The royal hot springs nestled in the shadowed foothills beyond the Fire Nation capital, far enough from the palace that the weight of the throne and its endless demands felt like something left behind on another continent. You and Zuko had slipped away under the cover of dusk, the two of you stealing the rare night alone after weeks that had stretched into months of separation. Court sessions had swallowed him whole—long hours mediating between restless nobles, smoothing over old grudges that refused to die with the war. Your own days had been claimed by the delicate negotiations with the Water Tribe delegations, forging new trade routes and alliances that kept you away from the palace more often than not. Letters and brief, exhausted kisses in passing corridors had been all you managed for far too long. The yearning had built like steam under pressure, mutual and aching, until neither of you could stand another night apart.
The carved stone path to the largest pool glowed faintly under low torchlight as you arrived. Zuko shed his formal robes first, letting the heavy layers fall away until he stood bare in the cool night air. You followed, stepping down into the steaming water behind him. The heat rose around your bodies, enveloping you both as you sank in together. Zuko settled against your chest without hesitation, his back to your front, head resting back on your shoulder. The water lapped gently at your collarbones, and for the first time in weeks the rigid line of his shoulders softened.
Your arms circled him, one hand resting low on his stomach while the other traced slow, idle paths along his arm. “I’ve missed this,” you murmured against the side of his head, voice low in the quiet. “Missed you. The way you feel right here.”
Zuko exhaled, long and slow, his fingers threading through yours underwater. “Every damn meeting I sat through, all I could think about was getting back to you. The court feels like it’s designed to keep us apart these days.” His voice carried that familiar edge of frustration, but it melted into something quieter, more vulnerable. “I hate how little time we’ve had. You with the Water Tribe talks, me buried in scrolls and arguments… I need this. Need you.”
You pressed a kiss to his temple, then another to the corner of his jaw, lingering there. The steam curled around you both, making the air thick and intimate. “We’re here now. No councils. No delegations. Just us.” Your hand slid up his chest, palm flat over his heart, feeling the steady beat that had become the rhythm you measured your own life by. He turned his head enough to catch your mouth in a kiss—slow at first, then deeper, tongues sliding together with the kind of unhurried hunger that came from too many nights spent apart. When you broke apart, his breathing had already changed, a little quicker, a little warmer against your lips.
You stayed like that for a long while, trading soft kisses and quiet words between them. He told you about the latest pointless debate in court, how he’d wished you were there to steady him with a single look across the room. You shared stories from the Water Tribe negotiations, the way the southern delegates had finally started to trust the Fire Nation again because of the work you’d put in. Each shared detail drew you closer, bodies shifting in the water until he was straddling your lap, knees braced on the submerged stone ledge on either side of your hips.The water made everything slick and weightless, his cock brushing against your stomach as he rocked once, experimental.
The kiss deepened again, mutual and yearning, hands roaming with the kind of familiarity that came from years of marriage. Your palms mapped the planes of his back, the dip of his spine, pulling him flush so there was no space left between you. Zuko’s fingers dug into your shoulders, hips rolling again, slower this time, deliberate. “I’ve wanted you like this for weeks,” he breathed against your mouth, the words rough but honest. “Just you. No interruptions.”
You answered by gripping his hips, guiding the next roll so your cock slid against the cleft of his ass, hot and insistent in the water. The oil you’d brought from the palace sat on the stone edge; you reached for it, slicking your fingers and then yourself while he watched, eyes dark with the same need that had kept you both awake on too many separate nights. When you pressed two fingers to his entrance, he sank down onto them without hesitation, a low sound escaping him as the water rippled around your wrist. You worked him open carefully, curling and stretching until he was rocking back onto your hand, chasing the feeling.
The transition into more came naturally, the way it always did when the yearning finally broke. You withdrew your fingers and guided your cock to his hole, the thick head breaching him slow and steady as he lowered himself. The water helped, making the slide smoother, but the heat of him was still overwhelming—tight, velvet, clenching around every inch as he took you deeper. Zuko’s head tipped back, lips parted, a quiet groan slipping free when he bottomed out, ass flush against your thighs. You were buried to the hilt inside him, the water lapping at your joined bodies.
He started riding you then, slow rolls of his hips at first, hands braced on your chest for balance. Each downward motion dragged your cock along his inner walls, the angle perfect in the buoyant water. You met him with upward thrusts, gentle but deep, hands steady on his waist to keep him grounded. Kisses came between the movements—messy and open-mouthed, tongues sliding together as the pace built. Steam rose thicker around you, the torches casting flickering light across his flushed skin and the way his chest rose and fell faster with every grind.
