𑣲 ・✿ requests ⸝⸝⸝ open. be detailed with what you want. let me know the genre tag(s) too (fluff, smut, angst, suggestive. yes you can mix tags.)
Below is all the content currently posted on my blog, but organized for easier navigation. The titles will link back to their original posts.
Please keep in mind that some works contain explicit consensual adult written content, so 18+ / MDNI on those please.
Each adult post will include a list of CWs and TWs above it so you can proceed with caution and read comfortably.
would u guys read a continued seongje fanfic instead of just a oneshot?
i got sent an idea that's basically toxic exes. seongje was ur first love, u two have a long messy history together, he can't let u go, u can't fully move on, arguments, jealousy, heartbreak, comfort, way too much unresolved tension... just an absolute emotional trainwreck 😭
i'm lowkey tempted to turn it into an actual series instead of trying to cram everything into one chapter.
would anyone actually be interested in that or am i getting carried away 😭
꣑ৎ― all characters depicted are 18 years or older consenting adults. │ wc: 2,5k
cw (please read & proceed with caution): adult content / s*xual themes / consensual adult intimacy / fluff / kissing / needy bf / h!ckies / strawberry jam involved / a little messy / slightly suggest!ve / bites / cutesy
pairing: boyfriend! yeon sieun x female reader
⤷ sypnosis: you and sieun are dating. his thoughts have been unusually needy all day, unable to stop thinking about how your lips would feel against his. eventually, the temptation becomes too much, surrendering to his need. finally giving in, he makes you his dessert.
۶ৎ author message ﹕this is a request by @lillycore ♡ enjoy!
"Can I request Sieun suddenly succumbing to the urge to desperately kissing reader (established relationship), pinning her to the wall and not wanting to let go of her?"
reblogs, likes and comments are appreciated ♡ + ↻
੭﹕﹒AGAIN, MDNI 18+ 彡
masterlist . ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🪽་༘࿐
ᴺᵒʷ ᵖˡᵃʸᶦⁿᵍ ♬⋆.˚ Adore You - Harry Styles (Literally just PERFECT)
ᴺᵉˣᵗ ᵁᵖ ♬⋆.˚ Japanese Denim - Daniel Caesar
The grocery bags crinkle as you shove the door shut with your hip, almost dropping one of them. You shake your hair out of your face, some of it just sticks there anyway clinging to your eyes.
You quickly kick your shoes of at the door before heading into the kitchen to set the bags down on the counter. An easy smile on your face while you unpack.
“Sieun! Baby, I’m home!” you call out, your tone carrying through the apartment.
He usually came grocery shopping with you without you having to ask. Sieun didn’t like when you carried heavy bags alone. He especially hated when the plastic cut into your palms even if you promised him it was fine. Promptly urging him to pull the bags right out of your hands without allowing room for protest.
But today you insisted on going alone, pushing him back toward his desk and his unfinished work.
It doesn’t take long before you hear his footsteps.
The kitchen was open to the living room, one of those small yet cozy apartments, making you catch him in your peripheral vision. His cream quarter zip and sweats were still on from earlier. A slightly worn out look on his face coupled with faint tired shadows underneath his eyes.
Always from staring at documents and his laptop screen.
His hair was a slight mess, probably from running his hands through it far too much.
He pauses when he sees you. Just for a second.
“You carried everything okay?”
Placing the jar of strawberry jam down, you looked up at him and slightly rolled your eyes. Though there was a little smile on your face.
“Yes, I carried everything okay,” you reassure him, knowing how much he thinks of your comfort. “You worry too much.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is.”
Sieun shakes his head.
“I just don't want you getting hurt.”
Your smile softens.
“I know.”
More groceries slowly spread across the marble countertop between you.
He leans over the island, forearms pressing into the cool surface. His sleeves were slightly pushed up, revealing how the muscles in his arms looked strained after spending the whole day hunched over his desk, typing away.
“I got a cupcake mix,” you continue, rummaging through another bag. “And frosting. Oh, and those little decorating things.”
He hums quietly.
“So we can make them together later.”
Another hum.
“And I got that strawberry jam you like.”
“Mm.”
“And hot chocolate since it’s so cold out—“
You pause.
“Baby.”
He isn't looking at the groceries.
His eyes are panning over you instead. The flushed look of your cheeks from the cold outside. The way your fingers carefully unpack each item. The smile on your face whenever you get lost in your own words.
Putting your arms around your chest, you cross them.
“Are you listening?” you raise an eyebrow.
“I am.”
“No, you're staring.”
A pause.
“Can I not do both?”
You smile despite trying to seem ticked off.
“I'm serious.”
“So am I.”
His voice is quiet, tired from work, but there's warmth in it.
“I like listening to you.”
You shake your head slightly and resume your unpacking.
His gaze drops briefly to your hands. At the pretty diamond sitting on your finger, catching the soft hue of the kitchen light, the promise ring he'd given you on your second anniversary.
His eyes linger there for a moment. Quietly in awe of everything. Such a minor detail, but the way it was resting so perfectly on your hand, it was a quiet reminder of a vow he'd made long ago. And he never regretted it.
Even now, watching you ramble about cupcake frosting, while unloading groceries in his hoodie with pink cheeks, the thought comes as easily as breathing.
Yeah. Her.
The same love he felt for you still deep within him. Within every inch of his body like you already owned him far beyond words could describe. Stronger now than ever.
He was sure about you. More sure than he's ever been about anything.
He rounds his way around the counter, watching you go on and on about a new Pocky flavor you were intrigued to try together, a smile playing at his lips. The corner of them lifting a little.
You look so cute. So perfect. Everything he needed in his life.
And craving you all day, was not making it any easier.
His need only doubled the moment you had walked out that door. Even while sitting at his desk, finishing up his last bit of work, his thoughts only kept drifting back to you. Always circling back to his beautiful girlfriend.
The way you’d laid so blissfully next to him in the morning. Lazily draped over the mattress, leg flung over him as you hugged him close. Face digging into his neck, close enough for him to smell your shampoo, like his chest was the only place you ever really wanted to be.
Which, naturally, made him sit restlessly waiting for you.
“—Right? It’s not crazy to say.”
His eyes flutter for a second as he snaps back from his thoughts, your voice cutting through the daydreams of how badly he wanted to sit you over that counter, wrap your legs around his waist and scatter your body with kisses and marks.
A dramatic sigh slips through you.
“You’re not even listening, I knew it,” you turn, already putting food away.
He pauses a moment trying to get his thoughts in line, string something coherent together that didn’t sound like he was caught lost of focus. Halfway between your words and his own reverie.
And yet, what he ends up saying is quite… unexpected?
“…You look beautiful.”
He catches you slightly off guard for a moment before you snap back in quite a stiff tone.
“Mhm.”
His eyes drift to the strawberry jam sitting on the counter. Without much thought, he twists it open and fishes a spoon out of the drawer, scooping up some and taking a bite straight from the jar.
The only person who could eat jam like that was Sieun. His hidden sweet tooth shamelessly came out around you.
And you had come to terms with that long ago.
He keeps picking at it inattentively, small bites here and there, his attention never leaving you. Eyes following you around the kitchen. The sway of your hair as you reach into the cabinets, the line of your back beneath his hoodie, the curve of your waist disappearing beneath soft fabric.
Putting the spoon aside, he swallows.
Something in him finally giving out. He couldn't keep his lips off of you any longer.
Sieun steps behind you as you reach into the fridge to slide a fresh carton of milk in, the cold air spilling out in between you. His hands find and settle at your waist, fingers tugging lightly at the hem of your hoodie before letting it fall back into place, like he’s toying with the idea for a second, teasing himself.
When he leans in, his breath brushes the back of your neck. Warm and soft, close enough that it changes the energy. Clashing with the cold waves coming from the fridge.
You feel it immediately, the way your skin reacts to his touch, small goosebumps rising along your arms as everything fades into something less important. Your thoughts tunneling in on the man behind you.
Pressed up against you.
“What’s gotten into you?” you ask, but you don’t move away.
He leans in and moves your hair to the side, pressing small kisses along the back of your neck, one after another, slow enough that it stops being accidental and starts being a choice he’s actively making.
His hands slide under your hoodie and stay there, fingers resting at your waist.
“Nothing,” he murmurs between kisses.
His crotch presses closer into you, making your breath catch as you felt his hard outline right against the curve of your ass.
“Doesn’t feel like nothing.”
He smiles against your neck, the corner of his mouth lifting from something only he knows, before his hands slide around you and turn you smoothly.
One arm slips around your waist as he crowds you against the wall, your back meeting the cool surface while his warmth closes in around you. His finger taps teasingly against the bottom of your chin, gently urging you to look up.
“Head up, baby,” he murmurs, his voice low enough to make something flutter in your chest.
You take a second too long to process it.
A tiny smile tugs at his lips.
“C'mere.”
His fingers slip beneath your chin, tipping your face up for you before he closes the distance, kissing you slowly, sluggishly. It felt like the kiss itself was mirroring how he wanted to relish the way your mouth danced against his.
He'd spent the entire day thinking about this and was finally getting what he needed.
His head tilts slightly, deepening the kiss, his free hand settling at your hip, keeping you close against the wall.
And without missing a beat, you kiss him back instantly, just as desperate to have him close. With the same intensity. His lips felt soft against yours, wet, inviting.
“Sieun…” you echo his name softly.
“Mm,” he breathes, smiling against your mouth. “Baby…”
His mouth doesn't last long before it finds your neck. Peppering it with gentle kisses as he pulls your head back by your hair. Not aggressively, but more like he's softly reminding you he needed to claim every inch of you.
“You smell good,” he rasps against your skin, sucking mixes of blue, red and purple on your neck. Tongue licking right into the thumping, restless rhythm of your pulse.
Eventually biting just hard enough to make you gasp before sucking the spot gentle. He blows cool air over the wet, stinging skin, and a full body shiver ripples down your spine before he kisses it warm again.
There was clear tooth indents in your neck. A sheepish smile immediately finds his face, though it doesn't stop him from going right back to it. Kissing, nipping, and fussing over every patch of skin he could find, as though he couldn't decide where to give his attention first.
Lacing with his hair, your fingers twirl it, your other hand on his shoulder. Keeping yourself sturdy in the moment.
“You’re being a little… needy…” you murmur between soft breaths, the words brushing his ear.
Which, weirdly, only seems to make things... more demanding.
As though the second he loosened his hold, you'd somehow disappear back into that evil grocery store that had stolen you from him for two whole hours.
“I just missed you,” he confirms.
You let out a little breathy laugh, “I wasn’t even gone that long.”
“Long enough.”
His breath comes in warm, shallow puffs against your mouth, pupils blown wide as he holds your gaze, the soft curve of his lower lip still pink from kissing. The need in his stare is sharp, that familiar puppy look in his eyes. Edged with a quiet claim that makes your heart stutter.
“A little break?”
He manages a sound of protest, his mouth slots back over yours before the sound can fully leave you, one hand fisted tight in the back of your hoodie to keep you close. His chest heaves against yours, every ragged breath warm between your lips, and he doesn’t pull back even when his lungs burn for air.
“Baby, mmh—” you giggle, his thumb brushing slow over the curve of your jaw before pulling back.
An idea clear in his eyes.
He grabs the same spoon once again, scooping a tiny amount and holding it in front of your lips.
"What are you doing?"
"Open."
"Sieun."
"Baby."
"You were just kissing me till you could barely breathe and now you want me to do a taste test? I already know it tastes go—"
Before you could finish, he slips the spoon gently past your lips and you have no choice but to take it.
"Don't swa—"
Immediately, the jam is down your throat.
"Baby, let me finish," he lets out a little breathy sound, almost a laugh, and shakes his head. Giving you yet another spoonful.
"Keep it in your mouth," he puts the spoon back.
Attention turning to you again, that is if it had ever left, his lips finds yours once more.
Only then do you realize what he's doing. And you'd be lying if it didn't make some certain parts of you pulse in need.
His tongue slips past your parted lips. The taste of the strawberry jam against his mouth as it mixes with his saliva, and his hand slides down to curl tight around your waist underneath your clothes, pulling you flush against him.
"Mm," he whines a little into the kiss, urging every bit of jam out of your mouth and into his.
His hands sneak up your torso, one settling tightly against your bra, cupping your tit into his desperate grip. The pressure of his thumb circling your sensitive peak makes your back arch off the wall into his chest. The moan you gasp out is swallowed immediately by him, his grip tightening just a little when you press closer.
Chasing the shudder you sent down his spine.
With one last content little hum, he kisses every bit of jam out of your mouth, sucking gently on your tongue before he lets go. His own tongue darting out to lick a bit that smeared the corner of your mouth.
Your fingers still curl in the fabric of his sweater, heart hammering against your ribs.
"Messy," he simply says and leans back in for another kiss, hand kneading your boob beneath the hoodie. Again.
Incredibly greedy.
“You taste good,” he whispers into your mouth.
You smile into the kiss, lewd, needy sounds spilling from your lips directly into his mouth. Your fingers twisted in the fabric of his clothes, your body leaning heavy into his, every nerve buzzing even as your knees go weak and you struggle to match the hungry rhythm he set.
“Better with the jam?” you tease.
He can’t help but smile, pulling back to study the expression settled on your face. The rosey tint spread across your cheeks, now definitely not from the cold but something entirely different, your messy hair, your pink bruised lips, and the glassy look in your eyes.
Especially the marks that adored your neck.
He stares a little too long. Thumb brushing against your cheek then your bottom lip. As if he was testing if you were real. Real and his.
“Mm.”
Another second passes.
“Don't make me compare you to food, weirdo.”
His mouth twitches.
You giggle.
“Seriously.”
The corners of his lips lift, something soft hidden beneath the teasing.
"Just you is enough."
A stupid smile washes over your face. Head over heels just as much as he was for you.
Do you write just for WHC or do you write for other fandoms? (Study Group fanfics from you would be AMAZING)
i actually have been thinking about this and i kinda wanna start writing for more fandoms (ofc ill continue focusing mainly on whc, that goes without saying).
what do u guys think? any fandoms you'd like to see me write oneshots of? inbox me and requests are also open so feel free <3
꣑ৎ― all characters depicted are 18 years or older consenting adults. │ wc: 2,1k
cw (please read & proceed with caution): adult content / s*xual themes / consensual adult intimacy / fluff build-up / established relationship / marriage / eating you out / very messy / sp!tplay / mango fruit involved / loving / eater baku / public s*x / beach s*x / might get caught / fluff build-up
pairing: husband! park humin x female reader
⤷ sypnosis: you and Baku are newlyweds. he convinces you to call in sick with him on a random Wednesday so you can spend the day together at the beach. and while at the beach, he helps you relax in his own way.
۶ৎ author message ﹕this is the second part of a two parter oneshot. link for the first part is here. hope u enjoy!
reblogs, likes and comments are appreciated ♡ + ↻
੭﹕﹒AGAIN, MDNI 18+ 彡
masterlist . ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🪽་༘࿐
ᴺᵒʷ ᵖˡᵃʸᶦⁿᵍ ♬⋆.˚ Get You – Daniel Caesar ft. Kali Uchis
ᴺᵉˣᵗ ᵁᵖ ♬⋆.˚ Legs Shakin' - Ludacris (just gives MAJOR eater Baku vibes)
Skin catching the sunlight as it shifts over you, Baku’s hands move over your back with quiet care, spreading sunscreen. This was the second layer—he’d already done the first earlier, before the two of you got distracted building slightly questionably formed sandcastles near your spot.
No rush to it—just him making sure every inch is covered, that alone being a part of his protective nature. With the occasional wandering hand, giving a light squeeze to your ass.
“Humin,” you warn, already aware of your husband’s childish antics.
“Sorry, sorry,” he laughs under his breath, but he’s not really sorry at all—more amused than anything, that familiar grin pulling at his mouth as he finishes up along the backs of your thighs, landing a playful greedy smack to your ass. “All set, baby.”
“Thanks,” you murmur, face squished into the polka dotted towel beneath you, eyes closed as you sink into the warmth of the sun. The distant rhythm of gentle waves fills the quiet between you, steady and unbothered by anything else.
No screaming children, no voices cutting through the air, no beach balls bouncing across your space.
Just you and Humin.
Warm weather. Stillness.
Enjoying the beach alone after a long, lazy morning of loving s*x.
“You might be onto something,” you say.
He turns his head, opening a container of fresh fruit—the same ones he’d cut into neat little heart shapes for you earlier. A questioning look settles on his face.
“About?”
“This,” you continue, glancing out at the empty stretch of sand and water from the corner of your eyes. “Coming here when no one else is around. It’s… really nice.”
His smile widens, proud of himself.
“I knew it,” he says, lifting a piece of watermelon right to your nose, making you crack one eye open at the smell alone. It drags you upright, attention pulling straight to the container in his hands.
Inside, a mix of orange, red, and yellow—banana slices, watermelon, mango, strawberries—each one cut into small, careful shapes.
“Stop,” you say quickly, hands coming up to your chest as your smile wobbles into something dangerously soft. “This is so cute, what.”
He just grins, doing a little satisfied shuffle like he’s won something important.
“Right?” he says, like it was obvious all along. “Here. Try this.”
He holds up a strawberry piece to your mouth. You take it from his fingers, still looking at him like he’s done something far too unfairly sweet for you to recover from.
“Mmm, they’re sweet!” you squeal, bright and immediate.
He nods, he already knew that would be your reaction. He’d gone out of his way for it—picked the exact kind he knew you liked, skipping the ones he knew you’d wrinkle your nose at.
“Watermelon?” he asks, holding up a piece.
You take it straight away, a little too fast, and some of the juice drips down your chin before you even notice.
He doesn’t say anything about it. Just reaches over, wipes it away with his thumb like it’s nothing, and absentmindedly brings his thumb to his own mouth after—cleaning up after you like it’s the most basic thing.
He watches your reaction closely as you savor it, already reaching for more before you’ve even finished chewing—feeding you again until your cheeks are lightly puffed with watermelon.
“Good?” he smiles, almost distracted by how cute you look like that, pausing just long enough to quickly snap a picture.
You nod.
A mango piece comes next, and this one is extra juicy—too much. It slips a little as you try to chew, dribbling past your chin and onto your chest. Baku’s gaze drops, his attention slipping away little by little as he watches the trail of mango juice glisten against your skin, strewn across your tits. It leaves him entirely caught in the sight with the same dazed look he always gets.
“Damn—this mango’s so ju—” you start, words getting swallowed halfway as you chew, a giggle following. “It’s like… really juicy, what the hell—”
The rest of the sentence dissolves into a messy little sound as you keep eating, barely managing anything coherent between bites.
“Baby, stop,” he manages, voice a little strained, eyes clearly not staying where they’re supposed to. “Wipe it off.”
“Huh—wipe what off?” you say, immediately patting at your cheeks, then your collarbone, then your face again, trying to figure out what he even means, completely missing the actual spot you didn’t notice.
“Hello? What am I supposed to wipe off?” you repeat, quieter now, a little annoyed as you keep searching blindly.
He swallows, clearly struggling to keep his focus, leaning in closer until his face hovers near your neck. His warm, wet tongue flicks out slow, tracing a sticky sweet path up from the curve of your chest right to your collarbone.
You try to push his head away, eyes flicking around in a panic like someone might’ve appeared out of nowhere and caught him mid act, your oversized husband currently being completely unreasonable in public.
“Humin!”
He continues licking every last drip of spilled mango from your warm skin, his lips closing softly to suck the leftover juice off. Leaning back, he wipes at his mouth with a stupid little smile, like he knows exactly what he just did to you and is way too pleased about it.
“Are you insane?”
“I was just helping,” he shrugs. “You made a mess.”
He was just lucky his breath always smelled like fresh mint—otherwise you’d have already landed a punch square on his face.
“We’re in public.”
“I’m aware.”
“Act like it.”
He tilts his head at you like you’re the funny one here, taking a sip of water, unbothered.
“I am acting like it,” he says.
“You just— did that, that’s not acting like it.”
“Did what?”
“You know what.”
“I don’t.” He leans in a little, grin starting to show. “Explain it.”
“I’m not explaining it in public,” you hiss.
He rolls his eyes like you’re lame in this situation and just scoots closer.
You scoot away.
He scoots closer.
You scoot away again.
He follows every time, not even hiding the smile on his face, until he finally grabs your arm and pulls you back, pinning you down onto the towel. His hand immediately finds your stomach, poking just enough to make you break.
“Humin! Stop!” you gasp between giggles, trying to twist away, but it’s useless.
He just laughs under his breath, leaning down like he’s won something important, and presses a quick kiss to your cheek like that settles it.
Kisses drift from your cheek down to your neck, slower now, like he’s gotten distracted by how you feel under the sun. It pulls a soft sound from you without meaning to.
