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y’all I promise i haven’t abandoned you, I just went through some personal things for awhile but I’m back (sort of) and will continue to write, maybe publish something tomorrow! I also see your asks and promise to get to them as well
genre: smut
synopsis: finding yourself drawn to the pair of eyes that stare back at you, he whispers to meet him in a storage room in 60 seconds no more, no less, what happens when you decide to take him up on his demand?
warnings: semi-public sex, almost caught?, slow burn, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it up irl), oral (fem receiving), dom/sub
pairing: non-idol!sunoo x fem! reader
wc: 2.1k
The summer heat was a living thing, pressing down on the glass-walled gallery, making the air conditioner’s hum a desperate, losing battle. You shifted on your heels, the sleek black cocktail dress you’d agonized over suddenly feeling like a sauna. The opening was a success—chattering crowds, clinking glasses, the abstract splashes of color on the walls earning polite, thoughtful nods. But your focus was a singular point of magnetic heat across the room.
Sunoo.
He wasn’t just the artist; he was the event. Dressed in a simple, tailored black shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, he held court, a glass of something clear and untouched in his hand. His dark eyes flickered over the crowd, sharp, assessing. They found you, again, as they had all night. Not a smile, not a nod. Just a look that stripped the dress right off you, leaving your skin prickling with something far more potent than the summer air. It had been like this for weeks. A slow, maddening burn. Casual lunches that stretched into hours, late-night texts that were all implication and no promise, his fingers brushing yours when he passed you a coffee. A masterclass in tension. You were soaked in it.
He finally broke away from a patron, moving with a lazy, predatory grace that made your throat tight. He didn’t stop at your side. He leaned in, his lips a breath from your ear, his voice a low, smooth rumble that went straight to your knees.
“This is fucking interminable. Follow me to the storage room in sixty seconds. Don’t run.”
He was gone before you could gasp, melting back into the crowd. The command, the absolute certainty in it, sent a hot, liquid pulse right between your thighs. You counted, your heart hammering against your ribs. Fifty-nine. Fifty-eight. You mumbled an excuse to no one, setting your wine glass on a passing tray with a hand that trembled just slightly.
The storage room was at the end of a dimly lit corridor, past the restrooms. The hum of the party was a muffled backdrop. You pushed the door open. It was cool, dark, crowded with unused pedestals, rolls of canvas, the faint smell of paint and dust. Sunoo stood in a sliver of light from a high, barred window, already pulling his shirt over his head. The sight of his torso—lean, defined, skin almost glowing in the dim light—made your mouth go dry.
“Lock the door,” he said, his voice flat. Not a request.
Your fingers fumbled with the deadbolt. The click was deafening in the sudden quiet.
“You’ve been driving me insane all night,” he said, stepping closer. His hands came up, not to touch you, but to frame your face. His thumbs stroked your cheekbones, his gaze intense. “That dress. The way you keep biting your lip when you think I’m not looking. You’re fucking dripping for it, aren’t you?”
You could only nod, a shaky exhale leaving you.
“Tell me,” he demanded, his voice dropping. “Tell me how much you want my cock inside you. I want to hear the nasty words in that pretty mouth.”
The vulgarity, the directness, unraveled you. “I want it,” you whispered, then stronger, finding his rhythm. “I want your fucking cock, Sunoo. I’ve been thinking about it all week. I’m so wet it’s a fucking mess.”
A slow, dangerous smile touched his lips. “Show me.”
He turned you, your back to his front, his body a solid wall of heat. His hands slid down your arms, then around to the front of your thighs, pushing the hem of your dress up. Cool air hit your skin. His fingers hooked into the sides of your panties—flimsy black lace, chosen for exactly this hopeless possibility—and pulled them down your legs. You stepped out of them, kicking them aside. His palm slid up the inside of your thigh, and you instinctively widened your stance. His fingers found your center, not entering, just sliding through the slick, swollen folds.
“Fuck,” he breathed against your neck, his voice thick with awe. “You weren’t lying. You’re absolutely drenched. Your pussy is so fucking plump and puffy, I can feel every little fold.” He circled your clit with a torturously light fingertip, making your hips jerk. “This is all for me? This fucking river?”
“Yes,” you gasped, pushing back against him, feeling the hard ridge of his erection straining against his pants. “All for you. Please.”
“Good girl,” he murmured, the praise like a drug. He unzipped his pants, freeing himself. You glanced down. His cock was thick, the head a dark, flushed purple, prominent veins running along the shaft. He was fully hard, pre-cum already beading at the tip. He gripped himself, giving a slow, firm stroke, spreading the moisture. “Look at what you do to me. Now, turn around.”
You did, facing him. His eyes were black with want. He sat back on a low, wide wooden crate, spreading his legs. He patted his thigh. “Straddle me. I want to watch your face when you take me.”
You moved forward, the dress hiking up as you climbed onto the crate, kneeling over him. You placed your hands on his bare shoulders, the muscle hard under your palms. He guided himself, the broad head of his cock nudging against your soaked entrance. You sank down, slowly, the stretch exquisite, burning, perfect. He filled you in one long, devastating glide, until you were fully seated, his pelvis pressed against yours, his thickness buried to the hilt inside you. A ragged, punched-out moan tore from your throat.
“Oh, fuck,” you choked out, your head falling forward. “You’re so deep.”
His hands gripped your hips, his fingers digging in. “Look at me,” he ordered. You forced your eyes open, meeting his gaze. His expression was fierce, possessive. “This is my pussy now. Say it.”
“It’s yours,” you breathed, beginning to rock, a slow, grinding movement that made him groan. “It’s your fucking pussy, Sunoo.”
“That’s right.” His hands moved to your ass, squeezing, pulling you into a harder grind. “Use me. Fucking ride me. Make yourself feel good.”
You started to move, rising up until just the tip remained inside, then sinking back down, taking him all. The angle was deep, each downward stroke hitting a spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyelids. Your clit rubbed against the base of his shaft with every movement, a constant, building friction. The sounds were obscene—the wet, rhythmic slap of skin on skin, your ragged breaths, his low grunts.
“You take my cock so fucking well,” he gritted out, his own hips starting to piston up to meet your descents. “Your cunt is gripping me like a fucking vise. I can feel every inch of you hugging my shaft.” One of his hands snaked between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit. He pressed down, making tight, deliberate circles. The dual sensation—the deep, filling stretch and the direct, electric stimulation on your clit—made your vision blur.
“Sunoo… I can’t… that’s too much…”
“It’s not enough,” he corrected, his voice rough. “You’re going to come on my cock. I’m going to feel that pretty pussy milking me. But not yet.” He abruptly stood, lifting you with him, your legs wrapping around his waist, his cock still buried impossibly deep inside you. He took three steps and bent you over a tall, metal shelving unit stacked with blank canvases. The cold metal bit into your forearms. He pulled out almost completely, then drove back into you in one hard, sharp thrust.
The angle changed completely. This was deeper, harder, from behind. He gripped your hips, his fingers bruising, and set a brutal, pounding rhythm. Each thrust shoved you forward against the shelves, making them rattle. The risk of being caught—the party was just down the hall, the door only locked with a simple bolt—flooded you with a terrifying, exhilarating rush. It sharpened every sensation.
“This is what you needed, isn’t it?” he growled, leaning over your back, his chest hot against your spine. His hand fisted in your hair, pulling your head back. “You needed to be bent over and fucked like this. In a fucking storage room. Where anyone could hear you.” He punctuated each sentence with a deep, drilling thrust. “You love the risk. I can feel your cunt clenching every time the floor creaks.”
He was right. The potential of a handle jiggling, a voice outside, made your internal muscles spasm around him, drawing a guttural groan from his throat. The wet, slapping sounds of his balls hitting your ass filled the small room. You could feel your own juices coating your inner thighs, dripping down.
“Your ass is bouncing so fucking perfectly,” he panted, his free hand coming down in a sharp, stinging slap on your right cheek. The impact sent a jolt of pure heat through you, and your pussy clenched violently around his cock. “Fuck, yes. Do that again.”
He spanked you twice more, each slap making you cry out and grip the shelves tighter. Your breasts, confined in the dress, swung heavily with the force of his thrusts. You were a mess of overwhelming sensation—the deep, reaching penetration, the sting on your ass, the thrill of exposure, the relentless pressure of his body on yours.
His pace became frenzied, his control slipping. The pounding intensified, going wild, each drive of his hips a statement of pure possession. The head of his cock was battering a spot so deep inside you it felt like he was in your womb.
“I’m gonna fucking cum,” he warned, his voice strained. “Where do you want it? Tell me.”
“Inside,” you begged, mindless. “Please, Sunoo, fill me up. I want to feel you come inside my fucking pussy.”
With a roar that was barely stifled, he slammed into you one last time, burying himself to the root. You felt him pulse, thick and hot, jet after jet of his release painting your inner walls. The feeling of him swelling and emptying inside you, the intimacy of it amidst the crude, public setting, pushed you to your own edge.
But you weren’t there. The penetration was incredible, filling, but the peak was just out of reach, a maddening plateau. You whined, grinding back against him, seeking the final friction.
He was still inside you, still throbbing, when he seemed to understand. He pulled out, his cum immediately beginning to seep out of you, a hot trickle down your thigh. He turned you around, your back against the cold shelves. Your dress was rumpled around your waist, your hair a mess from his grip. He dropped to his knees on the concrete floor.
“My turn,” he said, his voice hoarse but intent. He pushed your thighs apart, his gaze fixed on your glistening, swollen pussy, his own cum mixing with your arousal. “I’m going to eat this fucking gorgeous cunt until you scream. And you’re going to have to be quiet, or they’ll all hear you.”
He didn’t wait for a reply. He leaned in, his tongue laying a broad, flat stripe from your perineum all the way up through your soaked folds to your clit. You jolted, a sharp cry escaping before you bit your lip. He did it again, slower, savoring the taste of both of you. Then he zeroed in, his mouth latching onto your clit, sucking the sensitive, swollen nub into the heat of his mouth. His tongue flicked over it rapidly, then pressed down hard.
The direct, wet, insistent stimulation was everything you needed. The coil that had been winding tighter and tighter inside you for weeks, for this entire encounter, snapped. Your hips bucked off the shelf, but his hands clamped on your ass, holding you firmly to his mouth. He sucked and licked, his tongue delving lower to taste himself inside you before returning to your clit with relentless focus.
A white-hot burst of pleasure erupted from your clit, radiating out in searing pulses through your pelvis, down your legs, up your spine. Your body locked, every muscle taut, a silent scream trapped in your throat. Your pussy clenched around nothing, gushing fresh wetness over his chin. He didn’t let up, licking you through the convulsions, gentling his touch as the hypersensitivity set in, making you twitch and whimper at every delicate stroke.
Finally, he pulled back, breathing hard. His lips and chin were glistening. He looked up at you, your body limp and trembling against the shelves, and smiled, a real, wicked, satisfied smile.
“There,” he said, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “Now we’re even.”
The sound of a loud laugh, startlingly close from the corridor outside, froze you both.
I reached 500 followers! When I first started posting, it was just me, my drafts, and a handful of ideas I wasn’t sure anyone would care about. Now there are over 500 of you here, reading, supporting, and letting my stories become part of your day.
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genre: smut
synopsis: you’ve been trying to link up but never had the time, letting the tension grow, can mingi help it if he’s a little rough
warnings: hair pulling, fingering, anal, big dick mingi, language, gentle biting, rough sex, kissing, lots of cum, possessiveness, mentions slight condom breaking
pairing: situationship!mingi x fem!reader
wc: 3.1k
The door of his apartment clicking shut behind you, the waiting was fucking over. Mingi stood there, his dark eyes holding yours, and he didn’t say a word. He just reached out, his fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of your neck, and pulled you into him. The kiss wasn’t soft. It was a hungry, open-mouthed claim, his tongue sliding against yours, tasting of the whiskey he’d had earlier. You could feel the hard ridge of his cock, already straining against his jeans, pressed into your stomach.
