this time, a little more uncertain—“You don’t have to stay in the same house anymore.”

Your fingers tighten around the wheel, your stomach twisting in a way you don’t like.

“I know,” you say again, but this time, it sounds different. Less sure. Less like something you actually believe.

Sunghoon turns his head slightly, watching you from the corner of his eye. His expression remains unreadable, his voice careful.

“Then why are you still here?”

The traffic light ahead flicks to red. The car slows, the tires rolling to a smooth stop, but inside, everything still feels like it’s moving too fast.

You could answer honestly. You could tell him that you don’t know how to walk away from him yet, that you don’t know what the hell you’re still holding onto but you’re holding onto it anyway.

Instead, you let out a slow breath and shift slightly in your seat. “You wouldn’t last a week without me.”

Sunghoon huffs, gaze drifting back toward the windshield. “I’d last at least two.”

The corners of your lips twitch, but you press them together before the expression fully forms.

“Wanna bet?”

The breath he lets out is something close to a laugh—short, barely there, but real.

“Not really,” he mutters, exhaling through his nose.

Neither of you say anything after that.

But the silence that follows doesn’t feel as heavy as before.

-

The house is dimly lit, the soft glow from the hallway casting long shadows across the walls. The familiar scent of wood and clean linen lingers in the air, settling around you like something almost comforting, almost safe.

Sunghoon moves carefully, slower than he normally would, his fingers brushing against the wall for balance as he toes off his shoes. He doesn’t stumble, doesn’t sway, but you see the way his body holds tension—too stiff, too controlled, like he’s bracing himself.

You don’t say anything.

Not until he lowers himself onto the couch, exhaling as if just the act of standing had drained him.

“You should sit down,” you say after a moment, arms crossing over your chest.

Sunghoon huffs a quiet breath, shaking his head. “You just watched me sit down.”

You roll your eyes, stepping into the kitchen without another word. He’s impossible. He always has been. The worst part is, you let yourself care anyway.

You fill a glass with water and bring it back to the living room, setting it down in front of him before dropping into the armchair across from the couch.

Sunghoon glances at the glass, then up at you.

“You’re not gonna make me drink it, are you?” His voice is hoarse, rough from exhaustion.

“I will if you keep being difficult.”

Sunghoon exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face before finally—finally—grabbing the glass. He takes a slow sip, sets it back down, and leans back into the cushions.

The silence that follows is heavy, but not the kind that threatens to break.

For a few minutes, neither of you speak. The tension sits between you, waiting, stretching until you finally say—

“You need to take time off.”

Sunghoon’s brow furrows slightly, eyes still closed.

“I already did,” he mutters.

You scoff. “No, you were hospitalized. That’s not ‘time off,’ that’s your body shutting down because you refuse to take care of yourself.”

He doesn’t react at first, but you see the way his fingers flex slightly against his knee.

“I can manage,” he says, and this time, there’s an edge there.

You lean forward, resting your elbows on your knees, voice sharper now. “That’s exactly the problem, Sunghoon. You think you can manage. You think you can push through it, that it’s just something you can ignore and work around. But you can’t.”

His jaw tightens.

You exhale through your nose, hands pressing together. “The doctors literally told you what happens if you don’t take care of yourself. You might get better quickly, but if you push too hard, it’s going to get worse even faster. You don’t have the luxury of acting like this is a minor thing.”

Sunghoon shifts slightly, dragging a hand through his hair before resting his forearm against his knee. His voice is quieter when he finally speaks.

“…I know my limits.”

The words hit something raw inside you, something that has been aching for too long.

“No, you obviously don’t,” you snap, and this time, you don’t bother holding back. “You never do. You push and push until you hit a wall, and then you act surprised when your body gives out.”

Sunghoon’s fingers tighten against his knee. “I don’t need you to—”

“To what?” you interrupt, eyes burning. “To remind you? To be here because someone has to make sure you actually listen to the doctor’s advice?”

His breath catches slightly, and you hate how sickly he looks under the dim light. You hate how tired his shoulders are, how his fingers are trembling slightly against his knee, how his skin is still too pale, too warm from the fever that hasn’t fully faded yet. But most of all, you hate that he won’t just let himself rest.

You inhale, voice calmer now, but still firm. “They told you that you can’t just ‘push through’ this, Sunghoon. You’re not invincible. The whole reason you ended up in the hospital is because you ignored the symptoms for months.”

Sunghoon drags a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. “I don’t need you to remind me of what I already know.”

“Then act like you know it.”

Sunghoon leans back against the couch, his body tense, hands resting on his thighs. His gaze flickers toward the ceiling, expression unreadable.

You watch him, watch the way his shoulders rise and fall with each slow breath, the way his throat bobs slightly when he swallows.

“Are you staying in my room?”

The words are soft. Careful. Testing.

Your fingers tighten slightly against your knee. You should say no.

You should get up, go to your own room, create distance before this turns into something neither of you know how to handle.

“Just until you’re better.”

A lie. And Sunghoon knows it too. But neither of you say anything about it.

-

The room is still dark when you stir awake, the faintest trace of early morning filtering through the curtains. The air is cool, the kind of stillness that comes right before dawn, when everything feels softer—quieter.

You shift slightly under the blankets, your body slow to wake, your mind still caught in the haze of sleep.

And that’s when you feel it.

The warmth. The weight. The quiet, steady presence behind you.

Sunghoon.

Your breath catches, your body freezing for a moment as reality sets in. His arm—heavy, warm, familiar—draped loosely around your waist.

Not tight. Not pulling. Just there.

Your mind races, but your body remembers.

For a second—just a second—you don’t move.

Sunghoon’s breathing is even, deep and slow. His chest rises and falls against your back, steady, the faint warmth of his breath skimming the back of your neck.

Your stomach twists.

It’s been years since you’ve woken up like this—since you’ve felt his presence this close, this natural. And for a fleeting, dangerous moment, you let yourself sink into it, let yourself feel the way his fingers twitch slightly against the fabric of your shirt, like he’s still dreaming.

Then, suddenly—he shifts.

His body stirs, his breath hitching slightly, and you realize he’s waking up.

Panic flickers up your spine, but you keep still, barely breathing, waiting—waiting to see if he’ll pull away first.

But he doesn’t.

Sunghoon exhales softly, his fingers twitching again before his hand tightens ever so slightly around your waist.

Not intentional. Not forceful. Just… like he doesn’t want to let go yet.

Your throat tightens. It lasts a second. Maybe two.

His body tenses slightly. His fingers flex. His breath catches.

He’s awake now.

Neither of you move. Neither of you breathe too loudly.

And then, carefully—too carefully—he pulls away.

His arm lifts from your waist, the warmth of him retreating as he shifts slightly onto his back. You hear him exhale quietly, controlled.

You wait, counting the seconds, waiting for him to say something, for him to make a joke, for him to act like this didn’t just happen.

But he doesn’t. He just stays there, quiet.

And after a moment, you let out a breath of your own and shift to sit up, pulling the blanket back just enough to swing your legs over the edge of the bed.

Neither of you acknowledge it. Neither of you turn to look at each other.

It’s like it never happened. And that’s the problem.

Because it did.

And for the rest of the morning, you can still feel the lingering warmth where his arm had been.

-

You knew this was going to happen.

You knew the moment you caught a glimpse of his laptop open on the coffee table this morning, saw the unread emails stacking up, the subtle tension in his shoulders as he read through them like he wasn’t supposed to be working in the first place.

You ignored it. You let it go, for a while. But now?

Now, it’s ten at night, and Sunghoon is still sitting on the damn couch, his laptop open, fingers typing slowly, deliberately, like he’s trying to pretend he’s not as exhausted as he actually is.

You don’t let it go this time.

“You’re working.”

It’s not a question.

Sunghoon doesn’t look up. His gaze stays fixed on the screen, his fingers still tapping against the keyboard.

“It’s just an email.” His voice is calm. Too calm.

You cross your arms, leaning against the doorway, your eyes sharp.

“Didn’t we already have this argument?”

Sunghoon sighs through his nose, his jaw tightening slightly. “And yet, here we are.”

You hate how steady he sounds, how he knows exactly how to say things just to piss you off.

Your arms tighten across your chest. “We’re not doing this again.”

“Then don’t start it,” he mutters, still not looking at you.

Your patience snaps.

You step forward, standing right in front of him, blocking his view of the laptop. “Sunghoon.”

His fingers pause over the keys. His gaze lifts to yours. And the air changes.

It happens too fast, that shift in the atmosphere. The frustration, the exhaustion, the sheer stubbornness—blending into something else.

Something tense.

His eyes flicker over your face, your mouth, your throat. His voice is lower when he speaks this time. Slower. More deliberate.

“You keep saying you’re not going to argue with me.”

His fingers curl slightly against the armrest.

“And yet, you’re still here.”

Your stomach twists—not in anger, not in frustration, but in something darker, something hotter, something that you don’t want to name.

Your eyes narrow slightly, your voice sharp when you say—“Because you don’t fucking listen.”

Sunghoon tilts his head, his expression unreadable. His gaze dips, lingering on your lips for half a second too long.

Your breath comes in shorter now.

And then—slowly, carefully—he shuts his laptop. The sound of it clicking shut feels too loud in the quiet.

He leans back against the couch, arms resting on the cushions, his legs spreading just slightly, just enough to make the space between you feel smaller.

“Go on, then.”

Your pulse hammers.

Sunghoon watches you, his gaze steady, his body too relaxed, too effortless—like he’s waiting for something.

Like he wants to see what you’ll do next.

You inhale sharply, trying not to notice the way his sweatpants ride low on his hips, the way his shirt is loose enough to show a sliver of his collarbone, the way he looks completely unaffected when you’re burning.

You hate him.

You hate how good he is at this.

You take a step forward, planting your hands on the armrest, leaning in, forcing his attention back to your face.

“If you’re not going to take care of yourself,” you murmur, “then I will.”

Sunghoon exhales slowly, his jaw flexing slightly.

The tension between you pulls tighter.

He doesn’t move away. He doesn’t blink. He just sits there, waiting.

You don’t know if it’s waiting for the fight, or waiting for something else. You don’t know which one you want more.

For a second—just a second—your eyes flicker to his mouth. And you swear—you swear—his do the same.

Before either of you can do something you can’t take back—

Your phone buzzes from across the room. The moment shatters.

You inhale sharply, stepping back, hands dropping from the armrest. Sunghoon’s eyes flicker, his breath just slightly uneven now, but he doesn’t say anything.

You turn away first. You pretend your hands aren’t shaking.

You don’t look at him when you grab your phone off the counter, checking the notification even though you didn’t read a single word of it.

The moment is over. But neither of you breathe the same after that.

-

You hadn't planned for this.

You hadn't planned on seeing Sunghoon in the hallway, hadn't planned on him looking at you like that—like he was about to ruin you, like he needed to.

But the moment he stepped into your space, the moment his breath ghosted over your skin, you felt the air shift. It was thick, weighted with something that neither of you had the energy to resist anymore.

"Tell me you don’t want this." His voice is low, quiet but firm, laced with something deeper than just lust—something closer to desperation.

Instead of answering, your fingers twist into the front of his shirt and you pull him in.

Sunghoon exhales sharply, his restraint snapping the second your mouth meets his. He moves fast—too fast, like he's been starving for this, like he's afraid it'll slip through his fingers if he hesitates. His hands are on your waist, then your back, gripping at you like he's trying to memorize every inch.

The kiss is messy, uncoordinated, filled with teeth and tongues and frustration. Months of pent-up tension, of silent longing, of unsaid words spill into every movement. He presses you into the wall, hips flush against yours, and you feel it—how hard he is, how much he's holding back, how badly he wants this.

"You drive me fucking crazy," he mutters against your lips, his breath ragged.

"Then do something about it."

He groans, low and wrecked, before lifting you effortlessly, hands gripping under your thighs as he carries you through the house. He doesn’t stop kissing you—not when he stumbles slightly into a wall, not when he nearly knocks over a lamp.

You barely make it to the couch before he’s pushing you down, hovering over you, eyes dark with something too raw to name.

His hands move fast—too fast—pulling at your clothes, impatient, frantic. His fingers tremble slightly as he drags your shirt over your head, his lips instantly finding the newly exposed skin, teeth grazing, biting, soothing with his tongue.

"Fuck—" he exhales, hands gripping at your hips, his forehead pressing against your shoulder for a second. Like he's catching his breath. Like this is overwhelming him.

You tilt his chin up, forcing him to look at you.

"Sunghoon."

His eyes flicker to yours, something wrecked flashing across his face before he swallows hard, his fingers tightening on your skin.

"Say it again."

His lips ghost over your collarbone, his breath unsteady. You shudder.

"Sunghoon."

That’s all it takes. Then—his mouth is on you, his hands everywhere, his body pressing against yours like he’s trying to crawl inside your skin.

He whispers your name over and over, between gasps and curses, between kisses that feel too much like confessions.

And when he finally pushes inside you, his forehead drops to yours, his breath heavy, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I missed you. You were my life, you were my life."

It’s not just sex. It never was. It’s him finally admitting what neither of you have said out loud. And you don't stop him.

Because you missed him too.

-

The air is warm, thick with the scent of sweat and skin and something distinctly Sunghoon. His body is still pressed against yours, not with the desperation of before but with something softer, something that lingers.

Your fingers trace absentminded patterns over his back, your body still humming from him, from this, from everything.

His hand is still resting against your hip, fingers brushing against your skin, like he’s memorizing the feeling, like he’s making sure it doesn’t disappear.

You let your eyes flutter shut for a moment, exhaling slowly. You could stay like this. You could let yourself be comfortable in this silence, in the warmth of his body, in the knowledge that—for once—you both stopped fighting.

But then, he shifts slightly, pressing his forehead against your shoulder before mumbling, “We should slow down.”

Your brows pull together slightly.

Did you hear that right? You open your eyes, tilting your head to glance down at him.

"What?"

Sunghoon exhales, leaning up on one elbow, his free hand still resting on your waist, thumb rubbing lazy circles against your skin.

"I mean, we don’t have to rush this," he says, voice quieter now, more careful. His eyes flicker over your face, something unreadable in them. "I don’t want to fuck this up again."

Your breath catches slightly.

He doesn’t want this to be just about sex. He doesn’t want to let himself have you only to lose you again. He wants to be careful with you.

But you nod anyway, pretending that the way your chest tightens isn’t real. "Okay."

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow. "Okay?"

"Mhm."

Then, slowly, you shift, straddling his waist, your fingers resting lightly on his chest.

Sunghoon stills immediately.

"What are you doing?" he asks, voice cautious, his hands instinctively coming to rest on your thighs.

Sunghoon’s head falls back against the couch, his jaw clenching. He wants to argue, you can tell, but the second you grind down again, all he manages is a sharp inhale, his fingers digging into your skin.

You smirk, tilting your head.

"I thought you wanted to take things slow."

His breath shudders. His grip on you tightens. Then he laughs—low, rough, almost amazed.

"You’re a fucking menace."

You barely have time to grin before he’s flipping you over, pressing you down into the cushions, his body caging you in.

"Slow?" he repeats, voice dropping, his lips hovering over your throat.

You try to keep up the act, but your breathing is already uneven, your body reacting to him before you can think.

"Isn’t that what you wanted?" you whisper, deliberately tilting your chin up in challenge.

Sunghoon exhales sharply, his lips barely ghosting over yours.

"I changed my mind."

You barely have time to react before his hands slide down your thighs, gripping, tugging, parting you for him again.

Your breath catches.

"Sunghoon–"

"No." He shakes his head, his mouth pressing against your jaw as he smirks. "No more talking."

His fingers move lower, teasing, pressing just enough to make you gasp. And that’s when you remember—he’s still recovering. Your hand shoots out, pressing against his chest.

"Wait."

Sunghoon stills, his brow furrowing slightly, his breathing uneven.

"You’re sick," you murmur, your lips brushing against his jaw. "Let me work for it instead."

His entire body tenses.

Your hands trail down his stomach, your fingers ghosting over the waistband of his sweatpants.

"You—" he tries, but his voice is hoarse now, breathless, wrecked.

You hum, tilting your head. "What?"

His jaw flexes.

Then, without another word, he lets himself fall back against the couch. His breath comes out shaky, his head tilting back, eyes fluttering shut.

"Then work for it."

-

It’s been a month since then and Sunghoon has finally fully returned to work.

He’s doing much better now. His energy is back, his balance has improved, and for the first time in what feels like forever, he actually looks like himself again.

You’re not sure what you expected when he came back. Maybe for things to go back to the way they were before, full of sharp remarks and tension that could snap a room in half. Or maybe for things to be awkward, unspoken things lingering between you in ways that made your employees suffer secondhand stress.

But instead? No one knows what the hell is happening anymore.

Because while you and Sunghoon aren’t exactly different, something has… shifted.

The first sign of something weird happening was the lack of fighting.

A month ago, meetings with both of you in the same room meant employees visibly sweating, taking deep breaths beforehand, and updating their wills in secret.

Now?

Now, Sunghoon pulls out a chair for you before sitting down. Now, you ask his opinion instead of shutting it down immediately. Now, he actually listens when you talk.

People are concerned.

📲 [Executive Team Group Chat] 👥 Sunoo, Riki, Jungwon, Misc. Employees

🐧 Sunoo: guys. wtf is going on.🐥 Jungwon: ??? 🐧 Sunoo: i just saw boss lady n ceo actually agree on something in a meeting. no insults. no glaring. NO ONE DIED.🐱 Riki: LIAR.🐧 Sunoo: i have receipts.