“Mm,” he hums against your skin in response, like he heard it clearly over everything else—the waves, the wind, even his own thoughts.
His hand stays at your waist, fingers curling in just enough to keep you close, warm from the sun and completely uninterested in anything except you.
His mouth trails slow, warm down the curve of your body, each kiss catching the faint gold of sun still held in your skin until he settles low on your stomach, his lips pressing soft right where your uterus sits, already half convinced a tiny new life is starting to grow there from what passed between you earlier this morning.
“Humin…” you breathe his name into the warm salt air, fingers tangling in dark strands as you glance over. Empty shoreline stretches both ways, only gulls singing and waves hushing, his mouth burning slow and dangerous inches from the inside of your thigh. “What are you doing?”
“Just relax,” he murmurs, voice low, kissing the inside of your thigh. “C’mon, baby, just lay back for me.”
“Why?”
“You’re sore from earlier, this is the least I could do.”
You sink back against the warm towel, sand gritty, soft under the material of it, and let your thighs fall open for him. The ache between your legs pulses sharp, every nerve ending singing, waiting for that familiar warm pressure to slip lower and finally put the craving out.
He tugs your thighs open wider, draping them heavy over his broad sun kissed tan shoulders, the same ones adored with your scratches from earlier.
His calloused palms brushing slow up the sensitive skin of your inner knees. He presses open mouthed kisses one by one up the inside of each thigh, each one making your hips twitch closer toward his mouth.
“Patience,” he smiles against your skin. “I got you, baby.”
“You want my mouth?”
“Mhm…” You hum softly.
He purposely blows cool air on you core, and you could feel it through the material, earing a wince. "Right there?"
"Mhm...” you confirm with a sharp inhale.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah…”
He tugs the thin fabric of your bikini aside to bare you to the warm air, his breath catching rough when he sees how ready you are for him. The first soft, open mouthed kiss presses right against your slit, and your whole back arches off the towel, a sharp shudder rolling through you from your hips up to your shoulders.
Taking even you aback by how badly your body seeked this.
“So responsive, fuck.”
Pulling your lips apart with his thumbs, he presses another wet kiss to your clit, urging a high pitched little moan out.
“Mm, right there, baby? That's the spot.”
You nod, one hand resting lightly over your mouth while the other runs through his hair.
He hums against your skin, the vibration sending a jolt up your spine, and pulls back just enough to murmur against you again
“This is where you needed me, huh, princess?”
His palms slide slow up the soft skin of your thighs, pushing them gently back to hold you open, his tongue licking up your slit, tasting you against his buds with satisfied sounds of enjoyment.
“Mm,” he hums, enjoying the taste.
The soft, wet sounds are immediate as he lets some of his saliva leak onto you, mixing with your already heavy arousal as it drips and runs together in a messy little spill, already making a bit of a mess between you and his mouth.
He leans back, picking up a mango piece, holding it above you for a second before squeezing it just enough for the juice to run down your core in a slow, sticky stream.
“What—” you gasp softly, barely getting the word out.
He doesn’t even look phased. “Uh uh. Don’t talk. Just lay back down. I’m eating.”
He lingers for a moment, admiring his “masterpiece” with an easy smile before diving right back in. Poking at every inch of your patience with the way he works his tongue through your slit, far too pleased with the smacks and sloppy sounds he makes as he goes. Tasting the mango juice as it drips and spills while he keeps going like he’s on a mission.
It felt like the mango just pushed him even more. Making him eat more vigorously as if he wasn’t eager enough beforehand.
Your little noises linger in the hot summer air, soft and scattered with the warmth. You shift a little, hips wriggling restlessly.
“Mm,” he hums, genuinely enjoying it like it’s the best thing he’s ate all day. “Keep those legs open, let me taste you,” he leans back with a wet grin, catching his breath for a second before immediately going back in.
His mouth seals over your clit, sucking slow and sure, gaze locked on yours with an amused, quiet glint. The smile impossible to miss in his eyes.
"Mm, tastes good," he says between his work, completely slipping out like he's merely enjoying an ice cream, as if he didn't have his face buried against your dripping pussy.
Your back bows off the towel, fingers scrabbling for anything, landing in the fine, gritty sand at your side.
Your thighs tense and lock against his head, tightening until it almost feels like you’re bracing too hard, like you could bruise his skin. He forces your thighs back in place. Scattering kisses before working his way back to your orgasm again.
“Someone feeling overwhelmed?” he teases in between. “Cum, baby, just fucking soak my face, give it to me.”
His tongue plunges inside you, curling till he tastes you deep in his throat with each passing leak. Till you’re nothing but a trembling mess in his hands, thighs shaking by his head till you finally soak his face with a sharp gasp, followed by yet another off guard gasp, just completely ruined for him.
“Fuck—oh, God! Humin!” you moan out, the sound echoing a little too loud, way louder than you meant it to be.
Thankfully, there’s no one around. Just the open beach, the heat, and the two of you—lucky for both of you.
He tilts his head back, thumb brushing slow over your hip bone, and grins. “Mm, there’s my good girl.” He blows a cool breath against your overheated, sensitive core, and a full body shiver wracks you, still buzzing from the aftershocks.
“Hey, teamwork!” he cheers, grabbing your limp hand and making it highfive his himself when you’re far too tired to lift it properly.
You can practically see the gears turning in his head. That look in his eyes—one you know far too well by now—means another completely unhinged thought is seconds away from leaving his mouth. And then—
“I’m never eating fruit any other way,” he teases, though there’s a hint of seriousness under it. “Been doing it wrong my whole life, clearly.”
꣑ৎ― all characters depicted are 18 years or older consenting adults. │ wc: 7,6k
cw (please read & proceed with caution): adult content / s*xual themes / consensual adult intimacy / fluff build-up / established relationship / marriage / making it fit / finish inside / p in v / teasing / crying / passionate / d*grading + praise / worked up baku / breed!ng / u wanna be a mom? / needy baku / size difference / rough / too big / yearner baku / body worship? / till shes mindless / "don't run from it now" / talking you through it / mocking / smacks / unprotected / overst!m kinda / “i love you” / pillowtalk pairing: husband! park humin x female reader
⤷ sypnosis: you and baku are newlyweds. he convinces you to call in sick with him on a random Wednesday so you can spend the day together at the beach. you agree and go change, only to come back out in your bikini and distract him so badly that the original plans quickly become the last thing on his mind. after all, what's a beach date when his wife looks like that?
۶ৎ author message ﹕my absolute nastiest oneshot to be created. writing this was insane bro, whew. also this is a two part oneshot. this is the first part of it. if you wanna read the second here is the link. i hope you guys enjoy!
reblogs, likes and comments are appreciated ♡ + ↻
੭﹕﹒AGAIN, MDNI 18+ 彡
masterlist . ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🪽་༘࿐
ᴺᵒʷ ᵖˡᵃʸᶦⁿᵍ ♬⋆.˚ PILLOWTALK - ZAYN (this fits too perfect, i HAD to)
ᴺᵉˣᵗ ᵁᵖ ♬⋆.˚ Die For You - The Weeknd
Flip flops hitting against the living room floor, Baku practically bounces around as he flexes his muscles in every pose imaginable, the kind you'd see on a bodybuilding competition show. Turning this way and that way, he makes absolutely sure you're looking at exactly how pumped his biceps are. A big stupid smile sits on his face. The one Baku always wears whenever he's way too proud of himself.
“Beach bod, I know,” he nods agreeing with himself.
“You’re ridiculous,” you mutter, sitting on the edge of the couch, still wearing your pajamas.
Baku has yet again dragged you into one of his stupid impulsive plans. The kind you still can't quite predict or get the hang of even after three years of dating and now two months of being married to him.
And despite how stupid he can be, you don't regret saying yes at that altar for even a second. Because it's his stupidity, his endless fun, and that strange little spark he carries with him everywhere that made you fall in love with him in the first place.
On the outside and inside, Baku is exactly what you need in your life.
A big, intimidating, ridiculously strong husband with a personality that contradicts his appearance so powerfully it could give someone whiplash.
“Baby,” he pauses, pointing at his biceps. “these don’t happen by themselves. A lot of work went into them.”
You roll your eyes, but the smile gives you away before you can even stop it, and Baku catches it instantly, as he always does.
“You love me so bad,” he shrugs, completely unbothered, speaking as if it’s an obvious truth. “I love you more, my beautiful wife.”
You shake your head again, leaning back slightly as you watch him properly this time—watch that ridiculous, bright, effortless grin he wears when he’s proud of himself, when he’s proud of you, when he’s proud of the fact that you exist in the same sentence as him. The word wife never sits quietly in his mouth. He says it with weight, with certainty, with this almost childlike disbelief that it belongs to him to say.
Two months in.
Two. Whole. Months. In.
And Baku had been throwing the word “wife” around far too much. It still hasn’t fully settled into him. Every time he says it, there’s this flicker in his expression—something pleased, something excited, something that never quite gets tired of it. Hearing it. Saying it. Claiming it in the middle of ordinary moments just because he can.
‘My wife this, my wife that, my wife will, I gotta ask my wife,’ has slowly become its own habit with him, a rhythm of speech that follows him everywhere, said with the same fond certainty every time, as if he’s still getting used to the fact that you’re real, and you’re his, and he gets to say it out loud.
“Do we bring the castle one or the turtle one?” he asks so casually, holding up two sand building sets he’d bought from the toy store not long ago. A grown man, standing there like it’s the most normal decision in the world.
“Humin.”
“The castle one is a classic, we can build a big one, but the turtles are cute,” he continues, still genuinely weighing it as if it matters more than it should, turning them over in his hands while thinking out loud. “Let’s just bring both,” he says, not even giving it a second thought as he drops them into the oversized beach bag he’d packed, already stuffed with a few other stupid items.
A frisbee, water guns, floaties and snorkeling gear to apparently ‘just see what’s down there.’
His red swimming trunks hang at his hips, revealing the definition of his thigh muscles as he moves.
“Are you gonna get dressed or what?” he asks, walking over to the couch and reaching out to rest his palm flat on your head, gentle and casual, like you’re something small and cute to him.
“I can’t believe you genuinely convinced me to do this.”
“You’re so grumpy in the morning, y’know,” he smiles, ruffling your hair and earning a quick smack to his hand from you. It only makes his grin widen, like that was the reaction he wanted, before he goes right back to messing your hair again. Then he leans down, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead, a small apology for his childish antics.
Baku had convinced you to call in sick from work with him so the two of you could steal a beach date in the middle of a weekday. According to him, the world was at its best when everyone else was stuck in it and you weren’t.
“Everyone else is miserable right now, at work and school,” he says, nodding seriously at his own logic as if it’s the most undeniable fact, while his hands absentmindedly gather your hair, brushing it back before lifting it into two loose sections just to mess with you. “That means no screaming kids and no crowd. The beach is ours.”
A pause.
“Go get dressed, c’mon. It’s so nice out. Pleaseeee.”
You look up deadpan.
“You carry me to the car. I’m not wearing shoes.” You say it like it should make him reconsider, pushing just a little to see if he’ll back down.
It doesn’t work.
“On it madame!” a stupid salute follows.
“And you dust the sand off my feet when we leave.”
Again, no hope.
“Yes ma’am, at your service,” he says, bowing dramatically with zero hesitation, already fully committed to entertaining your spoiled tactics without a second thought.
“Now may you please get dressed your royal highness?”
And with a final defeated sigh, you push yourself up from the couch, palms pressing into the cushion for support. He smooths your hair down where he’d messed it up earlier, an easy smile on his face as he watches you for a moment.
“Catch ya later alligator!” Giving you a light smack to your ass. You roll your eyes not even phased. “God damn, that recoil always gets me,” he says dead serious, you hold back a laugh.
You disappear into the bedroom, the door closing behind you, and he lingers there a second longer before turning back to what he was doing.
“So cranky,” he murmured to himself with a grin.
He resumes packing. Two separate containers this time. One filled with your favorite chips, the other packed to the brim with freshly cut fruit, each piece carefully shaped into little hearts. Thoughtful in a way that almost feels playful, like he’s turned snack time into something meant to make you pause and smile before you even realize it.
Baku loved taking care of you in those small ways. Always finding quiet, unspoken gestures to make your day a little softer, a little brighter, without ever making it feel like a hassle.
“And sunscreen,” he says, almost to himself, already reaching for it. He makes sure it goes in the bag too, because he knows how much you care about your skin. Honestly, so does he.
The idea of you getting sunburned has his expression tightening for a second, like it’s not even worth risking. He doesn’t want you uncomfortable later, red and sore when the whole point of today is for you to enjoy it.
A few moments later you emerge from the bedroom, a simple pink bikini resting on you, tied neatly at your hips and high at your back. Nothing flashy, no patterns, no extra details. Just something plain and light, the kind of ordinary that somehow makes it stand out even more.
A sheer beach cover-up draped over your arm, a sun hat in your other hand as you step out, your hair cascading down your shoulders loosely. Beach ready without trying too hard.
Baku, who’s by the bags folding towels in, pauses the moment he sees you. His hands stop mid motion and his head tilts slightly as he just… looks at you. Eyes panning down your body as he takes in the sight before him. Mouth slightly parted in quiet adoration, like his brain lagged behind what his eyes just registered.
He stands up and walks over to you with that stupid little smile already on his face, like he’s made up his mind about what he wanted the second he saw you. His hands find your waist right away, familiar and warm, before he presses a kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, then your neck.
You look at him skeptically, a little confused at where the sudden wave of affection came from. Yeah, Baku was always clingy, always touchy. But this feels a bit out of nowhere.
“Is it the bikini?” you mutter, still getting kisses placed all over your face, neck, shoulders. His lips trail down your arm before he slows, finishing by pressing a soft kiss to your hand. Your hand looks so small compared to his rough bigger one, fitting perfectly against it.
“Nope,” he replies, still holding your hand close. “It’s you. The bikini’s just a bonus.”
Ha. He’s good.
Suddenly, your feet are no longer on the floor as he lifts you into his arms with no struggle at all, halting any further thoughts brewing in your brain.
“Humin!”
“Baby,” he replies simply, like he didn’t just steal your balance in one smooth motion.
“Put me down.”
“No, that’s not fun.”
“Humin.”
His grip is steady as your frame naturally curls into his, instinctively fitting against him while he carries you with ease. Like you weighed the same amount a pebble would. He walks toward the bedroom without rushing, unbothered, as if he has all the time in the world, before gently lowering you onto the mattress carefully.
The mattress dips between the combined weight of you two.
You barely have a second to react before he leans in, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Sweet, soft, and slow.
“What are you doi—” before you finish the question, he cuts you off with a kiss to your lips, his hand resting at your waist and moving in slow, reassuring strokes.
The kiss is gentle, deliberate, unhurried, like he’s trying to say everything at once without using any words. All that affection he’d been ‘holding back’ seems to settle into that single moment, especially the way he’s been looking at you since you walked out in that pretty pink bikini.
You press your palms flat against his chiseled chest, pushing back in a way that has no real force behind it, more for show than anything else. Like you want it to seem like you’re taking control of the moment, more mature than him somehow, even while you’re clearly melting into every kiss he gives you.
“Park Humin,” you say, trying for something threatening between breaths, though it doesn’t quite land the way you want it to.
Still, you kiss him back anyway, shamelessly, muscle memory taking over before you can think to stop it.
He just hums in response, completely unbothered, he heard you but didn’t feel even slightly compelled to stop.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says as he sits up on his knees between your legs, keeping them spread.
Already reaching for his swimming trunks so casually. His palm tightens around his hardened shaft through the material, giving it a firm squeeze while he looks down at you, completely natural, like he has no idea what he’s doing with his hand.
“You think?” you say, clearly sarcastic.
“Mm,” he hums, serious, not missing a beat. “I know, baby. You’re perfect. Stunning.”
“Oh, really?”
“Really.”
You raise an eyebrow. “You say that to every woman in a bikini?”
His grin only widens. “Uh, hell no? Just my perfect wife.”
"Are you seriously hard?"
"Um, it'd be crazy if I wasn't," he replies like that ends it all.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“And you’re pretty.” His eyes drift over you again, completely shameless, palm still pressed against his outline kneading firmly, as if to give relief. “Everything about you.”
“Those lips,” he says, thumb brushing over them slowly, testing the softness with focus.
Imagining all the ways your pretty lips could look wrapped around his cock.
“Those eyes too, always looking at me like that. Just begging to be fucked.”
“Shut up.”
“Make me, sit on my face.”
You had a feeling he wasn’t joking. But you stay still.
His fingertips run down your neck, feeling you swallow beneath them as your heartbeat quickens slightly at his words.
His hand lingers as it moves, drifting down your shoulders with deliberate ease before settling at your waist, holding you there. You feel the skin of his calloused hands on you.
“And this perfect body,” he adds, voice lower now, almost amused at his own thoughts as his gaze drags over you again.
All the different positions he wanted to fuck you in right here, right now.
His hand drifts up, cupping your breast through the bikini fabric. Giving a gentle squeeze. “You make it kind of hard to think straight, you know that?”
You roll your eyes. “Park Humin.”
“What?” he asks innocently, though the stupid smile on his face says otherwise. “You asked.”
“I didn’t ask for a full review.”
“You didn’t have to.” He leans a little closer, amusement dancing in his eyes. “I was gonna give one anyway.”
“God, you’re annoying.”
“Mm,” he nods thoughtfully. “And yet you’re laying there looking all pretty for me and letting it happen.”
He keeps taking you in anyway, eyes lingering over you again and again, quiet in that way he gets when he’s just… looking. In his eyes, you weren’t someone he ever got used to. You were someone closer to art in the highest sense of it, someone that stopped him for a second every time, no matter how familiar you already were.
A sight he never seemed to get enough of, no matter how often his gaze traced you, no matter how many times his mind tried to memorize every detail of you. It wasn’t even conscious anymore, the way he studied you, like his brain was trying to hold onto you in a way that went beyond seeing, just in case he ever had to. Ingraining every inch and curve of you into his memory.
“What happened to the beach?” you ask, raising your eyebrows from your position on the mattress, back pressed flush against it as you look up at Baku. You try a little too hard to avoid eye contact with what he’s doing with his hand. Still working over his outline. Searching for a bit of relief in his aching length.
“The beach is always there,” he replies easily, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s not going anywhere. We can go whenever we want.”
His other hand keeps moving down your thigh in a slow, gentle way, way more focused on you than any plan he had.
Fingers skate over your bikini bottoms and feel the wetness slick against the sleek material of it.
A sigh escapes his mouth, his adams apple moving as his head tips slightly back before settling again, as if he’s trying to collect himself but failing miserably.
“How’d I get so lucky?” he asks, not expecting an answer, not really needing one either. He’s already somewhere else entirely, caught up in you. The way your body lies perfectly flush between the cream sheets of your shared bed, the fabric bunching softly around your skin. The bikini framing you just enough, revealing everything in quiet detail while still leaving little to the imagination, enough to make his focus falter.
“My wife is so pretty.”
“You know, you say wife too much.”
“Anyone with a wife like mine would,” he grins, as if the answer is obvious, already decided for him. You, just being you, is enough to make him look at you like you’re something he can’t help but show off.
“But not everyone’s as lucky as me,” he adds, softer this time, the grin settling into something quieter as he keeps his eyes on you, still a little caught in it all.
“Don’t move.”
Finding the strings of his trunks, his fingers tug at them, loosening them until it no longer sits properly together. His hand fists his bulge gently once again, then moves to the hem of his shorts, pulling down just a fraction, low enough to expose his tanned skin, before letting them rest there, never fully committing. Caught in that familiar space between need and teasing, the one he always seems to hover in.
He watches you the entire time, completely aware of where your attention drifts. The way your eyes settle on the v-line adoring his crotch below his stomach, following the lines there. The definition of his thighs. The barely visible veins that traced along his skin, climbing up his lower stomach with quiet intention, giving subtle shape and detail to him in a way that always caught your eye.
Small things you noticed without meaning to.
Especially when you were horny.
He doesn’t say anything about it, just lets you look, letting the moment sit there between you both without interruption.
Your hands skate over the lower stomach of your tanned, muscled husband, your touch moving across him with intention. His stomach shifts and dips beneath you in a quiet shudder, reacting instantly to even the lightest contact, as if your presence alone is enough to make him fully aware of every way you had control over him.
“Yeah, yeah, I know I’m impressive,” his tone was proud, too proud. “That’s your husband, by the way.”
His hand finds yours and guides it down his body, making sure you feel every line of his build along the way.
“This is all yours,” he says.
He slows deliberately when your fingers reach his abs, holding you there just long enough to make a point of it, then glances at you with a small, satisfied smile when he notices the way your attention slips. He makes sure your fingers feel every dip and rise of his abs.
