tasteleeknow-remade - Tumblr blog

tasteleeknow-remade · 2 years

Text

— horror house

pairing: minho x fem!reader genre: smut, angst, enemies to lovers. content: 18+ minors dni. warnings below cut. word count: 6.2k

summary: you're stuck in a horror house alone—your only way out is with the guy who hates your guts. halloween themed enemies to lovers with minho. pirate!minho with a lip ring included.

afab!reader. profanity. mention of recreational drug use. insecure reader. anxiety mention. pet names. unprotected intercourse. oral (f.rec). jealous behaviour. possessive behaviour. praise kink.

At first it was only out of obligation to your friend. They’d only dated a few months but Minho had been a total dick when it ended, breaking it off over text and offering her no explanation. Then you’d had a class project with Chan, his best friend. You’d gotten along so well you’d accepted Minho was the price you’d have to pay to keep Chan around. You ignored Minho for the most part, still just out of loyalty to your heartbroken friend. It wasn’t until Chan’s birthday that your opinion of him was set in stone. You’d spent the previous month painting a landscape of a beach Chan had declared his favourite place on earth. When he’d unwrapped it and held it up for everyone to see, MInho had burst out in laughter.

That was when you decided you hated him. He’d fucked with your friend and he’d made you feel like shit about your only escapism hobby. It took months for you to get the soothing feeling back when you painted. You second guess every piece you made, wondering if everyone around you was just being nice when they said they were pretty. He was a dick and you hated him. Unfortunately, he stuck to Chan like glue. He was always buzzing around, making little biting comments about your clothes or your hair or something you’d said.

Tonight was no different. You were at a halloween event at the theme park with Chan, Minho and two other friends. It was supposed to just be you and Chan but when he'd called the day before to sheepishly admit Minho was tagging along, you’d invited two other friends to balance it out. The more people were there, the less you’d have to talk to him. So far you've received snark about your costume, about your choice of food, and about your refusal to ride one of the biggest rollercoasters. The guy was afraid of heights and he was being a dick about you not wanting to go on a ride. When you pointed out the irony he’d just grinned, “Yeah, and I’m going on it. So what does that say about you?” You’d grabbed his stupid pirate hate off his stupid head and shoved it into Chan’s arms. “Fine,” you’d said, “I’ll go on the stupid ride.” You’d marched off to join the queue, ignoring him when he’d begun taunting you about being afraid. When it was all over you’d struggled to contain your laughter. It wasn't that bad. If you were being totally honest it was pretty fun, but you weren’t telling him that.

He sits across from you now, biting the end off his stupidly long churro. You’d offered to buy Chan one when he’d pointed out the cart and Minho had latched onto the offer—asking at the last moment in front of the staff. He’d never paid for a single thing for you ever. His tongue pokes out to lick sugar off his lip. He had a fake lip ring on. What that had to do with pirates, you had no idea. You’d asked him when he’d shown up at Chan’s place earlier that night. He’d made fun of you for even noticing the fake jewellery. “What are you looking at my lips for?” he’d smirked.

“You’re gonna swallow that thing,” you say now, watching the small silver ring disappear slowly between his lips as he chews.

He looks up from his churro and keeps his eyes on yours—his tongue poking out again to push it back in place. Then the corner of his mouth lifts a little. “Still can’t take your eyes off my mouth?”

“I was hoping you’d choke on it.”

“I wanna go to the horror house next,” Chan announces, interrupting before Minho can offer one of his uninspired retorts. You hate horror houses. You hate horror mazes. Halloween was fun as long as no one was jumping out from behind corners to scare you. But you can’t back out, not after the roller coaster. He’d find some way to make it worse than just going without complaint.

“I like your costume,” a girl dressed as some kind of sexy demon says as she brushes her fingers across the brim of Minho’s hat. That was another thing, he was the worst flirt you’d ever come across in your life. Anywhere you went there would be some girl draped over him, feeding into his huge fucking ego. You wanted to pull them aside and explain why he was the last guy in the world they wanted to lather in praise. You never did, though. He’d think you were jealous and trying to drive off the competition.

“Thanks,” he smiles at the girl, “What are you?”

“A succubus.”

Honestly, you wish she’d flirted with you instead. She looked hot. Your costume didn’t do a lot for your figure. You wore a long white dress with puffed sleeves at the shoulders—a spattering of fake blood carefully added around the hem. It was supposed to be an homage to your favourite horror film, Crimson Peak. Minho had asked why you’d come dressed in a bedsheet. If you were trying to do a ghost he could cut two holes in it and pull it up over your head, he’d offered generously.

“The sex demons?” Minho’s voice is deeper than usual as he flirts with the hot demon girl. It was ridiculous. Easy ammunition to use against him later.

“They visit people in their dreams and seduce them,” she purrs as she fiddles with the laces at the front of her corset.

You look to the front of the queue you're standing in then turn to Chan, attempting to tune out the flirting. “Please, distract me before I puke,” you whisper in his ear. He chuckles before speaking, not bothering to whisper.

“It’s honestly impressive how long you’ve kept this up. When will you let him off the hook, hm?”

Minho and the hot demon girl shuffle forward as the queue moves. You don’t, letting them create some distance before you speak. “He’s a prick. I’ve explained what he did.”

“He had a messy break up with a girl you aren’t even friends with anymore.”

You say nothing, crossing your arms and leaning back against the railing. You watch him study your face out the corner of your eye before he speaks again, “Ah. It’s not about that is it?” You keep your mouth shut. “Is it about the painting? You know I love that thing. It’s hung up in a prime location.”

Minho and the hot demon girl have moved even further forward in the queue, giving you the confidence to speak. “It’s not about the painting. He’s just a dick.”

“Why would I be best friends with someone who is just objectively a dick?”

“You tell me.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Well maybe he’s just a dick to me then.”

Chan is quiet and just as you think he’s dropped the subject he speaks again, “Oh, I get it.”

“What?”

“Can you move up!?” someone behind you shouts. You shuffle forward to where Minho and the hot demon girl are still flirting. Chan nudges you. You ignore him.

You have your eyes squeezed shut, your grip on Chan’s bicep the only thing keeping you upright. Minho and the others are up ahead, leaving you and Chan to stumble forward clumsily. Every now and then you hear Minho shouting up ahead, he was jumpy—like you. That didn’t matter though, you’d cop an earful if he saw you cowering in fear.

“Can you loosen up just a little?” Chan asks, attempting to pull his arm from your grip.

“No.”

He stops walking, halting you with him. “Let go for a second.”

“No.”

“Just for a second.”

