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𝕮𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖊𝖑 𝕺𝖚𝖗 𝕻𝖑𝖆𝖓𝖘

Hyunjin x fem!reader

You plan out a fun weekend off for Hyunjin, but his plans are different from yours…

Word Count: 2k

Genre: smut (18+ minors DNI)

Warnings: smut, mature content, 18+ minors DNI, oral/fingering (f. receiving), implied unprotected sex, size kink if you squint, mature language

The sunlight coming into the room, filtered through the curtains, isn’t exactly the brightest. Yet, it’s still enough to bring Hyunjin out of his much-needed rest that morning. But he didn’t mind, because it meant more time with you. Sadly, he’s confronted by another awakening, and this time it’s a rude one. Rather than finding his arms securely wrapped around your warm body, he finds cold, empty sheets within his grasp instead. He lets out a groan as disappointment settles in.

“Y/n?” He calls out. The lack of response almost stings. Where did you go? You knew he looked forward to waking up to you by his side more than anything. Especially at a time where he had some days off of work. He thought you would want to spend a few moments in his arms… or even more than that.

He overcomes his reluctance to get out of bed with the motivation of seeing your face. Hyunjin was in no way a morning person, but the sight before him in the kitchen was something he would get out of bed a million times for at any ungodly hour. Your back was turned to him as you stood over the stove, cooking breakfast. You were only clad in one of his shirts, but it wasn’t over sized… giving him a sneak peek of your ass poking out of it. He felt his boxers tighten around him as he made his way over to you, eyes never parting from your gorgeous legs or from the exposed part of your ass.

Hyunjin wastes no time in fulfilling his desire from earlier to have his arms wrapped around you. You smile as you felt him nuzzle his face into your disheveled, but soft hair, having to almost trap you in his tall form to do so.

“Good morning, my love.” He coos as he watches you flip eggs in a pan, voice deep and groggy. You hope he doesn’t notice the shivers that it sends down your spine.

“Good morning!” You respond, cheerfully. You turn to plant a kiss on his jaw, making his heart skip a beat. He whines, wrapping his arms around you more tightly, moving his face to your neck.

“Why weren’t you in bed this morning?” He asks. You frown at the question.

“Well I thought I would get a head start on breakfast since we have a big day planned.” Hyunjin’s eyes widen as he suddenly remembers…

~

You had come to pick him up from the studio last night. He felt a weight lift off his chest once he saw your car pull up to the front, headlights allowing the falling rain to glow. He quickly ran through it, giving little thought to becoming drenched. All he cared about was seeing his baby that he would get to be with for this next weekend he had off. Once he plopped down in the passenger seat, he threw his stuff in the back and closed the door behind him. He smiled when he smelled your perfume and heard your favorite artist playing on the stereo. And of course, he smiled when he saw your bright face next to him. He quickly cupped it in his hands and pulled you in for a kiss.

“Hello, love…” he muttered against your lips. You giggled as you responded with a quick ‘hi baby’ before going back to indulging yourself with his sweet kisses. For the rest of the ride home, you talked about your plans for the weekend, with one hand in his and the other on the steering wheel. You had it all covered from shops to go to, cafes to try, movies to catch…

While this all sounded amazing to Hyunjin, which he thought anything he could do or anywhere he could be with you sounded amazing… he had other places where he wanted to spend the weekend. Mostly in between your legs.

~

Now he realizes these plans of his seem slightly perverted… but that wasn’t all to it. He just misses his beautiful girlfriend because the time you have together while he’s working is scarce. It’s a hard pill to swallow, but he can’t recall the last time you guys had sex that wasn’t a quickie in the practice room closet. He wanted to make it up to you and thank you for being such a supportive figure in his life by making love to you and worshipping your body for hours on end… was that so bad?

“Oh yeah… right.” He says after he is through with pondering. Guilt creeps in at his lack of regard for your plans in preference for his… but this is short lived when he suddenly realizes that you’ve been grinding your ass over his erection this whole time. A primal feeling takes over as he reaches over you to turn off the stove. His hands grip your hips as he forces you to turn and face him. You watch his eyes darken as he moves so that his face mere inches from yours.

“Oh you think you’re so innocent, huh?” He asks, voice deep. You can’t help but smirk as you wrap your arms around his neck. You knew exactly what you were doing when you put this shirt on this morning.

“I’m sorry baby, I couldn’t help myself. I missed having you like this so fucking much, but I didn’t want to disturb you last night or this morning. I know you’ve been working so hard and I wanted you to rest…” His demeanor softens at your words. He’s relieved to know that you’ve been needing him just as much as he’s been needing you. Your last statement tugs on his heartstrings all together, knowing that you care for him in such a way.

One of his hands travels up to the nape of your neck, the other remains at your hip, pulling you towards him and latching his lips onto yours. You moan into him as he nips your bottom lip, sneaking his tongue into your mouth. Being this close to each other after a while makes the both of you feel dizzy when you pull away.

“Fuck, baby. I’ve missed having you this way too…” He scoots you over so that you’re in front of the counter now. His hands sneak behind you to squeeze your ass while he locks you in another deep kiss. Without breaking it, his hands travel back to your hips so he can lift you up to sit on the counter. He stands in between your legs, still keeping your body as close to him as possible. He pulls away from the kiss, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Let me take care of you like you’ve been taking care of me, okay sweetheart?” You nod, now desperate for him to touch you. You lift your hips so his hands can go under the shirt you’re wearing, which makes it rise up your body. Hyunjin lets out a growl when he sees you really weren’t wearing anything other than his shirt. His hands begin to grope at your breasts, thumbs running over your nipples, making you whimper. He leans in close to your ear.

“I’m sure whatever you were cooking would have been delicious,” he whispers. “But I think I’ll have something else to eat this morning.” The look in his eyes as he fully removes his shirt from your body is enough to drive you crazy. After tossing it elsewhere, Hyunjin pulls you back into him, one hand grasping your waist while the other continues to rub a thumb over your nipple. He starts placing kisses down your neck, which then turns into sucking dark marks into your skin.

“Fuck! Hyunjin…” You cry out when his hand around you waist slides down. He runs a finger up your slit, humming in satisfaction when he feels just how wet you already are for him. His kisses travel down to your chest, where he takes one of your breasts in his mouth while continuing to palm at the other one. Your hand latches onto his honey-colored locks, the other bracing yourself on the edge of the counter. Your head is thrown back against the cabinet when you get an idea. You place your leg between you and Hyunjin, using it to rub him through his boxers. He growls at the friction, using one of his hands to press his nails into the skin of your thigh before giving it a smack.

“You need to fucking behave…” He scolds you. You can almost feel yourself become more wet at the animal that takes over your normally attentive boyfriend. He continues once you’ve moved your leg back beside him, starting to kiss down the rest of your body. He wants to take his time with you, but you’ve ignited something within that makes him want to have you screaming for him this very second. He finally gets on his knees, spreading your legs on either sides of his head. He looks up at you once he starts to kiss up one of your thighs. The desperate look you give him and the whimper you let out at the contact with his lips is enough to make him cum right there. But he suppresses his need, knowing it will be worth it in the end.

“Hyunjin please…” you beg as he finishes kissing and licking up your other thigh. “I need your tongue.” He sends you a wink as he then runs the flat of his tongue up your slit. You immediately latch back onto his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. He alternates between the tip of his tongue and the flat surface of it running up and down… up and down… continuing to grip at your thighs, keeping you spread out for him. You moan out as he then begins to focus on your clit, that’s been screaming to be touched this entire time. He places a kiss on it before sucking it between his lips and running the tip of his tongue all around it.

“Fuck… this pussy tastes so fucking good.” Hyunjin moans into you, making your eyes roll back into your head. Not being able to get enough of your taste, he decides to place his entire mouth over you, sucking, licking, kissing, anything to have you screaming his name… which he does.

“Hyunjin! Baby, oh my-” Hearing his name roll off your tongue over and over again makes him place two fingers inside of you, curling them until he finds the spot that makes you scream even louder. Before you know it, he’s sucking your clit while pressing his fingers into that spot as he moves them in and out of you. You can feel your orgasm getting close.

“Baby…” You whine. “I’m gonna c-cum for you.” He lifts his head away from your clit to smirk up at you.

“Yeah? Even after you’ve been such a bad girl, teasing me the way you have? You still wanna cum for me?” His words make you sob, even though you know its all talk. You know you have him wrapped around your finger… you’re the only one who gets to have Hwang Hyunjin wrapped around their finger. All you can do is nod and whimper, the feeling of Hyunjin’s fingers fucking you just right becoming too overwhelming.

“Then be a good girl this time… cum for me.” He tells you, before going back to sucking your clit. Not even a moment later, he has you releasing all over his fingers and into his mouth. He pulls his fingers out but continues to lap at you as you ride out your high. As you catch your breath, Hyunjin gets back on his feet. His heart swells at the sight of your fucked out face, and he can’t help but kiss you and allow you to taste yourself on his lips. He takes both of your hands in his.

“As much as I love the idea of spending an entire day out with you,” He states, “why don’t we push it off to tomorrow so I can spend all of today fucking you full of my cum?” He didn’t have to tell you twice. So you wrap your arms and legs around him as he carries you to the bedroom.

What’s the harm in canceling plans every now and then, anyway?

Thanks for reading! I love hearing what you all think so please let me know! :)

officer [2]

PART 1

policeofficer!ellie x f!reader

you’re in custody this time, but experience a little deja-vu when a familiar face questions you.

word count: 3.8k

genre: smut

warnings: not as non con but it’s still there - ellie uses a gun and doesn’t turn safety on, russian roulette, face sitting, oral/fingering, sadism, spit play, threats of voyeurism, blackhair!ellie cuz the thought of that was remotely hot

────────────────

if i see you again, i will have to arrest you.

you endeavoured the fortitude for weeks to forget her woodsmoke scent of pine, those presiding hands that forced your stomach into a diaphanous pandemonium, and quite unapologetically how she made your clit feel like it had its own heartbeat.

you wanted to be an adversarial predator, but she made you inhibited prey.

soon, those weeks progressed into months.

you started to conceptualise that maybe you were the master of your craft. too proficient at effusing hostility to get what you wanted, too good at dining and dashing, too skilled at feeling audacious when keying a bourgeoisie car. so you tried slipping up; creating more noise, becoming more shameless with your drunk and disorderly acts - but nothing worked.

you had even considered homicide just to fulfil that fantasy of her face perched between your legs again.

but that wasn’t ideal, so you resorted to one-upping. you’d banked astronomical amounts of cash through breaking and entering, threatened a few people here and there and had yourself gamble in shady bars with reputations of illegality.

you were not surreptitious about this.

and that’s what landed you here - gunmetal walls that incarcerated you, monotonous under an artificial lustre of amber. you were postponed for questioning, and brewing indignantly - not only because of the thin mattress that was making your ass feel rigid with every minute, but you had no way to tell what time it was or how many hours were passing.

custody was brutal; you’d underestimate it in documentaries, but now that you were the individual said companies were making documentaries about, there was only so little utilisation you could do before you were losing your shit.

you felt as though the agglomerations of these months were for nothing, your little slip-ups intended for a hot lesbian you met on a saturday night became an anticlimactic arrest made by a male officer who got too comfy with militantly blindsiding you when you had left the jewellery shop.

you wanted to make yourself comfortable, and by doing so, you found your upper body was dangling off the bed - eyes amalgamating the image of chair legs scraping across the floor.

“sit up.” an irked grunt deluges your ears, and you can’t exactly decipher if you’re regretting not appreciating the silence you were forced to indulge in for hours or relieved to have someone in the room with you.

you sigh, head feeling as if it had been deadlifting when you sit up; you swivel around to face the aforementioned voice, blemishes of mulberry blinding you momentarily. you have to wait a few seconds to adjust, distinguishing an arm that’s darker than the other.

that familiarised shade of viridescent stares back at you, interminable lashes that fan against her tawny cheeks; that god forsaken moth etched in the exact spot it was all those months ago.

her hair dyed black, a subtle contrast to the chestnut strands you had your fingers root-deep in, but significant enough to accentuate her hardened eyebrows. “officer?” you whisper out of disbelief, that intrusive pummelling in your clit when you can’t dismantle the image of her tongue flattened against your clit, the way her eyes narrowed in satisfaction when you swallowed her spit.

bon appetite.

her uniform had changed from the traditional cerulean to a newfound beige; a tumult of voices emitting from the radio on her chest to which she is expeditious to switch off - your eyes try to be respectful, but how can they when her hands exhibit such lubricious streaks of mauve that tighten around her knuckles?

she was a treat to look at.

her face brews in scepticism, scanning the backlogs of her memory and trying to match your face to a name. you notice this, and feel more decimated not having her remember who you are than having her force her 7-inch dick into you.

“you don’t remember me?” you sigh when she remains inanimate, that same apertured stare she gave you amplifying fear when you know what it entails. “wow..”

your ‘relationship’ was oil and water that you did your due diligence to mix.

“i woulda thought someone that made my pussy bleed would’ve at least remembered my face..”

that tyrannising stare falls flat, and you can hear the clockworks initiating. and again, you have a feeling that this is gonna be fun.

“but go ahead, ask me your questions.”

no matter what browbeating methods, hectoring language or plagued looks she’d use against you, you wouldn’t budge. unlike last time, it seemed as if she was doing all the talking and you elicited half-assed responses back.

“you recognise this street?”

nope.

“we’ve caught you already, you can stop with the tough act.”

no.

“says here you went awol for a few days.”

precisely.

you found that in the medial of your ogling session at how mouth-watering her arms looked in her uniform, her badge piques your curiosity.

e. williams.

“you don’t strike me as a williams,” you hum, disorientated as to how someone so abstract was concealed with a surname so common - she was truly the snake in the grass. “maybe more like a.. kennedy or som-“

“what are you doing?” she interrupts, that grunting voice harrowed cavernously into your ears and admittedly made your clit flourish in exhilaration. “this isn’t like last time, i’m serious.”

you wanted to station her in that unfathomable pod of vulnerability, but it seems she’d already done it for you. “so you admit there was a last time?”

but something changes, what was her pacifically reserved expression plummeted to one of wrathful salacity. and although you’re remotely shitting bricks at how meteoric it changed, you’re creaming at how it gave you the inkling of what it felt like to be defenceless again.

so you keep feeding fuel to the fire, and it’s catalysing that zest in your stomach. “you keep forgetting that me and you are more similar than you think, officer williams.”

you want to dig new lows to get under her skin, and you had the perfect shovel. “after all, i can make you lose your job.

.

get you a criminal record.

.

because technically,

.

you did ra-“

she stands up.

you expect her to leave the room in ire, but she inspects you; seemingly mediating a rational further action. under the impression you were fantasising her words rather than realistically perceiving them, you disregard her incoherent murmur.

“was i too soft on you?”

she traipses over to you ever so slowly, effusing a sinister hostility - you felt as if you were being hunted, you were the deer confined in a cage with a tiger.

“did you not learn anything?”

step.

“making threats to ruin my reputation?”

step.

“i made your fucking pussy bleed,”

step.

“but you’re still giving me that loud mouth like i didn’t.”

with every step she took came emanations of elation in your clit, legs reminiscing to how difficult it was to hold your body up after that night, heart cudgelling your ribs when you stare at her godly sculptured hands - so intoxicatingly moreish and palatable.

you want officer williams to bite.

you didn’t realise how instinctively unfurled your legs were until she filled the considerable gap between you, saintly hands planted on your knees and the altered scent of jasmine oozing into your skin; no amount of last-minute crime could make you this bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as seeing her flavourful stare incise into you.

her forehead against yours, a hallucinogenic maelstrom puzzling your head. you’re already helplessly grinding into her thigh, sensitivity in your clit amplifying when you realise she’s letting you.

her lids are low, staring deliciously at your lips; just as you think she’s about to lean in and satisfy that aching hunger you have for her.

you hear a gun cock.

a glacial touch on your jaw, and the cold shiver paralyses your body. “knees, now.” her breath against your lips; although she was exhaling, you felt as though she had drained all the self-possession out of you.

you’re immobile, and sit there wide-eyed at her, but find yourself under automatism to perch yourself off the mattress and onto the floor when you remember how fucking hard she hits.

she appreciates how you look, doe eyes that submerge in aroused timidity and hair becoming dishevelled when she runs her fingers through it. as much as you try and admire how she looks down at you, you can’t help but tunnel your vision at the fucking gun in her hand; she notices. “are you scared, pretty girl?”

you look up at her, trying to conceal your distress, but you were fun to personally dissect on her end. “wanna see that loud mouth of yours open.”

you try and disregard her request, but when you see the gun inch closer against your lips, you know what she wants.

you’re humiliated - jaw tenderly unlatching, eyes closed to distance yourself from a newborn anxiety burrowing into your stomach; the suffocating taste of steel against your tongue when the rim slides in. “you weren’t this obedient last time,” you make head or tail off, metallic taste strengthening when you try to swallow. “maybe you did learn something.”

her free hand confines the roots of your hair, forcing your head forward; she can tell you’re scared shitless by how reluctant you are to move, and it thrills her into an exultant of euphoria. “careful,” you hear her whisper, aluminium sliding down your throat. “wouldn’t wanna pop your pretty face open.”

you feel a tear slide down at this, that mortifying discomfort at the back of your throat establishing itself again. you want to stop, but realise that out of the miscellanies of these months, this was your desired result - you were going to try and somewhat enjoy it.

so you dip your head lower, bloodshot eyes tinged a cherry red leering back up at her innocently. she seems morbidly fascinated by this, but also remotely pissed off that she didn’t grind you as deep in the bones as she wanted.

with an inhumane yank of your hair came the back of your head thundering against the wall - she was manhandling you like a piece of piss. it happened so instantaneously: her forehead against yours, lips eliciting heavy breaths of yearn, the damp barrel against your temple.

“what ar-“

you hear it click against your temple.

you involuntarily flinch, trying to cower your head away but her pernicious hand immuring your throat - you’d never felt your heart hammer so vigorously, tempted to believe you’d be having a cardiac arrest any second now. “officer, please-“

“please what, baby?”

click.

“please stop, stop, stop..” you repeat, your hands chronically tremor against her shoulders; tears erupting onto your cheeks and making your skin glossy.

“stop what, sweet girl?

.

.

i ain’t doing shit.”

you prophesy the gates of heaven, but you open your eyes to her, ever so slowly, arranging the gun back into her holster.

you relax at this, and feel as if she’s somewhat commiserated with you; felt bad for enduring you through this pitiful end of psychological torture. but when she leans in, your theory deflates when her tongue tenderly traces your damp cheeks.

you whine in disgust, more repulsed by the fact she wanted to literally taste the hysteria she created rather than the actual sensation of her tongue against your skin. “you’re fucking sick,” you weep, feeling her fingers unzip your jeans, anchoring your waist effortlessly.

she compresses her forehead against yours again, but this time tastefully tilts her head to lean in, enveloping her lips into yours.

and she tastes as good, if not better, than you remember.

a simpatico rhythm of her lips against yours, a candied taste that had you hot on her heels when she went to pull away for breath. her hands delved everywhere, from your hips to your breasts, to the back of your neck and maundered around your clothed slit. she pulls away eventually, sexually frustrated breaths intensifying when she looks at the state of you.

she had hitched your shirt up only slightly, and your jeans were slowly sliding down your thighs. eyes pierced onto your breasts, and pupils dilated at the sight of them irregularly springing out of your shirt when she pulls it up just a tad higher. “gonna make you wet all over, sweet girl.”

you look at her with confusion, but you have an idea of what it necessitates when you watch a string of spit drizzle onto your breast. you whine, innately humping against her leg; the sensation of moisture so substantial between your legs, you could likely hear it if you stayed silent. “does that turn you on, doll?” she sighs in your ear, “does this little sweet thing like her tits being spat on?”

when you don’t answer, that baneful slap singes the side of your face. you’d almost forgotten how truly bad it felt, which seemed paradoxical considering it was something you weren’t anticipating. “yes, yes officer,” you nod profusely, shuddering when another string falls onto the other breast; skin becoming glassy when she massages it into you.

“just wanna show everyone what a whore you become, angel.” her fingers taunt your stomach, lowering until they find the band of your underwear; forefinger provokingly trickling into your folds. “would that humiliate you, hm? you want my coworkers to watch whilst i fuck this pretty body?”

you shake your head, ignominy clouding your thoughts. your clit blitzed under the pressure of her finger; legs mechanically shaking when you feel her slowly rub in teasing circles. “i wouldn’t do that.” her lips graze your shoulder, palm stifling your mound. “your body’s all mine to see, all of it.”

and if the slap on your face wasn’t that bad, the slap on your pussy was.

a fever of delirium floods your insides when her fatal palm wallops against your folds, pixels of heliotrope tinting your vision. that seraphic levitation increasing when she smears your slick over your clit, empyrean sensitivity that felt extraterrestrial. “shaking so much, doll,” she whispers, you’re unable to control the chronic grinding of your hips when her fingers keep rubbing against your clit. “making me wanna taste you again.”

you whine, wanting her to skyrocket you into that cosmic cloud of extramundane ecstasy. you hear a belt unbuckle, the hand you’re humping against dematerialising for a split.

you’re tranced as her hand seeps into her trousers, feeling as if you could tear up at the luscious sight of her touching herself; that paradisiacal urge to cum then and there. her fingers slide back out, oiled in her own fluid - you can’t look away, too captivated in a planetary reverie at how her fingers glisten in the light so appetisingly.

you thought she’d glide her fingers in your mouth, but instead she streams into your folds and rivulets them into you. you feel how credulous it is for her to slide into you, so impotent and undefended; her wetness stirring with yours as you tighten around her fingers. “you like that, pretty thing?”

you nod, lips being pecked when you do so; you feel as if you’re being rewarded for complying.

you watch as her hands are flooded with veins, knuckles contracting when she keeps fucking curling her fingers into you - that exquisite bundle of divinity gathering whenever she rubs against your most vulnerable spots. and before you know it, your legs are inveterately trembling when she speeds up, fingers hammering into you maliciously.

officer williams had some admirable stamina.

your fingers bunched into her shoulders, uniform crumpled into your palms; you can feel it, that fucking wreath inside you that debilitates your hips, that beatific entwine of bliss you’d been anticipating for months.

it’s unworldly, and constructs itself at the very top of that overdue mountain; it’s so ready to gush out at any second, but when it only gets a taste of the top, she starts slowing down.

“don’t you fucking dare..” you whine, you’re sexually frustrated and just want nothing more than to orgasm with her fingers inside you.

but officer williams knows how to compensate.

“you wanna cum, sweetheart?”

vims of eagerness pounds in your clit, it’s desperate to get coated by her tongue. you freeze, opining that you’re just under another delusion when she says the next thing, that your ears are bullshitting - but when her free hand besieges your wrist and forces it into her trousers, you know you’re hearing crystal clear.

“earn it.”

you flinch when your fingers are immersed into stifling moisture. her clit is erect, and you can’t stop yourself from flicking it ever so tenderly when her legs flinch every time.

it was addicting, you were pleasuring officer williams.

her heavy breaths in your ear, that consistent pressure on your clit when she adjusts her palm against it, sweat aflame on her forehead.

you apply more pressure, ever so desperate to hear her moan; her breaths becoming shakier, compulsively erratical against your skin - she’s grinding into your hand, and it’s such an opulent sight to see. “fuck, sweet girl..” she grunts, and you lionise the expression on her face.

eyes artistically closed, pulchritudinous skin that gleam in splendour, mouth agape and discharging such vulnerable sounds. you speed up, movements becoming sloppy when she’s so fucking wet you can’t feel your own fingers against her folds.

she’s starting to squirm against you, hips clenching and making it strenuous to target her clit when she’s trembling so violently. you know she’s primed to spurt her cum onto your fingers any second now by the way she’s indomitably breathing in your ear.

so you decide to give her a taste of her own medicine.

you slow down malignantly; her pathological trembling tranquillised when you do so. you can’t help but establish a sense of retribution, you saw this as tit for tat, and so had a fulfilled smirk on your lips.

you expect her to erupt out of that presentiment of ill temper she usually finds herself brewing in, but she does the opposite.

she chuckles.

“you think that’s funny, huh?” her tone is of one you had never acquainted with, it’s elevated itself a few pitches and is pungent with a nefarious catastrophe. whatever she’s just thought of, you’re not sure if you should be looking forward to it.

but you’re comparatively disappointed when she situates herself on the edge of the bed, face bleached of any aggravated resentment. she seems inordinately serene, too abnormally at peace with the fact you didn’t let her orgasm.

it’s too good to be true, but that gut feeling withers instantaneously.

“sit on my face, sweet thing.”

that’s it?

that’s the punishment?

you don’t hesitate, and sooner or later, find your lower body bare and trawling against her uniform. she was ethereal, black hair coarctate against the thin mattress, dotted freckles along her skin that created an enviable need to coat them all with your cum, tongue ready to annihilate you.

and by the way your legs are finding it difficult just to plant yourself above her lips, you know there’s an awkward trail of humidity on her uniform.

your thighs are jailed by her hands, fingers that bury into your skin so robustly; she’s lowering you down, and you can’t ignore the impulse in your clit exploding when her tongue flicks over it ever so softly.

you’re in seventh heaven when she engulfs your clit completely in her mouth, jubilations of exultation nurturing itself in your stomach when you feel her tongue twirling around it.

you’re whimpering unruly, thighs twitching in an irrepressible manner as you grind against her face; you know her chin and nose are most definitely coated in you.

but just as you’re saturated in that sempiternal pool of unearthly pleasure, she bites your clit.

“fuck!” you yelp, the grip on your thighs strengthening; you were clapped in irons under the raw grip of her palms. “i’m sorry, i’m sorry..” you repeat aimlessly, knowing that even if you wanted to jump out of her grip, you can’t.

you’re harrowed, not only due to the tortuous twinging in your clit but also because she made diluting you down look so plain sailing. she belittled you in ways that seemed eternal.

“please stop, i wo-“ you can’t finish your sentence, because she bites again; waterworks hazardously escaping from your eyes. “fuck, please..” you cry out jaggedly, the torment on your clit being medicated only slightly when she tenderly kitten licks it. “your clit was made for me, sweet girl.”

you feel her lips embrace your bud again, tongue whisking your clit fluidly before she sucks; an antiseptic shroud of exuberance in your clit when she does so. but you’re too busy tensing up, vigilant for her subdued attack - she notices this, chasten loosening on your thighs and fingers glissading across your stomach and to your breasts, tenderly pinching your nipples.

and it moderates that malaise.

“my sweet girl likes her nipples being played with, hm?“ you feel her lips slither against your clit, before she brings a hand down to gel a finger with her spit; you helplessly watch as she coats a nipple enticingly, and you know you’re gonna cum real fast.

her tongue siphoning your clit, nipples ambushed with her fingers, spit drooling down your stomach - it was deliciously preposterous.

and you can feel it, constructing that erstwhile mountain again. your hips stiff and stomach rigid to aid the incoming unfoldment of utopia; your nipples were becoming more sensitive, thighs becoming more shaky, clit vibrating against her tongue so decrepitly.

“fuck, fuck, fuck..” you repeat breathlessly, unable to compose yourself through the animosity of what’s brewing inside - that spiralling latchstring of soon-to-be glory coiling higher and higher. you look down, wanting so badly to cum on her tongue, make her taste what she’s done to you, what she had done to you for months - you were falling apart at the seams.

and then it bursts.

you’d never felt it this indestructible before, your lower body feeling as if it was being shredded through a mosh pit of marvel, stupefying you. it lasts for 10 seconds; that cauldron of gratification replenishing itself in your clit - you felt brand new, a clean slate, wiped of any rational thought.

and when you open your eyes, her face is drenched, hair clad onto her cheeks and insipid in your cum.

you fucking squirted over officer williams’ face.

her skin was glistening, lips hydrated with your cum, and her hair duskier in your fluid.

she doesn’t seem discombobulated, positioning herself up and crossing her legs. you idly crawl onto her lap, welcomed by the dampening sensation of her thighs, which progressively worsened when you compressed your own against hers. her deteriorated palms tickling the hairs on your back; your thighs were moth-eaten, numbingly dilapidated.

“i’m not bleeding this time?” you sink into her shoulder, interpreting an ephemeral chuckle on your shoulder. “no, not this time.”

you feel her peck your jaw a few times, and you felt safe. absolutely annihilated, but safe.

this was vanilla, aftercare that synergised the enervation in your legs rather than aided it. her solicitous touch against your spine, ardent breath against your bare skin, lips doted against your jaw so innocently.

“you’re definitely not a williams,” you whisper, tremulous hands ironed against her shoulders. “no?” she whispers back, soused cheek stimulating your neck. you had never been held this intimately before, your chest compressed against hers; body warmth emitting into an orb between you.

“no.”

Im in love with these characters?? Like, both mc and minho have this very unique feel to them. MC seems confident on camera but is shy offline, Minho is insecure about both his looks and personality but slowly starts having more faith in himself the more him and mc interact. Its a beautiful dynamic.

I've never seen Minho written like this, but i can definitely see him be insecure after what he went through with the break-up.

So glad i gave this a shot, it did not disappoint 💜💜💜

♡ fan with minho

↳ pairing: minho x reader ↳ word count: 12.5k ↳ genre: sex work!au (streamer!reader), s2l, smut ↳ summary: when a streamer that goes by the name of baby blue announces she’ll pick a random comment and invite the fan over to have sex with them, minho thinks it’s all a big scam—until he wins. ↳ warnings: 18+, minors dni! explicit content, sex work, sexual topics, discussion of sex as a subscriber award, mentions of cheating (reader/minho aren’t cheating), streaming sexual content, blowjob, fingering, protected sex, use of 'baby,' 'good girl,' and 'slut'; the mc refers to herself as 'cumdump' once for the video ↳ masterlist ♡ updates ♡ read on AO3

if you want to support my writing, you can buy me a coffee here and let me know what you think about it here. thank you! ♡

“To thank you all for your support during these past couple of months, I want to give back to you. So, I’ve decided to pick out a random tipper who leaves a comment and have some fun with that fan,” you grin at the camera, flashing your teeth to your fanbase—all 5,000 of them.

The views are low nowadays, though. You got into streaming because a girl from uni told you it was easy money. It was, but only if you went all the way and showed everything. You had no problem with your body or being sexual, but you just didn’t want to show the entire world everything for money. 

That made your streams an acquired taste. After all, your “fans” were men who didn’t have to see the inside of your cunt to get off to it, men who enjoyed the things you were saying, men who didn’t mind you having a skirt on while you rode your suction dildo. The one special thing about your streams—other than the fact that nobody’s seen your pussy up front—is how you treat your fanbase. 

Most other streamers are either being extra sweet and taking tips, babying themselves to earn more money, or they’re demeaning the guys watching them, earning in a day more than you do in a month. People love being degraded, apparently.

However, none of that is your thing. Instead, you opt for praise, telling your audience the things you would like to hear if the roles were reversed. You wouldn’t log into the site and tip some random guy who’d ask you to ‘come for daddy’ or tell you you’re disgusting for watching him. That would just make you feel gross.

No, you’d go for the nice guy who’d ask about your day, tell you he wanted to come with you, praise you for being good and touching yourself. You do all that during every stream. When you come, you ask the audience if they came too, thanking them for being there with you, wishing them a good night’s rest and sweet dreams.

The fans that do like it are loyal, praising you with comments during every stream, never missing one. However, there are some people who get bored of you. The whole shtick worked for a while until your views started dropping. 

The guys who subscribed to you either liked you for what you were or were hoping you were going to go hardcore eventually. When that didn’t happen, a lot of them stopped watching altogether, and many stopped tipping.

Because of this, you’ve now decided to pick a random commenter and fuck him on camera. It’s not a choice you’re happy about nor something you take pride in, but you need money to afford uni. Without school, you won’t be able to get a good job, and you’ll be forced to do worse things for money, even though fucking a random guy isn’t exactly ideal.

But, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do, so you explain the rules. “I’ll pick a comment from the ones you’ve sent in since last Friday until next Friday, so you have ten more days to tip and leave a comment for me. The lucky winner will get to come to this room and have fun with me while the rest of you watch. If it goes well, we can think about doing it again.”

With that, you thank everyone for joining the stream and coming with you and end it, hoping that the ten-day deadline will incentivize more people to tip. 

“So, I’ve decided to pick out a random tipper who leaves a comment and have some fun with that fan,” you chuckled at the end of this announcement, flashing your pretty teeth.

However, Minho missed the smile because he basically stopped watching at that point, mostly because he came all over himself and the desk and was too busy cleaning up. Thankfully, none of it got onto the keyboard. 

Your little “raffle” was a scam, like everything else. There’s no way in hell a girl like you was going to select a random guy and let him come to her place and fuck her, no fucking way. It would be totally unsafe and careless, not to mention downright disgusting. Minho didn’t think of himself as a model, but he was sure there were some nasty people watching you. Would you really have the stomach to fuck some random dude on camera? He didn’t take you for that kind of a girl.

The scam was a good idea, though. The poor bastards would shower you with tip money, not realizing that you’ll show your boyfriend to them and pretend he’s a random fan. Minho can already bet the guy will be jacked, firm all over, and have a great cock that will somehow get you to come—all on the first time with a “random” fan. 

