spidey
[ J. Yunho ]
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summary: in which your boyfriend looks too good with that spidey mask on
warning: dom yunho, sub reader, spiderman kink, oral, mouth fucking, fingering, edging, unprotected sex, squirting, creampie
genre: smut
pairing: idol yunho x afab reader
word count: 6.2k
masterlist
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You didn’t expect anything from today. Yunho and Yeosang had a full schedule, another packed fansign day for their latest comeback. You stayed behind at the apartment, hoodie swaddled and half asleep on their couch, the familiar hum of city noise outside barely registering over the background music coming from your phone as you were mid scroll, lazily tapping through stories when you saw it.
A video. It started innocent enough, blurry stage lights, excited fan captions. Then it cut to him. Yunho. Wearing it. The Spiderman mask with silver mesh lenses. Seamless contours. Matte finish. It clung to his jawline perfectly. The mask from his new suit. The one he got a week ago and swore was “just for the collection.” The one he tried on in their living room as a joke, muscles rippling beneath the suit’s black compression layer, making a web slinging motion and asking in that dangerously smooth voice, “Wanna see if it holds up under pressure?”
You had laughed then. Pretended it didn’t affect you. Pretended your thighs didn’t clench the second those lenses narrowed towards you, the illusion of expression far too real for your sanity. But now? Now he was wearing it in public. Onstage. Fully masked. That hoodie half zipped and slouched off one shoulder, revealing silver chains and a flash of skin. He wasn’t even doing much, just standing, head slightly tilted, watching fans standing next to Wooyoung with that easy confidence, but you could already feel the burn creeping up your neck.
Your mouth went dry. You replayed the video. Then again. Each time, it got worse. The lenses on the mask shifted subtly, narrowing just a bit as he moved. Reacting. Tracking. Like it was really part of him. Like he was really Spiderman. You exhaled shakily, tossing your phone to the side. No. No, you were not going to get worked up over a mask. Not again. You were fine. You were totally cool.
Then you grabbed your phone back up. A new video. This time, he crouched. Classic Spiderman pose. One knee bent, one arm extended in a mock web sling. And even through the grainy camera footage and LED haze, you could see it, the muscle in his chest flexing beneath his shirt, the chain bouncing slightly against his collarbone. The way his mask tilted up toward someone off camera, lenses narrowing like a predator that knew it had the upper hand.
“Oh, fuck,” you whispered.
You were so screwed.
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The apartment door clicked open just past 11:00 pm, followed by the low buzz of chatter and the telltale thump of Yunho’s heavy sneakers hitting the entry mat. You were barefoot in the kitchen, didn’t look up right away, just listened. You could hear Yeosang laugh first, light and familiar, and then Yunho’s deeper voice murmuring something back as the two of them shuffled inside, both sounding tired but wired from the day.
You turned just in time to see him. Yunho stepped through the hallway, hoodie unzipped, silver chains catching the overhead light, still wearing the same outfit from the fansign. But it was the way he casually reached into his pocket, pulling it out, that made you freeze. The mask. That same Spiderman mask with the expressive eyes. He was holding it by the jaw, fingers lazily toying with the edge of the fabric like it was no big deal. Like it wasn’t the exact thing that had kept you squirming on the couch all afternoon.
He didn’t even see you yet. He was grinning at Yeosang, who was kicking off his sneakers behind him. “Man,” Yeosang huffed, grabbing a water from the fridge without looking, though he brushed past you with a smile. “You’ve been teasing atiny with that damn suit since before Christmas.”
Yunho laughed from the living room, low, smug. “I still haven’t even posted the full photoset.”
“Because you like watching them suffer,” Yeosang tossed over his shoulder as Yunho twirled the mask on one finger. “You’re not wrong.”
You stared. Heat bloomed low in your stomach. You should look away. You should say something. But you couldn’t, not with the way he looked holding that mask. Not with his hair a little messy, lips still curved in a half smirk, chains still resting against his collarbone.
