ʚ PARK HUMIN - Bikini Distraction. ɞ
꣑ৎ― all characters depicted are 18 years or older consenting adults. │ wc: 7,6k cw (please read & proceed with caution): adult content / s*xual themes / consensual adult intimacy / fluff build-up / established relationship / marriage / making it fit / finish inside / p in v / teasing / crying / passionate / d*grading + praise / worked up baku / breed!ng / u wanna be a mom? / needy baku / size difference / rough / too big / yearner baku / body worship? / till shes mindless / "don't run from it now" / talking you through it / mocking / smacks / unprotected / overst!m kinda / “i love you” / pillowtalk pairing: husband! park humin x female reader
⤷ sypnosis: you and baku are newlyweds. he convinces you to call in sick with him on a random Wednesday so you can spend the day together at the beach. you agree and go change, only to come back out in your bikini and distract him so badly that the original plans quickly become the last thing on his mind. after all, what's a beach date when his wife looks like that?
۶ৎ author message ﹕my absolute nastiest oneshot to be created. writing this was insane bro, whew. also this is a two part oneshot. this is the first part of it. if you wanna read the second here is the link. i hope you guys enjoy!
reblogs, likes and comments are appreciated ♡ + ↻
੭﹕﹒AGAIN, MDNI 18+ 彡
masterlist . ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🪽་༘࿐
ᴺᵒʷ ᵖˡᵃʸᶦⁿᵍ ♬⋆.˚ PILLOWTALK - ZAYN (this fits too perfect, i HAD to) ᴺᵉˣᵗ ᵁᵖ ♬⋆.˚ Die For You - The Weeknd
Flip flops hitting against the living room floor, Baku practically bounces around as he flexes his muscles in every pose imaginable, the kind you'd see on a bodybuilding competition show. Turning this way and that way, he makes absolutely sure you're looking at exactly how pumped his biceps are. A big stupid smile sits on his face. The one Baku always wears whenever he's way too proud of himself.
“Beach bod, I know,” he nods agreeing with himself.
“You’re ridiculous,” you mutter, sitting on the edge of the couch, still wearing your pajamas.
Baku has yet again dragged you into one of his stupid impulsive plans. The kind you still can't quite predict or get the hang of even after three years of dating and now two months of being married to him.
And despite how stupid he can be, you don't regret saying yes at that altar for even a second. Because it's his stupidity, his endless fun, and that strange little spark he carries with him everywhere that made you fall in love with him in the first place.
On the outside and inside, Baku is exactly what you need in your life.
A big, intimidating, ridiculously strong husband with a personality that contradicts his appearance so powerfully it could give someone whiplash.
“Baby,” he pauses, pointing at his biceps. “these don’t happen by themselves. A lot of work went into them.”
You roll your eyes, but the smile gives you away before you can even stop it, and Baku catches it instantly, as he always does.
“You love me so bad,” he shrugs, completely unbothered, speaking as if it’s an obvious truth. “I love you more, my beautiful wife.”
You shake your head again, leaning back slightly as you watch him properly this time—watch that ridiculous, bright, effortless grin he wears when he’s proud of himself, when he’s proud of you, when he’s proud of the fact that you exist in the same sentence as him. The word wife never sits quietly in his mouth. He says it with weight, with certainty, with this almost childlike disbelief that it belongs to him to say.
Two months in.
Two. Whole. Months. In.
And Baku had been throwing the word “wife” around far too much. It still hasn’t fully settled into him. Every time he says it, there’s this flicker in his expression—something pleased, something excited, something that never quite gets tired of it. Hearing it. Saying it. Claiming it in the middle of ordinary moments just because he can.
‘My wife this, my wife that, my wife will, I gotta ask my wife,’ has slowly become its own habit with him, a rhythm of speech that follows him everywhere, said with the same fond certainty every time, as if he’s still getting used to the fact that you’re real, and you’re his, and he gets to say it out loud.
“Do we bring the castle one or the turtle one?” he asks so casually, holding up two sand building sets he’d bought from the toy store not long ago. A grown man, standing there like it’s the most normal decision in the world.
“Humin.”
“The castle one is a classic, we can build a big one, but the turtles are cute,” he continues, still genuinely weighing it as if it matters more than it should, turning them over in his hands while thinking out loud. “Let’s just bring both,” he says, not even giving it a second thought as he drops them into the oversized beach bag he’d packed, already stuffed with a few other stupid items.
A frisbee, water guns, floaties and snorkeling gear to apparently ‘just see what’s down there.’
His red swimming trunks hang at his hips, revealing the definition of his thigh muscles as he moves.
“Are you gonna get dressed or what?” he asks, walking over to the couch and reaching out to rest his palm flat on your head, gentle and casual, like you’re something small and cute to him.
“I can’t believe you genuinely convinced me to do this.”
