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oftenderweapons · 4 months

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Down The Rabbit Hole | KSJ

Pairing: Seokjin x reader (nicknamed Fawn)

Wordcount: 12.5k

Genre: one shot, pwp, smut, fluff, only mild angst, fwb au (?) kinda(?)?, divorced! seokjin, dilf!seokjin

Rating: 18+, minors please do not read or interact

Synopsis: Seokjin has been meeting Fawn at The Rabbit Hole for a while now. A place of debauchery and foregone inhibitions, and yet only one rule would not budge. Will Fawn finally have a taste of the forbidden fruit?

Warnings: DILF!Seokjin (it's a trigger warning in and of itself), oral sex (female receiving, attempt at male receiving), masturbation (female receiving), degradation kink, corruption kink, handcuffs, sex toys (vaginal sphere), dry humping, unprotected sex, cockwarming, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, breast slapping, voyeurism & exhibitionism. Mentions of divorce procedures, mentions of Seokjin's three precious daughters. Brief cameo of our lovely darlings Namjoon & Mia.

As always, thanking the magical girlie that made this fic a bit more coherent @nervous-moon and the special friends that made me get here. Also, a special thank you to past me, who persevered and got off birth control for this fic LOL

As always, please remember that showing some love to fics will power authors through the major struggles of this platform and will eventually make them write bigger, better, bolder fics 💕

You’ve known Seokjin for two months. He’s stunning, he’s smart, he’s friendly and adorably chirpy — before the games begin.

Here's my masterlist, enjoy you spicy little nuggets

Read more of this AU | MYG | KNJ

You’ve known Seokjin for two months. He’s stunning, he’s smart, he’s friendly and adorably chirpy — before the games begin.

Once you’re in the room, the sweet father-of-three turns into a man with no restraints. He has an appetite for all things cunning and controlling.

He tells you how to do things. He tells you when, for how long. Harder, faster, rougher, deeper.

He always asks for more,

He is insatiable and ruthless.

However, despite what that introduction might make it sound, there’s so much more of him you haven’t had: all your previous encounters were only foreplay.

His list of previous inhibitions was so long that in two three-hour-long sessions you hadn’t yet tackled anything regarding his dick inside your vagina — truly a shame, since that’s a perfectly beautiful, perfectly thick, perfectly long dick, and you would know since you’ve acquainted with it through your hands, mouth and boobs.

Seokjin is the most promising man you’ve never had sex with; that is, you’ve had sex with plenty of mediocre men, and a couple good ones, you’ve double checked handfuls of men on the streets, but he’s by far the one you can bet will give you the ride of your life. You don’t know why, you just know.

And maybe, if you’re lucky enough, that will happen tonight.

“Here’s my pretty fawn,” he says once he notices you at a corner table, out of the main floor where people are starting to mingle. He kisses the too of your head. “How were these weeks apart?”

“Hi,” you tell him, and from the little somersault of your rib cage, you can tell the distance did make the heart grow fonder. “It was chaotic, but I survived.”

“You’re a tough cookie, Fawn. By now you should know there’s nothing you can’t overcome if you put your mind to it,” he says, proud, reassuring.

It’s the same tone he uses for ‘you take it so well” and ‘that’s my golden girl’ and ‘come on, Fawn, just one more, sweetheart’.

You melt. You know you melt, and your body betrays you because you can feel the heaviness in your lower belly, and you can tell that your core will be coated in wetness in about eight seconds.

“As for my past few days, I’ve been busy, as usual.”

“How are the girls?” you ask, eager to imagine more bits of them.

“Lily is turning ten next week, as I told you. Rose is getting better at biking, and soon we’ll be able to go for short outings in public together, And then darling Daisy has just called a truce with spinach so we have added one more ingredient to our weekly rotation.” As Seokjin talks about his daughters, something in his face lights up and you can imagine the man he must be outside these walls, far from the reign of debauchery he slips into once every other week. A dedicated man, committed, domestic, devoted. He smiles when he talks about his girls, his whole world brightens, like they were his personal constellation showing him the way.

“Did you recover from our last session?” he asks, concerned, meek, respectful. He is so kind to you, always.

“I did…” You keep it vague because telling him that you've been laying on your back, fucking yourself with your largest toy, gasping and hiccuping his name doesn't feel like a productive angle for an answer. Not the kind of answer you want to give him in public anyways.

“Any notes about what we did last time? Anything relevant we should renegotiate?”

I want us to walk through the door tonight and I want you to throw me on the bed, bend me over, lift my skirt and fuck me straight up, because you are the reason I'm going commando under this effing tight dress, you try to tell him with your eyes, the tilt of your head, the little lick of your lips and the light bite at your lower one.

“No, nothing relevant, really.”

He stares at your mouth for a hot second, and you can only hope he's thinking about the last time he's come on it.

“So you want…” He hesitates as he thinks about the next step. “You wanna keep this foreplay only.”

You cock an eyebrow at him, then you take a sip of your drink, and click your tongue a couple times, as if trying to savour the wine. “You're the one in command. You know that.”

“I command you when you're naked. And you're dressed now, alas.” He cocks an eyebrow right back at you, mirroring your sarcastic snare. “And this is a matter of consent and limits, which means we're equals right now. The games haven't yet begun, Fawn.”

You look around, as if the other clients could possibly help you in this situation.

You want him, you're dying to have him, and if he could bend you over, spank you and fuck you right over one of the entrance tables, you'd let him.

You'd probably also let him come inside, or do other slightly demeaning acts to humiliate you.

“We can play it however it lays, no pressure.” That's what you tell him, really trying not to betray your true intentions.

“Do you, or do you not?” he asks, and you do feel pressured.

“What do you want me to say?” You provoke him, staring him down. “Because this is sounding like you have indeed an answer you want to hear from me.”

He shakes his head, exasperated. “Fawn. You don't usually struggle with telling me what you want. You want foreplay or you want us to fuck?”

“Either is fine. We'll see that later.” You down more of your drink and he stares at your throat as you swallow. You catch him staring and you feel heat creep to your cheeks, but you’re not embarrassed, rather pleased with his distraction.

Too bad you’re not him and you can’t tell he’s been sizzling with want for days. He’s been separated for years now, but with the divorce practice being completed in a few weeks, he’d been more tense than usual. He knows he’s doing the right thing leaving his marriage behind, however the idea of raising three daughters alone, and giving his ex-wife the chance to start the kind of life she’s been too ashamed to pursue is terrifying.

Lily, Rose and Daisy are the joy of his life, but soon Lily will enter adolescence and her mother will be there for her, sure, but he’s been the one consistently raising them for the past five years, almost turning into a stay-at-home dad for them, while Ara was busy rebuilding her career and travelling and saving money to afford moving out by herself.

He supported her. Their marriage had ended for all the best — though most painful — reasons: they didn’t love each other anymore, not as partners at least. He could tell she was no longer happy, she hadn’t been since Rose had been born. Daisy was probably the last straw. He’d rather have his girls having a happy mother than have a miserable spouse for himself and a mediocre parent for his children. And he knew the girls would learn the right lesson from this: you can only be loved right when the one you love knows how to love themselves.

Plus, he could tell he hadn’t been loving Ara right for a while. He could bring himself to stay loyal to her and respect her and be there for her; still, he also knew he owed himself actual happiness, and he would be a coward if he refused to go look for it because he was afraid of not finding it, or getting hurt in the process.

