Summary:
Some people are impossible to outgrow.
You learned that with Changbin.
It didn’t matter that you were married now, or that the timing between you had always been wrong. Somehow, the two of you always found your way back to each other in secret.
Changbin told his wife about an out-of-town conference two weeks ago. Instead of sitting through presentations with his colleagues, though, he’s sprawled across a king-sized bed in a secluded cottage while his best friend kisses down his chest.
He hisses when your lips close around his nipple, fingers tightening instinctively at the nape of your neck. “Fuck…”
You pull back just enough to look up at him. “Wifey knows you touched down yet?”
The question ghosts warm air across his skin, making him choke out a breath.
“I—I tried calling.” His voice falters when your tongue flicks against his nipple again. “Stop teasing me.”
“Aww,” you whisper. “Can’t handle a little foreplay?”
Before he can answer, his phone starts ringing.
His wife.
He groans when the phone keeps ringing, the sound cutting through the moment. You slide off him as he reaches for the discarded jeans at the side of the bed.
“Yeah?” he answers roughly.
You can hear his wife’s voice faintly through the speaker.
“Honey…”
His expression shifts instantly, voice softening into something warm and practiced. While he answers her questions, his hand drifts beneath the blanket, fingertips tracing idle circles along your inner thigh.
Then something darker flickers across his face.
You barely suppress a moan when his fingers slip between your legs while he calmly talks about his “conference itinerary.”
He never breaks eye contact.
“Mm-hmm,” he says smoothly into the phone. “Presentations for two days.”
His fingers curl deeper inside you, thumb moving slow circles while he watches your lips shape the word.
Liar.
He mouths back:
Guilty.
“Sounds good, darling,” he says smoothly into the phone.
One deep stroke of his fingers makes your head fall back against the pillows. You bite down hard on your hand to stay quiet, but he notices every reaction.
And he loves it.
He shouldn't.
But watching you unravel while he lies to his wife feels dangerously addictive.
Another finger slips in, thrusting slowly.
On the phone, she asks if he’s alright.
He barely misses a beat.
“Sorry, love,” he says softly. “Must be static.”
His eyes flick back to yours, amused. Then his pace quickens just enough to make your thighs tremble.
"Quiet, baby," he mouths silently.
You start moving against his hand instinctively, chasing more friction. The wet sounds in the room nearly pull a groan from him when his wife suddenly asks if he’s still there.
"Yeah," he answers tightly.
His fingers work faster.
One sharp curl nearly breaks you.
“Chan—“
His free hand clamps over your mouth instantly.
His eyes flash with warning.
Quiet.
The command settles somewhere deep in your stomach as he drives his fingers deeper, working you through the edge while his wife keeps casually talking in his ear about neighbors, dinner plans, everyday things.
Meanwhile, you fall apart beneath him.
Your body trembles violently against his hand, muffled moans trapped behind his palm as your orgasm crashes through you.
He watches the entire thing happen with dark, unbearable satisfaction.
And the second you come down, you mouth one word against his hand:
“More."
Because one orgasm is not enough when it comes to being with him. You don’t get the same satisfaction at home with your actual husband.
He adds another finger, pace never faltering as he continues the conversation like this is the most normal thing in the world.
“Yeah,” he murmurs into the phone. “Can’t wait to see you.”
Then he glances at you and mouths,
Greedy girl.
His wife says something about his schedule.
“I’ll be free around seven thirty,” he says smoothly into the phone before pausing.
Another slow stroke inside you makes your body tighten involuntarily.
His mouth twitches.
“Actually,” he corrects softly, watching your expression carefully, “make that eight.”
The woman on the other end keeps talking, but he’s barely listening anymore.
“Love you too, darling.”
Finally, you whisper, “Hang up.”
His eyes flick to yours instantly.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he murmurs into the phone before ending the call without another thought.
The phone hits the floor a second later.
Silence floods the room.
And then all of his attention settles back on you.
“You begged for more,” he says quietly, pushing your thighs apart again.
The look on his face makes heat rush straight through you.
“Now you’re going to get it.”
All you can manage is:
“Please.”
He kisses you before either of you can say another word, rough and hungry, one hand buried in your hair while the other keeps working between your thighs.
The kiss steals the breath from your lungs. Every slow movement of his hand draws another helpless reaction from you, your body already chasing more.
Then he pulls away just enough to look at you.
