summary: in which your boyfriend was too tired to hide your sex tape on his laptop
warning: oral, fingering, squirting, voyeurism
genre: smut
pairing: idol yunho x afab reader x ateez watches
word count: 3.1k
masterlist
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Tokyo was still glowing outside the hotel windows when Yunho shoved his laptop into Yeosang’s hands like a man already running late. “Hurry up,” Hongjoong called from the hallway, half dressed, hat low over his eyes while managers tried to herd everyone downstairs before traffic got worse. “If we miss check in again I’m leaving somebody in Japan.”
“Probably Wooyoung,” Jongho muttered.
“Rude.”
Yunho barely reacted, already pulling his jacket on while talking to staff. He looked exhausted. The last week in Japan had been nonstop schedules, performances, interviews, dance rehearsals. His hair was still slightly damp from a rushed shower, and there were faint shadows under his eyes as Yeosang adjusted the laptop under his arm. “You sure all the choreo files are here?”
“Everything’s labeled,” Yunho answered distractedly. “New demos, practice formations, performance references. Just connect it to the studio monitor.” Then his phone buzzed and the second he looked at it, his entire face softened and Wooyoung saw it immediately and groaned dramatically. “Ugh. He got a text from her.”
Mingi snorted from where he was dragging his suitcase. “Look at him smiling.”
“I’m not smiling.”
“You literally are.”
Yunho rolled his eyes, but his thumb was already typing back. You’d gone home three days ago to visit your family while he stayed in Japan for solo schedules, and ever since then he’d been annoyingly attached to his phone.
Hongjoong pointed toward the elevator. “Lovebirds later. Move.”
Yunho looked back once toward Yeosang. “Just don’t touch anything else on there.” That should’ve sounded more suspicious than it did. But nobody thought twice about it. Because Yunho’s laptop always looked the same. Dance folders. Music drafts. Performance videos. Gaming lives downloaded. Thousands of clips from practices he obsessively recorded and reviewed. Nothing unusual.
At least… not that anyone knew.
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The practice room speakers blasted the new track loud enough to rattle the mirrors while everyone ran through choreography for what felt like the hundredth time. Hongjoong cut the music with an aggravated sigh. “Again. San, half a second earlier on the turn.”
“I was earlier!”
“You were spiritually earlier.”
Wooyoung collapsed dramatically onto the floor. “I’m going to die in this room.”
“You say that every comeback,” Yeosang replied calmly. Sweat clung to everyone after hours of rehearsing. Empty water bottles littered the corners. Mingi was sitting against the mirror catching his breath while Jongho stretched nearby. Yunho still wasn’t back from Japan. Which meant the center formations felt weirdly empty without him there towering over everybody.
Hongjoong rubbed his face tiredly. “Let’s check the reference recordings again. Yeosang, did you bring Yunho’s laptop?”
“Yeah.” Yeosang walked over to his bag near the wall and pulled it out. “He said everything’s organized.”
Wooyoung snorted. “That man has folders inside folders inside folders.”
“He scares me technologically,” San agreed as Yeosang connected the laptop to the big studio monitor while the others gathered around, still breathing hard from practice. The desktop appeared onscreen with folders everywhere over a background wallpaper of Yunho and you.
“See?” Wooyoung pointed. “Psychopath behavior.”
“Open the comeback demos,” Hongjoong said and Yeosang clicked through folders while everyone loosely argued over choreography changes behind him.
Dance_FINAL.
Dance_FINAL2.
Dance_ACTUALFINAL.
“Jesus Christ,” Mingi muttered.
“I told you,” Wooyoung said as Yeosang finally found the right folder and opened it, dozens of video files appearing across the screen and Hongjoong nodded toward one near the bottom. “That one.” Yeosang clicked without looking closely.
For one completely normal second, the screen stayed black before audio filled the room. A soft laugh. Your laugh. Nobody reacted at first because their brains genuinely needed a second to catch up as the video quality was dim and warm, obviously filmed late at night. Yunho was behind the camera, face briefly visible in the mirror across the room as he adjusted the angle. His hair was messy, lips caught between his teeth in that distracted little habit he had when he was focused.
Then the camera tilted lower. Toward the bed. Toward you and the entire practice room froze. You were kneeling on the mattress wearing nothing except one of Yunho’s oversized flannel shirts, the fabric hanging off one shoulder while you laughed softly at something he’d said behind the camera.