And now you’ve entered the picture. He’s seen a bunch of people before you, but he knew they weren’t quite right — he’d even issued post-session feedback where he stated he didn’t want to be matched again with two of the women he’d spent the night with.

He’d entered the Rabbit Hole with the purpose of some light-hearted fun with other adults who, like him, had already seen a fair share of life and could also have the same mature and intellectual approach towards intimacy.

A friend of his had driven him here after a particularly bad date with a woman almost twelve years younger than him who seemed more interested in being the girls’ mother than his girlfriend first.

Being honest, he’d spotted you the first time he’d seen you at the Rabbit Hole, but he’d never pursued you because he believed in the system matching him according to his profile. He assumed you wanted something off-limits to him — maybe you were into getting your partner tied up, or leashed like a pet, or entirely enslaved — but apparently it was just a matter of letting the match play itself.

It happened around his fifth or sixth party: he had entered the foyer thinking he would once more spend his pregame staring at you from the opposite table, drinking, getting riled up at the thought of you kneeling before him, his dick in your mouth. He had fixed his trousers and headed to the room at the sound of the bell, and a few minutes later, as the lock turned and the door opened, he had found you there, with your pretty doll mouth and your plush cheeks and your round, doe eyes, innocence personified.

“What are you thinking?” you ask him, your fingers tracing his elbow, calling for his attention.

He shakes his head. “I’m thinking of the first time we matched.”

You smile, then catch your lower lip between your teeth. “Interesting.”

He takes hold of your hand, so gentle, then caresses your knuckles, the touch as shy as a whisper. “What did you think of it?”

“The first time I saw you?” you ask, curious and surprised at his question.

He nods and you giggle, embarrassed. “I had caught you staring a few times before. I was intrigued.”

He gives a bright, although secret smile, and his fingers flirt with yours, dancing in between each other. The mere touch of his hand against your own is turning you on.

“I was wondering if I’d ever match with you. If we didn’t because you were into hardcore stuff, or maybe you wanted to dominate and I was not… I’m not submissive.” His eyes play hide and seek with yours, as if he were ashamed.

“Well… That gives…” You let him hang in that pause for a few seconds, then give him the word, “It’s a new perspective.” You can feel him exhale in relief at that. “I wanted to see what you were into too. Too bad we were too shy to approach each other.”

“But apparently we were meant to meet.”

“Just a matter of time…” you tease him.

That night, when you’d first met, you’d clicked immediately. In less than fifteen minutes, you were kissing, and within that first half hour, you’d never been happier to be naked with a man.

He was attentive, touching and kissing places that almost no one had ever paid attention to. He tickled the back of your knees, and pressed the plush petals of his lips to the arch of your feet. He nipped at the edge of your ribs, and licked at the small dip at your hip, where the sinew of your quad attaches to the bone of your hip crest. He tugged at your earlobe with his teeth and dipped the tip of his tongue at the twin hollows at the base of your spine.

When they talk about being worshipped like you were the only woman left on the face of earth, that’s probably what they mean.

It made you really generous — the kind of generous that makes you end up on your knees with a very messy mouth.

It was surprising, how you went on for one full hour dragging pleasure out of each other in an almost torturing way, so close to him entering you, and never doing so.

At the end of that, you’d suggested staying till morning, but he’d explained how he was a single dad and he really should be there in the morning.

“And that second time?” you tell him.

He blushes to the tip of his ears and it makes you giggle sweetly.

You’d entered the room already fully immersed in your role. You’d called him sir, made it clear you were his efficient, loyal assistant who’d been nursing a crush on him for so long. And he’d been playing along phenomenally, barking orders at you, and fucking your mouth, praising you so sweetly while mascara tears ran down your cheeks — just to draw a line when it came to him using you to cheat on his wife.

The fantasy had been brusquely interrupted when you realised he could actually be cheating — he was a father after all, from what you’d understood. He was quick to explain he’d been separated and that was the best decision he and his ex-wife had taken; and he’d shown his interest in your game by returning to it by saying how his sweet secretary had come into his life to make him realise he’d never truly had passion with his wife.

“You were surprising,” he admits. “Unexpectedly resourceful.”

Tonight the bell can’t ring soon enough. You just want to drag him to a dark corner and cover him in you. You want to rub yourself against him, all over him. You want to see him covered in your own wetness, and the lack of panties is only making you more sensitive.

“Would you do it again? A little roleplay?” you ask him.

He arches both eyebrows. “I thought I was clear about it. Adamantly, yes.”

“Hi there,” you hear, and turn around to be faced with two familiar faces. Right there, remnants of your third encounter with Seokjin.

Namjoon and his Mia, the latest hype of the club. They’d been performing together for some months now, and everyone said their sessions were something else entirely. You and Seokjin had started your third encounter by watching them in the voyeur area; there, they could perform within the three walls of a private room and a large two-way mirror, behind which people could watch those who consensually exhibited their encounters.

“Lovely to see you, Mia,” you hugged the woman and kissed her on both cheeks. It could have been awkward to interact with someone you’ve watched having sex, but with her — maybe also thanks to the environment of the club — it was liberating, almost exciting.

Meanwhile Namjoon and Seokjin shook hands, starting to chat with ease.

“So, how’s it going with your wet dream prince?” she asks, knowing perfectly well how long you’ve been pining for Seokjin. “Is he worth the hype?”

Your expression could be the definition of ‘the cat that got the cream’.

“Girl, tone it down a notch,” Mia says playfully, hitting your arm. “Is it getting official or is it a no work all play kind of game?”

Your grin tones down a little. “He’s a father, Mia. He has obligations.”

Her face looks entirely sympathetic. “I see. But there’s nothing wrong with asking, you know? If you’re interested…”

“I’ve got no interest in getting my heart broken,” you say, your tone final. “He needs to focus on his girls and only wants to relax and be selfish when he comes in here. I don’t want to be a burden.”

Mia shrugs and gives you a little curl of her lip. “I don’t think he sees you as a burden, but you should check that out. In person.”

“There’s other stuff I want to see in person, but it’s been…” You lower your voice to a whisper. “We’ve only kinda foreplayed so far.”

Mia tips her head to the side a little, as if confused. “Well. That's interesting. I mean, foreplay is the main act, if you ask me about it. I think—” She turns to the side and addresses Namjoon, “Darling, what would you think if we only did foreplay, no sex?”

You feel your entire head explode with shame, and you assume Seokjin is having a similar reaction.

“I would think you really like foreplay, or — given that this context calls for transgression — you've probably been raised to think that foreplay is taboo. Maybe it's something you've been deprived of, and here you want to claim it back.” Namjoon's hand lands on the small of Mia's back and from the way her eyes roll closed and her lips part softly, you can tell that his touch has a certain influence on her. “I know I don't usually deprive you of it, quite the contrary, but if it's affecting you so gravely tonight, then I might as well deliver.”

You look at Seokjin and he's giving you a certain look that you can't quite interpret.

“You know, if my partner only wanted foreplay, I would simply assume that they really like it,” adds Seokjin, his gaze rolling off of you as he continues. “And that maybe sex is a meaningful experience to them, and they really want to work out all the kinks in it.”

You stare at him, entirely too surprised at his comment, but he's looking at Namjoon this time.

The man is giving him a sombre, polished look and you understand his appeal — too bad you've been captured in Seokjin’s orbit a long time ago.

Within that expectant pause, the bell finally rings.

