summary: "you're ours," he breathed, desperate, honest, "and we're yours. Whatever you say, whatever you decide, we'll always be yours." you got a job as a new caretaker and the boys are pretty sure you are their mate.
genre: a/b/o au, idol au, omegaverse, fated mates au, soulmates au, omega!reader, alpha!hongjoong, beta!seonghwa, beta!yunho, alpha!yeosang, beta!san, alpha!mingi, alpha!wooyoung, alpha!jongho, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, suggestive, mentions of verbal abuse from parents, reader finds it difficult and the boys try really hard to make her feel safe
summary: you never cared too much about the idea of 'fated mates', the wolf designed by the moon especially for you. now that you've met them, you're not sure if you can be their omega. but you promise to try and the ATEEZ pack aren't quite ready to let you go without a fight.
genre: a/b/o au, idol au, omegaverse, fated mates au, soulmates au, omega!reader, alpha!hongjoong, beta!seonghwa, beta!yunho, alpha!yeosang, beta!san, alpha!mingi, alpha!wooyoung, alpha!jongho, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, suggestive, mentions of verbal abuse from parents, reader finds it difficult and the boys try really hard to make her feel safe
summary: you never cared too much about the idea of 'fated mates', the wolf designed by the moon especially for you. now that you've met them, you're not sure if you can be their omega. but you promise to try and the ATEEZ pack aren't quite ready to let you go without a fight.
summary: "you're ours," he breathed, desperate, honest, "and we're yours. Whatever you say, whatever you decide, we'll always be yours." you got a job as a new caretaker and the boys are pretty sure you are their mate.
intro ✴︎⸝꙳.˖𖥔݁˖⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ( 3.2k ) jude bellingham x f!reader ╱ when thomas tuchel makes a clear announcement that his players aren’t permitted to have sex on match days, jude’s girl takes a rebellious approach. she has her man’s best interests in mind, but tuchel won’t be too happy to find out a rule has been broken by his star player. . .
notes ♡⋆°୭ 𝟏𝟖+ established relationship of 5 years. unprotected penetrative sex in the recovery room. quickie. softdom!jude. light dirty talk. semi-public. m+f!orgasm. creampie. getting caught!
JULY 11, 2026 ; Miami, Florida...
The Miami sun was beating down on your glowing skin, its light dimmed by the oversized sunglasses you shielded it with as you walked. Later today would be England vs Norway, and your boyfriend was most certainly going to be centre-stage, as usual.
It was the most heartwarming thing to watch him succeed so beautifully and admirably on the biggest platform within the sport, and you felt so privileged to be the woman by his side. The woman of the man who millions of other women yearned for, those who could only dream of being in his arms every night.
The World Cup so far had been incredible—you'd enjoyed every moment, and with the exciting state of Jude's team, there were only positives to be celebrated and praises to be made about this period in his career. Enjoyable so it was, except for one small thing. Ridiculous, really, for it truly was small, but there were certain decisions managers made and rules they put into firm place that you just couldn't get on board with. There were the silly decisions they made regarding the events and players on the pitch, there were the criticisms that you believed were much too harshly declared, and then there was what you believed to be the stupidest of them all.
It had been said before—by Ancelotti, by Alonso, even by Arbeloa earlier this year—and now, Thomas Tuchel had been very serious when he'd declared the same thing.
❛England players may have sex with their partners at any time during the World Cup, except on match days.❜
No, of course you didn't need to be put through the mattress by your man every day of the tournament, but Jude Bellingham never made it easy for a lady to be in his presence without her succumbing to a burning arousal, and even though he was your boyfriend of five years, that arousal somehow burned evermore.
Tuchel had thought the statement quite an obvious and sensible one, a good compromise in comparison to the initially considered approach where the players' partners would be entirely banned from visiting the players' hotel rooms. He realised that approach would be going too far, and that psychologically it would actually affect the men more to be forced away from their women. However, he still believed in sexual abstinence on the day of the game, to preserve energy and focus.
You on the other hand, along with several of the other WAGs, believed that to be a nonsense theory.
These were high-level, elite athletes, with stamina greater than most, and after doing so much exercise, dealing with so much adrenaline, also had sexual needs more than most. It would be cruel to deprive them of such a necessary release—you believed it was almost like a form of therapy, surely? A catharsis drawn from their very bloodstream, bodies needing oxytocin and dopamine to calm their restless and excitable hearts. One round of sex wasn't going to do any harm to their roles on the pitch.
And so, with that strong belief in mind, you found yourself cornering your unassuming boyfriend in the recovery room of England's designated private training base.
Jude took his athleticism very seriously, always adhering to rules in the interest of playing as skilfully and as successfully as possible. It always paid off, so he wasn't about to start messing with what had so far been working in his favour.
But you knew him well enough. You knew that your assumption was correct—that ejaculatory release could only be beneficial, because restriction and pent-up sexual frustration could only ever be a negative thing. You felt that you'd be doing your duties as a devoted, supporting girlfriend, if he'd hear you out and allow you to.
You'd been sitting with the other WAGs, watching your men run up and down, stretching their muscles, groaning with the exertion. Your eyes never left the gorgeous artwork that was Jude's body, and you hadn't realised you were quite literally biting your lip at him in public, sighing with need, pupils dilated though hidden by your sunglasses. You were wearing a tiny white summer dress with white kitten heels—likely a little too overdressed for merely attending training, but most of the other girls were with you on that.
And when a break was finally called—fifteen minutes, to be back there immediately afterward—you didn't wait a moment to pounce on him.
As he skipped over to you, all sweaty and slightly breathless, you did something very uncharacteristic. You hugged him despite the sweat, despite your ivory white mini dress, the one you cherished so dearly. Usually, Jude would shower before touching you after training or after a game, and that wasn't because you cared more about your appearance than your boyfriend—it was because he got so sweaty sometimes that it left wet stains on your summer-coloured clothing, and the paparazzi were always waiting around the corner.
Jude was surprised at the way you wrapped your arms around his neck without restraint, not even hesitating to allow his half-drenched shirt to collide with the pristine quality of your dress.
"Hey, baby, what's this?" he chuckled, holding your waist tight as you clung to him.
"Come with me," you whispered, stood up on your tiptoes to reach his ear. “Inside.”
He furrowed his brows in intrigue, wondering if something was wrong; and then you pulled away, took his hand, and strolled off inside the training complex, en route to your destination.
You entered into the recovery room, its purpose for ice baths and hydrotherapy, therefore of no use to anyone at present. And it was when you shut the door behind you, turning to give him that tell-tale smirk, that Jude realised exactly what you were up to.
"Hi, baby," you grinned, waiting for him to say something as he looked you up and down in amusement. Sure enough, your dress was already stained with patches of his sweat.
"I don't even think I need to ask what you're plannin' here."
"No, you don't, because asking wastes time, and we only have fifteen minutes, so c—" You began to walk into the corner you'd been eyeing as the perfect spot, where a wide couch sat before the wall, but Jude took you by the wrist and guided you back to face him.
"Darlin', we're not doin' that in here," he said plainly. His expression was still amused, but he was being serious, because he was still stuck on his refusal to rule-break.
"Why?" you pouted. "You have to hear me out first."
"Alright, whatever—go on," he smirked.
You interlaced both hands with his, and explained your own theory. "So, it's my personal opinion that Tuchel is viewing sexual intercourse in entirely the wrong way."
Jude raised a brow.
"He's saying it's gonna affect your performance, right? That it'll reduce focus and deplete you of energy, or whatever?"
"Orgasms do suck the life out of me sometimes."
You rolled your eyes. "After the fourth round! Not with a quickie. Nobody said we had to fuck all day and night, but I completely disagree with the statement that sex negatively affects performance." Now you stepped forward, dropping one of his hands to run your digits over his collarbone, a sensual smile on your lips. "I think, that really, it can only make a positive difference."
Jude was grinning wide now, entertained by this display of scientific theory governed by nothing other than the empirical evidence of your hormones.
"Do tell," he joked, provoking you to continue.
You giggled. "Well, we all know how difficult sexual frustration is," you sighed, dropping his other hand now and reaching over the crotch of his shorts, where a growing bulge could be felt beneath. "Surely it's unfair for a manager to force his players to deal with such a thing..." As you spoke, you rubbed and squeezed the weight of him, heart racing as you experienced the familiar feeling of his length hardening further under your touch. "And if you're too frustrated... it might only end up backfiring on the team. Tuchel wouldn't want that, would he?"
Jude shook his head, still smirking, because he refused to visibly fold at the way you spoke and fondled him, even while internally he was going insane.
"And you wanna break that rule in here, yeah?" he asked. "In this room?"
"Mhm. Right now, pretty please..." you sung with faux-innocence into his ear, on your tiptoes again to lean into his chest, still kneading your hand over his shorts.
"Pretty please, hm?" he repeated, with a slight mocking tone that sent a deeper rush of arousal through you. Your panties were clinging tight to your glistening folds—you were surely smothered in arousal beneath that fabric.
"Jude..." you whispered, leaning further forward to brush your lips over his neck, breathing in his scent as your tongue darted out within a kiss to the skin.
You heard him hiss, and he felt your reaction, your widening smile just beside his Adam's apple.
“So," he murmured, "first you’re tryna get me to do somethin’ the boss has made illegal, and now you’re tryna get us caught doin’ it too.”
“J…” you beamed innocently, stepping away now and rocking back and forth on your heels. "We won't get caught..."
He shook his head, rolling his eyes with a smile that expressed just how predictable this was. Never would you play by the rules, no matter how high-stakes the game ahead. And again, you truly were a firm believer in your own opposing theory that pre-match sex could only be beneficial to England’s star player. It would excellently boost morale, and that was the most crucial quality in this stage of the competition, right?
Without needing to give another plea, you twirled 180 degrees, before strutting over to the smallest corner of the room, past a row of red light therapy beds. Jude followed in tow.
And there you stood by the plush grey couch, admiring it as the most ideal, most comfortable piece of furniture to have a quickie on. It was almost like it had been placed there for that very purpose. The universe knew to give you the idea that you should enter this specific room, because the act really was what Jude needed, even if he might have fought it initially. Now, he was coming round.
"Sit down, handsome," you smiled, guiding him to do so, and even despite another amused eye roll, he did. He sat up against the back of the couch, settled into the furniture with a demeanour that gave away what words didn't need to. He was on your side now.
You giggled as you straddled him, legs bracketing his strong, muscular thighs. "’m gonna ride you, baby—'n I'll be quick, I promise."
"Better be, sweetheart," he murmured, smacking your ass harshly. You yelped, arching your back and taking that as an incentive to begin rocking over his clothed dick. As you did, you watched him raise his right wrist slightly, checking the time on his watch. "Just under ten minutes now, c'mon. If y' need it that badly, y' gonna have to start speedin' up."
You were grinding down harder now, his dick straining through his boxers, your pussy perfectly prepped in its drenched arousal. There would be no time for foreplay—although it was true that you pretty much always needed it with Jude.
Wasting no more time, you tugged at his waistband, pulling both layers down just enough to free his achingly hard cock. It stood up with a pop, thick veins running all along from base to tip, precum leaking from the slit and down the underside. You almost physically salivated at the sight, as though a dog in heat had met its human form.
"Can't be starin' too long, baby," Jude smirked, rubbing his thumb over your cheek. You were lost in your own world, always amazed by how lucky you were to have this perfect asset waiting for you every single day.
You chuckled, grinning as you pulled your soaked panties to the side and rubbed the weight of him along your dripping sex. The head of his dick provided the perfect friction, and you spent a few moments too long just gliding it up and down your folds, the anticipation of him filling you almost as satisfying as the fullness itself.
Your eyes were clamped shut, revelling in the feeling, but you had a sharp awakening when you felt Jude's hand suddenly slam down on your asscheek again. He was never intentionally too harsh, but your ass was just too pleasing, too pretty to look at...
"C'mon, princess," he ordered, with a raised brow. "Would've been easier if I'd fucked you against that wall, no?"
"No, baby, shut up, 'm fine, just let me—ohhhhh..." Finally, you eased down onto him, hands immediately gripping his shoulders with the impact of his girth stretching your tight walls.
"Aw, that's it..." he both cooed and groaned, hands settling at the curve of your ass to guide your position.
"J, you're so—oh, mmm, God..." You babbled incoherencies while you slowly took every inch, and of course he talked you through it.
"Yeah, that's it, c'mon now, baby... Nearly there..."
"Just a little more... Takin' it so well..."
"Pretty pussy, squeezin' me so tight..."
His words only made you even more insatiable, and as you finally sunk down, his girth nestled perfectly in your heat, you began to bounce. There really was no time to waste, and you hadn't planned on going slow.
"Oh, yes, fuck, that's my girl," Jude moaned beneath you, gripping your hips and your ass so tight that you were certain there'd be bruises if he kept it up.
"Yeah, you love how I bounce on you like this, baby? Feels so good, J..." you whined as you lifted your hips up and down, chasing your peak. You raised your hands to meet your clothed breasts, kneading over the tissue, but wishing the style of fabric had instead allowed for your man's easy access, because his hands on your bare skin was nothing short of heavenly.
The feeling of him filling you up was another slice of heaven, and on his dick you moaned like a whore, rocking back and forth, making figure-eights with your hips.
"So fuckin' tight for me, sweetheart," Jude muttered under his breath, looking up into your ever-fluttering eyes. "Y'so needy, always thinkin' about gettin' fucked..."
You giggled through another whine, placing your hands on his chest now to help with balance as you surrendered your body to him completely. You rode him with force, high-pitched sounds spilling out of your throat with each alteration in movement, and now it was even clearer to you: this was certainly what every player in this World Cup needed to proceed successfully. What could be more galvanising, more energy-inducing, than the inspiring motivation of a woman's sex? You knew Jude would be thinking about this throughout the rest of the day—you knew he'd get flashbacks during the game—but never did that mean a disruptive distraction. No—you were essentially his muse, his source of stimulation to drive him to success, that last piece of the puzzle on top of all the hard work he put in. As your pussy squeezed his aching length (for the fourth time in the last twenty-four hours, mind you), you ascended toward climax, riding impossibly faster while the outside world became a blur, nothing existing but the two of you...
"Oh, Jude, 'm gonna cum—" you nearly screamed, rubbing circles over your clit now, desperate to reach your peak. Beneath you, Jude was bucking up his hips with an eagerness mirroring yours, and with it he groaned profanities.
"Yeah, baby, fuck—need you to cum for me..."
"I'm so close, J, oh, yes..."
The couch, as sturdy as it was, creaked beneath you, and you bounced your ass down onto him as hard as possible, moaning without restraint as Jude grabbed and smacked at the flesh, wet snapping noises echoing throughout the room and surely through the hall. You leaned down to kiss him as you finally came, his tongue swallowing the extent of your lewd sounds, although you'd already made enough of a noise in the last few minutes.
He was so close too, and with a few more thrusts upward into your sweet spot, his orgasm crashed through his sensitive body.
"Shit, I'm gonna cum, oh—that's it, take it, baby..."
Hot ropes of cum shot up into your womb, filling you wholly as you sighed breathlessly into his neck, collapsing forward.
"J, oh my..."
Jude caught his breath too, blinking rapidly to bring himself back to earth. He'd obviously be fine to play tonight, but would he definitely be fine to resume training with his teammates in—he checked his watch again—just two minutes time?
"Shit, darlin', you've got me fucked up," he murmured in your ear, and you smiled wide, peppering kisses all over his face. He mirrored your expression, relishing in your facial kisses, but internally cursing the fact that he'd have to pull out in a moment. His cock was softened now, but your wet, cosy heat felt too heavenly enveloping him, and he wished the rest of the day could be called off so that he could spend it with only you and your ethereal body. In that room, so perfectly entwined, it really did feel like you were the only two people inhabiting the earth.
And Jude's mind might have been still half-focused on his responsibilities, but neither of you expected what came next.
Suddenly, the door creaked open from the opposite end of the room.
"Oh my God—fuck," you both cursed in unison.
Luckily, whoever it was couldn't see you both from that entrance, so, in your shock and panic, you each managed to detach, jump up from the couch and rush over to another corner just in time, fixing yourselves to look presentable.
But there was cum on the couch, and more dripping down your thighs. You'd clean the couch once the person had left, but what were you to do about the sticky mess on your legs? Jude was trying not to laugh, and you kept nudging him, needing to get him to shut up.
"Stop it, you idiot—they'll hear!" you whisper-shouted.
No use, of course; and now the individual was facing you. While earlier you'd praised the universe for granting you the perfect room for sex, you now cursed those same stars for putting you in this horrifying position. Because indeed, the individual facing you was none other than Thomas Tuchel himself.
As he looked you both up and down, you literally almost fainted and threw up at once. The two of you weren't indecent, thankfully, but it was incredibly obvious what you'd been doing. The flustered look on your faces told of that alone. Jude wasn't laughing anymore.
"Had a nice time?" he asked, with a sincerely raised brow.
You both stuttered, and in the awkwardness you decided it had to be Jude to deal with it, because you weren't the one on personal terms with the England manager. Quickly, you rushed into the bathroom just behind you, knowing that no action you made could be more embarrassing than what had just happened, and in there you leaned against the door, clamping your eyes shut in embarrassment.
After a few moments to collect yourself, you then cleaned Jude's cum from your legs, fixed up your hair and your dress, and once player and manager had left the recovery room together, you finally stepped out.
Attending England's training sessions would go on to feel a lot different from then on, and you only hoped that your reckless morning wouldn't make it past those four walls and into a headline.
Warnings: fluff. established relationship. domestic fluff.
Summary: Due to his schedule, Yunho had to cancel plans with Y/N for what felt like the hundredth time. When he comes home late one night, ready to sleep alone, he finds a welcome sight wrapped under his sheets.
Ateez Masterlist
It was one o'clock in the morning when Yunho and Yeosang finally returned to their dorm. They had been at the company all day preparing for their latest comeback, and all Yunho could think about was his bed. The past few hours had dragged on, and Yunho couldn’t concentrate on much; none of the members could.
Yeosang muttered a quiet ‘goodnight’ to him before he shuffled into his own room, closing the door behind him. Yunho took his phone from his pocket. He felt awful. He had originally planned to spend the evening with Y/N, but dance practice had gone on longer than he had originally anticipated. He had sent her a message letting her know hours ago, but he had never received a reply.
It was the fourth time within two weeks that Yunho had to cancel plans. He felt awful about it. Y/N’s schedule had recently become less hectic as she hadn’t needed to work any overtime, so she now had regular days off from her job. Every time she would plan something for her and Yunho to do, even if it was something as simple as ordering food and playing video games, Yunho would have to cancel due to his schedule. Anytime they would see one another in recent weeks, it would be a quick meeting, exchanging a few touches or lingering kisses before either one of them was out the door ready to go to work.
As Yunho shuffled to his bedroom, he heard the quiet sounds of a television. He deduced that it must have been their manager who lived with them, but as Yunho got closer to his room, a soft light emitted from the crack below the door. He pocketed his phone before pushing the door open, and his heart pulled at the sight.
The programme playing on the television was completely ignored as the figure in the centre of the bed peacefully slept. The familiar hoodie Yunho recognised as his own wrapped around her body like an embrace. The brightness from the television lit up the room with a soft light; half of Y/N’s face was cast in shadow.
Yunho closed the door softly behind him, a soft smile pulling at his lips. He wasn’t expecting to see Y/N until at least the weekend, so seeing her now filled him with happiness. He felt bad about disturbing her sleep, but he couldn't help himself as he walked over to the bed. She was wearing a pair of his joggers, the hem bunching around her ankles. Her own jeans were folded neatly and placed next to her bag beside the bed.
As he sat down on the bed, Y/N slightly stirred at the unanticipated dip of the bed. Yunho hovered over her and brushed the hair away from her face.
“Y/N,” he whispered, his other hand caressing her arm.
Y/N mumbled as she stirred again, and Yunho settled more comfortably on the bed. Yunho leaned forward and peppered kisses across her cheek and jaw as he wrapped his arms around her. The scent of his own body wash clung to his skin, indicating that she had showered before she went to sleep.
“What are you doing?” Y/N muttered as she forced open her eyes.
“Loving my girlfriend,” Yunho muttered as he manoeuvred his body again so he rested comfortably on top of her, his lips pressed soft kisses against her neck.
A quiet groan left Y/N’s lips as she wrapped her arms around him. “You're heavy.”
Yunho ignored her as he planted his arms on either side of her so his face hovered above hers. Y/N forced her eyes open once more as her hands planted themselves on the sides of Yunho’s jaw.
“I look awful,” Y/N muttered as she brushed his hair away from his forehead.
Y/N’s hair was a mess amongst the pillows, and she had a small amount of mascara smeared under her left eye that she hadn’t bothered to wipe away before passing out.
“You look beautiful,” Yunho muttered before connecting their lips.
It wasn’t hard to make Y/N melt into his kiss as her body was still heavy with sleep. Her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer. Yunho’s right arm kept him propped up over Y/N so he didn’t completely crush her, while his other snaked around her waist, pulling her body closer to his.
“I’m sorry I had to cancel tonight,” Yunho muttered against her lips.
“You cancelled?” Y/N questioned.
“I sent you a message hours ago,” Yunho replied with a soft chuckle. “It’s one in the morning.”
“Is it?” Y/N said. “Huh? I’ve been asleep for nearly five hours.” Y/N pressed a kiss against his cheek. “How was today?”
“Tiring,” Yunho replied with a sigh. “We’ve gone through the dance so many times, I can do it in my sleep. I swear the past few hours, I’ve been on autopilot.”
Y/N wrapped her arms around Yunho once again and pulled him into a hug, and this time, Yunho’s body melted into hers. The exhaustion had quickly caught up with him, and all he wanted to do was close his eyes, but he wanted to savour these few moments with Y/N. Who knew when they would be able to spend more than a couple of hours with one another again?
“I need to change,” Yunho said despite not making the effort to escape Y/N’s embrace.
Y/N's fingers raked through his hair, lightly scratching at his scalp. Whenever Y/N would do it, Yunho's body would always instantly relax. Even now, he could feel his body get heavier as his body gradually eased further onto hers. Yunho didn't know if they could get any closer.
“You know I typically work on Saturdays?” Y/N questioned, her voice quiet and still heavy with sleep. Yunho hummed a quiet response as his eyes closed. “Well I asked to swap shifts with my coworker so I'm not working tomorrow so if you still have a day off, I'm yours all day.”
Suddenly, Yunho was fully awake. He pulled back from the embrace; his eyes were bright and wide. “Really?”
Y/N nodded, her eyes still threatening to close. “I wanted the whole day with you, not just a quick goodbye in the morning then days on end with barely a phone call.”
“I love you,” Yunho said before firmly pressing his lips to Y/N’s.
Yunho knew that dating him wasn’t easy. His schedule was demanding, and despite the company not enforcing a dating ban, he still wanted to remain private about his relationship as he knew what some possible reactions could be, and he wanted to shield Y/N from that as best he could.
“I love you too,” Y/N whispered against his lips.
For a brief moment, Yunho pulled away to quickly change into more comfortable clothing, the first he pulled out of the drawer. Y/N only flipped the covers up and rolled onto her side, discarding his hoodie in favour of him. Yunho quickly slipped under the covers, immediately pulling Y/N into his arms, her back pressed flush against his chest.
Yunho’s energy was depleting the longer he forced his eyes open. Y/N’s breathing became shallower and shallower as she relaxed deeper into Yunho’s hold until he was sure she was asleep. Even in her sleep, Y/N’s hand still held firmly onto the arm Yunho had wrapped around her waist. Yunho’s eyes closed as he pressed a gentle kiss to the back of her head, his senses being invaded by the familiar scent of her shampoo, a scent that always comforted Yunho. Soon enough, Yunho’s body fully relaxed with Y/N wrapped tightly in his arms as he drifted off to sleep.
Summary
"I am looking at you," he choked out, a ragged exhale brushing over your lips, tasting faintly of winter and desperation. "That’s the goddamn problem. It’s all I ever do."
The confession hung in the air, thick and uncertain, like a match held over a trail of gasoline. His eyes dropped down to your mouth, tracking the slight parting of your lips with a raw hunger that made your knees turn to liquid.
"Seonghwa," you whispered his name, a soft, deliberate plea that shattered the last of his iron restraint. You didn't wait for him to cross the line.
You dragged him over it.
A/N
At last, I finally mustered the energy to finish this one lmao. I've never written anything this long, so I hope I didn't bore you too much in the first 9k words xd
service top!park seonghwa, whiny!park seonghwa, dom/sub undertones, seonghwa is whipped for the reader, yearning, angst?, forced proximity, minor woosan, possessive!park seonghwa
The tires of the SUV had been spinning uselessly in the deep snow for about twenty minutes before the engine let out one final, desperate, and exhausted grunt—completely dying and leaving you, your manager, your brooding bodyguard, and your driver stranded at the edge of a long forgotten logging road.
This entire trip had been your childhood friend-turned-manager's brilliant idea; a remote cabin rented specifically for your upcoming movie shoot under the insistence that isolating you a whole week early would perfectly immerse you in the script’s atmospheric mindset.
At the time, Wooyoung had treated it like the greatest breakthrough of his career.
Knowing Wooyoung, it clearly wasn’t.
So when the car had come to a halt, a mixture of sighs and groans filling the tense air, it had become glaringly obvious that your dear manager had forgotten to check the weather forecast for today.
A low groan in your throat had turned Wooyoung around from where he was sitting in the passenger seat, giving you a weak, apologetic smile while insisting that you should look on the bright side of this predicament. The bright side—or the silver lining, as he had called it—being that the cabin was only a mere 15-minute walk from where they had stopped.
Wooyoung had even insisted that trudging through the blinding, wet terrain would put you right into the headspace of your character. The first five minutes he had stood by that statement, rambling on about how he had given you an advantage in the bad luck you were having.
He went quiet the second you had to practically fight through the freezing wind during the remaining ten minutes, and you couldn’t help but internally curse at your friend. ‘Silver lining my ass,’ you thought.
Turns out, stepping inside the cabin hadn’t been of much help either.
The air was painfully cold and brittle, a bit better than the winds outside, but the lack of heat was still there. Every breath filled your lungs like shattered glass, harsh and unpleasant, and by the looks of the other three, they felt the same.
You pulled your arms tight against your chest, shivering violently as you watched your breath flower into a thick white mist, mixing with the other men’s as Wooyoung stepped forward, grabbing a small clipboard containing a note that sat idly on top of a dusty wooden table.
Wooyoung sighed as he read the note. ”Great." He rolled his eyes in annoyance, a hint of sarcasm in his tone. "The main generator is completely shot."
The heavy wooden table groaned slightly as he tossed the clipboard back onto the dusty surface. "We're stuck here until the blizzard clears. At least until tomorrow morning," he continued, the raw exhaustion of the storm openly bleeding through his voice as he looked away from the three of you, like he was embarrassed for being the cause of this.
The room fell silent except for the faint sounds of the storm shaking the structure of the cabin, turning even louder, almost like it was provoking the four of you—waiting for either of you to break.
But San, your driver, stepped up directly besides Wooyoung, knuckles lightly brushing against the shorter man's tense shoulder in a subtle, practiced movement like it was meant to ground him.
"We have dry wood for the fireplace, and the roof is solid," San said softly, his voice cutting through the chill as he offered Wooyoung a small, comforting smile, making his eyes crinkle and those familiar dimples appear on his cheeks. "We'll be fine, Woo."
A silent look passed between the two men, a quiet, almost intimate understanding that didn’t require spoken words. It made a genuine smile tug at your frozen lips, like a necessary pocket of warmth contrasting the freezing chaos of the cabin as it wrapped around a familiar ache spreading across your chest.
It was a warmth you so desperately craved but was so far out of reach. A heavy stab of shame suddenly tightened your chest, recollecting the nights you had spent with Wooyoung without the limitations of him being your manager. How achingly much he had needed that comfort too. It cut you deep to remember how hard you had worked him over the last few years, inadvertently denying him the very tenderness he needed and deserved.
So when San had been hired as your driver, it hadn’t been difficult to notice the lingering stares or the unnecessary, yet careful and deliberate, touches exchanged between them. You had seen the way Wooyoung’s posture, rigid from the sheer exhaustion after a grueling day of press junkets and relentless award shows, entirely dissolve the moment San stepped within arm’s reach.