“Oh my god,” San whispered immediately as Yeosang’s hand spasmed on the trackpad and Wooyoung slapped both hands over his mouth so hard it echoed. Mingi made a strangled noise somewhere between a cough and a scream as Hongjoong stared at the screen like it had personally betrayed him.
“Nope,” Jongho said instantly, already turning away. “Nope. Turn it off.” But nobody moved. Because now Yunho’s voice filled the speakers, low and affectionate in a way none of them had ever heard before.
“Baby, look at me.”
The way he said it was the problem. Not cocky. Not joking. Completely gone for you. Onscreen, you glanced toward the camera with a shy smile while Yunho laughed softly behind it, clearly obsessed with filming every reaction you made.
Seonghwa lost it first. “No wonder he’s always tired.”
“TURN IT OFF,” Hongjoong barked, finally regaining consciousness. Yeosang, panicking now, fumbled the mouse completely wrong and somehow fullscreened the video instead and the room erupted.
“YEOSANG!”
“I’M TRYING!”
Mingi was bent over laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe while San had physically thrown himself against the mirror in dramatic distress. And right before Yeosang finally managed to pause it, Yunho’s voice came through the speakers one last time. Soft. Amused and completely whipped.
“You’re so pretty like this.”
The practice room went so quiet the speakers sounded too loud. Nobody should’ve still been watching. That was the insane part. Every single one of them knew they should’ve shut the laptop the second they realized what the video was, but now it felt like witnessing a car crash in slow motion. Horrifying. Intimate. Impossible to look away from.
Onscreen, you slid off the bed slowly, Yunho’s flannel swallowing you whole as your bare legs disappeared out of frame for a second. The camera shifted slightly when Yunho adjusted his grip on it, like even he had gotten distracted watching you move toward him. Then you literally crawled across the floor toward him and seven grown men stopped functioning simultaneously.
“Jesus Christ,” San muttered, hand over his face.
Jongho looked actively pained. “We should turn it off.”
“Yeah…” Mingi answered immediately, voice suddenly deeper somehow. “Totally.”
Nobody moved. Not one of them. Wooyoung was clutching Yeosang’s shoulder so hard Yeosang physically winced, but even he couldn’t stop staring at the screen in complete disbelief at his roommate. Because Yunho looked insane. Not lustful. Not playful. Gone. Completely gone for you.
The camera dipped slightly as you settled on your knees in front of him, and for a brief second Yunho glanced toward the lens like he remembered he was filming. That little glance alone nearly killed the room because his expression was so openly wrecked over you it felt invasive to witness. Then his eyes dropped back down to you and his entire face softened again.
Hongjoong made a noise like he was spiritually leaving his body. “I know too much about this man now.”
Onscreen, Yunho’s hand appeared briefly, brushing your hair back gently before disappearing again.
“Mine,” his voice murmured through the speakers.
Wooyoung folded in half onto the floor. “HE’S WHIPPED,” he shouted.
“He’s been whipped,” Seonghwa scoffed as Mingi was still staring at the screen with narrowed eyes like he was re evaluating everything he knew about Yunho as a human being and his best friend.
The room stayed frozen. Not one of them saying a word now. The joking had died somewhere in the last thirty seconds, replaced with the horrible realization that they were watching something way too intimate to ever erase from memory again. Onscreen, Yunho lowered the camera carefully onto his bedside table, adjusting it with practiced ease until the frame captured the entire room. The edge of the bed. The floor. You between his legs in that oversized flannel looking devastatingly soft against the darker lighting.
Then Yunho leaned back slightly while you hooked your fingers into the waistband of his sweats and Wooyoung inhaled so sharply it sounded painful. Nobody looked away. They couldn’t as the fabric dragged slowly down his thighs, and the collective silence in the practice room somehow got even heavier. Yunho was already visibly hard, muscles tense beneath the dim bedroom lighting while he watched you with that same wrecked expression that had everyone spiraling minutes ago.
San rubbed both hands down his face. “We are never recovering from this.”
“Not a single recovery,” Mingi muttered.
The worst part was how quiet the video itself was. No music. Just soft movement, breathing, occasional little laughs from you, and Yunho’s low voice every now and then like he physically couldn’t stop talking to you. Hongjoong finally tore his eyes away long enough to glare at Yeosang. “Why are you still holding the laptop like you’re presenting this to the class?”