(Sunoo sends a screenshot of the meeting notes. The section labeled 'Conflict Resolution' is EMPTY. Unedited. No bloodshed.)

🐥 Jungwon: I mean. That’s… good? Right? 🐱 Riki: NO IT’S NOT GOOD. THIS IS LIKE WATCHING PARENTS WHO USED TO HATE EACH OTHER BE WEIRDLY FLIRTY. I’M TRAUMATIZED. 🐧 Sunoo: EXACTLY.

📲 [Legal Team Group Chat] 👥 You, Your Team

⚖️ Paralegal #1: So uh. Boss.⚖️ Paralegal #2: What the hell is going on with you and CEO Park?⚖️ Paralegal #3: Did we miss a memo? Is this a prank? Are you sedated?

You roll your eyes, already regretting checking your messages.

📲 [You → Legal Team]: What are you talking about?

⚖️ Paralegal #2: You didn’t threaten to resign after he questioned your contract amendments today. You just. Smiled??⚖️ Paralegal #3: YOU AGREED WITH HIM ON SOMETHING. WE ALL SAW IT.⚖️ Paralegal #1: YOU LAUGHED AT SOMETHING HE SAID.⚖️ Paralegal #2: YOU LAUGHED, BOSS. AT HIS JOKE.⚖️ Paralegal #3: Do we need to call HR? Blink if you’re in danger.

📲 [You → Legal Team]: Go do your jobs.

It happens after a late meeting. You and Sunghoon are the last ones leaving, walking toward the elevators. Everyone else is pretending to be busy, but they’re totally watching.

The elevator doors slide open. You step inside first, then turn slightly—instinctively holding out your hand. Sunghoon takes it.

Casually. Like it’s normal. Like you always do this. And then—he laces your fingers together.

The doors slide shut.

Riki visibly short-circuits.

📲 [Executive Team Group Chat]

🐱 Riki: GUYS I JUST SAW THEM HOLD HANDS. IN THE ELEVATOR. IN PUBLIC. I NEED TO LIE DOWN. 🐧 Sunoo: Riki. Riki are you there. 🐥 Jungwon: Someone sedate him before he starts screaming. 🐧 Sunoo: THAT’S IT I’M STARTING A BETTING POOL. HOW LONG BEFORE THEY GET MARRIED (AGAIN). 🐱 Riki: I CAN’T BREATHE.

-

The company gala had been suffocating. Hours of pretending, of schmoozing, of wearing polite smiles while the weight of Sunghoon’s gaze burned against your skin the entire night. He hadn’t touched you once. Not in front of the board members, not during the champagne toast, not even when his fingers brushed against yours as he handed you a drink.

But he was watching.

And now, in the backseat of his car, that restraint is gone.

The moment the driver pulls away from the curb, Sunghoon’s hand is on your thigh, gripping—hard. His palm is warm against the skin exposed by the slit of your dress, fingers flexing like he’s holding himself back, like he’s trying to decide how far he’ll let himself go.

He doesn’t speak.

You don’t either.

Because you both know where this is going.

The city blurs past the windows, streetlights flickering across his sharp jawline, his loosened tie, the slight rise and fall of his chest as he exhales.

And then—his hand slides higher.

Your breath catches.

"You knew exactly what you were doing tonight." His voice is low, almost amused, but there’s a sharp edge to it, something dark and controlled.

You shift slightly, not moving away, letting his fingers graze the crease of your inner thigh. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Sunghoon exhales a short laugh, but there’s no humor in it.

His hand tightens.

"You wanted me like this, didn’t you?" His fingers ghost over your clothed core, pressing just enough to make your legs twitch. "Parading around all night in this dress, pretending you weren’t soaking through your panties while you smiled at those executives."

Your stomach flips.

You don’t respond.

Sunghoon doesn’t need you to.

Because the moment you shift your legs slightly wider—silent permission—he knows.

And that’s when he loses it.

The car jerks to a sudden stop.

The driver turns slightly. “We’re at the—”

"We won’t be long," Sunghoon interrupts smoothly, his fingers already curling around your wrist.

Then, he yanks you into his lap.

You gasp at the sudden movement, hands bracing against his chest, but he doesn’t give you a second to adjust. His mouth is on yours before you can speak, rough and claiming, all tongue and teeth.

"You’re mine," he breathes against your lips, his hands gripping your ass as he pulls you flush against him. You can feel how hard he is beneath you, his cock straining against his pants, pressing against your clothed core.

"Say it."

You bite your lip, pretending to consider, just to piss him off. "Make me."

Sunghoon growls, his fingers twisting into your hair as he yanks your head back, exposing your throat. His mouth is on you immediately, biting, sucking, marking.

"My wife thinks she’s a fucking tease." His lips drag against your pulse, his voice dark, edged with something dangerous. "That’s cute."

His hands slide up your thighs, bunching your dress up to your hips. When his fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, he doesn’t bother taking them off. He just pulls, fabric tearing effortlessly in his grip.

"Sunghoon—"

"Shut up."

His hand moves between your legs, fingers dragging through your slick folds. He groans, his forehead pressing against your shoulder for half a second, like he’s barely holding himself together.

"You’re fucking soaked." His fingers circle your clit, slow, teasing, deliberate. "You really get off on being treated like a brat, don’t you?"

Your breath stutters. You hate how much his words affect you.

But Sunghoon notices.

He always does.

His free hand slides up your back, gripping the back of your neck before wrapping around your throat. He squeezes—not enough to cut off your air, but enough to make your pulse stutter beneath his fingers.

"Answer me."

You swallow, the pressure of his grip making your head spin.

"I—" Your voice catches when he presses down on your clit at the same time, two fingers slipping inside you. Your body jolts at the stretch, at the pressure, at the way he fills you without hesitation.

"That’s what I thought," he murmurs, his mouth brushing against your ear. "Always such a fucking mess for me."

His fingers work you open too fast, too rough, curling against the spot that makes you see stars. Your hips roll against his hand, chasing it, and Sunghoon laughs—low and wrecked.

"That desperate already?"

You don’t get a chance to respond before he’s flipping you onto your back, pressing you down against the leather seat.

Your head spins.

His hands are everywhere—gripping your thighs, spreading you open, dragging his cock through your slick folds before he presses against your entrance.

"You want it?" His voice is strained, his jaw tight.

"Yes—"

But he doesn’t give you time to beg.

Because in the next second—he’s inside you, all at once, filling you to the hilt.

Your back arches off the seat, a choked sound escaping your throat.

Sunghoon groans, his head dropping forward, his grip bruising where he holds your hips down. "Fuck—look at you. Taking my cock so fucking well."

You barely have time to breathe before he starts moving.

No easing into it. No gentleness.

Just rough, deep thrusts that knock the air from your lungs.

"You feel that?" His hand wraps around your throat again, squeezing just enough to make your vision blur at the edges. "This is what you wanted, wasn’t it? My wife acting like a whore all night just so I could fuck her stupid in the back of a car”

You moan, the humiliation making your skin burn in the best way.

"That’s right," he grits out, snapping his hips harder, his other hand gripping your thigh, pushing it higher. "Let me hear you."

The car rocks with the force of it, every thrust sending pleasure shooting through your spine. Your nails dig into his shoulders, your body shaking, your release already close, already—

"Come on, baby," he murmurs, his breath ragged, his forehead pressing against yours. "Come on my cock. Be a good fucking girl for me."

And you do.

You shatter beneath him, your body tensing, your thighs trembling as your orgasm crashes through you.

Sunghoon follows right after, his rhythm stuttering before he buries himself deep, his groan breaking into something almost desperate. His fingers flex against your throat before finally, finally, he lets go.

The car is silent except for your uneven breaths.

Sunghoon leans forward, pressing his lips to your forehead, softer now, his breathing still shaky. His fingers trail down your side, slow, absentminded, like he’s grounding himself.

The only sound in the car is the rhythmic rise and fall of your breathing, the occasional rustling of fabric as Sunghoon shifts slightly against you. The intensity of what just happened lingers between you, crackling in the air like an aftershock, leaving both of you too warm, too tangled, too unwilling to move just yet.

He’s still inside you, still pressed close, his body a solid weight over yours, grounding, steadying. Neither of you speak, and for a while, you simply let the quiet settle, let your fingers drift absently over his back, tracing slow, lazy shapes.His forehead is against yours, his breath deep and uneven, warm against your lips.

Eventually, he exhales, the sound low, almost satisfied, before tilting his head to press a slow, lingering kiss to your temple. His hand shifts from where it had been gripping your thigh, his touch gentler now, a stark contrast to how he had held you earlier—fierce, possessive, unwilling to let you go. Now, his fingers just rest against your skin, smoothing over the curve of your waist, the warmth of his palm familiar.

"You okay?" His voice is rough from exertion, still heavy with something raw and unspoken.

You hum, nodding slightly, your cheek brushing against his. You can’t quite find the words yet—your body still feels like it’s floating, caught between exhaustion and bliss.

Sunghoon shifts just slightly, pulling back just enough to look at you. His gaze sweeps over your face, studying you carefully, before his lips curve into a small, amused smile.

"I’ll take that as a yes." His fingers trace slow circles against your hip, his touch absentminded but deliberate, like he doesn’t quite want to stop touching you yet.

You blink up at him, still dazed, your limbs pleasantly heavy, your skin oversensitive in the best way. His words barely register before he shifts, withdrawing from you slowly. A quiet whimper catches in your throat at the loss, your body instinctively tightening around nothing.

Sunghoon notices.

His gaze darkens again, his jaw flexing slightly before he exhales through his nose, visibly restraining himself. He tilts his head, one brow raising ever so slightly, smug in a way that makes your stomach twist.

"Look at you," he murmurs, voice low, watching as his release slowly drips out of you, glistening on your inner thighs.His fingers trace your swollen entrance, dragging along the slick mess he’s made, spreading it just to watch you squirm.

"So messy," he muses, voice teasing but full of something heavier, more possessive.

Heat spreads across your cheeks, embarrassment creeping in at how wrecked you must look, your thighs still trembling, your breath uneven. You turn your head slightly, muttering under your breath, "Shut up."

Sunghoon chuckles, clearly too pleased with himself. His fingers move to tilt your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze again.

"Don’t do that," he murmurs, his voice quieter now, lower, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

You frown slightly, not quite understanding. "Do what?"

His thumb presses just slightly harder, a silent reprimand, a reminder that he’s still in control.

"Act shy now," he says, watching you too closely, too knowingly. His smirk is slow, deliberate, confident in a way that makes your stomach flip. "You just let me fuck you stupid in the back of my car."

Your cheeks burn hotter, mortification creeping in. You scoff, shoving at his chest halfheartedly, but he doesn’t budge."I hate you."

His laughter is soft, low, a rumble against your skin as he presses another kiss—this time to your jaw, then lower, trailing lazily toward your throat.

"No, you love me."

You take a deep breath “I do.” 

He looks surprised, shocked almost, “You– you do?” 

You nod. “I do, ” you look at him expectantly, “You love me?” 

He laughs deep and loud, a real laugh, grabs your face in his hands forcing you closer, “Baby, when did I ever stop?”

Before you can dwell on it, there’s a knock on the window.

You freeze.

Sunghoon sighs, clearly unfazed, barely even reacting before he reaches over to roll down the window slightly.

Outside, the driver stands with an expression so perfectly neutral it’s almost comedic, like this is just another Tuesday night for him.

"Mr. Park," he says, his tone entirely professional, unaffected. "Should I… call another car for you two?"

You bury your face in Sunghoon’s shoulder, mortified.

Sunghoon, as expected, looks completely unbothered.

"No need," he replies smoothly, his fingers absently stroking your thigh as if nothing had just happened. "We’ll be heading home in a bit."

The driver nods curtly, not even blinking. "I’ll be outside."

And then, just like that, he walks away.

You groan, still refusing to lift your head. "I can never face him again."

Sunghoon laughs softly, his hand sliding up to rub slow, soothing circles against your back.

"You’ll live, you love me."  he murmurs, his voice warm, teasing, but laced with something softer. His fingers thread into your hair, tilting your head up just slightly. His lips brush against yours, slow, deliberate, like he’s savoring the moment.

"Let me clean you up."

You blink up at him, your chest tightening for reasons entirely unrelated to sex.

"You don’t have to—"

His hand tightens in your hair, not to hurt, just to keep you still. He shakes his head slightly, cutting you off before you can finish the thought.

"I want to," he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours again, softer this time. "I take care of what’s mine. Of what I love."

Something invisible but heavy lodges itself in your throat.

Because he means it. Because this isn’t just sex, or routine, or an easy way to pass the time. This is him showing you, in the quietest way possible, that he loves you.

And when he kisses you again, when he reaches for a tissue to carefully clean the mess between your thighs, when he murmurs something under his breath about how ‘his wife shouldn’t be walking around with his cum dripping down her legs’

You don’t ever want to lose this again.

EPILOGUE

It starts the same way it did last time.

The nausea creeps in slowly—subtle at first, nothing out of the ordinary. You assume it’s from overworking yourself, the stress of handling legal negotiations, or maybe even just the exhaustion of being married to a man who refuses to listen when you tell him to take breaks.

Sunghoon notices before you do.

At first, it’s little things—the way you lean against the counter a little longer in the mornings, the way your appetite fluctuates, the way you pause mid-sentence with a sudden grimace, like something doesn’t sit right in your stomach. He watches you closer than usual, his sharp eyes following you whenever you touch your lower abdomen absentmindedly, whenever you shake your head at food that you normally love.

And then, one morning, you feel it.

The moment you stand up from bed, a wave of nausea crashes into you so violently that you barely make it to the bathroom in time.

You hear him before you see him—footsteps, the rustling of sheets, the quiet, urgent sound of his voice calling your name as he reaches for you.

"Hey—what’s wrong?" Sunghoon is kneeling beside you in seconds, his hand warm and steady against your back, rubbing slow, grounding circles as you try to catch your breath. His fingers stroke through your hair gently, not rushing you, not asking anything else yet.

You grip the edge of the sink, exhaling shakily, your heartbeat too loud, your pulse erratic.

Because this feels familiar. Too familiar. And that’s when you know. Sunghoon stills when you don’t answer right away.

"Baby." His voice is softer now, careful. "Look at me."

Something unreadable flickers across his face—shock, realization, something dangerously close to hope.

He doesn’t ask. He doesn’t need to. Because he knows, too.

And that’s how you find yourself sitting on the bathroom floor minutes later, staring at the test clutched in your hands, the two pink lines undeniable.

Sunghoon sits beside you, his knee brushing against yours, his breathing measured but uneven. He doesn’t reach for it. He doesn’t take it from your hands.

Instead, he just looks at you.

"Are we...?" His voice is barely above a whisper, raw in a way you rarely hear.

Your fingers tighten around the test, your throat thick with emotion. You nod, swallowing hard before murmuring, "Yeah."

Sunghoon exhales, slow and unsteady, like he’s been holding his breath for years. His head tilts forward slightly, his eyes squeezing shut for a second before he lifts them back to you. His gaze is so full of something it knocks the air from your lungs.

"How do you feel?" he asks quietly.

You let out a soft, breathless laugh, part relief, part disbelief. "Like I might throw up again."

A short chuckle escapes him—not out of amusement, but out of something else, something lighter.

Then, slowly, he reaches for you.

His hands slide over your cheeks, fingertips pressing just slightly, like he’s trying to make sure you’re real, like he’s trying to ground himself in this moment. His thumb strokes over your cheekbone, his breath fanning against your lips as he leans in, close enough that you can feel the warmth of him, close enough that you can feel the slight tremble in his touch.

The positive test sits between you both, abandoned on the bathroom counter, but neither of you look at it anymore. You don’t need to.

Because all you can focus on is him—the way his chest rises and falls unsteadily, the way his lips part like he wants to say something but doesn’t quite know how.

And then, finally, he does.

"I won’t fail you this time."

His voice is rough, barely above a whisper, but it hits you harder than anything else.

Your breath catches in your throat, your fingers tightening slightly where they rest against his shoulders. His eyes are so unbearably soft when they meet yours, but there’s something else there, too—something raw, something desperate.

"I won’t lose you. I won’t lose them," he murmurs, his hands sliding to your waist, pulling you fully against him, like he can shield you from anything and everything that might try to take this from him again.

A lump forms in your throat, because this is what he’s been carrying.

This is what he never let himself say out loud.

"You never failed me, Sunghoon," you whisper, your fingers moving to cup his face, "We lost them together."

Sunghoon swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

"I should have held you. I should have been better. I should have—" His breath stumbles, and for the first time, you see it—the way his control wavers, the way the guilt still lingers, thick and unbearable.

"Hey." You press a hand against his chest, feeling the unsteady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm. "You don’t have to do this alone anymore."

Sunghoon exhales sharply, his forehead pressing against yours.

"I don’t deserve this," he murmurs, his grip tightening around you.

"You do." You don’t hesitate. "And we’re going to do this right this time."

His breath shudders. And then—he kisses you.

It’s not like before. It’s not desperate, or punishing, or laced with frustration. It’s slow, deep, lingering. It’s an apology, a vow, a promise.

When he pulls away, his lips hover just above yours, his eyes searching, waiting for something.

"Stay," he whispers. "Stay with me. Stay here. Always."

You smile, pressing your forehead against his.

"I already did."

fin.

