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#Kpop Smut
usedpidemo · 3 days
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Stargazing (Twice Mina)
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With the way things are going, Mina’s begging for trouble. And not the usual slap of the wrist kind that celebrities get away with—the kind that’s scandalous, career damning.
She’s so close to falling apart.
And as you watch her come undone—the very image that defines her gradually disappears—you can’t help but think: she deserves this.
—————
If there’s any clear-cut takeaway, it’s this: Mina is designed to be gorgeous, and she plays the part to near perfection. 
That’s the whole point. Here’s a sea of media outlets and paparazzi, accompanied by flashing cameras and screaming fans on one side. On the other, stars and figures from different fields, all dressed to the nines and emanate a distinguishable aura. The ‘I’m better than you’ kind. No amount of modest smiles and perfectly curated PR-fluff can disguise the noxious air of celebrity on the red carpet. 
Then you look at Mina, wearing the hell out of that backless dress, designed by none other than yours truly (you). You couldn’t have asked for a better muse. She carries herself and your brand around with a confident smile—with pride—seemingly indifferent to the raucous screams telling her to look this way, that way. Wherever her profile turns, cameras illuminate the crowd in near-perfect unison. 
It’s a slow motion fashion moment. 
As if she couldn't look any prettier, she brushes her hair with a quick, delicate swipe of her hand with queenly grace. The cameras live for moments like these. It’s what goes viral online; it’s what gets social media buzzing. She’s a K-pop idol, the media will say and it’s true, but she doesn’t look out of place with the so-called elite. If anything, she blends in seamlessly, rich, quiet, and enigmatic personality and all. 
Cameras continue to follow her as she walks through the carpet. She greets a few other celebrities in the vicinity; mostly Hollywood actresses and artists before she disappears behind the steps of the building. Throughout the entire ordeal, you were never on her mind, not even during interviews, nor when she was in clear view, even though you made her what she is now. All she can think about is herself and her character. That’s how fame works.
You don’t even get a text. Your only reference is a note that reads 23:00. 
—————
The next time you see Mina is hours later, at the promised time. One slender leg enters the backseat of the vehicle. She remains mostly untouched, leaving the gala looking the same as when she entered. She’s considerate enough to wave and give a flying kiss to the crowd, who unsurprisingly, go crazy for her. It’s a convincing act. You would, too, if you weren’t always by her side for ninety percent of the day.
She breathes out this deeply relieved sigh once the door slams shut. She’s tired—of being someone else, and just exhausted in general; she’s been in front of a mirror since five in the morning and it’s almost midnight by the time the event ends. You can tell she’d rather be in her hotel suite than anywhere else.
So you drive. No words. Just hit the road and get out of there. 
Even late into the night, Paris is still bustling and lively. You don’t make it past three streets before being met by traffic ahead. It’s an agonizing crawl. The satnav says you’ll arrive at your hotel by 2:00 in the morning. Mina probably won’t make it by midnight, at this point because she’s on the verge of falling unconscious, resting her head on the door. Her heels are set on the opposite end, with her lower half resting along the edges of the backseat into a couch position.
Even when she’s asleep, she’s still gorgeous. 
“Miss?” you gently call to her, snapping her from her tired daze. She gives you a mild stare through the rear-view mirror, unable to speak.
“We’re gonna be held up by traffic. You want something to eat?” you ask, knowing she likely won’t take anything more than a handful of fries or half a burger. 
“Sure. Whatever.” Mina sounds cold, a little annoyed somewhat. The past day has been unkind to her health; she arrived at the airport yesterday after a different schedule and barely had less than five hours of rest before dedicating the entire day for a gala she had contractual obligations to attend. She couldn’t say no even if she wanted; she’s got her whole schedule curated and planned out for months. 
You have more time to get her dresses planned out and prepared out than she has to breathe.
And time is unkind to both of you right now. Traffic trogs along at a snail’s pace. The arrival time on the satnav moves further and further away. Sunrise will meet you above a red light at this rate. How anyone gets around in this city considering the number of events that are happening all at once is beyond you. You only drive through Paris a handful of times a year, all for the same reason, and you abhor the idea—let alone the experience—every single time.
It’s difficult enough to wait, especially in this late of hours, when money and careers are on the line. Even more challenging is keeping a cool head and withholding yourself from using your instincts against the trusted systems of the algorithm. Mina will call you many things. She’ll call you insane. You don’t mind; it’ll be on the lower end of insults and comments you’ve heard from the so-called ‘elite.’ 
At the end of the day, you’re just simply following orders. 
You swerve off the main road, into narrow alleys and streets that aren’t registered on any official map. Anywhere that can give you a sense of progress and hold momentum. You drive. You make liberal use of your klaxon against anything and anyone. You go around in circles, sometimes looking at the satnav if it’s kind enough to give you a shorter, quicker path. In your haste, you completely overlook the star, the celebrity you’re meant to protect and coddle like fine art, and cracks begin to form.
“Shit!” Mina fastens the seatbelt, in distress and wide awake from your uncharacteristically aggressive driving. She lifts her head. Pierces your gaze through the rearview mirror with a mixture of panic, concern, and frustration. All that hours spent in the makeup room to look perfect, down to the smallest of details, coming undone within a few minutes. 
She seemed rather proud of her appearance, too.
Of course, her demands bounce off your ears—or ring through like white noise. You only know your task. Get her safe. 
Even though it’s your very idea, you forget about the thought of eating, too. You’ve passed by a couple of McDonalds along the way, but are blinded by tunnel vision to recognize a single one. It’s not a big loss; she’s as tired of eating fast food as much as you are. It isn’t good for her image right now, either. 
Eventually, you do make it back to her hotel. A little over midnight, but still not as early as you wanted to be. You look at the status of your passenger princess. She’s about as coddled as a five year old playing with her doll. A mess.
When you open up the door for her to step out, it’s a dramatic moment that gathers everyone’s attention and fixes every eye. It’s loud. 
It also so happens to be empty in the area.
The way she slaps you in the cheek echoes throughout the valet like the sharp crack of a whip, or the pop of a firework. Fucking hell, she hits hard. For a dainty woman like Mina, she’s surprisingly strong. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she snaps, cold and bitter. 
You find no mistake in what you did. In fact, you believe you’re doing her a service. Tomorrow, she’ll be at the airport and out of the country faster than when she came in. She doesn’t have to think about you for the foreseeable future. You only see a moody, ill-tempered celebrity frustrated that circumstances haven’t gone her way. Chalk it up to fatigue, but you can’t be arsed to explain yourself or react accordingly at this point.
She’s also pretty when she’s angry, you can’t help but think. Not the pouty, cute, wholesome kind—the ‘I’m gonna rip your throat’ out kind of ire. Sometimes you forget your job and admire just how gorgeous Mina is. You’re no different than the paparazzi or the average fan.
It makes her heated. You’re mentally smirking.
It would be a waste to fight over something as petty as reckless driving this late. No one got hurt; not a single traffic light or speed limit was violated. But her heart jumped a little bit when she expected the least. In her eyes, it’s a reasonable enough incident to show some attitude and assert her status over you.
But not tonight.
Instead, you take her by the wrist and lead her to the alley beside the hotel, away from potential cameras and prying eyes. She yelps, but you slip a hand around her mouth so she remains quiet. Mina is too tired to show some resistance. 
“Listen here, Miss Myoui,” you tell her, pointing your finger directly at her. “I did everything right to make sure you have a fine, comfortable experience in Paris. Did your dress, drove you around, everything. What I did was save you a few hours of sleeping in the car.  I never asked for anything from you, so don’t come acting like an ungrateful brat.”
“Fuck you.” Mina raises her palm, readying another thunderous, face cracking slap as a threat. “I could have done all that instead if I wanted to.”
“Need I remind you who made the dress that you’re wearing?”
She freezes, unable to find some form of retaliation or rebuttal.
“Thought so.”
“Well what am I supposed to do, then? Get on my knees and worship you as my lord and savior?” she asks. 
Suddenly, something clicks inside your head. An idea.
“That—” you pause, mentally noting the entire sequence in a flash, “Actually, that’s not a bad idea.”
“I’m not doing it.” Mina rolls her eyes, turning her gaze away and crossing her arms. Somehow, she’s managed to recognize your intent so quickly. What isn’t surprising is her natural cleverness and intelligence. “Not tonight. Not after what you did.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“That’s what you believe, asshole.” She shakes her head. “Just—let me go.”
“Would be such a shame if a rumor spread around then that you were spotted in the bathrooms with one of the billionaires,” you say, blunt in your threat. “Wouldn’t you hate that? I hear there was a tabloid photo of you spotted with one of the presidential candidates too—”
“You lie.” Mina’s eyes glare at you. You don’t flinch.
She’s not wrong. You’re only telling a half-truth. It’s true that there were billionaires who attended. It would be a strange event if there weren’t any present, in Paris of all places. The report of a presidential candidate showing up is legitimate as well, but that’s as much as you know as the general public. What goes on inside, you have no knowledge of.
“And what happened there was nothing at all,” she adds. “So quit trying to blackmail me and just let me fucking rest.”
“Then explain this to me.” You point at the dress she’s wearing—your dress—and find different sized patches where they shouldn’t belong. They’re not by design; they’re clearly the result of some kind of external tampering or meddling. Around where her legs should be. Near her tummy. The gala is an indoor event, yet it looks as if she had been soaked in some capacity. 
Something’s quite off.
“So?” Mina defends herself, unwilling to concede. “Got spilled by drinks, and you don’t really care if it gets ruined.”
While it’s true you usually don’t mind your dresses getting ruined, it comes at a price. “I’m not mad. And yes, I don’t care if you do fuck all with that dress. Hell, that candidate is very lucky he got to clap that—”
“Shut up!” 
By instinct, Mina slaps you again.
You chuckle. The sore redness of your cheek isn’t going to silence you. 
As she tries to walk away, you grab her by the wrist again. Pull her close to your chest. She trembles, but can’t do anything to stop or shake you loose.
“So you admit? You got fucked by that candidate?”
“No!” Mina remains adamant in her tone. She twists your grip to free herself. “Just—fucking stop already!”
“Only if you blow me. Just a quickie.”
“What? Why?”
“As remittance for the ruined dress, of course. Remember? Ruined dress, ruined cunt.” You can’t help but grin as you remind her of the terms of your agreement. It’s not written in the contract, but a mutual trust shared between you and your muses. 
Mina sighs. A deal is a deal, even if it’s not signed on the dotted line. And she has the experience to show for it. Ultimately, she reluctantly agrees, sounding defeated in her response. “Fine. But after this, we’re fucking done.”
“I’m in a bit of a good mood today, so I don’t want your pussy,” you tell the disgruntled Mina, unbuckling your belt then unzipping your pants. “Not gonna lie, the thought of some future president fucking that cunt of yours makes me sick. Get on your knees.”
God, it feels wrong, but you’re enjoying every little moment of this, down to the finer details. The look of dissatisfaction on Mina’s face. The fact you can get her flustered with your teasing. The fact she’s obediently on her knees as you whip out your hard cock directly in front of her. She can tell you as many lies as she wants, but they have no firm ground to stand on. She’s not some stuck-up star unlike many others in that gala, but even she needs to be humbled once in a while.
“His dick is better than yours, anyway. I won’t miss this pathetic piece of shit,” she tells you, gripping to the hem of your dress, dodging every attempt to slip your shaft between her lips. 
All the more reason to plunge it deep in her throat.
“Is it? This piece of shit you love to ride on?” You grab your cock and pursue her evasive mouth. You have a hand planted on her scalp, holding her still, as she begrudgingly accepts your length between her lips slowly, in a losing effort to fight back. She gulps her throat, watching as her cheeks hollow, as drool begins to coat your sensitive shaft, until eventually, her seal is vacuum-tight and tension builds up in your groin. “This cock you want to use—fuck—”
Words fail you as you become reacquainted with the warmth of Mina’s mouth. She bobs her head back and forth, slipping a hand around the base of your shaft to stroke. Your cock is poking the back of her throat, your senses relaxing at the pleasure coursing through your body. You feel yourself slipping away—at the cold, at the heat of her sweltering lips, at the layer of saliva that fills every inch of your length. It’s all too much.
This is Mina’s least favorite position. She’d rather have you beneath her most of the time, relentlessly bouncing on your cock till you’re completely drained; it’s how most encounters with her go to the point you simply give up and expect yourself on the mattress as soon as you enter her room. None of that matters now, not when she needs your very shaft to fill her thirsty, dry mouth, as a palette cleanse from the boring gala and because she needs you as much as she utterly hates you.
She doesn’t like the thought of you above her. Her eyes can’t be bothered to look up. It’s a strange dynamic; she’s the celebrity, she’s supposed to have control, not you. Your hand tugs on her black hair, begging her for more, and it reinforces the idea. You love this. Mina, the quiet, cold personality that everyone wants to be like, is zealously sucking you off and you’re helpless to how incredible she is. The suction of her throat. The drag of her tongue on your head, then on the sides. The passionate hum of satisfaction. You recognize the smug grin etched on the corner her lips while she doesn’t bother to look back, knowing full well she can take you any way she wants and you’ll fucking love it. She’s so aggressive, yet perfectly paced. 
And she moves like she can read your mind—cum and saliva dripping from the corners, her tongue running laps around your balls, her mouth devouring you entirely with each entrance. Small, whiny sounds that resemble a choke—they’re nothing compared to the echoey moans you can’t help but make. You’re gasping for air as if she’s punctured a hole in your lungs—and to an extent, she has. Your body instinctively has to remind itself they’re leaning on air, because she’s making your spine contort in ways they shouldn't be twisting. 
Mina is quite used to this. The notion of having to suck a cock. Not just yours, but fans, higher-ups in suits, all kinds. She’ll tell you yours is the best one, and you’ll believe her. You can tell by personal experience. You shouldn’t let control slip, especially now, when such power is rarely vested on you, but you can’t help yourself. There’s some urgency in handling her, but it might be a little too late. Especially when—
“Mina,” you pant, and you sound so desperate. “So close, Mina. I’m so close. I’m gonna—”
She continues to create friction, and eventually fire. Her hands wring around your balls and your base, tightening the coil of pressure in your stomach and in your veins. Spiraling further and further out of control, you can feel your legs crumble in a last ditch attempt to hold on. With your remaining resolve, you cling to whatever semblance of clarity you can find. 
And she plunges her lips further into your length. Her tongue descends lower, to the underside of your balls. None of that disdain and hate from moments ago can be found, only zeal and passion. It’s not graceful in the slightest; it goes against everything her image represents, yet she’s so damn good at it, you can’t stomach the thought of her doing something this filthy, this obscene. The very idea breaks reality. Yet here she is, on her knees, a mouth filled by cock, encouraging you to cum without uttering a single word.
So you oblige her. 
You don’t give her the decency of asking. You just pour it all over her with reckless abandon. Yanking her by the scalp, swiftly pulling yourself away in the heat of climax, blasting thick warm seed all over her pristine features, using her visage as a canvas for all your repressed thoughts. Mina welcomes every drop, sticks her tongue out with an inviting stare, unfazed by all that hot load you’re shooting directly at her. Her professionalism is practically hardwired, second nature to allow herself to be used this freely. It’s more than personal satisfaction; it also pays the bills.
It’s a win-win.
“Happy?” she asks, propping herself back on her feet, using the top of the dress to clean herself. Not a waste when it’s sole purpose is to be one and done. 
The mess around your groin—residue sticking on your pants—answers her question. You can only nod in agreement as you clumsily and slowly gather your bearings. She shakes her head, amused at your predicament, but proud of her work.
Mina acts nonchalant, walks back to the hotel while you still work through your trousers, as if nothing ever happened. As if you weren’t moaning in public about how airtight her lips are around your cock. You hurriedly follow her, only to be met with a surprise waiting just past the entrance doors.
“I hope Paris has been kind to you so far, Miss Minari, because we certainly won’t be.”
Three comically mischievous men of similar stature and appearance, in nearly identical outfits (a simple shirt, coat, jeans and beret combination, how inspired) with the most cartoonishly evil looks on their faces. They could be anyone on the street. You can immediately tell they’ve been waiting for some time.
“Who are you?” you ask, stepping in front of your client. Mina looks nervous, quietly analyzing the three suspicious characters.
“Doesn’t matter who we are, even if we tell you,” replies the middle man, matter-of-factly. “We have no intention of hurting you.”
“If that’s the case, then please step aside. Miss Mina won’t be taking any requests and she’s very tired, sorry.”
“I don’t think so, buddy.”
“What?”
“We heard everything. You lucky bastard,” says the man on the left. “I don’t think Mina seems to be tired at all. In fact, I believe she wants more of it!”
All eyes turn to the person of interest, who seems to be in denial. Mina, this cold, calculated star, appears to have a harsh, sudden reaction. Offended by the comment, she angrily retorts, “No? What the hell are you saying?”
“Yeah, you heard the guy.” The third man steps forward, the other two close behind slowly approaching her. “It’s all over you. Don’t try to deny it. You enjoyed getting blasted all over that pretty face of yours!”
The three men nod in unison. You don’t have a firearm or any weapon on hand, but you’re willing to fight all three guys, even if you meet a terrible end. That’s the likeliest outcome. Lady luck seems to have disappeared on your side, but it’s part of the job, after all.
“Relax, girl. Again, we don’t wish to hurt you or your bodyguard.” The first man, the guy assuming leadership reiterates. It’s as civil and diplomatic as it sounds, but the looming threat remains prevalent. And it doesn’t do them any favors when they creep up towards both of you like wolves. “We just want what he has.”
“And what is it?” Mina frowns, hiding herself behind you, peeking over the shoulder, trembling.
“Oh, you know what we want, Miss Minari. Give it to us and then we’ll leave you alone.”
Where’s the security in this hotel, you wonder? The ground floor is dead empty of guests, which is to be expected, there’s hardly anyone at the front desk, and there are zero guards at the valet that normally wait for the next car to pull up. It’s midnight, what did you expect? 
“Can’t I give you guys some money instead?” she pleads, desperate. She’s no longer hiding herself, but standing side by side with you. Shaking. Nervous. “Name your price and I’ll pay it.”
“I don’t think that will work, miss.” The three men remain adamant. They have you trapped against the corner of the entrance door. Neither of you can hardly move, let alone run. “We’re in Paris. We can easily rob anyone for our keep.” 
Judging by the rather expensive watches and sneakers they all sport, they seem to have a point. 
“But please, we just want one. One round with the finest Japanese idol in the business. That’s it,” the first man adds, his cohorts nodding in agreement.
Mina turns to you, calling your attention. “Hey.” You’re on high alert, waiting for the moment for hell to break loose. She merely stares. Nothing comes out of her mouth, just an expressive, seemingly strange gaze that doesn’t register anything in your head, nor does it open up any sort of interpretation. And for a while, you don’t understand what’s happening or what’s her intent. The three guys seemingly wait, shrugging whenever you eye any one of them. There’s no rush; time seems to stop at that particular moment. You know their demand; you have ears. You just don’t know if Mina is actually serious about caving to the pressure.
—————
(And fucking hell, you’re so—so—screwed.)
You don’t know if Mina will recover after this. Specifically, her career.
Clothes scatter everywhere in the room, with no regard for cleanliness or the host’s decency. Mina is set in the middle of the mattress as its centerpiece. The star of the show. Her dress is bundled around her waist, baring her chest and legs, while every man is completely in the nude. She’s spread on her fours, with the two subordinates lined up parallel in front of her, the third right behind her. You plan to join after, when everyone’s seemingly tired, when you can have her all to yourself.
At least, that’s what you think will happen. You know she’s going to get used all night long. Mina’s bracing for impact, hoping she can walk out in one piece after this.
You’re holding your phone, ready to record every little thing that happens. It’s not by their request, but your own personal desire. You love seeing it—the notion of Mina getting her comeuppance. The two men in front of her waste no time, stroking themselves hard and slapping their cocks right into Mina’s face, spilling flecks of precum on her. You notice the giddiness in their expressions as they incline the idol’s chin up, nothing but unbridled lust on their faces. The only thing missing is hurling her around and ragdolling her.
“Such a pretty face deserves all this cum,” says the second guy. He’s on the pudgier side, evidently not meant to be in the same atmosphere, let alone the same bed as Mina. “I’ll have you know you were my bias, and you have the most numbers on my counter.”
Utterly shameless.
Meanwhile, the first guy, his colorful body filled with numerous tattoos, slaps Mina’s cheek hard. It ripples throughout her lithe figure, rattles the bed a little. She keens. He takes a moment to look at the hand that committed the sinful act. He’s shaking, in disbelief. He did that. It’s a moment in time, a monumental occasion. Anyone else in his position would be shouting in the streets, celebrating too. 
You would.
The third guy, this aged man who’s evidently in his mid-to-late forties and probably shouldn’t be consuming K-pop, continues to stroke himself to Mina’s face. Too bad her mouth can only fit one cock at a time. Her hand grabs his shaft and he grips her hair instead as she pumps him at a delicate pace. Their collective moans fill the room as each person assumes a position around Mina’s sensitive holes, filling them hastily. No technique, no patience whatsoever. 
It’s pornographic for all the wrong reasons. How it all came to be. The setup. The characters. The very scene itself. Down to the shitty camera recording. Not befitting of an idol such as Mina. It’s got its own charm, but for the most part, it's as disgusting as you imagined. You can’t believe she’d agree to this. At the same time, you can’t look away. It’s a car crash that you know is gonna happen, yet all you can do is watch helplessly—and stroke yourself hard to.