Namjoon can't put his hands on Mia fast enough. The woman is thrown over his shoulder as soon as the bell stops ringing, and he's taking large strides towards the private wing.

“Guess tonight is not for show,” you murmur, then turn to Seokjin.

You're afraid he's going to chastise you for your confession to Mia, but he doesn't. He's giving you a blank look, his mind impenetrable.

For a moment you think he's going to deny you, and frankly you wouldn't be too mad. He would be entirely too right, after you violated his trust and his privacy.

“Seokjin, I—”

“Behind closed doors, Fawn.” And he leaves you there.

If you had any chance of going through this unpunished, that chance withered right about now — or rather, a minute ago with the ring of the bell. That's the signal for his personality switch and he's just flipped from cute and quirky father to demanding and domineering sex god.

You watch him enter the private wing alone, and you can only hope for your room key to be matching his.

Five agonising minutes later, you realise it does, and it takes you only half a second to realise that you're tragically unprepared for what's waiting for you.

“On your knees,” he orders as soon as you walk through the door. “We're gonna bruise them tonight, Fawn.”

You obey, any objection dead on the verge of your lips.

“I thought I'd been clear about my intentions last time.”

He had been, fairly so. He'd addressed the foreplay situation and he'd planned on going all the way, which was still sort of new to him, especially considering that he'd been with only three women except his ex wife. And then again, most of that stuff wasn't too daring an experience. He felt a little under pressure with you, and he knew he couldn't quite yet control himself when it came to seeing you naked, much less touching you.

He had been taking his sweet time when his phone had started blaring. He'd taken five, maybe six seconds to understand what was happening, and then he'd dashed off you, picking up the phone.

You'd been too confused to understand, and even when he explained, it took you five lonely and cold minutes abandoned alone on the bed to realise he'd left.

Rose had apparently caught lice from a classmate, the nanny was on the verge of burning the house to the ground and Lily and Daisy were quite panicked by what was going on. Before you could get dressed, he was already on his way home doing damage control.

“I have responsibilities, Fawn. You know that. I wouldn't have answered that phone call, and I would have taken proper care of you if it had been an option.” He lowers to you on the ground, pleased with the way your eyes look like dark beads of obsidian in the softly lit room.

He was probably the one who asked for the fireplace to be lit and for a velvety alcove to be prepared right in front of it.

“And I meant it when I said I wanted something special with you.” He grips your chin, angling your face so that the light from the fireplace can caress the apple of your cheek in a way that makes it most biteable. “I meant it when I said I want to do this right. We can have that now.”

You lick your lips, trying to smoothen the ugly feeling of a dry mouth. It's hard to think and talk at the same time.

“I appreciate that you're there for your girls, I just wish you hadn't left me hanging.” You sit on your heels, then shift on all fours and crawl a flirty half step his way, your lashes like expensive and seductive fans of ostrich feathers luring him in, caressing the most tender spots of his body with your gaze.

You're pleased to notice he's entirely charmed by your allure.

“I won't deny you tonight, fawn,” he says. “I might as well give it to you right away.” His hand dives for your hair and grips it at the base, giving two subtle and suggestive tugs. You feel a low purr emerge from your throat and he smiles. “Welcome back, my naughty girl.”

You crawl one more step in the direction he drew you to, and he understands that you got his message. He rises to his feet, then dives his fingers once more in your hair and leads you to the plush lair sprawled in front of the fire.

“Such an obedient little pet,” he praises you. “I wonder what you got for me tonight.”

He's used to sexy little lingerie numbers — stuff with lots of lace and lots of ribbons. What he's not expecting is for you to drop your chest to the floor, arch your ass up in the air and expose your naked, blooming folds. “I thought I might surprise you for the night.”

Seokjin takes a few seconds to realise there's no g-string, no thong, no wicked contraption waiting to trick him.

Just naked truth, wet, warm skin, laying there for him to claim.

“Naughty indeed.” He kneels behind you, and he's tempted to rub himself against you and slip inside you after you've begged and prayed and cried for a while; however, he's under the impression that's exactly the game you want him to play.

So he simply sinks his teeth into your ass cheek, then licks the bite away.

“Stay right there.” And he disappears.

Footsteps echo around the room, then you hear the slide of a drawer.

He's probably choosing his instrument for the night, and you're aching to turn around and see what he's inspecting.

You'd also pay good money to know what he felt when he found you naked.

You'd mostly pay all the money to know what it takes to lose a man like him.

But that's another story, one that you don't intend to follow, especially since Seokjin is returning to you.

“We're gonna train you for me.” He kneels behind you and the feel of something extremely cold against your folds causes you to arch your spine up to the ceiling, your pelvis moving away from the sensation.

Seokjin, however, is merciless. With his forearm braced against the middle of your spine, he forces you to arch your spine back down, your entrance bared to him in a lewd, unmistakable way.

“I want to fuck you with my tongue. You look like dessert covered in icing. You're gleaming with arousal.” And as he talks, he keeps sliding the sphere up and down your folds, your skin so disturbingly sensitive.

At some point, your hips escape your control and you tilt your ass further up to the ceiling, chasing Seokjin's hand in hope he'll offer you some reprieve.

But he doesn't.

Instead he slides something warm and thin inside you, that wiggles and then unfortunately, sadly retreats.

You only have the time for a hiccup of disappointment before he returns to toy with your folds.

Seokjin watches you writhe as he sucks on the finger he just extracted from your cunt. It makes him feel powerful, but most importantly, it makes him feel alive. It makes him feel wanted.

It makes him feel like his own needs matter, that he comes first, which is not an ordinary feeling for a father of three.

He loves this about you: you put his needs first and you don't make him feel bad about it — that is, he doesn't feel bad about coming first with you. Maybe that's also the reason why he's reluctant about introducing you to his family life. He doesn't need a nanny, or a cook or a housekeeper. He just wants someone he can enjoy those crumbles of spare time he has for himself.

He freezes.

Someone to date.

Realisation is like a mirror shattering to the floor, each shard reflecting one different aspect of him. Father, ex-husband, manager, employer and employee, overachiever, knight-in-shining-armour, but also, somewhere, needy, dark overlord.

He is all of that. And he is curious about seeing whichever many ways you can stand by his side in every role.

“Seokjin,” you whisper, barely a moan. You try to lift your hand from where it fell before, abandoned on the lush carpet below you, but it lands again, and grips whatever it can as he slips one sphere inside.

“There, Fawn. What is it?” He chuckles and the sound that follows — the silvery tinkling of a belt — is like mockery to your ears.

“Bet this isn’t enough, huh?” He stares at you, at your position on the floor, cheek pressed to the carpet, dress pulled up, and shakes his head. He’d never have thought he could enjoy this, and yet… He loves this. He’s hard from this.

He kneels down, rotulae hitting the floor with a mildly disturbing thud. He rolls up the hem of his button down, dick so hard it’s reaching his navel. He grips your hip and pulls you closer, the heat of your ass slamming against his hips.

You gasp. It’s finally happening, you tell yourself.

“Why so quiet, darling?” he says, bending over, speaking against the shell of your ear. “I thought you’d at least thank me, you know?”

Rubbing your ass against him gives you a rough estimation of how he’d fit against you, inside you.

He teases his tip against your entrance, slow and wet. The sound of it is slick and lewd, and he can swear it’s the best he’s ever had.

“Please,” you manage to squeak out, so pathetic, and even needier than that.

