because sometimes, actions don't speak louder than words
OT8 x F!Reader
♡ — synopsis: how do the boys talk to you while they're hittin that shit crazy style
♡ — warnings: crazy dirty talk. i plead the fifth.
♡ — notes: thank you so much for 4k followers! this is a small token of gratitude, and if you've been on my blog for long enough, dirty talk is my favorite thing on earth, so heres some things i think the ateez men would say to you lovelies in bed <3
⌞They have something to say to you ...⌝
Hongjoong
Condescending, teasing, dumbifying, talks to you like you’re stupid.
"Your job is to lie there and pretend that pretty little brain of yours isn't there."
"You think you have half a mind to give me orders? What's gotten into my sweet little girl?"
"I can feel your heartbeat through your cunt, baby, you're so alive it makes me wanna fuck you to death."
"Don't give up now, pretty, show me what else you can do with that mouth other than run it.
"You're cumming? So soon? Such a sensitive pussy, you'll be a slick wreck before I even get my dick in you."
"Pretty baby loves when Daddy fucks her to sleep, hm? I kinda miss when you use that voice to scream for me."
"Stupid cunt can't stop drooling all over the place. She can't help it, baby, huh? Can she? Fix your face and answer me, slut."
"You have such a soft body; we're gonna see how much it can withstand."
"I don't think you understand how much you've fucked up letting a man like me get his hands on you."
"You're such a good listener when you're all fucked out, pretty girl. Don't worry, drift off. I'll use you until I think you've had enough."
Seonghwa
Gentle, coaxing, intense, talks to you like if he’s too harsh, you might break.
"Six. You're going to cum for me six times. I'm gonna get you there, baby, let me take care of you."
"You're so close, honey, focus. god you're so beautiful, it drives me insane."
"I love how my fingers get you excited, how they reach places you could only dream of touching."
“Is my gorgeous girl gonna cum for me? Yes, you are; don’t be shy.”
“I don’t mean to be so deep, baby, but you’ll be okay. You can take me, you always do like the angel you are.”
“Deep breaths, yes, that’s it. Feel me everywhere. Focus on feeling good; that’s all that’s ever mattered.”
“Open that pretty mouth, honey; I wanna hear those noises you make when you’re overstimulated.”
"Don't float away from me, come on. Snap out of it. Only 2 more to go."
"Please, bunny its the only thing I want, it's the only thing I need. Let me see those eyes when you cum. Don't look away."
"I just can't help it, baby, can't you go for 7? Please? Good girls always go above and beyond."
San
Encouraging, drunk, prideful, much like he’s overtly proud of how well you handle him
"That's it, talk to me, let me know what spots I'm touching."
"Mmm, fuck babydoll, your tummy's so soft, you smell so fucking good... you're perfect."
"I know it's a lot, but you got it, look at you... deep strokes. Don't let your body run from me, stay right there."
"I'm gonna get as many orgasms out of you as I can, hold back, and I'll force them out of you."
"You're so pretty- mwah!- so cute when I hit you deep baby, you look so blissed out."
"You take my dick like a champ, sweet girl. mhm, and you make me feel so good."
"Shh, suck on my fingers, like that. You have to be quieter, or the neighbors will complain about you again. I don't know what their deal is because you sound gorgeous."
"Take what you deserve, it's all for you. It's all for you... I'm so proud of you, baby."
"I love when you moan with your pussy in my mouth. Tell me more, sweetheart, let me hear what I'm doing to you."
"Right there? Hm? Yeah, I know. I know but 'm gonna fuck my shape into this pussy. I'm sorry, I know, keep cumming that's it. I'm not done yet."
Yeosang
Quiet, demanding, straightforward, much like he knows what he wants and always gets it
"Let me fuck you on your stomach, I know you'll cum the whole time if I do."
"C'mon get a grip, you're drooling all over my pillow, we just started, sweetheart."
"Keep your eyes on me. What did I say? Don't you wanna cum? I won't make you cum if you don't look at me."
"If you keep pushing back on my stomach, I'll bend you over and make you be still. Don't test me, love."
"You're not in charge here, sweetheart, lose the attitude before I fuck it out of you."
"I could do whatever I want to you, and you'd still thank me for it, wouldn't you, angel? My grateful girl, feel me give you what you need."
"You know how to do it, don't act like you don't. Smart girls like you shouldn't need reminders. Play with yourself, I'll wait."
"Why am I not moaning? Because I'm busy talking to you, angel. Don't be rude. Take this dick and talk to your boyfriend. You can multitask."
"I know I'm fucking you slow, but it's the only way you'll feel each and every part of me in that cunt. Dragging out your orgasms makes this so fun, pretty."
"If you pass out, I'll just fuck you back awake, I promise, baby. You won't miss me too much."
Yunho
degrading, objectively, mockingly, much like he knows better than you.
"You don't get to decide anything. I do what I want, and you'll like it anyway."
"Aw, fuck baby... those marks are gonna turn such pretty colors against your skin. Yeah, you'll wear them proudly for me?"
"Stupid slut, willing to humiliate yourself for me? Fuck you're addicting."
"Every time I slap you, you clench around my dick. That's kinda fucked up, baby. If I choke you, will you cum so hard you piss yourself?"
"Oh, but you like it this deep, baby. I know you, you like having your cunt stuffed full and your head emptied."
"Oh, you're so sad, beautiful. I love when you're sad, cause I can fuck it out of you, fuck you till you're so empty and all you can think of is me."
"Needy things like you need to be roughed up every once in a while, helps readjust that bratty attitude you like to get your way with."
"c'mon princess, tell me you love me. Tell me you love me, and I might kiss you. Would the bruises feel better if I kissed you?"
"Mm, I fucking love splitting this cunt open. So wet and so pretty, so beat up. What would you do without me?"
"You're learning so fast, baby, I bet you love that you can't cum without my permission. You are bound to me through your body."
Wooyoung
teasing, playful, bully-like, much like he finds your pleasure amusing
"C'mon say it into my mouth. 'Wooyoung...' like that. Let me taste my name on your tongue while I play with you."
"Good girl, good girl, yeah, you feel full? That's so cute, you have no idea all the things I can make you feel. i wanna drive you fucking crazy."
"You like when I whine for you. Pretty boy, pretty voice, yeah? You love being fucked by someone just as pretty as you."
"You're trembling, isn't that precious. Don't be so greedy, baby, I have all day to string you out."
"I know you're trying so hard for me to not cum, but I hate playing fair. I want you to fail. If I pinch your clit, will you fall apart?"
"Don't worry, I'll cover your mouth so you don't embarrass yourself. Yeah, there you go, now just focus on me hitting that spot."
"Let me see those pretty teeth you like to bite me with. Smile when I'm dicking you down, dollface, let me know that pussy feels good."
"You sure you don't like it when I make fun of you? My dick is so wet I keep slipping out. Mhm, I think someone likes being bullied."
"I love taking you against the wall. I can invade all your personal space, make you feel so trapped."
"I love it when you cum, and it makes me even fucking harder when I know you can't run from it."
Jongho
indifferent, lofty, careless, like he’s oblivious to the way he makes you feel
"I'm barely fucking you, and you seem so out of it. Don't tell me I've broken you."
"You don't know what's good for you, doll, c'mon let me do what I want. It might even feel good."
"You might be sore in the morning, but you're willing to make that sacrifice for me, aren't you, honey?"
"Hush, don't tell me you can't. No one wants to hear that, you can and you will."
"Why're you moaning so loud, hm? What if I grind into you? Will you quiet down?"
"C'mon, let's count, maybe it'll help you focus. Ground yourself, we've got a long way to go."
"You get so loud when I slap your clit, who knew you'd be so impolite. You hardly even fight, so pliant."
"You're mine. Your body does what I tell it to. Isn't that pathetic? So easily conditioned to me."
"Don't fight it, honey, cum. Let go so I can get back to teasing you until you cry. I love when you cry, it makes me so fucking hard."
Mingi
vulgar, unashamed, attentive, much like there’s no place he would rather be
"Oh, baby... feel every inch of me, arch that back, get me deeper. just like that."
"You're so small, I wanna crush you. You're so fucking cute, you make me lightheaded."
"I'm in your stomach? Oh, I'm sorry, baby. What if I pout? Will you forgive me? I'm so sorry. What if I pound that pussy harder, hm? How bout now, still mad at me, gorgeous?
"You're so warm around my dick... you're everything. Oh my fuck."
"Slow down? hm? Make me. Stop me, baby, you know what to do. I'm too heavy? not my problem."
"I'm not gonna hurt you, I'm gonna take my time with you. imma give it to you the way you like."
"Don't tap, no running. You feel too good, baby. You hear how wet you sound?"
"Feel my hands, I got you. I'm holding you, baby; you aren't going anywhere. Ride it out for me."
"Moan my name properly, c'mon. You choke every time I fuck back into you; you're making me sad here, beautiful."
"I am being nice to you, mami. There's nobody nicer than me who can make this pussy cream all over your sheets."
Authors Note : Been feeling super soft for Seonghwa lately so here ya go.
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Seonghwa, who had to work up the courage to ask you for your phone number. When he finally did, he put on a face of confidence, even though his heart was pounding in his chest. He texted you as soon as you were out of his sight.
Seonghwa, who when he asked you to join him for dinner, his voice cracked in the middle of it. He was so nervous to ask you, completely enthralled by simply being near you. He’d pull out your chair for you and ask you how your days been. He’d say you look beautiful when you’re blushing.
Seonghwa, who when he walked you to your door, he gave himself a mental pep talk before cupping your cheek and kissing you softly. His body melting against yours when you wrapped your arms around him. When you went inside, he walked back to his car, pumping his fist in the air in silent excitement.
Seonghwa, who after your first date felt immediately comfortable with you. He’d let out a dramatic sigh when you let go of his hand, side eyeing you playfully. You’d laugh and grab him again, only for him to pull you close and cover your face in kisses.
Seonghwa, who loved when you cooked for him. You’d spend hours in the kitchen, using far too many pans and utensils. But when he tasted it, his eyes lit up and he showered you in praise. He always cleaned his plate as if it was from a Michelin star restaurant. You’d learned how to make his favorite dishes, on the condition that he cleaned the kitchen after. He never complained.
Seonghwa, who when you made love for the first time, spent what felt like an eternity kissing along your skin. His body fit yours perfectly, in every way. His movements slow and intentional. When you’d both finished, he held you in his arms, whispering praises and affectionate words into your ear. He'd say he’d never felt so safe in bed with someone before.
Seonghwa, who when you woke up in the middle of the night and reached for him, wasn’t there. You’d waddle sleepily around the house until you got to the backyard, seeing him sitting in a lawn chair, his notebook in hand. You never interrupted him, leaning against the door frame and admiring the way the moonlight cascaded around him. He looked gorgeous like this, and you lost track of time watching him writing his poetry.
Seonghwa, who when you came to him after losing your job, tears flowing freely down your face, took you in his arms. His hand splayed across your back as he said “You’re okay, calm down my love…” He knew he couldn’t fix this one, he didn’t hold the answers on how to help. So when you fall apart in his hold, he’s simply a safe place to land. When you were done crying, he’d lay your head in his lap, running his fingers through your hair.
Seonghwa, who when you moved in, gave up half his closet. He had so much clothes but knew you’d also need space. Over time, his outfits took over the closet again. You didn’t mind, it was all worth the fashion shows he’d give you after shopping.
Seonghwa, who on his birthday was shocked to see you’d decked out the apartment with balloons and banners. He’d open your pile of gifts, smiling as wide as a child on Christmas morning. Every time he opened a Lego set, he squealed, asking you how you’d managed to find the rarest ones. He’d spent the afternoon putting them together, showing you the finished product with a grin on his face.
Seonghwa, who when he told you he loved you for the first time, started crying. You’d let him speak, holding his hand as he expressed his affection and admiration of you. When he finished, he looked at you, vulnerable and pleading. And when you kissed him, repeating his sentiment, he made love to you on the living room couch, his touch tender and effortless.
Seonghwa, who struggled with his confidence. That voice in the back of his head was always gnawing at him. When it got bad, you'd massage his shoulders and ask him what he was thinking. You’d spend as much time as you needed counteracting every negative thought. Eventually your voice was more prevalent in his head than his own.
Seonghwa, who held your broken pieces together when you couldn’t anymore. Who looked at every part of you and saw you. He heard your struggles and sat in awe at who was in front of him. He celebrated when your therapist said you didn’t need sessions anymore, then reassured you when that changed.
Seonghwa, who when he loved you, he loved all of you. Every inch, every flaw, every wrinkle. Your laugh was his favorite sound and you were the highlight of his days. He didn’t need to be extravagant or over the top, he just needed to be himself. That was more than enough. He was more than enough.
when your lids finally surrender to consciousness and part beneath the weight pressing against them, light pours in like liquid silk, soft enough not to hurt, yet bright enough to leave your vision swimming. it blurs into pale ribbons and muted gold, melting together until the room is nothing more than indistinct shapes and shifting shadows.
you feel heavy.
not merely tired.
heavy in the way stones must feel at the bottom of a lake. as though every limb belonged to someone else, your bones a weight unfamiliar, muscles refusing to remember how movement worked. even breathing demands thought.
your head throbs with a slow, relentless pulse. once. twice. again.
the ache blooms behind your eyes before crawling down the back of your neck, settling somewhere deep within your spine.
beneath you, the mattress yields without protest. feather-soft. almost impossibly so. it swallows your body inch by inch until you can no longer tell where you end and the bed begins, the blankets draped over you with an almost suffocating tenderness—as though someone had tucked you in with painstaking care.
the room is quiet.
too quiet.
no traffic beyond the windows.
no distant voices.
only the rhythmic ticking of a clock whose face remains hidden.
tick.
tock.
your throat feels dry. you swallow, wincing. every movement seems delayed, as though the world insists on dragging itself half a second behind you.
with trembling hands, you press your palms into the mattress and force yourself upright. the room tilts violently and so does your stomach that churns. you squeeze your eyes shut until the dizziness ebbs, taking slow, measured breaths before daring to open them again.
this time, the world steadies.
and that is when you see it...
directly across from the bed. towering over everything else in the room: a canvas no less than eight overwhelming feet wide.
for a moment, your mind refuses to understand what your eyes are seeing.
the woman upon the canvas is familiar in a way that can only be replicated looking within a mirror.
the elegant curve of her neck.
the delicate line of her shoulders.
hair gathered into a perfect bun, every strand painstakingly restrained. satin ribbons trail from pink pointe shoes, their laces climbing graceful ankles.
fifth position. toes pointed. weight balanced with control and practiced poise.
she stands within an endless sea of roses. ivory blooms spill around her slippers like fresh snow. blush pinks melt into deep crimsons. golden apricots. velvet burgundies.
hundreds. perhaps thousands of varying shades crafted with precision and thought.
the petals rise around her ankles as though the earth itself had chosen flowers over grass.
it's beautiful. painfully so.
you stare because your mind insists there must be some mistake.
the woman's expression is serene.
dreamlike.
she is not dancing but standing. waiting.
your gaze drifts upward.
to her face. your breath catches.
the world stills.
no.
the nose. the mouth. the slight tilt of your chin.
even the faint crease that appears between your brows whenever you're lost in thought.
your own eyes look back at you from beneath careful brushstrokes, impossibly alive despite the dried oils that formed them.
the likeness is uncanny.
not inspired by you.
not resembling you.
it is you.
in all your glory. rendered with the sort of precision that cannot be invented.
the painter knew the way your shoulders naturally rested lower on one side. the gentle curve of your fingers. the tiny imperfections no stranger should ever notice.
it isn't admiration trapped inside the canvas.
it's observation. obsession. meticulous. patient.
devotional.
a cold knot tightens beneath your ribs.
how...
your gaze flickers wildly around the room, as though the answer might be hidden somewhere between the walls.
the door on the far right of the room is open, as if waiting for this very moment. a lone sun ray leading the path to the hall, drawing you in.
you look down. into your lap.
this isn't what you wore.
instead of the layered lace, your body is hugged by soft cotton. a leotard. a tulle, stiff skirt that forms a circle around your hips. sheer stockings running down your legs. each article the same pale pink.
and on your feet?
blush point shoes of pristine condition, laced and secured around your ankles with caution and care.
you only notice them when you step out of the bed, removing the blanket that pooled at your thighs.
and like alice in wonderland, you trip and fall down the rabbit hole, walking through the doorway looms overhead. its carved walnut frame reaches impossibly high, disappearing into shadow long before it meets the ceiling.
crossing beneath it feels less like walking through a door and more like passing beneath the archway of a cathedral.
towering corinthian columns stretch endlessly along either side, their marble disappearing into ceilings painted with sprawling renaissance frescoes. crystal chandeliers hang overhead like constellations trapped indoor. light spills through towering arched windows, washing across polished marble floors veined with black and ivory until they resemble still water.
everywhere you look: art.
portraits housed within elaborate gilded frames taller than life itself. marble sculptures carved with such impossible delicacy they appear capable of drawing breath. ancient tapestries depicting hunts, coronations, and biblical reckonings stretch from floor to ceiling, their woven figures caught forever between triumph and ruin.
nothing feels real.
and suddenly, you feel so very, very small.
the sensation arrives without warning.
not childish. but insignificant.
as though the mansion had expanded while you remained exactly the same.
the columns become trees. the chandeliers resemble stars.
the portraits stare down from heights no ordinary home should possess.
your own footsteps seem embarrassingly tiny against the endless corridor, disappearing almost before they've been made. and for a dizzying moment, you are certain the floor beneath you has widened.
or perhaps...you have shrunk.
the thought slips into your mind uninvited.
you almost laugh.
almost.
instead, unease settles deeper into your chest.
slight movement catches your eye. one. then another. and another.
lining the corridor with unnerving precision stand men dressed in identical obsidian suits. black balaclava masks conceal every feature, smooth and expressionless save for narrow openings over their eyes. red pocket squares bloom from each breast pocket, vivid against the black fabric like fresh wounds stitched neatly into place.
each stands with perfect posture. hands resting before them, guns of all sizes and calibers strapped securely.
no one speaks. no one shifts. no one so much as turns their head as you emerge into the corridor.
relief blossoms despite yourself.
people. someone can explain where the hell you are.
you hurry toward the nearest man, your footsteps quickening against the marble. "excuse me," you say and it falls on deaf ears.
nothing.
he doesn't acknowledge you.
you stop only a step away, baffled. "can you tell me where i am?"
more unnerving silence.
his gaze remains fixed somewhere beyond the opposite wall. not avoiding your eyes. looking through you. as though your body occupies no more substance than light filtering through stained glass.
you wave a tentative hand in front of his mask.
not a blink. not the slightest tightening of a jaw. only stillness. the kind found in portraits.
or dead bodies.
your pulse stutters. you turn toward another. "...hello?"
again. nothing.
every one of them remains exactly as they were. composed. immovable. watching everything. acknowledging nothing.