“Feel all of me,” he breathes as your hand moves lower, running over his hard shaft, the familiar firmness beneath your palm. Something primal flickers across his face as you touch it. You give it a gentle squeeze, earning a little groan. “God damn.”
It’s almost unfair how much he reacts to it. As though no amount of having you close could ever truly satisfy the part of him that needed more. As though he was doomed to crave your touch even after spending every day wrapped up in it.
Having you screaming his name last night wasn’t recent enough.
“Keep touching it and I’m gonna fuck you till you cry, I swear,” he says, sounding light enough to pass as a joke, but there’s a real edge of warning underneath it.
And despite that, you keep going.
His breathing grows a little uneven, not from anything dramatic, but from the simple fact that he lives for moments like these. He drinks them in greedily, surviving off your affection with the quiet desperation of a man who could spend a lifetime loved by you and still wake up wanting just one more touch.
“Mm, fuck baby, I love you.”
His hips begin moving on their own, working his cock gently against your palm.
His lips find your neck, lingering there before slowly tracing the path of your collarbone, each kiss carried with quiet devotion, as if he’s remembering you through touch alone.
“I don’t think I’m ever gonna get used to you.”
He moves across your shoulder blades, down your arm, pausing at your hand as if even the smallest part of you deserves to be acknowledged. His breath drifts over your skin between each moment, warm and uneven. Caught deeply in need.
“I want more of you like I’m starving,” he whispers between kisses. “I can’t get enough.”
Then lower, kisses scattered in no rush to finish, only to stay. Along your arms, your wrists, the quiet unnoticed lines of your body, even down your legs as if there isn’t a single part of you he could ever skip over.
“I’m all yours, you know that? You’re all I need.”
He takes his time with you, not as something to have, but something to adore, as though every inch of you is something he’s been searching for without knowing it.
“Humin…” is all you muster up as your husband practically worships your body.
“Don’t say my name, please, fuck— I’m already so hard it's painful...”
Taking his time, he retraces his way back up, kisses scattered in his wake until the final one comes crashing softly against your lips. His hand finds your waist immediately, pulling you flush against him with the kind of familiarity that had long since become a routine between you.
“I’d—" he exhales a sharp breath, "—lay my life down for you.”
And that he would. Genuinely.
He lingers there for a moment, unwilling to part completely, before finally pulling back just enough for his forehead to brush yours, his words falling in a whisper against your lips.
“You’ve really got me wrapped around your finger, huh? Did you cast a spell? Be honest,” he exhales a laugh. “I could worship your body all day, every day.”
You push him off and sit up, standing to fix your messed bikini.
“Well, we have plans, so not now.”
He catches your wrist before you can even make it to the mirror. Tight enough to halt any further movement.
“Baku—”
“Come here.”
He lets go just as quickly as he grabbed you, he already knows you’re not going far anyway.
You turn back around, arms crossed over your chest, trying to look annoyed while you take in the look on his face. That smile. That quiet, need in his eyes that he doesn’t bother hiding from you.
You still felt his devoted kisses lingering on your skin, the warmth of them settling in even after he’d stopped. The aftermath soft and reassuring, like a quiet reminder over how crazy your husband was about you.
“You’re being weird,” you say, rolling your eyes, but your mouth is betraying you a little.
His smile only widens. “I don’t care.”
“Humin.”
“Yeah?” he answers immediately, too calm for someone acting like this.
“We were supposed to leave fifteen minutes ago.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you still sitting there?”
He leans back slightly, eyes not leaving you for even a second. “I need you.”
You pause. “Right now?”
“Right now.” A beat. Then, softer, almost like he’s testing you. “Shit, I’m so hard, baby. You’re being cruel,” he says dramatically brushing his hand over his face trying to hide his smile.
That alone makes something in your expression shift, the confidence slipping just enough for you to look down for half a second.
And your eyes confirm. He was indeed incredibly hard. Hard enough to where it looked like his length might burst out of the material of his trunks at any moment.
You try to step out, but your feet don’t quite cooperate the way you want them to, your whole stance giving you away.
He notices immediately.
Even while he’s sitting on the bed, he had you pinned down where he wanted you. Without moving a muscle.
“Stop making me wait,” he says, still smiling, voice lower now, more needy than demanding. “Please…”
And that “please” doesn’t feel like a request so much as it feels like him admitting defeat in the most unfair way possible.
You exhale, trying to hold onto your resolve, but it’s already gone.
“…You’re impossible,” you mutter, barely convincing yourself.
He just opens his arms a little, waiting.
And this time, you don’t make him wait for long. Immediately pinned onto the mattress underneath him once again.
“This—” he hooks a finger under the strap of your bikini, tugging it lightly before letting it snap back into place. “—is making me wanna watch my cum drip out of you.”
His voice is barely above a whisper.
“I’m waiting…”
And that was enough for him.
“Fuck the beach,” he declares, the matter is already settled and no force on earth is changing his mind. Leaning down without another thought, he litters your neck with kisses, the kind born purely out of need.
Not even ten minutes ago, he had been passionately defending his weekday beach philosophy. Now, with you beneath him in that pretty pink bikini, he looks perfectly willing to abandon every carefully packed towel and container.
Looking down, he noticed the damp patch on your bikini, perfectly centered between the outline of your lips. Giving it a light teasing smack, earning a wince from you, he whispered, “you little slut, you’re soaking through.”
He quickly undoes the bikini ties, urgency in his hands. His fingers brush over yours when you try to help, briefly lacing with your hand before pushing it away. He doesn’t want your help, he wants you laying there taking it all. All his need.
“No, let me.”
The bikini comes off, flung somewhere off to the side. His hands trace all your lines, taking you in, fully bare and on display beneath him.
The sheer white blinds filtered the morning sunlight, casting a soft glow over your trembling body. Your tits rose and fell with each desperate breath, the sensitive peaks hardening in the cool air. Your slit was wet, dripping even, the evidence of your need clear. He saw it all.
And there you are, still shy under his gaze, the same way you are every time, no matter how many times he’s seen you like this before. It never really changes. You still go quiet, still avoid his eyes, like it’s the first time all over again.
“Acting shy now?” he teases, running a finger over one of your nipples, kneading both of your tits in one of his bigger hands.
“I’ve seen you choke on my cock with a smile on your face, don’t be silly now.”
You swallow.
“Spread those legs for me, honey,” And immediately, you comply without even thinking about it. Not because you’re unaware of yourself, but because you know exactly who he is to you in that moment. Your husband knows what he’s doing, knows how to pull the right reactions out of you without even trying too hard. He knows how to make you feel good, in ways that settle under your skin.
And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t crave his touch twenty four seven.
“Look at that…”
His fingers immediately graze your slit, drawing a small sigh out of you in reaction.
“Shit…” he exhales a shaken breath, cursing.
A soft slickness gathers at his fingertips immediately, coating them as he intently spreads it further. Making it messier on purpose.
“Soaked, aren’t you?” a light, but now wet, smack again. “This pussy knows how to welcome me, hm?”
You fail trying to bite back a sound at the feel of his fingers against your clit, the reaction slipping out before you can stop it. Your need for him settling in deeper.
Two fingers slip inside you slowly, walls clenching around them and arms hooking loosely around his neck.
“Are my fingers enough?”
You shake your head desperately.
"What do you need then, baby?"
"You know what I need, Humin," you murmur.
"Enlighten me."
"I need you inside me..."
He smiles down at you, tilting his head slightly as if he’s watching something he genuinely loves seeing. The way your expressions shift makes something in him settle.
He curls his fingers gently making you squeeze harder, a groan leaving his lips.
“Fuck, I can't keep up with this teasing shit,” he pulls his fingers out.
Pushing down his trunks, his cock springs free. The thick, veiny shape taps against his stomach as he finally settles it down. Gripping it in hand, slapping the tip lightly against your clit, making you gasp a little in response.
“Ah—“
Sharp and cool against your teeth.
“Ah,” he mimics you, mocking your gasp, and smiles. “Fuck, those sounds. Makes me wanna fuck you senseless till that’s all you are.”
He teases the tip lower, between your folds, his precum and your slickness working to make the movement addictive.
And it was in that moment that it wasn’t just the size of Humin hovering over you that stood out so starkly. It was his shaft resting against your thigh, thick and warm. His fingers alone seemed to take up so much space against you, your smaller frame swallowed so effortlessly beside his.
It had always been that way. From the way your hand disappeared in his, to how easily he gathered you into his arms. The contrast between you both never failed to leave a quiet flutter in your chest.
Especially in this position, the ceiling barely came into view past how wide his shoulders were, his frame taking up most of your sight without even trying.
“Mm,” he hums, focused on his tip probing at your entrance.
You brace yourself, eyes fixed on the sheer, thick weight of your husband’s cock—unforgiving, carved to fit only you, to split you open. Even after all these years, after countless nights together, that slow, burning stretch never gets anything less than overwhelming.
He pulls you right out of your thoughts as he glides his cock slow through your slick.
“You think this’ll all fit easy this time, baby? I’ll go real slow.”
At first, no response.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” his tone growing a touch firmer, enough to pull you back. “Eyes on me.”
His thumb brushes slowly over your bottom lip as he holds your jaw steady, his hand nearly swallowing your face, keeping you from looking away. The solid weight of his tip taps against your clit again, deliberate this time, and your breath catches sharp in your throat, your hips twitching up toward him on instinct.
“That’s a good girl, so eager, you just wanna be filled, don’t you?”
You nod. “Please.”
His thumb brushes your cheek, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite the intent in his eyes.
“C’mon, baby. Stay with me,” he murmurs. “You gonna be good for me? Take it all?”
You nod again, subtle but immediate, an urgency slipping through the small motion anyway. Needing all of him despite the anticipated pain.
“Mm, keep those legs open for me,” he whispers. “Squeeze my arm if it gets too much, deal?”
You nod.
His tip presses soft and insistent, pushing slow against the tight fit.
“Breathe, baby, I won’t fucking fit otherwise.”
Your breath catches and shatters into a gasp, vision blurring at the edges where pain and pleasure bleed into one, too tangled to tell apart.
Despite how turned on you were, it was always a struggle. No amount of foreplay could allow a smooth sink.
“Humin—” his name slips from your mouth, vulnerable, like it’s the only thing you can reach for in the moment. As if saying it alone might ease the pain.
He leans down without a word and presses a kiss to your forehead, slow, staying there long enough for you to register it.
“I got you, baby,” he murmurs. “Just hold still. Breathe.”
He pushes deeper, the head sliding past that tight, resisting give, sinking in. Still barely a fraction of him. A low, wrecked groan pierces your ears from above, fingers digging hard into your hips.
“Oh, fuck— Good girl—“
His shaft was caught in a crushing yet addictive grip.
He freezes, hips stuttering like he’s forgotten how to move, a shaky, high whine catching in his throat. Resisting the impulse to close the distance. “Fuck—shit, baby, you’re so fucking tight. I can’t—shit, that feels good.”
Simultaneously, your back arches off the mattress with nowhere to go, hips pressed firmly down into it.
“No, fuck no, don’t move an inch.”
The pain isn’t damaging, but it lingers there all the same, enough to make your breath catch and your focus narrow. Your nails dig into his shoulders, holding on.
His thumb located your clit, moving in slow, deliberate circles that coaxed your soaked heat to stretch wider. You fought to accommodate his thick length, muscles trembling as your body slowly made room. It worked—for a moment—two more inches of him sliding deep inside before his girth hit that familiar resistance again.
“Oh, fuck— Mhm, that’s it,” he immediately praises you, voice coming out barely there.
“Mm— you’re gripping me so fucking tight, what the fuck. Are you trying to cut my dick in half?” A laugh slips from his chest, because apparently Baku’s nonsense always had to make an appearance. Even while he was busy stretching you open.
A small, broken sound slips from your mouth, followed by a whine as your eyes well up, tears spilling over before you can stop them and tracking down your flushed cheeks. Your vision turns hazy, everything blurring at the edges for a moment.
“It’s okay. Cry all you want, princess,” followed by a groan. “We got all day.”
He looks down immediately, focus snapping to you, watching your face closely, making sure you’re okay. Your gaze never leaves each other as he watches you struggle to take him.
“Humin…” you cry out. “Too much…”
“I know, baby, I know,” he says, low and even, like he’s trying to calm the air around you with his voice alone. Wiping your tears away carefully. “You’re doing good. So good. Just a bit more, okay? Should I keep going?”
You nod.
Despite the cruelty of your deep scratches raking his broad shoulders, the moment your hand slips, he finds it and drapes it right back in place. He doesn’t even acknowledge the sting, only adjusts you gently as if your comfort outweighs everything else.
“Scratch all you want, it’s okay, baby.”
He pushes your thighs back, his thumbs keep tracing slow, soothing circles, coaxing a few more inches in until he’s more than halfway buried inside.
You shift forward instinctively, trying to push through and take more at once, “Shit—“ he whines, immediately guiding you back with a firm hand, keeping you from rushing.
“Be patient baby, don’t hurt yourself,” he whispers despite how badly he wanted to sink in your fucking guts. “I’ll give all of it to you.”
A whine slips from your mouth again, sharper this time, born out of frustration and impatience. He reacts instantly, hand tangling in your hair, a firm pull draws a startled gasp from you.
“You’re being an impatient little slut right now, hm?”
An answer wasn’t even needed, but you nod anyway, mindless and needy in the way that just gives you away. Your hand finds his forearm where he’s holding your hair, gripping on. But not squeezing like he told you to.
“Want the rest?”
You nod eagerly.
And that was all he needed. With a low breath leaving his chest, he finally committed, guiding the motion through. His hands settled firmly at your hips, grounding you against one final, yet still gentle, thrust, sinking in till he bottoms out.
“That’s it—“ he groans softly. Hips staggering for a moment.
A gasp tears from your throat as your back arches further, as though something deep inside you had seized control for a moment and left you helpless to anything but the feeling.
“Mmhm, Humin—” you whine, the words barely making it out, your voice so faint it almost disappears altogether. “I cant—“
Your body betraying the very words falling from your lips, giving in despite yourself, taking all of it as though it had long since made up its mind before you ever could.
“Fucking hell…” He groans as he feels you completely engulf his cock. Gripping like your life depended on keeping him buried inside you. Adjusting to his size till he could comfortably move.
“Oh, no? You can’t?” A smile tugs at his lips, almost teasing as he looks at you like he already knows the answer. “But you are. You’re doing it so good—if only you could see what I’m seeing.”
He looks down, already rocking his hips into you, the pace agonizingly slow, yet somehow you could feel him everywhere, his presence settling into every part of you until there was nowhere your mind could wander but back to him. Feeling the head of his wet shaft settling in your uterus.
“Taking it like a good girl. It’s sliding in smoother than you’d think,” he teases. “You’re fucking taking it like you wanna get pregnant.”
Your breath hitches.
“Do you, baby?” He whispers, your eyes finally locking again.
“Mmhm…”
"Need a very clear answer," he repeated, his hand gripping your jaw firmly as he delivered a series of light, open handed smacks to your face. Teasing your sensitive skin. The sound echoed in the quiet room, soft but demanding. "You wanna be a mommy? Have my baby?”
“Mmh— yeah…”
“Yeah?”
“I do…”
“Y’want me to cum inside you, that it?”
You didn't respond—your mind too full of the weight of his question. Embarrassment burned hot on your cheeks even as you laid naked on the edge of the table, your legs already spread wide for him, your wet slit on display below and full of him. The contrast of your coyness and the filthy position you'd let him put you in was stark.
Earning you a sharper smack to the cheek, leaving behind a warm red mark.
“Answer me.”
“Shit— Mmhmm—“ A whimper escapes loose as his wet strokes ruin you further.
“Mmhmm shit mmhm…” he mocks, still thrusting deep into your guts. Purposely. “Words, silly. Heard’ve them?”
“Please— please cum inside me— Make me— fuck— make me a mom…”
His smile widened in satisfaction as he gently brushed your hair behind your ear—a gesture so tender it clashed with the nasty way he was fucking you—and then smacked your cheek again, not hard enough to hurt this time but hard enough to make you clench around his cock.
He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.
“You're so beyond beautiful.”
His voice comes out rougher at the edges, attention locked in on the spot your core swallowed him whole, like he can’t quite look away, completely caught up in you in a way he doesn’t try hiding.
“What a sight, fuck. Soaking the fucking sheets, you’re making a mess.”
His thumb pulls your lips apart, a thick string of saliva settling right between your folds where you connected, rubbing it in, making it all the more messy.
Fingers finding your clit and working you.
Your thighs give a weak pathetic twitch and he keeps going, pushing you to overstimulation as his tip was already abusing your cervix just doubling down on the pleasure.
“It's— shit, please... too much—” you gasp out pathetically, attempting to push his hand away, fighting your own orgasm.
Your words tumble over each other into a broken whimper. Barely able to catch your breath, let alone string together a proper sentence.
"Squeeze my arm then, go on."
Nothing. No squeeze. But you double down on your protests.
"I can't—" as if reaching the edge felt too overwhelming but you still wanted to be pushed over it.
“Oh, but you will, cum all over me,” despite your attempts to push his hand, he kept going. Thumb pad pressed stubbornly against your clit. Making you gush all over his lower abs, soaking the sheets and his cock with your aftermath.
He presses the words out through grit teeth, voice rough and thick with heat as he keeps his pace up, “That's it, baby, see? Such a good girl, so pretty.”
Despite the wrecked sweaty state you were in.
The obscene, wet squelching echoes off the bedroom walls every time his hips sink deep, each hard thrust deliberately driven to drag that loud, sticky sound out. He holds your hips tighter, chasing it, chasing the proof of just how soaked and messy you are for him.
Your tears were already soaking the cream sheets by your head as you pushed back on his lower stomach. To no avail, it doesn’t work slowing him down.
Only encouraging him. Pulling your hand up to kiss it.
“Uh uh, what’s the matter? Can’t take it?” He breathes, your ankles now draped over his shoulders. A sight you could never quite get enough of, the way your husband’s broad, sun-warmed shoulders offered the perfect resting place for your feet without a single word needed between you. “You were acting like a cock hungry whore not long ago.”
“You’re taking this pounding, baby. I haven’t cum yet.”
He shoves your legs back hard until your knees practically brush your chest, folding you open just how he wants, and drives deep from above. His breath catches, sharp warm puffs against your neck, and you feel his cock throb weak inside you.
Bear hugging you right into him while simultaneously fucking you further into the mattress, close enough you felt his groans and breaths caress your ears.
"Mm, fuck,” his tone was shrill, closer to the edge. “You feel fucking good—“
Your tits pressed firmly against his chest, brushing into him with each thrust. A thin sheen of sweat coated your bodies where you were pressed together from neck to hips.
“I’m gonna cum inside,” he whispers, “baby… that okay?” leaning slightly back, but still hugging you close.
His gaze stays on you, heavy lidded, caught in a way that makes it feel like he’s not fully thinking straight anymore, just drunk on you. He asks it again, softer, as if he didn’t already get you to admit you wanted his seed deep inside you.
“Mm, yeah…” you nod weakly.
“Yeah…?” he echoes back even weaker. “Fuck, I love you…”
He found your lips in a sloppy, desperate kiss, pushing every ragged breath and broken grunt into your mouth like he needed you to swallow his noises whole.
Saliva slicked both your lips as his breathing grew uneven, hitched, until suddenly his hips bucked erratically and his whole body trembled on top of you, a shudder running through his frame.
The kiss broke only for him to bury his face in your neck, muffling his broken groans against your skin as his cock continued to twitch. Strokes noticeably sloppy, with each pass becoming significantly less rhythmic, less coordinated.
“Feels good…” you continue, pleading, “please don’t stop…”
“Mmhm…” is all he manages. A weak attempt at proving that he was still present. But he was already slipping away. With a final thrust that completely ended him.
His body went rigid as he came inside you with a desperate, shuddering eruption, his cock pulsing deeply as he emptied himself completely.
A softened gasp overtook you. Your body trembling against the sheets.
“Baby, fuck— shit, shit, so good— you feel so fucking— good—“ his voice came out hoarse and whiney. “Please— don’t move, jus’ take all of it… All of my cum…”
“Oh, g–god—“ an incoherent string of moans and words tore from your mouth.
Finally, with a last weak leak, he collapses forward, catching himself instantly on one arm so he doesn’t fall fully onto you, saving you from being crushed beneath him.
He catches his breath before looking at you, leaning in just enough to press a soft, tired kiss to your cheek.
“I love you, baby.”
Your chest rises and falls in uneven breaths as you try to settle back into yourself, the world slowly catching up again.