He makes a weird sound in his throat, like a muffled groan, and it makes you even wetter. As your muscles clench, you feel the sphere inside you readjust, massaging a different corner of your inner walls, and it steals a hum of pleasure out of you, a guttural sound, something as animalistic as your current position.

“Just the tip,” you beg, your voice weak, frayed at the edges.

You expect him to mock you and deprive you, but the heat of him corrects its trajectory and it’s right up against your centre.

“How can I not…” he murmurs. “You’re here. Ass up like a bitch in heat.”

Heat bubbles to your cheeks and your back arches even further, offering yourself up. You’re even more embarrassed, but there’s no need to run from him.

Not after you’ve seen his eyes flicker, wicked, as he cleaned your orgasm from his chin with the back of his hand; not after he’s stuck his fingers in your mouth, his cum still dripping from them, in an attempt to quiet you down from screaming his name through your orgasm.

“I can’t wait to see how dirtier you can get,” he tells you, then grabs your earlobe with his teeth, tugging a little.

Saying you grind yourself against him is the largest understatement you could ever concoct. You hump in the most unmistakable way you can. “I can’t wait to feel you inside me. How much longer do you want me to—?”

And he dips in. Just dips, really. Only the tip. “God. Tight,” he gasps.

You try to push yourself up against him, make him sink deeper, faster. You want to ride him. You want to be the one doing the fucking.

He can lay back and enjoy, for all that matters — you’re sure you can bounce on his dick until your thighs cramp and you collapse on his chest. And at that point, if he hasn’t come yet, you’re pretty sure you can roll over and he can take over.

“Too greedy, my pretty fawn.”

And he moves back. Away.

“You’re gonna make me fold, Fawn,” he whispers. “Too soon.”

And he stands. And there’s that silvery tickling again.

“No,” you cry out. You turn and rise, just in time to catch him tucking his shirt in.

Your ass plops down to rest on your heels and you feel tears of frustration bubble up against your lower lashes. “No, please.”

“Too soon, sweet cheeks. Now get back in position.”

You frown. “But—”

“Fawn, darling.” He gives you a patient look, so sweet, so understanding.

God, he must be such a good dad, you think for half a second. “But Jin—”

“You know I’m gonna take care of you. Now, if you do as I tell you, we can get this—”

Something vicious snarls inside you. You’re not sure where it comes from, but you bark out, “No.”

Seokjin arches one beautiful eyebrow. “Come again, darling?”

“I said no.”

“Bend over, Fawn.”

You can barely keep a straight face as you finally say, “Make me.”

Seokjin shakes his head. He knows he’s gonna love this. “That's it.” On the inside he's glowing with joy, but he cannot show that, he must punish you.

Except he knows you love this too.

He grabs your hair and moves you so that he can make sure you're not going to hurt yourself if you fall: he will be cuffing your hands behind your back, which means you wouldn’t be able to stop your fall if you were to lose your balance, and he needs to be careful.

You're still kneeling on the ground when he lowers himself and uses his own torso to push your own to the plush carpet in front of the fireplace.

“And now stay. You're playing with fire, Fawn.”

You feel him step back and remove himself, and you're tempted to disregard his petty request and follow him to the drawer.

Except you don't, because you know you're already getting what you wanted. And you can still rouse him later if he's not sufficiently harsh.

“God to know you can still follow a basic, easy order, darling.” The first cuff snaps around your left wrist, and he slips two fingers between your flesh and the metal to make sure it isn't too tight on you. He repeats the same procedure with the other wrist, and the gentle way he checks makes you want to submit immediately.

He suspends the scene just enough to kiss your palm before caressing the curve of your bottom. “If you want to safeword, remember it's your right, and you can do so at any moment,” he reminds you, practical and kind.

“I will if I need to,” you say, reassuring him, but also trying to move on to the actual scene.

“Good. Cause I want you to remember about tonight every time you walk or sit in the next three days.”

Your stomach knots, awaiting, and you wiggle your ass in the air, your torso still disappointingly clothed. “All I hear is empty threats.”

That's when the first slap hits.

It's Seokjin's hand against your ass, but it's harsh and angry, and you know you're going to get exactly what you wanted.

The impact makes your insides clench, and the sphere shifts against your inner walls.

You hum in pleasure, your fingers twitching as you try to make the sensation bearable.

It's truly torture. You're wet, and this weight inside you keeps massaging you, taunting you suggestively.

“This what you want?” Seokjin asks you, and you nod, knowing that you can tell him, you can trust him. That he will give you more of it because this is all about trusting each other, and giving each other pleasure, and just—

“Fawn. I swear I'm gonna fuck you tonight. But for the love of fuck I need to take the edge off myself or I'm gonna be pathetic.”

You're currently spooning on all fours, you propped on your knees, breastbone and cheek, while he’s caging you in from above, his thighs bracketing yours, one of his arms pinned just beside your shoulder, the other hand free to roam.

And right now it lands right on your pubic bone, the ball of his palm resting right against your pelvis. The moment he starts drawing slow circles on your clit, finding just the right spot, your body gives in, and some grinding resumes.

“You're so fucking hard,” you tell him, and you know just how banal your statement is, but historically, you're not usually smart when he's coercing orgasms out of you, especially with his fingers.

You grow dumb.

Your brain can only focus on sensation.

And there's the sphere situation happening too, just to complicate this further.

“I told you I need to take the edge off.”

“You can come on me, you know?”

He chuckles. “Oh darling, that one you'd made clear already.” He registers your sharp inhale and moves more delicately. “Do you need me to slow down?”

It makes you snort a little petty laugh. “No, it's just—” You release an exhale and move against him more openly, unbridled and luxuriant. “It's strange with the sphere.”

“I just want you to be all relaxed and warmed up when I slip inside you,” he tells you.

“And I think I'll have to get you some kegel balls. So you can train during the week, when we don't meet.” He kisses your spine and your eyes roll closed.

All you need is the sensations he's giving you, your body awakening piece by piece. It's like every molecule of you is finding new meaning, new depth, new sensitivity.

You've never been so aware of each muscle pulling taut.

“Seokjin,” you whisper, and he hums, he realises you called him and he replies simply, but neither of you can really string words together at this point.

“Jin… If you—” You're trying to connect word after word, looking for meaning, but your tongue is uncooperative, and you can't quite make sounds into words.

You want him to keep going. You really do.

But you also need to take one or fifteen breaths because this is getting too good — maybe too important too. Because you want him now, but it also dawns on you, quite rudely, that you want him all the time. That you've been thinking about him too much lately, even when it's a silly sweet nothing like ordering pizza or washing the sheets.

What kind of pizza does he like most?

Would he like the smell of my sheets? Would he find them too light? Too warm? Not soft enough?

Does he shower warm or cold?

He moans your name and you shake your thoughts awake — as awake and aware as you can be underneath him.

“Are you close?” he asks, and you know you are, but you can't quantify how long it's going to take you. You were closer for sure before your thoughts had wandered towards the day-to-day life of him.

It's so strange that you would need to focus to stay tethered to your own pleasure; however, quite disappointingly, that's the way it seems.

“I don't know,” you tell him, not bothering to hide your perplexity.

“Okay,” he says calmly, then he sucks at the curve of your neck, where it meets your shoulder. “I'll be good,” he says, like a promise.

You're not used to this amount of patience from him, to this pliability.

He lifts off of you, his thigh still aligned with yours as his torso separates from your back, then suddenly a liquid coldness spreads over your ass cheeks, and you feel him shudder.