Back during your first major career breakthrough, when the paparazzi were at their absolute worst and the media felt suffocating, watching them had filled you with an almost bittersweet fondness. Though they never spoke about the relationship they so desperately tried to hide, their quiet bond had always managed to keep you grounded. A silent anchor that allowed you to dare dream of one day sharing that same fierce, protective closeness with someone of your own.
But—like every fragile comfort on this trip—the brief moment of warmth and hope quickly evaporated the second a heavy, familiar shadow fell over your shoulders.
Seonghwa stepped fully into the main room, marching towards the heavy wooden door protecting you from the outside winds to lock it with a deliberate click of the deadbolt. He finally turned around on his heels, facing the three of you huddled together from the cold. He pulled off his thick tactical gloves, the dark leather creaking loudly in the quiet hum of the cabin as his dark, unyielding eyes immediately locked onto yours.
Not Wooyoung.
Not San.
His entire universe instantly narrowed down the second his gaze found yours, routinely scanning your face for any signs of distress, measuring the distance between your body and the door with his usual terrifying calculated precision. You couldn’t help but freeze under the intense gaze, instantly trapped by the same suffocating tension that has stretched between you for two long years. A heavy, unspoken weight that always made the air feel a bit too thick to swallow, seeping through the cold air.
You weren’t unfamiliar with that look. Seonghwa had always looked at you like that. Like he wanted to scold you for being too careless. Like he wanted to lock you away where the rest of the world wouldn’t dare to touch you, to hurt you—where the sheer, suffocating intensity of his gaze never stopped the terrifying, irrational thought that all he saw, and all he ever cared to see, was you.
“The perimeter is secure,” Seonghwa murmured, his voice a low, firm tone that vibrated right through the old floorboards before settling deep in your chest. “But the temperature is dropping. Fast”
A choked breath escaped you when he finally diverted his gaze from yours. “Maybe someone so careless shouldn’t have been in charge of our stay,” Seonghwa continued, his cold and expressionless facade never faltering—save for the silent daggers he threw at Wooyoung through his eyes.
Wooyoung scoffed, glaring right back. “There is a fireplace, Mr. I-Love-Complaining," Wooyoung snapped, gesturing aggressively toward the large fireplace across the room. "We just have to keep warm,” he sighed. “And I don't think the owners can get here anyway, given the state of things out there."
Outside, the snow was beating furiously against the structure, the faint, haunting howls of the wind echoing down the chimney.
“Fuck, it’s cold," you shivered through chattering teeth, wrapping your arms tighter around yourself, shoulders hunching instinctively as another violent shudder rattled your frame.
San frowned with immediate, protective concern. "Here," he said softly, his hand already moving to the zipper of his own heavy winter jacket. "Take mine. I have a thick thermal underneath anyway, I'll be fine—"
"No."
The word cut through the room like a blade hitting ice. Sharp. Flat.
Seonghwa stepped forward before San could even pull his arms out of his sleeves, his taller frame effectively blocking the dim, flickering light of the lantern on top of the table. It cast a long, intimidating shadow right over your body as he physically inserted himself into the space between you and San, a dominant, territorial movement that instantly made the air in the room turn stagnant and suffocatingly heavy. Your breath hitched.
“She wears mine,” Seonghwa asserted, his fingers already unbuttoning his coat with efficient, practiced movements.
Your brows knitted together in a slight furrow, a sharp flash of irritation shooting through your spine. “I think San’s jacket will work just fine, too.”
Seonghwa clenched his jaw. “Just do as I say.”
“San has been my driver longer than you’ve been my bodyguard, Seonghwa,” you scoffed. “I don’t need your permission to take his jacket—”
“It isn’t about permission,” he snapped before stepping closer. The radiating heat of his body hit your face like a physical wall in the freezing room, holding out his massive, dark coat while his eyes kept locked onto yours with an uncomfortable and exposing intensity. “It’s about safety. Protocol.”
"Protocol?" You let out a sharp, mocking breath, chest heaving under your layers. "He’s my friend. You're being ridiculous. You've been doing this for two years—treating every single person who breathes near me like an enemy aching to strike. It's exhausting."
Seonghwa didn’t blink. His jaw tightened, clenching as he stared down at you, gaze pinning you to the floorboards. He lowered his head slightly, his voice dropping into a fierce, private murmur meant strictly for your ears.
"Sometimes the people closest to you can hurt you the most. And my job is to eliminate all risks.” He shoved the coat against your chest. “Wear the coat."
There was a lingering weight behind his words. Like an unspoken history or a deep-seated paranoia that you couldn’t quite decipher, leaving a ringing silence in its wake where a now uncomfortable, awkward friction settled over the room.
You could see Wooyoung shift his weight from one foot to the other through the corner of your eyes, his own eyes darting between you and your bodyguard with a mixture of confusion and growing annoyance. San stood quietly beside him, slowly zipping his own jacket back up in defeat, his expression carefully guarded.
You knew this was a losing battle—it always was—and even though you loathed how much your body was craving warmth ever since the car had decided to give up, you aggressively snatched the coat from his hands. But from the aggressiveness of it, your fingers accidentally brushed against Seonghwa’s bare wrist where his dress shirt had ridden up from taking off his coat. The sudden warmth sent an electric jolt straight up your arm, breath hitching in your throat as the two of you stilled.
Not wanting to address the funny feeling pooling low in your stomach, you threw the heavy material over your shoulders, instantly engulfing you. It smelled entirely, intoxicatingly of him. A heavy blend of the raging storm outside—crisp pine and a grounding musk mixed with a hint of vanilla and coffee—making your head spin with every shuddering inhale.
Wooyoung cleared his throat loudly, the sound forced and awkward. "Right." His eyes lingered on the two of you before continuing, "We need a concrete plan to stay warm. The temperature is going to keep dropping, and I'd prefer we don't freeze to death before the first day of shooting."
“There should be spare blankets,” Seonghwa replied, his voice returning to that same detached, professional cadence as he turned towards Wooyoung.
Yet, his head remained subtly angled in your direction, his eyes never truly releasing you. "It is an Airbnb in the middle of winter, after all. The owners wouldn't leave a property completely unequipped for a freeze."
The manager sighed. "Great. I'll check the upstairs closets with San." He ran a hand through his hair before gesturing for the driver to follow him toward the creaking wooden staircase. "Let's pray there's something better than dusty sheets up there. Come on, Sannie.”
Wooyoung’s gaze lingered softly on you for a moment before his lips smoothed into a straight line, offering you a comforting nod. It was the same unspoken gesture he always gave you in the midst of chaos. A silent promise to let you know he was only ever a heartbeat away.
As their heavy footsteps faded up the stairs, the sound of their quiet murmuring was swallowed by the cabin and the storm raging outside, leaving the main room in a tense, ringing silence.
You stayed glued to your spot by the fireplace, fingers buried deep in the oversized pockets of Seonghwa's coat. A soft hum escaped your lips as you pulled the high, stiff collar tighter around your neck—partially to block out the biting draft, but mostly to hide the deep shade of red that had so suddenly flushed your cheeks.
Seonghwa stood perfectly still across the room, eyes lingering momentarily on you before going back to whatever it was he was doing. It didn’t keep his focus for long, though. His attention kept flicking back to you, his gaze tracing the subtle yet rapid rise and fall of your chest through the dim, amber glow of the lantern. A lump formed deep in your throat, warmth spreading across every part of your body the coat surrounded.
His expression was one you had seen a thousand times over the last two years. A dark, unreadable mask that you had never quite been able to figure out. It was a look that usually kept you on your toes. It made you defensive. Guarded. And a bit annoyed, if you were completely honest.
But tonight, with the evidence of the day's regrettable events lingering in the air like a thick fog, that familiar weight felt tenfold more intense. Like there was a dangerous, volatile sharpness to the way he was watching you.
You felt your breath hitch, noises of the storm slowly fading out as the thud of your hammering heart was the only thing you could hear the second his eyes slowly dropped to your lips. Something in his eyes shifted, his tongue darting out to lick the seam of his bottom lip before his gaze locked back onto your own.
He held an expression thick with words left unsaid, so heavy and demanding it knocked the air straight out of your lungs. You felt exposed. Naked. Like he could see right through you.
You tried to brush it off, unconvincingly claiming it to be a mere security assessment and definitely not what felt like an interrogation. But you couldn't help the heart beating violently against your ribs, desperately trying to understand why...
Why a man who claimed to just be doing his job was looking at you like you were the only thing left in the world. Like a cherished treasure.
The thudding footsteps of Wooyoung and San returning from upstairs broke the suffocating silence, each carrying a meager stack of stiff, faded wool blankets. A slow, heavy exhale left your lips at the sight of your friend, your previous rigid and clenched posture melting away.
“This is the best we could find,” Wooyoung grumbled, dropping a couple of the rough blankets onto the sofa placed in front of the unlit fireplace. He frowned, like he had expected you to at least prepare a fire while the two of them were upstairs.
A rattle caught his attention, the frown melting into a sigh as he headed straight for the far corner of the room, where a draft was visibly rattling the frosted windowpane. “The glass is a bit loose here. We should block the gap before starting the fire.”
San was already moving with him, pulling a roll of heavy-duty duct tape from his backpack. Ignoring the confusion as to why he kept a roll of duct tape in his backpack, you took it as your cue to move, desperate to shake off the paralyzing awareness of Seonghwa's eyes.
“I'll prepare the fire, then. Until you're done,” you offered, your voice sounding slightly tighter than usual as you stepped towards a small pile of split logs near the fireplace.
You bent down, but before your fingers could even wrap around the rough bark, a large, dark shadow eclipsed you.
Seonghwa was already there, sweeping in so silently it caught the breath deep in your throat. His large hand clamped onto the piece of wood you were reaching for, knuckles brushing firmly against yours.
A familiar heat coiled in your abdomen before you pulled your hand back from the accidental scrape of his skin against yours, as if you had been burned, your pulse spiking.
“I got it,” Seonghwa murmured. Tone flat and professional, contrasting the flare of his eyes from the sharp intensity as he looked down at you. He used his body to subtly nudge you away from the hearth. “The wood is splintered. You'll cut your hands. Stand back.”
You huffed at that. “I am perfectly capable of carrying a log,” you snapped under your breath, a prickly wave of irritation rising to mask the sudden, erratic fluttering in your chest.
You stepped around him, determined to prove a point, and reached for a smaller piece of kindling. Again, he moved. His chest subtly blocking your path, his shoulder passing so close to yours that the fabric of his shirt brushed against your clothed arm.
He reached past you, his larger arm completely separating you from the woodpile. “You'll get hurt. I'll handle it. Your job is to stay warm.”
You let out a sharp, frustrated breath, retreating a few steps. It was infuriating.
For two years it had been like this. Two years of this constant, suffocating hovering. This maddening insistence on treating you like something precious. Something fragile. You told yourself you hated it. You told yourself his overprotectiveness was a nuisance, a textbook display of a stubborn bodyguard taking his contract way too seriously.
But as you stood there, wrapped in the heavy warmth of his coat, a traitorous and confusing ache settled deep in your stomach. You didn't want to admit how much his total, unwavering focus made your heart hum.
You dragged your attention across the room, desperate to find any leverage to anchor yourself from the flutter in your chest as your gaze settled on the two men working on the window. Wooyoung was shivering, his shoulders hunched as he held a piece of cardboard against the draft while San tore off a strip of tape to secure it.
Blissfully unaware of the lingering eyes, San took Wooyoung's reddened hands into his own, lifting them to his lips. He breathed a low, steady stream of warm air over Wooyoung's knuckles, his eyes fixed on the smaller man with an unhurried, profound tenderness.
Wooyoung's entire posture melted. A soft, private smile spread across his face as he leaned his forehead briefly against San's shoulder, puffs of white mist escaping his lips from what you could only assume were giggles.
A bittersweet ache twisted in your chest as you watched them. A sudden, hollow yearning that caught you completely off guard. It was a beautiful, quiet kind of intimacy. A safe harbor where two people simply trusted each other.
You found yourself staring, completely captivated by the effortless softness of it, wondering—just for a fleeting second—what it would feel like to have someone look at you with that kind of raw devotion.
You glanced away, blinking rapidly like it could hide emotions bubbling behind your eyes. You swallowed past a dry throat before you stopped dead in your tracks. Seonghwa.
He hadn't been looking at the woodpile.
He had been watching you.
He had caught the exact moment your chest hitched. Caught the lingering, envious look you cast at the two men by the window, his dark eyes tracking the heavy rise and fall of your chest.
The silence between you stretched, charged with an unsaid understanding. He knew exactly what you were looking at, and the rigid set of his jaw told you he was burning with a dark, unreadable frustration of his own.
Desperate to break the suffocating spell, you turned on your heel, looking for any excuse to escape his vicinity.
“I'll look for a better lantern,” you announced, your voice trembling slightly.
You spotted a tall, heavy wooden shelving unit tucked into the shadows at the back of the cabin. On the very top shelf, three thick, vintage brass lanterns sat coated in dust, alongside a folded tartan blanket.
You strode over to it, ignoring the way Seonghwa's boots immediately shifted on the creaking floorboards behind you.
The shelf was tall, towering over your head, and the old wood let out a brittle, ominous creak as you stepped up on your tiptoes. You stretched your arms up, tongue darting out in concentration as your fingers just barely brushed the cold brass of one of the lanterns.
“Don't,” Seonghwa's voice barked from across the room, sharp and sudden. “It's unstable.”
Your brows furrowed. “I can reach it,” you persisted, fueled by a reckless need to defy him. To prove that you didn't need his protection or that stupid protocol. You leaned more of your weight forward, straining your fingers just an inch further.
You miscalculated.
The moment your hand gripped the heavy brass, the rotten wooden supports of the shelf violently splintered. A sickening crack echoed through the cabin as the massive, heavy unit gave way under the shifting weight, the top shelf tilting forward. The heavy brass lanterns and a cascade of solid wooden beams came hurtling straight down towards your face.
Your breath hitched. You couldn't scream. Couldn't move. All you could do was stare up at the falling mass in pure, paralyzed terror.
A massive force hit you from the side. A solid, unstoppable wall of heat and muscle slammed into your torso as Seonghwa had lunged across the space with terrifying speed.
His large arms instantly wrapped around your waist, crushing you against his chest as he threw his entire body over yours, twisting midair to shield you.
The impact was brutal. You were slammed hard into the wooden floorboards, your breath violently knocked out of your lungs in a sharp gasp. But you couldn't feel the hard wood. Or the pain.
You could only feel him.
Seonghwa took the entire force of the crash, his large frame acting as a human shield against the wooden shelf and brass lanterns coming crashing down, splintering violently against his shoulders and down on the floor around you.
A deafening silence followed the crash, save for the howling wind outside and the frantic shouting of Wooyoung and San scrambling across the room. But you couldn't hear them.
Your mind flooded with thoughts as you were pinned flat against the floor, completely trapped beneath the crushing, heavy weight of Seonghwa's chest.
He didn't let go.
His grip was bruising, his large hands clutching at your waist and burying into the fabric of the coat with a white-knuckled, frantic desperation—like he was still trying to pull you deeper into his safety.
You looked up, your vision spinning, and found his face a mere inch from yours. He was trembling, his chest heaving frantically against yours as he gasped for air, breath hot and ragged against your face. The usual stone-cold facade had shattered into dust, eyes completely blown out with terror.
“Are you hurt?” he choked out, his voice a wrecked, breathless whisper, completely stripped of its usual composure.
“I-I'm fine,” you stammered, voice barely audible.
He let out a shuddering, broken exhale as his forehead dropped down to press briefly against your shoulder, right against the collar of his own coat. His jaw brushed innocently against the sensitive skin of your ear, sending a fierce and almost dizzying shiver straight down your spine.
He was breathing you in like a drowning man, his heart hammering so violently against your chest that you couldn't tell where his pulse ended and yours began.
As you laid there, pinned by his heat, the pieces you had fiercely been ignoring for two long years suddenly began to misalign and click into a terrifying new shape. This wasn't just a bodyguard doing his job. A man doesn't look this broken, this terrified, this utterly undone by a routine safety hazard.
And as your fingers instinctively tightened against the fabric of his shirt, a suffocating realization began to bleed between the lines of your panic.
You didn't hate his hovering. You never did. You've been yearning for this exact, crushing weight, completely starved for the overwhelming intensity of his touch.
For one more antagonizing fraction of a second, Seonghwa remained entirely frozen on top of you before a sudden, sharp clarity seemed to hit—as if he had just realized exactly how much he let slip. How entirely unhinged his panic must have looked to the room.
Almost instantly, the vulnerability vanished, masked by a sudden, terrifying flash of fury.
He pulled away like your skin had burned him, his jaw locked into a rigid, defensive line as he pushed himself up off the floor. The usual facade slammed back down, twisted into something far harsher, an unreasonable biting anger meant to bury what he had just exposed.
“What the hell were you thinking?” he snapped, his voice dropping into a harsh, venomous hiss as he glared down at you from his full height. “I told you it was unstable. Are you completely incapable of following a simple order? Your recklessness could have gotten you crushed!”
You blinked up at him from the floor, completely stunned by the whiplash of his sudden fury, your heart still hammering against your ribs. “I‐I was just trying to get the lanterns—”
“I don't care what you were trying to do,” he cut you off. His tone was icy. Unreasonable. Defensive. “You don't touch anything in a structurally compromised environment. You stay where I can see you, and you let me do my job. Is that concept too difficult for you to grasp?”
“Hey! Back off, dude!” Wooyoung's voice broke through as he kicked a splintered wood aside, stepping forcefully between you and Seonghwa to help you get on your feet, his eyes wide with defensive anger. “Chill the fuck out. She just wanted to help.”
San stepped up right behind Wooyoung, his hand resting firmly on your manager's arm to keep him from escalating. His eyes remained fixed on Seonghwa with a quiet, observant intensity. “She's fine, Seonghwa. We're all fine. The shelf was old, it was just an accident.”
Seonghwa's eyes stayed rigidly fixed on the floorboards next to you, his expression cold and unreadable. Yet, despite the familiar wall he was trying so hard to build back up, there was something so glaringly obvious unraveling the man.
The subtle, uncontrollable tremor in his fingers. The rigid, unnatural stiffness of his shoulders. The way he refused to look you in the eye—it all betrayed him. The mask was cracked, and no matter how much he barked about safety or protocol, you could see the desperate, chaotic energy humming right underneath his skin.
Without another word, Seonghwa turned on his heel and marched towards the dark kitchen, his heavy boots echoing like a rhythmic countdown in the quiet room.
— ☆
As the storm raged on outside, the cabin shifted back into its usual silent awkwardness. The hours bled together in a slow, suffocating crawl, with each of you retreating to your own corners to do your respective tasks. San had managed to scavenge a pair of small, battery-driven lanterns from one of the upstairs closets, placing them on the mantle and surfaces scattered across the main room.
The space was much better lit now, casting a steady, white glow over the room that felt almost too exposing, illuminating every tense line of the cabin.
Wooyoung and San had quietly finished securing the draft window, their whispered conversations acting as a low hum against the howling wind. You remained curled on the sofa, still engulfed in the dizzying smell of Seonghwa's coat.
You tried to read the script pages in your lap, but the words blurred into meaningless shapes. Every time you closed your eyes, you felt the crushing weight of Seonghwa's chest against yours. The desperate pressure of his fingers through your clothes and the terrifying, furious wall he had rebuilt the second he realized his control had unwillingly slipped.
Across the room, Seonghwa stood like a statue near the kitchen threshold, his arms crossed, silently tracking the perimeter—tracking you—leaving a trail of heavy silence hanging between you that grew more suffocating with every passing hour.
Before the midnight silence completely took over, there was a brief, fragile pocket of normalcy.
The old kitchen stove was a traditional gas model, requiring no electricity to function. And Wooyoung—desperate to soothe his frayed nerves after the shelf incident—managed to heat up a pot of milk, turning it into a rich, steaming hot chocolate that the three of you drank while huddled on the couch and on the floorboards directly in front of the fireplace.
With the heavy storm howling outside, you finally had a moment to truly take in the layout of the cabin without the immediate panic of the crash clouding your mind. The space was fairly big, built from heavy, exposed pine logs that had blackened with age. A steep, creaking wooden staircase cut straight up the center of the main room, leading up to a narrow loft landing where two small bedrooms sat side by side.
Across the room, entirely excluded from your small circle of warmth, Seonghwa sat in a rigid wooden chair near the dark kitchen entryway, next to the stairs. He hadn't touched the mug. He hadn't moved an inch to rest. His large frame completely still as he did his duty.
Wooyoung set his empty mug down, yawning heavily as he glanced from you to the dark figure in the corner.
"San and I will take the two bedrooms on the top floor," Wooyoung said, his voice dripping with a lazy, sarcastic edge as he deliberately poked fun at your bodyguard’s rigid posture. "That way, our resident shadow can stay down here and be in perfect reach if a rogue snowflake tries to attack the front door. You should probably head up to bed soon, too."
You snorted at the comment and offered a tired, faint smile, swirling the last of the dark liquid in your mug. "I need some time to collect my thoughts. Besides, it would be incredibly rude of me not to finish your delicious hot chocolate."
Wooyoung huffed a laugh, fond but exhausted, before standing up. He and San made their way up the creaking stairs, their shadows stretching long against the timber walls under the stark white glow of the battery-driven lanterns. You stayed glued on the couch, listening to the heavy wood groan under their weight.
There were two separate bedrooms up there. Yet, in the quiet structure of the house, you only heard a single wooden door click open, followed by the faint, muffled sound of quiet giggles before the latch snapped shut.
A genuine, soft smile tugged at your lips. It was so painfully obvious. A sweet secret that made your chest ache with a sudden, hollow envy.
"They are incredibly obvious," a low, gravelly baritone cut through the silence, making you jump. "It almost makes me sick."
You turned your head sharply. Seonghwa had stepped out of the shadows and was crossing the small hallway leading to the two rooms, hovering just a few feet next to the fireplace in front of you.
There was a rare, faint chuckle catching in the back of his throat—a rough, unpracticed sound that completely caught you off guard. He was actually making fun of them, a tiny, human glimpse of amusement cracking through his armor.
The sudden vulnerability frustrated you, the lingering adrenaline from the afternoon twisting into a sharp, defensive knot in your throat.
You turned your entire body to face him, your eyes narrowing. "Just because you are entirely incapable of feeling human emotions or expressing them does not mean their affection is disgusting, Seonghwa."
Seonghwa froze.
The small, rare trace of amusement instantly vanished from his face, his dark eyes widening slightly as he stared down at you, completely appalled and caught off guard by the sudden bitterness of your snap.
The silence between you stretched, the air turning thick enough to swallow.
"Incapable?" he repeated, the word leaving his lips like a low, dangerous warning. He stepped forward, jaw tightening so hard a muscle jumped in his cheek. "You think I don't feel anything?"
"Yes," you challenged, carefully putting down the mug before crossing your arms and getting up to take a deliberate step towards him. "Because you don't. You just stand there like a statue, watching me, judging me, and then you shut down. If you actually have a single human emotion inside you, say it. Because I am tired of guessing."
He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing, and for the first time in two years, his unyielding gaze faltered. He looked away from you, staring at the dark wooden floorboards, his hands clenching into tight fists at his sides.
You could see the exact moment the internal battle took hold of him—his shoulders were rigid, his chest heaving under the tight dress shirt as he took a long, ragged breath. He wanted to snap back. Wanted to retreat into the shadows, but he was trapped.
"I can't," he choked out, strangled rasp you barely recognized.
"What do you mean you can't?" you demanded, taking another step closer, daringly shrinking the space between you. "It's a simple question, Seonghwa. Why do you treat me like this?"
"Because it isn't fair!" he suddenly snapped, his head whipping back up. His eyes were blown out, swimming with a desperation that made your breath catch.
He took a half-step backward, trying to create distance between your bodies, but the wall pinned you both in the narrow circle of light.
"It isn’t fair to you, and it damn sure isn't fair to me.” He took a deep breath. “If I say it—if I let myself even think it—everything falls apart. Do you understand me? Our lives, my job, everything we’ve built for two years. It ruins all of it."
You blinked, completely stunned, mind scrambling to make sense of the gnawing panic in his voice. "What are you talking about? What ruins it?"
"Don't push me," he whispered, a dark, desperate edge bleeding into his tone as his fingers trembled against his thighs. "Please. Just—go. Go to bed."
"No," you said, your voice remarkably steady despite the chaotic hammering of your heart. You refused to back down now.
You closed the remaining distance, stepping directly into his personal space until your chest was practically brushing his.
You looked up into his striking face, eyes boring into his. "I'm not going anywhere until you explain what the fuck you mean, Seonghwa. Look at me. Why are you so terrified of me?"
"I'm not terrified of you," he breathed, his breath hot and ragged against you. The sheer proximity was intoxicating.
He looked completely undone, his rigid professional armor cracking and splintering right before your eyes under the pressure of your stubbornness. "I'm terrified of what I’ll do if I stop fighting."
"Then stop fighting," you whispered.
A harsh, broken sound—halfway between a scoff and a groan—caught in the back of his throat. He closed his eyes tightly for a single second, his head shaking as if he were trying to clear madness out of his brain.
"My entire life, I’ve been trained to lock it away," he whispered, his voice dropping into a raw, wrecked confession, the words practically dragged out of him against his will. "I was told that I felt too much. That my emotions made me a liability, a danger. I spent years forcing myself to become cold, to become a machine so I wouldn't ruin everything. I thought I was good at it."
He opened his eyes, and the sheer intensity in his dark gaze left you utterly breathless. He didn't move away this time. He leaned down slightly, his face a mere inch from yours, his unyielding focus pinning you to the floor.
"But with you, I can't," he admitted, a faint curse slipping past his lips as the final walls of his restraint violently crumbled. "No matter how many protocols I follow, no matter how hard I try to focus on the goddamn perimeter, you are always there. Just existing. Pulling me out of the dark and giving me a taste of what it actually feels like to feel again. It’s driving me completely crazy. I look at you, and I forget everything I need to be."
He reached out, his large, trembling hand hovering just shy of your jaw—like he was desperate to cup your cheek but paralyzed by the final, terrifying realization of what he was doing.
"I am your bodyguard, for fuck's sake," he gasped. "I am supposed to protect you. I am not supposed to look at you and want to take advantage of the fact that you are entirely mine to guard. I am not supposed to look at your lips and want to devour you until there's nothing left."
You looked up into the dark depths of his eyes, and the final piece of the puzzle violently locked into place inside your chest. It wasn’t just him. It had never been just him.
"Then stop looking at me like a contract," your voice cut through the quiet hum of the room, your hear a thudding pulse against your ribs. You lifted your chin, refusing to let him retreat into the shadows of his mind. "Stop hiding behind the protocol, Seonghwa. Look at me. Just ...look at me."
"I am looking at you," he choked out, a ragged exhale brushing over your lips, tasting faintly of winter and desperation. "That’s the goddamn problem. It’s all I ever do."
The confession hung in the air, thick and uncertain, like a match held over a trail of gasoline. His eyes dropped down to your mouth, tracking the slight parting of your lips with a raw hunger that made your knees turn to liquid.
"Seonghwa," you whispered his name, a soft, deliberate plea that shattered the last of his iron restraint. You didn't wait for him to cross the line.
You dragged him over it.
You reached up, your small hand closing firmly over his bare, burning wrist, pulling his hand that last agonizing distance until his palm finally met your cheek.
A jagged spike of heat shot straight up your arm, and a needy groan was violently ripped from the back of Seonghwa's throat at the sensation of your skin against his. His fingers instantly flexed, his grip firm yet careful as his large hand framed your soft skin, his thumb pressing hard into your cheekbone.
And then he lurched forward. Soft lips crashed onto yours, hungry, frantic, and completely starved. His lips were hot and demanding, bruising yours as he devoured the heat of your mouth with a breathless urgency
You let out a muffled, dizzy gasp against his mouth, your hands instantly clawing upward to grip the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, desperate to bury yourself in his solid weight. He answered the movement by wrapping his other arm around your waist, lifting you nearly off your feet as he turned the two of you around, slamming your back against the very wall you had him cornered against.
The impact was sharp, and a gasp tore from your lips. Seonghwa’s tongue traced along the seam of your bottom lip, a faint moan escaping as you gave him access. He explored every crevice, every corner of your mouth, like he was memorizing it, tongue tangling with yours in a desperate, slippery rhythm that left you both gasping, your head spinning into absolute chaos.