He broke the kiss, breathing hard. “I’ve been thinking about this all goddamn week.”
“About what?” you breathed, your own hands sliding under his shirt, feeling the hard, warm planes of his stomach.
“About bending you over my kitchen counter and fucking you so deep you scream.” His voice was a low rasp. “About seeing how much of my cock that pretty mouth of yours can actually take. About making you come so hard you forget your own name.”
Your heart hammered against your ribs. “So do it.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. He spun you around, your back pressing into his chest. His hands slid down your arms, then to your hips, pulling your ass back into him. You felt the massive, thick length of him, even through the layers of fabric. God, it was huge. You’d felt it before, through clothes, seen the outline, but this proximity made your mouth water and your pussy clench with empty, needy pulses.
“This,” he murmured into your ear, his lips brushing the sensitive skin there. “This is what I want first.” He guided your hands forward, placing them flat on the cool granite of the kitchen island. He nudged your feet apart with his own. With one hand, he gathered your hair, wrapping it around his fist and pulling just enough to arch your back, to make your ass stick out for him. The other hand went to the button of your jeans. He popped it, yanked the zipper down, and shoved both your jeans and panties down to your knees in one rough, efficient motion. The cool air hit your exposed skin, followed immediately by the heat of his palm slapping your ass cheek—not hard, a sharp, stinging promise.
“Look at that,” he growled, his fingers sliding through the slickness already gathered between your pussy lips. They were swollen, plump, the inner lips puffy and dark with arousal. His thumb found your clit, circling it once, twice, making your knees buckle. “Soaked for me already. You’re fucking drenched.”
You heard the tear of a condom wrapper, then the rustle of his own clothes. Then, the blunt, broad head of his cock was pressing against your entrance. He wasn’t gentle. He used his grip on your hair to hold you steady as he pushed forward, a slow, inexorable invasion that made you gasp. The stretch was immediate, intense. Your pussy walls, already slick and hot, had to open wide to accommodate his thickness. He pushed deeper, inch by impossible inch, until his hips met your ass cheeks with a solid smack.
“Fuck,” you moaned, the word torn from your throat. “Mingi… it’s so much.”
“It is,” he agreed, his voice strained. He held himself there, buried to the hilt, letting you feel every centimeter of him stretching you wide. Then he pulled back, almost all the way out, until just the fat head of his cock caught at your entrance, before slamming back in. The pace was brutal from the start. Each thrust was a hard, driving piston-stroke that jolted you forward on the counter. His balls slapped against your clit with every inward drive, a secondary, rhythmic pressure that started a steady thrum of pleasure low in your belly. But it wasn’t enough, not to push you over. The penetration was overwhelming, filling, fucking incredible, but your climax hovered just out of reach.
He fucked you like that for what felt like ages, the sound of skin on skin, your ragged moans, and his grunts filling the kitchen. Your breasts, freed from your bra earlier, swung heavily with each impact, the nipples hard and aching.
“Need more,” you panted, pushing back against him.
He slowed, his thrusts becoming shallow grinds. “Tell me how.”
“Fingers. Your hand. I don’t care. Just…”
He released your hair, his hand snaking around your hip. His fingers were deft, finding your swollen clitoris immediately, slippery with your own juices. He pressed the flat of two fingers against it, rubbing in tight, fast circles that matched the punishing rhythm of his hips.
Yes. The dual sensation was electric. The deep, full feeling of his thick cock spearing you, combined with the precise, frantic stimulation on your clit, sent sparks shooting up your spine. Your moans grew louder, more desperate. Your inner muscles began to flutter around his shaft, a wet, gripping pulse.
“That’s it,” he grunted, his breath hot on your neck. “Squeeze my cock. Milk it with that tight fucking pussy. I wanna feel you cum all over me.”
His words, the filthy, precise description of what was happening to your body, pushed you higher. The pressure built, a coil winding tighter and tighter in your lower belly. Your vision spotted. The sounds you were making didn’t sound human anymore. His fingers worked you relentlessly, his cock pounding into you, hitting a spot deep inside that made you see stars.
It broke. Your orgasm erupted through you, a violent, shaking wave that started in your clenched pussy and radiated outwards, making your toes curl and your entire body seize. You screamed, a raw, ragged sound, as your channel convulsed around his invading length, gripping and releasing in rapid, juicy spasms. He fucked you through it, his strokes becoming harder, more erratic, chasing his own peak.
As the last tremors shook you, he pulled out suddenly. Before you could process the empty feeling, his hand was on your shoulder, pushing you down. “On your knees. Now.”
You slid bonelessly to the floor, turning to face him. His cock stood out, glistening with your wetness, purple and thick and veined. It looked impossible. He fisted it, stroking twice. “Open up. I’m gonna cum all over that pretty face.”
You opened your mouth, sticking your tongue out. He aimed the broad head at your lips. The first hot, thick rope of cum hit your tongue, salty and bitter. The second painted your cheek. The third splashed across your forehead. He kept coming, pulses of it covering your chin, your neck, the swell of your breasts. It was profuse, abundant, a messy, hot claim. You kept your mouth open, swallowing what you could, the taste flooding your senses.
He was breathing like he’d run a marathon. He looked down at you, his eyes black with lust and satisfaction. “Fuck. Look at you.”
You just panted, coated in him, your pussy still throbbing from the recent climax.
He leaned down, his voice dropping to a whisper. “We’re not done. I’m not done. Get on the couch. I want that ass next.”
Your legs feel like water as you stumble from the kitchen, his command ringing in your ears. The open-plan apartment feels vast and dark, the only light spilling from the range hood over the stove. The couch is a large, dark shape against the wall. You reach it, your knees still shaky, your skin sticky with his drying release. You turn, leaning back against the cushions, about to follow his last order.
But Mingi doesn’t let you get that far.
His hand closes on your shoulder before you can sit. “No,” he says, his voice a low thrum in the quiet room. “I said I wanted that ass. Not on your back. Not yet.”
He turns you, your back to him, and guides you forward until your hands brace against the back of the deep, plush couch. The fabric is cool and rough under your palms. He nudges your feet apart with his foot, widening your stance until you’re bent at the waist, your ass presented to him. Your jeans and panties are still a tangledconstraint at your knees, a frustrating barrier. With a low grunt, he hooks his fingers into the denim and yanks them the rest of the way.
His hands are warm and huge as they settle on the globes of your ass, kneading the flesh. “Look at this,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. His thumbs part your cheeks, exposing you completely. You feel utterly vulnerable, open. A shiver runs through you that has nothing to do with cold. “So fucking pretty. All pink and wet from me fucking your pussy. But this…” His thumb, slick with your own juices from where he’d touched you earlier, drags down the cleft, not touching your entrance, just tracing the sensitive skin around it.
His touch send a jolt of pure, undiluted heat straight to your core. Your pussy clenches around nothing, a fresh trickle of wetness easing out.
“You want it?” he asks, his voice right behind you. He’s close, you can feel the heat of his body, the hard press of his re-hardened cock against your lower back. It’s already thick and heavy again, a relentless engine of desire.
“Yes,” you whisper, the word barely audible.
“I didn’t hear you.”
“Yes, Mingi. I want it.”
“How do you want it?” His thumb circles the tight ring of muscle, applying the barest hint of pressure. It makes you gasp, your fingers digging into the couch fabric.
“I want… I want your cock in my ass.”
“Good girl.” The praise is a dark caress. “But my cock is thick, baby. You felt it. It’s gonna take some work to get it in this little hole.” His thumb presses again, a little harder, and this time it sinks in just past the first knuckle. The intrusion is sudden, a sharp, stretching burn that makes you stiffen. “Breathe,” he commands, his other hand rubbing your lower back. “Just breathe through it. Get used to my finger first.”
He works it slowly, in and out, the drag of his skin against your inner walls sending confusing signals—a burn that slowly melts into a deep, strange fullness. He coats his finger in more of your wetness, then presses back in with two. The stretch is intense, a burning pressure that borders on pain. You whimper, pushing back against him instinctively.
“Easy,” he soothes, but his voice is tight with his own restraint. He crooks his fingers inside you, searching, and a jolt of unexpected sensation rockets through you, making your eyes fly open. “There we go. Just getting you ready for me.” He scissors his fingers gently, stretching you wider. The burn recedes, replaced by a throbbing, empty ache that begs for more. He pulls his fingers out with a soft, wet sound.
You hear the tear of another condom wrapper. The sound is sharp in the quiet. Then you feel him, the broad, blunt head of his cock, slick with lube from the packet, pressing against your prepared entrance. It’s so much wider than his fingers. The sheer size of it makes your heart hammer against your ribs.
“This is it,” he says, his voice gritty. He wraps one arm around your waist, holding you steady against him. The other hand returns to your hair, fisting it at the roots, pulling your head back just enough to arch your spine. “You take this for me. You take every fucking inch.”
He pushes.
The initial penetration is a white-hot brand of pressure. You cry out, a sharp, broken sound, as the massive head begins to breach you. Your body fights it, clenching furiously against the invasion, but he is relentless. He holds you immobile with the arm around your waist and keeps pushing with a slow, steady pressure that feels like it splits you in two. You feel every ridge, every vein on his cock as it forces its way inside, stretching you to a breathtaking, impossible width.
“Fuck, Mingi… wait…”
“Shhh,” he murmurs into the skin of your shoulder, his lips brushing you. Then his teeth graze the same spot, a gentle, playful bite that shocks you with its tenderness amidst the violence of the penetration. “You’re doing it. You’re taking it. Just like that. Breathe, baby. Let it in.”
You suck in a ragged gasp. The burning stretch crests, and then, suddenly, it gives way. The head pops past the tightest ring of muscle, and he sinks another inch, then two, into the clutching, hot channel of your ass. The feeling is overwhelming. It’s a deep, filling pressure that radiates through your entire pelvis, a constant, demanding presence. He holds still, buried partway, letting your body adjust to the monumental girth.
“Feel that?” he groans, his own control fraying. “Feel how fucking thick I am inside you? Your ass is hugging me like a goddamn fist.”
You can only moan in response, a low, continuous sound of strain and shocking pleasure. The fullness is incredible. He begins to move, shallow pulls and pushes that make your inner muscles flutter around him. Each withdrawal is a slow, dragging agony of sensation; each thrust back in is a conquest. The pace builds, his hips starting to pump in a harder, faster rhythm.
His grip in your hair tightens, keeping your back arched, your ass tilted up for his use. The position, bent over the couch, makes every thrust drive deeper, angling into you in a way that makes you see sparks. The sound is obscene—the wet, slapping noise of his hips meeting your ass cheeks, the low, animal grunts from his throat, your own choked-off cries.
“This ass,” he pants, his voice raw. “This tight, fucking perfect ass. It’s mine now. You understand? I’m claiming this hole.” To emphasize his point, he slams into you, a hard, deep pound that makes you scream. The speed intensifies, his pumping going wild, a brutal, piston-like drive that shakes your whole body. Your breasts sway heavily with the force, your nipples scraping against the rough couch fabric with every jolt. The pressure in your ass is immense, a constant, thrilling stretch that walks the line between pleasure and pain.
But just like before, the penetration alone, as overwhelming as it is, isn’t tipping you over the edge. The pleasure is a deep, resonant thrum, but your climax is a distant star. You need more.
Frantically, you slide one hand from the couch back, down over your trembling stomach, through the coarse hair of your mound. Your fingers find your clitoris, swollen and puffy and throbbing in time with your heartbeat. The second you press against it, a bolt of pure electricity shoots up your spine. You rub in frantic, messy circles, the stimulation a bright, sharp counterpoint to the deep, pounding fullness in your ass.
The combination is devastating.
“Yeah,” Mingi growls, watching your hand work. His thrusts become more focused, driving into you at a punishing, steady pace that steals your breath. “That’s it. Play with that fat little clit. Get yourself ready. I’m gonna fill this ass up. I’m gonna pump my fucking load so deep inside you it’ll leak out for hours.”