“You’re so grumpy in the morning, y’know,” he smiles, ruffling your hair and earning a quick smack to his hand from you. It only makes his grin widen, like that was the reaction he wanted, before he goes right back to messing your hair again. Then he leans down, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead, a small apology for his childish antics.
Baku had convinced you to call in sick from work with him so the two of you could steal a beach date in the middle of a weekday. According to him, the world was at its best when everyone else was stuck in it and you weren’t.
“Everyone else is miserable right now, at work and school,” he says, nodding seriously at his own logic as if it’s the most undeniable fact, while his hands absentmindedly gather your hair, brushing it back before lifting it into two loose sections just to mess with you. “That means no screaming kids and no crowd. The beach is ours.”
A pause.
“Go get dressed, c’mon. It’s so nice out. Pleaseeee.”
You look up deadpan.
“You carry me to the car. I’m not wearing shoes.” You say it like it should make him reconsider, pushing just a little to see if he’ll back down.
It doesn’t work.
“On it madame!” a stupid salute follows.
“And you dust the sand off my feet when we leave.”
Again, no hope.
“Yes ma’am, at your service,” he says, bowing dramatically with zero hesitation, already fully committed to entertaining your spoiled tactics without a second thought.
“Now may you please get dressed your royal highness?”
And with a final defeated sigh, you push yourself up from the couch, palms pressing into the cushion for support. He smooths your hair down where he’d messed it up earlier, an easy smile on his face as he watches you for a moment.
“Catch ya later alligator!” Giving you a light smack to your ass. You roll your eyes not even phased. “God damn, that recoil always gets me,” he says dead serious, you hold back a laugh.
You disappear into the bedroom, the door closing behind you, and he lingers there a second longer before turning back to what he was doing.
“So cranky,” he murmured to himself with a grin.
He resumes packing. Two separate containers this time. One filled with your favorite chips, the other packed to the brim with freshly cut fruit, each piece carefully shaped into little hearts. Thoughtful in a way that almost feels playful, like he’s turned snack time into something meant to make you pause and smile before you even realize it.
Baku loved taking care of you in those small ways. Always finding quiet, unspoken gestures to make your day a little softer, a little brighter, without ever making it feel like a hassle.
“And sunscreen,” he says, almost to himself, already reaching for it. He makes sure it goes in the bag too, because he knows how much you care about your skin. Honestly, so does he.
The idea of you getting sunburned has his expression tightening for a second, like it’s not even worth risking. He doesn’t want you uncomfortable later, red and sore when the whole point of today is for you to enjoy it.
A few moments later you emerge from the bedroom, a simple pink bikini resting on you, tied neatly at your hips and high at your back. Nothing flashy, no patterns, no extra details. Just something plain and light, the kind of ordinary that somehow makes it stand out even more.
A sheer beach cover-up draped over your arm, a sun hat in your other hand as you step out, your hair cascading down your shoulders loosely. Beach ready without trying too hard.
Baku, who’s by the bags folding towels in, pauses the moment he sees you. His hands stop mid motion and his head tilts slightly as he just… looks at you. Eyes panning down your body as he takes in the sight before him. Mouth slightly parted in quiet adoration, like his brain lagged behind what his eyes just registered.
He stands up and walks over to you with that stupid little smile already on his face, like he’s made up his mind about what he wanted the second he saw you. His hands find your waist right away, familiar and warm, before he presses a kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, then your neck.
You look at him skeptically, a little confused at where the sudden wave of affection came from. Yeah, Baku was always clingy, always touchy. But this feels a bit out of nowhere.
“Is it the bikini?” you mutter, still getting kisses placed all over your face, neck, shoulders. His lips trail down your arm before he slows, finishing by pressing a soft kiss to your hand. Your hand looks so small compared to his rough bigger one, fitting perfectly against it.
“Nope,” he replies, still holding your hand close. “It’s you. The bikini’s just a bonus.”
Ha. He’s good.
Suddenly, your feet are no longer on the floor as he lifts you into his arms with no struggle at all, halting any further thoughts brewing in your brain.
“Humin!”
“Baby,” he replies simply, like he didn’t just steal your balance in one smooth motion.
“Put me down.”
“No, that’s not fun.”
“Humin.”
His grip is steady as your frame naturally curls into his, instinctively fitting against him while he carries you with ease. Like you weighed the same amount a pebble would. He walks toward the bedroom without rushing, unbothered, as if he has all the time in the world, before gently lowering you onto the mattress carefully.
The mattress dips between the combined weight of you two.
You barely have a second to react before he leans in, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Sweet, soft, and slow.
“What are you doi—” before you finish the question, he cuts you off with a kiss to your lips, his hand resting at your waist and moving in slow, reassuring strokes.
The kiss is gentle, deliberate, unhurried, like he’s trying to say everything at once without using any words. All that affection he’d been ‘holding back’ seems to settle into that single moment, especially the way he’s been looking at you since you walked out in that pretty pink bikini.