He lets out a weak laugh, shaking his head slightly. Barely even able to breathe, but still talking. “What, no ‘I love you back’? That’s cold.”
Sweat dampened his forehead and entire body.
“I love you…” you manage, barely getting it out.
“I know, baby,” he says immediately, still smiling as he brushes his thumb over your cheek, wiping mascara smudges. “I was kidding. Just breathe.”
Still buried deep inside you and partially soft. Peppering your sweat damp skin with small, appreciative kisses, slow and absent of hurry, adoring you in a way that feels completely natural. Like you deserve.
“You okay, princess?”
You nod—delicate, but still there.
“Y’know you’re pretty cute when you’re like this,” he smiles, fully serious, but with that teasing edge in his tone. “Gives you a glow… like an afterglow—is that what it’s called?”
“Oh, shush,” you mumble, trying to hide your face as you shift under him. Feeling the aftermath of his undoing against your walls. Plugged up and still inside.
He laughs right away, light and easy. “What? I’m being observant. It’s important work.”
“It’s not work.”
“It is,” he insists, nodding like that settles it. “Someone has to study these things. I’m basically helping science right now.”
You let out a small sigh, but you’re smiling anyway.
“Oh—there it is,” he points at you, way too pleased with himself. “That smile again. I was right.”
“You’re insufferable,” you say, but it comes out soft.
“And yet,” he says, unbothered, shifting closer, giving your forehead a kiss, “you’re still here listening to me.”
“That’s because you won’t shut up.”
“False,” he corrects immediately. “It’s because I’m charming.”
You roll your eyes.
He grins wider. “See? You’re doing it again. Cute.”
A pause. Neither of you say anything, just bask in each other’s warmth, a comfortable silence settling, until Baku breaks it—
PLEASE make more I have been waiting for more PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE
ʚ KANG WOOYOUNG - Training You. ɞ
꣑ৎ― all characters depicted are 18 years or older consenting adults. │ wc: 9,8k
cw (please read & proceed with caution): adult content / s*xual themes / consensual adult intimacy / fluff build-up / established relationship / attitude reader / semi public intimacy / kissing / boyfriend wooyoung / rough / with plot kinda / slight spit play / d*grading / attitude taken care of / making it fit / you will take it / p in v / finish inside / you scratch / slightest mention of bl*od / aftercare
pairing: boyfriend! kang wooyoung x female reader
⤷ sypnosis: wooyoung takes you to the mma gym with him as he trains. seeing your boredom, he takes it upon himself to teach you a few fighting moves. till that leads to something else. leaving you a complete mess.
۶ৎ author message ﹕hi my loves, i've been kind of off tt for the time being as i fix some things but u ask and mommy vanta shall deliver. i hope you enjoy this oneshot. worked hard on it and did my best to portray wooyoung how i see him. let me know if you have any requests or characters you'd like to see. also your comments are much appreciated, i read them all on both tumblr and tt :) enjoy <3
reblogs, likes and comments are appreciated ♡ + ↻
੭﹕﹒AGAIN, MDNI 18+ 彡
masterlist . ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🪽་༘࿐
ᴺᵒʷ ᵖˡᵃʸᶦⁿᵍ ♬⋆.˚ M a k e I t T o T h e M o r n i n g - PARTYNEXTDOOR
ᴺᵉˣᵗ ᵁᵖ ♬⋆.˚ Don't Make Me Wait - Sabrina Claudio
The gym felt completely different at night. Without the usual crowd filling the space, every sound seemed louder than it should have been. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, and the only thing cutting through the silence was the steady impact of gloves against a heavy bag.
The owner had trusted Wooyoung with spare keys months ago. Something about being responsible enough to lock up after and dedicated enough to actually train and use the place even when everyone else was asleep.
And as expected, Wooyoung put that spare key to good use. Even after spending his afternoons at the gym with everyone else during scheduled training, he'd still find himself back here late at night, unable to stay away for long before convincing himself he needed a few more hours.
And since the two of you had been dating for a couple of months now, Wooyoung had made a habit of dragging you along whenever he came. It was his way of spending time with you even when his schedule was packed and most of his free hours somehow ended up revolving around training.
You complained every single time. Told him it was boring. Reminded him that watching someone punch things for hours wasn't exactly quality entertainment.
Yet somehow, every now and then, you'd still end up here anyway. Like today.
You were sprawled out on your stomach on the mats off to the side, completely removed from whatever he had planned for himself. Pajama shorts exposed your legs to the cool air of the gym, and an oversized hoodie, one of Wooyoung's that had mysteriously found its way into your closet months ago, nearly swallowed the rest of you whole. Even after countless washes, traces of his cologne still clung stubbornly to the fabric.
Which you secretly loved, even if you’d never say it out loud.
Your phone rested in your hand as you scrolled aimlessly through social media, barely paying attention to anything on the screen. The repetitive sound of gloves hitting a heavy bag echoed through the otherwise empty gym.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
You glanced up briefly.
Wooyoung was still at it. Still moving like he had all the energy in the world despite the fact that it was pushing midnight.
You looked back down at your phone with a sigh.
A few moments later, the steady sounds of impact suddenly stopped. Curious, you glanced up again.
Wooyoung had finally stepped away from the heavy bag. Sweat darkened the neckline of the shirt he had on underneath his zip up hoodie and dampened the hair sticking to his forehead. Climbing through the ropes and into the ring, as he pulled off his gloves and hoodie, tossing them aside, he headed straight for the corner where he'd left his water bottle.
He bent down, unscrewed the cap, and took several long chugs. Downing the bottle in one go. Some water trickling down his chin and neck. Your eyes followed the movement of his throat as he swallowed.
When he finished, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before setting the bottle down. Then his attention shifted to you. A grin immediately spread across his face.
He leaned over the ring ropes, his forearms settling across the top one as it dipped slightly beneath his weight. Still warm from training, the lines of muscle were more defined under his skin, with faint veins tracing along them in a way that showed exactly how long he’d been working out. The look he gave you was pure amusement. He’d heard every dramatic sigh you’d let out over the last hour.
“You look miserable,” he said simply from above.
“I am,” you murmur, turning onto your back as you look up at him from the mats. He looks so good in the ring, like he belongs there more than anywhere else, all controlled strength and ease in the way he holds himself.
Letting out a soft “pfff,” he rolls his eyes, clearly teasing you. He looks more amused than anything, like your dramatics are something he’s quietly fond of even when he pretends not to be. It was cute to him.
“Come here,” he says, softer this time.
You get up slowly, taking your time as you walk over, still a little lazy with it.
“Put some pep in your step.”
You walk slower on purpose.
“What,” you say, more attitude than question when you reach the ring.
He huffs a small laugh through his nose, shaking his head.
“Get in, dummy,” he says, tilting his head toward the ring in an invitation, already reaching out a hand like he’s done it a hundred times before.
Looking at him with a look that could only be described as a mix of confusion and quiet disbelief, you give in and take his hand as he pulls you up effortlessly. He lifts the ropes for you so you can climb in.
You stumble slightly as you get in, your foot catching on one of the ropes, and he catches you before you fully crash into him. You land against his chest anyway. He lets out a breathless laugh, trying and failing to hold it in. You immediately hit him over the arm.
“I was going to teach you some moves,” he says, still laughing under his breath, “but after that? I think you’d be safer bubble wrapped in a box.”
You roll your eyes, arms folding across your chest.
“Great, because I’m not doing that with you,” you say, already turning to climb out of the ring.
Before you make it a step, he catches your wrist and pulls you back into him with an ease that steals the momentum right out of you. You end up pressed against his chest again, his breath still slightly uneven from training.
He looks down at you with a soft grin, whisker dimples deepening as he holds your gaze for a second too long. Sweat still clings to his skin, hair slightly messy, cheeks faintly flushed from the strain of punching a bag for an hour. There’s something almost unfair in how good he looks even like this, worn down but still effortlessly put together in his own way, in that familiar Wooyoung way you’ve come to recognize and adore without even thinking about it.
It makes your annoyance slip for half a second before you catch it again.
“Too late,” he says.
He finally lets you go, just enough to reach down and pick up extra gloves resting by the corner. Red gloves.
He gently takes your hand and starts sliding the gloves onto it. They’re a little big, clearly made for the men who usually train here, but he works them on carefully anyway, adjusting your fingers so they sit right before tightening the velcro strap.
He gives it an extra tug, like he wants it to feel secure, then steps back to look at you properly.
A quiet laugh slips out of him, soft and unguarded, as he takes in how the gloves swallow your hands.
You hold up a bitter middle finger and he brings your hand up to his lips before placing kisses against your manicured fingers.
“You look ridiculous,” he says playfully, but his smile gives him away, lingering a second longer as if he’s trying to memorize the sight of his girl looking annoyed and out of place.
“Are you serious?” you mutter, holding your hands up to study the gloves.
He takes a moment to crack his knuckles before he leans down and grabs his black pair. His usual gloves.
In the leather of his, your name is embroidered cleanly. He got them custom made a few weeks ago, not saying much about it at the time, just bringing them in like it was nothing. He wanted a piece of you wherever he was, even in his matches.
And you try to hide the smile creeping onto your face as you notice it again, that softness he never really puts into words. The part of him that shows through in small things like this, even when he’s all sharp edges and tough around everyone else.
“Baby,” he starts, voice a little lower now, softer, “you should let me teach you a few self defense moves.”
“Why would I need that? I have you,” you say, like it’s obvious, like it solves everything. What was the point of having a boyfriend with biceps the size of your face if he didn’t use them to be your personal bodyguard after all.
The corner of his mouth lifts into a soft smirk, but it doesn’t quite reach how he’s looking at you. His eyes stay on yours a moment longer.
“I know,” he replies gently, stepping closer without even thinking about it, “but I’m not always gonna be right there.”
There’s no distance in his tone, just something steady. He’s already decided it matters even if you’re trying to brush it off.
“And I’d rather you be able to defend yourself,” he continues, voice calm but firmer now, “even though I’ll still go find the person myself.”
He says it like it’s already decided, like your safety isn’t something he’s willing to negotiate on.
You let your shoulders slump slightly and roll your eyes, already acting like you’ve lost before you’ve even started. Already deciding this is going to end with you regretting it.
He raises his hands into a proper fighting stance, gloves framing his face, eyes focused but still calm in that way of his that never really feels intimidating when it’s just you.
“Fists up, baby,” he says.
And you do. A little awkward at first, then steadier as you mirror him properly, your stance matching his as best as you can manage. He smiles across you, clearly enjoying how adorable you looked trying to match his moves.
“First thing,” he says, a little more focused now but still soft around the edges, “when someone swings, you don’t freeze. You don’t just stand there and take it.”
His voice stays calm, almost gentle in the way it always is with you, like it’s instinct for him to soften the moment he’s talking to you. There’s truly no version of him that fully switches that off when it’s you he’s looking at, no matter how serious he’s trying to be.
“When someone swings from either side, you either move your head out of line, or step out of it. Simple,” he puts a glove up mimicking the movement to illustrate what he meant.
“If it’s a hook coming in like this,” he continues, demonstrating a slow left hook, “you keep your guard up, tuck your chin, and either slip under it or step back just enough so it misses clean.”
His eyes flick back to you, checking if you’re following.
“Try it. Hands up. Imagine I’m throwing it at you.”
You put your hands back up in the position he taught you, trying to match his stance as closely as you can.
He shifts his weight and brings his glove into that same slow left hook, deliberately controlled, careful, holding back every bit of force on purpose so it doesn’t even come close to hurting you.
Something his teammates could only wish for, the kind of restraint he never really shows in training or matches, where he’s usually all brutal focus and impact. But with you, it’s different without him even thinking about it.
As the hook closes in, you lean your upper body back just like he taught you, the glove barely missing you, but still cutting through the space right in front of you without ever making contact.
“Good job,” he says immediately, his voice bright with praise as a smile spreads across his face, clearly pleased in a way he doesn’t bother hiding when it’s you. “Good girl.”
“See, I can defend myself,” you say, almost cocky as you straighten up.
He lets out a breathless laugh, shaking his head like he can’t decide if he’s proud or amused.
“Alright, simmer down,” he says, still smiling.
Your grin only widens, entirely too pleased with yourself. The praise had gone straight to your head. One successful dodge and suddenly you were ready to retire Wooyoung and take over for him yourself. He just smiles. There was something ridiculously endearing about the way you wore your pride so openly. One compliment and you looked ready to conquer the world, and he loved every second of it.
“I think I’m a natural.”
“You are,” he plays along.
Wooyoung lets out another breathy chuckle, as he takes a step back. The black gloves come up near his face again, though there isn't a single intimidating thing about him right now. If anything, he looks entertained. Like he's watching a kid show off a drawing they were way too proud of.
“Okay, Conor McGregor,” he teases, “Let’s see if you can throw one.”
“Throw one where?” you echo confused.
He lifts a glove and taps the center of his chest. “Here.”
Your eyebrows shoot up and you shake your head.
“I’m not punching you.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No.”
“Baby,” his tone gains that firmness to it.
“No.”
The corner of his mouth lifts higher. His hair slowly falling down over his forehead again. Throat moving as he swallowed. “You think you’re gonna knock me out?”
“No.”
“Then hit me.”
You just stare at him suspiciously. You'd watched enough of his matches by now to know exactly what one punch from him could do. Seen people hit the mat from a single clean shot. Seen entire fights end before they really had the chance to begin. Not that you believed for a second you could ever do that to him, but it still sat in the back of your mind every time he told you to hit him. Still made you hesitate.
Yet despite it, you lift your gloves anyway. Because beneath all the teasing, beneath the laughter and the way he seemed to enjoy getting a rise out of you, you knew he was only teaching you for your own good. And if there was one thing you'd learned since dating Wooyoung, it was that when it came to keeping you safe, he was serious.
“Not my face.”
You roll your eyes. “I wasn’t even aiming there.”
The gloves still feel strange. Too bulky. Too big. Every movement feels delayed by half a second because of the extra weight around your hands.
Before you can do anything, Wooyoung steps forward.
“Relax your shoulders.”
Immediately, you tense them.
His laugh bounces around the empty gym.
“Not the opposite.”
“I'm trying.”
“I can see that.”
“Alright,” he says, stepping back again. “Small punch. Right here.” He taps his chest once more.
You pull your fist back, hesitation still lingering stubbornly in the back of your head. The glove feels heavier now that you're actually expected to use it. A few moments ago you were just copying whatever Wooyoung told you to do. Now he was standing there waiting for you to hit him.
You pause. Then pull your fist back even further. Like that’s gonna help.
“Baby.”
His voice cuts through your concentration immediately. You glance up. The smile already threatening his face tells you everything. There was nothing intimidating about you.
You looked ridiculous.
Standing there with your fist pulled halfway back, body stiff as a board, looking less like someone about to throw a punch and more like someone trying to calculate a math equation and the likelihood of your punch actually doing any damage.
“I'm thinking.”
“Don't think.”
“I don't want to hurt you.”
That earns a look from him. A very specific look. One eyebrow lifts, the corner of his mouth twitching as he fights back a smile. Like he knows exactly how dramatic you're being. Like he already knows every thought running through your head without you having to say a word. He tilts his head slightly, and the smile finally wins, turning teasing as he looks down at you.
“Just punch me.”
You huff loudly through your nose and finally swing.
The glove lands square against his chest with a satisfying thud. And nothing happens. Nothing. Not a stumble. Not a flinch. Not even a tiny shift backwards.
The impact disappears into him like you'd thrown the punch into a brick wall. The only evidence you'd actually hit him at all is the slight movement of his shirt beneath your glove.
How dare he? Not even a grunt? Not a sound? This was insulting.
“Are you serious?”
A laugh immediately escapes him.
“Was that it?”
“Alright, fuck yourself.”
“Again.”
Your eyes narrow. A bitter expression washing over your face.
“Don't piss me off.”
“Then hit harder.”
The grin on his face only makes it worse. You pull your hand back again, determination replacing the embarrassment now. This time you actually want to hit him. Actually wanting to prove a point. Wooyoung notices instantly. His smile softens.
Before you can throw it, he reaches forward and gently adjusts your stance. One gloved hand settles on your shoulder while the other nudges your elbow.
“Turn your shoulder.”
His hand taps it.
“Use your hips.” his gloved hand slides up your waist. “And waist. Don’t just throw your arm and expect damage to be done, dummy.”
His touch lingers for only a second before he steps back again, giving you room.
You take a breath, adjusting your feet and turning your shoulder. Mentally checking off every single thing he'd just told you, running through the instructions in your head one by one like an imaginary checklist. Then swing.
The second punch lands much cleaner. The impact echoes through the ring. And immediately Wooyoung takes a step backwards in fake defeat like you had just successfully knocked the air out of him. Your eyes light up. Pride immediately washing over you.
“HA!” The victory leaves your mouth before you can stop it.
Wooyoung bites the inside of his cheek so hard trying not to laugh that it almost hurts.
This liar. This absolute liar.
This man had spent the last hour pounding heavy bags hard enough to shake their chains. Had trained with fighters double your size. Had walked into amateur matches and come out looking annoyingly unbothered. Spent afternoons wrapping his bruised split open knuckles like they were just another part of his routine and yet here he is, pretending to be hurt.
There was no universe where that punch had actually did anything to someone like him. But he saw the way your entire face brightened. Saw the pride immediately bloom across your features.
And just like that, the fake step backwards had been worth it.
“Getting stronger, baby,” he says, grinning.
Your smile grows even wider. So unbelievably proud of yourself. Like you'd just won a championship belt instead of successfully punching your boyfriend.
Something about it makes his chest ache a little.
Without warning he reaches forward and catches your face between both gloves. Your cheeks immediately squish together.
“Wooyoung!” you say pushing him away in a failed attempt.
The complaint comes out ruined. Your lips forced into the world's most pathetic pucker.
“Look at you.”
“Stop.”
“You're scary.”
“Stop.”
“You almost killed me.”
You try to glare. The squished cheeks completely ruin the effect.
His smile softens into something warmer as he looks at you. Hair messy. Oversized gloves swallowing your hands. Looking entirely too pleased with yourself over a punch that barely would've moved a shopping cart.
Before you can swat him away, he leans forward and presses a quick kiss against your puckered lips.
The kind that lasts barely a second.
The kind that still somehow leaves you smiling long after he pulls away.
And like that, you continue.
The gym feels further away again. The hum of the lights, the echo of earlier punches, all of it fading into something distant. Outside, it’s already fully dark, midnight long passed, the city reduced to nothing but blurred reflections in the windows. And still, you’re here. Still, it’s just the two of you in a place that was never meant to feel this quiet.
But somehow it doesn’t feel out of place. Not with him. Not with you. It feels settled in a way you don’t really question anymore, like the space has learned your rhythm, the way he moves between training and you, the way you linger just close enough to always be part of it without having to try.
Like the gym belongs to you both in these hours when no one else is around.
You both drown in repetitive punching self defense movements. His hands hovering over your waist, wrists, shoulders, neck. Him constantly adjusting your position. You constantly complaining.
“Let’s try something a bit more real.”
He steps closer again, but there’s no tension in it anymore. No stance, no guard. Just Wooyoung being Wooyoung in your space, like the ring doesn’t separate anything between you.
He tosses his gloves aside, you follow his que, doing the same.
“Not everything is punches,” he continues. “Sometimes someone grabs you. Pulls you off balance. Tries taking you down.”
His hands come up slowly, giving you time to see it coming, and he takes your wrist lightly. Not harsh, just showing. Where contact starts. Where control begins.
“If I grab you here,” he says, gently tightening just enough for you to feel the shift, “your first reaction isn’t to panic. You stay with your feet.”
He nudges your stance with his knee, correcting you without really thinking about it, as if he knows where you’re off balance before you do.
“Feet under you,” he repeats, quieter now.
“And if you do get taken down,” he adds, eyes flicking up to yours, soft in a way that doesn’t match the lesson at all, “you don’t go limp. You don’t just fall and hope for the best.”
He shifts closer, and for a moment it stops feeling like instructions, just the two of you standing too near in an empty ring.
“You learn how to land,” he says.
His grip loosens slightly on your wrist, but he doesn’t let go right away.
“Go on,” he murmurs. “I’ll go slow. I’ve got you.”
You nod, trying to copy what he showed you. Trying being the important word.
He moves first, just enough to guide you off balance, not enough to actually throw you. His hand shifts, your footing adjusts wrong for half a second, and then everything happens a little too fast for you to recover cleanly.
Instead of a controlled fall, you stumble right into him, grabbing onto his shirt as you instinctively pull him with you.
Your shoulder hits his chest, his arms come up on reflex to catch you, and despite trying to keep you up. He ends up losing balance as well. There’s a short, surprised sound from him before you both go down onto the mat with a soft thud that echoes through the empty gym.
