GREEN. ryul 𓂅𓈒 ˖ 𓈒𓏶
瑞立.ᐟ PAINT YOU IN GREEN. in which, Ryul is deeply convinced his girlfriend doesn’t need another man in her life, but what he most definitely doesn’t fuck with ? seeing another man’s name saved in her contacts.
❛ 瑞立 ❜ 𝑥 ƒִ֗!reader. 𓈒𓈒 based on an anon- request
⚠︎ : smut ! MDNI!! jealousy, brat!reader, brat tamer!ryul, possessive af, protected sex, oral, fingering, edging, semi-public teasing, cum-feeding, multiple positions.
𓏸 5k ╱ 𝓶. list
Ryul had a problem with minding his own business.
He had eyes that would wander around the room, trying to see what everyone was doing, not in a weird way, -debatably- just like a curious little mouse sticking its nose everywhere. But today, that curiosity was bordering on a frantic, restless sort of hunger.
He was supposed to be relaxing as it was one of his rare day-offs, leaning back against the headboard while you scrolled through your phone, but his focus wasn't on the TV or the music playing in the background.
It was on the way your thumb swiped rhythmically across the screen. Every time the light from the display hit your face, highlighting how breathtaking you looked even in your most casual state, a knot tightened in his chest.
He felt a prickle of heat under his skin, a restless sensation that made him want to pull the phone out of your hands and hide it under the pillow. He wanted you looking at him. Only him.
He knew he was greedy- and obsessive- and whatever other insult people could possibly come up with, but it’s not like he cared.
His gaze drifted downward, tracking the movement of your hand. Then, it happened.
A notification popped up. A little banner at the top of your screen that flickered for a split second before fading.
"Minho : Are you coming to the studio tomorrow or what?"
Ryul's entire body went rigid. The air in the room suddenly felt too thin, too heavy. Minho? Who the fuck was Minho? The name tasted bitter in his mind, a foreign entity invading the private sanctuary of your shared space. He felt a sharp, stinging pang of possessiveness flare up in his gut, a physical ache that made him want to rip his clothes off and growl like an alpha male or something.
This was how obsessive it had become.
He tried to play it cool, shifting his weight so his arm brushed against yours, but his eyes were already darting back to the screen, waiting for the next flicker. He wasn't just curious anymore; he was starving for an explanation.
‘Don’t be a dick,’ he told himself. But hah, he’d rather die than indulge in an half assed relationship. It was either he was all in or not in at all.
"Who's Minho?" he asked, his voice coming out lower than intended, a bit raspier, laced with a tension he couldn't quite mask. He didn't wait for you to answer before he leaned in closer, his shoulder pressing firmly against yours, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the device in your hand. "He sounds chatty."
Ryul’s voice was thick, the words dragging slightly as if they were heavy in his mouth. He wasn't just being moody; there was a dark, simmering heat radiating off him that made the air between you feel electric and suffocating all at once. He shifted, his large frame looming over you, effectively trapping you between his body and the headboard.
He didn't care if he was being obvious. In fact, he wanted you to feel the weight of his gaze -screw that- drown in it, until you would finally understand he was the only man for you.
His eyes weren't on your face anymore; they were fixed on the phone, as if he could burn a hole through the glass and find this Minho fucker inside the circuitry. Every time you moved your thumb, he felt a jolt of irritation. He hated that a stranger's name had the power to interrupt the quiet, intimate bubble he worked so hard to build around the two of you.
“Do you ever look around you? Like actually?? Minho’s a staff member Ryul.” you rolled your eyes, in awe of how quickly his jealousy built up.
The name kept looping in his head like a broken record. He felt a frantic, possessive urge to grab your wrist, to pull the phone away and see exactly how this guy was saved in your contacts. Was it just a name? Or was there a heart emoji? A nickname? The mere thought of a little symbol next to his rival's name made his stomach flip with a nauseating mix of jealousy and dread.
He leaned his head down, his nose brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck, inhaling your scent as if trying to reclaim you through sheer force of will. He felt a desperate need to mark his territory, to remind you and the invisible man in your phone who you actually belonged to.