But, Minho knows he will still watch, especially if you’re going to show this guy fucking you. He’s one of your biggest fans, but not in a creepy way. He finds you comforting and pretty, even though you always have a mask that covers your eyes, nose, and most of your cheeks. You calm him down and you’re always so sweet with the things you say.

It’s not one of his proudest moments, but one time, when he got dumped and had a terrible day, he watched your stream, and you responded to a comment in a way that made him cry. A guy who tipped you earlier said he had a terrible day and felt unlovable, so you shouted him out at the end of the stream.

“And if you’ve had a bad day today, just remember it will pass. I know it’s not much comfort because good days will too, let’s be honest, but what you’re feeling now isn’t the end of the road and it’s not a permanent state. I’m happy you’re here if that means anything. You help me out through a lot, even if we don’t know each other. So, if you can make someone you don’t even know happy, imagine what you can do to someone you know in real life. No one is unlovable, no matter how real that fear seems sometimes.”

For some reason, your words got to Minho that day, maybe because he felt like he was unwanted and unlovable himself. So, he would definitely be here until the end, even if you fuck your boyfriend on stream and pretend he’s a fan. He can’t blame you for hustling like that.

You spend most of next Saturday going through the comments, trying to find one that stands out. Most of the comments came after your announcement, of course. Usually, the comments you get are “you’re so fucking hot”, “show more”, “want to fuck you”, or something along those lines. Now, they’re mostly “i want to win the raffle”, “fuck me!”, “pick me”, and the like. None of them are noteworthy.

And then, one catches your eye. 

Someone using the username Lino98 has commented the Saturday before you announced the raffle, therefore not with the goal of winning it. Because of this, you have a feeling the comment might actually be sincere. It reads:

Tip: $100

Hey, Baby Blue! I know you won’t even see this, but I wanted to thank you for all your hard work regardless. I found your stream when I was going through a rough time with a breakup. 

I had to move out, money was tight, and I felt alone, so your streams felt like I had some kind of company, especially with the way you talk to us on the other end. I know it sounds strange, but it really did help.

I’m finally doing better and have some money to spare, so I wanted to tip you as a thank you for all the times you’ve helped me without knowing. 

Like you said, if you can make a stranger this happy, imagine how you can make someone in your real life feel. So, here’s a stranger telling you you’ve made him feel less alone.

All the best!

The comment is the winning one, you just know the second you read it fully. You’ve never seen anything remotely similar to it on your channel, so you select Lino98 as the winner, deciding to announce it on stream tomorrow. The guy actually put in some effort, even if what he wrote was bullshit.

When you announce that he’s the winner on stream, you promise Lino98 you’ll DM him in a minute, after ending the stream. Of course, you instantly do it, even though you’re scared shitless. Is ‘98 his birth year? You hope so because that would mean he’s on the younger side. Selecting an old fan would be a disaster because you’d never be able to get into it.

Baby Blue: Hey, Lino98! Congrats :) Can you tell me your current location so we can arrange it?

It sounds so transactional, and you hate it, but there’s not much you can do. If you don’t go through with this, everyone will think you’ve scammed all your fans out of money. Your channel would not survive that kind of a scandal, even if you refunded everyone.

Lino98: are you messing with me?

Baby Blue: why would i do that? you won 

Lino98: uh, it’s not a prank?

Baby Blue: no! 

Lino98: i’m sorry, it just seems… strange

Baby Blue: incoming video call

Minho’s heart starts racing when he sees your username flashing across the screen. It’s the first time anyone he follows on this site called him, and he’s not sure how to react.

Clearly, you’re real and you want to show him that. He fucking won the raffle. He will get to ‘have fun’ with you, whatever that meant.

However, Minho can’t answer your video call. Or, at least, he can’t show himself on camera. You’ve just had a stream, which means his pants are around his ankles, cock softening on his cum stained stomach, his chest not fairing any better. You were super sweet today, showering them with praise, and Minho came twice. There’s no way he’s letting you see it.

So, he answers after disabling the camera option. “Hi!” he says, unsure of how else to greet someone he’s been drooling over for months, if it’s really you.

And it is. 

You show yourself on camera in the same outfit you wore minutes ago on stream, mask still hiding most of your face, but it’s unmistakably you. 

“Hey, Lino98!” you greet him sweetly, and his mind draws blanks. Baby Blue is using his username, talking to him directly. “I know it’s kind of unbelievable, so here!” With that, you grab a pen and write something down on your palm. Then you show him what you wrote, and it’s “Lino98, you won!!!”, which makes him chuckle.

“I guess you’re real after all.” His breath hitches in his throat when you giggle at his words and look to the side sheepishly.

“I guess you are too… So, can you tell me where you are? You don’t have to give the details, just the general area.”

“Sure, I’m in Seoul at the moment,” he admits, hoping you’ll say you’re in that area so you two can go through with this, even though he’s scared shitless of it.

“Great,” you say excitedly, not letting on how you really feel. You can’t be excited about meeting some random guy whose comment you may or may not have even read. “I’m… Around there too. Good. Do you maybe want to meet up tomorrow, if you don’t already have plans?”

“To-tomorrow?” Minho stutters, clearing his throat and sitting up in his chair as reality smacks him across the face. Tomorrow? He’s going to meet you tomorrow? Do you want him to come over to your place and ‘have fun’? In front of your entire audience? You look at him questioningly, so he coughs and responds, “Ah… Okay, I don’t have any plans.”

“Great! I’ll send you the address of this cafe. We can get a drink there and just talk if that’s okay with you.” And just like that, you make him feel a lot lighter. Okay, you’ll just see each other in person tomorrow and arrange for the thing then. “Is that okay?”

“Of course, sounds great,” Minho responds. “I’ll wait for your message then.”

You arrange to meet up around 3 with you promising to send him the address as soon as you get off the call. Just when you’re saying your goodbyes and about to hang up, you pause and just look at the camera.

“Sorry, can you tell me why you didn’t turn on the cam?” you ask so sweetly you have him biting his lip. Somehow, you sound even better when you’re addressing him directly.

“Can I be honest?” Minho asks, hoping you won’t take it the wrong way. When you nod, he continues. “I came all over myself earlier, so I didn’t think it would be a good look.”

His response makes you kick your head back and laugh, and it’s probably the most sincere laughter he’s ever heard from you. “It honestly sounds kind of hot,” you admit. “See you tomorrow!”

When he walks into the cafe, Minho realizes you’re a real person. Up until this point, you were just a random internet persona, someone unattainable, someone he was never even supposed to meet. 

As soon as your eyes meet, he knows it’s you, even though the mask is off. You’re even prettier without it—there’s nothing on your face you should ever hide. Surprisingly, you’re just a girl. You’re not some sex symbol he’s had in his mind all this time, not some kind of superior being, not a person that commands attention.

He’s walked in here happy that he was going to get to fuck you, but now that he sees that you’re just a person like him, Minho feels guilt wash over him. What is he doing? He came here to “collect his reward” for a $100 tip—and the reward was another person. It didn’t feel right. If you were really doing this, you needed the money badly, and he couldn’t let you go through with it just because he was horny for you.

“Hey!” He walks over to you and offers you his hand to shake, hoping he doesn’t sound cold. Minho’s just shitting bricks at this point—it’s the first time he’s meeting someone of the opposite gender for a date of sorts since his breakup, and this is the furthest thing from a date, so why are his palms sweating?

“Lino?” You cock your eyebrows up when he approaches you. When Minho nods, feeling dumb for forgetting to introduce himself, you stand up and shake his hand firmly. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” he says, sitting down across from you, looking around. Is he a disappointment to you? He’s not exactly tall nor buff, even though he dances a lot. None of that is visible, though, and you may be feeling let down. “Nice place.”

“It really is,” you say, looking around as well before gulping. Is it a sign of nervousness or boredom? “My first time here.”

Funny how you’re setting a boundary right from the start, showing him you don’t come to this place often in case he becomes a stalker and decides to hang around here every day in hopes of seeing you. “Mine too.”

The waiter comes to get your order, and you look at Minho instantly, expecting him to order. “Please, you go first.”

“No, no, you go!” He nods at you and finds it funny how you’re so flustered in real life. You have thousands of people watching you weekly, dying for a chance to be around you, and you’re this shy? It doesn’t make sense. Still, it eases his nerves a bit.

Once the waiter is gone, Minho clears his throat and looks at you questioningly. You call the shots here. It’s your game, your idea, and he’s just here because you asked him to be. So, he waits for you to take the lead and explain how this is going to go down. 

You open your mouth to say something but stop yourself and sigh, rubbing the corners of your eyes for a second as if you’re tired of it already. “I’m sorry, I haven’t done this before.”

“Met a stranger?” Minho asks with a smirk, knowing very well that’s not what you mean. He surprises himself by asking that since he’s no less nervous than you, fiddling with his fingers under the table, where you can’t see.

“No, met up with a guy who watches my streams,” you point out, cocking your head to the side. This time, you don’t look away—instead, you inspect his face, as if you’re now seeing him for the first time.

“Ah, I see,” is all Minho can mutter while you stare at him. So, he’s the first. Is he a disappointment?

“And the first time I’m doing the whole ‘fuck a fan’ thing,” you whisper to him, which makes his breath hitch in his throat. So it’s ‘fuck a fan’, not ‘have fun with a fan’, after all. “So I don't know how to act.”

Minho realizes you’re practically in the same boat then. “That makes two of us,” he says to comfort you, even though he has it worse. You already know he’s attracted to you, that he jerks off to you and has sent you a tip and a heartfelt comment. Minho is not that lucky—for all he knows, you might find him totally disgusting.

You smile at him weakly, but don’t say a thing for a while, and Minho realizes you’re a lot more nervous than you first seemed. You’re just a girl, after all, and you’re here because you promised him you’d fuck him in front of 5,000 people, that is all. Of course you’re having second thoughts and regretting it. A girl like you wouldn’t look give him a second glance in real life. He’s only here because he got lucky with the comment.

“Are you nervous?” Minho asks you just before the waiter brings the drinks. 

As soon as he leaves, you clear your throat and respond, “Yes. Are you?”

“Of course.” When he says it, you seem to relax a bit, enough to take a sip of your coffee and sigh deeply. As someone who’s used to seeing you all sweet and bubbly, Minho hates seeing you like this and knowing he’s the reason you feel this way. So, he decides to do what’s best for you.

“Listen, I came here with the intent of going through with this, but I…” He pauses when he realizes you’re frowning. “I don’t want you to do this if you don’t want to. I’m a stranger, so I’m pretty sure you don’t. I am down to lie to the rest of your fans and say we did it. You can send me a pic from your room and I can pretend I took it, to make it believable for them.”

Your mouth is slightly open as you stare at him, unable to say a word for a minute or so, just staring at him. Are you thinking about taking the easy way out? Minho sure hopes so. He’d hate sleeping with you and knowing you hated every second of it.

Finally, you speak, and you do so softly, voice barely audible. “I’m guessing Lino98 isn’t your real name.”

He scoffs at this, feeling a bit dumb about not even telling you his name when that was the least he could have done. “No, it’s Minho. I’m guessing Baby Blue isn’t yours either.”

Surprisingly, you give him your name, and Minho thinks it suits you the second he hears it. Before he can tell you it’s a pretty name, you continue, “Listen Minho, it’s nice of you to offer that, if you’re doing it for me. But, I am doing this because I have to. My views went down the drain and I have to do something to get them up.” 

“Why not, uh… Show more? No offense,” he adds at the end, hoping it doesn’t come off as mean or condescending. 

Minho is not judging you at all for doing what you do. After all, he watches you do it and enjoys every second of it. It’s just a thing he never understood about your streams. At the same time, it’s the thing he loves about them—he sees you get off, but never sees more than the outline of your pussy, never getting a close-up. Not everything is served to him like in porn, and he enjoys that aspect of your work.

You lick your lips and take your time with the response. “I don’t feel comfortable with that.”

“But you feel—” Minho is about to ask how you feel comfortable with fucking a stranger, but he stops himself in time. Maybe you don’t want your private parts to be out there on the internet forever. Who the fuck was he to judge?

“I know, it makes no sense!” You shake your head as if you know exactly what he was going to ask before he cut himself off with a sharp sigh. “I should be more comfortable being on my own and letting people see everything than fucking someone I don’t know. But if I fuck someone on camera, I get to control it. The viewers don’t have to see my insides to see I’m getting fucked, if that makes sense.”

“It does, it does,” Minho hums with a nod, still processing it. It does make sense. You can have softcore sex on camera too, and not have the world see into your hole. “I’m sorry to hear about the views. I think your streams are unique and no one else does it like you.”

“Thank you.” You give him a small smile and take another long sip of your drink. “I wanted to meet you just to see if it would work out. I’ve never done this before. I have to say I’m relieved you’re attractive. Is that shallow?”

“Uhm, if you’re planning on fucking me, it’s not,” Minho says, blood rushing to his cheeks at his own choice of words. You think he’s attractive, though, and he’s too busy processing that piece of information. It’s a relief, really. He clearly thinks you’re the most arousing woman he’s ever met, so you’re off to a good start if you’re planning on doing this. “What would you do if you didn’t find me attractive?”

“Call it off. Choose someone else?” you suggest, sounding unsure of the options. “I mean, if we’re going to do it on camera, it has to look good. There has to be chemistry or something. People will know if I fake it, and it would be disappointing to see something that looks forced, I think.”

That’s true. The best part about your streams is that they don’t seem fake. You’re not out there screaming like you’re getting railed by two guys at once when you touch yourself. You do it slowly, taking your time, letting out hisses and grunts here and there, moaning only when you’re close to coming, which is also when your mouth gets a bit loose and dirty, which is Minho’s favorite part. 

Because of this, he comes towards the end of your stream—if he can postpone it. He might be a creep, but there’s something really hot in hearing you tell him you want his cock inside of you instead of your fingers. You don’t mean him, of course, but when he’s watching, he pretends it all for him.

“You’re right,” he agrees with a gulp, realizing you’ve been staring at him while he thought about your last stream and how sweetly you said you need his ‘big fat cock.’ Your words, not his. “And why do it if it doesn’t work?” He shrugs. “I think people would notice something was off. I would.”

You nod, giving him yet another smile, before going on, “So, I know you were probably expecting to go to my place and do it now, but I was just hoping to get to meet you and see if you were, uh, normal and if we can talk. I feel this is better than just going straight to my place and then being extra awkward on camera.”

“I agree,” Minho simply says, instantly feeling bad for saying so little. The things he’s saying are only a fraction of what he’s thinking, and he wishes he had the balls to talk to you more, ask you more questions, make sure you’re fine with all of this. “I’m sorry I’m awkward, I don’t really… Go out a lot, as you know.”

“It’s fine, I don’t either.” You giggle with a shake of your head, looking just as gorgeous as you do on camera. Only this time, Minho can enjoy looking straight into your eyes, looking at your entire face, basking in how pretty you are.

“You don’t?”

“When?” You grin. “I’m either at work, at uni, studying, or streaming. So, don’t worry about being weird. If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think you’re being awkward at all. All I can think about is how weird I am being. Anyway, I thought your message was sweet.”

Now, this surprises him. Firstly, he’s taken aback by the fact that someone like you doesn’t go out. Then, he’s happy to hear you don’t find him awkward because he is—his palms are sweating, and his cock hardened a bit when you mentioned your streams. But, it’s the final part that intrigues him the most. “You read it? I thought you used one of those programs that picked for you.”

“Oh, no. I wanted to read the messages,” you start explaining, leaning back into your chair, finally looking somewhat relaxed. “Some people write really nasty things, and I didn’t want to pick one of those guys, so I read the comments myself. And yours came in before I even announced my plan, so I feel like I made a good call.”

“Thank you,” he hums appreciatively, once again disappointing himself with how untalkative he’s being. “I meant what I wrote.”

“Thank you then. It really made me happy to read it, knowing that what I’m doing is somehow useful to someone else, other than for just getting off,” you say, taking a deep breath and looking at him. He’s kind of pathetic and he knows it. You both do. “Anyway, we can just agree when you’re coming over or we can go the other route and get to know each other a bit better so it’s less awkward on stream.”

“I prefer the latter, if I’m honest,” Minho quickly responds, hoping you’ll say the same thing. He can’t imagine himself showing up at your place tomorrow and just fucking you without knowing anything about you.

“Thank God, me too!” you exclaim with a hand over your heart, shaking your head as you giggle. “I mean, taking you home now would be awkward even without the camera being there.”

Minho’s eyes widen at the mention of the camera and the implication behind it—people would be watching him and his cock try to please you. Would he perform well? “I forgot about that.”

“Is it a problem?” You lean in again, eyebrows furrowing over your face. “I do it often nowadays, so I’m used to it, but I know it’s weird if you haven’t done it before.”

“No, I guess. If it’s not for you.”

You wave it off with a smile. “It’s going to be my first time doing something like that, too, so I guess we’re in the same boat after all. I’ll give you a mask, of course, you don’t have to show your face. In fact, you don’t have to show a lot. Or anything,” you’re rambling quickly at this point, just adding more and more since Minho is not saying anything. “We can find some positions where not everything is visible if you don’t want people to see a lot. Maybe I can ride you with my skirt on.”

Before you mention that, Minho’s wondering how he’ll look on stream and if he wants people to see his dick. But, as soon as you mention you riding him, all the blood from his brain rushes down—the thought of it gets his cock hard. “We’ll… Uh, think of something, I guess. You’ll see what works best.”

“Are you nervous about it? We can do something that leaves you out of the frame almost completely or we can shoot it instead of going live if you want to be 100% sure they can’t see a thing,” you say softly, and Minho just can’t stop thinking about how cute you are, even though his heart is pounding against his rib cage and he’s sporting an erection. It’s cute that you worry about him this much.

“I am nervous because I’m uh, definitely not in the shape to be perceived by 5,000 people,” he’s quick to joke, which makes you laugh. “But, I mean, it is what it is. I’m sure you’ll think of something that shows as little of me as possible.”

The conversation flows easier after that. You and Minho discuss condoms, protection, and getting tested for STDs, which he appreciates. It’s not that he doesn’t trust you, but he wants you both to be safe. So, you decide to leave the cafe and got tested at the free clinic downtown, deciding that is the easiest and least painful option. 

After Minho and you fill out the paperwork and get different samples taken, you’re asked to wait in the lobby, where you get cheap coffee from their machine and sit together in silence for a while.

You’re the first to speak, turning to face him. “Nervous about the results?” Minho knows you’re only asking because he’s been fidgeting and shaking his leg.

He doesn’t want to freak you out or come off as an irresponsible guy, but he also doesn’t want to lie. “Honestly… Kind of.”

You don’t seem shocked at all, even if you probably are. “Did you do something stupid or?”

A fair, simple question. Minho wishes the answer was simple too. Instead, it’s something that he hates talking about, that he avoids at all costs. “My ex did.”

“I’m sorry,” you tell him sweetly, hand moving down to give the hand that’s resting on his thigh a gentle pat, and the contact makes him shiver. “The one you wrote to me about?”

“Yeah,” is all he tells you, realizing he has talked to you, of all people, about it. He hasn’t said much, Minho remembers, but it was enough for you to figure out it was something bad.

“Oh. I’m sorry,” you hum gently, hand still on his, now giving it a light squeeze before you pull away. “I hope it will come back clean. You don’t deserve to deal with that.”

“Me too,” Minho says, needing to change the topic. “Are you nervous?”

Minho just doesn’t want to talk about his ex and how disgusted he felt when he realized she cheated on him with multiple guys. Yes, the sex was practically nonexistent because they were no longer in the honeymoon phase, but is the right response to that staying with your boyfriend and fucking anyone who offered behind his back? It’s something that hurts to talk about, so he doesn’t. His ego took a hit, and so did his heart. 

“No.”

“Really?” Minho asks, knowing he’s sounding stupid for acting so surprised that someone’s sure they’re clean. Isn’t that how most people feel?

“Yeah, I haven’t had sex in ages,” you confess, lowering your voice. “And when I did, I used protection and got tested regularly, so I know I’m clean.”

It’s so funny, how people think less of sex workers of any kind than “regular” people. Here you are, a sex worker, not even doubting that you’re clean, while he, the guy who’s had sex with three women in his entire life, is scared shitless of finding out his ex left him with a bit more than a broken heart and an ugly breakup. 

“So if we do it, it will be the first time in a while for both of us,” he concludes, wondering if you will go through with this. He wants to, of course, but under the condition that you really want it too, that you’re not just doing this as an obligation, which is insane. You are doing this as a chore, something to revive the channel. 

Thankfully, the results shows you’re both clean, meaning you’re one step closer to Saturday, the day you’ve decided to fuck on stream.

Saturday night is here sooner than expected, and Minho doesn’t feel ready, even though he’s clean and trimmed and shaved for you. His crotch hasn’t received this much attention since his breakup because Minho just didn’t go out and pursue anyone new, not even for sex. 

On top of doing that, he’s put on his most expensive cologne and worn the best clothes he owns, but it’s not like you care about his clothes. He’s there to fuck you, that’s it.

When he enters your apartment, thankful you trust him enough to give him the address without being afraid of him stalking you, Minho is too taken aback by you to even look around. You’re wearing a teeny tiny costume like the ones you usually wear for the stream. It’s strappy, showing off a lot of your skin, and the skirt is perfect. 

When you lead the way inside, Minho realizes the bottom part of your ass cheeks is showing with every step you take, and it makes him salivate. Is he really going to get to feel you tonight? It’s surreal.

His hand is shaking when he gives you the simple flower arrangement he got for you from a lady that sells them near his place. It’s nothing fancy, but it felt weird showing up empty-handed. You seem happy with the flowers, even if they’re simple, but you notice his shaking when he hands them to you, so you grab his hand. “You good?”

“Nervous, that’s all.” Minho clears his throat, enjoying your touch. “Don’t worry.”

“Want to have a shot?” you suggest with a smirk.

Two shots later, you’re both chuckling at each other, feeling a bit more relaxed now that you know you’re both feeling nervous about it. Minho finally has time to look around and notice where you live. You probably have less money than him, which is saying a lot considering he’s barely been making ends meet for a couple of months now. The place is small, but everything is so neat and tidy, every little thing has its place. It’s charming, just like you.

“So, what do you have in mind?” he finally asks, getting some courage from the shots and the way you’re looking at him, your tits almost out for him to gawk at.

“I was thinking I can sit down and you can walk into the shot and let me suck you off,” you say as if it’s no big deal, as if it’s not a dream come true for him. “But don’t turn your back on them completely, more from the side, so they can see me do it, but they won’t see all of you. If that’s fine.”

Any idea that includes your mouth around his cock sounds perfect, but Minho has to disagree. “Hm… What do you think about me sitting and you sitting on top of me?” 

“Oh?” you cock your head to the side and look at him. “What do you mean?”

“Your plan sounds great to me, but as a watcher, I think people watch to see you have fun, not some random guy who’s just here once,” Minho explains, feeling his cheeks get red. He’s outing himself as your biggest fan here, but he wants to make this worthwhile for you. If you’re doing it to get your views up, you should do it the right way and get all the views. “If you sit on me and let me play with you, they might, uh, feel like it’s them playing with you if that makes sense. And then I can… put it in if you want that.”

“Have me ride you while you sit?” you rephrase it in a way that makes his mouth water. “I think that would work. They won’t see practically anything, right? I mean, they will see your balls and some of your dick.”

It all sounds so transactional, but the way you’re treating him tells Minho it’s not exactly that, which kind of confuses him. But, he’s there to fuck you for the stream, that’s it.

“It’s fine,” Minho shrugs. “As long as no one can see my face, I’m good.”

“Okay,” you nod, patting his hand. “So, I start the stream…”

You go on about the pose in detail, explaining what you’re going to do with yourself, when you’re going to invite him in, how he should sit, when to put the condom on, remind him to cover his balls with his fist if he doesn’t want anyone to see them, and tell him you can stop at any time.

“If I’m on top of you and can’t see you shake your head, just whisper it to me and we’re stopping, no hard feelings, okay?” you end the monologue on a sweet note, and Minho nods again, repeating the same thing. “The same goes for you.”

And then, you take him to the room where it all happens, and he finally gets to see it from another angle. It all seems the same, but smaller than it does on stream. You go to your makeup desk and put on a mask, which makes you look like the good old Baby Blue he knows—dressed to kill, straps all over your body leaving just enough for his imagination, face hidden save from that pretty mouth and gorgeous eyes. Perfect. 

You take another mask and walk over to Minho, putting it on him. When you make sure it’s on tightly, you run your hand through his hair, fixing it. “You look so pretty like this.” The compliment goes straight to his chest, and he chuckles, looking to the side.

“You do too,” Minho gulps, feeling sexual tension arise from having you so close, “but I prefer you without it.”

“I’d fuck you without it if I didn’t have to stream,” you admit before biting your lip. “Can’t let people see me, and all that.”

“Oh, no, don’t worry,” Minho shakes his head. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know, Minho,” you coo, patting his chest softly. “Relax… I’ll, uh, call you Lino during the stream, if that’s okay?”

“That’s perfect. I’ll, uh, be quiet?”

“No,” you say sharply before chuckling at yourself. “That sounded weird. I mean, you don’t have to. I’d love to hear you. You can call me Baby.”

“Baby it is,” he confirms, eyes focusing on how plump your lips look. 

“And please, feel free to dirty talk all you want, that’s what gets people going,” you advise. “I don’t mind it. Just no ‘daddy’ talk.”

Minho grimaces with a grunt. “I’d never,” he says, placing a hand over his heart. “I’ll, uh, do my best.”

“You’ll do just fine,” you pat his chest again. This time, your hand moves up to cup his face. “And please, call me whatever you want. Slut, whore, baby, whatever.”

“I—” his voice breaks on his tongue, unable to form a sentence at the very idea of calling you those names. He can’t call you that, even if the very idea makes his dick twitch.

“I mean, I’m doing this for the fans, and you are one, I guess, so you probably think a lot of things they think. If you say those things to me while you fuck me, it might feel more real to them.”

It makes a lot of sense when you put it like that, so Minho agrees. “How will I know I’ve taken it too far? It’s not like I can ask in front of them.”

“Maybe, uh, we pat each other’s thighs twice when we want to tone it down a bit. How does that sound?”

It’s the first time you’ve included yourself in it, made sure you have a way out too, so Minho is happy with the deal. “Sounds good,” he tells you, still focused on your lips. “I don’t want to offend you, so please stop me if I say something too explicit. I’m… I don’t do this a lot.”

“Me neither, Minho,” you whisper at him, moving in closer until your chest is practically pressed flush against his. “You can’t offend me. Call me a whore all you want. If you want to tell me I’m a slut for getting naked for all those people, do it. It’s not that far off from what I think of it, anyway.”

There’s a lot to unpack here, Minho notes, and he really wants to stop you and tell you you’re the furthest thing from that he can possibly imagine, but words don’t come easy to him. If he starts this conversation now, he’ll definitely ruin the mood before the stream, and he can’t let that happen to you. “You… I… Okay. You’re, uh, not… That.”

“It starts soon,” you quickly change the subject. “Do you want to get naked?”

“N-now?” his voice falters a bit as a lump forms in his throat. So, this is how you want to do it. Is he just going to sit around naked while you entertain your audience for a while?

“Want me to help?” you offer , fingers now grazing his clothed chest, sending shivers that end up straight in his cock. Do you really think he’s going to say no to that?

“Please,” he says simply, wanting you to do it. Maybe that will help him get out of his head. 

Minho thinks you’ll just unbuckle his belt, but you lean in instead and kiss him slowly. God, your mouth tastes like magic, and he just wants more. Somehow, he musters the courage to put a hand behind your head and touch it gently, pushing you towards his face.

At the same time, your fingers are working on the buttons of his button-up, not stopping until all of them are undone. Through it all, your lips stay against his, tongue roaming his mouth gently, the taste of cherry liquor still on it, making it even sweeter. 

Your hands push his shirt off his shoulders and Minho moves his hands to his sides to let the shirt fall on the floor. It’s then that you unbuckle his belt and undo his zipper, tongue now back inside of your mouth while your lips play with his. Minho feels your fingers sneaking under the waistband of his boxers, before you breathe the question at him, “Okay?”

“Sure,” he whispers back before leaning into the kiss again, wanting to savor the feeling of your lips on his. The next second, you’re pulling his underwear and jeans down his legs. You don’t pull them down all the way. Instead, you do it just enough for his cock to spring free and for you to wrap your hand around it. At the same time, your teeth gently sink into his bottom lip. 

Minho grunts loudly and kicks his head back—he can’t believe you are squeezing his cock, that he’s here with you, and that you want to do this with him. While he’s too busy recovering, you lean in and spit on his cock, which just makes him weak in the knees again. 

“I understand if you don’t want people to see it, trust me,” you hum the words as your mouth makes its way up his neck to his jaw, his head still leaning back as he grunts, “but you have such a pretty cock.”

This is honestly the first time Minho’s received this specific compliment, and it warms his heart despite being so vulgar. It’s cute at the same time, which is exactly what he expects of you. “You’re pretty,” he finally says something, and it makes you chuckle and kiss him again.

Now, your hand is moving up and down his cock, tugging at it gently. “You’ll do just fine, don’t worry, okay?”

Your words are comforting, so he hums. “You will too,” he tells you, remembering you’re nervous about it too. 

“Let’s get you naked,” you suggest and crouch down so you can pull his clothes down his legs and throw them on your bed where you previously discarded the shirt. You stay in the same position, looking up at him, his cock getting in the way as it stands upright, completely hard for you already. It’s embarrassing, really. “Pretty,” you giggle and lean in. “Can I?”

Minho nods, unsure of what you’re even asking, but he knows it’s going to bring him pleasure. The second he feels your mouth wrap around the head of his cock, he feels like he’s in heaven. When you suck it in and tease it with your tongue, Minho’s hands fly down to cup your face, thumbs gently caressing your cheeks. “You’re so fucking good,” he tells you weakly. “Fuck.”

You must like him, right? There’s no way you’d be sucking him off now, off-camera. There’s seemingly no other reason for you to do it other than to bring him pleasure, and that’s not a part of the deal. When you hum around his dick, Minho’s hips thrust into your face involuntarily, so you chuckle and pull away gently. A string of saliva connects your lips with his dick, and Minho wants to fuck you right away, kiss you all over. 

“Can’t get too carried away just yet,” you chuckle as you speak, standing up on your feet and wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “Now you’re good and ready for the stream. Sure you want to do it?”

“Positive,” Minho nods, hands moving to your hips without asking. “Sure you want it?”

You hum in agreement and peck his lips. “You’re the best possible choice for this, it turns out. If you change your mind, just shake your head at me and I’m canceling it, before or during it, I don’t care, okay?”

“Same goes for you then,” Minho adds, wanting you to be on the same level. He then calls your name, remembering that he didn’t check some of the basics. “How do you, uh, like it?”

“Like what? Sex?”

“Being touched,” he breathes the words, the implication that he is going to touch you making him feel dizzy. “If we’ll start with me doing that, I’d like to make you feel good.”

“Uhm,” you sigh, taking a second to think before you continue, “You can touch me wherever you want, just be gentle at first. I mean, don’t try to shove fingers in if I’m not wet, but I’m thinking you already know that.”

“Yeah, of course,” he nods, hoping there aren’t guys out there who actually do that type of thing to women. “I know you usually touch yourself and use a vibrator at the same time, but you’re alone then. Do you want me to do both at the same time?”

“You can progress to that,” you agree with a smile. “If you want to.”

“And then, you’ll, uh, sit on me?” His cock twitches at the question, and you notice it—your gaze flies down and you smirk. 

“Yes. If you want to change the position, we can move the chair to the side and you can bend me over it so that I’m facing the camera. I think they’ll get to see my face and you fucking me.”

His cock twitches again and Minho hopes he’ll be able to get this right for you.

And then, the show starts, and your bubbly persona is on. It’s not that you’re not really sweet off-camera, but you’re too sweet in front of it. He prefers the real you now that he knows you.

“Hey everyone! I’m happy you’re all here today,” you start, staring at the camera, aware of Minho’s presence next to the desk. “I have a special guest for a change. It’s Lino98 who won the comment game. I have to tell you guys he’s a lot more handsome than I hoped for. I guess I have some really hot people watching.”

Minho enjoys watching you do this even in person, even if you’re talking about him, which makes the tips of his ears turn red. You’re just saying these things for the stream, he knows, gassing it up so people would enjoy it more.

Then, you answer a couple of questions from tippers, as always, and lean back into the chair, your core still covered with the strappy underwear you have on, even though your legs are spread. At this point, Lino98 would start touching himself back home, but only lightly, tugging at his cock here and there while staring at your covered crotch and imagining he was there with you.

Well, now he is, and he resists the urge to jerk his cock even once. While you’re answering questions, you touch yourself, pinching your nipple here and there, pressing your fingers into your clit, and Minho notices the way your gaze flies to him as you buck your hips into your hand. Are you checking what he’s doing or do you want to look at him when you’re touching yourself?

His resolution is broken not even two minutes in—he spits in his palm and starts tugging at his cock while looking at you, just like he does back at home. But it’s real this time, and you’re right in front of him. Your fingers slide under the straps covering your crotch and one disappears inside of you as you answer a question about tonight. “Am I looking forward to it? Fuck yes,” you breathe out, looking at him. “I’ve been thinking about fucking Lino all day today. Even tasted his cock before we started, but I wanted to leave the rest of it for the stream.”