His fingers slip from your body slowly, and the sudden emptiness makes you squirm against the sheets.
Before you can complain, he settles between your thighs instead, the heat of him pressing against you in silent warning of what’s coming next.
"Please what, princess?” he murmurs, teasing you with just enough contact to make your body ache for more. “You’re gonna have to beg better than that.”
You pull him closer instinctively.
“Please,” you breathe. “Please, Binnie.”
The nickname almost undoes him.
His expression shifts for a split second, something softer, more dangerous, before he finally gives you what you’ve been asking for.
The sound that leaves him is low and strained as he buries his face against your neck.
“Like that?” he asks quietly, already knowing the answer.
“Fuck—yes,” you gasp. “Just like that.”
The praise nearly wrecks his composure.
His grip tightens at your hips as he pulls you closer, rhythm turning rougher, less controlled. The room fills with uneven breaths, quiet whimpers, the sharp sound of skin against skin.
Take it,” he mutters, voice strained.
A helpless sound leaves you in response.
He leans down until his mouth brushes your ear.
“That’s my girl,” he says softly, almost reverently, before losing the softness completely. “Take what you need.”
The change in his tone sends heat rushing through you all over again.
Your head falls back as soft, broken yeses keep slipping from your lips.
He buries a rough breath against your neck, feeling every reaction you give him.
“There you go,” he murmurs, voice lower now, almost coaxing.
The rhythm between you loses what little restraint it had left.
One of his hands slides higher along your thigh, lifting your leg to hang over his shoulder, while the other keeps you trembling beneath him, every touch deliberate, like he’s memorizing the sounds he pulls from you.
“Don’t hold back for me,” he whispers against your skin. “I wanna hear it.”
The sounds falling from your lips finally crack something in him.
He presses you deeper into the sheets, breathing hard against your skin like he’s trying to hold onto what little control he has left.
“Fuck,” he mutters, almost dazed. “I could stay here forever.”
You look up at him through half-lidded eyes, breathless and teasing all at once.
“Yeah?” you whisper. “Then prove it.”
Something dangerous flashes across his face at the challenge.
Before you can brace yourself, he turns you onto your stomach, dragging your hips back against him with a rough, impatient touch.
The sudden shift knocks a breath from your lungs.
“You wanted a show?” he murmurs.
His hand cracks sharply against your skin, and the sound alone makes you jolt beneath him.
He lets out a quiet, satisfied laugh at the soft noise that escapes you.
“Then hold on.”
His grip tightens at your hips as the rhythm between you turns uneven, desperate enough to rattle the headboard against the wall.
The sounds he pulls from you only make him worse.
“Look at you,” he breathes, voice rough with disbelief more than arrogance now, like he still can’t believe you’re letting him have you like this.
He folds himself over your back, one hand steadying you while the other reaches under to rub your clit, keeping you trembling beneath him.
“That’s it,” he murmurs against your ear. “Just like that.”
The praise leaves you dizzy.
“It feels so good,” you gasp before the thought slips out without warning.
“Your poor little wife.”
The words hit him instantly.
At that, something almost amused breaks out of him, a low laugh against your skin that sounds more dangerous than angry.
“Poor little wife,” he repeats softly.
The words seem to unravel whatever restraint he had left.
“She gets routine,” he says, voice rougher now. “You get obsession.”
His hand slides along your body more slowly this time, almost reverent.
“You get worshiped.” He murmurs, brushing his mouth close to yours. “Is that what you want?”
”Please. I want you to make me feel better than him.”
He stills for half a second, staring at you like he’s seeing something he wants to keep. Then he turns you onto your back again, movements suddenly less impatient, more deliberate.
His expression turns fierce, and he leans down to capture your lips in a deep kiss.
“Then keep those legs open for me,” he says against your mouth, voice rougher now, less teasing and more sincere.
He slides back into you slowly, like he wants you to feel every inch of it.
“Because I’m about to worship you properly.”
After that, thinking becomes impossible.
He keeps you grounded with slow, deliberate movements, one hand tangled with yours beside your head while the other traces across your skin like he can’t stop touching you.
The rhythm between you turns steady instead of frantic, intimate in a way that almost feels more dangerous than before.
“Better than him?” he asks quietly against your mouth.
The answer comes easily.
Too easily.
“So much better,” you breathe.
And the look on his face after that tells you he was desperate to hear it.