His filthy, precise words are the final catalyst. The coil in your belly, wound impossibly tight by the dual assault, finally snaps.
It’s a different kind of climax than the one before—deeper, more internal, a rolling quake that starts in your clenched asshole around his invading cock and radiates outward in violent, shaking waves. Your whole body locks up, your back bowing against his restraining arm. A raw, guttural scream tears from your throat as your muscles clamp down on his shaft in a series of fierce, gripping spasms. Your pussy, untouched, pours out a fresh flood of wetness that drips down your inner thighs. The sensations overload your nerves, a white-noise buzz of pleasure-pain that whites out your vision.
Mingi lets out a choked roar. Your convulsing triggers his own release. He rams into you one last, final time, burying himself to the hilt, and holds there. You feel it—the thick, heavy pulses of his cum inside the condom, deep in you. Each jet is a hot, distinct flood, a claiming shot that seems to go on forever, pumping his release into the deepest part of you. He grinds against you, milking every last drop, his body shuddering against yours.
For a long moment, there is only the sound of heavy breathing, the feel of his sweat-slicked chest against your back, and the incredible, stuffed-full sensation in your ass.
Slowly, carefully, he pulls out. The condom, stretched and filled, slips from your body with a soft, wet pop. The sudden emptiness is profound. A weird, hollow ache replaces the intense pressure. You feel loose, stretched, used in the most exquisite way.
You slump forward over the couch, completely spent. Mingi’s hands are on your hips, turning you around. You’re too boneless to help. He sits heavily on the couch, pulling you down with him, until you’re straddling his lap, facing him. Your sensitive ass cheeks settle on his powerful thighs. His own cock, softening now, lies against his stomach. He looks wrecked, his hair damp with sweat, his eyes dark and satisfied.
He doesn’t say anything for a minute, just traces the line of your jaw with his thumb. Then his gaze drops, looking down between your bodies.
“Look,” he says, his voice hoarse.
You follow his look. There, at your entrance, a thick, white glob of his cum is seeping out from inside you, pearling at the tight, stretched ring of your asshole before dripping slowly down onto his thigh. The condom must have broken, or he’d taken it off… you’re too foggy to remember.
“See that?” he murmurs, dipping a finger in the mess and bringing it to your lips. “That’s my claim. Deep in your ass. And it’s gonna keep leaking. Every time you move tonight, you’re gonna feel it. You’re gonna remember exactly where I was.”
You open your mouth, and he slides his cum-smeared finger inside. You suck it clean, the taste bitter and salty and purely him. The act is degrading and impossibly hot. Your oversensitive clit gives a feeble throb.
He leans in, his forehead resting against yours. “You’re a fucking dream,” he breathes. Then he nods toward the hallway. “Bathroom’s there. Go clean up. But don’t you dare try to push all of it out. I want to see it on you when you come back.”
He smacks your ass, a stinging punctuation to his order.
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genre: smut
synopsis: you’ve been trying to link up but never had the time, letting the tension grow, can mingi help it if he’s a little rough
warnings: hair pulling, fingering, anal, big dick mingi, language, gentle biting, rough sex, kissing, lots of cum, possessiveness, mentions slight condom breaking
pairing: situationship!mingi x fem!reader
wc: 3.1k
The door of his apartment clicking shut behind you, the waiting was fucking over. Mingi stood there, his dark eyes holding yours, and he didn’t say a word. He just reached out, his fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of your neck, and pulled you into him. The kiss wasn’t soft. It was a hungry, open-mouthed claim, his tongue sliding against yours, tasting of the whiskey he’d had earlier. You could feel the hard ridge of his cock, already straining against his jeans, pressed into your stomach.
He broke the kiss, breathing hard. “I’ve been thinking about this all goddamn week.”
“About what?” you breathed, your own hands sliding under his shirt, feeling the hard, warm planes of his stomach.
“About bending you over my kitchen counter and fucking you so deep you scream.” His voice was a low rasp. “About seeing how much of my cock that pretty mouth of yours can actually take. About making you come so hard you forget your own name.”
Your heart hammered against your ribs. “So do it.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. He spun you around, your back pressing into his chest. His hands slid down your arms, then to your hips, pulling your ass back into him. You felt the massive, thick length of him, even through the layers of fabric. God, it was huge. You’d felt it before, through clothes, seen the outline, but this proximity made your mouth water and your pussy clench with empty, needy pulses.
“This,” he murmured into your ear, his lips brushing the sensitive skin there. “This is what I want first.” He guided your hands forward, placing them flat on the cool granite of the kitchen island. He nudged your feet apart with his own. With one hand, he gathered your hair, wrapping it around his fist and pulling just enough to arch your back, to make your ass stick out for him. The other hand went to the button of your jeans. He popped it, yanked the zipper down, and shoved both your jeans and panties down to your knees in one rough, efficient motion. The cool air hit your exposed skin, followed immediately by the heat of his palm slapping your ass cheek—not hard, a sharp, stinging promise.
“Look at that,” he growled, his fingers sliding through the slickness already gathered between your pussy lips. They were swollen, plump, the inner lips puffy and dark with arousal. His thumb found your clit, circling it once, twice, making your knees buckle. “Soaked for me already. You’re fucking drenched.”
You heard the tear of a condom wrapper, then the rustle of his own clothes. Then, the blunt, broad head of his cock was pressing against your entrance. He wasn’t gentle. He used his grip on your hair to hold you steady as he pushed forward, a slow, inexorable invasion that made you gasp. The stretch was immediate, intense. Your pussy walls, already slick and hot, had to open wide to accommodate his thickness. He pushed deeper, inch by impossible inch, until his hips met your ass cheeks with a solid smack.
“Fuck,” you moaned, the word torn from your throat. “Mingi… it’s so much.”
“It is,” he agreed, his voice strained. He held himself there, buried to the hilt, letting you feel every centimeter of him stretching you wide. Then he pulled back, almost all the way out, until just the fat head of his cock caught at your entrance, before slamming back in. The pace was brutal from the start. Each thrust was a hard, driving piston-stroke that jolted you forward on the counter. His balls slapped against your clit with every inward drive, a secondary, rhythmic pressure that started a steady thrum of pleasure low in your belly. But it wasn’t enough, not to push you over. The penetration was overwhelming, filling, fucking incredible, but your climax hovered just out of reach.
He fucked you like that for what felt like ages, the sound of skin on skin, your ragged moans, and his grunts filling the kitchen. Your breasts, freed from your bra earlier, swung heavily with each impact, the nipples hard and aching.
“Need more,” you panted, pushing back against him.
He slowed, his thrusts becoming shallow grinds. “Tell me how.”
“Fingers. Your hand. I don’t care. Just…”
He released your hair, his hand snaking around your hip. His fingers were deft, finding your swollen clitoris immediately, slippery with your own juices. He pressed the flat of two fingers against it, rubbing in tight, fast circles that matched the punishing rhythm of his hips.
Yes. The dual sensation was electric. The deep, full feeling of his thick cock spearing you, combined with the precise, frantic stimulation on your clit, sent sparks shooting up your spine. Your moans grew louder, more desperate. Your inner muscles began to flutter around his shaft, a wet, gripping pulse.
“That’s it,” he grunted, his breath hot on your neck. “Squeeze my cock. Milk it with that tight fucking pussy. I wanna feel you cum all over me.”
His words, the filthy, precise description of what was happening to your body, pushed you higher. The pressure built, a coil winding tighter and tighter in your lower belly. Your vision spotted. The sounds you were making didn’t sound human anymore. His fingers worked you relentlessly, his cock pounding into you, hitting a spot deep inside that made you see stars.
It broke. Your orgasm erupted through you, a violent, shaking wave that started in your clenched pussy and radiated outwards, making your toes curl and your entire body seize. You screamed, a raw, ragged sound, as your channel convulsed around his invading length, gripping and releasing in rapid, juicy spasms. He fucked you through it, his strokes becoming harder, more erratic, chasing his own peak.
As the last tremors shook you, he pulled out suddenly. Before you could process the empty feeling, his hand was on your shoulder, pushing you down. “On your knees. Now.”
You slid bonelessly to the floor, turning to face him. His cock stood out, glistening with your wetness, purple and thick and veined. It looked impossible. He fisted it, stroking twice. “Open up. I’m gonna cum all over that pretty face.”
You opened your mouth, sticking your tongue out. He aimed the broad head at your lips. The first hot, thick rope of cum hit your tongue, salty and bitter. The second painted your cheek. The third splashed across your forehead. He kept coming, pulses of it covering your chin, your neck, the swell of your breasts. It was profuse, abundant, a messy, hot claim. You kept your mouth open, swallowing what you could, the taste flooding your senses.
He was breathing like he’d run a marathon. He looked down at you, his eyes black with lust and satisfaction. “Fuck. Look at you.”
You just panted, coated in him, your pussy still throbbing from the recent climax.
He leaned down, his voice dropping to a whisper. “We’re not done. I’m not done. Get on the couch. I want that ass next.”
Your legs feel like water as you stumble from the kitchen, his command ringing in your ears. The open-plan apartment feels vast and dark, the only light spilling from the range hood over the stove. The couch is a large, dark shape against the wall. You reach it, your knees still shaky, your skin sticky with his drying release. You turn, leaning back against the cushions, about to follow his last order.
But Mingi doesn’t let you get that far.
His hand closes on your shoulder before you can sit. “No,” he says, his voice a low thrum in the quiet room. “I said I wanted that ass. Not on your back. Not yet.”
He turns you, your back to him, and guides you forward until your hands brace against the back of the deep, plush couch. The fabric is cool and rough under your palms. He nudges your feet apart with his foot, widening your stance until you’re bent at the waist, your ass presented to him. Your jeans and panties are still a tangledconstraint at your knees, a frustrating barrier. With a low grunt, he hooks his fingers into the denim and yanks them the rest of the way.
His hands are warm and huge as they settle on the globes of your ass, kneading the flesh. “Look at this,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. His thumbs part your cheeks, exposing you completely. You feel utterly vulnerable, open. A shiver runs through you that has nothing to do with cold. “So fucking pretty. All pink and wet from me fucking your pussy. But this…” His thumb, slick with your own juices from where he’d touched you earlier, drags down the cleft, not touching your entrance, just tracing the sensitive skin around it.
His touch send a jolt of pure, undiluted heat straight to your core. Your pussy clenches around nothing, a fresh trickle of wetness easing out.
“You want it?” he asks, his voice right behind you. He’s close, you can feel the heat of his body, the hard press of his re-hardened cock against your lower back. It’s already thick and heavy again, a relentless engine of desire.
“Yes,” you whisper, the word barely audible.
“I didn’t hear you.”
“Yes, Mingi. I want it.”
“How do you want it?” His thumb circles the tight ring of muscle, applying the barest hint of pressure. It makes you gasp, your fingers digging into the couch fabric.
“I want… I want your cock in my ass.”
“Good girl.” The praise is a dark caress. “But my cock is thick, baby. You felt it. It’s gonna take some work to get it in this little hole.” His thumb presses again, a little harder, and this time it sinks in just past the first knuckle. The intrusion is sudden, a sharp, stretching burn that makes you stiffen. “Breathe,” he commands, his other hand rubbing your lower back. “Just breathe through it. Get used to my finger first.”
He works it slowly, in and out, the drag of his skin against your inner walls sending confusing signals—a burn that slowly melts into a deep, strange fullness. He coats his finger in more of your wetness, then presses back in with two. The stretch is intense, a burning pressure that borders on pain. You whimper, pushing back against him instinctively.
“Easy,” he soothes, but his voice is tight with his own restraint. He crooks his fingers inside you, searching, and a jolt of unexpected sensation rockets through you, making your eyes fly open. “There we go. Just getting you ready for me.” He scissors his fingers gently, stretching you wider. The burn recedes, replaced by a throbbing, empty ache that begs for more. He pulls his fingers out with a soft, wet sound.