All three men have different rhythms in which they fuck Mina. Tattoos slowly pounding at her dripping cunt, accompanying each deep thrust with a loud smack of her ass. His one hand grabbing at the hem of whatever’s left of her dress, itching to rip it off. Mina’s moan is suppressed by Pudge’s cock protruding through her throat. A fistful of hair in his grip, the other on her flushed, reddened cheek. Expecting her to take his relentless rhythm, only for her gag with each pump into her airtight lips. As if he doesn’t know how giving head works. The oldest man loosens up, lets his body hang as Mina strokes his cock with her ironclad fingers, letting flecks of cum spread over her neck and her shoulders, content with letting her handle him how she wants. 
In a way, it’s admirable seeing Mina like this. Three cocks and all, her commitment to fanservice and satisfaction is any fan’s dream for their idol. You’ve seen it firsthand before, how she attends to each fan one by one, but to handle multiple without a single complaint is quite the accomplishment. She’s gonna take it, and she’s going to love it.
And in fact, she does. You’ve never seen her this dedicated and into pleasuring anyone. How she uses her other hand to seize Pudge’s cock, spitting and licking the head, setting him ablaze. Even as the man with the tattoos begins to wreck into her sopping cunt, foregoing leisure for speed—as her whines echo throughout the room—she maintains her composure the best she can. Even begging him to go harder, which he obliges. The bed’s quaking, seemingly closer to collapse, as the man screams to the ceiling, “Fucking tight—so close—cumming—aah—”
All three men are clinging to Mina in some capacity. On her waist, using her hair, or her shoulders—as they all appear close to their climaxes. Their collective groans of pleasure make this evident noise that warrants numerous calls of disturbance or concern. Imagine the commotion when the staff called in to investigate eventually finds out. The notion spurs Mina as she leans further into it—looks right into the camera as she licks up Pudge’s underside. As if demanding you to take the best shot of her while doing it. 
It’s scandalous—the way Mina uses her expressions to make herself look good even under duress. How she winks, sticks her tongue, twists her face into lewder and lewder reactions while the three men who seemingly have power over her, now fold under her control. If only you could step in and be a part of the show, but you can’t.
And she looks even better with cum all over her.
The three guys moan in unison for dramatic effect. As if it was part of the intended shot. One after the other, each man reaches their own orgasm and blasts their hot load onto some part of Mina’s body. None of them seem to find their way into what they initially wanted, which is her holes. Mostly—tattoos man is partly into a deep thrust when he meets his abrupt end, only filling part of her cunt with his seed before deciding to pull out and throbs onto her back, her legs instead. Pudge gets most of her face, which she happily accepts. But even with her mouth wide open, he can hardly land his cum onto her sweet lips. As for the old man, he was never a factor to begin with. He had spilled his cum on the side, on the shoulder, on some hair, on her fingers. He was done before the others even finished.
What an unexpected sight. 
You stand from the couch you’ve been sitting on, close in on the aftermath of their orgasms, watching as they stand lifeless around the centerpiece that is Mina, running her fingers over all the cum spilled on her body. This is child’s play to her, yet the most surprising thing is: she wasn’t expecting any of the three guys to finish this soon, let alone all three of them. She has this unsatisfied look in her eyes observing her conduits, the supposed ‘threats,’ as if they didn’t live up to her expectation.
“Did I look good?” she asks you, tilting up, resting her head on her palm.
You show her the phone, speed past the raw footage. She watches like she’s the director—which she kind of is.
“Mm—not good enough,” she adds, grabbing the phone and grabbing a tripod from the bedside drawer. “Set it up over there and do it again. They’re not leaving this until they get it right. And you’re gonna show them the way.”
Looking at their tired, exasperated faces, they’d rather be anywhere but here. 
As for Mina, she’s the most energetic you’ve seen her in a while, eager for more—and you’re gonna have to make some phone calls explaining why she isn’t at the airport by morning. 
—————
(A/N: woo missed another deadline/date but happy birthday Mina! By request/commission, so thank you for waiting and I hope it was to your liking. I do agree we need more subby Mina but in the end she owns all of us let's be real XD Thank you for reading!)
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k-hotchoisan · 2 days
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<yunho x fem!reader>
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well, pining after your brother’s fucking attractive best friend isn’t a sin if he doesn’t know right? nobody has to know.
nobody has to know that you're lodged in his fantasies when the nights deepen.
nobody has to know what happens when you're forced to share a room with Yunho.
Genre/Warnings: smut, big dick! X Perverted! Yunho, unprotected sex, low key corruption kink, mutual pining, cream pies, fingering, orgasms, overstimulation, oh no they are forced to share a room!, sexual tension, dirty talk
Taglist: @bro-atz @diamond-3 @mcarebearsstuff @choisansplushie @voicesinmyhead-rc @pre1ttyies @hwallazia @songmingisthighs @yeosangiess @sanhwajjong @interweab @mylovelymito @softwsan @yourlocaljonghoe @itza-meee
🩷 back to staying perverted
A/N: send me to jail for being so inactive TT I know life happens and I shouldn't apologise for going mia for a bit but I still feel so bad! Nonetheless, please continue giving my works as much love as you all always do, and that ya'll are my source of motivation. Thank you for waiting ❤️
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Undoubtedly, it’s either your brother has good taste in making friends, or you just have interesting taste in men, because out of all men you had a crush on, it had to be the one closest to your brother—Jeon Yunho. Something about him made your heart flutter uncontrollably. Maybe it was the way he would lean in towards you when he wanted to whisper something in your ear, keeping your brother an arm’s length while his voice tickled perfectly as it reverberates in your brain. Maybe it was the way he would hold your stare for a couple of seconds before his pretty smiles spreads across his lips, as if he was keeping a secret that he wants to tell you. Maybe it was the way he would bump his arm against yours when he wants to ally with you to piss your brother off. 
Whatever it was, you couldn’t deny that the feelings you had for him were growing exponentially. How you managed to keep said feelings in bay was a mystery. You could attribute it to knowing Yunho for as long as you did. Maybe he treated everyone nice and politely like that. It was hard not to keep your hopes up sometimes and it really made you frustrated. 
“A chalet?” You repeat. “What’s the occasion?” 
“Just a weekend out”, your brother replies. “A couple of friends will be coming. You know them, including Yunho.”
“Are you going?” Yunho suddenly asks. 
You break eye contact with Yunho, going back to your phone. “No. I’m going on a date.”
Yunho’s eyes widen. There is a flash of panic that flickers in his eyes. His words spill out of him before he realises it. 
“With who? How come I didn’t know?” 
You cast a confused glance at him. “Why would you need to know?”
That was when Yunho realises, and he simmers down, going back to hiding behind his phone screen. He bites his tongue, hoping you nor your brother ha caught on. But thankfully, no one else questions him. In fact, your brother doubles down.
“Yeah, you didn’t tell me?” Your brother echos. 
“As if you’re interested in my love life”, you playfully retort, rolling your eyes before you disappear into your room, before Yunho starts to hear your heartbeat right in your ears again. 
Yunho stares blankly at his phone, still processing that you’ll be going on a date. Something sits uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach. He’s running his brain, thinking of a million ways to make you cancel the date, half of it under the pretence of your brother. How could he do it without making it obvious? 
“And why would I cancel my date, Jeon Yunho?” You ask, your arms crossed. For some reason, your brother and Yunho suddenly were suddenly way too interested in your date. Especially Yunho. He would not get off your back about it. 
“It’s dangerous? Who knows he might be a serial killer!” He was really dramatic about too, might you add. 
You scoff, and an amused smile tugs the corner of your lips, as your hand reaches out to pat his cheek. “I’ll be fine, Yun. You’re on my speed dial if anything happens okay?” 
For a moment, you feel his gaze piercing right into you, as if time didn’t exist—the both of you caught in between each other’s gazes, Yunho looking like he wants to say something, but he stops himself. You quickly break the eye contact, remembering that he’s your brother’s best friend, and that Yunho is just being as worried as your brother. Nothing more than that. Yunho wants to hold the gaze longer. He almost wants to break the imaginary boundaries then both of you set, but he snaps into to reality when he watches you leave, his voice trapped in his throat. 
Fuck. Looks like he’s the one losing now. 
It doesn’t help that during that night, you slip into his dreams, and instead of you leaving, he has your face in his hands, and your lips are on his. He feels you in your entirety, and you feel so fucking good pressed against him. Yunho wants so badly to mark every part of you, to remind you he could do so much better than whoever you’re supposedly going out with. He could kiss you better, fuck you better. Then it switches—to you in front of him, your ass bouncing off his cock, loud smacks echoing from the walls as he sinks into your pussy with a broken sigh.
That’s when he fucking jolts awake, warm fluids streaming down his thighs, as he swallows an imaginary mass in his throat because what the fuck just happened? He stares blankly at the white ceiling of his room, mind as blank. 
How fucked is he?
Yunho reaches to the doorstep of the chalet, almost close to midnight. Dance practice had bleed past the time, later than he thought. He greets his friends at the barbecue pit, still grilling chicken and seafood, stealing a stick and getting playfully hit before he enters the chalet itself. 
Your brother sat there, comfortable with his girlfriend’s legs crossed over his lap as they had joycons in their hands, playing some kind of co-op game together. His friend turns to him, before his eye dart back to the screen once he acknowledges Yunho, much too engrossed with the level he and his girlfriend was at. 
“Your room’s to the left of the stairs. I hung your lanyard there”, your brother says, before his attention goes right back to the game. For a spilt second, he suddenly remembers that he wanted to tell Yunho something, something important, but when his girlfriend squeals at clearing the level, the thought is completely erased from his memory.
Yunho climbs up the stairs, pushes the door open, and completely stops in his tracks as his gaze locks with yours. You’re seated on the bed, relaxed and on your phone until the door suddenly pushes open, and Yunho stands there, looking as bewildered as you. 
There is a long moment of silence between the both of you. 
“Can I help you, Yunho?” You break it. 
“No…isn’t this my room?” Yunho clarifies. You glance around and shrug. 
Yunho drops his bag, his heart beating loudly in his chest. 
His eyebrows furrow, confusion sprawled across his face. 
“Hold on. Weren’t you suppose to be on a date?” 
You shrug again. “Yeah. It ended early. I thought of finding my brother and he asked me to use this room since it was vacant. I supposed he forgot to tell you? I could leave if-“
“N-no. You can stay, since you’re already here”, Yunho cuts you off. No fucking way is he wasting this chance. Somehow the thought of you within the same, close proximity is making his head dizzy. “You’re okay with sharing the bed? I can sleep downstairs.”
Your face starts to heat up. As much as it was the elephant in the room, for Yunho to bring up so straightforwardly like that was making your mind wander a little too close to the sun. 
You force a small smile. “It’s fine. It’s not like we haven’t shared a bed before.” Well, not a lie, the only thing was that the both of you were blacked out drunk when it happened that one time. 
Yunho’s signature smile appears. He looks comforted, at least. “Right. Then I’ll use the bathroom to wash up.” He grabs a spare towel on the rack, then walks back to dig for his clothes in his duffle before he disappears into the bathroom, leaving you with your messy thoughts. Your hand is over your heart, and you feel it beating a little too wildly. 
Nothing’s gonna happen. Two people of the opposite sex can share a bed just fine, is what you tell yourself. Yeah, that would have been the case, if the opposite gender wasn’t Jeon Yunho. 
Fifteen minutes felt like fifteen years in all honesty. The anxiety wouldn’t simmer down, so you end up burying yourself underneath the cold sheets, hoping that you’d end up falling asleep. 
And by some miracle, you did. That is, until you feel the mattress weigh down, and shuffling on the sheets, then something bumping against your leg. You stir slightly from the disruption.
“Sorry. The bed’s a little…cramped”, you hear Yunho’s voice tickling your ears as his legs press against yours. 
You stay silent, the only things that you hear are the whirling of the air conditioning and the sound of your heart about to fucking burst from your rib cage. 
“It’s fine”, you finally reply, your body completely still, unsure how actually close the male is against you, only his legs pressed up against the back of your knees and his arms are barely touching your back as a gauge. Well, you weren’t in the mood to find out. The myriad amount of assurances you repeat to yourself that he’s just a friend, that he’s just Jeon Yunho, does nothing to comfort you to say the least. 
You hear his voice ring a little to close to your ears again. “How was your date?”
You don’t want to answer, your eyes are focused onto the darkness of the door in front of you. You fear that he might hear your thoughts if you speak, even though that’s literally impossible. 
“It was fine”, you curtly reply, squeezing the spare pillow in your arms. 
“What did you think of him?” 
“I think he’s okay. He’s quite a decent guy. Then again, it’s just the first date”.
The mattress shifts suddenly and you freeze when you feel him inch even closer to you. You have no clue what expression he’s making but from the way he suddenly shifts rather dramatically, you would assume that he seemed shocked? 
Oh, you were definitely about to find out. 
“You’re planning to see him again?” He’s closer now. You feel his chest almost pressing against your spine. You feel his gaze piercing daggers into the back of your head. You feel his agitation. But over what?
“I haven’t decided on that yet”, you reply. But you cut him before he says anything, “but what’s it to you? You usually don’t care about the things I do. Let alone my dates.”
This time, it’s Yunho’s turn to fall silent. The weight of the mattress beneath you shifts once more it stills. For a moment, you assume that he’d shifted away from you, and maybe he’d let the matter die off.
“Who said I didn’t?”
Now he’s completely pressing his body against you—you feel his lips just a hair’s length from the back of your neck, his chest completely flat against your back. 
His crotch right against your ass. 
“Yunho-“, you try turning to face him before the both of your start making any mistakes, but his hand presses your waist down, halting any movements you were about to make. Heat is flushing your cheeks.
“I’ll stop if you don’t want to, and I’ll turn away, and sleep downstairs. I won’t force you if you don’t want to.”
Shit, shit, shit. The more words Yunho speak, the more they aren’t registering in your damn head. His voice is melting in your ears, low and dangerous. The consequences that once rang like alarm bells in your head slowly grow muted, and now it’s just your carnal desire to let Yunho do whatever he wanted to you.
“I’m not doing this without your consent, my dear”, he reminds , and his hand is slowly trailing off your body. 
All the repercussions, completely wiped off when your feelings that you once tried to fucking hard to suppress behind to bubble up to the surface, and for Yunho to just summon them so easily when he says it so gently and with such  temptation.
But you should still probably stop this-
From the way you’re staying quiet, Yunho is ready to just cut his advances. After all, he’s not interested in making you feel uncomfortable, as much as he wants to just ruin you all for himself. He keeps his breathing light, but his heart is still beating loudly in his chest, bracing himself for the rejection, his hand gradually lifting from your waist, very much reluctantly-
Until he feels your hand cup his. 
“I wanna feel you, Yunho”, you answer him, loud enough for him to hear, even though it was only the two of you within the confines of the room. 
Yunho feels like he’s not close enough to you, even though the both of you are squeezed together, and his erection is evident—pressing shamelessly against the curve of your ass. It’s driving up the wall. 
Another thing he doesn’t expect is the way your fingers curl around his wrist, and you bring him to your braless tits, and he short-circuits when his fingers press against your hard nipples. You curse softly when he rolls them gently against his fingertips, and you lean back against his chest. Yunho takes the chance to kiss your neck down to your shoulders, making you melt all over again. 
But he doesn’t want to stay there for long. His cock is just throbbing and it’s overtaking his rationale. 
You always offhandedly complimented that Yunho had such long, slender and pretty fingers, and that he made mundane actions—writing, typing—look so attractive.
And now, his fingers are prying your legs to spread open for him.
His fingers dip into the wetness of your soaked folds, and his mind almost completely blanks out for the second time at the way you’re drenched for him. 
“Fuck. All of this for me?” He asks rhetorically, as he easily sinks two fingers in, hearing you choke from how his fingers are filling you up so well. The tip of his fingertips press against a spongy spot, and your head tilts back, face so flushed from the pleasure when he begins curl his fingers while in you and while he fucks your wet cunt. 
He’s not letting you form any coherent thoughts in your head, not while he’s finger fucking the thoughts right out your poor brain.
“You’re so fucking soft. Shit. I really want to fuck you so fucking bad”, he grunts in your ear, his hips grinding against your ass like a natural instinct to. 
“Your cock”, you mutter, struggling to keep your eyes open and mind clear. “Fuck. Need you to fuck me so good.”
Yunho inhales the scent of your hair wash as he peppers bites and kisses down the nape of your neck, smiling when he feels goosebumps spread across your skin.
He’s so tempted. But not yet. He desperate—desperate to see you fucking fall apart just with his fingers.
So he pulls his soaked fingers out, and for a moment, you whine at how empty your cunt feels, just ready to fucking beg him to fuck you with his fingers, his cock, whatever. 
He sits up, pushing the thick and heavy blankets aside, tugging your wet bottoms and panties off, giving himself a mental reminder to pocket your panties when he’s done with you. 
You’re spread open and perfectly wide for him to admire and drool over. By now, his eyes are pretty much adjusted the darkness, and the both of you are lazy to switch on the nightlight, so he’s definitely able to see your pussy in full view.
“Y-yu-“, your words completely cut off when he plunges two fingers right into your pussy again, filling you up completely. And this time, his other hand is on your clit, fingers rubbing, sending sparks flying beneath your eyelids. 
The pleasure makes you buck your hips, and it builds so dangerously quick in your abdomen. The sounds of your pussy growing so fucking wet only encourages Yunho to pick up the pace, catching a rhythm of fucking and rubbing your clit so perfectly that you realise the feeling is growing way too funny. 
“Y-Yunho-“ you try again. “Oh god. Feels weird.” Nonetheless, you don’t say it without your eyes rolling back and your abdomen flexing. 
“That’s it. Let it go for me, baby. It’ll feel so fucking good.”
Oh fuck. You don’t even register it before it happens—it totally washes over you, and you’re just helplessly submitting to how fucking good this feels as you squirt all over Yunho, your mind swimming in the depths of ecstasy, your moans drowned when Yunho seals your lips shut with his, greedy to just keep them all to himself, and well, also not trying to wake the whole chalet up. 
When Yunho pulls back and sees how flushed spent your face looks, he can’t help but sink deeper into his feelings for you. He goes in for another kiss, this time with your mind slowly clearing from the mind-blowing orgasm. Your arms wrap around his neck instantly, pulling him as close as you could, soft moans in between kisses only making him impossibly harder than he already was. 
He shifts to lie down on the bed with you again, this time the both of you facing each other. He tugs the hem of your shirt and lugs it over your head, before lowering himself slightly to face your chest. You don’t know how but his pants are somehow kicked off, somewhere on the bed, and he’s bare and so fucking hard when he presses his cock on your pussy. 
“Lift your leg for me, babe”, he says, palm sliding on the underside of your thigh as he feels you spread your legs open for him once more. 
Yunho rubs his cockhead along your wet fucking folds, before he pushes himself in, a whimper leaving his lips as he bites on your shoulder to stop any loud noises from slipping past his lips. 
He pushes himself in even more, and your arms are around his neck once more, light red imprints from your fingernails dig into his skin.
“Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Feels like fucking heaven. So fucking tight and soft”, he mutters, eyes so glazed, and arms so tight around you when he finally buries himself into the hilt. 
Your mind is complete mush by then—combined with Yunho’s cock that’s stuffed in you and the scent of his hair wash, you swear you were gonna cum for the second time. You knew he probably packed something, but holy fucking shit, you just never thought it would fill you up this fucking good. The rest of your senses slowly start to dull, the feeling of Yunho’s cock almost taking them  all away. 
“Shit. You’re fucking squeezing me-fuck!-here,” Yunho says, but it comes off as a broken moan. His head is buried into the crook of your neck, and you hear him trying to steady his breath through a slew of curses. 
“You wanna move now?” You ask, your fingers combing through his messy locks. Yunho thinks he might have some sort of hair combing fetish with you now. 
“Fuck, yes, please,” is all he replies before he pulls out slightly, then thrusting right back in, projecting fucking stars into your eyelids when he fills you up again and again. 
You press your head against the pillow, eyes shut from the pleasure. When you find the strength to open them, Yunho’s glazed out expression is what comes into view. He’s looking at you like you’re his fucking treasure. 
“Does it feel good? You feel so fucking amazing, y/n.”
“You can’t be asking me that when you’re fucking the thoughts right out of me”, and you squeal when he thrusts into you once more, filling you up to the brim.
“Even better. So my cock will be only the cock you know, right?��� He smiles, fighting the urge to roll his eyes when your walls clench around him again.
And when you don’t answer, his hand slithers to your neck, and he squeezes, making you gasp. 
“Answer me, pretty.”
“Yes, fuck yes. Don’t need anyone else’s when you’re fucking me so good”, you cry, relishing in the way he’s gradually cutting off your oxygen supply. 
His thrusts grow harder and faster, his hands slowly letting go of your throat.
“That’s my good girl.”
And that makes your cunt flutter and pulsate uncontrollably for the second time, only now it’s on his cock this time. 
“F-fuck. Oh, that’s it. That’s a good fucking girl, cumming all over my cock like that”, his voice ups a pitch when you fall apart again. “I’m gonna cum. Make sure you’re full and dripping when I’m fucking done with you.”
And when he does, he leaves a whole garden of bites on your chest and shoulders on top of filling your pussy up with his thick and warm cum. You never thought his face would get anymore attractive, but when he cums? You could get addicted to pulling that expression out of him, that’s for sure. 
The both of you are panting as your highs wear off, hands still not off each other despite the shared warmth. He’s the first to let go, and you’re about to say something until he turns you around, and it’s then when his cock starts to harden in you. Your heart is beating rapidly again when his cock is filling you up once more, as it slowly displaces his cum that leaks past your sopping hole.
Your hand grabs onto his arm that’s snaking around your waist. 
“W-wait. We need to talk about my broth-“, and he hears you whimper when he pushes himself deeper into you, throbbing in you. The way he’s littering kisses down your neck is sending you into a spiral, and now you’re nothing but weak against him, and his fat cock.