You hesitantly release him, instantly regretting it and reaching to grab him again—eyes closed. You feel nothing but empty space. “Chan?” you call, failing to hide the panic in your voice. “This isn’t funny.” All you hear is the sound of his retreating footsteps. “Chan!” When you get no response, you freeze. Too afraid to open your eyes or make any more noise. When his footsteps return you reach out blindly. “Please,” you beg, voice wobbling a little.

“You alright?” Minho’s voice. Fuck. Open your eyes, you plead with yourself. “Jesus, Chan said you were afraid, not catatonic.”

You peek one eye open, he’s directly in front of you—smiling like he’s just stumbled upon pirates' gold. “I’m fine,” you mutter unconvincingly.

“Alright, Let’s head back to the others then,” he says, turning to leave.

You squeeze your eyes shut again. “Wait! I—” you interrupt yourself, regretting the outburst instantly.

“Mm?”

“I need…” you trail off, cringing.

“Yes? What do you need?” His voice is sickly sweet.

“You,” you finish, shoulders slumping in resignation.

“This wasn’t exactly the place I imagined you finally admitting that.”

“I need you to lead me through, you idiot.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Say ‘pretty please Minho, you’re so strong and handsome’.”

“Don’t be an ass.”

Then there was silence. You’re afraid for a second he’d somehow crept away without you hearing. You open your mouth to suck in a breath and call his name—a soft tickle of breath against your cheek halting you. “Say please,” he whispers directly into your ear.

A small shiver runs through your spine. “Will you please be nice to me for once and let me hold your arm?”

“Okay,” he says lightly, as if he hasn’t just made you beg for his help. His hand touches yours lightly and you think he’s guiding your hand to his arm—instead he intertwines your fingers. Before you can protest he’s pulling you along, making you stumble a little at his quick pace. You peek an eye open just as something drops from the ceiling. You scream, jumping forward to latch onto Minho—fingers grasping at the linen of his pirate shirt. His fingers tighten around yours, “You really that scared?”

“Shut up.”

“Can you afford to be rude to me right now?”

“I’ve got a hold of you now, I’m not letting go even if you decide to abandon me.”

He chuckles and then he’s attempting to detach you from his shirt. “I can’t walk with you attached to my front like this,” he whines. You relent, releasing the fabric to quickly wrap around his bicep, one hand in his, and one grasping his arm. “Really?” he complains. Before you can respond he's walking, movements slowed by your shuffling. You flinch at each jumpscare, feeling his small jolts as he reacts similarly. You don’t comment on it, afraid if you poke at him too much he really will leave you.

When he stops moving finally and announces you’re at the end, it takes you a moment to gather yourself. Then you spring off him. Chan and the others are standing with the hot demon girl and her friend, chatting and laughing like they hadn’t just emerged from that nightmare. It’s only at that moment you register Minho had left the girl he’d been flirting with to come back and help you.

“You okay?” Minho’s soft voice pulls your attention to his face.

“Why did you come help instead of Chan?”

“He asked.”

You nod in understanding. “Right,” you say before walking over to join the others. He did it because Chan asked. Because he’s nice to Chan and everyone else, apparently. When Minho joins the group, hot demon girl latches onto him—grasping his arm a lot like you had minutes earlier. She leans up to whisper in his ear and then his eyes widen a little. You watch over the next few minutes as his ears tinge red.

“Hello?” Chan’s voice breaks through your thoughts.

“What?”

“I said we’re gonna head back to my place for drinks.”

“Oh, alright.”

“You coming?”

“Sure.”

“Oi! We’re going back to mine!” Chan shouts to Minho much louder than needed. Minho looks up, eyes meeting yours. He looks away to whisper in the demon girl's ear. She smiles and nods. You turn to follow Chan and the others back to the car.

“She’s not coming,” you struggle to keep your voice down, looking back over to the others standing around the car. You’d dragged Minho out of demon girl's earshot.

“Why not?” Minho answers, his calm demeanour working you up more.

“She doesn’t fit.”

He looks back to the car. “She can sit on my lap.”

“That’s illegal.”

He laughs. You want to stomp his stupid hat into the pavement. “You smoked weed a few hours ago,” he says.

“That’s different.”

His lips quirk up at the corners. “Yeah?”

“Unless you call the cops yourself, I’m not getting in trouble for that. All it would take is Chan getting pulled over and we’re all fucked.”

He smiles properly, eyes crinkling. “When are you going to admit you’re in love with me?”

You throw your arms in the air. “Are you making fun of me right now? I—God.. just—Do whatever the fuck you want then. I’m over it,” you storm back to the car, pulling the front passenger door open and slamming it shut after you. You struggle to hold tears back. Why the fuck are you crying? Overwhelmed from the horror house, you assume. You take a few deep breaths and then everyone is climbing in the car. You don’t turn around, keeping your eyes fixed out the windscreen. When Chan doesn’t start the car after a few minutes you turn, noticing Minho and demon girl outside the car still. She gives him a hug and you look away quickly. When Minho enters the car alone, you say nothing.

Chan passes you another drink, giving you a pointed look before settling himself back in one of the chairs across the fire pit. You hadn't said much at all since getting in the car. Chan noticed, you guessed. You were getting a little hot in your long dress. You doubted you’d be making it home tonight. You often ended up crashing at Chan’s place on nights like this, it was a bit like a second home—even if he shared it with Minho.

“You alright?” one of your other friends asks as they lean over from their chair next to you, “You’ve been a little quiet.”

“Just a bit hot,” you say, offering her a small smile.

“Oi! Come have a go!” Minho shouts at you from where he’s having a sword fight with your friend dressed as a Jedi. It’s sword versus lightsaber.

“Nah, I’m good,” you reply, not caring if he can hear you. You make eye contact with Chan across the fire. He nods his head in their direction. You shake your head back.

“She’ll have a go!” he shouts. Traitor. You knew Chan had a longstanding agenda of making you and Minho friends. He wasn’t subtle about it.

A lightsaber is shoved in your face. You look up to find Minho grinning down at you. “Take it,” he says, shaking the weapon in front of you. You snatch it, standing to follow him to the patch of grass he’d chosen as the battlefield. He holds his fake pirate sword out in your direction, adopting a dramatic fighting stance. You roll your eyes.

“How does this thing light up?” you ask, searching the surprisingly sturdy plastic lightsaber for any buttons. You find one. It lights up blue.

“You ready?” he asks.

“What are the rules? How do I win?”

“Stab the other person in the stomach.”