The wet warmth of his mouth and the intoxicating scent of his musk completely flooded your senses until you couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t remember anything but the burning desire of his unwavering attention.
He groaned again, a deep, vibrating sound that rumbled straight from his chest into yours, his large hand sliding down to grip the back of your neck, fingers burying deep into your hair to tilt your head back, exposing the vulnerable line of your throat to his absolute mercy.
He broke the kiss for a fraction of a second as a trail of spit connected at your lips, both of you panting, completely consumed by each other's taste.
"You're going to ruin me," he whispered against your skin, his voice broken in defeat. "You know that, don't you? I'm completely ruined."
"Good," you breathed out, your fingers tightening in his hair, pulling him back down to your lips. "Ruin me too."
He found your mouth again, and the kiss instantly grew hungrier. Needier. Hotter. The sheer friction of his lips against yours made your brain short-circuit, and all your skin was screaming for was the intolerable barrier of your clothes.
You needed him bare. You needed to feel the solid, burning expanse of his skin against yours.
Your hands left his hair, your fingers scrambling frantically for the buttons of his shirt, your movements uncoordinated and desperate. You managed to undo the first two, knuckles brushing the scalding, smooth skin of his collarbone.
Suddenly, his large, warm hands snapped around your wrists, pulling them away from his chest and instead pinning them against the wall on either side of your head.
He looked at you, panting, a look of fear clouding his features. Even now, he was fighting his own suffocating lust, terrified that tomorrow morning you'd wake up and look at him with regret.
"Are you completely sure?" he asked. His eyes frantically searched yours with a vulnerable intensity. "Look at me. Tell me to stop right now and I will step away. I swear to god I will walk out that door if this isn't what you want. We don't have to do this—don't do something you'll regret tomorrow. I can't take that from you. Please."
You stared up at him, your vision swimming with frustration and a yearning so deep it felt like a physical ache in your gut. You looked at his tightened jaw and the dark, desperate pools of his eyes, and you decided you were entirely done with his hesitation.
"I need you, Seonghwa," you stated, your voice cutting through his panic, steady and laced with a fierce, demanding heat. You twisted your wrists in his grip, refusing to back down an inch. "So if you don't shut up and fuck me within the next five minutes, I will personally throw you outside into the blizzard."
Seonghwa froze. For a fraction of a second, he just stared at you, completely taken aback, his lips parted in utter disbelief at the sheer audacity of your threat.
Then, the rigid tension in his shoulders suddenly cracked. A low, rough chuckle broke from his chest—a sound so rich, surprised, and deeply fond it made your heart leap. The hesitation in his eyes quickly faltered, replaced instantly by a heavy wave of pure, unbridled lust.
"Five minutes?" he murmured, his voice dropping into a dangerous, gravelly purr that sent a shiver straight to your core. His grip on your wrists tightened, his thumbs stroking the sensitive skin of your pulse points as he leaned down, his mouth brushing against the shell of your ear. "You're getting impatient."
He released your wrists only to scoop his arms under your thighs, lifting you completely off the floorboards in one powerful, effortless motion. You let out a soft gasp, your legs instinctively wrapping around his thin waist as your hands flew to his shoulders for balance.
He carried you past the central staircase, stepping into the dark hallway where your two separate bedrooms sat. The ambient heat from the stones radiated through the shadows, warming the narrow corridor as he guided you straight into his room.
When he lowered you onto the bed, the mattress groaned softly beneath your combined weight, and for a dizzying second, you expected him to climb over you, to pin you down with that same dominant, territorial force he had used out in the main room.
Your heart beat loudly against your ribs in fierce anticipation, every nerve in your body screaming for the heavy, crushing weight of him. But the moment the heavy coat slid off your shoulders, pooling onto the sheets beneath you, the dynamic shifted entirely.
Seonghwa didn't lean over you. Instead, he slowly sank directly to his knees between your legs, stepping down from his invisible throne to look up at you from below. The faint, bleeding light from the doorway caught the sharp angles of his face, casting his blown-out, glassy eyes in the subtle glow.
He was panting, his wide shoulders rising beneath his dress shirt, his large hands resting flat against the bed, trembling oh-so slightly. The big, dangerous bodyguard who had spent two years commanding your movements, guarding your perimeters, and treating the world like a threat had completely unraveled at your feet.
He looked up at you with an expression of pure reverence—a look so entirely stripped of pride and so broken by his own hunger that it laid his entire soul bare. He looked like a man who had finally crawled out of a desert and reached a holy shrine, completely touch-starved, desperate to be used, and entirely subservient to your pleasure.
"Please," he whispered, the syllable a broken, needy whimper that caught in his throat. He didn't move to touch you yet, his hands staying glued to the mattress as he begged with his eyes. "Tell me what you want me to do. Tell me how to touch you. I'm yours. I'm completely yours."
You pulled him up.
There was no more room for distance, no more patience for the space between his knees and the mattress. Your fingers wrapped tightly around the collar of his half-unbuttoned shirt, and with a fierce, breathless tug, you pulled him up over you.
He didn’t resist, lunging forward with a desperate, guttural gasp as his lips crashed into yours.
The kiss was a messy, bruising collision of teeth and tongues, both of you fighting for air, fighting to get closer, clawing at each other's shoulders as if trying to tear through skin. Seonghwa made a high, strained, whimpering moan in the back of his throat, a helpless, whiny noise that betrayed just how undone his restraint finally was.
He broke the kiss, his hot breath shattering against your wet lips as his hands moved down to the hem of your shirt. He could barely grip the fabric from the shakiness of his own fingers, a frustrating tremor that made him let out a weak, desperate groan.
"Let me," he gasped out, completely wrecked. "Please—fuck—l-let me see you. I need to see you."
You nodded, and with a slow, reverent care that completely contrasted the chaotic hunger in his eyes, he began to slide the heavy layers of clothing off your body.
As the fabric parted, exposing your bare skin to the dim shadows of the room, Seonghwa completely stilled. He hovered over you, his palms resting on either side of your head, and he just stared.
His eyes traced the curve of your collarbone, the slope of your waist, and the gentle rise and fall of your chest with an unhinged need. His gaze was heavy and consuming, treating the sight of your bare skin like a holy relic he had spent a lifetime searching for.
"You're gorgeous," he whispered, a ragged, breathless sob catching in his throat as a single tear welled in his eye. "God, you're so beautiful."
He sank down, completely losing his posture, his face burying straight into the crook of your neck, letting out a long, broken whine, inhaling so deeply against your skin that his chest expanded painfully against yours.
He was completely lost in your scent, the clean, intoxicating warmth of your skin mixed with the faint trace of the winter storm. He nuzzled frantically into your pulse point as his mouth left a trail of wet, desperate kisses down your throat.
"Every single day," he whimpered against your skin, his hands finally sliding down to cup your bare waist, his large palms scalding against your flesh. His fingers flexed, digging into your hips with a bruising, desperate pressure. "Two years of standing behind you, smelling your hair, watching you smile at everyone else while I had to stand back. It took every single fiber of my goddamn being not to drag you into a dark room and crawl to your feet. I was dying. I’ve been dying for two years."
Another whimper escaped the man, his head moving lower, lips tracing the center of your chest, his tongue darting out to taste the salt of your skin. He pressed his face against your stomach and let out a choked, needy sound, completely surrendered his control to you, letting you feel the terrifying velocity of his heartbeat.
You tightened your fingers in his dark hair, the silky strands catching between your knuckles, and you pulled his face up from your stomach. Seonghwa followed the movement instantly, his neck tilting back with a gasp, his eyes glassy, unfocused, and dark with a heavy wave of lust.
"Look at me," you breathed out, your voice laced with a fierce, commanding heat that made a visible tremor ripple through his shoulders.
You pulled his head up just enough to guide him, shifting your weight as you spread your knees, exposing the deepest, most vulnerable parts of your body to the dim shadows of the mattress. "Need you, baby. Right here."
Seonghwa groaned at the thought; a wrecked whine tore from the back of his throat, a helpless sound of pure need and submission.
He slid down the bed instantly, hands fumbling with the hem of your pants before removing everything in a smooth motion, hands now clamping onto your inner thighs with a bruising, desperate pressure that anchored you flat against the sheets.
His face dipped between your thighs in a content hum while his long, slender fingers separated your folds. A deep sigh escaped the man as his tongue finally tasted you. It was wide and heavy as it flattened against your clit—long, deep, devouring licks that instantly made your hips jerk off the mattress with a sharp, dizzy gasp, turning your brain into complete mush.
"Ah—Seonghwa, please," you cried out, your fingers burying into the bedsheets, toes curling as a familiar heat built in your lower belly.
A deep, vibrating groan rumbled straight out of him as he continued sucking at your clit, his lips creating a tight, suffocating vacuum that stole the breath right from your lungs, his tongue darting out in sharp, rapid flicks that had you a complete mess beneath him.
You could hear the slick, desperate sounds of his mouth, the heavy slurring of his tongue. The wet, messy slaps of his lips against your skin and the constant, needy whimpers vibrating in his chest.
You looked down through the dark, your vision swimming, and your heart nearly stopped at the sight. Seonghwa was still fully clothed from the waist down, and his cock was visibly raging against the tight fabric of his slacks—creating a massive, hard ridge that stretched the material to its absolute limit.
As he worked between your thighs, his lower body was instinctively, frantically humping into the mattress, hips rolling in a desperate, friction-seeking rhythm that sent deep, heavy vibrations pulsing right through the bed and into your own body.
"God, Seonghwa," you panted, your hands reaching down to tightly grip his hair again, keeping him pinned against your clit. "You—you're getting off just from eating me out? Fuck—look at your pants, so fucking desperate."
The words hit him like a physical wave as he let out a low moan, hips rolling harder against the mattress.
"Such a good boy," you purred, fingers gently tugging at his hair. "Look at you, doing so good for me. Eating me out so well."
Another broken whimper escaped the man, his entire body shaking, tongue moving with an even more desperate and sloppy urgency from the praise.
He was begging with every lap of his tongue, his nose burying deeper into your wetness, completely lost in your taste, your scent, and your rules. He was whimpering into your skin, high on your pleasure, devouring you as if your climax were the only thing keeping his heart beating in the dark.
The heat in your lower belly coiled tighter, a dizzying pressure that left you trembling from head to toe. You were right on the edge, your core pulsing around his wet tongue, but the unbearable friction of his clothed body rubbing against the mattress became too much to handle.
You needed him inside you.
"Seonghwa," you gasped, a commanding note cutting through your own haze as you tightened your grip on his dark hair once more, pulling his face away from your pussy.
He let out a pathetic whine at the sudden loss of contact, his lips glistening and wet with your arousal as he looked up at you through long eyelashes. His eyes were completely blown out, unfocused, and dripping with a raw, needy desperation.
"Take them off," you panted, your eyes dropping to the leaking ridge straining against his uniform slacks.
You gave a slight tug to his hair, your voice dropping into that low, authoritative purr. "Get rid of your clothes. Right now, Seonghwa."
Seonghwa whimpered as he scrambled backwards instantly, a desperate, clumsy rush to obey your every word. His fingers slipped repeatedly against the heavy buckle of his belt as he let out a frustrated, whiny groan, a curse slipping past his lips while he frantically yanked at the leather, finally unbuckling it with a loud, metallic clatter that echoed in the dark room.
He didn't even care about being neat, practically tearing at the heavy fabric of his slacks, his breath coming in short hitches as he kicked them off his long legs, sending them flying onto the floorboards.
He turned back to you, kneeling at the edge of the mattress. His cock raged proudly against his stomach, long and thick as it flushed red with beads of precum pooling in his slit.
He hovered over you, hands coming to rest flat against your thighs to steady himself from his own trembling desire. "Please," he rasped, his voice a broken whisper.
His glassy eyes pleaded with yours, stripped entirely of his usual facade. "P-please let me fill you. Tell me I can have you. I-I'm clean, I swear to god. I haven’t been with anyone. I haven't touched a soul since the day I became your shadow. There's nobody else. Only you."
The raw honesty in his confession made your heart flutter. "I'm clean too, Seonghwa," you reassured him softly, your fingers tracing the hard line of his wrist as you pulled him closer. "And I'm on the pill. You don't have to worry about anything tonight. I'm safe."
A sudden wave of relief washed over his expression, a shuddering breath escaping his parted lips as your words removed the very last barrier holding him back.
Before he could lean down, you shifted your weight, your voice dropping back into that low, teasing command that made his shoulders instantly tense. "Guide your cock against me first, Seonghwa. Slide it along my folds. Spread it."
A sharp whine broke from the back of his throat. Scrambling to follow your exact words, his trembling fingers reached down between your bodies, gripping the thick, raging length of his dick.
With an agonizing slowness, he pressed the broad head of his cock against your entrance, following your command to the letter as he dragged the slick tip of his cock up and down along your glistening folds, smoothly painting your pussy with the mixed wetness of his own arousal and saliva as well as your overflowing arousal.
The movement was absolute torture for both of you. Seonghwa let out a wrecked groan with every slow stroke, his hips subtly twitching as his body practically screamed for the tight heat of your core. Tears of desperation and need welled in his long lashes, his face entirely flushed.
"Please," he begged, his voice whiny and desperate as his eyelids threatened to flutter shut. "Please—nnngh—I can't... it's too much. Let me push inside—I’ll be so good for you. I’ll do whatever you want, I’ll take such good care of you, just please—fuck—please."
Your clit throbbed from the desperation of his words. "Do it," you breathed out, your fingers tightening in his hair. "Take me, Seonghwa."
Seonghwa lunged forward, crashing his mouth down onto yours in a devouring kiss with a loud moan—hands clamping onto your hips with a bruising, desperate grip as he finally drove his hips forward, filling you to the brim with his cock.
Two long years of suffocating tension and suppressed glances violently crashed together the moment your bodies fused. The sheer, overwhelming sensation of his cock stretching you open, filling you up knocked a high, strangled cry from your throat—a sound that was instantly swallowed by his hungry mouth.
Seonghwa groaned directly into your lips, a deep, primitive, vibrating sound that rumbled straight from his chest into yours as his body completely froze inside you. He stayed buried deep, his muscles trembling violently under the tight intensity of your walls gripping him.
His forehead rested heavily against the crook of your shoulder as he stayed buried inside you, his body shaking with the monumental strain of holding himself back. You could feel every desperate twitch of his cock, the way it pulsed needingly inside you from the tight heat of your pussy.
"Slow," you choked out, your hands sliding up his broad, sweaty back, your palms skidding against the slick expanse of his skin as you tried to anchor him. "Move slowly, Seonghwa. Let me adjust."
A choked, strangled groan escaped the deepest part of his chest, but he obeyed instantly. He pulled back with a torturously slow, deliberate drag, the slick friction making you whimper as your walls clung to his length. He drove back in with an unhurried, heavy depth.
You could feel the faint, desperate flutter in his thighs—the violent, involuntary trembling of a man actively suppressing the urge to absolutely pound into you. But the instinct to claim, to take what was his, was buried in an instant. The desperation to please, to be good, completely overtook his senses.
The quiet hum of the room shattered the second Seonghwa moved, incoherent, desperate ramblings muttered frantically against your neck, his voice completely wrecked as he found a slow rhythm.
"Nnngh—you feel so good," he babbled, his breath hot and damp against your skin. "So tight—god—you're so warm. I can't ...I can't think..."
Though his pace remained slow, his hips twitched hard with every thrust, cock reaching so deep it left you gasping. He hitched, a sharp breath from his throat as his large hands tightened on your hips.
"C-can I go faster?" he begged, desperately whining as he looked down at you with tear-soaked eyes. "P-please... fuck, please let me. I need this so bad. I'm losing it."
You looked up at his flushed face, a dark, thrilling surge of power coiling in your chest despite the heavy, sweet ache building in your own hips.
"Not yet, princess," you whispered, a low, teasing authority dripping from your tongue. You looked at the desperation twisting his beautiful features and let out a breathless, mocking exhale. "You're going to suffer the exact way I did for two long years."
Seonghwa cried out at the words, a loud, broken sob slipping past his lips from the denial but also from how fucking good you felt. The sound of his ragged breathing filled the small room, competing only with the fierce howling of the blizzard beating against the cabin walls outside.
You reached up, hand gripping forcefully around his jaw. Your fingers dug into his skin, tilting his head down and forcing his eyes to lock directly onto yours.
"Look at me," you commanded sternly.
He obeyed instantly. Completely pliant, his jaw rested heavily in your hand, his gaze wide and unfiltered. The sheer need to be good, to be trapped entirely by your rules, waiting on your every breath so beautifully spread across his face.
You pulled his face down the last remaining inch, crashing your mouth against his in a hungry, wet kiss. Seonghwa was soft against your lips, following your lead with a desperate, slippery rhythm that mirrored his surrender.
You pressed your lips firmly against his, your hearts synced with a beat that vibrated right through your chests, and you finally decided to unleash the beast at your feet.
"Fuck me, baby," you whispered against his mouth, your voice a dark, demanding promise. "Fuck me like you mean it."
The final thread of his self-control violently snapped. A loud groan erupted from the man, finally replacing the cautious rhythm with hard and brutally fast thrusts.
He drove into you with a dizzying speed, his hips slamming against yours with a wet, heavy slap that echoed loudly in the dark room. The sounds became chaotic and loud—the wet, squelching friction of his slick shaft sliding in and out of your overflowing wetness, the heavy, rhythmic thud of his pelvis bruising against yours, and the wrecked groans tearing from his throat with every single thrust.
He was pounding into you like a man possessed, his cock bottoming out with every single thrust, filling you up in a way you never thought your body could physically handle. You moaned against his mouth, your back arching off the mattress as your vision threatened to turn white.
Your fingers clawed desperately into the thick muscles of his shoulders, drawing faint red lines across his skin as he consumed you, driving you both higher and higher into a blinding, suffocating heat that completely obliterated the winter freezing outside.
The friction between your bodies reached a feverish pitch. The room felt entirely too small, too hot, the air heavy and thick with the scent of sex, wood, and the salt of your mingled sweat. Seonghwa’s movements had completely lost all semblance of calculated precision; he was running on pure instinct, his chest heaving as he repeatedly buried his thick length deep inside you.
"Ah—Seonghwa, Seonghwa, wait—" Your voice broke, a breathless, desperate cry, as the electric coil in your lower belly wound tighter and tighter, turning into a sharp, intolerable ache.
He stuttered against you in a sharp, ragged hitch as his whole body went rigid. He looked down at you, his eyes wide and glassy.
"I'm close—god, I'm so close," he babbled incoherently, his voice a broken sound as his hips trembled violently against yours. "I can't hold it, I'm going to—"
"You can't come," you cut him off in a commanding tone. Your fingers dug into the muscles of his shoulders, holding his weight in place. "You don't get to come until I do, Seonghwa."
His head shook back and forth, dark strands of wet hair clinging to his flushed forehead as he choked out a ruined sob. "P-please... it hurts, it feels too good, I'm right there—"
"Then hurry up," you panted, your eyes burning into his.
He scrambled to obey, his body shifting slightly as his right hand slid down between your fused bodies. You gasped when his thumb found your clit, circling it with a desperate wet friction that made your hips stutter from the touch.
His other hand flew up to tightly grip the swell of your breast, his large palm molding over your soft skin with a possessive intensity. He leaned down, his mouth hot as he took your nipple between his lips, tongue swirling and flattening against the sensitive peak in a tight, heavy rhythm while his teeth desperately grazed the edge.
Every deep pull of his mouth sent a jolt of pleasure straight down to your core, perfectly synchronized with the rapid, wet friction of his thumb circling your clit and the heavy, stuttering depth of his cock thrusting you open.
You completely lost your mind. Your head thrashed against the pillows, your vision splintering into blinding streaks of white heat as the intense, throbbing pressure in your lower belly expanded.
"Seonghwa—Seonghwa, now, I'm—"
Your hips gave one final, shuddering spasm against his hand as your climax violently hit, locking your muscles tight while your walls pulsed aggressively around his length in hot, crushing waves.
Seonghwa broke out in a quiet sob, his jaw clenched so hard his teeth were grinding, tears of restraint spilling down his flushed cheeks as he waited for your spoken cue.
You looked at the man, fingers tangling weakly in his sweat-soaked hair. "Cum, baby," you purred. "You deserve it. So good for me."
A low groan erupted from him as his body violently slammed forward, chasing the same peak you had achieved mere seconds before.
His climax hit him hard, driving his hips forward in one last, deep thrust, pinning you flat against the mattress as his thick length pulsed inside your squeezing hole. You could feel the pool of his release painted deep inside you, a thick, pulsing heat that felt like an electric current radiating straight through your pelvis.
He shot into you over and over, his muscles locking into painful, rigid lines along his back and shoulders as he fucked every single drop of cum out of his spent cock, his breath leaving him in short, pathetic whimpers.
Slowly, the frantic beating of his heart began to steady, his sweaty chest collapsing fully against yours as the room fell into a deep, suffocating quiet. Seonghwa didn't pull out. He stayed buried deep within your warmth, his face nuzzled straight into the crook of your neck as his trembling arms wrapped tightly around your waist, holding you to his skin like a man who had finally found his home in the middle of the dark.
The adrenaline slowly drained from the room, leaving behind a thick, humid silence that felt completely detached from the raging blizzard outside. You laid there beneath his solid weight, your mind a hazy, comfortable blur of exhaustion and pure bliss.
Seonghwa’s face remained buried in your neck, his breath coming in slow, shuddering puffs against your damp skin. You slid your hands up his sweaty shoulders, fingers gently running through the dark, damp strands of his hair, massaging his scalp in slow, soothing circles.
"You did so well, Seonghwa," you murmured, your voice dropping into a soft, comforting whisper against his ear. "Look how sweet you are. You took such good care of me, baby. I felt so safe, so incredibly good."
An involuntary whine escaped the back of his throat—a helpless, tiny sound that broke your heart with how sweet it was. He buried his face deeper into your skin, completely pliant, soaking in the soothing rhythm of your voice like a child being comforted after a long storm.
The cooling air of the room finally began to bite at your bare skin, and you gently tried to shift your weight to clean up. "I'll be right back, okay? I need to grab a towel from the bathroom."
The moment you tried to pull away, a sharp wave of panic rippled through his dazed state. Seonghwa let out a louder, more frantic whine, and his large hand blindly scrambled across the sheets until his fingers locked around your wrist. His grip wasn't bruising or forceful like before; it was heavy, trembling, and deeply desperate, silently begging you not to break the physical connection. He shook his head weakly against your shoulder, his eyes unfocused as he clung to your wrist like a lifeline.
"Shh, it's okay, I'm not leaving you," you soothed him, using your free hand to gently stroke his flushed cheek, kissing his forehead. "You're okay, princess. I'm just getting a towel to clean us up. I promise I’ll be right back to hold you."
He let out one more fragile, thready sigh, his fingers slowly, reluctantly loosening their grip on your wrist as he sank back into the heavy haze of the mattress.
Gathering the top sheet of the bed, you wrapped it securely around your body, dragging the heavy fabric over your shoulders. Holding the sheet tight against your chest, you slid your bare feet onto the freezing floorboards, your knees bucking slightly from the lingering tremors of your climax.
The narrow hallway was somewhat dark, only illuminated by the faint gleam of the lanterns. You navigated the shadows with a hand against the timber wall, stepping toward the small bathroom near the main room.
You reached for the doorknob, but before your fingers could even wrap around it, the door suddenly shot open.
You gasped, pulling the sheet tightly to your chin as you stumbled backward.
Standing in the doorway of the bathroom was San. He froze instantly, completely caught off guard. He was bare-chested, a white cotton sheet wrapped around his waist, and a fluffy white towel clutched tightly in his large hand. His hair was a wild, messy halo, his lips swollen, and his chest still heavily flushed with a telltale heat.
For what felt like an eternity, the two of you just stared at each other in shock. The silence in the hallway stretched, loud and incredibly awkward.
Then, your eyes dropped to the towel in his hand, and the muffled memory of the quiet giggles and the single upstairs bedroom door clicking shut from earlier flashed through your mind.
The realization hit you as an amused huff escaped your lips, and San's shoulders instantly dropped as a wide, boyish grin broke across his face.
You shared a quiet, deeply knowing nod—an unspoken pact of absolute solidarity between two people caught red-handed in the exact same state of breathless ruin.
"Towel's on the rack," San whispered, a quiet, amused chuckle catching in his throat as he stepped past you, carefully keeping his sheet secure. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight, San," you breathed out, a soft laugh shaking your shoulders.
You watched his shadow vanish up the creaking wooden staircase, his heavy footsteps careful as he returned to Wooyoung upstairs. Smiling to yourself, you stepped into the small bathroom, quickly grabbing a clean, damp towel to wipe away the sticky, sweet evidence of your night along with the semen slowly trailing down your thighs.
The room was freezing when you returned, but the second you dropped the sheet and slid back onto the mattress, you were instantly engulfed in a wall of comforting heat. Seonghwa tossed and mindlessly wrapped his arm around you, pulling you flat against his damp chest. He sighed in content the moment he felt your warmth return.
He tucked the heavy wool blankets securely around your shoulders, burying his nose back into your hair as his leg hooked tightly over yours, anchoring you completely beneath him.
You couldn't help but giggle. “Seonghwa, I need to clean you.”
But his grip remained firm, pinning you against the safety of his embrace. You huffed in defeat but decided it wasn't worth the hassle.
As the blizzard continued to howl uselessly against the cabin walls, you closed your eyes and drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep, wrapped in the comforting certainty that your shadow was never going to let you go.
- You’ve been ignoring Hongjoong.. Yesterday, he didn’t answer his phone all day and night because he was “busy” working on new music.. So you decided to give him the silence treatment. Until, he started whining in your ear while you were doing random stuff on your computer.. You couldn’t keep silence anymore.
-Not much of a plot here! Just straight smut☺️ Listened to ateez new song ‘mamacita’ & the way joong whines ‘mami’ at the end makes me wanna bust😩.
- Also, this was made quickly so there might be grammar errors! So sorry! Im too lazy to try to proofread 😞
Warnings- Nsfw, fingering (f receiving), oral (f receiving), sub joong (?), whiny joong, & thats it i think! If i missed something lmk<3
The clock hit 10:30 pm. You were in your shared bed on your computer, just doing random stuff. You realized that you don’t use it much so you been wanting to put it to use. Your boyfriend Hongjoong is in the living room doing whatever. Not like you care. I mean, why would you care? He clearly didn’t care enough to answer your text messages yesterday while he was at the studio. You love Hongjoong, obviously, but you can’t stand when he stays late at the studio to work on new music. You know it’s something he’s very passionate about, but why can’t he just come home at a good time? Spend time with his lovely girlfriend he loves so much. Well, maybe not right now, since you been ignoring him all day. But you can’t help that you’re petty like that..
It was now 11:16. Hongjoong finally walked in, still looking pretty upset when he realized you’re ignoring him. “Y/n, are you really still ignoring me? How long are you gonna keep this up?” He asked. He shook his head in disbelief when you didn’t answer him. He took his slippers off and hopped into bed with you, awkwardly. A few minutes passed by, now the time being 11:25. Hongjoong kept sighing over 8 thousand times, which was starting to annoy you.. he sighed one more time, before he got up to lean on his hand and leaned into your ear, slightly whispering “Okay, I’m sorry, Mami.”. You closed your eyes. Mami. Is he trying to be funny? “Listen, I shouldn’t have stayed up so late, you’re right. Like aways. Sometimes I can’t help it.. Okay? Mami?” You decided that you were done ignoring him. “Okay, but just don’t do it again? Or at least give me a heads up.” You told him. He smirked and leaned in for a kiss.
Somehow, he managed to get on top of you. Kissing you as if he was eating his last meal. You bring your hands into his hair and started tugging on it. He gasped in your mouth, showing clear signs that he liked that. His hands were all over you. Touching your boobs, waist, hips, thighs, everything. “Fuck, please..” you smiled, “please, what?” He bit his lip, trying to not to whine. “I need to eat you out, please, Mami.” You shook your head, giving that okay to go down there. He rushed to pull down your pants and underwear, desperately trying to get a taste of your pussy. You giggled, “Calm down, joong. It’s not that serious” he scoffed at that.