You hear the tear of another condom wrapper. The sound is sharp in the quiet. Then you feel him, the broad, blunt head of his cock, slick with lube from the packet, pressing against your prepared entrance. It’s so much wider than his fingers. The sheer size of it makes your heart hammer against your ribs.
“This is it,” he says, his voice gritty. He wraps one arm around your waist, holding you steady against him. The other hand returns to your hair, fisting it at the roots, pulling your head back just enough to arch your spine. “You take this for me. You take every fucking inch.”
He pushes.
The initial penetration is a white-hot brand of pressure. You cry out, a sharp, broken sound, as the massive head begins to breach you. Your body fights it, clenching furiously against the invasion, but he is relentless. He holds you immobile with the arm around your waist and keeps pushing with a slow, steady pressure that feels like it splits you in two. You feel every ridge, every vein on his cock as it forces its way inside, stretching you to a breathtaking, impossible width.
“Fuck, Mingi… wait…”
“Shhh,” he murmurs into the skin of your shoulder, his lips brushing you. Then his teeth graze the same spot, a gentle, playful bite that shocks you with its tenderness amidst the violence of the penetration. “You’re doing it. You’re taking it. Just like that. Breathe, baby. Let it in.”
You suck in a ragged gasp. The burning stretch crests, and then, suddenly, it gives way. The head pops past the tightest ring of muscle, and he sinks another inch, then two, into the clutching, hot channel of your ass. The feeling is overwhelming. It’s a deep, filling pressure that radiates through your entire pelvis, a constant, demanding presence. He holds still, buried partway, letting your body adjust to the monumental girth.
“Feel that?” he groans, his own control fraying. “Feel how fucking thick I am inside you? Your ass is hugging me like a goddamn fist.”
You can only moan in response, a low, continuous sound of strain and shocking pleasure. The fullness is incredible. He begins to move, shallow pulls and pushes that make your inner muscles flutter around him. Each withdrawal is a slow, dragging agony of sensation; each thrust back in is a conquest. The pace builds, his hips starting to pump in a harder, faster rhythm.
His grip in your hair tightens, keeping your back arched, your ass tilted up for his use. The position, bent over the couch, makes every thrust drive deeper, angling into you in a way that makes you see sparks. The sound is obscene—the wet, slapping noise of his hips meeting your ass cheeks, the low, animal grunts from his throat, your own choked-off cries.
“This ass,” he pants, his voice raw. “This tight, fucking perfect ass. It’s mine now. You understand? I’m claiming this hole.” To emphasize his point, he slams into you, a hard, deep pound that makes you scream. The speed intensifies, his pumping going wild, a brutal, piston-like drive that shakes your whole body. Your breasts sway heavily with the force, your nipples scraping against the rough couch fabric with every jolt. The pressure in your ass is immense, a constant, thrilling stretch that walks the line between pleasure and pain.
But just like before, the penetration alone, as overwhelming as it is, isn’t tipping you over the edge. The pleasure is a deep, resonant thrum, but your climax is a distant star. You need more.
Frantically, you slide one hand from the couch back, down over your trembling stomach, through the coarse hair of your mound. Your fingers find your clitoris, swollen and puffy and throbbing in time with your heartbeat. The second you press against it, a bolt of pure electricity shoots up your spine. You rub in frantic, messy circles, the stimulation a bright, sharp counterpoint to the deep, pounding fullness in your ass.
The combination is devastating.
“Yeah,” Mingi growls, watching your hand work. His thrusts become more focused, driving into you at a punishing, steady pace that steals your breath. “That’s it. Play with that fat little clit. Get yourself ready. I’m gonna fill this ass up. I’m gonna pump my fucking load so deep inside you it’ll leak out for hours.”
His filthy, precise words are the final catalyst. The coil in your belly, wound impossibly tight by the dual assault, finally snaps.
It’s a different kind of climax than the one before—deeper, more internal, a rolling quake that starts in your clenched asshole around his invading cock and radiates outward in violent, shaking waves. Your whole body locks up, your back bowing against his restraining arm. A raw, guttural scream tears from your throat as your muscles clamp down on his shaft in a series of fierce, gripping spasms. Your pussy, untouched, pours out a fresh flood of wetness that drips down your inner thighs. The sensations overload your nerves, a white-noise buzz of pleasure-pain that whites out your vision.
Mingi lets out a choked roar. Your convulsing triggers his own release. He rams into you one last, final time, burying himself to the hilt, and holds there. You feel it—the thick, heavy pulses of his cum inside the condom, deep in you. Each jet is a hot, distinct flood, a claiming shot that seems to go on forever, pumping his release into the deepest part of you. He grinds against you, milking every last drop, his body shuddering against yours.
For a long moment, there is only the sound of heavy breathing, the feel of his sweat-slicked chest against your back, and the incredible, stuffed-full sensation in your ass.
Slowly, carefully, he pulls out. The condom, stretched and filled, slips from your body with a soft, wet pop. The sudden emptiness is profound. A weird, hollow ache replaces the intense pressure. You feel loose, stretched, used in the most exquisite way.
You slump forward over the couch, completely spent. Mingi’s hands are on your hips, turning you around. You’re too boneless to help. He sits heavily on the couch, pulling you down with him, until you’re straddling his lap, facing him. Your sensitive ass cheeks settle on his powerful thighs. His own cock, softening now, lies against his stomach. He looks wrecked, his hair damp with sweat, his eyes dark and satisfied.
He doesn’t say anything for a minute, just traces the line of your jaw with his thumb. Then his gaze drops, looking down between your bodies.
“Look,” he says, his voice hoarse.
You follow his look. There, at your entrance, a thick, white glob of his cum is seeping out from inside you, pearling at the tight, stretched ring of your asshole before dripping slowly down onto his thigh. The condom must have broken, or he’d taken it off… you’re too foggy to remember.
“See that?” he murmurs, dipping a finger in the mess and bringing it to your lips. “That’s my claim. Deep in your ass. And it’s gonna keep leaking. Every time you move tonight, you’re gonna feel it. You’re gonna remember exactly where I was.”
You open your mouth, and he slides his cum-smeared finger inside. You suck it clean, the taste bitter and salty and purely him. The act is degrading and impossibly hot. Your oversensitive clit gives a feeble throb.
He leans in, his forehead resting against yours. “You’re a fucking dream,” he breathes. Then he nods toward the hallway. “Bathroom’s there. Go clean up. But don’t you dare try to push all of it out. I want to see it on you when you come back.”
He smacks your ass, a stinging punctuation to his order.
genre: smut
synopsis: one confession later and you could have sworn that was the best head you've ever received.
warnings: oral (f receiving), fingering, begging, language, alcohol
pairing: bff!nicholas x fem!reader
wc: 1.2k
The air between you and Nicholas felt thick, charged. You’d been friends forever, but tonight, after too many beers and a stupidly honest game of truth or dare, everything shifted. Now you were on his bed, your heart hammering against your ribs.
“So, you’ve really never…?” His voice was low, closer than you expected.
You shook your head, looking at your hands. “No. Not… not like that.”
“Not like what?” he asked, his finger tilting your chin up. His eyes were dark, focused entirely on you.
“Not with someone who knows what they’re doing,” you whispered, the confession hanging in the air.
A slow, knowing smile spread across his face. “Good. I want to be the one who shows you.” His thumb brushed your lower lip. “I’m going to taste you, alright? I’m going to put my mouth on your pussy and learn exactly how you like to be licked.”
You just nodded, a shaky breath escaping you.
“Tell me you want it.”
“I want it.”
He kissed you then, hard and possessive, his tongue sweeping into your mouth as his hands pushed your shirt up and over your head. His touch was everywhere, stripping away your jeans and panties until you were bare beneath him on the comforter. He knelt between your legs, his gaze drinking in the sight of you.
“Fuck, look at you,” he muttered, his voice rough. “Your lips are so puffy, so swollen already. And you’re dripping.” He dragged a single finger through your folds, collecting the slickness that gleamed there, and held it up for you to see. “All for me.”
He didn’t wait for a reply. He lowered his head, and the first hot, wet stroke of his tongue from your entrance all the way up to your clit made your back arch off the bed.
“Oh, god!”
“Just like that,” he growled against you, his breath warming your soaked skin. “I want to hear every fucking sound.”
He settled in, his mouth a relentless, wet heaven. His tongue was flat and broad, lapping at your juices, circling your entrance before zeroing in on the tight, aching bundle of nerves above it. He didn’t just suck; he flicked, rapid and light, then pressed down with the firm flat of his tongue, making you writhe.
“I’m going to make it fucking pulse.” he said, his words vibrating through you.
He was a man with a plan. His fingers joined the party, two sliding into you with no resistance, your walls instantly clutching around them. They curled inside you, searching, and when they found that spongy, textured spot deep inside, he pressed.
Your hips jerked. “Nico!”
“There it is,” he said, his voice muffled by your flesh. He began a rhythm, his fingers rubbing that spot in slow, firm circles while his tongue worked your clit in counterpoint. The dual sensation built a pressure low in your belly, a coiled, hot spring winding tighter and tighter.
It climbed fast, too fast. The pleasure was a blinding white heat, rushing towards a peak you’d never felt before. Your thighs started to shake, your toes curling into the sheets.
“I’m—I’m gonna—”
Just as the first tremor of release began to spark through your nerves, he stopped.
He pulled his mouth and fingers away completely, leaving you empty, throbbing, and desperately exposed to the cool air.
You cried out, a sound of pure frustration. Your eyes flew open. He was watching you, his chin glistening with your arousal, a cruel, beautiful smirk on his face.
“Not yet,” he said softly.
“Please,” you begged, your hips lifting uselessly off the bed.
“Please what?” He leaned down, blowing a cool stream of air over your hypersensitive clit, making you gasp. “Use your words. Tell me what you need.”
“I need to come,” you whimpered.
“I know you do. Your pussy is clutching at nothing, it’s so fucking empty. But you have to ask better than that.” He dipped a single finger back into your soaking heat, gathering more of your fluid and painting it over your swollen lips and clit. “Beg for it.”
The denial was an agony. The need was a physical ache, a deep, relentless throb. You were dripping onto his sheets, your entire body trembling with unfinished tension.
“Please, Nicholas. Please let me come.”
“Mm, getting warmer,” he teased, replacing his finger with the very tip of his tongue, tracing your slit once, twice, a torturous mimicry of what you needed.
It broke you. “Please! Please, just let me cum! I need it so bad, I can’t stand it! Please, let this pathetic… let this pathetic whore cum!”
The words hung in the air, shocking you with their filth, their truth.
His eyes flashed with dark triumph. “Good girl.”
His mouth descended on you again, voracious this time. His tongue speared into your entrance, fucking you with it as his thumbs spread your lips wide. Then he sealed his lips over your clit and sucked, hard, while his fingers found that spot inside you again and pressed, unrelenting.
It took three seconds.
The orgasm didn’t crest; it detonated. It tore through you with a violence that stole the air from your lungs. A raw, screaming sound ripped from your throat as your back bowed, your hands fisting in his hair. Your walls clamped down on his fingers in rapid, rhythmic pulses, milking nothing.
And then came the flood.
You felt it building, a strange, deep pressure different from the clenching need. Nicholas felt it too. He groaned against you, the sound vibrating through your core, and he sucked harder.
“That’s it, soak me,” he grunted. “Let it all the fuck out.”
A gush of hot fluid erupted from you, drenching his chin, his mouth, the sheets beneath you. It wasn’t a trickle; it was a release, a burst of pent-up sensation that kept coming in waves alongside the convulsions of your orgasm. He drank it, lapped at it, his tongue collecting every drop as you shook and sobbed above him.
The sensations finally, slowly, began to recede, leaving you boneless and hypersensitive. He gentled his mouth, licking you softly through the aftershocks, each tender stroke making you flinch.