Minho can’t believe you’ve just admitted that to thousands of people. What’s even less believable is you thinking about fucking him all day. You did, however, take his cock into your mouth earlier, even if he didn’t ask you to. Did you really find him hot? 

It all happens pretty fast, you calling him over, him sitting on the chair and you getting on top of him, spreading your legs and letting them flail on each side of his thighs, as if you’re forfeiting all control, like a doll in his hands. “Lino, handsome, you can touch,” you instruct him, moving one of your hands to the back to grab his neck gently from behind.

As if he’s been waiting for this moment forever—and sometimes, it does feel like forever—Minho grabs your tits, starting to squeeze them with shaky hands. They feel just as supple as he imagined, and his heart starts racing at the contact of your warm skin with his.

You roll your hips over his dick, moaning in response, as if he’s doing a great job. “Doesn’t he have nice hands? Can’t wait to feel them all over me,” you say, staring right at the camera, which makes him grunt. You’re too good at this. If he was watching this, he’d be eating you right up.

Minho looks at the camera himself, and then his gaze flies to the screen in front of you, where all the comments are moving fast, but not fast enough for him not to read some. “Bet he has a small dick”, “If this dude doesn’t come 10 seconds in, I’ll cut my dick off”, “Can he, like, do something,” “Boooooring”, “Not you fake moaning already” are some of the ones that catch his eye, and he regrets ever looking at the screen. 

“You’re doing good, Lino,” you tell him softly, turning your head to the side so you can whisper at him, show him you’re still here with him. “Minho, forget about them. Just think about me, okay? I really want to fuck you.”

Those seem to be the magic words he needs to hear to start groping your breasts harder, pulling the nipples before rubbing them, giving your tits a light smack between gropes. “Fuck,” you mutter, but don’t pat his thigh, which means you like it. You don’t want him to stop. “Touch me.”

Minho doesn’t need to be told twice—his fingers are under the straps that cover your cunt before you can even react, and he’s surprised to find you soaking, your slit wet and soft, ready for him. 

“So wet for me already,” he gets balls to say out loud, knowing people can hear him. He’d like to hear the same thing if he was watching some lucky bastard fuck you. Besides, it’s true. “Did you get this wet just because I touched you for a second there? Slut.”

The nickname makes you grunt and arch your back into his chest, legs spreading wider, still handing over his thighs. He’s rubbing your clit now, and even if the audience can’t exactly see it, they can clearly see his fingers moving under the straps of the underwear and can probably notice how the light red strap that covers your slit slowly becomes dark red as it gets soaked because of him. 

“Want to taste you so bad,” he hisses at you, and your hand flies up to his mouth, finger that was in your cunt a minute ago now tapping against his lips, and it’s the hottest thing anyone’s ever done to him.

Without any shame, Minho sucks your middle finger into his mouth and licks it clean, overwhelmed by your taste and smell. “So fucking tasty,” he mumbles when your finger leaves his mouth. “Want to eat you out all night.”

“I want that too, baby,” you tell him sweetly, hips rolling in circles as he rubs your clit with the pads of his fingers. “You guys like that, huh?” you ask the audience, spreading your legs even more. “Lino’s being so good to me… Touching me just right.”

“Want me to be better?” he asks softly, and you nod, enjoying the way he’s nuzzled up to your neck now and pressing kisses to it as if you’re somewhere all alone and he’s taking his sweet time with you. 

The next second, his finger is inside of you, and your hips buck into him instinctively, a grunt leaving your mouth. He’s no expert, but he feels like his finger is filling you up nicely—your walls feel tight around it, lubed up enough for him to move around without hurting or scratching you. “Good, Baby?” Minho asks you through clenched teeth, feeling his cock leak precum, stuck between your back and his stomach. 

“Perfect, Lino”, you say loudly, looking at him instead of at the camera, just for a second. “Want you so bad. Want it all.”

“Let me make you feel good then,” Minho suggests, voice sounding a lot more confident now when he realizes you’re actually enjoying it.

While keeping his finger inside of you, he moves his other hand from your tit down to your clit and starts rubbing it. This way, he has a lot more control of you, especially since you hold onto his biceps and let him do whatever he wants for thousands of people to see. The view from his position is amazing—he sees your tits and hard nipples, the curve of your stomach, and your strap-covered crotch, both his hands under the straps, bringing you pleasure.

“God!” you grunt, jerking your hips into his hands. “So fucking good! More, please.”

“More what, Baby?” Minho snickers, feeling proud of himself. If you’re faking, you’re a pro at it—his finger is soaked, and he’s sure the strap is completely wet with your juices by now, and that the viewers can see it too.

“Fingers, Lino, please,” you beg, nails digging into his biceps as you whine. “Please, I need it, don’t tease me.”

His gaze flies to the comment screen as he pulls out his finger and circles your entrance with two of them now, getting them both wet. People are saying you’re acting like a needy slut for him, commenting on how hot you look when someone's making you feel good, some telling him he should go harder on you. 

Someone writes that Lino98 should slap you around and show you your place, which annoys him to no end. Nobody should talk about you that way. Instead of doing what the commenter asked, Minho leans in and peppers kisses along your jawline while adding another finger, two of them now filling your pussy right. 

“Good, Baby?” he asks but doesn’t need to—you’ve let out such a satisfied moan, mouth fully open, eyebrows furrowing over your eyes, that it’s pretty clear you love having him in you. “I want you badly too, but we need to stretch you out first, hm…”

You moan back, rolling your hips in circles, getting a bit lost in pleasure. “You’re so good, Lino, so fucking good with your hands… I told you guys I like his hands right away. He knows how to use them too. Feel your fingers filling me up, feel it so well, baby…”

“Good, you should,” Minho moans in response, getting even more turned on now that you’re so pliant and needy. “Want you to feel all of it.”

Slowly but surely, Minho stretches your cunt open. One finger, two, three, until you’re throwing your hips down onto his, fucking yourself against them with your head kicked back, feet propped up on his knees. 

The fingers fit just right, and your walls wrap around them hungrily, making him imagine what it will feel like to have them around his cock. Minho’s hands are over your cunt, so no one can see it, just like you asked him to.

“Like that, hm?” he asks you, wondering if you can hear him over the moaning he hopes isn’t fake. “Like having a cunt full of fingers?”

“Full of you, baby,” you moan back, rolling your hips. Every time Minho talks dirty to you, you clench around him as if you’re rewarding him for giving you what you need. “Can you give me your dick now? I want to feel it.”

“Whatever you want, Baby,” Minho tells you sweetly, sad to separate from your cunt even for a second. 

However, you quickly place your feet on the floor and lift yourself up, putting the condom on his dick while explaining to your audience how hard it feels, praising his length and girth even though Minho knows he’s not the biggest out there. 

“He’s pretty all over,” you tell them with your hand around the base of his condom-clad cock, giving it a light squeeze. “And such a fucking sweet guy. But he has a bit of a dirty mouth. He should speak more? Someone said that, Lino. Speak more for them. Tell me what all of them on the other side would tell me.”

“Okay,” Minho agrees with a shaky voice because he’s too busy internally screaming over the fact that you’ve just sunk down on his cock fully and moaned so hard he thinks he’s hurt you. Did he not stretch you well beforehand? God, you’re so tight around him. “All good, Baby?”

“The real thing feels so much better,” you say, breathing out slowly. “But so much bigger too. I’ll go slow.”

With that, you start moving, and it all becomes a blur for the next five minutes. He almost comes three times and whispers that at you so you can slow down and pretend you’re reading the comments. 

All Minho tells you during those long, hard minutes are “fuck”, “just like that,” “so tight, so wet”, and different variations of the same thing—his pleasure increasing with every movement of your hips. It’s hard to look at the comments or you because all of it makes Minho want to blow, so he kicks his head back and touches your clit while you ride him. 

Just a week ago, you were something unattainable, a secret pastime he never spoke about, his little secret. Now, he was quite literally inside of you, your body pressed into his chest as your hips slammed into his, his fingers rubbing your clit to make you feel good. After all, that’s all he’s thought about since he started watching you—how he’d please you if he were there with you.

Well, now’s his chance, and Minho has to stop focusing on his own pleasure and think about yours. So, he just thinks about his fingers and how he’s pressed them into your clit and moving them up and down, hopefully getting you as much friction as you need. He misses everything you say during the next couple of minutes, too busy focusing on your clit. However, Minho realizes you’re talking to the audience and just dirty talking.

“Fuck, Lino, there,” you suddenly hiss at him and he realizes that he’s getting you close. “Just like that, baby, make me come for them.”

Minho doesn’t want to make you come for them at all—he wants you to do it all for him. Still, he plays along, his orgasm now forgotten, “Ah, slut wants people to see her come all over a dick? Is that what you want?”

“Yes, Lino, please,” you fall into his chest, hips still smacking into his, hands holding onto the arm rest for support. “Make me come, I want it so bad.”

“I know,” he hums and kisses your neck, showing you he has a soft spot for you once again. It’s not exactly something Minho can hide, but he can mask it by giving you what you said you wanted. “You want all these men to watch you… Turns you on, right? Being slutty for so many guys. You’re so horny for us you asked me to come here so I can fuck your brains out for everyone to watch.”

You whine and nod, your body stiffening as your legs spread and clench together, your hips moving into and then away from his hand, body nearing release. “Good little slut… Maybe the rest of them will get this lucky too… Get to fill you with cock,” he goes on even when your voice gets louder and when you are just grunting and hissing and moaning, losing the ability to speak coherently. “I hope they can all see how well you’re riding me, getting me all wet, taking all of it.”

He’s not sure how long he talks dirty to you for and he can’t even remember everything he’s said—Minho gets lost in it too, especially since you sound so pretty as your body shudders on top of his. What Minho knows is that he stops it when he realizes you’re coming. Suddenly, he changes the tone he uses with you, lowering it, coaxing you sweetly, “Yeah, that’s right, come all over it for me, baby, show me how much you like it in you.”

It seems like his words turn you on even more because you speed your hips up instead of slowing down, head turning to the side so you can look right at him. Dark masks are covering both of your faces, but you still manage to look gorgeous like this. “Good girl,” he whispers. “You ride dick so well. Look so pretty doing it.”

“Fuck, you’re good,” you hiss back, eyes meeting his lips, which he takes as an invite to kiss you.

You two didn’t exactly discuss kissing, but you’ve kissed earlier off-camera, so Minho thinks it’s okay. While he’s being sweet to you with his mouth, Minho smacks your clit a couple of times, getting your hips to jerk up. “See?” he chuckles into the kiss. “Such an eager slut, Baby… Want it again?”

“Yes, Lino, please, more,” you plead before kissing him almost desperately, lips crashing, tongues clashing, moans getting muffled by his mouth. “Give it to me.”

Minho’s eyes shift to the screen and he reads some of the comments. He’s there for you, to help you get those views up, to entertain people, make them tip you. So, he has to play the part. “You guys want to know if she feels good?” he asks after realizing there are many comments asking the same thing. To be fair, he’d probably want to know the same thing if he was at home jerking off to the sight of you fucking yourself against someone’s dick. “She has the perfect cunt. Really tight and wet, clenches so hard when you touch her clit… Perfect. Wish I could show you.”

You stiffen at his words, which Minho instantly feels against his body, so he whispers, “Don’t worry, Baby, I would never do it.” You’re clearly afraid he’ll just pull out, which would probably let people see at least half of your slit, and that’s what you want to avoid.

“Mhm,” you hum, hand moving up to his face so you can cup it, thumb running along his jawline as you stare at the camera. “Maybe you guys will get to see one day. Maybe Lino will fuck me senseless and I’ll forget all about being a good girl and not showing you everything.”

The comment section suddenly start cheering for him, asking him to give it to you good, treat you like a slut. His hands start touching you all over, cock still inside of you, twitching with every grunt you make as you talk to the audience about how it feels to get fucked after a long time.

Minho just focuses on playing with your perfect tits, rubbing the nipples, while he gently rolls his hips, causing at least some friction between his insanely hard cock and your walls. 

And then, you turn to him again, this time smiling sweetly. “They want you to fuck me like you mean it, Lino,” you tell him with a chuckle. “They want to see me ruined.”

“Do you want that, Baby?” Minho checks, not wanting to make any sudden moves unless he’s sure you’re all for it. Fuck what the audience wants.

Instead of answering, you lean back into his chest even more and throw each leg over the armrests, fully spread for the viewers. But, his cock is in you, and the straps are still all over your crotch, so they can see some parts of it, but not all, and definitely not the inside. Still, Minho is a bit shocked that you’re risking it all like this. Do you really like his cock that much?

And then, Minho decides to surprise you, for a change. His hands move under you, grabbing your ass from below and slightly lifting you, but not enough for his cock to fall out. “Ready?” he asks gently, and you almost melt in his arms. So, his sweet thing is not just a facade, he is like that even when he’s balls deep inside of you. “Give it to me,” you hiss at him, and the next second, you feel like you’re ascending. Minho is pumping you full of cock from below, bottoming out with each hard thrust. You want to respond to the comments, you want to put on a show, but you can’t. 

“Want to fuck you dumb, Baby,” he grunts at you, low enough just for you to hear, and you melt again.

Your mind’s blank save for the waves of pleasure he’s causing to ripple through your body. The sex is so fucking good, and you can’t believe a guy who’s touching you for the first time can do it this well. It just doesn’t happen. “Ah fuck, Lino, just like that!”

He’s told you he’s had sex with three women before you, and it made you think Minho wasn’t going to be that good. But, since they’ve all been longer relationships, he’s clearly had more practice than you thought. You’ve never had a guy do this to you, fuck you stupid like this, make you forget all about your own rules for streaming and about the stream itself.

At this point, if Minho pushes the straps to side and exposes your cunt to the world, you probably won’t even register it, just because he’s pistoning into you from below, turning your brain and legs into mush.

“Taking it so fucking well,” he groans as he fucks you, completely lost in pleasure, thighs smacking into yours harshly. The pain is minimal in comparison to what his dick is making you feel, so you let him fuck you like that. “Taking all of me on camera, hm…”

“Lino, fuck, fuck, fuck!” There’s not much you can tell him, even though you should be focusing on putting on a show and talking dirty and telling people how good it feels to fuck a fan. The truth is, it feels a bit too good.

Minho speeds up and moans so loudly you think he’s coming. At this point, you won’t even mind—you’ve put on a show already, you came with a dick in you, and if Minho comes, the deed is done.

However, he doesn't let himself come this time. He slows down and lets your ass fall back on his hips again, hands wrapping around you tight as his mouth latches onto your neck. “Your tight pussy is swallowing me, fuck,” Minho mumbles into your skin, his warm scent engulfing you. “Almost came.”

“You can do it whenever you want to, handsome,” you whisper, turning your attention to the camera to stop gawking at the man.

The comments are asking him to give it to you rough and leave you full of cum, as expected. “You guys are really nasty tonight,” you say teasingly, fingernails grazing his thigh. “Want Lino to use me as a cumdump the first time he’s fucking me, huh?” 

His cock twitches inside of you at the thought, even though it’s not happening, and you both know it. “I’ll fill all your holes tonight, Baby.”

“I know you will,” you play along, clenching around him hard. “Why don’t you give it to me from the back?” 

It all goes as planned, him behind you, fucking you until his dick goes numb because he focuses on the comments and can’t possibly come when so many people are cheering for him or saying they could do it better. How do you even do this? He'd go crazy just watching people write all sort of nasty things, some very dirty, others very cruel.

Minho thinks you notice that he’s not saying much and is just staring at the place where his body meets yours, cock disappearing between your wet folds, reappearing even wetter. 

He thinks so because you turn your head back and whisper, “Can’t do it?” You don't look disappointed or annoyed—you looked genuinely worried, and it kind of warms his heart.

“I, I can,” he grunts back, keeping his voice down so the entire world doesn’t realize he’s struggling to come after putting it off for so long. “Just need to stop thinking.”

“Fuck me harder then,” you say loudly now, giving him a wink. “Want to feel you deep.”

Minho does, but he’s no closer to coming than he was before, even though he’s enjoying every second of this. It’s slowly turning into overstimulation, so he’s hissing after every couple of thrusts, dying to come. Somehow, you know what’s going on, so you whisper at him, “Blowjob?”

“Please,” he begs, not even able to feel bad about it. 

The next second, you push the chair away and let him pull out of you slowly, let him cover his dick with his hands so not everyone sees it. You walk over to the camera and grin. “I think I’ll do something special tonight, something you don’t always see from me. What do you think, does Lino deserve to come in my mouth?”

The comments, of course, agree, and so does Minho. You turn around and look at him questioningly, as if you’re checking if it’s okay with him, so he simply nods. And then, magic happens.

You walk up to him and gently push him backwards until his back meets the wall. Then, you get down on your knees and stick your ass out so people get a good view of your barely-covered crotch while you suck his cock, which is exactly what you do immediately after.

You take all of him so well on the first go, gagging around it while looking up at Minho, and he can’t say anything. He can’t tell the audience your mouth feels perfect, which it does, he can’t call you a slut, or tell you you’re acting needy. All he can do is gulp and cup your face, tangling the fingers of one hand in your hair and gently caressing your scalp, enjoying the way you feel under his fingertips.

That, paired with the feeling of your warm mouth around him and your tear-filled eyes looking up at him is enough to make Minho forget where he is for a while. It helps that he’s far away from the computer and can’t see any negative or nasty comments. All he sees is you, and it seems like he’s all you’re thinking about because you’re not even blinking at this point, even though tears are streaming down your face as you struggle to deepthroat him. It gets wetter by the second and Minho feels his balls tighten.

“Baby, I’ll come,” he warns you with a hiss. “Can I—fuck, where?”

You hum gently, nodding your head before continuing to suck on his cock and bobbing your head on it so he moan and kicks his head back, gently pushing his hips into you as cum spurts into your tight throat. You keep going until the very last drop is out and then you let his cock fall out of your mouth.

However, you don’t move away from him and let people see his now practically flaccid cock. Instead, you grab both his hands and pull them down to motion for him to cover himself, a gesture Minho appreciates. He would have forgotten it in all the bliss he’s feeling. 

And then, you stand up and open your mouth slightly, letting some of his cum slip out of your mouth, over your bottom lip, onto your chin. You go to the camera and show it to the audience, opening your mouth to show some of the cum still pooling around it before you swallow loudly. Minho thinks he will lose his mind because of you—he’s standing on the side watching you in awe. You’ve never discussed sucking him off or swallowing his cum, so now that he’s watching you do it, he feels amazed.

Once you’ve swallowed it all, you stick your tongue out and lap at the remnants of it on your chin, humming in the process. “Sweet, just as Lino. Thanks for visiting tonight, I hope you’ve had as much fun as I have. Sorry for going a bit quiet on you, it’s hard to think straight when you’re getting rammed like that. A huge thank you to Lino for being here and for being this amazing. I see you guys liked him too. Thanks once again for being here, and have a great night! Sweet dreams!”

You log off and turn to face him with a sigh. “Well… That was something.”

if you want to support my writing, you can buy me a coffee here and let me know what you think about it here. thank you! ♡

𝐀𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐓𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭

What was supposed to be a quick drabble turned into a full length fic lol. So here it is! I hope you guys like it!

p.s: not yet proofread so i apologizes for any spelling and gramatical errors, it's already 3am rn as I'm making this lol

Pairings: Seo Changbin x Fem!Reader

Genre: Mature Themes (Smut), Fluff

Content warnings: Established relationship, Dilf!Changbin, talks about pregnancy and child birth, talks about changes of the body after pregnancy.

Smut warnings: softdom!Changbin, sub!reader, oral (f.rec), involves a lot of kissing, mentions of the gspot, involves a lot of praise, piv, creampies, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it)

Word count: 2.8k words

Synopsis: To celebrate your anniversary, your brother Chan offers to look after your kids so that you and Changbin can spend some alone time together ♡

"Remember, Minsoo needs to be asleep by 8, or else she'll get really cranky. Junho can stay up until 9, just don't give him any sweets before bed. Okay? And then don't forget to give—"

"Give Minsoo and Junho their vitamins during breakfast, got it." Chan finishes your sentence before you do with a smile and a slight chuckle, and you sigh, shaking your head as you give him the last of the bags you've packed for your kids. "Sorry, I'm just not used to sending my kids off overnight." You say sheepishly as you rub the back of your neck. "Hey, it's no worries." He says, giving a quick glance behind him. Changbin was with your kids, helping them get inside Chan's car, giving them a little pep talk about not being too rowdy while in their uncle's place. In the passenger seat was Chan's wife, helping your husband to buckle them up safely.

"Besides, they'll be fine. Chunseo couldn't stop babbling about how excited he is now that he'll have a playmate." The mention of your nephew brings a smile to your face, just imagining his excited figure bugging Chan all about the sleepover. "Thanks, what will I ever do without you?" You finally say as you pull Chan into a hug, to which he hugs you back, giving comforting circles behind your back. "Oh, come on. I'm your big bro! I'll always be here for you."

By the time your brother finally pulls away from the hug, Changbin has already made his way to the both of you, letting out an exhausted smile as he finally got the kids to settle. "Good luck man. You're in God's hands now." He jokes, making Chan playfully give him a pinch on his side. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. You guys better make the most of your anniversary now that I'll be taking your kids away for a while. You guys should relax and... you know, have a little bit of fun."

Your cheeks visibly flush at your brother's suggestive tone, especially when he wiggles his brows towards the two of you with a childish giggle. "Stop bothering the two lovebirds and get over here already!" With the familiar honk of Chan's car, you hear your sister-in-law practically shout at Chan, making you burst into a chuckle. "Oh, well, that's my cue," he says as he turns to jog back to his car. "Say bye to your mom and dad, kids!"

"BYE MOMMY AND DADDY, WE'LL MISS YOU!" You hear Junho, your eldest, say— well, more like shout— giving you a wave goodbye while Minsoo, currently strapped in a baby seat, follows suit. "Byebye, mommy and daddy!" she says, waving her tiny hands towards the two of you.

"Have fun!" you wave back and surprisingly slightly tear up as the car finally pulls out of your driveway. Sure, it's nice to finally have a day off from taking care of the kids, but really, the thought of being away from them for even just a day floods your heart with worry, and of course, you start to miss them right away.

"They'll be alright love, don't worry." Your husband says as he hugs you from behind, his arms coming around to wrap around your midsection and gently sway you from side to side, instantly soothing you. "Sorry, I can't help it." You sigh out, now leaning against him as you place your arms over his. "I know, I miss those little critters too already," he says, leaning in to press a kiss against your temple. "But hey, now that we're alone," Changbin says as he now gently peppers you with kisses, each kiss getting lower and lower until he reaches your neck. "We can do whatever we want,"

His kisses felt like fire on your skin, each leaving a burn of desire that's slowly consuming you. You can't even remember when was the last time you got intimate with your husband, let alone spend some alone time with him, not when you got 2 kids that always needed to be looked after. Right now, you're more than glad to have your brother take your kids in for a while, giving you and Changbin the generous amount of time all to yourselves.

"Binnie, not out here..." you whine out as you feel him nip at your skin, making him chuckle. "Alright, let's bring you inside, yeah?"

The moment Changbin closes the door behind him, he immediately pulls you into a heated kiss, his large hands moving to grab your waist before pinning you against a wall. "Fuck—" he curses under his breath when he briefly pulls away for some air, before kissing you again, this time you feel his tongue swipe against your lower lip, asking for entrance to which you immediately give in. You practically moan into his mouth as your tongues swirl against each other as if the two of you were high schoolers making out under the bleachers. Everything felt so intense, and from that moment, you felt this intense desire to have him fuck you already.

Changbin hisses the moment he feels you palm him over his basketball shorts, his cock twitching as the contact. "Shit, it's been too long," he says as he leads you towards your living room. He doesn't stop kissing you until he's sat on your couch with you straddling his lap while his hands move to cup your clothed breast. "Fuck, I missed this," he says, before pulling you into a kiss again, his nimble fingers now moving to play with your hardened nipples that were straining against your shirt— Changbin's shirt to be precise, the one that's too loose on you but still comfortable nonetheless.

You have no idea how it happened, but suddenly you're now topless, your shirt now discarded somewhere in the living room, before Changbin leans in to capture one of your nipples into his mouth, while the other gets played by his fingers. "Binnie, fuck—" you moan out, back practically arching towards him as you feel his tongue swirl against the sensitive bud. "You're still as sensitive as ever," your husband comments before moving to the other nipple, giving it the same attention he gave with the other.

"Look at you, so fucking beautiful," he says, pulling away just to get a good look at you, making your cheeks burn in embarrassment. "Stop lying," you whine out, your eyes averting from his gaze filled with love, adoration, and lust. "Who said that I'm lying?" He questions you, his hands now trailing over to your bare sides. "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever laid my eyes upon, no one else," he sighs out, almost dreamily, as his eyes trail all over your body. "But love, look at me, I'm not... My body isn't the same back when I was younger you know," you say with a sad tone. It's true, though. Getting pregnant and giving birth twice makes a huge change in your body. You've gained weight, gained stretch marks, gained loose skin, and if you were being honest, you feel insecure over it.

Being a mother was everything you wanted, and creating a family with Changbin was everything you wanted. It wasn't a curse, per se, but it did take a toll on your body.

"Of course it's not," you hear your husband say, cutting off your thoughts. "You gave life to two wonderful children and made me the happiest man on earth. You endured so much pain when you gave birth and have been through a lot during pregnancy. Heck, you even had to sacrifice your work just to take care of Junho and Minsoo. If anything, you're an amazing woman and your body is just proof of it. Your strength of being a mother to 2 rowdy kids while being a wife to me at the same time is probably the sexiest thing I've ever seen my whole life."

"I don't care about you gaining weight," he continues, his thumbs trailing over the stretch marks on your stomach. "And I don't care about your stretch marks," he presses a gentle kiss right there before looking up at you with a smile. "You're still the sexiest woman in my eyes. You're the only one who gets me this hard." With that, he rolls his hips so that his clothed cock brushes against your clothed core, making you whimper. At this point, you didn't know what to feel. You wanted to cry over the sweet words of your husband but at the same time, you feel so turned on over the fact that Changbin still gets hard, that you still turn him on despite everything.

"God, just fuck me already." You groan out, making your husband chuckle in reply. "I thought you would never ask." Changbin pulls you in again for a kiss, and at the same time, his hand snakes into your shorts, groaning against your mouth at the feeling of your underwear soaked through with your arousal. "You're so wet for me, love. Fuck." He grits out before wasting no time removing your shorts before sitting you on the couch. "I can't wait to taste you."

Changbin gets on his knees almost immediately, putting your legs on his shoulders as he pulls you towards the edge of the couch, adjusting your position. He feels himself almost salivate at the sight of your bare pussy glistening with wetness, the sight was enough to get him leaking precum. He blows cool air towards your cunt just to see you squirm before parting your folds with his thumb. "So pretty," you hear him say before diving up, his tongue immediately coming out to lick a fat stripe on your cunt, making you moan out in surprise.

To say you tasted heavenly was an understatement. He missed how you tasted on his tongue and he sure is glad that he now has the time now to just indulge in eating you out. He focuses on your clit, circling his tongue over the sensitive bundle of nerves before wrapping his plush lips around it, suckling on it gently making you buck your hips towards him. "Fuck, Changbin— it feels so good," you moan out, your hands moving to lace your fingers through his hair. He grunts at the sound of your moans, only spurring him further. He then switches to lap at your hole, teasing it before pressing his tongue in just to taste your walls.

He does this for a while, alternating between focusing on your clit and your hole before he moves to press a finger in. "Let's open you up, yeah?" he says before curling his finger upwards, making you throw your head back in pleasure and moan at his name. He sets a slow pace, rubbing your walls while his tongue licks on your clit before he eventually places a second finger inside, never missing to hit your G-spot over and over again until your toes curls and your eyes water because of the overwhelming pleasure.

"Fuck, baby, if you keep on doing that, I might cum." You warn him, tugging on his hair as you do so. "This soon?" he taunts as he pulls away to look at his, his lips and chin slicked with your arousal. "I'm sure you can last a bit longer, yeah?"

"I-I don't think I can," you whine out, slightly bucking your hips against him as a silent plea to keep on moving. "Try for me, baby. Please? I just need to stretch you out a little more before I fuck you. Can you do that for me?" Helplessly, you nod, clenching around his fingers when he moves to spit on your cunt, the sight of him doing it sending butterflies to your stomach. Changbin continues his ministrations, starting off slow again before eventually building up his pace. It didn't take long before you feel him press a third finger inside of you, and at this point, your mind is muddled with pleasure, now struggling to keep your eyes open without it rolling to the back of your head everything his fingers brush against your gspot.

And there it was, the familiar knot on your stomach now slowly building up, your moans now increasing in volume. It only turns Changbin on, seeing you absolutely looking all fucked out from him eating you out. He moans against your heat, his free hand tightly gripping the flesh of your leg, he was sure it would leave marks later.

"Oh God, I'm gonna cum," you moan out, tears prickling your eyes as you feel your orgasm quickly building up like a freight train. "Yeah, you gonna cum around my fingers, baby?" Changbin's pace only quickens, his fingers hitting your gspot over and over again, making you see stars as you chant 'yes' over and over again like a broken record, losing yourself by the second. "Yes, fuck, cum for me baby. God— you're so fucking hot."

The moment Changbin's lips wraps around your clit, you were gone, your orgasm crashing over you like a huge wave. You cum with a broken moan of his name, mouth agape with a silent scream as your whole body tenses and arches towards him. You came so hard, you were seeing white. He doesn't stop fingering you and stimulating your clit until you're shaking from the overstimulation, milking you from your high. "That's it, good girl. That's my good girl," he says, finally pulling his fingers out of your pulsing cunt.

"Open," he says, his fingers soaked with your arousal brushing against your lips. You did what you were told, taking his fingers in your mouth, groaning at the taste of your wetness. "You did so well, baby. Good job," he tells you, caressing your face with his free hand, and you lean against his touch.

"I'll take you out to dinner later, how's that sound, hm?" You hum as you nod your head, the action causing his fingers to reach the back of your throat, making you gag around him. Changbin watches you with his bottom lip caught between his teeth, his cock twitching at the sight. "Fuck, you'd be the death of me, baby." He groans out, his hand that was caressing your face now moving to palm himself over his clothing. You giggle once Changbin's fingers leave your mouth, your hands now moving to pull him up, this time straddling his lap once again. "You can't die yet," you joked, now pulling at his shorts, dying to remove them. "You haven't fucked me yet."

With the help of Changbin, his shorts finally pool by his ankles, and his cock now free out of its confines. "So fucking big, Binnie," you mewl out as you start to lower yourself on his dick, slowly filling you up to the brim until you're balls deep, making the two of you groan at the sensation. "Fuck, you feel so goddamn tight around me, baby." Changbin hisses out, his hands coming up to grip your sides to guide you on his cock. He slightly lifts you up before sinking you back into his length again, making him throw his head back in pleasure.

"Feel so fucking full, Binnie," you tell him before grinding against his length, making him moan. You then start bouncing on his cock, ignoring the slight burn you feel on your thighs and legs. "Fuck, yes, keep riding me like that— Fuck!" You feel him meeting your thrust by moving his hips, the curve of his cock hitting the deepest parts of you.

Changbin felt like he could cum any time soon, so he wastes no time doing circles on your clit, and he groans at the way you clench around him. "Fuck, baby, yes!" You moan out, still sensitive from your earlier orgasm, but with the way he was fucking into you so deliciously paired with the stimulation he was giving your clit, you were sure you'd cum again for the second time.

"Shit, baby, I'm close—" he moans out, thrusts starting to get erratic. "Me too, love. Keep fucking me like this, please," your arms now move to wrap around his neck, pulling him close as you start to move faster, the sound of skin hitting against skin echoing throughout your living room. At this point the two of you were now chasing your highs, groaning into each other's mouths as you pull him in for a kiss.

It didn't take long until Changbin cums with a loud groan. All it took was a few more thrusts until he stills deep inside of you, spilling his seed and painting your walls white. It didn't take long until you follow suit, cumming for the second time, and this time, around his cock.

"I love you," he says breathlessly, coming down from his own high. "I love you too, Binnie." You reply, looking at him with a smile. "Happy anniversary, my love."

𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐬 [lee minho]

➝ pairings. mechanic!lee minho x fem!reader ➝ genre. smut, frenemies to lovers ➝ warnings. possessive qualities, mentioned begging, self degradation, explicit language, oral [fem. receiving], unprotected sex, pet names, dirty talk, maybe more so please let me know <3 also kind of a rushed ending? apologise for that ➝ word count. 2.5k words ➝ notes. self indulgent, i dont know what to say… also hi! just saying here, if you dont have a pfp or an age [can just be 18+] in your bio/pinned post don’t bother interacting or following ♡ you’ll be blocked!

He had no right to be that handsome - especially when motor oil covered his stupidly attractive tan arms. A tight black shirt stretched over his torso and the coveralls you were sure he was supposed to be wearing over the shirt pulled up his legs and wrapped around his hips. His stupid dark purple hair which was so bizarre but looked so good all messy, probably from him running his fingers through it.

Perhaps it would also look like that, look that good, if it were you grabbing while he fucked into you against a wall. Maybe it would look even better because he would groan as you pull at the strands.