Something deeply satisfied settles across his expression before he kisses you again, slower this time, like he wants to savor the reaction he pulled from you.
“Good,” he whispers against your mouth.
His movements stay measured now, deliberate enough to keep you completely focused on him, on the warmth of his body covering yours, on the way his hand never lets go of yours.
“Because I’m going to make sure you never forget this.”
The promise sends heat rushing through you all over again.
His forehead rests briefly against yours as he murmurs,
“I want you thinking about me when you’re lying next to him.”
All you can do is nod.
He pulls away just long enough to turn you onto your hands and knees again, adjusting the pillow beneath your hips with practiced familiarity.
“Face down,” he says quietly.
The command alone sends heat rushing through you.
His hand glides slowly along the curve of your body before landing in a sharp slap against your ass that makes you jolt beneath him.
A low sound leaves him at your reaction.
Then he’s behind you again, movements rougher now, less controlled, the mattress shifting beneath the force of it while he keeps one steady hand at your hip to hold you exactly where he wants you.
His hand tangles in your hair, pulling you back against him just enough to force a broken sound from your throat.
“Think about this the next time he touches you,” he mutters against your ear, voice rough with possession more than anger.
The words alone make your body tighten around him.
“I will,” you gasp quickly. “Fuck—I will.”
A shaky laugh leaves him at that.
His hand slips down your body again, every touch purposeful now, like he’s trying to leave himself everywhere at once.
“Good,” he says softly. “That’s exactly what I want.”
And the worst part is how badly you want it too.
The thought of you going back home carrying memories of this, comparing every touch, every kiss, every quiet moment to him, is enough to unravel whatever restraint he had left.
The rhythm between you turns frantic again the second you beg for more.
“Faster, Bin,” you gasp helplessly. “Please—faster.”
He gives in immediately, like denying you was never really an option.
“That’s it,” he mutters, grip tightening at your hip as your body starts falling apart beneath him again. Then his mouth brushes close to your ear.
“Tell me something.”
The quieter tone almost wrecks you more than the roughness did.
“Does he make you feel like this?”
Your answer comes instantly, a desperate shake of your head.
The answer hits him harder than he expects.
He shifts his grip at your hips, slowing just enough to pull another helpless sound from your throat.
“Does he make you sound like this?” he asks quietly.
You can barely think straight anymore.
“N-not like you,” you manage weakly before the nickname slips out without thinking. “Baby…”
That finally cracks something in him.
His forehead drops briefly against your shoulder as a rough breath leaves him.
“Yeah?” he murmurs, almost disbelieving. “Only me?”
The way he says it makes it sound less like arrogance and more like something he desperately needed to hear.
Changbin has always known how to take care of you once you reach this point, once the world narrows down to touch, breath, and the sound of his voice.
Words stop coming easily. Your body feels heavy and oversensitive all at once, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming intensity of it.
The sight of you like this nearly undoes him.
“Fuck,” he breathes, pulling you closer against him as his composure slips again. “Look at you.”
There’s something almost reverent in the way he touches you now, like he understands exactly how much trust you’re giving him in this moment.
And when you nod weakly at his words, something fierce flashes across his expression.
Not triumph.
Something deeper.
“Yeah,” he murmurs against your skin. “Right now, you’re with me.”
The second you start moving against him with equal desperation, something strained breaks from his throat.
He wasn’t expecting you to meet him like this, chasing him back with the same intensity he’d been giving you all night.
“Yeah,” he breathes shakily. “That’s it. Take what you want.”
For a moment, he lets you control the rhythm completely, hands steadying your body while he follows your pace instead of forcing his own.
The change nearly destroys him.
Eventually he pulls you back against his chest again, burying his face against your neck as he tries to regain some control over himself.
“You gonna fall apart for me?” he murmurs against your skin.
The question sounds less teasing now and more desperate.
When your body tightens around him again, his composure finally starts slipping for real, your name leaving his mouth in broken fragments like he can’t hold it back anymore.
His arm tightens around your waist, holding you flush against him while the rhythm between you turns uneven again, both of you chasing the same release now.
“Cum with me,” he whispers against your skin, voice rough and breathless in a way you haven’t heard before.
The words sink deep, mixing with the haze already clouding your thoughts.
You can barely speak anymore. Everything about you feels overwhelmed, your body, your breathing, the way your mind keeps slipping every time he says your name like it matters too much.