You turn, curiosity picked by that unexpected feeling, and you spot a bottle of lubricant in your peripherals. Makes sense.

His hands immediately land on your glutes, spreading the liquid, and he hisses as his dick meets the cold.

Soon, however, the lube is warmed by the heat of your own skin and he finds himself grinding against you, needy and rough. He grabs at your hips guiding you as you move up against him.

“Touch yourself, Fawn,” he orders, and you don't make him tell you twice.

The idea of him using your body, and finding pleasure in it, and marking it as his own arouses you desperately.

You want to be his, and you want to pleasure him. You want to be the thought he conjures about next time he's had a rough day and simply wants to jerk off. You want to be the one he dreams about while he's lost in his huge bed, humping a pillow in his sleep. You want to be the reason he's late in the morning because he caught a thought of you in the shower and he couldn't keep his hands to himself.

Ultimately, you want to be the reason why this accomplished, bright man gets a little messy once in a while.

You want to be the motive behind his little crimes. You want to be his gateway to temporary thoughtlessness. You want him to be as human, as fallible, as exhausted, as despicable as he needs to be and never allows himself to be.

You wish to liberate him.

“I'm gonna—” The words die on his lips as he finally spills against you, your orgasm once more incumbent but also far removed, as if that very close destination could only be reached by an impractically long journey.

You hear him come, disappointed by the lack of closeness between the two of you, by the fact that this position doesn't allow you to kiss his mouth, or quieten him down, or watch him frantically reach for your breast with his lips so he can muffle his cries against your chest.

“I thought I had more in me,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

You assume he's referring to this night. Maybe he's done. Maybe he's not thinking about you at all.

Maybe he just wants to be serviced, and he's realised just now, and you're on your way to be dismissed.

“It's okay,” you tell him, but you're pretty sure your disappointment bled through the words. Your logical brain is telling you that he’s just referring to coming this fast and not dealing with you first, but you’ve discovered you’re not strong on logic when it comes to him.

Too bad you can’t tell what he’s thinking. He’s embarrassed, and breathless, and truly madly deeply blaming himself for putting you through such a sorry mess.

Such a disappointment.

He wants to make it up to you. And he starts doing so with slow, gentle kisses on your nape, a gentle caress of his fingertips moving your hair to the side.

Dammit, he loves your hair. So soft, and always smelling like vanilla.

It makes him want to keep you on his lap all the time, so he can dive his nose in it when he’s feeling stressed, inhale you and get high from it.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says simply, studying the viola-like shape of your torso, still wrapped in the tight fabric of your dress. His hands glide reverently from the edges of your shoulders to the narrowing of your waist, admiring your back, then slide to your navel, on your front, climbing back up so he can cup the roundness of your breasts. “The geometry of you… If you could see yourself…”

He can’t ever bring himself to finish one damn thought. The sight of you gives him no reprieve: he’s entirely overstimulated by everything you offer to him, defeated, even, by it.

His fingers tease your nipples through your dress and your insides clench from it, the kegel ball rolling inside you and making you purr from him. He smiles and brings himself back on track.

No distractions this time, he scolds himself, and his body bows off of you. He backs up slowly, unrushed pecks of his lips climbing down the ladder of your vertebrae, and in the meanwhile he undoes the handcuffs.

You would maybe complain if it weren’t for the fact that you trust him with your own pleasure, blindly.

When the salt of his spilled orgasm meets his parted lips, he lets his tongue slip out, giving a full sweep of a lick, lush, wet and hot.

You shudder. “What you up to?” you ask, surprised, confused, almost coherent.

“Just a casual snack,” he murmurs against your wet skin. “It’s not like I’m done with you here.”

You chuckle, nervous, but also thankful. Your heartbreak has been postponed. You push your body back, trying to move closer to him in whatever intuitive way you can. You turn your face on the other side as you know that by now there must be an imprint of the carpet against your cheek.

The blaze coming from the fireplace in the distance warms your face, and once your eyes roll closed, you realise just how pleasant it is to vaguely perceive the orange of the fire from the back of your eyelids. The flames whisper like lovers, like a hushed breathing sound, like exhales and inhales sharply syncopating each other. Then there’s the cracking of the logs, which perfectly echoes and alternates with the sound of Seokjin’s wet kisses, the clicking of his tongue, and the sucking.

The sensations come in so sharply in the empty space you’ve carved for yourself. It’s like you’ve muted the rest of the world except Seokjin and that eyeless voyeur that is the fire.

When Seokjin speaks again, it surprises you and causes a somersault to your stomach, for his voice his so deep and quiet and intimate. It’s the sexiest you’ve ever heard from him.

“Spread your pretty thighs for me, darling.”

You can tell you just gushed out more wetness at your core. That’s what he can get from you, just by using his voice alone.

As soon as you follow his order, he lays with his back on the floor, the width of his shoulders finding its slot in between your parted knees. His hands find your butt and he uses it to readjust your stance.

“Won't you give me just a taste, darling, please?” he says, and you adore just how imploring he is, but at the same time smooth and gallant too.

You love it when he asks you, all chivalrous, about treating you like his own personal slut.

He kisses the inside of your thigh and you find your thighs spreading even further, as you lower your hips a tiny inch closer to the floor — or rather, closer to his awaiting mouth.

“I swear I'm gonna beg if I have to, Fawn. Fucking please.”

He twists his head to the other side and bites the soft flesh on the inside of your leg. His teeth sink gently, sending sparks of pleasure all over your body. “Won't you put me out of my misery, darling?”

“I love it when you beg,” you admit, propping your front up on your elbows first, then on your palms. “It's different from your usual demanding self.”

Your eyes meet his and you notice a spark of uncertainty there. “Do you want me to be harsher? To command you?”

You smile meekly, fondly. “I like you best precisely the way you are.”

You can't see it in the penumbra, but heat has crept to his cheeks, and it's mostly your compliments' fault.

He grabs your waist, appreciating how easily his thumb and forefinger rest at its narrowest point, then invites you to lower your pelvis some more.

At this point, you find yourself more comfortable in a kneeling position, your chest lifted, your thighs in a slightly narrower stance as you lower your ass to his chest, your weight still partially held by your hands, propped on the floor near your knees.

He doesn't speak before he acts. He simply grabs your ass again and zeroes in with his lips on your clitoris.

Bliss is instantaneous.

He starts torturing you immediately with long sucking motions, driving you insane, and when you try to remove yourself, he doesn't allow you to.

Your brain immediately recalls your safeword, but you can't find the final straw that urges you to use it.

You're feeling pleasure— no, actually you are pleasure.

It blooms from you immediately, six or seven slow, stubborn licks after. You brace yourself for the tide rising, but you can't resist it anyway, and soon you find yourself fucking his face, so sexy as it appears in between your naked parted thighs, your dress still on, hitched up around your waist.

His eyes are closed, as if he were feeling it too. He’s the picture of passion, entirely dedicated, single-minded about your ecstasy.

As you’re coming down, you reach for his hair with your left hand, your fingers digging through his luscious locks, tugging just the way he likes, with intention, but also not too roughly. You expect him to back off, but he opens his eyes, stares at your open mouth, at your feverish gaze— and keeps going.

You swear as he starts veering into overstimulation, his nails digging in your ass.

Pleasure becomes pain, which feeds pleasure even further.

Fire blooms inside you, its many tongues setting each of your limbs ablaze.

The second orgasm comes with a scream — your own — and some moaning from Seokjin which only confirms a certain sense of accomplishment.