A beat of silence.
Then he starts laughing.
Amusement hangs loosely in the air as he turns his head slightly, still half tangled with you on the floor. One of your hands is gripping his forearm, the other caught in the fabric of his shirt, while his hands stay steady at your waist without really letting you go.
“You’re not supposed to crash into the floor, baby,” he says through it, trying and failing to sound serious.
You let out a frustrated noise, but it only makes him laugh harder. One of his arms is still loosely around you, keeping you from fully rolling away, and you can feel his chest moving with each laugh, warm and vibrant against you.
“You said you’d go slow,” you mutter, trying to shift the blame onto him as embarrassment dawns on you anyway, heat rising in your face at how easily it all fell apart. Of all things, you’d messed up something that was supposed to be controlled, simple, almost impossible to get wrong.
The way your foot slipped at the exact moment it shouldn’t have. The way you turned a clean demonstration into both of you on the mat in under a second. Your eyes flick away in pretend annoyance, but it’s more humiliation than anything else, like you can’t quite meet his face right now without feeling it all over again.
“I did go slow,” he says, still smiling, eyes closing for a second like he’s trying to catch his breath from shamelessly laughing at you. “That was on you,” he pokes at the side of your stomach and you jolt slightly.
You huff, genuine annoyance slipping into it this time. Your earlier attitude settles right back into place, stubborn and familiar. It only seems to amuse him more.
A laugh still lingers in his chest, quieter now, softer. Your clumsiness isn't something he's frustrated by, but something he's already accepted as part of you.
Above, the fluorescent lights hum steadily. The surface beneath you is warm where the two of you had gone down moments ago, the air carrying that familiar mix of leather, his cologne, and the lingering aftermath of training. His laughter gradually fades, leaving behind a comfortable silence.
Neither of you moves right away.
One of his hands remains at your waist, absentmindedly holding you even though there's no need anymore. The pressure shifts slightly as his fingers settle more comfortably against your side, and you hate how quickly it affects you.
The irritation you'd been holding onto begins to unravel.
Like it always does with him. Somehow he always finds a way to make you forget what you were pretending to be upset about in the first place.
Suddenly, he pulls you up, guiding you until you’re straddling his lap. His hands rest at your waist, familiar, like they’ve always known where to go. He looks up at you with that same teasing warmth in his eyes, the kind that always manages to undo your attitude before you can properly hold onto it.
You glance down at him with a faint scowl, trying to keep your expression firm, but it doesn’t land the way you want it to. More forced than convincing.
Because your stomach is already doing that annoying, traitorous flutter again at the smallest shift of his hands, at the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world worth paying attention to.
“You wanna keep pouting?” he murmurs from below in that soft, velvety tone that always manages to make your resolve wobble and your knees buckle under you.
“I’m not pouting.”
“You very much are,” he says, a smirk tugging at his lips. And those damn dimples show up again, completely ruining your attempt at staying annoyed.
“You messed it up.”
“You’re right, baby. I’m sorry,” he says, far too easily, with obvious sarcasm tucked under the apology.
Before you can even gather another complaint, his hand slides to the back of your neck and pulls you down toward him, your chest flush against his, his other hand ghosting down to cup your ass. The space between you disappears in an instant.
He presses a kiss to your lips, soft and uncomplicated.
When he pulls back, he’s still smiling like he won something.
“There,” he says quietly. “Fixed it.”
You pause for a moment, acting unimpressed, even as your hands settle against his chest to steady yourself properly on his lap. You look down at him, his hair spread slightly beneath him, back resting comfortably against the ring floor like he belongs there just as much as he belongs standing.
And just like that, the gym doesn’t feel like a gym anymore. It doesn’t really matter where you are, whether it’s here under the buzzing lights or anywhere else in the world.
Because in this moment, even being on the moon in space would mean nothing, you needed him.
“No, do better.”
His smirk only widens. Knowing exactly what was going on. And he was loving it. Loved when you got needy like this. In your own way.
“Mm, yes ma’am,” he simply says, pulling you down by the back of your neck again.
There’s no warning in it this time, no teasing, just certainty. Like he already knows exactly where this is going the moment your lips meet his.
And the second kiss lands.
Not soft. Just pure hunger. It’s immediate, almost greedy in the way it pulls you into him, like something in him finally stops pretending to be patient. Every second of teasing, every laugh, every slow correction from earlier training folds into it all at once.
A hard smack lands across your ass. Making you gasp into his mouth. He swallows your noise.
His hands slide up to your hips, slow, on purpose. Trying to see just how much resolve he can loosen with a mere mundane touch.
Steadying you where you’re straddling him, holding you there with a grip that isn’t rough but isn’t gentle either. Just intentional and familiar. Feeling like he knows exactly how to touch you without needing to think about it.
The kind of touch that makes your confidence from earlier feel stupid in hindsight.
Because this is what actually gets to you. Not the training. Not the jokes.
Just him, holding you like he’s been doing it long enough that it’s second nature now, and still somehow makes your chest tighten every time.
Your tongues find each other and move in the same rhythm with him setting the pace. The sounds of wet kissing echoing off the gym walls. One of your hands rests against his jaw, thumb moving gently against the warm flush of his cheek, while the other stays on his chest, fingers curled into his shirt like you’re holding onto something solid without meaning to.
His grip on your hips firms, fingers digging into your bones making your breath hitch slightly, as he rocks you gently back and fourth. He’s steadying you there and setting a pace. Your bodies grinding into each other slowly, unhurried, every shift of movement deliberate in the way it builds between you without needing anything said.
Dry humping? Really? Childish. At least that was what you tried to convince yourself with. Despite how good it felt.
Your shorts already riding up as the movement forces it higher, fabric catching with every small adjustment of his hands, every slight pull of his hold as he keeps you close. The heat of him is constant beneath your palms, beneath your attention, something you’ve already stopped trying to separate yourself from.
“Do you need anything?” he pulls away just enough to whisper against your mouth, his warm breath brushing your wet lips.
Despite already folding under almost zero pressure, you squint at him anyway, stubbornly holding your ground. “No.”
He smiles against your lips before fully pulling back, your mouth chasing his for half a second before you catch yourself.
“Really?” he murmurs, eyes flicking down for the briefest second before meeting yours again. “Because I can feel you throbbing on me.” You swallow, embarrassingly enough feeling that familiar sense of a slow, throbbing ache building low in your body, making it hard to sit still.
But what made the embarrassment easier to deal with was what you felt under you. You were clearly not the only one affected by this closeness. It was in the way he held you a fraction tighter with each passing second, the way his breath didn’t quite stay as steady as his voice tried to sound, the way his focus kept flickering for just a second too long before he looked back at you again.
Oh, and the undeniable hard outline in his sweats settled right between your legs.
He shifts slightly on the floor, unbothered, as if he has all the time in the world. Then he pulls one of the bulky gloves and slides it under his head, propping himself up on it with an ease that makes the whole situation feel even more unfairly relaxed.
Fully prepared to ruin you.
Your hips roll for a brief second on their own, a small, involuntary movement you can’t quite hide, like your body refuses to stay still on top of him. Whatever frustration or need you were trying to keep tucked away slips through in the simplest, most obvious way.
He notices. Of course he does.
His hand comes up, slow and unhurried, brushing your hair back behind your ear with care. His fingers linger there for a moment longer than necessary, as if he’s memorizing the shape of you in this position, before letting the touch settle back into something quieter. Lazily tracing your thighs up and down. Goosebumps rising against his palms.
“All that sulking from earlier… where’d it go?” his fingers tug at the hem of your shorts. “Say it again. ‘I’m not pouting.’ Go on.”
He watches the way your hips rock back and forth on their own, subtle and unthinking, your body reacting before your mind has time to catch up. Instinctive movement chasing some relief for the aching need between your thighs.
And it only makes it worse that it’s happening right here, in the middle of the boxing ring, under the hum of the gym lights. He just felt too good for you to actually give half of a fuck. Which he didn’t mind himself. This was the place he won multiple matches, it only makes sense to ruin you here.
Your fingers catch on the strings of his sweatpants, pulling them loose in one quick motion. Whatever restraint you were trying to hold onto disappears just as fast as it came.
He just looks up at you with that easy smile of his, completely unbothered, watching something he already expected. Amused, fond in a way that makes it worse. He loved seeing you lose control. Taking what you need from him.
“Pull them lower, baby, go on,” he says smoothing his palms against your thighs. And without a second thought, you do. His sweatpants lower, his hard length straining against his boxers.
And even though his own need was eating away at him, he lets you strip him entirely on your own accord. Something about your hands urgently pulling him apart layer by layer only made it better. He loved watching you do it, watching the impatience take over, watching you unwrap him piece by piece like a Christmas present you'd been waiting all day to get your hands on.
“Easy,” he teases, knowing it only drove you crazier.
“Oh, shush,” you bite back and slowly tug at his boxers, freeing his length, immediately noticing that familiar side curve it had, the one you’d already become used to seeing far too often in just a few months of dating. Him and his crazy libido that matched yours perfectly.
His tip was leaking a thin layer of precum.
“Stop looking, perv,” he teases.
“Right,” you say, annoyance slipping through your voice, your hoodie gets shoved off in the same breath, landing somewhere on the floor beside you and forgotten almost immediately.
His hands leave your thighs, ghosting up your stomach until they settle against the lace fabric of your bra. Unintentionally, the bra was a deep navy blue. Wooyoung's favorite color. Not that it was a thought that had crossed your mind when you got dressed.
But clearly it worked in your favor now.
His eyes catch on the color almost immediately, a smile pulling at his lips as he looks at it. Then at you.
“My favorite,” he murmurs, the smile in his voice impossible to miss.
His thumbs brush absentmindedly against those familiar sensitive peaks beneath the fabric, the touch so casual yet deliberate. A soft breath slips from you before you can stop it, and the look on his face immediately tells you he noticed.
“It wasn’t intentional,” you say immediately, needing him to know that.
He raises an eyebrow.
“Oh, it’s like that?”
You nod once. A grin slowly spreads across his face.
“Don’t care,” he says, almost laughing, “I'd still fuck you no matter what you're wearing.”
And with that, his fingers find the clasp at the back of your bra. Months of familiarity make the movement effortless, and within seconds it comes undone beneath his hand.
He carelessly tosses it somewhere to the side, not bothering to look where it lands. Freeing your chest against the cold air of the gym.
The second his eyes find your boobs again, his mouth parts ever so slightly in quiet admiration. Not enough to be overly obvious, but enough for you to catch it.
Like he'd just been handed his favorite candy.
This man was the biggest fan of your boobs.
Your chest is left fully on display in front of him as you instinctively try to cover yourself with one arm across it, the movement more clumsy than effective. The sudden exposure makes your confidence falter for a second, heat creeping up your neck as you glance away, suddenly very aware of how he’s looking at you.
“No, don’t cover up, come here.”
He quickly removes your arm, pinning it behind your back by your wrist, his grip firm but familiar. His other hand finds your upper back and guides you slightly lower, steadying you so you stop fidgeting away from him.
“So pretty,” says the fanboy.
As he guided you to lean lower, his hand closed gently around one of your breasts, holding it with warmth. His mouth found it without hesitation, enclosing it slowly, unhurried, as if testing the moment itself.
The damp heat of his mouth wrapped around your peak, drawing a sharp, quiet gasp from you before you could stop it. When he looked up at you, his eyes stayed unnervingly calm, steady and composed, as though he didn’t literally have your tit in his mouth. Sucking on it like at any moment milk might actually come out.
“Mm,” he hums softly around it, the sound vibrating faintly through the air between you. His other hand lingers at your wrist, still holding it gently pinned behind your lower back, thumb brushing slow, absentminded circles into your skin.
This man had you straddling his lap in the middle of an empty MMA gym, your body leaning over his like it was the most natural thing in the world, like neither of you had thought to question it in the first place. Your boob sat in his mouth with that same careless ease, while his hands stayed steady on you, warm and grounding in a way that made you not think twice over it.
His tongue flicked out briefly, licking a slow and deliberate vertical line from your underboob up to your nipple where the wet tip of it swirled around, before he sucked it back in with unhurried ease. For a moment he held it there, then let it slip free again with a soft, loud ‘pop’ that echoed faintly in the quiet gym, matching the cadence of your breathless sounds
It felt like he was mapping out the exact shape of your boob using his tongue only.
He places a wet kiss against your already drenched peak.
“Perfect,” another kiss. “All mine,” jiggling it greedily in his hand like a toy. Completely in a trance.
His hand finds your other boob, giving the exact same treatment. Taking every part of it unhurried. He sucks red bruises onto your chest. He loved the way the marks deepened, a lingering echo of him in his absence. A reminder to you.
“Take this off,” he says under his breath, fingers hooking onto your shorts and pulling them down. With a quick tug, they slid down and get tossed aside.
His grip tightened on your hips, fingers digging into yielding flesh as he anchored you precisely where he wanted you. The thin barrier of your panties—damp from anticipation—slid between your slick inner thighs, offering no real resistance as his bare, heated length pressed insistently against your core.
He settled into a slow, devastating rhythm, grinding your clothed heat directly against the rigid length of him until your panties were utterly soaked.
The deliberate friction dragged a desperate sound from your throat, leaving you breathless and trembling as he worked you over his cock. The throbbing between your legs only becoming more evident. His own body pulsing back.
“Feel that?” He hooked his fingers into your panties, tugging it aside to expose your slick center. The heavy length of his shaft settled directly against your folds, skin to skin, the prominent veins adoring it dragging lazily through your wetness without pushing inside. Denying you the fullness you craved.
Moments later, your panties are off. Continuing to grind you against himself.
“Fuck, I’m so hard,” he groans. “Keep those eyes on me.”
Your hands dart aimlessly against his shirt, sneaking past it and under the fabric, against the hard outlines of his bare abs where the muscle rippled beneath your touch. Your hips worked themselves into the movement he set.
“Don’t tell me that’s enough to mess you up,” he teases from below, voice edged with amusement that doesn’t match the position he’s in. As if his groans weren’t eating at the walls of the gym too.
He might be under you, but it doesn’t matter. He’s still got you exactly where he wants you, through the way you keep reacting, the way your focus slips whenever he speaks. You’re losing the thread of your own thoughts, attention narrowing to him alone, stuck on him in a way that makes it hard to breathe properly.
“Put it in…” You let out something barely there, almost inaudible, but not quite. Like you wanted him to catch it without you having to say it properly.
Your voice sits just above a whisper, fragile at the edges, already slipping out of reach. One octave lower and it would’ve disappeared into the space between you.
His smirk only deepens, calm and knowing.
“Go on, baby, it’s in your name,” he says, letting go of your hips. “Use it. Use me. You’re the one on top, aren’t you?”
His tone is light, teasing, too calm for someone who just put you on the spot. He knows exactly what he’s doing, stepping back just enough to make it feel like the responsibility is suddenly yours, watching to see how you’ll handle it.
You push yourself up onto your knees, rising just enough to hover directly above him.
"Spit on it," he commanded, his tone insanely casual.
You obeyed without hesitation, letting a string of spit fall directly onto his flushed head. It glistened against his tip before he took himself in hand, smoothing the slick moisture down the rest of his shaft.
"Mm, fuck," A low, breathy groan tore from his throat as he coated his length in your mess. "Again."
He held his palm flat directly beneath your lips, catching the saliva as it dripped from your mouth. Without a second thought, he smeared it over his shaft, using your own spit as lube so casually. Nothing you did disgusted him, everything about you turned him on.
And with one hand resting at the base of his shaft, he steadies it for you without hesitation. You lower yourself carefully, his tip brushing against your entrance, making you hold his shoulders for balance. The thin layer of precum that dotted his tip smeared on your heat.
You tense at the feeling of his tip pressing against your entrance, instinctively bracing yourself for it.
“You got it, you can take it,” he encourages nodding slowly.
A whine escapes your throat as your nails dig into his shoulders, leaving crescent-shaped indents behind.
“It’s too big.”
“You’re gonna take it one way or another,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing slow, gentle circles against the small of your back. “I can gladly use your mouth instead.”
Working your slick heat over his thick shaft, he struggled to make it fit, his thumb finding your clit trying to soothe you. He pressed and circled right there, right against your sensitive nerve, using the hand that had been resting on your inner thigh to stretch and coax you open while he guided his stubborn girth against your entrance.
"Too much?"
You shook your head no, eyes glassy and pleading, refusing to let the stretch deter you. You needed him inside, even if his girth strained against you despite being soaked. This was always how it was at first, a desperate, needy struggle to accommodate him, your body aching and ready yet still having to work to take every thick inch.
A faint wet slick lingered between your bodies as his hand remained on the small of your back, applying gentle pressure as he eased you down his shaft.
His head fell back uncontrollably, giving way to a raw, unfiltered sound. A deep, guttural groan that rumbled through his chest and escaped him completely unchecked. He never held back his noises.
That's how Wooyoung operated.
Which only made you less embarrassed about the throaty gasp that slipped out as you felt him disappear inside you, filling you completely in this position that allowed him to reach intimate depths. His thick length stretched you open, his tip pushing against your innermost walls like it was trying to burrow into your stomach.
“Look at you, swallowed it whole,” his tone was so cocky in that familiar Wooyoung way. The way he spoke when he knew he had you where he wanted you. Like he knew exactly where he stood with you. No shame. No second guessing. Nothing carefully filtered or held back. Just him, saying it exactly how he thinks it, like whatever slips out of his delicious lips was always meant to be said that way.
His hands begin moving you up and down like his own personal toy, holding your hips. Setting the pace himself. Agonizingly slow. Making you feel every single ridge of his shaft double, your eyes holding that deep gaze. Except his eyes dropped up and down your face and between your bodies, watching intently how you connected.
You bounce matching his hands guiding you.
“Fuck,” he mutters, eyes following his shaft as it disappears repeatedly inside you and then returns looking noticeably messier. Wetter. “Taking that shit like your life depends on it, huh?”
You fold over him, hands fisting the fabric of his shirt into tight bunches as you let out small, broken sounds you don’t fully mean to make. Your back arches away from his palm where he held you, in reflex, every careful movement still hitting sharper than expected. Even at that slow, controlled pace, it’s overwhelming. Because Wooyoung knows exactly how to get a reaction out of you without pushing too far.
You can feel it everywhere at once, in the way your grip tightens on his shirt, your neatly manicured fingers holding on harder matching the grip of his hand on your hipbones.
The pace picks up, a little faster, and the pressure catches you off guard—your body jerking away on instinct as a sharp, overwhelming shock of pleasure runs through you.
“Ah, shit,” you curse, sounding choked.
Before you can fully pull back, your hips are guided right back into place again, his grip firmer now, steadying you through it without giving you room to slip out of his hold.
“Move again and watch how I’ll fuck your brains out,” he says, barely able to get the words through his uneven breathing, voice rough. Jamming you back into the same pace without hesitation like a ragdoll, secure enough to stop you from shifting away again. He sinks back inside with a curse. “Keep taking it for me.”
His hand struck down on your ass, the impact leaving a red mark on contact. You wince slightly at the feeling. Your hips begin moving on their own, rolling slowly back and fourth seeking to double the pleasure you were feeling. And as his tip makes contact with your cervix deep inside, you grind your clit against his lower abdomen.
“You’re soaking wet, it’s cute,” he smiles, his bottom lip jammed between his teeth sharp enough to almost draw blood. You manage a sound in protest. “No? Then look at the mess you’re making all over my cock.”
Your moans and his uneven rhythm of air lingered in the space between you, the gym quieting into something almost unreal. And each time he bottomed out inside you, a gentle slap against your ass is earned.
He reached up, his large palm splaying across your sweat dampened chest, roughly kneading the soft bouncing flesh until it spilled from between his needy, greedy fingers.
Pressing you lower, he captured a nipple in his mouth, his tongue swirling as his hips snapped upward from below, driving his cock deep into your core while you attempted to ride him. He wasn’t waiting on you to make an effort, he was taking it how he wanted.
The sound of wet, squelching movements fills the air. Shamelessly.
He removes his mouth. Your breaths mix and mingle in the small space between you, your chests close enough to feel each sharp exhale rise and fall against the other. Your faces hover near, lips mere inches apart, every breath shared in the same air between you, into each others mouths.
His hand wraps around your throat gently as he slows his pace down a little more, adjusting the movement carefully to match and maximize your reactions.
Even slow strokes helped undo you.
You sit up again, leaning back on your palms that rest on his thighs.
Giving him access to wreck you further.
He thumbs your clit with the other hand, making you shudder at the sudden feeling. The repeated in–out motion of his shaft had eventually stirred you into a creamy mess. His cock growing stickier with each pass, each redraw leaving it heavier and uneven. It started to take on a faint milky tint, as if something had been worked too far, too many times.