When he finally lifted his head, his face was a wreck—wet, shining, utterly satisfied. He crawled up your body, his weight settling over you, and kissed you deeply. You could taste yourself on his tongue, salty and sweet and uniquely you.
“Fuck,” you breathed against his lips, your voice shattered.
“You have no idea,” he said, his own voice gravelly. He shifted his hips, and you felt the hard, insistent length of him press against your still-quivering thigh through his jeans. “That was just the start. I’m not nearly done with you.”
His hand slid between your bodies, his fingers slipping through the mixed wetness on your stomach. He brought them to your lips. “Taste. Taste what you did.”
You opened your mouth, and he pushed his fingers inside. The flavor was intense, musky, electric. You sucked them clean, your eyes locked on his.
“Now,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper as he began to work the button of his jeans. “Where were we?”
genre: smut
synopsis: you’ve been trying to link up but never had the time, letting the tension grow, can mingi help it if he’s a little rough
warnings: hair pulling, fingering, anal, big dick mingi, language, gentle biting, rough sex, kissing, lots of cum, possessiveness, mentions slight condom breaking
pairing: situationship!mingi x fem!reader
wc: 3.1k
The door of his apartment clicking shut behind you, the waiting was fucking over. Mingi stood there, his dark eyes holding yours, and he didn’t say a word. He just reached out, his fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of your neck, and pulled you into him. The kiss wasn’t soft. It was a hungry, open-mouthed claim, his tongue sliding against yours, tasting of the whiskey he’d had earlier. You could feel the hard ridge of his cock, already straining against his jeans, pressed into your stomach.
He broke the kiss, breathing hard. “I’ve been thinking about this all goddamn week.”
“About what?” you breathed, your own hands sliding under his shirt, feeling the hard, warm planes of his stomach.
“About bending you over my kitchen counter and fucking you so deep you scream.” His voice was a low rasp. “About seeing how much of my cock that pretty mouth of yours can actually take. About making you come so hard you forget your own name.”
Your heart hammered against your ribs. “So do it.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. He spun you around, your back pressing into his chest. His hands slid down your arms, then to your hips, pulling your ass back into him. You felt the massive, thick length of him, even through the layers of fabric. God, it was huge. You’d felt it before, through clothes, seen the outline, but this proximity made your mouth water and your pussy clench with empty, needy pulses.
“This,” he murmured into your ear, his lips brushing the sensitive skin there. “This is what I want first.” He guided your hands forward, placing them flat on the cool granite of the kitchen island. He nudged your feet apart with his own. With one hand, he gathered your hair, wrapping it around his fist and pulling just enough to arch your back, to make your ass stick out for him. The other hand went to the button of your jeans. He popped it, yanked the zipper down, and shoved both your jeans and panties down to your knees in one rough, efficient motion. The cool air hit your exposed skin, followed immediately by the heat of his palm slapping your ass cheek—not hard, a sharp, stinging promise.
“Look at that,” he growled, his fingers sliding through the slickness already gathered between your pussy lips. They were swollen, plump, the inner lips puffy and dark with arousal. His thumb found your clit, circling it once, twice, making your knees buckle. “Soaked for me already. You’re fucking drenched.”
You heard the tear of a condom wrapper, then the rustle of his own clothes. Then, the blunt, broad head of his cock was pressing against your entrance. He wasn’t gentle. He used his grip on your hair to hold you steady as he pushed forward, a slow, inexorable invasion that made you gasp. The stretch was immediate, intense. Your pussy walls, already slick and hot, had to open wide to accommodate his thickness. He pushed deeper, inch by impossible inch, until his hips met your ass cheeks with a solid smack.
“Fuck,” you moaned, the word torn from your throat. “Mingi… it’s so much.”
“It is,” he agreed, his voice strained. He held himself there, buried to the hilt, letting you feel every centimeter of him stretching you wide. Then he pulled back, almost all the way out, until just the fat head of his cock caught at your entrance, before slamming back in. The pace was brutal from the start. Each thrust was a hard, driving piston-stroke that jolted you forward on the counter. His balls slapped against your clit with every inward drive, a secondary, rhythmic pressure that started a steady thrum of pleasure low in your belly. But it wasn’t enough, not to push you over. The penetration was overwhelming, filling, fucking incredible, but your climax hovered just out of reach.
He fucked you like that for what felt like ages, the sound of skin on skin, your ragged moans, and his grunts filling the kitchen. Your breasts, freed from your bra earlier, swung heavily with each impact, the nipples hard and aching.
“Need more,” you panted, pushing back against him.
He slowed, his thrusts becoming shallow grinds. “Tell me how.”
“Fingers. Your hand. I don’t care. Just…”
He released your hair, his hand snaking around your hip. His fingers were deft, finding your swollen clitoris immediately, slippery with your own juices. He pressed the flat of two fingers against it, rubbing in tight, fast circles that matched the punishing rhythm of his hips.
Yes. The dual sensation was electric. The deep, full feeling of his thick cock spearing you, combined with the precise, frantic stimulation on your clit, sent sparks shooting up your spine. Your moans grew louder, more desperate. Your inner muscles began to flutter around his shaft, a wet, gripping pulse.
“That’s it,” he grunted, his breath hot on your neck. “Squeeze my cock. Milk it with that tight fucking pussy. I wanna feel you cum all over me.”
His words, the filthy, precise description of what was happening to your body, pushed you higher. The pressure built, a coil winding tighter and tighter in your lower belly. Your vision spotted. The sounds you were making didn’t sound human anymore. His fingers worked you relentlessly, his cock pounding into you, hitting a spot deep inside that made you see stars.
It broke. Your orgasm erupted through you, a violent, shaking wave that started in your clenched pussy and radiated outwards, making your toes curl and your entire body seize. You screamed, a raw, ragged sound, as your channel convulsed around his invading length, gripping and releasing in rapid, juicy spasms. He fucked you through it, his strokes becoming harder, more erratic, chasing his own peak.
As the last tremors shook you, he pulled out suddenly. Before you could process the empty feeling, his hand was on your shoulder, pushing you down. “On your knees. Now.”
You slid bonelessly to the floor, turning to face him. His cock stood out, glistening with your wetness, purple and thick and veined. It looked impossible. He fisted it, stroking twice. “Open up. I’m gonna cum all over that pretty face.”
You opened your mouth, sticking your tongue out. He aimed the broad head at your lips. The first hot, thick rope of cum hit your tongue, salty and bitter. The second painted your cheek. The third splashed across your forehead. He kept coming, pulses of it covering your chin, your neck, the swell of your breasts. It was profuse, abundant, a messy, hot claim. You kept your mouth open, swallowing what you could, the taste flooding your senses.
He was breathing like he’d run a marathon. He looked down at you, his eyes black with lust and satisfaction. “Fuck. Look at you.”
You just panted, coated in him, your pussy still throbbing from the recent climax.
He leaned down, his voice dropping to a whisper. “We’re not done. I’m not done. Get on the couch. I want that ass next.”
Your legs feel like water as you stumble from the kitchen, his command ringing in your ears. The open-plan apartment feels vast and dark, the only light spilling from the range hood over the stove. The couch is a large, dark shape against the wall. You reach it, your knees still shaky, your skin sticky with his drying release. You turn, leaning back against the cushions, about to follow his last order.
But Mingi doesn’t let you get that far.
His hand closes on your shoulder before you can sit. “No,” he says, his voice a low thrum in the quiet room. “I said I wanted that ass. Not on your back. Not yet.”
He turns you, your back to him, and guides you forward until your hands brace against the back of the deep, plush couch. The fabric is cool and rough under your palms. He nudges your feet apart with his foot, widening your stance until you’re bent at the waist, your ass presented to him. Your jeans and panties are still a tangledconstraint at your knees, a frustrating barrier. With a low grunt, he hooks his fingers into the denim and yanks them the rest of the way.
His hands are warm and huge as they settle on the globes of your ass, kneading the flesh. “Look at this,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. His thumbs part your cheeks, exposing you completely. You feel utterly vulnerable, open. A shiver runs through you that has nothing to do with cold. “So fucking pretty. All pink and wet from me fucking your pussy. But this…” His thumb, slick with your own juices from where he’d touched you earlier, drags down the cleft, not touching your entrance, just tracing the sensitive skin around it.
His touch send a jolt of pure, undiluted heat straight to your core. Your pussy clenches around nothing, a fresh trickle of wetness easing out.
“You want it?” he asks, his voice right behind you. He’s close, you can feel the heat of his body, the hard press of his re-hardened cock against your lower back. It’s already thick and heavy again, a relentless engine of desire.
“Yes,” you whisper, the word barely audible.
“I didn’t hear you.”
“Yes, Mingi. I want it.”
“How do you want it?” His thumb circles the tight ring of muscle, applying the barest hint of pressure. It makes you gasp, your fingers digging into the couch fabric.
“I want… I want your cock in my ass.”
“Good girl.” The praise is a dark caress. “But my cock is thick, baby. You felt it. It’s gonna take some work to get it in this little hole.” His thumb presses again, a little harder, and this time it sinks in just past the first knuckle. The intrusion is sudden, a sharp, stretching burn that makes you stiffen. “Breathe,” he commands, his other hand rubbing your lower back. “Just breathe through it. Get used to my finger first.”
He works it slowly, in and out, the drag of his skin against your inner walls sending confusing signals—a burn that slowly melts into a deep, strange fullness. He coats his finger in more of your wetness, then presses back in with two. The stretch is intense, a burning pressure that borders on pain. You whimper, pushing back against him instinctively.
“Easy,” he soothes, but his voice is tight with his own restraint. He crooks his fingers inside you, searching, and a jolt of unexpected sensation rockets through you, making your eyes fly open. “There we go. Just getting you ready for me.” He scissors his fingers gently, stretching you wider. The burn recedes, replaced by a throbbing, empty ache that begs for more. He pulls his fingers out with a soft, wet sound.
You hear the tear of another condom wrapper. The sound is sharp in the quiet. Then you feel him, the broad, blunt head of his cock, slick with lube from the packet, pressing against your prepared entrance. It’s so much wider than his fingers. The sheer size of it makes your heart hammer against your ribs.
“This is it,” he says, his voice gritty. He wraps one arm around your waist, holding you steady against him. The other hand returns to your hair, fisting it at the roots, pulling your head back just enough to arch your spine. “You take this for me. You take every fucking inch.”
He pushes.
The initial penetration is a white-hot brand of pressure. You cry out, a sharp, broken sound, as the massive head begins to breach you. Your body fights it, clenching furiously against the invasion, but he is relentless. He holds you immobile with the arm around your waist and keeps pushing with a slow, steady pressure that feels like it splits you in two. You feel every ridge, every vein on his cock as it forces its way inside, stretching you to a breathtaking, impossible width.
“Fuck, Mingi… wait…”
“Shhh,” he murmurs into the skin of your shoulder, his lips brushing you. Then his teeth graze the same spot, a gentle, playful bite that shocks you with its tenderness amidst the violence of the penetration. “You’re doing it. You’re taking it. Just like that. Breathe, baby. Let it in.”
You suck in a ragged gasp. The burning stretch crests, and then, suddenly, it gives way. The head pops past the tightest ring of muscle, and he sinks another inch, then two, into the clutching, hot channel of your ass. The feeling is overwhelming. It’s a deep, filling pressure that radiates through your entire pelvis, a constant, demanding presence. He holds still, buried partway, letting your body adjust to the monumental girth.
“Feel that?” he groans, his own control fraying. “Feel how fucking thick I am inside you? Your ass is hugging me like a goddamn fist.”
You can only moan in response, a low, continuous sound of strain and shocking pleasure. The fullness is incredible. He begins to move, shallow pulls and pushes that make your inner muscles flutter around him. Each withdrawal is a slow, dragging agony of sensation; each thrust back in is a conquest. The pace builds, his hips starting to pump in a harder, faster rhythm.