You press your palms flat against his chiseled chest, pushing back in a way that has no real force behind it, more for show than anything else. Like you want it to seem like you’re taking control of the moment, more mature than him somehow, even while you’re clearly melting into every kiss he gives you.
“Park Humin,” you say, trying for something threatening between breaths, though it doesn’t quite land the way you want it to.
Still, you kiss him back anyway, shamelessly, muscle memory taking over before you can think to stop it.
He just hums in response, completely unbothered, he heard you but didn’t feel even slightly compelled to stop.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says as he sits up on his knees between your legs, keeping them spread.
Already reaching for his swimming trunks so casually. His palm tightens around his hardened shaft through the material, giving it a firm squeeze while he looks down at you, completely natural, like he has no idea what he’s doing with his hand.
“You think?” you say, clearly sarcastic.
“Mm,” he hums, serious, not missing a beat. “I know, baby. You’re perfect. Stunning.”
“Oh, really?”
“Really.”
You raise an eyebrow. “You say that to every woman in a bikini?”
His grin only widens. “Uh, hell no? Just my perfect wife.”
"Are you seriously hard?"
"Um, it'd be crazy if I wasn't," he replies like that ends it all.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“And you’re pretty.” His eyes drift over you again, completely shameless, palm still pressed against his outline kneading firmly, as if to give relief. “Everything about you.”
“Those lips,” he says, thumb brushing over them slowly, testing the softness with focus.
Imagining all the ways your pretty lips could look wrapped around his cock.
“Those eyes too, always looking at me like that. Just begging to be fucked.”
“Shut up.”
“Make me, sit on my face.”
You had a feeling he wasn’t joking. But you stay still.
His fingertips run down your neck, feeling you swallow beneath them as your heartbeat quickens slightly at his words.
His hand lingers as it moves, drifting down your shoulders with deliberate ease before settling at your waist, holding you there. You feel the skin of his calloused hands on you.
“And this perfect body,” he adds, voice lower now, almost amused at his own thoughts as his gaze drags over you again.
All the different positions he wanted to fuck you in right here, right now.
His hand drifts up, cupping your breast through the bikini fabric. Giving a gentle squeeze. “You make it kind of hard to think straight, you know that?”
You roll your eyes. “Park Humin.”
“What?” he asks innocently, though the stupid smile on his face says otherwise. “You asked.”
“I didn’t ask for a full review.”
“You didn’t have to.” He leans a little closer, amusement dancing in his eyes. “I was gonna give one anyway.”
“God, you’re annoying.”
“Mm,” he nods thoughtfully. “And yet you’re laying there looking all pretty for me and letting it happen.”
He keeps taking you in anyway, eyes lingering over you again and again, quiet in that way he gets when he’s just… looking. In his eyes, you weren’t someone he ever got used to. You were someone closer to art in the highest sense of it, someone that stopped him for a second every time, no matter how familiar you already were.
A sight he never seemed to get enough of, no matter how often his gaze traced you, no matter how many times his mind tried to memorize every detail of you. It wasn’t even conscious anymore, the way he studied you, like his brain was trying to hold onto you in a way that went beyond seeing, just in case he ever had to. Ingraining every inch and curve of you into his memory.
“What happened to the beach?” you ask, raising your eyebrows from your position on the mattress, back pressed flush against it as you look up at Baku. You try a little too hard to avoid eye contact with what he’s doing with his hand. Still working over his outline. Searching for a bit of relief in his aching length.
“The beach is always there,” he replies easily, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s not going anywhere. We can go whenever we want.”
His other hand keeps moving down your thigh in a slow, gentle way, way more focused on you than any plan he had.
Fingers skate over your bikini bottoms and feel the wetness slick against the sleek material of it.
A sigh escapes his mouth, his adams apple moving as his head tips slightly back before settling again, as if he’s trying to collect himself but failing miserably.
“How’d I get so lucky?” he asks, not expecting an answer, not really needing one either. He’s already somewhere else entirely, caught up in you. The way your body lies perfectly flush between the cream sheets of your shared bed, the fabric bunching softly around your skin. The bikini framing you just enough, revealing everything in quiet detail while still leaving little to the imagination, enough to make his focus falter.
“My wife is so pretty.”
“You know, you say wife too much.”
“Anyone with a wife like mine would,” he grins, as if the answer is obvious, already decided for him. You, just being you, is enough to make him look at you like you’re something he can’t help but show off.
“But not everyone’s as lucky as me,” he adds, softer this time, the grin settling into something quieter as he keeps his eyes on you, still a little caught in it all.
“Don’t move.”
Finding the strings of his trunks, his fingers tug at them, loosening them until it no longer sits properly together. His hand fists his bulge gently once again, then moves to the hem of his shorts, pulling down just a fraction, low enough to expose his tanned skin, before letting them rest there, never fully committing. Caught in that familiar space between need and teasing, the one he always seems to hover in.