You must’ve made a noise because suddenly Yunho’s head turned as he walked into the kitchen, and those warm, deep brown eyes locked onto yours. And the smirk? It deepened. “Oh,” he said softly. “Hey, baby.” Your fingers tightened on the glass in your hand as the mask was still dangling from his fingers.
Yeosang stretched with a yawn, rubbing at the back of his neck as he padded toward the hallway. “I’m gonna shower before bed,” he mumbled, already halfway checked out. “Try not to break the kitchen counter while I’m gone.” Yunho huffed a laugh, tossing the mask onto the counter beside him with a soft thud of synthetic fabric and tech mesh. “No promises.”
You didn’t move, barely even breathed. The moment Yeosang disappeared down the hallway and the bathroom door clicked shut, Yunho was already stepping toward you. No fanfare. No teasing grin. Just quiet purpose. He didn’t say anything when he reached you. Instead, he wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his face in the crook of your neck.
The warmth of him hit instantly, broad chest pressed to your back, his hoodie soft against your tank top, the light jingle of his necklace brushing your collarbone as he inhaled deeply. Like he was grounding himself. Like he missed you. You felt his breath before you heard his voice as you placed your glass down on the counter.
“Been getting home and you’re always asleep,” he murmured against your skin. “Didn’t realize how much that was starting to fuck with me.” Your hand slid down to rest over his arm, fingers curling. “You should’ve woke me up,” You whispered. “You looked too peaceful,” he replied, then pressed his lips to the slope of your neck, not a kiss, more like a pause. A moment of worship.
The tension you’d been holding all day, the ache from seeing him in that damn mask, started to melt under his touch. But then he shifted, just slightly, and you glanced down. The mask was still there. Sitting on the counter. And Yunho’s hand reached for it again, fingers brushing the fabric like he knew. Knew exactly what had been driving you crazy. He didn’t lift his head when he asked, soft and low, “Do you like it?”
You stepped forward, casually slipping from Yunho’s arms like nothing had happened. Like your heart wasn’t hammering in your chest from the way his voice dropped, or how his fingers ghosted the edge of that mask like it was a secret he was about to expose. You rounded the counter, pretending to check something in the fridge you didn’t need. Cool air spilled out. You didn’t care. Your voice came out smooth, too smooth. “Like what?”
Yunho didn’t even blink as you turned back around, he was still watching you, chin tilted slightly down, eyes heavy lidded, lips curled in the faintest smirk. That unreadable Yunho expression that always meant trouble. His hand was still resting on the mask. “Like what,” he repeated slowly, gaze raking over you, “she says.”
You shrugged. A little too nonchalant. “You’ve done a lot of things worth liking. You’ll have to be more specific.”
He chuckled under his breath, the sound rougher than it should’ve been. “Uh huh.” And then he straightened up, leaned casually on the counter with one arm as the other lifted the mask again. Not rushed. Just slow. Deliberate. He held it between two fingers, letting it dangle. Like bait. “You looked at me like you were ready to climb me,” he said, voice low and fond, “when I tried this on last week.”
Your throat went dry.
“I saw you,” he added, cocking his head. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you biting your lip and pretending you weren’t two seconds from combusting.”
You opened your mouth to retort but nothing came out. Nothing except a weak little breath that gave you away entirely. And Yunho knew he had you. He dropped the mask on the counter between you, stepping close again, close enough to cage you in without touching you. “You want me to wear it again?” he asked, tone feather light but eyes locked on yours. “Right now?”
You didn’t answer him. Not with words. Not right away. Instead, you pushed past him, brushing against his chest deliberately, a quiet defiance in the way your shoulder bumped his. Your footsteps padded across the apartment floor, calm, unhurried, but with purpose, like you hadn’t just been wrecked by the question he asked. Like your heart wasn’t jackhammering in your chest.