"someone just fucking answer me," you yell, or at least try to. hands shaking at your sides, looking down the long line of men who still stand in complete and utter military-like control.
and suddenly, you hear the sound of sharp heels clicking against the marble flooring.
unhurried. ricocheting off the walls making the sound omit from all sides. you haven't the slightest clue where the sound is originating. you whip your head to the left, eyes searching. but you get your answer without needing to fret too hard.
"why don't you stop your yelling and join us for breakfast," a voice calls. deep. echoing.
you blink. that isnt seonghwa, nor the other man that had been with him yesterday. your lips move before you have the chance to stop them. "who are you?"
short midnight onyx hair stopping just below his ears. long legs donning silky black pants whose hem kisses the tip of the patent leather heeled boot.
he's tall, lean in a way that makes each feature of his body seem that much statuesque. the porcelain skin of his fingers clad in silver rings that glean under the sunlight compliment red blushed knuckles and wide fists.
on his neck rests a black rosary, obsidian crystal decorating the cross pendant at the base, long enough to touch the silk tie matching his suit.
"wouldn't you like to know," he chuckles, two fingers curling in your direction, pulling towards himself twice. "come. we have much to discuss over tea."
you plant your feet, refusing to move anywhere. "i'm not going anywhere with you...where am i?"
he pushes his hands into his pockets, sighing. "the janggi estate. your new home."
"this is not my home," you respond, breath shaky when you speak and you wish you hadn't, not when he laughs and pulls a black lollipop out of his mouth, pointing it to you.
"don't let him hear you say that. you'd be in so much trouble," he starts, stepping towards you. "and don’t me have to repeat it again. come. they're waiting." his strides are long, clearing the distance between you with ease and upon each step, you back away, further and further and further, until your back collides with something firm.
you blank, eyes widening with fear as your heart pounds in your ears. thump. thump. thump. and it's loud, you try to slow it. breathing labored, body slow to turn and see what's behind you.
"hmm…leaving so soon," another draws, peering down upon you as a wolf would a doe who stumbled too far from its mother’s sight. "we haven't even properly met. where’s those manners the general spoke so highly of?"
still. your body stills. stiffens. locks up. you feel physically unable to move under his gaze. predatory. hungry. but a gasp manages to slip past your plumped lips, having to bite them closed.
he’s beautiful. the both of them in different ways. but this one has shoulders wider than his hips. round, pink lips that blush a pretty pink. beauty marks scattered across his face. one beneath his right eye. another on his left cheek.
the silence that follows was not empty. it held a sense of tension so tangible that you could probably reach out and snap if you tried hard enough.
the chandeliers overhead chimed despite the absence of wind and somewhere beyond the endless corridor, a violin could be heard playing in its lonesome. soft. flowy. an eerie calm in an estate so utterly intimidating.
you could not tell whether the sound came from the walls or from inside your own head. maybe it was your minds way of offering serenity when your senses screamed disorder.
the first man regarded you with patient amusement, his expression carved from something too perfect to be entirely human. there was no urgency in him. no irritation but instead fascination.
he tilted his head ever so slightly, stepping behind you. thoroughly trapping you between their two bodies. and there, you notice a small pin that resides on both of their chests. a bishop chess piece. one black and the other white.
“you've gone pale, darling. you need to eat,” the voice from behind speaks. the observation landed with a peculiar softness, not concern but curiosity, as though commenting upon weather rather than the terror blooming visibly beneath your skin.
you swallowed and it was audible. the sound seemed offensively loud.
"i..." the word fractured before it reached completion. "i’m not hungry. how could be? i want to get the fuck out of here.”
the one in front tuts, plush lips poking into a mocking pout. “such a nasty little mouth. makes me wonder all the good things i can get from it.”
something about him hollowed your stomach. how belittling it was for him to render you so small and insignificant.
around you, the masked men remained statues lining the endless cathedral nave, black silhouettes stitched into the marble by invisible thread. not one shifted their weight. not one acknowledged the conversation taking place scarcely feet away. they might have been carved there, trained to only react when commanded.
his gaze dropped to on your shoes.
pink satin. fresh ribbons.
their sheen reflecting across the polished marble, duplicated beneath your feet until another frightened girl appeared to stand below you, trapped under glass.
"they fit."
instinctively, you look down. already knowing what to expect but you do so anyway.
“of course they do,” you scoff. “and something tells me you and i both knew they would.”
the two men lock eyes and laugh. actually laugh. not something to frighten or threaten you but a genuine laugh.
it was funny. seonghwa made quite the fuss making sure that everything had been made perfect upon your arrival. they’d watched as a silver bullet had been lodged within a man’s skull for not planting the pink roses that had been specifically requested days ago.
it were for the best had at least the point shoes fit. for everyone’s sake.
“we have the biggest surprise for you. i promise you’ll love it,” the one behind you speaks into your ear. you can feel his breath against the sensitive skin there, erupting a thousand goosebumps to dot your arms.
and he grabs your wrist, palm fully engulfing it. tight. but not enough to bruise.
no, that’ll come soon enough.
and you are being shoved into stepping forward, dragged down the long hallway towards a grand entrance that breaks off into excess to the outside, hearing the distant sound of water and bird song.
“let me go,” you say, voice low. almost too scared to say it any louder. “i’ll act like we never crossed paths.” and you tug, trying to pull away.
but the addition of a large hand wrapping around the back of your throat stops you.
“walk,” the one you’ve effectively named ‘spots’ in your head all of demands, leading you by the neck down the flew steps of stone and outside.
into the garden.
where six other figures sit, discussing over breakfast.
Summary
"I am looking at you," he choked out, a ragged exhale brushing over your lips, tasting faintly of winter and desperation. "That’s the goddamn problem. It’s all I ever do."
The confession hung in the air, thick and uncertain, like a match held over a trail of gasoline. His eyes dropped down to your mouth, tracking the slight parting of your lips with a raw hunger that made your knees turn to liquid.
"Seonghwa," you whispered his name, a soft, deliberate plea that shattered the last of his iron restraint. You didn't wait for him to cross the line.
You dragged him over it.
A/N
At last, I finally mustered the energy to finish this one lmao. I've never written anything this long, so I hope I didn't bore you too much in the first 9k words xd
service top!park seonghwa, whiny!park seonghwa, dom/sub undertones, seonghwa is whipped for the reader, yearning, angst?, forced proximity, minor woosan, possessive!park seonghwa
The tires of the SUV had been spinning uselessly in the deep snow for about twenty minutes before the engine let out one final, desperate, and exhausted grunt—completely dying and leaving you, your manager, your brooding bodyguard, and your driver stranded at the edge of a long forgotten logging road.
This entire trip had been your childhood friend-turned-manager's brilliant idea; a remote cabin rented specifically for your upcoming movie shoot under the insistence that isolating you a whole week early would perfectly immerse you in the script’s atmospheric mindset.
At the time, Wooyoung had treated it like the greatest breakthrough of his career.
Knowing Wooyoung, it clearly wasn’t.
So when the car had come to a halt, a mixture of sighs and groans filling the tense air, it had become glaringly obvious that your dear manager had forgotten to check the weather forecast for today.
A low groan in your throat had turned Wooyoung around from where he was sitting in the passenger seat, giving you a weak, apologetic smile while insisting that you should look on the bright side of this predicament. The bright side—or the silver lining, as he had called it—being that the cabin was only a mere 15-minute walk from where they had stopped.
Wooyoung had even insisted that trudging through the blinding, wet terrain would put you right into the headspace of your character. The first five minutes he had stood by that statement, rambling on about how he had given you an advantage in the bad luck you were having.
He went quiet the second you had to practically fight through the freezing wind during the remaining ten minutes, and you couldn’t help but internally curse at your friend. ‘Silver lining my ass,’ you thought.
Turns out, stepping inside the cabin hadn’t been of much help either.
The air was painfully cold and brittle, a bit better than the winds outside, but the lack of heat was still there. Every breath filled your lungs like shattered glass, harsh and unpleasant, and by the looks of the other three, they felt the same.
You pulled your arms tight against your chest, shivering violently as you watched your breath flower into a thick white mist, mixing with the other men’s as Wooyoung stepped forward, grabbing a small clipboard containing a note that sat idly on top of a dusty wooden table.
Wooyoung sighed as he read the note. ”Great." He rolled his eyes in annoyance, a hint of sarcasm in his tone. "The main generator is completely shot."
The heavy wooden table groaned slightly as he tossed the clipboard back onto the dusty surface. "We're stuck here until the blizzard clears. At least until tomorrow morning," he continued, the raw exhaustion of the storm openly bleeding through his voice as he looked away from the three of you, like he was embarrassed for being the cause of this.
The room fell silent except for the faint sounds of the storm shaking the structure of the cabin, turning even louder, almost like it was provoking the four of you—waiting for either of you to break.
But San, your driver, stepped up directly besides Wooyoung, knuckles lightly brushing against the shorter man's tense shoulder in a subtle, practiced movement like it was meant to ground him.
"We have dry wood for the fireplace, and the roof is solid," San said softly, his voice cutting through the chill as he offered Wooyoung a small, comforting smile, making his eyes crinkle and those familiar dimples appear on his cheeks. "We'll be fine, Woo."
A silent look passed between the two men, a quiet, almost intimate understanding that didn’t require spoken words. It made a genuine smile tug at your frozen lips, like a necessary pocket of warmth contrasting the freezing chaos of the cabin as it wrapped around a familiar ache spreading across your chest.
It was a warmth you so desperately craved but was so far out of reach. A heavy stab of shame suddenly tightened your chest, recollecting the nights you had spent with Wooyoung without the limitations of him being your manager. How achingly much he had needed that comfort too. It cut you deep to remember how hard you had worked him over the last few years, inadvertently denying him the very tenderness he needed and deserved.
So when San had been hired as your driver, it hadn’t been difficult to notice the lingering stares or the unnecessary, yet careful and deliberate, touches exchanged between them. You had seen the way Wooyoung’s posture, rigid from the sheer exhaustion after a grueling day of press junkets and relentless award shows, entirely dissolve the moment San stepped within arm’s reach.
Back during your first major career breakthrough, when the paparazzi were at their absolute worst and the media felt suffocating, watching them had filled you with an almost bittersweet fondness. Though they never spoke about the relationship they so desperately tried to hide, their quiet bond had always managed to keep you grounded. A silent anchor that allowed you to dare dream of one day sharing that same fierce, protective closeness with someone of your own.
But—like every fragile comfort on this trip—the brief moment of warmth and hope quickly evaporated the second a heavy, familiar shadow fell over your shoulders.
Seonghwa stepped fully into the main room, marching towards the heavy wooden door protecting you from the outside winds to lock it with a deliberate click of the deadbolt. He finally turned around on his heels, facing the three of you huddled together from the cold. He pulled off his thick tactical gloves, the dark leather creaking loudly in the quiet hum of the cabin as his dark, unyielding eyes immediately locked onto yours.
Not Wooyoung.
Not San.
His entire universe instantly narrowed down the second his gaze found yours, routinely scanning your face for any signs of distress, measuring the distance between your body and the door with his usual terrifying calculated precision. You couldn’t help but freeze under the intense gaze, instantly trapped by the same suffocating tension that has stretched between you for two long years. A heavy, unspoken weight that always made the air feel a bit too thick to swallow, seeping through the cold air.
You weren’t unfamiliar with that look. Seonghwa had always looked at you like that. Like he wanted to scold you for being too careless. Like he wanted to lock you away where the rest of the world wouldn’t dare to touch you, to hurt you—where the sheer, suffocating intensity of his gaze never stopped the terrifying, irrational thought that all he saw, and all he ever cared to see, was you.
“The perimeter is secure,” Seonghwa murmured, his voice a low, firm tone that vibrated right through the old floorboards before settling deep in your chest. “But the temperature is dropping. Fast”
A choked breath escaped you when he finally diverted his gaze from yours. “Maybe someone so careless shouldn’t have been in charge of our stay,” Seonghwa continued, his cold and expressionless facade never faltering—save for the silent daggers he threw at Wooyoung through his eyes.
Wooyoung scoffed, glaring right back. “There is a fireplace, Mr. I-Love-Complaining," Wooyoung snapped, gesturing aggressively toward the large fireplace across the room. "We just have to keep warm,” he sighed. “And I don't think the owners can get here anyway, given the state of things out there."
Outside, the snow was beating furiously against the structure, the faint, haunting howls of the wind echoing down the chimney.
“Fuck, it’s cold," you shivered through chattering teeth, wrapping your arms tighter around yourself, shoulders hunching instinctively as another violent shudder rattled your frame.
San frowned with immediate, protective concern. "Here," he said softly, his hand already moving to the zipper of his own heavy winter jacket. "Take mine. I have a thick thermal underneath anyway, I'll be fine—"
"No."
The word cut through the room like a blade hitting ice. Sharp. Flat.
Seonghwa stepped forward before San could even pull his arms out of his sleeves, his taller frame effectively blocking the dim, flickering light of the lantern on top of the table. It cast a long, intimidating shadow right over your body as he physically inserted himself into the space between you and San, a dominant, territorial movement that instantly made the air in the room turn stagnant and suffocatingly heavy. Your breath hitched.
“She wears mine,” Seonghwa asserted, his fingers already unbuttoning his coat with efficient, practiced movements.
Your brows knitted together in a slight furrow, a sharp flash of irritation shooting through your spine. “I think San’s jacket will work just fine, too.”
Seonghwa clenched his jaw. “Just do as I say.”
“San has been my driver longer than you’ve been my bodyguard, Seonghwa,” you scoffed. “I don’t need your permission to take his jacket—”
“It isn’t about permission,” he snapped before stepping closer. The radiating heat of his body hit your face like a physical wall in the freezing room, holding out his massive, dark coat while his eyes kept locked onto yours with an uncomfortable and exposing intensity. “It’s about safety. Protocol.”
"Protocol?" You let out a sharp, mocking breath, chest heaving under your layers. "He’s my friend. You're being ridiculous. You've been doing this for two years—treating every single person who breathes near me like an enemy aching to strike. It's exhausting."
Seonghwa didn’t blink. His jaw tightened, clenching as he stared down at you, gaze pinning you to the floorboards. He lowered his head slightly, his voice dropping into a fierce, private murmur meant strictly for your ears.
"Sometimes the people closest to you can hurt you the most. And my job is to eliminate all risks.” He shoved the coat against your chest. “Wear the coat."
There was a lingering weight behind his words. Like an unspoken history or a deep-seated paranoia that you couldn’t quite decipher, leaving a ringing silence in its wake where a now uncomfortable, awkward friction settled over the room.
You could see Wooyoung shift his weight from one foot to the other through the corner of your eyes, his own eyes darting between you and your bodyguard with a mixture of confusion and growing annoyance. San stood quietly beside him, slowly zipping his own jacket back up in defeat, his expression carefully guarded.
You knew this was a losing battle—it always was—and even though you loathed how much your body was craving warmth ever since the car had decided to give up, you aggressively snatched the coat from his hands. But from the aggressiveness of it, your fingers accidentally brushed against Seonghwa’s bare wrist where his dress shirt had ridden up from taking off his coat. The sudden warmth sent an electric jolt straight up your arm, breath hitching in your throat as the two of you stilled.
Not wanting to address the funny feeling pooling low in your stomach, you threw the heavy material over your shoulders, instantly engulfing you. It smelled entirely, intoxicatingly of him. A heavy blend of the raging storm outside—crisp pine and a grounding musk mixed with a hint of vanilla and coffee—making your head spin with every shuddering inhale.
Wooyoung cleared his throat loudly, the sound forced and awkward. "Right." His eyes lingered on the two of you before continuing, "We need a concrete plan to stay warm. The temperature is going to keep dropping, and I'd prefer we don't freeze to death before the first day of shooting."
“There should be spare blankets,” Seonghwa replied, his voice returning to that same detached, professional cadence as he turned towards Wooyoung.
Yet, his head remained subtly angled in your direction, his eyes never truly releasing you. "It is an Airbnb in the middle of winter, after all. The owners wouldn't leave a property completely unequipped for a freeze."
The manager sighed. "Great. I'll check the upstairs closets with San." He ran a hand through his hair before gesturing for the driver to follow him toward the creaking wooden staircase. "Let's pray there's something better than dusty sheets up there. Come on, Sannie.”
Wooyoung’s gaze lingered softly on you for a moment before his lips smoothed into a straight line, offering you a comforting nod. It was the same unspoken gesture he always gave you in the midst of chaos. A silent promise to let you know he was only ever a heartbeat away.
As their heavy footsteps faded up the stairs, the sound of their quiet murmuring was swallowed by the cabin and the storm raging outside, leaving the main room in a tense, ringing silence.
You stayed glued to your spot by the fireplace, fingers buried deep in the oversized pockets of Seonghwa's coat. A soft hum escaped your lips as you pulled the high, stiff collar tighter around your neck—partially to block out the biting draft, but mostly to hide the deep shade of red that had so suddenly flushed your cheeks.
Seonghwa stood perfectly still across the room, eyes lingering momentarily on you before going back to whatever it was he was doing. It didn’t keep his focus for long, though. His attention kept flicking back to you, his gaze tracing the subtle yet rapid rise and fall of your chest through the dim, amber glow of the lantern. A lump formed deep in your throat, warmth spreading across every part of your body the coat surrounded.