You lunge for him with no warning. He jumps back, blocking you with his sword. “Sneaky,” he chuckles, backing up slowly as you keep attacking. He keeps backing up until he reaches the fence, nowhere else to go. Then he attacks. He swings the sword so hard you’re amazed the two plastic toys are holding up. He doesn’t seem like he’s actually aiming for your stomach, having too much fun swinging at you wildly.

He clips your hand. “Ow!” you yell, dropping your weapon to the ground and shaking your hand in the air—failing to ease the sting at all.

He stops, sword falling to his side. “Oh, shit. Are you alright?”

You blow on your hand then bend to grab the lightsaber. “I’m fine,” you say, fired up now. “Keep going.”

He frowns, eyes on your still stinging hand. You take advantage of his distraction, jumping forward to shove the tip of your weapon into his stomach. He grunts as you hit him and then he’s laughing, reaching forward to grab you and wrap his arms around you—holding you hostage.

“Get off,” you groan, wiggling in his hold. He squeezes you tighter.

“That was dirty play.”

“We didn’t make any rules. Let go.”

“Say please.”

“Fuck off.”

He releases you and you storm off, grabbing your drink and heading inside. You were hot just sitting around but after that? You needed to change out of this stupid costume. The high collar was making you feel suffocated. You place your drink on the kitchen countertop and lean over the sink to splash your face with cold water. While you shake your hands dry your gaze drifts to the large painting hanging proudly in the centre of the largest wall in the house. When you’d first seen where Chan had hung your painting, you’d been unable to keep a smile off your face. Either he really did like it or he liked you enough to hang it there anyway. Either way, it soothed a little of the sting Minho had dealt when he’d laughed at it.

You head up the stairs, making your way to Chan’s room. It wasn’t unusual for you to borrow clothes from him when you stayed over. You’re sifting through his shorts, trying to find the pair that fit you well when you’re startled for the hundredth time today.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m looking for clothes, get out.”

Minho wanders into the room, slowly making his way over to you—hands in his pockets. “I’ve got clothes.”

“Obviously.”

“Use mine.”

“Why would I do that?” you ask just before he presses the drawer closed, forcing you to pull your hands out. You look up at him, too tired to fight him. “Fine,” you sigh before leading the way to his bedroom. His soft footfalls follow you. You turn at his door, blocking the doorway with your arm. “I don’t need help.” He ducks under your arm.

You debate whether it’s worth trying to make a run for it back to Chan’s room. There’s a lock on his door. “Hurry up, don’t you want to get out of that bedsheet.” You spin around to find him sorting through a pile of clothes at the end of his bed.

“It’s not a sheet, it’s a nightgown from a gothic horror.”

“You went to a theme park in pyjamas?” he taunts, continuing to dig through the pile, “You got all that fancy stuff under there?” You say nothing, watching him from the doorway. “Ya know like a corset and stockings and all that olden days crap?”

“It’s a nightgown, why would I have anything underneath?”

“You make it sound like you have nothing on at all,” he asks without looking up, busy with his search. You lean back against the doorframe and cross your arms, saying nothing. His hands abruptly halt and he looks up at you. “No…you’re kidding.”

“Are those dirty?” you ask, pointing at the pile of clothes. He drops the shirt he’d been holding, taking small steps over to you slowly—like you might spook.

“Not even panties?” he asks, ignoring your question.

“Don’t be a perv.”

“Me? You were staring at my lips all night.” You drop your eyes to his chest, the neckline of his pirate costume lower than anything you’d seen him wear before. “Oh, my chest too?” You snap your eyes back to his.

“If I was staring it was only because of your nauseating attempt at flirting. It must be tiring dropping your voice so much lower than it is naturally. That girl is lucky she got out of coming back here. I bet you’re a lousy fuck.”

“I dunno how many more of your insults I can take. As cute as the little line is between your brows when you get angry, I do have feelings.”

You frown. Cute?

“Mm, that’s the one.”

You quickly adopt a neutral expression. “I’m going back to Chan’s,” you announce, not moving.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” he says, taking a small step closer, “I’d rather you stayed here…stay here and take that thing off.”

“Get out so I can change, then.”

“No.”

“Get the fuck out.”

“You want me to fuck you instead? Is that it, huh? That’s why you’re being brattier than usual. You watched me all night and then when I paid attention to that girl instead of you, you lost it.”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“So you wouldn’t mind if I called her right now and told her to come over? She gave me her number, ya know. Told me to call her if I decided I wanted to fuck her after all. Tell me you don’t want me to call her. Tell me you want me to fuck you instead.”

“Why—” you pause as he tugs at the strings keeping his shirt together at the front, revealing even more of his chest. “Why would I want to fuck someone who hates me?” you finish, hoping your voice sounds even.

“Hates you?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

His expression softens, catching you off guard. “Why would I hate you?” His voice is soft now too.

“You—You don’t?”

“No, baby. I don’t hate you.”

You examine his face for any indication he’s messing with you. “But—”

“Is that why you’ve been running from me? Hm? Why you won’t admit you love me?” His fingers play with the fabric of your nightgown before he begins pulling it up slightly—the material bunching in his fist.

Why does he keep saying that? “I don’t.”

“You don’t love me? I have feelings, remember. You can’t say something nice to me? I won’t tell anyone.” He says, a small smirk forming. The way he was switching between soft tones and snark was giving you whiplash. Your eyes drop to the ring still attached to his lip. “Always looking at my mouth…”

You're quiet as he continues slowly bunching up the fabric of your dress, then you whisper, “I-I like the ring.”

He grins. “Yeah? Is that all?”

“I like the shirt,” your voice just above a whisper this time.

“Do you like the shirt and the ring or do you like them on me?” The dress is up to your thighs now, both his hands under the hem to bunch all the fabric up. His knuckles brush your skin lightly. “You really have nothing under here?” he asks before you can respond to his first question.

You reach down to take one of his hands, keeping eye contact as you guide him up your thighs slowly. You pause, “You really mean it? You—you aren’t fucking with me?”

“Hm?”

“You don't hate me?” you clarify.

“You really thought I hated you?”

You frown, confused. “You’re always—You’re nice to everyone but me.”

“I thought we were playing. You’re so fun to play with.” He smiles. “You don’t like playing with me?”

“You laughed at my painting.”

He frowns a little. “Your painting? The one you gave Chan?”

You nod.

“I was laughing because all I got him that year was a new case for his phone. He made me promise not to get him anything ‘big’ and then you walk in the house carrying the biggest present I've ever seen in my life. It was bigger than you for fuck’s sake. I held it back until he opened the thing.” He chuckles at the memory. “The amount of wrapping paper around his legs…I got him a phone case.”

“You didn’t think it was bad?”