“That can wait to tomorrow, babe. I promised that I’ll make sure you’re full and dripping once I’m fucking done with you right? Well, I’m not done fucking you yet.”
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luvyeni · 2 days
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𐙚 : 'HE SAID HE LIKES CRAZY GIRLS' ( text ) ֶָ֢ !
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request: can you do skz with 'said he likes crazy girls but he hates when i act crazy' kinda thing ❤️
authors note. i hope you like it , i had to so some research and this the best way i could do it 😭🩷
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
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©️LUVYENI
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sincerelyneo · 1 day
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touch tank | l.hc
“he's so pretty when he goes down on me, gold-skinned eager baby”
💿now playing: touch tank by quinnie
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❯ summary: Hyuck just can’t understand it. Why don’t you want to sit on his face?
❯ pairings: haechan x fem!reader
❯ genre: established relationship, smut
❯ words: 3.0k
❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, oral sex (fem receiving), face sitting, nipple play, male masturbation, brief hair pulling, mention of death as a joke, reader uses she/her pronouns, haechan always being pussy drunk agenda
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“What’s the big deal?”
Your boyfriend asks the question nonchalantly - as though you’re being completely unreasonable - which in some capacity maybe you are. But it’s not your fault. He may call it unreasonable, you would call it being cautious.
“Well for starters I’m not particularly keen on the idea of me suffocating you,” you say with a roll of your eyes.
Hyuck doesn’t listen - that’s not true - he’s hearing you but he thinks your excuses are ridiculous. You can tell by the way he’s still trying to kiss the skin on your neck down to the centre of your chest, and teasing the neckline of your tank lower until the edge is resting along the tops of your breasts.
“You won’t suffocate me,” he promises, shifting down to nuzzle further underneath your shirt until the tip of his nose nudges your nipple, which has already hardened from just a few of his kisses. You shiver, gasping when his lips catch on your skin.
“Considering how wet I make you, I’d be more likely to drown than suffocate baby,” he teases, his smirk visible just before his mouth opens around your nipple.
He sucks gently, ever so sweetly, just light enough to make you whine. When he talks again, it’s right against your skin.
“And now that I’m thinking about it, it wouldn’t be the worst way to go, and I think it would be kinda hot to have that on my headstone.”
You scoff out a laugh, “you’re unbelievable.”
This time you feel his smile on your nipple right before he bites down softly, making your head fall back.
You know what he’s doing - he’s good at this - making you feel so fucking amazing that your mind goes foggy. So, you squeeze your eyes shut, shake your head, and try to regain your focus on the situation at hand.
“What if I fall over?” You protest.
The rebuttal sounds weak - even to you. And when Hyuck slips his arm around your waist and pulls until you settle onto your side; you know it sounds weak to him too.
He starts to suck another gentle kiss over your nipple before trailing down over your belly, pushing your top up in contrast to the lower he goes. You squirm when his lips touch your bare stomach, clenching your thighs together tightly to try and dull the throbbing that’s started in your clit.
“You won’t,” he replies, slowly. “It’s just like riding my dick, and you know how to do that pretty damn well.”
Your voice betrays you, and you whimper under your breath before you can even think to hold it back. When you look down at Hyuck, he’s smiling lazily at you, like he knows he’s already won.
“But that’s different,” you insist, keeping your legs closed tight when his fingers try to sneak between them. “Your dick is supposed to get wet when we have sex. That’s the whole point.”
“Who says my tongue doesn’t want that either?” He murmurs, curving his spine down to kiss along the band of your panties. You groan - half in frustration and half in arousal - when he succeeds in stroking a fingertip against your clit; he circles it lightly, using as much room as you allow him.
“C’mon,” he tries again, voice pitched low and inviting. He drags his lips down to where his fingers are and starts kissing there instead, increasingly persistent, nuzzling up against your clit through your panties until you give in and open your legs for him. When you try to tilt your body to lie on your back again, Hyuck hooks his arm around your thigh and pulls you towards him instead, “Not like that, baby, over me, c’mon.”
“Hyuck,” you whine; you reach down to get a grip on his hair, hiding your face in your now bent elbow.
He doesn’t bother with removing the barrier of panties just yet, sucking with enough pressure for you to feel it through them. You move your hips against his mouth in tiny motions, pushing forward against his lips, and you know you're already fucking soaking, you can feel it if you shift in just the right direction to meet his mouth.
Only seconds pass before Hyuck pulls you closer again, this time slowly rolling himself onto his back as well, but you resist swinging your outer leg over to straddle his face like he wants, digging your nails into his scalp instead.
Hissing at the pain, Hyuck arches his neck to lick along the crease of your thigh. He loses his patience, curling his fingers around your panties and tugging them down, “At least let me see you, yeah?”
You flush at just the thought of him being so close to you and paying so much attention, like he always does. He doesn’t waste another second before he’s pulling your underwear off your legs, and tossing them down at your feet.
He kisses the inside of your thigh and the line of your hip before settling firmly on his back, looking up at you hopefully. You groan again, fully out of frustration this time, and irritably pull his hair. “You’re not giving up then?”
“Nope,” he says. He looks more aroused than he usually does by now, his chest rising with his heavier breaths. “God loves a trier.”
“Wish he didn’t,” you mumble.
You bring both hands up to your face and push your hair away from your forehead, clenching your thighs again before shifting up onto your knees, watching Hyuck’s eyes move down between your legs as you settle over his face.
He isn’t subtle, spreading you with his thumbs and looking over you. Your muscles clench on their own when you think about what he might see. He swears quietly to himself, and you wonder if it’s visible how wet you already are or if he’ll have to feel it to find out.
“C’mere, babe,” he says, keeping you open, still watching between your legs. He looks up to your face when you squirm, “can’t reach, I wanna taste you.”
“God, shut up.”
You lean forward, putting all your weight on your hands that are braced against the mattress, and slowly spread your thighs wider, muscles shaking already. Hyuck moves his hands to your hips and helps you ease down, leaning up to meet you at first, tongue already waiting to press flat against your clit. You gasp in surprise and jerk your hips forward before drawing up again, away from his mouth, but he tightens his grip on you.
“Shh, c’mon,” he says, easy and coaxing, “relax and c’mere.”
You tense as he pulls you back down to his mouth, but he gives you warning this time, turning his head to let his lips trail along the inside of your thigh before slowly making his way between your legs again, kissing your clit gently. It’s easier this time, and you try to let yourself relax.
The position just feels dirty to you, your breasts hanging heavy where you’re bent forward, nipples brushing against your top. Hyuck’s hands soothing on your body, sliding from your hips up your sides and back down, and you let yourself moan quietly when he gives your clit another soft lick.
“Yeah, that’s better,” he murmurs; you echo him, a quiet yeah that sounds more pleading than you expect.
He hooks his fingers around where your hips bend into your thighs, lowering his head back to the mattress to encourage you to drop down even more. You feel flushed and hot along nearly your entire body, especially right between your legs when you give in and inch down further, seeking out his tongue again. With your head hanging down, it’s hard to look anywhere but his face; he looks back, fitting his lips around your clit when you reach his mouth. He sucks softly, tilting his head back more, and the first touch of his chin against your cunt makes you blush deeper.
For his part, Hyuck just sighs against you and closes his eyes, flexing his fingers on your hips and slipping his tongue over your clit while it’s inside his mouth. You gasp and dig your nails into the mattress, tempted to move a hand down to hold onto his hair. But you need both hands for balance, keeping yourself relaxed while Hyuck pulls you down closer to him with gentle little tugs.
Honestly, it feels nothing at all like riding his cock; with his cock, you know then that you can bear down with as much weight as you like, know that he’ll push right back up and meet you. Like this, you’re shaky and unsure of how heavily you can settle down over his mouth, and he’s hardly giving you a chance to think it through. He keeps his tongue flat against you but slides it down from your clit until he can push the tip inside your cunt just enough to tease. You moan softly and try to roll your hips forward, wanting something deep enough to clench around, but Hyuck holds you still.
“Like that?” He asks, and you groan, squirming down against his lips when he kisses you there, thumbs going back to holding you open so he can lick inside.
You know you don’t need to answer his question - he knows your body better than you do - but you reply anyway with a strangled curse, shifting your hips to grind against the flat of his tongue now that his hands can’t hold you still. He moans softly against you, trailing off into a hum as he sucks a kiss over your clit.
“Keep doing that,” he mumbles, words vibrating against you, “move like that, make yourself cum.”
Your breath leaves you in a rush and you bend closer to the mattress, elbows going momentarily weak.
You pant; sounding desperate as you obey him. He starts sliding his hands from your hips up your stomach and under your top to give you free rein of your movements.
It’s hotter than you expected it to be, moving to rub your clit against Hyuck’s tongue. He reaches up far enough to pinch both your nipples between his fingers, just tight enough that there’s a tug when you roll your hips forward, shoulders pulling back. When you push forward far enough to get the tip of his tongue nestled inside you, you can feel his nose nudging your clit; you stay like that for a moment, rocking down against the pointed end of his tongue before you give in, whining.
“In me, put it in me deeper.”
Hyuck groans louder against you now, pinching your nipples tighter. “So fuckin’ wet,” he murmurs, tilting his head back and slipping his tongue inside as deep as it’ll let him go.
“Keep your hands there,” you instruct, and he pinches again as a reply, gentler this time. Ignoring any leftover uncertainty, you straighten your back to sit up and free your hands, immediately cradling his head.
You can feel his heavy breaths against you every time he pulls his tongue back to lick his lips. It becomes easier to take control of the situation. You find, Hyuck doesn’t seem to protest when he’s like this, licking over and inside with eagerness each time you urge yourself closer to his mouth.
The slow climb to your orgasm starts when he forgets your earlier request and heads back to your clit, sucking it into his mouth with a slick sound that’s loud. You let your head tilt back into the feeling, the ends of your hair tickling the curve of your spine.
“Don’t stop,” you breathe, not even sure if he hears you over his own encouraging hums. The vibrations are subtle but just enough for you to rock into, twisting your fingers tight into his hair and holding on as you move to keep his head in place.
Using Hyuck’s mouth to actually work yourself up to cumming is much more like riding his cock. The motions feel the same: thighs flexing, hips tilting for the best angle, fighting to keep your balance. It might even be better than riding him, with the firm suction and Hyuck’s soft tongue, knowing that he’s conserving his breaths for you, wanting to make you cum more than he wants anything else at the moment.
His hands have strayed down at your ribs, fingers digging in to hold onto you like you’re holding onto him, and his steadying grip along with the constant pull on your clit is what makes you finally lose it.
You let yourself groan out loud when it first hits, grinding down hard into his mouth, trusting him to know how much you can take while you ride it out. It becomes too intense in seconds, your sensitivity ramping up so quickly that you can’t keep up with it, but Hyuck pulls his mouth away as soon as you whimper, dragging his nails down your sides.
“Fuck,” he groans. He works one arm under your thigh to reach for his dick, and you feel his shoulder shaking underneath you right away.
You’re panting, still hovering over his mouth; he’s wet down to his chin, lips parted and slick. It’s a bit of a rush to look down at him and watch his eyes open to find yours, dropping back down between your legs while he touches himself.
You smile hazily, “Think you liked that more than I did, and I’m the one came.”
“I might’ve,” he agrees, his voice tight.
Wanting to give him a show, you release your grip on his hair to touch yourself, fingers slipping down until you inch one inside, deeper and more solid than Hyuck’s tongue was, but jolting from the sensitivity. You’re close enough to his face that your knuckles brush his damp chin, and he tucks his head down to kiss the backs of your fingers.
“Don’t tease me,” he says.
“Who’s teasing?” You ask, as playful as you can sound with your breath still panting fast.
Your original hesitance about the position isn’t even at the back of your mind now, not with Hyuck’s chest heaving under your weight and his eyes flicking fast over your body like he isn’t sure where to look.
“You could let me taste again,” he tries, tilting his head to the side to rub his face up against your inner thigh. You feel his arm move quicker, like just the idea is helping bring him off. It’s not an idea you oppose, judging from the small burst of arousal you feel when he kisses your skin and licks between breaths.
“That good, is it?”
You take in another one of your fingers and let them sink deeper, still sensitive enough to draw a gasp. Hyuck doesn’t respond, just keeps his hand moving and looks up at your face, barely starting to tremble the closer he gets.
When you slip your fingers out, you re-tighten your grip on his hair. His eyes are losing focus, but still trying to stay open to watch you. The sheen on his lips still glistens, so you drag your fingertip along his bottom lip and only get halfway across his mouth before he opens to suck them inside. He finally stops delaying the inevitable and shuts his eyes.
You hardly ever see your boyfriend like this, his body language edging on desperate. His cock is flushed darkest at the head and nearly as wet as you are, a little pool of pre-cum gathers on his stomach. The hand not jerking himself now is gripping your thigh tightly enough to leave indentations around his fingertips, and his toes are curled in on themselves; his whole body is wound so tightly, muscles straining.
He keeps sucking at your fingers sharply, letting them muffle any noises he makes.
“Didn’t know you’d like this so much,” you say, “next time I’ll turn around so I can suck your cock too.”
Much like before, just the idea is enough for Hyuck; he freezes just as his orgasm starts, then moans around your fingers, mouth going slack even as his hand keeps working fast. You hook your fingers gently over the bottom set of his teeth and rub your thumb over his jaw.
Just as you’re about to contort yourself enough to lean down and kiss him, you feel a hot splash against your back and you gasp, even as Hyuck’s eyes stay closed tightly.
“Oh my god,” you say, dragging your fingers from his mouth and over his chin, waiting until he opens his eyes to continue. “If you got cum on my shirt, I take back my offer.”
Hyuck’s laugh leaves him before he can help it, more of a giggle with little power behind it. “Payback,” he pants, “for being so difficult.”
“I was thinking of you in my protests,” you argue.
He ignores you. “Well for someone who didn’t wanna come up here like this you sure don’t seem to wanna move now.”
“That’s because, I know when I move we’re going to have to clean up. Also I’m in a position of power like this.”
Attempting to use that supposed position of power, you rise to your knees and finally pull off your top completely, dropping it unceremoniously on Hyuck’s head before letting out a giggle of your own.
“Speaking of which, you can do laundry today,” you say.
“Only if you let me fuck you on the washing machine,” he counters, mimicking your tone. He makes no move to pull the cloth from his face.
“Hyuck!” You snap; he shrugs animatedly, making up for the lack of visible facial expression. After a beat, you relent, “I suppose those vibrations probably would be nice.”
443 notes · View notes
gingersxng · 2 days
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Sharing Is Caring
Pairing: f!reader x Mingi x Yunho
Author note: fantasies while ovulating:)
Genre: smut 18+
Notes: dom! yungi, sub!reader, threesome, oral (m)&(f) receiving, masturbation, overstimulation, cum cum cum, dirty talk, pet names (doll & pup), fingering, cursing, cum eating, nipple sucking, teasing, slight choking, unprotected sex (always keep safe), double penetration, Yunho and Mingi has big dicks, marking (hickeys), kissing. for sure forgot something
Words: 1.2k
“what a nasty girl sucking our big cocks like the slut you are” Mingi said looking down at you as you sat on your knees in front of the bed with his thick cock in your mouth, drool spilling out of your mouth. you bobbed your head as you kept eye contact with him. he stroked your hair as a dirty smirk painted his face making your pussy clench. Yunho sat beside Mingi on the bed stroking his cock waiting for his turn. the view made you moan around Mingis dick as you felt your pussy tighten yet again. as you sped up the pace you could see Mingi biting his bottom lip and swallowing hard making his adam’s apple bop up and down. the deep moans gave you tingles down your throbbing core. Yunhos cock twitched in his hand as he watched your mouth taking his friends dick. you pulled away from Mingis length, your spit connecting with his dick in thin strings. you moved a couple centimetres until you were sat in front of Yunho. his dick was hard and sensitive from all the cumming he’d done earlier.
you placed small kisses along his length up to the head leaving him a groaning mess. “fuuuuck” Yunho moaned and put his big hand on the back of your head pushing you down on his cock making you gag. “man you’re destroying her mouth” Mingi chuckled looking down at the mess. because Yunho was so sensitive and overstimulated you wanted to tease him a bit, going down on him very slow and when he was about to cum you pulled away. “you better let me cum or I’ll tear you apart later” he growled at you.
just the thought of him destroying you got your pussy dripping. you spat on his cock and started jerking him off with both hands, you got off your knees and stood up leaning in to kiss him while you continued pumping him. Yunho grabbed your ass spreading the cheeks apart when you felt two fingers penetrate your hole. you moaned into Yunhos mouth, you looked behind you and were met with a pair of dark eyes. “gonna warm you up before we destroy you doll” Mingis voice dropped sending chills down your spine.
after a couple more pumps Yunho finally came in your hand and on your chest. you licked the cum off your fingers and he licked the remains off your chest then moved to your breast biting on your nipples. Mingi added a third finger making your back arch. they really enjoyed teasing and playing with you until you reached the peak of pleasure, leaving you a nasty mess.
all the teasing got to your head and it made you craving them more. Mingi felt how your hole squeezed his fingers knowing exactly what you wanted. he removed his fingers dragging them slowly up your back and stopped when he finally reached your neck, wrapping his hand around it giving it a light squeeze. a smirk appeared when he heard the moan coming from you. Yunho pulled away from your nipples with a wet pop, a deep chuckle left his mouth as he saw how vulnerable you were in their hands. he snaked his hands around your waist pulling you down so you were straddling him, his cock sandwiched between your and his torso letting another moan escape your lips.
Yunho began to roll his hips onto yours, his breathing became heavier and his cock harder leaking precum at the tip. your mind was all foggy with the grip Mingi had on your neck, your eyes were shut and the biggest focus was trying to breathe normally. seeing how you began to struggle a bit Mingi released his grip around your neck caressing your back. the wonderful feeling of air snapped you back to reality and you could feel Mingi standing behind you pressing his cock against your back, you felt yourself getting wetter and grew desperate. “pleaseee” you whined, both men looking at you. “please what?” Mingi responded pressing his dick harder against your back. “what do you want doll?” Yunho said grabbing your chin locking eyes with you. your hips started to move up and down on Yunhos lap trying to get some type of friction. “you need to tell us what you want pup” Mingi continued to tease you but this time he grabbed your boobs massaging them together right in front of Yunhos face. “I wan- want.. pls” you couldn’t speak clearly being too frustrated. “we’ve got all night doll, we got plenty of time to play with our favourite fuck toy” the grin on Yunhos face made you almost lose it. “pleasee! fuc-fuck me! I need you both inside me” you yelled out not being able to take anymore of their teasing. “oh we will..” Mingi growled as he stepped back to help Yunho lift you up as he placed himself behind you so you were sandwiched between them.
“now be a good girl and show us what a nasty fuck toy you are” Mingi said as they sunk you down on their cocks. you could feel how your pussy stretched out as they slowly sunk inside your warm wet cave. you felt tears building up in your eyes as they began to move under you, letting out whimpers with every thrust. their hands were all over your body grabbing everything they could, it was a pretty sight watching them groaning and moaning as they filled you up. you bounced faster feeling a familiar knot building up in your stomach. Mingi and Yunho were close too, their dicks rubbing against each other together with your hole clenching around them drove them crazy. Yunho bit down on your shoulder causing you to whine more. Mingi was kissing all over your back marking you up while rubbing your clit in circles driving you insane. “gonna cum” you whined feeling the knot almost burst from all the touching. crashing his lips onto yours Yunho bucked his hips deep inside you groaning into your mouth. “cum on our cocks doll” he growled. Mingi pressed his hand on your stomach feeling their dicks destroying your insides. Yunho watched as the outline of their cocks poked out from your belly. “fuck look how fucked out you are” Yunho smirked. you felt yourself cum at his words. all the strength was gone in your body and you struggled to hold yourself up. “that’s our good girl” Mingi growled and you felt them releasing their load inside you bucking their hips up deep into you. they kissed you all over and placed you down on the bed, Yunho hovering over you placing kisses from your chest down to your heat stopping as he looked up at you. you watched as he spread your legs apart watching as the cum was dripping out of your core. he placed kisses inside your inner thighs biting and marking them up before he began to eat you out. you arched your back and started to knead your breasts together. “mmh Yunho feels so -so goo- good” you hummed out.
you felt the side of the bed dip, your eyes shot open only to see Mingi joining his friend giving you a smile spreading your legs wider to get better access to your pussy. now they were like two lions devouring their pray.
“sharing is caring right pup”
476 notes · View notes
deluluriddhi · 2 days
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🦖 ENHYPEN NSFW LINKS
🦖 LIBRARY 🦖
🦖 HEESEUNG
Heeseung teasing you and slapping your wet cunt before putting his meat in
Him putting a vibrator in your clit and fingering you as a punishment
When you are needy while he plays his video game
🦖 JAY
Jay with a hair pulling kink pounding in you after partice late at night
Him fucking you nice and raw
Fucking you deep from back
🦖 SUNGHOON
Him teasing you until he can't take it anymore
Sunghoon with a little slapping kink fingering you deep after he caught you playing with your pussy when he was not there
Dry humpin' Hoon
🦖 JAKE
Him fucking you deep after you acted like a brat all day
Him fucking you in the kitchen
Forehead kisses while he is deep inside you
🦖 SUNOO
Him being sensitive
Giving him a nice blowjob
Helping him relax after a concert
🦖 JUNGWON
Quick little pussy licking sessions before he leaves for practice
Him streching you out before putting his cock inside
Helping him relax cuz being a leader is hard
368 notes · View notes
ratedfleur · 2 days
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nsfw links | bada lee edition
gp!bada lee x fem reader genre ౨ৎ explicit
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[link] - always a little too touchy, bada likes to fondle with your breasts when letting you come down from your high after an intense orgasm.