He watches you the entire time, completely aware of where your attention drifts. The way your eyes settle on the v-line adoring his crotch below his stomach, following the lines there. The definition of his thighs. The barely visible veins that traced along his skin, climbing up his lower stomach with quiet intention, giving subtle shape and detail to him in a way that always caught your eye.
Small things you noticed without meaning to.
Especially when you were horny.
He doesn’t say anything about it, just lets you look, letting the moment sit there between you both without interruption.
Your hands skate over the lower stomach of your tanned, muscled husband, your touch moving across him with intention. His stomach shifts and dips beneath you in a quiet shudder, reacting instantly to even the lightest contact, as if your presence alone is enough to make him fully aware of every way you had control over him.
“Yeah, yeah, I know I’m impressive,” his tone was proud, too proud. “That’s your husband, by the way.”
His hand finds yours and guides it down his body, making sure you feel every line of his build along the way.
“This is all yours,” he says.
He slows deliberately when your fingers reach his abs, holding you there just long enough to make a point of it, then glances at you with a small, satisfied smile when he notices the way your attention slips. He makes sure your fingers feel every dip and rise of his abs.
“Feel all of me,” he breathes as your hand moves lower, running over his hard shaft, the familiar firmness beneath your palm. Something primal flickers across his face as you touch it. You give it a gentle squeeze, earning a little groan. “God damn.”
It’s almost unfair how much he reacts to it. As though no amount of having you close could ever truly satisfy the part of him that needed more. As though he was doomed to crave your touch even after spending every day wrapped up in it.
Having you screaming his name last night wasn’t recent enough.
“Keep touching it and I’m gonna fuck you till you cry, I swear,” he says, sounding light enough to pass as a joke, but there’s a real edge of warning underneath it.
And despite that, you keep going.
His breathing grows a little uneven, not from anything dramatic, but from the simple fact that he lives for moments like these. He drinks them in greedily, surviving off your affection with the quiet desperation of a man who could spend a lifetime loved by you and still wake up wanting just one more touch.
“Mm, fuck baby, I love you.”
His hips begin moving on their own, working his cock gently against your palm.
His lips find your neck, lingering there before slowly tracing the path of your collarbone, each kiss carried with quiet devotion, as if he’s remembering you through touch alone.
“I don’t think I’m ever gonna get used to you.”
He moves across your shoulder blades, down your arm, pausing at your hand as if even the smallest part of you deserves to be acknowledged. His breath drifts over your skin between each moment, warm and uneven. Caught deeply in need.
“I want more of you like I’m starving,” he whispers between kisses. “I can’t get enough.”
Then lower, kisses scattered in no rush to finish, only to stay. Along your arms, your wrists, the quiet unnoticed lines of your body, even down your legs as if there isn’t a single part of you he could ever skip over.
“I’m all yours, you know that? You’re all I need.”
He takes his time with you, not as something to have, but something to adore, as though every inch of you is something he’s been searching for without knowing it.
“Humin…” is all you muster up as your husband practically worships your body.
“Don’t say my name, please, fuck— I’m already so hard it's painful...”
Taking his time, he retraces his way back up, kisses scattered in his wake until the final one comes crashing softly against your lips. His hand finds your waist immediately, pulling you flush against him with the kind of familiarity that had long since become a routine between you.
“I’d—" he exhales a sharp breath, "—lay my life down for you.”
And that he would. Genuinely.
He lingers there for a moment, unwilling to part completely, before finally pulling back just enough for his forehead to brush yours, his words falling in a whisper against your lips.
“You’ve really got me wrapped around your finger, huh? Did you cast a spell? Be honest,” he exhales a laugh. “I could worship your body all day, every day.”
You push him off and sit up, standing to fix your messed bikini.
“Well, we have plans, so not now.”
He catches your wrist before you can even make it to the mirror. Tight enough to halt any further movement.
“Baku—”
“Come here.”
He lets go just as quickly as he grabbed you, he already knows you’re not going far anyway.
You turn back around, arms crossed over your chest, trying to look annoyed while you take in the look on his face. That smile. That quiet, need in his eyes that he doesn’t bother hiding from you.
You still felt his devoted kisses lingering on your skin, the warmth of them settling in even after he’d stopped. The aftermath soft and reassuring, like a quiet reminder over how crazy your husband was about you.
“You’re being weird,” you say, rolling your eyes, but your mouth is betraying you a little.
His smile only widens. “I don’t care.”
“Humin.”
“Yeah?” he answers immediately, too calm for someone acting like this.
“We were supposed to leave fifteen minutes ago.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you still sitting there?”
He leans back slightly, eyes not leaving you for even a second. “I need you.”
You pause. “Right now?”
“Right now.” A beat. Then, softer, almost like he’s testing you. “Shit, I’m so hard, baby. You’re being cruel,” he says dramatically brushing his hand over his face trying to hide his smile.