“It is that serious. Your pussy is to die for.” He got a look at your pussy before giving you a long lick between your lips. “Mmh, Mami~. Been waiting hours to get a taste of this..” you bit your lip, trying not to moan already. He found your clit, sucking on it for dear life. “Oh my fuck, joong!” You threw your head back, but you can feel that he’s smirking. He’s clearly enjoying himself. You feel his hands on your mid thigh, trailing down to your hole. He put in one finger first until you told him to put the second one in. You were in pure bliss. You actually don’t remember the last time you guys had sex or even masterbated. This felt so nice, you were so happy that you ignored him so you guys can finally have some fun. His fingers pumping in and out of you at the perfect pace, while he sucked on your clit, almost making you cum right then and there. “Fuuuckk, joongie! I’m close! I’m so close” you moaned out. He speeds up his pace, making you shake and squirm. “Fuck,fuck,fuck, I’m cumming!” You shouted, creaming over his fingers. Hongjoong took his fingers out and sucked on them until they were clean.
Hongjoong smiled wide, “Was that good perfect for you? Mami?” You rolled your eyes and nudged him with the heel of your foot.
You guys cleaned up and now are cuddling each other. It was now 12:12, you turned to him and smiled. “I missed you.” He smiled back, “I missed you too. You know, we could have spent more quality time with each other if you weren’t ignoring me the whole day.” You looked away from his eyes, “yeah.. I’m sorry about that, I was just upset. I think I’m getting my period soon, unfortunately.” He kissed you. “It’s okay, love. I get it. I deserved it.”
You pulled him closer to you, “goodnight, I love you.”
summary: you accidentally walk in on what seems to be your boyfriend calling you “clingy”, leading to you avoiding him for a week. michael basically falls apart
content: miscommunication/misunderstanding, hurt/comfort, fluff in the end guys!! i cant deal with sad michael :((
word count: around 2k
a/n: YES i got inspiration to make this from after all by jimmy osmond! i love that song lol ok anyways enjoy the fic bye
It was a lazy Sunday afternoon.
The kind where everything moves slower and no ones in a rush to be anywhere.
You knew that michael had rehearsal earlier in the day and was probably eating lunch with his family given that you had spoken on the phone with him the night before.
Oh how you were so in love with him.
Even with Michael's busy schedule, he always found some way to make time for you. Whether it was hours spent on the phone after a long day or quiet afternoons together at home, you had become his comfort just as much as he had become yours.
The two of you were constantly on the phone which is why you knew he was finishing up some of his work right around this time.
Because of this, you decided to head down to Hayvenhurst. Maybe you could have lunch with him, steal a few hours of his afternoon, and have some much needed time with your oh so loving boyfriend.
When you finally reached his house, you let yourself in with the key Michael insisted you have.
“I want you to know you’re welcome here anytime, baby” “Come over whenever you want. Don’t even worry about knocking.”
“Are you sure, Michael? I wouldn't want to intrude-”
“Of course I’m sure,” “You could never intrude.”
A small smile had tugged at his lips as he squeezed your hand.
“I’m always gonna want you here with me.”
And he meant it.
Atleast you thought he did.
That was why you never hesitated now when you walked through those doors.
You could hear the laughs of some of the brothers in the kitchen so you made your way there assuming thats where you would find your boyfriend.
And as you were about to step into the kitchen you heard your name.
You stopped.
Not because you were trying to listen.
But Michael’s voice caught your attention before you even had the chance to announce yourself.
“She’s just…. really clingy sometimes.”
Your smile slowly faded.
Clingy.
The word sat heavy in your chest in a way you didn’t expect. You weren’t clingy, were you? I mean sure you did love spending all your free time with Michael and sure, you checked in on him throughout the day but you assumed he liked it too, right?
Apparently not.
So you quietly turned around and drove home before you could even hear what he had to say next.
Normally, you would have called Michael as soon as you got home.
But your phone stayed untouched on your nightstand by your bed.
You set your things down, changed into something more comfortable, and sat on the edge of your bed for longer than you meant to.
It was silly.
You knew that.
But the word kept replaying in your mind.
Clingy.
A small tear slipped down your cheek before you even realized you were crying and you stayed like that for awhile.
It wasn’t until the next day that michael finally decided to call you.
You still answered, but you weren’t as eager to fill the silence afterward.
“Hello?”
“Baby!” He sounded so excited, why was he so excited?
His voice immediately softened something in you.
“Hi, Michael.” There was a small pause on the other end of the line, and even though you couldn’t see him, you could already imagine the way his brows furrow slightly when something was bothering him.
“You okay?” The question made your fingers tighten slightly around your phone. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
It came out too quickly.
“I’m just tired,” you added, trying to make it sound more believable. Another quiet moment passed. Normally, neither of you ever struggled to find something to say. There was always another reason to keep the conversation going.
“You’re quiet,” he finally said.
“I’m just tired.” you reemphasized.
Michael hummed, clearly not completely convinced, but he didn’t push.“You’re not coming over today?”
You looked down at your hands. “I don’t know. I figured you were probably tired.”
“I am tired,” Michael admitted, a small laugh slipping into his voice. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to see you.”
“..”
“Baby…”
You could hear the concern in his voice, and that almost made it harder.
“I’m okay, Michael,” you said quickly. “Really. I think I’m just gonna rest today.”
Normally, Michael would have asked what was wrong and kept asking until you finally opened up. But something about the way you said it made him hesitate, leaving him unsure whether he should push or give you the space you seemed to be asking for.
“You sure you don’t want me to come by?” “I’m sure.”
A pause.
“Okay.” The disappointment in his voice was small, but you still noticed it.
“I’ll call you later, okay?” he said. “Okay.”
Another silence followed, one that felt too long for two people who were usually so comfortable with each other.
“Alright, baby. Get some rest.”
“Bye, Michael.” You hung up before he could say anything else and for a moment, you just stared at the phone in your hand.
The rest of your days during the week consisted of you and Michael basically playing cat and mouse.
He would call, like he always did, but you would let the phone ring a few extra times before finally answering. The conversations were never long anymore, your replies careful and excuses ready whenever there was a chance he might ask what had changed.
Michael noticed.
Eventually, he started coming by your house, sometimes with flowers or something small he thought you would like, hoping you would open the door and tell him what was wrong. But every time, you found yourself staying quiet, pretending you weren’t home until he finally left.
You knew you were avoiding him.
You also knew you didn’t really know how else to handle the hurt you were carrying.
Mike on the other hand, had spent the entire week trying to convince himself that he was overthinking it.
That maybe you really were just tired. Maybe you were busy. Maybe there was some simple explanation for why your voice sounded different every time he called and why you suddenly seemed like you were always finding a reason not to see him.
But the more days that passed, the harder it became to believe that.
By the end of the week, it had become impossible for Michael to convince himself that everything was fine.
He tried throwing himself into work the way he always did. Dance rehearsals, recording sessions, meetings. Normally, they were enough to keep his mind occupied.
This time, they weren't.
His thoughts always seemed to find their way back to you.
He replayed your conversations over and over, searching for something he might have missed. Had he forgotten something important? Had he said something carelessly? Was he working too much? He couldn't think of a single reason why the person who he revolved his days to be around suddenly couldn't bear to look at him.
His brothers noticed too.
"You alright?" Marlon asked one afternoon as the two of them sat around the kitchen island.
Michael looked up from the plate he had barely touched.
"Yeah."
Marlon raised an eyebrow.
"You don't sound too sure."
Michael sighed quietly, bringing his hands up to cover his face. "I think... I think something's wrong."
"What happened?"
"I don't know."
That was the part that bothered him most.
"I keep asking her if she's okay, and she says she is, but she barely answers my calls anymore. When she does, she's off the phone in five minutes." He looked down at the table, "I went by her apartment twice this week."
"And?"
"She didn't answer."
A silence filled the room.
"I don't think she's mad at me," Michael admitted after a moment. "If she was mad, she'd tell me. She always tells me… she’s just, distant."
Marlon frowned.
"So what are you gonna do?"
Michael didn't answer right away.
After a long moment, he looked up.
"I'm going back."
"And if she still doesn't answer?"
He stood from the table, ready to ask Bill to take him to what was naturally his second home.
"Then I'll keep trying til’ she does."
────୨ৎ────
The knock came just after lunch.
You didn't have to look through the window to know who it was. For a long moment you stared at the front door while the house remained completely silent around you.
Another knock.
Gentler this time.
You closed your eyes for a second before letting out a quiet breath and reaching for the doorknob. When the door opened, Michael was standing exactly where you expected him to be.
He looked tired.
Not the kind of tired that came from rehearsals or long nights in the studio, but the kind that settled behind someone's eyes after they had spent too many nights wondering what they had done wrong.
His expression softened the moment he saw you.
"...Hi sweetheart."
"Hi."
Neither of you moved.
"I, um..." Michael glanced down for a second before holding out the small bouquet he'd been carrying. "These are for you."
You hesitated before taking them.
"Thank you."
"Can I come in?"
You stepped aside without saying a word.
Now he stood awkwardly in the middle of your living room, unsure if he should sit down or keep standing.
You placed the flowers on the counter and folded your arms loosely across yourself.
Michael looked down for a moment, his fingers brushing over the edge of his sleeve before he finally looked back at you.
"I don't really know where to start.. I just know that something's different."
The words were softer than you expected.
"I've been trying to figure it out all week, and I keep thinking maybe I did something wrong. Maybe I said something, or maybe I haven't been making enough time for you, or maybe..." He paused, letting out a quiet breath as he shook his head. "I don't know. I keep going over everything, but I can't find anything."
You looked away.
Michael noticed.
He always noticed.
"I miss you," he admitted. "And I know that probably sounds so stupid because it's only been a week, but it feels like you've been pulling away from me for so much longer than that."
"I didn't want to bother you."
Michael's eyebrows pulled together.
"Bother me?"
You swallowed.
"I just thought maybe you needed some space."
The confusion on his face only grew.
"Space from you?"
You didn't answer.
The silence told him more than words did.
Michael took a small step closer, his hands coming up to cup your jawline.
"Baby, why would you think that?"
You looked at him, trying to find the right words.
"I heard you."
Michael went still.
"What?"
"At your house Michael."
The room suddenly felt much quieter.
"I wasn't trying to listen," you rushed to explain. "I was just coming over for lunch, and I heard you talking with your brothers."
Michael's expression shifted, confusion slowly replacing itself with realization. "What did you hear?" he says your name softly.
You hesitated.
"I heard you say I was clingy."
For a moment, Michael didn't say anything.
Then his face softened.
"Oh, mama."
The way he said it almost made it harder.
"I thought..." Your voice caught slightly. "I thought I was too much for you."
Michael immediately shook his head.
"No."
"No, no, that's not what I meant."
He pulled your head close to his, making sure you were looking at him, his expression filled with regret.
"Y/n, you didn't hear the rest of it."
You frowned slightly.
"The rest?"
Michael nodded.
"I was talking to my brothers because I was trying to explain how much I love having you around. I was telling them that you're always here, that you always want to spend time with me, and I was laughing because I realized I'm the exact same way."
A small, sad smile crossed his face. "I said you were clingy because I love that about you."
You stared at him. "I love that you call me after a long day. I love that you come over so we can watch movies together. I love that I get to know all the little things about your life because you want to tell me."
His voice softened.
"I didn't mean clingy like it was a bad thing."
You looked away, feeling the weight of the misunderstanding finally start to lift.
"I thought you were getting tired of me."
Michael's expression changed immediately. "Sweetheart, I spent this entire week thinking you were leaving me."
The honesty in his voice made you really look at him.
"I thought maybe you had finally realized that being with me is too much. I thought maybe I was asking too much from you, that with the album and my career.. It was getting too intense for you."
You stared at him for a moment, your heart aching at the thought that he had spent the entire week carrying that fear by himself.
“Michael,” you said softly.
His eyes lifted back to yours.
“I wasn’t leaving you.”
The words came out immediately, because you needed him to hear them.
“I wasn’t thinking about ending anything. I was just hurt and I thought I was giving you what you wanted. I just misunderstood you. I should’ve talked to you instead of disappearing, i’m sorry.”
Michael looked down at your intertwined hands, his thumb brushing over yours.
“I missed you.”
A small smile tugged at your lips.
“I missed you too.”
“Really?”
You almost laughed.
“Mikey, I spent the whole week trying not to call you. Do you know how hard that was?”
That finally got a real smile out of him.
“I had a feeling.”
You rolled your eyes softly.
For the first time in days, you both looked completely at ease.
“I love you,” he whispered.
“I love you too.” you repeated back again.
And finally, after a week of missed calls and avoiding each other, you closed the space between you.
The kiss was soft, like both of you were making sure this was real. But it didn’t take long for the relief of having each other back to settle in.
A week without him had felt much longer than it should have.
When you pulled away, Michael kept his arms around your waist, holding you close like he was making up for every moment he spent thinking he was losing you.
“I really missed this,” he murmured.
You smiled against him.
“I did too.”
“No more secretly disappearing because you think I need space.”
You laughed. “Okay.”
“Good,” he said, pulling you closer. “Because I was starting to think my girlfriend was trying to break up with me without telling me.”
“Michael,” you giggled harder this time.
“I’m just saying,” he teased. “Very rude way to find out.”
a/n: OKAY would yall believe me if I said I sat down for like 8 hours today trying to finish this bc i did! im like actually proud of myself lol like omg especially w my adhd too like wow im amazing but anyways lets just ignore any grammer mistakes here bc im too lazy to fix them rn
SYNOPSIS: Song Mingi’s nothing like the boy who bullied you relentlessly in high school. When you meet at a blind group date, you’re a woman on a mission: Take Mingi home and show him you’re nothing like the girl you used to be.
WARNINGS: sub! mingi, size kink, degradation, toys, oral, impact play, unprotected sex, finger sucking (LOL), and riding. bonus: mingi wears a harness :) NSFW, MDNI 18+!
Mingi’s softer. That’s the first thing you notice.
Long blond hair frames his face in a way that makes him look almost cherubic. Rosy cheeks—pink lips. Gone is the rugged punk who relentlessly bullied you in high school.
He doesn’t recognize you. There’s no way he does.
To him, you’re just another beautiful woman on a blind group date—one who apparently doesn’t mind getting caught staring.
You smile when he finally notices. The tips of his ears turn pink, and he flinches, shy beneath your gaze.
"What's your name?"
When Mingi finally works up the courage to ask, he laces his fingers together, eyes lifting just long enough to study your face before they dart back down again.
You answer back softly with your name, every movement calm and effortless. Plucking an olive from your martini, you slip the toothpick between your lips and pull it free with practiced ease.
“I’m Song—”
“Mingi,” you finish for him, flashing a toothy grin.
His brows lift. “Oh... do you know me?”
Your dark eyes linger on him, impossible to read. A slow smile curls at your lips. “Something like that.”
You lean forward just enough for the movement to feel intentional. He whips his head to the side, throat bobbing when he stared at the way your tits pushed together for a second too long. You arch a brow before continuing.
“But I’ll know you even better if you come home with me tonight.”
He chokes on his Sprite, sputtering as the soda sprays across the table.
The guy beside him jerks upright with a curse, eyes bulging as he stares at Mingi.
"Dude—what the fuck?"
Mingi looks seconds away from dying of embarrassment. "...I am so fucking sorry."
The guy just shakes his head, muttering under his breath as he heads for the bathroom.
"Sorry," you say lightly. "Too forward? You can say no."
Mingi's head snaps up. "Oh, God. Please take me home with you."
The words tumble out before he can stop them.
His eyes go wide. A slow, crimson blush spreads across his face as he realizes he'd been a little... too eager. "I mean—" He squeezes his eyes shut. "Fuck."
You sit in silent victory for a couple of seconds before raising your credit card.
"Check, please?" Handing it over smoothly, you add "And I'm paying for his too."
When you make your way to the taxi with Mingi trailing behind you, you're grateful there's no moon tonight. If he'd gotten a better look at your face, he would've seen the unnerving smile etched across it. There was only one thing you had in mind:
Song Mingi, I'm nailing you to the fucking bed.
𝜗ৎ
High school was a cliché down to the T.
Boys poked and prodded at you with all the contradictions of adolescence. You were either too ugly to acknowledge or someone they wanted to sleep with in secret.
And Song Mingi stood at the forefront of it all.
He never bothered to remember your name. Instead, he'd go out of his way to laugh at you in the middle of class, just to hear everyone else join in. Crumpled balls of notebook paper bounced off the back of your head. Snickers followed you through the hallways. He'd always call you a little freak.
It wasn't just Mingi. Almost every boy in school seemed to have it out for you. You never really understood why—all you knew was that it was rarely kind.
On the better days, though, Mingi would scratch the back of his head in frustration before quietly leaving a carton of juice on your desk when you were too scared to eat in the lunchroom. One time, he shoved a guy for cornering you in the hallway.
Those moments almost felt like apologies.
Awkward and gangly, just like him. But even then, it never stopped.
When you were younger, you tried to understand him. You really did. During your self-help phase, every audiobook insisted people were more than the worst things they'd ever done. That forgiveness made you the better person.
You wanted to believe that. But you were way too fucking pissed.
From there, your life became the kind of rags-to-riches story people loved to tell. You went to college but still carried that adolescent rage with you. Every man you slept with became an emotional punching bag—a place to dump every humiliation, insult, and wound high school had left behind.
By the time you graduated, you were unrecognizable.
Confident—a little shameless, even. Years later, you stopped hiding behind your hair. For you, revenge wasn't getting even. It was becoming prettier and successful enough to look down on everyone who'd ever tried to make you feel small—from an empire you'd built with your own two hands.
And then, one day, you met the right kind of man. The kind who begged for your spit and paid you for it.
It was good money. Still is.
And quite frankly—you can't wait to show Mingi what the years have done to you.
𝜗ৎ
"You know—it's funny," you say, gaze drifting up to the ceiling with a soft sigh. The tasseled paddle taps against your palm in a lazy rhythm, like a metronome while you think.
Mingi's a mess beneath you. Spit drips in wet lines down his bobbing throat, pooling in the hollow of his twitching chest. His soft pants try to escape around the gag, strangled and useless.
He'd taken to it more readily than you expected. When you waltzed into your condo earlier that evening, you gave him the rundown fast and sharp—I don't bottom, I call the shots, here's the safeword—and tossed him the harness to see if he'd flinch.
He didn't. Just ran his thumb over the leather and asked if you had something in his size.
The harness you cinched around him earlier does exactly what it's meant to—squeezes his chest together, keeps him taut and presented. His eyes have rolled back, tears gathering at the edges of his long lashes. Strands of soft platinum blond hair cling to the sweat on his cheek, plastered there like silk against glass.
You press the button. The cock ring underneath his underwear kicks up a notch and Mingi lurches forward, hips jerking, only to be snapped back by the ropes. The restraints bite into his skin and he groans, the sound vibrating against the ball gag.
You smile.
It's enough to cut through the haze—Mingi forces his eyes open, struggling to focus on your face. You lean forward, hands braced on your knees, dropping to his eye level.
"You used to call me a little freak," you say, almost conversational. "All the time in high school."
The words hit him like cold water. It's frighteningly sobering. Mingi jolts, genuine surprise cutting through the pleasure-drunk fog.
"But look what we have here?" You tilt your head, letting the paddle trace a slow line down his sternum. "Song Mingi, the biggest jackass of my entire high school career... turns out to be the dirtiest fucking freak of them all."
His eyes roll back: hips thrusting forward on pure instinct, rutting into empty air, back arching in a sharp curve as another groan tears from his throat.
Your eyes widen, jaw dropping—and then you're laughing, bright and delighted.
"Ha! Did you just—" You lean closer, delighted. "Did you just have a dry orgasm?"
It's cute. Everything about him is so unbearably cute.
Then, all at once, a sick little epiphany settles over you.
Maybe this is what all those overpriced self-help journals had been trying to tell you all along.
Finding someone to be so pathetic can feel like forgiveness.
And now, he looks so pathetic, you adore the way he looks when he's ashamed.
You reach forward, fingers finding the buckle of the ball gag. It comes loose with a soft click, and you pull it free—a thin line of saliva trails after it, glistening in the light before you toss it aside. It hits the floor with a wet thud somewhere behind you.
You're still straddling him, knees bracketing his hips. You brace your hands on his chest, feeling the rise and fall beneath your palms, the heat of his skin through the harness.
"So," you say, quiet now. The edge in your voice has softened to something almost gentle. "Tell me, Mingi. You want to stop?"
You've had your fun. If he safeworded right now, walked out— you'd let him. No strings.
He stares up at you, eyes wide and glassy, tears finally spilling over to track down his temples. His breath hitches.
"N-no." His voice is wrecked, raw from the gag. "Please. Let me stay."
The smile that curves your mouth is genuine this time. "What a good boy."
You lean down, pressing your lips to the sharp line of his jaw, then higher—his cheek, the corner of his eye. You pepper kisses across his eyelids, tasting salt.
"Still wanna stay and fuck the girl you bullied?"
He sniffles, and the sound is almost laughable coming from someone his size—big, broad-shouldered, built like he could break you in half. But he looks so angelic and soft right now.
"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I liked you."
You go dreadfully still. "The fuck do you mean you liked me?"
Mingi swallows hard, trying to compose himself. He doesn't look at the way your thighs are pressed against his hips, the damp patch on his abdomen where you've been grinding against him.
"I didn't know how to..." He exhales shakily. "I didn't know how to deal with it. Liked—liking when people treated me a certain way."
He pauses, gathering the words like they're heavy stones.
"You probably don't remember this. But the first time we actually met wasn't homeroom."
"Sophomore homeroom, first day." you say automatically.
He shakes his head slowly. "No. Last day of freshman year. You were—some guys were messing with you in the hall. You ran into me after, literally ran into me, and you were furious. Called me a piece of shit." He hesitates, throat working. "Spit on me, too."
Your brow furrows. You don't—
"And I got hard," he confesses, voice barely audible. "Right there. Couldn't... after that, I couldn't get off to anything else. Couldn't stop thinking about it. About someone—about you—degrading me like that."
He finally meets your eyes, desperate and bare.
"So I started treating you the way I wanted you to treat me. I was shitty to you because I wanted you to be shitty back. I wanted—" He breaks off, jaw tight.
You stare at him.
"That's..." You sit back, processing. Your hands are still on his chest, but they're lighter now, almost hovering. "That's fucked up, Mingi. That's genuinely atrocious."
You shift your weight, thighs pressing harder against his hips. Your hand finds his jaw, thumb brushing the mark your slap would leave. "Safeword check. Remember what I told you?"
"Kitty." The word comes out rough, immediate. He's still locked in, pupils blown wide.
"What's your red? Your no goes."
"I don't..." He swallows. "Don't like being choked. Or spanked."
"Slapping?"
His breath catches. "Green."
Your hand moves before your brain catches up—palm cracking across his cheek, snapping his head to the side. The sound is sharp, obscene.
"You liked me?" Your voice drops, dangerous and low. You grip his chin, forcing him to look at you. "You couldn't even fucking recognize me, sick fuck."
"If you really mean it," you say, "then show me."
Your thumbs hook into your underwear, sliding them down your thighs. You step out, kicking them aside, then move over him—knees settling on either side of his head, lowering yourself until you hover just above his mouth. Close enough that he can smell you. Feel your heat.
"Then fucking eat."
Mingi doesn't hesitate. He surges up, mouth finding you with a desperation that makes your breath catch—thick lips closing around your clit, suction immediate and hungry. He drags his tongue upward in one long, flat stroke, pressing firm so he can taste all of you, everywhere, the broad muscle working relentlessly against you.
You're soaked. A thin line of wetness escapes, trickling down to his jaw, pooling in the hollow of his cheek before he swipes it away with another pass of his tongue.
He flicks the tip of his tongue rapidly against your clit. The sensation zips up your spine like current as you roll your hips, pressing down harder, grinding against the bridge of his nose until you feel the bone.
The view from above wrecks you.
Mingi's pupils are blown wide, eyes rolled back to crescents of white, lashes fluttering. The rope has bitten deep into his big arms, the skin there flushing an angry, bitter red. His platinum hair spreads across the wet sheets in tangled strands, darkening where sweat and spit have soaked through.
You have to force yourself to breathe.
Below, his hips piston upward in empty thrusts, rutting against nothing. The thin black jock you gave him strains tight, a dark, spreading patch blooming at the front where he's leaked through the fabric, desperate and untouched.
Finally, you take a closer look. Pausing your grinding almost curiously—thoroughly impressed.
"You act like such a fucking pussy," you breathe, rolling your hips down harder. "But you're hung like you could actually break me. Might snap me in half before I get the chance to break you in."
You sink lower, settling your full weight over his mouth and nose. His breath hot against your thigh.
Mingi doesn't panic at the weight of you. He doubles down, mouth working frantically beneath you, lapping and sucking like a man on a mission.
You feel him still beneath you—muscles tensing, heels digging into the mattress with a groan. Mingi tries to lap at you, almost languidly.
You reach down, fingers sliding under the jock's band, and tug him free. He's hot in your palm, throbbing, and you roll the ring off in one quick motion.
and when he cums, he cums hard.
His head snaps back, a ragged sound tearing from his throat, and he comes in thick ropes that stripe his heaving chest, his trembling stomach—one landing high enough to catch the edge of his parted lips, his flushed cheek.
You don't give him time to recover before your mouth is on him, cleaning off the excess still dribbling down the ridge of his cock.
"Sit up." You instruct.
You shift off him and move to his wrists, unbinding the ropes with practiced efficiency. Mingi flexes his fingers, opening and closing his hands to chase the blood back into them.
"Is this all you wanted?" You arch a brow, voice dropping soft. "Some attention?"
You smooth a strand of hair from his forehead, tuck it behind his ear. Your palm curves along his jaw, thumb dragging across his lower lip—pressing, testing. "Open."
He parts his lips slowly, tongue easing out in offering before flattening, stretching down toward his chin. Submissive. Empty—waiting.
"All those years acting out..." You trace his mouth with your eyes. "And this is what you were after."
Your index and middle fingers slide onto his tongue, pressing down against the wet heat of it. He's salivating already, slick gathering against your skin, salt mixing with salt.
His eyes well up—glossy, desperate—and you swear you've never seen anything this pretty. Not when his brows curve down in that perfect blend of pleasure and ache as your fingers prod the back of his throat. Not when his moans vibrate against your palm, when everything is wet: your hand, his lashes, his jaw, rivulets of spit trailing down to pool in the hollows of his collarbones.
"Or is this what you wanted?" You push deeper, feeling him gag softly around your knuckles. "My hand down your throat?"
He sits before you, hands braced on your hips, staring up with something almost puppy-like in its devotion. He nods—shameless, earnest.
"All I ever wanted." His voice is husky, worn thin with exhaustion and lingering need.
"All that effort," you laugh, "just to be used like a little toy."
You grip his cock—still slick and firm before giving him a few rough strokes. Then you lift your hips and sink down onto him in one motion, sheathing him completely.
His eyes roll back.
You pause. Five full seconds of mercy, feeling him throb inside you, watching his mouth fall open. Then you begin to move—slow, intentionally brutal of your hips against his. Your fist reaches to tighten in his hair.
Mingi stutters out a sound, half moan, half embarrassed cry that catches in his throat. "S-shit!"
It burns—his girth stretching you wide, delicious and punishing, throbbing like it has its own pulse. Your ass smacks against his thighs with every downward stroke, the skin there flushing red from impact. His whole body shakes beneath you, oversensitive and overwhelmed.
You lean down, tongue tracing the column of his throat, then hover above his mouth.
Your spit falls between you.
Mingi's lips part. His tongue catches it, heavy-lidded and delirious. He swallows slow, forcing his eyes to stay open—locked on yours, asking without words: See? Aren't I good for you?
You spit again—except this time, it falls directly between your tits. Mingi licks up your sternum, eyes still locked on yours.
Your hips roll, rise, and fall with fatal precision. Your tits bounce with the force of it.
He's fucking huge. Taking him feels like being pushed to your absolute limits—every throb and twitch forces you to accommodate him inch by inch, your body yielding to the sheer weight of him. It's a feat in itself just to fit all of him.
But then something shifts.
Mingi tilts his head back, eyes closed, offering himself up in a silent plea for the kiss he's too scared to ask for.