Weiterlesen

in b4 95% of all websites in june 2024 announce that "for security" they will only work with browsers that use manifest v3

Hey there

Are you the one whose idea it was to put 1956 ads in the horror-stories-read-aloud videos on Youtube, which I try to fall asleep to?

Contact me now, please!

I̴̖̞͎͚̾̇͋͠ ̶̛̞͖̍̊ j̸̥͈͓̘͌̌u̸͇͌̓̏s̸̲̦͒̀̆̀ͅẗ̴̨̧̜́̅  ̷͕̒w̴̧̯̣͍͌̔ā̵͍͚n̴̛̳̦͖̗͒n̷̬̦̩̏a̷͍͔̜̓̏͛̈́  ̶̖̋͜t̸̟̟̦̙̏̊͊a̷̬̟͍͈̓̕ḷ̸̢̟̼̓̄̄͝k̶̘͎̹̓

Why do I get tunneled everytime I try to play as Felix??

Someone needs to restrain this man before he causes physical injury (to my brain)

🤣🤣🤣

looking at that one booktok post and didn’t realize how funny this is. uou do not know what a safe word is

AAAAA NO I ACTUALLY CRIED AT THE END 😭😭😭

Please, Please, Please | P.JS

criminal!jay x good girl!reader

warnings: angst, slight fluff, smut (mdni), multiple sex scenes, unprotected sex, oral (m&f rec.), multiple orgasms, fingering, car sex, cliffside bj, white dragon, slightly toxic!jay at the beginning, possessive, crime (obvs), mentions of robbery, theft, guns, money laundering, violence, blood, overall criminal behaviour from multiple parties, tough love, confrontation, touch her and you'll die, anything else lmk!

w.c: 34k (sorry)

synopsis: synopsis: visiting your tax fraudulent dad in prison and nothing was new, except the boy being carted in to the police station in cuffs. when you follow your connection on a reckless whim, it opens you up to a world filled with crime, love, and realisations about who you are.

a/n: hi! this was heavily anticipated and i went back and forth on this for a long time regarding making it a series or keeping it a one shot. In the end, i decided to make it just one thing. i really do hope you like it, i tried to set the pace as best i could with the little wordcount blr will give me so i am praying it's okay! anyway, enjoy! as always, reblogs, comments, etc etc are all appreciated and loved <3

“Now be a good girl for me, Y/N,” your dad gushes, his eyes tired and hand placed against the glass. He looks like half the man he was before stepping into this place.

The greyness of the prison seems to leech the colour from everything around it, leaving only the stark contrasts of shadows and light, along with his navy and white uniform. The fluorescent lights inside cast a sickly pallor on your father's face, accentuating the lines of worry and regret etched into his once confident features.

He was a self-made man, once the toast of the town, known for his business acumen and seemingly Midas touch. But behind the facade of success, he had been entangled in a web of deceit. It all began with a seemingly harmless decision to bend the rules - just a little. He had justified it to himself as a necessary measure, a way to keep the business afloat during tough times. It was just a bit of creative accounting, he had thought. But what started as a small indiscretion soon snowballed into a full-blown scheme of tax evasion.

For years, he had hidden his tracks well, moving money through a labyrinth of offshore accounts, shell companies, and falsified records. His lifestyle had grown ever more lavish, the fruits of his ill-gotten gains displayed in a sprawling mansion, luxury cars, and vacations to exotic locales. Yet, the more he accumulated, the more paranoid he became, always looking over his shoulder, fearing the day when his carefully constructed house of cards would come crashing down.

And crash it did. An anonymous tip-off to HMRC triggered an investigation that swiftly unravelled the elaborate fraud. The evidence was damning – millions of pounds in unpaid tax, laundered funds, and fraudulent claims. The trial was short and sharp, the verdict inevitable. The judge's gavel fell with finality, marking the end of his freedom and the start of his journey behind bars. 

Luckily, or unluckily depending on how you view it, he only got five years in prison which is unheard of for someone who committed such a lavish crime with lots of money involved. So far, he has served four and a bit out of five years and is set to come home in 6 months.

However, that freedom is still a while away, and the only way you can see him now is through this thick glass panel, speaking to him through a telephone. The visitation room is grim and impersonal, with rows of metal chairs bolted to the floor, and a cacophony of muffled conversations echoing off the hard surfaces. The phone is cold in your hand, a lifeline to the man who once seemed invincible.

Your dad's prison uniform hangs loosely on his frame, the drab, coarse fabric a far cry from the tailored suits he used to wear. He shifts uncomfortably on the small stool, the shackles around his wrists clinking softly with every movement. Every visit you have with your dad, it’s always the same jargon; “Be a good girl”, “Stay out of trouble”, or, “Don’t be bad like your dad.” It’s always a useless reminder because, for 20 years of your life, you have never once gotten into bother.

From a young age, you have been the epitome of a model child. You always listen to your parents, excel in school, and never once give them cause for worry. Your teachers often remarked on your diligence and kindness, always quick to help a struggling classmate or volunteer for a school project. While other kids might have dabbled in teenage rebellion, you stayed focused, driven by an internal compass that always pointed towards doing the right thing.

You are just so scared of disappointing your father.

Even at University, you stay away from parties and stay focused on keeping your head straight, making friends with people of similar character to you - if they even are still your friends. Most of them dipped on you once your father got convicted, not wishing to be associated with a criminal’s daughter, or more importantly, a girl with no money.

Little did they know that you were very much still wealthy thanks to your dad’s extra-sneaky antics.

Now, sitting across from your father in the sterile confines of the prison, you feel a pang of sorrow mixed with frustration. His reminders to stay out of trouble feel almost insulting, a stark contrast to the reality of your life. You have always been the one to shoulder responsibilities, to pick up the pieces and move forward.

Sometimes, you wish you could just do something out of character, something others would deem reckless.

“Dad, I’ve never been in trouble,” you remind him gently, trying to hide the sting of your words. “I’ve always been a good girl, remember?” To a fault, sometimes.

He sighs, the weight of his guilt evident in his tired eyes. “I know, Y/N. I just…I worry about you. I don’t want you to end up like me.”

“You don’t have to worry,” you say firmly. “I’m not you. You made it perfectly clear the path I need to be on.”

Your words sting into his chest, but his face never shows it. You’re right anyway, you have always lived up to his impossible expectations. Instead, he nods and relents, dropping the subject altogether. Just in time, too, because the guard quickly steps in to wrap up the visit.

“Time’s up,” the guard announces, his tone brisk and indifferent.

You both hesitate for a moment, savouring the last few seconds before the separation. “I love you, Dad,” you say, your voice soft but resolute.

“I love you too, Y/N. Be strong,” he replies, his hand still pressed against the glass.

With a final nod, you place the phone back on the hook and stand up, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on you as you walk away. The sound of the door buzzing open and then locking behind you is a harsh reminder of the reality you both face.

Stepping out of the visiting room, a tumult of emotions surges within you - sadness, frustration, and a lingering sense of helplessness. Each step feels heavy, as if the burdens of your father's past are pressing down on your shoulders. The overhead lights in the corridor cast a stark, cold glow, reflecting off the polished linoleum floor and intensifying the sterile atmosphere of the prison. You hate it here, trying to avoid the place as much as possible, only visiting your dad maybe once every five months.

It’s not that you don’t love him but this place isn’t built for someone like you.

As you navigate the maze of hallways to head to the exit, a sudden commotion draws your attention. Two guards are escorting a man into the facility, his wrists bound behind his back with handcuffs. He walks with a defiant swagger, despite the firm grips on his arms. His black slacks and tight-fitted black polo shirt cling to his muscular frame, giving him an air of unrefined power. His hair, meticulously gelled back, now shows signs of disarray from the rough handling, with a few rebellious strands falling across his forehead.

"Fucking calm down, I'm walking with you," he growls, his voice dripping with sarcasm and defiance. The deep timbre of his words reverberates through the corridor, causing a ripple of tension among the guards and onlookers. 

You pause, momentarily taken aback by the scene unfolding before you. The man's audacity and the raw edge in his voice contrast sharply with the controlled environment of the prison, sparking an unexpected intrigue. Certain prisoners cause scenes, but never have you seen it up close, only hearing about it through the words of your father.

As the guards march him up the corridor, his dark eyes lock onto yours for a brief moment. His face is strikingly beautiful - dark eyebrows framing his symmetrical face and dangerous eyes that seem to pierce right through you. He looks more like a model than a felon, and the incongruity of his appearance in this setting sends a jolt through your system.

His gaze trails down your body as he gets closer to you, slow and deliberate, igniting a rush of heat that spreads from your cheeks to your core. His eyes linger on your curves, and you notice the way he licks his lips, a predatory smile playing at the corners of his mouth. The intensity of his attention makes your breath catch, and for a moment, the world narrows down to just the two of you in this stark, fluorescent-lit hallway.

“Hey, darlin’, how’s it going?” he asks as he passes, his tone nonchalant but menacing, the kind of menacing that makes your pulse quicken and your skin tingle.

“Move along,” one of the guards snaps, shoving him forward. But even as they push him into a room, he cranes his neck to keep you in his sight for as long as possible. His eyes burn with defiance and amusement, and he smirks, the expression filled with a dangerous charm that leaves you momentarily breathless.

The door slams shut behind him, and the spell is broken. You’re left standing in the corridor, your heart racing and your mind reeling from the unexpected encounter. The raw magnetism of his presence lingers in the air, intertwining with the myriad of emotions already churning within you.

“Ma’am, please come this way,” a guard gestures for you to step through the gated door. Numbly, you follow his direction, your mind still preoccupied with the intensity of those dark eyes.

You step through the gate, hearing the metallic clink as it locks behind you. Making your way to the front desk, you feel a strange mix of adrenaline and bewilderment coursing through you. You remove your visitor’s badge and place it on the desk, your fingers lingering on the smooth plastic for a moment.

“Who was that?” you ask, trying to sound casual, though your voice betrays a hint of the curiosity you feel.

The guard behind the desk, a burly man with a no-nonsense demeanour, looks up from his paperwork. “Park Jongseong,” he replies, his tone matter-of-fact. “He's a series regular here. It's best not to catch his attention; he eats girls like you for dinner.”

You swallow hard, the guard’s words sending a shiver down your spine. “Eats girls like me for dinner?” you repeat, more to yourself than to him, the gravity of the warning sinking in.

“Yeah,” the guard nods, his expression grim. “He’s got a reputation. Charismatic, but dangerous. You don’t want to be on his radar.”

You nod, thanking the guard before turning to leave. The encounter with Park Jongseong, brief as it was, has left a deep impression. You replay the guard’s words in your mind, a cautionary tale that echoes with the reality of the world you’ve just stepped out of.

But you’re so over listening to everyone’s advice, allowing your body to rule your head for a moment. Maybe this is your chance to break free from the shackles of your life and enter a new world of freedom.

Even if it is with someone behind bars.

_____

You sit in the visiting room, the sterile environment starkly contrasting with the elegance of your outfit. You're wearing a pastel blue Versace dress, its delicate fabric clinging to your figure in all the right places, the intricate design showcasing a blend of sophistication and subtle allure. The dress features a fitted bodice with delicate lace details, the skirt flowing gracefully to just above your knees. The soft, cool hue of the dress enhances the warmth of your skin and the high neckline adds an air of modesty.

Your heartbeat feels like a defining accessory, pounding in your chest, a constant reminder of your anticipation. Normally, visiting your father doesn’t elicit such a reaction - your heart maintains a steady rhythm, the meetings imbued with sadness and routine. 

But today is different. Today, you aren't here to see your father. You're waiting for the man who shared a fleeting moment with you two weeks ago, the memory of his intense gaze still fresh in your mind.

The minutes tick by slowly, each one amplifying the tension coursing through you. Your eyes keep darting to the door, waiting for it to open and reveal the man whose presence had left such an indelible mark on you. The guards move about their routines, the clinking of keys and distant echoes of conversations creating a backdrop to your restless thoughts.

This is a bad idea, probably your most foolish one, but you had to see him just once more to truly understand the leap your heart performed when you looked at him for the first time. You have never gone against your father’s wishes of staying out of trouble, but this was an itch you couldn’t ignore, the pull towards the felon all too real.

Your emotions are a chaotic cocktail of anticipation, fear, and excitement. The adrenaline rush is almost dizzying, your heart pounding so hard you can feel it in your throat. The logical part of your brain is screaming at you to leave, to not get involved with someone so dangerous, but the other part - the part that felt an inexplicable connection - can’t bear the thought of walking away without understanding what it is about him that draws you in so powerfully.

You glance down at your hands, noticing how they tremble slightly. You clasp them together in your lap, trying to steady yourself. The fabric of your dress feels soft and cool against your skin, a contrast to the heat coursing through your veins. You shift in your seat, trying to calm your racing thoughts, but every small sound in the room heightens your awareness, keeping you on edge.

As each second drags on, the waiting becomes almost unbearable. Doubts creep in - what if he doesn’t remember you? What if this was all just a meaningless encounter for him? But then you recall the intensity in his eyes, the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the room, so why wouldn’t he remember you?

You tell yourself that this is more than simply gratifying a passing curiosity; it's about understanding the electrifying connection you felt. It's about breaking free, even if only for a moment, from the bounds of your usual, routine existence.

Your father’s voice echoes in your mind, warning you about the dangers of straying from the straight and narrow path. You’ve always been the good girl, the one who follows the rules, but something about Park Jongseong makes you want to throw caution to the wind. There’s a thrilling allure in the forbidden, in stepping outside your comfort zone to explore the unknown.

When the buzzer sounds around the room, you jump slightly even though you have heard that klaxon indicating the unlocking of the door numerous times over the years. But this isn’t a polite chit-chat with your dad; this is a meeting with a man whose crimes you don't know the extent of, nor how dangerous he truly is, all because you got fanny flutters.

The prisoners filter through, each one going to their respective visitors with longing and hurried speed. Then, Jongseong waltzes in, his hands cuffed in front of him. His navy, ill-fitted trousers, paired with a tight white v-neck that showcases just enough of his chest to let your imagination run wild and non-styled hair give him a dishevelled yet irresistibly handsome appearance. His dark eyes scan the room, exuding a sense of confidence and dominance.

You shift in your seat, crossing your legs over as you try to compose yourself and stop tears from escaping down your legs. Prison boys have never done anything for you, but Jongseong is on another level of attraction.

The room feels hotter, the air thicker, as your anxiety spikes like you’re playing a brutal game of emotional volleyball and you are always on the losing side. Jongseong whispers something to the guard beside him, his voice low and smooth but indecipherable. The guard glances your way, then points directly at you, making your heart race even faster, like you’re suddenly under the spotlight of an interrogation room.

Jongseong’s eyes land on you, and a smug smile spreads across his face. There's a flicker of surprise and confusion flashing across his features, but it quickly vanishes, replaced by that same predatory gleam you remember. He strides over to you with a casual arrogance, his every movement exuding confidence.

As he reaches the booth, he throws himself into the seat opposite you, the long chain connecting his hands and feet skate along the floor. He leans back, his eyes never leaving yours, the cuffs around his wrists clinking softly with the movement. The intensity of his gaze makes you feel as if the rest of the room has faded away, leaving just the two of you in this charged, electric moment.

Reaching for the phone, he places it against his ear and waits for you, chewing his gum leisurely, his eyebrows raised in an expectant arch. Your body remains still, paralysed by the magnetism of his presence, his pupils like black holes, sucking you into his hold. For a few beats of your heart, you can’t move, his gaze pinning you in place with an almost hypnotic intensity.

Finally, you gather the courage to lift the receiver, your hand trembling slightly as you bring it to your ear. The action feels monumental, the weight of the phone a tangible connection between you and the enigmatic man before you. As soon as you do, Jongseong smirks, leaning his elbows casually on the ledge behind the glass panel.

“Now who are you?” he inquires, devouring your appearance with trailing glances.

“...My name is Y/N,” you reply so softly he almost doesn’t catch it coming through the receiver. 

"Well, Y/N, to what do I owe the pleasure?" He drawls, his voice a low, lazy murmur tinged with amusement. His eyes gleam with a mix of curiosity and wickedness, and the leer never leaves his face.

You remain silent, the words caught in your throat as you grapple with the swirl of emotions and thoughts racing through your mind. His half grin widens and he tilts his head slightly, still chewing his gum with a slow, deliberate rhythm.

“Okay, let me rephrase,” he says, his tone shifting to a mockingly thoughtful one. “What is a little lamb like you, requesting to see a big bad wolf like me for? Do we know each other?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy and charged, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studies your reaction. You can feel the pulse of your heartbeat in your ears, a relentless drum that amplifies the tension between you. His words, laced with a blend of sarcasm and genuine intrigue, challenge you to respond and also hurt your chest a smidge. You have been thinking about this man who you saw for a maximum of 20 seconds for the past fortnight, dreaming about him and finding ways to get a visitor’s badge to see him and you probably haven’t passed his mind once.

Taking a deep breath, you find your voice, albeit shaky. “No…we don’t know one another,” you admit, suddenly realising the insanity of this whole ordeal. You begin to bite your lip and inwardly curse yourself for being so reckless.

“Then why are you here? ... Fuck, are you the lawyer they keep trying to pounce on me?” The sudden defensiveness in his words gets your attention, the sharpness of his voice creating a tremble in your legs. He is slowly putting his guard up the more he looks over your expensive outfit, drawing conclusions about you in his mind as he mistakes you for someone he would rather jab himself in the eye than see.

Quickly, your eyes widen, and you shake your hand up in defence. “No, no, no. I’m not a lawyer,” you explain, rushing the words out of your mouth to halt the wall he is placing between you. “I just-I want to get to know you.”

He pauses, the tension in his posture easing slightly, but his eyes remain wary. “Get to know me?” he repeats, his tone conveying scepticism and enlivened curiosity. “And why is that, darlin’?”

You swallow hard, your heart still racing and now paired with an uncomfortableness in your underwear as he calls you the endearing nickname, his accent filtering through your ears like your favourite song. “I don’t know,” you confess, looking down at your lap. 

It’s pathetic, you know it, but you don’t know why. Well, you know you had to see him because your brain is insufferable and will not let you forget anything of the man’s existence, but that is all the reason you have come to see him, all it took for you to want to delve into his life. If you told him that, he would either see you as pathetic or easy prey.

“You don’t know?” he echoes back to you with a laugh, his body fully unguarded once again. His tongue swipes across his bottom lip. It is at this moment that the penny drops as to who you are, his finger starting to wag as he leans back in the chair with an elated beam on his face.

“You were here when they carted me in.” The fact sits between you as it kisses a blush over your face in embarrassment, his realisation of your identity now suddenly making you wish that the ground would open up beneath you and swallow you whole. “Did you like what you saw that much, you just had to come see it up close?”

Jongseong’s eyes glint with amusement, the smugness radiating off him like heat waves off asphalt. He leans back further, making himself comfortable, his chains clinking softly against the chair. His body language oozes confidence, the kind that borders on arrogance, and his grin stretches wide, revealing perfectly aligned teeth that contrast heavily with the dark intensity of his gaze.

“Look at you, all flustered,” he teases, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “I must’ve made quite an impression, huh?”

Your mind races, searching for an answer that feels as elusive as he is. He chuckles softly, the sound rich and full, vibrating through the phone line and into your very core. “It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything,” he says, his tone almost gentle now. “Your eyes tell me everything I need to know.”

His self-belief is unshakable, a fortress built on years of navigating the rough waters of his life. The smugness in his manner is not just arrogance but a well-honed weapon, a way to keep people at bay while drawing them in. He knows the power he holds, and he wields it with a finesse that leaves you both disarmed and intrigued.

“Okay,” he leans forward again, his face so close to the glass panel that you wish it would disappear, allowing you to admire his features without the glare from the overhead lights as they dance annoyingly on the shield. “Let me tell you a few things about me. My name is Park Jongseong, although you already know that, don't you, darlin’?” 

He pauses, his gaze lingering on you with a disconcerting intensity as you shift uncomfortably under his scrutiny. How else could you have possibly arranged a visit with him? The question flashes across his face, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. After all, as far as he knew, only family could visit him and fuck knows where they are. So how did you manage to worm your way in?

You swallow hard, your throat suddenly dry. He nods knowingly before continuing. "I'm 22, been in and out of here about four times. I love romantic walks on the beach, and before you ask, it was car theft." The words hang in the air, heavy with implication.

His words send a shiver down your spine, a mix of excitement and trepidation. His casual confession answers most of your unspoken questions, including the big one: why he was here. The revelation that he wasn’t in for something more sinister like murder eases some of your apprehension. Your heartbeat steadies and you feel a strange sense of relief mixed with the undeniable pull towards him.

The glass between you seems to distort, creating a shimmering mirage. Every word, every glance is charged with electricity. It's reckless, dangerous, but the allure is intoxicating. He studies you, his eyes drinking in your flushed cheeks and trembling lips. Leaning closer, he whispers into the phone, his voice a husky caress, "You're fucking beautiful. I could eat you alive."

The words are a cold reminder of the guard's chilling warning. Yet, instead of fear, you feel a thrill of defiance. Before you can stop yourself, you whisper back, "Why don't you?"

Surprised by your own boldness, you feel your face heat up even more. Jongseong’s eyes widen slightly, a flicker of astonishment crossing his features before a slow, wicked grin spreads across his face. “You’d like that, huh?” he asks cheekily, poking his tongue to his cheek.

He spots the cross hanging around your neck and shakes his head in disbelief. “Darlin’, you’re a good girl, I can tell. So why the fuck are you trying to play with me?”

His question hangs in the air, challenging you. You can feel his eyes boring into you, waiting for an answer. The intensity of his gaze, combined with the unexpected boldness that had surged through you moments ago, leaves you speechless for a second.

"I..." you begin, your voice trembling slightly. "I don't know. Maybe because for once, I want to do something reckless. Something just for me."

He chuckles a deep, throaty sound that reverberates through the phone. "Oh, so you’re saying I’m just for you? That I can give you what you crave?” His voice is dripping in seduction and you are pretty sure you’re dripping on the stool you’re uncomfortably shifting on. “You’re playing with fire, little lamb. You sure you can handle the heat?"

The challenge in his tone ignites something inside you. You nod slowly, eyes locking onto his. "I'm not afraid of being burnt." You are, in fact, scared of a little heat but the thumping of your heart and the lightness of your head right now is a feeling you want to experience again and again, and you know for certain that the only person in this world that can give you this exhilaration is the criminal in front of you.

Jongseong's eyes hold a captivating potency as he leans in closer, his breath ghosting over the glass. "We'll see about that," he murmurs, a low, dangerous promise. "But be careful what you wish for, darling. Once you step into the fire, there's no turning back." His words hang heavy in the air, a tantalising mix of threat and allure.

Just then, the harsh clang of a metal object against the door shatters the intimate atmosphere. "Visiting time's over!" a guard's voice booms through the room. A wave of disappointment washes over you, a bittersweet pang as the realisation of impending separation hits you hard. Time flew by far too fast and you felt like you didn’t even get to scratch the surface of what you wanted this meeting to be

The playful arrogance in his eyes softens, replaced by a vulnerability you hadn't expected. "Hey," he begins gently, his voice a stark contrast to his usual bravado. "I'm out in three months." The words hang suspended in the air, a promise that ignites a spark of hope within you. “Wait for me, yeah?” he asks, his eyes searching yours for an answer. Despite the softness, there's a flicker of his usual cockiness in his gaze, as if he already knows your answer. “Come on, you know you want to. I’m worth it.”

You nod, your throat too tight to speak. The guard’s voice booms again, and you know you have to go. The brute of a man is already making his way over to Jongseong to escort him back to his cell. Jongseong stands up, still holding the phone, and smiles a mock-innocent grin at you.

“Take care, darlin’,” he says, his voice a soft caress that sends shivers down your spine. “And don’t go fucking around while I’m gone. I’d hate to have to get done for murder.” A mischievous glint dances in his eyes, a reminder of the man he is and that he has made you his own from here on out.

His words are a blend of a promise and a threat, leaving you breathless. The guard finally reaches him, placing a firm hand on his shoulder and pulling him back. Jongseong doesn’t resist, but his eyes stay locked on yours until the last possible moment, a smirk playing on his lips.

As the guard leads him away, you feel a mix of emotions swirling within you - excitement, trepidation, and a strange sense of belonging. The connection between you and Jongseong is undeniable, and the anticipation of what’s to come only heightens the tension. 

You hang up the phone and stand, your legs feeling unsteady. As you make your way out of the visiting room, the reality of your decision settles over you. Jongseong has already left an indelible mark on your heart. And as much as he has claimed you, you realise with a surge of confidence that you have claimed him too.

And you’ll patiently wait as long as you have to.

_____

The sun blazes overhead, its subtle heat beating down as you sit on the hood of your car outside the prison gates. Your outfit is casual yet sexy: a form-fitting red tank top with mesh detailing paired with high-waisted denim shorts that accentuate your curves, knowing Jongseong will appreciate the effort. You’ve learned a lot about him over the past three months through your almost daily phone calls. Conversations about life, likes, dislikes, and everything in between have built a connection that transcends the barriers of the prison walls.

The memories of those short but impactful conversations play through your mind as you wait. Jongseong's deep voice details his favourite songs, the foods he craves, and the gossip around the cell blocks. You remember laughing together over his stubborn insistence that dark chocolate is superior to milk and the surprising revelation that he actually does like to walk along the beach and it wasn’t just a sarcastic comment the first day you met him.

There was that one agonising week when you couldn't reach him. The anxiety had eaten at you until you finally learned he'd been thrown into the hole for an outburst with another prisoner. The story came out later: a dispute over the weight bench had escalated until Jongseong had whacked the guy over the head with a dumbbell as a result of testing his patience. It was a reminder of the world he was still entangled in, sometimes it’s easy to forget that he is in prison for a crime and that you both aren’t just long-distance lovers.

Seeing him in person had been almost impossible due to the strict visiting rules regarding family members being the only ones who could visit. But you weren’t deterred. With a little persuasion and a few hundred pounds slipped to the right people, you managed one precious visit. The memory of him that day is vivid: a busted lip, a black eye, and a new tattoo of a dagger with a dragon wrapped around it. The sight had sent your pulse racing. Despite the bruises, or perhaps because of them, he had never looked hotter. You’d been tempted to break the glass and pounce on him right then and there.

Although you still have some fear about injecting him into your peaceful life, you can’t deny the happiness you feel when he calls or the flutter in your stomach when he makes a slightly lewd comment describing exactly what he is going to do to you once he gets his hands on you. 

You know you’re in for a wild ride in every sense of the word.

Luckily for you, you don’t have to wait too long because, right on time, you hear the gates open with a strained creak and yet, your heartbeats are somehow louder. The door of the gates swings open with a groan, revealing Jongseong. He's wearing the same black polo and fitted black trousers you saw him in that first day, now with an added black duffle bag slung over his shoulder. The sight of him makes your heart quicken and throat close up as anxiety, both good and bad, courses through you. He looks every bit as dangerous and enticing as you remember, his stride strong and purposeful.

The closer he gets to you, the more urgent his steps become. His eyes lock onto yours with an ardour that makes your breath catch. He can’t wait to finally hold you in his arms, to feel your skin touching his. The world around you fades away, leaving only the magnetic pull between you two.

You jump down from the hood of the car, your legs slightly wobbly with excitement and nerves. Jongseong reaches you in a few long steps, chucking his duffle bag to the ground without a second thought. His hands grasp your face, fingers spreading out to cup your cheeks and jaw, his touch both firm and tender. The heat of his palms sends a shiver down your spine, and you instinctively lean into him, your hands finding purchase on his broad chest.

His pupils blaze with longing and something deeper, more primal. His thumbs brush over your cheekbones as he holds you in place, as if grounding himself in the reality of your presence. He can’t quite believe you’re here and that he can finally know what you feel like. The air between you crackles with unspoken desire and the pent-up tension of months just out of reach.

"Fuck. Hi, darlin’," he whispers, mouth slightly open and eyes shaking. Part of him can’t fathom that you waited for him; most girls he fucks with never keep their promises to stay his, too scared to actually tag along in his life, but you did because that’s the kind of good girl you are: forever loyal and faithful.

"Hi, Jongseong," you smile softly, any fear you had now replaced with glee. The way his eyes are drinking you should scare you, the same way they did that day three months ago, but now it makes you feel wanted and desired in a way no other person has ever made you feel. 

Call it the growth of character and a desperate need for the man in front of you.

Jongseong's eyes darken as he watches you wet your lips, anticipation crackling in the air between you. His gaze locks onto your mouth, and then suddenly, without giving you a moment to react, his lips crash against yours with a fervent urgency. His hands thread through your hair, fingers tangling as he tugs your head back. The motion elicits a gasp from you, and he takes full advantage, his tongue slipping into your mouth to explore and conquer.

The kiss is wild, messy, and breathtaking. His tongue moves against yours with a possessive hunger, claiming every inch as if staking his territory. The taste of him is intoxicating, a heady mesh of his unique flavour and mint that leaves you dizzy. His lips move with a bruising intensity, sucking and biting, leaving your mouth tingling and swollen.

You moan into the kiss, your hands gripping his shoulders tightly, needing something to anchor yourself as the world spins around you. The force of his kiss, the way he devours you, sends a rush of heat straight to your core, making you ache with need. Every brush of his tongue against yours, every pull and nip of his lips, fans the flames of your desire higher and higher.

Jongseong's hands slide from your hair to your waist, pulling you flush against his body. You can feel the hard planes of his chest against your softer curves, the heat of him searing through your clothes. His touch is both rough and tender, a dichotomy that leaves you craving more.

The kiss deepens, growing more frantic and desperate. It's as if he's trying to pour three months of pent-up longing and frustration into this one moment, and you respond with equal fervour. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, pulling him closer, needing to feel every inch of him against you.

Never in your life have you been kissed like this. The rush and excitement tingle all over your body as his large hands dig into your skin, his fingers pressing firmly into your back, grounding you in the intensity of the moment. His tongue strokes against your own in a heated dance, each movement eliciting a new wave of desire that courses through you.

Your ex-boyfriend gave you soft pecks and gentle arm rubs, leaving you wondering if you even wanted to be with him. Those kisses were perfunctory, lacking the fire that now burns between you and Jongseong. This heated exchange, this raw, unbridled passion, makes you understand just how much you can crave a person.

Your own hands roam over his back, feeling the taut muscles beneath his shirt, the heat of his skin seeping through the fabric. Every touch, every brush of his lips against yours, ignites a spark that sets your entire being ablaze. You feel like you could drown in this moment, in the intensity of his desire and the way it mirrors your own.

Jongseong breaks the kiss just enough to catch his breath, his forehead resting against yours as you both pant heavily. His eyes are filled with a mix of lust and seduction. It makes you want to keep kissing him until your lips fall off, your mouth missing the invasion of his tongue suddenly.

As you go to lean in once again, he pulls back and shakes his head, a cocky smile plastered on his face. Your heart drops for a minute, thinking about how you might be too needy for him, too clingy. It was a constant complaint from your last boyfriend, so that insecurity bubbles up to the surface.

“No, baby,” Jongseong says, his voice low and teasing, his smile widening at your puzzled expression. “Not unless you want me to fuck you in front of the guard back there.”

Your cheeks flush a deep shade of crimson, embarrassment and excitement mingling to create depth to the shade. You cast a quick glance over your shoulder, spotting the guard lingering a few feet away. Jongseong twists his body to give the officer a final wave, his gesture a clear, arrogant fuck-you to both authority and the system that has confined him. His smirk is one of satisfaction, and it only makes you shiver more, feeling the raw energy that radiates off him.

As the guard’s eyes follow Jongseong’s movement with disapproval and curiosity, Jongseong finally pulls his gaze back to you. His hand moves to grab his duffle bag, lifting it with effortless ease before sliding his arm over your shoulder in a possessive, almost protective manner. The touch of his arm against your skin sends a jolt of electricity through you, and you instinctively lean into his side, savouring the closeness and warmth of his body.

“Come on,” he says, his voice dropping to a low, commanding murmur, suddenly turning slightly serious despite the small smile on his face. “We gotta stop somewhere real quick.”

_____

Stepping out of the car, Jongseong takes your hand and leads you towards a diner. The building has a certain charm despite its rundown appearance. The paint is peeling in places, and the sign flickers intermittently. Only a few patrons occupy the scattered booths inside, which is slightly strange considering it’s the middle of the day and diners like this are typically occupied by teenagers and first dates.

Which is exactly why you are so excited. This is your first real date with Jongseong, and you cannot wait to get to know him on a deeper level. Although you would say you know him pretty well, all those 15-minute-a-day calls have done wonders for learning about each other, but this isn’t time-restricted or monitored by guards; this opens up the opportunity for a pure and unfiltered conversation with him.

Peering up at him, you see his relaxed manner and smile. You will never know what it is like to be locked up, but you can imagine how draining it can be - the kiss of freedom from the air must uplift his spirit. 

As you walk into the diner, the chequered floor and the nostalgic aroma of coffee and fried food fill the air. The decor is dated, with vinyl booths and Formica tables, but there's a certain cosiness to it. You expect Jongseong to lead you to a booth so you can have your long-awaited date, but instead, he guides you through the diner's main area, straight towards the kitchen. 

You glance around, confused. "Where are we going?" you ask, looking back at him.