“Feels so good,” Zuko muttered against your lips, voice wrecked but steady, the words pulled from somewhere deep. “Missed having you inside me like this. Missed feeling full.” He rolled his hips harder, taking you deeper, the water splashing softly with the motion. You answered by pulling him down into another kiss, tongues curling together while one of your hands slid between you to stroke his cock in time with his riding. The mutual need poured out in every touch—his desperation to be close after so many weeks apart matching your own ache to have him like this, connected and yours.
The rhythm quickened naturally, his ass bouncing in the water with each drop and rise, the wet sounds mixing with the soft lap of the spring. You thrust up harder, hitting that spot inside him that made his breath hitch and his fingers tighten on your shoulders. Kisses broke only for air, then returned, deeper and more urgent. Zuko’s moans spilled into your mouth, low and raw, his body moving with the kind of focused hunger that came from too much time spent wanting.
You felt him start to tremble, muscles tightening around your cock as pleasure coiled tight. His cock pulsed in your fist, leaking steadily into the water. “Close,” he gasped against your lips, hips grinding down in short, desperate circles. You kept stroking him, kept thrusting up to meet every roll, until he came with a shuddering breath—thick pulses spilling over your fingers and into the spring while his hole clenched rhythmically around you, milking your length.
The squeeze dragged you over the edge right after. You buried yourself deep and came inside him, pulsing hot and heavy, filling him until it leaked out around your cock into the water. Zuko kept riding you through it, slow and languid now, drawing out every last tremor until you both stilled, chests pressed together, breathing hard in the steam-filled air.
He stayed in your lap for a long time after, forehead resting against yours, the water still warm around you. Your hands stroked up and down his back in lazy passes, and he pressed soft kisses to your jaw, your cheek, the corner of your mouth—small, lingering things that spoke of the same deep relief you felt. “We should do this more,” he said quietly, voice still a little rough. “Steal nights like this. The court and the delegations can wait a few hours. I need you more than any of it.”
You kissed him again, slow and sure, arms tightening around him. “We will. Every chance we get. You’re my husband. That comes first.” The words settled between you, simple and true, the same promise you’d made on your wedding day years ago. The hot spring kept you wrapped in its warmth long into the night, the two of you trading quiet touches and softer kisses while the steam continued to rise, the rest of the world held at bay for just a little longer.
he can’t bear it anymore—not when you’re so tight, so warm, so perfect to breed. he has to get you pregnant, and he’s not gonna stop until until he’s certain it’s taken.
words: 3.1k
PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS! desperate whiny wooyoung, a LOT of whining. breeding, unprotected sex, cum stuffing i suppose, mating press, wet and messy, pregnancy kink sort of. he’s so desperate to get you pregnant it’s all he can think about. lots of cum and talk of cum. one slap of your breast.
title from switch it up - jayb & sokodomo. dedicated to @lovelyun
It’s not unusual for sex with Wooyoung to end up like this.
Especially when he’s been away on tour, or busy with comeback preparations—whenever he’s not able to fuck you as much of often as he likes, this is the result.
Whiny. Desperate. Clinging to you; fingers digging into your skin, blunts of his nails pressed in deep enough to sting. Like he’s holding on for dear life; like he’s afraid that if he lets go, if he loosens his grip even a little bit, you’ll slip away for good.
He was already half hard when you walked into the living room in a thin t-shirt, the fabric a little tighter around your tits and hips, nipples visible through the white cotton. He’d started getting hard on the car ride home just from the thought of you; the thought of how pent up he knows you are after days without him, how desperate you must be, how easy it’ll be to make you come undone and everything he’s going to do to get you there. He’d spent the whole journey with his bag on his lap, trying to hide the imprint of his hardening cock against his sweats in case the taxi driver decided to glance back at him in the rearview mirror.
Fuck, he should’ve worn underwear, but he knows you prefer it when he doesn’t, especially in those sweats. He hadn’t really thought about how difficult that would make it to get home; hadn’t remember how fucking easy it is for him to get hard over you.
When he entered the apartment, when you walked through to greet him, his dick was already straining the fabric of his sweats. The sight of you, the way your shirt clings to your body, your bare legs—it took him the rest of the way. He felt the beads of precum leaking from the tip as you padded across the floor over to him.