Taglist: @vrusha01 @cupiddolle @naurwayyyyy @ziiao @somuchdard @hveanlyanqelic @miuwonis @outroherrr @weyukinluv @riribelle @wonzbear @zhangyi-johee @randomanothercreature @wolfhardbby @httpenhoon @annovaz @seonhoon @lovelycassy @noidnoentry @btsreadss @linlianxin @icrieliterature @aussie-boys-wife @woniefull @ikeuwoniee @en-doll @ambi01 @thinkinboutbin @tobiosbbyghorl @semi-wife @fancypeacepersona @exhaleinhalepowder @firstclassjaylee @ijustwannareadstuff20 @nshmrarki

[littleprinces]

Teacher's Cumdump

(IVE Leeseo x Teacher)

Leeseo was a stunning 18-year-old girl with long black hair, mesmerizing dark brown eyes, and a slender yet curvaceous body that drove men wild. She was a senior at Seoul High School, known for her intelligence and determination. However, her world would soon be turned upside down by her calculus teacher, Mr. Kim, a 35-year-old man with a chiseled jawline, piercing blue eyes, and a muscular physique.

It all began with a simple question in class. Mr. Kim noticed Leeseo's eagerness to learn and her exceptional aptitude for mathematics. Intrigued by her beauty, intelligence, and dedication, he approached her after class to offer additional tutoring. Leeseo was initially hesitant but ultimately agreed, secretly thrilled by the prospect of spending more time with her handsome teacher.

Over the next few weeks, Leeseo and Mr. Kim grew closer during their tutoring sessions. They shared stories about their lives, laughed together, and even began to develop a deeper connection. As they grew closer, Leeseo's attraction to Mr. Kim intensified, and she started to fantasize about him in ways she never had before.

One day, after a particularly long and intense study session, Leeseo found herself alone in the classroom with Mr. Kim. As he went to retrieve a textbook from the bookshelf, Leeseo couldn't help but ogle his tight ass and broad shoulders. The sexual tension between them was palpable, and as Mr. Kim turned around to face her, she couldn't resist any longer.

"Mr. Kim," she started, her voice trembling with desire, "I... I've been wanting to ask you something."

"What is it, Leeseo?" he asked, his eyes locked onto hers.

"I... I think I'm developing feelings for you," she blurted out, her face flushed with embarrassment.

Mr. Kim's eyes widened with surprise, but he quickly regained his composure. "Leeseo, I must admit that I've been feeling the same way," he confessed, his voice low and husky.

Overwhelmed by the intensity of their connection, Leeseo and Mr. Kim found themselves drawn closer together. Their lips met in a passionate kiss, their tongues intertwining as they explored each other's mouths.

Leeseo's hands began to roam over Mr. Kim's muscular chest, feeling his rapidly beating heart beneath his shirt. He, in turn, slid his hands down her back, stopping just above the curve of her ass.

"You're so beautiful, Leeseo," Mr. Kim murmured against her lips.

"So are you," she replied breathlessly, her hands now fumbling with the buttons of his shirt.

As their clothes began to fall away, revealing their naked bodies to each other, they made their way over to the teacher's desk. Leeseo hopped up onto the desk, spreading her legs wide apart to invite Mr. Kim between them.

He eagerly accepted her invitation, positioning himself between her thighs. He began to kiss and nibble on her neck, eliciting loud moans of pleasure from Leeseo. As he continued to work his way down her body, he paused momentarily to cup her breasts in his hands, massaging them gently before taking her erect nipples into his mouth.

"Oh, Mr. Kim, that feels so good," Leeseo moaned, running her fingers through his thick, dark hair.

Mr. Kim continued to work his way down her body, eventually reaching the apex of her thighs. He leaned forward, burying his face between her legs. With a single, swift motion, he flicked his tongue out, making direct contact with her clit. Leeseo let out a loud, guttural moan, her back arching off the desk in response to the intense pleasure coursing through her body.

"Fuck, yes," she panted, her hands gripping tightly onto the edges of the desk. "Lick my pussy, Mr. Kim. Make me cum all over your beautiful face."

Mr. Kim eagerly obliged, his tongue darting in and out of her slick, wet pussy. He lapped up her sweet nectar, savoring the taste of her arousal on his tongue. As he continued to pleasure her, Leeseo's moans grew louder and more intense, her body writhing uncontrollably beneath him.

"I'm going to cum, Mr. Kim," she panted, her breath coming out in ragged gasps. "Oh, oh, ooooh. Fuck, fuck, fuck."

With a final, powerful thrust of his tongue, Mr. Kim sent Leeseo hurtling over the edge of her climax. She screamed out in ecstasy, her entire body trembling and convulsing with the force of her orgasm.

As Leeseo came down from the high of her climax, Mr. Kim stood up, positioning himself between her legs. He gripped his rock-hard cock in his hand, rubbing the swollen head against the slick folds of her pussy.

"Are you ready for me, Leeseo?" he asked, his voice dripping with lustful desire.

"Yes, Mr. Kim," she whispered, her eyes locked onto his. "Fuck me. Fuck me hard and fast."

Mr. Kim wasted no time in granting her wish. He slammed his cock deep inside her pussy, eliciting a loud, guttural moan of pleasure from Leeseo. He began to pump his hips back and forth, driving his cock in and out of her tight, wet pussy with powerful, aggressive thrusts.

"Fuck, yes," Leeseo moaned, her nails digging into the flesh of his back. "Fuck me harder, Mr. Kim. I want to feel your cock deep inside my pussy."

Mr. Kim continued to fuck Leeseo with wild, reckless abandon, their bodies slapping together in a rhythmic, primal dance. As their mutual pleasure continued to grow and intensify, Mr. Kim could feel the telltale tingling sensation building up deep within his balls.

"I'm going to cum inside you, Leeseo," he panted, his breath coming out in ragged gasps. "I'm going to fill your tight little pussy with my hot, sticky cum."

"Yes, Mr. Kim," she moaned, her voice dripping with lustful desire. "Cum inside me. Breed my tight little pussy with your hot, sticky cum."

With a final, powerful thrust, Mr. Kim sent himself hurtling over the edge of his climax. He let out a loud, guttural groan of pleasure as he began to pump his hot, sticky cum deep inside Leeseo's pussy.

As they both came down from the high of their mutual climaxes, Mr. Kim slowly withdrew his cock from Leeseo's pussy. Thick, viscous strands of his cum began to ooze out from within her, dripping down over her ass and onto the desk below.

"Oh, Mr. Kim," Leeseo moaned, her eyes locked onto the sight of his cum dripping out from within her. "That felt so good."

"You're incredible, Leeseo," Mr. Kim replied, his voice filled with awe and admiration. "I can't wait to do that again with you."

And with that, they both leaned in, their lips meeting once more in a passionate kiss. Little did they know that this was only the beginning of their torrid love affair.

[coldfanbou]

Kinkcember 30: Exhibitionism

Welp, this is the final one. Momo is high and mighty as she commands everyone's attention.

Length: 2.2K

Momo X Mreader

“What you need is a change of scenery.” Your friend babbled on. “Sex is sex, but changing things can make it a whole lot better. Like, imagine a whole bunch of people watching you.”

“Or a whole lot worse.” You retort, ignoring the second part.

“Oh, come on. Let’s try something new. I know a place.” 

“Oh, don’t tell me-”

“Just once, I’m sure you’ll love it. Everyone can fuck everyone.” You look into your friend's eyes, knowing exactly what she was after. You had started this conversation to figure out your problems, and Sana had quickly found a way to try and get you to join her on something she wanted to do. “All I’m saying is you might be able to find someone who’ll get you off. There’s this woman there. She’s an absolute goddess; I hear that everyone watches her finger herself because she’s so choosy with her partners.”

“Is that supposed to entice me?” 

“...yes,” Sana eeps out. “Come on, just once. We go in, have some fun, get out, and then you’re back on track.”

“You just want to fuck as many people as possible, don’t you,” You know her goal. You know what Sana’s been dying to try. She just doesn’t have the gall to walk in alone.

“Okay, yes, but I’m sure you’ll, at the very least, get something that might help you out of it. Exhibitionism is fun, and this place is the best for it.” You sigh and reluctantly agree; you didn’t have much to lose. You let Sana do all the hard work of setting up your little trip and followed her along, snaking through the city and small side streets until you finally reached the place. 

Sana knocked on the door, and from the outside, it looked like an old warehouse. You couldn’t help but imagine what could possibly be inside that Sana was so excited about. Your attention was returned to Sana as she bounced from foot to foot. She grabbed your hand and dragged you through the door. “This is going to be great.” Sana chirped as you reached the end of the hall. “Okay, the guy said to strip here.”

“What?”

“Strip here; everyone is naked inside. Just go along with it.” You wanted to curse out Sana badly, but you let it go for the moment and undress with her doing the same. You place your clothes in a bag and hand them to an attendant who marks you both with a number. “This is so you can get your clothes when you're done,” Sana says before pushing forward and opening the door that led to the main room. 

Inside was something much more elaborate than you’d expected. The room had bars on either side of the room, small tables decorating the edges where people were talking, and fucking like it was normal to have sex in front of strangers. As your eyes moved toward the center, you noticed the different levels. Beds were placed on a platform where plenty of people were having their fun. At the center of it all was a single bed raised higher than the rest. As Sana had heard, there was a woman masturbating as she watched everyone else. Many tried to meet her gaze as she turned her head toward the entrance. “That’s her,” Sana whispers, nudging your shoulder. “Well, I hope you have fun. I’ll see you later.” Sana says with a giggle as she walks toward the bare, swaying her hips in hopes of attracting attention. As you turn from Sana back to the woman, you see her staring at you. She stops fingering herself and moves off her bed. Cocking her head to the side, she begins to grin and levels herself. She motions for you to come to her. You look around, unsure if she actually meant you, but when you look back, she nods her head. As you walk toward the center, you hear the other’s whispers. You gather from them that the woman’s name was Momo. You keep your eyes on her, looking over her full figure. She was undoubtedly beautiful, and her large mounds, small waist, and wide hips completed the package.

“C’mon here, big boy.” She says as you get closer, beckoning you. Momo’s finger slowly curls, licking her lips as she keeps her eyes on you. Her other hand moves gradually around her lower lips, tracing them as you approach her. You stare at the lustful woman before you; her legs are slick with her juices, almost gleaming under the room’s lights.  You slowly move up the steps to her bed, keeping your eyes on her at all times while she does the same to you. Momo already knew all eyes were on her; they always were, even when everyone else was having their fun. 

As you approached Momo, she took steps back, letting her legs touch the bed frame. Finally close enough to touch her, Momo extended her arm, running it down your chest. She kept you at that arm's length away. Her eyes going over your body, her smirk growing a little wider. “Oh, you’ll do just fine,” Momo said softly as she used her nails, running them over your stomach until she wrapped her hand around your cock. “I’ll get this thing nice and hard in just a second.” Momo took a step toward you, pressing her ample bust against your chest. You felt her nipples drag along your body as Momo pushed her chest out. You let out a small grunt as Momo rubs the tip of your cock with her thumb, moving it at an agonizingly slow pace. She would go back and forth over the center before circling the head. “Do you like that, baby?” She asks with an almost innocent look, but her smirk quickly returns. She feels your cock growing in her hands. She breaks her eye contact, glancing down to look at your cock before pulling you toward the bed. She lets you go briefly, laying herself on the bed. 

You stand there staring at the beautiful woman get comfortable, watching as Momo moves her legs outwards, a single hand moving along her wet pink slit. “Well? Are you going to make a move?” Momo asks, her other hand moving to her nipple. She pinches her nipple, sucking in a breath before repeating herself. “Are you going to fuck me or not?” She emphasizes her question by spreading her lips apart. You climb onto the bed, crawling over Momo, who smiles at you. She reaches out for you, bringing you in for a kiss, her soft lips melding with yours. “Too slow,” she whispers into your ear before rolling over so she’s on top.  “I’ll be the one in charge,” Momo says before playfully slapping your cheek. Shaking her head to let her dark hair move away from her face, Momo glances around the room, happy to see all eyes on her. She gives the people a small wave before returning her focus to you. 

Momo rises slowly, grabbing your cock and placing it between her folds. She rocks her hips back and forth, coating your cock with her nectar. You groan, feeling the heat from her cunt as she grinds against you. Momo moans softly, her signature smirk on her face as she massages her breasts, forcing you to watch as she flicks her nipples with her fingers. “Relax a little,” She says as she watches you squirm under her. Momo raises her hips once more, her own desires growing. She aligns your cock with her slit, rubbing the head between her folds before sinking onto it slowly. You throw your head back and moan as Momo’s wall wraps around you, gripping your shaft tightly.

Momo groans, still smiling, as she places her hands on your chest and begins to move. She rises slowly, leaving the head inside her before dropping back down on your cock. “Oh, fuck,” she moans, feeling the head of your cock hit her womb. “That’s it,” Momo says to herself as she moves along your shaft, slamming herself down so she can feel your cock impaling her. The lustful woman looks down at you, “I was right about you,” she says softly as she picks up the pace. Momo leans back, letting the people take in the sight of her body as she rides you. She lets them glimpse at her bouncing breasts for a moment before grabbing you by the wrist and bringing your hands to her chest. Your hands mold the soft flesh as you squeeze her tits. 

You can barely think as Momo bounces on your cock; moans flow out of you as the beautiful woman. She continues to drop her full weight on you, getting every inch inside her. Momo’s moans grow louder as time goes on. She reaches between her legs, playing with her clit as she stops to grind on your cock, swiveling her hips. You feel her walls tightening around you. “Oh, I’m going to cum,” Momo moans. She rides you again, bouncing herself on your cock at a slow pace, reveling in the pleasure flowing through her body. Feeling your cock begin to throb inside her, Momo leans over you. “You can let it all out inside me. I want to feel all that hot cum inside me.” Her sultry voice would push you over the edge, but there was more. Momo moves your hands from her tits down to her ass. “Go ahead, fuck me. I know you’re dying to fuck me like an animal.” Your hands dig into her flesh, and you begin to thrust into Momo’s tight cunt. You wouldn’t last long anyway, so you would take full advantage of her wishes. 

Momo throws her head back and rocks her hips as you drive your cock deep into her cunt, slamming yourself against her cervix. Momo’s moans grow louder, turning into cries of pleasure. It drew everyone’s attention, and that drove Momo over the edge; having all eyes on her as she came only made it hit her harder. She arched her back, her eyes rolling into the back of her head and tongue wagging as she came on your cock while you came inside her. Momo was on cloud nine as the waves of pleasure crashed over her. She felt all eyes on her; she felt your cum being pumped into her womb. Her entire body was tingling. The moment you came, you held her against your cock, keeping it inside her as you dropped every bit of cum inside her. Momo stayed in her position for what felt like forever. Slowly, she dragged her body forward. Placing her hands on either side of your head, she leaned down and kissed your forehead. 

“Oh, what a good boy. I knew you were the one.” Momo lifts your hands from her body and slowly rises, your cum dripping out of her cunt as she slowly backs away.  “You did such a good job; let me get you all cleaned up.” Between your legs, Momo drags her tongue along your shaft, collecting every drop of cum and tasting herself on your cock. Momo wraps her hand around your cock, pausing for a moment to consider something. After that second, Momo presses her lips against the head before swallowing it. Her lips form a tight seal around your shaft as she bobs her head, taking more in each time she goes down. She’s quickly at the base of your cock, lashing at it with her tongue as she gathers every drop of your baby batter. Momo smirks as she hears you moan her name. Inching back up to the tip, she keeps her hand on your shaft. Once you’re out of her mouth, she strokes your shaft. 

You watch as Momo moves closer, placing your cock between her breasts. With a slight chuckle, Momo jokes, “I have to leave it squeaky clean; this is going to be my favorite toy.” She presses her soft mounds together, trapping your cock between them as she moves them along your shaft. You squirm, the pleasure is greater than before, and you are still sensitive from your climax.

“Momo, I’m going to cum,” you groan, trying to warn her. 

“Go ahead and paint this pretty face. Someone here is bound to beg to clean me up.” Momo says as she continues to work over your cock. She goes as far as lapping at the tip when it peeks over her mounds. Soon enough, you cum, painting the young woman’s face and chest with your semen. Momo hums in approval as your cock goes limp between her tits. “Good boy. Now, get yourself home and come back any time you want me to take care of you.” You nod along, too tired to argue or think of doing anything else. 

Momo lets you go. She lies in her bed with a blissful smile, calling for someone to clean her. As you head to the entrance, you look over your shoulder to see a flock of women throwing themselves at the beautiful woman, each eager to clean her. 

Getting home, you lay in bed, thinking about Momo. Your phone buzzes with a text from Sana, “So the experience was good, right? Think you’ll want to go back?” You consider the question before replying that you think you would go back for Momo.

[mulloey]

12:13am

you’re a stupid little perv and yunho knew it all along.

warnings: dom!yunho, implied somnophilia, daddykink, fingering, overstim etc

—

you’re bent over yunho’s lap, loud squelching sounds filling the quiet bedroom as he pumps two fingers in and out of your soaked cunt. you're not sure how many times you’ve cum by now, but you’re certain he’s going to make you cum again. you should’ve known this would happen—it always does. he always finds out. “how does that feel, baby?” he coos.

you whine, writhing a little in his hold and he presses his hand down against your back a little more firmly; a silent warning to stay still. “w-wet, yunho,” you cry pitifully. “really— wet.”

a particularly hard thrust makes you yelp, jerking forwards and he pulls you back into position with a tut. “nuh uh, baby,” he smiles. “you’re gonna stay right here where daddy wants you, okay?”

“o-okay,” you whisper. “daddy, please— slow-”

his voice dips, a little firmer now. the hand on your back moves briefly to tap your hip chidingly before returning to keep you in place. “i don’t think so. you wanted my fingers, didn’t you? so badly you couldn’t wait til i woke up to start fucking yourself on them. isn’t that right?”

you sob, nuzzling into the sheets and he slaps your ass sharply. “daddy asked you a question, didn’t he?”