"Just some business, then you'll have me all to yourself, alright?" he replies with a wink, giving your knuckles a soft kiss before continuing forward.

You follow him, weaving through the bustling kitchen. The clatter of pots and pans, the sizzle of food on the grill, and the chatter of the chefs create a cacophony of sounds. Jongseong nods and exchanges brief greetings with a few of the cooks, who glance at you curiously before returning to their tasks. One chef, a burly man with a white apron smeared with grease, gives Jongseong a nod of recognition and jerks his head to the door coming into view.

Finally, Jongseong pushes open a heavy metal door at the back of the kitchen, revealing a starkly different environment. The room beyond is dimly lit, the air thick with the smell of smoke and something more acrid. It is filled with brute-looking men, one of them is counting a stack of money with deliberate precision, his thick fingers moving with practised ease, while the others eye Jongseong and you with cold, assessing gazes.

The atmosphere is tense; you feel suffocated, if not by the smoke, then by the glares you are currently receiving. Something tells you that these men and Jongseong are not on the best of terms.

The man counting the money looks up, his eyes narrowing slightly. He has a thick, muscular build, and a scar runs down the side of his face, giving him a permanently grim expression. “Park fucking Jongseong,” he chides, placing the notes down on the table beside him. “Where the fuck did you go?”

“Aw, did you miss me, Bang?” Jongseong fake pouts, jutting out his bottom lip. “I’m touched, really.”

Standing up, Bang towers over the table, his broad shoulders casting an imposing shadow. His eyes, dark and unyielding, bore into Jongseong with a mixture of contempt and curiosity. 

Jongseong, however, remains unfazed. His casual demeanour contrasts sharply with the palpable hostility in the room. He releases your hand and takes a step forward, his movements deliberate and confident. “I was in the slammer for a few, you know how it is,” he says coolly, like losing months of his life to prison bars was as casual as forgetting to pick up milk from the shop run. “I’m here for my money.”

Bang scoffs a low, guttural sound that reverberates through the room. “What fucking money? you waltz back in here like I owe you something, is that it?” He crosses his arms over his chest, muscles bulging under the strain. “You’ve got some nerve.”

Jongseong’s smile doesn’t waver. “I’ve always had nerve, Bang. And you owe me for the car that put me behind bars.” He glances back at you, his eyes softening for a moment before returning to the hardened stare of his adversary.

You stand rooted to the spot, your heart pounding in your chest. The smoky air feels even thicker now, each breath a struggle. The men shift slightly, their eyes flicking between Jongseong and Bang, anticipating the next move, like they’re awaiting instructions.

You’ve seen scenarios like this play out in movies and even then do you hate the feeling it gives in your stomach, so now watching the movie play out in real life makes you feel a little nauseous because you know this can only end badly.

Bang’s lips curl into a sneer. “You’re demanding I pay you for that piece of shit car? The one with the kicked-in engine? Mate, you’re fucking delusional. That car couldn’t have even paid your pathetic bail.”

“You asked me for that specific car, I delivered, now give me my money.” Jongseong’s calm and cocky aura suddenly shifts to a dangerous one, one you hadn’t quite prepared yourself to see. Of course, you knew this side existed; you don’t survive multiple bouts in prison without developing an edge. But witnessing it firsthand is something else entirely.

His posture changes, shoulders squared and jaw set, exuding a raw, unfiltered intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. The room seems to shrink around the two men, their confrontation a silent battle of wills. The other men at the table straighten up, sensing the shift in tension, readying themselves to pounce as soon as their boss gives a signal.

This is bad.

Placing your hand on his arm, you draw his focus to you. Your eyes gleam up at him, silently conveying worry. “Jongseong, let’s just leave it, you just got out,” you plead as your head shakes in disapproval. If there was one thing you have learned from the stories Jongseong has told you, it’s that his temper is a short fuse, and with the lock on his jaw, you know he is a few seconds away from exploding.

His eyes soften momentarily as he looks at you, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. He takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly as if to rein in his anger. For a brief moment, it seems like the confrontation is over. But before you can even attempt to lead him out of the room and back to your car, Bang’s voice cuts through the air, dripping with derision. “Yeah, Park, listen to your bitch before I set my men on both of you.”

The words hang in the air, a malicious echo that sends a chill down your spine. Jongseong stops dead in his tracks, his body going rigid. You feel the shift instantly, his muscles tensing under your hand.

The calm exterior he had tried to maintain shatters. Jongseong whirls around, eyes blazing with fury. “What the fuck did you just say?” he snarls, his voice low and dangerous, a stark contrast to the calm, controlled tone he had used before.

Bang smirks, leaning back in his chair, clearly relishing the reaction he’s provoked. “You heard me. I said listen to your slutty side piece before I make sure you both can’t walk again,” he repeats, his voice dripping with contempt. “Did that hit a nerve?”

Before you can react, Jongseong lunges forward, his fist connecting with Bang’s jaw with a sickening thud. The force of the punch sends Bang sprawling to the floor, the chair skidding across the room. The men around you jump to attention, but no one makes a move to intervene, their eyes wide with shock.

“You don’t ever threaten my girl like that,” Jongseong growls, standing over Bang, who is struggling to get up. “Ever.”

You can’t deny the fuzziness in your stomach when he claims you as his girl. The simple slip of the tongue somehow drowns out his outlandish actions. Bang deserved it after all.

Bang wipes a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth, his eyes blazing with a mix of pain and rage. “You’re gonna regret that, Park,” he spits out, though there's an unmistakable tremor of fear in his voice now. With a snap of his fingers, his men spring into action, advancing toward Jongseong with menacing intent.

Jongseong steps back, his stance shifting into a defensive posture, muscles coiled and ready. “Darlin’, go wait in the car, I’ll be out in a minute,” he murmurs, his gaze locked onto the advancing men. His arm is outstretched to shield you, the veins in his forearm prominent as he tenses.

You hesitate, torn between the urge to stay by his side and the instinct to protect him despite his obvious capability. “But-”

“Be a good girl,” Jongseong’s voice is firm yet gentle, laced with a protective urgency. He meets your gaze with a stern but concerned look that brooks no argument. With a heavy heart and a lump in your throat, you nod reluctantly, stepping back into the kitchen.

Your eyes remain glued to him, a mix of fear and helplessness tightening in your chest. The seconds tick by slowly, each moment feeling like an eternity as Jongseong prepares to face off against men far larger and more intimidating than any security guard or gym bro you’ve ever encountered.

The room’s atmosphere thickens with tension as the men close in on Jongseong. One of them, a burly figure with arms like tree trunks, grabs hold of Jongseong, his grip like iron. Jongseong struggles against the man’s hold, his muscles straining as he fights to break free.

Another of Bang’s men seizes the opportunity, delivering a brutal punch to Jongseong’s midsection. The impact sends a sharp gasp through the air, and you watch in horror as Jongseong’s body lurches from the blow. His face contorts in pain, but he doesn’t give in, still trying to break free from the grip holding him back.

From your vantage point, you can only watch in helpless horror as the fight unfolds. Jongseong’s strength and skill are evident, but the overwhelming numbers and sheer size of his opponents make it daunting. Each punch landed on him seems to resonate with a bone-deep impact, and the grunts and shouts of the men create a chaotic symphony of violence.

The sight of Jongseong, usually so composed and confident, struggling against the odds is almost too much to bear. You want to rush in, to do something, anything to help, but the kitchen's doorway feels like an insurmountable barrier. Your heart races, your breaths coming in quick, uneven gasps as you watch the scene unfold.

Jongseong’s eyes meet yours briefly, a flicker of reassurance in their stormy depths even as he endures another punishing blow. The look he gives you is a silent promise that he will get through this, that he’s fighting not just for himself, but for both of you. He will be damned if any of these men thought for a second that it was acceptable to threaten you or lay a finger on your precious body - especially not since he has just found out how beautifully soft your skin feels on his fingertips, or how perfectly your lips mesh with his own.

With a strained grunt, Jongseong uses his legs to kick out at his assailants, creating a brief moment of respite. His body, still taut from the impacts, is hunched and battered, but his spirit remains unyielding. He turns to face you, his voice a mix of anger and desperation cutting through the cacophony. “Y/N, get the fuck out of here!” he yells, his command urgent and fierce.

Nodding frantically, you stumble back, your breath hitching as you watch Jongseong throw a sharp, decisive punch at the man who had been holding him back. The impact sends the man staggering, giving Jongseong a brief but crucial reprieve. The fight rages on around him, but for a moment, his focus is entirely on you.

You retreat through the kitchen, your mind spinning with fear and helplessness. Your only thought is to get to safety, to ensure Jongseong’s instructions are followed. You burst through the back door and into the parking lot, the air cold against your flushed skin despite the sun still blaring.

Once outside, you hurry to the car, your mind racing. The dim light of the diner’s parking lot does little to ease the anxiety curling in your stomach. You can’t help but worry about Jongseong - about what’s happening inside and whether he’ll come out unscathed.

You lean against the car, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you glance anxiously towards the diner. The minutes stretch on interminably, amplifying the knot of worry in your stomach. The tense stillness seems almost unbearable, and just as the fear of the worst begins to grip you, you see Jongseong’s figure finally emerge through the door.

He strides towards you, each step purposeful but burdened. His face is a canvas of bruises and blood, his eyebrow bleeding in a thin streak that trails down his cheek. The sight of him, battered and raw, sends a shiver of dread through you. You can barely hold back the tears as you rush forward.

“Oh my god, Jongseong-” The words tumble out, laced with a mix of relief and anguish, but they are abruptly cut off as Jongseong’s lips crash onto yours. His kiss is fierce and demanding, a raw burst of emotion that takes you completely by surprise.

His hands are strong and desperate as they frame your face, his touch scorching against your skin. The kiss is so hungry, so primal, that it eclipses the first kiss you shared, which is hard to believe if you weren’t the one on the receiving end. The intensity of it is overwhelming, the force of his need evident in every movement. He pulls you closer, his lips moving with an urgent, almost frantic rhythm.

As he deepens the kiss, his hand trails down from your face to his own throat, his fingers gripping the base of his neck. The gesture is both intimate and possessive, reminding you that he called you his girl and fought on behalf of you. The thoughts add another layer of desire from your end, the protectiveness he already has over you despite only knowing you for a hot minute makes your skin tingle with glee.

Every sensation is amplified - the rough texture of his lips against yours, the heated pulse of his touch, and the faint tremor of excitement in his frame. You can taste the salt of his sweat and the faint metallic tang of blood from his cuts mingling with the warmth of his breath. His other hand moves to your lower back, pulling you tighter against him, his body pressing firmly into yours.

Jongseong had forgotten how much of a thrill he got from fighting, the way seeing the blood splatter - from both his rival and himself - made him feel alive. It had been too long since he had a good kick like this, the prison scraps he would be part of were nothing like this, too weak and pathetic. This is the kind of adrenaline he wanted, one when he didn’t know if he would make it out alive. But he knew he had to, for your sake.

The image of you flashed in his mind as he was pummelling into the men and Bang. The thought of dragging you into this dangerous world gnaws at him, but it’s a burden he’s willing to bear. He can’t imagine asking you to walk away, even though he knows he’s pulling you into a dangerous world with wicked consequences.

Jongseong pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his breath heavy and laboured. The heat in his gaze is unmistakable, an intense blend of desire and desperation. Blood smears across your cheek where his fingers had been, the sight and scent adding something raw to the moment. He never wants to see you hurt, but the blood smudged on your skin makes his blood run thinner with lust.

He gets horny when he is riled up like this, that much is evident by the way he is suddenly pushing you against the car and pressing his growing erection into your lower abdomen. The cold metal of the car against your back is a stark contrast to the heat of his body, a jarring reminder of the reality you're in, yet it only heightens the sensations coursing through you.

Jongseong's lips return to yours, more aggressive and demanding as he tries to consume you entirely. His hands are everywhere, tugging at your clothes, fingers digging into your skin with a need that borders on feral. The bruises on his knuckles brush against your flesh, a rough reminder of the fight he's just endured for you. His touch is searing, leaving trails of fire in its wake.

A low, guttural groan escapes him as he grinds his hips into yours, the friction sparking a desperate ache deep within you. Your hands find their way to his hair, pulling him closer, as if you could fuse your bodies together. 

His name falls from your lips in a breathless whisper, a plea and a promise all at once. Jongseong responds with a growl, his lips trailing down your neck, biting and sucking, leaving marks that claim you as his. His hands roam lower, gripping your thighs and lifting you slightly, pressing you harder against the car.

“Darlin’, I’m gonna fucking ruin you,” he whispers into your mouth with promise. He means this both figuratively and physically. He is going to lead you down a dark path, and he can’t say he’s even the slightest bit sorry about it.

Without warning, he swings the backseat door open and tosses you in, his strength overwhelming. You barely have time to catch your breath before he's on top of you, the weight of his body pressing you into the seat, his hands moving with a desperate urgency. His lips find yours again, a hungry, demanding kiss that leaves you gasping.

The confined space of the car adds an extra layer of intensity, the heat between you palpable. Jongseong's hands are everywhere, tugging at your clothes, his fingers digging into your skin with a need that borders on feral. He breaks the kiss, his breath hot against your ear as he murmurs, "I need to taste you."

His words send a shiver down your spine, a thrill of anticipation that leaves you trembling. He moves down your body, his lips and hands leaving a trail of fire in their wake. The car's interior feels too small, too hot, as he shifts between your legs, his eyes dark with desire as he looks up at you.

“You okay with this?” he asks, seeking consent. Your body language is enough to tell him that you want this probably as much as he does, but the thing is, he doesn’t know how much of a good girl you are. If no one else got to touch you like this, he would be ecstatic, but it also means you could want to take your time.

There is a flash in his eyes that makes your core pulse and has you nodding without thinking. “Yeah, I want this,” you whisper out, though it sounds like you’re bellowing the words through a megaphone, the desperation in your voice making sure of that.

Kissing along your stomach as his hands undo your shorts, his lips dipping lower as he pulls them off of you. “Has anyone had you before?” The tone of his voice is gritty and hoarse, swallowing his jealousy at even the thought. 

Just because he would be fine with it, doesn’t mean he can’t wish to curse any man that had the audacity to think they are worthy of being with you.

Swallowing the forming saliva in your mouth, his dangerous glare into your eyes tells you that perhaps you should lie and say no, that you haven’t had past lovers. But if he caught you lying, you think the repercussions might be worse than whatever will come if you tell him the truth.

“Yes, one.”

“How many times did he have you?”

“What are you talking about?” 

“How many times did he put his disgusting, unworthy mouth on you?”

Oh.

You physically shrivel up, feeling small under his intense stare and gripping hands. You can’t actually recall how many times your ex boyfriend went down on you but it can't be more than four times, claiming he didn’t see the point in it when he could just fuck you. Safe to say the sex you had with him was lacklustre.

“Not many,” you manage to whisper, feeling the heat of shame and anger rise in you. The memories of the past, the way you were neglected, seem to pale in comparison to the intensity Jongseong is offering you now. “Three times? Maybe four?”

“Well, which is it? Three or four?” he insists. His fingers dip into the band of your underwear, teasing your skin with a ghosting touch.

“Why? Does it matter?” This was absolutely the wrong follow-up question to ask because Jongseong’s eyes turn black, jaw setting into the same locked position it did earlier.

“So I know how many times I need to make you cum to wash him out of your system,” he growls, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through you. His fingers slip beneath the fabric of your underwear, the touch searing and electric against your skin. He pulls them down, tossing them aside with a careless flick of his wrist, his eyes never leaving yours. The intensity of his gaze is almost too much to bear, a raw hunger that leaves you breathless.

His hands grip your thighs, spreading them apart with a possessiveness that sends a thrill of anticipation through you. The heat between your legs is unbearable, the need for his touch almost painful. His breath is hot against your skin as he trails kisses down your inner thigh, each one sending a jolt of pleasure through you.

Jongseong’s lips hover just above your centre, his breath ghosting over your most sensitive parts, making you shiver with need. The anticipation is excruciating, every nerve ending screaming for his touch. 

“Tell me, how many?” he murmurs, holding back from diving in which is just as painful as it is for you.

“I really…I really don’t remember,” you reply honestly. No matter the number of times your ex-boyfriend was between your legs, he never made you cum anyway so that might have everything to do with the memory lapse.

Something tells you that you will remember exactly how many times Jongseong gets between your legs.

He looks up at you, his eyes dark with determination. "Okay, I’ll make it five, just to be sure," he says, his voice rough with need. When his tongue finally makes contact, it’s like an electric shock, pleasure shooting through you in waves.

He works you over with a skill and intensity that leaves you gasping for breath. His tongue moves with purpose, each flick and swirl designed to draw out your pleasure. He knows exactly where to touch, how to lick, to drive you wild. His fingers dig into your thighs, holding you firmly in place as he devours you, the sensation almost too much to bear.

You arch against him, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as if you could never get enough. His low, satisfied growls vibrate against you, adding another layer of sensation that leaves you trembling.

"Jongseong, please," you gasp, your voice shaky and filled with need. The world narrows down to the heat of his mouth, the pressure of his hands, and the waves of pleasure crashing over you. You can feel yourself spiralling towards the edge, every touch pushing you closer and closer.

Jongseong has a tongue and mouth simply made for eating pussy, and he is showing you just how someone should be licking and slurping at your sensitive area. Not even two minutes have passed and you can already feel the pressure of your orgasm building; a new record for you. Not even when you manage to find some alone time can you make yourself cum this quickly.

His mouth is relentless, tongue flicking and swirling with a precision that has you seeing stars. He alternates between gentle laps and firm, insistent strokes, each movement designed to push you higher and higher. His lips seal around your clit, sucking and releasing in a rhythm that leaves you gasping. The heat of his mouth, the roughness of his tongue, and the sheer determination in his every move send you spiralling towards ecstasy.

When the first orgasm hits, it’s like a tidal wave, your body convulsing with the force of it. Jongseong holds you through it, his mouth never leaving you, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until you’re left trembling. His hands grip your hips, anchoring you to the car seat as you ride out the waves of sensation.

But he doesn’t stop. His fingers find their way inside you, curling and stroking with a skill that has you begging for breath. He adds a second finger, then a third, stretching and filling you, making you deliciously overwhelmed. His tongue continues its assault on your clit, harshly flickering in tandem with the movements of his fingers.

“Jongseong, I-” you gasp, trying to form words through the haze of pleasure.

“I know, darlin’,” he growls, his voice vibrating against your skin. “I can feel you. Don’t hold back.”

His fingers curl inside you, hitting that perfect spot with unerring precision, each stroke sending shivers up your spine. His tongue dances around your clit, alternating between gentle flicks and firm, insistent licks that have you teetering on the edge. The second orgasm comes even faster, your body hypersensitive from the first. It crashes over you, leaving you gasping and moaning his name. Jongseong’s mouth is relentless, his tongue and fingers never stopping, never giving you a moment to catch your breath. He knows exactly how to push you to the edge and then pull you back, prolonging the pleasure until you’re a quivering mess beneath him.

His determination is relentless. He pushes you through the third orgasm with the same intensity, his touch never faltering. He adds another layer to the sensation, his nose pressing against your clit as his tongue and fingers continue their work. Each orgasm leaves you more breathless, more spent, until you’re a quakinh mess beneath him, gripping at his hair in a desperate attempt to ground yourself from euphoria.

“I need you to scream my name,” he murmurs against your folds, his voice dark and commanding. “I want everyone to know who’s making you feel this good.”

It is only at that moment you remember that Jongseong is eating you out in a diner car park where anyone can look in the window and see your lewd actions, never mind hear them.

But that doesn’t stop you obeying him.

The thrust of his fingers quickens as your juices begin to fly around in your car and drip down your leather seats, your essence acting like holy water as you bless the car with your backseat serenade. Your hand grips the silver cross around your neck as you curse the Lord's name in vain, the only thing you can worship right now is a criminal’s touch.

“Jjongie,” you mewl out, losing yourself to your lust and heat, eyes rolling to the back of your head. He smirks as you create a nickname in the midst of the pleasure, loving the way it sounds falling from your tongue. 

He will only ever let you call him that.

The fourth orgasm builds slowly, the pleasure mounting with every touch, every stroke. Jongseong’s fingers hit that perfect spot over and over again. His tongue dances across your clit as he makes his tongue rigid, each flick sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you. You can feel the pressure building, the heat coiling in your belly, until it finally explodes, leaving you shuddering and gasping for breath.

“Jjongie, please,” you beg, your voice hoarse and broken. “I can’t take anymore.”

“Yes, you can,” he insists, his voice rough with desire. “You’re gonna give me one more. Just one more, darlin’.”

He keeps going, his mouth and fingers working together in a symphony of pleasure. The fifth orgasm is the most intense yet, your body extremely susceptible and on edge from the previous ones. He adds a fourth finger, stretching you wide, probably even wider than your ex’s cock ever did, his tongue working your clit with a precision that has you seeing venus. He uses his tongue apply pressure in ways that have you feeling every single nerve ending come alive. The pleasure builds and builds until it finally crashes over you, leaving you a quivering, trembling mess beneath him for the nth time.

When he finally pulls back, his lips and chin glistening with multiple layers of your arousal, he looks at you with a fierce, possessive pride. "There," he murmurs, his voice a low, satisfied rumble. "Now you’re mine. Only mine."

He climbs up your body, his mouth finding yours in a searing kiss that tastes of you. The connection between you is electric, something beautiful. You fight the tiredness as you plaster a smile of happiness and contentment across your face, and he kisses all over your cheeks and lips, creating a line of adoration. His kisses are softer now, each one a tender promise.

As the initial rush of passion subsides, you finally take in the full extent of his injuries. His face is a canvas of bruises and cuts, each mark a testament to the fight he endured. Your fingers move gently, tracing the path of the blood streak on his eyebrow, smoothing over the swollen skin with care. The sight of him beaten like this makes your heart ache.

"Promise me you won't keep doing this?" you ask, your voice tinged with worry and desperation as you wipe the mixture of your slick and saliva from his mouth. Your eyes search his, pleading for an answer, a reassurance that he won’t put himself in harm's way again.

Instead of a verbal response, Jongseong leans in, capturing your lips in another kiss. This one is soft, tender, and lingering. It speaks of unspoken promises and the turbulent emotions between you. He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin.

Although you take the kiss as a sealed promise, you should know better than to trust a criminal.

_____

Walking out of your campus building, you see an unfamiliar car paired with a very familiar man waiting on the sidewalk. Jongseong leans against the sleek monochrome vehicle. He looks as confident and imposing as ever, with his hair gelled in his typical style and a fitted black T-shirt that shows off his tattoos, earning some judgmental glances from your peers.

You wave off your friends, a wide smile spreading across your face. Skipping down the stairs with glee, you bound towards him, unable to contain your excitement. The moment Jongseong spots your figure approaching, the hard stare and scowl he portrays vanish, replaced by an expression of equal joy to yours.

In the past month, you and Jongseong have grown incredibly close. Despite his semi-cold exterior and rough edges, there's a softer side to him that only you get to see. He's protective and loyal, his tough shell cracking open whenever you're around. The little things he does - like texting you as soon as he wakes up, remembering your favourite bands name, plus all the members, or listening to you read him excerpts from the book you divulge in while he works out - reveal a tenderness he rarely shows to anyone else.

Jongseong opens his arms, and you leap into them, wrapping your legs around his waist as he catches you effortlessly. He buries his face in your neck, inhaling your scent deeply, grounding himself in your presence. The onlookers judge, whispering among themselves, but neither of you cares. Being with each other is all that matters.

"What are you doing here?" you ask, pulling back slightly to look into his eyes.

He grins, a rare, genuine smile lighting up his face. "Couldn't stay away from my darlin’ too long, could I?" he murmurs, his voice a blend of affection and mischief. "Thought I'd surprise you."

You chuckle, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. "Well, paint me shocked."

Setting you down gently, he keeps his arms wrapped around your waist, not wanting to let you go just yet. “I thought we could drive out for a bit, I need to visit my bank for a…slight withdrawal,” he explains.

You nod, eyes twinkling. It doesn't matter what the errand is; any time spent with Jongseong feels like an adventure. Over the past month, you've done everything together: hitting the gym, shopping for your dorm kitchen, and running around to the post office to send some letters. Even mundane trips to the bank like this seem exciting when he's by your side.

As you both get into the front seats, you can't help but ask the million-dollar question, "Where did you get this car?"

Jongseong's life outside has been anything but easy; his criminal record makes it difficult for him to secure a steady job. Despite this, he's always trying, often because you push him to stay on the right path. You appreciate his efforts, knowing how much he resists resorting to his old ways. At least, as far as you know.

"Just a banger from one of my mates," he replies nonchalantly, as he starts the engine. "Nothing compared to yours."

"I think it suits you," you say, glancing around the shabby interior. The car is a patchwork of bumps and scratches, with a dashboard that's seen better days and seats that are well-worn and torn in places.

"Because it's battered and dented?" he quips, a teasing note in his voice.

"No," you respond, playfully hitting him on the arm. "Because it has a certain charm about it, if you look past the scrapes and cuts."

A shy, almost boyish grin settles upon Jongseong’s face, very much out of character for him. Considering you’re admitting to seeing past his rugged appearance and guarded heart, even through the guise of the car, he can’t help but appreciate the compliment. His fingers drum lightly on the steering wheel as he pulls out onto the road.

You settle back into your seat, watching the world pass by outside the window. The car rattles slightly, but it feels like an extension of Jongseong himself - rough around the edges, but with a hidden depth that you can't help but admire.

The journey takes you away from the hustle and bustle of the campus, the road stretching out for miles ahead. The landscape transforms into a picturesque scene painted with warm, golden hues. Sunlight bathes the rolling fields in a soft glow, casting long shadows that dance across the green grass. Farm animals graze contentedly within the sweeping wind, their movements leisurely and peaceful. The serene beauty of the countryside envelops you, a stark contrast to the chaotic thoughts that often plague your mind.

As the scenery blurs by, you unlock your phone and realise you've been so caught up in sight-seeing that you hadn’t noticed how much time had passed. A slight furrow forms on your brow as you glance at the clock, wondering why on earth you are still driving.

"Your bank branch is really far away, Jongseong," you observe, a hint of curiosity in your voice.

"Yeah," he replies, placing a hand on your exposed leg, his touch warm and reassuring. "I guess it is, huh?"

His tone carries a weird, knowing look on his face, something that makes you sceptical but also intrigued. There’s a spark of mischief in his eyes, one that you’ve come to recognise. It’s the look he gets when he’s planning something unexpected. Despite the small sliver of doubt in your mind, you decide not to question him further, choosing trust over anything else.

The road ahead twists and turns, each bend revealing more of the idyllic countryside. Birds soar in the sky, their songs adding a melodic backdrop to your journey. You find yourself relaxing into the seat, the comfort of Jongseong’s presence and the captivating landscape blending together into a perfect moment of tranquillity.

That moment is about to be severely interrupted.

Jongseong takes a sharp turn off the main road, driving down a narrow, gravelly path that leads to a run-down building in the middle of nowhere. The structure of the bank is weary and neglected, its facade chipped and the white stones which make up its exterior are now yellow with a mixture of smoke and years of tear. The windows are grimy, and the door doesn’t shut over as the hinges hold the doors askew. Weeds sprout through the cracks in the pavement, and the entire place exudes a sense of forgotten utility. You wonder who on earth decides to keep money here.

Jongseong pulls the car to a stop and gets out, jogging around to open the door for you. He helps you out with a gentle grip on your hand, his touch a stark contrast to the bleak surroundings. 

You notice the tension in his shoulders, his usually composed exterior seems frayed, much like the edges of the black duffle bag he retrieves from the backseat. The bag, reminiscent of the one he had when coming out of prison, is empty save for something weighing it down slightly. 

"What's that for?" you inquire, pointing to the duffle that is trapped in his tight grip.

"I'm just going to get a lot of money, that's all," he replies, smiling so innocently that it looks almost devious.

Why wouldn't he just keep it all his money in the bank in the first place? Places don't even usually take cash these days. You internally start to question, unable to suppress the growing unease. He is acting strange and suddenly, your gut isn’t feeling so happy.

Jongseong extends his hand, fingers stretched for you to interlock with his. His grip is firm, reassuring yet compelling. They are so big compared to yours that they practically swallow yours whole. As he starts to walk away, you can’t help but notice he isn’t locking the car. You know no one is around, but considering he used to steal cars for a living, you think he would know the dangers of leaving it out in the open like this.

Regardless of your apprehension, you follow him, the gravel crunching under your feet as you approach the run-down bank. Jongseong’s pace quickens, his body language a mix of urgency and confidence.

As you step inside, the air is stale, carrying the scent of mildew and old paper. The interior is dimly lit, dust particles dancing in the beams of sunlight. Surprisingly, there are people scattered in the foyer: an older couple who have to be in their late sixties and a man who exudes zero confidence, his pale complexion and silver-rimmed glasses, paired with his shrivelled frame.

The worst thing the man does is look at you for a second longer than Jongseong would like. Cracking his neck, Jongseong pulls you closer to him as he stares the man down, giving him a warning shot. Quickly, there are no eyes on you.

Jongseong is always like this, silently threatening any man who even dares to glance at you. One time, you were at the supermarket, innocently buying a bottle of wine and some Sensations chilli and lime crisps, when the clerk had the audacity to speak to you - it was just to ask if you needed help, that was too many words according to Jongseong. He had given the clerk a harsh look, his jaw clenched tightly as he pulled you closer, ensuring the man understood his silent message. The poor guy had paled, quickly ringing up your items without another word.

You glance around the run-down bank, taking in the cracked tiles and peeling wallpaper. The entire place feels like it’s on the verge of collapse. As you watch Jongseong, you notice him checking the duffle bag a few times, his eyes scanning the room with a sharp intensity. Something about his demeanour makes your stomach twist with unease.

"Jongseong, what are we actually doing here?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady despite the growing anxiety.

"Darlin', I'm getting money, why else would we be here?" he laughs as if you’ve asked the dumbest question he has ever heard. His tone is light, but his eyes remain hard, focused.

You bite your lip, glancing around the room once more. The older couple is speaking softly to each other, their attention nowhere near you. The timid man with glasses is fiddling with his phone, his hands trembling slightly. Despite the seemingly mundane scene, your gut is yelling at you that something is terribly wrong and you think you know what it is.

"How are you getting the money?" you ask, the words catching in your throat. You’re scared to even pose the question due to the answer you might receive.

Jongseong doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he glances at you, his eyes flickering with something unreadable before he turns his attention back to the bag. The silence stretches uncomfortably, and you can feel the tension in the air growing thicker.

Your heart pounds in your chest, the realisation dawning on you. “Jongseong, please, tell me we’re not here to-”

“Next,” the woman calls in front of you, breaking your chain of thought.

Jongseong gently unravels your intertwined hands and steps forward to the desk. The woman behind the counter looks up with a bored and disinterested expression, her fingers tapping impatiently on the worn-out surface.

“What can I help you with today?” she asks, her tone flat and mechanical.

Jongseong smiles brightly, tilting his head slightly as he leans closer. “I need you to put all the money in the bag,” he says, his voice smooth and sweet.

The woman furrows her brow in confusion, her mouth opening to question him, but the words die in her throat as Jongseong smoothly pulls a gun from the duffle bag and presses it to her forehead. His smile never falters, remaining charming and innocent, as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.

You feel your stomach drop, a cold wave of fear washing over you. Your hands tremble, and your breath catches in your throat. The world around you seems to blur, the edges of your vision darkening as panic sets in. You can hardly believe what’s happening. This isn’t the Jongseong you know, the one who holds you gently and kisses you tenderly. This is a side of him you’ve never seen, a side that terrifies you.

“Jongseong,” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the rushing blood in your ears.

He doesn’t look at you, his focus entirely on the woman in front of him. With a calm and steady hand, he clicks the safety off the gun. “10s and 20s in the bag, love. Quickly.”

The woman’s eyes widen in fear, her hands trembling uncontrollably as she begins to gather the bills. The crisp rustling of paper fills the charged silence, punctuated only by the faint hum of the bank’s outdated air conditioning. Her movements are jerky and hurried, every action underscored by the mounting tension in the room. Her terrified gaze flits nervously between Jongseong and the duffle bag, reflecting the same panic you feel surging within you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice another bank worker, a woman in her late forties with a spiky haircut fit to rival Shirley Carter from Eastenders, sliding her hand toward the hidden panic button beneath the desk. Jongseong’s sharp eyes catch the movement instantly. With a swift, fluid motion, he pivots the gun’s direction, the barrel now pointed at the second worker. “Don’t even think about it,” he warns, his voice cutting through the air like a razor blade.

The woman’s face drains of colour, her eyes widening in terror as she freezes mid-reach. Her fingers twitch nervously, the hand hovering inches from the button. You can see the palpable fear in her expression as her face goes slack, slowly withdrawing her hand to ensure her own safety, not daring to provoke Jongseong’s ire.

Turning back to you for a moment, Jongseong makes eye contact with you, winking in joy as if you are equally having as much fun as he is.

And the funny thing is, he can see it inside of you. Behind that fear, is a flash of thrill that even you haven’t registered. It’s something he can identify because it is the exact same look he has in his orbs when he does something that spikes his adrenaline. This is exactly why you came to him that day and the exact reason he has kept you by his side.