You answer by catching his bottom lip between your teeth, biting just hard enough to leave indentations before releasing. He sighs into your mouth as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him close until your chests flush together. You flinch at the sudden contact—the leather of his harness, still warm from his skin, brushes against your nipples.
His tongue sweeps against yours, jaw loosening to take you deeper.
“Fuck," he breathes, hands sliding to your hips to pull you down against him. It’s urgent—hot in ways you can’t say you expected riding Mingi after years of hating him would be.
"If you cum in me, I'll kill you."
"Mhm. Fuck—" He hisses against your mouth, breath ragged as he drives you down on him. "Yes ma'am."
His palms spread over your ass, gripping tight and rocking you in a rhythm that has you gliding up and down effortlessly.
He looks over your shoulder and spreads you wider, staring down at where your bodies meet. When he pulls out to watch you gape open, you can't even summon the energy to be annoyed—you just shove him back down and ride him. Hard.
His hands grip your waist, admiring the way you bounce on his cock, the soft give of your body. He looks at himself, at the white mess coating his shaft. "So fucking creamy."
You grab his face, pinching his cheeks until his mouth puckers, then slap him—sharp—and shove two fingers past his lips, gripping the wet heat of his inner cheek as you slam down on him.
"Shit—you feel so good," he whines, long blonde hair falling into his eyes. "Wait, I'm cumming—"
His face goes panicked, puppy-desperate. You smile softly. “Mhm. You can cum on my tummy."
You fall back, working your clit to finish yourself off, fighting the urge to pull him deeper and cave to your (covert) need to have him cum inside do you.
His large body shadows yours as he buries his face in your neck with a cry, once you rub the tip of his cock with the palm of your hand.
"Clean it," you manage, barely audible.
Mingi drags his tongue across your hipbone, down the soft curve of your stomach, licking himself off you with something like tired worship. He finds your hand, sucking at your palm, sliding wet kisses between your fingers.
He lies flat then, face buried in your thigh, and spreads you open to taste what's still dripping from you.
Wordlessly, you pull him into your arms and cradle him against your chest.
You brush his hair back from his forehead, cupping his face as your thumb gently wipes the sweat from his temple.
“…I really did like you back then,” he mumbles, his face still buried between your breasts.
You let out a quiet hum. “Oh? Did you now?”
He groans into your chest. “God… fuck high school. Truly.”
His arms tighten around your waist.
More than anything, he hopes high school Mingi hasn’t completely ruined things for the version of him that finally might get the girl.
fin.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: sub mingi in the year of our lord. a quick writeeee + bonus photos of what mingi looks like in dirty little freak :3
the inevitable consequences of a very passionate night … ⋆❤︎︎࣪˖ ˚₊⋆.
intro ✴︎⸝꙳.˖𖥔݁˖⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ( 4.8k ) childhoodbsf!popstar!reader x bad!michael jackson ╱ last night your husband made love to you for six hours straight, beyond the break of dawn, and now you must both face the physical consequences. . . but not without a little more lovemakin' of course!
notes ♡⋆°୭ 𝟏𝟖+ established relationship: husband n wife of 8 years. read this for context of the night before if u haven’t already ;). . . waking up cockwarming. cosy fluff. morning sex. cuddles n kisses! you’re broken n bruised. . . both covered in evidence of sex. creampie. m+f!orgasm. breeding kink. pregnancy talk. u call him bambi and he calls u tink for tinker bell! softdom!michael. light dirty talk. soft sleepy sex. aftercare
JANUARY 27, 1989. Los Angeles, California…
At ten o'clock in the morning, after only four hours of sleep, you unfortunately awoke. Nothing could be registered but the harsh sunlight breaking its way forcefully through the curtains—painfully so. Your head was blaring with an ache, your throat felt uncomfortably dry, and as you stretched upon your first intake of breath, you felt entirely paralysed from the waist down. An exaggeration, of course—though you were always prone to hyperbole when it came to describing the feeling of what Michael could so easily do to you.
But for a moment, you wondered why you felt this concerningly awful. In your sleepy haze, you assumed you were hungover, but such an assumption only lasted for that short moment, because suddenly another sensation hit you, born between your lower thighs. You were sleeping on your husband's warm chest—you had registered that already—but as your body grew familiar with the bright of day (as opposed to the happy slumber you'd been frustrated to be pulled from) you felt something else. Shuffling on Michael's torso slightly—humming into his neck as he too stirred—a warm, trickling substance exuded from your sex, swimming from your entrance to the already ruined sheets below.
Funny that you should notice the cum before the much more obvious thing that had accompanied it, because immediately afterward, you finally remembered that you and your husband had fallen asleep cockwarming. While unconscious, Michael was beginning to harden inside you, somehow still nestled in your comforting heat despite the hours of sleep. Usually, when you cockwarmed in other positions, he'd slip out easily during slumber because he did tend to move around a lot, but since your straddled weight had been keeping him still, that position had kept the two of you deeply entwined the whole time.
You smiled as you took acknowledgement of the feeling, and began peppering kisses all over Michael's neck and chest. But you giggled against his skin as you now noticed how the area was littered with your smudged lipstick kiss stains aside your lovebites—purple bruises that decorated his beautiful frame, a frame now mostly devoid of the makeup he'd covered himself in before the concert last night. He could only ever be this vulnerable with you—nobody else. The patches of pale and brown were colliding with one another all over his torso, and on his face were light expanses of depigmentation, shone over by the morning light.
Eagerly you kissed every inch of what you could reach, ensuring you didn't move too much and trigger him to accidentally slip out of where you wished he could stay forever.
While smothering him in your affection, you laughed again as you saw what were literal bite marks on his shoulders—faint, but visible up close—from where you'd gotten a little carried away during one round. His torso had been pressed flush to yours, suffocating you beautifully with his weight, and you’d been trying to suppress your moans. Then, it seemed that the only way to do that effectively was to bite your man’s shoulder, but that wasn’t a sustainable option of course, so most of the time your whines and screams were released into the sex-scented air, and Michael’s shoulders were safe from being gnawed at further.
At the time, you had believed the two of you were alone in the house—it being so big that the noise of the others coming back had completely bypassed your senses. So, without the knowledge of there being several people who went on to listen to you and Michael going at it all night, at the time you really had no actual reason to be suppressing any of your moans. Truthfully, you just felt slightly self-conscious sometimes, because even though you’d been together and married for so long, you often felt it was a little ridiculous the way you acted around your man. You were concerned your pornographic moans would sound either pathetic or over-done, but as the years had passed, Michael truly had become a master at sexual intercourse, and he knew it too—so he never once judged you for the noises you made. To him, hearing your high whines and your soft moans was a slice of heaven on earth.
A much lesser, subtle version of those sounds he now heard as he himself awoke. You were still humming against his smooth skin, kissing him all over—partly because you loved to do so, and partly because you wanted to wake him.
“Hey, honey,” he giggled as you were busy smooching from his forehead to his cheeks.
“Hi, sexy,” you beamed, with so much love in your eyes, and in his too. “My angel…”
He gripped your waist with a soft passion, then ran his hands up and down your ass and thighs that sat over his mid-section. You were still leaning forward, now cradling his jaw beneath a handsome smile. Your heart ached—but with the satisfaction of completion, the overwhelming gratitude that this was your forever beau.
“You’re drippin’ out of me,” you whispered in his ear with a smirk, and he laughed, instantly remembering everything.
“Yeah?” he chuckled. “Lemme see…”
You felt him twitch inside you, hardening even more, and you clamped your eyes shut in anticipation. Could you really go for another round? You definitely should no longer be in this position, and no wonder your legs were aching so much despite how you were always so athletic—because not only had you been fucked into the mattress for six hours straight, but you’d also then slept directly on top of Michael, with your legs bracketing his thighs, for a subsequent four hours immediately after. It was a serious advantage that you were a dancer, for in your skill you were incredibly flexible, and God knows how bad this would've been otherwise.
But somehow in that moment, under the mid-morning radiance, it didn’t matter. Despite all the aches, you were so cosy, cuddled up into your husband's chest with his thick cock inside you, the tip inching closer and closer to your cervix the more his member grew.
Keeping one hand on your hip, Michael reached his other down further to your leaking pussy, spreading his fingers to caress the width of your stretched folds, tugged tight around his length. Using his index and middle finger, he ran through the mess seeping from there and down his balls.
“Mikey…” you sighed against his Adam’s apple, head resting in the crook of his neck as your arms wrapped around him, hands finding their place in his adorable, messy curls. He felt so perfect both beneath you and inside you, now fully hard, and still playing with the mess he’d made in the earlier hours of the morning.
“How d’you feel, mama?” he murmured with a kiss to your temple, morning voice thick and husky—his natural tone coming through in the most intimate of moments.
“I feel like you broke me,” you giggled, and Michael adored the way the sound vibrated against his collarbone.
He huffed a laugh. “Yeah, 'm sorry, baby. I'll run you a bath when we get up, alright? Carry y' everywhere…” Two kisses to your cheek. “And then we’re gonna have to rehabilitate before tonight.”
“Tonight? Oh God, I forgot about that…”
Admittedly, you were still in a haze—of post-sex and of too-little sleep—so it had slipped your mind that you were to be performing two songs with Michael tonight for the very last date of his world tour.
"Yeah, y' not gettin' out of it either," he replied, rubbing his thumbs over your hips.
You pulled your head out of his neck and squinted at him in annoyance. "Michael, you made me like this. You're to blame."
"Oh, was I also to blame for how you begged me to keep goin', huh?" he smirked, with a light smack to your ass.
Instinctively you moaned, before nudging his bicep and resting back on his chest again, nuzzling into his warmth.
"Honey, y' look crazy," Michael chuckled, referring to the bruises blossoming all over your skin, your entirely messy hair, and the makeup smudged all across your features.
"Shut up, you look crazier. And wait 'til you see those scratch marks."
"Oh, Bill saw 'em last night."
"What? Bill was in the kitchen with you?"
"Mm." Michael was trying not to laugh.
"Michael!" You nudged him again, although it was really more of an actual hit this time. "It's bad enough that he heard us but now you're tellin' me he saw what I did to you?"
"Baby, he doesn't care. He found it funny."
"He probably thinks I'm some sort of depraved sex freak."
Michael sighed in amusement. “C’mon, y’know he's heard a lot more than jus' las' night. He's known us since the very beginnin', baby, this is nothin' new," he pointed out, as his attempt at reminding you that you didn't need to freak out over the current situation, but his supposed reassurance only really stressed you out further.
He kissed your temple, running his big hand through your hair and cradling the back of your head as you laid in his comfort. His other hand continued to rub up and down your torso, but it mostly sat over your ass, squeezing and kneading the skin there. He was achingly hard inside you, but in knowing how fucked out and essentially broken you were, he wondered if he should cut this short
"Darlin'..." he whispered, rubbing his thumb over your lips that were bruised with his kiss—the intensity of a mouth that couldn't display its affections gently, despite how gentle the owner himself was in many other ways. Now, both your top and bottom lip were a fluctuation between your natural shade, your smudged lipstick, and purplish-brown marks where his teeth and the force of his own lips had brushed harshly.
To each other, you both looked sexier than ever—entirely ruined at the mercy of your love's passion, looking as though you'd each been attacked by a vicious animal and then ran over by a car in short sequence.
"Mm?" You yawned, noticing a very faint lipstick kiss on the underside of his jaw as you lifted your head. You giggled and kissed over it. "Love decoratin' your pretty face in kisses, my baby. So handsome."
Michael laughed softly, thumb still smoothing over the softness of your bottom lip. He blinked back the intense pleasure of your soaking pussy gripping him, and to you it didn't go unnoticed.
"Mikey, I love you," you sighed, reaching your hands up to wreathe them through his curls, scratching lightly but careful to irritate his sensitive scalp.
"I love you more, I swear. God, my beautiful lady... Never get tired of havin' y' like this..." he whispered back, bucking his hips up a little to direct a slow thrust upward. He hit your sweet spot instantly and you gasped, trying not to tug hard at his hair.
Protectively, he pulled the silk comforter up around your waist, so it would both cushion your lower back and provide a little privacy if one of the maids happened to walk in. Although, it was pretty much a straight given that after last night's noisy activities, everybody would be steering clear of the master bedroom this morning. Nobody would dare go near even the doorknob, until they'd seen with their own eyes that the two of you were elsewhere.
"So, d'y' think we made a baby las' night?" Michael asked—as casually as he might ask how you'd slept, or what you wanted for breakfast—while he continued to rock into you with his slow strokes from beneath.
"Michael..." you warned, because he was no longer just moving with absent mind—he was initiating morning sex, and that really wasn't the appropriate, responsible thing to be doing right now. Especially not after last night. The two of you had a lot to do today that simply couldn't involve more lovemaking.
But Michael wasn't interested in what was most appropriate.
"How many times did I cum in y', honey, I can't remember?" he murmured in your ear, repositioning his arms to create a protective hold around your waist, his slick cock coated in more and more of your wetness with each re-entry into your heat.
"I don't remember either, baby," you giggled, but you cut yourself off with a sharp moan, arching your head back as he rolled his hips up again, so achingly slow; and you couldn't argue against the honest truth that this really was the most perfect way to start your day.
"Mikey, my legs literally don't work, I can't ride..."
"Shh, 's okay, I don't want y' to. Lay like this with me, mama. Rest on me..."
"Mmkay." You grinned, knowing you were about to get scintillating princess treatment. This exact position had actually inspired part of the ending of The Lady in My Life, back in '82. Wrapping your arms comfortably around his neck, and shuffling your weight a little to get the perfect resting position, you pressed several kisses to your man's chest as your way of confirming that you were settled.
"Mhm, jus' like that," Michael groaned, both at the feeling of your soft body against his, and at the feeling of your walls fluttering around his throbbing length. "Yes, baby, now let me—mmmfuck—"
Another deep stroke upward, where his feet were now planted on the bed to allow him to drive into you with ease. His arms mostly stayed wrapped around you, but his hands would often snake their way down to your ass, to grip and knead.
"Such a pretty ass f'me, baby... All for me, huh?"
You only mumbled into his chest, equal parts sleepy and dazed out in your arousal.
"Got the most perfect body, angel girl..." He smacked your ass a little harsher this time, and you yelped, beginning to kiss over his neck to keep quiet. You really couldn't be sounding like a whore this early in the morning, and even though Michael wasn't fucking you hard like he had been a few hours ago, often it was actually the slower, more sensual sex that had you unable to control the noises that elicited from your throat.
Michael hadn't forgotten about the question that had gone unanswered by you just a few minutes prior, as pertaining to the babymaking potentiality.
"Y' think our baby's down there, huh?"
It was a sort of unspoken agreement that you were both ready for another child. What had been unspoken had been instead prophesied and actualised in every filthy act of the night prior.
But you didn't know how to respond to such a question, because indeed, you hadn't at all talked about this. In that moment, you pictured that there very well might be a zygote currently forming itself within your fallopian tube, ready to travel to your uterus to begin its growth. Certainly, you felt there had to be—but that wasn't how the fertilisation process worked, and science told that even though you were ovulating, the amount of cum your husband had shot into you consecutively didn't increase your chances of getting pregnant.
The sex itself had surely been a statement though, on both your part and Michael's, because there had been no element of protection used, and neither of you had cared for a moment. Whether an embryo was to begin inside you or not, the way you'd made love last night was a symbol of something you had both wordlessly wanted. Three kids had always felt too little a number for Michael, because he was still set on one day having eighteen—in his ridiculous idealism—and you were also looking forward to the day your careers would come to a comfortable lull, a period that still allowed you to create and perform successfully, but didn't demand of you constant presence.
During that time, when it eventually came, you would spend so much of it making more babies, with the confidence that they wouldn't be pushed to the side in the multitude that would then exist in your household. You could spend at least two years at a time away from any industry responsibility, just living for the purpose of creating children and nurturing them.
Now, Michael was just finishing up his world tour, and you were close to the end of yours too, so even while you were both still in your prime, still the most magnetic, well-known figures in entertainment, it wouldn't be the worst time to have a baby. After all, did you really want to wait until that unknown date that your careers could begin to quieten? Neither of you knew when that would be, so wasn't it best to live in the present?
"Mikey, baby..." You moaned and whined, pulling your head back to kiss all over his face and his neck, sucking more marks into his erogenous zones, and licking over the marks already cemented into his salty skin.
You rocked a little, grinding your clit over his pelvis as his thrusts quickened—still on the slower side, his perfect girth filling you incredibly. You were amazed at how seamlessly your pussy could envelop him in this way, even after the organ had faced so much the night before. And too, you wondered how on earth this was the same body part that had produced three children (a set of twins, even) for the man plowing into you.
Michael's low grunts were even more gruff now that it was the morning, and when he wasn't busy talking you through it, those sounds were creating the perfect autonomous sensory meridian response, only adding to the flutters of sheer pleasure building up through your spine.
"Sweet girl, wanna make you feel so good..." he whispered, bringing one hand to your head again to cradle the back of it. You always smiled whenever he did.
But you were starting to place yourself in the real world again, remembering the busy day ahead.
"Baby, y'know we need to get up soon... You need to start signing those—ohh, mmph—autographs for the fans... And then we need to—"
"Aht," Michael stopped you from any further logical speaking, never ceasing to fuck up into you in those beautifully slow rolls. "There's nothin' we need to do more than this right here, mama. 'N then 'm gonna pamper y' in the tub. Y' not gonna rush us, 'm takin' it real slow, yeah?"
Instantly, at the sound of his handsome voice you were back in your daze of total arousal. "Mm... oh, baby, you hit my spot so good..."
"Yeah, I know," he whispered, kissing your nose and your bruised lips softly. You kept shuffling on him, wanting to make out but also loving the feel of being babied as you clung to his chest.
Moments passed without a word—with nothing but grunts, sighs, and moans, and Michael was moving even slower now, almost not moving at all at points. This was the beauty of sleepy sex, for you were merged as one, in the most intimate embrace you could wish for.
You played with his curls again, leaning back to press your lips to his. "Bambi," you whispered.
The doe eyes that earned him the nickname looked up into your own orbs. "Mm?"
"Are we really sayin' we want another baby?" you asked.
"Y'know 'm always ready, Tink. But it's obviously up to you."
You nodded slowly, taking a deep breath that then undercut a high moan as he hit your spot a little harsher than the last time. You cleared your throat.
"I actually think, um... I think I am ready. Y'know..." As you spoke, Michael took his hand from your ass and interlaced it with one of your hands, listening intently. "You're just about to finish touring," you continued, "and I'll be done too after next month. It'll be the first time in a while where we'll be free to somewhat relax. I think now's a better time than ever."
"Really?" Michael's eyes were shining. "I think so too, baby. You seriously want a fourth now?"
"Mhm. Really. I've been thinkin' about it for a while," you said quietly, before beaming as your man paused his thrusts, beginning to tickle you with a huge, heart-achingly childlike smile on his face. The sudden action made you squeal, and even more so as he started to smother kisses all over your chest and neck, completely overcome by the ecstasy of sheer happiness.
"Seriously, honey?!" Michael grinned, cupping your cheek and pulling you down into a kiss that you had to fight to retreat from in order to respond.
"Yes, baby," you laughed, and again he tickled you further. "Mikey, stop it!"
Without pulling out for even a second, he shifted the two of you onto your sides facing each other, and in that new position—your other favourite for morning sex, alongside spooning—he made love to you with even more passion. Legs and hands entwined, bodies entirely covered in the bruised effects of an ardent devoted love well-displayed, Michael sped up, mercilessly hitting your spot as he fantasised about how you'd both go through the process of pregnancy again, and then the process of bringing another child into the world he hoped to save. He held so much gratitude for you being the one to give him all his children—that you'd put your life on hold in so many ways for at least a year, and he couldn't wait to help you through it all again.
As he held your leg up to hit deeper, he smirked at the sight of your thigh.
His amused expression confused you. "What's so funny, baby? Oh fuck—"
"Your thigh, honey," Michael chuckled, slowing down his pace slightly to talk. "There's bruises near the top, look. That hasn't happened in a while."
Your mouth shot open—sure enough, there were more bruises you hadn't even noticed, in the shape of Michael's fingerprints, from where he'd held your legs in place during mating press and every other position where he'd needed to keep your ever-moving body still.
"Michael, what the—? Thank God they're so high nobody's gonna s—ohhh, baby, stop it, 'm gonna scream—"
He only chuckled more, pounding into you harder now as the bedframe began to shake. While one hand held your leg up, his other was resting over your womb, moving from there to your clit and back again, as he thought of nothing but the image of you swollen with his fourth child.
"I love you, oh God, I love you..." he repeated, and you said each word back with sincere conviction.
"My baby," you whined.
"Perfect mama... 'm so happy y' givin' me another... I don't deserve you."
"You deserve all that's beautiful, honey. You're so beautiful..." you sighed, eyes shut in pleasure as you grabbed his hand to hold it again.
"Y' gonna cum, pretty angel?" he murmured in your ear, unfortunately needing to let go of your hand almost immediately because your clit needed him more.
He rubbed in figure-eights, bringing you closer and closer to your peak, all the while never ceasing to whisper his devotion and gratitude for your body and your soul.
"Oh, Mikey, yes—"
"Yeah, tha's it, let it all go for me, baby girl... C'mon..."
A few moments later, and the coil in your abdomen split open, releasing its tightness into white hot bouts of pleasure. The sensation coursed through your veins, coating your husband's shaft in even more wet slick and leaving you breathless, falling forward into his chest as he chased his own release.
Soon enough he was there, and your cunt was filled to the brim with hot ropes of his seed, aside noisy groans that filled the huge bedroom—because if you were bad enough at keeping quiet during the act, Michael was even worse.
You laid there in each other's arms for a couple of silent minutes, clinging, wanting to stay in the embrace for a lifetime. Michael ran his hands up and down your torso, and then his index finger over your wedding ring, as he always liked to do post-sex. He brought your leg to rest over his thigh, breathing in your scent as you breathed in his.
You found yourself reminiscing to him over that time you broke a bed together during your honeymoon at Disney, because you'd truly been close to experiencing that same incident again last night. You laughed at the memory as you each traced over your matching tattoos: your first initial in cursive on the inside of his wrist, and his on the inside of your own wrist too. You’d got them tatted a few years ago after a drunken rendezvous, and you’d seen it as a great achievement that you’d managed to convince Michael to actually be on board with a tattoo, even though it was only small.
But there were two issues that disrupted your sweet creampie-cuddling session.
"Baby, you need to pull out."
"Why?"
"Because first I need to pee, and then I need to take off these damn sheets before Maria has to." You shook your head in disbelief at the mess you could already see parts of dotted around the mattress. "I refuse to let her deal with this, oh my God."
Michael laughed. Maria was one of your maids, and you absolutely detested the image of her having to clean your cum-ridden bed herself. You might have been a whore for your husband, but you wouldn't be so disgusting to make others subject to the sight—even if they had been unintentionally subject to the sounds. There were indeed stains of Michael's release and your own sticky liquid all throughout different areas of the bed, and from where you lay in his arms, you guessed correctly that it must be way worse than the minimal parts you could currently see from your angle.
"Alright, fine," Michael sighed, pulling out slowly. You both hissed, and of course when you shuffled to sit up, more thick cum oozed from your entrance, staining another inch of fabric. There had been no point in attempting to avoid that though, because the bed was already messy enough.
Turning to dangle your legs over the side, you winced at the aches, then stood up on the carpet below. Or—attempted to stand up, rather; because as soon as you tried to, your knees buckled, and you quite literally almost fell to the floor.
"Ow, shit—!"
This was even worse than a day-long dance rehearsal, or the most difficult workout routine you'd ever put yourself through. What the fuck? Michael had never taken you so intensely before—and that was a significant statement to make, given that he was such an intense lover.
"Mama, y' okay?" he asked, brows furrowed, but he'd expected this. There had been many a time in the past where he assigned himself the duty of carrying you around everywhere after a night of hard sex.
As he looked at you, hunched over, attempting to walk with legs that felt nearly limp and effectively useless, he noticed a matching bruise on your other thigh and smiled to himself. Without wasting a moment, he was out of bed as quick as ever.
"C'mere. Up," he ordered gently, standing naked beside you, arms outstretched and prepared to pick you up into a bridal carry. That he did, while you hummed into his neck, so appreciative of his gentlemanly efforts that always followed what could only be deemed the very opposite of gentle.
"There you go, honeybaby," Michael smiled, kissing your forehead over and over as he maneuvred your spent body into the ensuite. After having peed, you sorted out the sheets, tugging them off the mattress with the silk comforter that was also partly affected, before stuffing them into a bag that you'd deal with later. Meanwhile, Michael was preparing a bubble bath, and lighting candles around the tub for ambience, even though it was eleven o'clock in the morning.
At the mention of a bubble bath, the name reminded you of a certain somebody. "Mikey, where's Bubbles?" you called from the bedroom.
"Bill's lookin' after him!" Michael called back over the noise of running water. "He's not gonna run in 'n interrupt us, don't worry!"
You laughed to yourself. You were always so welcoming and understanding of Michael's need to have all sorts of animals around in the house, but sometimes it got a little stressful. Not knowing whether a bird or a snake or a damn chimpanzee would face you when you turned wasn't the most calming experience you could expect to have in your mansion, but you put up with it all for Michael's sake.
After he bathed you that morning, so sensually and passionately that you very nearly begged him to take you again, you both tried your best to make yourselves look as presentable as possible. It took a very long time, but eventually you were done.
Or at least you assumed you were; because of course the conversation surrounding the state of Michael's back was had only in the earlier morning, a good twelve hours before he was to go onstage and forget all about the evidence of your wild night together, displaying the extent of it to the world.
Then, when you joined him on said stage for a sensual duet, you didn't hesitate to run your hands all over the artwork you'd produced. You would be chastised for such promiscuity in the weeks that followed, but you never regretted the display one bit; nor did you regret the embryo that indeed began to grow that same night, into your welcoming womb.
⤷ In which y/n acts like a brat all night and seonghwa has to put her in her place.
[seonghwa x fem!reader]
warnings: smut minors dni 18+, sex, oral f!receiving and m!receiving, choking, unprotected sex, begging.
wc: 3,931
Requested by @fixonmemangi ₊˚⊹ ᰔ (thank you for requesting ᰔ)
Matzterlist
・・・・・
The taxi ride home was quiet and tense, the air surrounding you felt heavy and you felt bad for the driver taking you and Seonghwa home.
He sat still beside you with his elbow resting on the door, his fingers pulled and played with his lips while his fingers tapped an uneven rhythm on his knee.
You both are on your way back to the hotel after attending a wedding dinner rehearsal. You are a few wines deep but you can tell that how you acted annoyed him in some way, that's why you had left an hour early.
Luckily for you thats exactly what you wanted.
;
"Maybe cool down on the wine babe" Seonghwa rested his hand on your lower back as he leaned in to whisper in your ear.
"The wine isn't affecting me" You had nudged him off but you could see him look away in irritation.
Seonghwa wasn't the type to control you unless you asked for it, but he had a point about the wine. You had drank at least a bottles worth of sauvignon blanc and he had to hold your waist so you wouldn't lose balance and fall into one of the brides maids.
The white wine had gone straight to your head and numbed your thoughts, all you could think about was how good Seonghwa looked tonight.
After the first glass you wanted to throw the sea bass on the floor and take him right there, in front of thirty people.
Your hands were on him all night and as much as he enjoyed it he pushed you off to keep it modest in front of the family at least.
You and Seonghwa have been together so long that your friend groups had blended, meaning they saw all sides of the relationship. It wasn't a secret that the two of you can't keep your hands off each other and that there was no other man in the world you wanted more than Park Seonghwa.
;
The two of you stepped out of the taxi and made your way towards the hotel entrance. By this point the stiletto heels that adorned your feet had turned to torture traps. The ache in your feet had become almost impossible to ignore.
With a sigh of relief, you slipped the black heels off as soon as you touched the laminated lobby floor and hooked the straps between your fingers.
Seonghwa didn't wait for you.
He strolled towards the elevators with his hands burried deep in his coat pockets, his shoulders were squared and his expression was unreadable. Yet when the distance got too far for his liking he noticeably slowed his pace, not enough for you to acknowledge but enough that you could catch up without running.
The silence from the taxi had followed the two of you into the elevator. It settled heavily in the small metal box, thick with the tension you had created at the rehearsal dinner.
It was silent between the two of you and only the hum of the elevator filled the air.