“Why would I hang it up in the centre of the house if I thought it was ugly?”

“You—You put it there?”

“Mm,” he confirms, eyes flicking down to where his hand disappeared under your dress. Oh right, his hand was under your dress. You take a deep breath before continuing to guide his hand up your thighs, hesitating when you reach your centre. “It’s alright,” he whispers, retracting his hand a little before you stop him. You hold him there as you examine his face. His ears are tinged red. Maybe he really isn’t messing with you. Maybe he really did want this. You gently guide him to your cunt, sucking in a shallow breath as his fingers brush your folds. He wraps his free hand around the back of your neck, holding you close to him. “Fuck,” he breathes. “You really went to that theme park with your little pussy bare like this? Shit, the way you were latched onto me in the house…you were all shivery and jumpy and I didn’t even know your little cunt was naked…”

You watch the little silver ring on his bottom lip as he plays with you.

“Bet that guy at the churro stand would’ve lost his mind if he knew you were all naked under here…he already looked like he was imagining how you’d look with his cock in your mouth,” he continues, fingers stroking you slowly.

“What guy?” you breathe.

“You didn’t notice him ogling you the entire time we ate? Were you too busy watching my mouth? Hm? Am I that distracting, baby?” You say nothing, focusing on keeping your breathing even. “No? You don’t get all worked up when I’m around?” The tip of his finger dips inside you before retreating, teasing your entrance over and over again. You grip his bicep to keep your balance—legs wobbling a little. His tongue pokes out to play with the ring briefly.

‘Stop,” you gasp out—overwhelmed. You’re unsure whether you mean his fingers on your cunt or his tongue on his lip. He drops both hands from your body, taking a quick step back. He looks at you like could shatter his world with your next move.

You grip the hem of your dress and pull it up over your head—stumbling back a step, thrown slightly off balance by the weight of the bunched fabric. When you drop it to the floor and look back up at Minho his eyes are glazed over—hands clenched at his side.

“Hate you?” he huffs out a breath of laughter before approaching you slowly. He takes your hand gently, lifting it up and turning it back and forth as he inspects it. It’s the hand you’d hurt in your sword fight, you realise. You’d completely forgotten about it, the stinging long gone.

“Promise me. Promise you aren’t going to take this all back…that you mean it,” you say, giving him one last chance to back out.

He rests his palm gently at your hip, gliding up and down your waist slowly before dropping to your lower back. He pushes you into him, your torso pressed to his. “Promise,” he mutters and then his lips are on yours. He’s not gentle at all. It’s desperate and messy and it isn’t long before his lip ring comes off in your mouth. You pull back enough to pluck it from between your lips, holding it up like pirate's loot—unable to hold back a grin.

“Don’t lose this,” you say as you tuck it into one of his pockets before pulling him back to you. His hair is messed from wearing the pirate’s hat for hours and you can’t resist tangling your fingers in it as you hold him to you. He grabs a handful of your ass in return. “The door is open,” you murmur into his mouth as he walks you backwards towards the bed. He makes no indication he’s heard you and then the back of your legs hit the edge of the bed. He lowers you onto your back slowly, your legs dangling off the bed. He pecks your mouth once more before walking over to shut and lock the door. You sit up on your elbows as he approaches you again, watching him pull the flimsy shirt over his head. You trail your eyes down to where his hands work to unbuckle his belt.

“Spread your legs for me,” he says, prompting you to look up to his face. His eyes are locked between your legs as he tugs at his belt.

“Say please.”

He looks up to your eyes, a small smile forming on his face. “Cheeky. You like playing too, don’t you? You’ve always liked it, playing with me.”

You offer him a small smile in return.

“Please, spread your legs for me,” he says, shoving his pants down his legs. Your eyes drop to his thighs as you slowly spread your legs apart, offering yourself to him. “Fuck,” he mutters, dropping to his knees. He settles himself between your legs, pushing your thighs apart a little more. “Say something nice to me and I’ll make you feel good,” he says, one finger stroking you lightly. You struggle not to squirm, the teasing touch making you desperate for more. “Go on, you can do it,” he encourages.

“Your mouth is pretty,” you mutter under your breath.

“Hm? What was that?” he says, one corner of his mouth lifting slightly.

“I think…your lips are nice.”

“I know,” he says sweetly and then he’s leaning forward to press a kiss to your dripping cunt. He holds your thighs apart as you involuntarily attempt to squeeze them together. “Again,” he murmurs, lips brushing against you. You fail to hold in a whine. “Something nice,” he prompts.

“Thighs,” you breathe out, unable to form a full sentence.

“Yeah?” His breath tickles you as he speaks. “So I wasn’t imagining it at the beach the other day…kept catching you looking.” You feel your cheeks warm, embarrassed. The man had his face between your legs and you were blushing over the fact he’d caught you looking at his thighs. He presses his lips to your mound, rewarding you by tracing light kisses down to your entrance. You replay the memory of his lips with the small silver ring attached to the lower, how he looked with his tongue poking out to play with it, how he looked licking sugar off his lips.

By the last kiss you’re failing to keep your hips still in your attempt to get a little friction from somewhere, anywhere. His palm moves to press against your lower stomach, and then his warm, wet tongue is licking a long stripe back up to your clit. A whine of his name slips from your lips. “Yes?” His voice is sickly sweet again, in total contrast with the act he’s engaged in.

You fail to lift your head off the bed, muscles too relaxed. “More,” you plead, unbothered with how desperate you sound now.

“More? More of me? You want more of my tongue on your wet little pussy?”

“Mm.”

“Say it. You want me.”

“...want you.”

“My name.”

“Minho…want you… please…Min…”

“So sweet,” he mutters before attaching his mouth to you again. He keeps his palm on your lower stomach, applying just enough pressure to keep your hips on the bed as he works you up to your high. You grasp at his bedsheets as you picture his pretty lips, then he groans. The vibrations against your cunt send you over the edge, mind blanking as you cum. He presses you into the bed a little harder as your hips attempt to rise off the bed. He’s muttering against you. You make out nothing he says.

By the time you come down he’s hovering above you, lips and chin glistening with your wetness. You pull him down to attach your mouth to his, wordlessly thanking him. He moans into your mouth and presses his body down onto you, your breasts pressing into his bare chest. His hard cock rests against your thigh. He’s kissing you differently from earlier, while that was desperate and rough, this is slow and sensual—as if he’s savouring his reward.

“You clean?” you mutter against his lips, impatient to feel him inside you.

“Hm? You gonna let me fill you up?”

“Answer the question.”

“Yeah, baby. I’m clean. Now answer mine.”