“What a mess,” he says aimlessly, doubling down on his movement. Actually loving it.
“Wooyoung…” you breathe out, walls clenching tightly around him drawing a sharp inhale from him.
“Mhm, baby,” he coos back, “you got it,” he adds, his voice dropping into an encouraging whisper as he keeps going. “You can take all of it.”
“Deeper, please,” you plead.
And without missing a beat, Wooyoung, still moving inside you, flips you onto your back, reversing the roles.
Your back lands purposefully against his zip up hoodie that was tossed on the floor a long time ago, instinctively protecting your bare body from making direct contact with the floor, like you’re a precious diamond in his hands, careful enough to keep your soft skin from ever meeting the ring surface.
He pins your thighs back and keeps you grounded, driving his cock deeper. Practically pounding into you like a jackhammer by now. Earning soft, broken gasps from you in response.
“Like this?”
You aren’t even able to reply.
And in this angle, it hits deeper, the force of him pressing through your center making it feel like he settles right in your guts.
He licks a quick, teasing line along your skin starting beneath your tits to your neck, lingering just long enough to make you flinch and shudder in protest before he sucks a spot right under your ear, leaving a stubborn mark as if to prove a point. Nibbling slightly at your earlobe before pulling back.
Your body wasn’t the only thing he was ravaging, your mind followed right behind in that same queue, unable to keep up. He was deliberately doing everything in his power to keep you caught on him, tuned in to the way he had your preferences memorized. What made you tick, what made you lose your composure.
“Wooyoung…” You cry out again, moving your hips. Squirming underneath his pinning.
Which makes him press his hand firmly against your lower stomach so you could feel every inch of him register through you. Keeping you steady beneath him, reducing you to a shaking, whining wreck as you struggle to keep taking his pounding. The sticky, creamy mess between your bodies only growing more noticeable with each ruthless thrust.
“You go crazy for this, hm?” His voice comes out a little whiny there, edged with tease. “Love getting fucked into the floor like a slut?”
You nod back pathetically, barely registering what you’re admitting to, your thoughts still lagging behind you. He mirrors it instantly, nodding with a smile tugging at his face, clearly amused, copying your dazed little state as if to show you exactly how you look right now.
“I want you addicted to it.”
Catching you off guard he pushes his thumb between your lips, stretching your mouth to the side a little. Completely toying with your sweaty face.
“My girl loves getting pounded, doesn’t she?” Tracing the pad of his thumb, he smears your spit on your cheek, delivering a few light, mocking smacks to your flushed skin “Can’t talk? That’s okay. Just keep whining for it.”
You feel a subtle twitch inside you and he pulls back, deliberately resetting his orgasm. His head tips back slightly.
"I'm gonna cum inside, that okay?" he asked, looking down at your connected bodies, his eyebrows scrunched together in concentration as he felt the overwhelming pleasure building. You just nodded mindlessly, too far gone to care.
His thumb finds your clit from above again, circling it gently as he watches closely, taking in the way your tits bounced with the rhythm of his thrusts.
Back arching slightly off the surface beneath you, you let out a sharp, breathless gasp, your thigh twitching in response. And he just smiles, watching you with quiet satisfaction. Like he always did. Loving the moment he got to admire the way you came undone from his doing, his work, touch, attention. Loving being used for your pleasure.
“All over my cock,” he encourages, tone needier, “fucking drench me.”
He pressed harder into your lower abdomen, applying firm pressure that finally tipped you over the edge.
“There it is.”
Your orgasm erupted in a violent, gushing squirt that drenched his lower stomach and the hoodie beneath you. A shocked, high pitched cry ripped from your throat as your nails clawed into the forearm that held you pinned, your walls fluttering around his shaft.
“Oh, fuckkk,” he curses. His lower abdomen tensing as it glistened with your fluid beneath the light.
He followed right after, his hips stuttering as he emptied his warm load deep inside, just like he'd promised. You winced at the sudden rush of heat and the feeling of the sticky mess coating your walls. Your eyes widened in slight surprise as you realized you were falling apart at the exact same moment, your bodies working together so beautifully. The moment far too intimate.
"No, don’t stop now," he groaned, pounding into you with relentless, unforgiving strokes while his thumb worked your clit in small circles, coaxing out every last pulsing squirt until your body went limp and weak. Despite being absolutely ruined himself.
He milked you dry until you collapsed onto the surface beneath you, a trembling, crying mess with nothing left to give, completely emptied yet filled to the brim simultaneously.
Still buried inside but not moving, he leaned down, bracing his hands on either side of you. His breathing had turned so heavy, so uneven, it looked as though he was struggling to stay conscious.
Your breaths mingled in the space between you, neither of you moving for a moment as you waited for the dizziness clouding your vision to settle.
You could feel him gradually soften inside you. His forehead flush against yours.
The shift was almost jarring.
One second he’s all confidence, all control, knowing exactly how he had you completely figured out. The next, it’s gone so fast it nearly gives you whiplash.
“Mm,” he manages a whimper, the sound slipping out far softer than intended, almost embarrassing in how quickly it betrays him. His eyes squeeze shut for a second, one hand settling on your waist. “Don’t move.”
The words come out strained, stripped of every ounce of cockiness he had a moment ago. The sudden sensitivity in his body clear.
But you weren’t one to talk. You were just as sensitive, if not worse, and it showed.
In the way every movement seemed slowed down, delayed by a second. In the weak trembles that kept running through your legs no matter how still you tried to stay. And in the fact that you couldn’t even put together a proper sentence, every thought dissolving before it could make it past your lips.
Pushing himself up onto his palms, he scatters lazy kisses across your face. One to each cheek, another to your forehead, one to the tip of your nose, and finally a soft kiss pressed to your lips.
“Breathe, baby,” he whispers, gently brushing the hair off your sweaty forehead. “I’ve got you. You did good.”
He waits a few more moments, giving you space to recover. Your breathing steadies, your legs relax, and eventually your eyes meet his, glassy and slightly red from exhaustion
“I’ll pull out slowly,” he reassures, drawing his completely soaked shaft out with gentle care so you don’t react sharply. You let out a quiet whiny breath, shuddering, shoulders tightening briefly before easing.
And as soon as you lose that satisfying full feeling, his cum starts leaking out of you in a slow, steady stream. Your body gradually emptying itself, feeling the thick ropes leaking out and onto the surface beneath you. His gaze falters slightly, fixed on the mess, clear satisfaction flickering in his eyes as he watches the evidence of his release trickle down your spent core. Clearly loving the sight of how well he put you to use.
Putting his hand up, he studies the red scratches running along his forearm. A few of them had broken the skin enough to draw the faintest trace of blood. Not that he cared. He hadn’t even noticed them until now
If anything, the sight makes the corner of his mouth twitch. Physical proof of just how overwhelmed he had you, written across his arm for the next few weeks he guessed. A reminder he’ll be far fonder of than he probably should.
“How does it feel?” he asks. You look up curiously. “Y’know, getting fucked where people usually beat the shit out of each other?” he teases, snickering as you smack his shoulder weakly.
“Thought this was supposed to be an educational course on self defense,” you say, rolling your eyes as you catch your breath.
“We’ll try harder next time,” he grins, all easy confidence again, “just don’t distract me.”
And although this wasn’t the ideal spot, it was more than enough. The kind of closeness that didn’t need perfect conditions, just the two of you fitting into each other the way you always did. It winds down in soft teasing and quiet care as he helps you clean up, careful hands and steady focus, easing you back into reality at your own pace. He keeps talking to you in that low, reassuring way of his the whole time, grounding you without ever making you feel rushed or alone in it.
Even on the way home, his hand keeps finding you without thinking. A steady touch on your back, your hand in his, his fingers brushing your hair away from your face whenever it falls there. That familiar look of absolute devotion never leaves him, the one that says he’s right there with you no matter what. Deeply in love with every bit of you. Even carrying you a good chunk of the way.
At home it softens further, slower and warmer. He stays close through everything, helping you shower without making it feel like anything other than care. And when it’s finally quiet, he pulls you into bed with him, arms wrapped around you like it’s second nature, leaving small, appreciative kisses here and there until everything settles into something safe and you doze off.
You guys were just lucky the gym owner was too cheap to install security cameras.
꣑ৎ― all characters depicted are 18 years or older consenting adults. │ wc: 6,3k
cw (please read & proceed with caution): adult content / s*xual themes / consensual adult intimacy / toxic situationship / emotional dependency / disappearing for a month / reunion dynamic / longing / mutual attachment / s*xual tension / power imbalance in emotional needs / MILD angst / craving / push and pull dynamic / repeated cycle of breaking and returning / rough s*x / kissing / mild degrading / slightly mean seongje / eater seongje / p in v
pairing: situationship! geum seongje x female reader
⤷ sypnosis: you and seongje have a love-hate relationship, one you can never quite define. some days it feels like it could turn into something more. other days, it feels like you exist in completely different worlds. only ever crossing paths when you need a quick hit of comfort or closeness.
then he disappears for a month. and when he comes back, it’s with the same selfish need in his eyes. the same pull you can never seem to resist. that you can't help but return. giving into you worst craving and habit, once again.
reblogs, likes and comments are appreciated ♡ + ↻
੭﹕﹒AGAIN, MDNI 18+ 彡
masterlist . ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🪽་༘࿐
ᴺᵒʷ ᵖˡᵃʸᶦⁿᵍ ♬⋆.˚ Pretty When You Cry - Lana Del Rey
ᴺᵉˣᵗ ᵁᵖ ♬⋆.˚ Your Girl - Lana Del Rey
Despite being a busy, lively city, Seoul was strangely calm at night. The alleyway outside your apartment sat dark and silent, the only sounds coming from the rain trickling against the windows, distant humming of traffic somewhere far off, and the faint buzz of flickering street lamps. Otherwise, everything felt peaceful. Almost like the calm before a storm.
Like the kind of peace that settled quietly between the cracks before everything got turned upside down.
You laid sprawled across your couch, eyes barely open as you drifted in and out of sleep. The TV continued playing some old sitcom rerun you’d stopped paying attention to a long time ago, its quiet noise just blending into the apartment at this point.
You had hoped tonight would be a calm Friday evening like it always was, but work had completely drained you. A dull headache pulsed behind your eyes while your body tried its best to fight off the exhaustion weighing down on you.
You closed your eyes again, your breathing gradually slowing as sleep started pulling you under once more. The rain outside blended with the low noise of the TV, warm exhaustion settling heavier into your body.
Then your phone buzzed against the couch cushion beside you. The sound sliced straight through the silence. Interrupting the flow of your dozing. You frowned tiredly, blindly reaching for the phone before cracking an eye open. The brightness instantly burned against your vision.
“Fuck,” you muttered, squinting as you hurriedly lowered it.
A message waited on your screen.
'Open the door.'
Your stomach tightened immediately. You didn’t need to check the contact name. The shortness of the message alone told you exactly who it was. The firm tone was there. And that alone made you almost jump off the couch. Like your body recognized him before your mind could catch up. Like there was something pulling at you from the other side of the door.
Something risky, familiar, impossible to stay away from no matter how badly you wanted to.
For a second, you just stared at the words glowing against the screen while rain continued tapping softly against the windows.
Then with a tired sigh, you tossed the phone back onto the couch and sank deeper into the pillow, pulling the blanket closer around yourself. If you stayed still long enough, maybe he’d assume you were asleep and leave.
And the thought of him actually walking away left a dull, heavy ache settling deep in your chest, like something inside you was tightening and refusing to let go.
BUZZ.
The vibration felt louder this time.
You looked over slowly, already regretting it before even picking the phone back up.
'I know you saw this, baby.'
You let your head fall back against the couch.
Damn. That was going to be harder to ignore.
And it was, because you didn’t.
The moment you read the second message, all rational thought seemed to drain from your body. That stupid pull toward him took over completely, stronger than the headache weighing behind your eyes, stronger than the exhaustion begging you to stay curled up on the couch. You mute the TV.
Before you could even think twice about it, your bare feet were already hitting the cold floor.
You stood up too fast, blanket slipping off your body as you walked toward the door almost on instinct. Your stomach tightened the closer you got, anticipation twisting together with nervous excitement so intensely it made your chest feel tight. Like your body already knew exactly what was waiting for you on the other side of the door.
Your hand reached for the doorknob and slowly pulled the door open. The chain still hung loosely in place, only allowing it to crack open slightly.
And standing there in the dim hallway was him.
Na Baekjin’s dog.
Flowers in his hand. Your favorites, of course.
Like he hadn’t disappeared for a month and left everything hanging in silence. That was the worst part.
He always came back soft enough to make you forget he left in the first place.
And it worked. Every time.
Your stomach sank before you even moved.
Because the Union didn’t send people out on missions with flowers. That wasn’t procedure, that wasn’t accidental, and it definitely wasn’t casual. So this meant he wasn’t here by chance.
He was here on purpose. With intention.
And the fact that Seongje was standing there instead of wherever he was actually supposed to be could only mean one thing. He had stepped out of his usual role for this.
Seongje stood leaning against the wall beside your door, looking at you with that same calm, unreadable gaze that somehow still felt far too intimate. The scent of cigarettes clung heavily to his clothes. Rain had dampened parts of his dark hair, small droplets still sliding from the strands, and his orange jacket was zipped all the way up against the cold.
For a moment, neither of you said anything.
You just stared at each other through the small opening in the door, the silence between you feeling strange and heavy. Like some messed up reunion after weeks of no contact while he’d been off doing whatever thing he always disappeared into.
You don’t waste any time, immediately removing the chain and pulling the door open wider. And the second there’s enough space, he walks in like he already belongs there. Like the apartment had been missing him while he was gone. He quietly shuts the door behind him, the soft click echoing through the room.
“Took you long enough,” he says in that same calm, hushed tone that always sounded half sarcastic no matter what came out of his mouth. Extending the flowers out to you.
You stay still, "I don't want them."
And with a sigh, he places the bouquet onto a table nearby.
Your eyes immediately drop to his hands. Bruised knuckles. Split skin. Red and rough around the edges like the wounds were fresh. Like he’d been in another fight.
Like always.
Your chest tightens slightly at the sight and after a moment, you can’t stop yourself from asking, “Did you get in another fight?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, his eyes settle on you, slowly dragging over your appearance like he’s studying how you’ve been during the weeks he disappeared. Not that he ever really needed to ask. Somehow, even when he wasn’t around, he always knew things anyway. He had his ways.
His gaze lingers over the oversized shirt hanging off your frame, the tired shadows beneath your eyes, your messy hair from laying around half asleep on the couch, your bare legs against the dim glow of the TV light.
“Are you gonna answer me?” you ask again, your voice finally cutting through the silence in the apartment.
His eyes lift back to yours.
“Don’t do that,” he says flatly. “Don't concern yourself with me."
You raise your eyebrows at that, a scoff slipping past your lips that almost sounds like a bitter laugh. Throwing your hands up in fake surrender, you let them fall back around yourself instead, arms crossing tightly over your chest.
“Right,” you mutter. “I forgot. We don’t do emotions.”
He slips his jacket off and throws it onto a nearby chair.
“Why are you here then?” you ask.
He steps closer, slow and controlled, each step deliberate until there’s barely any space left between you. His hand finds your hip, fingers settling there with a quiet firmness that makes your breath catch. He looks down at you through slightly damp hair, pushing it back from his face as he studies you.
“I think you know why,” he says simply.
“You’re such an asshole,” you mutter, your expression tightening in annoyance, like you’re seconds away from pushing him away and telling him to leave.
But you don’t move.
You stay exactly where you are, planted in place, not stepping back, not stopping him, not pushing his hand away either.
“You want me gone, just say it,” he says, his hand lifting to tuck your hair behind your ear. “I’ll leave.”
But there’s no real distance in his voice when he says it. No urgency to actually go. Because he knew you wouldn’t let him.
You know he only said it so the choice sits entirely with you. So if he stays, it’s because you let him. No one else made you. You made that choice.
“I hate you,” you mutter, though it doesn’t land with any real weight. Only partially.
Your hand moves before you really think about it, slipping under the edge of his shirt just enough to feel the warmth there, like you’re trying to ground yourself in something real.
Fingers slowly running against the muscles of his stomach as they tense beneath your touch. The slightest contact from you is electrifying to him, in a way that feels almost addictive.
“I know,” he says breathlessly before his lips find yours in a hungry kiss. And in it you feel how badly Seongje has been craving you, the way he has been missing you in his own fractured way, still too damaged to give you the part of him you keep reaching for, the part you’ve been dying to have. This is what he knows how to offer.
His hands find your waist as he lifts you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist like you belong there, like your body remembers him before your mind can catch up. Your lips stay locked in a rough, breathless kiss, all heat and urgency, neither of you willing to break away.
He carries you to the couch and lays you down, following you lower until his body hovers over yours. The kiss breaks just long enough for you to feel his warm exhale against your wet mouth as he slips his glasses off and tosses them carelessly onto the coffee table, like they don’t matter anymore. And without them, the kiss deepens further, slower this time, heavier, finally letting himself sink into it.
“Off,” he simply says, tugging at your shirt with a desperation that makes his hands feel almost unsteady, shaking a little in need. And you comply, taking your shirt of. Your body remaining as vulnerable on the outside as you were on the inside.
He takes a moment to let his eyes move over you, taking you in under the soft moonlight spilling through the window, the kind of quiet that makes everything feel almost too intimate. For a second, if this weren’t what you are, it could almost pass for something domestic, something loving and ordinary, like you’d both somehow ended up in a version of life that made sense.
“Lace?” A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as he slips right back into himself, distant and detached, like he never left that version behind for a second. “You know this is unnecessary, right?” he says, his tone teasing, unappreciative as always, as if closeness is something he can’t quite let himself believe in for long. Or else it’ll feel too real.
“Thanks for that,” you say, your tone sharp with annoyance as you roll your eyes. It only earns another smirk from him. He doesn’t care whether his words land or sting.
“Anyone do a better job than me since last time?” he asks so casually, as if it’s just small talk. And you already know the answer. No. Because he’s the only one you’ve been with. But you still lie anyway, clinging to whatever pride you’ve got left.
“Yeah,” you reply. And he smirks.
“Yeah?” he echoes, clearly unconvinced, seeing straight through you. “You’re a terrible liar,” he says, tucking your hair behind your ear without breaking eye contact. Like he has all the time in the world.
“I know everything,” he adds softly. “And if there was another guy, he’d be in pieces already.”
His hand immediately reaches for your bra, fingers hooking under the strap before he tugs at it carelessly, letting it snap back against your skin. A pained gasp leaves you, earning nothing but an amused look from him. He runs his hands lower, fingers teasing at your sensitive peak through the fabric of the bra.
He lets out a rough, low groan, like his body doesn’t know how to want you quietly. Like someone admiring the pretty wrapper of a candy before ruining it between their teeth. And you feel it every time his fingers press deeper into your skin, holding onto you as if he couldn’t get close enough.
He dips his head, strands of his hair brushing against your face as his lips find your neck, tilting your head back slightly like you’re unknowingly in the way of him savoring the moment. He breathes you in slowly, the sweetness of your perfume blending with the lingering scent of cigarettes and musky cologne clinging to him. Two completely different worlds colliding for a moment.
“I’ve missed you,” you say, your mouth moving faster than your thoughts, the words slipping out before you can stop them.
His hand tightens around your waist in response, firm but distant, an automatic reaction without warmth. And it leaves that familiar ache sitting heavy in your chest. The kind that comes from reaching for something emotional and only ever getting physical closeness back, just enough to keep you there, never enough to feel held.
“Mm,” he hums against your skin, the sound low and distracted as soft open mouthed kisses scatter across your neck. “You smell good.”
Your hands find his hair, fingers absentmindedly playing with the black strands as his kisses slowly overwhelm every one of your senses.
Seongje felt like a bad habit you always swore you’d quit, the kind you promised yourself would be the last time before you were already falling right back into it the second trouble came knocking again.
He reaches beneath you, fingers working at the clasp of your bra until it finally loosens, discarded beside your shirt somewhere on the floor. Panties being the only shred of mystery you had left.
His hands find your chest almost instantly, warm and familiar as he draws you closer while his kisses trail lower and lower. They linger there for a moment, soft and unhurried, his lips brushing against your chest with kind of a quiet appreciation.
His lips brush gently against your areola as he kisses around it. And the moment he takes your sensitive peak into his warm mouth, he pulls a soft gasp from you. The quiet hum that follows sends a shiver down your spine, warm and knowing, and you hate how easily he can read every reaction from you. Heat rushes through you almost instantly, leaving your thoughts scattered beneath his touch.
He moves onto the second one. Opening his mouth slightly, he lets saliva drip lazily from his lips on it, completely careless about the mess. Showing just as much love and attention to both.