That alone makes something in your expression shift, the confidence slipping just enough for you to look down for half a second.
And your eyes confirm. He was indeed incredibly hard. Hard enough to where it looked like his length might burst out of the material of his trunks at any moment.
You try to step out, but your feet don’t quite cooperate the way you want them to, your whole stance giving you away.
He notices immediately.
Even while he’s sitting on the bed, he had you pinned down where he wanted you. Without moving a muscle.
“Stop making me wait,” he says, still smiling, voice lower now, more needy than demanding. “Please…”
And that “please” doesn’t feel like a request so much as it feels like him admitting defeat in the most unfair way possible.
You exhale, trying to hold onto your resolve, but it’s already gone.
“…You’re impossible,” you mutter, barely convincing yourself.
He just opens his arms a little, waiting.
And this time, you don’t make him wait for long. Immediately pinned onto the mattress underneath him once again.
“This—” he hooks a finger under the strap of your bikini, tugging it lightly before letting it snap back into place. “—is making me wanna watch my cum drip out of you.”
His voice is barely above a whisper.
“I’m waiting…”
And that was enough for him.
“Fuck the beach,” he declares, the matter is already settled and no force on earth is changing his mind. Leaning down without another thought, he litters your neck with kisses, the kind born purely out of need.
Not even ten minutes ago, he had been passionately defending his weekday beach philosophy. Now, with you beneath him in that pretty pink bikini, he looks perfectly willing to abandon every carefully packed towel and container.
Looking down, he noticed the damp patch on your bikini, perfectly centered between the outline of your lips. Giving it a light teasing smack, earning a wince from you, he whispered, “you little slut, you’re soaking through.”
He quickly undoes the bikini ties, urgency in his hands. His fingers brush over yours when you try to help, briefly lacing with your hand before pushing it away. He doesn’t want your help, he wants you laying there taking it all. All his need.
“No, let me.”
The bikini comes off, flung somewhere off to the side. His hands trace all your lines, taking you in, fully bare and on display beneath him.
The sheer white blinds filtered the morning sunlight, casting a soft glow over your trembling body. Your tits rose and fell with each desperate breath, the sensitive peaks hardening in the cool air. Your slit was wet, dripping even, the evidence of your need clear. He saw it all.
And there you are, still shy under his gaze, the same way you are every time, no matter how many times he’s seen you like this before. It never really changes. You still go quiet, still avoid his eyes, like it’s the first time all over again.
“Acting shy now?” he teases, running a finger over one of your nipples, kneading both of your tits in one of his bigger hands.
“I’ve seen you choke on my cock with a smile on your face, don’t be silly now.”
You swallow.
“Spread those legs for me, honey,” And immediately, you comply without even thinking about it. Not because you’re unaware of yourself, but because you know exactly who he is to you in that moment. Your husband knows what he’s doing, knows how to pull the right reactions out of you without even trying too hard. He knows how to make you feel good, in ways that settle under your skin.
And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t crave his touch twenty four seven.
“Look at that…”
His fingers immediately graze your slit, drawing a small sigh out of you in reaction.
“Shit…” he exhales a shaken breath, cursing.
A soft slickness gathers at his fingertips immediately, coating them as he intently spreads it further. Making it messier on purpose.
“Soaked, aren’t you?” a light, but now wet, smack again. “This pussy knows how to welcome me, hm?”
You fail trying to bite back a sound at the feel of his fingers against your clit, the reaction slipping out before you can stop it. Your need for him settling in deeper.
Two fingers slip inside you slowly, walls clenching around them and arms hooking loosely around his neck.
“Are my fingers enough?”
You shake your head desperately.
"What do you need then, baby?"
"You know what I need, Humin," you murmur.
"Enlighten me."
"I need you inside me..."
He smiles down at you, tilting his head slightly as if he’s watching something he genuinely loves seeing. The way your expressions shift makes something in him settle.
He curls his fingers gently making you squeeze harder, a groan leaving his lips.
“Fuck, I can't keep up with this teasing shit,” he pulls his fingers out.
Pushing down his trunks, his cock springs free. The thick, veiny shape taps against his stomach as he finally settles it down. Gripping it in hand, slapping the tip lightly against your clit, making you gasp a little in response.
“Ah—“
Sharp and cool against your teeth.
“Ah,” he mimics you, mocking your gasp, and smiles. “Fuck, those sounds. Makes me wanna fuck you senseless till that’s all you are.”
He teases the tip lower, between your folds, his precum and your slickness working to make the movement addictive.
And it was in that moment that it wasn’t just the size of Humin hovering over you that stood out so starkly. It was his shaft resting against your thigh, thick and warm. His fingers alone seemed to take up so much space against you, your smaller frame swallowed so effortlessly beside his.