Yunho turned, watching you go, and just before you reached the hallway, you glanced over your shoulder and said it. “Just the mask.” Then you disappeared down the hall.
For a second, everything was still. Silent. Then Yunho huffed a low laugh, shaking his head as he reached for the mask. “Fuck, I love her.” He said it like a confession. Like a promise. Like a man already halfway undone. The mask was back in his grip before he followed you. His footsteps didn’t rush, but they were steady, controlled, deliberate. Each one heavier than the last, like the weight of anticipation was settling in his spine.
You didn’t wait in bed. No, you stood just inside his bedroom, back facing the door, arms crossed, hip cocked like you had every intention of making him work for it. And when you heard the floorboards creak, you turned just as he reached the threshold. Just as he pulled the mask down.
And god help you, the second those lenses shifted, tightening slightly, zeroing in on you like a target locked, you swore your knees almost buckled. Yunho didn’t speak. Not with his mouth, anyway. He didn’t have to. The slow way he stepped inside, the way the door shut behind him with a soft click, the way he tilted his head and dragged his gaze down your body through chrome tinted eyes, it said enough.
You don’t move when he steps closer. You let him close the distance one measured step at a time, until the room feels smaller, thicker, like the air itself is holding its breath. The lenses track you the whole way, narrowing just a touch as he stops a foot in front of you. Not touching. Not yet.
You lift your chin. For a split second, you think he might say something. Tease you. Ruin you with that low voice through the mask. Instead, you’re the one who breaks the silence. “Strip.” It’s calm. Even. Almost lazy. And that’s when he laughs. It’s quiet, muffled by the mask, but unmistakable. A warm, low chuckle that curls through the room and straight into your stomach. He tilts his head, slow and amused, like he’s looking at you through a very different lens now. “Oh,” he says, voice distorted just enough to make it dangerous. “So we’re not pretending anymore.”
You don’t back down. You don’t blink. His hands come up, not to touch you, but to hook into the hem of his hoodie. He doesn’t pull it off right away. He pauses, thumbs pressing into the fabric, shoulders rolling back slightly like he’s stretching on purpose. Like he’s enjoying the show on your face. “You spend all day trying not to think about it, didn’t you,” he continues lightly, teasing, “and now you wanna tell me what to do?”
The hoodie slides up along with the white tank top he has on, slowly, deliberately, baring his stomach inch by inch before he finally pulls it over his head and lets it drop to the floor. The chain settles back against his chest with a soft clink. The mask still on as he takes another step forward. “Cute,” he murmurs. “You trying to be in charge.”
You swallow, heat pooling low, but you don’t move. Don’t give him the satisfaction. “Keep going,” you say. That makes him pause. Just for a beat. And you can tell, feel, the shift. The way the teasing eases into something heavier. More intent. His shoulders square, hands sliding to the waistband of his pants as he studies you like he’s deciding how long he’ll let this last. “Careful,” he warns softly. “If you keep this up, I might forget I’m supposed to let you think you’re winning.”
He didn’t wait for another command. The mask stayed on, lenses still fixed on you like he could see straight through every layer of calm you were pretending to wear. But his hands moved to the waistband of his pants, slow and easy, like this wasn’t affecting him at all. Like the room wasn’t practically vibrating with the tension now.
He pushed them down. Gray sweats slid over those strong thighs, hips shifting slightly as he stepped out of them and there they were. His boxers. You didn’t even blink. Bright red with the Spiderman logo splashed across the thigh, webbing detail stitched along the waistband like it was made to match the mask. Which, knowing him, it probably was. You stared at them. Then lifted your eyes back to his face, or at least, the mask.
He stood there like he knew exactly what he was doing. Because he did. You arched a brow. “Really?” He tilted his head again, lenses shifting to give the impression of a smirk. “Don’t act surprised,” he said, voice smooth through the mask. “You’ve folded at least three pairs of these this week.” You had. You definitely had. But none of those moments involved him wearing the matching damn mask, looking like a full blown fantasy that walked straight out of your web slinging, shame filled imagination.