“sorry, daddy. i— yeah. i… i couldn’t wait.”

“mhm. so daddy’s just giving you what you want, isn’t he? your sweet little cunt stuffed nice and full, just like you begged for.”

“but it— s’too much, daddy.”

“good,” he says simply. “maybe that’ll teach you not to be such a fucking whore.”

“i said i’m sorry!”

“uh huh.” his tone is curt and dismissive and his fingers only speed up their pace. “i’m sure you are. always sorry when you’re over my knee, aren’t you? but you never seem to learn.”

“i will! i’ll learn this time, daddy, really.”

he hums. “mhm. i’m going to make sure of it.”

you huff, kicking your legs in frustration but he just scoffs and lifts one of his legs to clamp it down over yours, locking you in place. “such a baby,” he chides amusedly. “can’t even sit still and take a punishment.”

“you’re just mean,” you grumble. if he was in a stricter sort of mood that would get you an additional punishment, but he seems more amused than anything now. and you know that, deep down, he loves it when you’re bratty. it gives him the chance to show you who’s boss, and you always look so pretty over his lap.

“you never listen when i’m nice,” he says. “now stay still. you’re gonna cum for me one more time, then i’ll think about giving you what you really want. okay?”

you nod, sniffling to yourself. “okay.”

he can’t help but smile at the way you resign yourself to it; desperate and exhausted but still so small and obedient under his hands. it really doesn’t take all that much to get you back in line; not when you’re so desperate for his touch and his praise. there’s nothing you wouldn’t do to make him happy, for him to smile and coo and tell you what a good girl you are. because you are a good girl, even when you’re bad.

so good that he had to tease you with his hands all day and rest it tantalisingly close to your pussy when he pretended to fall asleep, listening to the way you whined and squirmed while you tried to resist the temptation until you finally gave in—had to do all that, just to have the chance to watch you come undone like this while you blubber out your apologies and promises to be good.

but fuck, does he love it when you’re not.

[holybibly]

NSFW link

Sometimes Yunho really does remind you of a puppy, especially when he's feeling extra needy and touch-hungry.

Or, Yunho is on tour, but he can still smell you on those cute panties he grabbed from your house.

[straylightdream]

15 minutes

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: jeon wonwoo x afb.reader, ex!yoon jeonghan x afb.reader (past relationship)

“Or you could do both. Go suck the life out of him and then tell him you like him. You’re really good with your mouth. Your head game definitely made me emotional more than once.” He pats your back.

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞(𝐬): friends with benefits, angst, romance, smut

𝐚𝐮(𝐬): nonidol

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.3k

𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: cussing, drinking, jeonghan (honestly he’s out to stir the pot and needs a warning lol), the mc is bad at having feelings and bad at communicating.

𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: oral (him rec), semi public sex, deepthroating, swallowing, cum eating, praise kink (both of them), marking, mentions of choking, hair pulling (both rec) mentions of gagging, nipple play, big dick wonwoo, unprotected sex, cumplay, creampie, mc calls herself a whore and slut, wonwoo is a very soft boy here and is against degradation. nicknames: good girl, baby (hers) lover boy, baby (his)

𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: 18+ nsfw

𝐚𝐧: thank you @gyubakeries for helping me out with this story and beta reading it. definitely got very inspired by 15 minutes by sabrina carpenter, and had to write something for it. This might end up being a lil SVT short n sweet series…

🎧: 15 minutes - sabrina carpenter | overdrive - conan gray | lose myself - starfall

𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬.

To say you were horny was an absolute understatement. At this point you were practically feral. Your eyes were focused on Wonwoo as he talked to Seungcheol. His hair looked extra curly and soft, and the fact that he came over after working out has you practically drooling. He’s dressed in a white shirt and those god forsaken sweatpants. You can’t focus on anything but him. You had walked away from Soonyoung and Jeonghan at the pool table saying you needed a beer. Your true intentions, however, were to just eye-fuck your newest fuck buddy.

“Is Wonwoo your flavor of the month?” Jeonghan walks up nudging you.

A heavy sigh passes your lips. Rolling your eyes, you look at him and find him wearing a cocky grin. “Are you jealous?”

“Is that the polite way of asking if I miss your sweet pussy?”

“Watch your mouth, Yoon Jeonghan.”

“Tell me again why we stopped sleeping together?” He leans against the bar next to you.

“Something along the lines of, I think I’m gonna fall head over heels in love with you.” You can still picture Jeonghan's face as he drunkenly admitted he was catching feelings.

“Oh yeah, Mrs. No-strings-attached doesn’t like sex with feelings.” He doesn’t sound bitter anymore as he teases you. When you called it off between the two of you last year Jeonghan took two months avoiding you to move on.

“What if I want feelings involved now?”

“I feel like I should be insulted that you’re catching feelings for Wonwoo, but the idea of liking me turned you off.”

Taking a sip of your beer you watch Jeonghan trying to figure out if he’s upset. “I wasn’t ready to catch feelings when you started catching them.”

He reaches out, taking your beer from your hands. “Has my ship sailed?”

“You can’t be serious?”

“A part of me will always like you, but let’s be real, you never looked at me like you look at Wonwoo.” He takes a sip of your beer he’s stolen.

“I’m looking at him like I want to rip his clothes off with my teeth.” Jeonghan interrupting you has done nothing to deter your feral thoughts about your fuck buddy that you may or may not be catching feelings for.

“You can play the whole you’re thinking about fucking him, but I can see you care about him.”

“Why do you say that?” You glance over at Wonwoo to see him watching you and Jeonghan. You’ve never hidden your past with Jeonghan from Wonwoo. He knows all about what unfolded between the two of you.

“You never looked at me the way you look at him.”

Looking back at Jeonghan you narrow your eyes. “I cared about you. Sure it was just sex, but I cared about you as a friend.”

“That’s not the same, even in the slightest way, compared to how you care about him.” He takes another sip of your beer.

“Is this your way of making me end things with Wonwoo because I’m scared?”

He lets out a laugh. “I’m not some jealous asshole. I’m not trying to make you end things with him.”

“Am I capable of falling for someone?” You glance back at Wonwoo to see he’s back to paying attention to Seungcheol.

“Why don’t you try and let yourself feel something more for him than just lust?” You don’t say anything, you stare at Jeonghan for a long moment. “Your lover boy is heading off to the bathroom. You can either go suck him off or maybe talk about your feelings.”

“Jeonghan-“

“Or you could do both. Go suck the life out of him and then tell him you like him. You’re really good with your mouth. Your head game definitely made me emotional more than once.” He pats your back.

“This was the weirdest fucking conversation.”

“Well, we used to fuck often so it felt fitting. Now go get your boy.” He shoos you away.

Walking away from Jeonghan, you can’t help but feel confused. Standing outside the bathroom, you wait for Wonwoo to walk out. Leaning against the wall, you wonder if Jeonghan is right. Maybe you do like Wonwoo more than you ever planned to. When you had started playing this game with him two months ago, you told him that there were no strings attached. You thought you were doing a good job at not catching feelings. This issue is, the more time you spent with your gamer fuck buddy, the harder it was to remind yourself that it was casual.

The bathroom door opens and Wonwoo walks out. He stops in his tracks and stares silently. “Were you jealous I was talking to Jeonghan?”

“That feels like a trick question.” He runs his fingers through his fluffy hair.

“It’s not. I’m not going to be upset with any answer.”

“I’m not the biggest fan that he’s slept with you. But I’m not your boyfriend, so I can’t be jealous.”

Without saying another word, you grab his hand and drag him down the hallway, out the back door that leads to the alley way. The door shuts loudly and you look around, relieved to see no one is around. Releasing his hand you gently shove him against the brick wall. His eyes instantly go wide. you shrug off your flannel. Folding it up you drop it on the floor.

“What is going on?”

“Well I’m incredibly horny, and we have probably fifteen minutes before the boys start questioning where we are. I know I’m pretty good with my mouth so I think I can make you finish in two minutes.”

He doesn’t say anything as you drop down to your knees in front of him. “I don’t have a hair tie, so be a doll and hold my hair.”

“Are you going to blow me in the alley?”

“Would you prefer I don’t?”

He looks around checking to see if anything is near. “You can’t wait for me to take you home to fuck you?” You reach for the waistband of his grey sweats. Your fingers toy with the elastic. “Am I not allowed to have my cake and eat it too?” You bat your eyelashes up at him.

“You’re fucking wild, you know that?”

“You weren’t complaining about it when I let you choke me, while I rode you yesterday.” Tugging the elastic down on his sweats and boxers you push them down just enough to free his already semi hard cock. The mushroom tip is the prettiest rosy color.

Leaning forward you slowly lick tip. Your eyes stay focused on him. Your one hand pumps his length while the other runs teasing lines through his happy trail that leads right to his beautiful cock. His stomach muscles tense under your touch. Taking just the tip in your mouth, you take your time to tease him.

It’s not long before he’s fully hard in your mouth. His finger tangles in your hair pulling your hair away from your face.

“Fuck-“ He groans.

You moan around his length, taking him further into your mouth. “Your mouth is so good-” He’s already becoming a moaning mess.

Hollowing your cheeks, you take him fully into your mouth until he brushes the back of your throat. Wonwoo is by far the biggest dick you’ve ever taken before. The first few times you blew him, he made you gag as he hit your gag reflex. Two months in, and you can deepthroat him like a pro. His tugs on your hair earn another moan from you.

Just blowing him has you so turned on. When you make him cum down your throat you feel like you might need to drag him off to his car so he can fuck you.

“So good. Baby your mouth-“ He knows all about your praise kink. Most men would probably use this scenario to degrade you and call you a slut or a whore, but Wonwoo hates the idea of degrading you. When things first started between you two months ago, you both made a list of turn ons and definite nos in bed. You let him know you were open to a lot of things but nothing gross, and he let you know he would never degrade you, and he didn’t want you to do it to him. You learned that you weren’t the only one with a praise kink.

“Such a good girl.” He moans. Pushing your thighs together you were desperately trying to give yourself some friction.

“I’m close-“

You’re not wearing a watch but you know he may have lasted longer than two minutes, but he was nowhere close to fifteen minutes. You keep pulling off and sucking the tip. There is a mix of your spit and his precum coating his large length.

Closing your eyes you focus on making him cum. He spews out a mix of swear words and your name as he glides your face down until your nose is close to his pubic bone. He spills his milky release into your mouth. You continue to work him, taking every last drop. Pulling off, you hold out your tongue showing him his cum before swallowing it proudly. His eyes are closed as his breathing is uneven. He’s completely fucked out and he looks absolutely beautiful.

Slowly standing up you rub your sore knees. Maybe giving him head in the alley wasn’t the most comfortable position for you. Your knees we’re definitely going to be sore and have bruises. You reach out, tucking his softening cock back into his pants.

“Fuck-” He groans still sounding dazed.

“Wonwoo?”

His eyes slowly flutter open. He takes his glasses off and rubs his eyes for a moment, before putting them back on. “Yeah?”

“I like you.”

“Don’t you normally have to like someone to have sex with them?” He seems confused.

“Well yeah, but I mean I have feelings for you.” This is definitely a first for you. You’ve never been the first person in a situation to confess your feelings. Normally a man tells you they have fallen for you, and you proceed to end things immediately. Jeonghan is a prime example of that.

“Oh-“

“If you don’t feel the same, it’s cool.”

He takes your face in his hands. He doesn’t give you a moment to think. “Shut the fuck up.” He crashes his lips into yours for a searing kiss. He’s never this rough when he kisses you. The way his lips are moving against yours, it’s almost as if he’s kissing you like he needs you to breathe. Pulling away he rests his nose against yours, giving each of you a moment to fully process everything. “I like you so much.”

“Okay, cool.”

“You’re so fucking dumb.” He smiles pulling away from you.

“How can you call me dumb when I was being mature and telling you about my feelings?”

“It took you giving me head almost in public to make you realize you like me?” He’s looking at you like you’re absolutely insane. To be quite honest you might be insane. This is the weirdest way you could possibly admit you have fallen for someone.

“What can I say, it was an emotional blow job?”

Leaning forward, he kisses you again. This time his lips are gentler. “Maybe we should leave?”

“Are you telling me you don’t want to fuck me against the brick wall?” You can’t help but tease him.

“Preferably not. I’m fine if people see my dick, but I don’t want anyone to see you exposed.” His hand is still resting on your cheek, he gently drags his thumb across the delicate skin on your cheek.

“Take me home, Wonwoo.”

Grabbing your hand he leads you back into the bar. Before anyone can comment on the fact that you definitely went missing for fifteen minutes Wonwoo announces you’re both leaving. Looking over at the pool table you find Jeonghan giving you a knowing smile.

The moment Wonwoo has you back at his apartment, he has you naked and on his bed. His lips are all over your exposed chest leaning a trail of marks in his wake. You’re straddling his waist slowly riding him. This has always been one of your favorite positions with him. He feels so incredibly deep when you ride him.

His large hands are gripping the fleshy cheeks of your ass, helping you move. Your fingers are tangled in his hair.

Gently tugging, you moan his name. He releases your nipple with a pop, looking at you with a mix of lust and care in his eyes. Sex with emotions feels different, but then again sex with Wonwoo has always felt different. No matter how much you hate to admit it, you started falling for him from your very first kiss. Maybe one day soon you’ll be brave enough to admit you love him.

Reaching down between you, your fingers toy with your clit pushing you closer and closer to your release.

“Wonwoo-“ You moan his name while feeling drunk on lust and him.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.”

“So close-“ You sound like a blubbering mess.

“I’m going to fill you up-“ His unexpected breeding kink is one of your favorite things about him in bed.

“Please-“ Closing your eyes, your body tensed for a moment before ecstasy took over. Your body feels a warm release. You try your hardest to continue riding him, but your orgasm hits you like a ton of bricks. His hands work your pliant body, helping him find his own release. Holding your flesh against his thighs he paints your walls with his salty release. Leaning forward you rest your head on his shoulder, trying your hardest to even out your breathing. His large hands slowly run up and down your back.

“I’m so glad you like me.” His words earn a smile from you. Pulling your face away from his shoulder you take a moment to look at him.

“I’m not afraid to fall in love with you.” Those might be the scariest words you have ever said. But maybe one day you'll fall in love with the cute gamer boy who taught you how to feel for someone.

If you have asked to be tagged I request that you please reblog. If you could leave comments and or tags that would be greatly appreciated.

[beomiracles]

I can’t stop thinking about mean dom emo bsf beomgyu fucking readers brains out ashakdb I’m going insane help

this one needed visual representation cw, fingering, penetrative sex, multiple orgasms, kissing, jealous!gyu, kinda naive reader, mentions of alcohol

best friend beomgyu who's infamous among the rest of your friends. you know that they talk about him when you're not around, hell they whisper even when they think you can't hear. ⎯ his weird taste in music, his bizarre hobbies and odd sense of fashion.

what could someone like you possibly see in someone like him?

you let them talk. because they don't know about all those late nights spent in the garage of his parents house. on the dirty and run down couch, the same bitter bottles of beer he'd insist on getting, even though he knew you didn't like them. perhaps he enjoyed the way your face scrunched up as you took a hesitant sip.

"you heard this one?"

it was his go-to question, introducing you to new and loud music, all the same headache inducing beats. but you always shook your head, allowing him to put it on before getting comfortable next to you on the couch.

he lets you play with his long hair, something he'd never let anyone touch. but the innocent hangout would always lead to his hands wandering places they didn't belong. the loud thump of the music was just an excuse to get your mind elsewhere, and to drown out your wanton moans from his parents when he pounded you into the hard cushions.

his kisses were messy and sloppy, his hands eager as they pushed your skirt up your thighs, fingers snaking between your already spread legs. he would chuckle at how wet always were, but you would never point out that he was hard before even turning the music on.

hanging out at beomgyu's place always meant leaving with your makeup a mess, your clothes partially torn and without your panties. you never minded, he was your best friend, and you just spent time together, like all best friends do.

beomgyu never introduced you as his girlfriend, but he would make you stay the night whenever he'd caught you in the halls with another guy from your class. on those nights he'd make sure to have you cum on his fingers at least twice before even letting you touch his cock.

you supposed that meant he was looking out for you, showing you that everything you needed was right there, in his parents garage, with him.

[xiakato]

CHAERYEONG - Like You Mean it (M)

A/N: I'm alive enjoy!

Tags: Choking, Degradation, Rough sex.

“Come on! Just one last time please!” There she is again, your ex-girlfriend, Chaeryeong. She said one last time, two times ago. You two had a good relationship, if a good relationship only meant good sex, really good sex. 

“Chae, you said that before,” You complain, walking past her, just trying to get to the door of your apartment. You can’t help but to sneak a look at her. Tight jeans, rips just below the ass, your favorite…and she knows it. She moves ever so slightly to give you a better view. 

“You like? I wore these just for you,” Her smile is sweet, innocent with an underlying seductive edge. Her hands glide down her curves and cup her ass. Everything she does only adds to the crumbling of your resolve. 

“Chaeryeong, we can’t do this time and time again,” You keep walking, fighting every nerve in your body not to look at her. 

“Can you blame me? No one ever will fuck me like you do,” She pouts, falling in step with you, “Everyone is too scared to throw me around, properly,” She pauses coming close to your ear, “Use me.” 

“Lee Chaeryeong,” You try to sound stern to cover up your failing resolve. There’s nothing more you want right now than to take her right there in the hall, you know she’ll let you too. She doesn’t care if she gets caught as long as she’s getting what she wants. She only giggles as she leans onto your door. 