It had always been that way. From the way your hand disappeared in his, to how easily he gathered you into his arms. The contrast between you both never failed to leave a quiet flutter in your chest.
Especially in this position, the ceiling barely came into view past how wide his shoulders were, his frame taking up most of your sight without even trying.
“Mm,” he hums, focused on his tip probing at your entrance.
You brace yourself, eyes fixed on the sheer, thick weight of your husband’s cock—unforgiving, carved to fit only you, to split you open. Even after all these years, after countless nights together, that slow, burning stretch never gets anything less than overwhelming.
He pulls you right out of your thoughts as he glides his cock slow through your slick.
“You think this’ll all fit easy this time, baby? I’ll go real slow.”
At first, no response.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” his tone growing a touch firmer, enough to pull you back. “Eyes on me.”
His thumb brushes slowly over your bottom lip as he holds your jaw steady, his hand nearly swallowing your face, keeping you from looking away. The solid weight of his tip taps against your clit again, deliberate this time, and your breath catches sharp in your throat, your hips twitching up toward him on instinct.
“That’s a good girl, so eager, you just wanna be filled, don’t you?”
You nod. “Please.”
His thumb brushes your cheek, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite the intent in his eyes.
“C’mon, baby. Stay with me,” he murmurs. “You gonna be good for me? Take it all?”
You nod again, subtle but immediate, an urgency slipping through the small motion anyway. Needing all of him despite the anticipated pain.
“Mm, keep those legs open for me,” he whispers. “Squeeze my arm if it gets too much, deal?”
You nod.
His tip presses soft and insistent, pushing slow against the tight fit.
“Breathe, baby, I won’t fucking fit otherwise.”
Your breath catches and shatters into a gasp, vision blurring at the edges where pain and pleasure bleed into one, too tangled to tell apart.
Despite how turned on you were, it was always a struggle. No amount of foreplay could allow a smooth sink.
“Humin—” his name slips from your mouth, vulnerable, like it’s the only thing you can reach for in the moment. As if saying it alone might ease the pain.
He leans down without a word and presses a kiss to your forehead, slow, staying there long enough for you to register it.
“I got you, baby,” he murmurs. “Just hold still. Breathe.”
He pushes deeper, the head sliding past that tight, resisting give, sinking in. Still barely a fraction of him. A low, wrecked groan pierces your ears from above, fingers digging hard into your hips.
“Oh, fuck— Good girl—“
His shaft was caught in a crushing yet addictive grip.
He freezes, hips stuttering like he’s forgotten how to move, a shaky, high whine catching in his throat. Resisting the impulse to close the distance. “Fuck—shit, baby, you’re so fucking tight. I can’t—shit, that feels good.”
Simultaneously, your back arches off the mattress with nowhere to go, hips pressed firmly down into it.
“No, fuck no, don’t move an inch.”
The pain isn’t damaging, but it lingers there all the same, enough to make your breath catch and your focus narrow. Your nails dig into his shoulders, holding on.
His thumb located your clit, moving in slow, deliberate circles that coaxed your soaked heat to stretch wider. You fought to accommodate his thick length, muscles trembling as your body slowly made room. It worked—for a moment—two more inches of him sliding deep inside before his girth hit that familiar resistance again.
“Oh, fuck— Mhm, that’s it,” he immediately praises you, voice coming out barely there.
“Mm— you’re gripping me so fucking tight, what the fuck. Are you trying to cut my dick in half?” A laugh slips from his chest, because apparently Baku’s nonsense always had to make an appearance. Even while he was busy stretching you open.
A small, broken sound slips from your mouth, followed by a whine as your eyes well up, tears spilling over before you can stop them and tracking down your flushed cheeks. Your vision turns hazy, everything blurring at the edges for a moment.
“It’s okay. Cry all you want, princess,” followed by a groan. “We got all day.”
He looks down immediately, focus snapping to you, watching your face closely, making sure you’re okay. Your gaze never leaves each other as he watches you struggle to take him.
“Humin…” you cry out. “Too much…”
“I know, baby, I know,” he says, low and even, like he’s trying to calm the air around you with his voice alone. Wiping your tears away carefully. “You’re doing good. So good. Just a bit more, okay? Should I keep going?”
You nod.
Despite the cruelty of your deep scratches raking his broad shoulders, the moment your hand slips, he finds it and drapes it right back in place. He doesn’t even acknowledge the sting, only adjusts you gently as if your comfort outweighs everything else.
“Scratch all you want, it’s okay, baby.”
He pushes your thighs back, his thumbs keep tracing slow, soothing circles, coaxing a few more inches in until he’s more than halfway buried inside.
You shift forward instinctively, trying to push through and take more at once, “Shit—“ he whines, immediately guiding you back with a firm hand, keeping you from rushing.
“Be patient baby, don’t hurt yourself,” he whispers despite how badly he wanted to sink in your fucking guts. “I’ll give all of it to you.”