Meanwhile the kegel ball has warmed to your inner heat, your muscles constricting around it in a vicious grip, giving you that fullness that is enough to enhance your pleasure without truly fulfilling it.

“God, more, please…”

Seokjin chuckles, bathing your inner thighs in soft kisses and sweet little bites. “I love it when you call me god.”

You sit yourself back on his face and giggle. “Oh, shut up.”

His arms tighten like a vice around your legs, his hands pushing your dress further up, exposing the hill of your pelvis, just above the parting of your labia.

He lands some kisses there, sucking, enjoying the soft, plump skin, and the plumpness he leaves in his wake.

Heat rushes wild under the flesh he kisses, sensitivity heightened, capillaries blooming with fullness.

“Lower yourself to the floor, pretty thing,” he hums, and he’s so cruelly persuasive that you obey, your shoulders pressed to the back of your hands, elbows tucked in tight by the sides of your waist. “As low as you can, Fawn,” he recommends.

Once you do, he gives a powerful swing with his shoulders, causing you to swap positions so that your back ends up on the floor and he is finally on top of you.

“Back the way it's supposed to be,” he says, at once free to exercise all the control he needs. “I'm not even sure I need you naked,” he says, kissing your navel, the crests of your hips, the junction between your thighs and your hips.

He lifts the hem of your dress, the stretchy knit giving him room to stick his head under the fabric.

He attaches himself to your nipple as soon as he finds it, his hand climbing up to your chest and starting to toy with your other breast.

“You could also undress me, you know,” you tease him, but apparently he is really busy and your spine is arching off the floor, and you can feel the wetness of his mouth against the precious lace of your bra.

“Shut up,” he says, his voice lost in bliss, and he's moving the cup of your bra just below your breast, baring your nipple. “I'll be busy for the next three working days. Do not call me, email me, or text me. I'm worshipping nipples.”

You laugh and you suddenly clench at the way the laughing twists the sensation of his sucking your breast, making it a fluttery and yet intense feeling.

He gets his head out of your dress and kisses your neck instead. “I really like this dress,” he tells you. “I also really like the lack of panties, though that must have been slightly uncomfortable.”

“It felt a little bit weird, yes. I was afraid I was going to flash someone.”

He chuckles, then freezes. “You might have. Are you sure you haven't?”

Feeling him all serious, you become serious too. “I don't know?” You start worrying a little. Would that be a violation to the rules of the club?

“You're telling me someone else might have seen this?” He cups your vulva with his hand, and the pressure is mind-numbing. It takes you maybe two or three seconds to respond, your thoughts like arrows that deviate their trajectory towards your crotch.

“Seokjin, I—”

He sticks two fingers inside you and tightens his grip on you. “Fawn. This. This belongs to me. Okay?”

You shiver at how stern he sounds. “Yes.”

“Do you understand?”

“Yes, I do.”

Seokjin nods to himself. “Good. Now get out of this damn dress.”

“You, get out of your clothes too,” you order, trying to be just as stern, but he laughs at you, rubbing your G-spot inside you.

“I think your silly, sex-addled brain got confused.” He grips your face with his free hand, squishing your cheeks together. “I tell you what to do, Fawn. And you do it.”

You're taken aback by just how patronising his words are. How silly and insignificant they make you feel. How even wetter you get.

You arch off the carpet and slip your dress off, tugging and pulling, until your body is finally free.

Seokjin studies the way the fire dances on your skin, the way your breasts rise and fall with your ragged breathing.

“Good girl, Fawn.” He leans over and kisses your breast, then gives a fat lick to the sensitive skin before blowing over it in a way that makes you shiver. “So fucking sensitive.”

He's beginning to undo his shirt, towering over you as he sits up on his knees and lets his fingers make a quick work of the buttons, his teal satin shirt coming undone quickly.

He manages to shrug it off easily, the expanse of his chest finally emerging in front of you. He notices how enchanted you are by it, how mesmerised.

The contrast between the fairness of his skin and the raspberry pink of his nipples is stark and seductive. You now understand colour theory and why animals always eat at the brightest-coloured fruit.

You sit up, leaning on your hands, your mouth searching for his chest, but with a finger pressed to your sternum he pushes you back down.

“Sit still for a second, for fuck’s sake,” he scolds you, then tries to get rid of his trousers, which proves to be truly challenging in a kneeling position.

He tuts, frustrated, then convinces himself to stand back up, finally pushing his trousers and briefs down, shimmying out of them too in an attempt to get naked faster.

You’re already on your knees in front of him, waiting, lips parted, hoping he’s going to use your mouth for his pleasure, and you try to invite him to, kissing his thigh, caressing it with your teeth, then giving it a kittenish lick.

He grabs you by the cheeks, then forces you to look up at him. “I thought you were a smart, obedient girl, Fawn. Are you not?”

You’re still kneeling in front of him, mouth parted, eyes wide aimed at his face. You try to appear as dollish and harmless as possible.

“I wouldn’t like to think wanting to get fucked turned you into a silly girl, mh?”

He’s so hard, right in front of you, and the sphere inside you is not enough, not anymore. You need him moving in and out of you. You need fullness, you need to be more than what you can take.

You need him rough, needy, harsh, unforgiving, relentless and fastidiously specific about how he wants to fuck you.

You can almost put your mouth on him. Almost.

You frown. “Please,” you whine, wetting your lips with the tip of your tongue.

He smiles, then snorts. “So desperate…”

Your inner muscles flutter at his cocky tone.

He kneels back, at your same height. “Spread your legs, love,” he tells you, and you keen at the pet name, which makes him caress your cheek fondly. “Come on, let me fuck you, Fawn.”

You part your knees further and his hand slips from your cheeks to your chin, then to your neck, gripping it suggestively, then caresses your breast and follows the axis of your midriff, twirls around your navel and settles at your pubis.

You wet your lips again, your breath caught in your throat, your gaze tantalised by the movement of his hands.

He spreads your labia, covering his fingers in your wetness, then he dives for your entrance, catching the sphere inside and helping it out.

“You should be warm and stretched now, right?” he asks you, then brings the toy to his mouth.

You stare at him, daring him to do exactly what he does next. He opens his mouth and takes a lick at the ball, tasting you.

“This wet cause I made you come?” he asks, and you nod, stunned. He brings the sphere to your nipple and rubs it against your breast gently, drawing a small circle on it. “Sweet,” he coos, then sucks your freshly moistened nipple in his mouth.

You moan like you never have, your hips starting to move in an attempt to grind against something.

You’re almost on the edge by the time he releases your skin from his lips. “Seokjin,” you beg, grabbing his hair and combing it back. “Please, Seokjin, I need it. I need it.”

He sits on his heels, his free hand landing on the small of your back and pulling you closer. “Come close, Fawn. I want to look into your eyes as you take it.”

Your frown can’t even begin to express how desperate you feel. You want him, now, and you’re about to have him. But a part of you is suddenly remembering that you’ll have to let go of him again at the end of the night.

You shake off the bad thoughts and take him in your hand, but he swats it away.

“When I say so,” he scolds you, so you place your hands on his shoulders for leverage and when you’re ready to sit on his lap, he grips himself steady and aims his tip at your entrance.

“Can’t wait to hear you moan as I fill you up, love.”

You bite your lip and the head of his dick slips in effortlessly, smooth and hot.