"He's asking if you're coming tomorrow though," Ryul murmured against your skin, his breath hot and uneven. He pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes, his expression intense although his tone was calm. "Is he expecting you somewhere? Because you're right here with me. And you’ll be with me tomorrow too, and the day after.”
He reached out, his long fingers grazing your hand, his touch possessive and firm as he nudged your hand slightly, almost forcing you to tilt the screen more toward his line of sight.
"Show me," he commanded softly, the 'slurred' edge of his voice turning into something more demanding. "How is he saved in your phone, babe? Lemme see."
“Ryul. He’s just staff, who even cares?” You scoffed, looking up at him with annoyed eyes, even though you weren’t.
The way you scoffed the way you dismissed him like he was being dramatic sent a sharp, stinging jolt through Ryul’s chest. It wasn't just irritation anymore; it was a bruised sort of pride. Who even cares? The words echoed in his head, making his jaw tighten so hard it ached.
He cared. He cared a lot.
He felt a surge of restless energy, a frantic need to prove that he was the only one who should care. To him, the distinction of 'staff' didn't matter. A man was a man, and any man who had a direct line to you, who could make your phone light up in the middle of your private time, was a threat to the equilibrium he craved.
"I care," he snapped, the words coming out sharper than he intended. He immediately regretted the tone, but he couldn't help it. The possessiveness was a living thing inside him, clawing at his ribs.
He shifted closer, his chest pressing against your arm, his body heat radiating against yours. He felt a desperate, almost childish urge to wrap himself around you so tightly that there wouldn't be a single millimeter of space for anyone else to occupy. He wanted to be your entire world, the only person whose name caused your heart to skip a beat.
"Don't do that," he muttered, his voice dropping into a low, wounded register as he stared intently at your face. "Don't act like it's nothing. He's a guy, you're... you're you. And he's texting you late at night?"
“Yes, for work.” you deadpanned.
His eyes flickered back down to the phone, his gaze darkening. The thought of this 'staff member' seeing your witty replies, or perhaps catching a glimpse of your beautiful personality through a screen, made him feel a sickening sense of competition. He felt like he was fighting a shadow, an invisible rival that he couldn't quite punch or yell at.
"Just let me see," he pleaded, though it sounded more like a demand disguised as a request. He reached out, his hand sliding from your arm to your waist, his grip firm and unyielding, pulling you an inch closer to him. "Just tell me how he's saved. If it's just 'Minho Staff,' then fine. But if there's anything else..."
He trailed off, his eyes searching yours, his pupils blown wide with a mixture of intense longing and pure, unadulterated jealousy. He was practically vibrating with the need to know, his heart thudding a heavy, uneven rhythm against his ribs.
You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the tiny, amused smirk tugging at the corner of your lips because he was being so incredibly dramatic.
"You're such a baby, Ryul, seriously," you teased, finally relenting and turning the screen toward him so he could see the contact list.
“Look, it's literally just 'Minho staff' with no emojis and no cute nicknames, see?" You toss the phone onto the duvet, completely unbothered, and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling his heavy, tense body down toward yours. “Now are you going to keep acting like a jealous toddler, or-.”
"I want you to block him," he said, cutting you. He wasn't shouting. He wasn't throwing a tantrum. He was stating it as if it were a simple, logical fact of life as if the world would simply function better if ‘minho staff’ ceased to exist in your digital universe.
Inside, Ryul was a storm of conflicting sensations.
He knew he was being "extra." He knew that to anyone else, his request would seem irrational, even a little suffocating. He could practically hear the voices of Louis or Woojin in his head, teasing him for being such a territorial brat. But he didnt care. The thought of that name popping up again, of you smiling at a screen because of a man who wasn't him, made a sharp, possessive ache throb in his chest.
He felt a desperate need for total, unfiltered access to your attention. He wanted to be the only source of your notifications, the only reason your phone lit up in the dark.
"Ryul, you're being ridiculous," you might have said, but he didn't want to hear reason. He wanted to hear him.
His grip on your waist tightened, his fingers splaying wide against your skin. He looked down at you, his gaze intense and unyielding, his eyes searching yours for even a hint of hesitation.
"Just do it," he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, almost pleading growl. "If he's just staff, it won't matter, right? If he doesn't matter, then why keep him there?"
“Exactly.” you looked at him, hoping he’d drop the topic, “It’s not that big of a deal, Ryul you need to chill. He’s a guy that works with us… there’s absolutely nothing wrong with me having his number.”
The "exactly" was the final straw. It felt like a dismissal of his entire emotional reality. To you, it was logic; to him, it was a battleground.
Ryul pulled back just enough to look you in the eye, and the expression on his face wasn't one of a "chilled out" boyfriend. A flash of genuine, hot irritation flared in his eyes, making his dark pupils dance.
"There's 'absolutely nothing wrong' with it?" he echoed, his voice rising just a fraction, a sharp, incredulous edge cutting through his usual smooth tone. "That's your answer? You're just gonna sit there and tell me that there's nothing wrong with another man baving your number, talking about some ‘are you coming tomorrow’?”
He felt a physical tightness in his throat, a sensation of being crowded out of your life by people who were 'just there.' He hated the practicality of it. He hated the 'work' aspect of it. In his mind, the world was divided into two categories: Him and Everyone Else. And 'Everyone Else' was supposed to stay in their fucking lane.
He let out a frustrated groan, his head falling back against the pillow as he stared up at the ceiling, his chest heaving. He felt like a fool for being this worked up, but the jealousy was a living, breathing thing in his gut, making him feel restless and unanchored.
"It's not about whether it's wrong, y/n," he said, his voice dropping to a low, wounded murmur that made his possessiveness feel less like an attack and more like a confession. "It's about the fact that it's unnecessary. You don't need his number. You have mine. You have everything else you need right here."
He reached up, his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lower lip with a possessive, lingering pressure.
"Tell me you're mine," he whispered, his eyes searching yours, his gaze heavy with a demand for reassurance.
You felt a flicker of genuine annoyance prick at your skin, though a traitorous part of you secretly loved the way his eyes darkened when he got like this. He was being so intensely, stubbornly Ryul, and while his possessiveness was usually a heady, intoxicating thing, right now it was just getting in the way of your peace. You decided, with a mischievous glint in your eyes, that if he wanted to act like a brat, you might as well give him a reason to.
Instead of softening or giving him the reassurance he was practically begging for, you let out a slow, deliberate sigh and leaned back just an inch, creating a sliver of space between your bodies.
"You're so dramatic, it's actually exhausting," you teased, your voice light but laced with a playful edge as you reached over to grab your phone from the duvet, intentionally letting the screen light up one more time. "If you're so worried about him 'having' me, maybe you should stop acting like a kid and actually do something about it instead of just pouting."
You looked him dead in the eye, a challenging smirk dancing on your lips as you held the phone just out of his reach.
“So, are you gonna keep sulking about a contact name, or are you gonna make me forget Minho even exists?"
The moment the words left your mouth that calm, rational, dismissive defense of the status quo something in Ryul finally snapped. He stood up from the bed, his tall, lean frame casting a long, imposing shadow over you in the dim light of the room.
"I'm going to go find Woojin or head back to the dorms," he said, his voice steady but dangerously low. "I'll come back when you actually take this seriously. I’m not in the mood to argue with you.”
He didn't wait for your rebuttal. He didn't wait to see if you'd reach out to grab his hand or call his name. He turned on his heel and walked toward name. He turned on his heel and walked toward the door, his footsteps heavy and purposeful.
𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧
Throughout the day, Ryul became a ghost of himself a beautiful, brooding specter that haunted the periphery of your vision.
When you passed each other in the narrow hallways of the studio, he didn't look up; he simply walked past, the scent of his cologne trailing behind him like an accusation.
In the common room, he was there, slumped on the sofa with his headphones on, but his eyes were fixed on a distant point, pointedly ignoring the way your presence made the air vibrate and evey time your eyes met for a split second, there was a sharp, electric jolt of friction a mixture of longing and stubbornness before he would coldly avert his gaze.
The pride between you two was a towering, invisible wall. You sat in your own space, your heart aching with a restless, hollow sensation every time you saw his silhouette in the distance, but you refused to be the one to break.
You thought, if he really cared, he wouldn't be so goddamn petty, and you held onto that thought like a shield, even as you felt the urge to find him and force him to look at you.
Meanwhile, Ryul was a simmering volcano of suppressed emotion.
Every time he saw your phone on a table or caught a glimpse of you talking to anyone else, his jaw would tighten, and a fresh wave of possessive irritation would wash over him. He was waiting waiting for you to realize that his "drama" was actually a plea for possession but as the hours ticked by and your phone remained silent of his name, the silence began to feel less like a stand off and more like a slow separation.
The silence had been eating you alive for about six hours, and if he thinked this cold shoulder was actually working, he was stupidly wrong, it was just making you feel restless and incredibly stupid. So you finally undid the thread linking you to your immense pride, and grabbed your phone, thumb hovering over his contact name.
You : Ryul, stop being so fucking stubborn and just look at your phone for one second. Are u really going to let a name in my contact list ruin our entire day? Just come here so we can actually talk like normal people.
The read receipt appeared almost instantly, and your heart did a frantic little skip, but the lack of a typing bubble felt like a slap. He was doing it on purpose. He was staring at the screen, seeing your words, and choosing to be a stone wall just to punish you.
Yeah, your boyfriend definitely had a problem.
During the day you tried everything, from purposefully waiting for his rehearsal to end to talk to him, to sending other messages, making sure to let him know just how much a bastard he was being. But he paid no mind, carrying on with his too-nonchalant-to-give-a-fuck act. But fortunely for him, you kinda liked this game of cat and mouse.
There was something undeniably intoxicating about the way he was acting, the intensity of his focus, even when he was pointedly ignoring you. It was a different kind of attention- really. It wasn't the sweet, soft Ryul who whispered endearments in your ear; it was the Ryul who was so consumed by the thought of you that he had to shut the whole world out just to keep his composure.
You found yourself leaning into the friction. When you saw him in the hallway, instead of looking dejected, you gave him a sharp, knowing smirk, letting your eyes linger on his before walking past with a deliberate sway in your hips. You wanted to see if you could crack that porcelain mask of his. You wanted to see the moment his facade crumbled and that possessive, hungry boy came rushing back to claim you.
By the time evening rolled around, the air in the dorm felt heavy, almost pressurized. You were sitting on the floor of the living area after long hours of rehearsal, ostensibly reading a book, but your eyes hadn't moved from the same paragraph in twenty minutes. Your skin felt hyper sensitive, every sound in the dorm amplified.
Then, you heard it, the heavy, rhythmic sound of his footsteps approaching.
The door to the hallway creaked open, and there he was. He had changed into a loose black shirt that hung off his shoulders, his hair slightly mussed. He looked exhausted, but his eyes god, his eyes were alive with a dark, simmering energy. He didn't stop to talk to the others. He didn't even look at the TV. He walked straight toward the kitchen, passing just inches from where you sat.
He didn't say a word, but as he passed, he let his hand graze the back of your shoulder a touch so fleeting and seemingly accidental that it could have been a coincidence, but the heat of it burned through your clothes like a brand.
And you couldn’t help but force you legs closed, because you loved him like that, no matter what you saif - or how much you fought about it, you absolutely loved him being possessive and moody.
It was a power trip, really. Knowing that his "nonchalance" was a lie, that he was actually burning up inside just trying to maintain his pride.
You shifted slightly, the friction of your clothes against your skin feeling suddenly, acutely sensitive. You forced your legs to press together, trying to steady the ache he had ignited with a single, "accidental" touch. You wanted to throw a pillow at his head and tell him to stop being so damn difficult, but you also wanted to crawl over to him, wrap your arms around his waist, and pull him down until he finally, finally broke.
You stared down at your book, pretending to be deeply invested in the text, but your heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs.
A moment later, you heard the sound of a glass being set down on the counter in the kitchen a sharp deliberate clack that sounded far too loud in the quiet room. He was close. He was right there, just a few feet away, and the tension between you was so thick you could almost taste it, electric, it was exhausting, and it was the most addictive thing in the world.
So you did what you did best, provoke him.
The kitchen was quiet, the late night hum of the refrigerator the only sound in the room.
You moved with a deliberate, feline grace, your eyes fixed on the cabinet above the counter where the glasses were kept. You didn't look at him not yet, no, you kept your expression neutral, almost bored, as if you were merely thirsty and the heavy, brooding presence of Ryul leaning against the marble countertop was nothing more than part of the furniture.
But as you approached, the air seemed to thicken. You could feel the heat radiating from him, a magnetic pull that made the fine hairs on your arms stand up. He was silent, his gaze presumably fixed on the dark window or his own hands, but you knew he was tracking your every move. He was a predator sensing movement in the dark, and you were walking straight into his territory.
And snstead of taking the wide, polite path around him, you chose the most dangerous route possible.
You stepped into his personal space, narrowing the gap until the scent of him that intoxicating mix of expensive soap and something uniquely Ryul enveloped you. You snuck right between him and the counter, as if you couldn’t have just asked him to move, and you leaned forward to reach for a glass, letting your hips sway with a calculated, slow motion. You made sure there was no ambiguity; you brushed your backside firmly and lingeringly, against the hard line of his thighs and the front of his jeans.
The contact was electric. It was a soft, heavy friction that sent a jolt of pure hheat straight up your spine.
For a heartbeat, the world stopped. You felt the sudden, sharp intake of his breath a ragged, hitched sound that betrayed exactly how much your "accidental" touch had rattled him. The muscle in his thigh beneath you tensed like a coiled spring, hard as granite. You didn't pull away immediately.
You took your sweet time, your fingers grazing the rim of the glass, letting the silence stretch until it was taut enough to snap. You could feel his gaze on you now not the distant, cold stare from earlier, but a heavy, burning weight that felt like it was stripping you bare.
You let your ass grind against his front one last teasing time before you finally straightened up, clutching the glass to your chest, and turned just enough to catch his eye. You offered him a tiny, innocent tilt of your head, a look of pure, unbothered sweetness that was the ultimate provocation.
"Oh, sorry, Ryul," you murmured, your voice low and honey sweet, though your eyes were dancing with mischief.
You watched the way his jaw tightened, the muscle leaping under his skin as he stared at you, and you knew you’d pushed him right to the edge.
“You're being awfully quiet today, Ryul," you added, your voice dropping an octave as you took a slow, deliberate sip of the water, never breaking eye contact. “Is something on your mind, or are you just going to stand there looking like that?"
You set the glass down on the counter with a soft click, stepping even closer until your chest was nearly brushing his, the heat between you becoming almost unbearable.
You reached out, your fingertips grazing the hem of his shirt, teasing the skin of his abdomen.
“If you're mad about something... you could just tell me."
Ryul’s jaw was locked so tight he was half-convinced his teeth might crack. The “accidental” grind of your ass against him had short-circuited every rational thought in his brain, but he was still clinging to the last threads of his stubborn pride like a man drowning in quicksand.
Don’t you dare fold yet, you pathetic horny idiot. She needs to feel how serious this is, he thought, even if my dick is currently trying to stage a coup against my brain.
He kept his eyes fixed on the glass in his hand, pretending the condensation rolling down the sides was the most fascinating thing he’d seen all week.
His breathing was measured. Controlled? Barely.
You weren’t having it.
With an exasperated huff that somehow still sounded unfairly cute, you yanked your phone out of your pocket and shoved it directly into his line of sight, the bright screen nearly smacking his nose.
“Look, you dramatic baby,” you said, voice dripping with that mix of annoyance and amusement that always wrecked him. You tapped the screen a few times, pulling up the contacts. “I blocked him. See? Minho staff - gone. Deleted. Poof. Happy now?”
Ryul’s gaze flicked to the screen for half a second. Sure enough, the contact was nowhere to be found. A dark, satisfied thrill curled low in his stomach, but he refused to give you the satisfaction of a big reaction. He just nodded once, slow and deliberate, then went right back to staring at his own phone like it held the secrets of the universe.
“Good girl. My good fucking girl.” he thought, but didn’t voice it.
You stared at him, mouth slightly open. “That’s it? A nod? Ryul, I just murdered a perfectly innocent staff member’s contact for your jealous ass and you’re just -nodding?”
He shrugged, the movement tight. “Good.” His voice came out rough, like gravel. He turned slightly, leaning more against the counter, putting the tiniest bit of space between your bodies even though every cell in him screamed to close it.
Your eyes narrowed. The mischief from earlier sharpened into something more dangerous.
Oh, he wants to play this game? Fine.
You stepped even closer, chest brushing his arm as you reached past him to set your glass down. This time you made zero attempt at subtlety. Your hips pressed flush against his, rolling slowly, deliberately, grinding against the very obvious bulge straining in his jeans.
“Still ignoring me?” you whispered against his ear, lips brushing the shell. “After I blocked him? You’re really going to stand here like a statue while I’m literally offering myself up?”
Ryul’s free hand gripped the edge of the counter so hard his knuckles went white.
“Holy shit, she’s evil. Pure evil. I’m gonna die. I’m going to bend her over this counter and- No. Hold it together.“ he thought.
But you weren’t done. You slid your hand down his chest, fingers teasing under the hem of his shirt, nails grazing the hard lines of his abs. “You’re so tense, baby. All this over one guy who doesn’t even matter?” Your voice dropped, sweet and filthy. “I could be riding you right now instead of fighting with your stupid pride.”
You felt it immediately. Of course you did.
“Oh my gosh,” you whispered, voice dripping with mocking delight as you glanced down between you. “You’re actually hard right now? After all that silent treatment and brooding? Poor baby got so worked up he’s leaking in his pants just from one little grind.”
Ryul’s eyes darkened dangerously. His hand shot out, gripping your hip hard enough to bruise, stopping your movement dead.
“You done?” His voice was low, calm, and terrifyingly controlled.
You laughed, still playing. “Nope. Not until you admit you’re a jealous mess who gets hard when I tease him.”
He stared at you for a beat, jaw tight, then released you.
“Go get your stuff. We’re leaving.”
You sauntered off with an exaggerated sway, throwing a smirk over your shoulder. “Try not to stroke yourself in the hallway while you wait, baby~”
𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧
The car ride to your private apartment was thick with tension. You kept poking at him -little comments, teasing touches on his thigh, mocking how stiff he was sitting. Ryul didn’t respond. He just drove, knuckles white on the wheel, letting the silence stretch until it felt like a coiled spring.
The moment the apartment door shut behind you, he snapped.
Ryul cupped your face with both hands and kissed you- deep, slow, and consuming. His tongue slid against yours in lazy strokes, claiming every inch of your mouth while his body pressed you back against the wall. The kiss was full of restrained hunger, his anger showing in the way he held you so firmly, yet every touch remained controlled.
“You’ve been such a fucking brat tonight,” he whispered against your lips, voice low and condescending as he peeled your shirt off. “Mocking me like you didn’t spend all day pushing my buttons.”
He kissed down your neck, sucking soft, lingering marks into your skin while his hands roamed -firm grips on your waist, your hips, squeezing with rough possession.
He stripped you completely, then himself, his thick cock springing free, heavy and flushed. He pressed you onto the bed on your back and settled between your thighs, kissing you again as two thick fingers dragged through your soaked folds.
“Soaked already,” he said, sounding almost amused despite the edge in his voice. “All that teasing and your pussy is this needy for me? Cute.”
He worked you open with patient precision -fingers pumping steadily, scissoring gently then curling harder, thumb never stopping its torment on your swollen clit. Every time your walls started fluttering and your moans grew desperate, he slowed down or pulled his fingers almost all the way out, leaving you whining.
“Ryul- please- ”
“Not yet, baby,” he said calmly, kissing along your jaw. “Brats don’t get to cum right away.” he added a third finger, stretching you wider, the wet squelching sounds filling the room as he brought you right to the edge again… then stopped completely.
He kissed down your body, sucking marks into your breasts and stomach, before settling between your legs. His mouth was gentle but relentless -broad, slow licks up your slit, tongue flicking softly over your clit before sucking it between his lips. Two fingers slid back inside you, curling rhythmically while he worshipped your pussy with long, wet strokes of his tongue.
He edged you like that for what felt like forever. Over and over. Fingers pumping deep, tongue swirling and sucking, bringing you right to the brink until your thighs shook and tears pricked your eyes -then pulling away with soft kisses to your inner thighs and condescending little praises.
