9 Works by wolfrush
Listing Works
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Summary
A familiar kind of want.
A shared language of touch.He comes home. She reminds him who he belongs to.
(or: the best blowjob Bang Chan's ever had)
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He'd been trying to lure me to the hotel gym for days. When simple persuasion fails, he escalates to a campaign of deliberate, visual provocation—sending videos and photos that showcase exactly what I’ve been missing. It's a taunt, a challenge, and it works exactly as he intended. But when I storm down to confront him, the real workout is only just beginning. A battle of wills fueled by relentless teasing and undeniable tension, where the only acceptable outcome is surrender.
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When the hotel door clicks shut behind him, I can’t hold back. Heat, metal, and need collide as I tease and surrender, rings biting, fingers claiming. Brats beware—submission has never felt this delicious.
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Summary: The language barrier was never what stood between you and Mingi—his touch spoke louder than words ever could. What started as stolen kisses and late-night rendezvous has blurred into something more: friends, lovers, and something neither of you are brave enough to name. Between teasing banter, breathless confessions, and the kind of intimacy that leaves marks both seen and unseen, you find yourself wondering whether this is just another night together… or the beginning of something you’ll never want to let go of.
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The second Chan steps on stage, all slick precision and hair pulled back into that perfectly imperfect bun, I know I’m doomed. Every move is deliberate, every smirk calculated, and he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. By the time the lights go down, I’m past the point of restraint—waiting in the shadows, ready to unravel him strand by strand until there’s nothing left but the chaos we make together.
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A blackout during a staff laser tag game was never supposed to matter. It should’ve been harmless—just banter, just competition. But one kiss in the dark with Chan tears down months of careful restraint, and suddenly there’s no going back. What starts as adrenaline and sharp words spirals into confessions, risks too big to ignore, and the kind of heat that makes pretending impossible.
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San comes home from tour bone-tired but aching for more than just rest. A simple dinner turns into laughter, stolen touches, and the strawberry cake waiting in the fridge. Between the teasing and the tenderness, something unspoken finally finds its voice.
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It started with a photo.
Five minutes, he said — and that’s all it took to have me on my knees, desperate to leave him wrecked before he even stepped on stage.I didn’t come for mercy. I came to make sure he remembered me with every breath.
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He’s always working until the stars blur outside the studio windows, lost in melodies and exhaustion, chasing something only he can hear. You show up with a paper bag of Tim Tams and no real excuse — just an ache you can’t name and the certainty that your feet always find their way to him.
It was supposed to be a drop-in. A soft moment. But then he invites you in — into his chair, into his music, into his lap, where you’re already wet and squirming before he even touches you.
You’ve done this before. But not like this. Not with his fingers buried to the knuckle, his mouth between your thighs, his voice dark and low as he makes you beg — makes you say it.
This time he touches you like a secret, fucks you like a confession, and keeps you on edge until you break for him.
Between whispered praise and overwhelming control, it stops being about getting off and starts becoming something much harder to name.