A sigh of relief leaves your throat and he smiles. “Goddamn, so warm,” he whispers, then gives you a few more inches — just three or four. Not yet all of them.

“How does it feel, my Fawn?” he speaks softly. “Still hungry for more?”

You nod, feeling just how full, how magnificent it feels to have more, and to know there’s more to take.

“You really needed my dick, mh?” He gives you one more inch and you start wincing, just a little. It’s thick and it’s warm, and it feels so right to squeeze it with your muscles, your orgasm starting to build.

Seokjin looses control for a moment, and that’s all it takes for him to conclude his stroke, sinking all the way to the hilt.

A gasp escapes you and he seems surprised too.

He blinks a few times, then his gaze seems to focus on you. “Hello,” he says, with a large smile. “Fawn, I guess I needed inside you just as bad as you did.”

You chuckle and he grips the back of your neck and dives to kiss you.

The tang of your taste is strong on his tongue, but you don’t dislike it. The kiss is soft, gentle, unrushed and tender.

“Let me know when I can move,” he tells you.

You nod.

“Touch yourself,” he orders you, then starts stroking for real.

He’s deep and slow, like he’s keeping himself in check, aiming at you coming undone.

Which you do, in record time, moaning like you’ve never had good sex in your entire life, and at this point you’ve come to suspect so.

You’ve given yourself good sex. You’ve splurged on a good realistic dildo, and you’ve learnt to fuck yourself right with it, but when Seokjin moves inside you, you doubt you truly ever reached ecstasy in your decades of existence.

When you do come, it’s his name you scream, shameless, loud, and you don’t care since the entire building is made of people who are in several different states of erotic debauchery.

Seokjin is proud, fulfilled, your pleasure finally achieved.

He can now focus on his now.

He recovers the kegel ball he slipped out of you, still hooked on his finger by the strap, and brings it in front of you. “I might get rough.” He seems unsure, and cheeky too, as he adds, ”How do you feel about a muffler?”

Your eyes widen. You think about it for a millisecond, then it seems obvious. “Go ahead,” you tell him, then open your mouth.

“God, I love you,” he says.

And you both stop.

“Shit, I mean—” Seokjin is panicking.

“I know,” you say calmly, trying to reassure him.

He seems like he didn’t mean it. Not like that, at least. “I love this. Between us,” he adds

And you can agree about that. “I do, too.”

He seems conflicted, unresolved. “Fill my mouth then fill me up, Seokjin. It’s not complicated.”

It really is, because you want all the feelings that come with this, and that are plenty more complicated than two hours of giving and taking everything you need for yourselves. It’s more than getting rid of tension and snatching all the pleasure you can.

He’s still hesitating, so you nudge the sphere with your nose and chin until you manage to catch it with your mouth.

Both his hands are free now and he decides to grab your ass immediately, shoving your hips back down on him. “Damn right,” he grunts.

He’ll give you what you want, he’s decided. Everything you want. He’ll keep to himself the complicated bits.

You hum a short, clipped sound as he lifts you just a little and pulls you down again. Again, even faster than before.

You start getting his pattern, cooperating as he gets more frantic, more forceful.

Saliva is starting to gather in your mouth, the ball making it too difficult to swallow. You’re getting messy, and you decide to get messier still, to fuck the worries out of his brain, out of your own too.

You’re glad he’s flexible, because you manage to make him shift from a lotus position to a rowdy cowgirl. There you go faster still, and he’s gasping your name, staring at your breasts, gripping them, slapping them too as they dangle over his face.

You clench on him as he does, and he whines even louder.

It makes you territorial, and maybe sadistic, because next thing you know, you’re removing the toy from your mouth and placing it on the floor — it is no longer welcome in your and Seokjin’s little game.

Now it’s only the two of you, and may the strongest opponent win.

You trace his pout with your fingers, and he parts his lips easily. Your middle and ring finger slip inside, and he lets you open his mouth wider.

You lean over him, lower yourself to him, closer, your bellies sticking together, your hips still pistoning on him.

Your tongue and cheeks are still coated in the thick wetness and saliva from the improvised gag-ball, so you just leave your lips agape and the thick liquid plops out, from your tongue on his.

His eyes go wide and he grows more frantic still, going desperate while he licks his lips clean. “God, Fawn. Please,”

“Oh, did the tables turn…”

He smiles a desperate smile, begging you with his eyes. You allow him the final squeeze of your kegels, and he finally, finally comes.

His arms wrap around you like vines, like he’s ivy, and he depends on you, needs you, wants to cling to your forever.

He starts pushing from below and it’s a punishment divine and sinful at the same time.

It shouldn’t feel this good, and yet it does, so you take it as best as you can.

It feels like stealing, and you’re not sure you’re okay when he slips out. “A quick break, let me recover,” he begs. “Not done though.”

Seokjin is great at recovering, this one you’ve learnt. Maybe he doesn’t jerk off by himself. Maybe he keeps himself at bait so he can go all out when he’s with you.

Nevertheless, he takes ten or so minutes to himself, where he just lays with you on top of him, his dick inside you, softening, while he strokes your body.

“I don’t know what I meant with what I said earlier,” he admits.

“We don’t need to talk about this right now,” you tell him, and maybe you’re just trying to save your poor little heart. Sure, saying you love him would be an exaggeration, but you definitely like this man, and you like his heart, his personality, and most importantly, the way he treats you and understands your needs.

“I feel like we should.” He’s caressing your spine. “I—”

“Why did your ex-wife let go of you? How did she give up on sex this good? How did she get this and not…? Stay?” You ask. And you need the answer. Maybe that will make you swallow the lump in your throat. He wants to discuss difficult topics? Then let’s do that.

“I—” He’s clearly caught by surprise. “I was not like this. With her. With other women.” His hand stops, resting on the curve of your ass. “We were just… No longer in love with each other. We still love each other, but we don’t long for each other anymore. We love each other for the three beautiful lives we created together, for our family, for the memories, but we don’t… We want to build different paths. And that’s fair.”

You nod, then settle back on his chest, drawing patterns on it with your fingers. He’s starting to stir inside you, you can tell. Feeling him awaken like this is fulfilling, arousing too. “And you let go?”

“We did.” He squeezes your butt fondly. “We— Me and my ex didn’t have sex often. I needed it, I guess, but I never asked. She didn’t seem to want it. Passion was never part of the equation.”

“But three kids? I—”

“We wanted a big family. She did, especially. But it’s not like we tried a lot. We were just lucky. And I don’t regret that, not even a second. After Daisy we stopped altogether. We were basically celibate for more than a year.”

You nod, then look at him. “So this thing with me is like—?”

He chuckles, his hips shifting in a way that tells you he’s ready again, or soon will be. “This is the most selfish and passionate I’ve been in the last five years. I guess that’s why I said what I said earlier.” He’s blushing, eyes averted. “But that doesn’t mean I value you only for selfish reasons.” He forces himself to look at you again. “I actually like you a lot. But I don’t know what to do because stuff gets complicated when you have kids, especially young kids like mine.”

You nod some more. “You like me?!” You say after three seconds, tires screeching in your brain as you process his words.

He smiles, his laugh rippling from his stomach to yours. “Yeah, that one sure. Pretty sure about it, yeah.”

“And—”

“And I waited this long to tell you because I wanted to be sure, but also because I wanted to be sure it meant something to you too. I wanted to feel safe with you.” He smooths your hair by your temple, removing a strand that was obstructing your eye. “I wanted to have sex when I was sure you meant something for me. I think sex is something meaningful. Important. I wanted to get there step by step.”