“I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO,” Yeosang whisper yelled back as Jongho stood with his arms crossed so tightly he looked like he was trying to hold onto the last threads of his sanity. “We seriously need to turn it off,” he said again. Nobody disagreed but still nobody moved.
Because onscreen Yunho reached forward suddenly, one hand brushing along your jaw before tilting your face up toward him, his thumb lingering there for a second like he couldn’t stop touching you even while filming then he moved his hand down, wrapping firmly around the base of his dick. He gave it a slow stroke as you knelt there, mouth parting wider at the sight, tongue extending flat and eager.
Yunho tapped his tip against your tongue once, twice, the wet sound barely audible over the quiet breaths in the room. He dragged it across your lower lip, smearing a bead of precum before pulling back just enough to repeat the motion. The group stayed locked on the screen, Hongjoong's jaw tight, Mingi's fingers digging into his own thighs, Wooyoung still folded forward but peeking through his fingers now.
"Fuck," San muttered under his breath, the word barely formed as they watched you open wider, and Yunho finally let you have it. Your lips closed around the tip first, tongue swirling slow and deliberate as you took the first few inches into your mouth. The pace stayed unhurried, your head bobbing in measured movements that let every vein and ridge drag against your tongue and Yunho's free hand rested on the back of your head, not pushing yet, just resting there while his low voice filled the speakers. “That's it, baby. Nice and slow for me."
The video captured every detail, the way your cheeks hollowed slightly on each pull back, the soft glisten of spit building at the corners of your mouth, the way your eyes flicked up to meet his. Yunho's breathing grew heavier, his hips shifting forward in tiny thrusts as you worked him deeper inch by inch and Yeosang shifted in his seat, the movement loud in the silence. Nobody joked anymore. All eyes stayed glued to the footage.
Your pace built gradually. You took more of him on each descent, throat relaxing as the head nudged farther back. Yunho's fingers threaded into your hair, and then he started guiding. A gentle press at first, then firmer, pushing your head down until your nose brushed the base of his dick. He held you there for a beat before easing off, letting you catch air, only to repeat it on the next stroke. “Look at you taking it so deep already. That mouth was made for this, wasn't it?"
The group watched in stunned silence as the rhythm changed. Yunho's grip tightened. He began thrusting into your mouth in controlled rolls of his hips, using the hold on your head to set the depth. Each push sent the head sliding past your tongue and into your throat, the wet sounds growing louder as you gagged softly around him once, twice, but kept going, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes on screen. “Go on baby…. Fuck yourself," Yunho ordered through the speakers, voice rough.
Your hand moved immediately. Two fingers slipped between your thighs, parting your folds before sinking inside your pussy in one smooth motion and you moaned around him at the stretch, the sound vibrating through him visibly as his abs tensed on screen and your fingers pumped in time with his thrusts, slow at first, then matching the pace as he fucked your mouth harder.
San leaned forward, eyes wide. "Holy shit."
Yunho's praise poured out steadily. "Good girl, just like that. Taking every inch so well. This video's gonna be mine to watch later….. gonna fuck my fist to the way you choke on me." His dick twitched in your mouth on screen, the head swelling as he used your throat with deeper, shorter thrusts making your gagging grow wetter, sobs hitching around him while your fingers worked faster inside yourself.
The room stayed frozen except for the subtle shifts of the guys adjusting themselves, arousal clear in the way they couldn't look away. On screen, your body trembled. Your fingers curled inside your pussy, hitting the right spot until your thighs shook and you came hard, squirting around your own hand, the fluid glistening on your skin and the carpet as your moan broke into a choked cry around Yunho's dick.
Yunho didn't stop. He held your head steady with both hands now, thrusting deep and steady through your orgasm. His dick pulsed, and then he buried himself to the hilt, coming down your throat in thick pulses as you swallowed every drop, throat working visibly around him until he eased back, letting you breathe. A thin string of spit and cum connected your lips to his dick as the video faded on the final soft praise from his voice.
The practice room stayed silent for a long moment after, every member hard and flushed, the weight of what they'd just witnessed settling heavy.
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The second Yunho walked back into the practice room after returning from Japan, every single member started acting like they were being hunted for sport. It had been two full days since the incident. Two days of pretending it never happened. Two days of Wooyoung randomly bursting into hysterical laughter during meals.
Two days of Hongjoong threatening violence anytime someone even mentioned laptops.