His grip in your hair tightens, keeping your back arched, your ass tilted up for his use. The position, bent over the couch, makes every thrust drive deeper, angling into you in a way that makes you see sparks. The sound is obscene—the wet, slapping noise of his hips meeting your ass cheeks, the low, animal grunts from his throat, your own choked-off cries.
“This ass,” he pants, his voice raw. “This tight, fucking perfect ass. It’s mine now. You understand? I’m claiming this hole.” To emphasize his point, he slams into you, a hard, deep pound that makes you scream. The speed intensifies, his pumping going wild, a brutal, piston-like drive that shakes your whole body. Your breasts sway heavily with the force, your nipples scraping against the rough couch fabric with every jolt. The pressure in your ass is immense, a constant, thrilling stretch that walks the line between pleasure and pain.
But just like before, the penetration alone, as overwhelming as it is, isn’t tipping you over the edge. The pleasure is a deep, resonant thrum, but your climax is a distant star. You need more.
Frantically, you slide one hand from the couch back, down over your trembling stomach, through the coarse hair of your mound. Your fingers find your clitoris, swollen and puffy and throbbing in time with your heartbeat. The second you press against it, a bolt of pure electricity shoots up your spine. You rub in frantic, messy circles, the stimulation a bright, sharp counterpoint to the deep, pounding fullness in your ass.
The combination is devastating.
“Yeah,” Mingi growls, watching your hand work. His thrusts become more focused, driving into you at a punishing, steady pace that steals your breath. “That’s it. Play with that fat little clit. Get yourself ready. I’m gonna fill this ass up. I’m gonna pump my fucking load so deep inside you it’ll leak out for hours.”
His filthy, precise words are the final catalyst. The coil in your belly, wound impossibly tight by the dual assault, finally snaps.
It’s a different kind of climax than the one before—deeper, more internal, a rolling quake that starts in your clenched asshole around his invading cock and radiates outward in violent, shaking waves. Your whole body locks up, your back bowing against his restraining arm. A raw, guttural scream tears from your throat as your muscles clamp down on his shaft in a series of fierce, gripping spasms. Your pussy, untouched, pours out a fresh flood of wetness that drips down your inner thighs. The sensations overload your nerves, a white-noise buzz of pleasure-pain that whites out your vision.
Mingi lets out a choked roar. Your convulsing triggers his own release. He rams into you one last, final time, burying himself to the hilt, and holds there. You feel it—the thick, heavy pulses of his cum inside the condom, deep in you. Each jet is a hot, distinct flood, a claiming shot that seems to go on forever, pumping his release into the deepest part of you. He grinds against you, milking every last drop, his body shuddering against yours.
For a long moment, there is only the sound of heavy breathing, the feel of his sweat-slicked chest against your back, and the incredible, stuffed-full sensation in your ass.
Slowly, carefully, he pulls out. The condom, stretched and filled, slips from your body with a soft, wet pop. The sudden emptiness is profound. A weird, hollow ache replaces the intense pressure. You feel loose, stretched, used in the most exquisite way.
You slump forward over the couch, completely spent. Mingi’s hands are on your hips, turning you around. You’re too boneless to help. He sits heavily on the couch, pulling you down with him, until you’re straddling his lap, facing him. Your sensitive ass cheeks settle on his powerful thighs. His own cock, softening now, lies against his stomach. He looks wrecked, his hair damp with sweat, his eyes dark and satisfied.
He doesn’t say anything for a minute, just traces the line of your jaw with his thumb. Then his gaze drops, looking down between your bodies.
“Look,” he says, his voice hoarse.
You follow his look. There, at your entrance, a thick, white glob of his cum is seeping out from inside you, pearling at the tight, stretched ring of your asshole before dripping slowly down onto his thigh. The condom must have broken, or he’d taken it off… you’re too foggy to remember.
“See that?” he murmurs, dipping a finger in the mess and bringing it to your lips. “That’s my claim. Deep in your ass. And it’s gonna keep leaking. Every time you move tonight, you’re gonna feel it. You’re gonna remember exactly where I was.”
You open your mouth, and he slides his cum-smeared finger inside. You suck it clean, the taste bitter and salty and purely him. The act is degrading and impossibly hot. Your oversensitive clit gives a feeble throb.
He leans in, his forehead resting against yours. “You’re a fucking dream,” he breathes. Then he nods toward the hallway. “Bathroom’s there. Go clean up. But don’t you dare try to push all of it out. I want to see it on you when you come back.”
He smacks your ass, a stinging punctuation to his order.
genre: smut
synopsis: one confession later and you could have sworn that was the best head you've ever received.
warnings: oral (f receiving), fingering, begging, language, alcohol
pairing: bff!nicholas x fem!reader
wc: 1.2k
The air between you and Nicholas felt thick, charged. You’d been friends forever, but tonight, after too many beers and a stupidly honest game of truth or dare, everything shifted. Now you were on his bed, your heart hammering against your ribs.
“So, you’ve really never…?” His voice was low, closer than you expected.
You shook your head, looking at your hands. “No. Not… not like that.”
“Not like what?” he asked, his finger tilting your chin up. His eyes were dark, focused entirely on you.
“Not with someone who knows what they’re doing,” you whispered, the confession hanging in the air.
A slow, knowing smile spread across his face. “Good. I want to be the one who shows you.” His thumb brushed your lower lip. “I’m going to taste you, alright? I’m going to put my mouth on your pussy and learn exactly how you like to be licked.”
You just nodded, a shaky breath escaping you.
“Tell me you want it.”
“I want it.”
He kissed you then, hard and possessive, his tongue sweeping into your mouth as his hands pushed your shirt up and over your head. His touch was everywhere, stripping away your jeans and panties until you were bare beneath him on the comforter. He knelt between your legs, his gaze drinking in the sight of you.
“Fuck, look at you,” he muttered, his voice rough. “Your lips are so puffy, so swollen already. And you’re dripping.” He dragged a single finger through your folds, collecting the slickness that gleamed there, and held it up for you to see. “All for me.”
He didn’t wait for a reply. He lowered his head, and the first hot, wet stroke of his tongue from your entrance all the way up to your clit made your back arch off the bed.
“Oh, god!”
“Just like that,” he growled against you, his breath warming your soaked skin. “I want to hear every fucking sound.”
He settled in, his mouth a relentless, wet heaven. His tongue was flat and broad, lapping at your juices, circling your entrance before zeroing in on the tight, aching bundle of nerves above it. He didn’t just suck; he flicked, rapid and light, then pressed down with the firm flat of his tongue, making you writhe.
“I’m going to make it fucking pulse.” he said, his words vibrating through you.
He was a man with a plan. His fingers joined the party, two sliding into you with no resistance, your walls instantly clutching around them. They curled inside you, searching, and when they found that spongy, textured spot deep inside, he pressed.
Your hips jerked. “Nico!”
“There it is,” he said, his voice muffled by your flesh. He began a rhythm, his fingers rubbing that spot in slow, firm circles while his tongue worked your clit in counterpoint. The dual sensation built a pressure low in your belly, a coiled, hot spring winding tighter and tighter.
It climbed fast, too fast. The pleasure was a blinding white heat, rushing towards a peak you’d never felt before. Your thighs started to shake, your toes curling into the sheets.
“I’m—I’m gonna—”
Just as the first tremor of release began to spark through your nerves, he stopped.
He pulled his mouth and fingers away completely, leaving you empty, throbbing, and desperately exposed to the cool air.
You cried out, a sound of pure frustration. Your eyes flew open. He was watching you, his chin glistening with your arousal, a cruel, beautiful smirk on his face.
“Not yet,” he said softly.
“Please,” you begged, your hips lifting uselessly off the bed.
“Please what?” He leaned down, blowing a cool stream of air over your hypersensitive clit, making you gasp. “Use your words. Tell me what you need.”
“I need to come,” you whimpered.
“I know you do. Your pussy is clutching at nothing, it’s so fucking empty. But you have to ask better than that.” He dipped a single finger back into your soaking heat, gathering more of your fluid and painting it over your swollen lips and clit. “Beg for it.”
The denial was an agony. The need was a physical ache, a deep, relentless throb. You were dripping onto his sheets, your entire body trembling with unfinished tension.
“Please, Nicholas. Please let me come.”
“Mm, getting warmer,” he teased, replacing his finger with the very tip of his tongue, tracing your slit once, twice, a torturous mimicry of what you needed.
It broke you. “Please! Please, just let me cum! I need it so bad, I can’t stand it! Please, let this pathetic… let this pathetic whore cum!”
The words hung in the air, shocking you with their filth, their truth.
His eyes flashed with dark triumph. “Good girl.”
His mouth descended on you again, voracious this time. His tongue speared into your entrance, fucking you with it as his thumbs spread your lips wide. Then he sealed his lips over your clit and sucked, hard, while his fingers found that spot inside you again and pressed, unrelenting.
It took three seconds.
The orgasm didn’t crest; it detonated. It tore through you with a violence that stole the air from your lungs. A raw, screaming sound ripped from your throat as your back bowed, your hands fisting in his hair. Your walls clamped down on his fingers in rapid, rhythmic pulses, milking nothing.
And then came the flood.
You felt it building, a strange, deep pressure different from the clenching need. Nicholas felt it too. He groaned against you, the sound vibrating through your core, and he sucked harder.
“That’s it, soak me,” he grunted. “Let it all the fuck out.”
A gush of hot fluid erupted from you, drenching his chin, his mouth, the sheets beneath you. It wasn’t a trickle; it was a release, a burst of pent-up sensation that kept coming in waves alongside the convulsions of your orgasm. He drank it, lapped at it, his tongue collecting every drop as you shook and sobbed above him.
The sensations finally, slowly, began to recede, leaving you boneless and hypersensitive. He gentled his mouth, licking you softly through the aftershocks, each tender stroke making you flinch.
When he finally lifted his head, his face was a wreck—wet, shining, utterly satisfied. He crawled up your body, his weight settling over you, and kissed you deeply. You could taste yourself on his tongue, salty and sweet and uniquely you.
“Fuck,” you breathed against his lips, your voice shattered.
“You have no idea,” he said, his own voice gravelly. He shifted his hips, and you felt the hard, insistent length of him press against your still-quivering thigh through his jeans. “That was just the start. I’m not nearly done with you.”
His hand slid between your bodies, his fingers slipping through the mixed wetness on your stomach. He brought them to your lips. “Taste. Taste what you did.”
You opened your mouth, and he pushed his fingers inside. The flavor was intense, musky, electric. You sucked them clean, your eyes locked on his.
“Now,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper as he began to work the button of his jeans. “Where were we?”
genre: smut
synopsis: one confession later and you could have sworn that was the best head you've ever received.
warnings: oral (f receiving), fingering, begging, language, alcohol
pairing: bff!nicholas x fem!reader
wc: 1.2k
The air between you and Nicholas felt thick, charged. You’d been friends forever, but tonight, after too many beers and a stupidly honest game of truth or dare, everything shifted. Now you were on his bed, your heart hammering against your ribs.
“So, you’ve really never…?” His voice was low, closer than you expected.
You shook your head, looking at your hands. “No. Not… not like that.”
“Not like what?” he asked, his finger tilting your chin up. His eyes were dark, focused entirely on you.
“Not with someone who knows what they’re doing,” you whispered, the confession hanging in the air.
A slow, knowing smile spread across his face. “Good. I want to be the one who shows you.” His thumb brushed your lower lip. “I’m going to taste you, alright? I’m going to put my mouth on your pussy and learn exactly how you like to be licked.”
You just nodded, a shaky breath escaping you.
“Tell me you want it.”
“I want it.”
He kissed you then, hard and possessive, his tongue sweeping into your mouth as his hands pushed your shirt up and over your head. His touch was everywhere, stripping away your jeans and panties until you were bare beneath him on the comforter. He knelt between your legs, his gaze drinking in the sight of you.