You’re cut from the same cloth, even if sewn to different clothes.   

As the woman finishes stuffing the bills into the bag, her hands moving with a frantic speed, Jongseong maintains his disarming smile, but the menace in his eyes betrays his calm demeanour. The bag grows heavy with the weight of the cash, the rustling paper now almost rhythmic, a morbid symphony underscoring the gravity of the situation.

When the woman finally slides the bulging duffle bag across the counter, her face pale and stricken, Jongseong’s fingers close around the handle with a sense of finality. He casts one last wary glance around the bank, his gaze briefly meeting yours with a reassuring nod that feels more like a promise of survival than comfort.

“Thanks for the service, sweetheart. Really, it has been class. I’ll write you a good Yelp review, for sure,” Jongseong's voice drips with arrogance and sarcasm, an unsettling calm underlying his criminal actions. He turns to you, his eyes intense yet strangely affectionate. “Let’s go, darlin’.”

With the duffle bag in hand, he leads you towards the exit, his grip on your wrist firm yet unyielding. Your legs feel like lead as you follow him, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the empty space. You glance back at the bank workers, their faces a portrait of fear and confusion, and you can't shake the crushing sense of guilt that weighs on your heart. Yet, there is a strange feeling of exhilaration that beats in your chest, a rush you’ve never felt before.

The two of you step back into the bleak daylight, and Jongseong’s car waits in the same spot. Now leaving it unlocked makes sense; you need to make a quick getaway. He opens the door for you with an almost gentlemanly gesture, though his eyes are still sharp, scanning the surroundings.

You both jump into the car, the doors slamming shut simultaneously. Jongseong hits the gas, the car lurching forward with a screech of tires. The engine roars to life as he maneuvers onto the road, the world outside blurring into a frenetic swirl of colours and shapes. Your heart pounds against your ribcage, adrenaline flooding your system. It's the closest to an existential crisis you’ve ever come, the reality of what just happened clashing violently with the surreal rush of it all.

Jongseong wears a shit-eating grin, his eyes sparkling with a dangerous glee as he speeds down the highway. He runs a hand through his hair, the strands falling back into place messily. Suddenly, he slams his palm on the steering wheel a few times in sheer excitement, his laughter bubbling up uncontrollably. “We fucking did it!” he exclaims, his voice filled with disbelief and triumph.

You look at him like he’s crazy, his entire being now radiating joy despite just committing a felony big enough to land him back in jail. Your mind races, a whirlwind of fear, excitement, and bewilderment. How could he be so thrilled, so elated, after what just happened? The exhilaration from moments ago is rapidly giving way to a gnawing anxiety, the reality of your actions sinking in.

"Pull over," you finally manage to say, your voice barely steady.

"What?" Jongseong's grin falters for a moment, confusion clouding his features.

"Pull over," you repeat, more forcefully this time.

"Do you want to get caught?" he snaps, acutely aware that the police have probably been alerted by now. His eyes dart to the rearview mirror, scanning for any signs of pursuit.

“I want to know what the fuck you think you’re doing.”

Jongseong’s jaw tightens, and any joy that was flowing through his body has now evaporated, escaping through the heavy exhale from his nostrils. His hands grip the wheel so tightly that his knuckles turn white, the tendons in his arms standing out starkly. The atmosphere inside the car grows heavy, thick with tension and unspoken words.

You realise instantly that you’ve crossed a line, the severity of your words sinking in as his anger radiates off him like a palpable force. The air between you crackles with electricity, the adrenaline of the heist replaced by a chilling fear of the unknown. You’re not scared of Jongseong, not really, but of the intensity of his reaction and what he might be thinking.

He hard shoulders the car to the edge of a cliff, the tires screeching as he brings the vehicle to an abrupt stop. The scenery outside is almost picturesque, the cliff overlooking a vast expanse of ocean, waves crashing against the rocks below. The golden hues of the late afternoon sun cast long shadows, but the serene beauty of the landscape does nothing to alleviate the suffocating tension within the car.

Jongseong's cold glare freezes you in place, his eyes dark and unyielding. "Repeat that last sentence," he demands, his voice low and menacing.

"I...I," you stammer, too overcome with slight fear to form a coherent response. It’s not Jongseong himself that scares you, but the raw intensity of his emotions and the unpredictability of the situation.

"Did you just swear at me?" he asks, his tone sharp enough to cut through the thick silence. His eyes bore into yours, and you can see the flicker of hurt beneath the anger.

The fear of what he’s thinking, the consequences of your words, paralyses you. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, your breath coming in shallow, rapid bursts. The reality of the situation crashes over you, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable.

“I... I didn’t mean to-”

“Get out of the car. Now.” His voice is a low, dangerous growl, leaving no room for argument.

You scramble to comply, fumbling with the door handle. Your fingers tremble as you push the door open, the heavy metal creaking in protest. As you step out, the uneven ground beneath your feet adds to your growing sense of disorientation. The wind whips through your hair and the cliff's edge looms just a few feet away, adding to your sense of vulnerability.

Is he going to leave you here? The thought is a panicked whisper in your mind, the idea of being abandoned on this desolate cliffside sending a fresh wave of fear coursing through you. But he wouldn’t do that, he is too infatuated by you to abandon you.

So you’re quaking in trepidation and adrenaline for what he has planned.

Jongseong steps out of the car with a deliberate calm, the door slamming shut behind him with a resonating thud. He looks at you, his expression unreadable, the earlier anger now replaced by something cold and calculating. 

“On your knees,” he commands, his voice hard and unyielding.

You hesitate for a moment, confusion and anxiety warring within you. The words seem surreal, echoing in your mind as you try to process what’s happening. But then the steel in his eyes brooks no argument, and you realise you have no choice but to do as you’re told.

Slowly, you lower yourself to the ground, the rough gravel biting into your knees. The indignity of the position, combined with the terror of being so close to the cliff, leaves you feeling utterly exposed. You glance up at Jongseong, searching for a hint of what’s to come, but his face is a mask of icy determination.

Noticing the tremble in your lips, a soft, almost tender expression flickers across his features. He reaches down, his hand cradling one side of your face gently. “Shhh, darlin’. I’m just going to wash those dirty words out of your mouth,” he murmurs, his voice deceptively soothing.

Your heart pounds harder, anticipation and fear twisting into a knot in your stomach. You watch, wide-eyed, as he undoes his belt with deliberate slowness, the metallic clink echoing in the stillness. He pulls down the zipper, his movements controlled and precise, never breaking eye contact with you. It is only now that you know what he means by washing the dirty words out of your mouth.

Jongseong takes out his cock, thick and long, a sight you can’t quite get used to, no matter how many times you see it. Your fingers grip tightly at your skirt as you endure the rough gravel digging into your knees. Despite the discomfort, your focus is entirely on his eight-inch length, its pink tip throbbing with desire, mirroring your pulsing clit.

Seeing the light of excitement in your eyes, Jongseong smiles wickedly. What he saw back at the bank, that flicker of wanting rush and spontaneity is instilled deep within you, and what perfect way to get it out of you than making you suck his cock on the edge of a nth-drop-foot cliff.

He taps the head of his cock against your lips, his expression a blend of mock innocence and raw hunger. “You know I don’t like doing this, Y/N," he says, his tone dripping with false remorse. Jongseong doesn’t care about you swearing at him, not really; he’s just looking for an excuse to ease the horniness swimming through his blood and to bring out the real you that's hiding in the shadows.

“Unless...you want to be bad?” He tilts his head, his gaze feigning curiosity because he already knows the answer. “I saw it in your eyes, darlin’. That blood rush because you know you’re doing something bad.”

You shift slightly on your knees, licking your lips, your eyes fixated on his member. The desire to take him in your mouth is overwhelming. The fear, guilt, dread, excitement, and power mix into a heady cocktail -  it creates something inside you that you have long sought after. Your life that has been so built up in the foundation of being perfect for your father is draining and mundane, which is why you were drawn so irresistibly to him. He can give you everything you crave, even through unorthodox situations like this.

Jongseong teases you, swiping his tip along your lips. As you open your mouth in eager anticipation, he pulls away just out of reach, a smirk playing on his lips as you lift your ass from your heels, chasing it like a dog with a bone before you yield. 

He starts pumping his cock slowly, his eyes locked onto yours. “You can be as bad as you like, baby,” he leans down slightly, his voice a low, seductive growl. “As long as you're a good girl for me, okay?”

“Yes, Jjongie,” you nod quickly, desperate for your mouth to be filled. The anticipation, mixed with the danger of the cliff and the fear of being caught, makes your pussy ache and your heart race.

With a sudden, forceful motion, Jongseong grabs the back of your head, pulling you closer. "Open wide," he commands, his voice firm yet filled with desire. You comply, your mouth opening eagerly as he thrusts himself deep, filling you completely. He groans in pleasure as he begins to fuck your mouth with rough, passionate thrusts.

His hand rests on the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair as he sets a deliberate pace. You hollow your cheeks, sucking him in, your tongue swirling around his length, paying extra attention to his tip when it hits the edge of your lips. The heat and weight of him on your tongue send shivers down your spine, and you moan around him, the sound vibrating through his dick.

“Take it all, darlin’,” he murmurs, his grip tightening as he pushes deeper, your gag reflex kicking in. Tears spring to your eyes, but the mixture of pain and pleasure only fuels your desire. You moan around him, the vibrations making him groan louder.

Jongseong’s pace quickens, his long length hitting the back of your throat with each thrust. You struggle to breathe, but the sensation of being used, of surrendering completely to his control, sends waves of heat through your body. Despite the intensity, you crave more; you can’t get enough. Every thrust, every moment of control he exerts over you, only deepens your need. You love this, even though you probably shouldn’t.

Because you have always been so compliant to him, never pushing his buttons, every time he has ever touched you has always been rough but with an overwhelming cast of softness, scared to push you too far considering your limited sexual experiences. But right now, it is pure lust and dominance taking over his body. This is your chance to show you can take it, soft or hard, as long as it’s Jongseong.

“Fuck, you’re amazing,” he pants, his eyes dark with lust. “So good at taking your punishment.” You nod as best as you can, his cock still buried in the back of your throat as you try your best to widen it, accommodating his girth the best you can.

His praise spurs you on, and you bob your head faster, your hand coming up to stroke the base of his cock in time with your movements. Jongseong’s breath hitches, his hands gripping your roots for support. The veins on his arms bulge with the intensity of his grip, his knuckles white.

His breathing becomes erratic, and you feel his cock twitching, a clear sign he's nearing climax. His eyes close momentarily, his brow furrowing, then lock onto yours again, filled with raw desire.

“Fuck, baby, just like that,” he groans, his hips thrusting in sync with your movements. “I’m so close.”

His thrusts become more urgent, more forceful. You can sense the muscles in his abdomen tensing with each movement, a sheen of sweat making his skin glisten. His jaw clenches, his breathing ragged. You are lost in the moment, your body reacting instinctively, wanting to please him, to draw out his release. The sensation of his cock filling your throat, the taste, the feel - it’s intoxicating, leaving you craving more with every second.

Suddenly, he tightens his grip on your scalp, pulling you down hard onto his cock, burying himself so deep that his bell is well past your tonsils, almost hitting your voice box. The force and intrusion makes you gag, and he holds you there, deep in your oesophagus. Your eyes water, and you feel his cock pulsing as he reaches his peak.

With a guttural moan, Jongseong shudders violently, emptying himself deep within you. The hot torrent of his seed floods your throat with a sudden intensity that makes you gag, the unexpected force sending spurts through your nose. The sensation is both startling and overwhelming, the heat and discomfort mingling in a strange thrill. Your nostrils burn slightly, each breath catching the faint, musky scent of his cum, and you feel the final thick, warm fluid trickling down your throat and seeping from your nose.

Jongseong's grip on you is unyielding, his body taut with pleasure, eyes squeezed shut in an expression of raw ecstasy. His cock pulses and twitches as he drains himself completely, the final spurts leaving him trembling. Slowly, he loosens his hold, withdrawing from your mouth with a slick, wet sound, his length coated in a mixture of saliva and cum.

You gasp for air, your lungs burning as you draw in ragged breaths. The remnants of his release cling to your lips and drip from your nose, the salty taste lingering on your tongue. The myriad sensations leave you dizzy and lightheaded, but there’s an undeniable satisfaction in the aftermath of such a powerful, primal exchange. Your chest heaves as you recover, each breath a challenge, and despite the intensity, you can’t help but feel a deep, insatiable hunger for more.

Jongseong tucks his cock away before looking down at you, the white dripping down your nose, chin and onto your chest. The sight makes him tremble, an aftershock of pure adoration for the messy girl before him. "You are so beautiful, baby," he murmurs, crouching down to wipe the seed from your face. Your lazy smile spreads across your lips, a blend of bliss and contentment washing over you. The intensity of the experience leaves you feeling floaty and disoriented, but there’s an underlying sense of satisfaction and connection that warms you from within.

"Just don't swear at me again, okay, pretty? You gotta trust me," he continues, opening your mouth with his thumb and sticking his fingers in, making you clean them up. The taste of his cum lingers as you obediently suck his fingers clean, your eyes overcast with a mixture of bliss and unfamiliarity. You nod, feeling a bit contrite.

"I'm sorry. It won’t happen again, I was just...surprised. You should have told me what we were doing." You can’t help but feel a twinge of regret. It would have been nice to have a heads-up that you were committing your first crime, even if you were just an accomplice.

Jongseong sighs, understanding your point of view. He helps you stand, his hands steadying you as your legs feel like jelly. He brushes the gravel from your knees, his fingers lingering slightly as he ogles at the indents and scrapes, oddly admiring the view. There's a gentleness in his touch, a stark contrast to the roughness of moments before.

"You would never have agreed to come with me if I did tell you. I wanted you to see and feel the rush of it all," he explains, his voice filled with conviction. He leans in, kissing your lips gently, the softness of his kiss a vastly different feeling from the burning in your throat and nose. "You did, didn’t you? You understand it now."

The memory of the heist flashes vividly in your mind, the exhilarating chaos of it all. Standing side by side with Jongseong as he robbed the bank was like stepping into another world, one where every second was charged with a thrilling sense of danger and excitement. The cold metal of the gun in his hand, the authoritative bark of his commands, and the wide-eyed fear in the faces of the bank staff and customers - it was a symphony of sensations that left your heart pounding in your chest in the best possible way.

You pause, the truth sinking in. "I...I do," you admit, knowing there’s no point in denying it. The rush, the adrenaline, it’s undeniable. But the risk, the fear of losing him, it lingers in your mind. "But there are other ways to get that same rush, ones that don't risk me losing you."

For the first time, Jongseong's heart feels like it's punching his rib cage. He can’t believe the depth of your concern, the intensity of your feelings for him. "I know, but I'm not going anywhere," he promises, his voice filled with sincerity. You give him a sceptical look, worry etched into your features. "I'll be careful. You're my good luck charm, and you're never leaving my side. So, what is there to worry about?"

Jongseong's arms wrap around you, bringing you closer. His warmth envelops you, providing a soothing presence amidst the chaos of your thoughts. You cuddle into his hug, a smile pulling to the middle of your cheeks. His steady, robust heartbeat is a calming contrast to your own. The lingering taste of him, the scent of sweat and musk, it’s all becoming music to your senses. 

He can't believe he has found someone so perfect for him. Someone to ground him and see his potential, even through everything. Maybe there is a part of him that wants to tone it down a little, because the fear of losing you too is something his heart doesn't want to bear thinking about.

Although the rush and excitement of breaking the law pumps the blood through his body, even just laying his eyes upon you has the same desired effect. Perhaps you could be his new rush. Jongseong had never considered another way to get his kicks because this is all he has known for so long, the window you're opening up in his mind lets him peep into what could be, rather than what he knows.

Sirens blare softly in the distance, almost acting as a backing track to your loving waltz. But you know you can’t stay standing here for long, very few roads to turn and navigate if they caught up to you. Looking up at him, you smile, oddly calm despite the circumstances around you. “Let’s go. We can book a motel.”

“Good shout. I don’t think I can wait to fuck you.”

You look puzzled, brow furrowing as you process his words. "Do you not hear the police? I mean we need to keep low."

Jongseong laughs, a low, rich sound that sends shivers down your spine. His hand traces your waist, fingers pressing gently into your skin. "Oh, I know," he says, his eyes twinkling with a mix of mischief and desire. "But I also meant what I said."

_____

The smell of chlorine fills the air, a sharp, clean scent that immediately evokes memories of summer afternoons spent poolside. Beneath the tang of chemicals lies the faintest hint of dampness, the kind that clings to cool tiles and wets the soles of your feet. The ambient humidity wraps around you like a warm blanket, the moisture hanging heavy in the air as you take careful steps forward, your senses heightened by the darkness that surrounds you.

A blindfold is secured over your eyes, its fabric soft against your skin, blocking out the world and leaving you in a realm of anticipation. Jongseong's hands are firm yet gentle on your arms, guiding you carefully, his touch reassuring as he leads you to the unknown. His fingers occasionally rub soothing circles on your arms, grounding you, while his lips brush tenderly against your shoulder, planting a kiss that sends a shiver of warmth through your body.

"Just a bit further," he murmurs, his voice a low, comforting rumble in your ear. The sound of it makes you smile, your heart swelling with affection, but the mystery of what lies ahead keeps a slight edge of nervousness tingling in your veins.

“Jjongie,” you giggle, a mix of excitement and anxiety bubbling in your chest. “What’s the surprise?”

He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through you. “If I tell you, it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?”

You laugh, but there’s a faint tremor of unease beneath your amusement. “I don’t like your surprises...” you say, trying to keep your tone light, but there’s a flicker of real concern in your voice.

Your mind drifts back to the last time Jongseong had surprised you. What was supposed to be a simple drive had turned into something much more exhilarating - and terrifying. He’d taken you on a late-night drag race, the adrenaline coursing through your veins as he floored the gas pedal. You’d ended up in his lap, your lips wrapped around him as he tried to navigate the twisting roads. The memory of him nearly crashing into a lamppost as he swerved around a corner, the car jerking violently while you were mid-act, flashes vividly in your mind. It had been thrilling, dangerous, and unforgettable, but it had also left you with a newfound wariness of his surprises.

Jongseong suddenly stops, halting your thoughts along with your steps. He releases his grip on your arms and takes a moment, his eyes scanning over the scene before him. You can sense the slight shift in his demeanour, the way his breath catches ever so slightly, as if he’s nervous, though he’s doing his best to hide it.

“Okay, are you ready?” he asks, his voice taking on a more serious tone, as if the moment ahead holds weight.

“It depends on what for,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper as the tension in your chest tightens.

“Yes or no answer, darlin’,” he says, his tone gentle but firm.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as the anticipation builds. It crawls over your skin like tiny insects, a sensation that makes you think of the creepy-crawly trials from I’m a Celebrity...Get Me Out of Here. The unknown feels like it’s pressing down on you, making your heart race in your chest but in an excited, throwing-up way, not in an anxiety-inducing throwing-up way.

“Yeah...I’m ready,” you finally breathe out, your voice laced with a mix of courage and curiosity.

With that, Jongseong reaches up and slowly removes the blindfold. The world beyond the darkness gradually comes into focus as your eyes adjust to the light. You blink a few times, your vision sharpening, and then the scene before you fully reveals itself.

You find yourself standing at the edge of a beautifully lit gymnasium pool. The water is calm, its surface reflecting the soft glow of the lights that line the ceiling and walls. The pool stretches out before you, the deep blue water inviting and serene. The entire space is transformed, the usual harshness of a gymnasium replaced by an almost magical ambience. The soft glow of string lights hangs above, casting a warm, golden hue that dances across the water’s surface. Candles flicker gently along the edges, their flames steady despite the humidity, adding a touch of romance to the already enchanting atmosphere.

Your breath catches in your throat, your heart swelling with emotion as you take in the sight before you. “Jjongie...” you whisper, your voice thick with a mixture of awe and emotion. A smile begins to creep across your face, slow but unstoppable, and you feel a sting in your eyes as tears threaten to spill over.

“It’s nice, right?” Jongseong asks, his voice soft, filled with an affectionate warmth as he watches your reaction.

“Nice?” you echo, shaking your head in disbelief. “It’s beautiful. When did you do all of this?”

“A few hours ago, while you were getting ready,” he admits with a shy smile, rubbing the back of his neck as if the effort was no big deal, though you can tell he’s pleased with himself. It actually took him well over three hours to sort everything out, and an hour of that was simply to untangle the lights he had managed to wrap himself up in.

You look at him, the adoration you feel for him filling every corner of your being. The surprise, the thoughtfulness of it all, is overwhelming in the best possible way. It’s not just about the setting he’s created, but the care and effort he’s put into making this moment special for you.

As you step further into the softly lit gymnasium, your eyes catch sight of a blanket spread out near the edge of the pool, surrounded by twinkling fairy lights. The setup is simple yet thoughtful: a wicker basket sits in the centre, along with two plates, some cutlery, and an assortment of your favourite snacks. You can't help but smile as you notice a small bag of Percy Pig sweets peeking out from the basket, their bright, cartoonish faces bringing a touch of humour to the romantic setting.

Jongseong follows your gaze, a proud grin spreading across his face when he sees you've noticed the details. “See, I got all your favourites, even those ugly pigs,” he teases, the corners of his mouth twitching as he tries to keep a straight face.

You turn to him, feigning offence. “Excuse me? Percy Pig deserves respect.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say,” he laughs, rolling his eyes playfully. “Now, sit down before I eat them all myself.”

You both settle down on the blanket, the fabric soft beneath you as Jongseong reaches for the basket. He pulls out a bottle of cheap wine and a pair of plastic glasses he bumped from Tesco, it’s not really stealing, just an accidental 'forgot to scan it' - along with the basket, some plates, and the fairy lights that encompass the space. He did pay for the wine though, that much he can pour guilt-free.

“This is really nice, Jonseong. But how did you manage to rent out the pool after hours?”

He takes a sip of his wine, a nonchalant shrug accompanying his response. “I know a guy.”

You narrow your eyes at him, scepticism evident in your expression, but you don’t press further. “Why did you choose this place? You know, picnics are usually in parks, not next to chlorine-filled water.”

Jongseong chuckles, his eyes twinkling with playful mischief. “Well, duh. I know I’ve spent most of my life in prison, but I do know basic picnic etiquette.” He rolls his eyes dramatically before continuing, “I just wanted to do something different. Trying to create an original experience, you know? Besides, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly fancy restaurant material.”

You laugh, the sound light and genuine, appreciating his honesty. “Yeah, I figured that out.”

The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a moment, the stillness only broken by the gentle lapping of the water and the hum of the old but functioning AC. The ambience is peaceful, the soft glow of the lights reflecting off the pool’s surface, creating a serene atmosphere that makes you feel completely at ease.

But there’s a question that has lingered in the back of your mind for some time now, one you’ve never dared to ask. You hesitate, the words sitting heavy on your tongue, unsure if now is the right moment to bring it up. Eventually, curiosity wins out, and you break the silence.

“Can I ask you something?”

Jongseong looks at you, his expression softening. “Anything, darlin’. You know that.”

You’ve always respected his privacy, never prying into his past because, in your mind, it didn’t matter. What mattered was the person he is now, the man who’s made you feel more cherished than anyone else ever has. But he’s mentioned his past in passing, little snippets here and there, and now feels like as good a time as any to learn more.

“When did you first go to prison?” you ask, your voice tentative, almost unsure.

His reaction is immediate, his eyes widening for a split second before he quickly downs the rest of his wine, using the alcohol as Dutch courage. Jongseong usually isn’t nervous about discussing his past, knowing that the judgement and resentment from others can’t change the path he’s driven down. But with you, it’s different. He doesn’t want you to see him in a different light, doesn’t want his past mistakes to taint the way you look at him now. 

You see the turmoil flickering across his face, and you quickly reach out, grabbing his hand to offer comfort. “It’s okay,” you say gently, squeezing his hand. “You don’t have to tell me...it was stupid of me to ask.”

He shakes his head, taking a deep breath as if steeling himself. “No, it’s not stupid. You deserve to know.” He pauses, his voice quieter when he finally speaks. “I was 16. They charged me with domestic assault.”

You feel your body tense up at his words, recoiling slightly, but before you can pull away. Though your brain doesn’t want to jump to that conclusion, it’s the first thing your mind flickers in front of your eyes. 

Jongseong squeezes your hand tightly, his eyes earnest and pleading as he sees you leap to conclusions that make him feel sick. “Oh God, no, not like that, baby,” he quickly clarifies. “I would kill myself before I ever laid a hand on my partner. I couldn’t even fathom the idea.”

Relief washes over you, your muscles relaxing as you search his eyes for the truth. “Then who?”

He looks away for a moment, his jaw clenching as he struggles to find the right words. “My dad,” he finally says, his voice rough with emotion. “He was fucking awful, and I just snapped one day after school. The neighbours called the police, and they carted me off. Next thing you know, I’m serving two months in juvie.”

You feel a surge of anger on his behalf, your heart aching at the thought of what he must have gone through. “He deserved it, though, right?” you ask, needing to hear it from him.

“Fuck yeah, he did,” Jongseong replies, his voice seething with barely contained rage. “Fucking prick was a good for nothing low life and let him know it. After that, it was just a downhill spiral. Selling, stealing, fighting... it’s hard to get out of that life once you’re in it.”

The rawness of his words hangs heavy in the air, the weight of his past pressing down on both of you. You can see the pain in his eyes, the memories of a life he’s tried so hard to leave behind. You want to say something, anything, to make it better, but words feel inadequate. Instead, you simply hold his hand tighter, letting him know that you’re here for him, that you’re not going anywhere.

As Jongseong finishes recounting his story, you listen intently, the gravity of his words settling over you. The conversation has taken a turn for the deeply personal, exposing vulnerabilities you had only glimpsed before. His past is a labyrinth of mistakes and regrets, mirroring the tangled web that ensnares people once they slip into a life of crime. It reminds you of your father’s own downward spiral, how once he got entangled in embezzling money, every effort to escape only seemed to complicate matters further. It’s a relentless cycle, each attempt to break free only making the situation worse. 

But as you gaze at Jongseong, with his defiant eyes and mischievous grin, you see a boy who, despite his reckless choices, has a core of goodness. The crimes he’s committed are not born from malice but from a life he was thrust into, a life he has never known how to escape. Maybe, just maybe, you can offer him a different path, one that leads to a better future.

“I think there’s a better life out there for you,” you say softly, your voice trembling with sincerity.

Jongseong meets your gaze, his eyes reflecting a depth of emotion that catches you off guard. He stares at you for a moment, his mind churning and eyes twinkling with realisation. “I think there is.”

A gentle smile begins to spread across your face. Despite the adrenaline-fueled adventures and the excitement of petty crimes you’ve shared with him, you’ve come to realise how much Jongseong means to you. The thrill has been exhilarating, but now it’s time to give back, to help him find the life he deserves. The life that’s not defined by theft and deceit but by something more meaningful.

“I got you something,” he says, breaking the silence with a hint of mischief in his tone.

Curiosity piques as you ask, “What is it?”

“Close your eyes,” he instructs, his voice light but carrying a touch of seriousness.

You comply, and the sounds of him rummaging through the picnic basket fill your ears. The rustling of items and the faint clink of metal create a suspenseful atmosphere. There’s a brief pause, and you hear him take a slow, steady breath. The anticipation is palpable, crawling up your spine like a swarm of butterflies, each flap of their wings a reminder of the momentous occasion unfolding.

“Okay, open.”

You slowly open your eyes, adjusting to the dim glow of the fairy lights that flicker around you. Jongseong holds out a tiny white box, his expression a mix of nervousness and hope. Your heart skips a beat as you take the box from him, the weight of it feeling surprisingly significant.

“Jongseong...” you whisper, a mixture of shock and affection in your voice.

“Open it,” he urges, his eyes locked onto yours with a fervent intensity.

With trembling hands, you lift the lid of the box. Inside, nestled in a bed of soft cotton, are two simple yet elegant rings. The sight of them takes your breath away, the understated beauty of the rings striking a chord deep within you.

“What is-”

“Now, don’t get ahead of yourself,” Jongseong interrupts, a playful glint in his eye. “I’m not proposing or anything. I love you, but I’m not letting you marry an unemployed loser who’s couch-hopping between friends’ flats. This is just to remind everyone that you’re mine.”

Your eyes widen, the significance of his words settling over you like a warm embrace. “Y-you love me?”

Jongseong looks at you as though your question is absurd. “Wasn’t it obvious? I’m literally obsessed with you.” He takes one of the rings and carefully slides it onto your finger. “I didn’t think I had to make a big song and dance about it when I show you how much I love you every day.”

The simple act of placing the ring on your finger speaks volumes. It’s not just a gesture; it’s a declaration of his feelings, one that surpasses words. Jongseong has never experienced love before, has no frame of reference, but if all those tacky magazines in the prison recreational room were correct, this is what love is supposed to feel like. It’s raw, sincere, and unfiltered.

It’s willing to become a better person for them.

“I love you too,” you say softly, the words flowing from your heart with a new depth. It’s the first time you’ve uttered those words to someone who wasn’t family, and the weight of the phrase carries a profound significance now. It’s not just about affection; it’s about a deep, abiding connection.

Jongseong’s laughter fills the air, a rich, throaty sound that resonates with joy. You tilt your head, puzzled by his sudden amusement. “What?”

“Well, duh!” he says, his tone a mix of mock arrogance and genuine affection. “You get googly-eyed every time you look at me. Even when I was getting carted off to prison, you were practically gushing over me - probably in more places than just your chest.” His gaze drops to your skirt, a cheeky smirk playing on his lips.

“Oh my God, shut up!” you exclaim, playfully shoving him. But as you do, his balance falters, and he tumbles backward into the pool with a splash. The cold water surges around him, and you burst into laughter at the sight of his surprised, spluttering face.

Before you can fully enjoy the moment, Jongseong’s hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist and pulling you into the pool with him. The shock of the cold water envelops you, the fabric of your dress clinging uncomfortably to your skin.

“Jongseong!” you cry out, trying to push him away as you sputter and splash him. “This is Prada!” You gesture to your drenched dress, the expensive fabric now ruined.

“And this” he retorts with a grin, pinching the soggy fabric of his non-designer t-shirt, “is from the lost and found box.” He gives you a sheepish smile, but when he sees your unamused expression, he quickly adds, “Okay, okay, I’ll buy you a new one.”

“It’s ￡700!” you protest, though there’s a playful undertone in your voice.

“Then I’ll steal you a new one,” he quips, his tone light but earnest.

You fix him with a serious look, though your lips twitch with a suppressed smile. “If you want me to keep this ring on,” you say, holding your hand out of the water to display the glinting band, “then you need to promise me you’ll stop stealing, and fighting, and anything else that could get you locked up.” Your voice grows more serious with each word. “I can’t lose you.”

Jongseong’s expression softens as he takes your hand in his, pressing a tender kiss to the ring before placing your hand over his heart. “Scout’s honour. For you, I’ll be on the straight and narrow. I solemnly swear that I, Park Jongseong, will never commit another crime.” His tone is light-hearted, but the sincerity in his eyes assures you that this promise is different from the ones he made before.

Just as you’re about to respond, a booming voice interrupts. “Hey! What are you two doing here?”

You both turn to see a security guard marching toward you, his face a mix of irritation and confusion. Jongseong glances at you with a sheepish grin, water dripping from his hair. “Well...starting now, I’ll commit no crimes.”

“Huh-” Before you can fully comprehend the situation, Jongseong is already dragging you out of the pool, his hand gripping yours tightly as you both scramble to your feet. You catch sight of the security guard sprinting toward you, his expression growing more determined.

“I thought you said your friend helped you out?” you huff as you run alongside him.

“Yeah, my friend called Lockpick,” Jongseong replies with a grin that reaches his eyes, bending down to pick his ring up. “Now come on, let’s get out of here.”

Despite the chaos, you find yourself mirroring his bright smile. Maybe you’ll let him commit some crimes after all - just as long as you’re along for the ride.

_____

The reflection in the mirror feels like a portal to the past, a glimpse into a version of yourself you thought you’d left behind. The long, opulent gown drapes elegantly over your frame, its intricate embroidery catching the light in a way that’s both nostalgic and unfamiliar. The diamond earrings - a gift from your father on your 16th birthday - sparkle with a cold brilliance, a stark reminder of the expectations that have always weighed heavily on your shoulders. Your hair is styled in a sleek, elegant updo, every strand meticulously in place, as if you were once again the picture-perfect daughter in his carefully curated world.

It’s been months since you last had to dress like this, stepping into a role that now feels more like a distant memory than a reality. But tonight is different. Tonight is a special occasion. It’s the night of your father’s grand welcome-back party, a lavish affair meant to reintroduce him to the world of business after years behind bars. This event is more than just a celebration; it’s a calculated move to solidify his reputation as a formidable figure in the corporate world, a moneyed tyrant who, against all odds, has maintained his iron grip on power.

Despite the scandals that would have buried anyone else, your father’s influence remains unshaken. His business partners and corporate clients still stand by his side, drawn by the promise of wealth and the unspoken agreements that bind them together. Perhaps it’s the money he’s skillfully laundered for them over the years or the secrets he’s kept buried deep, that have ensured their loyalty. The room will be filled with men in tailored suits, their faces masked with polite smiles, but beneath the surface, a web of silent transactions and mutual dependencies will be at play. 