Fuck, he needs you bad. He wasn’t even half this bad when he met you; he was far from low libido, but you just bring something out in him that’s entirely new.
“Hey,” you smiled. “Missed you.”
He didn’t even reply. Couldn’t reply; the moment your hand was wrapped around his wrist, pulling him towards you, the moment he got a whiff of your scent, the body wash you like to lather over yourself and a hint of your natural sweetness—he couldn’t do anything but pounce.
He barely got you to the bedroom. He didn’t even get your shirt all the way off; just yanked it up so your tits were exposed, so he could watch the way your nipples hardened in the cold air, how the skin reddened when he smacked lightly at your breasts just to watch them move, so he could feel the warmth when he grasped them in his hands. He managed to pull it over your head, but neither of you thought to pull out your arms, so now it’s sitting there, leaving you entirely exposed while he fucks you open.
By the time he’d pulled his dick out the front of his sweats had darkened, spots of wetness seeping through the light grey fabric, precum already smeared over his tip, He didn’t take them down, just pulled them far enough to get out his cock and got to work.
Your pussy was already wet, of course, just as he knew it would be—still he was kind enough to spit down onto your hole, a little more onto his fingers, smearing his saliva across your clit just to get you a little more needy for it before he finally sunk himself into you.
Wooyoung is thick, a little longer than average, and even with your pussy leaking and weeping for him like it often does, it took a bit of effort to get himself all the way inside. When he finally got himself in, when your hole was finally wrapped around his shaft, about halfway down, he yelled. The pressure, the pleasure was dizzying; the way you clung to him like you couldn’t handle him, like your poor little pussy didn’t know what to do with something his size—it was too much. Fuck, he had to close his eyes, squeeze them shut, dig his fingers into the skin of your hips to ground himself to avoid cumming before he’d even bottomed out.
He couldn’t handle it. The way you were responding—pussy leaking and clenching around him at the same time, so incredibly tight despite how needy and sloppy is already was for him; your cry, strangled and dizzied, when he sunk into you, your small, desperate whimpers as he continues to push inside—it almost pushed him over the edge. If he hadn’t closed his eyes in time to avoid the way your eyes widened, lips parting and shiny with drool as you tried to adjust to him, he knows he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself.
Now, finally, he’s bottomed out, dick all the way inside, pressing against your g-spot, slamming into it with every thrust. His brows are furrowed, pupils blown, sweat sticking to his forehead and dripping from his chin. His grip is iron, fingers digging into your hips, holding onto the skin like a lifeline; you know there’ll be bruises later, littering the expanses of your hips and waist, but you don’t care. It wouldn’t be the first time for either of you. You wear the marks he leaves, and he wears yours, like a badge of honour.
He’s going hard, rough, thrusts one after the other, so fast even he can barely keep up. He’s almost crying, you can tell; see the tears brimming in his eyes, hear his whines and gasps like he’s trying to keep himself together. “Fuck,” he hisses. “Fuck, you— baby. Oh my god.”
“Wooyoung,” you cry. “You— feels so good. So deep, Woo, how are you so fucking deep?”
“I know,” he says. His hand moves from your hip to your tummy, pressing down, running across the expanse of your skin. “I’m in here,” he grunts. The pressure of his hands increases, pressing down right where his dick is stuffed all the way inside you and pressing against your spot. “Do you feel it?”
You nod, whimpering, and he groans, a sharp, strangled sound from the back of his throat. “Tell me you feel it,” he says, and fuck his voice sounds so raw, so affected, the way you sound when you’re all fucked out and begging him for release. “Please, baby, tell me.”
“I feel it,” you say. “Woo, I feel it. You’re so deep inside me, you’re so big, it hurts.”
He pushes down a little harder, making you sob, then his hand moves back to its place on your hip, holding onto the skin, fingers digging into it again.
“More,” you breathe, voice barely a whisper, need and desperation evident in the tone. “Woo, please. Need more.”
“Fuck.”
He can’t ever say no to you—you both know that. He could be at the very edge of what he can do, at the very edge of collapse, and if you looked up at him with those wide, loving, fucked our eyes and begged him for more, he’d give it to you.
And like this—with your pussy crying for him, tensing and spasming around his shaft, sucking him in, your body begging for him without words—he’s pretty much a dead man walking.