And when he starts to pull away to shift positions again, instinct takes over.
You grab his arms and hold them around you instead.
The reaction he gives you is immediate.
He exhales sharply against your neck before tightening his hold, keeping you close while he follows the pace your body asks for instead of forcing his own.
“More?” he murmurs, almost amused, almost wrecked by it.
You nod helplessly.
“Tell me what you want.”
The answer catches in your throat before finally slipping out:
"B-breed."
The words nearly wreck him.
For a second, all he can do is stare at you, breathing unevenly as the realization settles in, you aren’t embarrassed to ask for him. Not anymore.
“Fuck,” he whispers, almost overwhelmed by it. “Yeah, baby.”
The nickname slipping between your lips again strips away whatever restraint he still had left.
He pulls you closer against him, movements turning rougher but somehow more desperate too, like he’s chasing something deeper than release now.
“You want that from me?” he asks against your skin, voice low and strained.
Your answer is immediate, a shaky nod, another broken “please.”
And that’s what finally destroys him.
His breathing turns ragged as he buries himself against you completely, holding you so tightly it almost feels protective instead of possessive.
“Fuck,” he murmurs again, sounding almost dazed. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
The release hits him hard enough to steal the rest of his words.
Even afterward, he doesn’t let go.
And when he finally starts to pull away, your body instinctively presses back against him instead.
Even afterward, he can’t seem to let you go.
He keeps you close against him, movements slower now, almost indulgent, his mouth brushing along your neck between uneven breaths.
“Still not enough?” he murmurs, sounding more wrecked than teasing at this point.
The question pulls another helpless reaction from you, and the sound seems to go straight to his head.
“Yeah,” he breathes, tightening his arms around you. “That’s what I thought.”
There’s something dangerously satisfied in the way he looks at you now, like seeing you this overwhelmed means more to him than it should.
“He doesn’t look at you like this, does he?” he asks quietly against your skin.
His voice drops lower.
“Doesn’t make you feel like you’re his whole world.”
And the worst part is that, right now, wrapped up in him like this…
it almost feels true.
The second you shake your head, something fierce shifts in him.
Not just satisfaction.
Relief.
Like some selfish part of him needed confirmation that he really was giving you something no one else could.
He pulls you closer against him again, movements losing their rhythm for a moment as emotion overtakes control.
“You need this,” he says quietly against your skin.
It isn’t really a question.
Your answer comes in another weak nod, and he exhales shakily like that alone is enough to undo him.
The secrecy of it all, the stolen trip, the rental, the fact that you’re choosing him anyway, settles over him all at once.
“This is how you deserve to feel,” he murmurs near your ear, voice rough with conviction now instead of arrogance.
And the terrifying part is how badly you want to believe him.
His breath comes hot and uneven against your throat as he keeps touching you like he’s trying to leave pieces of himself everywhere.
“Who do you belong to?” he asks again, quieter this time.
But your mind is too far gone to form anything except his name.
The second it leaves your mouth, something in him snaps.
A rough groan tears from his chest as he pulls you tighter against him, staring at you like he can’t believe you just gave him exactly what he wanted.
Not just your body.
Your choice.
Your need.
The realization completely destroys what little control he had left, pleasure crashing through him hard enough to leave him shaking against you, releasing inside.
“Perfect,” he rasps, voice wrecked.
And hearing him sound that undone sends you over the edge right behind him.
By the time everything finally settles, both of you are left breathing unevenly in the aftermath, tangled together in sweat and silence.
He traces slow circles against your back while your breathing evens out again.
“You okay?” he asks quietly.
The softness in his voice catches you off guard after everything else.
“Just sore,” you admit weakly.
He huffs out a quiet laugh, brushing damp curls away from your forehead.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I know.”
But he still keeps touching you carefully afterward, like he can’t stop.
Wrapped up in his arms like this: warm, exhausted and emotionally wrecked, the thought slips out before you can stop it.
“Definitely married the wrong man.”
The joke hits him harder than you expect.
He goes still.
Completely still.
When you look up at him again, something in his expression has changed.
“Then leave him.”
The words come out quiet.
Serious.
“Say the word,” he whispers, cupping your face with surprising care, like you’re something fragile after all.
Suddenly this doesn’t feel like fantasy anymore.
It feels dangerous.
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Note: edited & originally posted on ao3, it's actually Choso focused iykyk