Like he needed to adore your body fully. And that was what made it so hard to say no, because being with him felt like being worshipped. Like you were wanted completely, intensely, in a way that made it impossible to think straight. But only when it suited him. It felt like he could switch it on and off whenever he felt like it, leaving you chasing the version of him that only showed up sometimes.
“Seongje…” you breathe his name into the room, aimlessly. He only hums in response against your skin, the sound quiet and satisfied against your peak. His thumb traces slow, absentminded circles at your waist, steady like he has nowhere else to be but here with you.
He ends it with placing a kiss against both of your sensitive peaks. Like he’s bidding goodbye to one part of you before moving on to the next he’s already decided he’s gonna wreck, unhurried and certain.
His kisses trail down your stomach. All the way till his final kiss lands flush against the skin your uterus laid behind. His head settles between your thighs. Fingers hooking onto your panties, he pulls them down.
“Lift,” he simply says, and you comply immediately. Lifting your hips for him so he could strip you. This was a memorized routine for you both, something you fall into without thinking. “So eager,” he grins, clearly enjoying how easily he can pull obedience out of you. You only hum back. Impatient.
Laying eyes on your bare core, he lets out a needy groan. His body reacting.
He tilts his head to the side, placing a gentle kiss against your inner thigh.
You let yourself sink into it for a second too long, because of course he doesn’t let it stay soft. He bites down just enough to make you jolt and gasp.
“Shush,” he says casually, like your reaction is the point, already pulling back as if he didn’t just do it on purpose to get something out of you.
He hooks his arms around your thighs and pulls you closer. Spreading you further for himself instead of asking you to move. Not having the patience to wait.
“Stay still,” he murmurs from between your legs. “I’ve been craving this,” and he wasn’t lying. Seongje loved eating you out. Not necessarily only for your pleasure. But his own too. He got off on it. It turned him on. He could finish just from doing that if he did it long enough. He loved collecting your reactions to different things he did down there.
Treating your body like a playground. And this was his favorite ride.
And with that being said, he spreads your lips using his thumbs. Placing an open mouthed kiss directly against your sensitive bud. You inhale sharply in response and he smiles. He licks a slow line across your slit from bottom to top. A soft sigh escaped you.
“You’re fucking soaked,” he breaths. And you were. You were so wet it was almost impressive.
Your hips bucked forward in desperation, but he caught you instantly. Pressing you back down into place, his grip tightened. He dug his fingers deep into your hip bones, halting any further movement. "Ah, ah. This is for me.”
Wasting no time, Seongje latched his mouth onto your nerve bud, sucking it into his warm mouth. The sudden catch of your breath echoed softly in the quiet, dimly lit room. Along with the sounds of wet slurps, like someone was really enjoying a bowl of spaghetti. Your back kisses the couch beneath you goodbye as you arch it off in response.
“Mm,” he hums between each suck, each slurp, each lick. Savoring it slowly, unhurried, as if nothing else in the world matters as much as this moment right here.
Your hand absentmindedly searches for his in the middle of everything, reaching for a comfort you know better than to trust him with, knowing he’ll never give it freely once the moment passes. But Seongje, being Seongje, and always knowing exactly how to play you, gives in to the quiet intimacy anyway. His hand finds yours, fingers lacing through yours as he holds it there, stroking it gently like it means more than it probably does to him.
And even in this moment, with him between your legs, you feel that familiar ache in your chest. Because this was so far from what you guys were.
He takes a moment to shift your position, propping one of your feet on his shoulder and the other on his back. Giving him even easier access. Careful in a way that feels almost at odds with how distant he is in everything else. He turns to give your ankle a soft kiss.
Resuming his work.
He pulls back just enough to murmur under his breath, “I want you to cum on my face,” before going right back to it like it was the most casual thing in the world to say, as if nothing had even interrupted him at all.
You look down, only to be met with his half lidded gaze, like he’s barely holding himself together. He’s drunk on you and not even trying to hide it.
This guy was in deep for you in dangerous ways.
His tongue plunges inside you, his nose rubbing against your sensitive bud at the same time. And you could’ve sworn you heard him smack his lips once, like he was genuinely enjoying it. This was something he was relishing, not rushing through. Like he lived for this moment alone. Lived to serve.
Your whimpers fill the room, echoing off the walls. Suspended in the thick air.
Your fingers tangle in his hair and pull tighter than you mean to, earning a faint smile from him. He liked when you got overwhelmed enough to forget your own restraint. He loved feeling and seeing the aftermath of your need on his body. Whether it was marks from kisses, little aches from you getting messy, or a dull soreness from his hair being tugged too roughly.
Your thighs trap his head as they give a weak twitch. He pushes them back, knowing he was guiding your body closer to the edge.
“Cum, baby cum,” He murmurs under his breath, still focused, while everything around you starts to blur at the edges.
Your thoughts feel scattered, vision softening as you struggle to keep up with him, caught somewhere between reality and the intensity of the moment.
“All over my face, make it yours,” and that did it. His encouraging contradictions worked to push you over the edge.
Your back arches off the couch, thighs spasming around his head. Fingers tightening in his hair even more, like you’re trying to anchor yourself in the moment, to stay present through it instead of slipping away into it completely.
Erupting, you gush all over his face, and instead of pulling back, Seongje keeps his arms hooked on your thighs and pulls you even closer. The ‘drowning hazard’ being completely disregarded as he looks up at you, drinking your intoxicating pleasure. Nothing about this moment is enough to make him pause.
“Fuck, fuck,” you curse sharply between heavy uneven breaths. Collapsing onto the couch again, catching your breath as you come down from your high.
He sits up between your legs. Looking down, he smiles faintly, the lower half of his face wet under the dim light. There’s something almost casual about it. Like he had just finished eating the worlds juiciest watermelon. He thumbs your intensely reactive bundle of nerves.
Your sensitivity was already heightened, making you jolt back in response and let out a soft whine, your head moving slowly as you try to steady yourself in the moment.
“Fuck, look at the mess you made,” he gives a gentle smack against your core. Another whine, followed by a whimper. “My good little slut.”
Guiding your hand, he presses your palm tightly against the hard outline in his pants. As if to prove a point. “I’ve been hard all day,” he whispers, “feel it.”
And you do. He wasn’t lying. He was hard as a rock. And you could feel how badly he needed to take care of it by how easily you could feel the pulsating even through the material of his trousers. You unbutton his pants on your own and he smiles down at you.
“Mm, keep going,” he says encouraging. Followed by the sound of his zipper lowering. Helping you pull it down, his pants slip right off. Joining your clothes on the floor. And almost immediately your hand pulls down at his boxers.
Length springing free and slapping against his stomach then settling right between your legs. The head was leaking with moisture. And your finger darts out to swipe at it, earning a groan from him in response.
A needy look settles in your eyes, like you’re trying to communicate everything without saying a word, hoping he somehow just understands. He notices immediately, of course, and lets out an amused chuckle in response.
Those puppy eyes don’t work on him.
“You want it, baby?” he asks. And you nod. “I don’t know,” his hands run down your thighs gently.
“Would you rather tell me about the made up guy that fucks you better?” he asks, teasingly. And you cringe at the memory of what you’d lied about earlier, the embarrassment hitting you all over again as it comes rushing back at the worst possible moment.
“Just please do what you came here to do,” you look up, “please,” pleading.
“Say it,” he says, fisting his length in his hand. Pumping gently. He wanted to chip away at what little pride you had left, even though you both knew it was already hanging by a thread, more performance than truth. You knew exactly what he wanted you to admit to.
You hesitate, watching the way his hand moves in a steady rhythm, the motion pulling your attention in until your resolve starts to slip. It’s almost hypnotic in the way it draws you closer, your thoughts thinning out. He was putting on a show. On purpose. And then, with a quiet sigh, you finally give in and admit it. “You fuck me best, please…”
“Yeah?” he grins, like that was exactly the answer he was expecting.
You nod, watching as he lowers himself to press a brief kiss to your shoulder blade. “No one could do it better… you know that,” you admit, the words slipping out like a reluctant confession. Bitter on your tongue, but honest all the same.
“I knew that,” he says and you scoff quietly. “Turn over,” he suddenly pushes you onto your stomach.
“Ass up,” pulling your hips up, your ass resting flush against his hard shaft. The intimacy of your bare skin against each other drawing a shudder from you. He was genuinely rag dolling you around. Like you weighed nothing.
He pushes your head down into the couch, the side of your face pressed firmly into the soft fabric, holding you there just long enough that you settle into it yourself.
“Arch it,” and you immediately comply. Arching your back for him.
Looking back, you catch that rough expression on his face. The one he only gets when he’s completely taken in by whatever he’s looking at, like he can’t quite hide how much he likes it. A clear hunger in his eyes.
He gives your rear one slap. You wince and let out a soft sound. The print of his hand clear in the soft skin. Turning red. “You always fold,” he murmurs, watching you like he’s studying a habit he’s already memorized. “And you still think you’ve got room left for pride.”
And that stings, because it’s true in a way you can’t quite argue with. You’ve never been able to fight off your need for him, for his attention. Even if it only lasts for a night, even if it never turns into anything more than that.
“You’re not like this with anyone else,” he says simply. “So don’t start pretending you are.”
You feel the head of his shaft, damp against your entrance, pushing in. And your breath catches in your chest as you brace yourself to fully let him in, whatever version of him he’s willing to give you.
“This,” he taps lightly against your core from below, “is mine,” he slides halfway in and your body writhes beneath him automatically. Biting back a moan you push back against him. Wanting more of him to fill you. Like the more he fills you, the less rationally you have to think.
His hand settles above your ass, easing you onto his shaft and with one swift yet slow movement, he’s in. With no resistance or push back. A heavy groan leaves his lips. Matching your soft gasp.
“Fuck, your pussy feels perfect,” he breathes out, rocking into you in a slow, controlled rhythm, “my favorite one.” Which only makes you let out an annoyed sound in response, sharp and immediate, like you can’t help reacting even when you try not to.
He smirks, clearly satisfied that he got under your skin. “Jealous?”
“You’re not worth that,” you reply.
“Oh, I’m not?” His smirk only widens, enjoying this far too much, especially when the two of you slip into this rhythm, talking like you can’t stand each other, even when you’re both still here.
“Nope.”
“Mean,” he simply says. Catching you off guard with a sudden pull back before snapping right back in with a sharp, hard motion, making you lose your balance for a second.
“Fuck,” you exclaim sharply, gripping the couch pillow at the sudden thrust, throwing you off balance. It hits you all at once, overwhelming your senses and leaving you momentarily reeling from how intense you felt him.
He keeps that same steady rhythm, firm yet unhurried, refusing to break it even for a second. Pull out till the tip. Slam back in till he bottoms out. Repeatedly. Drawing reactions from you so intense it only makes him double his efforts. Doing you through your whines. The only sound heard.
Coupled with his low, repeated groans. Wet noises. And the sound of skin against skin with each stroke. “You’re perfect stress relief,” he breathes, his voice slightly shaky and breathless. His hands press gently against your back, guiding you deeper into the position until your spine arches further than you expected.
You only manage something back that comes out soft and barely audible, more breath than words. Too overwhelmed to form a proper sentence, your voice catching and cutting in and out as if your vocal cords can’t quite keep up with the movement, leaving only broken, staggered sounds between breaths.
“Mm, good girl, shut up,” he mutters, “shut up and take this dick.”
His hand reaches under, fingers tracing gently against your nerves. Meanwhile, he multitasks, strokes evidence of how he felt about you. Need, intoxication, yet no warmth.
“Tell me to stop,” he says, and for a second, all he does is wait, “and I will.”
Nothing. No resistance. No safe word. No hesitation. Not even an attempt to pull away. Only the continues satisfied hums.
Because no matter how messy the two of you were outside of this, you still wanted him here.
His mouth twitches into something smug at the realization. “Exactly.”
It isn’t long before your own hips start moving against his. Like your body has finally found its rhythm, moving in sync with his, as if it’s working with him now without hesitation, naturally following his pace.
Which only makes his smirk widen as he looks down, a faint glint in his eyes giving away how much he’s enjoying the view in front of him. His rough hand settles against the small of your back, keeping you in place as he guides the movement.
“That’s it,” he breaths, “fuck me back, baby,” he encourages you quietly, tilting his head back for a moment as his adams apple moves with a slow swallow, collecting himself before looking back down at your back profile with the same steady focus. “Use me like you need.”
The room is drowned out by the thick intimacy of your sounds blending together into something almost overwhelming, like a lullaby warped beyond recognition. Outside, the rain only grows heavier, tapping insistently against the window as if mirroring how the atmosphere between you two deepens the longer it goes on. Soft breaths mix and overlap, filling the space until there’s hardly any silence left between you.
The tip of his length keeps prying and probing at your cervix. You feel like he’s everywhere in you at once, the moment settling into your whole body. Your stomach, your heating core, your chest.
His hips stagger slightly as his focus slips for a moment, his balance tilting forward until his chest meets your back. You feel his breath brush close to your ear, warm and unsteady, sending a ripple of goosebumps across your skin. His hand finds your hair, gathering it and wrapping it tightly around. Only to pull your head back by it and trail wet kisses along your jawline.
Your lips meet in a hungry, messy, sloppy kiss. No patience in it, just everything you don’t say out loud coming out all at once. Like this is how you talk instead, when words won’t land right between you two. He pulls back as you both breathe into each others mouths. Lips wet. A thin string of saliva hanging between your bottom lips.
“Fucking perfect,” he murmurs against your lips.
His hand leaves your hair only to shove your head down into the couch instead, your cheek crushed into the cushions as he keeps you there. “You like when I ruin your peace, huh?” he says, hips driving into you relentlessly, fingers still against your scalp. It feels like each stroke pushes you deeper into the couch. Making you apart of it. And you’re loving it.
It shows on on you. The way your eyes drift to the back of your head. Your uneven sharp breaths. Your hips bucking backwards into him. The sweat glistening on your body. Your flushed face in complete bliss.
“Seongje…” his name slips out more like a plea than just a word, quiet and unsteady, carrying more than you meant it to. “Mm,” you whine as he ravishes your insides. Taking it perfectly for him.
“You’d rather let me destroy you than be alone for one night,” he exhales sharply, looking at your back arching further, under no command, just on its own. “Look at you. Still letting me do this.”
You let out a sound in protest, and he just smiles, already aware of what you’re doing. He can see right through the way you’re trying to look tough, trying not to show how much you actually need him there. Him deep inside you being your lifeline in this moment.
“You’re saying one thing and feeling another,” he snaps you hard against himself. “Shit, you feel so fucking good.” And that small bit of praise was what you lived off of, the kind that lingered longer than it should and stayed with you even after he stopped talking. He lands one slap against your rear.
“You can’t even form a sentence,” he says, voice tight, barely controlled. “Just sounds. That’s all you are right now.”
Another whine, and a pathetic barley audible, “deeper, please.”
He grins down at you. Pushed into the couch with your ass up high. And despite your already disheveled, completely overwhelmed state, you were still asking for more, like you couldn’t quite get enough of it no matter how far gone you already were.
“Whiny little whore,” and he delivers. Exactly what you needed. He adjusts your position again, roughly moving your knees further apart and pushing your back into a deeper, more supported arch. Keeping his hands on your back, he presses down firmly, holding you in place and locking you into the position so you can’t slip out of it. His length sinking even deeper inside. You let out a incoherent wet whimper.
Already soaking the couch with your overwhelmed cries.
“Good girl, cry for it,” he says.
You clench around him involuntarily and he exhales sharply, “Fuck, stop squeezing me like that, I’m gonna cum,” he says as if that’d be the worst thing ever. Like he didn’t wanna finish too early. Even though you’ve been at it for an hour now.
And despite that, his body betrays him. You feel him twitch inside you. And he groans, drawing a sharp inhale. His fingers digging into your hips as his breath lingers right behind your neck. He moves back. Suddenly pulling out, leaving you completely empty and clenching around nothing.
You don’t even turn around, just collapsing straight into the couch, your body already weak and sore, your breaths uneven and heavy as you try to collect your thoughts that were quite literally fucked out of your head.
His head tilts back again, eyes slipping shut for a moment like his body’s reacting faster than he can control, overwhelmed in a way he doesn’t bother to hide. His hand pumps his hardened twitching shaft a few times and you feel the evidence of his undoing trickle down your back. Thick and warm. Coming out in a soft, messy stream.
“Oh, fuck,” he groans, mouth slightly agape as each pump makes his head dizzier. He genuinely goes deaf and blind for a few seconds over the feeling, everything around him cutting out as he tries to process it before slowly coming back to himself.
And that was one of the reasons he was so addicted to you. Only with you did it get like this, his senses shutting off.
He drops down onto his heels behind you, face still flushed, breath finally slowing as the moment settles. You’re both still wrecked in the same way, just coming down from it together.
He leans in without thinking too much about it, placing slow kisses along your back first, then your shoulder, then higher. Unhurried. Intentional. Like he’s making sure you’re actually still here.
Turning you gently, you laid on your back looking up at him.
“That’s it,” he says quietly. “Breathe. You did good for me.”
His hand stays on you the whole time, steadying you, not rushing anything, just grounding you while your breathing evens out again.
“Pretty girl,” he adds after a pause, softer than usual, like it slips out before he can stop it.
He moves up, brushing a kiss to your cheek, then another closer to your mouth. Each one slower than the last, like he’s letting himself linger a second longer than he normally would. Then your lips meet properly, and it’s quiet in a way that makes everything else feel far away.
Your chest aches in that moment. Knowing this wasn’t a normal kiss. This was the type of kiss that indicated it was goodbye. Till he felt a craving for you again. Like always.
When he pulls back, his eyes stay on you, studying the aftermath on your face.
“Yeah,” he says finally, almost to himself. “This is why you get like this.”
His hand lingers a moment longer before he lets it go a little.
꣑ৎ― all characters depicted are 18 years or older consenting adults. │ wc: 3,8k
cw (please read & proceed with caution): adult content / s*xual themes / 18+ mdni / consensual adult intimacy / power dynamics / p in v / fingers / fem! reader / muffling / attitude reader / overst!m
pairing: boyfriend! yeon sieun x female reader
⤷ sypnosis: you and sieun are dating. you’ve been giving him the silent treatment and attitude for days. He’s been patient—until he isn’t.
reblogs, likes and comments are appreciated ♡ + ↻
੭﹕﹒AGAIN, MDNI 18+ 彡
masterlist . ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🪽་༘࿐
ᴺᵒʷ ᵖˡᵃʸᶦⁿᵍ ♬⋆.˚ Daddy Issues - The Neighbourhood
ᴺᵉˣᵗ ᵁᵖ ♬⋆.˚ Coming Down - The Weeknd
The window stood open, the cool night breeze slipping quietly through the room, soft enough to clash with the sharp expression set on your face.
It was already past midnight.
Sieun sat at his desk, surrounded by scattered papers and highlighted notes, the low voice of a woman explaining calculus from his laptop filling the otherwise silent apartment. His father had gone to sleep not long ago, leaving the house drowned in familiar night silence.
The dim desk lamp highlighted the tired shadows across Sieun’s face, but his expression stayed razor-sharp, completely focused on his notes. His pen moved steadily across the page while his eyes scanned formulas like he’d forget how to breathe before he forgot an answer.
Across from him you sat on his bed. Phone open.
Your phone rested loosely in your hand as you mindlessly scrolled through it, barely paying attention to anything actually on the screen. Every few seconds, your eyes drifted back to Sieun instead.
Watching the way his expression tightened when he focused. The absentminded way he ran a hand through his hair while rereading a page. The way he leaned back in his chair every now and then.
And somehow, that only made your annoyance worse.
You’ve been silently mad at him for the past few days, and it shows in everything you do. The way you ignore his messages, the way you look away the second he tries to make eye contact, the cold two word replies to anything he says.
Sieun tried bringing it up. Tried talking to you about it more than once, calm as always, like he could just solve it if you’d give him something to work with, but you refused every time. You didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want to explain anything, just stayed stubborn and distant no matter how many times he tried.
And still, he didn’t give up. Of course he didn’t. He had the patience of a saint when it came to you. He just took it, let you be annoyed, let you push him away, stayed there anyway like it didn’t bother him. But everyone had a limit eventually, even him.
The worst part was that the reason you were mad at him in the first place was so stupid. Too stupid to even say out loud without sounding insane. He had left you on delivered for hours on Monday.
You glance back down at your phone, thumb moving aimlessly across the screen as your thoughts drift.
The sound of his desk chair sliding slightly across the floor breaks the quiet.
Still, you don’t look up.
“Do you want a snack?” Sieun’s calm voice cuts through the room.
“No,” you answer flatly without even sparing him a glance.