He can’t fucking take this. He doesn’t remember you ever being so tight and warm and wet. He knows you have been—you always are—it must just be the days, weeks even that he’s gone without having you like this, the compounded need and relief of finally having your cunt wrapped around his cock.
He’s going to break. He knows it. But he hasn’t given you nearly as much as he intends to yet.
His head dips, the pressure of his hands on your hips increasing, like he’s struggling to hold himself up now. His hair is sticking to his forehead, breathing laboured, whimpers getting louder and hotter and more guttural. His thrusts are speeding up too, getting harder, but the precision and control of them is slipping; the more he fucks you, the tighter he clings to you, the sloppier and messier his movements inside you get.
Your legs wrap around his waist, feet interlocking with each other against the small of his back, locking you in place. You push your hips up, pressing yourself closer to him, pulling him in deeper; your hands reach out to grab his shirt, curling the material around your fists then moving up to hold onto his shoulders, then his neck, then a fistful of his hair in one of your hands while the other grips his forearm. A harder thrust, sharper, makes you squeal, head thrown back, your face wet and flushed and blotchy with tears.
Wooyoung looks up, finally, meeting your eyes, and the sight of your face, so dumb and desperate and high on what he's giving you, makes his dick pulse inside you, legs almost giving out just from the sight of you. His dick is so fucking sensitive now, strangled by your cunt, hardly able to move in and out of you but unable to do anything but go harder and faster and messier. He’s fairly certain you’ve creamed already, probably more than once; he’s felt your cunt spasming around him, heard your cries grow sharper then settle back into softer whines and sobs, and he feels the stickiness leaking out of your hole around his cock. He wants to cum too, so fucking badly, but he can’t—
Fuck. Fuck. The image hits him like a vision, a spiritual experience, something solid against his chest. The way you’re clinging to him. He knows he’s not going to pull out, won’t be able to, he rarely does with you; knows that when he cums, when he finally allows himself to break, it will be with his dick pressed up against your g-spot, the cum filling up the deepest parts of you. He wishes he could cum directly into your womb; he’s said that to you before, and when you’re stuffed full of him and begging him to fill you up, you have on a few occasions cried for him to stuff your womb with cum. To get you pregnant.
He wants to do that now. He wants it so bad he could cry; wants it so bad it’s all he can think about. And with the way you’re squeezing him, milking his cock with your cunt, it seems like you want it too. Your body wants it, at least.
“Baby,” he hisses. “I…”
He leans down, closer to you now, face inches from yours, close enough to see the tiny details of his face and feel his breath against your skin. You grab a handful of his hair, gentle but desperate, and pull him closer to you. Your breaths are short and shallow, words whispered, like a prayer meant only for him. “You what?” You breathe.
He grunts, chewing on his lip, hips bucking just at the thought. “I want to get you pregnant,” he hisses, voice cracking on the final syllable and slipping into something more like a whimper. “Please, baby. Let me…”
You cunt clenches at that, at the image; your hips buck upwards and you pull his head down further, closer, until his lips are on yours. He freezes, just for a moment, then melts into it, tongue pushing past your lips and into your mouth, hands cupping your face with the same pressure and fervour they’d had on your hips. The kiss is wet, rushed, messy; loving and hungry at the same time. He groans into your mouth, his hips bucking, skin slapping against yours, then pulls away. “Tell me I can,” he says. “Tell me I can knock you up. I need to knock you up.”
“Knock me up, Wooyoung,” you say. He rewards you with another, sharper thrust that nearly makes your vision white out. “Please. Put a baby in me. Need a baby in my tummy, Woo, need to be all swollen with it.”
“Shit,” he grits out. His hands are on your shoulders now, pushing them down and pinning you against the bed. His eyes are wild now—crazed. “You need it,” he says. “Fuck, baby, you need it, right?”
“Need it,” you repeat. “I need your baby, Woo, it’d be so cute, right? We’d have such a cute baby.”
“Fuck, don’t talk like that.” Wooyoung feels lightheaded, his entire body buzzing with need, toes curling into the sheets. He slows down just enough to think a little clearer, thrusts lazier while he strings his words together. “Baby, put your legs up. I wanna— I wanna press it all the way in. Need to press my cum all the way inside, right in your little womb, okay?”
He stops fucking you for a moment, still stuffed inside, then adjusts. He sits himself up, straightening up from where he was leaning over your; his hands grip your legs, still wrapped around his waist, keeping them there as he moves. Then he pushes your legs forwards, gently, so your knees are pushed towards your face, legs spread, calves pressed against your thighs and your thighs pushed back until—
“Yeah,” he grunts. “That’s perfect.”