And now Yunho was finally back in Seoul completely unaware that seven people had accidentally watched the most intimate video of his life. Which somehow made it worse. Especially because he was acting normal. That was the terrifying part. Just… regular Yunho. Stretching before practice. Drinking iced coffee. Running choreography like nothing catastrophic had happened because he had no idea.
“Why are you all acting like I died?” Yunho finally asked after San nearly walked into the mirror avoiding eye contact.
“No reason,” Hongjoong answered instantly. Suspiciously fast and Yunho narrowed his eyes as the practice room door opened and immediately his entire expression changed as you walked in carrying bags of food and coffees balanced in your arms, smiling brightly. “I come bearing peace offerings because apparently none of you eat unless someone mothers you.”
Wooyoung made a sound like a dying victorian man as Mingi physically turned around and Jongho coughed into his hand so violently Seonghwa had to smack his back.
You blinked, furrowing your brows. “What’s wrong with everybody?”
“Nothing!” seven voices answered at completely different pitches and Yunho looked even more confused now, already walking toward you to help with the food. The second he reached you, one hand settled automatically at your waist while he took the bags from your arms. “Thanks, baby,” Yunho said casually, pressing a quick kiss to your temple and Hongjoong closed his eyes briefly like a man enduring psychological warfare.
You watched the members awkwardly scatter around the room avoiding you entirely and frowned. “Okay seriously, they’re acting weird.” Yunho shrugged, completely oblivious while unpacking containers onto the table. “They’ve been weird all day.”
Across the room, San accidentally made eye contact with you for half a second and immediately looked away then choked on air making you stare harder now. “Did something happen while you were gone?”
Seven men collectively looked like they were about to enter cardiac arrest as Yunho glanced up slowly. “Why does it suddenly feel like I should be concerned?”
Mingi finally cracked first. Probably because Yunho kept staring around the room like he was five seconds away from starting an interrogation. He cleared his throat, arms folded tightly across his chest. “So… hypothetically…”
Hongjoong pointed immediately. “Don’t.”
“No, because we can’t keep acting like this,” Mingi shot back.
“We absolutely can,” Jongho argued.
“We really can’t,” Wooyoung wheezed from the floor as you looked between all of them in growing confusion while Yunho narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “What happened?”
Mingi sighed like a man accepting death. “We might’ve…” He paused. “Watched something on your laptop.”
You blinked once.
Yunho blinked twice. “What?”
“You know,” Mingi continued vaguely, refusing to elaborate while Wooyoung was already shaking, trying not to laugh. “Something that maybe wasn’t choreography.”
Still confused, you looked toward Yunho. “What does that even mean?”
Then Yunho froze. Actually froze. Like someone had unplugged him from reality and the color drained from his face so fast it was almost impressive. “Oh no,” he whispered and Wooyoung immediately lost it. “A LITTLE 18+ DOCUMENTARY,” he shouted, pointing accusingly at Yunho while collapsing against the mirror.
Your entire body went still as Yunho slowly turned toward Yeosang first. “What did you open.” Though he already knew the answer. Yeosang looked seconds away from tears. “IT WASN’T LABELED!”
“It was in the choreography folder!” Hongjoong exploded.
“I WAS TIRED!”
You stared between all of them, realization dawning in horrifying slow motion as your jaw dropped. “Oh my god.”
Yunho slapped both hands over his face instantly as Mingi looked at the ceiling. Wooyoung was physically on the floor now laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe and Jongho looked ready to move countries as Seonghwa pointed at you and Yunho like a courtroom witness. “For the record, none of us wanted to see it.”
“That is such a lie,” Wooyoung yelled from the floor.
“No because why did nobody turn it off?” you demanded, face burning now.
“WE TRIED!” Yeosang defended himself.
“You fullscreened it!” Hongjoong shouted back.
Yunho still hadn’t uncovered his face. “You watched the whole thing?” he asked slowly through his hands and Mingi suddenly found the wall fascinating. San coughed and Hongjoong looked away as Seonghwa, Jongho, Yeosang and Wooyoung just stared in silence.
Lacey’s note // hope this is close to what anon requested above! This is a little oneshot to tide yall over for tomoz night when I drop SECRETS THROUGH PASSAGEWAYS — you can read here and get tagged if you want just ask! Anyway pls enjoy and have a good Friday tomoz! Xx
The award was sitting on the hotel desk, catching the lamplight.
Neither of you were looking at it.
Jake had you spread out across the king bed, your black lace slip dress rucked up around your waist, and he was between your thighs with his suit jacket long discarded, his white dress shirt untucked and half unbuttoned.