You tried to keep your expression neutral, tried not to give him the satisfaction, but it was already there, the way your breath caught, the way your fingers curled slightly at your sides. Yunho saw it. Of course he did. And he took one slow step forward. “You gonna keep making the rules,” he asked, “or are you gonna let me break them?”
You didn’t answer him. You just dropped to your knees. No hesitation, just the soft sound of your knees hitting the floor and the slow drag of your hands up his thighs. Yunho didn’t move. Not at first. He stood there, looming over you, arms relaxed at his sides, chest rising and falling slow and steady. But those lenses? They shifted. Slightly narrowed, locked on you like a predator watching prey. Responsive. Alive. Your reflection warped in them as you looked up. And god, it was too much. The way the mask stared back, unreadable, inhuman, but unmistakably him. Yunho. The man you’d been aching over all day. The man who wore your obsession like armor now, his whole body humming with restraint.
Your fingers hooked the waistband of his ridiculous boxers, tugging them down slowly, teasing yourself just as much as him. You didn’t even bother pretending you were calm anymore. Not when he stepped out of them and the lenses tilted, just barely, tracking the path of your hands as they grazed up his thighs again.
Yunho was already hard. And when you looked up, mouth inches from him, the mask stared back like it was about to command you to worship. He didn’t say a word. Didn’t need to. Your own breath betrayed you again, a shaky exhale as your hand wrapped around the base of him, thumb sliding across the tip like a promise. And above you? Those eyes. Those damn eyes. Alive, watching, hungry.
You let your tongue flick out, just once, swiping across the tip of him with slow, deliberate heat. The taste of him already on your tongue, the weight of him in your hand. You could feel how hard he was, how much he was holding back. And still, you looked up. Tilted your head, lashes batting just a little for effect as you gave him your most dangerous smile. “Do you want to fuck my mouth, Spidey?”
The room went silent. Yunho didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. The mask stared down at you, lenses flicking wider for half a second like he hadn’t expected that, like his entire brain had just blue screened. “Did you just fucking call me Spidey?” he asked, voice cracking around a stunned laugh. Rough and low and already wrecked. The shift was immediate.
He twitched in your grip, hips tilting forward slightly like his body was answering before his mouth could. You saw it, felt it, and you knew you’d hit the target dead center. “Oh my god,” he groaned, hand flying up to his mask like he needed a second to recalibrate. “You…. fuck… you’re such a menace.” But he didn’t tell you to stop. Didn’t tell you to behave.
No, he stepped closer instead, the tip of him brushing your lips now, and those masked eyes narrowed down at you with something dark, something dangerous, something that screamed, You asked for this.
“Open your mouth, baby,” he growled, hips already tense. “Let’s see how much web you can handle.”
You let out a soft, breathless laugh. Because of course he said that. God, he was such a nerd. But damn if it didn’t make your thighs clench. Still smiling, you leaned in and finally wrapped your lips around him, slow and smooth, letting the weight of him press against your tongue as you eased him into your mouth. The sound Yunho made through the mask, that sound, was pure ruin.
His hands found your head almost instantly, fingers sliding through your hair with more care than control, letting you set the pace. Letting you move the way you wanted. At first. You started slow. Long drags of your mouth down his length, your tongue curling around him, tasting, teasing. You pulled back with a wet pop just to swirl your tongue at the tip again, watching his thighs tense under your hands. He was already trembling, breathing hard through the mask.
And those eyes, god, those moving eyes were locked on you like a fucking surveillance drone, every flicker of movement tracking your mouth, your hands, the way your lips stretched around him. “Fucking hell,” Yunho groaned, low and breathless, hands tightening just slightly. “You look…. fuck, you look so good like this.”