You know this position; remember how it feels, how it allows him to get so much deeper and stay there, how his cum stays stuffed inside you after he pulls out, your ass raised a little off the bed.
He starts to move again, but he doesn’t ease you into it; can’t, at this point, when you’re spread out so invitingly, your pussy pulsing around him at the realisation of the position he’s put you in, your entire body so vulgarly displayed beneath him, at his mercy, a present only he gets to unwrap. Soon enough, he’s slipped again, the thrusts sloppier, messier, the control he’d managed to cling to for all of a second, just long enough to adjust you the way he wanted you, now evaporated. His hands find your waist now, holding you tight whilst he slams himself into your spot over and over like he’s chasing something.
His moans are soft, breathy, whiny, getting louder as he gets closer and closer to the edge. He can’t stop thinking about it, picturing it; you, knocked up, carrying his child, looking so perfect and pretty and used. His cum in your cunt—fuck, if he could keep his cum inside you every fucking day he would. He’d fuck you every morning before he goes out, unload inside you, slide your pretty panties over your pussy to catch any seed that tries to escape. If it starts to leak he’d make you push it back inside, or gather it on his finger and make you lick it off. Then he’d fuck you again, before bed, hard and rough, until you fall asleep with bruised hips and smarting skin and a belly full of cum.
He’s going to get you pregnant—he doesn’t fucking care anymore. As he pushes towards his orgasm he knows for a fact, no doubt, that he’s going to do it; that he has to do it, or he’s going to shatter. It’s like a compulsion now, a need as much as eating or sleeping or drinking. He needs to get you pregnant and see you pregnant and know your belly is round and swelling because of him.
He doesn’t realise how loud he’s being; doesn’t realise the loud, whiny moans filling the air and drowning out the sound of his skin slapping against yours is him. Fuck. Is he always this fucked out when he’s trying to cum? Is he always this… pathetic?
He doesn’t care. If pathetic is what he is when he fucks you full, when he fills you up, when he feels your perfect cunt squeezing his dick like this, then fuck it, he’s pathetic. He’ll wear that badge with pride if it’s for you.
His orgasm comes quickly when he stops resisting; when he finally allows it to overtake it. He feels it in his entire body, in his fingers, his toes, every inch of him. It starts and doesn’t seem to stop; you feel your tummy filling up, warmth spreading through you, Wooyoung’s hands heavier and grip tighter, his strangled gasps and choked sobs as he keeps fucking you through it, like he’s trying to milk every last drop of himself out and into you. He’s saying something, somewhere between grunting and wailing; words you can’t quite decipher but understand entirely.
You’re going to get pregnant, tonight. He’s not stopping until you do. He’s gonna fill you up over and over and you can’t take anymore; until you’re so full of his cum that he can’t even fit his cock in there.
His hips rock back and forth, pushing the cum in deeper as it comes out.
And then he stills. His grip loosens just a little bit. He slumps slightly, catching himself in time, breathing heavy and laboured. His dick twitches inside you, still hard, but no longer moving.
“Stay still,” he says. His voice is raw, hollow, as though he’d been screaming and screaming and screaming until he lost it. “Keep your legs there. Helps— it helps it to take.”
“Take?” You repeat. You feel dazed.
Wooyoung nods. “My cum. If you keep your legs there it’ll help you get pregnant. Hold them there. Please.”
Fuck, he really… he really wants you pregnant. Like, actually pregnant. You pull him closer to you, pressing your lips together. This time the kiss is gentle, soft, none of the desperation of before but all of the feeling.
Wooyoung is massaging your legs, rubbing the backs of your thighs with enough pressure to feel it in the muscles; trying to keep the blood flow going, to stop you from losing the feeling in your legs with the strenuous position he’s holding you in. “Doing so well,” he murmurs into your mouth. “Always so good, so pretty, gonna be such a good mom. Wanna give you a daughter.”
“Please,” you breathe. “Want it.”
“Good.” He sits back up, pushing the hair out of his face, staring down at you with a small smile.
You know that smile. That’s a smile that says you’re not done—not even close.
“You’re probably pregnant now,” he says. “But we have to be sure. And we’re not stopping until we’re sure.”
You don’t reply. Just watch as his smile widens, as his hands move back to your hips where they’d been before.