“You can, if you like, have an IUD.”

“Tell me what you want. I wanna hear you ask me nicely.”

“Or I could just leave. You got me off, I'm good to go.”

He pulls himself off you, returning to his standing position at the end of the bed. You prop yourself up on your elbows so you can see him, his eyes are trailing up and down your body. “You don’t want this?” he asks as he starts slowly stroking himself. “Look how hard you make me,” he mutters, thumb brushing over his tip. You sit up, eyes level with his cock. You look up at him.

“Are you fishing for compliments on your dick now? You got a praise kink?”

“Will you tell me nice things if I say I do.”

“What do I get in return?”

“I just made you cum.”

“That’s true, that was nice of you,” you say, watching one corner of his mouth quirk up. “Alright, you have a nice dick.”

“Is that the best you can do?”

You drop your eyes back to his cock, his hand still slowly stroking up and down. It was true. He did have a nice dick. It was thick and curved slightly up, not too long but long enough to make it the nicest dick you’ve seen. You wonder if you could handle his ego if you said that out loud.

“It’s pretty,” you say instead, “pretty and—and it looks like it’d fill me up nicely.”

“Mm? You gonna let me cum inside? You want me to?”

You look up to his eyes again, they’re hooded—his jaw clenched. “Yeah,” you breathe.

“Lay back on the pillows,” he says, “please.”

You shuffle back on the bed, failing to hold back a smile. His cock bounces as he crawls towards you and then he’s settling himself over you. You hold your breath, anxiety seeping back into your chest again. How could you have got it so wrong? It didn’t make sense.

“Have you—have you wanted this… for a while?” you ask, as he hovers over you—pearl choker hanging a little from his neck. Apparently he’d decided pirates wore pearl chokers and lip rings. You weren’t complaining.

“A little while,” he mutters, eyes dropping from yours.

“Then you’re a terrible flirt.”

He huffs out a short breath of laughter, eyes meeting yours again. “I thought we were good at it.”

“It might’ve helped if I knew that’s what we were doing.”

“You know now.”

“I know now.”

He kisses you, tongue dipping between your lips. He plays with your lip a little like he had with the ring. You moan, encouraging him to guide his cock to your cunt. He keeps his lips on yours as he enters you, a low groan vibrating through his chest. He’s quiet at first as you both savour feeling the other so completely. Each time he presses in, you can’t help thinking about his thighs—the thighs he’s currently using to fuck his pretty cock deep inside you. He seems to be working himself up as well, his breathing getting heavier.

“My pretty baby…letting me fuck you raw…” he mumbles against your mouth, “You were so cute… getting all worked up because I talked to another girl, hm?”

“She was hot,” you say, attempting to justify yourself.

“I could call her, she might wanna join in,” he says, lifting his face from yours to look over your face.

You frown. “No.”

He chuckles, “No? You think I’m yours? Think I belong to you?” You wrap your legs around him, holding him to you. The second time you’d wrapped yourself around him that day. You imagine if you could send a message back in time, to the version of you attached to his bicep in the horror house. Would you ever be able to comprehend this is where you’d be a few hours later? That you’d be under him like this in his bed, his thick cock stretching you open. “Yeah? You want me to be yours?” he continues, taking your clinginess as an answer. He presses his face to your neck as his pace picks up.

“Want you—,” you whisper into his ear, “want you to be mine, just mine.” A whine escapes him, high and sweet—encouraging you to continue. “Couldn’t look away from your lips tonight, that ring…you’re so hot. Prettiest lips…”

“Shit,” he mumbles against your skin, hips stuttering a little as he fucks into you.

“And the beach,” you continue, “I was so distracted all day. It was maddening. You walked out of the water with your shorts all wet, stuck to your thighs…made me all hot.”

He pulls his face from your neck, eyes locking onto yours as he pulls out and thrusts into you hard, once, twice, three times. Then he’s coming, mouth attaching to yours as he fills you. You clench around him, drawing one last pretty moan from his lips. He pants into your mouth as he catches his breath.

“Mm, definitely a praise kink,” you whisper, fingers tangling in his hair.

a/n: i lied. it wasn’t exactly enemies to lovers. it was enemies to lovers but only one of them thinks they’re enemies, the other has been in love the whole time. unreliable narrator. oop. happy halloween.

please reblog and share your thoughts. caption, tags, replies, or ask box, i read it all. feedback is what motivates me to write more!

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#lee know smut #lee know x reader #lee know fanfic #kpop smut #stray kids smut #kpop imagines #skz smut #stray kids imagines #stray kids imagine #kpop scenarios #stray kids scenarios #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #skz imagines #stray kids fanfic #skz scenarios #x reader

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tasteleeknow-remade · 2 years

Text

— given

pairing: jisung x fem!reader genre: smut, angst, succubus!reader, switch!jisung. content: 18+ minors dni. warnings below cut. word count: 4.5k

summary: you seduced them and took their souls, damning them to a tortured afterlife. you weren’t used to them begging for it.

a/n: my first jisung attempt. let me know what you think!

afab!reader. unprotected intercourse. profanity. dark themes (reader uses supernatural abilities to seduce ppl). possessive behaviour. obsessive behaviour.

You only used one hunting ground for a few months at a time, not wanting to draw attention to yourself. Your newest—a small family owned cafe in a busy part of town—was different. You’d formed an attachment. Many of your kind preferred hunting at night, rotating through clubs and bars in each city they visited. You liked your prey sober.

There was no moral code to what you were destined to do; no rule book guiding who should have their souls stolen and who should be allowed to continue on intact. You made your own rules. You could sense it, when they deserved it—when there was something rotten deep within them. You’d let them think you wanted them, that you liked when they fucked you. You did in a way—you liked feeling a small part of them transfer to you. The orgasms they desperately sought couldn't compare to the ecstasy you felt in that moment. They wouldn’t know it was gone, continuing on with their mundane little lives—unaware you owned them. When it was their time to pass on, they’d stumble into the darkness—yours to play with until you’d drained them completely. Then they were nothing.

Everyday you sat in your corner of the cafe and watched them rush about—always somewhere to be. Most days you left them alone. Most weren’t rotten enough. Many had something near the surface a little rancid, the potential to be cruel. But few were truly rotten at their core, unworthy of a chance to redeem themselves. You’d sense them as soon as they entered the door, the small bell ringing as it swung shut behind him. They often walked with their heads held high, many of them powerful in their own puny little human way. Their rotten cores would often be the tools they used to obtain that power—crushing everyone around them until they were standing on a pile of trodden souls.