You took him deeper. Not all at once, but enough to make his hips jerk, his breath stutter, his grip flex against your scalp as he tried not to thrust. You didn’t stop. You picked up speed, slow to steady, steady to hungry. Letting your mouth do all the work, letting him feel every inch of you around him, warm and wet and relentless. And still, he let you lead. Still, he held back. But not for long. Because the second your eyes flicked up and you moaned around him?
Those lenses narrowed. And Yunho’s control shattered as your lips brushed the base, throat tightening around him, a soft choke followed by a moan that vibrated straight through his core.
That did it.
His fingers clenched hard in your hair, one hand slipping to cradle the back of your head, the other bracing against the wall beside you. “Fuck,” he hissed, voice gritty and warped through the mask. “That’s it.” His hips thrust forward, a sharp, sudden movement that shoved him deeper into your mouth, making your eyes flutter as your hands gripped his thighs for balance. He paused for half a second, just enough to make sure you could take it, to feel you adjust, and then he started moving.
Rough. Relentless. Controlled only by the tension in his jaw and the ragged moans pouring out of him. “Shit… look at you,” he groaned, voice wrecked and low, “taking it like that…. fuck, baby… you love this, don’t you?” The mask lenses narrowed, tracking the tears welling in your eyes, the drool sliding down your chin, the flushed heat burning across your cheeks. He could see the mess he was making of you, the way your throat flexed around him, gagging just enough to make him growl.
“You’re so good for me,” he gasped. “So good.” He didn’t let up. Not until your hands were clawing at his thighs, not until your moans turned breathless, your body shuddering as he used your mouth like he’d waited his whole life for this moment. Like the mask gave him permission to finally let go. And god, was he letting go.
He was close. You felt it. Every thrust of his hips grew sharper, his breath ragged through the mask, hips jerking like he was right on the edge. But just when you thought he’d let go, when you were bracing for it, he yanked you up.
Your mouth slipped off him with a gasp, eyes wide, lips swollen and wet as he hauled you to your feet like you weighed nothing. His chest rose and fell in hard, unsteady waves, the lenses on the mask narrowed tight in on you. Then, slowly, he reached up and pushed the mask back just enough to free his mouth.
Only his mouth. The rest stayed on. “Take those fucking clothes off,” he growled, voice raw and low and furious with need.
You barely moved before he was already helping you, yanking your tank up, hands skimming over bare skin, tugging at your shorts and underwear with such urgency it made your breath hitch. You stumbled back onto the bed naked, flushed and still catching up when Yunho dropped to his knees again.
He didn’t wait. He didn’t tease. He spread your thighs with one strong hand, the other bracing beside your hip as he lowered his mouth to you, and the moment his tongue made contact, your whole body jolted like he’d hit a live wire. The mask still on. Those eyes locked.
Even as he licked a slow stripe up your center, even as he groaned into you because it had had been days, the lenses didn’t look away. They watched you. Every shiver. Every twitch. Every breathless moan that spilled out when he finally thrust his tongue deep inside you.
Your hands flew to his hair by instinct, but instead of gripping soft strands, your fingers scrambled for purchase on the smooth edges of his mask. One palm cradled his temple, the other curling at the side of his head, clutching like you could anchor yourself there.
And he loved it. You could feel it in the way he groaned into you again, deeper this time, tongue fucking into you with a rhythm that made your legs shake, your hips roll, your head fall back onto the mattress. “Yunho…”
He stopped. Pulled back. The sudden loss of his mouth made your whole body jerk, a broken sound catching in your throat. You barely had time to look down before he lifted his head, lips shiny with your arousal, the bottom edge of his mask now resting just above that smug, ruined mouth.
And those eyes, still narrowed. Still locked on you as you blinked down at him, chest heaving. “Yunho?”
“No.”
His voice was low. Firm. He didn’t raise it, didn’t need to. But that one word made your breath catch. He crawled up, slow and fluid, all muscle and tension as he kissed his way up your body, over your thighs, your stomach, the center of your chest, until his face hovered just above yours, his weight settling between your legs.