“I’m gonna fuck you again,” he says. “I’m gonna breed you over and over, until the cum is spilling out of you. Until you have my baby. Until you’re carrying my seed inside you all day, every day, for nine months. Okay?”
You don’t answer. You don’t need to; he knows you well enough to read your reaction.
And even if he didn’t—your pussy speaks for itself. The way it clenches around him says everything you’re too fucked out to voice.
Girl I'm busy with college 😭 gotta get that degree first so that's why I stopped being active on here , most of the time I'm just swamped with assignments so if I do have free time I just sleep
Being a girl must be nice cuz wdym u guys can just shove a dildo up ur coochie whenever u want.my gay ass has shove water up my ass for like 30 minutes before I could shove anything up my ass
A&N: from ANON request. I'm super sure there'd be awkward parts because I'm stressed out to write a perfect smut but might fail... Nvm enjoy reading. Smut below cut ✓
Enjoy your life at peace eat, drink, work, and sleep. Cycle this routine as life goes on. Until a man who is not your dream shows up. Since his parents and yours used to be hardcore bff when they were young, they wanted to tie the bond together by arranging a forced marriage between Sunghoon Park and M/N.
Disagree to this arrangement would be useless; why on earth would your parents befriend the gangster group out of everyone else? Which makes it worse if you don't want to be married to a man you have never met.
Along with your future groom, maybe at least you expected that he would be a gentleman, is a green flag, have a nice attitude, know what's right or wrong, be mature, talkative, or so on, yet none of these can be seen in him. All Sunghoon had was a face, a body, and a dead-looking, cold face.
He was an ice prince, for real. So on the day both guardians confirmed this ceremony, you couldn't help but wonder: What did you do to deserve all of this? A future husband who couldn't fit your standards—a future husband you didn't even know and love before. What would the tension between this unfold? Just sigh and let it be; better shut up or be breathless.
Later on, after the big party, Sunghoon and M/N were freshly married. Nothing special happened, not even a spare word for each other, any eye contact, especially Park Sunghoon, what's do you expect? All you got on your night together was,
"I don't like you, m/n—don't get your hope up just because we're married; now remember your place,"
and that was the last thing you've heard him say, and it's the most hurtful thing you've ever experienced. Then why? A month had passed since we were married, and you had noticed that Sunghoon's behavior had slightly changed from before.
He has a hot temper whenever you're on the phone with anyone, having a nice conversation with the neighbors, or interacting with anyone passing by when going out, and he can't seem to calm down. Sunghoon himself didn't even know why he felt this way; he said he hated you, but why would he be jealous of somebody else other than him? However, he didn't care if you'd bring up those events when he said those words.
All he knows is that he realizes that nobody else cares about him more than you. M/N, as Sunghoon's husband. Never been a lazy househusband; whatever the tension of hatred is, you still make him eat three times a day. Doing all the shit in the house as if you're the one who brought it. When he was sick, you were never afraid to ask him what's up and how he feels. And that's when he knows that you're the one.
Either you love him or not, he's going to repay you and make you love him back. Who cares right now if you love him or not, because once you're in here, you can't leave in anyway? Coming home after a late-night date, Sunghoon's is full of all the memories and contact you had with the waitress earlier at the restaurant. You were a little too sweet toward those guys. as a result of making him unable to hold back his possessions and jealousy any more. Sunghoon needs to mark you as his own; it's now or never that you are his property only. The eyes contact; ugh, he can't seem to stop the burning sensation inside his brain.
Without further ado, once m/n settles in the bedroom, Sunghoon quickly locks the door slam with one click, and all the windows shut off from the remote. Starlet, by the sudden, you ask him nervously; a look could kill a person's presence on Sunghoon's face. It was dark; if his eyes could glow, it'd be lava red in irritated. Yet he didn't respond with anything. He ripped off his top and threw them away before buckled his belt, prepared to do something to his desire.
You know that you'd be a food to his Hungary by this midnight, all fabric on the floor. What's that mean? Well, he's probably doing what most couples do; actually, he's going to fuck and drive you nuts. Gulping down a hard lamp in your throat, too scared to run away, too scared to say no, but there's a small part in you that screams you have to let him be; there's must be something underneath after all of this. When you open up for him, exhale what's coming for you. In one motion, both of you and his underwear are nowhere to be seen.