“You know you want to, you want to shut my pretty mouth up. Do it Y/n, grip my fucking throat and use me,” She smiles wickedly as she watches you fight yourself. She plays with her crop top, “Please Daddy?” You unlock the door and push her inside. Your body is moving on autopilot. Your hand finds its favorite spot on her throat pulling her to the bedroom, her giggles are the only sound filling your ears. Spinning her around, you bend her over the bed, her ass jiggling as she bounces on the bed. 

“God damn Chae,” Your hand comes down on her ass making her gasp and moan, wiggling her ass silently begging for more. You indulge her, your hand spanking her ass repeatedly, watching her squirm under you indelight. You make short work of her pants, pooling them around her ankles. Revealing black lace panties, those have always been your favorite. She soaked through them, her juices dripping down her thigh. Her thumbs hook onto her panties, pulling them down revealing her dripping core. 

Chaeryeong looks over her shoulder at you, her hands spreading her ass, “Fuck me like you mean it,” That’s all you needed to hear, you make quick work of your belt and jeans. Your belt finds its way around her neck as you free your throbbing length. Sliding inside of her is like a homecoming, her insides squeezing your cock as you bury yourself deeper inside of her. She moans out, “So fucking deep,” her moans spur you on as you pick up a quick pace at first, her cunt dripping making a puddle on the floor as her legs start to shake. Pulling on the belt, tightening it around her throat. Her eyes rolled back into her head. She’s always been one to cum quickly. Her juices soak the bedding as you continue to use her, “Fuck!” She screams out, her hands gripping anything to ground her, “Don’t you fucking stop!”

You have no plans to, you take it up a notch pounding into her with bruising strength. The leather of your belt digging into the skin of her throat. She doesn’t ask for reprieve, she will take everything you have to give and then some. Her hands gripping the sheets of the bed as you take her. Her juices continue to soak the sheets as her legs give out, you hold her up with an arm around her waist and the belt. Her words are incoherent as her moans and whimpers take over, “Fuck Chae,” You mutter under your breath as you continue your assault as she squirts once more as you bury yourself deep inside filling her with your cum. Her body convulses through the pleasure of her third orgasm. 

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” She screams out, as she finally finds some ground, she looks at you, “Fuck my ass next? Please Daddy, I need it. Stretch me the fuck out,” She begs spreading her ass once again, “I want you to fucking break me. Ruin me for anyone else.” 

“This bitch,” You mutter as you pull from her cunt and slide into her ass with ease. Her ass is just as tight as you remember. Her body quivers with excitement as she feels your cock getting deeper and deeper. 

“I’m your bitch Y/n, your dirty bitch,” She smirks as you get back to your assault, your cock plunging deep into her ass, “Fuck yes! Just like that daddy!” You go harder, you know she can take it, pounding her with renewed vigor and a tight grip on the belt. Her hips bounce back with each thrust of yours, taking you deeper in, “So deep…so fucking deep!” She screams out as her movements get more urgent and erratic urging you to quicken your pace. Your hand spanks her ass hard, making it red only adding to the cacophony of noises coming from the bedroom. Her cunt squirts out more of her juices onto the bedding, “Don’t stop please! Don’t fucking stop!” She begs, her hips still meeting your every thrust with desperation and want, “Please, please, please,” her desperate pleas for more fill the room, as her upper body goes limp, only held up by your grip on the belt fastened around her milk white neck. You fill her once again, but keep up your assault. 

“Take everything you slut,” You growl into her ear as the rough pounding is starting to take its toll on her body. She frantically nods, completely at your mercy. She squirts uncontrollably as you continue to use her. She finds her strength and reaches back craning her neck capturing your lips in a heated kiss as she takes you in. Her moans get muffled by the kiss, her nails raking over the back of your neck. 

“I love you too much to ever stop this. Please Y/n fill me up! Give me all of your cum!” She screams out as she falls back down to the bed, her nails digging into your chest. You grip her wrist as you feel your release coming, burying deep inside once again spilling your load into her ass. You pull out, she collapses fully onto the bed panting, trying to catch her breath. Her eyes are glazed over. 

You lean down to her ear, “Mine.”

A small satisfied smile etches itself across her face, “Yours, always.”

[cloudtransprncy]

Cheat Code

ITZY Yuna x Male Reader | 5600 words Part 1 out of ? Tags: PWP, Blowjob, Size Kink, Cock Worship, Mutual Horny Chaos, 2nd Person POV, Yuna Is Down Catastrophic

She said glasses and earrings were a cheat code—so you tested it. No big deal. Just an experiment. But the second Yuna opens the door, she short-circuits, and next thing you know, she’s on her knees. I guess it works?

The car is parked in your usual spot, tucked away from the main road where the streetlights don’t quite reach. It’s summer.

The air outside warm enough that the windows are cracked just enough to let the night breeze slip through. Chill R&B hums from the speakers, blending into the comfortable silence between you and Yuna.

Yuna’s lounged back, slides kicked off, feet propped up on the dashboard like she owns the place. Her phone screen flashes in quick bursts as she scrolls TikTok, fingers moving lazily while she sips from her boba. Cropped pink tank, low-rise jeans that hang just right, a couple of delicate rings on her fingers—casual but calculated, effortless, she knows she’s hot and she owns it.

You’re half-watching, half-zoned out, fingers drumming absently against your drink. Not thinking about how good she looks. Or trying not to.

Then she speaks, totally unprompted.

“Glasses and earrings are such a fucking cheat code for guys.”

You blink, slow to process. “…Huh?”

She doesn’t even look up from her phone. “Like, if a dude who’s my type pulls up with that? Whip it out already, I’m on my knees.”

You choke on your boba. Cough, nearly die, and have to thump your own chest to recover. “You’re a slut”

Yuna finally spares you a glance, completely serious. “I’m sooo serious. Glasses? Hot. Earrings? Hot. Together? Killy me now. Instant buff.”

You recover, rubbing your throat. “Any guy?”

She scoffs. “Obviously he has to be cute, I’m not gonna suck off some rando that's ugly and gross.”

You stare at her, a mix of disbelief and amusement creeping in.

Yuna shifts, folding a leg under her and turning fully towards you, sitting up. Her tank top rides up just slightly, exposing a sliver of skin, but you don’t look for too long. She leans in like she’s about to tell you the secrets of the universe. “Like, okay, hear me out.”

You sigh, playing along. “K, I’m listening.”

“The glasses just make the guy look smart, but like, not too smart. Unless he’s a nerd, but you get my point.”

“Suuure.”

“The earrings? Hot. Earrings are just hot. Like, I wear earrings. I’m hot.”

You stare at her, unimpressed. “I don’t get it.”

She waves a hand, exasperated. “Like, hot but not too hot, smart but not too smart. ya get me?.”

You squint. “But what if the guy’s ugly?”

She pauses, then scoffs. “See, that’s where it’s tough, ‘cause the buff only works if you’re already cute, ya know? Or like… almost hot.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You saying some guys are almost hot?”

“Yeah, bro, like some guys just need to hit the gym, dress better, get some earrings.”

You just give her a look, telling her you don’t really get it.

Silence lingers for a beat. Then she shrugs, says it so offhandedly you almost don’t catch it. “Like, you’d actually be hot if you tried.”

Your brain stalls. “…What?”

She doesn’t look up, just sips her boba. “You heard me.”

You’re still blinking. “No, repeat that.”

A slow, shit-eating grin spreads across her face. “Nope.”

“That felt personal.”

“It wasn’t. But if you feel attacked…”

You scoff, sitting up slightly. “I literally gym, and you gotta admit I dress nice.”

She finally looks at you, eyes dragging over your plain black tee and gray sweats, unimpressed.

You gesture vaguely. “When I go out.”

She snorts, shaking her head but doesn't disagree. “Yeah, aight.”

You narrow your eyes. “You’re basically saying I would be hot if I wasn’t ugly.”

Another shrug. “That’s not what I’m saying, but if that’s what you’re hearing…”

You laugh it off, shake your head, shift the conversation elsewhere. But Yuna? She sits with it, lets the words settle.

The idea is planted.

She doesn’t bring it up again, but it lingers. Her gaze flickers to you when you’re not looking, her teeth pressing lightly into her bottom lip like she’s trying not to think too hard about it. Then, just as quickly, she shakes it off, scrolling her phone with a little too much focus.

A week later…

The drive to Yuna’s place feels normal—same streets, same turn signals, same playlist humming low through your speakers. But today? Today’s different. Today, you’re running a test.

You grip the wheel with one hand, glancing at yourself in the rearview mirror. Glasses on. You always needed them, just never wore them. Now? Gentle Monster frames, clean, sharp. A flex, but a subtle one.

Earrings? Left ear—a small silver star stud. Right ear—a tiny dagger earring. A balance of soft and sharp. Like you weren’t thinking about it, but also? You were.

Your fit? Casual but intentional.

Black compression shirt, snug and sculpting but not obnoxious. Grey wide-leg sweats, laid-back and effortless. Fresh kicks, spotless with no creases.

It’s intentional, but not try-hard. Like you just threw shit on, but somehow, everything fell into place.

You exhale, tapping your fingers against the steering wheel.

Let’s see if she notices.

You knock. A shuffle of footsteps inside. The door swings open.

Yuna stands there, the striped pajama set hugging her tiny waist, sitting snug on her hips, showing just enough skin to be lethal. The fabric stretches over her curves, hinting at the toned stomach underneath, the kind of body that looks soft but still tight in all the right places.

Her red hair is wild, effortlessly falling in waves over her shoulders, rich in color, catching the light like she’s straight out of a photoshoot. Her skin is warm, smooth, glowing even in the dim hallway light, the kind that makes you want to run your hands over just to feel. Light makeup sharpens her already striking features—lips slightly glossed, parted like she was about to say something but forgot how, dark lashes fluttering over wide, unreadable eyes.

She wasn’t expecting anything. Just another movie night. Another easy routine.

Then? She looks at you.

Her body locks up.

Mouth slightly open. Slow blink. Eyes flicker down.

Up.

Down.

Back up.

She scans everything. Registers everything.

Her eyes track every detail—the sharp frames resting on your nose, the subtle gleam of mismatched earrings, the way the compression shirt clings to your figure, and finally, the effortless drape of your sweats, the slight bulge subtly outlined. Yeah, she clocked all of it.

She malfunctions.

She shifts her weight, thighs pressing together like she’s trying to ground herself. Her fingers twitch at her sides—like she needs to do something with them, but doesn’t. A sharp inhale, lips parting for half a second before closing again. Like her body wants to react before her brain does.

A second later, her brain finally catches up to her mouth. 

“What. The. Fuck?”

Her voice is flat. Like she’s pissed.

You smirk. “What?”

Yuna keeps staring. Flicks her gaze back to your earrings like she’s trying to process something. She knows exactly what you did.

Her lips part, then press into a tight line. Her jaw clenches. You can practically see the mental battle happening.

Then, under her breath, muttered like she hates admitting it “…You’re a fucking bitch.”

You grin now. Wide. Pleased. “Huh?”

She doesn’t answer. Her hands twitch at her sides. Like she’s fighting something. Then—suddenly, almost rough, her fingers hook into your shirt.

Door slams shut.

Her fingers tighten around your wrist as she tugs you down the hall, moving with the kind of urgency that says she’s been waiting for this forever. You know the path well—you’ve been in her room a hundred times before. Sat on her bed, sprawled on the floor, played dumb games on her phone while she played on her switch. But not like this.

This time, you’re not walking in. You’re being pulled.

You barely get a word out before you’re shoved onto her bed. Your back hits the mattress, and suddenly, the energy shifts.

This is her room, but not the way you’ve ever known it. The air feels heavier. The space between you feels smaller. The same bed, the same walls, the same scent of her lotion lingering in the air, the same stupid plushie tucked into the corner, the same mess of clothes piled on her chair, a hint of lace peeking from her slightly open dresser drawer, but Yuna isn’t just Yuna right now. She’s something else entirely.

She crawls onto you, slow and deliberate, straddling you with a smirk that’s equal parts challenge and promise. The weight of her settles against you, warm and undeniable, her hips pressing just enough to remind you who’s in control.

And now? You’re the one who’s stuck.

You were excited before, but now? Now that she’s actually on top of you, pinning you down like she owns you? That excitement turns into something else—something heavier, something that makes your breath hitch in your throat.

She straddles your thighs, pressing you into the mattress, hands planted firmly on your chest like she’s keeping you in place. She doesn’t move for a second. Just stares. Studying you. Eyes dragging over your face, your throat, your shoulders, down to where your shirt is already riding up slightly. Like she’s deciding exactly how she’s going to ruin you.

You shift, hands moving on instinct, fingers grazing the bare skin of her hips, but before you can grip, she catches your wrists. In one swift motion, she presses them against the wall, spreading your arms wide, your chest open to her. Your back is pressed against it too, nowhere to go, her nails pressing just enough into your skin to make your pulse spike.

You whine, soft, breathless. "Yuna—"

"Did I say you could touch?"

And then—she leans in close again. This time, you flinch, turning your head slightly, unsure, off-balance.

Her grip tightens. "What? You getting nervous?"

And you are. Because you don’t know what she’s gonna do next. Because your hands are pinned down, because she’s taking her time, because she’s in complete control.

"Too late." Her voice is soft as her fingers catch your jaw before you can answer—firm, controlling. She lets it hang there, the weight of her words sinking in before she tilts your face up like she’s testing the weight of you in her hands, deciding whether she wants to break you apart or take her time savoring it.

She doesn’t kiss you yet. Just hovers. Close enough that you can feel her breath—warm, teasing, curling over your lips. Close enough that you can smell her—sweet, like strawberries, something feminine and bright, but dark underneath. Something heady. Something that lingers.

"What..." It slips out soft, almost breathless, escaping before you even realize. You're already leaning in—just slightly, just enough to chase the warmth of her mouth, the phantom touch of lips that still haven’t pressed against yours.

She grins. Pulls back just enough to make you ache for it. Watching, waiting. Letting the moment stretch, letting you need.

Then she finally kisses you—hungry, consuming, impossible to escape. Her lips move like she’s starving, like she’s been waiting for this, for you.

Her hands roam without hesitation, clawing at your shirt, nails scratching lightly before pressing harder, groping, gripping, taking. She grinds down, pressing herself closer, hot, desperate, soaked through.

Her tongue slides against yours, deep, messy, filthy. She tastes like strawberries and something warmer, something intoxicating. She bites your bottom lip, sucking it between her teeth before letting go, leaving you breathless, dizzy.

You manage to get half a word out—something cocky, something desperate—but she just presses her thumb over your lips, silencing you effortlessly. "Shh."

Her smirk is wicked, teasing. "Did I tell you to talk?"

One last kiss—hard, bruising—claiming—before she finally pulls back, pupils blown wide, breath heavy, hot against your lips. Still teasing, still in control.

Her eyes flicker, dark and sharp. She lets the silence stretch, lets you squirm just a little before tilting her head, smirking. And then, finally—

“Whip it out when I tell you to.”

She shifts back, slow and deliberate, like she knows exactly what she’s doing to you. Legs crossed, arms folded, head tilted slightly—waiting.

“Shirt off.”

You hesitate. Her expression doesn’t change. Just one perfectly raised eyebrow.

You exhale, dragging the fabric over your head, the fabric peeling away from your skin, leaving a fleeting chill before the heat of the room settles over you. The shift makes your muscles tense briefly, instinctively flexing, your lean frame now fully exposed. She doesn’t say anything at first—just watches. Eyes dragging down, slower than usual. She’s seen you shirtless before—at the beach, when you work out together—but this feels... different. More deliberate. More assessing. Like she’s realizing something she hadn’t let herself think about before.

Her fingertips trail over your chest, nails scraping lightly as they move down. Her breathing shifts. Not a full pause, but a subtle inhale, like she’s registering something new.

She barely skims your waistband before stopping. Lips part, but no words come out. Just a beat of silence, her fingers still resting against your skin.

Then, just as quickly, she shakes it off. Moves like she never hesitated. “Pants too.”

You move to pull them down, and her hand shoots out, gripping the fabric at your waist. Stopping you. Holding you there.

She tilts her head. Smirks. “Hmm, one sec.”

She leans down, lips trailing from your chest to your abdomen, slow and deliberate, each press of her mouth sending heat curling low in your stomach. Lower. Lower. Until she’s hovering over your bulge, her breath warm against the fabric, her smirk returning as she glances up at you—waiting, teasing.

“Whip it out.”

You follow her command, fingers hooking into the waistband of your sweats and boxers at the same time. You push them down in one slow motion, the fabric dragging over your hips, your thighs, until they pool around your ankles. The cool air hits first, sending a shiver down your spine, your skin prickling in contrast to the heat of her stare. You kick them off, tossing them aside without a second thought.

Your cock, already stiff, springs free, swaying slightly before settling upright.

You expect some kind of reaction, a smirk, a comment, something. But she just sits there. Silent. Taking you in. Making you wait.

Then, the shift.

Her jaw tightens. Barely. Just enough to notice. Her fingers twitch, like she’s resisting the instinct to reach for you. A single exhale slips out—soft, sharp, involuntary.

“...Hah.”

Her thighs press together.

She blinks once, slow, expression still unreadable before she scoffs, voice flat. "You're joking."

It’s not a question. Not disbelief. It’s irritation. Like she’s pissed off that she’s this affected.

Then, before she even registers it, her hand is on you.

Her fingers wrap around the base, testing the weight. Thumb pressing into the ridge, sliding down, measuring. Her grip is firm, not teasing, not soft. Calculating. Then, she swipes her thumb over the tip, smearing the bead of precum across the sensitive skin.