His expression was one you had seen a thousand times over the last two years. A dark, unreadable mask that you had never quite been able to figure out. It was a look that usually kept you on your toes. It made you defensive. Guarded. And a bit annoyed, if you were completely honest.
But tonight, with the evidence of the day's regrettable events lingering in the air like a thick fog, that familiar weight felt tenfold more intense. Like there was a dangerous, volatile sharpness to the way he was watching you.
You felt your breath hitch, noises of the storm slowly fading out as the thud of your hammering heart was the only thing you could hear the second his eyes slowly dropped to your lips. Something in his eyes shifted, his tongue darting out to lick the seam of his bottom lip before his gaze locked back onto your own.
He held an expression thick with words left unsaid, so heavy and demanding it knocked the air straight out of your lungs. You felt exposed. Naked. Like he could see right through you.
You tried to brush it off, unconvincingly claiming it to be a mere security assessment and definitely not what felt like an interrogation. But you couldn't help the heart beating violently against your ribs, desperately trying to understand why...
Why a man who claimed to just be doing his job was looking at you like you were the only thing left in the world. Like a cherished treasure.
The thudding footsteps of Wooyoung and San returning from upstairs broke the suffocating silence, each carrying a meager stack of stiff, faded wool blankets. A slow, heavy exhale left your lips at the sight of your friend, your previous rigid and clenched posture melting away.
“This is the best we could find,” Wooyoung grumbled, dropping a couple of the rough blankets onto the sofa placed in front of the unlit fireplace. He frowned, like he had expected you to at least prepare a fire while the two of them were upstairs.
A rattle caught his attention, the frown melting into a sigh as he headed straight for the far corner of the room, where a draft was visibly rattling the frosted windowpane. “The glass is a bit loose here. We should block the gap before starting the fire.”
San was already moving with him, pulling a roll of heavy-duty duct tape from his backpack. Ignoring the confusion as to why he kept a roll of duct tape in his backpack, you took it as your cue to move, desperate to shake off the paralyzing awareness of Seonghwa's eyes.
“I'll prepare the fire, then. Until you're done,” you offered, your voice sounding slightly tighter than usual as you stepped towards a small pile of split logs near the fireplace.
You bent down, but before your fingers could even wrap around the rough bark, a large, dark shadow eclipsed you.
Seonghwa was already there, sweeping in so silently it caught the breath deep in your throat. His large hand clamped onto the piece of wood you were reaching for, knuckles brushing firmly against yours.
A familiar heat coiled in your abdomen before you pulled your hand back from the accidental scrape of his skin against yours, as if you had been burned, your pulse spiking.
“I got it,” Seonghwa murmured. Tone flat and professional, contrasting the flare of his eyes from the sharp intensity as he looked down at you. He used his body to subtly nudge you away from the hearth. “The wood is splintered. You'll cut your hands. Stand back.”
You huffed at that. “I am perfectly capable of carrying a log,” you snapped under your breath, a prickly wave of irritation rising to mask the sudden, erratic fluttering in your chest.
You stepped around him, determined to prove a point, and reached for a smaller piece of kindling. Again, he moved. His chest subtly blocking your path, his shoulder passing so close to yours that the fabric of his shirt brushed against your clothed arm.
He reached past you, his larger arm completely separating you from the woodpile. “You'll get hurt. I'll handle it. Your job is to stay warm.”
You let out a sharp, frustrated breath, retreating a few steps. It was infuriating.
For two years it had been like this. Two years of this constant, suffocating hovering. This maddening insistence on treating you like something precious. Something fragile. You told yourself you hated it. You told yourself his overprotectiveness was a nuisance, a textbook display of a stubborn bodyguard taking his contract way too seriously.
But as you stood there, wrapped in the heavy warmth of his coat, a traitorous and confusing ache settled deep in your stomach. You didn't want to admit how much his total, unwavering focus made your heart hum.
You dragged your attention across the room, desperate to find any leverage to anchor yourself from the flutter in your chest as your gaze settled on the two men working on the window. Wooyoung was shivering, his shoulders hunched as he held a piece of cardboard against the draft while San tore off a strip of tape to secure it.
Blissfully unaware of the lingering eyes, San took Wooyoung's reddened hands into his own, lifting them to his lips. He breathed a low, steady stream of warm air over Wooyoung's knuckles, his eyes fixed on the smaller man with an unhurried, profound tenderness.
Wooyoung's entire posture melted. A soft, private smile spread across his face as he leaned his forehead briefly against San's shoulder, puffs of white mist escaping his lips from what you could only assume were giggles.
A bittersweet ache twisted in your chest as you watched them. A sudden, hollow yearning that caught you completely off guard. It was a beautiful, quiet kind of intimacy. A safe harbor where two people simply trusted each other.
You found yourself staring, completely captivated by the effortless softness of it, wondering—just for a fleeting second—what it would feel like to have someone look at you with that kind of raw devotion.
You glanced away, blinking rapidly like it could hide emotions bubbling behind your eyes. You swallowed past a dry throat before you stopped dead in your tracks. Seonghwa.
He hadn't been looking at the woodpile.
He had been watching you.
He had caught the exact moment your chest hitched. Caught the lingering, envious look you cast at the two men by the window, his dark eyes tracking the heavy rise and fall of your chest.
The silence between you stretched, charged with an unsaid understanding. He knew exactly what you were looking at, and the rigid set of his jaw told you he was burning with a dark, unreadable frustration of his own.
Desperate to break the suffocating spell, you turned on your heel, looking for any excuse to escape his vicinity.
“I'll look for a better lantern,” you announced, your voice trembling slightly.
You spotted a tall, heavy wooden shelving unit tucked into the shadows at the back of the cabin. On the very top shelf, three thick, vintage brass lanterns sat coated in dust, alongside a folded tartan blanket.
You strode over to it, ignoring the way Seonghwa's boots immediately shifted on the creaking floorboards behind you.
The shelf was tall, towering over your head, and the old wood let out a brittle, ominous creak as you stepped up on your tiptoes. You stretched your arms up, tongue darting out in concentration as your fingers just barely brushed the cold brass of one of the lanterns.
“Don't,” Seonghwa's voice barked from across the room, sharp and sudden. “It's unstable.”
Your brows furrowed. “I can reach it,” you persisted, fueled by a reckless need to defy him. To prove that you didn't need his protection or that stupid protocol. You leaned more of your weight forward, straining your fingers just an inch further.
You miscalculated.
The moment your hand gripped the heavy brass, the rotten wooden supports of the shelf violently splintered. A sickening crack echoed through the cabin as the massive, heavy unit gave way under the shifting weight, the top shelf tilting forward. The heavy brass lanterns and a cascade of solid wooden beams came hurtling straight down towards your face.
Your breath hitched. You couldn't scream. Couldn't move. All you could do was stare up at the falling mass in pure, paralyzed terror.
A massive force hit you from the side. A solid, unstoppable wall of heat and muscle slammed into your torso as Seonghwa had lunged across the space with terrifying speed.
His large arms instantly wrapped around your waist, crushing you against his chest as he threw his entire body over yours, twisting midair to shield you.
The impact was brutal. You were slammed hard into the wooden floorboards, your breath violently knocked out of your lungs in a sharp gasp. But you couldn't feel the hard wood. Or the pain.
You could only feel him.
Seonghwa took the entire force of the crash, his large frame acting as a human shield against the wooden shelf and brass lanterns coming crashing down, splintering violently against his shoulders and down on the floor around you.
A deafening silence followed the crash, save for the howling wind outside and the frantic shouting of Wooyoung and San scrambling across the room. But you couldn't hear them.
Your mind flooded with thoughts as you were pinned flat against the floor, completely trapped beneath the crushing, heavy weight of Seonghwa's chest.
He didn't let go.
His grip was bruising, his large hands clutching at your waist and burying into the fabric of the coat with a white-knuckled, frantic desperation—like he was still trying to pull you deeper into his safety.
You looked up, your vision spinning, and found his face a mere inch from yours. He was trembling, his chest heaving frantically against yours as he gasped for air, breath hot and ragged against your face. The usual stone-cold facade had shattered into dust, eyes completely blown out with terror.
“Are you hurt?” he choked out, his voice a wrecked, breathless whisper, completely stripped of its usual composure.
“I-I'm fine,” you stammered, voice barely audible.
He let out a shuddering, broken exhale as his forehead dropped down to press briefly against your shoulder, right against the collar of his own coat. His jaw brushed innocently against the sensitive skin of your ear, sending a fierce and almost dizzying shiver straight down your spine.
He was breathing you in like a drowning man, his heart hammering so violently against your chest that you couldn't tell where his pulse ended and yours began.
As you laid there, pinned by his heat, the pieces you had fiercely been ignoring for two long years suddenly began to misalign and click into a terrifying new shape. This wasn't just a bodyguard doing his job. A man doesn't look this broken, this terrified, this utterly undone by a routine safety hazard.
And as your fingers instinctively tightened against the fabric of his shirt, a suffocating realization began to bleed between the lines of your panic.
You didn't hate his hovering. You never did. You've been yearning for this exact, crushing weight, completely starved for the overwhelming intensity of his touch.
For one more antagonizing fraction of a second, Seonghwa remained entirely frozen on top of you before a sudden, sharp clarity seemed to hit—as if he had just realized exactly how much he let slip. How entirely unhinged his panic must have looked to the room.
Almost instantly, the vulnerability vanished, masked by a sudden, terrifying flash of fury.
He pulled away like your skin had burned him, his jaw locked into a rigid, defensive line as he pushed himself up off the floor. The usual facade slammed back down, twisted into something far harsher, an unreasonable biting anger meant to bury what he had just exposed.
“What the hell were you thinking?” he snapped, his voice dropping into a harsh, venomous hiss as he glared down at you from his full height. “I told you it was unstable. Are you completely incapable of following a simple order? Your recklessness could have gotten you crushed!”
You blinked up at him from the floor, completely stunned by the whiplash of his sudden fury, your heart still hammering against your ribs. “I‐I was just trying to get the lanterns—”
“I don't care what you were trying to do,” he cut you off. His tone was icy. Unreasonable. Defensive. “You don't touch anything in a structurally compromised environment. You stay where I can see you, and you let me do my job. Is that concept too difficult for you to grasp?”
“Hey! Back off, dude!” Wooyoung's voice broke through as he kicked a splintered wood aside, stepping forcefully between you and Seonghwa to help you get on your feet, his eyes wide with defensive anger. “Chill the fuck out. She just wanted to help.”
San stepped up right behind Wooyoung, his hand resting firmly on your manager's arm to keep him from escalating. His eyes remained fixed on Seonghwa with a quiet, observant intensity. “She's fine, Seonghwa. We're all fine. The shelf was old, it was just an accident.”
Seonghwa's eyes stayed rigidly fixed on the floorboards next to you, his expression cold and unreadable. Yet, despite the familiar wall he was trying so hard to build back up, there was something so glaringly obvious unraveling the man.
The subtle, uncontrollable tremor in his fingers. The rigid, unnatural stiffness of his shoulders. The way he refused to look you in the eye—it all betrayed him. The mask was cracked, and no matter how much he barked about safety or protocol, you could see the desperate, chaotic energy humming right underneath his skin.
Without another word, Seonghwa turned on his heel and marched towards the dark kitchen, his heavy boots echoing like a rhythmic countdown in the quiet room.
— ☆
As the storm raged on outside, the cabin shifted back into its usual silent awkwardness. The hours bled together in a slow, suffocating crawl, with each of you retreating to your own corners to do your respective tasks. San had managed to scavenge a pair of small, battery-driven lanterns from one of the upstairs closets, placing them on the mantle and surfaces scattered across the main room.
The space was much better lit now, casting a steady, white glow over the room that felt almost too exposing, illuminating every tense line of the cabin.
Wooyoung and San had quietly finished securing the draft window, their whispered conversations acting as a low hum against the howling wind. You remained curled on the sofa, still engulfed in the dizzying smell of Seonghwa's coat.
You tried to read the script pages in your lap, but the words blurred into meaningless shapes. Every time you closed your eyes, you felt the crushing weight of Seonghwa's chest against yours. The desperate pressure of his fingers through your clothes and the terrifying, furious wall he had rebuilt the second he realized his control had unwillingly slipped.
Across the room, Seonghwa stood like a statue near the kitchen threshold, his arms crossed, silently tracking the perimeter—tracking you—leaving a trail of heavy silence hanging between you that grew more suffocating with every passing hour.
Before the midnight silence completely took over, there was a brief, fragile pocket of normalcy.
The old kitchen stove was a traditional gas model, requiring no electricity to function. And Wooyoung—desperate to soothe his frayed nerves after the shelf incident—managed to heat up a pot of milk, turning it into a rich, steaming hot chocolate that the three of you drank while huddled on the couch and on the floorboards directly in front of the fireplace.
With the heavy storm howling outside, you finally had a moment to truly take in the layout of the cabin without the immediate panic of the crash clouding your mind. The space was fairly big, built from heavy, exposed pine logs that had blackened with age. A steep, creaking wooden staircase cut straight up the center of the main room, leading up to a narrow loft landing where two small bedrooms sat side by side.
Across the room, entirely excluded from your small circle of warmth, Seonghwa sat in a rigid wooden chair near the dark kitchen entryway, next to the stairs. He hadn't touched the mug. He hadn't moved an inch to rest. His large frame completely still as he did his duty.
Wooyoung set his empty mug down, yawning heavily as he glanced from you to the dark figure in the corner.
"San and I will take the two bedrooms on the top floor," Wooyoung said, his voice dripping with a lazy, sarcastic edge as he deliberately poked fun at your bodyguard’s rigid posture. "That way, our resident shadow can stay down here and be in perfect reach if a rogue snowflake tries to attack the front door. You should probably head up to bed soon, too."
You snorted at the comment and offered a tired, faint smile, swirling the last of the dark liquid in your mug. "I need some time to collect my thoughts. Besides, it would be incredibly rude of me not to finish your delicious hot chocolate."
Wooyoung huffed a laugh, fond but exhausted, before standing up. He and San made their way up the creaking stairs, their shadows stretching long against the timber walls under the stark white glow of the battery-driven lanterns. You stayed glued on the couch, listening to the heavy wood groan under their weight.
There were two separate bedrooms up there. Yet, in the quiet structure of the house, you only heard a single wooden door click open, followed by the faint, muffled sound of quiet giggles before the latch snapped shut.
A genuine, soft smile tugged at your lips. It was so painfully obvious. A sweet secret that made your chest ache with a sudden, hollow envy.
"They are incredibly obvious," a low, gravelly baritone cut through the silence, making you jump. "It almost makes me sick."
You turned your head sharply. Seonghwa had stepped out of the shadows and was crossing the small hallway leading to the two rooms, hovering just a few feet next to the fireplace in front of you.
There was a rare, faint chuckle catching in the back of his throat—a rough, unpracticed sound that completely caught you off guard. He was actually making fun of them, a tiny, human glimpse of amusement cracking through his armor.
The sudden vulnerability frustrated you, the lingering adrenaline from the afternoon twisting into a sharp, defensive knot in your throat.
You turned your entire body to face him, your eyes narrowing. "Just because you are entirely incapable of feeling human emotions or expressing them does not mean their affection is disgusting, Seonghwa."
Seonghwa froze.
The small, rare trace of amusement instantly vanished from his face, his dark eyes widening slightly as he stared down at you, completely appalled and caught off guard by the sudden bitterness of your snap.
The silence between you stretched, the air turning thick enough to swallow.
"Incapable?" he repeated, the word leaving his lips like a low, dangerous warning. He stepped forward, jaw tightening so hard a muscle jumped in his cheek. "You think I don't feel anything?"
"Yes," you challenged, carefully putting down the mug before crossing your arms and getting up to take a deliberate step towards him. "Because you don't. You just stand there like a statue, watching me, judging me, and then you shut down. If you actually have a single human emotion inside you, say it. Because I am tired of guessing."
He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing, and for the first time in two years, his unyielding gaze faltered. He looked away from you, staring at the dark wooden floorboards, his hands clenching into tight fists at his sides.
You could see the exact moment the internal battle took hold of him—his shoulders were rigid, his chest heaving under the tight dress shirt as he took a long, ragged breath. He wanted to snap back. Wanted to retreat into the shadows, but he was trapped.
"I can't," he choked out, strangled rasp you barely recognized.
"What do you mean you can't?" you demanded, taking another step closer, daringly shrinking the space between you. "It's a simple question, Seonghwa. Why do you treat me like this?"
"Because it isn't fair!" he suddenly snapped, his head whipping back up. His eyes were blown out, swimming with a desperation that made your breath catch.
He took a half-step backward, trying to create distance between your bodies, but the wall pinned you both in the narrow circle of light.
"It isn’t fair to you, and it damn sure isn't fair to me.” He took a deep breath. “If I say it—if I let myself even think it—everything falls apart. Do you understand me? Our lives, my job, everything we’ve built for two years. It ruins all of it."
You blinked, completely stunned, mind scrambling to make sense of the gnawing panic in his voice. "What are you talking about? What ruins it?"
"Don't push me," he whispered, a dark, desperate edge bleeding into his tone as his fingers trembled against his thighs. "Please. Just—go. Go to bed."
"No," you said, your voice remarkably steady despite the chaotic hammering of your heart. You refused to back down now.
You closed the remaining distance, stepping directly into his personal space until your chest was practically brushing his.
You looked up into his striking face, eyes boring into his. "I'm not going anywhere until you explain what the fuck you mean, Seonghwa. Look at me. Why are you so terrified of me?"
"I'm not terrified of you," he breathed, his breath hot and ragged against you. The sheer proximity was intoxicating.
He looked completely undone, his rigid professional armor cracking and splintering right before your eyes under the pressure of your stubbornness. "I'm terrified of what I’ll do if I stop fighting."
"Then stop fighting," you whispered.
A harsh, broken sound—halfway between a scoff and a groan—caught in the back of his throat. He closed his eyes tightly for a single second, his head shaking as if he were trying to clear madness out of his brain.