You rise from his chest, stare at him, confused, like your world has been just flipped inside out. “I thought you didn’t—”

“I did.” He chuckles, just a little, then places a hand on your waist and flips the two of you upside down.

He’s on top of you, and he’s got a point to prove. “Last time I really did. I was this close,” he says, and he strokes out, then in, slowly.

You moan his name, and he dives to your lips. “Such a pretty way to moan for me, Fawn. Telling everyone who’s fucking this sweet, warm, cosy pussy.” He stops once he bottoms out and speaks through gritted teeth: “As I was saying before you interrupted me, I really wanted to, last time. I was sure I was going to get your number and invite you for dinner afterwards. But the babysitter and fucking lice and—”

You laugh. He’s fucking you so good and yet you end up talking about mundane stuff and he’d so handsome above you but you really want him to take you from behind — your mind is frazzled.

“I wanted to fuck you and keep you till morning, and then get you breakfast, and ask you for a date.”

Your heartbeat stumbles. “A date?”

He stops. “God. Don’t tell me you—” He slips out. “You don’t… Uhm. It’s— You don’t see me like that, right?”

He seems defeated, embarrassed too, maybe, but mostly lost.

“Oh, not that!” You rush to clarify, “I mean, I do! I do see you like that, I mean!” You grab him by the shoulders, then cup the sides of his neck and kiss him, because you’re making a mess and you know that you’re going to kiss him right and show him just how much this means to you.

“I love that you waited to have sex with me.” You caress his face. “It meant a lot, because I don’t think I was ready to have sex straight away.”

“I wanted to since I first saw you,” he says, and you kiss him some more, to show him you like what he’s telling you, that you want him to keep going. “But I needed time to process just what I wanted, and how.”

“I noticed you staring.”

“I couldn’t keep my eyes off you. I wanted to be matched with you so bad, but I was scared we wouldn’t combine. Maybe we were incompatible.”

You smile. “I’m so glad this is happening.”

He slips an arm underneath your back and helps you up, until you’re both sitting up again, your chin resting on his shoulder, and you’re about to abandon yourself in his arms when you notice something in a corner of the room.

“Hold up,” you tell him.

He pulls back, looking you in the face. “What’s wrong?”

You shake your head, then kiss him softly, gingerly. “Just wait.”

You rise and let him slip out of you, his dick deliciously covered in your and his cum.

He watches you rise and follows you with his gaze, studying the way the fire dances on the planes of your skin. His mouth waters. “Fawn, love, no need to—”

“Yes!” you exclaim, then he notices you’re moving a full-length mirror closer to your alcove by the fireplace. It’s a wheeled mirror, which can be rolled around to better be included in the scene. You place it in front of Seokjin, who studies you standing beside it, then looks at his reflection. “I wanted this so bad,” you tell him, “but I wanted to look you in the eye and I don’t like the fact that you gotta face away for it.”

You sit in front of him, then turn your back to him and head back to your position on all fours, just like you started.

Seokjin shakes his head. “I’ve never understood doggy before hitting it with you,” he says, his hands skating down your sides.

He slips in and you both hiss, but pleasure rises faster than pain. The first stroke is heaven already. “I’m gonna be fucking you like this for weeks to come.”

“I’m gonna hold you accountable for that,” you tease.

He nods, then wraps an arm around you, his hand sprawled against your sternum, and he pulls you up, with your back against his chest.

He can feel your crazed heartbeat, and you can feel his against your spine.

“I’m gonna get rough, Fawn.” He bites your neck, not aggressively, but with passion. “Fuck, you make me wild.” He jabs into you. “With your pretty eyes.” Once more. “And your pretty, dirty mouth.” He slides out, then stuffs himself back in and you gasp. “And the way you get dumb and filthy when you need to come.” His hand climbs to your throat, without gripping, just a gentle warm caress, as if to protect it, and help you hold your head upright. “The way you mix innocence and debauchery.” It’s like he’s trying to burrow himself inside you, swallowing your frame into his. “You’re a delight of a little bitch.”

You’re touching yourself now, and he stares at it in the mirror, at the frantic circles of your fingers on your clitoris, at the way your tits wiggle at his thrusts.

Your lips are parted wide, and you’re starting to fall, he can tell, your eyes closing slowly. You’re fluttering for him, inside, and he’s gritting his teeth, plunging inside you more furiously. “Come on, come for me, my little bitch. Show me how much you love this dick.”

And so you do.

He thanks you softly and compliments you as you start coming apart for him, his own pleasure coming together and unraveling at last as you both spiral into each other.

It’s apotheosis, the way you melt into each other, your essence becoming one. It’s completion. It’s finality. It’s your destination.

You’re both left panting, exhausted, and this time you’re not sure Seokjin will recover as easily as he had before.

“Holy smokes,” you exhale, and he meets your eyes in the mirror. His cheeks are adorably flushed, and his eyes are dark and drowsy. He’s still panting. “Very worth it. Every second.”

“Kudos for the mirror. Excellent idea.”

“We need to add that to the list.”

“Definitely.”

He kisses a spot near the hollow of your throat, nibbling the skin there just right.

He stays buried inside you still, and has pretty much no intention of getting out.

“Are you alright?” he asks you, his fingers skimming your belly, caressing you, but also trying to keep you warm. He wants to grab a robe for you, but he doesn't want to be detached from you yet.

“I'm just fine,” you reassure him, rubbing his thigh to comfort him.

“Was it too rough?” he asks and you shake your head immediately.

“Are you kidding? It was just perfect!” you tell him, meeting his eyes in the mirror.

He stays quiet for a while then says, “Are we okay with… With what I said earlier? About… About feelings?”

You blink repeatedly. “I think…” You pause. “I think it's fair, what you feel. And—” You shake your head and giggle. “I hope you did mean to ask me on a date.”

He chuckles, then wraps his arms more tightly around you. “Breakfast. The girls are with their mom tonight, we could sleep here—” He kisses a sweet spot at your nape— “Or not sleep at all,” he suggests, “and wake up in the morning and go for breakfast.” He contemplates the option, studying your face in the mirror. “It's up to you, my beautiful Fawn.”

You just shake your head yes, smiling brightly.

“I need to be clear from the start, though. If my situation with my terminated marriage, and with my kids scares you or disturbs you in any way, I would like to know it right now.”

You shake your head vigorously. “I'm okay with that, as long as you're sure you're ready to try this for real.” You feel your eyes grow avoidant and your cheeks heat as you add, “I must admit, Seokjin, that I got it quite bad for you. If you were in this with no intention of things getting serious, I think I would be—” You search for the word. “I'd be disappointed. Strongly.”

He nods, then swallows you in his frame, your torso and his like two juxtaposed crescents. “I'm looking for something real. Something passionate and steady and reliable. Someone I can be a man with, a friend, and a father, and a partner too. I need someone for myself. Someone who can be mine, but also someone I can belong to.”

You nod then turn to look him in the eye, your bodies still spooned. You stretch to his lips and he kisses you, his eyes staring at your mouth before it goes out of focus.

It's immediately a matter of tongues and wetness and sucking, with just the right amount of teeth. His hands lose their peaceful rest and return to tantalising, seductive touches, veering south.

“Already?” you purr against his mouth, a slow smile already crumbling.

“You've got no idea what you started,” he says, tempting.

You chuckle, your laugh and his mixing. And you tell him, “Show me.”