The slick warmth sends a sharp jolt through you, your stomach clenching at the sudden stimulation. A shudder rolls down your spine, hips jerking just slightly—instinctual, involuntary. She hums at the reaction, amused, dragging her thumb back over the head, slower this time, watching you twitch beneath her touch.

"...You’ve been walking around with this the whole time?"

One slow stroke. Deliberate. Frustrated. Her breath hitches for half a second before she exhales through her nose, sharp and controlled. She’s working through something.

Then she moves.

Slow, deliberate, sinking down until her face is level with your cock. She spreads her knees wider, arching her back instinctively, ass lifting behind her as she dips her head down. The motion is fluid, effortless, like she’s done this a hundred times before—but not with you.

Her breath fans over the head, warm, teasing, and fuck, she’s gorgeous. But the way she’s looking at you? The way her lashes flutter as she drags her gaze from the base to the tip, the way her lips part slightly like she’s thinking about something she shouldn’t? Filthy.

Your fingers twitch against the sheets, aching to touch her. To run through her hair, trace over her cheek, press against the plush curve of her lips. But you don’t. You know better.

She tilts her head, lining it up. Comparing.

Her fingers tighten around the base, giving an experimental squeeze, jaw tensing slightly like she’s still processing the math of it all.

She hums, amused. Like she just confirmed something. Her eyes drag from your cock to your frame, mapping out the proportions. She’s smaller, you’re lean, cut where it matters. Her fingers tighten around your thigh—just slightly.

She exhales slow, shaking her head. Testing her own reaction.

“It’s almost annoying.”

A sharp squeeze at the base, like she’s making peace with it.

"You're just big enough to be fucking perfect."

She looks up at you, doesn’t blink. Holds your gaze like she’s daring you to move.

"Look at me."

You do. Try to. But the intensity of her gaze is too much, hungry, piercing, hot. Like she’s devouring every inch of you without even touching. Your body reacts before you can stop it. It’s overwhelming. Too much. You instinctively try to escape it, tilting your head back, but she doesn’t let you.

Her other hand catches your chin, dragging you back down to her. “I didn’t say you could do that.”

Your breath shudders. You swallow hard. She notices. Smirks.

Then—she stops.

She knows exactly what she’s about to do. And she wants you to watch.

Lifting her arms, she gathers up all her hair, twisting it tight, securing it with practiced ease. It’s a ritual, a performance, because she knows you’re looking. And she likes it.

The movement stretches her out, making you take in everything—the pull of her arms, the soft dip of her waist, the sleek curve of her long torso. Cinched. Compact. Fucking perfect. Her neck, her collarbones, the bare skin of her armpits exposed for a fleeting second, all of it framed just for you.

"Jesus Christ, you’re so fucking hot." Your voice slips past you.

She pauses, just for a second. A slow, knowing smirk on her lips as she glances at you.

"I know."

Your fingers twitch, instinct taking over—you reach down, wanting to stroke yourself to the sight of her.

Sharp slap.

Your hand jerks away, stinging. Her eyes flicker up, challenging. Smirking.

"I already told you—keep your hands to yourself."

Then—she leans back down, the same position, same arch. She dips her head low. Her lips purse, and before you can register it, a thick glob of warm saliva drips from her mouth, landing perfectly against the tip. She watches it spread, her thumb smearing it across the sensitive skin, coating you in wet heat before she strokes again—long, slow, deliberate.

She looks up, eyes locking onto yours, smirking like she already knows she's won. "Now sit back and let me enjoy myself."

Then—she sinks lower.

Her red hair spills over your stomach, strands brushing against your skin as she angles herself just right. The dim light catches on the messy waves, glowing warm, wild, untamed. She looks up at you through thick lashes, half-lidded, pupils blown wide, mouth parted just enough to tease you with the heat of her breath.

She’s so fucking close.

But this isn’t about you.

Her fingers wrap around the base, a slow, possessive squeeze, more for herself than for you. She exhales, lips barely parted, watching, taking you in. Her tongue swipes over her own bottom lip as if contemplating a meal she’s about to devour.

Then—she goes for it.

Heat. Wet. The first slide past her lips is tight, hot, an impossible contrast of softness and pressure. Her mouth stretches, lips plush and slick, sealing around you with a perfect, obscene suction. The wet heat of her tongue presses firm against the underside, dragging against every ridge, every pulsing inch, like she’s mapping you out with her mouth. The pressure of her cheeks hollowing pulls a groan straight from your chest before you can bite it back.

It's not careful, not teasing—hungry.

Her nails dig into your thigh as she sinks deeper, her own body reacting, thighs pressing together, chasing the heat curling in her own gut.

She doesn’t slow. Doesn’t drag it out like a game. She’s working herself up with every motion, letting herself indulge.

Another moan, this one softer, needier, and fuck, she’s enjoying this. Her tongue presses against the underside, massaging every inch she swallows. She pulls back, spit slick and glistening, gasping softly before diving back in, sucking harder, deeper.

She flicks her gaze up—not to check on you, but to see how much more she can take.

The wet pop when she pulls off is obscene, spit stretching between her lips and your cock before snapping apart. But she doesn’t wipe it away—you can tell, she likes the mess.

She tilts her head, gaze flicking up to yours, breathless, her lips curling into something between a smirk and frustration.

"Fuck, you taste so good." She mutters, voice wrecked, annoyed at how much she’s into this.

You start to smirk, breath hitching as you mutter, "Damn, you really know how to—"

But you don't get the chance.

She takes you deep mid-word, zero hesitation, lips stretching, throat tightening as she swallows you down in one sudden, slick motion. The shock rips a strangled sound from your throat, something between a gasp and a groan, because fuck, that was unexpected.

It's warm, so fucking tight, her throat flexing around you as she forces herself deeper, nose pressing flush against your groin. The wet grip of her throat clenching around the tip sends heat jolting up your spine, and when she pulls back—slow, torturous—a thick string of spit clings between her lips and your cock, stretching, breaking, dripping down onto her own chin. She watches you, gaze locked, eyes dark, sharp, daring you.

"You talk too much. And I haven't told you to open your mouth."

Her voice is wrecked, breathless, but smug as hell. She grips the base, firm, controlling, and slaps the head against her lips, wet and filthy, smearing spit and precum across them before taking you back in without hesitation—deeper, tighter, longer.

Your thighs tense. Your breath stutters. Toes curl, heat pooling low in your stomach, a wildfire spreading through your limbs. Your hands clench into the sheets because if you touch her now, you're done for.

She hums around you, low, vibrating, because she knows exactly what she’s doing to you.

Then she pulls back, spit-slick and glistening, pausing just long enough for you to feel the absence, to make you ache for it.

You think she’s about to go back in, your breath catches—but she lingers, gaze flicking up, owning the moment, letting the tension coil tighter. Then, slowly, she slaps your cock against her lips once more, her own breath shuddering like she’s just as caught up in this as you are. But this isn’t for you—it’s for her.

She dips lower, tongue dragging down your length, lips wrapping around one ball, sucking slow, wet, indulgent. She pauses for a second, breathing heavy, swallowing like she’s processing how good it tastes, how much she’s enjoying it.

Then she makes a sound—a frustrated groan, muffled, needy, like she’s annoyed by just how good you are in her mouth. Her hand never stops moving, stroking you in time with every pull of her mouth. Then the next, her tongue rolling over the sensitive skin, a soft moan escaping her, sending a jolt straight through your core.

She licks a line back up your shaft, slow, messy, like she’s savoring the weight of you on her tongue.

Your hands twitch against the sheets, fists clenched tight, every muscle in your body strung too fucking tight, resisting the urge to grab her. She notices. She loves it.

She pulls off completely, spit pooling down her chin, tilts her head up at you, lips parted, swollen, smirking.

"Hold my hair up."

Your breath shakes as you comply, fingers threading into her red waves, feeling the silkiness as they slide between your knuckles. You gather them slowly, watching the way they shine under the dim light, then bunch them up tight, pulling them together like a ponytail, holding firm.

She exhales slow, eyes flickering shut for half a second like she’s steeling herself. Then, she looks up at you—hungry, determined.

"Good. Now don’t let go."

The moment you tighten your grip, she moans, low and wrecked, like it’s fueling her. Like she’s been waiting for this.

She takes you back in. 

In one go.

There’s no hesitation now. No more teasing. Just her fucking her mouth on you, using your cock like a toy for her own oral fixation.

She goes messy, abrupt, taking you deep with zero breaks, her hands working in sync—one stroking your shaft, the other massaging your balls, slick with spit, wet, filthy, relentless.

She gags. Chokes. Sputters saliva down her chin, but she doesn’t stop—she loves this.

Each time she sinks down, she stays longer, testing her limits, forcing herself deeper, moaning around you, the vibrations traveling straight through your spine. She knows exactly what she’s doing.

She pulls off with a wet, deep, gasp, sucking in air, but her hands never stop moving—stroking, twisting, milking you even as she gasps for breath.

“Shit,” she pants, her voice wrecked, her lips swollen, glistening with spit.

Her grip tightens, both hands now working together, slick and dripping, saliva coating every inch. She strokes faster, twisting her wrists, making a fucking mess of you, her mouth hovering just inches away, lips parted, panting.

Your whole body is tight, legs folding in slightly, toes curling, arms flexing involuntarily around the grip in her hair. The pleasure is too much, too fucking good, overwhelming, and if she wasn’t in complete control, you’d be thrusting up into her mouth, chasing the heat, the pressure. But she’s already forcing herself deep, hitting the back of her throat for you. No, for herself, taking what she wants.

Your grip on her hair loosens.

She notices.

She fucking notices.

Her lashes flutter up, eyes glazed, pupils blown wide, cheeks flushed—completely cock-drunk—and she lets out the softest, filthiest little whine, like she doesn’t want you to stop her. Like she needs this. More of this.

Your fingers clench, regaining control, and you hold her still.

Her moan shatters through you.

It’s wrecked, vibrating along your length as she hollows her cheeks again and sucks. Hard.

And then—she goes feral.

She spits again, a thick glob dripping onto the head, smearing it in with her tongue before slapping your cock against her lips, her cheek, the curve of her jaw. Then she leans in, sucking and slurping her own saliva back up from your cock and groin, her tongue dragging slow and deliberate—only to sputter it back down again, wetter, filthier.

The slick warmth trickles lower, dripping under your balls, pooling there as her fingers smear it across your skin like she never wants to waste a single drop. She’s moaning the entire time, whimpering under her breath, her own body tensing, thighs pressing together, like she’s getting off on the sheer act of ruining herself.

Her tongue flicks out, lapping at the sensitive tip before flattening against it, rubbing it against her slick, spit-drenched muscle like she wants to taste every inch.

Her hand never stops moving—stroking, twisting, pumping, both hands working together now, slick and dripping, her fingers sliding with ease from how fucking wet everything is.

She’s not thinking anymore.

She’s just moving, sucking, licking, moaning, lost in it. She’s devouring you.

She sinks back down, deeper, until she’s gagging again, nose flush, throat spasming. She pulls off just to spit again, rubs her own mess into your shaft with both hands before swallowing you back down like she missed it.

She stays down longer each time.

Testing her limits. Pushing past them. Letting them break.

She pulls off with a wrecked gasp, drool dripping off her chin, her hands still stroking you frantically, like she can’t stop. Like she won’t stop.

“Fuck—” Her voice is raw, strained, needy. Her lips glisten, her cheeks are damp with spit, ruined.

Next, she slaps your cock against her tongue again, holding it there, eyes locked on yours, lips parted, panting.

Waiting.

Wanting.

She flicks her tongue once. Then again.

Your whole body tenses, a choked moan ripping out of your throat before you can swallow it down. She notices instantly, smirking, lips flushed and glistening.

"Gonna cum for me?" Her voice is low, wrecked, teasing. "Gonna fill up my mouth?"

She doesn’t give you a chance to answer. She’s back down, and you know it wont be long.

She sinks down, deeper than before—deeper than you thought she could go.

Her throat tightens, a hot, slick vice around you, lips stretched wide, nose flush against your skin. She stays there, like she’s proving something, forcing herself to take it all.

Your body shakes. A helpless, broken noise tears from your throat, your fingers twisting tighter in her hair. Your entire body is locked up, muscles taut, overwhelmed, unable to do anything but take what she’s giving you.

She swallows around you—tight, pulsing—milking you. The suction drives you insane, your mind foggy with nothing but her heat, her wetness, the way she’s owning you with her mouth. Your stomach clenches, your toes curl, thighs shaking. The heat in your gut is unbearable, climbing too fast, too much—

And then—she pulls off.

Not all the way. Just enough to drag her lips, tongue, teeth back up, slow, deliberate, before sinking back down just as deep.

She does it again.

Slow. Controlled. Absolutely ruining you.

Her hands are still working—one stroking your length, the other massaging your balls, her slick fingers pressing, squeezing, keeping you so fucking close but not letting you fall.

This time, she pulls off completely.

Your cock twitches in the open air, aching, drenched in her spit, glistening under the dim light. The sudden absence is unbearable, like she just took the world’s best heat away from you.

And then—she stops everything.

Her grip loosens. Her mouth lingers inches away.

Nothing.

You make a noise—desperate, strained. Your fingers clench, stomach tight, chest rising too fast.

She tilts her head, mocking, daring, teasing. Lips swollen, cheeks flushed.

"Say it."

Your breath stutters. She’s watching you unravel, watching you need.

You hesitate.

Her fingers go completely still.

The absence is unbearable. The loss of heat, friction, her—everything.

She waits. Just waits.

Eyes locked on you, lips parted, not moving until she hears what she wants.

“You wanna cum or not?”

Her voice is wrecked, low, filthy—and so fucking amused. Like she already knows.

Your jaw locks, but your body betrays you.

“Yuna, please—I'm so close” It rips out of you, barely a whisper, shaky, ruined.

Her eyes spark. She grins.

She giggles. It’s horny, evil, delighted.

And with that, she dives back in.

Messy. Unforgiving.

Her mouth works you over, fast, relentless, sucking hard like she’s dragging the orgasm out of you. Her cheeks hollow, tongue pressing firm, head bobbing fast, sloppy, wrecking you.

Her hands won’t stop moving—both of them now, stroking, twisting, pumping, slick and filthy, drenched in her spit.

She pulls off just to spit directly onto your tip, spreading it with her tongue, letting the mess drip down your shaft, pooling at your base.

She goes back down, faster, tongue swirling, throat flexing, each motion more desperate, more demanding. The sounds she’s making—filthy, obscene, completely unashamed.

You can’t stop it.

Your hips jerk, thighs flex, toes curl, fingers pull tight in her hair.

And then—your whole body locks up.

It hits like lightning, brutal, full-body, overwhelming.

You moan—loud, wrecked, shaking.

She pulls off at the last second, her tongue stretched out, eyes locked on you, stroking you fast as you cum hard all over her tongue and inside her mouth.

Spurts of thick white streak across her tongue, her lips, pooling where she wants it.

She stays there, mouth open, holding it, letting you see it.

Then—she closes her mouth and swallows.

A loud, filthy gulp.

Like she was made for this.

She stays between your legs a moment longer, tongue flicking slow, deliberate, dragging over every inch of sensitive skin as she cleans you up, savoring it. Her lips press one last time to the tip, a lazy, lingering kiss, before she finally—finally—pulls away, her breath still hot and damp against your stomach.

She doesn’t hurry.

She stretches, rolling her shoulders like she just wrapped up a workout, sighing like she’s completely satisfied, her fingers pressing briefly into your thighs as she pushes herself up. She moves like she owns the space, like she just conquered something.

Without another word, she crawls up towards you. One hand grabs your chin, tilting your face up, making sure you’re looking at her.

She’s still wrecked, ruined—her lips glossy, chin damp, pupils dark and dripping with smug satisfaction.

"You're never taking those glasses off again."

Her other hand moves, fingers slipping up to the bridge of your glasses, pushing them back into place with the laziest, most condescending adjustment.

Like she just did fucking community service.

You’re still panting, your limbs heavy, your chest still rising too fast. And yet—a realization grips you.

You just unleashed something.

Something feral. Something dangerous.

She grins, tilting her head like she knows exactly what you’re thinking.

And then—she giggles.

That same horny, delighted, evil little giggle from before.

Like she’s already thinking about the next time she ruins you.

End.

----------------

AN: Finally got through this one and can check it off. I'm currently starting a new piece, one of my longer ones so it might be a while until its posted. Ill try my best to fill the next few days with more shorter moments like this one, but I really wanna focus on my longer fics with more depth. As always, room for part 2 with this.

[mnightseoul]

Bride to be's Midnight party ( Chaewon x Male OCs )

tags: gangbang, cheating, blowjob, dirty talk

The day had finally arrived, the air thick with anticipation as Chaewon prepared for the last hurrah before she embarked on her new journey as a wife. Her closest friends, a mix of childhood companions and college confidants, had conspired to give her a bachelorette party she would never forget. They had scoured the city for the perfect venue, finally settling on a swanky male strip club known as "The Den of Desire." The name alone was enough to make Chaewon blush a shade of crimson, but her bridesmaids had insisted that this was the ultimate way to bid farewell to her single life.

As the evening grew closer, the excitement in the bridal party was palpable. They gathered at Chaewon's apartment, the living room transformed into a glamorous dressing room. The room was filled with giggles and shrieks as each woman donned her carefully chosen outfit, all designed to make a statement. From short, sequined dresses to tight, body-hugging numbers, they were dressed to kill. Chaewon, ever the humble bride, had settled on a simple yet elegant black dress, her eyes sparkling with excitement behind her wire-framed glasses.