A whine slips from your mouth again, sharper this time, born out of frustration and impatience. He reacts instantly, hand tangling in your hair, a firm pull draws a startled gasp from you.
“You’re being an impatient little slut right now, hm?”
An answer wasn’t even needed, but you nod anyway, mindless and needy in the way that just gives you away. Your hand finds his forearm where he’s holding your hair, gripping on. But not squeezing like he told you to.
“Want the rest?”
You nod eagerly.
And that was all he needed. With a low breath leaving his chest, he finally committed, guiding the motion through. His hands settled firmly at your hips, grounding you against one final, yet still gentle, thrust, sinking in till he bottoms out.
“That’s it—“ he groans softly. Hips staggering for a moment.
A gasp tears from your throat as your back arches further, as though something deep inside you had seized control for a moment and left you helpless to anything but the feeling.
“Mmhm, Humin—” you whine, the words barely making it out, your voice so faint it almost disappears altogether. “I cant—“
Your body betraying the very words falling from your lips, giving in despite yourself, taking all of it as though it had long since made up its mind before you ever could.
“Fucking hell…” He groans as he feels you completely engulf his cock. Gripping like your life depended on keeping him buried inside you. Adjusting to his size till he could comfortably move.
“Oh, no? You can’t?” A smile tugs at his lips, almost teasing as he looks at you like he already knows the answer. “But you are. You’re doing it so good—if only you could see what I’m seeing.”
He looks down, already rocking his hips into you, the pace agonizingly slow, yet somehow you could feel him everywhere, his presence settling into every part of you until there was nowhere your mind could wander but back to him. Feeling the head of his wet shaft settling in your uterus.
“Taking it like a good girl. It’s sliding in smoother than you’d think,” he teases. “You’re fucking taking it like you wanna get pregnant.”
Your breath hitches.
“Do you, baby?” He whispers, your eyes finally locking again.
“Mmhm…”
"Need a very clear answer," he repeated, his hand gripping your jaw firmly as he delivered a series of light, open handed smacks to your face. Teasing your sensitive skin. The sound echoed in the quiet room, soft but demanding. "You wanna be a mommy? Have my baby?”
“Mmh— yeah…”
“Yeah?”
“I do…”
“Y’want me to cum inside you, that it?”
You didn't respond—your mind too full of the weight of his question. Embarrassment burned hot on your cheeks even as you laid naked on the edge of the table, your legs already spread wide for him, your wet slit on display below and full of him. The contrast of your coyness and the filthy position you'd let him put you in was stark.
Earning you a sharper smack to the cheek, leaving behind a warm red mark.
“Answer me.”
“Shit— Mmhmm—“ A whimper escapes loose as his wet strokes ruin you further.
“Mmhmm shit mmhm…” he mocks, still thrusting deep into your guts. Purposely. “Words, silly. Heard’ve them?”
“Please— please cum inside me— Make me— fuck— make me a mom…”
His smile widened in satisfaction as he gently brushed your hair behind your ear—a gesture so tender it clashed with the nasty way he was fucking you—and then smacked your cheek again, not hard enough to hurt this time but hard enough to make you clench around his cock.
He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.
“You're so beyond beautiful.”
His voice comes out rougher at the edges, attention locked in on the spot your core swallowed him whole, like he can’t quite look away, completely caught up in you in a way he doesn’t try hiding.
“What a sight, fuck. Soaking the fucking sheets, you’re making a mess.”
His thumb pulls your lips apart, a thick string of saliva settling right between your folds where you connected, rubbing it in, making it all the more messy.
Fingers finding your clit and working you.
Your thighs give a weak pathetic twitch and he keeps going, pushing you to overstimulation as his tip was already abusing your cervix just doubling down on the pleasure.
“It's— shit, please... too much—” you gasp out pathetically, attempting to push his hand away, fighting your own orgasm.
Your words tumble over each other into a broken whimper. Barely able to catch your breath, let alone string together a proper sentence.
"Squeeze my arm then, go on."
Nothing. No squeeze. But you double down on your protests.
"I can't—" as if reaching the edge felt too overwhelming but you still wanted to be pushed over it.
“Oh, but you will, cum all over me,” despite your attempts to push his hand, he kept going. Thumb pad pressed stubbornly against your clit. Making you gush all over his lower abs, soaking the sheets and his cock with your aftermath.
He presses the words out through grit teeth, voice rough and thick with heat as he keeps his pace up, “That's it, baby, see? Such a good girl, so pretty.”
Despite the wrecked sweaty state you were in.
The obscene, wet squelching echoes off the bedroom walls every time his hips sink deep, each hard thrust deliberately driven to drag that loud, sticky sound out. He holds your hips tighter, chasing it, chasing the proof of just how soaked and messy you are for him.
“Someone’s been—,” squelch. “needin’ this, hm?” squelch squelch. “God damn, jus’ listen to that.” squelch.