You always wonder, as a boy, what the dick would look like for the hot guy. It is long, small, curved, or what? Yes, Sunghoon was there to unveil that; his cock was gorgeous, he had big, huge ass balls, and the shaft was paler than his skin. His tip is faded pink, and well, the best part is that he's uncut. He doesn't like getting his skin chopped off anyway. Seeing you gone speechless by the view he was giving, only to boost his desire even better, no warning alert, your two legs are thrown across on his shoulder, while his cock is in the position of your small hole.
The atmosphere changes in an instant; the dark, empty bedroom is filled with a burning spark. Neither you nor him had any experience, but let's say Sunghoon has been trained for a while now, probably most of his alone time, to know and do what could drive you to your begging stage.
"S-sunghoon, I know it's not wrong, but... You're too huge for me."
"I don't give a damn, m/n, endure it. I'm yours, husband, isn't it? You can't say otherwise!" Distracted by his words, you were surprised at the contact of his cock buried inside you, thrusting in unexpectedly. The enormous hard cock of his indeed spread your ass into two, resulting in your cries out with pleasure.
Seeing you still adjusting to his size, Sunghoon trailed down his lip, brushing softly against yours. The kiss is mixed with love and jealousy of his; he can't stop it now to breed you and mark you as his own. He was eager to tell the world you were his only. Sinking into Sunghoon's touch, you slowly and finally adjust to his huge cock. Once he knew you were ready, his demonic power took over him as he began to push his hip to the deepest part he could ever go in one thrust. The sudden sensation drizzled you as you whimpered out loud shamelessly. Meanwhile, Sunghoon also had the same feeling; his body shuddered into pieces when he moved his own hip up and down.
All those sex toys are nothing compared to your tight entrance, which is clenching so hard and tight of his cock at the moment. He is groaning so good; it was heavenly pleasurable. It's going on for another couple of poundings until Sunghoon gets a sign he'll explode anytime soon. Clearly, you are unprepared but have to be without it. As both of his large arms encircle your waist, the wet kisses continue harder than his tongue licking over all your lips and intertwined in your mouth. Chasing that climax, which is what you're aiming for too,
"M/n, I'm fucking coming; I'm coming; I'm —" desperately, he breaks the kisses, and in one last grind, he comes undone inside of you. The massive load filled you like a cum dump, squirting out all of his orgasms and shivering with all the nerves. Enough with him cumming out; you're soon finding your dick twitches, following his orgasm as it squirted, and shooting out the hot white liquids too.
With your eyes flying up facing the ceiling, you endure the pleasure, sucking in a sharp breath. You were almost passed out with just one round, your chest heaving nonstop while Sunghoon was already recovering a while ago. M/N just feels too good to fuck, and he won't stop till he is satisfied.
"M/n! Don't test me from now on; I realized that you're nobody but someone who still puts up with me even if I'm a bad husband. I'm going to love you like no one else can, and if you ever smile at somebody else than me, I promise I'll bring the heat back."
Guy I'm still here I'm not gone. I'm just very (insanely) busy with school stuff. I don't have anything for valentine day sowy 😞💔 (I got no motivation, no brain idea, writer block—)
hoon would definitely be the type to be a brat just so he could be destroyed in bed later on. but like imagine fucking him slow and steady as a punishment? being all of a sudden sweet to him, calling him the prettiest of names and such. leaving him begging for you to go faster but you never do.
oh god. i need this so bad.
sunghoon is extremely into power dynamics and in general rough sex. so this? the worst fucking punishment of all. he thinks that being a brat will get him what he wants... and it did! key word, did. past tense. but it didnt take long for you to pick up on it.
once you really picked up on it and understood what he wanted a bit further on into your relationship, it was easy to use it against him. he would tease you and act bratty, refusing to listen to you. and what would you do? oh, youd let him. in fact, youd give into him! youd fuck him, but itd be slow. slow, basic, and hardly enough to get either of you off. youd praise him and treat him so gently...
and fuck. hed hate it. hed lose his fucking mind. at some point, hed give in and start sobbing and begging for you to stop being a tease and just fuck him properly (albeit, properly in his mind is as violently as you could. he has issues.). and youd mock him for it, saying that you thought this was what he wanted, and that he wasnt begging enough.
eventually youd manage to make him breakdown and lose that bratty attitude, simply a begging and sobbing mess below you. and? you still wouldnt give in. youd just mock him, condescendingly saying things like "now this is how good boys act" and "use your words", but itd never sway you.
i think that youd teach him a pretty good lesson with this. hed be too scared to be a brat for quite a while after that..
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