It wouldn’t take much to lure them, you had an easy job. You’d bump into them as you walked past, stumble a little and look into their eyes. You had an on and off switch, fortunately. It would be hard to camouflage into your corner otherwise. With it on they would succumb instantly, their eyes consumed with lust. Sometimes you’d see the confusion in the brighter ones, a second of suspicion at the unnatural urges that consumed them. They’d always give in. They couldn’t resist. You’d keep the part of them you stole tucked away, a little token to redeem when they died. They’d forget you until then. Once you’d turned the switch off you were invisible to them again—allowing you to resume your hunt without disturbance.

Today was as ordinary as any other, no one worth your time entering all morning. You watch a small child pick at a muffin nearly as big as his face. He looks back at you, big eyes offering you a clear view into his unadulterated soul. They could all see you, the small ones. You press your finger to your lips, signalling the secret you both shared in the bustling cafe.

The child picks up his muffin, opening his mouth as wide as he can to take a bite. “Excuse me?” You look up at a man standing at your small corner table. He looks directly into your eyes. He shouldn’t be able to do that. “I don’t want to disturb you, are you busy?” he asks, as if you weren’t a creature capable of consuming his soul. If he hadn’t walked up to you so casually you would hardly have noticed him. He was pretty, and if you were a human woman perhaps a boy as pretty as him approaching you in a cafe would make you blush—but you weren’t. So you keep a blank expression as you look into his eyes and gather everything you need to know: he isn’t your type. His soul was light and pure and you had no interest in dooming him to a tortured afterlife.

“I am,” you answer, maintaining a neutral expression on your face. You had no idea how he could see you. It had never happened before, but perhaps something had gone wrong—he’d never aged out of his childhood ability to perceive your kind.

“Oh,” his expression drops at your blunt response, “I won’t bother you then. Have a nice day.” He offers you a small smile before taking a small step back and then turning to leave. You watch him until he’s out the door and well out of your line of sight. Strange. A blueberry bounces across your table. You look up to the small child with the large muffin. He grins at you. You pick the berry from the table and pop it in your mouth. You couldn’t remember the last time you ate. Not such an ordinary day, after all.

The man is back the next day. You watch as he glances your way while in line for his coffee, while he orders, and again on his way to the door. You're prepared for it when he pauses just before he exits the cafe and walks over to you instead, coffee cup in hand.

“Hello, again,” he says, a nervous smile on his face.

“Hello,” you answer, as blunt as you’d been the day before. He places the cup down on your small table then reaches into his pocket to fish out a phone. You hated those things, they gave you headaches.

“I don’t think I introduced myself yesterday, I’m Jisung.” He says before pausing—clearly expecting a response. You say nothing. He clears his throat before continuing, “I was wondering…if maybe I could get your number? I know it’s strange, I really—I really have never seen anyone as beautiful as you before. I couldn’t get you out of my head. I was…I was hoping you’d be here again,” he stammers out, clearly not the type to approach strangers in this way.

Beautiful? Your switch was off. He wasn’t even supposed to be able to see you. You look around the cafe. No one was looking at you. A man at the counter was stirring sugar into his coffee, briefcase under his arm. You stand, moving past the flustered man in front of you to the man at the counter. You brush against him, trying your usual routine. Nothing. You look back to the man still hovering at your table, eyes fixed on you across the cafe. You march over to him.

“What are you?”

“I’m sorry?” he asks, brows drawing together.

“I don’t sense anything off about you; you seem human. Are you something I haven’t seen before?”

“I—” You grab his hand, his mouth closing as your skin touches his. You close your eyes, contentrating. You didn’t usually have to touch them. Looking at them was enough. If you really wanted a good appraisal, their eyes were a window.

This wasn’t something you were used to—not knowing. The light at his centre pulsed through you from where your hands touched. That was strange. You didn’t usually feel a physical sensation. Still, clearly there was something off about him that was outside your ability to detect because all you gathered was that he was good and he was human. That’s it. You drop his hand, opening your eyes again. His lips had parted slightly, brows raised.

“Did you feel that?” he breathes, voice barely audible in the bustling cafe.

“What?”

“When you touched me,” he says, voice louder this time, “it was like…it went through my whole body—a spark…or something.”

You take a small step back. God, you were going to have to leave the cafe behind—find a new hunting ground. Whatever this was, it couldn’t be good. You turn to leave, marching to the door and swinging it open.

“Wait!” he shouts as the door swings shut behind you.

You keep walking, making your way down the street quickly. “Leave. You don’t want to know me,” you demand, speaking to the man keeping pace beside you.

“I do,” he insists, “I really do. Please, just wait a second.”

You stop abruptly, turning to face him. He’s panting a little. So delicate. “I just asked you if you’re human and told you to stay away from me for your own good—and you want to know me?”

“Did you not feel it? The spark,” his eyes sparkle, a hint of excitement he can’t contain. His curiosity would get him in trouble.

“If you knew who I am…what I've done—you’d be running as fast as you could. Do you hear me? You don’t want me. You want to run.”

“Will you be here tomorrow?”

You look to the heavens, collecting yourself before you lose your temper. He doesn’t deserve it. Even if he was a fool. “No. I won’t be here again,” you finally say, resigning yourself to the fact you’d have to be the one to stay away.

“I’ll wait for you,” he says, eyes still sparkling.

“Are you hearing anything I’m saying? I’m not coming here again.”

“I’ll wait.”

You turn with a huff, marching down the street until you’re out of his sight before disappartating—off to play with your tortured souls.

You’d spent the week searching for a place to compete with your cafe, your irritation rising as the days passed—nothing compared. You’d stumbled across a perfectly rotten soul on the street, offering you distraction for a few hours. By the time you’d released him—sliver of soul tucked away in your collection—you had calmed. The rain helped. The feeling of it against your skin soothed you. There was no rain where you were from. You wander the streets, satiated for the time being. It isn’t until you’re directly across the street from your cafe that you realise you’d been subconsciously heading in it’s direction. The rain had soaked you through, hair sticking to the sides of your face. The cafe door opens, a large yellow umbrella masking the human exiting. They cross the street, heading in your direction. When the umbrella lifts, revealing the man underneath, you roll your eyes. Gods. It was him. What was his name? Jisung.

‘You came back,” he says as he holds the umbrella over you—a wide smile on his face.

You say nothing, looking into his eyes again. Still human. Still good.

“You’re soaked,” he mutters, stating the obvious.

“I want my cafe back.”

He looks back across the street, then to you again. “You own it?”