"My entire life, I’ve been trained to lock it away," he whispered, his voice dropping into a raw, wrecked confession, the words practically dragged out of him against his will. "I was told that I felt too much. That my emotions made me a liability, a danger. I spent years forcing myself to become cold, to become a machine so I wouldn't ruin everything. I thought I was good at it."
He opened his eyes, and the sheer intensity in his dark gaze left you utterly breathless. He didn't move away this time. He leaned down slightly, his face a mere inch from yours, his unyielding focus pinning you to the floor.
"But with you, I can't," he admitted, a faint curse slipping past his lips as the final walls of his restraint violently crumbled. "No matter how many protocols I follow, no matter how hard I try to focus on the goddamn perimeter, you are always there. Just existing. Pulling me out of the dark and giving me a taste of what it actually feels like to feel again. It’s driving me completely crazy. I look at you, and I forget everything I need to be."
He reached out, his large, trembling hand hovering just shy of your jaw—like he was desperate to cup your cheek but paralyzed by the final, terrifying realization of what he was doing.
"I am your bodyguard, for fuck's sake," he gasped. "I am supposed to protect you. I am not supposed to look at you and want to take advantage of the fact that you are entirely mine to guard. I am not supposed to look at your lips and want to devour you until there's nothing left."
You looked up into the dark depths of his eyes, and the final piece of the puzzle violently locked into place inside your chest. It wasn’t just him. It had never been just him.
"Then stop looking at me like a contract," your voice cut through the quiet hum of the room, your hear a thudding pulse against your ribs. You lifted your chin, refusing to let him retreat into the shadows of his mind. "Stop hiding behind the protocol, Seonghwa. Look at me. Just ...look at me."
"I am looking at you," he choked out, a ragged exhale brushing over your lips, tasting faintly of winter and desperation. "That’s the goddamn problem. It’s all I ever do."
The confession hung in the air, thick and uncertain, like a match held over a trail of gasoline. His eyes dropped down to your mouth, tracking the slight parting of your lips with a raw hunger that made your knees turn to liquid.
"Seonghwa," you whispered his name, a soft, deliberate plea that shattered the last of his iron restraint. You didn't wait for him to cross the line.
You dragged him over it.
You reached up, your small hand closing firmly over his bare, burning wrist, pulling his hand that last agonizing distance until his palm finally met your cheek.
A jagged spike of heat shot straight up your arm, and a needy groan was violently ripped from the back of Seonghwa's throat at the sensation of your skin against his. His fingers instantly flexed, his grip firm yet careful as his large hand framed your soft skin, his thumb pressing hard into your cheekbone.
And then he lurched forward. Soft lips crashed onto yours, hungry, frantic, and completely starved. His lips were hot and demanding, bruising yours as he devoured the heat of your mouth with a breathless urgency
You let out a muffled, dizzy gasp against his mouth, your hands instantly clawing upward to grip the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, desperate to bury yourself in his solid weight. He answered the movement by wrapping his other arm around your waist, lifting you nearly off your feet as he turned the two of you around, slamming your back against the very wall you had him cornered against.
The impact was sharp, and a gasp tore from your lips. Seonghwa’s tongue traced along the seam of your bottom lip, a faint moan escaping as you gave him access. He explored every crevice, every corner of your mouth, like he was memorizing it, tongue tangling with yours in a desperate, slippery rhythm that left you both gasping, your head spinning into absolute chaos.
The wet warmth of his mouth and the intoxicating scent of his musk completely flooded your senses until you couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t remember anything but the burning desire of his unwavering attention.
He groaned again, a deep, vibrating sound that rumbled straight from his chest into yours, his large hand sliding down to grip the back of your neck, fingers burying deep into your hair to tilt your head back, exposing the vulnerable line of your throat to his absolute mercy.
He broke the kiss for a fraction of a second as a trail of spit connected at your lips, both of you panting, completely consumed by each other's taste.
"You're going to ruin me," he whispered against your skin, his voice broken in defeat. "You know that, don't you? I'm completely ruined."
"Good," you breathed out, your fingers tightening in his hair, pulling him back down to your lips. "Ruin me too."
He found your mouth again, and the kiss instantly grew hungrier. Needier. Hotter. The sheer friction of his lips against yours made your brain short-circuit, and all your skin was screaming for was the intolerable barrier of your clothes.
You needed him bare. You needed to feel the solid, burning expanse of his skin against yours.
Your hands left his hair, your fingers scrambling frantically for the buttons of his shirt, your movements uncoordinated and desperate. You managed to undo the first two, knuckles brushing the scalding, smooth skin of his collarbone.
Suddenly, his large, warm hands snapped around your wrists, pulling them away from his chest and instead pinning them against the wall on either side of your head.
He looked at you, panting, a look of fear clouding his features. Even now, he was fighting his own suffocating lust, terrified that tomorrow morning you'd wake up and look at him with regret.
"Are you completely sure?" he asked. His eyes frantically searched yours with a vulnerable intensity. "Look at me. Tell me to stop right now and I will step away. I swear to god I will walk out that door if this isn't what you want. We don't have to do this—don't do something you'll regret tomorrow. I can't take that from you. Please."
You stared up at him, your vision swimming with frustration and a yearning so deep it felt like a physical ache in your gut. You looked at his tightened jaw and the dark, desperate pools of his eyes, and you decided you were entirely done with his hesitation.
"I need you, Seonghwa," you stated, your voice cutting through his panic, steady and laced with a fierce, demanding heat. You twisted your wrists in his grip, refusing to back down an inch. "So if you don't shut up and fuck me within the next five minutes, I will personally throw you outside into the blizzard."
Seonghwa froze. For a fraction of a second, he just stared at you, completely taken aback, his lips parted in utter disbelief at the sheer audacity of your threat.
Then, the rigid tension in his shoulders suddenly cracked. A low, rough chuckle broke from his chest—a sound so rich, surprised, and deeply fond it made your heart leap. The hesitation in his eyes quickly faltered, replaced instantly by a heavy wave of pure, unbridled lust.
"Five minutes?" he murmured, his voice dropping into a dangerous, gravelly purr that sent a shiver straight to your core. His grip on your wrists tightened, his thumbs stroking the sensitive skin of your pulse points as he leaned down, his mouth brushing against the shell of your ear. "You're getting impatient."
He released your wrists only to scoop his arms under your thighs, lifting you completely off the floorboards in one powerful, effortless motion. You let out a soft gasp, your legs instinctively wrapping around his thin waist as your hands flew to his shoulders for balance.
He carried you past the central staircase, stepping into the dark hallway where your two separate bedrooms sat. The ambient heat from the stones radiated through the shadows, warming the narrow corridor as he guided you straight into his room.
When he lowered you onto the bed, the mattress groaned softly beneath your combined weight, and for a dizzying second, you expected him to climb over you, to pin you down with that same dominant, territorial force he had used out in the main room.
Your heart beat loudly against your ribs in fierce anticipation, every nerve in your body screaming for the heavy, crushing weight of him. But the moment the heavy coat slid off your shoulders, pooling onto the sheets beneath you, the dynamic shifted entirely.
Seonghwa didn't lean over you. Instead, he slowly sank directly to his knees between your legs, stepping down from his invisible throne to look up at you from below. The faint, bleeding light from the doorway caught the sharp angles of his face, casting his blown-out, glassy eyes in the subtle glow.
He was panting, his wide shoulders rising beneath his dress shirt, his large hands resting flat against the bed, trembling oh-so slightly. The big, dangerous bodyguard who had spent two years commanding your movements, guarding your perimeters, and treating the world like a threat had completely unraveled at your feet.
He looked up at you with an expression of pure reverence—a look so entirely stripped of pride and so broken by his own hunger that it laid his entire soul bare. He looked like a man who had finally crawled out of a desert and reached a holy shrine, completely touch-starved, desperate to be used, and entirely subservient to your pleasure.
"Please," he whispered, the syllable a broken, needy whimper that caught in his throat. He didn't move to touch you yet, his hands staying glued to the mattress as he begged with his eyes. "Tell me what you want me to do. Tell me how to touch you. I'm yours. I'm completely yours."
You pulled him up.
There was no more room for distance, no more patience for the space between his knees and the mattress. Your fingers wrapped tightly around the collar of his half-unbuttoned shirt, and with a fierce, breathless tug, you pulled him up over you.
He didn’t resist, lunging forward with a desperate, guttural gasp as his lips crashed into yours.
The kiss was a messy, bruising collision of teeth and tongues, both of you fighting for air, fighting to get closer, clawing at each other's shoulders as if trying to tear through skin. Seonghwa made a high, strained, whimpering moan in the back of his throat, a helpless, whiny noise that betrayed just how undone his restraint finally was.
He broke the kiss, his hot breath shattering against your wet lips as his hands moved down to the hem of your shirt. He could barely grip the fabric from the shakiness of his own fingers, a frustrating tremor that made him let out a weak, desperate groan.
"Let me," he gasped out, completely wrecked. "Please—fuck—l-let me see you. I need to see you."
You nodded, and with a slow, reverent care that completely contrasted the chaotic hunger in his eyes, he began to slide the heavy layers of clothing off your body.
As the fabric parted, exposing your bare skin to the dim shadows of the room, Seonghwa completely stilled. He hovered over you, his palms resting on either side of your head, and he just stared.
His eyes traced the curve of your collarbone, the slope of your waist, and the gentle rise and fall of your chest with an unhinged need. His gaze was heavy and consuming, treating the sight of your bare skin like a holy relic he had spent a lifetime searching for.
"You're gorgeous," he whispered, a ragged, breathless sob catching in his throat as a single tear welled in his eye. "God, you're so beautiful."
He sank down, completely losing his posture, his face burying straight into the crook of your neck, letting out a long, broken whine, inhaling so deeply against your skin that his chest expanded painfully against yours.
He was completely lost in your scent, the clean, intoxicating warmth of your skin mixed with the faint trace of the winter storm. He nuzzled frantically into your pulse point as his mouth left a trail of wet, desperate kisses down your throat.
"Every single day," he whimpered against your skin, his hands finally sliding down to cup your bare waist, his large palms scalding against your flesh. His fingers flexed, digging into your hips with a bruising, desperate pressure. "Two years of standing behind you, smelling your hair, watching you smile at everyone else while I had to stand back. It took every single fiber of my goddamn being not to drag you into a dark room and crawl to your feet. I was dying. I’ve been dying for two years."
Another whimper escaped the man, his head moving lower, lips tracing the center of your chest, his tongue darting out to taste the salt of your skin. He pressed his face against your stomach and let out a choked, needy sound, completely surrendered his control to you, letting you feel the terrifying velocity of his heartbeat.
You tightened your fingers in his dark hair, the silky strands catching between your knuckles, and you pulled his face up from your stomach. Seonghwa followed the movement instantly, his neck tilting back with a gasp, his eyes glassy, unfocused, and dark with a heavy wave of lust.
"Look at me," you breathed out, your voice laced with a fierce, commanding heat that made a visible tremor ripple through his shoulders.
You pulled his head up just enough to guide him, shifting your weight as you spread your knees, exposing the deepest, most vulnerable parts of your body to the dim shadows of the mattress. "Need you, baby. Right here."
Seonghwa groaned at the thought; a wrecked whine tore from the back of his throat, a helpless sound of pure need and submission.
He slid down the bed instantly, hands fumbling with the hem of your pants before removing everything in a smooth motion, hands now clamping onto your inner thighs with a bruising, desperate pressure that anchored you flat against the sheets.
His face dipped between your thighs in a content hum while his long, slender fingers separated your folds. A deep sigh escaped the man as his tongue finally tasted you. It was wide and heavy as it flattened against your clit—long, deep, devouring licks that instantly made your hips jerk off the mattress with a sharp, dizzy gasp, turning your brain into complete mush.
"Ah—Seonghwa, please," you cried out, your fingers burying into the bedsheets, toes curling as a familiar heat built in your lower belly.
A deep, vibrating groan rumbled straight out of him as he continued sucking at your clit, his lips creating a tight, suffocating vacuum that stole the breath right from your lungs, his tongue darting out in sharp, rapid flicks that had you a complete mess beneath him.
You could hear the slick, desperate sounds of his mouth, the heavy slurring of his tongue. The wet, messy slaps of his lips against your skin and the constant, needy whimpers vibrating in his chest.
You looked down through the dark, your vision swimming, and your heart nearly stopped at the sight. Seonghwa was still fully clothed from the waist down, and his cock was visibly raging against the tight fabric of his slacks—creating a massive, hard ridge that stretched the material to its absolute limit.
As he worked between your thighs, his lower body was instinctively, frantically humping into the mattress, hips rolling in a desperate, friction-seeking rhythm that sent deep, heavy vibrations pulsing right through the bed and into your own body.
"God, Seonghwa," you panted, your hands reaching down to tightly grip his hair again, keeping him pinned against your clit. "You—you're getting off just from eating me out? Fuck—look at your pants, so fucking desperate."
The words hit him like a physical wave as he let out a low moan, hips rolling harder against the mattress.
"Such a good boy," you purred, fingers gently tugging at his hair. "Look at you, doing so good for me. Eating me out so well."
Another broken whimper escaped the man, his entire body shaking, tongue moving with an even more desperate and sloppy urgency from the praise.
He was begging with every lap of his tongue, his nose burying deeper into your wetness, completely lost in your taste, your scent, and your rules. He was whimpering into your skin, high on your pleasure, devouring you as if your climax were the only thing keeping his heart beating in the dark.
The heat in your lower belly coiled tighter, a dizzying pressure that left you trembling from head to toe. You were right on the edge, your core pulsing around his wet tongue, but the unbearable friction of his clothed body rubbing against the mattress became too much to handle.
You needed him inside you.
"Seonghwa," you gasped, a commanding note cutting through your own haze as you tightened your grip on his dark hair once more, pulling his face away from your pussy.
He let out a pathetic whine at the sudden loss of contact, his lips glistening and wet with your arousal as he looked up at you through long eyelashes. His eyes were completely blown out, unfocused, and dripping with a raw, needy desperation.
"Take them off," you panted, your eyes dropping to the leaking ridge straining against his uniform slacks.
You gave a slight tug to his hair, your voice dropping into that low, authoritative purr. "Get rid of your clothes. Right now, Seonghwa."
Seonghwa whimpered as he scrambled backwards instantly, a desperate, clumsy rush to obey your every word. His fingers slipped repeatedly against the heavy buckle of his belt as he let out a frustrated, whiny groan, a curse slipping past his lips while he frantically yanked at the leather, finally unbuckling it with a loud, metallic clatter that echoed in the dark room.
He didn't even care about being neat, practically tearing at the heavy fabric of his slacks, his breath coming in short hitches as he kicked them off his long legs, sending them flying onto the floorboards.
He turned back to you, kneeling at the edge of the mattress. His cock raged proudly against his stomach, long and thick as it flushed red with beads of precum pooling in his slit.
He hovered over you, hands coming to rest flat against your thighs to steady himself from his own trembling desire. "Please," he rasped, his voice a broken whisper.
His glassy eyes pleaded with yours, stripped entirely of his usual facade. "P-please let me fill you. Tell me I can have you. I-I'm clean, I swear to god. I haven’t been with anyone. I haven't touched a soul since the day I became your shadow. There's nobody else. Only you."
The raw honesty in his confession made your heart flutter. "I'm clean too, Seonghwa," you reassured him softly, your fingers tracing the hard line of his wrist as you pulled him closer. "And I'm on the pill. You don't have to worry about anything tonight. I'm safe."
A sudden wave of relief washed over his expression, a shuddering breath escaping his parted lips as your words removed the very last barrier holding him back.
Before he could lean down, you shifted your weight, your voice dropping back into that low, teasing command that made his shoulders instantly tense. "Guide your cock against me first, Seonghwa. Slide it along my folds. Spread it."
A sharp whine broke from the back of his throat. Scrambling to follow your exact words, his trembling fingers reached down between your bodies, gripping the thick, raging length of his dick.
With an agonizing slowness, he pressed the broad head of his cock against your entrance, following your command to the letter as he dragged the slick tip of his cock up and down along your glistening folds, smoothly painting your pussy with the mixed wetness of his own arousal and saliva as well as your overflowing arousal.
The movement was absolute torture for both of you. Seonghwa let out a wrecked groan with every slow stroke, his hips subtly twitching as his body practically screamed for the tight heat of your core. Tears of desperation and need welled in his long lashes, his face entirely flushed.
"Please," he begged, his voice whiny and desperate as his eyelids threatened to flutter shut. "Please—nnngh—I can't... it's too much. Let me push inside—I’ll be so good for you. I’ll do whatever you want, I’ll take such good care of you, just please—fuck—please."
Your clit throbbed from the desperation of his words. "Do it," you breathed out, your fingers tightening in his hair. "Take me, Seonghwa."
Seonghwa lunged forward, crashing his mouth down onto yours in a devouring kiss with a loud moan—hands clamping onto your hips with a bruising, desperate grip as he finally drove his hips forward, filling you to the brim with his cock.
Two long years of suffocating tension and suppressed glances violently crashed together the moment your bodies fused. The sheer, overwhelming sensation of his cock stretching you open, filling you up knocked a high, strangled cry from your throat—a sound that was instantly swallowed by his hungry mouth.
Seonghwa groaned directly into your lips, a deep, primitive, vibrating sound that rumbled straight from his chest into yours as his body completely froze inside you. He stayed buried deep, his muscles trembling violently under the tight intensity of your walls gripping him.
His forehead rested heavily against the crook of your shoulder as he stayed buried inside you, his body shaking with the monumental strain of holding himself back. You could feel every desperate twitch of his cock, the way it pulsed needingly inside you from the tight heat of your pussy.
"Slow," you choked out, your hands sliding up his broad, sweaty back, your palms skidding against the slick expanse of his skin as you tried to anchor him. "Move slowly, Seonghwa. Let me adjust."
A choked, strangled groan escaped the deepest part of his chest, but he obeyed instantly. He pulled back with a torturously slow, deliberate drag, the slick friction making you whimper as your walls clung to his length. He drove back in with an unhurried, heavy depth.