“Fuck, look at you,” he muttered, his voice rough. “Your lips are so puffy, so swollen already. And you’re dripping.” He dragged a single finger through your folds, collecting the slickness that gleamed there, and held it up for you to see. “All for me.”
He didn’t wait for a reply. He lowered his head, and the first hot, wet stroke of his tongue from your entrance all the way up to your clit made your back arch off the bed.
“Oh, god!”
“Just like that,” he growled against you, his breath warming your soaked skin. “I want to hear every fucking sound.”
He settled in, his mouth a relentless, wet heaven. His tongue was flat and broad, lapping at your juices, circling your entrance before zeroing in on the tight, aching bundle of nerves above it. He didn’t just suck; he flicked, rapid and light, then pressed down with the firm flat of his tongue, making you writhe.
“I’m going to make it fucking pulse.” he said, his words vibrating through you.
He was a man with a plan. His fingers joined the party, two sliding into you with no resistance, your walls instantly clutching around them. They curled inside you, searching, and when they found that spongy, textured spot deep inside, he pressed.
Your hips jerked. “Nico!”
“There it is,” he said, his voice muffled by your flesh. He began a rhythm, his fingers rubbing that spot in slow, firm circles while his tongue worked your clit in counterpoint. The dual sensation built a pressure low in your belly, a coiled, hot spring winding tighter and tighter.
It climbed fast, too fast. The pleasure was a blinding white heat, rushing towards a peak you’d never felt before. Your thighs started to shake, your toes curling into the sheets.
“I’m—I’m gonna—”
Just as the first tremor of release began to spark through your nerves, he stopped.
He pulled his mouth and fingers away completely, leaving you empty, throbbing, and desperately exposed to the cool air.
You cried out, a sound of pure frustration. Your eyes flew open. He was watching you, his chin glistening with your arousal, a cruel, beautiful smirk on his face.
“Not yet,” he said softly.
“Please,” you begged, your hips lifting uselessly off the bed.
“Please what?” He leaned down, blowing a cool stream of air over your hypersensitive clit, making you gasp. “Use your words. Tell me what you need.”
“I need to come,” you whimpered.
“I know you do. Your pussy is clutching at nothing, it’s so fucking empty. But you have to ask better than that.” He dipped a single finger back into your soaking heat, gathering more of your fluid and painting it over your swollen lips and clit. “Beg for it.”
The denial was an agony. The need was a physical ache, a deep, relentless throb. You were dripping onto his sheets, your entire body trembling with unfinished tension.
“Please, Nicholas. Please let me come.”
“Mm, getting warmer,” he teased, replacing his finger with the very tip of his tongue, tracing your slit once, twice, a torturous mimicry of what you needed.
It broke you. “Please! Please, just let me cum! I need it so bad, I can’t stand it! Please, let this pathetic… let this pathetic whore cum!”
The words hung in the air, shocking you with their filth, their truth.
His eyes flashed with dark triumph. “Good girl.”
His mouth descended on you again, voracious this time. His tongue speared into your entrance, fucking you with it as his thumbs spread your lips wide. Then he sealed his lips over your clit and sucked, hard, while his fingers found that spot inside you again and pressed, unrelenting.
It took three seconds.
The orgasm didn’t crest; it detonated. It tore through you with a violence that stole the air from your lungs. A raw, screaming sound ripped from your throat as your back bowed, your hands fisting in his hair. Your walls clamped down on his fingers in rapid, rhythmic pulses, milking nothing.
And then came the flood.
You felt it building, a strange, deep pressure different from the clenching need. Nicholas felt it too. He groaned against you, the sound vibrating through your core, and he sucked harder.
“That’s it, soak me,” he grunted. “Let it all the fuck out.”
A gush of hot fluid erupted from you, drenching his chin, his mouth, the sheets beneath you. It wasn’t a trickle; it was a release, a burst of pent-up sensation that kept coming in waves alongside the convulsions of your orgasm. He drank it, lapped at it, his tongue collecting every drop as you shook and sobbed above him.
The sensations finally, slowly, began to recede, leaving you boneless and hypersensitive. He gentled his mouth, licking you softly through the aftershocks, each tender stroke making you flinch.
When he finally lifted his head, his face was a wreck—wet, shining, utterly satisfied. He crawled up your body, his weight settling over you, and kissed you deeply. You could taste yourself on his tongue, salty and sweet and uniquely you.
“Fuck,” you breathed against his lips, your voice shattered.
“You have no idea,” he said, his own voice gravelly. He shifted his hips, and you felt the hard, insistent length of him press against your still-quivering thigh through his jeans. “That was just the start. I’m not nearly done with you.”
His hand slid between your bodies, his fingers slipping through the mixed wetness on your stomach. He brought them to your lips. “Taste. Taste what you did.”
You opened your mouth, and he pushed his fingers inside. The flavor was intense, musky, electric. You sucked them clean, your eyes locked on his.
“Now,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper as he began to work the button of his jeans. “Where were we?”
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genre: smut
synopsis: maybe teasing him wasn't so bad after all...
warnings: exhibitionism, degradation, choking, public sex, humiliation kink, jealousy kink, anal
pairing: bf!wonbin x fem!reader
wc: 1.9k
You should have known things would go sideways the moment Leo leaned across your desk after history seminar and said, “Want to study together later? I could use someone who actually paid attention.”
“Sure,” you answered before thinking twice. You liked Leo. He was easy to work with and even easier to talk to.
Too easy, apparently.
Because the second the words left your mouth, you felt Wonbin’s stare burn into the side of your neck.
“Study?” he asked, voice casual in the way a held blade is casual.
Leo nodded. “Yeah. The Crusades essay is killing me. Thought we could go over notes.”
You gave Wonbin a look, silently begging him not to make it weird. “It’s just for an hour.”
Wonbin didn’t even pretend to play it cool. “Then I’m coming too.”
Leo laughed nervously, like he didn’t realize he’d accidentally stepped into a landmine. “Sure, man. The more the merrier.”
But Wonbin didn’t laugh. He just slipped his hand into yours, holding on tight enough that you felt the warning in it. You whispered, “You don’t have to come.”
“I do,” he said. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”
“You’re overreacting.”
“I’m reacting,” he corrected quietly. “There’s a difference.”
And even though you rolled your eyes, you didn’t argue. Because you knew exactly how this would go. You’d meet in the library. Leo would bring neat, color-coded notes. And Wonbin would sit so close his jealousy would have its own gravity.
Which is exactly how you ended up here.
The quiet of the library was a heavy blanket, broken only by the soft scratch of your pencil and the occasional rustle of a turned page. You could feel the heat of Wonbin’s thigh against yours under the small wooden table, a steady, possessive burn. His focus was a physical thing, a tight coil of concentration directed at his economics textbook. You, however, had finished your work twenty minutes ago.
Your study partner, Leo from your history seminar, grinned as he slid his notes toward you. “Think that covers the Crusades well enough?”
You leaned forward, giving him a bright, appreciative smile, your voice a hushed, friendly murmur. “It’s perfect, Leo. Seriously, you saved me.”
A low, guttural sound came from your left. You didn’t need to look to know Wonbin’s jaw was tight, his knuckles probably white where he gripped his pen. You could feel the shift in his energy, the quiet air turning sharp and electric.
Leo, oblivious, chuckled. “Anytime. Maybe we can—”
“We’re done here.” Wonbin’s voice was a low, flat command, devoid of its usual warmth. He closed his book with a definitive snap that echoed in the silent aisle.
“Oh, uh, sure man,” Leo stammered, quickly gathering his things and offering you a faint, confused wave before retreating.
You turned to Wonbin, a fake, innocent pout on your lips. “What was that for? He was just being nice.”
His hand closed around your wrist, his grip not painful but unbreakable, a brand of intent. His dark eyes were narrowed, a storm brewing behind them. “Nice?” he whispered, the word a venomous, silken threat. “You were smiling at him like he’d just given you the world, not a scribbled note on dead centuries.”
He stood, pulling you up with him. “We need to have a talk. Now.”
He didn’t give you a chance to respond, leading you—practically dragging you—deeper into the maze of shelves, away from the open study areas, into the dim, dusty silence of the ancient history section. The air smelled of old paper and forgotten things. He backed you into the deepest, most shadowy corner, his body caging you against the cool metal shelves.
“What do you think you’re doing?” you breathed, a genuine tremor of anticipation mixing with your feigned protest.
His face was inches from yours, his breath hot on your lips. “Reminding you who you belong to.” His free hand came up, his fingers curling lightly, so lightly, around your throat. Not squeezing. Just holding. A promise. A threat. Your pulse hammered against his palm, a frantic bird trapped in a gentle cage. “That smile is mine. Those little breaths you’re trying to hide… they’re mine. Every single part of you is mine to witness, and mine alone.”
His thumb stroked the line of your jaw, a mocking caress. “You liked that, didn’t you? Letting him look. Letting him think he had a chance. You little tease.” His voice dropped even further, a rough, gritty whisper that slid straight through your core. “Did it make you wet? Thinking about him watching while I put you in your place?”
You swallowed, the motion restricted by his gentle hold. “Babe, someone could—”
“Let them,” he growled, and his mouth crashed down on yours. It wasn’t a kiss of affection; it was a claiming. Hard, demanding, all teeth and possession. You moaned into it, your hands coming up to clutch at his shoulders as your knees went weak.
He broke the kiss, his own breathing ragged. His hand left your throat, sliding down to the button of your jeans. His eyes never left yours as he popped it open, then dragged the zipper down. The sound was obscenely loud in the silence. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your jeans and your panties, yanking them down to your thighs in one sharp motion. The cool library air kissed your exposed skin, raising goosebumps.
“Turn around,” he ordered, his voice thick. “Put your hands on the shelf.”
You obeyed, your heart slamming against your ribs. The worn leather of his belt brushed the backs of your thighs as you bent over, presenting yourself to him in the shadowy aisle. You heard the rasp of his own zipper, the rustle of clothing.
“Look at you,” he whispered, his hands spreading your cheeks apart, exposing you completely. “So pretty and pink. Already shiny for me. Did that pathetic smile really get you this worked up?” He traced a single finger through your slickness, gathering the wetness that proved his point, and you shuddered, pushing back against his hand. “So desperate.”
You felt the broad, flared head of his cock press against your entrance, not pushing in, just resting there, a heavy, insistent pressure. He was thick, the prominent vein on the underside pulsing against your sensitive flesh. He leaned over you, his chest against your back, his lips at your ear.
“You want this?” he murmured, his voice a dark caress. “You want me to fuck you right here where anyone could walk by and see what a greedy little thing you are? See how you drip for me?”
“Yes,” you gasped, the word torn from you.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, please, Wonbin.”
He rewarded you by sinking into you in one smooth, relentless motion. The stretch was immense, breathtaking, forcing a choked cry from your throat that he swallowed with another brutal kiss. He filled you utterly, the thick length of him rubbing against every sensitive inch inside you. He held himself there, buried to the hilt, letting you feel the full, overwhelming sensation of being taken.
Then he began to move.
His thrusts were not gentle. They were deep, punishing, each one driving the air from your lungs. The sound of skin meeting skin, of his body slapping against yours, was muffled by the shelves but sounded deafening to your ears. You bit your lip to keep from screaming, the metallic taste of blood a sharp tang on your tongue. Your breasts, free from your bra, swung heavily with each powerful drive forward, the nipples hard and aching.
“This is what you needed, wasn’t it?” he grunted, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises, his pace intensifying. “You couldn’t just sit there and be good. You had to push. You had to make me remind you.”
You could only moan in response, your world narrowing to the feeling of him pistoning into you, the rough fabric of his jeans against your bare thighs, the terrifying, exhilarating risk of discovery. Your fingers scrambled for purchase on the dusty shelf.