“Something like that,” you answer, unwilling to engage him in conversation for any longer than necessary. His brows furrow, head tilting a little in question. You sigh, he was lucky you’d stumbled upon the rotten soul earlier—if you were in a bad mood you might’ve decided to deal with him the easy way. “I would like you to leave my cafe and never come back. I don’t want to see you again.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re getting in the way.”

“Of what?”

“Everything.”

He takes a small step closer to you, eyes flicking across your face. “You feel it too, don’t you? Don’t you want to know what it is—what we are?” He shuffles even closer, his bright yellow umbrella held up over you both. His hand lifts to hover over the hair stuck to your forehead—hesitating for a second. When you don’t react, he continues. The moment his fingers brush against your skin, a puff of air leaves him in a soft gasp. “There,” he whispers, “Did you feel it?”

The brightness pouring from his eyes overwhelms you. You’re so used to only touching the ones with rotten cores. Even back when you didn’t discriminate, preying on whoever crossed your path, you’d never stumbled across a soul this light.

“Does it feel good to you? Does it not feel like death?” you question curiosity getting the better of you as your eyes flick across his face—attempting to detect any discomfort. When you didn't flick the switch that made you irresistible to them, they wouldn’t merely ignore you—it was like they were slightly repulsed. Flickers of unease would appear in their expressions as you brushed past them.

“It feels like life,” he corrects, voice breathy.

You take a step back, the umbrella following you—sheltering you from the rain. It was an inconvenience to them, the rain. They took it for granted. “I’m not life. I am eternal death. Don’t come back here again,” you comand, pressing all your pent up frustration into your voice. His lips part, preparing to speak—argue. “This is your final warning,” you finish.

You disapparate right there, leaving him alone under the yellow umbrella.

You avoid your cafe as long as you can stand. Months, it’d been months. Wandering the city was making you restless, unsettled. You missed your routine. Jisung was ever present in your mind, his shining eyes burned into your retinas—the final look on his face just before you’d left him standing under his umbrella alone. You could find him, if you wanted. Even if he’d stopped showing up at your cafe, once you’d had a taste of them—which you’d done when you’d taken his hand the first time—you could track them anywhere. Not that you wanted to. You wanted him gone.

You find yourself in his home that night, wandering through his darkened apartment—picking up and inspecting his belongings. Perhaps he’d come across an item that he shouldn’t have. They’d do that sometimes—humans. Come across an object that would affect them without their knowledge, influencing their weak minds. You’d let those ones go, the rot within them was easily cured with a sweep of their homes. Whatever item Jisung must’ve come across must be having some other strange effect on him. Instead of rotting his soul it was making him vulnerable to your kind, attracted to you when he shouldn’t be.

You were thorough in your search—irritation building with each mundane item you’d inspect. There was only one room left. You could sense him in there, asleep you assumed. You should check…for objects. You disapparate and reappear in his bedroom, saving you from having to creak the door open. He was asleep, mouth slightly open. You wonder what he dreams about. Unfortunately your kind couldn’t visit them there.

You lift a small notebook from his bedside table. It was mundane. You hesitate as you go to put it back, opting to flick through it briefly instead. It was full of scribbles—poems? lyrics? You liked human music. Music and rain. One of the reasons you’d become so attached to the cafe was the music that would play throughout the day. It was like whoever chose the songs were catering to your tastes specifically.

“You’re here,” his sleepy voice startles you and you drop the small notebook to the floor. He pulls himself into a sitting position as you bend to collect it. He’s far too calm for someone who’d just woken in the night to find someone standing at his bedside. Someone inhuman at that.

“I shouldn’t be,” you mutter as you place the book gently back where it belonged. He reaches over to flick on a lamp, the soft light making you feel exposed. You’re unused to being perceived in this form. “Aren’t you afraid? You haven’t even asked what I am.”

“I told you, I feel you. I don’t know what you are but I feel you—and I’m not afraid.”

“I collect souls,” you confess, keeping eye contact to monitor his reaction, “I seduce people, collect their souls by bringing them to their highs and when they die I consume them completely.”

“Why?”

“Why do you humans eat? Why do you fuck?”

“No, I mean why do you take the ones you do? Why haven’t you taken mine?”

“You aren’t…right. You aren’t my type.”

The corner of his mouth pulls up slightly, “That’s a shame.”

“No, it’s not. You don’t want to be my type.”

“What if I do?”

“Then you’re a fool.”

He throws the blankets off himself, revealing his nakedness. You’re unfazed. “I think I am your type,” he says, apparently equally unfazed. “Appearing in my room in the middle of the night is a little suspicious.”

“I was searching for something. I’m trying to get rid of you.”

He reaches to take your hand, pulling you down to sit at the edge of the bed. He keeps a hold of you, a steady thrum pulsing between where your skin touched his. “You’re doing a terrible job,” he whispers through a smile.

“You don’t want me,” you insist.

“I do,” he answers quickly, hand tightening where he grasps yours.

“I don’t know if I can help it, dooming you. I’ve never fucked anyone without taking a part of them.”

“That’s okay. I think you’re meant to have it, a part of me.”

You look into his eyes again, desperate to understand. “What are you?” you whisper, knowing it was futile to ask.

“Yours,” he whispers back before leaning forward to press his lips to yours. The thrum of energy between you heightens, overwhelming you. You gasp into his mouth. “Knew you felt it, too,” he mutters, “knew it.”

You push him back onto the bed, straddling him with your hands on his bare chest. “Tell me you're sure. Tell me you understand what you’re giving me—that I can’t give it back.”

“Please,” he breathes, eyes locked on yours, “take it.”

You lean down to attach your mouth to his again, pulling his full lower lip gently between your teeth. You tangle your fingers in his hair, holding him still so you can taste him as long as you want. He’s like nothing you’ve had before. Sweet and light, no rotten aftertaste. He whines into your mouth as you slip your tongue between his lips. The steady thrum between you makes you feel like your whole body is tingling slightly. You detach yourself briefly to rip your dress over your head, take the opportunity to take in his wet lips and blissed out expression. You roll your hips against him and then your mouth is on his again.

“I’m dreaming…” he murmurs into your mouth, “dreaming…”

“You’re awake,” you reassure him, your practised soothing, seductive tones making an appearance, “I’ve got you.”

“D-Do you feel it?” he stammers, trembling beneath you.

“Mm, I feel it. I feel you.”

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you down onto him completely. His legs tangle with yours as he kisses you. With each new place your bodies touch, the tingling intensifies. You struggle to concentrate like you usually do—focused on getting them to their highs so you could get yours. That isn’t the goal here—to get to that high when you take a part of them. In fact, you want to avoid it. You’re out of your depth.