You could feel the faint, desperate flutter in his thighs—the violent, involuntary trembling of a man actively suppressing the urge to absolutely pound into you. But the instinct to claim, to take what was his, was buried in an instant. The desperation to please, to be good, completely overtook his senses.
The quiet hum of the room shattered the second Seonghwa moved, incoherent, desperate ramblings muttered frantically against your neck, his voice completely wrecked as he found a slow rhythm.
"Nnngh—you feel so good," he babbled, his breath hot and damp against your skin. "So tight—god—you're so warm. I can't ...I can't think..."
Though his pace remained slow, his hips twitched hard with every thrust, cock reaching so deep it left you gasping. He hitched, a sharp breath from his throat as his large hands tightened on your hips.
"C-can I go faster?" he begged, desperately whining as he looked down at you with tear-soaked eyes. "P-please... fuck, please let me. I need this so bad. I'm losing it."
You looked up at his flushed face, a dark, thrilling surge of power coiling in your chest despite the heavy, sweet ache building in your own hips.
"Not yet, princess," you whispered, a low, teasing authority dripping from your tongue. You looked at the desperation twisting his beautiful features and let out a breathless, mocking exhale. "You're going to suffer the exact way I did for two long years."
Seonghwa cried out at the words, a loud, broken sob slipping past his lips from the denial but also from how fucking good you felt. The sound of his ragged breathing filled the small room, competing only with the fierce howling of the blizzard beating against the cabin walls outside.
You reached up, hand gripping forcefully around his jaw. Your fingers dug into his skin, tilting his head down and forcing his eyes to lock directly onto yours.
"Look at me," you commanded sternly.
He obeyed instantly. Completely pliant, his jaw rested heavily in your hand, his gaze wide and unfiltered. The sheer need to be good, to be trapped entirely by your rules, waiting on your every breath so beautifully spread across his face.
You pulled his face down the last remaining inch, crashing your mouth against his in a hungry, wet kiss. Seonghwa was soft against your lips, following your lead with a desperate, slippery rhythm that mirrored his surrender.
You pressed your lips firmly against his, your hearts synced with a beat that vibrated right through your chests, and you finally decided to unleash the beast at your feet.
"Fuck me, baby," you whispered against his mouth, your voice a dark, demanding promise. "Fuck me like you mean it."
The final thread of his self-control violently snapped. A loud groan erupted from the man, finally replacing the cautious rhythm with hard and brutally fast thrusts.
He drove into you with a dizzying speed, his hips slamming against yours with a wet, heavy slap that echoed loudly in the dark room. The sounds became chaotic and loud—the wet, squelching friction of his slick shaft sliding in and out of your overflowing wetness, the heavy, rhythmic thud of his pelvis bruising against yours, and the wrecked groans tearing from his throat with every single thrust.
He was pounding into you like a man possessed, his cock bottoming out with every single thrust, filling you up in a way you never thought your body could physically handle. You moaned against his mouth, your back arching off the mattress as your vision threatened to turn white.
Your fingers clawed desperately into the thick muscles of his shoulders, drawing faint red lines across his skin as he consumed you, driving you both higher and higher into a blinding, suffocating heat that completely obliterated the winter freezing outside.
The friction between your bodies reached a feverish pitch. The room felt entirely too small, too hot, the air heavy and thick with the scent of sex, wood, and the salt of your mingled sweat. Seonghwa’s movements had completely lost all semblance of calculated precision; he was running on pure instinct, his chest heaving as he repeatedly buried his thick length deep inside you.
"Ah—Seonghwa, Seonghwa, wait—" Your voice broke, a breathless, desperate cry, as the electric coil in your lower belly wound tighter and tighter, turning into a sharp, intolerable ache.
He stuttered against you in a sharp, ragged hitch as his whole body went rigid. He looked down at you, his eyes wide and glassy.
"I'm close—god, I'm so close," he babbled incoherently, his voice a broken sound as his hips trembled violently against yours. "I can't hold it, I'm going to—"
"You can't come," you cut him off in a commanding tone. Your fingers dug into the muscles of his shoulders, holding his weight in place. "You don't get to come until I do, Seonghwa."
His head shook back and forth, dark strands of wet hair clinging to his flushed forehead as he choked out a ruined sob. "P-please... it hurts, it feels too good, I'm right there—"
"Then hurry up," you panted, your eyes burning into his.
He scrambled to obey, his body shifting slightly as his right hand slid down between your fused bodies. You gasped when his thumb found your clit, circling it with a desperate wet friction that made your hips stutter from the touch.
His other hand flew up to tightly grip the swell of your breast, his large palm molding over your soft skin with a possessive intensity. He leaned down, his mouth hot as he took your nipple between his lips, tongue swirling and flattening against the sensitive peak in a tight, heavy rhythm while his teeth desperately grazed the edge.
Every deep pull of his mouth sent a jolt of pleasure straight down to your core, perfectly synchronized with the rapid, wet friction of his thumb circling your clit and the heavy, stuttering depth of his cock thrusting you open.
You completely lost your mind. Your head thrashed against the pillows, your vision splintering into blinding streaks of white heat as the intense, throbbing pressure in your lower belly expanded.
"Seonghwa—Seonghwa, now, I'm—"
Your hips gave one final, shuddering spasm against his hand as your climax violently hit, locking your muscles tight while your walls pulsed aggressively around his length in hot, crushing waves.
Seonghwa broke out in a quiet sob, his jaw clenched so hard his teeth were grinding, tears of restraint spilling down his flushed cheeks as he waited for your spoken cue.
You looked at the man, fingers tangling weakly in his sweat-soaked hair. "Cum, baby," you purred. "You deserve it. So good for me."
A low groan erupted from him as his body violently slammed forward, chasing the same peak you had achieved mere seconds before.
His climax hit him hard, driving his hips forward in one last, deep thrust, pinning you flat against the mattress as his thick length pulsed inside your squeezing hole. You could feel the pool of his release painted deep inside you, a thick, pulsing heat that felt like an electric current radiating straight through your pelvis.
He shot into you over and over, his muscles locking into painful, rigid lines along his back and shoulders as he fucked every single drop of cum out of his spent cock, his breath leaving him in short, pathetic whimpers.
Slowly, the frantic beating of his heart began to steady, his sweaty chest collapsing fully against yours as the room fell into a deep, suffocating quiet. Seonghwa didn't pull out. He stayed buried deep within your warmth, his face nuzzled straight into the crook of your neck as his trembling arms wrapped tightly around your waist, holding you to his skin like a man who had finally found his home in the middle of the dark.
The adrenaline slowly drained from the room, leaving behind a thick, humid silence that felt completely detached from the raging blizzard outside. You laid there beneath his solid weight, your mind a hazy, comfortable blur of exhaustion and pure bliss.
Seonghwa’s face remained buried in your neck, his breath coming in slow, shuddering puffs against your damp skin. You slid your hands up his sweaty shoulders, fingers gently running through the dark, damp strands of his hair, massaging his scalp in slow, soothing circles.
"You did so well, Seonghwa," you murmured, your voice dropping into a soft, comforting whisper against his ear. "Look how sweet you are. You took such good care of me, baby. I felt so safe, so incredibly good."
An involuntary whine escaped the back of his throat—a helpless, tiny sound that broke your heart with how sweet it was. He buried his face deeper into your skin, completely pliant, soaking in the soothing rhythm of your voice like a child being comforted after a long storm.
The cooling air of the room finally began to bite at your bare skin, and you gently tried to shift your weight to clean up. "I'll be right back, okay? I need to grab a towel from the bathroom."
The moment you tried to pull away, a sharp wave of panic rippled through his dazed state. Seonghwa let out a louder, more frantic whine, and his large hand blindly scrambled across the sheets until his fingers locked around your wrist. His grip wasn't bruising or forceful like before; it was heavy, trembling, and deeply desperate, silently begging you not to break the physical connection. He shook his head weakly against your shoulder, his eyes unfocused as he clung to your wrist like a lifeline.
"Shh, it's okay, I'm not leaving you," you soothed him, using your free hand to gently stroke his flushed cheek, kissing his forehead. "You're okay, princess. I'm just getting a towel to clean us up. I promise I’ll be right back to hold you."
He let out one more fragile, thready sigh, his fingers slowly, reluctantly loosening their grip on your wrist as he sank back into the heavy haze of the mattress.
Gathering the top sheet of the bed, you wrapped it securely around your body, dragging the heavy fabric over your shoulders. Holding the sheet tight against your chest, you slid your bare feet onto the freezing floorboards, your knees bucking slightly from the lingering tremors of your climax.
The narrow hallway was somewhat dark, only illuminated by the faint gleam of the lanterns. You navigated the shadows with a hand against the timber wall, stepping toward the small bathroom near the main room.
You reached for the doorknob, but before your fingers could even wrap around it, the door suddenly shot open.
You gasped, pulling the sheet tightly to your chin as you stumbled backward.
Standing in the doorway of the bathroom was San. He froze instantly, completely caught off guard. He was bare-chested, a white cotton sheet wrapped around his waist, and a fluffy white towel clutched tightly in his large hand. His hair was a wild, messy halo, his lips swollen, and his chest still heavily flushed with a telltale heat.
For what felt like an eternity, the two of you just stared at each other in shock. The silence in the hallway stretched, loud and incredibly awkward.
Then, your eyes dropped to the towel in his hand, and the muffled memory of the quiet giggles and the single upstairs bedroom door clicking shut from earlier flashed through your mind.
The realization hit you as an amused huff escaped your lips, and San's shoulders instantly dropped as a wide, boyish grin broke across his face.
You shared a quiet, deeply knowing nod—an unspoken pact of absolute solidarity between two people caught red-handed in the exact same state of breathless ruin.
"Towel's on the rack," San whispered, a quiet, amused chuckle catching in his throat as he stepped past you, carefully keeping his sheet secure. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight, San," you breathed out, a soft laugh shaking your shoulders.
You watched his shadow vanish up the creaking wooden staircase, his heavy footsteps careful as he returned to Wooyoung upstairs. Smiling to yourself, you stepped into the small bathroom, quickly grabbing a clean, damp towel to wipe away the sticky, sweet evidence of your night along with the semen slowly trailing down your thighs.
The room was freezing when you returned, but the second you dropped the sheet and slid back onto the mattress, you were instantly engulfed in a wall of comforting heat. Seonghwa tossed and mindlessly wrapped his arm around you, pulling you flat against his damp chest. He sighed in content the moment he felt your warmth return.
He tucked the heavy wool blankets securely around your shoulders, burying his nose back into your hair as his leg hooked tightly over yours, anchoring you completely beneath him.
You couldn't help but giggle. “Seonghwa, I need to clean you.”
But his grip remained firm, pinning you against the safety of his embrace. You huffed in defeat but decided it wasn't worth the hassle.
As the blizzard continued to howl uselessly against the cabin walls, you closed your eyes and drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep, wrapped in the comforting certainty that your shadow was never going to let you go.
YEOSANG: I usually don't talk about having a hard time.. I hardly even tell my mom & dad [...] because I feel I'm somehow burdening the person I'm sharing it with [...] so I feel like it's better for me to handle it on my own from the start.
— via. rilakkyung
he posted this pic on his story and i dropped my pants in preparation
bsf!seonghwa x f!reader
content: teaching you how to ride, slow and wet, eye contact, choking
wc: 2.3k
thinking about seonghwa...
“never?” he murmurs, nibbling on his inner cheek as he gives you a once-over. not in disbelief, but something else. something dangerous.
you shake your head. “nope.” you shrug and pick up your phone again and start to scroll through your settings apps. “but it’s not a big deal, really, it’s just another thing to cross off the bucket list.”
seonghwa snorts and peeks over to snoop at your phone, to which you angle it away from him with an annoyed scowl. “i think it may be a little more serious than that.”
you type gibberish into the search bar. "why does it have to be serious, hwa? it's just sex."
its seonghwa's turn to scoff this time, and he pinches the skin of your calf, you swat at him with your free hand. but he does it again, and you bite out an irritated "quit it" as he starts to speak again.
"thats a bad mindset to have, y'know that right?" he lowers his voice to that annoying, mothering tone he uses with you when he thinks you're being stupid. "it should never be "just sex."
"okay yeah, but you can't be so picky and choosy all the time. i'm sure ill get with some guy and when he figures it out, he'll work with me or whatever. teach me or something." you speak of it fleetingly, like it was nothing more than a pesky errand.
seonghwa snatches your phone from you and shoves it into the couch cushions, and you sigh loudly.
"some guy?" he questions with a raise of his eyebrow. you move to fish your phone out of the couch, but he reaches out and gently grabs your wrist, encasing it in his slender fingers and rubbing his thumb over your thrumming pulse point.
"why not me?" he speaks lowly, and you snap your eyes up to his. he stares back at you with an intensity that settles low in your gut. his thumb stroked over your inner wrist slowly, and his other hand twitched at his side on the couch.
the air went thick, the quiet of his living room felt encased in a bubble, and the warmth of his skin suddenly burned.
he sees it. your thighs clenching beneath your body, the conflict flashing over your eyes, your free hand digging its nails into the cushion.
when you don't respond, he lets his eyes fall to where his hand held your wrist, watching with illustrated intent as he traces patterns against the fragile skin.
"i could show you, i've always been told i'm a good teacher." seonghwa tickles the skin of your palm with gentle scratches of his nails.
"thats what friends are for, yeah?" he lifts his pretty eyes back up to you, and something else has shadowed over them, and you feel something inside of you crack. you're aware of the way veins in his hands flow prettily under his skin.
the way his collarbones peak through the thin fabric of his shirt. the slick shine on his bottom lip where he licked to wet it. his tongue poked against his inner cheek and his eyebrows raised again to urge an answer out of you.
"c'mon pretty, don't leave me hanging." his voice is softer than usual, a new tone lacing it you've never heard from your best friend, something heated, something needy.
if deciding to have your best friend teach you how to ride dick was a bad idea, then you could mull on it later. because it wasn't long until he was sitting under you on the couch, legs spread nice and wide, his hands pressing into your hips where he held your body above him.
you straddled him, your thighs resting on either side of his, your knees pressed into the rough fabric of the couch cushions. your hands gripped his shoulders, your nails digging into the flesh of the blades.
he looks up at you through his lashes, as if you were a gift from god himself, his eyebrows knit together so prettily. "its fun up there, huh?" he smiles, dragging his warm hands up your thighs, holding you like you might melt and slip through his fingers.
you could barely keep yourself together; he was so deep inside of you. your thighs shook around him, his tip nudging against that spot so sweet and so dirty. his fingers kneaded the flesh of your hips, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth with a quiet moan when he felt your cunt clench around him.
"it helps that you're, ah… so wet…" his voice cracks lightly, his cock twitching inside of you and sending a jolt of pleasure up your spine.
you shiver and grip his shoulders a little harder, and you begin to lift your hips, but his grip on them tightens, and he pushes you right back down until your ass hits his thighs again, and you groan nice and low as he fills you all the way up again.
"no-no-no-no-no, baby, stop. don't lift." he presses his lips to your collarbone and kisses you there softly, running his tongue over the skin warmly. one hand leaves your hip and runs over your waist before he presses his palm flat against your lower back and pushes until you arch a little.
just enough that he somehow slips deeper into you, and you let out a weak whine when his fat tip presses ever harder against that spot.
"grind." he instructs in a gravelly, soft moan. "rock your hips, back and forth. it'll help me hit that spot for you."
you shake and whimper under your breath, but you obey. you gently move your hips forward, and the feeling is immediate, his cock drags against your soft walls just enough that it feels like pure heaven.
you move your hands and card them through the hair at the back of his head, cradling his skull in your arms as you hide your face in the crook of his neck, moaning softly against his skin as you rock your hips, nice and slow.
it helps that he's so big, each roll of your lower body has him slipping in and out of you just enough to stimulate you, but not enough to where you can consider him fucking you. his tip dragging against that spot like a constant button, your legs shaking uncontrollaby and your whine brushing past his ear like a song.
your clit lightly brushes against his abs, where his shirt has ridden up over his lower stomach. he keeps his hand on your lower back, keeping you arched all the while his other hand stays glued to your hips, pushing and pulling on your lower body, helping you grind his cock into your body.
"there, how's that feel, baby? good?" he whispers in your ear, kissing just below your earlobe as he helps you rock your body around his cock.
you nod against his neck, gripping his soft, dark hair harder and choking out a moan when he teases you with a heavy lift of his hips. then you feel as he encases your hips with both his hands again, and gently he lifts your body ever so slightly.
you squeeze his head even harder, seonghwa's soft moans shaking in his throat as he lifts and pushes your cunt back down on his cock in slow, deep intervals. "don't stop rocking those hips, keep fucking me like you want. grind, deep, slow…"
he guides you perfectly, each time he lifts your hips himself it makes you clench around him harder. you start to feel a little desperate, and your hips start to move a little faster, rocking with a little more rhythm, but seonghwa didn't like that.
one hand finds the back of your neck and grabs it firmly, pulling your head away from his shoulder and pressing your forehead to his. suddenly all you can see is his eyes, and it overwhelms you to the point of tears. you whine pathetically when he thrusts his cock up into your pussy so sharply that a drop of drool falls from your lips onto his chest.
"easy…" he grumbles against your lips, his breath fanning over your face in low, heavy pants. "slow down pretty, no need to rush." his nails dig into the back of your neck, and you shiver when he starts to grind his own hips up into you, so deep it has your stomach caving.
"if i wanted you pounded into the floor i would've put you on your back, but i'm teaching you sweetness. listen to me." his eyes fall low-lidded as you resume your slow grinding, and his mouth falls open in a pretty moan when you tighten around him, the sound of your slickness loud in your ears.
"it's your dick right now, baby, use it. do what feels good, but don't lose your head." he keeps up the torturous movement of his hips, a choreographed grind that makes his stomach roll prettily.
he doesn't let you look away, forcing you to lock in on his needy gaze while he keeps you filled up with him, nudging every deep spot, every nook and cranny of your pussy. there wasn't a single space inside of you that remained untouched.