“I don’t want to hear my name right now,” he whispered against your jaw, breath hot. “Say it.”
You swallowed hard, eyes wide, lips parting on instinct. “Spidey.”
God, you barely got it out before he groaned, deep and low, and slammed his tongue back between your legs like he was starved. He licked you open like he couldn’t help himself, devouring you, dragging wet, messy sounds out of you that echoed off the walls. You were already shaking when he pulled back again, just enough to grab you by the hips and drag you up the bed. Then he kissed up your body, to your throat. The mask pressed against your skin with every pass.
And finally, his forehead rested against yours. One hand planted beside your head. The other? Thrust. Two fingers buried deep inside you in one smooth, curling motion that made your back arch off the mattress. You gasped, sharp, ragged, and his mouth brushed yours like a threat.
“You like being fucked by Spidey that much, baby?” he whispered, thrusting his fingers again, slower this time.
Your mouth opened, but nothing came out. Because just as you tried to speak, to answer, to beg, Yunho pushed a third finger into you and your whole body jerked. “Ah… fuck!”
The stretch made your thighs tremble, your head fall back, a choked sob tearing from your throat as his fingers filled you completely now, thick and deep and relentless. He didn’t let up. Not even a little. He drove them into you, curling up, hitting that spot over and over until you were practically convulsing, fingers scrabbling at the sheets like you could dig your way out from under the pleasure.
“Look at you,” he murmured, voice low and wrecked, that damn mask still pressed to your forehead as he watched every twitch of your face. “Can’t even answer me now.”
The wet slosh of your slick echoed with every thrust of his hand, obscene, raw, like your body didn’t know how to contain it anymore. You were soaking him. His palm. The sheets beneath you. It was everywhere.
And still, he kept going. Kept pumping into you, faster, harder, the squelch of it rising with every stroke until you were right there, hips bucking, mouth open in a silent scream, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes….
He pulled out. Just like that. Your whole body snapped, the loss hitting you like a slap. “No!” The cry ripped from you before you could stop it, voice high and broken, legs still shaking as your walls clenched around nothing now, empty and throbbing.
Yunho’s hand hovered above you, fingers slick and glistening with your arousal. He brought them to his mouth slowly, deliberately, and licked them clean one by one, never looking away. Those eyes on the mask narrowed. Still watching. Still smiling. “You know I love you like this,” he murmured, dragging the fingers from his mouth. “Right on the edge. Ruined. So needy you can’t even think.”
You barely had time to catch your breath. To snap at him. Your legs were still trembling, your core aching and clenching around nothing, slick dripping down your thighs, when you felt it. The heavy, warm press of him, his dick right against your clit.
Not inside. Just there. Dragging slow and firm, the tip gliding through your folds, up and down, parting you with maddening precision. Your body jolted, hips lifting instinctively to chase more, but he didn’t give it to you.
He just watched. Those mechanical eyes on the mask narrowed slightly, tracking every twitch of your face, every whimper you let out, every helpless roll of your hips against him. “God,” he breathed, voice strained through clenched teeth and a ruined smirk, “you’re so wet for me.”
He rutted against you again, the underside of him sliding over your clit, smearing your arousal across both of you, pressure building again like your body couldn’t catch a break. “You were gonna come,” he murmured. “You were right there… weren’t you, baby?”
He nudged your clit with the head of his dick again, just a little harder this time. You cried out, legs falling open wider, hands scrambling for anything to hold onto, him, the sheets, the damn mask, but you were already gone. Your hips bucked, chasing friction, needing him to sink into you….
But he didn’t. He just kept grinding. Up and down. Over and over. Hot and slick and so close.
You sobbed his name, half choked, already overwhelmed, and that made him still. He pressed flush to your entrance, just barely nudging against it, but didn’t push in. And then, in the most unholy, sin drenched voice you’ve ever heard, “Try that again.”