[link] - bada always likes to be nice and she loves letting you take a breather when things get a little too rough in the bedroom.
[link] - sometimes bada likes to get a little mean and fuck you in ways where you forget you were disobeying her just a few moments prior.
[link] - just before the lust takes in, bada likes to make sure that you’re well taken care of with her kisses and touches.
[link] - bada’s definition of playing around is making you cry and whimper as she fingers you and making you cum at least twice before fucking you with her cock.
[link] - bada knows you’ll be good for her so she makes you touch her as she touches you, only fucking you if you make her cum.
[link] - you just like bending over for bada, always wanting to be a good girl for her so she doesn’t even have to ask and you just bend over for bada to fuck you.
[link ] - bada is very much a romantic, always wanting the best for you, her baby, and she doesn’t want to hear a single cry out of you, only wanting moans of pleasure.
[link ] - bada knows you like to get on top because you wanted to ride her at your own pace, wanting to pleasure bada after she does the same with you.
[link] - another of bada’s definitions of making you feel good is through kisses, sweet touches, and one slow fuck.
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© RATEDFLEUR — ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
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Birthday "Cake" - Dreamcatcher Handong × M!Reader
A/N: Dont mind the title. Anyway, this was supposed to come out yesterday but stuff happened. Oh well, it's never too late for Handong Day. I received quite a few ideas but I went with whichever my brain can process faster. I'll save the rest for future use, lol.
Tags: semi-vanilla(?), surprise sex, creampie, anal, anal creampie
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You arrive at Handong's dorm room a little after midnight, letting yourself in quietly with the key she gave you. The room is dark except for a soft nightlight, and you see her petite frame curled up under the covers, fast asleep. 
Stripping down to your boxers, you drink in the sight of her beautiful peaceful face and slim body. Her lips are parted slightly, and you can see her chest rising and falling with each gentle breath.
Carefully, you pull back the sheets, revealing her slender legs and the thin cotton panties hugging her hips. You lick your lips hungrily, already feeling your cock swell. 
Handong had told you to wake her up when you arrived, but you have an even better idea to surprise your sleepy girlfriend.
Gently, you hook your fingers into the waistband of her panties and tug them aside, exposing her juicy pussy lips already glistening with arousal. She must have been dreaming about you. 
You free your thick shaft from your boxers, stroking it to full hardness as you revel in the intoxicating sight and scent of her sex.
Positioning yourself between her thighs, you rub the swollen head of your cock along her slick folds, coating it with her wetness. 
Then, with one smooth thrust, you bury yourself to the base inside her tight, velvety pussy. A soft moan escapes Handong's lips as her eyes flutter open, adjusting to the delicious feeling of your rock-hard cock stretching and filling her pussy.
Handong's eyes flutter open as she registers the thick cock suddenly buried inside her. She lets out a soft gasp of surprise and pleasure, her tight pussy clenching around your shaft instinctively.
"W-What...? Oh god..." she moans sleepily, her body tensing for a moment before relaxing into the blissful intrusion. You lean down to capture her lips in a deep, probing kiss as you start to slowly withdraw your cock until just the tip remains inside her.
Then you snap your hips forward again, driving your full length back into her snug, welcoming depths. Handong whimpers into your mouth, her nails raking down your back as she's abruptly awakened by your thick cock claiming her pussy.
"You look so hot I couldn't resist waking you up this way, baby," you whisper, settling into a steady rhythm of long, powerful strokes that make her perky tits jiggle enticingly with each thrust. "You feel so fucking good, haa, I miss you so much."
Handong can only moan and pant in pleasure, her thighs spreading wider to take you deeper. You reach down to palm and knead her pale breasts as you pick up the pace, slamming your cock into her slick depths over and over. 
Her tight cunt hugs you like a molten vice with each rough thrust, making you grunt from the intense friction and pleasure.
You drive your cock into Handong's tight pussy with animalistic need, her slick walls clinging to your shaft with each rough thrust. Her eyes are glazed with lust as she stares up at you, mouth hanging open in a continuous stream of delirious moans.
"Oh God! You're so deep inside me— Hng! " she whimpers breathlessly, her small hands gripping your flexing ass to pull you harder against her. "I was dreaming about your big cock filling me up."
Hearing her dirty words spurs you on. You increase the brutal pace, slamming your hips against hers with loud, wet slaps of flesh on flesh. The bed rocks and creaks beneath you as your thick cock batters her cervix relentlessly. 
Handong cries out incoherently, her nails scoring red lines down your back as she's overwhelmed with sensation. Her body is flushed and sheened with sweat, her tits swaying wildly with each pierce into her convulsing cunt.
"That's it, take my cock, Handongie! Shit—" you groan, biting and sucking marks into the soft skin of her neck and shoulder. "Cum for me, baby. Soak my dick with your sweet pussy."
Her whole body tenses and her silken walls flutter and squeeze around your pistoning cock. Handong throws her head back with a wanton scream as her orgasm crashes over her in waves. You keep pounding into her, chasing your own explosive release as she writhes and bucks under you.
You keep plowing Handong's spasming pussy with ruthless stabs, not letting up even as she rides out her intense orgasm. Her cunt clenches erratically, her waving insides milking your cock as she howls in ecstasy. 
"Oh fuck! I'm cumming again!!" she wails, digging her nails into your shoulders hard enough to draw blood. Her whole body squirms as a second, an even harder climax wrecks over her. 
You groan loudly at the feeling of her molten canal pulsing around your relentlessly pumping shaft. The sight of her beautiful, sweaty body quivering with unbearable pleasure is almost enough to make you lose control.
You grab Handong's hips and hammer your cock into her sloppy, overstimulated fuckhole at a frantic pace. She screams and babbles stupidly, her eyes rolling back as she's overwhelmed by the sensations of your merciless pounding.
"I'm gonna fill this greedy little cunt with my load," you snarl, feeling your heavy balls tightening. "Take it all, you needy slut"
One final thrust and you roar in release, ropes of hot jism erupting into Handong's suctioning pussy. She shudders and moans loudly as she's pumped full of your seed, her well-fucked hole clenching around your pulsing length to milk every last drop.
After emptying your balls deep inside Handong's thoroughly-used pussy, you finally ease off your rough pace. Slowly, you grind your still-rigid shaft in her creampied cunt, making sure to smear your thick load all over her spasming inner walls.
Handong mewls softly, gazing up at you with heavy-lidded, adoring eyes. Her petite frame is flushed and glistening with sweat, her tight body utterly spent from the ferocious fucking you just put her through. 
You lean down to capture her plush lips in a deep, soulful kiss, your tongues dancing together sensually. Handong melts into the intimate embrace, her arms wrapping around you to pull your sweat-slicked bodies together.
“Oh right, happy birthday, baby," you murmur against her mouth, your softening cock still nestled in her overstuffed slit. "I should've said that first before  giving you an extra special wake-up call."
Handong giggles happily, nuzzling her face into the crook of your neck. "Best present ever," she sighs contentedly, planting soft kisses along your jawline. "I love waking up to you buried inside me anyway.”
You hold her close, your fingers tracing patterns along the curve of her spine as you both bask in the warm afterglow. Her tight little cunt continues to flutter weakly around your cock, as if trying to keep you buried within her depths forever.
After a few tender moments, you gently withdraw from Handong's cum-drenched pussy with a lewd squelch. She whimpers at the sudden emptiness, clinging to you tighter as your mixed fluids immediately start seeping out of her well-used hole.
"Don't worry, gorgeous," you mutter, brushing her damp hair from her face. "I'm not going anywhere. We've got all night to keep celebrating.”
With a mischievous gleam in your eye, you gently roll Handong onto her stomach, leaving her cute firm ass raised invitingly. She peers back at you with a coy smile, understanding what you have in mind.
"I'm still so sensitive..." she says, wiggling her hips alluringly. 
You palm and squeeze her plush ass cheeks, spreading them apart to reveal her puffy, pussy and puckered entrance. "Don't worry, I'll go slow this time. This is my favorite cake, after all, " you promise, your cock already stirring back to life at the sight before you. "I just want to make sure this is nice and stuffed.”
Handong whimpers in anticipation as you lean down to lap at her swollen, cream-filled slit with broad strokes of your tongue. You greedily slurp up the mixture of her tangy juices, making her shudder with overstimulation.
Once she's sloppy and dripping anew, you give her pretty little asshole a few teasing licks and prods with your stiffening length. Handong mewls and squirms, spreading her cheeks wider to grant you better access.
"Yes~ Fuck me everywhere tonight," she begs impatiently. "I want to be so sore and filled up with your cum that I can barely walk tomorrow.” 
With a feral growl, you grab her hips and start to ease the swollen head of your cock into her tight, puckered rear. Handong cries out in a delicious mix of pain and pleasure as her rubbery ring stretches to accommodate your thick girth.
Sink your throbbing length deeper into Handong's impossibly tight little asshole, inch by inch. She whines and arches, her soft tunnel gripping around the invading thickness despite her body's resistance.
"O-Oh fuck— You're splitting me open!" she cries out, knuckles whitening as she grips the sheets. Her twisted expression is a mask of both torment and euphoria, never quite getting used to the overwhelming stretch and burn of taking your big cock in her most forbidden hole.
But you know how much she craves it, loves the twisted pleasure-pain of being utterly stuffed and defiled in her greedy little asshole. With a deep groan, you bottom out, burying yourself to the hilt in her impossibly snug depths.
Handong howls hoarsely as she's abruptly filled completely, her tiny frame shuddering and quaking from the anal intrusion. You grip her hips hard enough to leave marks, holding her impaled and helpless as her sphincter spasms around the root of your cock.
"You take it so good, baby… Your tight asshole is just perfect for my dick," you bellow, giving her a firm smack on one jiggling cheek. She jolts with a lewd cry, clenching down even tighter around your embedded length.
Not giving her a chance to adjust, you start to withdraw your shaft until just the swollen head remains trapped inside her vice-like anal grip. Handong whimpers pathetically, her legs trembling with the strain of the merciless anal pounding to come.
Then with a bestial grunt, you slam your hips forward again, burying yourself balls-deep in one savage thrust.
You set a brutal, punishing pace, savagely spearing Handong's poor, abused asshole with your thick cock repeatedly. She shrieks incoherently with each rough and deep anal invasion, her sphincter convulsing helplessly around your relentlessly pistoning meat.
"Oh god! Yes! Fucking wreck my tight needy asshole!" she babbles deliriously, drool trailing from the corner of her mouth as she's overwhelmed by the twisted mix of torturous fullness and white-hot pleasure.
The sound of your hips smacking loudly against her jiggling cheeks echoes through the room, accompanied by Handong's shameless howls of rapture each time you bury yourself to the root. 
You reach under her quivering body to brutally twist and tug on her stiff pink nipples, making her screech.
"You love getting your filthy fuckhole ruined, don't you, babe?" punctuating each word with a savage thrust that makes her whole body jolt.
"Yes! Oh fuck yes, please!" she moans without shame, her own juices gushing from her neglected cunt to streak down her thighs. "I need it so bad! Fucking breed my nasty asshole!"
Increase the blistering pace to an animalistic frenzy, battering her pucker with pile-driver thrusts. Handong shrieks like a bitch in heat, incoherent and hysterical as her curvy frame is ruthlessly sodomized and used for your pleasure.
Then your heavy balls tighten, the intense friction of her rippling anal walls milking you towards an inevitable, explosive release. One final harsh thrust and you explode. A grunt escapes your lips as you empty your balls, pumping thick ropes of scorching cum deep into Handong's brutalized asshole. 
Her shrill wails mix with your guttural grunts as you claim her most forbidden depths, flooding her convulsing rectal passage with an excessive amount of your potent seed.
"Fuck! I can feel it filling me up!" she screams, her entire body jolting with each heavy pulse of your release.
You grab a fistful of her colored hair, yanking her head back as you grind your still-erupting cock deeper, ensuring not a single drop is wasted. 
Handong babbles mindlessly, utterly overwhelmed by the sensation of her bowels being flooded and distended by your thick, heavy load.
Huff out satisfied, you release Handong’s hair and draw your softening length free with a pop and gush of seed. 
Handong immediately crumples forward, her gaping, ruined little pucker winking and dribbling a steady stream of your combined fluids onto the already-soaked sheets beneath her.
Seizing her hips, you gently flip Handong's pliant body onto her back. With tender care, you gather her sweat-slicked form into your embrace, cradling her against your chest.
Handong immediately snuggles into you, draping her lithe limbs over you in a tangle of naked skin. She nuzzles her face into the crook of your neck, pressing soft kisses to your pulse point.
"Mmm… I'm so sore and full of your thick baby-batter," she smiles, her voice low and heavy with satiation. "You always take such good care of me, babe."
Chuckling softly, you trail your fingertips in a feather-light caress down the curve of her spine, making her shiver. "Anything for my gorgeous royal lady on her special day.” You then press a lingering kiss to the crown of her head. 
Handong comes willingly, molding herself against you with a contented sigh. She tucks her head under your chin, her fingers idly tracing patterns across your chest and abdomen as you both bask in the warm, blissful afterglow.
You trail your palm in a tender caress down the dip of her back and your other hand lovingly combs through her disheveled hair, massaging her scalp until her eyes flutter closed drowsily.
Within minutes, Handong's breathing evens out into the deep, steady rhythm of sleep, her frame utterly relaxed and at peace curled against you. You can't help the surge of adoration that swells in your chest as you gaze down at her beautiful, serene features.
Pressing one last kiss to her soft lips, you allow your own eyes to drift shut. Your arms tighten around Handong's slender form, holding her protectively as you both drift into a comfortable, dreamless slumber.
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bahablastplz · 22 hours
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CW: Smut
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Thinking about feral Channie who absolutely cannot get enough of you. He’s so riled up that all he can think about is fucking you fast and hard. His strong dancer hips and thighs are perfect for snapping into yours, long and hard. He’s able to reach deep inside you with each thrust, eliciting the most filthy sounds from you both. You think that maybe he’s fucking you to the beat of a song in his head that only he can hear, maybe the latest track he’s working on, because there’s no way he’s this consistent with his pace. Fucking you from behind he needs his hands full of you, grabbing bruising fistfuls of your hips or tits. When he gives you a particularly harsh thrust you can’t help the sound that leaves your mouth and you stick your face into the mattress to muffle it; a hand now intertwined in your hair grabs and pulls hard, causing your mouth to fall open in surprise. “Let. Me. Fuckin. Hear. You.” He enunciates each word with a thrust and follows it with a sharp smack to your ass, becoming faster and sloppier with the louder you are. He loves when you’re vocal about how good he’s making you feel and when you can’t stop the noises coming out of your body, matching them with his own loud grunts and heavy breathing. When you finally cum around his cock he’s a goner, spewing the filthiest praises, relentless and brutal as he fucks your through your orgasm. When you whine from the sensitivity of overstimulation he finally comes undone, spilling his release onto your ass with a loud sigh.
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msafterhours · 13 hours
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Saccharine | Act One
Male Reader x (G)I-DLE Yuqi
Act 1 (~14.5k words) [Act 2] [Act 3]
Song Yuqi (sôNG yo͞o·kē)
media darling.
an unforgettable dream, stealing fan’s hearts with silky smooth singing and sugary sweet smiles.
an idol’s ideal, image unblemished by a single hint, word, or leak implying otherwise.
absolutely spotless.
nothing messy, nothing toxic, nothing wrong with her in the slightest—
What a load of shit.
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They say truth is stranger than fiction, but no story from either source could have prepared you for the things you’ve seen over your few months in this industry. Most who put pen to paper from an early age don’t dream of writing news updates, opinion pieces, or reviews for a K-Pop news site, but you’re not the type to pass up any half-decent opportunity. You’ve learned from your father, who brought this family here before you could read in pursuit of a better life than he could find in the U.S. Thus, when a family friend started up this new business and offered you a job despite your lack of experience, the thought of turning it down never even crossed your mind.
You know full well the life you’ve chosen to enter, with the lies and cover-ups and entire careers that get ruined because they didn’t smile at the right sleazy fuck. You’ve adapted fast, steeling your heart and refusing to let it bother you; after all, rules are allegedly meant to be followed. Thus, you’re happy to play their game, so long as it means you’re learning about the lone aspect that captivates you: the power of leverage. You've heard how one call from an executive can change someone’s life or how the demands of fans manifest change, but it's another thing entirely to see the human reactions behind every ripple in this pond. While you'd love to have the best seats in the house to observe from, you’re well aware of what rung you’re on—painfully aware of how low that rung sits. And as much as you’d love to catch a flight to the top, the skies remain clear. You’ll just have to grit your teeth and climb.
As you work, beginning your ascent, you hear stories. Gossip, whispers in passing, those sorts of things—things that provide context and give you power over someone. You’re constantly attuned to them, writing them down and using your contraband knowledge as bargaining power when securing opportunities. A more honest you might view your methods as underhanded, but this you knows that they’re effective. So, you keep your ears perked and remain vigilant.
Things change when you start hearing the rumors about her: some pre-debut idol who’s too small in stature and reputation to talk the way she does but too egotistical and narcissistic to act otherwise. At first glance, they’re anything but surprising and, more damningly, they’re far from fascinating, so why sidetrack yourself by investigating them? Especially since you know that in this industry, the path to the top is paved by the broken hearts of good people and tread by those willing to crush them under heel.
Then another wave of whispers reaches your ears—this second ripple even passing through some circles of importance—so you do what you do best. You start some conversations, get your contacts laughing before asking them questions—the types they won't even remember answering. Ultimately, it’s a win-win; they get to hear the sound of their own voice and you get the information you need; information that you’re more than happy to save for a rainy day.
It’s not long before you make a promise you don’t intend to keep and secure a favor from one of those contacts. You’re eager to cash in, securing an interview with one of their clients in mainland China and starting off the new year right. With an opportunity like this, you’d be a fool not to go, rumors or otherwise. That being said, there’s no reason you can’t keep an ear to the ground; a trip like this can have more than one purpose. Maybe you’ll even find a sliver of that truth people claim to tell.
The flight’s fine, the weather’s bad, and the place you’re staying is even worse, but hey, at least the food’s bearable. The night's young, so are you, and so is your career. There'll be plenty of time for penthouse hot tub parties later. For now, as the storm outside your window creates a percussive backdrop to your nightly preparations, you settle down early. You allow the night to overtake you well before your usual late hour, hoping that a rested mind will serve you well as you grab your metaphorical pickaxe and head into a potential gold mine of information tomorrow.
You dream not of the moisture outside, but of a complete lack thereof. Your dreams enthrall you with heat, flames, and intoxicating agony. With every step forward, you feel the blaze consume more of your essence, but the ecstasy that fills the void drives you ever onward. You're eager to relish the pain, letting it fuel you just as much as the pleasure as you force yourself closer. You nearly make it to the center of the inferno—getting maddeningly close to witnessing its heart—but your screams of frustration break off as your vision burns away, leaving you staring instead at the first hints of sunrise filtering into your shoddy hotel room.
Once you finish capping off this unique experience with a final, frustrated scream, you ready yourself, allowing your morning to pass by in a blink before you arrive at the talent agency. You imitate a warm smile flawlessly, tapping into some of the residual heat within as you carry a friendly conversation with the receptionist while she confirms your interview appointment.
After a quick, silent elevator ride spent rehearsing the questions you’d prepared, the bell chimes and doors part to reveal your destination. As always, you’re early to being early, allowing plenty of time to chat with the makeup artist and peruse her memories for potential ammunition. You place an attentive nod amidst one of her stories, gently touch her arm as you pretend her joke is hilarious, and allow your gleaming smile to keep the conversation lively as you perform the unspoken, crucial responsibilities your job demands of you. While her tales of past encounters barely satiate your desires, her reaction to the sudden outburst in the next room over is another gift entirely.
You can see it in how her shoulders suddenly slump, how her eyes roll with a practiced grace, and how the sigh escapes unprompted. She deflates, and you immediately ascertain that this is far from the first occurrence of its kind. She meets your gaze, and you understand that it won’t be the last. You’ve seen no face nor heard a name, but you know. It’s her.
The malice dripping off her words is matched only by the malevolence in the deep tone of her voice as it quickly grows in both pitch and volume. Her tirade berates not only the hapless victim trapped in the room with her, but also the irreparably damaged ears of every bystander in the vicinity. Even for you, someone seemingly numb to the ever-present abuse within the industry, time slows to a crawl as her verbal onslaught continues for a minute, then three, then ten.
All the while, you know full well your companion is on the verge of exploding with anticipation, wordlessly begging for you to ask what’s going on. So, when a malnourished conscience or guardian angel or maybe just a need for oxygen leads to silence, you oblige. No reason that your pursuits can’t be mutually beneficial. You wrap your words in sympathy as you whisper, wide-eyed and horrified, “Who is she?”
And as the floodgates open and the stylist tells you of the monster known as Song Yuqi, for the first time in a long time, you have to fight to keep the smile off your face rather than having to maintain the joyful facade. But that struggle quickly fades as your moment of wonderful discovery is replaced by genuine, sympathetic horror. Because she isn’t as bad as the rumors or this latest eruption made her out to be. She’s somehow worse.
And it’s not the verbal outbursts nor the sense of entitlement that makes your lip curl. No, it’s the facade she wears so well when she walks on stage. It’s the soft smile shining brightest under the spotlight’s glow. It’s who she is in the dark—who she becomes when untethered from the ramifications of her actions. It’s the diametric opposition between fact and fiction. And the worst part is, her arrogant swagger is justified. You can do nothing about it.
Yet.