"Are you okay?" you asked softly.
You leaned into his shoulder, seeking comfort despite the uncertainty twisting in your chest. Did you take it too far tonight? Was he actually mad at you? Heat radiated from him through the fabric of his long coat.
His response was nothing but a low hum. After a moment his arm slid around your waist and pulled you closer, the gesture was automatic and gave you a sense of familiarity. You rested tour head on his broad chest to listen to the steady beating of his heart through the crisp fabric of his dress shirt. A second later you felt his chin settle gently on top of your head.
Neither of you spoke as you left the elevator and walked down the hallway. You remained tucked into his warm side as he guided you towards your room.
Thick cream carpets muffled the sound of footsteps while pools of amber light spilled from elegant wall sconces that casted a warm glow across the polished white walls.
You arrived at room 603 and Seonghwa tapped the keycard to the reader before pushing the door open.
The spacious suite greeted you with an atmosphere of quiet elegance. The air smelled of freshly washed linen wih soft floral notes drifting from the bouquet arranged on the vanity. Warm lighting from beside the bed illuminated the room and hugged the bedding and accents around the room.
Your suitcase sat untouched next to the bathroom door, just how you left it before leaving for the dinner. Seinghwas however was unpacked, his shirts were hung neatly on the rack and every item was perfectly arranged.
His hand settled against the small of your back and before you could react he nudged you further into the room.
You stumbled forward with a surprised laugh escaping your lips. You turned around and found Seonghwa shrugging off his long black coat. His movements were slow and controlled but there was still a tension heavy on his clenched jaw that wasn't there before.
A knot had tightened in your stomach but a smirk adorned your lips, knowing you'd caused a stir in his mind.
"Have I done something wrong?" You asked quietly, but a playful tone danced between your words.
Your fingers intertwined in front of you as you shifted your weight against the wall. The playful smirk that had been on your lips moments ago fell to a pout.
For the first time tonight you wondered if the silence between you wasn't just exhaustion. Maybe he was actually upset.
Seonghwa brushed past you without a word making the air shift in his wake, carrying a faint scent of expensive cologne as he crossed the room and stopped beside the dresser.
One by one he slipped the rings off of his finger, each piece of silver hit the wooden surface with a sharp and deliberate clink, that seemed to echo through the suite.
He didn't once look at you as you stood frozen against the wall with disappointment heavy in your chest.
You swallowed hard and pushed yourself upright before heading across the room in his direction.
The last ring fell onto the dresser while you wrapped your arms around his waist. His body went still and unmoving, for a moment neither of you moved and just stayed in each others presence.
The city lights of Seoul casted a soft glow across the room through the floor to ceiling window, it casted a shadow along the sharp lines of his face.
"Yes" His voice was low and rough when he finally replied to your question.
His hand settles over yours and peels you off him.
"You couldn't control yourself at the rehearsal dinner" He turned his head towards you and you could see the frustration in his features. "Even Wooyoung noticed"
You stepped back and fell onto the mattress. It dipped beneath your weight as you leaned back on your hands and crossed one leg over the other.
Seonghwa paid no attention to the position you'd deliberately placed yourself in as you watched his every move. Or at least he pretended not to.
His fingers moved to the buttons on his shirt, undoing them slowly one after the other. His expression was unreadable and it only made you want to push further.
A small smile tugged at the corner of your lips "And what are you going to do about it?"
This fingers rested on one of the buttons and for a second he stared down at the fabric of his shirt, debating of he heard you correctly.
Then he looked up, looked at you deep in the eyes, at the smirk dancing on your lips and the playful confidence oozing from your body. You looked like you were challenging him, and he was up for playing the game.
His gaze never left you as he stalked closer to you until he was directly in front of you, towering over you.
The mattress dipped as he planted his hands beside your legs, trapping you beneath his intensely hot stare.
He looked dangerous, a mix of frustration and lust was heavily evident in his eyes, like he could pounce and eat you in a second. It made your pulse stumble and fasten.
"You think you're funny huh?" he asked quietly.
"A little" Your smirk only grew as the gap between you shortened.
His head tilted in disbelief and amusement at your brattiness.
"You're really testing my patience y/n"
Your chest moved up to close the gap even further, teasing your lips against his. "Am I?"
A soft chuckle left his lips as his tongue poked the inside of his cheek in annoyance.
"You're driving me crazy" he snarled and pecked you're lips.
You wanted more, a peck wasn't going to cut it. You grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him into you. He sinked into your kiss for a moment before pulling away and moved off the bed.
"You really think you deserve that after how you acted tonight?" He questioned as he once again towered over you.
"I think so"
You extended your leg and teasingly dragged your foot up his leg before he slapped it away.
You laughed and fell back onto the bed again, your back flattened against the plush duvet covers.
You widened your legs making the dress you wore slide up your thighs. Your hand falls between your legs and you play with yourself through the cotton of your panties.
Seonghwa stands still and watches you from above as your hand works your clit.
"Why are you constantly disobeying me tonight?" His hand wraps around your wrist, locking it in place and making it impossible to move.
"Because I know it annoys you" Your bottom lip slips between your teeth as you try to move your hand.
"Your such a brat"
He pulls you up by the wrist he had trapped in his hand causing you to stand chest to chest.
His eyes had turned dark and intimidating.
Seonghwa pulled the jacket off your arms and threw it behind him, making it land with a soft thump against the dresser.
A shiver runs up your spine as you clench around nothing. His hands slowly work up your arms and land in your hair. He gathered the strands of your hair and twisted them into a tight ponytail.
"What are you doing?" You questioned, feeling the tight pulling of your hair.
"You'll see"
Seonghwa smirks and sits on the edge of the bed, making the mattress dip from his weight.
He pats his thigh and stares expectantly, waiting for you to follow orders and sit on his lap.
But you don't.
You stay stood with your hands firmly on your waist.
"Not until you tell me what you're doing" You're painted fingers tap against the fabric of your dress, waiting for him to explain what's happening.
Seonghwas jaw tightened in irritation and caught your wrist to pull you down with enough force that you fell over his lap. A gasp escapes your lips when your chest hit his thigh.
He rolls the skirt of your dress up as far as he could to expose your bare ass. You're legs quivered at his touch softly gliding up your thigh, he stops just before the entrance of your vagina.
"No, panties?" You could hear the smirk in his voice when he noticed the lack of clothing covering your area.
Before you had left the dinner you removed them in the bathroom and slipped them into your coat pocket, expecting to be handled when you got home.
"I took them off for you" you whispered while looking over shoulder at the blonde man admiring the glistening mess between your thighs.
"Mmm you finally did something good tonight" His fingers swipe between your folds before moving to massage your ass, spreading your juices all over the firm skin.
Your hands tightened around his thigh, your fingers digging into the smooth fabric of his dress trousers. The material bunched beneath your grip as your nails dragged across it, leaving faint creases in the expensive cotton.
Your ass felt cold at the absence of his hand against your skin, you whimpered and pinched his thigh.
A loud clap cracked through the room as his hand came down in a slap against your ass. Your body jolts at the impact and your head falls below your shoulders.
"This is what you get for acting up all night" His hand met your ass again, the skin had become more tender this time and surely scarlet red from his touch.
"Then I'm a lucky girl because this is exactly what I wanted"
Seonghwa didn't like that answer and it resulted in another smack. Your fingers dug deeper into his thigh and a whine slips through your lips.
"Stop talking back" He pulled your ponytail to whisper in your ear.
"Then shut me up"
Seonghwa massaged the tender area of your ass before taking you by the hips and pulling you up.
"Get on your knees" He demanded.
You waisted no time and got on your knees in front of him. He slowly started to unclasp his pants but he was taking too long for your liking.
Your hands took over what he was doing and rushed to pull down his trousers to reveal his tented black boxers.
Your fingers slip into the waistband and pull them down as well. He was now sat exposed in front of you with his hard dick twitching against his stomach.
Your jaw falls loose and your mouth starts to water, anticipating the salty taste of his precum coating your mouth.
Seonghwa is sat with a lazy smirk, his left hand now fallen behind him to keep his body up while his right started slowly working up and down his dick.
It was like he was teasing you, seeing you sat beneath him drooling for his cock while he stroked it.
Your hand reached for his length but he stopped you before you could wrap your hands around him.
"Bad girls don't get what they want" He taunts.
Your lips connect with a pout followed by begging eyes.
"Please let me taste you, I'll be good, I promise"
He liked how easily you submitted to him, just at the sight of his dick all your defences shatter and you fell to his disposal.
Seonghwa raises his brows as permission and you launch forward to grab the base of his shaft.
Your lips wrap around his tip and his head falls back at the sensation. You move your head up and down, taking his full length in your mouth, making you gag when it hits the soft wall of your throat.
"Fuck baby"
His hand wraps around your hair and guides you at a faster rhythm, his tip hits the back of your throat repeatedly making your eyes water and your mouth fill with drool.
His breath came out in short pants, a faint sheen of sweat glistened on his skin. His chest rose and fell while his fingers tangling further into the back of your head.
In response you took him deeper in your throat. You wanted to taste him, love him. You wanted all of him.
Seonghwas back arched and his grip tightened in your hair. He moaned at the feeling of his rising orgasm and it filled your ears like a beautiful melody.
A few more wet strokes from your lips and he released in your mouth. You lapped up every drop until he collapsed back onto the bed.
His dick slides out with a wet pop before you crawled over his body and placed a kiss on his lips.
"That wasn't my plan" His hand wipes over his face as he calms down from his orgasm.
"What was your plan hmm? You shut me up" Your lips clamp between your teeth as you smugly smile down at him.
Your hands move to caress the soft exposed skin beneath his shirt as. he gathers his thoughts.
"That was the plan, but you were supposed to come first"
He smirks and reaches up to stroke your cheek.
"That wasn't my plan"
"I could tell, those magic lips" His thumb drags down your bottom lip, exposing your milky white teeth.
Seonghwa sits up, pushing his bare chest against your clothed one; the sweat on his chest left wet marks on the front of your dress.
He leaves open mouth kisses starting from your jaw, down your neck and ending at the top of your cleavage.
"I'll rip this off if it isn't gone in ten seconds" His fingers grip the tight fabric around your waist impatiently and you take it as a sign to unzip the back of your dress.
He hastily pulls the dress over your head and immediately goes for your tits. Massaging them through your lacy bra while sucking and nipping at the skin of your cleavage. It was 100% going to leave dark marks. That low-cut top you planned to wear was definitely out the window.
"Seonghwa" His name slipped from your mouth and by the way he smiled against your skin he was loving it.
His plump lips worked against your skin; You slowly began to grind against his semi hard dick to create friction between your thighs.
You wanted to feel him inside you. You needed it. Craved it.
"I want you inside me"
Your hair unraveled from the ponytail.
The friction from humping his cock soaked you even more but it wasn't enough.
"You can have me if you promise to be good tomorrow"
You couldn't even respond coherently. Your body felt hot and worked up.
"And stop being such a fucking brat" His hand found your neck and squeezed until your face turned red from the lack of air.
You could've came right there. The way he spoke and how he worked your body so perfectly.
"Yes, I promise"
At your response, Seonghwa moved your panties to the side and slipped into you with ease.
Your jaw fell slack and you gripped his shoulders at the feeling of being filled up.
"Oh my god" You circled your hips, feeling the shape of his dick hit your walls.
You loved the way he fit so perfectly inside you.
"You're so tight, fuck"
His hands gripped your hips, guiding you against his pelvis.
His hips buck up into you and you feel him even deeper than before. Your body turned to mush and the room felt suffocatingly hot.
"Start moving baby" He mumbled.
You leaned forward and balanced your body on his shoulders. Gripping the skin under your nails as you began to bounce up and down on his shaft.
"Oh mfuck"
Seonghwa watched as your face contorted in bliss; eyes screwed shut and your mouth hung loose, but he couldn't take the devastatingly slow pace in which you moved.
He flips you over, making your back hit the plush mattress. Seonghwa doesn't even give you a second to adjust before he pounds into you, making your hips clash.
His dick hits against the soft walls of your vagina, stretching as he thrusted harder and deeper.
"Seonghwa" You moaned.
"Say my name again, tell everyone who's fucking you"
You moaned his name, louder than before. His name vibrated against the walls of the suite and you hoped deep down the walls were thick enough to drown out the noise for the other guests.
His hand finds it way down to your clit, rubbing fast circles.
Your back arched and your body once again turned to mush. The tension in your lower abdomen grew and you could feel an orgasm rising.
"Right there oh my god"
You were basically screaming as he pounded into you.
His hand held your thigh against his chest, lifting you off the bed and hitting a new spot.
Your brain was on overdrive and you couldn't think of anything else besides his dick crammed deep into you.
"I'm gonna cum"
His nails dug into your thighs making your eyes roll to the back of your head.
"Cum for me princess" Seonghwa was breathy and glistening in sweat. "Cum on my fucking dick"
Your walls clench around him as your thighs shake. He smacks your ass and it throws you over the edge.
Your orgasm takes over as you cum on his dick. You could feel the sweat covering your body as waves of pleasure overtook you, making your toes curl.
Seonghwa came right after, not being able to hold on any longer. His head fell to your chest as he moaned and moved through his orgasm.
"You were so good princess" His lips messily kiss your neck.
He drags his lips up to yours and connects them in a passionate and hungry kiss.
Your clit was throbbing and your walls continued to clench around him even after your orgasm was done.
He pulled out slowly and looked down at the mess you both created pooling out your pussy.
He licked down your stomach and kissed your inner thighs, nipping at the sensitive skin which made you jerk.
"Your so fucking beautiful" He muttered between your legs.
You smiled down at the man below you as he continued to kiss your thighs.
He loved how soft your skin was and how warm you felt against his lips.
"We have time for another round" He looked up at you with a dirty smirk dancing on his lips and his eyes had darkened again when he moved to kiss your clit.
"All night even" You replied with your nail between your teeth.
He didn't even let you think before he lapped the mixed cum from your pussy and sucked hard on your clit.
Your body jolted and your legs wrapped around his neck.
"Oh my god" You screamed and gripped the pillows beside your head.
Your hips grind into his face making your clit swipe against his nose.
The overstimulation to your clit makes your spine shiver and your legs shake.
"I'm going to cum again fuck"
He held your legs open to stop you from clamping his head between them. You started to squirm and grip anything possible to ground yourself.
He inserted his fingers and thrusted them, curling at the right stop to make your orgasm grow.
"Seonghwa I'm going to cum, let me cum" You pleaded and moaned as you fisted his hair between your fingers.
He moaned as you tugged his strands and it sent you over the edge again.
"Cum for me baby"
His permission was all you needed to release on his tongue. He lapped you up and let you ride his face through your orgasm.
Your chest rapidly rose and fell as sweat dropped down your neck.
Seonghwa appeared above you with his face soaked in your cum. You pulled him down and kissed his wet lips, tasting yourself on his tongue.
He laid himself on you, holding his body weight on his right arm to stop himself from crushing you.
He massaged your side as he watched you come down from your high.
Watching your every movement.
You finally opened your eyes and looked over his face. He had a smug smile adorning his lips, knowing he had ruined you with his tongue.
"I love those lips of yours"
You reached up and pulled his bottom lip, just like he did your earlier.
He just laughed and pulled you into him with another passionate kiss.
in which after the long tour — your bf seonghwa take his sweet time to make you wet, then willingly handing you over to his bandmates to let them finish the job.
｡+.｡☆ﾟ:;｡+ﾟ ☆*ﾟ¨ﾟﾟ
pairing: f!reader x seonghwa x san x jongho
wc: 4784 (one shot)
this work contains: +18, explicit smut, possesivebutchillbf!seonghwa, jealous!san, tease!jongho, reader is so into it, porn without plot (pwp), creampies, straight up filthy (im horny asf), missionary, doggy, lotus (kinda), riding, eating you out, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, p in v, multiple rounds, exhibitionism, voyeurism, praise kink, heavy overstimulation, begging, marking, sensory overload, they are all naked (hell yea), kissing, i mean lots of kissing, tongue play (fuuuuuck that is hot), foursome, nipples sucking, pet names, hair pulling, cursinggggg
—
a/n: my first entry and its ateez? ofc i am gonna start it with my line :3 but seriously i am writing this on my period so i was going a lil crazy here lol!
read at ur own risk. its not exactly heavy if you are used to sexual plots. enjoy!
｡+.｡☆ﾟ:;｡+ﾟ ☆*ﾟ¨ﾟﾟ
The amber lights of the hotel suite cast heavy shadows across the room. The tour is finally over, the stadium crowds are long gone, and the sudden drop in adrenaline feels dangerous.
You sit back against the headboard of the massive bed, your legs stretched out on the mattress, caught in the center of their attention. There are no stage lights now, just the three men who have been waiting weeks to have you to themselves. You look down at the sheets, realizing there is nowhere to run.
Seonghwa moves first, crawling up the mattress to settle on his knees between your spread thighs. Discarding his stage clothes, his dark silk shirt hangs open. He doesn’t rush.
While Seonghwa claims your lower half, San and Jongho take their time getting ready for what’s to come. They disappear into the bathroom for a moment to freshen up, before walking back out completely stripped down.
The bare, muscular frames are imposing as Jongho and San strip at the edge of the bed, discarding everything. On you, your clothes have long been gone — Seonghwa had stripped you completely bare the absolute second they stepped into the room.
With you lying flat on your back, Seonghwa's hands slide up your knees, tracing a slow path up your inner thighs to open you up completely. He dips his head down, kissing and licking you with an intense devotion.
His mouth is warm and deliberate against your fold, using an incredibly long, heavy stroke of his tongue that buries itself so deep inside your wet heat it makes your vision blur.
The tongue stretches you open from the inside out, lapping against your sweet spot until your hips arch off the mattress in a pleading jerk. You tangle your fingers tightly into his soft hair, completely undone by how much of himself is forcing into you with just his mouth.
It’s been a solid fifteen minutes since Seonghwa first started eating you out, his tongue working relentlessly to thoroughly wreck your senses before the others even touch you. He has done nothing but worship you, drowning you in pleasure until you are completely sensitive and dripping wet.
"You're so soft for me honey, mhmmm…" Seonghwa murmurs against your thigh, his voice vibrating against your skin.
You let out a quiet whine, your head rolling back.
"Hwa, Hwa…please...Oh."
A sharp breath cuts through the quiet. San sits right against your side on the sheets, watching Seonghwa’s mouth against your skin until his jaw clenches tightly. The jealousy is a physical thing — he wants to be the one making you gasp.
Unable to watch a second longer, San crawled forward to crowd your upper body. While you are still flat on your back with Seonghwa between your thighs, San takes control of your top half.
His hands grope your chest and waist with a firm possessiveness. He slides his hand down to lace his fingers with yours, pinning your wrist flat against the mattress with a sudden force that completely steals your breath.
"Stop looking at him." San growls against your neck, nipping sharply before crashing his lips onto yours in a frantic kiss.
You moan into his mouth, your body tightening up completely under his weight.
"San... wait, it's too much..." you gasp out when he breaks the kiss.
He just smirks, kissing down your jawline.
"Too bad. Mine now."
Jongho refuses to miss out on the heat. Sitting on your right, he moves in with a commanding presence. He reaches down, his heavy hands locking onto your waist and thighs — wanting to shift your position.
Seonghwa slowly back away at this exact moment, wiping his lips with his fingers, smeared with your wetness — backing off to the chair behind as Jongho takes full control.
San is still thoroughly caught up in kissing you, his mouth bruising yours, completely intent on swallowing your breath.
But before San can even deepen the kiss, Jongho moves in. His large hands lock onto your waist and thighs, completely disrupting the rhythm.
The sudden, forceful tug breaks the connection between your lips and San's.
San lets out a frustrated hiss, his dark eyes snapping open in irritation as he's suddenly left hanging, his hands empty as you're pulled out from under him.
"The fuck, Jongho?" San snaps, his jaw clenching as he glares at the youngest member for completely hijacking his turn.
Jongho doesn't even look up, entirely focused on his prize as his heavy grip completely takes over.
Under Jongho’s grip, you are turned over onto your stomach, your front pressing flat against the sheets while your knees tuck beneath you. You are lifted into the air in a vulnerable doggy position.
"Jongho..." you whimper, feeling the sudden cold air before his warmth hits your back.
Now in position, Jongho's large, heavy hand cups the back of your neck. His fingers tighten to tilt your face to the side, pressing deep kisses down your jawline, over your throat, and across your collarbone.
A low, rough rumble tears from his throat as his teeth catch your skin.
"Don't move." Jongho commands, his voice cuts right through the noise, holding you perfectly still under their combined onslaught.
As the heat reaches a breaking point, Jongho holds your hips firmly, positioning himself right against your opening.
Jongho pushes all the way inside you, his movements heavy and leaving you tightly caught in this doggy position.
You let out a shattered cry into the sheets.
"Jongho, wait—!"
He sighs against your ear, his large hands holding your waist.
"There, there... just take it. You're fine."
What makes it so effortless for Jongho’s thick length to slide in is the slick, pooling wetness left behind from Seonghwa’s intense attention just moments before. You are already completely soaked from his mouth.
San’s hands tangle fiercely in your hair to pull your face up, his mouth forcefully sealing over yours to shut you up with a bruising kiss. He swallows every broken sob that Jongho’s heavy, driving rhythm forces from your throat, leaving you completely trapped between their desire.
The room fills with the raw, unfiltered sound of bruising friction. His length ruthlessly bottoms out against your swollen clit with every single pace. The contact is direct, burying him deep into your slick heat.
Jongho pulls back just enough to catch a sharp breath, his hands tightening on your waist as he glares up at the older member. "Yah, yah. Hyung, stop kissing her." he pants, his voice rough and demanding. "Let go. I want to hear her voice."
San doesn't even flinch, breaking the seal of your lips for only a fraction of a second, his eyes wild and dark with jealousy as he hovers over your mouth. "Shut up, she tastes sweet right now." San growls against your wet lips, before instantly capturing them again. "Just focus and do your thing."
Your chest heaves against the sheets, your fingers digging into the pillows just to stay connected to reality. But even with San dominating your view from front, your gaze desperately fractures.
You tilt your head to the side, eyelids heavy and wet with tears of pure pleasure as your eyes scan the room, looking for Seonghwa. When your eyes finally collide with Seonghwa’s, the contrast is like ice water against your skin.
Amidst the frantic, Seonghwa is the picture of pure composure. He is watching the exact point where Jongho enters you from behind, watching his girlfriend violently hitch forward with every heavy movement, and watching San desperately try to claim your mouth.
Your eyes lock onto his, completely blown-out — silently begging your man to join in.
Seeing that desperate, worshipful look directed entirely at him, Seonghwa’s expression darkens with satisfaction. He doesn't move a muscle to help you. Instead, a slow, wicked smirk pulls at the corner of his lips.
He lazily raises his eyebrows at you, a silent challenge that says 'Look at what they’re doing to you.' He lets out a soft, low chuckle of pure amusement, entirely content to watch them exhaust themselves on a prize that actually belongs to him.
Behind you, Jongho’s grip on your waist tightens until his fingers leave red marks on your skin. His pace turns ruthless and heavy, and the steady friction makes him lose his usual quiet restraint.
"Hah… look at you." Jongho hits out, his voice deep and breathless as he drives into you, his chest slamming against your back. "Fucking taking all of me while you look at your boyfriend. You like being stretched out like this, don't you? Fucking dirty girl."
The talk and the blinding double pressure stretch your senses until you simply can't hold it back anymore. A breathless cry slips into the small space between San's lips.
"I'm gonna... I'm gonna cum... Ah..."
Hearing you beg triggers something in Jongho. His grip locks your hips completely in place as he pounds into you, his words turning completely unhinged.
"Yeah, yeah cum for us. Tighten up around me. Let me feel how ruined you are."
San hovers right over your face, his dark eyes wide and full of mischief. He had been devouring your mouth so ruthlessly just moments before — swallowing your breath and giving you no room to think.
But the exact second he catches the desperate climax coming through, he cruelly pulls back. Completely desperate for the bruising comfort of his mouth again, your lips part and you mindlessly stick out the tip of your tongue begging for a deep kiss to swallow your cries.
San lets out a soft, hot chuckle at the sight. He leans down and just lazily grazes the very tip of his wet tongue against yours, dragging it slowly back and forth in a torturous, light tease.
You let out a broken, high-pitched whine, desperately trying to thrust your tongue further out to fully catch his, but he instantly pulls back, giving you a quick peck on the lips.
"San, come here…I wanna kiss you." you cry out, your hips violently trembling under the double stimulation as Jongho drives into you from behind.
San just pouts his lips at you, looking entirely mock-sulky and teasingly innocent as he shakes his head.
"No way." San murmurs against your lips, a sudden wicked smirk breaking through his pout. "You're already getting too much back there. You have to work for this."
His lips brushing yours just enough to let the wet tip of his tongue swirl lazily around yours once more, deliberately denying you the full kiss you're begging for. He then pulls back just far enough to watch you squirm.
"Jongho, ah! Stop…I can't! Let me cum." you wail, completely losing your mind as the maddening friction on your tongue and San’s — clashes with the ruthless pounding from the back.
"So whiny, tch." San pants, his smirk widening as he presses another quick peck to your cheek. "Keep begging."
Behind you, Jongho takes a deep, ragged breath, his grip tightening on your hips as he drives even harder, completely unbothered by San and his game to you.
"Fucking tighten up for me." Jongho commands, his voice incredibly deep and rough against your shoulder. "Hold on, I am almost there."
The depth of Jongho's push forces an incredibly loud, shattered moan straight from your throat.
"Jongho! Oh my god, ngh!" you scream out, your fingers tearing at the sheets as his name rips from your chest.
Hearing you scream his name so intensely snaps something in San. His playful demeanor vanishes in a flash. He leans down instantly, his fingers tangling fiercely in your hair to pull your face up.
"Come here." San growls against your lips, his voice raw.
He crashes his mouth down on yours, abandoning the tease completely to bury his tongue deep inside your mouth to swallow your loud cries. Right as San’s bruising kiss completely dominates your senses, you finally break. Your muscles squeezing around Jongho as you spill over into your first climax, shattering his composure at the exact same time.
"Fuck? You are cumming already? Shit." Jongho lets out a deep, guttural growl right against your neck, completely consumed by the tight, pulsing heat of your release.
"Take all of this, fuck..."
Driven by your walls milking him while San claims your mouth, Jongho forces a few more pushes before he finishes completely inside you with a ragged groan, the white-hot burst of his release flooding you at the exact moment San finally devours your soul with a deep kiss.
"Shit… Ngh. You feel good. Damn, you squeezed me hard girl."
Seonghwa finally stands up from the edge of a chair, looking down at your shaking form.
"Save something for me, would you both? Don't break my girl before I even get a turn."
Seonghwa turns away. He casually unbuttons his cuffs, heading straight into the en-suite bathroom, letting the shower begin to hum.
The walls can’t block out the noise. Inside the shower, Seonghwa listens to the heavy breathing continuing on the bed.
Exhausted but satisfied, Jongho slowly withdraws from behind, letting you sink completely flat onto your stomach against the sheets.
He leans back against the headboard with a heavy exhale, though his large hands remain active, restlessly touching and smoothing over your flushed skin from behind.
The moment Jongho clears the space, San’s possessive jealousy flares over the edge. Since he is already right in front of you, he quickly repositions his body on the mattress.
He drags himself up the bed, looming right beside Jongho against the headboard, and reaches down to grab your waist.
With one forceful lift, San hauls you completely up onto his lap. You are now sitting upright, straddling San's lap in a riding position, face-to-face, while Jongho watches right from his side.
His large hands immediately lock onto your hips, pulling your chest flush against his as he completely takes control from below. Your hands clamping onto his broad shoulders.
"Ah! San!" you scream out, your lower body adjusting to the sudden stretch.
Your head rolls back, a soft, trembling sob escaping your lips as the friction hits your overstimulated nerves.
"Wait... San! I'm still so sensitive... please… you're stretching me too much..." you whimper, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes.
San pauses for a second, his body locked tightly against yours, his chest heaving as he stares up at your flushed face. A soft, tender expression flashes over his features. His thumbs are smoothing over your hips.
"I know, sweetheart. It's fine." San assures you, his voice dropping into a low, breathless murmur right against your lips. "Just relax against me. I've got you. Just take it slow."