"s, t-too, mm-" you tried to talk, try to tell him how good you were feeling but it came out in slurred babbles, and he laughed at you. his warm breath shudders over your parted lip,s and he nudges his head up, melding his soft lips with yours and kissing you deep and nasty.
his tongue fills your mouth with a purr, curling and essentially fucking your mouth with it. "it's a lot i know…" he whispers into your mouth, interrupting the kiss with a low moan when you clench so hard around him it makes his entire body fuzzy.
he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, letting go with a wet pop and pressing your hips down so hard onto his cock you thought if you looked down you'd see his tip poking through the flesh of your stomach.
"wouldn't have felt like this with anyone else, baby." seonghwa nips at the corner of your mouth, dropping his head to run his warm tongue flat up the front of your throat. "feel how wet you are? no other man will be able to make you feel this good."
his eyes lift as he sucks marks of possession into the skin of your neck, and when he sees a tear slipping down your cheek, he growls low in his throat and jerks his cock up into you rough and deep, and you yelp as the bliss shoots through you.
"oh no, don't cry. it makes me wanna be mean to you, makes me wanna fuck you til it feels wrong when i'm not inside you."
now he wraps his hands around your throat, pressing his thumbs against those soft spots that melt your brain, his eyes darting all over your pretty little blissed out face, his lips brushing against your in a ghost of a kiss.
"now lift, drop, and roll. fuck me, bunny. its yours, use this cock until you're satisfied. make yourself cum for me."
you coudln't disobey if you tried, working your body and focusing on that rapidly tightening knot in your stomach as you fuck yourself on seonghwa's dick, every delicious drag inside of you forcing your eyes to roll to the back of your head.
he doesn't bother to chastise you for breaking eye contact; he knows you're too lost in it to control yourself. he squeezes your throat tighter, your moans coming choked and broken. seonghwa helps push you over that edge, groaning and purring prettily for you, lifting his hips to match your desperate movements.
"i feel you baby, pussy feels so good around me. so warm, so tight." he lifts his head to press his lips to the shell of your hot ears, moaning and sighing as you ride him to high heaven. your head feels fuzzy with the lack of air, seonghwa making sure that the only thing you could think about was his dick working you out.
“cum as much as you need,” he coos in your ear his voice low and breathless, sinking his teeth into the soft lobe. “ride me, bunny, ride me.”
you absolutely lose it, slamming your hips down onto his dick and shattering, dribbling drool in rivers as you cum. he squeezed your throat in pulsing intervals, giving you air, then snatching it from you, rolling his hips up into your cunt and dragging every drop of your orgasm out of your body.
"oh god…fuck." he grumbles in his throat, overwhelmed by how pretty you looked on top of him, blissed out over your warm, gummy pussy squeezing him so tight he almost came inside of you. "such a quick learner, baby."
he drags his hands away from your throat, cradling your head, smearing your drool all over your cheeks with his thumbs, your face hazy and drunk while he rocks his hips into you in painfully slow, high off the way you shake and whimper, your slick sticking to his thighs and his lower stomach, a messy proof of his effect on you.
"did so good beautiful, yes you did." he praises, and yet his hips never stop moving. rolling, grinding, upwards strokes that make you feel helpless, regardless of the fact that he was beneath you.
"think you can give me another one? lesson's not over yet." he bites out, grabbing your arms and dragging your body down so your forehead rests over his shoulder. then he grips your hips, lifts your body up, and shimmies his hips down just enough so he can plant his feet flat on the floor, before he starts to fuck.
hard, deep, powerful thrusts up into your overstimulated cunt that has your moans coming out in staccato chokes.
"you did your w-work, now let me use this pussy." he groans through gritted teeth, and you feel your body erupt into flames the more he moves. making you feel every inch of him, each thrust touching your brain. making you feel so good.
[ex-husband!wooyo x ex-wife!reader] 𓈒𓏸.°• part two to wifey | smut minors dni 18+, raw p in v, creampies, breeding, sweet talk, dirty talk, mommy/daddy, nothing too crazy i turned up the plot this time | 9.7k
there are some special appearances in this from @chimivx 's friends ᢉ𐭩 if you're curious about yunho's wife n kids, read tcmc ‼️ if you wanna know everything about wooyoung and aurora, how yunho and aurora came to be, if you're curious about the lore at all, pls start here :) thank you plum for letting me write a story from your story, i love your people very very very much, almost as much as i love u u terrifying mastermind genius ₊˚⊹♡
Like fucking clockwork.
You close the door to Kyungmin’s room quietly, hearing the soft noise of the latch clicking into place, face scrunching together, silently praying that you don’t hear his small voice call you back inside.
At the same time, Wooyoung’s key turns in your front door, heavy, deep brown wood groaning open. On silent feet he ushers himself inside, closing the door quietly behind him, lips tucked between his teeth to enforce the silence.
From the top of the staircase, you see him dressed in oversized charcoal at the bottom, kicking his sneakers off his feet while throwing his phone, wallet and keys on the entryway table. Skipping down the stairs, you forgo greeting him, whispering, “Be quiet, he just went down.”
“He’s eight,” Wooyoung whispers back, “you still tuck him in?”
“He begs me to,” your brows knit together, “he doesn’t beg you?”
“No,” his lips spread in a grin, “he’s a big boy at my house.”
You scoff, “Shut up, he’ll always be my baby.” Leading him into the living room, you keep your voice low, louder than a whisper, “We have to be quiet.”
“You have to be quiet,” he corrects you, tone teasing, smirking as you lay back on the couch. The TV is on but muted, the lamp in the corner coating the living area in dusky orange even if the sun had gone to sleep hours ago.
“I am quiet,” you pout as he crawls over you, wasting no time, crouching between your parted legs, a hand falling to the back of the couch for purchase as he pecks a short kiss to your lips.
“Don’t tease tonight,” you grab hold of his hoodie, pulling him close enough for your lips to touch, “I don’t have it in me to fight for it.”
He smiles, kissing you again, parting your lips with his own, hands moving to the armrest to keep him steady as he lowers his hips into you. You gasp into his mouth at the friction, your tiny shorts doing nothing to shield you from his weight.
“Then don’t fight,” he moves to kiss your jaw, your head tilts to let him in, his breath is hot against your skin, “lay there and behave for once.”
Your hands find his neck, his cheeks, pulling him back up to kiss you deeper, head lifting off the pillow, calves hooking over the back of his thighs. He makes a grumbled noise, tongue licking into your mouth like he was searching for something, one hand falling from the armrest to tug at the hem of your hoodie, pushing it upward.
“Off.”
One word, a singular order, you sink further down the couch after pulling it off your body in a rush, throwing the pillow beneath your head to the floor, giving him space to plant his elbows above your shoulders.
“Don’t wait,” you murmur into his mouth, “I can take it.”
He hums, taking your bottom lip between his teeth before he answers, “You don’t know how to take it.”
“Then I’ll fucking learn,” your feet tug at his sweatpants, spine bending toward him, “get inside me.”
“Antsy,” he sits back on his knees, pushing his sweatpants and his briefs down in one quick motion. “Like I haven’t been fucking you right or something.”
“You haven’t been here in a week,” you argue, pushing your shorts down to your ankles, kicking them on the floor, “you haven’t been fucking me at all.”
“I had our kid for four of those days,” he pulls your thighs over his, sliding his cock through your folds, “I didn’t see you at my door after he went to bed. On his own, might I add.”
You loose a shaky breath as his tip collides with your clit, hips bucking up towards him, “Shit, I was busy, Wooyoung. What about those three days then?”
He pauses, glancing up at you, “You serious?”
“Yes?” You blink, “What were you doing? You had Friday, Saturday and Sunday.”
He laughs, lining himself up, holding his breath as he pushes inside. Your lips part in a silent scream, head tilting backwards to dig into the couch cushions, hands clawing at your own thighs for something. He stills once he’s fully seated, chest heaving, veiny forearms reaching for your ankles.
“So fuckin’ tight,” he grinds out, voice tight with restrain, pushing your knees up to your chest. “Careful what you say, wifey. Might think you want me for real.”
“Regretting,” you squeak, eyes screwed shut tight, “s’big.”
He’d laugh again if your pussy didn’t look so pretty trying to keep him in. Walls fluttering around the base of him, your clit pulsed, begging for attention already, he started a slow, deep grind of his hips, making sure he filled you up all the way with each one.
“So wet for me, mommy. Didn’t even have to touch you,” he keeps his palms splayed on your thighs, bearing his weight as he leans forward, pressing a kiss to the arch of your foot that dangles in the air.
You whimper, face scrunching in pleasure, core clenching around him, he kisses up to your ankle, grazing his teeth against your skin, your hands shoot for his wrists, his forearms, just to hold them. Forcing words out, you say, “Been waiting for this, for you.”
“A whole week,” he picks up the pace, voice leaning into condescending, “must have been so hard.”
Your breath catches, eyes rolling back, a soft moan tumbling off your tongue, “Fuck, ‘t was. It was.”
“Quiet,” he reminds you, “or I’ll stop.”
“You won’t stop,” you mutter, fingers tightening over his wrists, a challenge.
At that he stills, sitting back on his calves, leaving just the tip inside. “I won’t what?”
Jaw clenching, your hips follow him, he lays his palms over bone to keep you still. You stay like that for a moment, a game of chicken, eyes locked on his that stare at you expectantly. Obedience, silence, submission, he loves you bratty, he’s a brat himself, but when it comes to fucking you open on your couch just past nine at night, he expects you to listen.
“Fine,” you shift against the cushions, “fine, you win.”
He pulls you onto his cock by your hips without a word and you have to slap a hand over your mouth to force yourself silent. The angle, the ease in which he mounted you onto him, your eyes slammed shut, gasping out a broken sound into your palm, he fills you up perfectly, carving into you like you were built to take him and him only, it’s war to not cry out in pleasure.
“Fuck,” under his breath, low, he tells you how good you feel in one blurted word. You roll your hips against him, meeting his thrusts, curved cock dragging along the front of your walls with each grind.
“More,” you plead, grabbing for him, “kiss me.”
He crawls over you, elbows beside your ears again, pressing his lips to yours with a softness reserved for you. His hips slow, your ankles crossing over his back, pushing his hoodie up with your heels just to feel more of his skin against you.
“Yes,” you whisper, breathing the same air, bodies moving together now, “just like that, daddy.”
His forehead meets yours, a quiet noise of pleasure rumbling from his chest, “‘m not gonna last.”
You kiss him again, tongue slotting between his lips, hands tugging at his roots, body moving in the shape of his, the only thing you can hear is your breath singing in harmony and the slick sound of your bodies conjoining.
Six weeks of Wooyoung breaking you down on your couch, your kitchen counter, your living room floor, once against the wall just outside of your hallway bathroom. You don’t know what it is, you haven’t spoken any more of what it means, what comes next, the only thing you know is that you can’t stop.
“Want me to fill you up? Fuck you full?”
You’re nodding, tongue catching on his lips, delirious with pleasure, your body ached for him. Burned for him. Only him. Always him– till death do you part.
“Yes, daddy,” you whisper, voice pitched and whiny.
His hips stutter, he tucks his head into your neck to muffle his groan, fingers tightening in your hair that’s sprawled out around your head like a blanket. Losing his rhythm, his slow deep strokes turning shallow, quick– chasing a high he found so easily with you.
Your toes curl over his back, chin tipping up when you feel the warmth spread, the heaviness, the feeling was indescribable. Claimed, owned, like he was marking his territory, it made your stomach swirl with affection, enough to pick his head up by his hair and kiss him again.
Your hips rock, he whimpers. “T-too much, jagi, no.”
So warm, you glide against him, too slippery for there to be any resistance. The sound you make is small but it says everything you can’t, that you need more, you aren’t done.
“D’you wanna sit on my face?" You hold his flushed cheeks instead, doe eyes staring up into his dilated pupils, begging. He shakes his head, “Can’t fuck you again, can’t.”
“Pussy,” you smack your teeth, “are you serious?”
“I’ll make you cum in under three,” he feeds you a peck of his lips, “promise.”
“Mommy?”
Both of your heads turn toward the staircase, the small voice that couldn’t see you from the platform at the top. It takes all of a millisecond for you to push Wooyoung away from you and jump off the couch.
“Coming!” You call, grabbing your shorts from the floor. Pulling them up your thighs, clenching hard to keep Wooyoung inside, you hiss at your ex, “Don’t fucking leave, you owe me.”
“Yes, mommy,” he nods, grin amused and lazy, “duty calls.”
You run up the stairs to find your brown-haired boy standing at the top, one of his fists rubbing at his eye, his favorite Frozen pajamas already pulled up and twisted at each and every hem. Before you have a chance to speak, he asks, “Who’s here?”
“No one,” you speak quietly, softly, turning him around by his shoulders, guiding him back into his bedroom. “Come on, baby, bed time.”
Five minutes of staring at the ceiling feels like a fucking lifetime until his tiny breaths turn slower, deeper. Creeping out of his bedroom once more, closing his door even softer than you did the first time, you nearly sprint down the steps to find Wooyoung still half-clothed.
“Now what if I brought him down here?” You stand before the couch, hands on your hips.
“Why the hell would you do that?” He quips, leaning forward to grab you by the hips, pulling you back down to him. “He’s asleep?”
“Out like a light,” you throw your arms over his shoulders, taking your spot in his lap. “You promised me something.”
“Is that all I’m good for?” His brows raise and the question takes you by surprise.
Wiping the smirk off your lips, your arms lower a little, disarmed. “Sex?”
“Yeah,” he sits up a little, shifting where you sat on his lap. “We’ve been sneaking around for over a month, I haven’t pressed the date thing because you’ve never been one to break your promises and–”
“You were serious?” You push your brows up to your hairline, cutting him off. To make it clear, you repeat, “You seriously want to take me on a date.”
His head cocks to the side, “You didn’t think I was serious? Of course I want to take you out.”
“We’re divorced,” you argue, leaning back, adding space between you.
“I’m aware,” he says, as if he really means no shit. “You’re on my lap right now, I’m still dripping out of you, are you planning on fucking me after the sun goes down for the rest of our lives?”
“Not for the rest of our lives,” you shake your head a little, brows knitted together, confused.
“Oh, then until you’re over it?” He blows amusement through his nose. “We made a tiny human who’s upstairs right now and I’m suddenly disposable?”
“That’s not what I meant,” you rub your palms over your face, sucking in a deep breath. “I just thought this was, like, an agreement. I didn’t think either of us wanted anything more, I’m sorry if I misread the situation.”
“We’d have a chance to talk about it if you didn’t kick me out as soon as you came.”
“Wooyoung,” you gasp sharply, offended, “I do not do that.”
His brows raise, forgoing a verbal response. You think back on the past six weeks, remembering each and every night you’ve shoved him out of your front door as soon as he pulled his pants up, the memories flash through your mind like a medley. Your lips flatten, cheeks heating, guilt and shame forming in the pit of your belly.
“I’m sorry,” you say quietly, just above a whisper.
“You really don’t want anything more?”
He sounds wounded and your heart cracks beneath your ribs. His brows are upturned, mismatched eyes rounded out, pink lips still swollen from earlier almost pouting. You swallow, taking a second to be honest with yourself and your feelings… This works. The last six weeks have worked so effortlessly, so easily, you’ve been spending your days bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, so fulfilled you haven’t even considered what comes next. If anything comes next.
“I haven’t been this happy in awhile,” you reply honestly, “I think I don’t want to fuck anything up, our sex life wasn’t this consistent when we were still married, it’s nice.”
His fingers squeeze your hips, pulling you closer to him, a small smile forming on his full lips. “All I want to do is take you out one time, jagi. We don’t have to put any pressure on it, let’s just go out for dinner, have a few drinks and talk. It’s been a long time since we’ve just talked.”
It puts a smile on your face, too. You run a hand through his hair, locks of coal soft between your fingers, “Okay, let’s go this weekend.”
His face lights up, “Really?”
You snort, “Yes, really. I’ll get a babysitter for Saturday and–”
“I’ll bring him to Yunho’s,” his hands slide up to your waist, under the hem of your tank, leaning forward until his chest brushes against you. “He hasn’t seen Aden in awhile, maybe they can have a sleepover.”
Your hands find the base of his neck, pulling him flush to you, “A sleepover?”
Wooyoung’s lips find yours, a small kiss, his hands traveling upward, cupping your breasts beneath your tank, “Maybe we can have a sleepover of our own.”
You gasp into his touch, brows furrowing in pleasure, “Please.”
“You can have me all night,” he reaches for the hem of your tank, pulling it swiftly over your head before his hands go right back to toying with your chest, pressing his thumbs over your nipples as he says, “We can fuck in our big, comfortable bed, all night if you want to. Just like old times.”
You moan softly, quietly, head going fuzzy like he’d cast a spell on you, “Let’s go up there now.”
He keeps his eyes on yours as he leans forward, tongue poking out to circle over your nipple before his lips wrap around it, sucking harshly. You suck in a sharp gasp, face twisting in pleasure, hips grinding into him beneath you, “Fuck, Wooyoung.”
“Saturday,” his voice is low, gravelly, it sends a shiver up your spine. “Tonight you get to ride my face.”
You can’t argue. Not when he brushes his nose over your spit-soaked nipple, giving you a perfect view of the curve of cartilage, already imagining bucking your hips against it.
Immediately you’re climbing off of his lap, pointing to the rug beneath your feet, “On the floor.”
“Whatever you want, mommy.”
“Damn.”
It’s loud enough for the neighbors to hear. On your porch, fist over his lips, his brows are scrunched like he can’t believe his eyes, he looks you up and down three times before he whistles.
You snort, rolling your eyes, pulling your front door closed behind you. “Shut up, Wooyoung.”
He steps backwards, down one of your cement stairs, watching as you bend over slightly to lock your front door. Voice amused, he continues, “All dressed up for lil’ ole me? The dreaded ex?”
You turn around with a smile, “I’m keeping my word.”
His hand goes over his heart, frowning, “That hurt.”
“Shut up,” you shake your head, fighting your amusement as you move to step down, following him, he keeps his feet planted where he stands, an unmovable force.