The makeup artist’s story ends—as all must—and the clock mercilessly demands that you fulfill your obligations. You bid your companion farewell, surprising yourself with a rare display of kindness as you write down her name and genuinely tell her you hope to see her again someday. The distance to your destination is short; the journey is long. Each step punctuates another sentence, another line amidst the vast chronicle of misdeeds you’re currently composing. Your hands ache with a storyteller’s strain, but you bite back your desires and let the flames simmer down. It’s time to be a professional.
Your interviews tend to go well, especially whenever you control the conversation and ask the type of questions fans pretend to hate but secretly love. But whether it’s something in the water or your mind still reeling from the day’s earlier revelations, you discard the typical formula and enter the room without an agenda in mind. A pair of introductions are made, you compliment her new hair color, and she thanks you for coming all this way to conduct the interview. It’s polite and sterile and quaint—just like all the other interviews she’s done. But when you pull a pair of chairs over to the glass wall and offer her a seat with a view of Beijing, that piques her interest. And once you both sit down and get comfortable, you pull out no notebook or laptop, instead beginning an audio recording on your phone, you heighten her curiosity even further. Finally, when you begin the interview by inviting her to ask any question about you, she’s completely captivated. And you’re just as riveted as you listen to her response.
If a normal interview is a highway—carefully planned and constructed to fulfill a particular purpose—today’s is a river, naturally forming and freely flowing towards its destination. While you’re able to ask her some questions about her time on Produce 101 and her recent re-debut, you also both stray from the intended topic repeatedly, sharing tangents and truths and things you’ll never get to include. All of it should irritate you, but you know full well you’re far too invested to care. You can see how she matches your focus, see it in the way she leans closer—in the way she laughs openly and freely, unafraid of displaying her enjoyment. She sees the same, sees it in the way you join her laughter just as easily and how you intently hold her gaze as you weave a dialogue together with her. For the first time in as long as you can remember, words with meaning are spoken.
The sands of time flow far too swiftly, denying you further opportunity as your time together nears its end. You watch, noting how her eyes fall slightly at the top of the hour; you listen, ears perking up at the honesty in her hopes that you’ll see each other again. You respond, mirroring her sentiment and bidding her a fond farewell; you exit, leaving the room and finding yourself alone with only a recording and your memories to keep you company.
You know—even before listening back to the recording and transcribing her tales—that it truly is something special, something truly memorable. And it terrifies you. Because here, alone in the silence, you feel. A sensation of impending ruination creeps up your spine and shadows you through every twist and turn of this concrete labyrinth.
The vulnerability in memorability. The expectations and ramifications. The thought of seeing her again. The thought of meeting her. It all circulates through your mind, suffocating any further notions as you carefully reconstruct each particular piece of your professional persona. As the elevator descends to your level, you ponder the potential significance of this day. There’s so much to parse through, yet you’re unable to draw even a single conclusion. Perhaps later, you think as you enter the elevator. For now, you have work to do.
One step. Another. A door. A shudder. The individual pulls their jacket tight against their body, then pushes the heavy glass door open and steps out into the unforgiving Beijing winter. The wind whips through their hair, mercilessly battering their features as they exit the lobby. Many steps are taken, progressing through the journey until a turn is made. Then, a pause. Another turn, back towards the building. Their eyes climb, methodically, one floor at a time, impossibly high until they reach the top. An instant later, they’re back at ground level. Inhaling takes only a moment. Exhaling takes millennia. Their perspective drops further, to the pavement below. Another gust buffets the figure, and a sense of self-preservation sends them begrudgingly back along their way. It’s time for them to pack their things and go. The plane to Korea awaits.
You've always laughed at the idea that nothing good happens after midnight. As a seasoned writer and chronic procrastinator, you’ve thrived under the pressure of a morning deadline. Yet here you are, months later, staring at a bright screen in a dark room hours before the sun will give life to this particular Friday, agonizing over the task that you’ve been given.
Six names sit on the page in front of you. All of them “should” matter. One of them does. A fresh group has entered the arena, and their debut is as clean as their name is ridiculous. Your fingers fly across the keyboard, each pixel darkening your screen further as you sing stanza after stanza of praises. But instead of thinking of chord progressions or vocal harmonies, your focus lies solely on silence. Not the one you find yourself in now, but the one after her tirade. The one that’s remained in your mind long after your interview had ended; the one that threatened to betray the pounding hearts of every potential victim in the vicinity.
Five sections are completed, each giving well-earned praise to a deserving individual and highlighting their participation in the finished product. But that's not where your eyes fall, where the blinking cursor awaits. No, the subject of your ire is the final section, where your notes contain a few perfectly legitimate reasons to commend her contributions. A superbly safe option … if you choose to take it. But truth be told, you don’t want to. Admittedly, it’s not for the sake of her victims; you’ve never been one willing to take risks for something as worthless as the wellbeing of others. Your mind just can’t seem to disentangle itself from the fact that mere months later, she’s shining under Korea’s brightest lights. Part of you knows that it’s more petty than principled, but you honestly can’t stand the harsh reality of her getting to play by a different rulebook. So, the cursor blinks on.
Four hours remain, and you remain completely unsure of what to do. You’re stuck grasping at straws, knowing what you’d like to say, but treasuring your personal journey far too much to allow something as trivial as the truth to derail it all. You rack your mind, desperately attempting to find a compromise. Eventually, you wonder if perhaps a statement through omission rather than an overt declaration is the correct approach. It’s a risky idea, but one with great potential, especially in the name of generating clicks via controversy. Fuck it, you think to yourself. It’s worth an attempt. You crack your knuckles, lean forward in your chair, and spin gold.
Three members are chosen, highlighted above the rest for one reason or another. The justifications you give are borderline ostentatious, almost comically complimentary towards the contributions of your chosen trio. Somewhere along the way, a sense of confidence grows within you. Your decayed conscience is an entirely different story.
Two others—their praises already penned—are cast aside; forgotten and discarded in an effort to hide your disdain for their coworker and her offenses. Punished for no fault of their own. The notion would make you sick if it weren’t so damned common. At least you can find solace in the fact that you’re giving her exactly as much praise as she deserves.
One email containing your finished article is all that’s sent. Later today, the fuse will run out and your editor will be confronted by the landmine you’ve so kindly delivered to his inbox. But that’s alright. It is—quite literally—his job to deal with it.
Zero sounds pierce the stillness that permeates every nook and cranny of your apartment. Your breath halts, preserving this moment of tranquility within the ever-beating heart of the nation.
A moment passes.
Another.
The sigh that slips out is unintended, but not unexpected. It’s a deep, dejected exhalation that almost makes you wonder which decision drove you to become such fast friends with 4AM. Alas, the conclusions gleaned from that line of thinking can be drawn another day. Right now, you need coffee. It’s going to be a long day. You can only hope it won’t be an even longer night.
That night, you dream. You burn. You squint through the mess of tears protecting your eyes, trying hopelessly to catch even a glimpse of what lies at the heart of the inferno. Each tendril of flame lashes away at your essence, fracturing it into minute fragments as you endeavor to comprehend the importance of this dream and its sudden return after months of darkness. The experience seems to encompass merely a minute of enormous effort, but reality says otherwise as your alarm ruthlessly rouses you from your slumber and into the awaiting morning.
You’re covered in sweat and frustrated as hell, but that’s nothing that a shower hotter than your dream can’t fix. All throughout your morning routine, you make a conscious effort to avoid your phone. Even on a day like this, on a Saturday where most people are enjoying their weekend, you know that there’s no such thing as “off-the-clock” for you. No, on the other side of the glass screen, the ramifications of your actions—a night’s worth of reactions—await you.
The biggest departure from previous generations of written media is, in your opinion, the immediacy and accessibility of reader feedback. So, when you open a certain bird-themed app to see how people responded to your review of (G)I-DLE’s debut, you see some love. You see plenty of hate. You see … not much in between. K-Pop stans do tend towards hyperbole. Unsurprisingly, your decision to only highlight half the members is the primary subject of their ire. The comments are honestly hilarious, with many demanding an edit, others promising to block you, and one particularly invested individual threatening to revoke your access to the English language.
Might as well toss them a pacifier.
You tweet some apologetic bullshit about how you believed that highlighting all the members would diminish the significance of those who you felt contributed the most, expressing regret that the decision might have conveyed a message that you didn’t believe that all the members brought value to the debut. It’s a lovely set of lies, masking your true intentions with no plans for change. Fortunately, your sickly-sweet words and promise to include other members in future reviews seem to calm the upswell of commenters, at least for now.
And it keeps working. Once. Twice. A third time, even as (G)I-DLE nearly sweeps the “Rookie of the Year” award circuit. Then again, for a fourth time. A fifth. A sixth. Somehow, you get lucky seven times in a row. Somewhere along the path, you’re pretty sure you “should” stop this petty pursuit and play it safe. You don’t. A little further along, you realize you “definitely should” stop and realize what about her makes you feel this way.
You don’t.
There’ll be time for that later. For now, you follow the numbers forward. Along the way, among the complimentary feedback and tearful declarations of love for the group that frequent your comment sections, a slowly growing number of fans begin to notice and call you out for not including her. It adds credence to the argument for stopping, but luckily, they’re lost amongst the sea of engagement, so your growth continues unimpeded.
What isn’t lost to the passage of time are the whispers that continue to reach you, even when she retreats across the pond. The ripples reach you in rapid succession—usually a string of two or more instances where cracks start to show and her unbridled fury bursts forth, burning anyone who dares to get too close. You do your research, but you don’t have to dig very deep to unearth some terrifying truths. One cameraman is more than happy to tell you of the time he saw her punch one of the audio techs because her mic pack short circuited in the rain. A stylist shares a story of her ripping an outfit in half because it was too constrictive. A cup of coffee’s all it takes to convince one Cube employee to expose the eggshells they have to walk on around her and their internal guidelines for how to avoid her bad side. Without even trying, you amass a treasure trove of tales, just waiting to be told to someone who will listen. But you wait, because you know it’s not your time; because you know that you’re building something far too important to risk it all “doing the right thing”.
Growth’s a funny thing, and plenty of it can happen over two years. (G)I-DLE continues their upward trajectory, gaining both domestic and international fame as she becomes their most popular member. Her popularity with the general public is honestly anything but surprising, especially considering her Chinese heritage and English fluency that allow her to tap into two major media markets most groups struggle to find a foothold in. And, of course, there’s her personal appeal. If you had a thousand won for every tweet freaking out about her cute face and shockingly deep voice, you’d be retired before reaching legal drinking age. None of it particularly bothers you—if anything, you can’t help but laugh at the cyclical nature of it all. A comeback will be announced, a significant number of album pre-orders will be purchased by Chinese fans, the promotion cycle will begin, you’ll be told a story of how she lost her mind at some poor member of production, and no one outside of the industry will hear a thing. And most of the time, that’s okay. Until it isn’t.
Until you’re sitting in your apartment transcribing an interview with a nugu group—the type struggling to hit ten thousand views, let alone ten million—because that’s when your conscience crawls back to the forefront of your mind. It’s these moments, the ones where their tears streak down the window to your soul, that nearly make you reconsider your outlook on life. Their tales tug at your heartstrings as you pen them to the page, recounting how they have to work at convenience stores between promotions. It’s so painful to tell their story when they’re doing everything “the right way” while you know that one of the industry’s fastest rising stars is lounging atop a throne built of broken wills and wearing a crown made of crushed dreams. These are the moments where you’d give anything to write the happy ending these hopeful heroines deserve.
But, you know, deep down, that your conscience can’t keep you from doing anything; only keep you from enjoying it. Thus, you calm your heart and carry on. You do as you must, playing by their rules, even if they’re written in ink from bleeding hearts—you learned a long time ago that those with the best intentions leave impact craters, not legacies. So, you continue, because you know there isn’t a damned thing you can do about it.
Yet.
It’s not as if you sit idly during this time, allowing life to pass you by. No, you make the most of your time, fervently penning reviews and posting your thoughts to anyone that will listen. And, unsurprisingly, some do. You manage to carve out a minute slice of the public consciousness to fit your growing personal brand. The company grows alongside you, allowing for more video content that lets people put a face to the name as you interview more idols and grow your following. You know—in heart and mind alike—that it's ultimately just people with too much time on their hands slotting you into their empty schedule. You try not to let it affect you and succeed because they're not the ones you're looking to impress. It might not be ideal, but it’s working. For a while.
Then the world shuts down.
Thus, it’s a bit different the next time her group releases their first single. It’s a bit different when there’s only a pair of shiny new songs to capture the attention of the quarantined addicts. It’s a bit different when the responses grow larger than a vocal minority. It’s a bit different when it’s the eight-ball skirting along the edge of the corner pocket, like a threat from the universe that your luck is running out. It’s definitely different when your CEO calls and asks what exactly is going on. But his fears and fans’ frothing are both addressed with a simple strategy: silence. Less than a week passes before a new, more salacious scandal redirects the focus of the hyperactive hive mind and leaves your DMs deliciously desolate. Soon thereafter, you’re free to announce an upcoming retrospective project you’ve been wanting to start for a while, allowing you to proceed uninhibited. Well, except for your nightmare.
In this period of even further isolation, it’s been your unbidden associate, recurring far more rapidly compared to the previously infrequent incursions. As much as the sustained suffering has indisputably infuriated you, your progress through purgatory has been irrefutably illuminating. At the heart of the inferno, amidst brimstone and blaze, awaits a figure. For once, your headway almost makes you happy; for once, you’re almost anticipating the thought of heading to bed.
Unfortunately, the cruel winds of fate care little for the best laid plans, and the dream disappears less than a week after it reappears. You’re left wanting as one heat abandons you just as another rears its ugly head. It’s a brutal summer, with rising temperatures and quarantine restrictions combining to drive even the most mentally resilient members of society insane. Obviously, it’s even worse for those whose sanity slipped long ago.
Which means it hits a certain someone especially hard. Amid her group’s filming—another freedom she’s offered while you suffer alone—her multitude of misdeeds adds to the growing list of things you can’t escape. You count not one, not two, three, four, five, or even six stories of her wrath being inflicted on the poor production staff working to construct their comeback. Not a single word is whispered of her seven venomous verbal onslaughts. You’d call it unlucky, but years of experience remind you it’s just the norm for people like her.
Fall offers a welcome reprieve as restrictions are loosened, but winter’s arrival and the holiday season lead to an uptick in cases and increased countermeasures. What is often a quiet time for many is a period of ceaseless activity for you as you cover any and every award show related to the industry, capitalizing on any potential opportunity as per usual. It is, unsurprisingly, effective, and you go into the new year with significant progress made and intentions to catch up on some much-needed sleep.
It lasts all of a week before a certain group drops their latest EP.
You can’t help but chuckle at the irony of it all. An EP titled “I Burn” right as you’re on the verge of burning out. You’re too tired for innovation. Too exhausted for subtle additions. Just principled enough for a single exclusion. Your formula has driven engagement thus far; no reason to divert from it now. Somehow, some way, you manage to kindle a small spark of motivation and finish your review on time. After a few agonizing hours of anxious anticipation, your editor deems it ready to post with no significant revisions. You head to bed well before your regular hour, silencing your notifications as you pray that a soothing night of rest will revitalize you and grant you the energy necessary to deal with karma's cruel machinations.
As you slip into the silence of slumber, it’s not serenity that awaits, but sparks. An ignition. An inferno. For once, you hesitate. Instead of wading into the flames, you wait. Watch. Lethargy latches onto you, and you lament the lost opportunity as you’re forced to admit you lack the vitality to attempt this trial tonight. You sigh, turn, and begin to walk away.
A single step. A second. A third. Nine. None.
You freeze in place as you feel an icy hand capture your wrist, wrenching you back and whirling you around to face the figure. The silhouette sports a small stature, cropped black hair, and a featureless face that somehow still stares into your soul. The glacial nucleus of the inferno studies you for a moment, tilting its head curiously, then begins to drag you towards the depths of the hellfire. You fight, digging your heels in and desperately attempting to break its hold on you, but your efforts are in vain as it maintains its grasp on you and seals your fate.
You feel the licks of flame lapping away at you long before you see the damage. No, your eyes are locked on your captor and her silent satisfaction—her contentedness to bathe in the inferno as long as you crumble to ash alongside her. This incineration is nothing short of harrowing and hellish as you’re seared into cinders, but the emotion you experience most is helplessness. Your previous attempts to brave the blaze have at least been marked by your determination, your desire to uncover the truths concealed within the core, but this cremation inspires only dread. The last image that flashes across your mind is the scorching stare of a face without eyes.
For the first time in forever, you’re genuinely grateful for the freedom your alarm clock grants you. You immediately vault out of bed, jumping into an arctic shower and casting aside any concerns about doing so during the height of winter. After roughly an hour, equipped with a clear head and a cup of coffee, you confront the consequences of your choice.
Fortunately, the inflammatory comments you receive in response are primarily concentrated within the private space of your DMs rather than in the public view. You cast aside most of the messages without a second thought … until you reach one that’s a bit more interesting.
A forgettable account name? ✔
Zero comments or original posts across its entire existence? ✔
A string of likes on comments and posts singing her praises? ✔
Oh, and of course the message itself:
ASong4You: No but like seriously, what the fuck is your problem?
Check.
Literally any other idol and your mind wouldn’t be going down the path it’s exploring now. But given the rumors … given your history … even though with all those factors, it’s still one hell of a stretch …
No, it has to be her. It's too vague to be anything else.
So, you respond. Not on your main account, of course; you also have a burner. Obviously.
You compose a message to her burner in the bird app, then an identical one to her main account in the picture app, and send them simultaneously:
TurnThePage: I could ask you the same thing
You see her read it on the first account, then the second. A moment passes, allowing you the briefest bit of calm amidst the coming storm, but it’s gone in an instant as she fires another shot.
ASong4You: Seriously dude, your writer is showing, it's honestly unbearable TurnThePage: I’m sorry you don’t have poetry in your heart TurnThePage: But thank you for the compliment, I'm quite proud of my writing ASong4You: You really shouldn't be, I've seen some of the “fascinating findings” you've posted ASong4You: They make a shampoo bottle look like a New York Times bestseller by comparison TurnThePage: You'll have to send me your hair care recommendations! I love a good read :D TurnThePage: And thank you for supporting my work! It's always a pleasure to meet a fan ASong4You: Ahhh, now I see why you have to pay people to talk to you ASong4You: But yeah, before this conversation ruins my appetite, I gotta ask, what's your deal with me? I’ve literally done nothing to you TurnThePage: Like you said, people are usually paid to answer questions like that, but I'm sure we can meet in the middle here TurnThePage: What’s your deal? The people you bring to tears have done nothing but try to make your life easier, yet here you are ASong4You: Haven't you ever heard the saying “don't believe everything you hear”? Chill with the drama, I'm sure whatever you've heard is stupidly overblown ASong4You: Besides, anybody I’ve ever yelled at deserved it TurnThePage: I don’t believe you believe that ASong4You: Fuck you, who do you think you are? You don’t even know me TurnThePage: Maybe not yet, but your actions have spoken even louder than your words, and it’s been hard not to hear the echoes of both ASong4You: Do you ever talk like a normal person? TurnThePage: Maybe TurnThePage: Why, hoping I'll humor you long enough for you to find out? ASong4You: Honestly I kinda just wish you'd die in a fire, but that's neither here nor there ASong4You: Aren't there like, actual global events you could write about instead? Or did you just not make the cut? TurnThePage: Maybe ASong4You: Oh, so now that we're talking about your shortcomings, you finally shut up? ASong4You: Good to know TurnThePage: Maybe I'm trying to preserve your appetite. Unlike you, I can be considerate TurnThePage: Can I honestly just ask why? Like I've never heard anything good about you TurnThePage: It'd be impressive if it weren’t so awful ASong4You: Wouldn't you like to know? Just go ask one of the assholes that's lied about me already, I'm sure they'll make up an answer you like TurnThePage: I just figured it'd be a lot better for your members if they weren't constantly worried about the ticking time bomb standing next to them ASong4You: Don't. ASong4You: Don't bring them into this, you haven't even told me why you're being such an ass for no good reason ASong4You: I kinda think it'd just be best for both of us if you forgot about it all and started giving me the credit I deserve TurnThePage: Surely you can't think you'll be able to hide behind that cute face forever. Karma takes notes in pen, not pencil ASong4You: I'll be sure to let you know if things ever do change, but until then? Might as well just keep doing what's working ASong4You: Also thanks for the compliment ;) TurnThePage: Any time, sweetheart ASong4You: Don't call me that TurnThePage: Okay darling ASong4You: Fuck. ASong4You: You. ASong4You: Tbh I'd love nothing more than to toss a match on your greasy ass and toast marshmallows as you burn TurnThePage: Jokes on you, maybe I like to play with fire ASong4You: Then I hope you dream of something you find hotter than your reflection
You type up a couple of responses, but end up deleting all of them, each feeling inadequate to the discomfort her line makes you feel. Oh well, you think to yourself. Not the worst thing if she thinks she got the last word in, gives me more room to do as I please.
Yet you stay—sitting, staring at the screen, wondering what’s lying beyond the glass that’s captured your attention so intensely. Your gaze occasionally drifts elsewhere, but your focus remains drawn to this singular conversation and a certain someone. Someone no more than a couple dozen kilometers away, someone you should have every reason to despise and avoid, yet someone who you can’t help but wonder about. Wonder what lies behind that smile. Wonder what hides behind those eyes. Wonder if they’re staring right back.
It’s a lonely night, made even worse by the company of their reflection. Two halves of a whole, on mirrored paths with no sense of purpose or direction.
In this absence of light, all they can see is the whites of their eyes. In this moment of peace, all they can hear is their echoing lies.
Outside these walls, the world knows each as a shining star, floating through an astral sea. But deep within, each keeps their true self hidden away, trapped under lock and key.
In their heart and soul, all that is left is hurt and pain. In the years to come, all that matters is selfish gain.