Right beside San, Jongho lazily tilts his head down, his eyes locking onto the exact point where you and San connect. He lets out a low chuckle, a smug smirk pulling at his lips.
"Look at that…" Jongho teases, his deep voice dripping with amusement as he gently pats your thigh. "You're taking him so easily now. Guess I opened you up perfectly for him, hm?"
“Ah… ah San…” you whimpered, closing your eyes and focusing on the pleasure of his veiny and girthy length.
San's eyes flash with a mix of heat and irritation, his grip tightening on your hips as he locks his lower body against yours.
"Shut up, Jongho." San gasps out, his breath hot and uneven as his gaze snaps back up to lock onto your face.
The heavy and rhythmic friction of sliding up and down his thick length makes you scream out into the room. He sets a ruthless, relentless pace from below, lifting your hips up just to drive them back down onto him, filling you completely with his length until your mind goes entirely blank.
"Oh sweetheart… how does that feel compared to Jongho, hm?" He tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze through your tears of pleasure. "Look at me. I don't want to share you ever again. Tell me I'm the only one you feel right now."
You look up at him with completely flushed, droopy eyes because it feels too good. Your hands blindly move up from his broad shoulders to wrap tightly around his neck. You tilt your head back against his grip, your lips trembling as you let out a wrecked cry, answering him completely.
"It feels so full... San…Please... I only wanna feel you… God."
San’s dark eyes flash with absolute adoration, a worshipful awe taking over his face as he continuously pounds up into you.
"Yeah? Then do it again for me, sweetheart." San gasps out, his hands squeezing your hips so tightly. "Look at how good you take me. You're so beautiful. Cum again for me, baby. Cum for me."
At that exact moment, Jongho leans forward over you. His large hand cups your bare breast. His thumb rubbing roughly over your erect nipple before he seals his hot mouth right over it — torturing you completely with a deep suckle that turns your shattered cries into needy gasps.
"Good girl…" Jongho murmurs against your flushed skin during a brief breath, his lips brushing the side of your breast as his voice comes out rough and heavy with genuine pride. "Take it all from him."
The praise and the suffocating heat are the exact things that push you completely over the edge for the second time.
"Wait. I'm coming... San... I really wanna cum!" you moan, your voice breaking in the air as you arch blindly into San's lap.
Desperate to catch the orgasm, you fiercely arch up into San's oncoming thrusts, overriding his rhythm on your own terms.
The demanding shift catches San completely off guard. His eyes widening in pure surprise at your sudden boldness.
Beside him, Jongho is thoroughly impressed by how desperately you're working for it. San and Jongho lock eyes right over your flushed face. A silent look of amusement passing between them.
They both grinned heavily, Jongho swiping the tip of his tongue over his lips with a slow, wicked smirk while San bit down hard on his own lower lip with dark eyebrows drawing together in absolute pleasure — completely enjoyed and drunk on the sight of you desperately chasing your peak on his thick length.
"You want it that bad?" San pants. "Yeah… keep going then. You’re taking me so well." His heavy hands lock right onto your waist for support, guiding your movement to slide down his thick length.
The agonizing tease is the final breaking point. Your inner muscles clamp down as you finally breaks into a second climax.
"San... ah, I like it. I like it so much." you whimper breathlessly against his neck.
Your knees give out entirely and you collapse forward, your flushed chest pressing flat against San's while your body and clit pulses around him.
The tight squeezing of your climax vibrates straight through San’s core, shattering his control. He then keeps chasing his own orgasm, driving his length and hips upward with a desperate hunger.
"You like being stretched like this, hm?" San pants wickedly against your ear, his pace turning fast and frantic — still chasing his orgasm. "Then take it all."
He kisses you deeply while hammering into you to catch his own peak.
"Where do I fill it, sweetheart? Tell me where you want it." San pants against your lips, hovering right at the absolute edge of breaking.
A fleeting thought tells you it's completely useless to even think about asking him to finish outside; Jongho had already filled you up earlier, so at this point, it didn't even matter.
"Please... inside. Inside me please." you whimper desperately, completely undone.
With a heavy groan, his lower body hits yours with a final force as he completely surrenders to his release.
He drives up one last time to lock flat against you, his body shaking as he finishes deeply inside — the white liquid spilling over, completely overwhelmed by the sheer volume of how much he left inside you.
As it streams in a thick, messy rush down your flushed skin, it instantly mixes with the cooling pool of Jongho’s release from before — the two fluids merging together into a slick, heavy cream that completely runs down your thighs.
"Ah… ah San."
"Ngh. You did so well, sweetheart."
As both of your breathing slowly stabilizes, San lifts a heavy hand, gently patting and caressing your damp hair away from your forehead. His touch is incredibly tender, a sharp contrast to his previous frantic energy.
"You okay? Can you get up?" he said softly, his thumb brushing over your flushed cheek.
You try to nod, but your body is completely weak. You slowly try to pull your hips away from his lap. A quiet gasp escapes you at the highly sensitive, sticky wet stretch as his length slowly glides out of your cream-filled pussy — your legs completely giving out as you collapse flat onto the bed right beside him.
San lets out a lazy chuckle, his heavy arm playfully tugging your hip back toward him. "Aww…You were begging to be filled up a second ago. Now just look at yourself."
Not long after, the bathroom door clicks open and a cloud of warm steam rolls out. Seonghwa steps out with a towel around his waist, his eyes taking in the view on the bed.
Hearing the click, Jongho looks up at him. You and San collapsed together on the mattress, entirely overstimulated, flushed, and barely able to move.
Jongho looks at Seonghwa’ freshly showered appearance, "Hah...look at him." Jongho huffs out, his voice incredibly deep and rough from exhaustion as he nudges San with his elbow. "Fucking lazy. He really let us do all the heavy lifting."
San groans, lifting his head just enough to glare up at Seonghwa, though there's no real heat behind it — just the smug satisfaction and disbelief of a man who knows he performed in ruining his friend’s girlfriend.
"Seriously hyung? Standing in there while we did all the actual work for you? Just look at her. So ruined she can't even open her eyes. Made her cum twice by the way. She's so sensitive you won't even be able to touch her without her screaming. Good luck with our leftovers."
Seonghwa doesn't look offended at all. As your boyfriend, he has an unshakeable confidence that his bandmates couldn't possibly rattle — meaning he can easily afford to be patient. He just stands at the edge of the mattress, looking down at his two completely spent, useless bandmates, then lets his heavy gaze settle entirely on you.
Seeing your completely thoroughly wrecked state doesn't displease him in the slightest; instead, a potent heat flares in his chest. Knowing it was his own bandmates who worked you into this condition only makes the view incredibly hot.
Seonghwa’s smirk only widens, his eyebrows raising in that familiar confidence as he drops the towel from his hands — leaving his body naked.
"I have plenty of patience." Seonghwa said softly, "And I have plenty of time. Unlike you two....tch."
He sinks onto the mattress, crowding over your upper body until his face is just inches from yours, his knees settling onto the edge of the bed right beside you.
You are lying flat on the bed, completely exhausted as he looms directly over your face, millimetres away.
"Right, honey?" Seonghwa whispers against your lips, his eyes locking onto yours, following every tiny, frantic flutter of your pupils.
The sound of his voice cuts straight through your overstimulated core. Your hands, still trembling violently, reach up to Seonghwa and lock firmly behind his neck, your fingers digging into his clean skin.
With every ounce of strength you have left, you pull him down to you. Your legs lifting from the mattress to wrap tightly around his waist, locking him flush against his body.
"Hwa…I want you. Please, babe, I need you." you breathe out against his mouth, a wrecked confession.
Seonghwa’s breath hitches. Hearing you call for him like that reminded him that at the end of the day, you are entirely his — he is your boyfriend, and no one else can claim you the way he does.
He didn't wait long enough. He doesn't wait for them to leave.
Instead of backing away to let the other two clear out, Seonghwa shifts his weight heavily, his hands locking onto your hips as he aligns himself and drives straight up inside you.
“Ah... Hwa..."
You let out a long whine, as your fingers immediately claw at his back — feeling him getting deeper into you.
Unlike San and Jongho who frantically chase their own satisfaction, Seonghwa takes his time, shifting his rhythm into slow, deep strokes that feel heavy and intensely intimate. A low hiss escapes his lips as he boxes you in, pinning both of his arms securely around your head to trap you completely under him.
"Oh god, Hwa... ah, ah…"
You aren't even flustered by the fact that the other two are still right there; you are completely undone by the realization that no matter what has already happened, your boyfriend will always be the one who can feel this good. He completely reclaims your body in an instant. His rhythm is deep, steady, and relentless.
"Oh my god... babe, you feel so good." you whimper, your voice breaking with every heavy push. "Oh, I miss you… you're so good, please...Seonghwa…"
Seonghwa’s expression softens into something incredibly tender, even as his lower body continues to push into you with a heavy friction. His thumbs smoothing gently over your tear-stained cheeks while his hips completely wreck you below.
"I know, baby. I miss you too. I am here." His voice becomes low, laced with so much raw affection it makes your chest ache. "Look at how beautifully you fit around me. You're so perfect. Can you feel me honey? Say it again..."
"Yeah… I love you. It's always you, Hwa...always you… l love you…" you sob out, completely overwhelmed by the intoxicating mix of his gentle touch and voice followed by the deep, rough stretch of him filling you up.
"I love you too, baby." he whispers, his voice thick with raw emotion as he leans down, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that leaves you completely breathless.
He kisses you then. Soft, slow, and devastatingly deep — completely swallowing your whines as his pace turns fiercely demanding, pushing you to the mattress beneath him.
Across the room, San and Jongho are still wandering around, completely unbothered, lazily gathering up their discarded clothes, watches, and some other stuff from the chairs and floor. They really taking their sweet time.
San pauses, a jacket draped over his shoulder, his eyes locking onto the bed. His gaze tracks the violent, heavy friction of Seonghwa’s hips driving into you, taking in the way your legs are locked behind their hyung’s back, and the wet, helpless sounds echoing from your throat and pussy.
An unholy heat hits San's throat, as he tries to swallow down the sudden spike of envy. He grips the jacket in his hand a little tighter, completely transfixed by how utterly wrecked you look under a man who is being so protective yet so brutal with you.
"Fuck, man. That's so hot... real lover's shit right there." San says, a heavy smirk on his face as he watches you praise their hyung so helplessly.
Jongho tosses his shirt over his arm, stepping closer to the edge of the bed with a completely relaxed, teasing grin. He looks at how deeply Seonghwa is buried inside you, completely skipping any sort of cleanup.
"But ours are still left inside." Jongho teases, raising his eyebrows at his older member. "Are you not gonna wipe her first, or what?"
You whine loudly at the teasing, burying your face in Seonghwa’s neck, completely overstimulated and needy as his heavy pace continues to push you right back toward the edge.
"Hwa, don't stop...you feel so perfect..." you cry out, completely helpless beneath him.
Seonghwa’s jaw tightens, a flash of authority taking over his face as your praises and his members' teasing hit his pride all at once. He grips your waist brutally tight, his rhythm turning heavy and demanding as his dark eyes snap over his shoulder, glaring directly at the two of them.
"If you all don't get out. NOW." Seonghwa growls, his voice dropping into a terrifyingly low, cold rumble that fills the entire suite.
San just chuckles, grabbing his boots, while Jongho gives a satisfied shrug as they finally slide toward the door, leaving you completely at his mercy.
i also cannot stop thinking about the man thats making everyone gay
bf!san x f!reader
content: morning intimacy, clingy!san, munch!san, san loves talking to his girl(not you 1% of the time), oral, fingering, strong armsmsm...
wc: 1.5k
thinking about san...
you hated to be one of those girls, but your boyfriend was heaven.
he feels like his bones were made to accommodate the slope of your hands along his neck and along his mountainous shoulders. you liked stirring swirls with the tips of your acrylics into his messy black hair in the morning.
the sun streams through the half-broken blinds of your apartment, blanketing san in a patterned ray of light. his gentle eyes closed sleepily, practically purring at the feel of your hands and your body warmth beneath him. you lie with your back against the headrest, pillows stuffed beneath your lower back, whilst san lounges comfortably with his head in your lap.
his big, soft hands hold your thighs together like a pillow he fears will iceberg beneath his ear. the comforter is thrown haphazardly over your bed, the fitted sheet lifting off the corners of the mattress. proof of a… busy night.
every time you all but shift beneath him, he grumbles and holds your thighs together. “move again, and i’ll lock your legs together.”
tempting, but you did not need to rile him up this early in the morning. san was much like a cat. cute, fickle. particular.
you wont sit still? he'll do something to help you to relax.
the fingers on your thighs splay wider as if to grab more of your flesh, and he turns his head and begins dusting the tops of your thighs with kisses.
“my sweet, pretty girl.” san murmurs against your skin, a teasing, pouty tone to it. this is how it starts. with buttering you up.
he moves the blanket so his broad shoulders are exposed to the gold morning light, the grey tanktop doing little to hide the proof of his hard work. he can almost feel the way your eyes laser in on his back, and he can't help but smile as his wandering hands move to slip your panties down your legs smoothly. his warm kisses never cease, sensual and promising.
your hands slip away from his hair in surprise, and he nearly throws a fit as he grumbles and grabs your wrists and brings them back to the top of his head. his hands are back on your body in no time, holding both sides of your waist as you might melt through his fingers and massaging your hips with that perfect amount of pressure.
the feeling evokes a content sight out of you, and you find your upper body stretching subconsciously.
“there we go, big stretch, babydoll. good morning to you too,” san teases you with that stomach-flipping grin, and you narrow your eyes to tease him back. he, however, drags his worked, big hands down your waist, along the curve of your hips, back down to your thighs, where he wastes no time in spreading your legs in a way that can only be described as greedily.
“i wanna say good morning to her too…” he growls very quietly under his breath, hastily pushing your thighs back and up against your stomach. “she's always so happy to see me.”
the evidence of “her excitement” is clear: strings of arousal that cling to your lips, spread nice and pretty from the way san holds your legs open. his hands travel along your outer thighs, up your sides, all the while his head lowers between your thighs, eager.
“you were excited first,” you attempt to retort, to resume some semblance of control. you knew you had none; you were so weak for him. and when his heated tongue lay flat against your cunt, and his thumbs pressed into your lower stomach, you had only been proven right.
he squeezed your body like a stress toy, the muscles in his back twitching with every register of your taste. he moaned, so prettily. his mouth moved slowly and deliberately. leisurely, open-mouth kisses. deep, wide licks and hungry swallows. anyone he could tell he was doing it 100% for you would know he was lying if they saw and heard the way san was making out with your pussy.
your head falls back against the headboard, the bones in your legs liquefying as your boyfriend eats breakfast.
“hello, beautiful,” he purrs into a suckling kiss against your clit, and you feel an overwhelming mix of emotions come over you. you grip his hair harder, and he bites his bottom lip with a grin and a laugh as he spits between your pussy lips.
shame, embarrassment, arousal that burned too bright, it ached low in your stomach. you hated it when he talked to your cunt. but the way your stomach tightened in response spoke volumes every time.
when he starts kneading your lower stomach, deep and slow like he was working knots out of you, and gently kitten licking right under your clit, you pull his hair so hard he hisses in pain.
“aww, baby, you’re making this so hard for me.” san pouts and one of his hands lightly smacks your stomach. “i'm tryna keep you clean, but you won't stop dripping all over the sheets, always so messy!”
you sniffle and moan, one of his hands falling away from your waist and slithering between your legs, gathering the stickiness he's pulled out of you all over his middle fingers.
your body twitches at the new touch, and san moans long and low around your clit as he slides his fingers knuckle deep inside you, quick to scrape against that spot, and stars were bursting at the back of your skull.
“d-oh fuck… s-san, mmm…” your words dissolved into mindless, blissful pleasure. a horny smile spreads across your lips as san pushes his fingers deeper into your cunt.
“my gorgeous, sloppy girl.” san slurs against your pussy, his eyebrows furrowing as he eats you like he was imagining it was your lips. his eyes close and his hand squeezes tighter, his thumb presses deeper. his fingers curl harder inside of you, his tongue turns merciless against your clit, and his moans drag feelings out of you that should be illegal.
for some reason, you just could not take it this morning; it all felt so intense for some unknown reason. your hips bucked against his mouth, his fingers repeatedly caught on the ridge inside of you, and your legs began to shake.
san pouts and clicks his tongue out of pity, moving his fingers in deep, wavelike strokes that made your throat feel like somebody was trying to pull it out of you through your stomach. “aww, babydoll, you’re shuddering. it feels so wrong when you cum without me kissing you.”
this is true. he loves to drink your noises when you cum, feel the warmth of your teeth as you shatter on his dick, fingers, abs… etc. he would normally abandon the meal and just finger you until you snap, but, god. he couldn't stay away from your pussy.
warm and sweet and wet. your plush thighs hugging his ears like muffs. your nails against his scalp like a reminder of how he makes you feel. he frowns, like some innocent, wronged cat whose tail you’ve stepped on. but the way his fingers curl and the way he kisses your clit tell different stories.
the hand still holding your waist, and effortlessly your body against the bed, lands another slap against your stomach, and your limbs jerk.
“c’mon, let go, sweet girl. cum. it'll feel so good if you do, and it’ll make me sooo happy,” and he really couldn’t help himself at this point. his lips suction to your clit one last time, pulling away with a wet pop, wasting no time and lifting himself and swallowing your parted lips in a heavy kiss.
his fingers fucked you faster, his thumb moving up to circle your slick clit in place of his unfair mouth. he nibbles your bottom lip with a grin and kisses you so deep with a desire to take you can’t find your breath.
“don't you wanna make me happy, babydoll?” he practically begs into your mouth, and everything inside of you screams to make your heaven of a boyfriend happy. you cum so hard you would’ve thought he was fucking you.
then again, that's how it is with san every single time, and you still haven't gotten tired of it. he just knows what to do, so assertive, so caring, such a man.
coming down from your high, your grip onto his tanktop and bury your face into his neck, huffing and puffing, whining softly as his fingers slowly circle inside of you, working it out as he whispers praises in your ear.
you breathe in the smell of his cologne from the day before, and it makes your stomach tingle. vanilla, whiskey, patchouli, something so intoxicating it's hypnotic. the sun paints his tanned skin a radiant gold, and suddenly you get overwhelmed with the urge to bite him.
you do. he complains with a return bite to your shoulder, and you moan in response. he pauses and licks the bite and smiles, squeezing your waist with anticipation.
you’ve riled him up again.
btw the fragrance im refrencing is nightclubbing by celine. he mentioned he wore it in an interview one time and im a huge fragrance nerd and the notes are so sexy
cw. canon rafe, unhealthy obsession, stalking, rafe and a one-sided crush (at first), angst, kissing, needy rafe, masturbation (m), meltdowns, confessions, lots of dialogue, inebriated sex, drugs, unprotected sex, semi public sex, breeding, size kink (rafe has a huge dick), dom/sub, possessiveness, light cumplay, reader is often pressured into acts with rafe. it is not entirely consensual.
synopsis. rafe has never had such intense feelings for someone until he met you. his problem is that he doesn't know how to get you to want him back.
Rafe watches you intently as you flit around the snack bar at the country club, serving a rich family overpriced ice creams. You'd been working at the concessions stand since summer started. No doubt a seasonal job to pay for college. He could pay your whole tuition and not bat an eye, and it's not like he hasn't offered on multiple occasions.
He'd been strangely offended when you'd gotten defensive and angry. You accused him of throwing money at you like you're a whore. You think the worst of him. He knows you do. He can see the way you behave around him.
He noticed your smile always faded when he entered your line of sight. You usually bolted with a weak excuse of being busy, or gave him clipped, terse responses if he managed to get you to speak to him. Even then, it felt like he was talking at you, and you were responding like you had a gun to your head.
Perhaps you thought you were too good for him. That fancy college you were going to was getting to your head. Maybe you were dating some douchebag econ major... He didn't even realize the family left and he was just staring at you. You're probably even more creeped out by him now. You have this odd look on your face and there's a stiffness in the way you stand now, like you're trying to shrink yourself without being obvious.
He takes a sharp breath in and walks over to you, hands sliding into his pocket to hold out the pretty necklace he bought you today. He was planning to ask you out. For the second time this week already.
He fidgets with the necklace in his pocket, running his thumb along the delicate little charm he'd picked out earlier that day. It reminded him of you, all soft and bright and way too expensive for someone scooping sherbet in the heat. He'd thought about just leaving it in your locker. But no, that'd be weird. Creepy, even. He wasn't creepy.
Your shift is almost over. He can tell by the way you've started glancing at your phone, counting down minutes. You don't look up when he stops at the counter. But you freeze for just a second. Your hand lingers too long on a napkin dispenser.
"I g-got you something," he mumbles, voice low and a little nervous, like a child speaking to their first love. He pulls the necklace from his pocket slowly, afraid you'll turn him away. You finally look up. Not at the necklace but at him. Your face is guarded.
"Rafe…" Your voice is soft, but there's weight behind it. You sound tired. "I told you not to-"
"You didn't let me finish last time," he says, setting the little box a little too hard onto the countertop. "You never… you never let me finish. I'm not trying to buy your attention. I just… think about you a lot." He swallows, tongue darting across the inside of his cheek. "You don't even have to wear it. I just thought it was pretty. Like you."
You blink, eyes scanning his face. It almost sounds like he's rambling, and your cheeks warm up at the compliment. Still, wearing something a man bought you is far too intimate for your liking. He notices your hands twitch slightly at your sides.
You shift your weight like you want to step back but don't want to make it obvious. The silence that follows is thick. Your eyes drop to the box, then lift again to meet his. You're not smiling. He wishes you'd smile at him. The cute one with a hint of a dimple. You're so adorable.
"I don't want to owe you anything," you say quietly. "And I don't want you thinking that this means anything. Because it doesn't. I don't feel that way towards you."
Rafe's feels his heart sink like a rock in a body of water, his eyes trained on you as you lower your head, gnawing on your plump lower lip. You're a coward. He thinks to himself. Mumbling that to him while being incapable of looking him in the eyes. He reminds himself that this happens every time he makes a move on you, but it still stings.
"Why not? How do I make you want me?" The words tumble out before he can stop them. He feels like such a loser. He's practically begging for your attention.
"You dont, Rafe." You mumble. You don't meet his eyes again as you gather up your things, shifting uncomfortably as you turn away. There's no venom in your voice, like he's not even worth the time or energy to get mad at. "Stop wasting your time with me and go hang out with the girls your speed."
He frowns, pushing his body against the counter as he watches you lock everything up. His eyes drift to the way your tits push against your thin polo when you lean forward to grab your phone charger. Fuck, he wants you.
His mind returns to your last couple words. "What do you mean my speed? You're my speed. I want you to be my speed."
You scoff lightly, shaking your head. You think he's clueless. He knows you do. As you slide out of the concessions stand and come around to roll down the security shutters and lock it. He stares down at you, admiring the way your body moves. You're not answering him, so he holds onto your upper arm and turns you with little to no effort so that he can look at you. You're just… so out of his league, and yet, he can't let go of this hope. This stupid, selfish hope that you'll turn to him one day. That you'll see him the way he's seeing you now.
"I don't know why you're doing this," he continues, his voice rougher than he means. "But I'm not the bad guy here, alright?" He steps closer to you, leaning in. His heart races, his voice low but urgent. "I know you... you don't want me anywhere near you. But I can't stop thinking about you. Every damn day. Every time I see you, I-" He pauses, his breath catching in his throat as the words spill out before he can stop them. "It h-hurts. It fucking hurts, you know?"
The silence between you two stretches, and Rafe's chest rises and falls rapidly like he's been holding his breath for too long. His hands shake. He's not sure if he's angry or desperate, but either way, he can't let it go. He needs something from you but he knows it's not something you can give so easily. You stare at him silently through long lashes, your brows furrowed. You hate him. "I'm going home, Rafe," you say, not acknowledging his desperation. "I suggest you give this a rest."
He watches as you tear your arm out of his grip to brush past him and head toward your dingy little car, hips swaying as you walk. The pretty necklace he bought you is still in his possession. Like he's out of his mind, he stalks after you from a distance just as you get into your car. He walks to his own truck and decides to tail you to your home.
-
Rafe shows up the next morning like he didn't follow you home the night before and sit in his truck outside your house for hours with his hands clenched tight on the steering wheel, replaying your voice in his head on a loop.
"I don't want you." "Stop wasting your time."
He'd been a fight with his dad this morning, and that, paired with yet another day going by with you refusing to open up to him, had pushed him over the edge. The fight had been loud, ugly, and violent and had left his voice hoarse and his knuckles raw from punching drywall. He'd stormed out without a plan, just his keys in hand and the necklace in his pocket.
You're working in the stupid concessions stand again, your face a little sleep ridden, but so so cute. He stares at you like it hurts to look and hurts worse not to.
When you see him storm up to the front, you frown immediately "I told you to stop coming here," you murmur softly, stepping back just a little, but you don't yell or swear at him.
"I know, I know," he rushes out, his voice low and breathless. "But I-I need this. I'm going through some shit right now, alright? I'm not okay. I swear I'll leave right after, I just.. fuck, I just need to hold you right now. Please."
You blink, staring at him from behind the counter with furrowed brows and pursed like you're unsure. Your voice is soft. "Rafe…"
He talks over you before you can turn him away "I'm not trying to pull anything. I'm not here to freak you out. I…" He drags a hand through his hair, pacing outside the snack shack like he's going to have a meltdown. "Please. I really, really need this. God, I miss you and I don't even have you yet."
That makes you pause, your brain scrambling to process the sheer desperation in his words. Your face is warm for a reason you don't comprehend right now. Your eyes flick up to his, and you sigh. "Fine," you whisper, stepping aside to move to the side door and open it. "Just for a bit." He's inside before you finish the sentence.
He practically throws himself on you, arms around your waist, head buried in your neck as he exhales into your skin. You stumble a little because he's so big and heavy, but he wraps his arms around you tighter to keep you steady. Your hands go instinctively to his shoulders, and he relaxes, grounded against you the second he has you in his arms. You're so warm and soft and you smell sweet, causing his body to relax against yours. He can finally breathe.
You tentatively reach up to touch his hair gently, voice unsure. "Did… something happen?"
He just hums, not answering right away, eyes fluttering shut against your collarbone. "You feel so good," he mumbles. "Shit… I don't know what's wrong with me…"
You don't respond. You just let him hold you, fingers threading through his hair, and for a moment, he actually feels calm. He doesn't even care that you're not kissing him or telling him you feel the same. This is enough for now.
He holds you for a long time. Too long, probably, but you don't push him off. Your fingers are still gently threading through his hair, and Rafe presses himself against you tighter like he can fuse the two of you together if he tries hard enough. Feels like he wants to be in your skin. He doesn't say anything for a moment, just soaks in the warmth of your body, the comfort of your scent, the softness of your voice when you ask, "Are you feeling any better?"
He is, really. Much, much better. So much better that he forgot all about Ward and all his other stupid problems, but he needs more. You've got him hooked. "Can I come hang out with you in the stand today?" he asks quietly, nuzzling into your throat. "I'll sit in the back, I swear I won't bother you, I swear."
You hesitate, and he feels it immediately in the way your fingers pause in his hair. You pull back slightly, and he lifts his head to meet your eyes, already expecting the no before you whisper it. "I can't, Rafe. I'll get in trouble. I can't have people hanging around,"
"But I'm not just people," he interrupts, frowning. "I'd be quiet. Just… just let me be near you, please. I can't go back there. Can't go home. Just wanna be with you."
"Rafe…"
"Okay," he says quickly, licking his lips and pulling his hand from his pocket. "Okay, fine. What about the necklace, then?" You blink as he holds out the box again, careful this time, not slamming it on a counter or shoving it in your hands. Just opening it slowly, almost reverently. "Will you wear it? Please?"
There's a pitiful look on his face that makes your resolve falter. His eyes are shiny, lips red and swollen from biting and licking, his face flushed. He's holding you tightly with his free hand. You sigh softly, giving in. "Fine. Just… just for today."
His whole face lights up. "Really? You will?" You nod, reaching for the box, but he stops you gently, one hand brushing yours. "C-can I put it on you?"
You hesitate again, and he's already behind you before you can think of a reason to say no. His fingers tremble a little as he pushes your hair aside, letting the soft strands fall through his hands like silk. You smell like something clean and dreamy, like vanilla and sunlight, and he swears it makes his head spin.