Then he cracks a grin. “What, you’re not even gonna kiss me hello?”
You cross your arms over the front of your dress, sleek and red and hugging every inch of your body you want to be hugged. You got it on sale, an outfit you’ve been saving for the right occasion, you can’t believe tonight, of all nights, is the night you took it off the hanger.
You can’t believe you pulled it out for Wooyoung.
“Good things come to those who wait,” you sing, “if you’re on your best behavior maybe you’ll get a kiss goodnight.”
He groans, head tipping backward, eyes squeezing shut, “You’re gonna make me hard.”
“I hate you,” you laugh, pushing on his chest, making him tumble backward a step. You follow him down the staircase, towards his still-running SUV in your driveway, “Where are we going?”
He said to dress nice, two days ago in a short text-exchange that started off with you asking if he forgot to drop off Kyungmin’s backpack, which you found in the corner of your living room approximately nine seconds later. Two texts back and forth before he reminded you of your date tonight, that he’d already made the plans with Yunho and Aurora, Kyungmin would stay over at their house tonight to have a sleepover with their son, Aden.
Yunho was Wooyoung’s friend from college, living only fifteen minutes from where you lived on the outskirts of the city, suburbia with a good school district, which is where Kyungmin had met their son, Aden, the second of four. You wondered how they did it, you had your hands tied with only one.
“It’s a surprise,” he walks to the passenger side, opening the door for you.
“Wow,” you raise your brows, “such a gentleman. Who even are you anymore?”
He holds an arm out for you to grab as you climb in, “I’m just a husband taking his sexy ass wife out to dinner, that’s all.”
“Ex-husband,” you correct, “ex-wife.”
He leans against the door with a smile, “Whatever you say.”
He looks good. Dress pants on his legs, tailored, all his dress pants are. A button-up, rolled up on his veiny forearms, showcasing his tattoo, the top two buttons undone. Dressed in all black so his golden skin gleams in each pocket where it shows, fuck he knows how to dress himself and God it pisses you off. His hair is styled, down, tucked behind his ears, it frames his face effortlessly, beautifully, part of you wants to ask if you can make a pit-stop in the backseat.
It’s a thirty minute drive, filled with the same soft rock playing from his speakers, he talks over it the whole time. From Kyungmin to work to his apartment, which he nags at you that you still haven’t seen the inside of, the conversation is as easy as it always is. Bickering, of course, but you’ve been bickering since you were twenty-two. Fifteen years of partnership, of friendship, of learning each other down to particles and atoms, awkward silence has never existed between you.
A fancy restaurant, one that just opened in the city, dim lighting and red velvet and black leather, you couldn’t tell if you were supposed to eat dinner or each other. Side-eyeing Wooyoung as the hostess brought you to your table, the moment she left you quirked a brow, “Is this foreplay?”
He grabs the drink menu, “It can be if you want it to be.”
So shameless it makes your lips part. “Are we in a restaurant or a sex club?”
“I’m pretty sure it’s a restaurant,” he doesn’t look up over the menu, “but we could make it a sex club if you want to make it a sex club.” You snort, reaching over to steal the drink menu from his hands. He scoffs, “No way you’re reading that as if you aren’t gonna nurse one margarita until it’s tequila-water.”
“Shut up,” you grumble, “maybe I’m in the mood for something different.”
You quickly scan the specials, the list of bottles they carry, different brands of wine they have. Pursing your lips, you quickly realize you’re not in the mood for something different.
Shoving the menu back into his hands, you mumble, “Fine.”
He laughs, a high, amused giggle, “You’re so predictable.”
“You just know me,” you huff, “not predictable.”
When the waiter comes by, Wooyoung not only orders his beer, but he orders your margarita, too. Casamigos, salt on the rim, you don’t correct him because you’re as predictable as they come. Your cheeks heat up anyway, you might be predictable but he remembers and it sends a streak of heat up your spine. Whatever.
You’re reading the menu, or trying to with your bottom lip caught between your teeth, seeing words but not ingesting any of them. Maybe you should just let him order your meal for you, too.
“What’s bothering you?” He asks, and you glance upward like he’s ripped you out of a trance.
You purse your lips, shaking your head a little, defensive. “Nothing.”
“I’ve known you for over a decade,” his lips curl at the corner, “I’ve lived with you, I’ve loved you, you’re the mother of my son. Is it so crazy that I know you? One year spent apart out of fifteen is nothing.”
You can feel the heat in the tips of your ears, you forgot he knows you down to your thoughts, too. A small sigh escapes you, “Do you wanna start now? Before there’s even any food on the table?”
He leans forward, smile mischievous, “Hey, there’s bread.”
You push air out of your nose, amused as you sit back in the upholstered chair. “It’s just stupid. We’ve only been divorced for a year, and look at us. We’re in a sex club that has a kitchen.”
His lips thin before he answers. “Did you really think we’d stay separated?"
“Yes?” Your head tilts with the question. “Did you not?”
“No,” he answers honestly, “I’ve been working on myself a lot this past year. All the time spent away from you, Kyungie, it’s given me space that I never wanted. Space I’ve filled with things to better myself, for him, for you.”
“What, did you get a promotion or something?” You quirk a brow, “Work stuff?”
He smacks his teeth, “I went to therapy.”
“You went to therapy?” Your brows meet your hairline, “Like, the couch and everything?”
“No, she made me sit on the floor,” he muses. “She actually has a brown, leather chair. She helped me figure a lot of my shit out, that way when it was time for me to propose the idea of us seeing each other again, it’d be different. I’d be different.”
“Woo, I had no idea,” your heart picks up speed in your chest. “I didn’t even know that you were this… bothered about us separating, to be honest.”
His face scrunches up in disbelief, “That’s bullshit.”
“I’m serious!” You argue, “The divorce process was so smooth, I guess over time I got it in my head that it was smooth because it was mutual.”
“It was never, not even for a second, mutual.”
“You made it easy,” you shrug, picking up your margarita, taking a sip. “You never told me the details, I only knew what I found out from your mother. She never mentioned therapy.”
“You knew what I wanted you to know,” he sets his menu down in front of him. “It’s not like we were exactly on speaking terms, you didn’t give me the opportunity to fix anything while we were still together, either.”
Your stomach churns. “I gave you a lot of chances, Wooyoung.”
“Not enough,” he argues, not sternly, earnestly. He picks up his beer. “You gave up on me.”
“I gave up on being a single mother in my own marriage,” your voice is low, quiet. Your throat feels tight.
The waiter comes, Wooyoung orders for the both of you, something you would’ve chosen for yourself. Your thoughts are too loud for you to pay it any mind.
“I’ll have to live with the fact that I made you feel that way until the day I die,” his face is solemn, his words so honest your heart feels like stone in your chest. “But I thought I was doing the right thing, setting us up for our future, setting our son up for his future. For a long time I couldn’t understand why that wasn’t enough for you.”
“But you understand now?”
He nods, “Strangely enough, you making that deal with me at the conference, about having San speak, it might’ve been the final piece that put everything together. I feel like I can see it clearly now, and it feels so fucking stupid looking back.”
“Yeah?” Your lips curve at the corners, “Did your therapist enjoy my ultimatum?”
“I think she thinks we’re childish,” he laughs a little, “she doesn’t say that, but I can kinda feel it. Like we’re still kids playing at being adults.”
“We are,” your smile widens, “but now I keep wipes and snacks in my purse instead of lipgloss and condoms that we never used.”
“Don’t talk mommy to me right now,” his face scrunches together like you pressed your foot against his crotch. “We’re still in public.”
You stare at him over the salt on the rim of your glass, taking a sip of your margarita before you mumble, “I don’t think anyone here would be bothered.”
“I want to try again,” he wipes the smile off his face, voice a little louder, stronger. “Just to lay everything on the table, I’ve been wanting to try again and if a hookup at a work conference is the start of it unfolding, then so be it.”
You take a second before responding. “Do you really feel like I gave up on you?”
“Yes,” there’s no room for uncertainty, the agreement is crystal clear. “But I know I pushed you to that point, and I know in the end it was my fault. I should have been around more to help you. Just to have been there.”
Your bottom lip quivers, he catches it as soon as the first twitch tugs at your mouth.
“No, no crying,” he reaches his hand across the table, searching for yours. You tangle your fingers with his, his palm warm, fingers encasing your hand within his own perfectly like you were made for each other. “If you’re open to trying again, to giving me another chance, it’ll be different this time. I’m different, but I still love you, I still want to be beside you.”
You wipe at your eyes before tears fall past your waterline, “I love you too, but I did my makeup for this.”
“And it looks beautiful,” his lips curve, “but it’s just gonna get ruined later, anyway.”
“Why would it–” You meet his eye, the mischievous glint. “Oh, fuck you.”
“Hopefully I’m lucky and you will fuck me.”
“Is sex all you think about?” You laugh, then tease him, “Is that all I’m good for?”
He glares across the table, “Too soon.”
“You’re the one who said we were gonna roll around in my bed all night.”
“Once upon a time, it was our bed,” he releases your fingers to point at you, “and I know it’s lonely in that big ass bed without me.”
“Who’s to say I’m lonely?” You taunt, “Maybe there’s been plenty of men warming my bed since we separated.”
“You,” he says it like it’s obvious, “at the conference you said there was no one else, so unless you lied, you’ve spent over a year alone, in that bed, playing with yourself and wishing it was me.”
You think everyone in the restaurant could hear the gasp that erupted from your chest. Wooyoung’s head tips back in laughter and you curse under your breath, whisper-shouting, “We’re in public, Jung Wooyoung.”
“The mom-voice makes it funnier,” he’s still laughing, a hand over his mouth, “scolding me like I’m five. Fuck, do you remember when Kyungmin drew all over the wall in the living room? With fucking Sharpies?”
You groan, digging your head into your palms, elbows propped up on the table. “Still to this day I fucking hate the feeling of Magic Erasers.”
“You sounded just like that,” he takes a deep breath to control his laughter, then puts on his best you-voice to mock you. “Jung Kyungmin, we color in coloring books, not on the walls.”
The memory makes you smile, even laugh a bit under your breath, “It’s only funny now because I got the Sharpie off the wall.”
“It was funny then, too, trust me.”
The food comes hot and perfect, neither of you speak for the first few bites, until Wooyoung catches you staring at his plate, at his food. Mid-bite he pauses, popping a brow, “Want to try?”
You smile, and he smiles back, reaching over, fork in hand. The sound that leaves you is almost fitting for the restaurant you’re in. “I like yours,” you mumble, putting on your best doe-eyed look, making him snort.
“I’d be mad, but I’m too nostalgic,” he hums, satisfied with a smile on his cheeks he reaches over to grab your plate, switching it with his own. “Can I pretend I ordered mine for the sole intent of giving it to you?”
“No,” you hum happily, “it’s better that you gave yours to me. More romantic that way.”
He shakes his head, “First day back and you’re already spoiled.”
“Technically I still haven’t agreed,” you shrug, eyes on your food, about to take another bite before you realized Wooyoung had paused entirely. Looking over the table, you giggle at his deadpanned face, brows flat, lips flat, his entire face flat.
“Not funny.” He tightens his lips again. “Are you agreeing? Do you want to give me another chance?”
“Is this an immediate answer kind of thing?” You ask, food still halfway to your mouth, “Or can I get back to you on it?”
He purses his lips like he’s deciding the answer for himself before he gives you one. Eventually, when your bite is swallowed, he answers. “I guess you can think about it.”
“You guess?” Facing your plate, your eyes flicker across the table.
“Do you understand how long I’ve been waiting?” He doesn’t sound aggressive or forceful, or like he’s urging you towards an answer. “I had you for fifteen years and I just spent over an entire year without you.”
“You say that like I didn’t spend a year without you, too,” you argue, “you aren’t alone in that feeling, Wooyoung.”
“I just want my life back,” his voice settles into something just above a whisper, too raw for the crowded restaurant. “I want you, I want Kyungminnie, I want to come home.”
You swear you can see an entire year of pain in his eyes. Chocolate that’s usually melted, milky sweet, a delicacy, is deepened into something dark; hardened with time spent apart, changed with a life lesson that needed to be felt in order to be learned. He’s the same but he’s different, you can feel it, you know it.
All you can do is pray he doesn’t disappoint you again.
He keeps his hand on your thigh the entire drive home.
Quiet for once, the calm before the storm, you use the silence to think about your time spent apart, how it affected you. He was right, alone in your king-sized bed, but more than that you’ve learned so much about yourself in the year spent away from him. Kids fresh out of college, thrown into the workforce, pregnant before your first paycheck, court-signed documents without a big party to follow, your adult life has been spent entirely by his side.
You’ve learned strength. You’ve learned to trust yourself. You’ve come to fall in love with yourself, by yourself, the you that wasn’t half-Jung. Despite the tears, the nights drowning in self-doubt, of not knowing what the next day would look like, you did it.
And now he’s back, and he promised that he changed.
You don’t know whether or not to trust the tiny voice in the back of your mind, you don’t know if it’s nerves or a gut-feeling. But when you turn your head to the side, to the man you’ve spent fifteen years loving, adoring, his chiseled jaw and his curved nose and the veiny, tattooed forearm that’s attached to the steering wheel, it’s easy to admit that you want him to come home, too.
You missed him. You miss him, and he’s beside you.
You miss him making the bed in the morning, having coffee on the pot downstairs, already prepped for you. You miss him shoveling the driveway in the winter, mowing the lawn in the summer. You miss him taking out the trash. You miss him fixing a toy when Kyungmin breaks it. You miss him doing your fucking taxes. You miss him doing the dishes after you cooked dinner, you miss him stealing the dishes out of your hands when he cooked dinner.
You miss the mundane things.
You miss the way he kisses you goodmorning, when he gets home from work, before bed, randomly, mid-day on a Saturday. You miss him making Kyungmin laugh. You miss the way his skin feels on yours, the way he finishes your thought before you’ve finished it, the way he makes it so easy to believe that it’s possible to love another human so much.
You miss him present most of all.
“If I agree,” you speak into the silence, his fingers add the slightest pressure onto your thigh. “You swear you’ll be around?”
“Yes.” The word is final. “I’ve made the changes already. You’re my priority.”
You don’t answer, you let the words sink in. It’ll take time, learning to believe him, learning to trust his words again, but something settles in your chest, in your gut, something calm. It reminds you that you can still be yourself, you can still be strong, you can still trust yourself, you can still be in love with yourself– but he’s here to love you, to trust you, to lean on you for strength, too. There’s something about it that’s comforting, that’s right.
The house is dark when you walk through your front door. You forgot to leave the lights on, the lamp in the corner of the living room, the one above the kitchen sink. So scatterbrained about being out with Wooyoung, about your kid sleeping at someone else’s house, you huff a curse as soon as the darkness welcomes you home.
While you turn the lamp on, without a word he’s in the kitchen, turning on the other above the sink.
And for some reason that’s enough.
Maybe it’s how he looks, doused in twilight, standing in the kitchen he designed. Shadows finding home in the structure of his face, the tattoo on his forearm, the veins that swirled around it, blending into the vines, rippling each thorn of the rose. Maybe it was just the fact that after all this time, seeing him here, in your kitchen that you left exactly how it was the day you kicked him out, reminded you just how deeply you love him. That even though you’ve spent a year apart and you’ve learned to love so much about yourself, the part of you that you love most, is the half of you that’s him.
You hope he feels it as you kiss him, standing in the space between the two counters, the long, skinny walkway between the sink and the island. Your arms around his shoulders, his find your waist, sliding down to your hips, then behind you, taking two fistfuls of your ass.
You squeak into the kiss and he turns you, scooping under your thighs to lift you, placing your ass on the kitchen counter. You don’t break the kiss, feet hooking around his back, fingers curling into his roots, tongue sliding between his lips like you were the one coming home.
He hikes your dress up, warm palms searing the skin beneath fabric, slipping under the hem just to rest there like he couldn’t deny himself feeling you any longer. You’re panting into his mouth, sizzling under his touch, you whisper, “I need you.”
He pulls away, putting an inch between your faces, “Here?”
“I don’t care where,” your hands find his cheeks, holding him close, “I need you, Jung Wooyoung.”
His eyes flicker over your features like he’s reading your thoughts and it takes him all of a second for his fingers to dart to the hem of your dress. You lift yourself so it pools around your hips, reaching forward for his button-up, getting only three unbuttoned while his fingers work the button and zipper of his pants. Both of you panting, heartbeats uneven, your feet stretch to reach the opposite counter, palms planted on the one you sat on, shifting yourself to the edge as Wooyoung frees himself from his briefs.
Your tongue pokes out to wet your lips, tasting remnants of your lipstick and his saliva on your tongue. The lack of a rebuttal from him, of snarky, taunting comments– this was different than him filling you silently on your living room couch. One hand moves your thin, lace thong to the side as the other grips his length, prodding at your entrance, making you gasp.
He fills you quickly, slipping inside with barely any resistance, the two of you moaning out in relief and pleasure. He grumbles out a curse, reaching the hilt, hands finding your hips, fingers bruising into your skin.
“Jagi,” he whispers. “Wanna give you a baby.”
Your eyes meet his and he’s looking at you like you’re the only person in the world. Like nothing else matters except you and him, like the outside world melted away, like you haven’t built and ruined a life between you. Like it was fifteen years ago and you’d just opened the first page of your love story.
“Do it, then,” you whisper back, eyes glossy, throat tight. “Give me one.”
“Can I?” He asks, face stone, as if you couldn’t feel his cock twitch inside you. He wasn’t asking permission, he was questioning the possibility.
Counting in your head, you wait a moment to reply, “Yes. Slim, but yes.”
He grins ear to ear, that same shit-eating grin he wears when he gets what he wants whether he fights for it or not. Then he moves, a shallow, promising thrust, grinding into the deepest spot inside you, making you hiss out a curse.
“Have to fill you,” his eyes find your meeting, watching himself as he barely thrusts, keeping himself buried. “Nice n’ deep. Make sure it takes.”
Your head dips backward, arching into him, skin catching on the glossiness of the counter you’d wiped down before you left the house. “Please.”