You climb off him quickly, scrambling off the bed. He reaches for you as you stand, fingers brushing the inside of your wrist as you slip away—too fast for him to catch. “Where—where are you going?” he sputters, pulling himself up to follow you across the room. You rest your forehead against the wall, attempting to collect your thoughts. His hand brushes your arm and you quickly pull away—desperate for a clear head. “What’s wrong?” His soft voice makes it impossible. You turn to look at him. His lips are swollen, cheeks flushed—his hair falls into his eyes. You reach to brush it off his face a little, a shiver running through his whole body when your fingers brush his skin.

“I don’t think I can do this.”

His eyes widen a little, lightness pouring out of them. You hold your breath. “Please,” he begs, “don’t leave me again.”

“You’re begging me to damn you.”

“No, no. I’m—I’m begging you to let me have you.”

“I don’t give. I can’t let you have me. I only take. I’ll take something from you and I’ll keep it and then when you die I’ll own you for eternity. You get nothing.”

“Okay. I said okay. I understand and I want you to have it. I need you to take it.” He falls to his knees. “Please.” He presses his lips to your thigh, leaving little wet patches on your skin as he peppers you with small kisses. He mutters as he goes, “please…want to be yours…please…” You tangle your fingers in his hair as his mouth makes a path towards your clothed centre. His hands grip the backs of your thighs as he works. When he reaches the hem of your underwear you expect him to stop, to pull back and look up at you with those eyes. He doesn’t. His hands move to spread your thighs gently and then he pulls your underwear aside. You suck in a breath, the cool air against your wet cunt combined with the tingling from his touch sends a shiver up your spine. He slides one curious finger through your folds then brings it to his lips. You watch him wrap his plump lips around his finger then he’s touching you again—finger stroking you gently until you’re struggling not to clamp your thighs together. You pull his head back by his hair, his eyes hooded as he gazes up at you.

“On the bed,” you instruct, releasing him. You rest your head back against the wall, closing your eyes as he rushes to follow your order. You take a deep breath then lift your head, making your way over to him quickly—sliding your underwear down your legs as you go. He’s on his back, hand sliding slowly down his hard cock. You stop him, taking his wrist and guiding his hand to your breast as you settle yourself over him. Your wet cunt is pressed to his lower stomach as you hold most of your weight off him—rolling your hips to seek a little friction. “You want me to take, hm?” you mutter as you grind your cunt against him. “Want me to use you?”

You watch his face as you roll your hips. He holds his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes hooded—chest rising and falling erratically. You lift yourself slightly and shuffle back a little before lowering yourself to grind against the underside of his cock—pressing it down onto his stomach. A whine escapes his lips. You don’t blame him. Everything is heightened with the constant thrum of energy that connects you both. You wet his cock as he slides through your folds, his hips jumping off the bed each time you slide up to the sensitive spot near his tip.

“Angel,” he mutters, hooded eyes locked on your face. A breathy laugh escapes you at the term of endearment. He couldn’t be more off the mark. You don’t correct him, leaning down to press your lips to his instead. “Mine,” he murmurs into your mouth.

“That’s not how this works,” you correct him as you resume your grinding, “you belong to me, remember? Forever.” He groans as he throws his head back, eyes squeezed shut.

“Fuck, please….please.”

“Look at me. Look at me while I fuck you.”

He takes a few shallow breaths then his glassy eyes meet yours. His lips are swollen from your gentle nibbling. You maintain eye contact as you lift yourself enough to guide his tip to your opening, pressing yourself down onto him as slowly as you can. You get half way down before a shiver spreads through your whole body, taking any remaining strength from your thighs. You fall down onto him completely—his cock stuffing you full. Jisung mumbles something underneath you, too quiet for you to make out.

“Hm?” you prompt, hips still as you relish in the feeling of him filling you—the constant thrum between you more intense than it’s ever been.

“Warm,” he mumbles again, just clear enough for you to understand, “so warm…and tight.” You clench around him, prompting another pretty whine from his full lips. “Wet,” he continues again, muttering to himself as you begin rising and lowering yourself—rolling your hips a little as you go. You’re transfixed by the expression on his face as you fuck him, totally fucking blissed out. You were used to expressions of lust and bliss—but on him? He looked like he’d never recover—like his brain was being wiped of everything but this moment.

“Is that nice?” you ask, wanting to hear him say it.

His eyes flicker open, unfocused for a moment before they find yours. “Angel,” is all he says, like he hadn’t processed your question at all. You lift yourself off him, laying yourself down on your stomach beside him. His head turns to watch you, his breathing heavy.

“Fuck me,” you whisper, lifting your hips off the bed as you offer yourself to him. He blinks twice slowly then he's moving quickly, clambering to position himself above you. He pushes himself into you from behind—body pressing you down into the mattress. He pants into your shoulder, already so worked up that he immediately begins to rut into you desperately. “Give it to me,” you encourage—referencing his soul, “gonna keep you.”

He groans as he speeds up, hand coming to grip you around your throat. “Tell me you’re mine,” he grunts, mouth pressing to your skin.

“I told you, I don’t give.”

“Please,” he pleads, his thrusts erratic, “please just say it.”

You focus on the feeling of him inside you, the warmth both from his cock and from the thrum of his light core spreading through you. You want to keep him. You want to keep him in a way unlike the others. You don’t want to consume him, you want to tuck him away and keep him with you forever.

“Yours,” you breathe, just loud enough for him to hear. His low groan fills your ear as he stills, burying himself deep inside you. You see light. Buzzing fills your head as you hit a high. You were expecting to feel what you usually did when they finished, when you took that small piece of them. This was more than that. Your mind blanks completely as you feel something come apart deep within you, replaced with the little piece you take from the man inside you. When your mind clears, his heavy weight presses you into the mattress—his hot breath tickling your skin as he breathes heavily. He took something from you…or—you gave something? You felt it leave you. He rolls off you and you turn to lie on your side, your faces a breath apart on the pillow you share.

“Did you feel it?” he says quickly, attempting to catch his breath.

“I—” you stop yourself, struggling for words for the first time in your long, long life. His lips brush yours as he closes the gap between you. “What are you?” you breathe, another futile attempt to decipher him.

“Yours,” he whispers, smiling against your lips.

please reblog and share your thoughts. caption, tags, replies, or ask box, i read it all. feedback is what motivates me to write more!

↳ masterlist

#han jisung smut #han jisung x reader #kpop smut #stray kids smut #kpop imagines #skz smut #stray kids imagines #kpop scenarios #stray kids scenarios #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #skz imagines #stray kids fanfic #skz scenarios

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