This had started three months ago. A late night in a practice room, stress and proximity and some quiet mutual agreement that had never quite been spoken aloud. Stress relief, you’d both said. Convenient. Just between us.
What neither of you had said was I think about you constantly. You were both very carefully not saying that.
What Jake was currently saying, murmured against your inner thigh, was: “Perfect. You’re so perfect. Look at you.”
“You say that every time.”
“Because it’s true every time.” He looked up at you from between your thighs with those warm, devastating eyes. “She’s begging for me, baby. You see that? Look how wet your pretty cunt is. Look how much she wants it.”
The filth of it in that gentle, earnest voice wrecked you every single time.
“Jake.”
“Mm.” He turned back to you like a man entirely at peace with where he was. His tongue moved slow and thorough along your folds and he made a quiet, involuntary sound against you — like you tasted godly and he simply couldn’t help it.
He’d made you come once already tonight.
The first had been fast — his fingers while you were still in your dress, your back against the hotel room door barely thirty seconds after it closed. Sharp and urgent, his low warm voice talking you through every second of it while you shook against him.
Now he was building the second, and he was taking his time.
But he was also — you noticed — grinding slow against the edge of the mattress. His hips rolling in a restless, barely-conscious rhythm, his cock pressed to the firm edge of the bed, seeking friction while his entire focus stayed trained on you. Like he was so consumed by your pussy that his body had taken matters into its own hands.
It was the most flattering thing you’d ever witnessed.
“Jake.” You tugged his hair. “Are you — are you humping the bed?”
He didn’t have the decency to look embarrassed. He looked up at you with dark eyes and said simply, “You’re dripping on my tongue, baby. What do you want from me.”
You opened your mouth. Closed it.
He went back to work.
His tongue worked your clit in slow, deliberate circles, two fingers pushing into your hole and curling deep, and you forgot entirely what you’d been about to say. Your thighs tightened around his head and he groaned against your cunt, that helpless muffled sound, his hips still rolling lazily against the mattress edge.
“Close,” you gasped. “Jake — close—”
“Yeah,” he breathed against your folds. “Yeah, give it to me.” His fingers curled harder. His lips sealed around your clit and sucked and something shifted — something built sharper and higher than before and you barely had time to register it before it crashed through you different than the first, your body seizing, a rush of warmth, your thighs clamping around his face and Jake made a sound that could only be described as grateful as he drank down everything you gave him, his mouth working through every wave, his fingers slowing but not leaving your hole.
When you came back to yourself the sheets beneath you were soaked and Jake was pressing reverent, dazed kisses to your inner thighs, his chin slick, his eyes completely blown.
“Was that—” you started.
“Yeah.” His voice was rough. He looked like he’d just had a spiritual experience. “Yeah, that was.” He pressed another kiss to your thigh. Then he looked up at you with that warm, slightly demolished expression. “You’re trying to kill me.”
“You’re the one who—”
“I know.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “I know. I don’t care. Come here.”
He kissed you slow and deep and you tasted yourself on his lips and felt nothing even adjacent to embarrassment about it. His hips settled between yours and you felt him hard and wanting then he shifted back.
“Not yet,” he murmured, more to himself than you.
He wrapped a hand around himself and you watched — propped on your elbows as he stroked himself slow, his jaw tight, eyes on your pussy like he couldn’t look anywhere else. Your cunt still clenching around nothing, still dripping onto the sheets.
“Jake—”
“Just the tip,” he said quietly. “Want to feel you. Just for a second.”
He pushed just the head of his cock into your hole — barely, just enough — and groaned so low it was almost silent. Then he stroked himself the rest of the way, his fist working fast now, his thumb pressed just inside your entrance feeling his own pulse, and when he came he pushed slightly deeper so it spilled inside you his whole body shuddering, forehead dropping to your knee.
“God.” His breathing was wrecked. “God, look at that.”
He was looking at your cunt. His cum just barely tucked inside your hole.
“Push it out,” he said softly.
“Jake—”
“Baby.” He looked up at you. Warm eyes. Completely serious. “Push it out for me.”
You did. And before it could go anywhere his mouth was there — he devoured it, messy and thorough and making sounds against your pussy that made your fingers twist in his hair, licking your folds clean and then pressing back inside your hole with his tongue like he was looking for more, like he wanted every last trace of it.