“You sure?” he asks after a beat. “You haven’t really eaten much today.”
Silence.
You keep your eyes on your phone, pretending to be absorbed in it.
Sieun exhales softly through his nose, a quiet sigh lingering between you. You don’t notice him stand up until he’s suddenly right in front of you, close enough that your attention finally snaps off your phone.
He steps in without hesitation, pushing your knees apart with his own as he settles over you. Your back meets the mattress, the movement so sudden it steals the rest of your breath, and you look up at him, still caught off guard.
As he holds himself above you, using his hands on either side of your body, he dips his head lower and places a gentle kiss against your neck. So soft that you feel your attitude begin to melt away. Damn this guy and his softness.
His lips were warm against your skin, using your neck as a canvas for his soft kisses. Pressing each one like it was wrapped in an apology he didn’t know how to form out loud.
“What’s wrong, baby?” he says between soft pecks, his voice calm as ever. Low, velvety, like it settles right under your skin and caresses the insides of your ears.
“Nothing,” you lie instantly.
“You know I can’t help you if you don’t explain,” he says, pulling back just enough that your faces are only inches apart now, his gaze steady on you.
You stay quiet for a moment, then finally give in.
“You left me on delivered. On Monday.”
The second it leaves your mouth, you internally regret it. It sounds so stupid out loud.
Sieun raises a brow, genuinely confused.
“I see you every day,” he says simply.
“That’s not the point,” you murmur, frustration creeping back in. “You always do this. You just analyze everything instead of acting like my boyfriend.”
There’s the smallest shift in his expression at the word boyfriend—so subtle you almost miss it. Like it catches him off guard for half a second. Softening the look in his eyes. He loved when you called him that. Even though you’ve already been dating for months, it never fails to make him happy.
Then he leans in again.
“I am acting like your boyfriend,” he says quietly, so softly it feels like his voice alone is creating an enclosed, intimate space between the two of you.
And before you can respond, he kisses you. Soft, gentle, cutting off whatever you were about to say. His kiss starts soft. Against the exterior of your mouth. Like he’s probing and eating at any ounce of attitude you may have left in your body.
Then, it turns hungry. Deliberate. Yet still intimately slow. His tongue darts out at your mouth and you part your lips, kissing back with the same hunger in your body. Your tongues swirl around each other in a dance.
The moment is quiet, except for the soft sounds of wet kissing and the laptop still playing on the desk.
“You’re annoying me,” you say, the protest weak and forced, like you don’t even believe it yourself. You say it, then don’t move away, not really meaning it in the way your words suggest.
“Mm,” he hums in response, clearly unconvinced, almost amused by how little effort you’re putting into staying mad at him. Resuming his tongue kisses.
His hand moves lightly between your bodies, brushing over your skin in a way that makes you shiver. It traces the goosebumps that rise there, like he’s noticing every small reaction you try to hide. His fingers unbutton your pants, followed by the low sound of the zipper sliding down. You lift your hips instinctively. Your body knows exactly what it needs. Soon, your pants end up by the bed.
His fingers hook into the hem of your panties. “Off,” he says simply, and you comply immediately. Your panties join your pants on the floor.
“Let’s see how well that attitude holds up,” he says casually as he kneads your thighs, his fingers digging into them until your breath catches in your chest.
He makes his way down, fingers ghosting down your body, moving slowly on purpose. Making your body instinctively writhe under him. Your breathing coming out in uneven sharp exhales.
“This… won’t make me nicer,” you manage to murmur between uneven breaths, already overwhelmed.
“Mm, I’m sure, baby,” he answers simply, a subtle smirk playing at the corner of his lips. One hand gently pries your thighs apart, pushing one back.
His fingers glide gently down your already wet slit, the moisture gathering on his fingertips. His throat works as he bites back a groan, the feel of your slickness on his fingers already tenting his pants.
“You’re soaked,” he breathed. The tip of his finger brushed gently over your sensitive nerve bud, so lightly it felt like he was testing the waters before overwhelming your body. Earning a soft gasp from you.
“Shh, baby,” he murmured, continuing his gentle circles over your bundle of nerves. Your body jolted at the sensation, heat rushing through you instantly. You had to stay quiet, careful not to wake Sieun’s dad. But, fuck it wasn’t easy. “You’re being so needy.”
He lifts his hand to your mouth, his ring and middle fingers extended.
“Open,” he says, parting your lips with them. You comply, and he slides his fingers into your mouth, wetting them with your own saliva. “You gonna be quiet for me?”
You nod with his fingers still in your mouth. Your tongue swirls around them as you suck gently, and he groans in response. “Fuck,” he curses under his breath. You taste yourself faintly on his fingers before he pulls them out, your saliva glistening in the dim light of the room. He purposefully grinds his hard outline against your thigh, making you feel it. “See what you’re doing to me?” he says, straining against his pants.
His fingers find your heat. Slowly, teasingly, he traces gentle circles around your sensitive entrance, keeping you waiting. You shudder at the feeling, hips bucking instinctively toward his hand. His gaze was piercing but calm, pinning you to the bed without him having to move at all.
“What’s wrong, baby?” His fingers kept you right on the edge, not moving an inch away or an inch closer to where you most needed them.
“Sieun, please…” you pleaded, breathless. You clenched around nothing at the attention to your sensitive center.
“Please…” he simply echoed.
“Please…” you repeated.
“You don’t deserve it.” He pulls his fingers away completely, depriving you of a single touch again. “Earn it.”
“Sieun…” your voice comes out weaker than you intend, more like a whine than anything else.
He looks at you with a interested expression.
Your earlier attitude is completely gone now, replaced by something softer. More desperate, in a way you hate how easily he can draw it out of you.
“No,” he says quietly. The rejection stings deep in your bones.
You frown, frustration flaring all over again. “You’re being mean.”
A faint breath leaves him that almost sounds amused.
“You were ignoring me for three days,” he reminds you calmly, one hand brushing lightly against your thigh. “I think I’m allowed to enjoy this a little.”
He suddenly sits up, moving back against the headboard of the bed and settling there instead. You stare at him for a second, confusion immediately crossing your face at the sudden distance between you. Until he taps his lap once.
“Come here,” another tap.
You obey immediately, crawling across the bed toward him without even thinking about it. Your cleavage was on full display as you bent over. And his throat moved as he swallowed his breath. Gaze never leaving yours.
The mattress dips softly beneath you as you move back into his space, your earlier annoyance completely melted away by now.
The second you reach him, Sieun’s hands settle on your waist and he effortlessly pulls you onto his lap, turning you so your back rests flush against his chest. He pulls your shirt off, unhooks your bra, and tosses it to the side right after.
You let out a small breath at the sudden cold breeze surrounding you from the open window. Brushing your most sensitive areas, making your sensitive peaks harden against it.
With a rough hand, he immediately kneads your chest. His warm breathing skims against the back of your neck and ears as he speaks, voice low enough to send a shiver down your spine.
“Spread your legs,” he says, tapping your thighs. You do as he says. He lifts your knees, your feet settling on either side of his thighs. “Good girl.”
A hand slowly slips down your chest and stomach, and you watch it happen almost distantly, like it belongs more to the shadow behind you than to Sieun himself. You can’t see his face from this angle, but somehow that only makes it worse.
Because even without looking, you know that faintly amused expression is there. He was enjoying this.
His hand dips lower and his fingertips find your sensitive nerves, tracing it gently. A soft, uneven breath slips from you at the sensation, your head tilting back instinctively against his shoulder, like your body is searching for something steady to hold onto in the moment.
“You want them inside, baby?” he asks and you nod.
In a steady line moving downwards, his fingers find your entrance and gently slide two fingers in. You buck your hips forward, and he presses a hand to your stomach, pinning you back against him. “Ah, ah, don’t move,” he orders softly into your ear. “patience,” he reassures from behind.
He starts pumping his fingers in a controlled, slow rhythm—in and out—drawing those long-awaited moans from your mouth. With each stroke, your walls clench tighter around him. He groans softly, feeling your body respond. He curls his fingers inside you, picking up speed as he goes.
The sounds he pulls from you are unholy. Without pausing for a second, his other hand moves to your face, his palm covering your mouth and muffling the noise. As soon as you’re silenced, his fingers move even faster, wet sounds echoing off the walls. Squelch, squelch. Coupled with his rough, low groans and your uneven breathing.
“Mmphm…” you moan into his palm, hips bucking against his fingers as your back arches off his chest. Your hips move to his rhythm, but you have none of his control. You’re sloppy, desperate, overwhelmed. Meanwhile, Sieun stays completely focused, hitting the exact spot that has you seeing stars every time. “Good girl, fuck yourself against my fingers,” his whispered encouragement into your ears only makes your hips stagger a little.
“Fuck, you hear that?” he let’s out a shaking breath from behind as the wet noises turn even more obscene. Even without seeing it, anyone could paint a clear picture of how lewd it was from the sounds alone.
Your breath hitched as your thighs suddenly started twitching in response to the continues play against your sweet spot. “Mm, that’s it…” he hums in response.
Feeling your body about to reach the edge, he suddenly pulls his fingers out, leaving you empty, clenching around nothing. Your breath hitches and your thighs tremble. A whine escapes your mouth as your hips buck, chasing his touch.
Like if you reach them fast enough, he’ll take pity on you and fill you up again.
He slides them back in just as suddenly, not for your sake, and starts pumping and curling them at the same relentless pace. Your hips snap back, and your body jolts at the shock to your nerves.
He lets go of your mouth, and his hand cups one of your breasts, settling there warm against the softness of it.
He rolls one of your sensitive peaks between his fingers and places wet open mouthed kisses against the side of your neck. “So sensitive and responsive…”
“Fuck, Sieun… I’m gonna…” and suddenly you’re right back at the edge, about to cross it once more.
He pulls his fingers out again, and this time your whine is louder, followed by a wet whimper. “Please, please, please…” you plead, your voice hanging in the thick intimacy of the room.
“You’ll cum when I allow it,” he replies, unbuttoning his pants as he speaks. He pulls them down just enough, his already painfully hard shaft springing free and settling between your folds on his lap. “Stay still for me, baby.”
Rubbing soothing circles into your thighs with his thumbs, he aligns the head of his length with your entrance and eases in. You let out a moan, and he covers your mouth instantly.
As he sinks the rest of it in, it slides smoothly, without resistance. With a groan in your ear, he bottoms out and stays still for a moment, giving you time to adjust and himself a chance to breathe. You look down, watching the mess between your bodies.
“Shit, you took it so well,” he murmurs, his chest rising against your back as he takes sharp breaths that feel cold against his teeth.
You feel each ridge against your interior. Each vein pulsating a different kind of need. And you react back. With the same pulsing beat.
For a moment, neither of you moves. Just staying there in the same quiet space, the distance from the past few days finally collapsing back into something close again.
You, still stubbornly silent. Him, letting you be.
His hand lingers on you, slow and steady, tracing soft, grounding circles against your thigh. After a beat, he starts moving, gently thrusting up into you.
You watch his shaft disappear inside you from above. His palm feels slick against your mouth, damp from where you drooled while moaning into it. You feel him twitch subtly inside you, like his body couldn’t wait to empty itself.
His groans are low—low enough that only you can hear them. It stays between the two of you, suspended in the dim, intimate light of the room like the rest of the world doesn’t exist outside of it. Each thrust inside you felt like he’s punishing you in his own way for ignoring him. Like he’s letting the tension speak where words failed earlier.
His hand finds your bud of nerves and he traces his fingers against it, along with his thrusts. You bite onto his palm and he lets out a pained grunt, pressing it further into your mouth. Just holding steady, like he’s refusing to give you the satisfaction of a reaction. Loving the way he was overwhelming your body with the doubled stimulation.
Moving his hand away, he plunges two fingers into your mouth. Making you gag roughly against them. Your sounds turning wet and choked.
“You… You were so confident ignoring me earlier.” he murmurs, breathlessly into your ear. “Now look at you.” His warm breath ghosts over the back of your neck and makes you shudder and buck against his shaft, taking him deeper accidentally. He bites back a moan. “You’re taking it so well for me.”
Another gag around his fingers sends a shudder down his body.
Sinking further into your warm velvety walls. Making a mess between your bodies, the sopping noises hang loosely in the room.
“You wanted my attention. You got it, baby,” he thrust upwards faster. The head of his length hitting your cervix making your back arch off of him with nowhere to go.
“Mmgh..” you muster up what sounded like a pathetic clogged whimper, your thighs spasming as you feel a continues teasing against your nerves down below. Moving his fingers even faster, his tongue darts out to lick the back of your neck. Like he’s tasting your consumption. Your body completely overcome.
Your thoughts only being him. Sieun, Sieun, and once again Sieun.
A soft sniffle escapes you, and he notices immediately. If anything, he only seems to double his efforts, more attentive now, as your eyes start to well up. Tears spill over despite you trying to hold them back, his hand still steady as if grounding you through it.
“No, don’t cry now… you can take it,” he murmurs softly, pressing a brief kiss to the back of your neck as you tremble in his arms. The sound of skin slapping against skin now prominent in the room as his thrusts get harder.
He was taking retaliation in his own way for ignoring him. And despite your disheveled state, you didn’t ask him to stop. Didn’t say the safe word. You wanted it. You liked it.
Your body shakes in small, uneven jolts, your breath unsteady as you try to hold yourself together. He doesn’t let go, keeping you anchored against him even as you lean forward slightly, your back slowly easing away from his chest in broken, unsteady movements. He throws his head back against the headboard and shudders against your body as you clench around him. As if by reflex, your body was milking him of every drop he had.
Finally, flooding all at once, you gush all over his shaft in an eruptive warm flow. Your breaths came out in sharp, uneven pulls despite his attempt to muffle the sound.
”Oh, fuck, there we go,” he praises from behind. His sheets were now completely soaked, the evidence of your pleasure having tainted them through to the other side. “Good girl, baby, such a good girl…”
Your movement looked like they were put in slow motion. As your high had left your head dizzy and clouded over how powerful it was.
He takes his time, lingering there as if he’s deliberately easing himself toward his own breaking point too. Like seeing you finally finish gave him the okay to start focusing on himself.
One of his hands finds your right thigh and he holds it back. He moves more urgently now. “Stay still, please,” he weakly pleads. You grip his forearm tightly, his hand locked around your thigh as he holds you open for himself. The muscles in his arm strain under the effort, veins standing out as his body tenses.
The bed creaked under the movement as he drove into you.
His hand now switched back to a flat palm against your wet mouth.
One twitch. Two. Three. You feel it all. And you know he’s about to make a bigger mess than you.
“Fuck…” he gasps, pulling out of you suddenly. And as soon as he does that, his release lands on your stomach immediately. With uneven yet powerful spurts. His hips stutter at the feeling.
His fingertips dig into your thighs, groans blessing your eardrums.
You can feel him trembling beneath you, tense and unsteady as he comes down from his high. “Oh, fuck…” he curses again.
You collapse into his lap and his head tips forward, his forehead resting against the back of your neck. Both of you are breathing unevenly, trying to catch your breath together in the same quiet moment.
Your bodies glistening with a thin layer of sweat.
Chests rising in heavy breaths.
He weakly lifts his head up, placing messy kisses against your sweaty face. Laying you flush against the mattress gently. He settles next to you, pulling you closer. Your head rests in the crook of his neck.
“You did so good, baby” he says quietly, brushing your hair back with a steady hand. “Breathe… it’s okay now.”
His touch is slow and reassuring, and the intensity from earlier begins to fade, replaced by something quieter and safer between you.
He reaches for a water bottle from the side table, helping you take a few sips.
He turns to place a kiss against your temple. “Let’s be honest when we’re sad, hm?”
You nod.
You both turn your attention to the laptop still playing the same calculus video. And he grins at you. “She has been talking the entire time.”
Which draws a soft shaky chuckle out of you.
The rest of the night settles into silence, the two of you curled up together in bed, finally still.
PS. characters depicted are all 18+ consenting adults!
content warning: sexual themes.
masterlist for more content
ahn suho…
genuinely can't wait. he smiles up at you, hands on your hips. "oh? this is new." pulls you down by the back of your neck for kisses in the middle of it. groans and curses like theres no tomorrow. "sh*t.. don't stop baby don't stop..." watches you the entire time. his fingers leave genuine prints in your hips as he himself pulls you down further as if that's even possible. "just like that.. good job.." before he's done, you're already on your back roles reversed. he wants to see your face up close during his YK. "i know baby.. i know.." when he's the one overwhelming you now. his kisses feel like he's worshipping your skin.
yeon sieun…
is taken aback but stays still and calm. only one of his hands is on your waist. the other is gripping the sheet. head is mostly thrown back in immense pleasure. "mhm.." he hums each time you move. biting back his moans. eventually starts guiding your pace himself. hands on your hips. "let me.." really gentle with his pace in this position though. "you okay?" checking up on you the entire time. he traces circles on your thighs. feel him PHYSICALLY stiffen and tense up before he finishes.
seo juntae…
usually what you end up doing either way. he sits back. doesn't dare to hold eye contact. eyes mostly shut or has his hand over them. "please." pleading for no reason at all. soft whimpers and moans. face red and sweaty. his thing twitches a lot. intertwines his fingers with yours absentmindedly. takes his glasses off when its overwhelming. his hair is so messy from digging the back of his head into the pillows behind him. starts tearing up and crying a little when he can't take it anymore. "slower.. please.."
go hyuntak…
"nah." tries acting all nonchalant and dominant, but lets himself get pushed into the bed frame either way. hides moans and groans through biting the back of his hand. "oh f*ck.... " under his breath every now and then when it gets too overwhelming. props your hands against his chest. gets lost in the sauce half way through and forgets his nonchalant attitude. "that's it... you feel.. f*ck it feels good.." struggling with his words. surprisingly one of the most puppy eyed and submissive ones.
park humin…
clearly enjoying seeing you take the lead. biggest smile on his face. his hands tangle in your hair pulling your head back for neck kisses. "you're doing so good.." praise constantly. his rough hands grip your face and bring you closer for kisses. groans into the kisses. then follows with a slight breathless laugh. "you been researching for me baby?" caresses your arms and waist. you're taking the lead, but he's in control. "you're so dead after this." round two's gonna kill you. 100%. "you look so pretty.." constantly complimenting you.
oh beomseok…
his cheeks are red. his hands are shaking a little but he tries so hard to act tough. runs your hands all over his neck and kisses them. "too much..." is overwhelmed with your pace but he's loving it. tries to be quiet but he's too sensitive. lets out the neediest whines and whimpers. head thrown back. enjoys being held by the neck during. “you look... stunning.." between his struggling sounds. his mouth is slightly open constantly.
jeon seokdae…
he raises his eyebrows when pushed into the head board. "yeah? let me see what you can do.." said through a cocky tone. he's smoking a cigarette during but as soon as it gets overwhelming that cigarette is getting put out. his hands find your waist. can't help but push up gently. “no, don't move.." if you shift even slightly. his groans are deep. rumbling through his chest in a way that seems like he's trying to be quiet but failing miserably.
kang wooyoung…
his smirk is so cocky. looking up at you the entire time. waiting for a moment where you slip up so he can push you down. “f*ck you're good at this.." praise in contrast to his rough handling. pulling at your hair. hands touching your boobs the entire time. "slow down... im not going anywhere.." all cocky when you start getting overwhelmed yourself. constant cursing. this man is a POTTY MOUTH. his moans are heavenly. he does not hold his sounds back whatsoever. lets you know exactly how good you make him feel. the next door neighbours fall asleep to it like asmr. "can i film?" with a big smile. smacks your ass during. 100%.
geum seongje…
oh buckle up. hes smoking the entire time. “it's all yours.. you own it." drives you crazy with his words. blows smoke softly into your mouth mid kisses and smirks after. puts his cigarette down when its done. he pulls you by your neck down to kiss you. bites anywhere he can get his teeth on. groans and grunts. no moans. gets impatient with your pace and grips your hips. hovering you above himself and keeping you still. he thrusts up at his own needed pace. “don't move.. this is what you wanted huh?” when you start getting overwhelmed. bear hugs you against himself eventually. “aw, is it too much? poor thing..” this man is a mock pity WARRIOR.
na baekjin…
stays quiet with no readable expression on his face. on the couch in his office. pins your wrists behind your back, clutched in one of his hands as you keep going. head is thrown back. holds his sounds back like a MF. occasionally you'll hear the quiet struggling grunt he couldn't keep in. other hand sneaks on your stomach all the way up to your collarbone. “…” doesn't speak. soft movement upwards. matching you. the entire Union can hear everything outside the door of his office. “Fuck off.” said to a knock at the door. also smacks ass during. but hard long smacks instead of repeating ones. wants you to register each smack in your head.