The bridesmaids had gone all out, organizing a stretch limousine to whisk them away to the club. As the sleek black car pulled up to the curb, the group of seven piled in, champagne bottles popping as they settled into the plush leather seats. The interior lights flickered with a rainbow of colors, setting the mood for a wild night of fun and debauchery. Chaewon felt a mix of nerves and exhilaration as she took her designated spot, the one with the giant "Bride-to-Be" sash draped across the back.

Upon their arrival, the velvet ropes parted, and the bouncers gave them a knowing wink as they stepped into the dimly lit club. The thump of bass reverberated through the walls, and the scent of expensive cologne mixed with the sweet aroma of perfume. The Den of Desire was already bustling with groups of women eager to let loose. The bridesmaids led Chaewon to a VIP section they had reserved, adorned with a banner that read "Chaewon's Last Hoorah!" in glittering letters. The stage, surrounded by a sea of eager faces, gleamed under the strobe lights, hinting at the scandalous performances to come.

The first act strutted onto the stage, and the room erupted in cheers. Chaewon couldn't help but feel a twinge of curiosity as the oiled-up Adonises began to dance. Her friends leaned in close, whispering salacious comments and encouraging her to embrace the moment. Despite her initial reservations, she found herself drawn into the electrifying atmosphere, sipping her cocktail and tapping her foot to the beat.

The night grew wilder as the performances became more daring. The bridesmaids, fueled by liquid courage, began to interact with the dancers, pulling them closer to their table and slipping bills into their waistbands. Chaewon watched with a mix of amusement and astonishment, feeling both out of place and strangely liberated.

As the drinks kept flowing, the conversation grew louder, and the laughter more uninhibited. Chaewon's cheeks were flushed, not just from the heat of the club, but from the thrill of the experience. She had never been to a place like this, and the thrill of the forbidden was intoxicating. The alcohol loosened her inhibitions, and she found herself joining in the fun, cheering on her friends and even participating in a few dances with the performers.

The evening progressed, and the entertainment grew more interactive. One particularly charismatic dancer, named Leo, took a special interest in the bashful bride-to-be. He wove through the crowd, his eyes locked on Chaewon, a playful smirk dancing across his lips. When he finally reached their table, he whispered something in her ear, and she couldn't help but giggle. Her friends, noticing the connection, began to chant for her to join him on stage.

With a gentle nudge from her maid of honor, Chaewon found herself being led by the hand to the gleaming platform. The music grew louder, the lights brighter, and the crowd's anticipation palpable. Leo winked at her, his confidence infectious, and suddenly, she didn't feel so nervous. He began to dance around her, their movements playful and flirty, the energy between them electric. As the routine went on, Chaewon allowed herself to get lost in the moment, feeling a sense of freedom she hadn't felt in years.

The crowd was going wild, and her friends were absolutely loving the show. One of her more adventurous friends, Yuna, took it upon herself to make the experience even more memorable. She leaned over and whispered something to Leo, a mischievous glint in her eye. Chaewon had a feeling she knew what was coming. Sure enough, Yuna delicately placed a fine amount of salt between Chaewon's cleavage, her hands shaking slightly with excitement. The dancer took a step back, a shot of tequila in hand, his gaze locked on the line of salt. Chaewon felt a rush of adrenaline as he approached, his chiseled abs glistening with sweat.

The room went silent as Leo bent down, his mouth hovering just above the salt. Chaewon's heart raced as he took the shot, his eyes never leaving hers. The crowd erupted in applause and cheers as he licked the salt from her skin with a dramatic flourish. It was a moment of pure exhilaration, a taste of the wild side that she never knew she craved. Her friends were in hysterics, high-fiving each other and shouting their approval. Chaewon couldn't help but laugh along, feeling a sense of camaraderie with her friends that she hadn't felt in a long time.

The bridesmaids, caught in the thrall of the seductive atmosphere, started pairing up with some of the dancers. Flirting turned into whispered conversations and lingering touches. One by one, the bridesmaids and their dance partners would slip away into the shadows, leaving the others to speculate about their whereabouts. Chaewon watched in amazement as her usually reserved friends transformed into bold seductresses, living out their own little fantasies.

Her friend Soo-Jin was particularly taken with a dancer named Marcus. They had hit it off instantly, their chemistry palpable even from across the room. Soo-Jin's eyes sparkled with excitement as she danced closer and closer to him, her hands tracing the lines of his muscular back. Before Chaewon knew it, the two had disappeared, leaving behind a trail of whispers and knowing smiles. She couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy.

Chaewon felt the need to escape the intense energy for a moment and decided to use the bathroom. As she pushed through the throng of bodies, she felt a light touch on her arm. Turning, she found Leo, the dancer who had shared the stage with her earlier, smiling down at her with a glint in his eye. "You okay?" he shouted over the music.

"Yeah," she yelled back, feeling a little overwhelmed. "Just need a quick breather."

Leo nodded in understanding, and to her surprise, he offered to accompany her. Chaewon hesitated, unsure if this was appropriate, but the alcohol had loosened her and she found herself agreeing. The bathroom was a blessedly cool oasis compared to the sticky heat of the club. She took a deep breath, leaning against the sink to collect herself.

"You're a natural," Leo said, his voice low and soothing. "You should do that more often."

Chaewon blushed, looking away. "Thanks, but I'm pretty sure that's a one-time thing."

Leo stepped closer, his hand on the small of her back. "You're too much fun to let go of that easily," he said, his smile turning mischievous. "How about we have some real fun?"

Her heart hammered in her chest. She knew what he was implying, and part of her was tempted. But she was engaged, and this was all just a harmless party, right?

"I don't think that's a good idea," she said, her voice shaky.

Leo leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. "Come on," he whispered, his voice a seductive purr. "Your friends are busy. They won't even notice."

Chaewon felt a flicker of doubt. Was she being too uptight? It was her bachelorette party, after all. Leo's hand slid around her waist, and he gently nudged her towards a hidden corner of the bathroom. "It's just a little harmless fun," he assured her, his eyes gleaming with a promise she wasn't quite sure she wanted to keep. She looked around the bathroom, the flashing lights from the club casting a disco glow through the small cracks in the door.

"Look, everyone does it," he continued, his voice a silky persuasion. "It's like a rite of passage. Besides," he added with a smirk, "what happens in the bathroom, stays in the bathroom."

Chaewon's resolve began to crumble. She had always been the good girl, the one who never took risks, the one who always played it safe. But tonight was supposed to be different. Tonight was about letting go. Her eyes met Leo's, and she felt the weight of his gaze, the allure of the forbidden tugging at her. For a brief moment, she considered it, the thrill of doing something she knew she shouldn't making her feel alive.

With a deep breath, she nodded, and Leo's grin grew wider. He took charge, leading her by the hand into the secluded area. The music from the club was muffled here, the only sound their racing heartbeats and the occasional laughter that floated in from the party outside. He pushed her gently against the wall, his body pressing into hers, and she felt a surge of desire that she hadn't felt in a long time.

Leo's hands began to explore, his touch confident and commanding. Chaewon's mind was a whirl of conflicting emotions: guilt, excitement, fear, and arousal. But as he kissed her, she found herself giving in, her body responding to his touch like it was starved for it. His hands slid down her body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, and she realized that she had never felt so alive, so wanted, so… dominated.

Their kiss grew more urgent, his teeth nipping at her lower lip as his hands found their way under her dress. Chaewon gasped, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts. She had never been with a man who took control like this, and she found herself surprisingly enjoying the feeling. Leo's touch was firm, his movements deliberate and calculated, each one designed to drive her closer to the edge.

As their encounter grew more intense, Chaewon couldn't help but wonder what her fiancé would think if he could see her now. Would he be jealous? Angry? Or would he understand that this was just a moment of harmless fun, a chance for her to let loose before she committed herself to a lifetime of monogamy? The thought sent a shiver down her spine, but she pushed it aside. Tonight was about her, and she was going to live in the moment.

Leo's hand cupped her chin, tilting her head back, and he whispered in her ear, his breath hot against her skin. "You're mine, aren't you?" Chaewon's heart raced as she nodded, her body aching for more. He kissed her again, his tongue demanding entry, and she opened up to him, letting him claim her in this illicit embrace. The world outside the bathroom faded away, and all that existed was the two of them, lost in the throes of passion.

Leo's hands slid up her thighs, pushing her dress up to her waist, and she felt the coolness of the bathroom air against her bare skin. His fingers found her panties, teasing the damp fabric before he ripped them away with a feral growl. Chaewon's knees weakened, but Leo held her up, his grip like steel. He positioned himself, the tip of his erection pressing against her, and without warning, he thrust into her, hard and fast. She gasped, the sudden intrusion stealing her breath, but the pleasure quickly overwhelmed any discomfort.

Her nails dug into his back as he began to move, each thrust sending shockwaves of sensation through her body. Chaewon had never been fucked like this before, never been taken so fiercely and so completely. It was as if Leo had unlocked something within her, a wild, primal instinct that she didn't know she had. She wrapped her legs around his waist, urging him deeper, her hips moving in time with his rhythm. The bathroom stall echoed with the sound of their bodies slapping together, the music from the club a distant backdrop to their illicit encounter.

Leo's eyes bore into hers, dark with desire and a hint of possession. He fucked her with a reckless abandon that was both terrifying and thrilling. Chaewon felt her orgasm building, her muscles tightening around him, and she knew she was going to come. It was going to be messy, it was going to be loud, and she didn't care. This was her moment of rebellion, her chance to be the bad girl she had always envied in romance novels and movies.

Her climax hit her like a tidal wave, and she screamed his name, her body shaking with the intensity of it. Leo's pace didn't slow, though, if anything, he grew more aggressive, his hips pistoning into her as he chased his own release. Chaewon clung to him, her head thrown back, her eyes squeezed shut as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her. And when he finally came, his groan muffled by her shoulder, she felt a strange sense of satisfaction, like she had just conquered something she never knew she needed to.

As they both came down from the high, Leo kissed her neck, his breathing still ragged. "You're amazing," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. Chaewon felt a blush creep up her neck, her heart still racing. She knew this was wrong, knew she should be feeling guilty, but all she could focus on was the feeling of Leo still inside her, the aftershocks of pleasure still coursing through her body.

With a smirk, Leo stepped back, his cock glistening with their combined arousal. He looked down at her, a challenge in his eyes. "Clean me up," he said, his voice a command. Chaewon hesitated for a moment, then with a nod, she sank to her knees. He positioned himself in front of her, his erection standing proudly. She took a deep breath and leaned in, tentatively taking him into her mouth. He tasted faintly of salt and sweat, a heady combination that she found strangely intoxicating.

With each bob of her head, she felt more and more of the good girl she had always been slipping away, replaced by this new, wanton creature. Leo's hands tangled in her hair, guiding her movements, and she took him deeper, her eyes never leaving his. The power dynamics had shifted, and she reveled in her new role, eager to please him. He groaned in approval, his hips moving in time with her mouth. Chaewon had never felt so alive, so powerful, as she had this stranger in the palm of her hand.

As she cleaned him up, Leo leaned back against the sink, his eyes never leaving hers. "You know," he said, his voice still low and seductive, "my buddies would love a taste of this." Chaewon felt a thrill run through her at the thought, and before she could even think to protest, he was already calling them over. The bathroom stall's hidden door swung open, and in came Marcus, the dancer who had been with Soo-Jin, followed by two others she recognized from the stage. They were all grinning, their eyes gleaming with lust.

Without a word, one of them took her hand, helping her to her feet, while the other two began to strip off her dress. Chaewon felt a rush of excitement as she was exposed, the cool air of the bathroom prickling her skin. She had never been with more than one person at a time, and the thought of all these men wanting her was more than she could handle. They circled her like predators, their eyes raking over her body, and she felt a strange sense of power knowing that she had them all under her spell.

Marcus stepped forward, his eyes dark with desire, and claimed her mouth in a bruising kiss. His hands roamed her body, squeezing her breasts and pinching her nipples until she moaned into his mouth. Meanwhile, the other two began to kiss and lick their way down her body, one of them dropping to his knees and burying his face between her legs. The sensation was almost too much to bear, and she had to grip the sink to keep from falling over.

The men worked together like a well-oiled machine, each one taking turns pleasuring her. They whispered filthy things in her ear, their breath hot against her skin, and she found herself responding, encouraging them with soft moans and gasps. Chaewon had never felt so desired, so alive, as she did in that moment. The guilt that had briefly gripped her earlier was gone, replaced by a fierce hunger that she didn't recognize but couldn't ignore.

"You like that?" Marcus whispered, his teeth grazing her earlobe. "You like being a dirty little bride?"

"Yes," she whimpered, her voice barely above a breath.

"Say it," he demanded, his hand sliding down to her throbbing clit. "Say you're a slut for us."

"I'm a slut for you," she murmured, the words feeling foreign on her lips, yet so right.

The two other dancers took her breasts in their hands, each one suckling and biting her nipples until she was panting. "You want more, baby?" one of them asked, his voice thick with lust.

"Please," she begged, her body arching towards them.

They were merciless, teasing and taunting her until she was a writhing mess, desperate for release. Marcus slipped a finger inside her, pumping it in and out as he whispered sweet nothings about how tight she was, how good she felt. Chaewon could feel herself getting wetter, her body begging for more.

The dancer between her legs stood up, his own erection straining against his pants. He leaned in, his teeth grazing her neck. "You want it all, don't you?" he said, his voice a rough growl. "You want to be our little slut."

"Yes," she moaned, the word slipping out before she could even think.

They didn't wait for further invitation. One by one, they took her, each one more intense than the last. They talked dirty to her, filling her with their cocks and whispering the most depraved things. Chaewon reveled in it, her body responding to their every touch, every word. The bathroom stall had become a cocoon of debauchery, and she was the willing centerpiece.

"You're going to be our little secret, aren't you?" Leo murmured as he took his turn, slamming into her from behind.

"Yes," she gasped, her voice muffled by the hand that Marcus had clamped over her mouth. "Your little whore."

They fucked her fast and hard, their hips slapping against her ass as they took her. Chaewon felt like she was going to break apart, but she didn't care. Each thrust brought her closer to the edge, and she craved more.

"You're going to marry him, but you'll always remember us," Marcus said, his voice a promise in her ear. "You'll always remember who really made you come on your last night of freedom."

And as she climaxed, the room spinning with pleasure, she knew it was true. This was a night she would never forget, a night that would change her forever. Her wedding was just two days away, but in the arms of these strangers, she had found a piece of herself that she never knew existed. And as they each took their fill of her, she knew that she had truly embraced her last moments of freedom.

The men were insatiable, passing her around like a prized possession, each one eager to leave their mark. Chaewon felt like a goddess, worshiped by these Adonises who knew just how to make her scream. She lost track of time, lost in a haze of passion and lust, her body a vessel for their pleasure.

Her legs trembled, and she could feel her orgasm building once more, the sensation of their hands and mouths on her skin driving her wild. They were relentless, pushing her to new heights, and she couldn't get enough. As one dancer pulled out, she felt the coolness of the air for a brief second before she was filled again, the sensation of being stretched and filled bringing her to the edge.

The room grew fuzzy around the edges, and she could barely keep her eyes open, her body was so overwhelmed with sensation. They talked about her as if she weren't even there, discussing who would come next and what they would do to her. It was humiliating and exhilarating all at once, and she found herself begging for more.

The room spun, and she felt her body start to give out. But they didn't stop, not until she was a trembling mess, their cum painting her body like a lewd canvas. They zipped up their pants and whispered sweet nothings in her ear, telling her how much they had enjoyed her, how she had been the best bachelorette party they had ever had.

As they left her, panting and exhausted, she couldn't help but feel a strange sense of pride. She had done something she never thought she would, something wild and free. And as she stumbled back out into the main room of the club, her friends none the wiser, she felt like she had truly lived.

[writerpeach]

Does Arin waterbomb outfits sparks any ideas?

You've got Arin right where you want her, bent over your desk and gasping as your cock rests against the fabric of her panties, shorts already tugged off. Your cock aches—throbs like crazy, and it's all her fault. For wearing those impossibly short shorts that her ass swallows up, not letting you do anything about it until you've dismissed everyone from class. 

She's got that fucking smirk on her lips, even though you can't see her face, and it makes you want her even more. But you can't help but stare at her ass, how round and tight it is, how badly you want to bury your face right fucking there.

"So, professor," she begins, glancing over her shoulder. "You're hard as a fucking rock. What are you waiting for?"

"Nothing. Just enjoying the view. You knew exactly what you were doing in class today."

"Me? I would never," Arin gasps, feigning innocence as she wiggles her hips and pushes her ass against you, grinding against your dick. "I just wanted a front row seat to learn more about history. You're the one with the problem, professor. Throbbing in your pants because of a student. Fantasizing about me during the lesson. You really have no control, do you?"

And that's it. That's the final fucking straw. 

You groan, fingers digging into the waistband of her panties and pull them down, almost tearing them off in your haste. "You're such a fucking tease. Wearing those shorts like you didn't know what you were doing. Your ass hanging out, practically begging me to spank it in front of the whole class. It's not my fault."

"Well? Why didn't you? You think a single student wouldn't have enjoyed seeing you paint my ass red?"

God, she's shameless. Not a chance you'd ever do something so brazen in front of everyone, even if she'd like it. But the image flashes in your mind—her bent over like this, beautiful, bare ass exposed to the entire class. Your palm landing right on the supple flesh, leaving a red handprint over and over. Her moans filling the room, the sting so good she can't even sit properly for the rest of the class. 

"You really want me to get fired, don't you?" you ask, reaching out to grab a handful of her ass.