“Jake,” you gasped. “Jake—”
He surfaced looking entirely too satisfied. He kissed your inner thigh. Then he looked up at you from between your legs and said with complete sincerity: “She’s still begging for me.”
You stared at the ceiling.
“You’re insane,” you told him.
“You taste insane,” he said agreeably, and then he was building the third.
This one he took apart slowly. Methodically. His tongue on your clit while two fingers worked your hole open, then three, his free hand pressed flat on your lower stomach. He murmured against your folds — good girl and she’s so pretty when she’s dripping — the praise was doing as much as his mouth was.
Your wetness was everywhere. He was obsessed with it. Every time you clenched around his fingers he made a whimpering sound against your cunt like you were the one doing something to him and maybe that was the most devastating part of all of this — Jake, golden and warm and effortlessly charming, completely undone and whimpering against your pussy like a man with no dignity and zero desire to recover it.
“Close again,” you managed. “Jake, I’m—”
“Stay with me.” His fingers curled. “Stay right there, baby, come on.”
“I can’t—”
“You can.” He sealed his mouth over your clit and the fingers inside your hole pressed up and your back left the bed completely.
It hit you like a wave breaking — your whole body seizing, your cunt clenching hard around his fingers, and then the rush — more than before, even more than before — and Jake made a sound against your folds that was nothing short of reverent as he pressed his mouth fully against you and drank. Like a man dying of thirst. Like you were something he’d been waiting for. His tongue worked through every pulse, catching your wetness, fingers still buried in your clenching hole, not stopping until you were pulling his hair and shaking and calling his name in pieces.
He pressed one last, slow kiss to your cunt.
Then he was moving up your body, and his eyes were dark and warm and completely wrecked, and he kissed you so deep you felt it in your spine.
“Hi,” he said quietly.
“Hi,” you managed.
He smiled. Then his hips settled between yours and he pushed inside you fully — that long, slow, aching slide — and both of you went still.
He always did this. Held there for a moment, jaw tight, eyes closed, like you undid him just from this.
“Every time,” he breathed. “Every single time you feel like—” He stopped. Pressed his lips to your temple. Started to move.
Long and deep and steady, his face at your neck, your dress still bunched at your waist, his shirt hanging open. His hand slid between you to where your clit was swollen and oversensitive and you whimpered.
“One more,” he murmured. “You’ve got one more.”
“Jake I genuinely cannot—”
“You can. You always can.” Still warm, even now. Still him, underneath all of it. “My girl. Stay with me.”
His pace built, his control unraveling degree by degree, and his fingers on your clit were relentless and his cock was hitting somewhere deep that made your vision blur and you heard yourself making sounds you didn’t recognize.
“Think about you all the time,” he breathed against your neck. “All the time, baby. Can’t stop.”
“Jake—”
“I know.” Like you’d said something you hadn’t. Like he was answering the thing neither of you had said out loud yet. “Me too.”
The fourth one didn’t so much arrive as detonate. Your cunt clenched around him so hard he groaned and his rhythm stuttered and then he was pressing deep — as deep as he could go — and spilling inside you with your name in his mouth and his forehead against yours and his hand still cupped soft against your pussy like he was holding all of you together.
For a long time neither of you moved.
His weight settled half onto you. His fingers found yours on the sheets and laced between them without comment. His breathing slowed. The lamplight caught the award on the desk.
Then he shifted, and you knew before it happened.
“Jake—” You laughed weakly. “You really don’t have to—”
“I want to.” He kissed below your navel. Then lower. “Let me.”
His mouth found your cunt again — soft and slow, cleaning you up, his tongue pressing into your hole after what he’d left inside you, making those quiet reverent sounds against your folds like you were his favorite thing. Like you’d always been his favorite thing.
You stared at the ceiling with your fingers in his soft brown hair.
We are so far past stress relief.
He looked up at you from between your thighs. Warm eyes. Slick mouth. The most gentle, devastating expression.
i’m a newer account thats been on tumblr before but now i’m backkkkk! i do write mainly smut or have smutty thoughts lol.
anyone wanna be moots? i love ATEEZ, mannnyyy other kpop groups, anime (mainly jjk, AoT, spy family, blue lock, chainsaw man, im ready jjk modulo now), and im a hugggeeee kdrama fanatic with thrillers being my no1 choice.
any recomendaciones for songs, shows, groups- i’m all ears!
janainaart
theartofmadeline
baratheonpilled
ellievsbear
2087