But that’s a problem for another day, a problem that no storm can wash away, a problem they both know is here to stay.
So here they sit, alone again, so here they sit, wondering when. When will they meet, be face to face, and “will they cause my fall from grace?”.
A long night awaits them, one where their dreams will host a war. A routine recurrence, repeating what they’ve done before. Yet still a welcome sight because both know what they’re in for. The inferno beckons, inviting them to find out more.
And so, despite their best judgement, they each choose to proceed. They go, without a second thought, trying to sate a need.
They yearn. They burn.
A single day of anticipatory silence ages you far more than the decade of peace that’s preceded it. You can feel it in your heart, in your blood, in the way it slogs through your veins. Your fingers bear a peculiar weight as—instead of dancing gracefully over the keyboard—they stumble and crash through your draft, producing an unrecognizable, unacceptable product. Upon the page, imperfection mocks your brittle mentality, taunting you and inviting you to waste more of your time ignoring the only problem that matters right now.
A brief respite presents a far more welcome sight: a message from the girl from that first interview, asking how your holidays were. The notification grabs your attention and excites you … but not as much as it should. Maybe it's because of what lies below—what you see when your eyes drift down. Maybe it's because of the DM sitting right beneath it, where her accusation awaits. Because that message … it incenses you far more than it should. It isn’t the implication of narcissism that so clearly shines through, but something else lying just below the surface—something barely evading your grasp while beguiling your mind.
It takes the whole day and a dozen more before the thought of her finally fucks off and leaves you with the slightest semblance of some peace and quiet—a dozen nights spent in damned inferno, incinerating any chance you’d have of enjoying a rejuvenating rest. Eventually, the distractions fade and the world settles into an undisturbed quiet, the type you love to find yourself in. The type where you can shroud yourself in silence. The type where whispers punch through peaceful tranquility.
You’re not so vain to assume you’re the first to hear the rumblings, but you are shameless enough to admit you’re probably the first person excited by them. Their spread is contagious, chaotic, and anything but controllable. All that you’re missing is a bowl of popcorn as you sit back and watch the show unfold. Someone somewhere leaks the information on their socials, and you’re more than happy to spectate the storm’s rising tides from your perch atop a higher rung … and oh, what a view.
The primary benefit of being “plugged in” to the industry is, of course, the connections. So, when you receive a message informing you of tomorrow’s upcoming announcement, you thank them and plan accordingly. But then there’s another message. And another. And …
ASong4You: Don’t. ASong4You: I know you think you’re so fucking clever and you know just what to say ASong4You: But for once in your life, shut up. TurnThePage: Have you considered saying “please”? ASong4You: No.
Well, when she fires shots like that, what else is there to do but respond in kind?
The night comes. The flames rise. You open your eyes and are greeted by the gorgeous gleaming sunlight and something even more beautiful awaiting you on your nightstand.
��(G)I-DLE member Soojin announces hiatus from the group following alleged bullying accusations from former classmates.”
You, of course, wrote up your response and scheduled the tweet to be sent within minutes of the announcement. It’s nothing crazy, nothing petty, just something to farm engagement:
“There’ve been serious accusations across a number of idols, many of whom deserve judgement. But until we’ve been presented with undeniable proof, we should be patient & not assume that they’d risk years of training & passion just to demean & belittle others. It’d make no sense.”
Okay, maybe a little petty.
You set your phone down, stretch a bit, go for a short walk, and make sure to grab eye protection before checking on the fireworks going off in your DMs.
ASong4You: All you had to do was nothing, and you couldn’t even manage that ASong4You: Like the bar was so low it was literally in hell ASong4You: Yet here you are, doing the limbo with the fucking devil TurnThePage: That’s far too many words for none of them to be “please” ASong4You: I swear, if I ever get my hands on you, the bruises I’ll leave … TurnThePage: Oh good, I could use a little color in my life
And just like that, the conversation comes to a close. This pair of dialogues contains the last words you say to each other for two entire months, months best spent enjoying a world previously hidden behind doors now unlocked by the vaccinations. The heat on your face, the sounds of travel, the sight of familiar landmarks … all of it is a welcome reprieve from the societal incarceration you’ve been taking part in. You feel truly, thankfully, at peace. But while the winds carry the scents of spring, they also carry whispers of what’s to come. And there’s one whisper in particular—one that stands out. One that results in your forehead becoming warmly acquainted with the wood of your desk.
The newly formed couple aren’t allowed to enjoy each other’s company for long, as destiny arrives all too soon and ushers you into the cab. Into the airport. Into the plane. Into the sky. Into China.
Since your last visit to the country, you’ve grown. You’ve risen. You’ve worked and wrote and watched your former peers fade beneath the cloud line. Since your last visit, you’ve lost count of the dramatic declarations and sunrise submissions that define your professional life. You’ve lost track of any consistent characteristics that define your personal life. 
The journey to who and where you are today began in this country nearly four years ago.
The reflection staring back has aged forty.
Hangzhou offers no solace as you depart the airport and are met by the garish glare of the fan-sponsored advertisement for her solo debut. A grimace, glare, and grumble are all you offer in response before turning and merging with the moving mass of travelers dispersing among the city streets. While neither land nor sea seem like enough to escape her reach, maybe you can find a top shelf to hide on.
In the meantime, this’ll be a brief trip, only a couple of days dedicated to as many interviews. The first day is quick and painless—the second is anything but. Free time is to be feared when attempting to keep a mind busy, and the open space in your calendar only allows the laughter of her successes to echo that much louder. Things only worsen when an appointment with a contact falls through because of unexpected rescheduling.
“Yeah, I’m really sorry,” she says, voice crackling slightly through the tenuous connection. “It’s a shame. I was really looking forward to seeing the performances tonight—wait, do you want my ticket? I got a really good seat, great view of the stage.”
“Sure, that sounds great,” you reply, words escaping before your brighter side can block them. “Who’s performing?”
“It’s a whole bunch of acts, but there was specifically one I wanted to see … it was some K-Pop girl group member you’ve probably heard of,” she says, like it’s the most casual thing in the world; like it isn’t the reason you’re desperately searching around the room for a defibrillator. “I forgot her name, but I’m sure you know who she is.”
“Almost certainly,” you choke out, forcing out a laugh through gritted teeth. “Yeah, if you could email me the ticket, that would be awesome, and we’ll definitely have to make sure we do something the next time I come to China or the next time you visit Nayoung, alright?”
“Great, hope you enjoy! Wish me luck!” she responds, blissfully unaware as she ends the call.
Minutes later, you receive an email confirming your suspicions and your fears. It’s a festival with over a dozen acts, but there’s one that stands out: the first performance of her new solo album.
Fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
There’s no way in hell you’re going there. You’d rather watch paint dry than watch her perform. You’ve avoided listening to her solo songs thus far and you have no intention of changing that—especially by seeing her live and in-person.
It’s a ridiculous notion, you think to yourself as you lay back on the bed, hands behind your head as you consider how you’d like to spend the rest of the day.
Fuck, where’s seat 239?
Somewhere amongst the hours of apathy that comprised the afternoon, some dark corner of your brain spawned the idea that this was going to be your best shot at seeing her in-person without financially supporting her. Somehow, that flimsy justification fused with the inexplicable pull you’ve felt and resulted in your decision to show up. Even as you finally find your seat and sit down—just as the lights dim before the first performance—you still don’t know entirely why you’re here.
Luckily, the first couple acts do a wonderful job of distracting you away from overthinking, allowing you to—for the first time since you arrived in the country—relax and enjoy yourself as the true fan of music you’ve always been. That delusion lasts four whole songs before the announcement comes over the loudspeaker and sends a chill down your spine.
She’s next.
You pull out your phone, desperately attempting to draw your eyes anywhere other than the stage. A pair of messages await you and, continuing the trend of bad decisions that’s come to define this particular day, you open them and reveal their contents.
ASong4You: I almost wish you were here to see me perform, hear the roar of the crowd as they scream my name ASong4You: Maybe one day you’ll come to your senses and I’ll make you do the same
The victory lap is … cute. You begin composing a response, but your inner monologue is immediately drowned out by the sounds of screaming as the crowd rumbles to life. You guess, purely based on their reactions, that she’s arrived. You continue your vain quest to refuse to pay her even your attention, instead inspecting the periphery of the stage, where you can see the other participants beginning to appear.
You see the dancers as they dart onto the stage; a dozen join her, then a dozen more. You’re too far to see their eyes, but their bodies tell a sufficient story: one of devotion, determination, and desperation. You wonder what paths their lives have followed—what choices they’ve made to lead them to this place and time. You wonder what they’ve seen, what they’ve heard, what they do when they think of her.
Do they smile? Do they shudder? Does she care if they’ve suffered?
You’ve avoided the inevitable for far too long. You allow your eyes to be drawn to her, pulled in by the magnetism of her performance. You’ve never denied her majesty—never mocked the magic she can create with a microphone. No, it’s her methods, her mentality, her malevolence that’s manifested your misery and madness. The worst part of all is the casual way she carries herself, as if her nationality alone is enough to conceal sins of days long past. It hits particularly close to home for you, especially as you sit here, in a country foreign to the foreign country you reside in. You can’t stop yourself from seething at how she adores the applause, how she cherishes the country and home she holds dear. Any rational thoughts that might have risen to the surface are drowned out by the screams of the fans as they chant her name, cheering for her arrival as she stands atop the stage and the spirits she’s broken.
It’s almost too much. Seeing her here, in her element, shining under the spotlight as she single-handedly inscribes her song into your memories, you’re so close to giving in.
It’d be so much easier to just follow the fantasy, pretend that her performance ends with the final note. It’d be so much easier to assume that her backup dancers are trained to leave the stage that quickly, that their fervor isn’t driven by an acute anxiety at the thought of meeting her eyes. For once, you wish you could do so—wish you could search her soul for the full story. Because here, in this stadium filled with her adoring fans, you can see, hear, feel the passion in her voice.
All you can do is wonder when it began its mutation into malice.
You slip out shortly thereafter, disregarding the remaining acts as you attempt to shake off the unsettling feeling clinging to your bones. It’s a short walk to the hotel, but the climb back up to where you’re staying feels anything but.
It’s somehow worse when you arrive in your room and another message arrives in your inbox. Continuing your streak of bad decisions, you open it as you flip onto the bed, bracing yourself for her latest assault.
ASong4You: Oh, now you have nothing to say? Figures
And that’s all she has to say.
… that’s it? Really?
You’re definitely disappointed and slightly surprised that she didn’t send more. Wait, no, you’re surprisingly disappointed and definitely surprised that … wait … fuck, which bag contains the cure for this headache?
You’re more than familiar with telling stories despite a tired mind—you’ve built your career upon a foundation of fighting against fatigue. The sensation sitting in the pit of your stomach is neither. It’s a weird feeling, somewhere between weariness and wistfulness, but stronger than your feelings of the former and even less justified than an appearance of the latter. A weird feeling for a weird day, one that was filled with nearly nothing except that one thing, but still so exhausting.
It’s a day you’d like to end. Your head hits the pillow, your eyelids flutter closed, and your consciousness fucks off.
And then the sun rises. But its shine paints the sand, not your sheets. You hear not the honking of cars but the crashing of waves; instead of the smell of fresh linens with a hint of lavender, the salty spray of the sea sends its scent straight into your senses. You shift, stand, shuffle, stretch, squint, and search your surroundings. And you see … the sea. Shocker.
But then, just beneath the squawking of the seagulls, you hear it; no, her. It’s the most intimate, unmistakable voice you’d swear you’ve never heard before. Her siren’s song serenades you, showing you the path, inviting you to join her beyond the veil, guiding you past the barrier separating you two. And there’s nothing you’d rather do than follow.
You step forward, feeling the grains of sand shift beneath your feet as you close the distance between you and the shoreline. As you descend the slope further and further—riding the high ever upward—her melody envelops you in its soothing, loving embrace, warding off some of the ocean's chill. You walk until the slope disappears from under your feet, then you swim until the waves settle to reveal a familiar, unrecognizable figure. You swim forth further, closing the distance until you’re face-to-face with the featureless countenance staring back. Even amidst the sway of the sea, the normally harsh pull of the waves seems harmless—almost as if Poseidon himself chose to grant you this moment of privacy.
You see no mouth, but you hear her words all the same—tantalizing whispers of sweet nothings as she asks everything of you. Your attention. Your time. Your heart. Your ambition. For the second time, she touches you. For the first time, she wraps her arms around you and pulls herself against your body. You look down at her, resting her head against your chest as she whispers these words directly into your heart, transcribing these truths upon the strands of your soul as you hold her. Then you look past her and see the endless void of darkness awaiting below the waves.
A chill runs up your already frigid spine, yet despite the overwhelming terror at the possibilities potentially lurking below, you stay. And unlike before, the figure doesn't drag you into the darkened depths, where your shared doom surely awaits. No, she does the same as you. She stays. In your arms, she finds security. In hers, you find solace. You close your eyes, drowning out any sensations other than the sound of her voice.
You open them, and in your empty hotel room, you find silence. You find solitude. And in this darkness, a depraved desire to deliver a response to her gloating drives you back into your DMs.
TurnThePage: I apologize for shattering the illusion that I'm here at your beck & call TurnThePage: But those of us with the unfortunate label of “contributing members of society” have things to do
Fortunately or otherwise, you don't have to wait long for a response:
ASong4You: Oh fuck off, I’m in a good mood this morning and don’t need you ruining it ASong4You: I’d tell you to go hug the ocean floor, but the walk there would be more than you deserve
It’s not the severity of the insult that unnerves you so significantly. It’s the specificity. It’s the timing. It’s honestly just everything about her and even the things tangentially related to her, but mostly those two. It’s an unidentifiable emotion that ends any response you might have had before it even has a chance to manifest, silencing your snark and settling at the forefront of your mind for the rest of the day and beyond, even long after you leave China.
Silence between you two is undeniably the norm, but even as other projects and commitments sweep you away, you can’t help but feel anxious. Even as you focus on other opportunities, there’s an inevitability ticking away at the back of your mind. So, when the whispers first resurface, you’re not surprised, nor relieved, nor excited. If anything, you’re just intrigued. And you plan accordingly.
This time, when you hear confirmation from your contacts, you’re not surprised to hear nothing from her. This time, there’s no tweaking of the statement—no attempts to squeeze in exactly as many characters as are allowed. This time, you don’t let even a minute pass before responding to the announcement of Soojin’s departure. No, this time, you load only a single shot into the chamber. 
This time, you aim for the heart.
"I wish the good-hearted members of (G)I-DLE the best of luck as they navigate the ramifications of their members' actions." (Posted at 8:27 PM)
The tiniest of alterations. The smallest of changes. Seemingly a mistake so inconsequential that even your editor wouldn’t catch it. But for one whose hackles were already raised, that implication of multiple members rather than single outlier is a declaration of war. So, when her message arrives in your inbox, you expect it to burn your eyes with the fury of a thousand suns. What you find is something else entirely.
ASong4You: So, how’s your day going?
Well, that’s unexpected. You know better than to drop your guard, but your curiosity demands that you play along, at least for now.
TurnThePage: Pretty good TurnThePage: Very productive, so that’s always nice TurnThePage: What about yours? ASong4You: Could be better ASong4You: Could be worse TurnThePage: Could it? ASong4You: Probably ASong4You: Not exactly looking to find out TurnThePage: Don’t you want me to at least try? ASong4You: No because I’m quite sure you could easily find a way to make it worse TurnThePage: I was talking about making it better
You watch as she begins typing, then pauses. Assumedly, she changes her mind because her next message surprises you.
ASong4You: You know what? Sure ASong4You: Make my day TurnThePage: I’m pretty confident this’ll work ASong4You: You’re pretty confident about a lot of things TurnThePage: You’re not wrong (Image sent at 8:43PM)
Another pause.
ASong4You: Okay I can’t lie that corgi is pretty cute TurnThePage: I know, right? I've been wanting one for years now, but it doesn't seem fair to leave them locked up when I need to travel for work. ASong4You: It’s nice of you to care TurnThePage: Thanks, I try ASong4You: Do you? TurnThePage: I do! TurnThePage: Sometimes I even succeed
This back and forth continues on for a while, neither of you willing to let the other have the last word. While not stated outright, you’ve realized that she’s somehow found herself with the same goal as you: burning down the walls the other hides behind. It’s honestly pretty cute, but more importantly, it’s genuinely dangerous. Now that the boiling point could be reached at seemingly any moment, you’ve realized that in this rivalry, results matter more than reason.
Thus, the dialogue never dies, ranging from carefully probing questions to mild disagreements to stories about funny occurrences but interestingly, never direct insults or aggression. If anything, as time passes, the frequency increases. The timestamps tell a story of two individuals tied up in ceaseless pursuit, with one message being delivered as the sun descends below the skyline and its response arriving as the following school day begins. The density of messages may be irregular, but the consistency of responses is far from it. Both of you adamantly add to the simmering coals, continuing to fan the flames with your words, gladly accepting the risk of joining the other as a pile of ash.
You want, no, need, her facade to fall. She’ll give anything to “expose” you as the type of villain that frequents Saturday morning cartoons. She’s desperately attempting to maintain her veil of innocence. You’d love nothing more than to see it go up in flames and let the world see the truth as the smoke clears. Neither of you is willing to reveal your hand, and folding isn’t an option. So, this cold war wages on.
It’s an otherwise unremarkable afternoon when the first piece falls into place. You’re scrolling through your timeline, seeking both idle entertainment and diamonds in the rough as you await responses from multiple people. You see one post amongst the sea of several, commenting about (G)I-DLE all getting new phones together because one of them got destroyed. Something about the screen getting shattered when dropped, something that seems insignificant. But you have two eyes for a reason, and what’s the point of having both if you can’t catch double meanings?
So, just in case, you file it away for later, maybe for a rainy day. Three days later, you venture back into your DMs, conversing with her as you hide from the downpour outside.
ASong4You: Honestly I think audio issues are the worst ones to deal with ASong4You: Because usually the people fixing them are using headsets to test everything, so we never have any idea if any progress is being made ASong4You: Like at least with lighting, it’s clear as day when it’s working like it’s supposed to TurnThePage: That makes sense, audio’s always been the type of issue I’m most scared of TurnThePage: Because for interviews, usually I just record the audio and transcribe it later. If the audio is fucked up, I’ve wasted hours, if not days’ worth of time TurnThePage: For me and the client TurnThePage: Luckily, not a very frequent issue, but a concern all the same TurnThePage: Feels like you’ve been hitting a lot of production hiccups recently ASong4You: Yeah, seems like a pretty unlucky streak ASong4You: It’s kinda whatever though, I don’t let little things like that bother me
… but honestly, when she lines it up like that, who could blame you for taking a shot?
TurnThePage: Pretty sure your old phone would say otherwise, but go off ASong4You: Fuck. ASong4You: You. ASong4You: Actually, you know what? Fine. ASong4You: It's been obvious for a while now that you're desperate for attention, so here. I'm listening. ASong4You: What the fuck do you want from me?
It’s such a shame, especially since the conversation was going so nicely. Oh well, you flew too close to the sun and ended up reigniting the blaze between you two. Guess that leaves you with no choice but to fight fire with fire.
TurnThePage: The truth would be too rich for your blood, wouldn’t it? ASong4You: That’s a bit rich coming from you, don’t you think? ASong4You: Considering you’ve never even met me and are just going off of what you’ve heard from rumors TurnThePage: I mean, what else am I supposed to go off of? TurnThePage: We’ve barely talked, but even just based on that, I’m pretty sure meeting you would be detrimental to my health ASong4You: Oh come on, don’t tell me you’re gonna let a little danger get in the way of a date with destiny ASong4You: Aren’t you the type who likes to play with fire? TurnThePage: Aren’t you? ASong4You: Now you’re getting it ASong4You: If you didn’t already have a reason to be backstage at Gayo Daejeon in a few weeks, now you do TurnThePage: What, you’re just expecting me to drop everything and dance with the devil on Christmas of all days? ASong4You: Yes. ASong4You: Come on, it’ll be fun! What’s the worst that could happen?
As much as every part of your mind is screaming that this is a terrible idea, you know that it’s too good of an opportunity to pass up.
TurnThePage: Alright, I’ll be there. Just for you TurnThePage: Think of it as an early Christmas present ASong4You: Only if you come gift wrapped with a little bow on top TurnThePage: Only if you ask nicely ASong4You: In your fucking dreams ASong4You: Speaking of, I have to go contribute to society. Until then, enjoy dreaming of me!
You pause, processing the statement for a moment before sending the last thing you'll say to her for quite some time.
TurnThePage: You too
You close the app, discarding your DMs at least for the moment as you allow yourself to reenter the real world—the world where silence awaits, having settled in long before you did. It’s a comfortable silence, the norm you’ve come to rely on when composing messages and emails and blogs and messages and reviews and tweets and captions and messages. It’s an intentional sensation, amplified by the thick walls and specific location away from the chaos of the city you so desperately sought. It’s the warm blanket that wards off the chills creeping in the darkness as you chase the early morning sun. It’s the friend that helped you find yourself.
It’s deafening.
You stand and grab your keys, intent on grabbing some coffee and a bite to eat before the night steals your last chance to do so. As you wait in one line and then another, you plan out your upcoming days, noting openings in your calendar and marking them down for future opportunities. After all, your schedule might already be busy, but that’s no reason it couldn’t be busier. How else would you want to spend your free time?
The year’s end heralds many things, chief among them the year-end award ceremonies and the annual echoes of insanity you’re forced to subject yourself to once more. One would think that after four iterations of the same song and dance sweeping the circuit, you’d have found a better way to congratulate the usual suspects on their trio of triumphs. While you manage, it’s a slog like nothing you’ve had to fight through since your rookie campaign. The motivation you need to excel always seems to be one cup of coffee or one more procrastinated hour away, yet you continuously fail to muster the energy to snatch it out of the fog afore you.