"Maybe. We wouldn't have to sneak around anymore. Or be so quiet. You could fuck me anytime, anywhere you want. Wouldn't that be fun?"

"I already do that," you remind her.

"True," she agrees, giggling back at you with a smile. "But you could be louder. I know how much you like making me scream. You could shove your cock so deep inside my ass and pound me senseless, not having to worry about anyone hearing us. Wouldn't that be great?"

"No, that's why I fuck you in my office," you say, a hand running through her cheeks, grabbing a handful of that creamy flesh and squeezing harshly. "Or the bathroom. The library. Anywhere we can get caught. Because if I just fucked you on the my bed, at home, where would the fun be in that?"

"The professor's little pet. That's what I am, right? A toy to use and fuck whenever you feel like it. You want to get caught. Want everyone to know who owns me."

"That's right," you reply, cock nudging right against her saliva-soaked asshole. "And right now, I own this ass."

"Then make me quiet, professor," Arin challenges, eyes lighting up with excitement. "Or do you want the entire campus to hear me screaming your name?"

"I think we both know the answer to that."

And with that, you thrust into her, your thick cock slowly pushing past her tight ring of muscle, making her moan louder than ever before. Her hands are pressed against the desk, trying to keep herself steady, and fuck, she feels tight. Tighter than usual, clenching around every inch of your dick until you disappear between her cheeks. 

"Fuck, professor, oh god, you're so fucking big, I—"

You give her ass a hard smack, watching the flesh ripple beneath your hand, and her body trembles under the impact. It's too fucking good, the way she suffocates your cock, as you slide in deeper, filling her up inch by inch. Not a moment given for her to adjust, to breathe, because she doesn't deserve it—another harsh smack landing on her other cheek, your hands with a rough grip on her hips as you start to fuck her without mercy.

"Look at you, bent over my desk, your asshole swallowing my cock up,” you say, sliding all the way out before slamming into her again. "Fucking slut, walking around in those shorts, knowing what they do to me. Practically begging for my cock in your ass."

Arin cries out at the stretch, back arching perfectly as you thrust into her, over and over. Each slap of your skin meeting echoes in the silence of the empty office, your balls slapping against her cunt, and you're already feeling the sweat roll down your forehead. You give her cheeks another slap, feeling the way her asshole clenches around your shaft as she moans loudly, taking every single thrust.

"Fuck, professor," she manages between desperate moans. "Professor, please—give it to me."

That's exactly what you do—even though you want nothing more than to draw this out, to really make her pay for teasing you during her class. But the pleasure is too good, the way her ass sucks you in, the heat so overwhelming as you pull her closer, buried deep in her ass, bottoming out on every single thrust. You can't control the urge, pounding her so hard the desk shakes with every movement.

"This tight little ass is mine," you growl, giving another sharp smack, followed by another, alternating between each cheek, until they get redder by the second. "Whenever I want, wherever I want."

"Y-yes, professor, it's all yours," she whines, eyes watering as you spank her ass over and over, making sure to really leave your handprint on each delicious cheek. "Only yours, however you want me. My asshole loves taking your big cock."

She's clutching at the edge of the desk, biting her bottom lip, desperately holding back the sweetest little whimpers, loud enough for the whole fucking building to hear. And that's exactly what makes you lose control, pounding her ass without remorse, barely able to form a coherent thought as her moans spur you on.

“Fuck, yes, oh god, harder!"

Arin doesn't seem to care about anything other than being stuffed by your cock, her ass stretched tight around your thickness, each brutal thrust taking her breath away. And all you can do is spank that perfect ass, savoring the way your handprint remains—before the next spank is enough to leave her sobbing, desperate, barely able to hold back her satisfaction.

It doesn't take long until you’re on autopilot. Fingertips digging into her hips so deep you're sure they're going to bruise, each snap back pounding every inch inside her, all the way to your balls pressing against her plump cheeks.

That's what makes you lose yourself entirely—the head of your cock shoved so deep in her ass, the way her tight hole sucks you in with every movement, keeping you locked in such a vice grip, it’s far, far too much.

Unable to hold back any longer, balls swollen, your orgasm sneaks up on you. You explode—hot spurts of cum splattering across those sore, reddened cheeks when you pull out, her asshole so stretched out. Groaning her name, you coat her perfect ass, shooting out a hefty load as it paints her beautiful sweaty skin in creamy white.

God, it’s obscene—the image of your cum decorating her skin. 

But you're far from done. There's not a single second for Arin to rest, not when you’re still throbbing and rock hard, a messy sheen of cum glistening on her ass. Before your next panting breath, you're shoving your cock back inside, her asshole still so tight as it clenches around you, grabbing both pigtails that dangle to use them like handlebars. 

"We're not done yet," you tell her, plunging your length deeper.

"I sure hope not, professor," Arin says, turning to glance over her shoulder, smiling innocently at you. "I need to feel all of this hot, thick cum deep in my ass."

You almost can't believe the sight before you—Arin bent over your desk, legs spread wide, your messy load dripping down those bare cheeks, your hips so wild while your pace picks up once more, making her eyes nearly roll back. 

Her hands fly behind her, finding her ass and spreading herself open for you, desperate for you to really go crazy on her. 

And you’ll oblige, without hesitation. Gripping those pigtails as tightly as you can, you let go of all your inhibitions and fuck her ass, your cock pounding between those cheeks without pause, with everything you have left in you. "So fucking tight, always so fucking tight. Look at you, covered in my cum. Begging for more."

"B-because your cock belongs in me," Arin moans, looking back at you. "I need this. Need your cum in me when I walk out of here, into my next class. Wearing these little shorts—and no underwear."

It's enough to drive you wild, sending your hips into a frenzy. "God, you're such a little slut. Walking around on campus, a full load of my cum in your ass."

"Wouldn't have it any other way, professor," she murmurs, struggling to take each thrust, her voice growing weaker by the second as you pound her mercilessly.

The desk rattles again as you slam forward, feeling the heat of her ass consume you each time you stuff her full. 

You thrust into her hard, again and again, more vicious than the time before, animalistic, as your lust takes over. Her pigtails make the perfect handlebars, and all you can focus on is the feeling of Arin's hot, tight, asshole eager to milk your throbbing shaft, unable to escape from the way that velvety grip of hers is utterly devouring your hardness. 

There's no other way to fuck Arin but until she's completely broken, no words, no sound other than whimpering sobs of pleasure, desperate for you not to stop. All you can see is the mess you made on her sore asscheeks, now dripping down the inside of her thighs. But the look on her face, so overwhelmed with the sensations and unable to form a single coherent word, it's too fucking much—you can't last another second.

"Oh fuck," you hiss through clenched teeth, clutching onto her pigtails for dear life, slamming every single inch inside that heavenly grip. "Gonna cum again—gonna give you another load. Inside that tight little ass."

"P-professor, please, fill my ass up, please—"

And then it all happens so fast—you explode without warning. A thick burst that shoots out of you, straight into the depths of her ass clamped down so tightly, coaxing every bit of cum from your aching balls. You fill her ass to the absolute brim, spurt after thick spurt, unloading it all inside and groaning at how fucking good it feels to empty your balls in her. 

There's so much. Far too much, an uncontrollable amount. As your seed spills inside of her, she can hardly hold back, a hand gripping the desk, while the other finds between her thighs, rubbing at her slick, soaking pussy, in a perfect rhythm, taking her own orgasm. She shudders under you, trembling and shaking as the bliss overwhelms every inch of her body, barely able to control herself as you dump the remaining cum inside her.

When your orgasm finally ends, and Arin is left breathless, unable to form even a single syllable, she collapses onto your desk. You stay there, embedded deep inside, dropping her pigtails and moving to kiss her, forcing her mouth open and claiming her lips as you continue to throb deep within her.

"Don't think I can walk back to class like this," Arin mutters as her forehead rests on the desk. "Fucking destroyed me."

"I'd say I'm sorry, but—"

"I wouldn't want it any other way," she finishes for you, nowhere close to catching her breath. 

That’s when you take a chance to marvel at the perfection of her backside—her panties around her ankles,  reddened cheeks, the sweat all over her skin, her asshole stretched so impossibly wide around your shaft. A work of art, it truly is.

"Want to stay right here. You know," Arin murmurs, glancing back. "Feeling you throbbing inside me. Buried inside me and fucking my ass."

"Your other professors don't cum inside you, I'm sure."

"They sure don't," she agrees. "Just the one—and he fucks me like a whore."

You can only laugh at that, despite knowing just how right she is. "What would I do without you?"

"Go without this ass, that's for sure."

"I'd rather die," you say with a smile, slowly withdrawing from her ass. staring at the sticky mess coating your shaft. "You look so good full of my cum. So fucking pretty."

Arin struggles to sit up, trying her best to tug her shorts up over her legs, failing miserably, finally managing after her second try. Her panties sit on the floor, almost forgotten as she kicks them off and stuffs them into your pocket. "Believe those belong to you. Thanks for a lovely lesson, professor. Same time tomorrow?"

There's only one answer to that, because there's no other option when it comes to Arin, and how good you need her. "Of course. Wouldn't miss it."

"Wonderful." She turns back, kissing you once more, softly. "Until tomorrow, then."

[authorhjk1]

1813

(Jisoo X Male Reader)

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@mintwithchoco thank you for this promp. Was a lot if fun!

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October 5th, 1813 – Weißenfels

The war has led me to many villages like this one—quiet, modest places, their people hardened by hardship, yet resilient. But Weißenfels is different. Not because of its thatched-roof cottages or its cobbled streets, nor because of the bakery that fills the air with the scent of fresh bread, but because of something - or rather, someone - I saw as we rode in.

Our corps arrived in the village just after midday, the autumn sun casting long shadows as our horses’ hooves clattered over the stones. The people of Weißenfels gathered in the square, some watching in quiet awe, others whispering among themselves. Some had seen French troops march through not long ago. Now, it was Prussian banners that fluttered in the wind.

As I rode behind my superior, Hauptmann Reinhardt, I surveyed the villagers.

That was when I saw her.

A young woman, standing next to an elderly pair, watching the procession with a mixture of curiosity and caution. She was not like the others. Her dark hair was neatly braided, her features delicate but unfamiliar. And when her gaze met mine, something in me stalled, if only for a moment.

She did not lower her eyes immediately, nor did she smile. She simply observed, her expression unreadable. And I, despite my training, my discipline, could not help but admire her foreign beauty. Then, as quickly as it happened, the moment was gone, and I rode past her, following my superior.

After he set up his office in one of the rooms of the village’s townhall, he sent for me for an audience. The sun already began to set as he ordered me to stay with the local baker’s family. Since I’m an officer of the Prussian army, a leading officer of the 1. Brandenburg Dragoon Regiment even, I didn’t have to make camp with the rest of the lower ranking soldiers.

October 5th, 1813

Herr and Frau Lindemann greeted me warmly when I arrived at their home. Their bakery, modest in size, carried the rich aroma of flour and yeast, comforting in a way I had not expected.

“It is an honor to host a Prussian officer.”

Herr Lindemann said as he ushered me inside.

“I pray this war ends soon, but until then, we are grateful for your protection.”

“My thanks. Your kindness is noted.”

Frau Lindemann turned towards the small table where another figure sat.

“And this is our niece, Kim Jisoo.”

I recognized her instantly. The girl from the square.

She stood as I approached, her posture graceful but not overly formal.

“Leutnant von Amsberg.”

She said, her voice carrying the slightest accent, her German better than I expected. She must have caught my name as I introduced myself.

“Fräulein Jisoo.”

I acknowledged, dipping my head slightly.

“It seems fate has arranged another meeting.”

Her lips quirked slightly at that, but she said nothing.

Dinner was pleasant, though conversation quickly turned toward the war. Herr Lindemann, like many villagers, had seen both French and Prussian troops pass through his home. He expressed relief at the alliance against Napoleon, but worried for the future.

“Do you believe we will ever see the end of this war?”

“I’m sure of it. Napoleon cannot sustain a war on all fronts. If the next battle ends in our favor, we may finally see an end to this.”

“And if it does not?”

Jisoo’s voice was quiet, but firm.

I looked at her, surprised by the directness of the question.

“Then we fight on.”

I said simply.

“There is no other choice.”

She held my gaze for a moment longer before turning her attention back to her meal.

October 9th, 1813

I have never met a woman who loves horses as much as Jisoo does.

We had spoken briefly over the past days, but always within the confines of her family’s home. It was not until this morning that I discovered her fondness for riding.

“I used to ride in Joseon.”

She told me as she brushed the Lindemanns’ mare in the stable.

“Not for war, but for the joy of it.”

At this, I could not help but smile.

“Then let us ride.”

She hesitated at first, glancing toward the bakery.

“Herr and Frau Lindemann-”

“Will understand.”

I assured her.

“The day is too fine to waste indoors.”

Moments later, we set off, her riding the Lindemanns’ horse while I rode my own. The fields stretched out before us, the autumn wind carrying the scent of fallen leaves.

We came to a hold near a grove of trees to let the horses rest for a moment after tying their reigns to a nearby tree. We didn’t talk much during the ride, but now I wanted to take this opportunity to get to know her better. In the confines of her relative’s house, we weren’t able to converse freely without anyone listening in. Jisoo told me about her parents in Joseon and how her father owns a small restaurant. Her parents wanted her to leave and follow her uncle’s footsteps, hoping for a better life for her in Europe. She asked me about my own family as well. I mentioned my father’s military career and how he is now a horse breeder after his retirement. Jisoo’s eyes suddenly sparkled in envy and surprise, her fondness of riding shining through.

We kept on talking for a while after that, until the sun began to sink. As we were untying the reigns of our horses, Jisoo’s suddenly jerked its head away with all its might, making her stumble forward. I reached for its reigns and instinctively placed a hand on her lower back to keep her from falling. For only a split second we kept standing like that without either one of us moving. My hand on hers, which was holding the reigns, my other hand slightly supporting her back. I felt my heart stutter, an unfamiliar warmth creeping up my neck. I could smell the hint of flour and the yellow dandelions she picked, after tying her horse to the tree earlier. I immediately took a step back, my hand grazing hers in the process. She glanced at me, her expression unreadable, but there was something in her eyes. Something unspoken.

I cleared my throat.

“Apologies.”

“There is nothing to apologize for.”

She murmured, though I thought I saw a faint flush on her cheeks.

We said nothing more about it, but the moment lingered long after we continued our ride.

October 10th, 1813

During dinner today, Herr Lindemann mentioned the upcoming ball in honors of a royal general’s birthday.

Jisoo’s spoon stopped on its way to her mouth, her eyes falling on me.

“Will you be attending the ball as well, Leutnant von Amsberg?”

I caught the curiosity in her voice, which made me fondly remember yesterday’s accident.

“Of course he will, dear.”

Frau Lindemann spoke up, before I had a chance to do so myself.

“Every officer in this town will be at the townhall in five days.”

She was just about to eat more of her soup, when she suddenly gasped out.

“Oh no, you don’t own an appropriate dress yet, dear.”

The older woman reached out to hold Jisoo’s arm in apology.

“We will visit Herr Schneider first thing tomorrow. He will make you a beautiful dress for the ball. I promise.”

Jisoo couldn’t help but smile at me in amusement and after thanking her aunt, she looked at me once more. This time, her expression was on the more mischievous side.

“Do you dance, Leutnant?”

“I would like to think that I dance as good as I ride.”

I replied and a second later, I could already see a teasing comment forming in her head by the way her lips slightly twitched. It made me happy top see how comfortable she was with me. After all, we haven’t known each other for long yet.

October 15th, 1813

Tonight, as I prepared for the ball, I found myself paying more attention to my uniform than ever before.

My blue coat, adorned with golden epaulettes, had been brushed to perfection. The brass buttons gleamed in the candlelight; my boots polished to a mirror shine. It was strange, I had worn this uniform in countless battles, but this was the first time I truly cared about how I looked.

As I fastened my saber at my hip, I caught my reflection in the small mirror provided in my quarters. Would she notice? Would she care? I shook the thoughts from my mind, straightened my collar, and left for the hall.

The hall was bright with candlelight, laughter, and the hum of music. My superior, Hauptmann Reinhardt, found Herr Lindemann early on, engaging him in conversation. I stood nearby, only half-listening as Reinhardt spoke of the army, of battles, and of Prussia’s and Saxony’s future.

When Jisoo entered, I lost my train of thought entirely. I wasn’t able to catch a glimpse of the dress when she brought it home yesterday and I was disappointed when I was unable to see her as I left for the ball earlier.

She wore a deep blue gown, simple yet elegant, her dark hair pinned with delicate silver ornaments. She looked… radiant. Her smile seemed to light up the room as she walked towards the four of us. I tried not to stare, but when her gaze met mine, she smiled - shy, yet affectionate.

It was Reinhardt’s voice that pulled me back to reality.

“Leutnant, I wasn’t aware you had such a bright smile.”

His words would have sufficed as a warning for me to regain my composure, but he made a point out of saying them too late. Jisoo’s cheeks turned pink as she took her place next to the older couple.

I heard the small orchestra preparing for the next dance and took a step closer to Jisoo, suddenly aware of my own heartbeat. Surprised by my own forwardness I cleared my throat before I addressed her.

“Fräulein Jisoo,”

I said, inclining my head.

“Would you grant me this dance?”

I held out my hand and she placed her own on top of it, her eyes bright with amusement.

“I would be honored.”

And as we stepped onto the floor, for the first time in years, I felt truly at peace.

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Hi, everyone. I hope you enjoy this short fic. I'm considering making that a small series, depending on how it goes and how much time I have.

Stay healthy!