You tried. God, you tried to hold onto some sliver of control, to stay in it, to meet him with the same teasing fire, but your body betrayed you long before your mouth did. Your hips wouldn’t stop moving, chasing the drag of him over your clit, slick and throbbing and right there, but never enough.
He knew it. Those masked eyes? Watching every second of your unraveling. Each little twitch of your thighs, every tremble in your stomach, the tear sliding helplessly down your cheek. And still, he didn’t give in. He just kept grinding, slow and hard, dragging the head of his dick right over your clit until your legs kicked and your mouth opened in a sob….
“Please.”
Yunho stilled. You were panting now, flushed and ruined, lips parted in surrender. Your voice broke on the next word. Soft. Shaking. Desperate. “Please, Spidey… fuck me.”
For a moment, all you could hear was his breath, ragged through the half lifted mask, chest rising and falling fast. “Oh, fuck me,” he groaned, dropping his head. “Say it again.”
You grabbed his shoulders, back arching beneath him, mind fogged and gone. “Spidey,” you gasped, “please… please, just fuck me, I need you inside me.”
That was it. He snapped. No more teasing. No more edging. With one brutal thrust, he buried himself inside you, the stretch perfect, thick and deep and so much all at once. Your cry echoed off the walls, hands flying to his back, clutching at sweat slicked skin and that chain as he pressed you down into the mattress, you gripped it.
His hips rolled into yours, slow and deep at first, like he wanted you to feel every single inch of what you’d begged for. And above you? That mask. Those eyes. Still locked on yours. Still watching. Still completely in control. “That’s it,” he growled, voice like gravel and sin, “you wanted Spidey?” He thrust harder, your moan cut off by the impact. “You got him.”
He moved slow and deep at first. Dragging his hips back, then forward, each thrust deeper and unhurried, intentional, like he wanted to make you feel every pulse of him inside you. The mask didn’t flinch. Those eyes watched everything, your parted lips, the flush spreading down your chest, the dazed way you moaned his name before you caught yourself.
And god, the way he looked above you, your hand gripping the chain against his skin, abs flexing, and that mask still locked on like you were the center of his universe. You should’ve let it stay like that. But you didn’t. You moved your hands to grip his shoulders, jaw clenched, chest heaving as you tilted your head and smirked.
“I thought Spidey was gonna fuck me.”
Silence. Then, a low, wrecked laugh against your cheek, one that vibrated right through your bones. “Oh. You wanna talk shit now?” You barely had time to gasp before his hands slammed into the mattress beside your head, and pounded into you. Hard. Fast. Unrelenting.
“Is this what you wanted?” he growled, his voice cracking, hips snapping into yours with enough force to rattle the bed. “This what you were begging for?” You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Could barely think with how fast he was fucking you now, body jolting with every brutal thrust. The mask on, those sharp eyes never leaving you. You saw your own wrecked reflection in them, flushed and open, mouth slack as he wrecked you.
“You like being stuffed full like this?” he grunted, pace never faltering. “You like getting fucked by your friendly neighborhood….”
“Fuck!” You screamed, head thrown back, hands clawing at his back now, eyes rolling because Jesus Christ he was everywhere, inside you, above you, around you.
“Yeah,” he groaned, slamming into you even harder. “That’s what I thought.” Yunho’s thrusts were sharp, brutal, and unrelenting, but then he slowed just enough to adjust his grip, wrapping one strong arm around your waist and sitting up, bringing you with him in one fluid motion. You gasped as your body shifted, thighs straddling his lap, chest pressed flush to his as he stayed buried deep inside you.
Those moving lenses tracked every breath you took as your hands slid up his neck, trembling fingers framing his jaw. Your forehead dropped against his, the coolness of the mask kissing your skin where his heat radiated through it. You kissed him. Right where the mask ended. Right on his mouth. Soft and full of ache, like you needed him closer, deeper, everywhere.