You somehow manage to write just enough and post it just soon enough to drive the engagement numbers you need to remain ahead of projections for the year. It’s a sigh of relief that’s followed by one of the few exciting traditions amidst an industry filled with formulaic procedures: music festivals.
The KBS Song Festival is a breath of fresh air for you as you go, in-person, for the first time. You’re able to translate your experiences onto the page flawlessly, and the reception to your piece is one of the best yet. It simultaneously excites and pressures you to pay close attention to the next festival you go to in the hopes that you can recreate or even exceed that piece’s success. There’s only one issue.
SBS Gayo Daejun is next.
It’s been complete radio silence since your last message. Two months since she read your response and you each retreated to your bunkers. The war might have grown colder alongside the changing seasons, but you know it’s no less flammable than before. You dress warmly, enough layers to ward off the cold winter air, yet light enough to have options. Just in case.
You arrive early, hours before the event’s 6PM scheduled start time. The Namdong Gymnasium is a massive venue, easily able to seat thousands of rabid fans eager to shake its foundation with their roar. You probably have a press pass somewhere in your email, but you can see the recognition in the eyes of the security when you walk up without a shadow of a doubt; you’ve been to enough of these kinds of events over the past year or so that they’re happy to welcome you in.
Once inside, it takes but a handful of quick conversations over warm handshakes to get a lay of the land and create a mental catalog of where different idols will be waiting and, most importantly, where people won’t be. After all, in life—not just in K-Pop—privacy is priceless. Later, when you find yourself alone, you begin to ponder and plan. You have plenty of time and endless amounts of patience, but not as much of either as you’d like. So, you pull out your phone and do something seemingly detestable. You shatter the silence.
TurnThePage: Tell me when and I’ll tell you where
For once, you’re happy to be swept up into a conversation as the earliest performing groups begin to arrive and greet you warmly. Your ambitions are far too grand to fit within a niche, but as you’ve actively fostered relationships with the brightest rising stars in the business, you’ve kindled a kind of camaraderie over the couple of conversations shared. You wish IVE the best of luck with their upcoming Olympic send-off stage, discuss the remix STAYC will be performing later, and make bets with Aespa whether “Got the Beat” will be weird or wonderful. Of course, the bet ends up being mostly metaphorical since it’s kinda hard to place a wager when all five members of the discussion agree it’ll be the former.
A few hours pass until there’s three until showtime. Your phone vibrates, which could mean many things, but you know what just arrived in your inbox. You allow two more hours to pass before you dip off to the side into a small alcove, allowing you to preview her response in peace.
She sent you a window of time, almost exactly when you’d expected based on the schedule of the performances. You read the message, allow the checkmark to turn blue, then put your phone away. You continue to wait, letting a whole nother hour pass until the broadcast begins, at which point you finally send her your location of choice. It’s an unutilized dressing room about a minute away from where the performers are preparing to go on stage; the perfect spot to find some priceless privacy, leaving you with roughly 10 minutes with which to enjoy it.
As the various artists claim their positions for the opening performance, you decide how best to utilize the upcoming forty minutes. You scope out the scene and develop a plan, starting by targeting those who appear to be anxiously waiting. Those who have a minute to spare, but whose lips are loosened when the second comes around and you’re still asking them to share their story. The hunt pays off, rewarding you with information about Itzy’s upcoming Japan promotions, Oh My Girl’s second album, and Red Velvet’s upcoming concert. You file the information away for later, at the ready just in case it could result in a potential opportunity.
Eventually, your internal clock informs you it’s time. You slip away from the outskirts of the main preparation area, taking a wide berth as you avoid being seen on your way to the intended location. On the way there, you grab a pair of bottles of water, mind already kicking into overdrive as you plan how you want to handle this encounter.
Once you enter the room, you’re pleased to see the mostly bare walls and lack of furnishings aside from a row of mirrors on the far wall and a trio of couches placed around a small table. You note them but disregard them for the moment, instead leaning against one of the smooth concrete walls as you pull out your phone and attempt to respond to a couple of emails. You barely get through one before the turning of a latch and a shock of recently bleached blonde signals her early arrival.
“Hey, glad you could make it,” you say, as if this whole situation were the most casual thing in the world. “Here, catch.”
She deftly snatches the water bottle out of the air, checking the seal immediately as she peers past the plastic with suspicion blatant in her stare. “Thanks, I guess?”
You’re not sure if it’s the room’s acoustics or the unfamiliar lack of a screen or microphone for separation but hearing her voice up close and personal for the first time hits. The sound waves slowly waltz up your spine, sending shockwaves through your synapses as they encircle and entrance your eardrums, then shoot down to the rest of your body and share the sensation. While you smell skepticism coating each third of her trio of words, you also catch something beneath the surface. Intrigue. Amusement. Annoyance. Excitement. And then something else, hidden amongst the huskiest tones of her exhalations. Something even you can’t catch.
You take slow, measured steps as you walk parallel to her, claiming one of the couches as your own as you sit down on one side of the table and she seats herself across from you. “But of course!” you declare jovially, creating an illusion of welcoming even as you reinforce your mental walls. “I can promise it’s not poisoned. There’s far too much I’d love to ask you.”
“Is that so?” she asks, quirking an eyebrow as she puts her feet up on the table. “You seem awfully confident that I’m willing to answer.”
“Can’t help it,” you admit with a shrug, refusing to break eye contact even for a moment as you take a swig of your water. “Side effect of a never-ending streak of successes, I suppose.”
“You’re adorable,” she coos, eyes catching fire for the first time. You watch, gaze unwavering as she leans back, closing her eyes as she takes her own drink of water, then wipes her lips with the back of her hand and holds your eyes once more. “You’re also avoiding the topic at hand.”
“Oh, am I?” you ask, knowing full well what she means but too intrigued to voice the topic yourself. “Please, do tell.”
She leans forward, blowing through any pretense as she demands to know, “Why are you so obsessed with me?”
“Ah, 6:42, starting right on schedule,” you think to yourself, smiling as you shake your head and place your water on the table. “Darling, I love me some self-centeredness, but I think you’ve misunderstood. As much as I refuse to diminish the significance of your sins, I’m nowhere near as invested in your failure as you seem to think. Honestly, if anything, dragging out this ‘drama’ has been great for engagement.”
“Oh, come the fuck on,” she says, hints of a chuckle hidden amongst the darkness in her tone as she stands and uses all 163 centimeters of her figure to barely look down at you. You almost find it ironic that here—in the midst of an argument—is the closest you’ve come to seeing each other eye to eye. “Are you really trying to tell me that the soapbox you preach from was built by the likes, comments, and subscriptions of my stans?”
“I’m not denying that (G)I-DLE’s been a major contributing factor in my growth,” you say, struggling to subdue the smirk attempting to tug at the corner of your lips. “But genuinely, you are just a stepping stone and I’m moving up. It’s nothing personal.”
“Nothing personal?!” she repeats, laughter fully unleashed as she stares at you incredulously. “Stop, it’s so much worse when you lie to both of us.”
“Listen sunshine,” you begin, feeling the smirk seize control as you watch her eye twitch in loathing. “We could have a nice therapeutic conversation where you lie on the big couch between us and I chronicle your odyssey of misdeeds.” You stand, making your way towards the same spot on the wall where you’d waited for her. “Or we could just leave and go back to the silence. Not sure what else we’re here for.”
As you turn and your back hits the wall once more, you see the intensity and intent in her eyes as she closes the distance. You see her muscles tense, you see her arm raise, and you know full well the slap is coming long before it makes contact. But you need no omniscience to identify the most interesting outcome, so you present your left cheek and enjoy the echoes as they reverberate throughout the enclosed space.
“You know, that wasn’t personal,” she says, shaking out her hand like the force of the impact caused her pain too. “Only deserved.”
“Probably,” you admit, savoring the sanguine sensation slowly seeping out behind your smile. “There are probably a couple dozen legitimate reasons to slap me—it’s just a shame that none of them are the one you chose.”
“God fucking damnit,” she growls, low voice dipping even deeper as she clenches her fists. “What do you want from me?”
"What do I want from you?" you repeat, letting the question linger in the air for a moment before meeting her fiery gaze head-on. Your heart pounds at a frantic rate, yet you keep your voice steady and unwavering as you continue. “I want you to drop the act. I want you to stop pretending like you’re some sort of hero when you’re the villain in every story told about you.” 
“What did I say about believing everything you hear?” she purrs, bits of that casual confidence resurfacing even as you see your words shake her to her core.
“Then tell me something different,” you demand, teeth grinding as the conversation goes nowhere. “Tell me something I can believe, even better if it’s the truth. Look me in the eyes and tell me—from the heart—that I’m wrong.”
“I … I can’t,” she admits, hints of vulnerability creeping into those eyes that burned so bright mere moments ago.
“God fucking damnit,” you growl, voice dipping lower once more. “Then why should I care about anything you have to say?”
“Why do you care in the first place?” she snaps back, voice rising with anger. “I don’t remember asking you to stick your nose into my life and threaten everything I’ve worked so hard to achieve!”
The silence weighs heavily on you both, growing more and more deafening as each passing second leaves an impact crater on your eardrum. You have so many reasons—all these puzzle pieces within your mind—yet you can’t seem to assemble a decent response. You’re both just stuck here, with all this emotion and no fucking answers to show for it. Instead, you search, staring into those blazing eyes as if the darkness within hides the truths you’ve been searching for. But in this hell you find no revelations, only the pain you’ve only ever found in your reflection. All you see is the slow infusion of crimson into her visage, the part of her lips as her pained exhalations batter your heaving chest. Your eyes never leave hers, and hers nearly mirror yours. Nearly. She cracks for a single moment—a mere second where her stare flicks down unconsciously. And it’s all the signal you need to capitalize on your chosen position.
With her frame, it truly is as easy as playing with a doll to flip your positions, pinning her against the wall as you tower over her. Her eyes widen with surprise, then narrow with expectation. You slam one hand against the wall, granting you additional leverage and knocking her even further off guard as you lean in, cupping her chin with your other hand and tilting her head up. When your lips first meet, there’s no cliches—no fireworks going off and no chorus accompanying the moment. There’s only friction and the insistent sensation of her pillowy lips against the firm control of your own. The kiss is far from gentle; passionate, yes, but not the sensual, romantic passion that others who use that word would think of. Emotions—ones that are similar, not identical—clash against one another as your tongues find each other and she tastes the metallic tang of the blood she’s spilled.
You thank whoever’s listening for well-tailored clothes as your hand leaves her chin and begins to explore, tracing her collarbone before gliding your fingertips across the bare skin of her arm. You leave goosebumps in your wake as you venture further down to her waistline and under her shirt, nails gently dragging across the toned muscles of her abs and the taut skin concealing her ribcage and hammering heart. Your hand doesn’t even have to slide under her bra for you to earn a moan, slipping past her inhibitions and feeding directly into your ego as you graciously decide to grant her request for escalation. You take advantage of your already slightly bent knees as you raise one between her legs, slipping your thigh past her own as you grind it against her sex and send her pleasure receptors into overdrive. So needy, you whisper, lips ghosting over her jawline as your breaths carry the words into her very soul. We’re barely in the opening measure, and you’re nearly ready for a crescendo.
The resentment in her eyes would hit much harder if she could maintain even a modicum of control, but with the way your knee’s grinding against her sopping heat, you almost manage to muster a miniscule smidgen of sympathy. Almost. Maybe you’ll find it elsewhere. You begin your brazen search, sending your second hand under her shirt and beginning to knead at her hints of breasts as you elicit moans so sinful they'd make Lucifer blush. Even as your knee rises further—its grinding growing in intensity as it pushes her onto the tips of her toes and you send her head above the clouds—you can’t seem to ensnare her stare. Despite her delirium, her gaze instead darts literally anywhere else, inspecting the bare walls of the austere dressing room as if they're the adorned walls of the fucking Louvre as she desperately avoids meeting your eyes. Desperately avoids confirming what her moans have already spoiled. Desperately avoids giving you the credit you know damn well you deserve.
“Come on baby, don’t be like this. You should know it’s so much worse when you lie to both of us.”
Her moans morph into growls as she desperately attempts to catch her breath, trying in vain to fuel her fire while still finding a way to respond. Anything to smother your smugness and wipe out the whispers. “F-fuck off, aren’t there more important things that mouth should be doing?”
Your wild smile widens—nearly to the point of lunacy—as you continue to lead her towards the edge. “Maybe if you ask nicely. A princess like you should know how to speak properly.”
“Fuck off you—fuck!”
Any eloquence remaining within her addled mind is whisked away alongside her scraps of breath as your teeth latch into the crook of her neck, biting with just enough force to mark her without actually breaking the skin. Her mewling in response is both maddening and mesmerizing, magnifying both her mania and magnetism as you devour another sensitive area and amplify your assault on her psyche. Simply continuing your current misdeeds is enough to heighten the tension even further, allowing you the freedom to do as you please. You give her everything she wants, and then a bit more. You give her what she didn’t want, remaining silent for countless seconds as you mark her skin and allow her the opportunity to speak. All she can offer in response are gasps and hiccups and moans—anything to stay coherent enough to experience this ecstasy. Interwoven amongst that need is her want, fragments of phrases and fuck and I and you and oh God and I’m and OH GOD and OH GOD FUCK.
“Yes sweetheart, I know just how badly you wish this could last forever, but we’re on the clock for a reason,” you drawl, dragging your incisor along her throbbing vein up to her jawline. “So why don’t you drop the act and be the good little slut you’re dying to be?” The lightest of kisses placed upon her jaw, the type a fool could misinterpret as affectionate. “Babble whatever you like, but we both know that the truth is already stained into my slacks.” Another—upon her cheek this time. “So just do it.” On her earlobe. “Give in.” Behind her ear. “Cum.” Into her heart.
Her eyes flare with fury for the briefest moments before her tremors tell all and her nails dig into your arms. You hear the desperation she’s been choking back this entire time finally break through as her grip on you tightens, her world goes dark, and she sinks her teeth into your shoulder. She sobs, shaking like a lone leaf amidst the storm as you waltz into her vault of core memories and claim your rightful spot atop them all.
In the following moments, the only thing stopping silence from settling in is the intensity of her breathing as she desperately attempts to calm her thunderous heartbeat and collect her thoughts. As for her pride ...
"Fuck."
The lone word lingers in the air, only heightening the tension as mental fog and fatigue prevent her from relighting the fire that had recently burned so bright. You wait as her breath catches once more and she chokes down oxygen, savoring the silence in the interim. While your patience has often paid off, that’s not why you refuse to speak up now. No, it’s because you know the truth that she’ll never admit—the truth that each moment of recovery acts as further recognition of your performance. So yeah, you’re willing to wait. You may be rock hard and yet to be pleasured, but your ego has been stroked sufficiently enough for seventy centuries, so why not bask in the afterglow?
Once she musters enough mettle to match your gaze, you can’t tell whether she wants to murder or mount you immediately. Likely both. She opens her mouth to speak, but you cut her off with a response, showing her the truth—the higher priority. You show her the time: 6:52. Two minutes until she needs to be back. She immediately understands, and you allow her the room to escape the wall she’s been pinned against. As you make sure the room is in order, she utilizes one of the mirrors to craft her best impression of composure. This time, both of you finish simultaneously, and she turns to leave unceremoniously.
“Wait.” Despite having every reason not to, she stops, listening to your command and turning to face you. You have no words that need to be spoken, but you toss her your scarf, just in case. She nods in understanding, then sighs in realization. Because you’ve helped make sure that no one else will find out. But you’ve also reminded her that she’ll never forget what happened here.
“Daejejeon?” she asks, curiosity peeking through as she references the upcoming music festival.
“And the afterparty,” you affirm, confirming her intrigue and your New Year’s Eve plans.
“I’ll see you then,” she declares as she turns to depart.
“I’ll see you then,” you call out to the retreating form. “You’ll see me much sooner than that.”
A lone finger is her only response. The singular nature of the gesture elicits a chuckle as you begin your own exit down a different path, knowing full well that you’ll be monopolizing her dreams for at least a few nights. And as you exit the building to view the vast darkness overhead, you can’t help but wonder what secrets await you in the silent hours of the next six nights.
Only one way to find out.
Continued in Act Two …
(Special shoutouts to @braaan and @passingnotions for their insights and the time they chose to invest into this fic, I will always be so, so thankful for your support. To you, the reader, I offer both my sincerest appreciation for your patience and a promise that there’s much more to come if you’re willing to continue forth. Yuqi shows up far more frequently moving forward, and there might even be a pretty little powder keg to add in a bit of extra color. Only one way to find out.)
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jonghoslvt · 1 day
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Imagine Mingi fucking you in missionary while his cross chain dangles over your face and he’s cooing at you. “It’s okay baby you got this, you can take me, ahh you’re almost there.”
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g0niki · 2 days
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camera's on: take two ── y.jw p.js
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camera's on (pt.1) (read me first!!!)
pairing: bf!jungwon x afab!reader x classmate!jay
word count: 2.3k+
content: no protection (don't be like them.), oral (m&f receiving), mxm (no penetration, but more than kissing), exhibitionism, dom!jay, switch!won, sub!reader, jw and reader are no thoughts head empty, creampies, recording. lmk if i missed anything! minors dni.
a/n: i was feeling silly and i didn't proof read🤸. please share your thoughts with me in the comments, reblogs, or my inbox! I also won't be adding more to 'camera's on' (at least as of right now) but i will still write for jaywon and other duos!! going to try and write more about the other members 🤞
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jungwon had been standing on the tip of his toes for the whole week, eager for the upcoming friday. 
won bit on the end of his pencil, uninterested in his lecture about the mayan empire and the legacy they left behind. his focus was completely locked in on the analog clock dangling above the exit. the hands ticking and taunting him with every passing second, the pencil sitting in between his teeth being bent up as he bit down harder and harder.
unfortunately, the first tape had been lost but luckily for him, jay was feeling generous enough to allow another session free of charge (as long as he would have a feature). 
he knew you would already be home getting ready, probably letting jay get comfortable and set up while he’s forced to miss out on even the smallest of interactions. 
the thought of you and jay getting started up without him almost being enough to make him leave his lecture early.. yet at the same time he wouldn’t mind.
god, he hopes that’s what the two of you are doing. 
and just before he could get lost in the thought, imagining jay’s name rolling off the tip of your tongue as he rushes down the hall of your shared apartment, his professor is dismissing the class.
【☆】★【☆】
jungwon fumbles with his keys, struggling to get the right one into the keyhole. his bag tugging down on his shoulder as he fumbles with the doorknob, forcing his way into the small apartment.
only to be welcomed by silence. 
he knew you were home, you hadn’t told him about a change of plans. he lets his bag fall onto the floor next to your couch, eyeing the two pairs of shoes next to the entrance, clearly indicating the presence of both you and jay. 
“baby? did you guys set up?” he calls out as he creeps towards the room, the only place you and jay could be.
his stomach turned, anticipating what was going on behind the closed door. he could hear jay’s hushed whispers, the conversation between you too being inaudible. 
jungwon opened the door to the very scene he was wishing for. you were sitting between jay’s legs, your own splayed open as the older boy spread your folds,  the camera pointing directly towards the two of you. 
“good girl, you held in your sounds til jungwon could make it home.” jay used his free hand to push back the sweaty strands of hair off of your face. 
your cheeks were flushed, your face scrunched up as you used all your might to try and not make a single sound. 
“she’s waiting on you won,” jungwon's jaw slightly dropped, admiring the sight of the two of you. your naked forms pressed up against each other and waiting for him.
“you can let it all out now pretty.” the moment you heard your boyfriend’s smooth voice you were throwing your head back against jay’s shoulder, a strained moan leaving your throat as your back slightly arched and you forced your pelvis further into jay’s hand.
jay hadn’t even put his fingers inside of you, only playing with your clit and tracing the outsides of your hole lightly. he wouldn’t go as far as penetrating you in any sort of way without your boyfriend around and he was glad he didn’t. the way you were dripping down onto his fingers and leaving his hand soaked was amusing to him. 
you were so easy to toy with, almost as if you had never been fucked. and that made him want to tease you even more.
“why don’t you come warm up too jungwon?” jay so easily picked you up, moving your body next to him and signaling won to him. “this week looks like it’s been hard to you, hasn’t it?”
jungwon dumbly nodded, walking over to stand in between jay’s open legs. 
“mm, both of you are too dumb to use your words today. maybe if i help you relax a bit you’ll start speaking up, yeah pretty boy?” 
jay’s hands found jungwon’s, the older boy standing up to now tower over him. moving the two of them around and giving jungwon his former place on the edge of the bed. 
you watched in awe as jay tugged down jungwon’s loose sweats. freeing his painfully hard and swollen member, letting it slap against his hoodie. 
won moaned at the feeling, his sensitive tip rubbing against the cotton material and leaving a dab of precum. 
“both of you are so needy, look at this.” jay lightly blew on jungwon’s tip, his cock jumping in response.
“please hyung.” won’s voice was whiney, and you clenched your legs together watching. your boyfriend’s needy response has you pouting, you hated seeing him not get taken care of.
“come on jay, he’s asking nicely.” you crawled up behind your boyfriend, sitting on your knees and placing light kisses and licks along your boyfriend’s neck. 