You love your father, you really do, but big soirees like this have never been your thing. Attending them always felt like a chore rather than a time of relaxation and merriment. Maybe it was because of the prestige and pressure it was being your father’s daughter, or maybe it was the constant polite smile and meaningless interactions with people you didn’t know that weighed down the atmosphere.

Either way, you had to show up for your father, just as you are now. He would be so disappointed if you missed this and you can’t bear the thought. So you will put up with the uncomfortable attire for at least a night.

The good news is, one man will be by your side the entire night, a thought that washes over you like a wave of relief. Jongseong's presence brings you an immense sense of ease, though the prospect of him meeting your father for the first time still stirs a flutter of anxiety in your chest. It has to happen eventually, and what better setting than a crowded party where distractions abound?

Jongseong isn’t a people person and he avoids interaction unless absolutely necessary. The only person he ever makes an exception for is you, which is why he agreed to accompany you tonight despite his discomfort. You know how much this evening will demand of him - being surrounded by a crowd so different from him, full of people who thrive on small talk and business banter. But he would do anything for you, simply because he loves you. And you know that no combination of words could ever fully express your gratitude for that.

As you twirl a strand of hair into place, you steal a glance at the ring on your finger, smiling at the symbolic silver. It puts some comfort into your chest even as you mentally brace yourself for whatever the night will bring. You step out of the bathroom and your eyes immediately find Jongseong. He stands in front of the free-standing mirror in your dorm room, struggling with his tie, wrapping it around and around, only to fumble with the knot.

A soft giggle escapes your lips, drawing Jongseong's attention. His head snaps up, and the frustration in his eyes melts away, replaced by a look of pure awe. His gaze softens, shimmering with admiration as he takes you in. It never seems to matter whether you're dressed in sweatpants or a £5,000 gown - Jongseong always looks at you as if you are the only person in the world.

To him, you are. The only one who truly matters, anyway.

“Holy shit,” he mumbles, his hands dropping from the black silk tie as he stands there, completely mesmerised. He takes in how the dress hugs your waist, how your hair frames your face perfectly, and he suddenly feels unworthy to even be in your presence. “You look so beautiful, darlin’. You make diamonds look dull.”

Your heart flutters at his words, and you dip your head slightly, trying to hide the blush creeping up your cheeks. Slowly, you walk over to him, smiling softly. “Thank you, Jjongie. You look really handsome,” you reply, your voice earnest and full of affection. And it’s true - he looks like something out of a wet dream, the kind you've had more times than you’d ever admit. The way his fitted black trousers accentuate his frame, the crisp white shirt that contrasts so beautifully against his tanned skin, and the fresh undercut that highlights the angles of his face - all of it makes you want to forget about the party entirely and lose yourself in him.

As you reach him, you gently take the tie he was struggling with earlier and start to tie it, your fingers deftly creating a Windsor knot that could rival any royal affair. You’ve done this countless times for your father, and the thought crosses your mind of how he might be feeling as he dons a suit for the first time in five years.

Jongseong tilts his head back slightly as you loop the end of the tie through, fidgeting like a restless child. “Hold still,” you chide him with a playful roll of your eyes, amused by his toddler-like impatience.

“I fucking hate ties,” he grumbles, trying his best not to squirm as you pull the knot tight. Jongseong has never been one for formalwear; he despises suits with a passion. The only times he’s ever worn one have been for court dates and funerals, events that always seem to bring trouble in their wake. To him, the tie feels less like an accessory and more like a silk noose.

You sigh softly, nodding in understanding. “I know, baby, but please, just bear with it. Tonight is important.” Your voice is gentle, and you shoot him an apologetic glance as you finish adjusting the tie, making sure it’s perfectly in place.

Jongseong knows how much this evening means to you. He’s also noticed the subtle changes in you ever since your father regained his freedom. He’s not blind to the way you’ve become a little more reserved, a little more cautious. He wonders if it’s just the anxiety of tonight or if it’s the looming reality that your father will soon learn about your relationship with him, along with his not-so-angelic extracurricular activities. Either way, Jongseong has been extra vigilant, more protective of you than ever.

You pin the tie bar in place, stepping back to admire your handiwork with a smile. “There, not so bad, huh?”

“I feel like a circus attraction,” he mutters, resisting the urge to loosen the knot and unbutton the collar. Formalwear has never been his style, and tonight feels like he’s being paraded in front of an audience he wants nothing to do with.

You place your hands on his chest, rubbing small circles to ease the tension you can feel building beneath your palms. “I would come to see you perform every day,” you joke lightly, rising on your tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his lips. His mouth is warm, his lips soft, making you wish they were attached to yours every second of the day.

A smirk tugs at the corners of Jongseong’s mouth as his hands find their way to your hips, pulling you closer. He deepens the kiss, his tongue tracing the outline of your lips, the sensation causing your carefully applied Charlotte Tilbury Pillow Talk lipstick to smudge and transfer onto him. The kiss grows more intense, erasing all thoughts of the party, the people, and even the daunting meeting with your father. For a moment, it’s just the two of you, and nothing else matters.

But it can’t last forever, as much as you wish it could. In an ideal world, Jongseong would rip the overpriced dress off your body, and the two of you wouldn’t leave your dorm room for days. Yet, reality pulls you back, and with it, the obligations of the night. You reluctantly pull away, feeling the weight of the evening settling back into place.

Jongseong instinctively tries to follow your lips, but you step back, offering him a remorseful smile. “C’mon. We need to head downstairs. Sunghoon should be arriving to pick us up in a couple of minutes.”

At the mention of another man’s name, your boyfriend’s ears perk up, and his eyebrows knit together in suspicion. “Sunghoon?” He practically spits the name out, his jaw tightening visibly. There’s an edge to his voice, one you recognise all too well.

You roll your eyes playfully, familiar with Jongseong’s lack of enthusiasm when another man is in the same room as you. “Babe, he’s just the driver for my parents. They insisted he pick us up,” you explain, your tone gentle but firm, hoping to diffuse his growing irritation.

Jongseong’s gaze softens a fraction, though a trace of his protectiveness lingers. “I could drive us,” he offers, his voice low, the implication clear. He wants to be the one to look after you, not someone he doesn’t know.

Exhaling loudly, you shake your head and cross your arms. “If you drive us, you won’t be able to drink. Now imagine being in a room full of upper-class businessmen and not one ounce of Jack Daniels in your system?” 

That gives Jongseong food for thought as he stands in silence, weighing up the pros and cons of an alcohol-free night next to pretentious laughter and fake compliments. He shivers at the thought, his body visibly shaking at the idea of sobriety. 

The look on his face causes you to laugh and nod your head. “Exactly. Now come on.”

Your boyfriend loosens his tie slightly, prioritising his comfort over meeting your father’s strict expectations. The simple gesture sends a ripple of unease through you, as if the crooked tie is a symbol of everything that could go wrong tonight. You wouldn’t say you’re normally an uptight person, but moments like these set your nerves on edge, making every little detail feel like it carries immense weight.

As you pick up your handbag, you pause at the front door, bracing yourself for the conversation you know you need to have. Your heart races, fearing how Jongseong might react. “Jongseong?”

“Yeah, darlin’?” he replies, his voice softening as he senses your hesitation.

You swallow, choosing your words carefully. “Please don’t…embarrass me tonight.”

The words hang in the air, and you immediately regret how they sound. Jongseong’s expression shifts, confusion flickering across his face as he narrows his eyes. For as long as he has been yours, he’s never known you to be embarrassed by him. “When have I eve-”

“Maybe not embarrass, but…” you interrupt, realising your words came out harsher than you intended. “Just don’t be so overprotective or try to hunt down any man that looks at me or breathes next to me. I love you so much for it, but not tonight, okay? This is a big deal for my dad, and I need you two to get along.”

You see the surprise in his eyes as he processes your request. Despite your concerns, you can’t help but adore his possessive nature - the way he scowls and asserts his claim over you in front of anyone he sees as a threat. The way he reacted to Sunghoon’s name even sent a thrill through you, though you knew tonight wasn’t the time for that. You need him to dial it back, and surprisingly, he doesn’t push back.

Instead, Jongseong simply takes the Prada bag from your hand, his fingers interlocking with yours. There’s a playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips, a sign that he understands your embarrassment isn’t about him but about the high expectations your father holds.

“We’ll get along just fine, darlin’. We already have so much in common. We can swap prison stories,” he jokes, but the humour is lost on you. Your gaze hardens, stern enough that it could turn anyone to stone, and he immediately raises the hand holding your bag in mock defence.

“Okay, okay. I’ll behave,” he promises, his tone shifting to a more sincere one. “But if anyone speaks out of line about you, I’m knocking them into next Thursday.”

You sigh, the tension easing slightly as you nod in agreement. “Thank you,” you murmur, leaning in to peck his cheek in gratitude. The small gesture of affection helps to soothe the lingering anxiety, and as you walk him out the door, your heart feels a little lighter.

_____

As expected, when you arrive, the scene before you looks like something straight out of Jay Gatsby’s wildest fantasies. The sprawling 13-bedroom mansion, once your childhood home, has been transformed into a shimmering spectacle of wealth. Guests are crowded around the grand entrance, their laughter and chatter spilling out onto the manicured lawn. The estate is alive with the hum of a party that promises decadence at every turn, a stark reminder of the world your father has clawed his way back into.

Despite the legal battles and the assets stripped from him, your father had been too cunning for the law. He’d anticipated the fallout, shielding the most valuable pieces of his empire under your mother’s name. The house, the cars, even some of the art that adorns the walls - they all remained untouched, legally out of reach.

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the evening settle over you as you step out of the car. Jongseong is by your side in an instant, his presence a steady anchor amidst the swirl of luxury and status. His hand intertwines with yours, a silent promise that he’s with you every step of the way. Although he might be uncomfortable, his main priority is ensuring your happiness throughout the night.

As you both approach the entrance, the grandeur of the night unfolds around you. The glittering chandeliers cast a warm glow over the marbled floors, and the air is thick with the scent of expensive perfumes and cigars. The crowd parts slightly as you and Jongseong make your way inside, their eyes flicking toward you, assessing, judging, some with curiosity, others with veiled envy. 

Jongseong’s grip on your hand tightens ever so slightly, a small but reassuring gesture. You glance up at him, catching the faintest smirk on his lips as he surveys the scene. He’s out of his element here, but you can tell he’s already sizing up the room, assessing who’s who and what role they might play tonight. There’s an edge to him that you can’t help but feel guilty for, placing him in an environment that you know won’t accept him.

Even though his tattoos are covered and his criminal status is concealed behind the expensive suit you bought him, these people sniff out those who aren’t like them, making it known by the judgement on their faces.

Gazing around, Jongseong quickly understands why you’ve been so anxious about tonight. The reality of this world is even worse than anything he could have imagined. The opulence, the haughty faces, the way the guests carry themselves with an air of superiority - it’s suffocating. How you were raised among these people and managed to emerge with your spirit intact is beyond him, but it makes one thing abundantly clear.

“Now I know why you came begging me for a change of pace,” he whispers in your ear, his eyes never leaving the snobbish guests who seem to be measuring each other up as much as they are the room itself.

You twist your head to look at him, a curious expression on your face. “I did not beg,” you correct him, recalling your first encounter differently than he does, the memory bringing a smile to your lips.

Jongseong shrugs, a playful grin spreading across his face as he swings your bag lightly by his side. “Well, you certainly were begging the day I got out. What was it you said to me in the car?” he teases, eyes sparkling with mischief as your cheeks start to heat up at the memory. “That’s it! It was ‘Please, Jongseong, I can’t take it-’”

Your hand shoots up to cover his mouth, your eyes widening in playful horror, though a laugh escapes your lips before you can stifle it, making your attempt at scolding him lose some of its edge. “Stop it! This is what I meant by behaving,” you warn, though your tone is more amused than stern.

Jongseong chuckles against your palm, his eyes softening as he leans in to kiss it gently before lowering it from his lips. “Actually, you said not to get possessive,” he counters, still grinning. “You should have been more specific.”

You shake your head, trying to suppress your own smile as you meet his flirty and playful gaze. He has a way of easing your nerves even in the most tense situation. 

As you share a quiet laugh with Jongseong, the warmth of the moment is interrupted by the sudden approach of a familiar figure from your past. A woman with perfectly styled blonde hair and a designer dress that practically screams old money makes her way toward you, her smile wide and fake, the kind that never quite reaches the eyes. You recognize her immediately - Emily, a girl you once called a friend before your father’s fall from grace. Her presence alone is enough to make your stomach turn, knowing the kind of person she truly is.

“Y/N! Oh my God, it’s been forever!” Emily exclaims, her voice dripping with an over-the-top enthusiasm that you know is completely fabricated. She flings her arms around you in a hug that’s more for show than anything else, the scent of her expensive perfume cloying as it invades your senses.

You force a smile, stepping back slightly as you extricate yourself from her embrace. “Emily, it’s...good to see you,” you reply, keeping your tone polite but guarded. The last thing you want is to give her any ammunition, especially not tonight. 

It’s not just Jongseong that has to behave.

“I was just telling everyone how much I missed you,” she gushes, her tone oozing false sincerity as she waves her hand around, drawing attention to her perfect manicure. “I mean, it’s just been so sad without you around. How have you been? And your father - what a comeback, right?”

The mention of your father sends a pang of irritation through you, but you maintain your composure, nodding politely. “Yes, it’s been a challenging time, but he is getting through it.”

Emily doesn’t miss a beat, already shifting her focus as her eyes flicker over to Jongseong. Her smile widens, eyes sparkling with interest as she takes in his tall, imposing figure. “And who is this?” she asks, her tone dropping into something far more flirtatious. Without waiting for an introduction, she steps closer to him, batting her eyelashes in a way that’s almost comical. “You must be new around here. I’m Emily,” she purrs, her hand reaching out to lightly touch his arm.

Jongseong’s expression shifts instantly, his easygoing demeanor turning icy cold. He doesn’t flinch, but the look in his eyes makes it clear that her touch is entirely unwelcome. He slowly peels her hand off his arm, his disgust barely concealed. “Jongseong,” he says curtly, his voice devoid of any warmth or interest.

Emily’s confidence wavers, but she recovers quickly, trying to brush off his reaction as if it were nothing. “Well, Jongseong, if you ever need someone to show you around, I’d be happy to-”

“Not interested,” Jongseong cuts her off, his tone sharp enough to slice through her facade. He shifts slightly, positioning himself closer to you, making it clear that he’s not here to entertain her or anyone else.

Emily's smile falters at Jongseong’s blunt dismissal, but she’s not one to back down so easily. She adjusts her posture, regaining some of her poise as she leans in closer, clearly determined to salvage the situation. “Oh, of course,” she says with a laugh that sounds more forced than genuine. “But you know, sometimes it helps to have a fresh perspective. Someone who knows how these events work, who can help you navigate the crowd.” She casts a glance at you, her eyes flickering with something that resembles pity before she looks back at Jongseong, her flirtatious tone back in full force. “I mean, you wouldn’t want to get lost in all this chaos, right?”

Jongseong doesn’t even dignify her with a glance this time, his patience visibly wearing thin. He can feel the subtle shift in your posture, the way your hand tightens around his, signalling your growing irritation. The last thing he wants is for this interaction to ruin your night - or worse, to make you feel anything less than the incredible person you are.

He sighs softly, more to himself than anyone else, before turning his full attention to Emily, his expression hardening. “Listen,” he begins, his voice low and steely, “I don’t need anyone to navigate this place, least of all someone who doesn’t know when to back off.” He steps even closer to you, his arm slipping around your waist possessively, pulling you snugly against his side. “I’m here with my girl. She’s all the perspective I need, and she’s the only one I’m interested in listening to.”

Emily’s bravado crumbles further, her forced smile now barely holding together as she realises she’s completely outmatched. The icy edge in Jongseong’s voice leaves no room for misunderstanding - her presence is neither wanted nor tolerated. She tries to laugh it off again, but it comes out as more of a strained chuckle. “Well, I didn’t mean to intrude,” she mutters, clearly flustered, as she takes a small step back.

Jongseong doesn’t let up, his gaze still fixed on her, making sure she fully understands. “You did,” he replies bluntly, “but you can fix that by walking away.”

You watch the exchange, feeling a mix of relief and admiration for the way Jongseong handled it. He didn’t just brush Emily off - he shut her down in a way that left no room for further attempts. You can’t help the smug smile that is etching onto your face.

Emily finally seems to get the message. With one last awkward smile, she turns on her heel and hurries off into the crowd, her confidence shattered. You let out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding, the tension in your body slowly easing as she disappears from sight.

Jongseong looks down at you, his expression softening instantly as he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. “You okay?” he asks gently, his tone a stark contrast to the icy one he’d used just moments ago.

“Yeah. Let’s go get a drink.”

“Music to my fucking ears,” he laughs, pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head before letting you lead the way to the kitchen. The hum of the party surrounds you, but all you can focus on is the comfort of his presence.

As you walk, Jongseong asks, “Why did she even come up to you? Didn’t you say they all turned on you once they found out what your dad had done?”

You nod, casting a glance at the sea of faces that once belonged to people you called friends. Now, they wave at you as if the last five years of cold shoulders and whispered gossip had never happened. “Yeah, but back then, they didn’t know my dad had managed to keep a massive chunk of his money. While he might not be a billionaire anymore, he’s still a millionaire - and that matters more to them than a prison sentence.”

Jongseong raises an eyebrow, his expression a mix of incredulity and disgust. “So they would’ve stuck around if you’d just shown them your bank account?”

“Pretty much,” you sigh. “But Dad warned me not to flaunt the money he’d managed to save, just in case HMRC came snooping again. So when they thought our family lost everything, they ditched me without a second thought.”

You pause as the reality of it all sinks in, the bitterness of that betrayal still fresh. The socialite life was all you had known - luxury, parties, and a circle of 'friends' who thrived on status. But when your family needed support the most, they scattered like leaves in the wind, leaving you to navigate the fallout alone.

“Darlin’,” he begins, his voice low and soothing as his thumb traces slow circles over your waist, pulling you closer to his side. “You’re worth more than any thick-wallet prick in here,” he assures you, his tone filled with a sincerity that makes your heart swell. And you know he means it. If you were anything like the sea of people flooding your childhood home, he would never have given you a second glance.

But Jongseong saw the real you. From the moment his eyes locked onto yours in that cold, sterile visiting room, he knew there was something deeper inside of you - a spark, a fire that refused to be dimmed by circumstance. It’s why he held you so close then, why he slipped that ring onto your finger with unwavering certainty, and why he’s fallen so madly in love with you. To him, you are the closest thing to perfection, a rare and beautiful soul in a world obsessed with superficiality.

Despite the designer clothes that drape your frame, Jongseong sees beyond the surface. He sees your heart - pure, honest, and untainted by the judgmental ways of those around you. He knows you crave something more, a life that pulses with thrill and adrenaline, and he’s vowed to give you just that until his last breath.

Reaching the bar tucked away in the back of the kitchen, Jongseong picks up two champagne glasses and hands you one. He watches the bubbles rise rapidly, a sign of the high quality, and it sparks a question in his mind.

“Can I ask something?” he begins, his tone careful.

“Sure,” you reply, your gaze still lingering on the crowd outside.

“I know your dad still has money, but how is he allowed to keep making it if he stole millions? Surely that puts him on some sort of corporate blacklist?”

Before you can respond, a deep, familiar voice cuts through the air, stopping you cold. “Well, actually, son, no one can stop you from making money other than yourself.”

Your eyes widen as you whirl around to face him. Your father stands before you, looking nothing like the man you last saw behind bars. He’s put together, polished, every bit the powerful businessman he once was. His suit is immaculate, tailored to perfection, and his cufflinks gleam, catching the light and silently broadcasting his wealth.

The transformation is startling. Gone is the weary, defeated figure you remember. In his place stands a man who looks like he’s never missed a day in the office, as though the years of scandal and incarceration were nothing more than a minor inconvenience. His presence is commanding, and it’s clear that the fall from grace hasn’t stripped him of his confidence - if anything, it’s sharpened it.

Jongseong’s grip on your waist tightens subtly, a silent show of support as your father’s eyes sweep over the two of you. The tension in the room thickens, and you feel yourself shrinking under the weight of his gaze. The confidence you’ve worked so hard to build falters, replaced by a shyness and timidity that Jongseong hasn’t seen in you for a long time. It’s as if you’ve reverted to the woman you were when he first met you - uncertain, reserved, and desperate for approval.

This isn’t the version of you that Jongseong knows and loves. You’ve grown so much since then - becoming strong, confident, and unafraid to live life on your own terms. You’ve finally broken free from the need to be a good girl for your father, embracing the freedom that comes with living for yourself. But that was easier when your dad wasn’t standing right in front of you, his mere presence pulling you back into the shadows of your past.

Jongseong feels a pang of frustration as he watches you retreat into yourself. Everything he’s done - every word, every action - has been for your sake, to help you see your full potential. Even the blowjob he made you give as punishment on the cliff a few months ago was meant to ignite the spark inside you, no matter how harsh or cruel it might have seemed at the time. Because when you love someone, you want to see them thrive, to become the best version of themselves.

But as he watches your father’s influence pull you back, he realises that this whole life - the expectations, the wealth, the need for validation - holds you back from that. Your father is the anchor chaining you to a life you’ve outgrown, and Jongseong knows that as long as he’s around, you’ll never truly be free to be the person you’re meant to be. And that’s what hurts him the most - seeing the woman he loves, who’s fought so hard to break free, being dragged back into the very world she’s been subconsciously trying to escape.

“Who’s your friend?” your father asks, his tone dismissive as he deliberately reduces Jongseong’s role in your life to that of a mere acquaintance. He doesn’t even spare him a glance, focusing instead on you with a look that makes your heart race with anxiety.

“Dad, this is Park Jongseong. He’s my boyfriend, actually,” you reply, but your voice grows quieter with each word, betraying the confidence that usually defines you.

It feels like being hit with a brick as you watch your father’s mean stare shift to Jongseong, sizing him up, looking for flaws, for any reason to disapprove. The tension is suffocating, and you can’t help but feel the weight of your dad’s judgement pressing down on you.

Your father’s eyes narrow slightly, and after a moment of uncomfortable silence, he asks, “How did you two meet?”

You hesitate, suddenly realising that the truth might not be the best option. You should have thought of something more palatable, maybe something like Tinder or Hinge - anything but the truth. Your mind scrambles for a safer answer, but before you can stutter out a response, Jongseong steps in, his hand tightening on your hip as he smiles confidently.

“Prison, actually,” he says, his voice smooth and unbothered.

Your father’s expression barely changes, but the atmosphere in the room grows even heavier. “Oh? And what were you in for?” he asks, his tone as sharp as ever.

Jongseong meets your father’s gaze evenly, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. “Now, sir, you know that’s the number one rule of prison - don’t ask a man his crime.”

Your father’s lips press into a thin line. “Well, you know mine and you seem to want to dig your nose further into my business. It’s only fair I know yours, considering you’re chasing my daughter.”

Jongseong almost laughs at the word ‘chasing’ as if he hadn’t had you wrapped around his finger from the moment your eyes first met. “Let’s just say my conviction only landed me a few months and not five years.”

You nudge Jongseong’s side sharply, panic flaring in your chest. This isn’t what you wanted. You wanted them to get along, for your father to see the man you love the way you do. But instead, it feels like they’re circling each other, sizing each other up like adversaries in a game where you’re the prize. The tension between them is thick, and you can feel the clash of their personalities reverberating through the air.

Even with the sharpness of Jongseong’s words, your father doesn’t flinch. Instead, he recovers with the kind of ruthless calm that only years of power and manipulation can teach. He steps closer, eyes narrowing as they lock onto Jongseong with cold precision.

“Is that so?” your father begins, voice low and dripping with disdain. “I’ve always believed a man’s past speaks volumes about his future. What exactly does yours say?”

Jongseong doesn’t back down, his grip on your waist firm, almost possessive. “It says I learn, I adapt, and I move forward.”

Your father’s eyes harden, his lip curling into a sneer. “Adapting is for the weak. Real men don’t make mistakes in the first place.”

Jongseong’s smile is icy, his eyes flashing with barely restrained anger. “Is that what you told yourself when you ended up behind bars? Or is that just the lie you’ve convinced everyone else to believe?”

The words hit like a punch, and for a split second, something dark and dangerous flickers in your father’s eyes. But he quickly masks it with a cruel smirk. “I’d watch who you’re speaking to, kid.”

“Oh, I am,” Jongseong replies, his voice steady but laced with venom. He leans in slightly, his gaze unwavering as he adds, “I’m just not a fan of the view, if I’m being honest.”

Your father’s wicked grin tightens, the facade of civility cracking just enough to reveal the simmering rage beneath. He steps back, his eyes narrowing as he takes in Jongseong’s defiance. “You think you’re clever, don’t you? But cleverness won’t get you far in my world. You’ll find that out soon enough.”

Jongseong doesn’t flinch, his expression hard as steel. “I’m not in your world. And I don’t want to be.”

For a moment, the tension between them is palpable, a silent battle of wills that electrifies the air around you. Your father’s gaze flicks to you, his eyes cold and calculating, as if weighing his next move. Then, just as quickly, he turns on his heel, dismissing you both with a scoff.

The confrontation leaves you seething, a turbulent mix of anger and frustration churning inside you. You turn to Jongseong, your eyes alight with fury, the fire of your indignation barely restrained. “I told you this was important to me! Why would you speak to him like that?” Your voice is sharp, quivering with raw, unfiltered emotion that has been simmering beneath the surface, threatening to spill over.

Jongseong meets your gaze with a hardened expression, frustration and determination reflected in his eyes. “Because, unlike you, Y/N, I don’t have to pretend to be someone I’m not in front of your dad.”

The accusation hits you like a slap, your eyes widening in disbelief. “What’s that supposed to mean?” you demand, your heart hammering against your ribs, the blood pounding in your ears.

Jongseong steps closer, his voice dropping to a lower, more deliberate tone, yet the weight of his words lands heavily. “Look at yourself. The moment you heard his voice, you shrank. You’re biting your lip like you did when we first met - nervous, unsure. I’m not exactly close with my own family, but I’d say you shouldn’t regress to a scared little girl just because your dad is around.”

His words strike a nerve, a pang of guilt mingling with your anger. The urge to defend yourself rises within you, but the sting of his observations cuts too deep, slicing through your defences. The bitter truth of it, undeniable as it is, leaves you reeling. The moment your father entered the room, all the strength and confidence you’ve painstakingly built crumbled, leaving you feeling vulnerable, like the uncertain girl you once were.

You open your mouth to retort, but no words come. Instead, a flood of frustration and hurt surges through you, overwhelming your capacity to respond. Your hand shakes as you grab your drink, the glass cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the burning turmoil inside. Without a second thought, you down it in one long, desperate gulp, the sharp burn of alcohol barely registering as you push past Jongseong.

Your footsteps are heavy and determined, as you weave through the crowd, making your way out of the extravagant party and up the stairs to find some solace. You hear Jongseong call after you, but you don’t turn back. His brutally honest words, coupled with your father’s oppressive presence, have left you feeling raw and exposed, your every nerve frayed. 

You push open the door to your old bedroom, the wood groaning in protest as you force your way inside. The room is a ghost of your past, a time capsule of your childhood preserved in pale pink walls and delicate lace curtains. The bed, still dressed in floral sheets that once seemed so perfect, now feels foreign -  too innocent. The room should have felt comforting, like a sanctuary. Instead, it feels like a cage, trapping you in a version of yourself you no longer recognise.

Jongseong is right behind you, his presence filling the doorway as he refuses to let you retreat into silence. “Don’t walk away from me, Y/N,” he says, his voice low but firm, tinged with a desperation you rarely hear from him. “This isn’t how we do things.” He will always make sure that any argument that arises between you is figured out then and there, knowing how unresolved issues lead to cracks in any relationship, and he refuses to let your father be the hole in your boat.

You whirl around to face him, anger and hurt warring within you. “Well, sorry if being called a scared little girl by my boyfriend makes me not want to speak to him,” you snap, the words dripping with sarcasm and bitterness. The accusation still stings, a wound that refuses to heal.

Jongseong steps further into the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click. His expression is stern, but there’s a flicker of pain in his eyes, a crack in his resolve that you can’t ignore. “Then fight me on it,” he challenges, his voice rising with frustration. “But you can’t, can you? Because you know it’s true.”

You shake your head, the denial is quick and sharp. “It’s not, Jongseong. You just wouldn’t get it.”

His laugh is bitter, cutting through the tense atmosphere like a blade. “Why? Because I’m not upper class and drinking my weight in champagne that costs more than your college tuition?” His words are laced with an edge, a defensive wall thrown up to protect himself from the hurt he feels.

You recoil, the accusation striking a chord you hadn’t expected. “You know I don’t mean it like that.”

“Then what do you mean?” he presses, his gaze unwavering. “You love me for who I am, right? Because class doesn’t matter to you, and you see me for who I am?”

“Exactly,” you reply, the word strong and meaningful. It’s the truth - you do see him, all of him, you saw him as more than his prison uniform, you saw him as more than the scum society makes him out to be, you see him as your equal, not someone below you.

Jongseong takes a step closer, his voice softening as he reaches out to you. “That’s exactly my point. I see you for everything you are, past the good girl and quiet mouse, because you’re more than that. You’re confident, powerful, your mind is so fucking strong, baby. So why on earth are you turning into someone who’s scared to even breathe too loud as soon as he steps in front of you?”

His words pierce through your defences, and you feel a familiar knot of anxiety tightening in your chest. “Because, Jongseong, he would be so fucking disappointed in me,” you confess, the admission tumbling out before you can stop it. The weight of your father’s expectations, of the life he’s tried to mould you into, hangs heavy over you. “He told me my entire life to stay out of trouble, to be a good girl, keep my nose clean, and just get through life. If he finds out I-”

You falter, the words catching in your throat. You can’t bring yourself to finish the sentence, to admit the truth that’s been festering inside you for so long.

Jongseong doesn’t let you hide from it. “You what? Actually found someone who makes you happy and lets you breathe?” His voice is intense, but there’s an underlying gentleness to it, a plea for you to see what he sees. “Y/N, he’s trapping you, and you can’t even fucking see it. That first day you came to see me in prison, you told me you wanted to do something for you, something reckless. You want out of this life, Y/N, and he’s gonna drag you by the feet back into it. He might have gotten out of prison but he’s trapping you in one.”

His words cut through the fog of fear and doubt that’s been clouding your mind, the truth of them undeniable. The life your father envisioned for you - a life of safety, of predictability - has always felt like a gilded cage, something that kept you comfortable, but never truly alive. The past few months with Jongseong have been a whirlwind, a taste of something real, something that makes you feel like you’re actually living instead of just existing. And yet, here you are, retreating back into old patterns.

Jongseong takes another step closer, his hands reaching out to cup your face, his touch warm and grounding. “I’m sorry but I’m not going to watch the love of my life lose herself, all to please a hypocritical prick.”

The tears that have been threatening to fall finally spill over, and you close your eyes, letting the weight of his words sink in. He’s right. You hate the mundane, prissy life you’ve been living, the one that your father insists is the only right path for you. The past few months with Jongseong have been the most precious, the most real, moments of your life. But even as you were getting ready for tonight, you could feel yourself slipping back into those old, timid ways, the ones your father would approve of.

You open your eyes, meeting Jongseong’s gaze, and for the first time, you allow yourself to truly acknowledge the truth. The life your father wants for you isn’t the one you want for yourself. And as terrifying as that realisation is, it’s also liberating.

Your voice trembles as you finally speak, the weight of everything crashing down on you. "I’m sorry, Jongseong," you murmur, your words carrying a multitude of apologies: sorry for lashing out, sorry for dragging him to this party, sorry for trying to hide who he is from everyone downstairs who didn’t even deserve to know him, sorry for all of it.

But before you can continue, Jongseong cuts you off, his voice firm but tender. “Don’t you dare fucking apologise, darlin’.” He pulls you into his arms, holding you so tightly that it feels like he’s trying to shield you from the world itself. His embrace is warm, strong, grounding - everything you need right now. “I just want you to be happy. It might come off as mean but if I have to thump it into your head by showing some tough love I will.”

His words are more than just a declaration; they’re a vow. A promise that he will protect your happiness at all costs, even if it means standing against your father or anyone else who threatens it. You can feel the fierce determination in the way he holds you, as if he’s ready to take on the entire world if that’s what it takes to keep you safe, to keep you smiling.

You look up at him, your eyes searching his, and what you see there makes your heart swell. He’s not just saying these things - he means them, every single word. “I am happy,” you whisper, your voice soft but full of conviction. The truth of it warms you from the inside out because you know that your happiness isn’t tied to the gilded expectations of your father or the superficial approval of those downstairs. It’s here, in Jongseong’s arms, in the life you’re building together.

His eyes soften at your words, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as he leans down. The moment hangs in the air, thick with unspoken emotion, and then his lips meet yours in a kiss that is tender, yet filled with all the passion and love that’s been bubbling beneath the surface. The world around you fades away, leaving just the two of you, anchored in this shared moment of understanding and connection.