He grunts, fingers searing your skin, picking up his pace. “Fuck, need to see you pregnant. Belly full of my fuckin’ kid.”
“Wooyoung,” your voice is breathy, shaky, full of arousal as you moan his name, it makes him grunt out a curse, hips slapping against yours, reverberating through the room, bouncing off the stainless steel appliances.
His hands on your hips use the strength of his arms to lift you, pulling you off the counter with too much fucking ease. He slips out of you before your feet hit the floor, but he’s back inside you as soon as your back presses against the cool wood of the kitchen floor, freshly mopped this morning, knowing he’d be here tonight.
His lips are on yours, your legs hooked over his back, panties thrown somewhere you didn’t care to see. His shirt is open, still over his shoulders, trapping you between the open panels like it was shading you from something, anything that wasn’t him.
His hair feels silken between your fingers as you tug at his roots, keeping him as close as possible, never close enough. Murmuring words into each other’s lips, the sound of his skin hitting yours muted it, like the two of you were stuck in a time-warp, a lovesick bubble you entered fifteen years ago.
Pressure builds with each thrust, your moans growing in pitch, and Wooyoung keeps his eyes on yours, his bottom lip touching yours, assessing, watching, feeling, waiting for you to crest your peak without any stimulation to your clit. His eyes flare when your breathing catches, keeping his rhythm unfaltering, his angle locked, muttering yes, yes as you approach the high only he can give you.
He groans when he feels the pressure blow, as you clench around him, the heels of your feet digging into his back, he catches your lips between his own to feel everything, all of it, all of you.
The silence says everything. You’re stuck in euphoria as his cock drags over that same spot inside you, his head dropped down to your shoulder, your nails clawing at his back as he takes you for everything you’re worth. Every drop of pleasure, every emotion, you handed everything over to him, put it in his palms, let him cradle it– had you ever even taken it back for yourself?
“Gonna give you a baby,” he mutters into your skin, voice jagged like the edge of a blade, a man slicing a promise into your skin. “Gonna give you a girl this time. Pretty like her mama.”
“Yes,” it’s a whimper, a plea. “I love you, please– I love you.”
He grunts, heavy and rough, hips smacking yours with fervor, picking up his pace, weighting his thrusts. He picks up his head, palms finding your cheeks, holding your scrunched up face between them before he presses his mouth to yours, and you can taste the I love you too on his tongue.
Into his mouth, weak, soft, you utter, “I missed you.”
And why the admittance brought tears to your eyes, you aren’t sure. But they fell to his thumbs and he seemed to understand even if you didn’t, kissing you deeper, tongue slotting into your mouth as if he was soothing your scars.
He finished inside you with a low grunt that vibrated through you and into the hardwood beneath, cock hilted, buried so deep you weren’t sure where you ended and he began. You wanted to stay there, full of him, in the bubble you’d fucking missed being in, but his phone ringing on top of the counter had you both moving before you could breathe.
“Yunho,” is all he said before he pressed the phone up to his ear, still panting, brows furrowed. You stood up, dress falling over your hips, thighs wet and legs jelly, you leaned an arm over the counter for stability, silent enough to hear Yunho on the line.
Yeah, he threw up… Asking for you… Rory took his temp, he has a fever… He’s on the couch now… Okay, see you soon…
Wooyoung hung up with a sigh, “Rain check for rolling around in our bed?”
You cracked a smile, “What’s your schedule looking like on Monday?”
Wooyoung snorts as he tucks himself into his slacks, fingers working his buttons, “I’ll drive.”
Aurora had the door open before you’d made it up the steps of their front porch. “Sorry for cutting the date night short.”
Her sad smile was full of apology, she had one arm on the door as she held it open for the two of you. Pajama pants on her legs, slippers on her feet, her oversized tee that said Nasara University had one shoulder cut off. Hair tied in a bun on top of her head, bare-faced, so effortlessly gorgeous you felt self-conscious even if you were still in your red dress.
“Thanks for taking care of him, Ro,” Wooyoung replies. “Yunho said he’s on the couch?”
Ro. A nickname you haven’t heard before. Storing the info for later, you followed Wooyoung inside, taking note that their house was full of everything warm and cozy. Toys littered the floor, picture frames on the walls, nothing was tidy or put together. Not dirty, but… Lived in. Like six people lived here and not one of them was hiding the fact. The TV on and playing an old cartoon from when you were all kids, three out of Yunho and Aurora’s four sat on the living room floor just before Kyungmin who was curled up on the couch, blanket covering his body.
You stayed back while Wooyoung crossed the room, saying hi to the kiddos before scooping Kyungmin up in his arms. Aurora spoke while you watched him, “Yunho’s upstairs with the baby, she woke up when the kids started screaming about throw up.”
“Sorry,” you scratched the back of your head, cheeks flaring heat. You hoped you didn’t smell like sex. You also hoped she wasn’t thinking about the fact that you and Wooyoung are divorced and together right now.
But she just waved her hand, “Please, don’t be. She’s a terrible sleeper anyways, and all four of them were playing dress up in June’s room. She was bound to wake up sooner or later.”
“Dress up?” You cracked a smile.
“June has the time of her life dressing up her siblings,” she smiled with you, “and I think Aden enjoys it more than she does. They call it Fashion Runway, and Kyungmin was the star tonight, just so you know. June and Aden said he’s their new muse.”
You snort, not a lick of surprise on your face, “I need to see this.”
“You guys should come over more,” she offers, looking at Wooyoung as he returns with your gray-faced son’s head on his shoulder. “We should do the things the cool families do, hangout while the kids hangout, conjoined vacations and shit. We live so close and we never do anything.”
You look at Wooyoung who nods like he was brushing her off. “Yeah, sure. Don’t you wanna wait til’ Sunnie gets a little older?”
Her brows furrow, “No?”
“Sunnie’s a cute name,” you turn to her. “I didn’t know that was her name. How old is she?”
“Her first birthday is next month, I invited you guys, he didn’t tell you?” Her brows furrow further as you shake your head. Her eyes thin as she glances at Wooyoung, “Sunnie’s short for Woosun. Named after her godfather who apparently doesn’t want to come to her first birthday party.”
You will your face into staying neutral, like you knew Wooyoung was Aurora’s daughter’s godfather. “Woosun’s a gorgeous name.”
“Yunho came up with it,” her smile is proud, and if she could see yours, the one you’re hiding behind your stone features, you think she might be terrified of you. Your eyes find Wooyoung’s and he looks as gray as Kyungmin, face dropped, fear rippling in his chocolate brown eyes.
“Thanks again for taking care of him, Aurora.” You barely hear her response as she gives you a side-hug. She smells clean, like grapefruit and vanilla, a hint of baby formula like she’d just finished feeding Woosun. Woosun.
You don’t speak until after Wooyoung buckles in Kyungmin, your son still somehow knocked out in the backseat, head lolled to the side. Wooyoung tugged on the seatbelt twice, making sure it was locked, keeping him in place. You see the glitter on him then, on his eyelids, his cheeks, his hair, he’s in clothes that aren’t is. God, did he throw up on his own clothes? You didn’t even notice, nor did you ask for his clothes back. You’d have Wooyoung text her tomorrow.
Seated in the driver’s, he flips the engine, eerily quiet. Waiting for you. So you start.
“I thought Yunho was your friend from college.”
He takes a steadying breath before he speaks, “He was, is. But I’ve always been friendlier with Ro.”
“Ro,” you repeat, lips scrunching together. Your head shakes slowly, “Define friendlier.”
“Baby, we went to college together–”
“Don’t baby me,” you snap, keeping your voice quiet to not wake up your son, “you just tried to give me a daughter and then I find out you’re the godfather of someone else’s?”
“I was going to–”
“You were going to tell me nothing,” you snap again, hearing your heartbeat in your ears. “You used to fuck her, then? In college? Is that why we’ve never hung out with them?”
“It was more than that,” his voice is defensive, curt. Your lips snap shut, eyes widening a fraction. “We were together for a while, but it was… complicated. Everything about that time was complicated.”
“She named her fucking kid after you,” your voice is quiet but not any less venomous. “You know everything about me. Everything. And after fifteen years, I’d expect to know everything about you. Why keep it a secret?”
He keeps his eyes on the road, even if they blaze with emotion; fear, guilt, shame, remorse. “I don’t know if I can even explain it, she’s– she’s special. Different from a girlfriend or a hookup, we went through a lot of tough shit together.”
Eyes widening further, throat tightening, you can taste the salt lining your eyes. Your voice comes out hoarse, “She’s so special that you couldn’t tell your wife about her?”
“There’s nothing I could say that wouldn’t make you feel like this. She’s married, happily, with four kids. If you knew our history you wouldn’t want me around her.”
“And that’s more important? Being around her? Than me knowing the truth?”
“No,” he shakes his head tight. “No, it’s not. I spent a lot of time at their house while we were separated, and the three of us got really close again–”
“So that’s why she said we should all hangout,” you laugh a little, it’s dry, lacking amusement. “She wants to know what the wicked ex-wife that divorced you is like.”
“No,” he counters, voice raising, exasperated. “I never said anything bad about you, fuck. After the conference I talked to them, and she needs a girlfriend. I basically pimped you out to her, to be her friend.”
“Pimped me out to a girl you used to date. Fuck. Go through tough shit with.”
“We weren’t close during our marriage,” he argues, eyes flickering up to check on the still-sleeping Kyungmin through the rear-view mirror. “I sought them out after you divorced me, I needed a friend, and I knew Kyungmin and Aden were in the same class, I– they helped me.”
“Your ex-girlfriend and her husband helped you. Did they invite you into their bed? Help take your mind off your sad, divorced heart?”
“I’m not going to talk until you stop seeing red. Calm down and then speak to me like an adult.”
Crossing your arms over your chest, you stare out the window, and let the tears fall.
Kyungmin lay on the couch, asleep again after another round of emptying the contents of his stomach into the same stained bowl you use for popcorn on movie nights. You and Wooyoung sat on the floor on the other side of the coffee table, staring at him. So small, his face looks so peaceful, in a deep, hopefully dreamless sleep. He changed your lives eight years ago. Forced you into an adulthood you weren’t prepared for, the greatest blessing you didn’t ask for. A gift.
“Think he has the flu?” Wooyoung asks after too long of staring at the boy you created in silence. His hands stretched behind him, legs in front of him, body sagged with exhaustion. It’s been a long day.
“Maybe a stomach bug,” you reply through a sigh, sitting with your arms curled around your knees. “Time will tell. If his fever’s still up tomorrow, I’ll take him to the doctor.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“You don’t need to.”
“I’m his father, I want to.”
You swear, it’s grumbled, irritated. You can still feel the stickiness between your thighs, almost like it’s taunting you now. Telling you good job, you get to have another baby with a liar!
“I didn’t mean for this to happen.” Wooyoung’s voice is grave. “Aurora is harmless. I don’t love her, I’m not into her, there’s nothing left between us but friendship.”
“You’re missing the point, Wooyoung. It’s not about her, it’s about the fact that you kept it from me for fifteen years.”
“It wasn’t relevant for fifteen years. But it’s relevant now, and I’m telling you.”
“Because you were put in a situation where you had to tell me,” your head snaps to the side, glaring at him. “You should have told me when we had the whole exes conversation over a decade ago, or maybe when you found out Aden was in the same class as Kyung, or when she named her daughter after you, or when she made you the fucking godfather. You had a million-and-one chances to tell me.”
Wooyoung sighs, “It was a wound I didn’t want to reopen back then, but I should have. I’m sorry.”
“It feels wrong,” you look back at Kyungmin, a frown on your lips. “Knowing you had a relationship with these people deep enough for them to name their child after you, and I don’t know any of it. It makes me feel like I don’t know you, like there’s a side of you that you’ve kept from me all these years.”
“Do you want to know the full story?” He glances sideways, and the look you give him is an obvious yes. He sighs, “Fuck. Alright.”
And you sit there, for an entire hour as he reveals a side of himself that you’ve never gotten a glimpse of. Partying, threesomes, Aurora, men– so many men, and even though that part didn’t take you by surprise, it did make you wonder. The tough shit was about her, Yunho surprisingly, her father, her own personal issues that Wooyoung had adopted like his own and helped her through. Living with his cousin, switching his major, supporting his mother, all the fucked up people who went to his university that married each other. You wondered how well they turned out.
“Her and Yunho, made for each other. Their kids were a blessing, and they started younger than we did. Then kept fucking going.”
It made you laugh a little, and as the sound hit his ears, he finally cracked a small smile. Glancing at you, he muttered, “I did love her, I loved everything about her. But our relationship, me in her life, it was for a purpose, y’know? And when it was fulfilled, after I’d done what I was… destined to do or whatever, her life got a lot better. She got better. Everything got better, actually.”
“You were all too young for all of that shit.” It’s all you could say. All you could muster up seeing Wooyoung’s life twenty years ago pass through his eyes, listening to him describe it like it happened yesterday.
“I know,” he heaved a sigh, laying back on his elbows. “But then I met you and I thought it was my turn to be happy. To feel like I had it all figured out.”
“Then I got pregnant.”
He laughed, a rich, light sound. “Then you got pregnant.” He sat in silence for a moment, glancing at your son on the couch, before he bit his lip in contemplation. “I have something else to tell you. Since we’re being honest.”
Your heart dropped, skin feeling icy-hot. Nervously glancing at him, your voice comes out shaky as you ask, “What?”
“We’re still married.”
You blinked. “No we’re not.”
“Yes we are.”
Fingers meeting the floor on either side of you, you shook your head, warning, “Wooyoung.”
“That’s why the divorce process was so easy,” he isn’t looking at you, his eyes stay on Kyungmin, unblinking. “Because I never filed for it.”
“I filed for it,” you counter.
“With my lawyer,” his eyes meet yours. “Who I paid generously not to file.”
“What? I–”
The walls felt like they were closing in. He continued, “I thought it was hasty. That you would regret it, or that you didn’t mean it, or that I’d fix it, I don’t know. I couldn’t stomach the idea of us not being together, so I faked it.”
“You pay me child-support, Wooyoung.”
“I know,” he shrugs, lips thin. “I just… I don’t know. I didn’t think we’d stay apart forever.”
You stare at him for a moment, a thunderstorm brewing beneath your skin. “Get out.”
His head snaps to the side, eyes wide, “What?”
“Get out,” you repeat, firmer. “Get the fuck out.”
“Wait– Let me explain, I–”
“Jung Wooyoung get the fuck out of my house.”
“I love you,” he argues, voice strained, turning his entire body to face you as you start standing up. “With my entire heart and soul. I can’t live without you any longer, without him, please talk to me– please talk this out, please–”
“I’m filing first thing tomorrow morning,” you bite, voice so fucking harsh and venemous you can’t believe it came from your lips. “With a different lawyer, my own fucking lawyer. You better hope and pray that I’m not fucking pregnant.”
(Something soft and not 18+ for a change in pace.)
————
“Come here” His tone is quiet, lazy almost, as he eyes you from where he’s reclining on the sofa. His plain white tee bagging around the shoulders and his grey joggers pulled low, revealing his midriff as he leans over and places his phone on the coffee table.
You look up from where you’re sprawled on the big hotel bed, sheets mussed up around you, book in hand, wearing just his oversized hoodie but you make no attempt to move.
“Come here” He repeats, this time there is no mistaking his tone. You have no choice in the matter. He pats his lap gently as if he’s letting you make a decision but you both know he isn’t.
“Seonghwa…” you groan as if he’s asked you to climb Everest. Rolling your eyes playfully, you pull yourself off the bed, leaving the sheets a mess and your book discarded as you pad softly across the room towards him. “What?” you ask petulantly as you stand in front of him, scrunching your toes in the thick rug laid out on the floor.
His eyes drift slowly up your body, taking in your bare legs, the way his oversized hoodie hangs low around your thighs, your hands tucked inside the sleeves and your face peaking out from the hood, pretending to be annoyed. When your eyes finally meet, his eyebrow is raised and a small smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.
“You know what…” he trails off as he pats his lap just once more.
“Fine!” you sigh as if he’s just asked you to commit a great hardship but he knows this is all part of the act, the push and pull between you both which he will always ultimately win no matter how much of a fight you put up.
You climb carefully onto the sofa, slowly wriggling one knee down next to his thigh, digging into the plump cushions, and then the other so you’re straddling him.
You pause, hesitant to settle your full weight on him in case you hurt him but Seonghwa can read you like a book. The hesitation is written all over your face.
His hands have already slipped up under the hoodie and have snaked around your bare waist, his long delicate fingers holding you tightly, digging into your flesh as he pulls you down so you’re sitting firmly on his thighs.
“Babe…” you start to whisper in disagreement but you’re quickly cut off.
“Stop” His voice is low, a warning as he gives your waist a gentle squeeze. He doesn’t need to say any more.
You groan under your breath, knowing it’s not a battle worth fighting. Instead, you lean forwards and press a gentle chaste kiss to his lips before nuzzling your face into his neck.
Bringing your left arm up slowly, you slide your hand almost underneath his head, cradling him, your fingers tangling gently with the strands of his hair as you both start to relax completely against the other, your breathing already evening out as your chests come together.
You fit together like two pieces of the same puzzle, each bringing comfort to the other in a way that is hard to define.
His hands start to relax around your waist, not holding you so tightly. Instead his fingers start to draw lazy little patterns on your bare skin as he lets out a soft contented hum. Occasionally the cool metal of one of his rings brushes against you, causing a little shiver to run through your body.
It’s like a ritual. Meditation. Comfort.
The room is silent apart from the quiet even breaths you both share. He’s turned his head slightly so you feel his warm breath fanning over your neck. You don’t even need to look to know he has his eyes closed, his mind lost elsewhere.
His body is strong yet delicate, defined in the way only the muscles of a dancer can be but sometimes he needs to let go, to shake himself free of that strength.
His hips shift slightly underneath you, his body reacting instinctively to your warmth, the closeness, to your naked body hidden under the hoodie. Neither of you acknowledge it, there’ll be plenty of time for that later.
But for now, while Seonghwa is normally your safe space, this is a way in which you can be his.