He groaned into your kiss, hand fisting at your hip, and then he started thrusting up into you again. Hard. Deep. The new angle hit different, perfect, his dick dragging against your walls just right with every stroke, the sounds between your bodies wet and filthy and so loud in the otherwise silent room.
Your arms wrapped around his neck, clinging, grounding, as he fucked up into you over and over again. “I’m close,” you gasped against his lips, voice cracking.
“I know,” he gritted, forehead pressed tight to yours, his voice wrecked and low. “Me too. You feel so…. fuck, baby…” His hands were everywhere, gripping your waist, sliding down your ass, holding you in place while he snapped his hips up, chasing both your highs with wild precision. You felt his breath stuttering against your mouth, his body tensing under yours.
The mask never came off. The eyes never stopped watching. And neither of you wanted to stop as every thrust drove you higher, each one rougher, deeper, messier than the last. Yunho’s grip was bruising on your waist, his mouth panting against yours, breath hot and ragged as your hips rolled together in chaotic sync.
You were so close. Too close. “Yunho…” you gasped, broken and breathless, but this time? He didn’t stop you. Didn’t scold you. Didn’t even try to pull the name from your mouth. Because he was gone, too.
The mask pressed to your forehead. His hands dug into your hips. His dick slammed into you so deep you could feel it in your stomach. The sound of skin on skin, the wet slap of your bodies meeting, the absolute filth of it, was unbearable.
Your body snapped. You came hard, head falling back as your scream tore through the room, loud, raw, desperate. “Yunho!” Your thighs shook violently, cunt clenching tight around him, and then, your orgasm slammed into you so hard, so full body, you barely registered the gush of wet heat flooding his lap as you squirted, drenching both of you in wave after wave of release.
“Oh fuck…” Yunho groaned, deep and choked, hips jerking helplessly as your walls pulsed around him. “Fuck, baby…”
He wasn’t far behind. The second he felt you fall apart like that, so wet, so tight, so wrecked, he was gone. With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself inside you, dick twitching as he came hard, ropes of heat spilling deep into you. He held you there, arms tight around your back, face buried in your neck, breath ragged and broken as he emptied into you completely.
Both of you trembling. Both of you soaking. Still clinging like the world might fall apart if you let go. And above it all? That mask. Still on. Still watching. But right now, Yunho was just a man. A man who loved you falling apart for him.
You both collapsed. Your body went limp against his, still trembling, overstimulated and soaked, your face buried in his neck as you tried to remember how breathing worked. Yunho cradled you in his lap, arms wrapped tight around your waist, chest heaving as he finally leaned back against the headboard, completely spent, still inside you, both of you sticky, messy, and totally undone.
For a second, it was silent. Then, with a long exhale, Yunho reached up and finally peeled the mask off. He looked wrecked. Hair plastered to his forehead, face flushed, lips swollen from your kisses, pupils still blown wide. He dropped the mask onto the mattress beside you like it had weight, like it had power, and then let his head thud back against the wall behind him.
You were breathless, straddling his lap, your arms slack around his shoulders, eyes barely open. He tilted his head lazily toward you, lips brushing your temple. “You good?”
You nodded, still too far gone to form words, and he just smiled, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.
Knock knock knock.
You both froze.
Yunho blinked. “No fucking way.”
From the other side of the door, Yeosang’s voice rang out, clear, calm, smug. “I ordered some pizza from that place down the street that’s open 24 hours.”
Another beat of silence. You buried your face in Yunho’s neck again, horrified.
“It’s hot,” Yeosang continued casually. “If you want some.”
Then, with a pause perfectly timed for maximum damage, “Spidey.”
Yunho groaned into your shoulder like he was about to die. You didn’t even have the energy to scream. You just whispered, mortified, “I’m never showing my face again.”
Yunho, still breathless, barely managed a laugh.
“I’m never gonna hear the end of it.”
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