Your tears were already soaking the cream sheets by your head as you pushed back on his lower stomach. To no avail, it doesn’t work slowing him down.
Only encouraging him. Pulling your hand up to kiss it.
“Uh uh, what’s the matter? Can’t take it?” He breathes, your ankles now draped over his shoulders. A sight you could never quite get enough of, the way your husband’s broad, sun-warmed shoulders offered the perfect resting place for your feet without a single word needed between you. “You were acting like a cock hungry whore not long ago.”
“You’re taking this pounding, baby. I haven’t cum yet.”
He shoves your legs back hard until your knees practically brush your chest, folding you open just how he wants, and drives deep from above. His breath catches, sharp warm puffs against your neck, and you feel his cock throb weak inside you.
Bear hugging you right into him while simultaneously fucking you further into the mattress, close enough you felt his groans and breaths caress your ears.
"Mm, fuck,” his tone was shrill, closer to the edge. “You feel fucking good—“
Your tits pressed firmly against his chest, brushing into him with each thrust. A thin sheen of sweat coated your bodies where you were pressed together from neck to hips.
“I’m gonna cum inside,” he whispers, “baby… that okay?” leaning slightly back, but still hugging you close.
His gaze stays on you, heavy lidded, caught in a way that makes it feel like he’s not fully thinking straight anymore, just drunk on you. He asks it again, softer, as if he didn’t already get you to admit you wanted his seed deep inside you.
“Mm, yeah…” you nod weakly.
“Yeah…?” he echoes back even weaker. “Fuck, I love you…”
He found your lips in a sloppy, desperate kiss, pushing every ragged breath and broken grunt into your mouth like he needed you to swallow his noises whole.
Saliva slicked both your lips as his breathing grew uneven, hitched, until suddenly his hips bucked erratically and his whole body trembled on top of you, a shudder running through his frame.
The kiss broke only for him to bury his face in your neck, muffling his broken groans against your skin as his cock continued to twitch. Strokes noticeably sloppy, with each pass becoming significantly less rhythmic, less coordinated.
“Feels good…” you continue, pleading, “please don’t stop…”
“Mmhm…” is all he manages. A weak attempt at proving that he was still present. But he was already slipping away. With a final thrust that completely ended him.
His body went rigid as he came inside you with a desperate, shuddering eruption, his cock pulsing deeply as he emptied himself completely.
A softened gasp overtook you. Your body trembling against the sheets.
“Baby, fuck— shit, shit, so good— you feel so fucking— good—“ his voice came out hoarse and whiney. “Please— don’t move, jus’ take all of it… All of my cum…”
“Oh, g–god—“ an incoherent string of moans and words tore from your mouth.
Finally, with a last weak leak, he collapses forward, catching himself instantly on one arm so he doesn’t fall fully onto you, saving you from being crushed beneath him.
He catches his breath before looking at you, leaning in just enough to press a soft, tired kiss to your cheek.
“I love you, baby.”
Your chest rises and falls in uneven breaths as you try to settle back into yourself, the world slowly catching up again.
He lets out a weak laugh, shaking his head slightly. Barely even able to breathe, but still talking. “What, no ‘I love you back’? That’s cold.”
Sweat dampened his forehead and entire body.
“I love you…” you manage, barely getting it out.
“I know, baby,” he says immediately, still smiling as he brushes his thumb over your cheek, wiping mascara smudges. “I was kidding. Just breathe.”
Still buried deep inside you and partially soft. Peppering your sweat damp skin with small, appreciative kisses, slow and absent of hurry, adoring you in a way that feels completely natural. Like you deserve.
“You okay, princess?”
You nod—delicate, but still there.
“Y’know you’re pretty cute when you’re like this,” he smiles, fully serious, but with that teasing edge in his tone. “Gives you a glow… like an afterglow—is that what it’s called?”
“Oh, shush,” you mumble, trying to hide your face as you shift under him. Feeling the aftermath of his undoing against your walls. Plugged up and still inside.
He laughs right away, light and easy. “What? I’m being observant. It’s important work.”
“It’s not work.”
“It is,” he insists, nodding like that settles it. “Someone has to study these things. I’m basically helping science right now.”
You let out a small sigh, but you’re smiling anyway.
“Oh—there it is,” he points at you, way too pleased with himself. “That smile again. I was right.”
“You’re insufferable,” you say, but it comes out soft.
“And yet,” he says, unbothered, shifting closer, giving your forehead a kiss, “you’re still here listening to me.”
“That’s because you won’t shut up.”
“False,” he corrects immediately. “It’s because I’m charming.”
You roll your eyes.
He grins wider. “See? You’re doing it again. Cute.”
A pause. Neither of you say anything, just bask in each other’s warmth, a comfortable silence settling, until Baku breaks it—
“Still up for the beach?”
── .✦ PART TWO LINK
© geumnana ― 𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚
