Whiskey enthusiast

Hyunjin looked down. You couldn't make this shit up, he looked like a kicked pup. He knew he overstayed his visit(by multiple hours). But still his brain was working very intensely to think of something: to ask, to offer, to say, just so he could keep your attention so you'd keep him around.

But he knew he had assignments to get done(two from Visual Culture you’d given that he had to send in by Monday night, actually), you did too, most likely. You also had stuff to grade and review, he assumed.

"I think I should get going," he said after a while. It wasn't like he wasn't going to see you again. 

He was going to - on Monday - though you weren't going to see him. Not because you didn't pay attention to the students you taught, but because in the lecture hall, he was actively avoiding you. He sat hunched over, in the back, didn't raise his hand(not that he usually did), all in the name of you not seeing him in your class. Because then you'd know. And, yes, it wasn't like you two were doing anything bad, per se. But he knew you, he was listening to you speak for hours a week, for fucks sake.

Very early on, you had spoken during one of your first lectures about what professionalism and ethics in the workplace meant for you. You had spoken about it because of a girl who boldly invited you for coffee with her friends. You weren't rude or dismissive, but you were stern. Stern enough that Hyunjin knew if you had been aware that you lectured him, you wouldn't have been flirty with him at the bar in any compasity, let alone sleep with him. Let alone twice ...ok, three times.

But when he said that, you simply nodded, "Alright," you let out, not sounding even a bit bummed about it. Then you paused as your eyes followed him as he went to collect his things. "You can, ya know, text me..."

He turned to you, slightly bent over as he was zipping up his jeans and looked at you through the messy strands of hair that had fallen over his eyes and gave you a smile. So cute, you thought. He opened his mouth to say that he, in fact, will 100% be doing that, especially after you gave him the go-ahead just now. But before he could, you said, "You're pretty, sweet boy." If he didn't know you'd reject the idea, he would have taken his pants off right then and there. And I mean, nobody could blame you (jesus, look at him), but in his head, he didn't know what provoked you to say that.

He took a step closer to the bed, then bent down and crawled to you until he reached your comfortably snuggled figure. He didn't say anything, just tilted his head and pressed his soft lips to yours. Your lips moved against his slowly. No one deepened the kiss; the plush flesh connecting you only moved like gentle waves in the ocean. He knew what he wanted to tell you; it was a bit risky considering you told him to keep the relationship-type stuff out of this, but considering what you just told him and the level of intimacy the kiss held, he decided to go for it. He pulled away, his face inches from yours. "Pretty for you. Only you."

And it was true. He didn't know if he'd said anything else in his life that he was this sure of the truth. He couldn't see himself with another woman since the first time you spoke to him. He couldn't do simple tasks in his daily life without thinking: hmm, I'm getting frozen yogurt right now, would she like frozen yogurt?

Oh, I wonder what her favourite horror movie is? Does she like horror?

I wonder if she has any allergies or food preferences...

Yeah. He knew he was a goner and that was his little way of saying that, at least for now.

His relief when you gave him a pleased smile was unimaginable. You two sat there, soft smiles, blushed cheeks and slightly swollen lips. "Go," you finally shoved him playfully. He stood back up, still his eyes on you, smiling even wider now.

By the time he left, it was dark outside. You had just enough time left to take a shower, to get the smell of sex and him off you, do some of your own coursework, make a quick bite to eat and go to sleep. 

You wondered if he would text you, whether he'd agreed to the arrangement because he couldn't say no or because he actually wanted to continue doing this. You still hadn't figured him out, more so, you hadn't learned how to trust him yet. 

--------------------------

Oh, he wanted to. He took two steps into his room and wanted to hear your voice.

He used to dream of what it would be like to have a dom. That it would light a fire in him that would make him feral. Used to think about the wild sex and all that. But the reality of it was much deeper than that. Yeah, he got hard, yeah, the sex was great, fantastic even, but it was the feeling of trust and vulnerability that allowed him to go into submission and surrender. And that was precisely it. He knew that those were the reasons the energy between you felt so intense and intimate. Sometimes he wondered if there was something wrong with him that needed all that to feel truly desired and, in turn, feel true desire.

But oh well, fine shyt is fine shyt, he thought, ruffling his own hair as if to shoo away any profound thoughts that defined his overthinking tendencies.

--------------------------------------

He lasted exactly a day before texting you.

When he woke up the next day, he locked in and went through most of his chores and a few assignments - one of which was for the class you were a TA for. By the time the afternoon came, his eyes were darting to his phone like it was going to pop up and give him an update on you itself. He knew he should leave you alone for a bit, and admittedly, he didn't want to seem too desperate. So by 4 pm, he left his apartment with a short bye to his flatmate and went for a run.

Yes, he did pass your apartment building, okay? Shut up.

And no, he didn't even see you since you didn't live anywhere near the first floor.

And he knew that. He knew that before he took the turn to your place and abandoned his usual route.

After doing some stretches and other exercises in the park to get his blood flow going and to get you off his mind, he got home at about 6 pm.

He threw his phone on the bed with excessive force, now frustrated with himself that he was so needy. He walked into the shower, turned it on and closed his eyes, enjoying the hot water as it trickled on him.

He started thinking about his neediness. Probably because of the sex. Can't be anything else. I can't be that easy god damn it. It's probably normal. Yeah, it's normal. I haven't had a proper dom like ever, so it's probably just that, yeah. It's just the way she's in bed, that's all. It's the way she lays her hands on me with no shame, ya know, that's sexy. The way she speaks when she's serious, when she's teasing me, when she cooes and tilts her head. All that? I mean, I'd say it's pretty normal to not be able to stop thinking ab-

He looked down. Thinking about you in bed? That was his mistake. He was hard. 

No, no, no, I'm not gonna do that. I have more self-restraint than that. I'm not an animal.

He put 100% of his willpower into ignoring his erection and went on with his shower. And to give him credit, he did in fact keep his hands to himself. Mainly, it was the memories of what the few days after you slept together for the first time were like that motivated him. 

Most of his days looked like this: 

Get home, shower, jerk off in the shower. Late at night? Jerk off in bed. He'd get home from lectures to an empty apartment, and he'd jerk off on the couch. I mean it was bad, and it went on for days. He was going crazy; no wonder he had to stalk, no, bump into you accidentally.

He had to do better this time. So when he got out of the shower, he took a deep breath and, like any averagely attached man, he grabbed his phone and decided that he could, in fact, play it cool. Why couldn't he? Of course, he could, like any other guy, he could text his casual hook-up to see what she was doing. That's fine.

What he didn't know was that in your apartment, you were having the most silent crash out of the century. The actual professor for Visual Culture was in a pissy mood again and was being passive-aggressive over email, your neighbours were fighting again, your internet was lagging for god knows what reason, you were behind on schedule because of the half a day you spent fucking that pretty boy you met at the bar. And on top of that, you didn't have running water at the moment because of some pipe problem you had neglected to fix earlier. It was all a nightmare of overstimulation and not the sexy kind.

You were tapping your foot, typing away at your laptop on your small dining table, a stale bowl of hurriedly assembled yogurt with banana staring at you from the side. You were having the most tiresome writer's block on an essay you had to submit in less than a day. You had silenced your phone since deciding that if the world was ending and someone tried to call you, you'd rather be the first one to go in the apocalypse, considering how your day's been going.

Meanwhile, him…

He sat down on his bed, leaned on his pillow and opened your empty chat. He typed:

Hey! How you're do|

Scratch that.

Hello! I was wondering if yo|

Hell no. Not an email. Then he decided to mess around.

Ma'am please fuck the shit outta me|

He giggled at himself before going back and deleting that.

Then he decided to actually put some brain power into texting you. You hadn't texted before, so he low-key had to introduce himself kinda.

Hey, it's Hyunjin

I hope you're doing good :)

You free tomorrow?

He didn't think you'd respond or at least as quickly as you did. But little did he know you had just gotten off the phone with the guy that's supposed to come look at your sink and he had just told you that he couldn't come that day, and you'd have to just make do with a visit from him tomorrow. So you were stressed out and pissed to say the least. A minute later Hyunjin's phone got a notification. He leaped to open the messages

Hey

And no, not really

Maybe later

His shoulders slumped. Maybe a day later was in fact too soon to text you. He didn't know what to do with himself now. He wasn't heartbroken or anything, just sitting pouting on his bed because he wasn't getting attention from you. He ruffled his hair and decided to push a bit.

We could meet up later this week?

If you're not too busy

You groaned. He was dancing on the thin line between polite and pushy, and you hated that. Not to mention he picked the worst moment to be insistent with you.

Hyunjin, I'll text you when I want you

That's it.

Oh god, okay, he thought you were down or upset about something, but you were just straight up angry. You were angry. Oh god.

Like previously mentioned, your anger never had the appropriate/expected effect on him. He didn't know how to respond. His mind was getting cloudier by the second because his brain was making the mistake of imagining your tone and voice saying what you had just texted him.

His hands started getting fidgety. The hardness of his that never really went away was twitching again desperately. At that point, he should have probably been concerned about himself and how much sex drive he had, but he couldn't be asked. He was about to thrash his head against the wall, thinking about how to respond.

…

Then he said ’’fuck it’’ and called you.

You responded on the first ring, swiping with excessive force, ready to end the conversation as quickly as possible. "Yes?" Your stern voice was heard abruptly. "Hey..." Hyunjin said softly, but with not as much caution as you'd expect. There was a moment of silence. "How-how are you do-?" He said awkwardly, not really knowing where to take the conversation. 

"I'm busy at the moment, Hyunjin." 

 Fuck. Your voice was so sharp, it left no space for any argument or doubt. Your words always registered in his brain in the most pleasurable way. "Yes, I know, I'm so-" he started with a heavy breath. "Yet you called me?" The call went silent except for his breathing deepening. "Y-yeah," breathy but steady, like he was sure in his answer but didn't know how to suppress what his body was doing to him.

At that point, as angry as you were, the sudden, unexplainable, almost sporadic breathing of his had you questioning. 

"You good?" You asked. Just not very elegantly.

Your unamused voice shot a shiver up his spine. "Yeah, ye- I'm okay, all good,"

"Ok? I'm gonna hang up now. I got shit to do."

Within seconds, his brain had to choose between being a little pushy, probably pissing you off further just to hear your voice more or agreeing with you and letting you be, albeit awkwardly.

Maybe he could be a little indulgent(for like the 100th time when it came to your attention).

"Wait-"

"What." Oh god

"Y- like, what are you busy with?" 

"None of your business, I told you I'd text you when I want to meet up, didn't I?"

"You did, ye-" 

"Then what the fuck are you doing, Hyujin?"

The front muscle of his thigh twitched while he was sitting down, still in his towel. His hair was still slightly damp, his fingers were too from all the times he had run them through his hair. 

"Ju-" he sighed. Or you thought he did. If you had been in the room with him, you'd have identified his breathy whine.

"You're wasting my time right now." Your voice cut through the line.

He shifted his place; his breathing was getting deeper with each sentence you said. The loose towel combined with his hard cock meant that its rough fibres were rubbing exactly over his tip. The muscles on his lower stomach tighten.

"I know, ma'am." He didn't sound defeated and didn't seem like he was getting offended by your sharp tone. And that's what pissed you off even more.

"Don't give me no "ma'am", Hyunjin. I'm fucking stressed. Now is not the time."

You were fed up. Didn't know if he was socially inept or just an idiot.

"Y-yeah, no, I-" he had stabilized himself with his hand holding him up behind his back and the other holding the phone to his cheeks as his hips made stuttering motions to buck up into the fabric of the towel. "Tell me..." he bit his lips, trying to suppress his whimpers, letting out only a sharp breath out his nose as he looked up at the ceiling, begging that you'd just appear in front of him. "...tell me what's got you s-so stressed, just wanna hear you." his voice was soft like velvet as he continued with the slight motions.

The grinding of his, in truth, brought so little actual friction, but somehow that made it better. The light and short contacts with the fabric made arousal burn beep inside of him and made everything so much more exciting.

"Tell you? You can't do anything about it, Hyunjin." You were surprised by his ask, wondering what had gotten into him.

His knees literally softened when he heard you say his name in that voice. Good thing he was sitting down, or we would have collapsed.

"Yeah, I'm useless-" he pulled the phone quickly away from himself as he felt like he couldn't hold it in and choked up on his own whines. His face turned beet red, wondering if you'd heard, wondering if you had identified that sound, kind of hoping you had.

You paused. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Fuck. You said it with zero remorse.

All you heard was a beep breath, but on the other side, he was a mess. He had uncovered his lower half, squeezing his eyes shut at the view of his precum having been smeared over his cock. He wrapped his fist around the tip and held it in place, fucking up into it. "I-I don't know, just wanna hear you..." he was sure that was too obviously lewd, so he added not very smoothly, "so you can get off- get it off your chest."

"I'm hanging up."

"N-no, please, just," he couldn't finish the sentence.

You changed your mind and decided to remark, "I thought you weren't shy around me anymore, why are you stuttering all of a sudden again?" Your voice was still sharp, still a direct hit to his groin. His hips sped up.

"I'm not s-sure, it's been a while," he panicked and said. 

Boy, please. You thought rolling your eyes. You weren't suspecting him of what he was doing, not because you didn't think he was "subby" enough, but it never crossed your mind that he'd be that perverted and shameless.

"It's been a day, so fuck's sake. I'm gonna hang up and text you when I want to meet up. Understood?" You hurried to end the conversation, noticing the screen of your laptop had long gone black. 

He was getting close, really close. He, again, decided to be a bit bratty for his own pleasure. "You sure you're not free tomorrow, hm?" You thought the hum at the end was cockyness. It was, in fact, a moan he hushed at the last second. 

"Yes, I'm fucking sure, don't make me repeat myself, Hyunjin." 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. His balls tightened.

"Mhm, yes, ma'am." Even though you couldn't see him, he was nodding vigorously.

Beep.

You ended the call without another word. That fucking beep though. That beep was the cue for him to paint his fingers white.

You actually did hang up on him. Like it was nothing. And there wasn’t a thing hotter than that single action for him at that moment.

When you did, he immediately dropped his phone onto the mattress and held himself up so he could thrust harder. He threw his head back, scrunched his nose and let out a long-held whimper as ropes of cum started oozing out of his tip. Some got on his thighs, some on the floor, can't forget the towel being stained, but most of it went on his hand, making it sticky and filthy.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day, he was running. Not because he was going to be late for class, but because he was going to be late for the train. His commute to university was around 20 minutes; it was 8:20, and he was speeding so as not to miss his 8:30 train. Oh, yes, he had taken avoiding you very seriously. So much so that he’d decided to arrive in the lecture hall first to take up his spot in the far back and watch as the entire auditorium gets filled to the brim, and ultimately, you walk in just on time.

He arrived at the station at the last minute and flung himself into the train, breathing forgotten somewhere along the way.

He finally took a seat, breathing heavily and almost laughing at his own ridiculousness.

Once head settle, scrolled on his phone for a good 30 minutes, he lifted his head to find the entire place filled. Then you walked in. Oh, what a marvel that was for him.

Well, it was every Monday. But especially today. Your blazer wasn’t perfectly cuffed, your hair was a bit different than usual, your shoulders were tighter, and for the cherry on top, you walked in, slammed your book on the desk and took a deep breath. Oh, you were still seething from everything that you had to tolerate over the past 24 hours.

Hyunjin pressed his lips into a thin line, trying not to smile too widely. It wasn’t that he enjoyed your being frustrated; he just wanted to show you he’d be the best at taking care of that frustration. That he should be the one to take care of that frustration.

Plus, you looked so good. So fucking good; with your furrowed eyebrows, sharp eyes and deep sighs.

He couldn’t let you walk around so pent up with anger. Of course, a good sub wouldn’t let his dom keep sizzling with frustration for so long. He had to do something, didn’t care how busy you were, it’d be for your own good after all.

------------------------------------

“And that will be all for today. I look forward to receiving the last of your assignments by midnight tonight.” 

Everyone started packing up and slowly leaving the big auditorium. Hyunjin did too. As much as he wanted to talk to you, ask you questions about the material you were passionate about, he knew now wasn't the time to reveal who he was.

So he went out and off campus to a café he knew you went to for a sweet treat after a long lecture. He got a latte and sat down by the window to keep watch on when you'd arrive.

20 minutes later, you walk in with you bang hiked up onto your shoulders, your hips a bit stiff, and your eyes heavy. You entered without looking around the café, just straight to the register to order. He smiled as his eyes followed you. You grabbed the chocolate chip cookie you ordered along with your steaming hot espresso and turned to find a quiet corner to sit in.

The moment you turned around, your eyes met his. Again, that persistent unwavering gaze. But seeing as there weren't many small tables available and as much as you weren't in a good mood, especially remembering your imbecilic conversation over the phone with him, you walked towards him and hung the strap of your bag on the chair across from him. No greeting, no nothing.

“Why are you here?”

Your voice was still cold.

“Little coffee break. Funny running into you here.”

You didn't answer, just took a bite of your chocolate chip.

“Do you study at this university?”

He didn't want to lie in any compasity.

“Yeah,” but still he immediately deflected, “you have been upset since yesterday.” 

 No confrontation with hostility, but gently nudging the topic.

“Yeah, and your phone call didn't help.”

“Yeah, I know, I'm sorry, I don't know what got into me.”

Yeah, he wasn't all that sorry. The last about not knowing what got into him was mostly true, though. You nodded quietly, chewing on your cookie and sipping on your drink.

“I know you told me I couldn't, but I think there are ways I can help you…” He said, switching back to his more shy demeanour. You sighed, “If you're horny, I'm making you hump my dining table.”

He just blinked and blushed, liking the idea more than he could admit. “N-no, it's not- it's not gonna be about me. Just you,” he took a deep breath, “all about you, ya know, just relax your nerves in a way…”

“Right, okay, well, I appreciate it, but in any case, I'm too tired to do any kinky stuff today,” you shrugged, crumbling the little paper bag the cookie came in. His eyes followed the movements of your hands before looking back up into your eyes, “You don't have to do anything, I can take care of you,” he said softly with a gentle smile, “I don't sub.” You paused your movements and said sternly. “No, that's not what I meant, ma'am, I'll still be your sub and…” he slowed, seemingly remembering you're in a public place even if you were talking quietly, ”I'll do the work…doesn't mean I won't be your sub.” 

You stayed silent, just staring at him for a second, contemplating with your brows furrowed. His warm hand reached over and held yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. He tilted his head down slightly, and his eyes looked up at you. Again with the puppy tricks. “Promise, I'll make you feel so relaxed, draw all that pent-up anger out of you, ma'am,” voice soft, gentle, yet still deep and seemingly steadying.

You looked at him, then at his hand on top of yours, then back up at him.

You pulled your hand away, the corners of his mouth turning down ever so minutely.

“I'll think about it,” you said as you stood up from your chair, grabbing your bag and jacket, “gotta go.”

He nodded his head ever so obediently and waved at you with a little “Bye,” as his eyes followed your form out the door.

‐------------------------------------

You spent the rest of your day working relentlessly to catch up on your chores and coursework. Only because you had a new motivation that had taken root in your head. You'd given yourself the ultimate of “Finish with your work, then you can fuck Pretty boy.”

Huynjin got a text from you at 11 pm the same night.

Hey

Im free it you wanna come over

Exactly two minds passed, and his text bubble showed up.

Omw 

I’ll be there in 10

You were a little confused as to how he got there so fast, but around 8 minutes later, you got a knock on your door. You stood up, walking to the door with a smile. You’d lie if you said his eagerness wasn’t the most attractive thing about him… which, considering everything about him, meant a lot.

“Hi,” you said as you opened the door and immediately tilted your body to the side, expecting him to walk in, obviously. But he didn't - we went straight for you; he took a step forward and curled his hand around the side of your waist. Not to pull you in, but just to keep you in place as if you might slip away again. Your lips instantly connected while one of your hands was still holding the door. Good thing your neighbours weren't exactly going in and out of the building at this hour of the night.

You felt his warm palm slide from the bottom of your sternum between your breasts to your clavicle. You felt his fingers glide across the length of it - the gesture so intimate and tender it made your eyebrows jump up slightly, beyond grateful that you’d taken him up on his generous offer.

You hummed into his mouth, the sound making the corners of his mouth turn up into the kiss in satisfaction at pleasing you. His hand then stayed cupping the side of your face as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down and towards the couch.

“Promised, I’d take care of you, ma’am, I promised” is the first thing he says. He hurriedly took off his jacket while you were already pushing it off him. “You better,” you said with a small smile, then you dove in again to taste his lips, “especially with that phone call that got on my nerves last night,” you said between kisses.

He nodded vigorously into the kiss, agreeing with you. “Mhmm, yea- gonna make it up to you, ma’am, make you feel s’good.”

One thing about Hyunjin he gets into subspace expeditiously.

You smirked, indulging in his neediness a little, “Gonna work hard to please your dom, right, baby?” He nodded repeatedly again, as the back of your legs hit the couch, and his hands started roaming over your body, trying to get those pesky clothes off you. His eagerness almost made you let out a laugh, “Gonna be a good sub, a proper one,” he said while unzipping your pants. 

You tangle your fingers in his head and slowly press down. You nodded, “Such a good boy you are,” his knees softened immediately and crumbled until he was on his knees. He peeled your pants off your legs until they pooled around your ankles, then he gently tugged on them until you lifted your legs one by one so he could throw them onto the other side of the couch.

While on his knees, he started laying kisses on your thighs. Every one of his movements was so soft, so careful, your heart swelled at his demeanour.

His lips were still attached to your skin when he looked up to see you had closed your eyes, enjoying his lips and warm, big hands massaging your thighs. “Ma’am,” he started, but didn't continue as he waited for you to acknowledge his voice. “Yes, baby,” he smiled into his little indulgent kisses on your skin. “Wanna make you cum on my tongue, please.”

And who said romance is dead? 

He was so beautifully attuned to the rhythm of your dynamic, the way he waited for your permission, the way he treated his desire as a gift intended solely for your pleasure. 

"Then don't keep me waiting," you command, your voice dropping into a low, velvety purr. 

He didn't need to be told twice. With a frantic, reverent haste, he finished stripping away the remaining barrier of your clothing, his movements a blur of desperate determination. As soon as your skin was bare to the air, he leaned in, his face burying itself in the warmth of your lap. 

The sensation of his tongue, warm and wet, finding your clit sent a jolt of electricity straight to your spine. He worked with a singular, driving purpose, his mouth moulded to your shape as he licked and sucked with an intensity that left you breathless. His eyes occasionally darted up to catch your expression, searching for the slightest flicker of your pleasure to fuel his own insatiable drive to serve.

At first, he lapped early, his tongue flattened, making sure to spread all your juices around. A minute later, he started whining and mumbling something, “Ma’am, s-” then he pulled away a bit, “wanna have your legs spread, please, ma’am, wanna go deeper.”

The way he mumbled through the slick heat of your thighs was nothing short of endearing, a testament to how much he is already losing himself in the task. His request was a plea for more access, more intimacy, more of the overwhelming sensation that only he could provide. He wasn’t just satisfied with the surface; he wanted to be completely submerged in you.

You sat down, sinking onto the couch, your torso leaning back and your legs together. You reached forward, your fingers hooked under his chin to tilt his head back for a moment so you could look into those wide, pleading, hazy eyes. He looked wrecked already, his lips glistened, and his face flushed with the heat of your scent. 

"Spread them for me, then," you commanded softly.

He obeyed instantly, his hands moved to your hips to pull your thighs wide, exposing your pussy to the cool air and his hungry gaze. 

He settled back in, but this time, there was no lightness. He pressed his face firmly into your centre, his nose sliding against your entrance as he began to use his tongue with a much more aggressive and probing depth. He licked upward, catching the swell of your clit before plunging his tongue deep into your opening, mimicking the rhythmic thrust, the sound of his wet, heavy suction loud.

The sound he made was primal, a low, vibrating moan that started deep in his chest and spilled out of his mouth as he worked. As he slid two fingers inside you, he curled them upward to find the sensitive ridge of your G spot. The friction was pointed and deep. The combination of his rhythmic, deep tongue strokes and the internal pressure of his fingers created a sensory overload that made your hips arch involuntarily off the couch. He was humming and nipping at your skin from time to time. 

Every time he pulled his fingers out, he followed the movement with a long, sweeping lick, ensuring no sensation was wasted. The wet sounds of his mouth against your skin became a frantic percussion to the heavy thudding of your heart. His chin and chest became slick with your arousal, but he didn’t care; he was entirely focused on the way your thighs trembled under his touch.

"Mmm, yes... like that," you gasp, your fingers tangling in his hair to hold him steady. 

He responded by increasing the tempo, his fingers pumping inside you with a desperate, driving force while his tongue became a blur of motion. He was pushing you toward your orgasm, his own whimpers mingling with the wet sounds in the room.

The world narrowed down to the point of contact where his fingers and tongue meet your most sensitive nerves. As the tension in your abdomen coiled into a tight, unbearable knot, you felt the first tremors of the coming storm. Your breath hitched, caught in a throat tight with pleasure, and your spine curved like a bow as you arched your back, seeking to press yourself even harder against his relentless ministrations.

Hyunjin felt the shift in your body immediately. He sensed the sudden rigidity of your muscles and the way your hips began to stutter against his face. Instead of slowing, he doubled his efforts, his fingers curled more sharply inside you while his tongue applied a heavy, rhythmic pressure to your clit. He was driving you over the edge, his own breathing coming in ragged, desperate hitches as he watched your expression shatter.

Then, the knot was set loose. A violent, pulsing wave of ecstasy crashed through you, starting deep in your core and radiating outward until every nerve in your body is screaming. Your internal muscles clamped down hard on his hair in a series of involuntary spasms. You let out a long, broken cry, your head fell back as the orgasm took hold, leaving you trembling and completely undone in his hands. 

He stayed there. Swallowing it all, groaning deeply, gathering every drop into his mouth, “Tastes so fucking good, oh my god.”

He didn't waste any time, though. He climbed over your body, facing your directly and taking tremendous amounts of pride in being able to get you to such a state; your eyes were clouded, your knuckles were white, and your collarbones were slightly glistening with sweat.

He didn't allow the moment of stillness to settle; he was driven by a frantic hunger that demanded he pleasure with every part of himself. He crawled up your body, his skin slick with your shared fluids, his chest brushing against yours as he settled between your thighs.

He loomed over you, his eyes dark and heavy with a desperate sort of worship, “Gonna fuck you s’good, ma’am, s’good, you’ll forget about everything”. 

His breathing was a ragged staccato, and the heat radiating from his body was intense. He didn't wait for a formal command, though he looked to you for the silent nod of approval that told him he was allowed to claim this place - inside you.

As he angled his aching, swollen length to your entrance, he paused for a heartbeat, his forehead resting against yours. "Please, ma'am," he whispered, a breathless plea for the final act of his devotion. 

You nodded.

Then, with a slow, deliberate thrust, he sank into you. The sensation was overwhelming, a fullness that stretched you out every time and filled the void left by your climax. He whimpered into the crook of your neck, his hips began a slow, punishingly deep rhythm that aimed solely to make you cum.

The rhythm he set was one of pure, unadulterated worship. Every thrust was deep and deliberate, a slow, heavy slide that aimed to bury him as far into your warmth as possible. He moved with the frantic, desperate energy of a man trying to merge his very soul with yours.

“T- ma’am, tell me I'm doing good, please,” he whined on top of you, his hot breath hitting your lips. His hands were everywhere, clutching your hips to pull you closer, then sliding up to glide over your waist, his touch alternating between soft guidance and trembling reverence.

You whined, your teeth clenched tightly, letting out little gasps here and there in the thrusts he went especially deep in with. Regardless, you nodded, “Mhmm, so good f’me, baby, you’re my best boy.”

“Fuck,” the intensity became too much for his composure to hold, and those words were the cherry on top. The pleasure was so sharp, so overwhelming, that it transcended mere physical sensation and became something spiritual. A soft, broken sob escaped him, and you felt the hot dampness of tears spilling onto your collarbone. 

"It's... it's too much," he whimpered, his voice cracking as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. He was crying openly now, his body shaking with the sheer force of the sensation. He was completely undone by you, his cries of "Ma'am, please" muffled against your skin as he thrusted harder, his movements becoming more erratic and desperate.

The shift in his technique was a mastery of submissive devotion. As he drove himself into you, he reached down with one hand, his fingers finding your clit with a precision that made your vision swim. He didn’t just stroke; he massaged the swollen nub with a heavy pressure that synced perfectly with the thudding of his hips. 

Simultaneously, he grabbed your knees, hauling them up toward your chest with a strength born of pure desperation. The change in angle was profound. With your legs pulled high, your pelvis tilted upward, offering him a direct, unobstructed path to your very core. 

He lunged forward, his hips slamming against yours as he buried himself to the hilt, his glans bruising against your cervix. “Oh fuck,” you moaned, your hands instinctively going to his chest.

The sensation was staggering. It felt as though he was reaching into the very centre of your being, filling every hollow space with his heat. A loud, guttural moan ripped from his throat, a sound of pure, unbridled ecstasy. He was weeping openly now, the tears streaming down his cheeks as he lost all sense of self. 

He was nothing but a vessel for your pleasure, a man being dismantled by the sheer, beautiful intensity of being one with his master.

Your hand trailed up and curled around his throat. He immediately had to interrupt his moan by biting his lips, “Ma’am-” his front teeth pressed against his plush lips.

You don't squeeze hard enough to hurt, but the firm, authoritative pressure of your grip was enough to make his eyes blow wide, the irises nearly swallowed by his pupils. The slight restriction of his breath added a sharp, delicious edge to the sensation, turning the pleasure into something beautiful.

Hyunjin let out a choked, strangled sound halfway between a gasp and a sob as his head lolled back against the couch. 

The sensation of being controlled, of having his very breath held in your hand while he was buried deep inside you, sent him to the edge of climax. His movements became even more frantic, his hips bucked in a desperate, uncoordinated rhythm as he tried to find the final inch of release.

"Ma'am... ma'am, please, cum- oh fuck, want you to cum around my cock, wanna feel this pussy squeeze me" he cried out, his voice a broken wreck of sound.

The tension in the room was electric, a coiled spring ready to snap. You felt the sudden, violent tightening of your own internal muscles, the familiar, heavy ache of an approaching climax. As you squeezed his throat just a fraction more, he let out a high-pitched keening.

"Please, ma'am... please cum for me," he begged, his voice a frantic, tear-streaked, broken whisper. He wasn't asking for himself; he was pleading for the honour of being the one to bring you to the edge. His fingers worked your clit with a desperate, focused intensity, his thumb circling and pressing until your world dissolved into a single, blinding point of white light.

With almost every thrust, he’d look down to watch his cock get swallowed by your cunt, and he didn't think he had ever seen something so fucking gorgeous.

The orgasm hit you like a physical blow, a violent surge that made you almost scream into the room. Your muscles clamped down on him in a tight grip, and you feel him shudder against you, his own body vibrating with the effort of holding back. 

He was on the verge of his own release, his face contorted with the strain of his restraint, but he didn't give in. He stayed focused on you, riding out the waves of your pleasure with a selfless, agonising devotion.

As the last tremors faded and you gasped for air, Hyunjin abruptly pulled back. He slid out of you with a wet, heavy sound, his breath coming in ragged heaves. He didn’t linger; he immediately dropped to his knees on the floor, his head bowed in a posture of absolute submission.

He was a man possessed by a singular, desperate need to serve; his tongue darted out to lap up every stray drop of your release. 

He cleaned you with a thorough, methodical devotion, his mouth warm and wet as he drank you in, ensuring not a single trace of your pleasure was wasted.

While his mouth worked, his body betrayed the agony of his own frustration. He couldn't stand still; he began to hump the edge of the couch, his hips grinding rhythmically against the fabric in a futile attempt to find some relief. 

When he came, his sound was a guttural, pathetic whimper, a mixture of pure bliss and the torture of restraint. He was a mess of contradictions, his face buried in your heat while his body fought a losing battle against its own arousal. He was completely at your mercy, a shivering, needy creature who only wanted to be yours.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

You turned your head and found him also awake - wide awake. His eyes were darting all across the room. You side-eyed him, almost laughing at his expression. "Oh, did I wake you?" he said with a hoarse voice, still sweet as honey when he noticed you had shifted. "Nah, don't worry," you said, running a hand through your hair. 

You sat up and rubbed your eyes. "So..." you started, looking back at him, while he was still awake and sprawled out on the bed, looking like he had no intentions of getting up. You didn't continue your sentence, just sighed. You got up, not caring you were naked, and Hyunjin’s eyes suddenly became very focused on you. You walked to a chair where you had thrown the hoodie you wear in your house when it's not bedtime yet, but you still don't want to be in your home with your outside clothes on. You put it on and, without another word or clothing item, walked to your kitchen. That made Hyunjin sit up, especially when he heard rustling. 

You were quicker, though, just as he was about to stand up, you returned to the bedroom with a glass of water and two pills. "Here," you said, your voice still quiet from sleepiness, handing him the glass, "and take these," you handed him the pills. He looked up at you as he took them into his hands. "One is vitamin C. The other is magnesium." You said as you cupped his face gently with one hand, tilting it up slightly to look at him better. 

"I'm not sick or anything," he said, nevertheless with a little satisfied smile at your show of care. "Vitamin C is for blood flow and energy, magnesium is for reducing muscle tension, and you..." you looked at him and then the floor in front of the mirror, "...yeah." He nodded, not needing another word to understand what you were insinuating. You let go of his face, and he took the pills in his mouth, gulping down half the glass. Then he lowered it, "Thanks," he said softly.

You were still standing in front of him, staring at him. "Umm," he shifted his hips, flustered under your persistent gaze. "Don't look at me. Drink the whole thing," you said, your voice calm and steadfast. "Why are you- like, doing this right now?" he said, genuinely confused at your insistent stance. "You lost liquids cuz you came and sweated so much," you started with a sigh, slightly irritated that you have to explain to him why it's good to drink water after he was gasping for air and sweating for 2 hours. "Hydrate. Come on." You ushered him with a gesture. 

Once you saw the glass touch his lips again, you turned around and walked to your side of the bed. You crumbled on the bed and cradled the pillow, stuffing your face in it. He finished the water and put it down on the nightstand. He turned around and looked at you. He then...laid down? If you weren't so sleepy, you would have asked him what his problem was.

He turned on his side towards you. "You- do you want to... grab a bite to eat maybe?" 

"Hyunjin...no." You tried to be nice, you really did. A moment of silence for his bravery for even attempting.

"You hungry?" you added. He thought of what to answer for a moment. "Well, kinda, I guess."

You sighed. You got up again and went to the kitchen. This time, he didn't waste a second and followed you. "What're you doing?" He said hurriedly as he walked behind you like a puppy. "Scrambled eggs?" You asked simply, adding "You said you were hungry."

"Oh no, don't, it's not your responsibility t-"

"Hyunjin."

"Yes, ma'am." Oh, that slipped.

You smiled. "Have you ever had a dom before, baby?"

He smiled. "W- you mean, before yo- like do you count?"

You turned to him, "I'm your dom. At the moment. And while we're having sex, yes, I am." He blushed. "So, as my sub, providing you with aftercare is my responsibility."

That's when it clicked in his head. This was aftercare. Your aftercare. The water, the gentle touch, the vitamins, and now the food. His eyes widened as he subconsciously leaned in, "Actually?"

You furrowed your brows slightly, "What do you mean by 'actually'?" Then you thought for a moment, "Have you ever had like...kinky-er sex like...?"

He blushed (like you didn't just have sex). "Well, yeah, but- I mean, not like this, but I think so?" You heard the doubt in his voice as you got a pan out and three eggs. "What does that mean exactly?" You asked. "Well, I don't enjoy kinky stuff unless I'm more of the um- receiver-" his sentence got interrupted by the sound of your giggle. "Receiver? You can just say submissive," 

“Yeah, yeah, that, and it wasn't with people who were very...eager to be the dom, I guess."

That surprisingly cleared it up, you thought, as you cracked the eggs and started them on high heat. He had been intimate with people before, but at the proposition of doing something less vanilla, specifically with him as the sub, they agreed but weren't really into it; therefore, not really put in the energy to provide good aftercare either. "Alright, I am. So you will eat now, then go." You said absentmindedly. He stayed silent for a second. 

"Go where?"

what

"Are you homeless?" At this point, you were genuinely asking.

You looked at him, puzzled; mind you, he looked even more puzzled. He shook his head. "No- like where are we gonna go?"

"Hyunjin, baby, genuinely, what are you talking about?" That confused him even more. You transferred the eggs to a plate. You opened your mouth to answer, but he was quicker.

"You- I saw you got a bakery nearby, is it any good? We could go..." Oh, he was being cute, wasn't he? Not only that. Apparently, he was going to play dumb until you agreed to do something with him, except for sex. But at the end of the day, you're just human, and a sweet treat after sex and a nap sounds good as hell.

"Ok, but you finish your eggs first." You said as you put some Cayenne pepper, salt, and paprika on the eggs and cut up a tomato for him. Behind your shoulder, he beamed - a wide, shameless smile and everything.

So the two of you got dressed. Thank god you had multiple baggy hoodies that did fit him. You guys ended up looking a little less disheveled by the time you walked into the bakery. You with baggy sweats and him with a hoodie and jeans. Eyes still puffy from sleep, voices still a little groggy.

While you stood in front of the display in the bakery, your eyes were already narrowing on the thing you usually got - a cinnamon roll. The bakery was almost empty since it was right before closing time, and the teenage girl who was working the register had sat back on a stool, scrolling on her phone. 

Slowly, you felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist. He pressed his chest to your back in the deepest back hug. He stuffed his face in the crook of your neck. And of course, you can't lie, it felt so cozy and soft, especially with the soft, thick fabrics wrapping around both of you. Nonetheless, you side-eyed him, "Hyunjin, what are you doing?" Well, this wasn't a date; you weren't together, of course, you weren't even official hook-ups.

His sly ass ignored the question, though, he hummed, making you feel the vibration on your neck. "Did you pick something?" he said, his voice was soft, muffled into your skin, and seemed almost defenseless. But you knew it wasn't. He wasn't stupid or infantile, maybe naive sometimes, but he was a grown ass man at the end of the day.

"Hyunjin." You said in a steady voice.

"Yes, ma'am." This time, it didn't feel like it slipped. It settled even more.

"Let go of me." You didn't say it in a stern or commanding voice, just persistent.

"I like holding you."

"I can tell, now let go."

Without further sulking, he did let go and sighed. Gotta have a serious conversation with him, you thought.

"I'll have a cinnamon roll, please," you said to the girl behind the register. "And I'll have the blueberry muffin, please," he said, with a gracious fake smile to the girl who couldn't be bothered to respond in any type of way, only stood up, and bagged the goods. "Together or separate?" She asked. 

"Together." He said.

"Separate." You followed, nearly a second later. 

"We'll pay together," he repeated, already taking his card out, and not looking back at you since he knew you were glaring at him.

He swiped his card and grabbed the bag with both your orders. You two walked out the door. Clever little one he was, you thought when you noticed he headed straight to the nearest bench, sat down, and then opened the bag only when you were bending over to sit down next to him as well.

Once you took your first bite, you cleared your throat. "I think we should have a conversation about things."

He paused, mid-chew, his eyes lifting up from his tilted-down face. He stared at you, nervous that you'd say what you've been doing was a mistake, that you shouldn't do this again. "As in?" He said quietly, pretending to wipe some crumbs off his pants(there were none).

"Like, if we continue to do this," you started and interrupted yourself to chew. This wasn't a difficult or too serious conversation for you, just one that was good to have in the name of healthy communication. Not to his ass, though. The moment he heard the word, 'continue' he perked up like you just showed a dog a treat.

"Mhm, yeah, we continue," he said, nodding his head repeatedly. "If." You interjected. "Yeah, y-yeah, if we continue," he kept nodding, then his movements slowed. "Do you..want to continue?" He asked carefully. 

"Well, I haven't had a sub in a while, and I don't really actively search for one if I'm being honest," you said absentmindedly. "But I think I'd be down, I mean, we seem compatible?" You said a little questioning, waiting for him to confirm. "Yeah, I think we are really compatible, for sure," he had started tapping his leg, he was nervous like he was at a job interview. "But please, keep that relationship type of stuff out of it, will ya?" You said while peeling the parchment paper from the bottom of the rest of your cinnamon roll. He paused, "I will, if it bothers you, I definitely will", he settled on saying, even if the limitation made him sad. "Yeah, well, it's not annoying or anything, just unnecessary." You said finally, shrugging.

You proceeded to have a conversation at length about what the dynamic meant for you and how you'll be doing things from now on. Also covering the basics of what you two's hard limits were and what you weren't really wanting to go into in the bedroom.

As you finished your deserts, he drifted the conversation back to that topic. "I'm sorry for hugging you when we were in the bakery," he said, timid as always when it came to physical contact. You snorted a laugh, "Oh, it's okay, I just didn't expect it." You shrugged, licking the last of the icing from your fingers. "It's not something I should do, huh?" He asked with a small smile as well. You shook your head, "Nope, you shouldn't, especially in public." You said without a second thought.

After a minute or two, you stood up and gathered the bag and the little pastry packages inside to throw them away. He stood up with you, and you thought he was just about to leave. But when you threw the trash away and dug into your sweatpants pockets to fish out your keys, therefore getting distracted for a second, you felt them again. His arms. Wrapping around you like a vice, molding themselves to your waist. He not only leaned forward and pressed his chest against you, but his whole body. Ok, maybe you did think he was a little dumb because you didn’t think he was doing this on purpose, so you said, "Hey, we talked about this," softly. Your hands went to rest against his wrists, and maybe to some passing by, you looked like a lovey-dovey couple.

But he didn't budge. Didn't move a damn muscle. That's when you realized - he was doing this on purpose. "Let go, Hyunjin." You said in a more stern voice. He didn't. Didn't move, didn't say anything. Until he did - he pushed himself even more firmly against you. "Is there something you're trying to prove here?" You asked, a bit annoyed, not thinking he had a bratty bone in his body. But he did, oh, he did.

He turned his head so you would feel his deep breaths against your neck while his fingers dug into you a bit more. You decided to change your approach, "You know you're disobeying me right now, don't you?"

You felt his entire body shiver at the change of your tone and your words. He was getting off on this, you realized as he started breathing more heavily. You turned your head so your low voice would hit his ear directly. "You're really earning yourself a punishment, sweetheart." And he nodded, he fucking nodded, turning his head with his eyes heavily lidded, lifting them to look up at your lips.

Then the audacity of this man. His eyes went lower, and his lips followed. He placed one soft and long kiss on the side of your throat. That's it, you thought as you interlaced your fingers with the back of his hair and held tightly. You didn't pull since you didn't want to cause a scene, even if there was almost nobody around. Your grip made him pause, letting out a little gasp as you felt his entire chest now go up and down with how hard he was breathing. Then, in the sluttiest, whiniest voice, he said, "Can we go home now? N' you can," he interrupted himself to let out a pleasured hum at your unrelenting grip. You didn't even bother correcting him about saying 'home' while referring to your place, since it had become evident that it was at least the home of his deepest desires.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You stumbled through your front door. One of your hands was on his jaw, gripping it tightly as the other was clasped around his throat firmly. All the while, his hands were lovingly rubbing your waist, silently begging for mercy. You were kissing deeply, his occasional whines and ‘oh fuck’s tumbling from his mouth into yours as you pressed him against the wall.

Your hand left his throat and cupped him through his jeans. He reacted immediately, his hips bucking into your hand while he slurred another moan while you sucked on his tongue. You rubbed him harshly - the contrast to how you treated him when you woke up and now turned him on even more, and it’d be a lie if he said that seeing you annoyed or angry didn’t turn him on.

“Oh my fucking god,” he let out in a whiny voice as he felt you rub his balls roughly through the tough fabric that made it all the more intense. You broke the kiss, “Oh, so now you're not shy with letting your voice out, huh?” you said with faux niceness, the cruelty in your voice making his eyes water and his cock drip.

You continued your movements on his crotch and made sure his head stayed pinned to the wall by his throat. “Where do you get off, hmm? We had sex twice without me being strict, and you think you can do whatever you want?” He shook his head, “No, no, it’s n-” he slurred, whining as he licked his lips, looking into your eyes like he was tasting your soul through your voice. “No?” you questioned again, “What’s making you act out then?”

“You,” he said shyly, barely above a whisper, his whole body shaking from the amount of energy he was putting into bucking his hips into your palm. Nevertheless, you heard him, so you moved your hand from his throat to his jaw, angling it up so he’d be forced to look at you. “Me?” is all you said in a tone that told him you weren't impressed whatsoever. You slowed your movements when he delayed his answer. 

“Your touch,” he stuttered out, and kept gasping and letting out noises like he wanted to say more, but his body wouldn’t let him. “Go on, baby, let me hear you,” you decided with a honey voice, yet again, to use the softer approach with him. He continued his struggle, his teeth slightly gritted, his cheeks red, chest heaving, thigh twitching with the ghost of your touch periodically. “Take a deep breath, Hyunjin,” you said, genuinely not expecting him to get this worked up. What you hadn’t discovered at that stage was that your tone of voice and words had so much more effect on him than you could have anticipated.

Obediently, he worked through, taking a deep breath so he could answer you. “Wanted- just wanted to be punished,” he blushed, his throat bobbing. You couldn't help but let out a little amused giggle, “My bad, but I've never had a sub misbehave with the intent to be punished,” he looked down, a bit displeased at you mentioning over other people you've dommed. 

You pushed his jaw up again and looked at him silently for a moment, his pretty eyes glinting. “You wanted my touch?” He nodded, “And my punishment, sweetheart?” He nodded again, “Yes, ma'am.”

You got really close to his face, pecked his lips, and whispered against them, “Go to the bed and lie down, now.”

Oh, he speed walked. You smiled concerningly fondly at him as you watched him enter the bedroom that at this point was beyond familiar to him.

The bedroom door clicked shut as you walked in, seeing his legs stretched out on the bed as the rest of him was sitting up. His skin still felt electric with anticipation and hope that you wouldn't be nice. 

“Take off your shirt.” He did.

“Lie down.” He did.

“Are you mad?” He asked, forgetting to even try to hide the twinkle of excitement behind his eyes.

“I think you want me to.”

“I think you should be.”

“I agree.”

You stood above him, your gaze stretching long across his torso. Without a word, you took off your pants and straddled his hips, then shifted, maneuvering yourself upward while facing the rest of his body. The sudden weight of your thighs framing his head made his pulse hammer against his ribs.

The world vanished behind the heat. The damp cloth of your underwear pressed firmly against his nose and mouth, muffling his shallow exhales. He could taste you through the fabric as you settled into place. “Please, ma’am, can you take off your panties?”

Without thinking twice, your hand swatted the obvious dent in his pants. He whimpered immediately, his cock twitched at your harsh touch, and his entire body lifted, chasing more of your attention. “Do you think boys who misbehave get what they want?” You lifted yourself up a little so he could answer.

“N-no, ma’am,” he stuttered out, still whining because of the slight leftover pain he felt in his shaft. You hummed and settled back down. You ground back and forth over his face, and he let out muffled moans at your pussy using him like a toy. “You blatantly disobeyed me, baby,” you started, as your hand slid down and from his chest to his stomach, reaching his waistband.  

His fingers curl into the sheets, knuckles white as the grinding of your pelvis smothered his cries. Every slide of your heat against his lips sent a fresh jolt of desperation through him; the scent of musk and moisture seeped through the thin lace, coating his tongue. Occasionally, you’d look down and ask something along the lines of: “Does it feel good, baby?” just to hear his muffled mhmm’s and feel his nose when he’d nod vigorously. 

When your hand finally hooked beneath his waistband, pulling his length free, he let out a sharp, vibrating groan that died instantly against the swell of your cunt.

Your grip was firm as you began to wrap your fingers around his slick cock that was already leaking precum. The sensation was overwhelming, the crushing pressure of your weight on his face paired with the frantic, sliding friction of your palm below. He tried to arch his hips, seeking deeper contact, but the sting of your earlier swat lingered, reminding him of his station.

"Mmm... please," he mumbled, the word lost in the soft squelch of your skin meeting his. Your pace quickened, moving from slow, agonizing strokes to a relentless, punishing rhythm. His breathing became ragged, staccato gasps filtered through the dampness of your underside. He was spiraling, his nerves fraying as you drove him closer to a peak he wasn’t sure he deserved to reach.

Because he didn’t care about his climax. This was the first time you were sitting on his face; he was going to do everything in his power to taste you as soon as possible. So without any regard for consequences, he reached one hand in the front and one hand in the back and pulled on your panties from both directions, and in a matter of milliseconds, they snapped below you. 

The violent snap of elastic echoed in the room, followed by the immediate, breathtaking rush of direct contact. For him, it is a sensory explosion, the barrier of lace vanishing leaves nothing between his hungry mouth and the searing, weeping heat of your core. He didn’t wait for permission; driven by a primal need to worship the source of his discipline, he licked greedily along your slit, tasting the salty, viscous liquid that coated you.

A low, guttural growl vibrates deep in your belly as his tongue finds your clitoris, swirling with a desperate, clumsy intensity. He groaned into your flesh, the sound muffled by the sheer volume of your anatomy. Above him, your hands tightened in his hair, guiding his movements, but his focus was singular. He wanted to drown in you.

You cursed under your breath and took him back in your hands. One of your hands held his base, while the other lifted to land a steady slap on his tip. All of his muscles in his legs and abdomen tightened instantly as he moaned into you. “That's all you want, huh? Baby needed some rough treatment to clear his head, huh?” You landed another smack on his cockhead, watching it get redder with each hit. He nodded under you, “Mhmm, more plea..” he slurred as he sucked on your clit and inner folds. “You really have to start being careful with what you ask for, sweetheart,” you said as you raised your hand again.

The stinging impact of your palm against his sensitive glans produced a sharp, wet crackle that resonated through his whole frame. His toes curled violently against the mattress, his abdominal muscles knotting into hard ridges as the dull ache of the slap mingled with the electrifying surge of arousal. And the moment you weren’t slapping his tip, you spent stroking him up and down his entire length.

Despite the stinging reprimand, he refused to pull away. Instead, he leaned harder into the task, his tongue working with a feverish, messy devotion. He lapped at your overflowing moisture; his breath came in hot, humid puffs that made your thighs tremble. The sound of his suction was a rhythmic, sloppy slurping that filled the small space between your bodies.

As you maintained the bruising tempo of your stroking, his voice came out as a broken, unintelligible vibration against your vulva. "P-please..." he begged, the word swallowed by your flesh. His coordination was failing, he was caught in a feedback loop of exquisite torment, where the sharp bite of your hand serves only to fuel the desperate hunger of his mouth. He was teetering on the jagged edge of overstimulation, his vision blurring.

“Please, what?” you said menacingly. “I’m close, ma’am, please,” he whined as you suddenly felt additional wetness under your thighs that didn’t come from you. He was crying. You cooed, “Of course, baby, cum for me,” and your sweet voice was all he needed to cum. 

At the command, the dam broke. A strangled, high pitched keen escaped his throat, a sound born of pure surrender as his body underwent a violent spasm. Thick, hot strings of cum erupt from his sensitive tip, splashing hotly against your hands and his own pelvis. His hips bucked uncontrollably, trying to thrust into your hands even as his nervous system began to scream from the overload.

But instead of easing the tension, you leaned into the chaos. Just as his initial release peaked, you wrapped your hand around his again and increased the speed of your hand, your thumb circling his tip with merciless precision. The transition from intense pleasure to excruciating sensitivity happened in a heartbeat. 

Every new stroke felt less like ecstasy and more like a lightning strike hitting bare nerves. His breath caught in a series of jagged, sobbing hiccups. Tears continued to track into his ears, mixing with the sweat that was dripping from his brow. He was trapped in a state of beautiful agony; his body was spent, trembling and limp, yet you kept the friction constant, forcing his overworked nerves to endure the unrelenting stimulation. He whined, a pathetic, needy sound, as he realized the punishment had just begun.

“Aw, you know I like spoiling you, baby, didn’t you want a punishment? Didn’t you wanna cum, hmm? You’ll get plenty of that now,” You said cruelly as you stroked him, petting his thighs that twitched and lifted every second. You don’t know how, but he found the energy to let out and, exasperated, said, “Yes, ma’am… thank you, ma’am,” as he dove back into you and returned the pleasure with greedily thrusting his tongue in and out of you.

The gratitude in his voice was breathless, a delirious rasp that betrayed exactly how much he craved the very thing breaking him. Despite the tremors racking his quads and the way he spasmed involuntarily at every touch, he lunged back toward you. It was a desperate, starving sort of movement as it made you let out groans of pleasure in your own right.

His tongue was broad and insistent, driving deep into your folds with a reckless, sweeping motion that sought to swallow your essence entirely. The friction was immense; the mixture of his saliva and your arousal created a loud, sticky squelching sound that punctuated the heavy atmosphere of the room. He worked with a manic fervor, his teeth occasionally grazing your lower lips in a way that borders on biting, driven by a need to prove his submission through total consumption.

Underneath you, his body was a wreck of contradictions. While his mouth performed a masterful, greedy service, his lower half remained a mess of overstimulation. Every time your hand slid down to pet his twitching thigh, the nerve endings there flared with a bright, stinging electricity. He was caught in a cycle of exquisite exhaustion, sobbing softly against your skin, yet refusing to retreat, anchored to you. The pain was too good, and he was getting lost in it.

Without ever realizing he was getting close a second time, embarrassingly soon after the first. “Ma’am, I'm sorry, I'm-” he interrupted himself with a whimper. “I know, baby, I know,” you said sweetly, as if you weren't the one doing this to him. 

The contrast between your violent nature and insatiable stroking of his cock with your sweet, gentle voice had him on the edge of pure delirium. The dissonance was enough to shatter his mind.

His body reacted before his brain could process the warning signs. The familiar, terrifying tightening began in his gut, traveling downward to his groin. His cock, already swollen and tender from the previous onslaught, pulsed with a frantic, almost painful urgency. He attempted to slow his tongue, to find some semblance of composure, but the moment your thumb applies a fraction more pressure to his reddened tip, his resolve collapsed.

The closer he got, the closer you got as well. His movements might not have been the most precise at that moment, but the sounds he was making and the way his body moved under you turned you on a concerning amount.  

Another wave of heat crashed over him, more violent than the last. Since his refractory period never truly began, this second orgasm felt explosive, nearly jarring. His hips lifted off the bed in a spasmodic arc as he came once more, the fluid thicker and more urgent as it coated your skin and his. He was completely undone, his consciousness flickering like a candle in a gale, reduced to a shivering mess. His body went limp, and you lifted your hips slightly up from his face. 

Until he heard the words - your words, “Ugh, I’m close,” he’ll be damned before he leaves you hanging. He used his last strength to wrap his arms around your thighs, pull out back on his, and just before his mouth came into contact with you, you heard him say, “Please, let me do this for y-” and he dug himself deep into you. Mouth sucking on your clit, slutty lips making obscene noises while his pretty nose bumped into your entrance.

The force of his desperation was staggering. Hyunjin’s arms locked around your thighs like iron bands; his body shook with the effort to sustain the pace; he is devouring you. The sounds he made, the wet lapping, and the deep, guttural moans fill the room, echoing his single-minded devotion.

Your own breath hitched as his tongue swirled with a relentless, agonizing precision. He was using his last reserves of strength to drive you toward the edge. The heat of his breath, the slickness of his saliva, and the sheer, unadulterated greed in his movements sent a shudder through your spine. You could feel your own muscles tightening, the pressure building within you as he licked and sucked with a frantic intensity.

He was oblivious to his own exhaustion, his world reduced to the taste of you and the sounds of your pleasure. As you arched against him, your fingers digging into his thighs, the tension reached a breaking point. You threw your head back, letting out a long moan as your orgasm hit you and your pussy started clenching over his face. He worked you through it, leaving your clit so he wouldn’t overstimulate you, and lapped lovingly at your entire slit. It took you a minute to come down from your high.

When you did, you slowly unmounted his face and lay on your hip on the side. That moment allowed you to appreciate your creation; his face was soaked with your cum, juices, and his saliva, his chest was still heaving, his lower stomach was wet with his cum, and the sheets around his head were even wet, but that also could have been from his tears.

He was staring at the ceiling like he had just gone through a life-changing exorcism. His head tilted towards you as he sat up slightly, closing the distance just enough to cup your face so gently. You couldn’t help but smile at the tenderness of his touch, considering what you two did. But what he said next ruined the sweet moment for you. 

“Would you let me clean you up, ma’am?” 

Now if it were anyone else, you’d think they wanted to help you clean yoursf up since you were sweaty, etc. But you knew Hyunjin, not for long, but from what you knew - he didn’t mean that - he just wanted to eat more pussy.

“Fuck no, you fucking incubus.”

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Authors notes: ok sooo the more I write about the dynamic the more I like it so I'm definitely writing a part 4 let me know if anyone's wants to get tagged but keep in mind that uni sucks rn and this specific series for some reason takes me a lot of time to write about idk if that makes sense it's just complicated in my mind so it might take a week or two! The person that wanted to be tagged: @yesalphadawn 💕

And he'd noticed. Noticed your tired eyes, your less frequent smiles, your body language. He had started doing little things for you. He had ordered your handmaidens to leave so he could prepare your bath for you, just so you don't get overwhelmed by 5-6 women swarming your bath. 

He'd wash your back and massage your neck. He'd brush and braid your hair. All the while, during certain moments you'd wished he'd massage lower. He never did. And I mean never. In his mind, the last thing you'd want after a long day would be his hands touching you far from appropriately. He thought you needed rest, the gentleman he is. All the while, you just needed to be fucked.

Well, at some point, he caught on. Your shoulders were tense, you were getting more snappy, etc. So he thought about what else he could do to help his wife. Now, Zuko isn't the smoothest person, but he sure is creative and adaptive. So what other way to get your mind off things than bringing you back to how you two met - on the ship where he first put the mask on to stay anonymous.

So you were lying in bed, you had finally drifted off to sleep since your husband had told you not to wait for him because he would be busy with the council until the late hours of the night. You were sleeping soundly in your satin gown that kept your body chill. You were deep in your slumber, so you didn't hear the door crack open. It wouldn't have alarmed you anyway; your guards wouldn't let anyone in at this hour except your husband. 

Zuko walked in sheepishly, nonetheless. His eyes traced your sleeping form as he started taking off the heavy adornments of his clothes. He stripped down to his white V-neck undershirt and his simple black pants. He quietly walked to a cupboard that stored all kinds of old things. He reached inside, and just as he hoped, he fished out the navy mask of the Blue Spirit. He turned it and looked at it fondly with a small smile. It signified his turn down the right path and the meeting of the love of life. 

He walked towards the bed, mask in hand, climbed on, and laid soft kisses against your neck. "Hey, sweetheart," he said in a low voice near your ear. You shifted but didn't wake up. He cooed at you quietly and caressed your face with the lightest touch. He leaned down again and started kissing all over your neck and collarbone. 

At a particularly ticklish spot, he was successful in making you wake up with a slight shudder. When he saw your eyes crack open while you were on your side, he put on the mask, and his hands quickly made their way to your thighs. You felt their warm touch as you woke up. The gentle soothing massage of his fingers made you let out a content sigh as your eyes finally focused on your husband's face.

“What are you doing?” you said with a smile on your face, almost giggling at seeing the mask in front of you. He shushed you gently, his hands continuing his caresses. “Wanted to surprise you, sweetheart, make you relax a bit more.. thoroughly.” You hummed pleasantly as you reached a finger to graze it against the mask, staring at your husband’s piercing golden eyes that seemed to shine even brighter in the dim light of your bedroom.

His hands lower on your body, your gown went higher just enough to expose your panties. He cupped your pussy through your underwear, his other hand still on your thigh, rubbing with his thumb. You bit your lip so as not to moan.

 “Why the mask th-” you were interrupted by the hitch of your own breath as the hardness of his middle finger pressed onto your clit more directly than you expected. “Just because, pretty girl. What can’t I excite my wife a bit?” You giggled, your face flush red with arousal and flustered by his gesture that - besides the sexual part - was adorable.

You felt his hands pull away from your body, and he spoke before you could whine. “I need you to lift your hands for me,” he told you in a soft voice that still left no place for argument. So you did, and he fished out from the pocket of his pants a soft but thick rope he had taken from god knows which craftsmen from the castle. Your eyes followed his movements as he grasped both your wrists in one hand and did a surprisingly good job of doing an actual handcuff knot around them.

Without wasting time after that, he lowered himself and started taking off your panties. 

The heavy silk of the restraints bit just slightly into your wrists as your fingers pressed against the dark wood of the headboard. Above you, the Fire Lord is a silhouette of imposing heat, his face obscured by the traditional mask. 

His hand slides down your inner thigh, the touch teasing and indulgent. “Just want you to enjoy yourself, sweetheart, want you to fall apart for me,” he said as he pushed his thick middle finger deep inside, stretching your walls with a slow, deliberate pressure that forced a sharp gasp from your lungs. You felt the blunt width of him filling you, the length and curve of his finger making you clench your walls.

“Look at how much you want it,” his voice rumbles behind the mask, muffled yet predatory. “So tight around me, you needed this, baby.”

His other hand he lifted to your mouth, cupping your jaw, and grazed your lips with his thumb. “Get it wet for me, love,” you immediately understood and tilted your head to take his thumb in your mouth. You wrapped your lips around his finger and wrapped your tongue around it as he continued his deep pumps with the big, long finger of his other hand. 

You hummed around his thumb and after a few seconds, he pulled it out. Only to lower it and spread your lips wide just so he could watch his own finger go in and out of you, your walls clamping down on it and following its movements slightly. “So pretty, so perfect of me,” he said, his voice rough behind the mask. His eyes were focused on your spread pussy and the fingers spreading you let go, and the thumb you worked to wet made contact with your clit. The touch was feather-like, not rubbing, just sliding over it repeatedly. It made you shudder because a few seconds had passed since he’d taken it out of your mouth, and the air made it seem freezing compared to your warm cunt.

He was panting at that point as well. I mean, you couldn’t blame him. His wife scrawled out withering and whimpering as her pussy wet his hands and her clit glistened like a pearl in the sea.

He curled his finger, hooking against your G spot with a rhythmic, punishing precision. Every thrust sends a jolt through your hips. You whined at the now-burning feeling on your clit. His touch was so light, but so agonizingly persistent. 

He added his ring finger, and you gasped. Not only because of the thickness you had to accommodate, but also at the feeling of his wedding ring hitting your entrance with every thrust. It felt so absurdly arousing to feel his wedding ring on your cutn while he stared at you through the mask he wore the night you met.

Your hips bucked against the mattress once he started pumping upward, catching that sweet, hidden knot of nerves. It sent sensations you could feel deep in your belly. The sheer girth of two fingers stretches you, the feeling bordering on a beautiful sort of pain.

He growled, leaning down so the edge of his mask brushes your heated cheek. He didn’t slow down even as you let high-pitched moans out; instead, he increased the depth, driving those thick digits in until their base thudded hard against your opening. “There you go, baby, that's it.” Your toes curl into the sheets, a moan from your throat as the tension coiled impossibly tight.

Your spine curved into a sharp arc, your pelvis lifted off the bed as the first tremors of release ripple through your thighs. The resistance in your limbs vanished, replaced by a heavy, liquid surrender; your shoulders dropped as your arms relaxed against the ropes. The stress was gone, leaving only the raw pulsating of your cunt.

“There she is,” he purrs, the rumble of his satisfied grin vibrating even through the mask. A violent contraction of your internal walls that clamps desperately around his hand.

Your vision swam in white heat, your muscles fluttered in rhythmic spasms as he continued to work through it, ensuring every ounce of your pleasure was wrung out of you.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

sub!Zuko

The chair was an intricate piece of dark wood that creaked every time the ropes that connected the back of the chair with his arms got pulled. The rope was a dark red, thick material that wrapped from his shoulders and chest to his wrists tightly making his deltoid and bicep muscles pop even more. His hair was messy, and he was panting even though you hadn't done much of anything to him. Your husband kept looking between you and his cock, which was pitifully drooling between his legs. The tip was slightly red and the precum that glazed it glistened in the dim light of the fireplace.

You, his pretty wife, who was standing with your back towards him, taking a cup of ice from a tray, in your silk, flowy robe. All you had done was kiss him earlier as you were tying him but the tension and his anticipation made the air in the room feel thick.

You turned and walked to him. With one hand you held onto the little bowl of ice, with the other you held his face by his jaw, lifted up towards you and stroked his chin sweetly. "You're twitchy, my love," you voiced your observation. Zuko let out a stuttering exhale, trying to use all his non-short-circuited neurons to speak. "I-I think it's gonna feel weird," he said with that boyish charm of his that came out when he was vulnerable. "Oh, I will make sure it feels good for you, sweet love," you leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth. His heart melted at his wife's sweetness. 

Slowly you started by keeping your hand in the ice bowl for a few seconds to get it nice and cold. Then you reached and grazed up the underside of his cock with two cold fingers. His thigh muscles immediately tightened as he gasped. He looked down, watching how his own cock twitched above his wife's icy fingers. "Shh," you said soothingly, stroking his thigh with your other hand.

Then you dipped your hand back in the ice. When you removed it you put the pointer and middle finger of your left hand on either side of his sensitive tip. He hissed, squeezing his eyes shut as you watched his abdominal muscles spasm. "Sensitive?" you asked with an amused smile. He didn't look up or open his eyes, just nodded and hummed in agreement. You continued your motion going up and down, jarring him off with only two fingers. When you go to his tip again you brush the still cold pad of your middle finger across his leaking tip, smearing precum. Your husband's eyes widened as he whimpered and his hips bucked up into your hand. "It feels like it's burning," he said panting, his mouth slightly ajar. "Since when have you been afraid of a little burn, hmm?"

He smiled lazily at your rhetorical question. You took that as a sigh and grabbed one ice cube from the bowl. "Sweetheart, I don't kno-" he started as he stared at your hand holding the cube threateningly close. You shushed him, reaching over and gliding your warm palm against his abdomen knowing he liked that. "Just look at me, baby," you said soothingly. He nodded dumbly, and it twisted your heart seeing how little it took for him to trust you.

You used your waterbending and molded the ice cube into half a circle. You slid it down the underside of his cock. He whimpered, his v line tightening as he bit his lower lip. His hips started to buck up. "Did you like it, baby?" you asked, pulling it away after a few seconds. He nods, "I don't know, I- keep going," he said, your husband's usual voice had become breathy slurry.

"Good." You knew he'd like it. Your husband, like every firebender, ran hot almost permanently. So you knew that the contrast between his skin and the ice would have him twitchy and shivering in no time.

You molded it into a full circle, the exact circumference of his girth. "Oh fuck..." he only said as he looked at the ice mold. You inched it closer, passed it over the bump of his head and immediately saw the straining of the rope against his skin. You continued until the ice ring was halfway down this length, then you lifted it up again but didn't take it off. It reached the tip and you pulled it down again. He let out a moan that sounded more indulgent than he previously let on. 

You did that a couple times and his breathing turned sporadic and deep. At that point you had only ever put the ice on him for a couple of seconds, so the first couple of times you thrusted it down his whole length had him reeling.

You expanded the ring a bit more with your bending so it would fit snuggly around the hilt of his cock and you left it there. "Sweetheart, i-it's a little tight," he said between whimpers. "It should be," you said, reaching for the bowl again and taking a new ice cube out. "Wh-" he started, "Honey." And he closed his mouth. 

You inched it closer , first to his stomach, right below his belly button. The muscle under the skin tensed instantly. "Oh you're just messing with me now," he whined. "Mhmm, and what about it?" You asked, smiling innocently at your poor husband. He sighed as his body shivered.

You raised the ice cube, letting it pass over the line between his abs, making his torso curl and the chair creak under the strength of the firelord. The ice left a wet trail that glistened in the light,  matching with that of his reddened cock. You moved it up further, lifting it to pass over the rope and enter his chest area. His breath caught as you circled it around one of his nipples. It hardened as his hips bucked up, searching for more friction than just the stationary icy ring. You passed the little ice cube over his nipple, making him whine. "Oh god, that feels so good, fuck," he panted.

You pointed up with your other hand and in an instant the ice ring on his cock started moving up. Then you pointed down and it went downwards effectively making your husband jerk his hips and let out a strangled moan. He tightened his jaw and he watched your finger go up and down while your other hand kept circling his nipple still. "Baby, I'm getting close, please," his hips stuttered. You stopped the movements of the ring, kept it in the air at a medium distance from him. "Go on then, my love, fuck up into it," you grazed his face with the same hand that was moving the ice mold until now. He whimpered at your sweet voice and wasted no time, thrusting his hips up, the lines of the rope pulling with his movements.

He gasped, whimpered, panted as he worked to get himself close. And he was getting close, so close. You smiled adoringly at your dear husband, humping the ring like a dog, getting himself to cum.

You took yet another ice cube. This time you put it in your mouth. You grabbed your husband's jaw and angled it. You kissed him deeply, gliding your tongue into his mouth, then pulling it away to slide the ice cube in. His thrusts continued as he whined into your mouth, surprised since he'd apparently not seen you put ice in your mouth. Once it was entirely in his mouth you pulled away and sucked on his bottom lip. "Are you gonna cum for me, baby?" You said when you noticed his hips were stuttering, his ears had gone red(firebender side-effect of being close), and his Adam's apple bobbed.

He nodded, his eyes squeezed shut. "Mhm, mgonna, yeah, I- oh fuck", he stuttered. You tangled your fingers in the back of his hair and pulled his head back. You leaned and bit right into your masochist of a husband who only took that as a push over the edge. He came with a strangled moan, his eyes rolling back, his back instinctively pulling on the ropes leaving red lines on his chest and arms. As red as the mark you left on his neck. His thick cum shot on the floor, some got on your thighs

He whimpered lowly as he calmed down, slowing down his thrusts. He looked at you with his head tilted as he panted heavily. Within a second you turned the ice ring straight into water and leaned to give him a toothachingly sweet kiss. "Did so good, my dear," you said when you pulled away. He took advantage of your proximity and leaning in, pressing his forehead against your shoulder smiling drunkenly.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

switch!Zuko?

Within 20 minutes, the girl left satisfied with the few ideas you'd given her and excited about the studio opening. Little did you know that the girl was a mutual friend of a certain someone.

In the next hour, this girl was walking when she bumped into one of her friends, Felix. Felix was one of the very few friends Hyunjin had in this university, and at that moment, they were walking together. The girl and Felix started chatting, and Hyunjin did the awkward stance of an introvert waiting for his extroverted friends to finish speaking with the 7th friend they've bumped into. As the conversation went on, Felix asked the girl what she was doing this weekend. She excitedly announced, "Oh, I wasn't gonna do much, but the Visual Culture TA told me about a pottery studio opening she's gonna check out, so I'll probably go."

Hyunjin locked in immediately. "A pottery studio?" He looked like he had just popped his head from behind Felix. "Why? You interested, dude?" asked Felix before the girl could answer, smiling at his friend who surprisingly spoke with such excitement. "Yeah, she said it's close to the 7/11 that's behind the Faculty of Education," the girl said absentmindedly. She didn't think much of it. Hyunjin was the one who thought a lot about it.

In fact, after that conversation was over, it was difficult for him not to think about it. He had your number now, he could text you, he could ask you to meet up again, to take you out. But he didn't. His mind was plagued by images of the night you spent together. Your words, your hands around his throat, your pussy wrapped and clenching around his cock. He had had sex before, but given his preferences in bed, his previous experiences weren't that memorable. But you. You made him realize how good sex could feel. Not only because in his eyes, you were gorgeous, and he was beyond attracted to you. But because you were two sides of the same coin in bed. He hadn't stopped thinking about that night, about you, about all the things he was surprised he had the balls to say while he was inside you. And the fact that you seemed to enjoy them. The sounds you made.

In short, he had spent most nights since then touching himself a medically concerning amount. The memories were just too much, and when he was alone in bed, his mind only filled with you, what else was he supposed to do? He'd wrap his hand tightly around his cock, trying to imitate the exact amount of pressure your pussy put around him. Whimpering little pleases and your name, the moment the memories would hit him like a train until his cock literally hurt.

So, no, considering what he had been doing, the man wasn't about to text "Hey girl wanna meet up". Especially because, above all, he didn’t think he had an actual chance with you, especially out of the bedroom. So his desperate ass did the next ‘‘logical’’ thing. 

When Saturday arrived, he got all dolled up. More than he did to go out with friends or on the weekend, but ma boy was on a mission.

He had made his hair extra fluffy because he noticed you liked that. Absolutely made the conscious decision to wear an open and lower-cut neckline to show his neck and collarbone. He made sure he smelled heavenly and layered perfumes that he only wore for special occasions. (In his head, this was a special occasion.)

And this man was 20 minutes early to the opening of the studio. Was it embarrassing to go to a studio about something he never really had an interest in because a woman he slept with once mentioned to somebody that she might go? Yes. He knew that much. But he was down to accept whatever humiliation if it meant you giving him a sliver of your attention.

The woman who was finishing the last touches to the décor outside looked up and saw him approach. "Oh, are you here for the opening?" She said, almost surprised, with a bright smile on her face. "I- yeah, I am actually," he said, politely but quietly. The woman was in her 50s, so she immediately started mothering him. "Where are you from, young man?" "Are you studying?" "What are you studying?" "How did you get into pottery?"

Mind you, with every question, he kept blushing more and more because he kept thinking about how this sweet, talkative lady was asking him questions because he'd been her first visitor; meanwhile, he's there because he hoped one day you choke him again.

As minutes passed, he found himself...also helping with the set-up? Oh yeah, he felt really bad about being a pervert. He was setting a plate of welcome cookies on a small table in the front, as the auntie had asked him, adjusting it a little, when he heard a voice behind him.

"Do you fucking work here?" You asked.

Not mad or rude, just surprised and very much amused. He recognized your voice immediately and spun on his heel to turn around and look at you. "Um, no, I just- I'm just helping out, I got here early," he said, glancing at his phone. He realized you were also early. Why?

"You got here early, so she employed you?" You asked, almost laughing as you took off your bag to set it down somewhere. He smiled and giggled while looking down awkwardly. "This is your new assistant?" He heard you joke as the owner appeared. She laughed and patted Hyunjin's shoulder, "Nope, just a decent young man."

The sheer willpower it took for you not to laugh at her calling him, of all people, decent would impress anyone who could understand. Hyunjin saw the irony in it too, considering his deep blush and his eyes being plastered on the ground. "Ah, yes, one of the few left."

‐--------------------------------------------------------------------

As time passed, he figured out two things. 

1. You knew the owner. Which wouldn't be a problem in itself. But it was since he had essentially laid out his whole life story when she was asking him questions before you arrived. Which meant that if he comes up in your conversation with her, he's fucked to say the least.

2. You had no interest in having a conversation with him

As the opening finally happened, there was a small crowd gathered- the owner's friends from college, a few pottery enthusiasts, local artists, etc. The girl that you recommended this to also showed up at some point, and you happily introduced her to the owner. Which had Hyunjin puzzled. He thought maybe you weren't really the social type, and you weren't a fan of too many pleasantries. He slowly realized you probably just weren't a fan of...him in general.

Yes, the realization hurt as he was left walking around the studio, people occasionally making small talk with him about the pots and mugs displayed. But still, he came here, put more effort into how he looked than he did at his prom, so he quietly hyped himself up to make a real effort to talk to you.

His eyes scanned the room, finding you in the corner, fortunately not talking to anybody, quietly reading the different glazing methods used for the ceramics. He approached you from the side, shyly greeting you.

"Hey," he said, his voice lower than the ground. You turned to him, gave him a tight little smile, and watched him melt in real time under your gaze.

"Hi," you said simply. That's the thing about you that always fascinated him. When he greeted people with short, curt words, it always came out awkward. But when you did, the effect was the exact opposite; it's like letting the room know you're confident enough to know you don't owe anybody anything, but nice enough to have standard decency.

"I didn't want things to be weird after that night..." he started, clearing his throat. "But I think I made them more awkward when I asked for your phone number," he let out a short laugh, hoping you'd find his demeanor endearing and praying you don't think he's just a creep. You did find it endearing, admittedly not enough to laugh, but enough to smile at his behavior. “It’s fine, maybe I shouldn’t have thrown you out so soon,” you tilted your head. “No, no, you didn’t throw me out, you…strongly suggested I leave,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. You giggled. “In any case, you didn’t know I was gonna be here for it to be weird. Plus, at this point, I think we are grown up enough for it not to be awkward,” you said matter-of-factly. He nodded. He should say something. He can’t just keep showing up where you were. He cleared his throat, mustering all the confidence he had.

“If that's the case…would you like to go grab something sweet after this?”

Oh shit. You put the little booklet you were still holding and turned to him. “Listen,” you started, and he wanted to die right then and there. Why would he think you’d say yes? How dumb could he be to think there was a chance he could spend time with you in any capacity, whether it be sex, a date, or even a conversation? Who was he t-

“Do you want to sleep with me again?” you said casually.

“What!?”

“What…?”

He stayed quiet, his brows lifted adorably. You turned entirely towards him. In the few days since the night you slept together, you seemingly forgot how fun it was to toy with him.

“Oh, sorry, it’s okay that you don't, don't w-” you said, trying not to smile.

“N-no, no, it’s not- I didn’t say that,” and then he went silent again.

You cocked an eyebrow. You kept playing with him, cuz why not?

“It’s okay if you're just not into the subby stuff, don’t worry,” you shrugged. He was, in fact, a sub. You knew that. It was painfully obvious he was a sub.

He blushed, twiddling with his thumbs as he looked down. “I didn’t say that either…” he murmured under his breath. All the confidence in him- abolished within a minute under your gaze. You leaned in towards him, your head tilting, looking into his eyes. “Then what exactly got your tail between your legs, sweetheart?”

He knew that voice. He knew that voice since it was the one he stroked his cock to every night since you slept together. And he almost fainted when he heard it. But he stayed silent, his brain short-circuited, and he had no idea what the right thing to say was. “Come on, use your words.”

He looked up. Oh my god. His eyes were starting to get teary, and his breathing was getting deeper. His was slightly ajar, soft lips looking like an invitation, but he stayed quiet.

_______________________________________

Not even 30 minutes later, he could feel the precum smearing against the inside of his underwear. He was breathing hard, his chest heaving, he was biting his lower lip, trying not to whimper as he kept his eyes pinned to the ground. He could bear looking into your eyes; it never ended with him not embarrassing himself. 

Especially since he was on his knees with his hands clasped behind his back, next to your coffee table, you in front of him, sitting on the couch with your legs crossed. You had a plate on the coffee table with cookies and brownies. A cup of tea sitting nestled in your hands. “Do you know the color system?” you asked carefully. “Y-yeah,” he responded quietly. You nodded, “Use it without doubt, okay?”

He nodded, feeling his heart tighten at your principality. You cleared your throat, “Tell me,” you commanded. “Isn’t this what you wanted, baby?” you said, referring to the things on the table.

He nodded without looking up. With every word you said, his cock pulsed. “Use your words.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said immediately, his voice shaky. Your hand reached out, you cupped his jaw, and lifted it. “You wanted to go grab something sweet.” With your other hand, you put down your mug and took a small piece of brownie from the plate, “Now look at me.” Your hand got closer to him, but his eyes trailed it. “Keep your eyes on me.” He immediately lifted his eyes back up to you and was greeted by your unwavering stare. 

His pupils were blown wide, swallowing the iris. He swallowed hard, the movement of his Adam's apple sharp and jagged in the dim light of the living room. He looked wrecked, his breathing shallow and hitched, as if the mere sight of you was draining the oxygen from his lungs.

"Please," he rasped, the word barely a breath. His gaze remained locked on yours, anchored by her command, even as his focus flickered desperately toward the dark, fudgy sweet held between your fingers. And, no, he didn’t know what he was begging for, but it didn’t take much for him to do so in your presence.

His hips gave a small, involuntary twitch forward, a silent plea for proximity. The tension in his thighs was palpable, muscles coiled tight as he fought the urge to lunge. He was a man starving, and you were holding the only feast that mattered. He waited, trembling, his entire existence narrowed down to the heat of your hand near his face and the command in your eyes.

“Open.” Your tone was quiet but sharp. It took less than a second for his jaw to hang low.

He obeyed instantly, his jaw unhinging to accommodate the morsel. As the rich, dark chocolate hit his tongue, he let out a muffled groan, the sound vibrating deep in his throat. The sweet was good, yeah, whatever, but it was the dynamic between you two that had him creaming his pants. The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife. The way you were acting with him was different compared to the passionate, messy hook-up last time. Now, this felt like something serious, like an arrangement was building between a sub and his dom that was final, that had weight. 

The warmth of the brownie seemed to ignite a different kind of hunger, one that had nothing to do with sugar.

His eyes never left yours, even as he worked the food. A small smear of chocolate clung to the corner of his lip, a dark contrast to his pale skin. He swallowed hard, the movement slow and deliberate, his throat working as he gulped down the sweetness. 

The silence in the room grew heavy, thick with the sound of his ragged breathing. He leaned in just a fraction, his forehead nearly brushing your knee, his gaze dropping momentarily to your mouth before snapping back to your eyes. He was panting, the sugar rush clashing with the ache in his groin. He looked desperate, his tongue darting out to lick the stray chocolate from his lip, his eyes pleading for more than just a treat.

“You wanted something sweet, didn’t you?” You lifted your brow in question, and you couldn’t help but smile a little at his dazed, pretty eyes staring back at you. He nodded like a puppy, “Y-eah,” his voice cracked, “Thank you, ma’am.” You hummed, looking him up and down and lifting your hand to pet his hair.

The sudden weight of your foot against his straining length forced a sharp, jagged hiss from between his teeth. His spine arched, his back bowing as he instinctively tried to press into the pressure rather than pull away. The sensation was a brutal, delicious friction; the soft arch of your foot mashed his pulsing heat against the hard fabric of his trousers, creating a dull, heavy ache that radiated straight to his core.

"God..." he breathed, his entire body shaking, his eyes fluttering shut for a split second before he forced them open to meet your gaze. His hands gripped his own thighs, knuckles turning white as he fought to remain still under your foot. The sheer contrast of your gentle hand stroking his hair and the heavy, insistent pressure between his legs sent his nervous system into a frenzy.

His breath came in short, uneven stabs, his chest heaving. The sweetness of the brownie was still a lingering hum on his tongue, but it was being rapidly overtaken by the metallic tang of arousal and the mounting tension in his pelvis. He felt vulnerable, pinned by your gaze and your limb, his body trembling with the effort of not lurching upward to catch your ankle. He was a coiled spring, waiting for the next command to either release him or break him.

The pressure of your foot shifted, grinding slightly against the sensitive head of his cock through the fabric. He let out a broken, high-pitched whimper, his head lulling back as his eyes squeezed shut. The sensation was too much; the friction was a beautiful torture that made his vision swim with white sparks.

"Please..." he choked out, the word trembling with a desperate, unrefined need. He leaned his forehead against your knee, his shoulders shaking as he fought the urge to grab her ankle and pull it harder against him. "Please, ma'am... please."

You leaned forward, your fingers still tangled in his hair, your voice dropping to a teasing, melodic lilt. "Please what, baby? You have to use your words. What is it you're begging for?"

The question hit him like a physical blow. His face flushed a deep, burning crimson, the heat spreading down his neck and into his chest. He was a man undone, reduced to a stuttering mess by your simple inquiry. He opened his mouth to answer, but the words died in his throat, replaced by a pathetic, needy whine. He couldn't say it; the sheer vulgarity of his desire felt too heavy. Instead, he shifted in place pathetically.

Your fingers clamped around his throat, not enough to choke, but enough to command his absolute attention. The sudden, firm grip forced his head back, exposing the vulnerable line of his neck. "Don’t do that, now," you murmured, your eyes piercing through his haze of lust. "Say the first thing that comes to your mind, sweet boy. Right now."

He almost groaned at the pleasure of feeling your hand around his throat again. The bluntness of the command stripped away his last shred of composure. His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird, and the heat in his cheeks felt like it might scald him. He was trembling so violently that his teeth nearly clattered together. He looked up at you, his eyes glassy and unfocused, his mouth hanging slightly open as he struggled to pull the thought from the depths of his desperation. 

"I..." he started, his voice cracking. He swallowed hard against your palm, the sensation of your skin against his windpipe sending a jolt of electricity down his spine. He closed his eyes, the image burned into his mind, the scent of your skin, the weight of you, the overwhelming sensation of being completely consumed by you.

"I want you to sit on my face," he gasped out, the words tumbling from his lips with a raw, unpolished urgency. You smiled wildly and leaned down.

The kiss was a sudden, overwhelming invasion. Your mouth crashed against his, deep and demanding, tasting of tea and the lingering sweetness of the brownie. As you leaned in, your grip on his throat tightened just enough to make his pulse thud wildly against your palm, a frantic rhythm that mirrored the pounding in his ears. He groaned into your mouth, his hands curled into fists and shaking uselessly on his thighs, terrified to touch you without permission but aching to pull you closer. The friction of your tongue against his was a delicious, dizzying chaos.

Just as the heat reached a fever pitch, you pulled away, leaving him gasping for air, his lips swollen and wet. The sudden absence of your warmth felt like a physical ache.

"Good boy," you murmured, your smile a predatory, beautiful thing. You released his throat, your fingers trailing down his jaw one last time before you stood. The command was simple, yet it carried the weight of an absolute law. "Lay down on the carpet."

He didn't hesitate. He scrambled back on his knees, his movements clumsy and frantic, driven by a desperate need to obey. He lowered himself onto the plush fibers of the rug, his chest heaving, his eyes fixed on you.

He scrambled to his feet, his hands trembling as he reached out toward you, desperate to assist, to peel the fabric away from your skin and worship you with his touch. He wanted to be the one to slide the hem of your shirt up, to feel the warmth of your waist beneath his palms. But the sharp, authoritative tilt of your head stopped him mid motion.

"Stay," you commanded, your voice low and steady.

The rejection of his service stung, but the command was too intoxicating to resist. He sank back onto the carpet, his limbs feeling heavy and uncoordinated, as if his muscles had turned to liquid. He lay flat on his back, his head resting against the floor, staring up at you with wide, hungry eyes. 

He watched, mesmerized, as you began to undress. Every movement was a slow, deliberate torture. The soft rustle of fabric sliding over skin sounded like thunder in the quiet room. He tracked the line of your hips, the curve of your waist, and the pale expanse of your skin as it was revealed to him. His breath hitched, coming in shallow, ragged gasps that made his chest ache. He felt small beneath her gaze.

You moved toward him with a slow, predatory grace, the air in the room thickening. When you finally descended, straddling his chest, the weight of your thighs pressing into his pectoral muscles made his heart lurch. He looked up at you, his vision blurred by the sheer intensity of your presence.

"Do you really want this?" you asked, your voice a velvet caress that demanded total honesty.

"Yes" he gasped, nodding so enthusiastically his head nearly thudded against the floor. "Yes, ma'am, please. Anything. Just…” he was already out of breath, ”please, sit on my face. Please." He reached up, his fingers twitching as if wanting to grasp your hips, but he kept them curled near his sides. "I've been a good boy, ma’am, I've been so good."

You leaned down, your hair cascading like a silken curtain, your eyes searching his. "And are you going to keep being a good boy?"

A low, broken moan escaped him, a sound of pure, unadulterated surrender. The friction of your heat against his chest was driving him to the brink of madness. "Yes," he whimpered.

His world narrowed down to the scent of your skin and your overwhelming heat. As you lowered yourself, the first contact of your wet, swollen folds against his lips made his entire body shudder. He didn't wait; he couldn't. The moment you settled, his mouth found you with a desperate, starving precision, his tongue lashing out to latch onto your clit.

A guttural, primal moan tore from his throat, muffled by your flesh. The taste was intoxicating, salty, sweet, and heavy with the musk of your arousal. He was drowning in you, and he loved it. As you began to move, the rhythmic friction of your hips grinding against his face sent jolts of electricity through his skull. He moved with you, his head tilting and swaying to meet every downward thrust, his tongue working with a frantic, rhythmic devotion.

"Mmmph... ma’am..." he whimpered against you, the sound vibrating through your entire core. Every time you sank deeper, his nose pressed into your soft skin, inhaling your essence as he tasted the slick evidence of your need. He was lost in the sensation of you, the wet sounds of your skin meeting his face filling his ears.

He stayed focused on your clitoris for several long moments, his tongue flickering with relentless, rhythmic precision. Each lap sent a fresh wave of tremors through your thighs, but his hunger was evolving. He shifted his angle, parting your folds with his tongue to drive it inward.

As he thrust his tongue deep into you, you let out a sharp gasp. He was thicker than you had anticipated, the broad, muscular surface of his tongue stretching your walls with a startling fullness. It felt incredibly hot, a sliding, fleshy intrusion that filled you entirely. The sensation was overwhelming, a combination of intense pressure and the velvety, wet friction of his movements.

Your back arched sharply, your spine curving like a bow as you sought to accommodate the pleasure. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, your nails catching in his skin as you rode the sensation. His tongue pumped inside you with a heavy, squelching rhythm that echoed in the quiet room. He let out a muffled, needy sound against you, his breath hot and damp against your inner thighs, as he explored the tight, pulsing heat of your interior.

Seeking stability amidst the tidal wave of sensation, you reached behind you, your fingers fumbling until they hooked firmly into the leather of his belt. You used him as an anchor, pulling yourself tighter against his face. With a low, determined hum, you arched your torso backward, shifting your center of gravity to maximize the contact.

You began to move in slow, indulgent waves, your hips rolling in a circular, grinding motion that smeared your slickness across his cheeks and chin. It was a continuous, heavy friction that massaged his entire mouth and nose with your most sensitive parts. The sensation of your pussy sliding over his lips, the constant, wet pressure of your grinding against his tongue, drove him into a state of sensory overload.

He let out a series of long, low moans that vibrated directly into your pelvic bone, the sound thick with a mixture of worship and desperation. His hands flew to your hips, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh there to help guide them, though he was mostly just trying to stay grounded. Every time you rolled your hips, the squelching, visceral sound of your bodies meeting filled his ears.

His moans were no longer controlled; they were raw, animalistic sounds that bubbled up from his chest every time you ground your weight into his mouth. He was grinding up into nothing, shaking with need. 

Between the heavy, wet thrusts of his tongue, he managed to squeeze out broken fragments of praise. "God, fuck... yes- love it…”  amongst the unholy sounds of arousal, “love how you use me..." he gasped, his voice thick and distorted by the moisture. "Love being y-your toy..."

The validation seemed to fuel you. You increased the tempo, your hips moving with a fierce, punishing intensity. The wave-like motions became sharper, more frantic, the friction generating a searing heat that made his skin flush. The sound of your wetness, the slapping squelch of your folds against his face, was deafening in his ears, a siren song of pure hedonism.

His composure was finally shattered. His fingers, previously tentative, suddenly clamped onto the flare of your hips with bruising strength. His knuckles were white, his grip iron tight as he anchored you to him, reaching for the very force that was destroying him. He tilted his head back slightly, trying to take more of you in, his breath hitching in a series of panicked, shallow stabs.

"I'm- please... I'm close," he choked out, his voice a fractured wreck of its former self. His grip on your hips was frantic, his thumbs digging into your skin as his entire frame shuddered with the onset of a climax. His eyes were rolled back as he neared the edge.

"Hold it," you commanded, your voice cool, followed by a long moan. You didn't slow your pace; instead,  you ground harder, your hips performing a ruthless, circular motion that denied him any reprieve. "Don't you dare let go until I tell you."

"Please, ma'am, please," he sobbed, the request breaking into a series of desperate, stuttering whimpers. He was losing the ability to form coherent thoughts, his brain reduced to a singular, throbbing point of sensation. 

Beneath your inner thighs, you felt a sudden, hot bloom of moisture- between his face and your skin- he had begun to cry, his cheeks were red, and the lower half of his face was soaked. The sensation of his release fighting against her command sent him over the edge of sanity. 

The world exploded in a violent pulsing. As your orgasm crested, your internal muscles clamped down on his tongue that felt like a thousand tiny, electric contractions. He let out a strangled, muffled loud moan against you, his hands trembling violently as they gripped your thighs, his fingers digging into your soft skin to keep from falling apart. He was caught in the crossfire of your pleasure, his tongue buried deep in your heat as you bucked against his face, your cries echoing in the small space between you two.

Slowly, the frenetic energy began to ebb. You slumped forward, your chest heaving as you fought for air, your breath coming in ragged, exhausted pants. Even as you calmed, your anatomy betrayed you, your walls continuing to twitch and clench rhythmically around his tongue in the aftershocks of your climax.

In the hazy, post orgasmic fog, your hands wandered blindly downward, seeking purchase. Your palm slid over the heated skin of his chest before brushing against the fabric of his trousers. He froze. Beneath your touch, the cotton was heavy, sodden, and steaming with a concentrated patch of warmth. 

His eyes snapped open, wide and brimming with more tears. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, ma’am, I couldn’t.”

The air in the room turned frigid despite the lingering heat of their bodies. Your voice was a razor, slicing through the blissful, post-orgasm haze that had begun to settle over him. He felt your weight lift, a sudden, jarring emptiness where your warmth had been, leaving him feeling exposed and shivering on the carpet.

"You make me feel good," you murmured, your tone deceptively soft, "now you think you can do whatever you want?"

He trembled violently, his muscles twitching with a mix of residual pleasure and sudden, sharp dread. He looked up at you, his face flushed and messy, his lips swollen and glistening with your juices. He wanted to apologize, to beg for forgiveness, but the words were stuck in his throat, choked by the sheer intimidation of your gaze.

"And just as I was about to call you a good boy..." you paused, letting the silence hang, heavy and suffocating. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic, panicked drumbeat that he was certain you could hear.

Without another word, you stood, your silhouette tall and commanding against the dim light. "Bedroom. Now." He didn't dare speak. He scrambled to his feet.

He had already begun to sink toward the mattress. But the sharpness of your voice acted like a whip, snapping him upright mid motion. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Unlike your usual measured command, it hit him like a physical slap. He froze, one knee halfway to the duvet, his breath hitching in his throat. He felt small, foolish, and utterly caught. The shame of his premature release burned hotter in his cheeks than the pleasure ever had. But being bad had never felt so fucking good.

"On your knees in front of the mirror, right now," you directed. Your eyes pointed sharply toward the floor length mirror standing against the far wall.

He moved with the stiff, jerky motions of a man walking toward a gallows. His legs felt heavy, his knees hitting the hardwood floor with a dull thud in front of the glass. He stared at his reflection a disheveled, sweating, wide eyed mess with a visible, damp stain darkening his trousers. This man was exactly where he wanted to be.

The coolness of your skin against his back was a stark contrast to the feverish heat radiating from his own body. As you knelt behind him, your chin resting heavily on his shoulder, he could see your eyes in the mirror, watchful and entirely unimpressed by his lack of discipline.

"You like cumming your brains out, huh?" you whispered, your breath tickling his earlobe.

Before he could stammer out a defense, he felt your hands reach around him. Your fingers were deft and merciless as you unfastened his waistband and slid his aching, semi-erect cock free from the damp fabric. The sudden exposure to the cool air made him gasp, his hips jerking involuntarily.

"Let's see how many you can give me in a row," you murmured.

The sheer audacity of the challenge made his head spin. He felt a wave of dizziness wash over him, his stomach flipping as the reality of your intent sank in. He had barely recovered from the first, and you were already demanding a marathon of endurance. 

Then, you began to stroke him. Your grip was firm, your palm got slick quick, and the friction was immediate and punishing.

The tightness of your fist was a crushing, perfect pressure that felt far more intense than his own frantic hands ever could. He let out a loud, broken whimper, his head lulling back against your shoulder as the sensation surged through him. His Adam’s apple glistening, contoured in the dim light. He was already teetering on the edge, his body far too sensitized to handle such a direct, unrelenting assault.

"S-sorry... Ma'am, I’m so sorry..." he sobbed, the apologies tumbling out in a frantic, stuttering stream. He was a mess of contradictions, aching for the friction while simultaneously terrified of the punishment it would bring. "I didn't mean to... please, it just... it happened so fast..."

His hips bucked against your hand, his entire body tensing into a rigid, trembling line. The visual of himself in the mirror, seeing his own desperate expression and the way his cock strained within your grip, only served to accelerate the inevitable. He felt the familiar build-up in his gut, a pressure so immense it felt like it might split him open.

With a final, strangled cry of your name, he broke. He came hard, his body convulsing as he spilled himself across his own stomach, your hand, and the floor.

"Oh, look how much you're cumming, even though you already did once," you mused, your voice dripping with a cruel, honeyed amusement. You didn't stop the motion; you simply watched the thick, pearly fluid coat your fingers and his skin, your eyes tracking every drop in the mirror. "You must be used to cumming a lot."

The degradation hit him harder than the physical sensation. It was a psychological lash that stripped away his dignity, leaving him raw and exposed. Instead of shrinking, however, his body betrayed him; the intensity of the shame sent a fresh, violent surge of blood to his groin. Despite the exhaustion, despite the soreness, he felt himself thickening, hardening painfully under your hand once more.

"Is that what you do every night?" you continued, leaning closer so your lips brushed his ear, your voice a whisper. "Fist your cock until it's sore?"

A sob caught in his throat, and his eyes welled with hot, stinging tears. The accuracy of your words was a serrated blade. He thought of the desperate, repetitive friction of his own hand in the dark, the mindless pursuit of a release that never quite satisfied. His mind was plagued with images of you, sounds of your voice, the glistening of your cunt.

You didn't allow him a second to mourn his pride. Without a moment's hesitation, you tightened your fist around his length, the sudden, crushing pressure forcing a strangled, high-pitched moan from his lungs. He felt like he was being squeezed between two worlds, the exquisite agony of the friction and the crushing weight of your judgment.

"Please, not more, ma'am... please..." he begged, his voice a pathetic, watery rasp. He was trembling so violently that his teeth clicked together.

You slowed down. “Color?” you asked carefully. His breath caught bu the couldn’t stop his whimpers. “G-green, fuck so fucking green,” he said, panting, making your smile from ear to ear.

Your strokes became faster, rougher, stripping away any remaining gentleness. You weren't coddling him; you were working him, treating his body like a tool meant solely for your entertainment. As you pumped him, you leaned in, your lips pressing hot, biting kisses into the crook of his shoulder, your teeth grazing his skin just enough to leave a mark.

"You think I don't notice how you get harder when I'm mean to you?" you whispered, your voice a sultry, mocking purr. "You're such a pervert, baby, aren't you?"

The nod was frantic, a desperate affirmation of the truth you had laid bare. He couldn't deny it; the shame was the very fuel that kept his pulse racing. He felt the heat of your breath on his neck, the friction of your hand becoming a blur of sensation that pushed him toward another climax.

"I'm a pervert... I'm dirty, ma'am," he gasped, the words stumbling out of him as his hips began to jerk in an involuntary dance against your palm. Tears finally spilled over, hot tracks running down his cheeks again and blurring his vision in the mirror. "I deserve... to be punished,” he whimpered. ”Please, punish me..."

He was spiraling, his mind a chaotic swirl of your mocking laughter and the intense, localized ache in his groin. The buildup was different this time, sharper, more jagged, fueled by the psychological sting of your words. His breath came in short, panicked hitches, and his entire body felt wound tight like a spring ready to snap.

Every quick, rough stroke she delivered felt like a lightning strike to his nerves. He could feel the pressure building in his loins, a heavy, throbbing weight that demanded release. He was right there.

A low, predatory hum vibrated in your chest, followed by the sharp, sudden sting of your teeth sinking into the tender meat of his neck. He let out a long, broken groan, his head lulling sideways as he surrendered to the bite. The pain was a grounding wire in the sea of pleasure, anchoring him to the reality of your control.

"You touch yourself often, sweet boy?" you asked, your voice a silky thread of interrogation. You didn't slow your hand; if anything, the rhythm became more punishing, more relentless.

The question cracked his fragile composure entirely. A sob tore from his throat, a raw, ugly sound of pure confession. "Y-yeah," he blubbered, his voice hitching as he struggled to breathe through the tears. "I do... it has been getting even worse since we fucked-"

The sudden shift in your energy was instantaneous. The friction of your hand stopped dead, the sudden stillness more jarring than the movement had been. He felt your entire body tense behind him.

"You what?" she clipped, her voice dropping an octave, losing all its playful mockery and replacing it with a dangerous, sharpened edge. He nodded shamelessly, “Just- I’ve- I’ve had sex before but-” he whined, frustrated as his hips thrusted forwards inside your fist, letting you feel the veins on the side of his length and the bump at the beginning of his tip. “But nobody didn’t what you did,” he panted, “treated me the way you did.”

The tension in the air shifted from punitive to possessive. You didn't pull away; instead, she leaned in closer, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. "Good boy," you murmured, the praise a warm balm against the sting of your earlier words. "I like it when you're dirty. It makes you so much more fun to break."

You resumed the stroking, but the rhythm had changed; it was heavier now, more purposeful. As your right hand worked his length, your left hand wandered downward, your long nails raking deliberately, sharply, across the taut muscles of his abdomen. The sensation of those tiny, stinging crescents dragging over his skin sent a violent shudder through his entire frame, a jolt of pure electricity that made his toes curl against the floor.

"Oh god, m-ma’am!" he cried out, a broken, soaring moan that echoed in the quiet bedroom. 

The dual stimulation of the friction below and the sharp, teasing scratches above was too much for his overstimulated nerves to bear. He was a man pushed past his limit, his body acting on pure, unadulterated reflex. His hips bucked upward, his spine arching so hard it felt like it might snap.

He came again with whimpers that sounded almost painful. Because they were, andhe loved it.

One moment, he was kneeling, trembling and spent, and the next, the world tilted as you pushed him down onto the mattress. He landed with a soft huff, his breath knocked out of him, only to have your weight settle firmly over his hips. You straddled him, your thighs pinning his legs, your gaze locking onto his with an intensity that made him feel utterly captured.

"You're gonna fuck me now," she commanded, her voice a low, velvet ultimatum. "You're gonna make me cum, and you're not gonna cum. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am," he whispered, his voice a submissive, breathless wreck. He nodded fervently, his eyes wide and fixated on you, his heart hammering frantic against his ribs. He was terrified, exhilarated, and desperately ready to serve you.

He watched, confused, as you reached toward the window. Your fingers curled around the curtain pullbacks, thick, heavy lines of fabric. Before he could process the movement, you leaned over him, your shadow eclipsing his vision. He felt the cool, textured cord wrap around his head, and then, darkness. The world vanished, and with it, his will to ever have vanilla sex again.

The darkness of the blindfold heightened every other sense until he was hyper aware of the friction of the sheets and the heavy, humid scent of your skin. He felt the staggering heat as you lined yourself up, the wet, swollen slit of your pussy pressing against the head of his cock. With a desperate, instinctive lunge, he thrust upward, burying himself deep within your warmth.

He began to move, his hips working in a frantic and uncoordinated manner. He was chasing the ghost of his previous releases, his body driven by a primal need to satisfy you. Your hands landed on his shoulders, your fingers digging into his muscles to anchor yourself as you rode the impact of his thrusts.

"Faster," you commanded, your voice a sharp crack in the dark. But he was lost in the sensation, his movements sluggish and heavy with the weight of his recent climaxes. He was trying to savor the feeling, to linger in the stretch of your walls, failing to heed your tone.

CRACK.

The sting of your palm against his cheek was sudden and sharp, a bright flash of pain that cut through the haze. He let out a high, shameful moan, a sound so needy and uninhibited it should have embarrassed him.

The sting of the slap acted like a shot of adrenaline, snapping his focus into a razor sharp point. His hips transformed, the sluggishness vanishing as he began to hammer into you with a ferocious, desperate speed. The sound in the room changed instantly the soft sliding of skin was replaced by the heavy slap slap slap of your pelvises colliding, a wet, visceral percussion that echoed off the walls.

"I'll make you cum, ma'am, I can make you cum" he chanted, his voice a frantic, breathless litany. He was worshipping you, his entire existence dedicated to the goal of your release. Every thrust was a prayer, a violent attempt to drive you over the edge.

His breath came in ragged, sobbing gasps. The blindfold made the sensation of your internal walls gripping him feel ten times more intense, a crushing, velvet heat that threatened to undo him with every lunge.

"Please... please cum around my cock, ma'am," he pleaded, his voice cracking with a raw, unrefined hunger.

The rhythm became frantic, a desperate race toward the finish. He felt your change, a subtle tightening of your thighs around his waist, a sudden, sharp intake of breath that signaled the end of your restraint. Within three more powerful, lunging thrusts, you broke.

Your internal muscles seized, clamping onto his cock with a violent, rhythmic ferocity that felt like a dozen tiny hands squeezing him all at once. You let out a long, harrowing moan, your voice breaking as you cried his name into the quiet of the room. The sensation of your orgasm was overwhelming; the walls of your pussy spasmed in a series of intense, milking contractions that seemed to pull the very soul out of him.

“Ma'am," he sobbed, the sound torn from his lungs. The sheer, crushing tightness of your climax was almost too much to bear. He felt like he was being swallowed whole by your heat. He gripped your hips so hard his knuckles went white, his body trembling with the effort of staying upright as your waves of pleasure crashed over him.

He was drowning in you, his vision swimming behind the fabric of the blindfold. The wet, slapping sounds of their bodies intensified, a frantic crescendo of friction.

The frantic, heavy atmosphere of the room slowly dissolved, replaced by a profound, ringing silence. As the echoes of your cries faded and the violent spasms of your body subsided into soft, rhythmic tremors, you reached up. Your fingers worked deftly at the knot of the fabric, untying the makeshift blindfold and lifting it away.

Light flooded back into his vision, though it felt too bright, too sharp after the darkness. He blinked, his eyes red-rimmed and heavy with tears, looking up at you with a vulnerability that was almost painful to witness. He looked thoroughly wrecked, with hair matted with sweat, skin flushed, and his chest still heaving with the remnants of his exertion.

Without a word, he sat up, his movements slow and heavy. He didn't reach for himself or try to reclaim his dignity; instead, he reached for you. He sat up, pulled you close, curling his arms around your waist and tucking his head into the crook of your neck, holding you as if you were the only solid thing in a world that had just spun out of control.

You shifted, settling your weight against him, your hands finding the nape of his neck. When they finally pulled back just enough to look at one another.

The heavy, languid weight of your shared exhaustion made every movement feel like you two were wading through honey. You stumbled out of the tangle of limbs on the floor, your bodies uncoordinated and weak, skin still tacky with sweat and the cooling traces of your passion. There was no grace in your ascent, only a mutual, silent gravitation toward the sanctuary of the mattress.

You tumbled onto the bed in a clumsy heap of limbs, the soft duvet rising to meet you. The air was still thick with the scent of sex and the fading heat of your bodies, but the tension that had defined the last hour had evaporated, replaced by a profound, peaceful intimacy. 

As you settled, you found yourself staring into each other's eyes. In the dim light, the predatory glint in your gaze had softened into something infinitely tender, and the frantic, desperate hunger in his had smoothed into a quiet, contented adoration. A small, sleepy smile tugged at the corners of your mouths. 

Without needing to say a word, you drifted toward each other. He pulled you close, his chin resting atop your head, while you tucked your face into the hollow of his chest. Within seconds, sleep took over.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Author's note: way more people than I expected asked for a part 2 so here it is I hope yall like it(I know I did)

HERES PT3 💗

They started walking with their hands held together. “This is nice,” she dared to say quietly. Coincidentally, he was looking at her at exactly that moment, and the way her cheeks got dusted with some pink made him smile like an idiot, ear to ear, nodding enthusiastically, ”Definitely.”

“Would you like me to drive?” he asked gentlemanly as he felt her let go of his hand to get her keys out of her bag as they approached her car. 

"I'm driving," she said quickly, dangling the keys to her sleek, matte-black porsche.

"Of course," he rasped and walked with her to her seat to open the driver’s door, but not before laying a light kiss on her knuckles. He slid into the passenger seat as she started the engine.

The city unfolded around them in streaks of gold and steel as she pulled out of the parking lot, the low hum of the engine settling into something steady and controlled—much like her.

Actually, unlike her. Unlike her, in the way her fingers tightened ever so slightly around the wheel whenever she caught him looking at her. Hyunjin didn’t even try to hide it. He sat almost turned toward her in his seat, one arm resting against the door, legs spread, his head tilted just enough to watch her like she was something playing on a screen only he could see. It wasn’t invasive, not in the way she was used to being observed. It was reverent, and that made it worse.

“You’re distracting me, what if I crash?” she said after a few minutes, her tone light, though her grip on the wheel told a different story.

“I trust you,” he replied immediately. 

She let out a quiet scoff, eyes still fixed on the road. “That’s not the point.”

“It is,” he murmured, his voice soft but certain. “It’s entirely the point.”

Her jaw flexed slightly as she exhaled through her nose, trying—and failing—to suppress the smile threatening to surface. “You’ve been staring at me.”

“I know.”

“You do it a lot.”

“…and?”

“And I missed you.”

That did it. Her foot eased off the accelerator just slightly—not enough to be noticeable to anyone else, but enough for him to feel the shift.

“We talked earlier,” she said, her voice softer now. He shook his head, his gaze never leaving her. He hummed, nothing else. “And we went out,” she added.

“That wasn’t like this.”

She didn’t ask him to explain because she didn’t trust herself to keep her composure if he did. Besides, she knew what he meant. In the short amount of time they knew each other, she recognized that tone- he knew it was evident that what was going on between them couldn’t be pushed aside any longer. It never could; it was just them trying to fool themselves in the beginning.

Instead, she changed lanes smoothly as the city began to thin out around them. The towering buildings gave way to quieter streets, softer lighting, and a kind of silence that felt more private. It was the kind of quiet that made everything between them feel louder.

“Hyunjin.”

“Yeah?”

“It was a lot.”

The words lingered in the car, fragile but heavy. He straightened slightly, the weight of them settling into his chest. “The sketchbook?”

“Yes.”

There was a pause before he spoke again. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” she cut in gently. “That’s exactly why it was fucking terrifying.” He went quiet after that.

She pulled into the underground parking of her building, guiding the car into its usual spot with practiced precision. When the engine cut, the silence that followed felt different—no longer filled with motion, but with something waiting. Neither of them moved to get out.

“I’ve built my entire life on routine, you know, familiarity,” she continued, her voice quieter now, more stripped down than he’d ever heard it. “I rely on knowing exactly what something is worth, what it does, and where it fits.” He watched her carefully, taking in the subtle shifts in her expression.

“And then you,” she exhaled, her fingers tapping lightly against the steering wheel, “you handed me something I couldn’t quantify.” He leaned back slightly, giving her the space to keep going.

“You saw things I didn’t know people could see from the beginning,” she said. A small, breathy laugh escaped her, “I don't wanna make this sappy, but-”

“You even paid attention to the way I sit,” she scoffed after saying that. He smiled faintly at that. “And you turned it into something beautiful, so it- I mean it was beautiful in its entirety, just- a lot,” she finished. A quiet pause followed.

“I was scared you’d hate it,” he admitted. She turned to look at him then, really look at him. “I could never hate something that came from you like that.” The way he looked at her in response wasn’t overwhelming or dramatic. It was quiet, grounded, and full of something steady that made her chest tighten.

“Come upstairs,” she said softly.

Her apartment welcomed them in with dim lighting and a kind of intentional silence that felt warm rather than empty. The space was curated but lived-in. Soft fabrics, warm wood, and clean lines gave it structure, but small details—an open book, a half-used candle, a silk throw carelessly draped over the couch—made it unmistakably hers. Hyunjin took it all in slowly, thinking back to the night after the ball. He bent down to glide his hand over her cat- the one he thought she had been cheating on with him. The thought of how dramatic that was made him blush and smile while petting the unexplainably large cat on the couch.

“The place smells like you,” he said without thinking. She paused mid-step and glanced back at him with a raised brow. “And what exactly does that mean?” He hesitated for a moment before answering. “Expensive… and warm.” A quiet laugh slipped past her lips as she kicked off her heels near the entrance. “That’s a dangerous combination.”

“I noticed.”

The tension between them curled again, softer now but still present. She moved toward the kitchen without another word, retrieving a bottle of white wine and two glasses with practiced ease. 

“Sit,” she said, nodding toward the living area. He obeyed, though his gaze followed her the entire time. She moved with the controlled precision she always had, just less guarded. When she returned and handed him a glass, she settled onto the couch across from him, creating just enough distance to keep things balanced.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The quiet clink of glass filled the space as they took their first sip. Then she leaned back slightly and asked, “Sooo, when d- you know, like, at what point-” she sighed, defeated.

He didn’t need clarification, but he still wanted to tease, “Are you getting a little nervous?” He giggled at his own teasing while she rolled her eyes with a smile. “Oh, shut up, it's just awkward to talk about stuff like that.” He tilted his head, “It is?” She laughed at his genuine confusion, “Hell yeah, it is,” she exclaimed, making him laugh. “…for me at least.”

“The warehouse,” he answered immediately. “Huh?”

“What, you thought only you could see through people?” She shook her head, “Fair enough, but-” she interrupted herself.

Her lips curved faintly. “That early?”

“You walked in like you own the place,” he said, his eyes steady on hers.

“I do..?”

They both laughed. “That’s not how I meant it, but, like, then you stood in front of me and talked about art like it actually mattered.”

“It does matter.”

“I know,” he replied softly. “That’s why it stayed with me.” She studied him for a moment before asking, “And what about you? When did it start for me?” 

“The balcony,” she answered after a beat. “You weren’t performing. You weren’t trying to be anything. You were just… there.” He smiled slightly. “That’s usually when people forget I exist.”

“I didn’t,” she said simply. The silence that followed wasn’t empty anymore; it felt full of something unspoken but understood. “You make it very hard to stay detached,” she admitted quietly.

“Good, I’d hate that,” he said, perhaps a little too quickly. Her eyes flickered with amusement. He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping just enough to shift the air between them. “I don’t want you detached from me.”

The honesty of it landed heavily, but not uncomfortably. “You say things like that too easily,” she said. “I don’t,” he replied. “Only with you.”

She didn’t respond right away. Instead, she set her glass down and said softly, “Come here.” He moved without hesitation, settling beside her close enough for their knees to brush. He lay his hand across the back of the couch as she leaned into him. For a moment, they just looked at each other.

“You’re looking at me like you’re about to memorize my face,” she murmured. “I have.” She exhaled with a hum, and he felt it on his skin.

“You already have enough references,” she tried, though her voice had softened.

“Not like this,” he said. “Not when you’re looking at me like you want me back.”

That was what broke the last bit of distance between them. Her hand lifted, brushing along his jaw slowly and deliberately.

“You have me,” she said quietly.

He exhaled, like he’d been holding that breath for far too long. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

When he leaned in to kiss her, it wasn’t rushed or desperate. It was steady, warm, and certain. When their lips collided, it felt final, deepened quickly. His hand came up to cradle her neck while hers slipped into his hair, pulling him closer as if she needed to confirm he was real.

He kissed her like he already knew her his whole life, like every sketch and every moment had led to this. When they pulled back, they didn’t go far.

 That made something in her chest shift. “I don’t know how to do this,” she admitted.

“Neither do I,” he said. She let out a quiet laugh. “That’s reassuring.”

“But I know I don’t want to stop,” he added. She stilled. “Neither do I.”

This time, the silence felt like a choice rather than hesitation. She leaned in first.

And when he kissed her again, deeper now, more certain, the tension between them didn’t disappear—it settled into something steady and alive.

When they finally pulled apart, she rested her head lightly against his shoulder, her hand still curled in the fabric of his flannel.

“Jesus christ, you’re trouble,” she whispered, her eyes scanning his features.

He smiled softly. “You like trouble.”

She shook her head dramatically, “I like control.” 

His hand tightened slightly at her waist. “You still have it.”

Her gaze flickered. “Do I?”

“Absolutely,” he leaned in again, going straight for a French kiss. “Show me,” he murmured when he pulled away for a second. “Show me the control you have over me,” his voice low as he curled his hands around her thighs. His fingers flexed over her flesh before lifting her on his lap, straddling him.

She cupped the side of his face, slowly grazing his jawline with her thumb as she hummed into the kiss. 

“This is new,” she murmured when she pulled away, his lips following her. He pressed a soft kiss to her hair. “Yeah, it is.”

“Don’t ruin it,” she added quietly. He smiled. “I won’t.”

She tilted her head down to look at him again, her expression still sharp despite the softness in her arched back.

“No dramatic spirals in practice rooms without telling me,” she said. He winced slightly. “It wasn’t that bad, was it?”

“Looked bad enough to me.” He nodded, serious now. “Okay.”

“And I’ll try not to mess with you like that again.”

His brows lifted slightly. “Try?”

She rolled her eyes, though there was a smile there. “Don’t push it.”

He leaned in, brushing his nose lightly against hers. “I like it when you push a little.”

She held his gaze for a long moment before smiling back.

And somewhere between the quiet of her apartment, the half-finished glasses of wine, and the way their hands found each other again without thinking— something settled into place.

It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t finished, but it was real.

And for the first time, it belonged to both of them.

The apartment had settled into a quiet that didn’t feel empty anymore, just full. The kind that lingered after something important had been said, even if neither of them could quite put it into words yet. She shifted first.

Not far—just enough to slide off his lap, her hands trailing briefly along his shoulders as she stood. There was no urgency in it, no awkwardness. Just a soft repositioning, like they were both learning the shape of this new space between them. He watched her go, his gaze following without thinking as she moved toward the kitchen.

Not staring in the way he had been earlier—intense, consuming—but something quieter now. Familiar already, somehow. She didn’t tell him to follow. He did anyway.

---

The kitchen light spilled warm across the countertops as she opened the fridge, pulling things out with a kind of absent focus. Cheese. Fruit. A small jar of honey. It wasn’t planned—it didn’t feel like anything she had decided to do. Just something to fill the space, to ground herself.

Hyunjin leaned against the counter across from her, close enough to be there, not close enough to interrupt. His presence didn’t feel like pressure anymore. It felt placed. Like he belonged in the frame.

She moved with the same precision she always had, but it had softened at the edges, calmer. Strawberries sliced cleanly, lined up without her even realizing she was making them look perfect. He reached out at one point, quietly taking a grape from the edge of the counter. She noticed. Didn’t stop him.

Their movements began to overlap after that. Not coordinated, not spoken—but instinctive. He rinsed what she set aside. She shifted things closer when he reached for them. Their hands brushed once, twice, neither of them pulling away too quickly, neither commenting on it. The silence between them wasn’t heavy anymore. It was lived-in.

---

By the time the board came together, it looked like something deliberate, though neither of them had said much while making it. She stood there for a second, looking at it like she was assessing it out of habit.

“Pretty,” she said, smiling at the pretty fruit sliced up and the cheese Hyunjin cut into shapes. She picked it up. He took it without asking, their fingers brushing again in the exchange. This time, she didn’t move her hand right away. Neither did he. Then it passed, naturally, without tension.

---

The living room felt different when they came back. Softer. Not hers. Theirs.

He set the board down on the coffee table, adjusting it slightly. She disappeared down the hallway without explanation, and he didn’t question it. He let himself sink back into the couch instead, his body finally catching up to the day—the exhaustion, the adrenaline, the emotional weight of everything that had just happened. His head tilted back slightly, eyes drifting toward the ceiling for a moment.

Then toward the hallway.

Waiting.

Not impatient.

Just aware of her absence.

---

When she came back, she had changed into something loose, something that didn’t hold her posture the same way. The sharp lines were gone. There was no pause; she unfolded a fluffy blanket and sank next to him. She laid the blanket on their laps and took their wine glasses. Hyunjin leaned and took the charcuterie board to put it in his lap.

No announcement.

Just the quiet shift of fabric, softer footsteps against the floor.

She looked like herself, but unguarded. And somehow, that was more striking than anything else. He didn’t say anything, just watched. Not with the intensity from before, not with that aching need to be seen back—but something steadier.

----------------------------------------

The TV flickered on eventually, casting a low glow across the room. Neither of them paid much attention to what was playing. The sound filled the space, but it wasn’t what held it together.

She reached forward at some point, picking at the board absentmindedly, her movements slower now. He followed, taking something for himself, their rhythm falling into something easy.

Then her shoulder leaned slightly into his, just enough to test it. He didn’t move away. So she didn’t either.

---

Time stretched in a way that didn’t feel measurable. The kind where moments didn’t stack neatly, but blurred together—small shifts, quiet adjustments, the slow building of something that didn’t need to be rushed. His arm moved eventually, settled along the back of the couch behind her again. Then her body shifted again, leaning more fully into his side, closing the gap she had left earlier. His hand found her arm, resting there lightly at first.

Then staying.

---SMUT---

The movie continued playing to an audience that wasn’t watching. The fruit sat half-eaten. The wine glasses were forgotten somewhere behind them. They were too busy with each other. Embarrassing, honestly, how they were on each other like horny rabbits.

He was holdin gon to her waist tightly, kissing her deeply, and suddenly his knee moved. He pressed her down and into his knee that he’d centered to be exactly under her crotch. She understood him immediately and, with arousal clouding her mind, started brushing her clothed pussy on his knee. “Yeah, baby, back and forth, move these hips for me,” he said as he let go of her lips with a filthy wet sound. 

She whined and nodded, looking down at herself, moving on top of him while she grabbed his forearms to steady herself, feeling his veins under her finger. He pressed her down even rougher, feeling her warmth on his leg. She gasped at the hardness of his knees, which passed exactly over her clit, “There you go, sweetheart, let me hear you.” 

With shaky hands, she reached forward to the obvious dent he had in his baggy pants. She laid one palm on it while the other went to his shoulders to use as leverage. Hyunjin hissed at her touch like he hadn’t even noticed how hard he was, too preoccupied with the view in front of him. “Oh god,” he moaned, all breathy and guteral, his eyes pinned down following the movements of her hips and hands.

His hand moved from her hips to cup her jaw and bring it to him to kiss her again. In the tenderness and saliva the kiss provided her, she felt something sneak from her hips, over her belly button, down her abdomen, and cup her pussy. She felt his long fingers make wave-like movements, so much so that she could feel how wet she was. “Fuck,” she let out and went straight back to his lips to drown out the sounds she was making.

“Baby,” he whimpered as he felt her rubbing him up and down. “Please, can w-, can you lie down?”

She pulled back and just as she opened her mouth, he added, “I’ve wanted to taste you since I laid eyes on you, sweetheart, please,” he said, all desperate, his eyes almost teary. She didn’t say anything; she didn’t want to. She just stood up, and the moment she did, he got on his knees in front of her on the floor. Her hands reached the band of her bottoms, but not before his. “Let me,” he muttered before taking off her pajama shorts and her panties in one movement.

“Fuck.” he said under his breath as he put his hands on her tights, his eyes glued to her. He squeezed her thighs before looking up as he spread them apart while she was still standing up. She whined gently as she felt cold air hit her, “Hyunjin, let me lie d-”

“Just a taste, just once, baby, and you can lie down for me,” he said, his voice deep and out of breath.

He leaned in, hands on either thigh, pulling them apart, and licked a long, slow stripe from her hole to her clit. She exhaled deeply at the feeling. He groaned, furrowing his brows, “God damn, baby.” His hands gently applied pressure on her thighs to direct her to the couch.

She sank down on the couch with no hesitation, spreading her legs and putting her hands behind her hips to hold herself up. He borderline crawled to the one thing he desired most. He sat up on his knees in front of the couch and extended his hands. With one hand, he held and massaged her thigh, with the other, he took two of his fingers and gently spread her apart.

“I know we talk about art all the time, but none of it holds a candle to this right here, baby,” he said, shamelessly watching as her pussy twitched at his words and clenched around nothing. “Fuck,” this pervert kept watching. She turned her head, her cheeks entirely flushed. 

He leaned his head down and started laying kisses on the inside of her thighs, “Come on, baby, look at me.” He inched his lips closer, “Wanna see your pretty eyes while I taste you,” he said, his eyes never leaving her face even as he went closer nd closer to her pussy. She finally turned her head, biting her lip to suppress an instinctive whine that was going to come out purely because of the sight in front of her. “There she is, my pretty girl,” he said lastly before dipping his head and licking a few stripes over her entire slit.

“So wet for me, pretty girl,” he said, leaning back an inch so his fingers could pull to uncover her clit. She squirmed, seeing him indulge. He leaned back in and opened his mouth, letting some of his saliva trickle and land on top of her clit. Once he had her somehow even wetter, with his head still ducked, he looked up at her, opened his mouth slightly, and lightly blew over her cunt.

She squirmed, her thighs twitched at the cold sensation of her warm slit, feeling the gush of cold mind. She whined, “Älright, baby, no more of that. I just wanted to watch your reactions for a bit,” he said with a genuine smile, and he stroked her thighs before dipping his face back in.

Now the sensation was the exact opposite, her sensitive clit that had just felt the cold wind got enveloped by his warm plum lips. “F-fuck-” she arched into him as he sucked on her sensitive nub.

The sudden, searing heat of his mouth was a shock to her system, a stark contrast to the cooling air that had just teased her. Hyunjin didn't just kiss her; he engulfed her. His lips formed a tight, velvet seal around her clit, pulling the sensitive nub into the warmth of his mouth with a suction that made her toes curl in the air.

He began to suck with a rhythmic, insistent pressure, his tongue swirling frantically against the most sensitive part of her. The friction was intense, a heavy, wet sliding sensation that sent waves of white-hot electricity radiating from her crotch to the tips of her fingers. Every time he drew her deeper into his mouth, a sharp, needy whine escaped her throat, her hips stuttering in a desperate attempt to meet his mouth.

Hyunjin’s hands were relentless, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her thighs to hold her steady as she bucked. He could taste the salt and the sweetness of her, the slickness of her arousal coating his lips and chin. He increased the tempo, his tongue flicking rapidly against her clit while his suction deepened.

The sensation of his fingers sliding inside her was a sudden, heavy intrusion that made her breath hitch in a jagged sob. He didn't just enter her; he claimed her, his fingers curling upward with a deliberate, rhythmic motion that hooked against her G spot. The friction of his skin against her internal walls, combined with the relentless suction of his mouth on her clit, created a sensory overload that made her head loll back against the couch cushions.

The sound was unmistakable, a thick, squelching, rhythmic slap squish of his fingers working through the deluge of her juices. Every time he withdrew and pushed back in, the air caught the wetness, creating a suction that echoed in the quiet room. 

"Hyunjin..." she whimpered, her voice breaking as her hips began to roll in a desperate, uncoordinated dance to keep him inside her. 

He let out a low, vibrating growl against her flesh, the sound rumbling through her entire pelvis. He pulled his fingers out just enough to let the air hit the slickness before plunging them back in, the wet, slapping sounds intensifying. "Listen to that," he murmured against her, his voice thick with a possessive need. “So wet n’loud, all for me.”

Hyunjin felt the tremor in her thighs, the way her muscles began to twitch in and out of a rhythm, signaling that she was close. He sensed the tension coiling in her core, a tight, vibrating knot of need that was about to snap.

With a predatory grace, he withdrew his fingers, the wet pop of his exit leaving her feeling momentarily hollow and exposed. Before she could even gasp at the loss, he replaced them with the heavy weight of his tongue. He drove it deep, a long, forceful thrust that mimicked the motion of a cock, burying himself into her heat.

He didn't lick; he worked her with a frantic, driving cadence. His tongue flattened and widened, sweeping upward to hammer against her clit while simultaneously plunging deep into her soaking wet slit. The friction was immense, a heavy, sliding pressure that felt like it was reaching into her very soul. 

"Cum for me, pretty girl," he groaned, his voice muffled by her flesh, "Wanna feel you cum on my tongue."

He increased the speed, his nose bumping against her sensitive clit periodically.

As the tempo surged, Hyunjin’s rhythm became feral. Each accidental press sent a fresh jolt of lightning through her, causing her to shudder violently, her pelvic floor spasming uncontrollably as she came with a loud stuttering moan.

He drank her in greedily, his throat working as he swallowed the sweetness of her arousal, his groans turning into guttural, satisfied sounds as he tasted the sheer volume of her release.

She was breathing heavily. Suddenly, the pressure shifted. Instead of staying grounded, Hyunjin’s large hands slid from her thighs to her waist, hooking under her hips with bruising strength. He hoisted her up, lifting her weight with a grunt of effort, and pulled her onto his lap. 

She found herself straddling him, her damp, aching center pressed directly against the hard ridge of his zipper. The transition was jarring; the cool air rushed into the space where his face had been, only to be replaced by the scorching heat of his crotch beneath her. She sat heavily against him, her thighs wide to accommodate his frame, her drenched slit smearing her juices against the dark fabric of his pants.

The sound of his zipper was a sharp, metallic rasp in the quiet room, a prelude to the sudden, heavy heat that pressed against her. Hyunjin’s cock sprang free, thick and pulsing, already weeping a bead of pre cum that glistened in the dim light. He didn't plunge in immediately; instead, he began to drag the velvet length along her slit, a slow, agonizingly torturous slide from her pubic bone down to her soaking wet opening.

"You did so good for me, baby... such a good girl," he rasped, his voice a wrecked, low register growl that vibrated against her chest. 

As he moved, the head of his cock smeared her own juices across her sensitive folds, the friction creating a searing, sliding heat. Every pass was a heavy drag that made her vision swim. She let out a high, broken moan, her head falling back as her hips instinctively bucked upward to meet him. The sensation was too much, the weight of him, the slickness, the sheer, his hardness rubbing against her swollen, overstimulated clit. He hissed through his teeth at her warmth.

His breath came in ragged, uneven hitches, his chest heaving against hers. The heat radiating from her, the scent of her arousal, was driving him to the brink of madness. He guided her hands, pressing her palms firmly against the hard, corded muscle of his shoulders, anchoring her so she wouldn't slip as he prepared to claim her.

"Listen to me, baby," he commanded, his voice a low, vibrating tremor that seemed to echo in her very bones. "Just hold onto me, I’ll fuck into you so good, just hold on to me."

He positioned himself, the broad, blunt head of his cock pressing firmly against her soaking entrance. He paused for a heartbeat, the tip of him teasing the very edge of her, the friction of his skin against her making her hips quiver in anticipation. Then, with a guttural groan of pure, unadulterated need, he drove forward.

He pushed deep, a slow, heavy invasion that stretched her walls to their limit. The sensation was immense, a thick, filling pressure that seemed to displace everything else in her world. As he buried himself to the hilt, a choked sound escaped his throat, his eyes fluttering shut as he felt the tight, velvet grip of her gummy walls.

The impact of his thrust was a heavy, blunt force that knocked the breath from her lungs, a deep-seated ache that felt both punishing and perfect. His hips slammed into hers with a primal, rhythmic violence that made the couch creak beneath them as he held her down on top of him by her hips. The wet, slapping sound of their bodies meeting a frantic, messy squelch filled the room, punctuating every lunging stroke.

Her fingers drifted from his shoulder, her hand snaking upward to tangle deep into the dark silk of his hair. She gripped the strands tight, tugging his head back to expose the straining line of his throat. As she pulled, a long, broken moan tore from his lips, a sound far more vulnerable than the aggressive thrusts he was delivering.

A wicked, breathless smirk tugged at her lips. “For a man who has such mean, deep thrusts,” she teased, her voice a sultry, trembling a little, “you sure do moan so sweetly when I pull your hair.”

The challenge hit him like a spark to dry tinder. Hyunjin’s eyes were dark and blown wide with lust, a feral man, on the brink of control and being controlled, wrapped one hand around her jaw, the other on her thigh to pull her down onto him. He started pulling out almost all the way just to slam deep inside her with all the force he had. 

She felt so full as she moaned as she felt him inch his thumb closer to her mouth. Her lips parted, her tongue darting out to lap at his thumb. She sucked on him with a desperate, hungry intensity, her saliva slicking his skin as she drew him deeper into her mouth. The heat of her breath and the wet pull of her lips sent a jolt of pure electricity straight to Hyunjin’s core. His brain was short-circuiting, his entire body rigid with the effort of holding back, his breath coming in short, jagged bursts.

The friction within her was reaching a fever pitch, the slick, sliding heat of her walls clamping around him in tight spasms. He was so close that the world outside the two of them ceased to exist; there was only the sound of their wet, colliding bodies and the frantic, shallow gasps of air. 

"Please," he rasped, his voice breaking, his fingers digging into her thighs so hard he knew he’d leave marks. "Baby, please... I can't... I'm gonna..." He shuddered, his hips jerking in a final, desperate surge. "Let me cum inside you, my love. Please, let me fill you up.”

Her head bobbed in a frantic, desperate nod, her eyes squeezed shut as she surrendered to the tidal wave of sensation. The pressure in her core was unbearable, a tightening coil of electricity that was about to snap. 

"Look at me," Hyunjin said, his voice a wrecked, low rasp as he pulled his thumb out of her mouth. "Open your eyes, sweetheart. Look at me."

She forced her lids open, her vision blurred by tears of pleasure. As her gaze met his, she saw the raw, unshielded devotion in his dark eyes, a look of pure, worshipful hunger. At that exact moment, the world fractured. 

A violent, rhythmic spasm gripped her clit and her walls, her orgasm tearing through her in a series of uncontrollable, shuddering pulses. As she arched her back, crying out his name, Hyunjin let out a guttural groan. He drove himself into her one last time, bottoming out with a heavy, final thud, and released himself deep within her. 

She felt the hot, pulsing waves of his cum, a thick, internal warmth that seemed to fill her to the very brim. 

They stayed, breathless and sweaty, for a while after that. Finally, he stroked her cheek, “All mine, all fuckign mine,” he whispered like a prayer against her. She nodded and gave him a quick peck, making him smile, “All mine,” she said back.

With the confirmation that they were each other’s and each other’s only, they drifted off to sleep.

● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ●

You had your legs wrapped around his waist locking him in place. Putting all your might into only letting him move out if he was going to give you his long achingly deep thrusts in return. He had cum twice already, didn't take long considering the fact that at this point he has been trained to only cum when you were present. He was dizzy at this point, squeezing his eyes shut as he held onto your hips and not only fucked into you but lifted you up slightly to fuck you onto him. The raise gave the perfect angle for his tip to kiss your cervix and make you gasp with every thrust like you're experiencing it for the first time.

The huge fireplace in your bed chambers crackled and somehow it looked cold compared to the burning sensation of your impending fourth orgasm. You whined and arched your back. Zuko felt your lower back curl in his hands, making him move one to slide it from your hip, pass over your stomach and sternum and cup your jaw. He was gentle but steadfast in his grip as he moved your thrown back head to face him.

"I'll never do it" he said out of breath looking into your eyes. You clenched around him making both of you moan. "Fuck" he groaned, "I'll never go far from you, I'll never go where I can't reach and touch this body". His words made you whine. He make his thrusts somehow rougher, deeper, harder. "Don't ever wanna leave this pussy" he said looking at his cock stuffing you full. With soft whimpers and tears prickling on your lash line you shook your head. "Never, never letting you go," his heart(and cock) thumped at your honey voice. "Want me to stay here? And pleasure you, my wife?" he asked teasingly as if he wasn't just as much of a mess. "Always wanna be full of you, all of you" you said, nodding.

He moved, rough and quick. Throwing your legs over each of his shoulders, making you feel his biceps press on the underside of your thighs. And he bent over. Oh shit.

The new angle made his cock, not kiss your cervix, but start bruising it. You felt impossibly full and content. Screaming out your husband's name without shame. His head leaned down kissing you deeply drinking in your loud moans and returning to you his down deep groans with the occasional breathy whine.

One of his hands stayed angeling your legs so they don't slip off his shoulders. The other stayed on your jaw tilting your face to deepen the kiss and shoving his tongue in your mouth.

His thrust weren't robotic- just in out, in out. He used his abdominal muscles to curve his hips into you. He not only thrusted in but also up. The drag and the sensitivity made you both whine helplessly like you weren't the ones doing this to each other.

"So deep...fuck, you're- oh fuck, so deep" you whispered between whines. He nodded running his hands across you, from your face to your hips, enjoying the feeling of your body twitching from pleasure. His hand stopped before it could reach your hips though. Stopped on your stomach. Right below your belly button. He squeezed his eyes shut. "Oh my fucking god" he whispered, genuinely trying to compose himself. You were too lost in your pleasure to hear him but you felt it. You felt his palm press down slowly, letting him feel how his cock was hammering into you even better. You let out a gasp, followed by a whimper at the feeling of the bulge that formed everytime your husband bottomed out into you. "I told you it's-" you couldn't finish your sentence.

"Wanna have this all the time" he said. Was your husband not making sense anymore? "Wanna fill you up so nicely" Oh. Oh. "Even when my cock isn't inside this perfect pussy I want it to have my cum deep inside" he kept talking while still thrusting, mouth inches from your face, you felt the honesty in his hot breath.

"Wouldn't you want that, baby? Want me to get you nice n' full?" You could only moan and helplessly lay your palms on the muscles that formed his v line that tensed with every thrust. But you nodded. Nodded and looked him in the eyes. That's all he needed to cum again.

He slammed into you, cumming as deep inside as he could, making you feel every wave of his orgasms. He continued in quick shallow thrusts, filling you up.

But not before dipping his fingers in his mouth. Getting his middle and ring finger wet and then tilting them towards your mouth. You opened your mouth feeling the wet digits slip inside, welcoming the needed distraction. After a how bobs of your head he pulled them out and dragged them down your body. Leaving a wet trail between your breasts and down you body while looking directly into you eyes, watching them follow his wet fingers. They reached down to gently rub your clit while his orgasm was still going, cum still spilling inside you.

You immediately clenched and arched from his actions. Letting out stuttering moans, your toes curled, "Close..I'm clo- fuck I'm gonna cum" you said hurriedly almost out of breath. Borderline panicking at how fast your orgasm approached. "I want nothing more from this life than to watch you cum around my cock, my love." Those words were your demise. With shaking thighs and twitchy hands you screamed, your back arching off the bed as your climax hit you with no mercy.

"That's my girl, fuck, that's it" he said stroking your thighs as you calmed down.

◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇

sub!Zuko?