“oh, so you can speak?” jay laughed lightly, slapping jungwon’s thigh just to get a reaction. “lucky i’m feeling extra nice today.”
before the two of you could even process it, jay is wrapping his lips around jungwon’s cock. his tongue gently tracing the underside of his tip, won’s body shuddering in response.
jay didn’t bother to take any more of jungwon in his mouth, only paying the swollen end any attention. the both of you knew not to ask for more.
jay’s eyes looking up at the both of you. you were doing your best to feel included, marking up every open surface and leaving the prettiest purple marks on jungwon’s neck, but jay could see the subtle pout on your face. he knew you wanted to feel included. 
he slowly pulled off of jungwon’s tip, letting it rest against his bottom lip for a moment. the saliva serving as a gloss for his lips, jungwon’s member getting more excited by the moment, jumping as jungwon let every single groan and moan leave his throat.
“oh my fucking gosh hyung.” jay wasn’t even doing anything at the current moment yet won felt like he was about to spill all over the cameraman’s face. 
“hey pretty, go grab the camera for me.” your eyes immediately lit up at jay’s command, pushing yourself off the mattress and grabbing the device. “now hand it to jungwonnie and get down here with me.” 
won felt like he was going to faint. the image of you sitting on your knees next to jongseong sends his brain into overdrive. the evident size difference between you two, the rough and dark look jay had in comparison to your soft and head-empty appearance giving him whiplash. 
he watched as jay grabbed the back of your head and had you lean closer to jungwon’s stiff cock, forcefully placing you face-to-face with it.
jay places the tip of jungwon’s cock onto your lips, tapping it against the bottom of your mouth a couple of times, the both of them groaning at the sight.  
“i can’t take this anymore.” 
almost as if it were on cue, jay is leaning forward and sandwiching jungwon’s tip between the two of your lips. his tongue coming out to fight with yours and caress the sensitive end all at the same time.
jungwon’s hands gripped the camera. he could’ve sworn he was hearing colors at this point. 
the way you whined against him was driving him insane. the two tongues providing extra stimulation and the whole view being displayed on the camera’s monitor getting him even harder. 
he could see the tears pricking your eyes, how desperate you were to please him and keep up with jay. 
he felt bad looking at his pretty girl lack so much attention, so he did what any good boyfriend would do. 
he pushed his leg closer to your core, watching as you immediately used it to get yourself off. the material of his sweats rubbing against your clit and giving you the extra energy you needed to drool on his cock and start kissing down the base. 
won tangles his hand in the older’s hair, pulling the boy off of him and admiring his lustful eyes and sharp jaw. 
“what won?” he looked uninterested in what jungwon had to say, if it wasn't for the bulge firmly pressing against his pants jungwon would've almost thought he didn't want to be there.
“look at her. she’ll take anything right now.” won gave jay a fake pout, the two of them watching how you licked up and down won’s member, paying special attention to your favorite vein. 
jay quickly grabbed the camera from won’s hands and focused the lens on you. capturing your eyes pinched tightly together as your hips desperately rutted up and down. 
"holy shit..." won’s neck was thrown back, his member shooting out cum and decorating your cheeks and eyelashes. 
the two of them watch as you swipe the fluid off your face and scoop it into your mouth instead, locking eyes with the camera and giggling.
“camera’s going back up, get on the bed.” jay moves towards the tripod, setting up his camera once again, slightly zooming in and only keeping the bed within the frame. “look at you two, so desperate.”
the camera displays both you and won laying on your sides and sloppily making out. won’s hands clutch at your waist, pulling you closer and rubbing his cock against your clit. the repeated nudging of his head making you whine into his mouth and he can’t help but suck up every single noise you make.
jay lets his cock throb at the view, his head dripping beads of precum as he uses his pointer finger to lightly graze the end of his cock. 
“go on jungwonnie~ fuck her already.” 
you pull away for a moment, hands in his hair and admiring his glassy eyes. “I want it so bad, give it to me please~” you slide your hand between the two of your bodies,  lifting your leg and lining up his member with your entrance. 
jungwon’s hips jump forward on instinct. his dick pushing into you and feeling the warmth of your velvety walls, squeezing his eyes shut and rutting into you. the thrust are short, only pulling out maybe an inch or two before slamming his hips back into yours as he eagerly chases his release. 
“please, fuck- fuck i’m going to cum.” he buries his face into your chest, kissing the tops of your breast. his kisses become messier and messier, leaving marks behind as he speeds up the pace of his hips, his pelvis coming into contact with your clit every time he fucks up into you, ticking you closer and closer to your high . “i’m filling you up- fuck…”.
the warm thick liquid coating your inside, sending you over the edge. he pushes this face into your boobs more, biting down on the supple flesh. his teeth sinking in hard enough to have you squirming, possibly drawing a bit of blood. 
the both of you panting in silence for a moment before jay speaks up, startling the both of you. 
“let’s get our final scene, okay?” he gets in the bed behind you, grabbing your smaller frame and sliding you off of won’s sensitive cock. “gonna make you feel real good princess.” 
he lays flat on his back, pulling you on top of him and pressing your back on top of his chest. his dick now aligned with your cunt, the mixture of you and jungwon dripping down onto his thick shaft.
without warning he’s pushing you down onto his length, won’s cum helping ease the stretch.
“so fucking tight, no wonder he cums so quick.”  jay uses his hand to lightly apply pressure on your lower stomach, heightening the feeling of his dick.
won dumbly watches, his mouth slightly hanging open in awe at the sight. 
“won… need more~” you squeak out to him. you were so close to being gone, his pretty girl being so so good for jay. taking him so well and still wanting more. 
no one would ever be able to satisfy you the way he does. fucking jay, yet still needing him. 
and who was he to deny you?
jungwon crawled over and settled himself between the tangled mess of legs.
leaning down so closely to your stuffed cunt and blowing against it. your body jolting at the feeling, making his eyes light up and a light smirk settle on his lips.
“look at that pretty, the way you clench around him is so cute.” your back arches against jay’s chest. the older wrapping his arms around you to hold you still.
looking down you see won lean in and wrap his soft lips around your clit. suckling on it softly, giving you the last bit of pleasure you needed, but he doesn’t stop there. 
his tongue lolling out of his mouth and moving down to circle your cunt, bringing pleasure to both you and jay. 
jay’s thighs shake at the feeling, and jungwon likes that reaction. 
the younger boy moves down even further, taking jay’s balls into his mouth and sucking on them for a moment before pulling them out of his mouth with a pop. won sticks out his tongue and licks jay from his balls up to where he is inside of you. 
sliding his wet muscle into your cunt alongside jongseong’s cock, sliding against the sensitive vein. 
the feeling of won’s nose bumping against your bruised clit making you squirm and scream, tears welling up in your eyes as you babble out nonsensical begs and pleases as you cum. 
 jay adding more to the mess inside you with the final flick of jungwon’s tongue against his thick cock. 
jungwon sits back, watching the two of you grab onto each other and ride out your highs with a satisfied smile on his face.
“that was better than the take we lost.”
“oh yeah about that, i never lost the take.” you and won snapping your necks to look at jay. “what? i couldn’t pass up on another threesome with you two.” 
ᯓ★
@g0niki all rights reserved. do not translate or post my work anywhere without permission.
🏷️: @pansies-garden
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vixlentnabi · 3 days
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NCT dream NSFW links!
Mdni !!!
›‹ !
Jeno treats you like a brat whenever you act out to him, this time was no different. he loved how you squirmed under his touch.
Jaemin loves when you ride him, especially when he sees your tits bounce infront of him. He couldn't resist sucking on them
Renjun is so whiney when he fucks you, he just loves burying himself into you.
Chenle fucks your thighs whenever you’re too tired to fuck.
Mark got so needy seeing you in tight little shorts he couldn’t help himself.
Heachan loves teasing you, and you love his fingers.
Jisung playing with you during a movie date.
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luvyeni · 3 days
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p. boyfriend!shotaro x fem bodied reader | warnings: dirty talk, oral ( m. receiving ), really unsafe driving methods ( please don't give head while driving ) | words: 0.3k ~ (357) 🦦ㆍ₊⊹
authors note. a small drabble for taro ❤️
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
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“fuck baby what are you doing?” shotaro almost swerved into the other lane as he felt you squeeze his thigh; trying to grab your hands to keep you from pulling his cock out from his sweatpants.
“come taro, i’ve given you head in the car before.” He let out a smile, but you were serious, tying your hair back. “yeah, not while im driving!” you ignored him, telling him to keep his hands on the wheel. “just pay attention to the rode.” He sighed, letting you have your way— he didn’t even really put up a fight.
He lifted his hips, eyes still on the rode as you pulled his cock out from his sweats, stroking it until it was fully erected. “fu-fuck baby.” He sighed, forcing himself to keep his eyes open. “hurry up.” You undid your seatbelt, turning to body facing him. “hurry up and suck me off.”
You leaned over to his side, giving his cock a kiss; and a lick. “shit, put it all the way in.” he clutched the wheel. “oh fuck.” He groaned as you took him fully into your mouth, you could feel him speeding up the car— probably desperate to get home.
Your head bobbing up and down on his cock, gagging occasionally when he would accidentally buck his head up; desperately wanting to grab the back of your head, pushing your head all the way down. “fuck, baby fuck.” He moaned out— a stop light a head. “fuck im gonna cum.”
The car came to a stop, just on time. “shit im cumming.” He groaned throwing his head back, filling his cum hit the back of your mouth. “oh fuck.” He sighed as you slowly release his cock with a pop. “shit baby.” His face red and sweaty. “you’re crazy.”
He watched you swallowed his cum, reaching over to give you a kiss. “shit.” He was looking past you. You turned to see what he was looking at— a guy in the car next to you, eyes widened. “you think he saw?” you shrugged, smirking as shotaro hurriedly sped off.
“I guess he got a good show right?”
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©️LUVYENI
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he115re · 17 hours
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Nice tits
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Literally just the dreamies holding/touching your tits :)
MDNI!! , tit holding, nipple play, kissing, teasing?, uhm might've forgotten something.
He is the type to mindlessly play with your tits. You're both laying on the couch cuddled up to each other. In your most comfortable clothes, he has an arm over your shoulder while the other holds his phone. He's scrolling mindlessly trying to fill his mind of something as ads roll. The hand by your shoulder slowly slips into your sweater by the collar and immediately finds your soft nipple his cold hands making it harden.
Mark
You look at him to see if he's doing it on purpose but to your surprise he's still mindlessly scrolling. He takes the nub between his fingers and starts lightly tweaking it. You sigh at the feeling, he's done this so much he doesn't even have to think about it.
You put your hand atop his to get his attention and he looks at you confused. He looks down at where his hand is and then at you and gives you an apolagrtic smile going to move his hand "I didn't tell you to stop" you mutter as you move in closer to him.
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A boyish smile plasters across his face as you climb on his lap and start kissing his neck. "Would've done this ages ago if I knew you'd act like this". You don't think of protesting to his statement, instead you shut him up by kissing him.
Renjun
When I tell you he knows you like his hands. He'll take any opportunity to say that. Puts his hand on your thigh and lightly squeezes while he's talking to a friend.
But his favorite activity so far is pulling your shirt up and holding your tits, you'll look down to see his hands and then to him and he'll just smile "thought they needed a holder" he says as he playfully pushes them up. Your nipples between his forefinger and middle finger, he pinches at them before moving to using this thumb to circle the now hard buds "and you said you loved my hands" he whispers in your ear "you can watch them as I play with your tits" he whispers as he kisses just below your earlobe.
Whatever you were doing is forgotten as you lean into his touch. You put your hands on his forearms as he continues go play with your tits. He lightly tugs at the buds watching your face for every reaction as he does so.
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Face first into them. He'll come back from the gym and just needs to recharge. He'll drop his bag and crawl on top of you, lifting your shirt up making you giggle as his soft and damp hair tickles your skin. He knows you don't wear a bra while at home so all he needs to do is lay down.
Jeno
And lay he does his weight on you like a weighted blanket, his considerably hotter body warming you up. Any protest of him being too warm, too heavy, or stinky fall to deaf ears, he knows you love this about him. He's heard one too many times, of you talking to your friends about it when you think he's asleep.
If you start complaining a little too much though he'll sneak one of his hands up to your tit and gently massage it also lifting his head up so he can take your nipple into his mouth. Instantly your words get caught in your throat and his actions as he rolls the hardening bub between his lips. It's muscle memory at this point, he doesn't need to put much thought into remembering what you like.
Heachan
He lightly sucks at the bud rolling his tongue along the tip. He release it with a wet pop as he moves his head go the other resuming the same actions. You put your hand on top of patting it gently "okay-o-kay i-i get it I'll shut up" you say in defeat and he pauses his actions "but please don't stop" you mumble. He smiles and continues pulling you almost impossibly close to him.
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Omg gamer alert. He loves playing games but he also loves watching you play games, any kind of game as long as you're passionate about it. Just the intensity of your concentration. You're so in tune that you didn't notice him sneaking up behind you, or when his hands slid under your shirt to grope your breasts.
You only really take notice when he tells you to use a specific item. Now the warmth on your chest makes sense. But you don't bother to say anything "it's extra support" as he excuses now playing with your nipples as he watches you play. "Heachan you're distracting me" you protest as you slightly curl into yourself. God if only he didn't know they were so sensitive.
He smirks "oh,don't mind me" he says as he continues now also kissing along your neck. He completely understands why you distract him from his game a whole lot now. A moan slips past your lips as he starts to suck a new hickey onto your neck. You quickly hit pause on your game and try your best to pull him closer to you.
Jeamin
"Fu-fuck this" you mumble as you pull him into a kiss which he gladly accepts. He leans over your pushing you deeper into it. Oh now he gets it, the power he feels just from doing this, he could get used to doing this more often.
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Loves watching you dress. Especially when you're still half asleep. The first thing you put on is a some pants. Then you walk around looking for your bra. And when you find it, you waddle on over to him for help. Tho it's not his favorite thing in the world "aw cmon let your tits outs" he'd protest but he does enjoy helping you put the clasps on if you're struggling. He gets to sneakily hold you tits saying he's adjusting the cups.
He also enjoys seeing your shirt bunched up at the top as you try to remember where you left your deodorant. He always comes up behind you and slides one of his hands under the cup of your bra as he reaches up to where it is, he always miss places it so he has the chance to. He squishes at the soft flesh as he leans down to kiss your cheek "you always forget where you put it~" he teases as he puts the deodorant in your hands.
It seems now's the time to forget about getting dressed as you turn your head to capture your lips in his, you don't miss the little smirk as you do so.
Chenle
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Domestic moment! Doesn't usually do it out of the blue, but seeing you doing some menial task like washing the dishes, making your self a snack, standing the kitchen while he's in there, just doing anything in the kitchen. It fills him with the urge of being close to you. Skin to skin. But he can't since he doesn't want to disturb you.
Jisung
So he settles for sliding his hands under your shirt, resting his hands on your bare hips and playing with the waistband of your shorts. "Lele what are you doing? " you ask with a slight giggle as he taps his fingers. "Can't I touch the love of my life? " he asks as he lightly squeezes at your hips.
You shake your head "I know what you're doing" you say in faux annoyance. Even if he doesn't do it often you know his ulterior motives. He feigns ignorance as he slides his hands up your hips to your waist "I have no idea what you're talking about". He says smile clear in his voice. His hands keep on wantering until they're at your ribcage just below the swell of your breast.
"Chenle" you say in a warning tone, but just as you utter his name he does the opposite. He easily pushes up your bra and replaces it by cupping your breasts. He smiles to himself as you sigh in defeat. He lays his head on your shoulder to look at what you're doing "whatcha doing anyways? " he innocently asks looking at your hands that are frozen in place as he starts to toy with your nipples.
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He shyly slides his hands up to your chest. They were already there hugging your waist as you sit in his lap. He can't remember exactly why you're there but now he just has to hold them in his hands. They inch up slowly watching for any hesitate.
But to his suprise you just move his hands to your tits yourself, a surprised gasp leaving his lips as you do so. He hides his face in the crook of your neck slightly embarrassed by your boldness. But that doesn't mean he'll stop. You just gave him permission why would he stop now?
His hands automatically cup your breasts lightly squeezing at the flesh as he gently rolls his fingers over it. He loves the small reactions you give him despite being immersed in your own thing. The small gasp you let out as his pointer finger pushes on your nipple and then rolls over it. Or the way you stiffle a moan as he starts kissing at your neck both of his hands now gently playing with your tits. He's all too observant of every reaction even when you slightly shift and lean back against him.
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miniversse · 1 day
Text
⭑ “flaws and all” ⭑
Tumblr media Tumblr media
⭑ bang chan x female reader
⭑ content includes: sex, oral (f receiving, m receiving), releasing, weed, body insecurity, scars, established relationship, non idol chan, non idol reader, pet names (baby, channie), build up
⭑ note: if you want to jump to the nsfw content, i have placed a dash indicating the beginning of it, but the build up is worth it! (this piece is low key chan worship hshshs)
⭑ minors dni
⭑——————————————————⭑
it was 02:34 am. you and chan lay in his bed, the dim purple light of his room illuminating his peaceful face. the room smelt of your boyfriends weed and black musk fragrance, two scents intertwined with one another in your mind. his raspy voice makes an appearance over the faint music playing…
“what do you love me for, y/n?”
his question pierced the silence between you, and you answer him with as much honesty as your physical state can offer.
“a lot chan, a lot. maybe your voice, your face, your personality, your dedication, your patience, your love. a lot”
he turns to face you, eyes red and heavier than ever, but oh prettier than ever. the corner of his lips slightly curve upwards for a slight second and he fidgets with his earring. you didn’t lie when you said those things to him. no matter what chan did, he was perfect to you.
“so… you’re telling me you don’t care about the scar on my back? my unhealthy addiction to weed? my anger issues you have to deal with? my unbelievably long work hours? my body changes?” he takes another smoke of his rolled joint, ironically, before continuing. “i mean, i don’t know. there’s a lot of shit you don’t have to deal with, ‘yknow?”
“i know chan, but people aren’t close-minded like that. of course i see more good in you than bad”
“but that’s the thing y/n, i don’t want you to see bad in me”
“baby” you stop to place a hand on his hair, raising his bangs up only for them to fall back down.
“i love you, flaws and all”
-
it’s almost like a spell was casted as he grabs you and places you above his body, connecting his lips with yours. they felt warm and plush as always. his kisses were hungry and full, taking you all in with every time you connected. his tounge dances with yours, the sounds of your make out session bounce across his walls. he kissed you until he couldn’t breathe anymore. disconnecting
from you with a string of saliva.
the way his eyes looked into yours spoke enough for you to understand how much he appreciated you. he grabs your neck from behind, lowering your head down to make your ear parallel to his lips.
“if you love me flaws and all, show me. yeah?” he whispers to make sure only you could hear him. he plants a kiss on your ear before letting you go, letting you be free, letting you do everything you desire to do, because you fucking loved him.
within a few swift moves, you both remained in your undergarments, making out again while you touch around his member, feeling it harden and rise.
“let me get on my knees”
he lets out a breathy chuckle as you get down to the cold floor on your knees, waiting for him to adjust by the edge of the bed. the music had stopped by now, but the drunk party goers outside filled the silence, and soon will your moans
your fingers wrap around the hem of his boxers, sliding down the fabric that was in a losing game with his cock. you couldn’t wait and so couldn’t he, so you begin to lick the precum forming from his swollen cock. his head darts back quickly, using you hair as a handle. your tongue glides down and up, until he’s fully coated with your saliva. your mouth then takes his cock in, struggling to fit it all. but chan begins to thrust his hips, forcing it down your throat. he whines and moans endlessly.
“mmh, baby. fuh-king shit.”
you pick up the pace, knowing that pulsating was signaling his release. your tongue glides over his member while your mouth reaches to the end of its length, gagging through the process. and at last, your mouth felt warm and heavy with his release. you swallowed it whole, licking any excess off of him.
“shit, shit, shit, fuuckk.” his jaw was fixated on being open as his head fell back, the veins on his neck making an appearance.
“baby you’re, mh, so good”
“i can be better”
you push him back up to the mattress, laying on top of him and letting him strip you bare. his fingers left hot trails where ever he touched you. and both your cores were empty and desperate. your hand makes way to his back, tracing his scar several times until chans eyes grew heavier, and hungrier.
“leave it baby, focus on me”
“it’s apart of you, channie. no one else can have such beautiful marks”
he licks his lips and smiles, his cheeks turn a soft pink, and you know you’ve brought him back to the chan you know.
he guides your waist closer to his member, raising your body above his cock and looking into your eyes for any hesitation, but they only showed love and desperation to have him inside you. he pushes your body down and you synchronize in grunts and moans. he stretches you out while passionately placing kisses on your chest. his hunger doesn’t hold back as he helps you ride his lower torso.
“y-you’re flaws make me love you even more. in my eyes, th-they are perfect imperfections-s”
he didn’t stop to react or to say anything, rather he took more control of you, making you slam into him faster, harder and more lovingly. you moaned into his ears and he did the same. chan would whimper from time to time, and it made you reach your climax even faster.
“come with m-me baby, ok?” he groans into your ear
“mmh, but i’m a-almost there”
“y-yeah, a-almost there”
his hands give in, and he leaves the rest to you. you’re legs begin to shake and your bodies prepare to release. you slam into him one last time, and your arousals commence together, your releases dripping out of your pussy. he lifts your body off and lays you down on the mattress, his head moving down to your swollen, pulsating pussy.
“let me taste us”
his tongue follows a straight, strict path from your vagina to your clit, taking pauses to swallow whatever gathers in his mouth. your eyes roll to the back of your head as he sucks and licks cluelessly. with no shame whatsoever, you come again and straight into chans mouth. his laugh vibrates in your pussy as you moan sweet nothings to him.
it’s back to how it was, except it was 03:11am, you and chan lay in his bed, naked. the dim red light of his room illuminating his flushed face. the room smelt of sex, your boyfriends weed and black musk fragrance, three scents intertwined with one another in your mind. his quite snores keep you up all night, but so does your tireless finger tracing every curve of his body.
“you’re art, chan”
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