He hooks the necklace around your throat, clasping it carefully, and then just lets his hands rest on your shoulders for a second too long. You're wearing his necklace. Surely that means you're closer to becoming his, right? You're being so nice to him today, he thinks. "You look s'pretty, angel" he murmurs, eyes trained on your skin. "It looks perfect on you."
You turn to face him, not frowning so much anymore. "Thank you… but, seriously. You should go now, my boss does rounds in the morning, and-"
"I know, I know." He nods quickly, eyes dropping to your lips, voice barely above a whisper. "Do you... do you think I could kiss you? Just once?"
You pull back slightly, unsure. "I don't think that's a good idea…"
"Please," he breathes, his hands grabbing onto your arms to make sure you don't run from him. "I swear I won't ask again. Just once. I'm not okay, alright? I need to know what it feels like. Just one. I'm begging you."
You pause. He's looking at you like he's breaking and one kiss could fix something inside him. You furrow your brows, caught between your own better judgment and the way his voice sounds all wrecked and shaky when he speaks, and you know that he won't let this go, so yet again, you give in. "…Just a small one."
He doesn't wait, pressing his mouth to yours with such desperation it makes you reel back slightly. His hands come up to your face, thumbs grazing your cheeks like you're made of glass. He makes sure not to go too fast or try to shove his tongue in your mouth. He wants to savor every last bit of this before you pull away and go back to ignoring him. When his lips move against yours, it's reverent, and his lips seal around yours, making soft smacking sounds. He can't help the breathy groans that leave him. When you finally pull back, he's not all there.
You're warm in the face, wide-eyed, and still close enough that he can feel your breath fan against his lips. "Rafe…" you whisper, gently guiding him back by the shoulders. "You should go." He doesn't say anything, just nods, eyes still glassy and dazed, letting you push the door open and give him a soft little smile, biting your lip to hold it back, as he stumbles outside, like he's in a fog. The door shuts behind him.
He walks to his truck like he's drunk, heart pounding, lips tingling, mind still wrapped around the way your mouth felt on his. He's never felt this before. Not with anyone. He sits in his truck for a long time after that, tasting you on his lips and listening to his heart drum in his ears.
-
Rafe doesn't leave his room for hours after the kiss.
He's lying on his bed, shirt thrown onto the ground and breathing way too hard. The way your mouth felt on his feels like it's been carved into his brain. Burned into it, more like. He can't stop thinking about how it felt to hold you and press his lips to yours all desperate and sloppy no matter how many times he tries to get it together. He can still faintly taste your strawberry lip gloss on his mouth and hear the soft little moans you made when you kissed him back, even if they were quiet. Next time, he'll make you scream.
He turns over in his bed, running his fingers through his hair. He wonders if he's drowning. Nothing feels real right now. You kissed him. He didn't force himself on you or make you do anything you didn't want to. You gave yourself to him, and now he needs more, but you're so difficult. Sweet and soft but just out of reach like you like watching him go crazy.
He sits up too fast, legs bouncing with nervous energy as he grabs his phone and opens your social media so fast it feels like muscle memory. He scrolls through your posts until he finds one he's seen many times before. One where you're at a kegger with friends in a little crop top with shorts where he can see the bottom piece of your bikini underneath.
You look like his wet dreams come to life. He likes this picture because it looks like you were made for him. All sunkissed, wearing his favorite colors, smiling all cute and innocent, fuck…
He tosses his phone to the floor like it burns to hold it and closes his eyes until all he can see is your mouth parting against his, the way your lashes fluttered. The heat of your body under his hands, how easy it would've been to just keep going, to press you up against the wall and devour you like he wanted to. He can't breathe.
He's sliding his hand into his pants before he can think, not bothering to take off his shorts or boxers, just easing his cock out of their confines and groaning at its sensitivity, hunching forward and slowly beginning to pump his hand up and down. He thinks about you in his necklace, bending you over the counter of your dumb little snack store, kissing you again… God, he thinks you're it for him. You're all he wants..
He moans softly, quietly, the sound muffled into his pillow. His hips buck up into his fist, and it's not just lust driving him, it's panic. It feels like you crawled into his veins and rewired every cell of his body. "Shit… can't last…"
He fucks into his hand harder, chasing the feeling with a frustrated groan. It's not enough. It's not enough. He wants your voice in his ear, wants your thighs around his waist, wants your little breathy moans right against his mouth.
His hand moves faster, messier, thumb dragging over the tip just to feel the way his cock twitches, but it's not the same, not even close to how it felt when you touched him. He tightens his grip on his cock a little to try and imagine how it would feel being inside you for real. Wetter, he thinks, and he leans back to spit in his hand, then going back to milking his cock with his hand, forehead pressed into his pillow. His voice is quiet and wrecked, whispered little groans into the pillow as his hips twitch, fucking up into his fist like your pussy's the only thing that could calm him down. "Fuck... fuck... want you s'bad, angel, mngh"
His hand stutters, hips jerking, and he cums with a low, guttural groan that's more desperate than anything, thick, creamy spurts coating his fingers, his chest, his boxers, but the second it's over, the second he catches his breath, the ache only sharpens.
When he checks up on you the next morning like a routine at your place of work, he swears he's gonna puke when he pulls up to the country club and you're not there.
At first, he tells himself maybe you're just late. Maybe you overslept or your car broke down or you're inside and he didn't see you. But after he walks in and asks your manager, only to be told with a shrug that "she's taking a chill day," it's like the floor falls out from under him.
Why didn't you tell him? You gave him no explanation, no warning, no clue about what you're doing or or where you are or who you're with and his brain is going fucking crazy. He drives around for thirty minutes, chewing his nail and shaking his leg and refreshing your socials like a psycho, until finally he pulls up outside your house, parks crooked, throws it in park, and marches up the steps like a man possessed.
He knocks once. Then again, and quickly, he's pounding on the door, then with both fists. His heart is racing. His hands are sweating. And then you open the door and he just sags, a shaky breath leaving his chest. You're in a giant t-shirt with and little shorts, holding a spatula in one hand and blinking up at him like you just woke up. "Rafe?"
He's already crowding the door, peeking behind you like he's trying to find a way to barge in. "Why weren't you at work?" You frown up at him, still surprised at the sheer unexpectedness of his arrival. Why is it that he shows up wherever you go? "I... I just took the day off."
"Took the day off?" he echoes like you just told him you're moving to another continent. "Why?" You blink, stepping back a little because of how close he is. "Just wanted a day to myself. I'm going to a bonfire later and didn't wanna be tired."
"A bonfire," he repeats, stepping over the threshold without waiting for an invite. "With who?" His gaze flicks over to your exposed legs, then your thighs and your lips, plush and a little swollen. "You never take days off. Since when do you go to bonfires?"
You furrow your brows, confused and still kind of sleepy. "Rafe, what's going on? Are you okay?"
"No," he says immediately, eyes flitting over your face, down your neck, lingering on the dip of your collarbone, where the charm of the necklace he bought you is still resting. "No, I'm not. You weren't there. I-I didn't know where you were, cause you never told me."
Your expression softens as you see that he's not doing so good right now. Feels like he needs you. "I'm fine. I was just making pancakes."
"Who else is going?" he asks, voice hard and words coming out fast. "To the bonfire."
You pause. "I dunno. A few people."
"Guys?"
You blink. "Probably?"
His jaw clenches. "What are you wearing?"
You splutter again, this time caught off guard. "To the bonfire?"
"Yeah."
"Ah... not sure yet, I guess"
He stares at you like he doesn't believe you. Like you're lying just to mess with him. "Are you gonna drink?"
You finally realize the absurdity of his comments and scoff lightly. "Why are you acting like my boyfriend?"
Rafe takes a step closer to you, his breath coming out shaky, his jaw tight. His eyes are dark, gaze heavy with something you can't quite place. "Because I will be," he says, low and determined, like it's a promise. You're caught off guard, but you don't let him see that. You cross your arms over your chest, clearly trying to hold on to your composure. "What?"
His eyes never leave you. He looks dead serious; there's not a single flicker of hesitation in his voice. "I'm gonna be your boyfriend," he repeats, firm this time, almost like he's daring you to contradict him.
You stare at him, the weight of it settling over the room like a thick fog, and Rafe takes a step closer, like he's trying to prove something just by you letting him be so close to you.
"You can't just disappear like that, okay?" he says, sounding bossy. "I thought you were gone. Like...gone gone. I had to talk to your boss, cause I don't like when I don't know where you are," he rambles, eyes locked on yours. "I don't like not knowing who you're with, or what you're wearing, or if someone's getting you drunk and trying to take you home."
Alarmed by how he's starting to sound frantic, you think this would be a good time to give him some space and angle the door just enough that he can't get past it. "Rafe, go home." you say quietly, not looking him in the eye as you tuck the spatula behind you and lean into the door like a warning. "You're freaking me out."
Rafe's face twists, first in confusion, like he's still catching up to what you just said, and then in disbelief, then anger.
"How am I freaking you out, huh? You're just overreacting, like always. Trying to treat me like I'm a goddamn basket case."
"I don't like this," you continue, more firmly now, your pulse speeding up. "You show up at my house and start asking all these questions like you own me or something,"
"It's cause I care about you," he snaps, voice rising a little as his eyes burn into yours, his chest lifting with every breath. "You don't get it, do you? You think it's nothing, but it's not. You disappear, you don't text, and now you're telling me you're going out to get wasted with God knows who." His hands are clenching and unclenching rapidly and he keeps raking his hands incessantly through his hair.
"I don't owe you an explanation."
"Yes, you fucking do!"
You flinch, just slightly, and he sees how your fingers curl tighter around the edge of the door, and it makes him panic. He steps forward like he's going to force his way in and you push the door tighter with a hard look, shaking your head.
"I'm not doing this," you say, voice cold now, your tone clipped and unfamiliar. "I'm not gonna let you guilt trip me just because I wanted one night to myself."
"You're not just trying to have a night to yourself," he says bitterly, jaw tight as he takes a shaky breath, eyes wide and manic-like, as though he's about to unravel right in front of you. "You're going out so you can slut yourself out, right? So you can get drunk and let some random guy put his hands all over you, and then you're gonna let him fuck you."
"Excuse me?" you hiss, eyes wide as your entire body goes still.
"You think I don't know?" Rafe seethes, running a hand through his hair, pacing back like he's physically trying to keep from grabbing you. "You think I haven't seen the way you look when you're flirting? You get that sexy little look in your eyes like you're begging to be bent over. Like you want guys' attention. A-and you post shit, you wear tiny hooker shorts and laugh at every guy that breathes near you and then act like I'm the one who's crazy when I don't want to fucking lose you!"
"You are crazy," you snap, voice rising for the first time. "You're out of your fucking mind. You don't get to walk into my house and tell me what I can wear or who I can be around just because we kissed."
"IT WASN'T JUST A KISS!" he roars. "DON'T YOU FUCKING GET IT? YOU'RE EVERYTHING TO ME!"
You flinch back when he screams at you, and your breathing goes shallow, lips parting like you want to say something else, but nothing comes out. "Rafe," you say instead, voice low, scared. "P-please, you need to go."
"No," he whispers immediately, shaking his head like a child. "No, don't shut me out. Don't do this. You don't mean that-"
"Go away, Rafe!" you cry out, and slam the door in his face before you can change your mind. The sound echoes through your house, bouncing off the walls and rattling your chest. You lock it.
On the other side, you hear nothing for a long moment. And then the soft thud of his fist hitting the door once, twice. Not to knock, just because he doesn't know what else to do. Then footsteps. Then silence.
You slide to the floor and stare at the spatula still clutched in your hand, heart thudding against your ribs like it's trying to claw its way out, meanwhile he storms away to his truck, immediately driving at an obscene speed. He cruises down the road with one hand gripping the wheel and the other twitching restlessly on his thigh, his head pounding. The sun's going down and the sky is darkening, and all he can think about is you in some tiny little outfit, smiling at some guy who doesn’t fucking deserve it.
He goes home to pass the time with whatever helps take his mind off you. Lifting weights, doing jobs for his dad, golfing...
By nightfall he's buzzing and out on the road, headed to your stupid bonfire.
He hits the brakes too hard pulling into the dirt road leading to the beach. Gravel kicks up under the tires and his pulse doesn’t slow. He leans back in his seat for a second, staring out at the distant flames and silhouettes gathering around them, and he mutters under his breath.
He's met up with some friends, his pupils are blown wide and there’s a girl clinging to his arm, some mutual friend who laughs too loud at everything he says and keeps taking hits to impress him. He doesn’t even remember her name.
He’s already smoked, he did a line back at the house, and now everything feels loose and hazy except the fire and the blurry shape of you. He spots you instantly. You’re standing near the fire, laughing with someone he doesn’t recognize, hair tucked behind your ear, drink in your hand, face lit up by the flames.
He drops his arm from the girl like she’s heavy and annoying, snatches the joint from someone's hand without acting, and leans back into the circle of guys while his eyes never leave you.
Every time you smile, or tilt your head to listen to someone who isn’t him, it feels like his skin is burning. He’s bouncing his leg. Grinding his teeth. His fingertips twitch like he’s about to do something reckless, like walking up to you and grabbing your wrist and dragging you off to somewhere private.
The heat of his stare pricks at the back of your neck, even as you try to ignore it and keep sipping your drink, laughing with your friend and pretending you don’t feel your skin flush for no reason at all. But it gets worse with every passing minute. Every little sound around you starts to blur and all you can feel is him staring.
When you finally turn your head, you find him sitting with a group of guys by the fire, his legs bouncing.
You tear your gaze away and pretend you didn’t see, but it only takes a little while before you go off to talk to your friend and there's a warm, huge body pressing against your back, hands snaking around your waist. Music thrums in your ears, and you feel him nudging his hips against your ass as the scent of weed and expensive cologne fills your nose.
Rafe's voice comes out as a quiet slur against your ear. "M'sorry, angel" he mumbles, pressing his face into your hair. "Don't... d-don't want you mad at me. Couldn't stay home. You're not a slut, I didn't mean that...I swear I didn’t mean it."
You push his arm off, stepping away and whirling around to face him. "Rafe! Are you serious right now? You show up here with some girl all over you and now you’re grinding on me like nothing happened?"
His face twists up in shock or hurt. You can't tell. "No...no, what? No!" he says, voice cracking. "I'm not playing you, why the fuck would I be? I did not do anything with her, I just...fuck, I needed to see you. You slammed the door in my face and I thought-"
"Thought what?" you snap. "That you could get a rise out of me and show me how replaceable I am?" Your words make his eyes go all glassy, just for a second, then they darken. He looks feral. He's tired of you and your inability to understand him or his feelings. His jaw tightens and his breathing spikes, and all of a sudden, he snatches your wrist.
"Come here."
"Rafe, let go of me!"
He doesn’t listen. He’s pulling you off the beach, down the sand while ignoring your scattered protests, all the way until you’re stumbling up the wooden steps of a closed lifeguard shack just off the edge of the bonfire. You yank at his grip but he’s too strong, too frantic, like if he lets go, you’ll disappear entirely.
He opens the door and drags you inside, then slams it shut and locks it behind him. The noise of the party dulls outside. Inside, it’s just heavy silence and the sound of both your uneven breaths. You shove at his chest, not a fan of being in such an enclosed space with him. "You're being just as insane as you were at my house, Rafe. You're not even sober right now, are you?"
He stares at you like you just stabbed him. "You don’t get it," he mutters, almost to himself. "You don’t fucking get it."
"I do get it!" you bite back. "I get that you're a manipulative and controlling bast-" That’s when he loses it.
"You think I'm playing games with you?" He screams, grabbing you and shoving you up against the back wall. Your body slams back against the solid surface, and he gets up in your face, nose pressed into yours. "You think I'm playing games? You think this is some fucking joke to me? You have no idea what I feel when I look at you. I can't eat, I can't sleep, I can’t fucking think without you taking over every single last FUCKING one of my thoughts. I've never..!” His voice catches, and his breathing picks up so much that he sounds like he's hyperventilating. "I've never needed someone like this."
You gasp out loud, heart doing a little jump at his words. You dont know if you're confused or nervous or flustered, but he's starting to panic all over again, like he didn't mean to say that. Not in the way he did, at least.
Rafe stares at you like he’s just realized what he said. Like the words ripped out of him before he could pull them back. His eyes are huge, chest rising and falling fast.
“You need me?” you say, and your voice comes out soft. Disbelieving.
His lips part, and he nods, just once. "Yeah. Yeah, I do. I need you so fucking much I think it's killing me. And I know I act like an asshole, I know I say shit I don't mean, but when you slammed that door in my face I thought I was gonna lose my goddamn mind." His voice breaks at the edges again, cracking away. "And then I saw you laughing with someone else and I wanted to kill him. I couldn't take it. You're supposed to smile at me. Only me."
You're quiet for a beat, not knowing what to say. You know you should be more angry and hold your ground, but he's looking at you so desperately. Like always. He squeezes your shoulders and looks intently into your eyes. "I didn’t touch her," he says again, voice barely above a whisper. "I...I-I didn't kiss her, didn't want her. She was just...there. I didn't even look at her. I was looking for you."
Your heart pounds and he comes closer to you, needing a response. Your reaction is difficult to read for him, filling him with uncertainty. He knows you probably don't feel the same towards him, and it crushes him. The silence between you stretches long enough to make him nauseous. But then you ask, in a quiet little voice, "Tell me again."
His brows furrow. "What?"
"That you need me."
He steps in again, and this time his hand comes up, shaking slightly, to brush your cheek. "I need you," he says, firmer now. "I w-want and need you so bad it makes me do stupid shit. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry baby, I just... fuck-" He trails off by attaching his lips onto yours to show you how bad he needs you, lips slotting over yours as he moans at your taste. His hands slide up under your shirt like he has to feel your skin, making their way to your bra, which he lifts up over your breasts to squeeze the soft mounds under your shirt.
You whimper softly against his mouth at the suddenness of it, the heat of his palms rough and eager as they mold over you, and that sound makes Rafe groan from somewhere deep in his chest, kissing you harder and messier. He tastes faintly of mint.
"Missed you," he slurs into your mouth, thumbing over your nipples with clumsy desperation, like he's trying to memorize the shape of you through touch alone. His forehead knocks against yours as he breathes you in, the two of you barely able to catch a breath between kisses.
You jolt, moaning and halfheartedly pushing at his chest, but he pinches your nipple as a punishment, needing you against him. "Mnh! Rafe, we shouldn't," you gasp when his mouth moves to your neck, trailing open mouthed kisses over your pulse, and you feel him nodding against you like he agrees, even though he's still doing it.
He kisses a path down your throat, dragging his nose along your skin. His hands stay under your shirt, squeezing and cupping your breasts. You feel him shudder when you don't push him away again, when instead you tilt your head to the side, granting him more access to your neck. He groans low and desperate, hands smoothing down your waist to your hips, pulling you closer until there's not a sliver of space between your bodies.
You feel how hard he is, grinding against you with slow, needy rolls of his hips. His cock strains against his pants, pressing hotly against you through your clothes, and it makes your breath hitch in your throat.
"Fuck," Rafe hisses into your skin, voice wrecked. "Fuck, baby, please..." He presses his forehead against your shoulder, panting, grinding his hips against yours again like he physically can't help himself. "Want you so bad. Been losin' my mind thinking about you, can't stop." His hands grab at your hips, your ass, trying to feel everything he can at once, desperate and frantic.
He pulls back enough to catch your face in both hands, making you look him in the eye. His pupils are blown wide, hair a mess, chest heaving. "Tell me you want it," he says, low and rough. "Tell me you want me, angel. Please." His thumbs stroke your jaw.
You blink up at him, chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. You don't say anything at first, and that moment of silence just makes him even crazier, and he lets out a broken noise, grinding against you harder, hips stuttering like he's about to lose it just from this.
"Say it," he begs again, voice breaking. "Say you want me."
You finally oblige with a little nod, head spinning. "I-I want you, Rafe. I want it..."
The second the words leave your lips, it's like something inside him snaps. "Fuck," Rafe groans, diving back in to kiss you feverishly, his hands already fumbling at the hem of your shirt, yanking it up over your head. He's frantic, crazed, muttering under his breath: "so pretty, so fucking pretty", as he tosses your shirt somewhere behind him. His hands are everywhere, roaming your skin like he's starving, like he’s trying to devour every inch of you.
He makes quick work of your bra, practically ripping it off and letting it fall to the floor. His mouth drops open when he gets a look at you and he immediately ducks his head, mouthing hotly at the tops of your breasts, whining against your plush tits, moaning at the taste.
His hands can't decide where to stay, cupping your breasts, sliding down your sides, gripping your hips, your ass, he's frantic like he's scared you'll disappear if he lets go even for a second. His mouth trails desperate, sloppy kisses down your chest, tongue flicking out to circle one nipple before sucking it into his mouth with a greedy groan, like he needs it to breathe.
Your fingers find his hair without thinking, threading through the soft strands, and he moans into your skin at the contact, bucking his hips into you harder, unable to stop himself.
He ruts against you like he's in heat, hips grinding up into yours in slow, messy rolls as his cock strains painfully against the fabric of his shorts. Every desperate push of his hips presses his hard length right up against your core, and you feel the heat of him even through all the layers between you.
"Fuck," Rafe gasps, drooling on your tits. His hips jerk forward harder, and the friction makes you both groan. He drags his mouth up your chest, laving his tongue over your breasts and sucking hickeys onto your cleavage, all while rutting against you like he's trying to get off just from the contact.
You feel him shudder, breath hot and shaky against your throat, and his hands fumble clumsily at the waistband of your shorts. "Need you," he mumbles. "Need you now."
He doesn't even try to be smooth, just yanks your shorts down your hips in a couple frantic tugs, letting them fall around your ankles, tugging your panties next. You're helping him too, panting and moaning against his face as you tug down his pants and his boxers, freeing his fat, leaking cock, flushed an angry red from built up arousal. You give pause at the sheer size of his cock, resting heavily against his tummy, looking up at him with wide, glassy eyes. "I-it's big, Rafe... " You trail off, nervous.
He shakes his head and pushes you back onto the wall and hovers over you. "It's okay, it's okay... I'll make it fit. Won't hurt my angel." He slides a hand under your thigh, lifting it so you have no choice but to let him grind against your bare pussy, the length of him dragging right along your slick folds.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he groans, rutting against you slow and messy. He's trying to savor you but can't stop how badly he wants you, and so his cock ends up slipping and sliding against you, catching between your wet, flowery folds with every other thrust. "Rafe" Your eyes flutter as you call out his name, clinging onto him. It feels so good that you're starting to leak wetness down your thighs. "You feel that?" Rafe pants, forehead pressed to yours, eyes fluttering closed as he rocks against you harder. "Feel how bad I want you? How fucking crazy you make me?"
You nod, breathless, overwhelmed, and Rafe lets out a wrecked little moan, rubbing his cock along your soaked slit again and again, like he's trying to carve the feeling into his memory forever. "Angel..." he moans out, voice loud and unrestrained. You wonder if people can hear you two inside the shack.
He continues holding onto your thigh with one hand and his cock with the other, sliding back and forth against your sopping little pussy. "I'm gonna put it inside you, okay?" He whispers, making direct eye contact with you. "Won't hurt you," he restates, voice low and sincere. You don't see how excited he is deep down to finally have you to himself. He's going to finally fuck you. Then, he's going to make you his girlfriend and never let you out of his sight again. You nod, whining softly and angling your body so he's lined up completely with your pretty pussy.
When the tip notches in your tight hole, you cry out at the intrusion, tears sparking in your wide eyes with the discomfort of having something so big beginning to fill you, so he presses his forehead against yours and coos softly, stroking your hair. "I got you, I got you. Shh... almost halfway," he uses the phrase to coax you, even though he's only got his bulbous head and an inch of his length in you. By the time it's really halfway, you can't take anymore and push on his shoulders. "Rafe! 'm too full, I can't..."
"You can, see? Look at me, look." He cups your cheek, nodding to you and slowly thrusting in and out to get you accommodated, nearly bottoming out entirely. Then, he shoves and stretches you out inch by inch, kissing you deeply to keep you distracted, and he feels you squirming and whining loudly as he gets deeper and deeper, and then he feels the wet squelch of his pelvis against your pussy, and he knows he's filled you up all the way.
You're so goddamn tight, and he lets out a low, drawn out moan. He looks down at where his cock disappears into your stretched out, dripping cunt. He can't believe he actually managed to fit the whole fucking thing inside you. Your little pussy is so goddamn tight, gripping him like a vice now that he's buried to the hilt inside you. Your thighs are trembling, and your back's arched off the wall because of the fullness of him inside you.
Rafe grunts as he slowly starts to thrust, his hips jerking forward to spear his rigid length deeper into your pliant body. Your slick walls flutter around him, trying desperately to accommodate the thick girth stretching you out. The way you feel is incredible, your pussy gripping him like you never want to let him go.
"That's it," he grunts, his voice rough and gravelly with arousal. "Angel, shit... your pussy was made for my cock." He starts thrusting faster, driving into you with more force as he enjoys the way your tits bounce with each snap of his hips. You're barely holding yourself up, legs quivering as he spears into you and angles you so he can hit every sweet spot in your warm, gummy pussy.
The thick length of his cock, pulsing and throbbing, spears into your soaked, gripping walls over and over again. He slams into you and grinds his pelvis against yours, his heavy cock burying to the hilt with each thrust inside your flutter walls. "Feels so good, Rafe," You whines softly, panting into his ear. Your praise fuels him and encourages him to fuck you harder, better. He rolls his hips against yours, stirring his huge length around in your stuffed hole.
Rafe fucks into you deep and you can feel him in your stomach, stretching you out, claiming every inch of your body. He's fucking you like he wants to fucking destroy your pussy and rebuild it to be a perfect mold of his cock. "Mhm? Feels good?" He pants, fucking into your cunt and grabbing your jaw with his free hand so he can see your cute, fucked out expression.
"You feel so good. So fucking good...only for me, right?" He demands, wanting your reassurance, and you nod, throwing your head back and moaning when he bumps against a really sensitive spot way too deep inside you.
He grits his teeth, sweat dripping from his forehead, his whole body working just to keep himself from cumming too fast because you're squeezing the life out of him. "You're fuckin' mine," he rasps against your cheek, thrusts getting sharper, rougher, more desperate.
His cock drives deep, grinding right against that sensitive spot again and again until you’re crying out for him, fingernails digging into his shoulders, your eyes glossy with unshed tears. "Say it," he breathes, grinding his hips up into you so deep you swear you can feel him in your ribs. "Tell me you're mine, angel."
"M'yours," you mewl helplessly, clinging onto him, and Rafe groans louder. He keeps pounding into you with a rough, messy pace, dragging his cock against every sensitive spot inside you. Your pussy clamps down harder around him, spasming, and Rafe lets out a wrecked moan, feeling you start to fall apart around him.
"Shit, gonna cum, angel. Gonna cum inside you so everyone knows who you belong to," he says, thrusts getting sloppier as his balls hit your ass slow and lazy, and he moans, eyes fluttering shut as he spills inside you, heavy, thick cream filling you completely. He doesn't stop until every last drop is buried inside you, and even then, he's still thrusting all rough all slow so you feel every ridge and vein on his heavy cock as he pumps you full. He won't stop till you cum too, and he rolls two fingers over your hardened clit, licking up your throat until he gets to your lips, and slides his tongue over yours.
One last bump of his fat cockhead on your womb has the coil in your tummy snapping, and with a loud moan, you cum all over his cock, splurting pearlescent juices on his cum covered cock. He groans, feeling his cock twitch inside you as you squeeze him impossibly tighter while you cum.
His eyes are glassy as he looks at you, lips parted, and he's still buried deep inside your pussy and holding your jaw, but his voice is gone. During the silence, you notice a flicker in his eyes, the way his pupils dilate as his eyes bore into yours. His mouth keeps opening and closing, making it clear he wants to tell you something.
He wants to say he loves you.
But he doesn't.
He pulls out, making sure your panties and shorts are on as he pulls out, letting his cum slip out of your pussy and rest in your clothes. He grins at the mess between your thighs, wiping off any residue to ensure that it isn't too obvious that you've got his load in you. He kisses your forehead and grins through low eyes, nuzzling your forehead. "Keep it in so you've got a part of me in you all through the rest of this fucking party."
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