The kiss deepens, a slow, deliberate melding of lips that speaks of everything words cannot. His hand finds the clasp that is holding your hair neatly and unhooks it from your strands, his fingers threading through your hair as he draws you even closer, erasing the space between you. There’s a fervent intensity in the way he kisses you, as if he’s trying to pour every ounce of his love, his frustration, his devotion into this single moment. You respond in kind, your hands sliding up his chest to clutch at his shirt, needing to feel the solid warmth of him beneath your fingertips.

Your heart races, matching the rhythm of his as you lose yourself in the kiss, in him. The heat between you rises, a slow burn that spreads through your body, making you dizzy with the intensity of it. Every brush of his lips against yours, every breath you share, feels electric, sending shivers down your spine.

When you finally break apart, it’s only because you both need air, but even then, he doesn’t pull away. His forehead rests against yours, his breath warm against your skin as he exhales shakily. Your eyes flutter open, meeting his gaze, and what you see there makes your breath hitch - a raw, unguarded love that leaves you feeling vulnerable yet more cherished than ever.

“I’m so in love with you,” he whispers, his voice rough with emotion, as if the kiss has stripped away all his defences. “I’d do anything for you, Y/N.”

You smile widely, joy and harmony finally flowing through your body for the first time tonight. The tension that had gripped you earlier is melting away, replaced by a warmth that spreads through your chest and settles deep in your bones. In this moment, with Jongseong’s love laid bare before you, everything else seems to fade into insignificance. It’s just the two of you now, tangled in this shared vulnerability, and for the first time in a long while, you feel truly free.

You let out a soft, breathy laugh, shaking your head slightly as you take in the man standing before you - the man who has seen you at your weakest, yet loves you with a fierceness that makes your heart swell. Considering how you started as a good girl, falling into the dangerous allure of a criminal, you can’t deny how far you’ve come. The path you’ve chosen has been anything but easy, but standing here now, it feels like it’s all been worth it.

Without another word, you lean in and capture his lips in another kiss, this one more deliberate, more purposeful. It’s as if you’re reaffirming the connection you share, grounding yourself in the reality of his presence. Your hands slide up to cradle his face, your thumbs gently brushing over his cheekbones as you pour every ounce of your love and desire into the kiss.

Jongseong responds immediately, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you closer, as if he’s afraid to let go. The kiss deepens, the heat between you growing as your bodies press together, the boundaries between you blurring until all you can feel is him - his warmth, his strength, his unwavering love.

As the kiss intensifies, you pull back just enough to catch your breath, your lips brushing against his as you whisper, “Does doing anything for me include having sex with me on my childhood bed?”

The playful challenge in your voice brings a mischievous glint to his eyes. Jongseong smirks, his fingers tenderly wiping away the semi-dried tears on your cheeks, as if washing away the remnants of your earlier sadness. His touch is so gentle, so reverent, that it makes your heart ache with affection.

“Well,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a low, intimate tone as he smirks down at you, “I did say anything.” There’s a teasing edge to his words, but you can see the heat in his eyes, the desire that matches your own.

He steps back slightly, his hands moving to the knot of his tie. With a slow, deliberate motion, he begins to loosen it, his eyes never leaving yours. The sight of him, his dark hair slightly tousled from your earlier embrace, the way his fingers work the tie free with a practised ease, sends a thrill through you. It’s as if the act of loosening the tie is symbolic, a shedding of the constraints that have held you both back tonight.

As the tie finally slips free, Jongseong lets it fall to the floor, his smirk widening into a full, knowing smile. His gaze is filled with undeniable heat as he reaches for you again, his hands finding your waist and pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. “You sure about this?” he asks, his voice a husky whisper against your ear.

“More than sure,” you breathe, your hands sliding up his chest and around his neck as you pull him toward the bed. The thought of being with him here, in this room filled with memories of your past, feels like a reclamation of everything you’ve fought to become.

Jongseong follows your lead, his hands never leaving your body as you guide him toward the bed. When the backs of your knees hit the edge of the mattress, you sink down onto it, pulling him with you. The look in his eyes, a mix of affection, desire, and something deeper, something primal, makes your pulse quicken.

He hovers over you for a moment, his hands braced on either side of your head as he looks down at you. The air between you is charged, electric, as if every breath, every touch is heightened by the intimacy of the moment. “You’re so beautiful,’” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion, and then his lips are on yours again, claiming you with a fierce, possessive hunger.

Your fingers find the buttons of his shirt, and you begin to work them free, your movements impatient, driven by the need to feel his skin against yours. He lets out a low growl of approval as you push the fabric aside, your hands sliding over the smooth planes of his chest, tracing the contours of his body and tattoos as if memorising every line, every dip.

Jongseong’s breath hitches when your hands dip lower, and he meets your gaze with a look that is equal parts love and raw, unfiltered desire. “You really want this, darlin’?” he asks, his voice rough as his fingers brush against your cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. “Because you might not be walking straight down those fancy stairs of yours after this.”

You nod, your eyes locked onto his as you answer, your voice trembling with the weight of your emotions. “I want you. I need you.”

That’s all the encouragement he needs. With a smirk that sends a shiver down your spine, Jongseong leans down to capture your lips in another searing kiss. His hands begin to work on the fastenings of your dress with a sense of urgency, his touch both gentle and insistent. He slowly unzips the back of the dress, his fingers brushing against your skin as he pushes the fabric down.

As the dress falls, it reveals your bare chest, and the sudden chill of the air causes your nipples to harden instantly. Jongseong’s eyes darken with desire as he takes in the sight, his breath coming faster as he revels in the moment. His hands, now free of the dress, move to gently cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your sensitive nipples, making you gasp softly.

Jongseong’s hands continue to explore your body, his touch electrifying as it moves from your breasts down to your waist. He pauses for a moment, eyes locked with yours, his breath heavy with desire. With a deliberate slowness that makes your pulse race, he hikes up the skirt of your dress, the fabric bunching around your hips as his hands trace the length of your thighs. The anticipation is almost unbearable, your skin tingling everywhere he touches.

As his fingers brush against the lace of your underwear, a soft gasp escapes your lips, the heat between your bodies intensifying. Jongseong’s eyes flicker with a primal hunger, but there’s still a tenderness in the way he touches you, a silent promise that he’s going to take care of you, to give you exactly what you need.

In response, your hands move with equal urgency, fingers trembling slightly as you reach for the button on his trousers. You can feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles tighten under your touch, the barely restrained power that lies just beneath the surface. The button comes undone with a quiet pop, and you begin to slide the zipper down, the sound barely audible over the heavy breathing that fills the room.

Jongseong lets out a low groan as you push his slacks down his hips, your hands brushing against his hardness through the thin fabric of his boxers. The sensation sends a jolt of desire through you, making you more impatient to feel him against you, inside you. You could start a new religion for his cock alone.

He leans down, capturing your lips in a fierce kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth with a newfound urgency. As his fingers slip beneath the waistband of your panties, he teases you, drawing out the moment until you’re practically trembling with need. His touch is both gentle and demanding, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

You arch into him, your hips pressing closer as he slowly slides your panties down, his hands skimming over your skin in a way that leaves you breathless. Jongseong’s mouth leaves yours, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck and across your collarbone, his breath warm against your skin.

“I want them to hear you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire, a promise of what's to come.

“Jongseong-” your voice falters, cut off by the way his fingers dip between your thighs, tracing a slow, agonising path along your slick heat. The sound of your own gasp fills the room, and you can feel the tension winding tighter within you, ready to snap at any moment.

He smirks against your skin, a dark satisfaction in the way your body responds to his every touch, every word. "I need to hear you beg for it," he whispers, his teeth grazing your earlobe as he pushes his fingers deeper, coaxing more desperate sounds from your lips.

Your hands find his hair, tugging him closer as you grind against his hand, needing more, needing everything. "Please, Jongseong...I need you," you manage to gasp out, the words barely coherent as pleasure overtakes your senses.

He pauses, his breath hot against your ear as he lets out a low chuckle. "I know you can do better than that, darlin'," he murmurs, his voice laced with a teasing challenge. His fingers press deeper, curling just right, as he waits for you to give him exactly what he wants.

His words send a fresh wave of heat through you, pushing you closer to the edge. You moan, your body instinctively arching towards him, craving more of his touch. Your fingers dig into his scalp as you writhe against his hand, the building pressure almost unbearable.

"Please," you gasp, your voice trembling with need, "I need you so badly, Jongseong. I'll do anything...just, please."

His smirk widens, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes as he feels the intensity of your plea. "That's more like it," he growls, his voice deep and full of raw desire. He continues to work his fingers in and out of you, his rhythm slow and deliberate, keeping you on the edge.

"You’re doing so well," he murmurs, his breath tickling your ear as his lips brush against your skin. "But I want to hear you scream my name, baby. Let me hear how much you want me."

Your chest heaves with each breath, and the pressure inside you becomes almost too much to handle. You nod frantically, your voice a desperate plea as you finally give in, letting out a loud, passionate cry that fills the room. Jongseong’s eyes light up with approval, his fingers and lips moving with even more intensity, pushing you towards the edge with an insistent rhythm.

With a low growl of approval, Jongseong finally sheds the last of his clothes, his eyes locking onto yours with a hungry intensity. He positions himself at your entrance, and the first thrust is a slow, deliberate invasion that fills you completely. A moan escapes your lips, resonating through the room and mingling with the soft rustle of the sheets beneath you.

He holds himself still for a moment, savouring the way you clench around him, feeling every shiver that ripples through your body. His eyes roam over your flushed skin, admiring the way your chest rises and falls with each ragged breath. “You feel incredible,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. “So tight around me.”

Gradually, he begins to move, each thrust steady and deep, pushing you further into the realms of pure, unadulterated ecstasy. His hands grip your hips firmly, guiding you to match his rhythm. “That’s it,” Jongseong growls. “Feel every inch of me, darlin’. It belongs to you anyway.”

His words ignite a new fire within you, and your body responds with a frenzied energy. You feel every ridge, every curve of him, each thrust driving you wild with desire. “Jongseong,” you gasp, your voice trembling with need, “more…”

His pace quickens, becoming urgent and insistent, the pleasure building to a nearly unbearable crescendo. The room is filled with the heady mix of your moans and the rhythmic sound of flesh meeting flesh, each noise echoing off the walls and creating a chorus of raw, primal passion.

With a sudden shift, Jongseong pulls back slightly, his hands guiding you to a new position. He flips you onto your side, his movements smooth and fast, a mixture of desire and intent in his eyes. You roll over and get a surge of anticipation as Jongseong positions himself behind you, allowing him to enter and hit you deeper than before, giving you that ‘more’ you so desperately craved.

Jongseong’s thrusts are now angled upward, hitting a spot that makes you gasp with each push. The sensation is overwhelming, a blend of deep, rhythmic pressure and the intimacy of your shared movements.

“Is this what you needed?” Jongseong asks breathlessly, his voice filled with a rough, almost primal edge as he adjusts his rhythm to match the new position. “Tell me how it feels.”

Your answer comes out as a moan, your words mingling with the sounds of your combined pleasure. “Yes, Jongseong,” you manage to gasp, “It’s so deep, so perfect.”

As he continues to thrust into you, Jongseong’s lips find your neck, his kisses soft and heated against your skin. He trails his mouth up and down your neck, each touch sending shivers down your spine. His breath is warm and tantalising, his kisses growing more insistent as he marks you with his mouth.

You can feel his tongue flicking against your skin, each kiss more urgent than the last. His teeth graze gently, then with a bit more pressure, leaving a trail of kisses and marks that grow darker with each pass. “You’re mine,” he murmurs between kisses, his voice a deep, possessive growl. “I want everyone to know.”

The sensation of his lips and teeth against your neck only heightens the pleasure you're already experiencing. Each mark is a vivid reminder of the passion that drives you both, a tangible sign of the intensity and connection you share. “Jongseong,” you gasp, feeling the combination of his thrusts and the trail of kisses that map your neck. “Please, don’t stop.”

But you mean it in every sense - don't stop fucking you, as though every thrust and every shuddering release is a lifeline. Don’t stop loving you, as though the depth of his affection and the way he holds you close is your greatest comfort. Don’t stop pushing you to be who you are, to embrace every part of yourself, to feel alive in his arms and in his gaze. You want him to keep driving you to discover and explore every hidden part of yourself, to keep challenging and encouraging you in ways you never imagined.

He responds with a low, approving growl, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he drives into you with renewed fervour. “I won’t,” he promises, his voice rough with desire and a depth of emotion that goes beyond the physical. “Never.”

As he continues to thrust into you, his movements become more intense, more urgent, as if he’s trying to convey his promise with every powerful push. The room seems to pulse with the rhythm of your shared passion, the sounds of your pleasure echoing off the walls. Jongseong’s grip on your hips tightens, his touch both possessive and protective as he guides you through the waves of ecstasy.

“Feel every part of me,” he murmurs, his voice a blend of tenderness and raw need. “I’m right here, with you, always.”

The intensity of his thrusts pushes you closer to the edge, each movement sending shivers of pleasure through your entire body. His kisses become more fervent, each one a reminder of his love and his commitment. You can feel his heart pounding against your back, a steady, reassuring presence that matches the rhythm of his thrusts.

“You’re everything to me,” Jongseong says, his voice breaking slightly with the force of his emotions. “Don’t ever doubt that.”

Your breath comes in ragged gasps as you ride the waves of pleasure he’s giving you. His words, combined with the sensation of him inside you and the way his lips leave their marks on your neck, create a powerful cocktail of intimacy and desire. “I don’t,” you manage to breathe out, your voice filled with a mix of pleasure and gratitude. “I never will.”

With a final, deep thrust, Jongseong brings you both to the peak of your shared climax. Your body convulses in waves of pure, unadulterated bliss, each shudder and moan a testament to the intensity of your connection. Jongseong’s release follows closely, his groans mingling with yours as he holds you tightly, his kisses now soft and tender against your neck.

As the initial rush of pleasure begins to subside, your muscles gradually unwind, each tremor giving way to a lingering afterglow. The room is filled with the soft symphony of your synchronized breathing, the steady rise and fall of your chests in perfect harmony. Jongseong’s kisses on your neck become gentle, almost reverent, as he trails a tender path of affection across your skin. 

You feel his body relax against yours, his warmth enveloping you in a cocoon of intimacy. He pulls your face to his, capturing your lips in a deep, tender kiss that steals away the breath you had only just regained. Lost in the peacefulness of him, you savour the slow, lingering connection, each touch and caress a silent expression of his affection.

“Let’s get out of here, yeah?” Jongseong murmurs against your lips, his voice low and inviting, his breath warm against your skin.

You nod, a contented smile spreading across your face. “Yeah, let’s do it,” you reply, your voice filled with unwavering resolve, knowing that the moment you step out of this place you once called home, you’ll never look back. He grins, playfully nudging your nose with his, his eyes sparkling with a mix of affection and mischief. “If Emily even looks at you again when we go down there, I might just rip her eyes out.” Jongseong is sexy all of the time but he is even sexier with a post-sex glow, so you know there are going to be some eyes on him, a pair of them just better not be hers.

Jongseong’s laughter fills the room, a deep, resonant sound that carries a note of both joy and possessiveness. He rests his head on your shoulder, planting light, affectionate kisses. “And to think, I was the one who was supposed to keep my cool and not get possessive,” he teases, his voice light and full of warmth.

“You’re not the only possessive one in this relationship, you know?” you reply with a soft smile, a hint of playfulness in your tone. “I just don’t show it as much.”

He raises an eyebrow, his grin widening as he shifts slightly, still buried to the hilt inside you. “I think you should show it more often,” he suggests, his voice low and laced with a delicious hint of provocation. “I’d let you put a collar on me and walk me like a dog if you asked.”

“Don’t tempt me,” you giggle, your laughter mingling with his as the intimate moment stretches between you, the connection deepening with every shared breath.

Eventually, you both begin to move, your limbs heavy with the lingering remnants of passion. The atmosphere shifts as you get dressed, pulling on your clothes with deliberate slowness, savouring the last few moments of solitude before reentering the world outside this room. The extravagant party downstairs beckons, the muffled sounds of music and laughter a distant hum, reminding you of the life you’re about to leave behind.

As you descend the grand staircase, the chandelier above casts a golden glow, illuminating the room filled with elegantly dressed guests, all of whom are focused on your father as he prepares to make a speech. The moment his eyes land on you and Jongseong, he falters, his gaze narrowing as he takes in your dishevelled appearance. His jaw tightens, and though he says nothing, the tension in the room shifts, a subtle ripple that everyone seems to sense. He knows exactly what you’ve been doing.

At the bottom of the stairs, you pause, a flicker of uncertainty crossing your mind. The opulence of this life, the weight of the expectations you’ve carried for so long, all press down on you. For a brief moment, doubt gnaws at the edges of your resolve.

Sensing your hesitation, Jongseong wraps his arms around you from behind, his presence grounding you in the here and now. He presses a tender kiss to your neck, soothing the marks he left there, his lips warm and reassuring against your skin. He keeps direct eye contact with your father, an unspoken challenge in his gaze, before turning his attention back to you.

“Let’s go, darlin’.”

And that’s all the encouragement you need to leave everyone in this room behind, everyone but the man holding you close, promising to love you forever.

_____

You sit across from each other in a worn red booth, the familiarity of the setting wrapping around you like a comforting embrace. The walls are adorned with faded photographs and vintage memorabilia, a tribute to a simpler time that feels worlds away from the chaos that often surrounds your lives. The table between you is cluttered with half-eaten plates of food - greasy fries, a burger with a bite taken out of it, and a tall milkshake slowly melting in its glass. It’s a scene of domesticity, of normalcy

“I’m sorry, but not even anything in prison was that disgusting,” he quips, his eyebrows raised in exaggerated horror.

You can’t help but laugh at his theatrics, the sound bubbling up from deep within you. The way he looks at you like you’re the only person in the world who matters, even with your food combination choices, makes your heart swell with affection. “Come on, just try it! I promise you’ll love it,” you urge, holding out a fry that you have dipped in your milkshake, your eyes sparkling with playful challenge.

Jongseong hesitates for a moment, then leans forward and takes a tentative bite. His expression shifts from scepticism to genuine surprise as the sweet and salty combination hits his taste buds. His eyes widen, and he breaks into a grin. “See?” you say, triumphantly, as he reaches for more fries, dipping them into the ice cream and stealing them from your plate.

“Get your own, oh my God!” you protest, swatting his hand away with a laugh, though there’s no real annoyance in your voice. It’s moments like these - small, stolen snippets of happiness - that make everything else worth it. The world outside might be chaotic, but here, in this little diner, it’s just the two of you, lost in each other.

But the illusion of safety is fragile. As you’re caught up in the moment, a subtle shift in the atmosphere catches Jongseong’s attention. A police car pulls up outside, its lights off but the engine still running. You barely notice it, too wrapped up in your banter, but Jongseong stiffens, his senses on high alert. His gaze follows the officers as they exit the car with a sense of purpose, their strides firm and unyielding as they approach the entrance.

You feel a prickle of unease, a small knot forming in your stomach as you notice Jongseong’s change in demeanour. His playful smile fades, replaced by a mask of cool detachment, his eyes darkening with the familiar wariness that never quite leaves him. The joy that lit up his face moments ago vanishes, leaving behind the hardened edges of a man who’s been on the run for far too long.

The officers push through the diner’s doors, their presence commanding immediate attention. They don’t bother with the usual pretence of surveying the room; their eyes are locked on your table from the moment they step inside. Your heart races as they approach, each step closer fueling your growing sense of dread.

“Park Jongseong?” one of the officers asks, his tone clipped and authoritative, as they come to a stop in front of your booth.

Jongseong doesn’t flinch. “Who’s asking?” he replies, his voice steady, laced with a defiant edge. He’s been here before, too many times to count, but it never gets any easier. The threat of losing his freedom, of being torn away from you, is always looming, always just one misstep away.

The officer’s gaze sharpens, not missing a beat. “You’re under arrest for theft. Anything you do or say can and will be used against you in a court of law…”

Your heart skips a beat, the words hitting you like a punch to the gut. Your mind reels back to the bank job you both pulled off, the thrill of it now tainted by the cold reality closing in around you. Jongseong remains unfazed on the surface, but you can see the flicker of realization in his eyes, the way his jaw tightens ever so slightly.

“Yeah? And what exactly did I steal?” Jongseong challenges, his tone dripping with sarcasm as he stands up, squaring his shoulders, ready for the confrontation. He never liked the police for obvious reasons, but what makes it worse is when they hound him like this when he has done nothing wrong.

The bank you robbed months ago would have already sent him to prison if they knew it was him, and any of the other petty crimes don’t require four policemen and a van.

The officer doesn’t back down, keeping his tone calm but firm. “Mr. L/N has reported his diamond cufflinks missing, and when we searched your place, we found them.”

Your boyfriend lets out a harsh laugh, the sound bitter and incredulous. “Yeah? First of all, you can’t search my home because I don’t have one. Second of all, you need a warrant for that, don’t you?” But even as he speaks, you can see the gears turning in his mind. If your father is behind this, as it now seems, the situation is far worse than he’d anticipated.

Your dad is far more powerful than you could ever imagine. That time in prison only gave him more contacts than enemies, and with Jongseong just another fish in a pond, they will happily throw him back to the sea with the right amount of persuasion. 

Before Jongseong can react, the officer pulls out a pair of handcuffs, snapping them around his wrists with practised ease. He struggles, but it’s no use, the cuffs hold firm, and the officers aren’t about to let him go.

“Jongseong!” you cry out, desperation lacing your voice as you rush to him, placing yourself between him and the officers. Your hands cradle his face, trying to keep him grounded, to keep him from doing something reckless. His eyes soften as he looks down at you, trying to offer a reassuring smile, but you can see the worry etched into his features.

“It’s okay, darlin’. They’ve got nothing on me,” he says, his voice gentle, but you both know the truth: if your father is pulling the strings, there’s no telling how deep this goes. He’s trying to comfort you, to make you believe that everything will be fine, but there’s a part of him that’s not so sure. 

“But-” you start, only to be silenced by the press of his lips against yours. The kiss is soft at first, a promise of return, but it quickly turns desperate, as if he’s trying to memorise the feel of you, to hold onto this moment in case it’s the last. It’s a kiss that tells you everything you need to know - he’s scared, and so are you.

You can’t lose him.

The officers pull him away, and you watch helplessly as Jongseong is dragged out of the diner and shoved into the back of the police car. His face, once full of life and laughter, is now clouded with that deadpan stare. You run out after him helplessly and fear for what will come coursing your veins. 

Through the window, he mouths the words, “I love you,” and you nod, tears blurring your vision as you choke out the response, “I love you too.”

As the police car drives away, taking him with it, the world around you seems to crumble, leaving you standing alone in the diner’s driveway. Your phone buzzes in your pocket, snapping you out of your daze. You pull it out, and your heart sinks when you see the message from your father: “Come home, princess. Be a good girl.”

The words ignite a fire in you, a seething anger that burns hotter with every passing second. You clench your fists, your eyes falling on the ring Jongseong gave you - the promise of a future together, a future you’re determined to fight for. You made a vow to him, to wait for him no matter what, to stand by his side through thick and thin. But before you can keep that promise, there’s one last obstacle you need to overcome.

Your father.

_____

MY BOIIISSSSSS

ENHYPEN HIGHSNOBIETY JAPAN ISSUE 13

ATTENTION AUTHORS

User honeyy_sunn (on wattpad) is stealing translating and publishing stories that aren't theirs on wattpad!!

Link to wattpad

Tagging a few people who have had their stories stolen: (These were the works that I was able to find, please tag anyone else whose work has been stolen!)

@asahicore @ja3yun @karinasbaby @goldeunoias @dearjaeyuns @yeonzzzn @borrovvedyoongi @emisloves @heejake-hoon @ikeuverse @i2sunric

Ps these are only in the sunghoon section this person has on wattpad, but they have one for each enhypen member, which means they've stolen a lot more works!

Tagging a few moots to help boost this: @brownsugarbaybee @enha-cafe @wntrnghts @camstqr @hoondrop @elix8r @shariasweet @evermorehoon

I’m in my coffin rn

NSFW! MDNI

JAKE AUDIO - WEAR HEADPHONES

© yvnempire 2024, do not copy, steal, remake or brand my content as yours.

[JAY] 👄

okay but.. a quiet gamer boy bf kaneki that loves when his pretty girl bottoms herself out as he’s in the middle of a game. <3

you love kaneki, & you can accept that he has a love & passion for video games too but.. how does he expect you NOT to wanna sit on him when he looks so damn handsome all the time?!

he’s sat in that gaming chair with a baggy tee & a pair of grey sweats. he’ll even be wearing a pair of blue light glasses so that the constant gaming doesn’t do too much damage to his irises. nd he just looks so good with this combination!! ugh. it’s not even fair.

on this particular day, he’s playing fortnite with touka & hide after not touching that game for a couple of seasons. he’s giving call outs, talkin’ bout’ “116 to the body” “he’s 1 shot” “knocked.. dead.” “pushing up behind us” & just a whole bunch of shit that you didn’t care to try & understand..

you’re a little frustrated, to be honest. you had a long day at work nd you just wanna be all up under him. especially now that he’s on the game with some girl he used to have a fling with..?

“ken..”

“kennnn..!”

upon hearing that, he moves his headset behind his ear with a push of his shoulder & gives you a soft hum.

“when’re you getting off?”

“oh.. i don’t know, baby. probably not for another hour or so”

“another hour or so..??”

“yeah. what’s wrong?”

you don’t even bother answering. he shrugs his headset back on & continues to clack away at his keyboard. you’ve already made your way over to him, nd you watch him play for a little before you lift his arm & saddle yourself on to his lap. you’re thankful that he isn’t streaming today.

you begin to peck sloppy little kisses on to his neck, not really caring if it’s loud or not.. you’re kinda hoping it is, though :3. kaneki lifts his head a bit to give you more access. his pale skin is still displaying the hickies you had left just a couple nights ago nd you giggle a little bit at this. they look soso pretty on him!

a couple seconds pass by & you’re just slyly rolling your hips down on him. he knows exactly what you want out of him & he’s not gonna deny you from it. you slide yourself off his lap, now on your knees in between his legs & you take hold of the hem of his briefs & sweats before pulling them down to his lower thighs. it’s no surprise that ken is already hard.

you can’t blame him! he’s got a hot gf damn near humping him in his chair, what man wouldn’t be turned on?! i digress.

you take him in your hand & lick all the way from the base to the tip, you can feel him tense up & relax afterwards. you spit in your hand to act as lube nd stroke his dick a couple times before fully sticking him in your mouth. you’re left jerking whatever else doesn’t fit & you hear his breathing get heavier.

there’s a lewd gluck gluck (i’m so sorry 😭) coming from you as things get sloppier by the second. kaneki was now fully hitting the back of your throat, not really caring if it was difficult for you to handle or not..

touka & hide are noticing him paying less attention & his gameplay getting a bit more careless. i mean right now his character was on auto-run, & he had your hair in a makeshift ponytail as he fucked your poor throat! :(

“kaneki! they’re on the mountain building up.. there’s 20 left. focus up”

“fuck bro. i’m down.. he’s at least 5 bullets tho- push that”

“kaneki… push, maybe?? you’re selling”

“can you both get the fuck out my ear?”

ken let’s go of your hair nd tucks it behind your ears before giving his full attention to the game once again. you don’t know what he’s doing up there but he’s going crazy on his keyboard.

you pull him from your mouth with a lil “pop” sound nd climb back into his lap. your panties are now pulled to the side & you’re fully sitting on his dick.. this man leaves you so full OMGG. there’s an adorable bulge in your tummy >.<!

kaneki brings his attention to you for a brief moment to give you a quick couple of pecks, nd then he’s back to the game. you wrap your arms around his neck & use them as leverage to lift yourself up & down on his lap. the chair is making a bit of noise nd ken’s friends are now overly suspicious..

“the fuck is going on over there?”

“mind your business.”

touka rolls her eyes at his response to hide. she’s already knowing what’s going on nd she’s not too happy about it. you did kinda steal kaneki’s attention from her when they were talking. boohoo, so sad. you were just better!

you were getting a lil tired from bouncing up & down, so you began rolling your hips. ken doesn’t feel much pleasure from this but he knows how good it feels for you, he’s happy to let you use him.

“we have circle. camp this hill nd stay on high ground”

kaneki mutes his mic before he wraps his arms around you & snaps his hips up into you.

“ken- oh my god!”

“couldn’t wait till’ i got off, hm?”

you didn’t answer so his hips came to a full halt & you whined, like a puppy. “i asked you a question, sweetheart”

“look at me”

you met his eyes nd he just smiled, “you’re so pretty, holy fuck” nd he started fucking you again, no warning!

“kaneki, they’re pushing”

at this point he didn’t even care anymore. he grabbed you by your waist, then carefully lifting you off his lap. ken stands up, turns you around & bends you over just to slip himself back into your pretty cunny. he’s ruthless with the strokes too.

went from sucking to clapping sounds & his mic ain’t off no more. “can feel you in my stomach, ken”

“yeah? tell me how it feels, baby.”

“feels too good.. shit! i can’t-”

“you can, y/n. let’s finish what you started.” ken lifts your leg so that it’s resting on his desk, “ts’ too much!” you somehow felt him even deeper & it made your eyes roll back. kaneki was dying in the game, both friends collectively screaming at him over the mic.

“you can take it, i taught you better than that.” you’re babbling other things he doesn’t really care to comprehend. your hand reaches behind your back to push his hips away but he only grabs your wrist & yanks it back so there’s a bigger arch in your back :( he tells you to ‘stop trying to run’.

ken eventually bends forward a bit to rub your clit, it all feels so good. he’s balls deep inside you nd stimulating you just right. he’s way too good at what he does. you feel a knot in your stomach & you start clenching around him, “fuck y/n”

“ken, i’m gonna-”

“not yet, angel. wait for me, please?”

you love the way he talks to you.

you’re nodding nd he picks you up to carry you over to the edge of the bed, he sits down nd encourages you to ride him all over again.

“cmon, ‘wanna record my pretty girl” he says as he picks his phone up off the bed.

“are you gonna send it to touka..?” there’s a smile on your face & he kisses you, “course i will, she’ll never get to be in your place. you’re so perfect.. this pussy was made just for me”

kaneki stretches his arm out nd records the scene in front of him, the camera angle perfectly displays all of what’s going on; he smacks your ass just to show off too. it leaves you even more needy, “can’t keep holding it, kennie, please”

“keep going honey, i’m almost there.”

you propped your feet on the bed- in a squat, bouncing even harder. “what a fucken slut..!” ken let’s out a light laugh, he’s almost in disbelief. now he’s rubbing circles on your clit again nd you’re practically sobbing from the pleasure. “fuck- go ahead baby, i’m cumming”

you let yourself come undone; there’s heavy breathing for a couple of seconds after, you’re both just trying to calm your heart rates once again.

“i love you so much kaneki, never gonna leave, i swear”

“i love you too, pretty girl. get up & show me what we did, yeah?”

“mhm!” you slowly lift yourself off of his lap & sit next to him. your legs are spread & both your juices are flowing out of your cunt.. kaneki slips two fingers into you & you almost close your legs on his arm, “i’m sensitive!!”

“i know honey, i know..” he’s laughing now, “cmere, i wanna kiss you. say bye to touka”

“bye bye touka!” you cheese real hard & the video ends.

“gonna run us a bath okay, my angel? i’ll come get you when it’s done!” kaneki had slid his pants back on so he could make his way to the bathroom.

after turning on the water, he sends the video to touka with a little message: “my y/n wanted you to see this :)”

sosososososo feral for this man. :(((((

(this was extremely rushed + first time kinda writing something like this in full! bare with me as i try & get better <3)

If you stayed the age of your birth DAY forever, how old you would be?

So medication from the ER was sent to my pharmacy, unknowingly right before they closed... for the weekend.

So I managed to find ONE pharmacy open today. Called the ER back. They changed where they sent the scripts. All good. Until.

Husband became too sick to drive up to grab them. I called my grandmother (who I REALLY did not want to bother) to ask if she had free time/energy today for such a task.

She did, bless her, and told me she would throw herself together once we hung up and she'd go get it. While I was on that call, I had missed a call from my mother. So I called her back.

She was out and about, and happened to be right up the street from said pharmacy. So SHE said she could grab it. So we got off the phone and I called my grandma back, to let her know hey this worked out!! All was well.

Mom drove through, got my meds, and was going to head my way. Then her car started making sudden, loud, concerning noises. She called her husband (who's a mechanic) and he instructed her to go straight home.

She called me to let me know. I told her about the brief plan for grandma to do it so I'd ask if she was STILL willing/able. Called her. We just. Laughed. Cuz what else could we do about this ridiculousness.

Grandma picked up my meds from mom, and is now on her way to us.

*exasperated sigh*

We cannot catch a break apparently!!!

(Btw thermostat still hasn't been replaced partly due to all this sickness and partly because I guess we can't actually do it afterall?? Has to be the tech?? Idk. Idc at this point. Just want the house, and our bodies, to be working again T_T )

Being in a relationship with a giant nerd is hard because you’ll be watching a movie and she’ll be like “Is That Porky Daniels?” And you’ll be like “who” and she’ll be like “you DONT KNOW who PORKY DANIELS IS oh MY GOD” so from then on you have to pretend you know- meanwhile you have no idea who the fuck Porky Daniels is because you never really got an answer in the first place.