“Aw, look at you crying already,” he murmured, voice warm but possessive as he kissed your tears away. “So desperate. This is what happens when you push me, baby. You get reminded exactly who this pussy belongs to.”
By the fourth edge you were properly crying -soft, frustrated sobs escaping as your hips chased his mouth and fingers uselessly. Slick coated his chin and hand, dripping down your ass onto the sheets.
“Please, Ryul- I’m sorry, I’m yours, please let me cum-“
He finally crawled back up, kissing you deeply so you could taste yourself on his tongue. His heavy cock rested against your soaked pussy as he rubbed the thick head up and down your slit, teasing your clit and dipping just the tip inside before pulling back. Never giving you more.
“Feel how hard you made me?” he whispered, grinding the length of his cock along your folds. “This is what your teasing does. But you don’t get it yet, brat. Not until you’re shaking and crying for it.”
He kept teasing you like that -rubbing his cock against your clit in slow circles, occasionally pushing just the head in and holding still while you clenched desperately around nothing -until fresh tears rolled down your cheeks.
Only then did he reach for a condom from the nightstand, rolling it on with steady hands. He positioned himself between your thighs again, kissing you softly as he finally pushed inside - inch by thick, slow inch. The stretch was intense, the condom slick with your arousal as he bottomed out with a low groan.
“Fuck… so tight,” he breathed, staying buried deep and rolling his hips in grinding circles. “This pussy was made for me. Only me.”
He fucked you like that for a long time- slow, deep thrusts in missionary, kissing you constantly, one hand pinning your hip down possessively while the other rubbed your clit. Every time you got close he slowed again, edging you even with his cock buried inside you.
He flipped you onto your hands and knees next, gripping your hips firmly as he slid back in from behind. The new angle let him hit deeper, the wet slap of skin on skin louder now. He reached around to rub your clit while thrusting in long, controlled strokes.
“Say it again,” he demanded, voice rough but not cruel. “Who owns you?”
“You- only you, Ryul- please-”
He pulled you up into his lap in a sitting position, your back to his chest, bouncing you on his cock with strong hands on your waist. One arm wrapped around your stomach, holding you close as he kissed your neck and shoulder, still denying you that final push.
By the time he laid you on your side, spooning behind you with one leg hooked over his arm, you were a sobbing, trembling mess.
He finally took mercy.
His thrusts grew deeper, steadier, the condom stretching tight around his thick cock as he fucked you with purpose. His fingers rubbed your clit in firm, fast circles.
“Come for me, baby,” he growled against your ear, possessive and warm. “Let go. Show me this pussy knows who it belongs to.”
Your orgasm hit like a freight train. You cried out his name, walls clenching and spasming violently around his cock, fresh tears spilling as wave after wave of intense pleasure crashed through you. Your entire body shook, pussy gushing around him, soaking the condom and his balls as you milked him desperately.
Ryul groaned deeply, hips stuttering. “Fuck- that’s it. Good girl.” He buried himself to the hilt and came hard, long, thick pulses filling the condom as his cock twitched and throbbed inside you. You felt every powerful spurt through the thin latex, his hips grinding deep as he emptied himself with low, broken moans against your neck, body pressed tight to yours.
He stayed buried deep for a long moment, both of you panting and slick with sweat. Then he slowly pulled out, careful with the full condom. He tied it off, then slid two fingers inside the opening, scooping out a thick, warm load of his cum.
“Open up, baby,” he murmured, voice hoarse but gentle, eyes dark with satisfaction as he brought his cum-covered fingers to your lips.
Still hazy and crying softly from overstimulation, you parted your lips. He pushed his fingers inside, letting you suck and lick his thick, salty cum off them. He fed you slowly, deliberately, watching with possessive intensity as you swallowed every drop he offered, repeating the motion until his fingers were clean.
“That’s my good girl,” he praised softly, tossing the condom aside and pulling you into his arms.
He kissed your tear-streaked face tenderly, stroking your back and holding you close as you both came down.
“All mine. No more bratting about other men’s names, understood?”
𖧧 @ ptolemaea4a
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