One of his hands left your hip and snaked around your front, his fingers finding your swollen, throbbing clit. The contact was electric, a direct jolt of pleasure that made you see stars. He rubbed tight, frantic circles there, his rhythm on your clit matching the deep, pounding rhythm of his thrusts.
“You’re going to cum,” he commanded into your ear, his voice ragged with his own nearing release. “You’re going to cum all over my cock while I fuck you in this library. Let everyone hear what a good, owned girl you are.”
The dual sensations were too much. The deep, internal pressure and the frantic, external stimulation converged into a cataclysm. Your orgasm didn't crest; it detonated. A white-hot wave of pure, shattering pleasure erupted from your core, radiating out until your very fingertips tingled with it. Your inner muscles clamped down on him, gripping and milking his shaft in rhythmic, uncontrollable pulses. A silent scream was locked in your throat as your body convulsed around him, your vision spotting at the edges.
The violent clenching of your body around his length was the final push he needed. With a guttural, choked gasp, he buried himself as deep as he could go. You felt the hot, sudden rush of his release flood you, pulse after thick, claiming pulse painting your inner walls. He held you there, impaled, as he emptied himself inside you, his own body trembling with the force of it.
For a long moment, the only sound was your ragged, synced breathing. He slumped over you, his forehead resting between your shoulder blades, his softening cock still nestled within your sensitive, twitching depths.
Slowly, carefully, he pulled out. A hot trickle of his release immediately escaped down your inner thigh. He turned you around to face him, his eyes dark and sated, but still blazing with a possessive fire. He captured your mouth in a kiss that was surprisingly soft, almost tender, a stark contrast to the fierce claiming of before.
He leaned his forehead against yours, his voice a husky, satisfied whisper. “You’re mine,” he murmured, the words a low growl that reverberated through your chest. His hands slid up to cradle your face, thumbs brushing over your flushed cheeks with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the raw intensity of what had just transpired. “Every smile, every breath, every moan—it all belongs to me.”
“Tell me you understand. Tell me you know who you belong to.”
“You,” you gasped, your voice breaking. “I belong to you.”
He smiled then, a slow, predatory curve of his lips that made your stomach flip. “Good girl,” he murmured, his hands sliding down to grip your hips once more. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, a rare display of tenderness that somehow felt more possessive than anything else he’d done. “Now let’s get out of here before someone sees.”
The promise in his words sent another wave of heat through you, but before you could respond, he was already straightening your clothes with practiced efficiency. His touch was firm but gentle, a silent reminder that even in moments of care, he was in control. As he guided you out of the shadowy aisle and back into the library’s main area, you couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder one last time. The memory of what had just happened lingered in the air like a secret, binding you to him even tighter than before. And you knew, without a doubt, that this was only the beginning.
genre: smut, fluff
synopsis: you both celebrate your surprising announcement
warnings: birthday sex?, blowjob, pregnancy, pet names (baby, mama), unprotected sex, praising, making out, soobin has a big dick, multiple rounds, stomach bulge
pairing: husband!soobin x fem!reader
wc: 2.5k
The blanket is soft beneath you, the sound of the waves a gentle rhythm against the shore. You hold the little plastic stick between your fingers, your heart hammering against your ribs. Soobin’s eyes are wide, fixed on the plus sign, his glass of wine forgotten in the sand.
“Is this…?” he whispers, his voice thick with something you can’t quite name.
You just nod, a tear finally escaping and tracing a warm path down your cheek. “It’s real.”
A slow, dazzling smile breaks across his face, so bright it rivals the stars beginning to pepper the twilight sky. He doesn’t say anything else. He just moves, his body covering yours with a tender urgency, his mouth finding yours in a kiss that tastes of salt, wine, and pure, unadulterated joy.
His hands frame your face, his thumbs brushing away your tears. ”My beautiful girl,” he murmurs against your lips, his breath warm. ”My beautiful, glowing mama.”
The new pet name sends a shiver straight through your core, a liquid heat pooling low in your belly. You moan into his mouth, your hands tangling in the soft fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. His kiss deepens, becoming less about celebration and more about possession, a claiming. His tongue slides against yours, and you can feel the hard line of his excitement pressing against your thigh.
He breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against yours, his eyes dark with desire. ”I need to taste you,” he says, his voice a low rasp. ”Every part of you. Right now.”
He guides you back onto the blanket, his movements reverent. He kneels between your legs, pushing your sundress up around your waist. The cool evening air kisses your skin, raising goosebumps, but his gaze is a brand. He drinks in the sight of you, your body already changing, your skin flushed.
”Look at you,” he breathes, his fingers tracing the waistband of your panties. ”So perfect. All for me. All for us.”
He hooks his fingers into the lace and pulls them down your legs, his eyes never leaving the apex of your thighs. When you’re bare to him, he lets out a soft, appreciative groan. ”Fuck, baby. You’re already so wet for me. I can smell you from here.”
He leans down, but not to your center. He presses a soft, open-mouthed kiss to your lower belly, right where your womb is growing. ”Hello in there,” he whispers, and the intimacy of it makes you ache.
Then he shifts, his focus dropping lower. His thumbs part your folds, exposing the slick, glistening pink flesh within. Your outer lips are already plump and swollen with arousal, and your inner lips, a darker shade of rose, are slick and parted, begging for attention. Your clit, a hard, eager pearl, pulses under his scrutiny.
”This gorgeous pussy is mine,” he says, his voice dropping to a possessive growl. ”And this,” he adds, his thumb brushing lightly over your clit, making you jolt, ”is my favorite thing to worship.”
He doesn’t wait for a reply. He lowers his head and his tongue, broad and flat, licks a long, slow stripe from your entrance all the way up to your clit. The sensation is electric, a direct current of pleasure that makes your back arch off the blanket. ”Soobin!”
He groans against you, the vibration intensifying everything. ”You taste like heaven, mama. Sweet and sharp. I could live between these legs.”
His worship is methodical, expert. He circles your clit with the very tip of his tongue, flicking it with a rapid, gentle precision that has you gasping. Then he sucks it into his mouth, applying a steady, rhythmic pressure that makes you see stars. One of his hands slides down, two fingers sliding through your copious wetness, gathering the fluid that’s dripping from you. He pushes them inside you, and your inner walls, already sensitized, clench around him immediately, gripping his fingers in a tight, hot fist.
”You’re so greedy for it,” he murmurs, his words a hot puff against your wet flesh. ”Taking my fingers so deep. Your body knows what it needs.”
He crooks his fingers, finding that rough, spongy spot inside you that makes your vision blur. He presses against it, again and again, while his mouth continues its devastating work on your clit. The dual assault is too much, and not enough. You’re climbing, your hips rocking against his face, your hands fisting in his hair.
”I’m close, I’m so close,” you beg, your voice cracking.
He increases the pace, his fingers pumping into you, his mouth sucking hard. The orgasm crashes over you without warning, a silent, seismic wave of pleasure that locks your breath in your chest before tearing a ragged cry from your throat. Your entire body convulses, your pussy fluttering and squeezing around his fingers in rapid, intense pulses. He doesn’t stop, drawing out the sensation until you’re whimpering, pushing at his head from the oversensitivity.
He finally pulls back, his lips and chin glistening with your release. He looks utterly debauched, and utterly in love. He sits up, pulling his shirt over his head. His own arousal is obvious, straining against the fabric of his jeans. The thick outline is unmistakable.
”My turn, baby,” you say, your voice still shaky.
You push him onto his back and make quick work of his belt and button. You pull his jeans and boxers down his hips, and his cock springs free, hitting his stomach with a soft thud. It’s magnificent, just like the rest of him. Long and thick, the shaft is a smooth column of heat with a prominent vein running along the underside. The head is a deep, flushed red, already beading with moisture at the tip. His balls, heavy and drawn tight, are nestled in a dark thatch of hair.
You lean down, not taking your eyes off his. You swirl your tongue around the broad head, collecting the salty, musky pre-cum. ”You’re so big,” you whisper, your breath ghosting over his wet skin. ”I love how you feel in my mouth.”
You open wide and take him in, sinking down until you feel the head nudge the back of your throat. His hips buck off the blanket and he lets out a guttural groan. ”Fuck! Yes, just like that, mama.”
You bob your head, establishing a rhythm. You use one hand to cup his balls, rolling the heavy orbs gently, while the other hand strokes the base of his shaft in time with your mouth’s movements. Saliva drips profusely from the corners of your mouth, coating him, making obscene, wet sounds each time you slide up and down his length. You look up at him, and the sight of his face, clenched in ecstasy, his eyes burning down at you, sends another thrill through your well-fucked body.
”I need to be inside you,” he grits out, his control fraying. ”Now. I need to feel you.”
You release him with a pop and move to straddle his hips. He doesn’t even let you guide him. His hand wraps around his cock, aiming it at your dripping entrance. You sink down onto him in one smooth, slow motion.
The feeling is unparalleled. The way your body, already stretched and sensitized from his fingers and your orgasm, has to accommodate his girth. The initial resistance gives way to a perfect, filling stretch. Your inner walls mold around him, gripping him tightly as you take every inch, until your hips are flush with his.
”Oh god,” he moans, his hands gripping your hips, his knuckles white. ”You feel… you’re incredible.”
You begin to move, a slow, rolling grind of your hips. Your full breasts sway with the rhythm, and you watch the way his eyes darken as he watches them. He sits up slightly to capture a nipple in his mouth, sucking and laving it with his tongue, his hips meeting your downward strokes.
”Lie back,” he commands gently, and you do, settling onto the blanket. He hovers over you, his arms framing your head. This position feels deeper, more intimate. He can see all of you, and you can see the raw love and lust in his eyes.
He begins to move, slow, deep thrusts that are less about frenzy and more about connection. Each inward stroke is a deliberate claiming, a nurturing push. You can feel the broad head of his cock rubbing against that sweet spot inside you with every plunge, the sensation building from a simmer to a rolling boil. Your swollen, sensitive tissues stretch around him with each entry, the friction a perfect burn.
”You’re taking me so good,” he whispers, his voice strained. ”My perfect girl. My strong, beautiful mama.”
His words fuel your own rising climax. You wrap your legs around his waist, locking your ankles at the small of his back, pulling him even deeper. The new angle makes him groan, his thrusts becoming more urgent, his rhythm faltering.
”I can feel you,” you pant, your nails digging into his shoulders. ”You’re so deep. I can feel you everywhere.”
”Cum with me, baby,” he urges, his breath hot against your ear. ”Let me feel you cum on my cock.”
It’s all the permission you need. The tension snaps. Your orgasm rips through you, a silent, powerful wave that makes your entire body stiffen and then shudder uncontrollably. Your pussy convulses around him, a series of intense, milking contractions that grip his shaft like a velvet fist.
The feeling triggers his own release. With a broken cry, he drives into you one last, final time, burying himself to the hilt. You feel the hot, pulsing jet of his cum flooding your depths, each spurt a warm, claiming rush that seems to go on and on. He collapses on top of you, his full weight a comforting blanket as you both ride out the aftershocks.
For a long time, the only sounds are your ragged breathing and the crashing waves. He shifts slightly, still buried inside you, softening. He nuzzles your neck.
“We’re having a baby,” he says, the wonder back in his voice.
You smile and run your hands through his damp hair. “We are.”
He breathes out like he just unlocked a secret he’s been carrying for ages. “I thought I’d be calm when you told me. Turns out, no. I’m a mess.”
“A cute mess.”
He nudges your knee with his. “A very composed, extremely handsome mess. Get it right.”
You laugh. “Fine. Handsome mess.”
“That’s better.” He shifts onto his side so he can look at you fully. His eyes soften when he sees your smile. “You doing alright?”
“I’m good. You?”
“Better than good.” He lifts your hand, kisses the inside of your palm. “We planned this. We hoped for it. But hearing you say it out loud… it hits different.”
“Good different?”
“Perfect different.” His fingers trail to your stomach, gentle but sure. “Hey you,” he murmurs, “your parents are ready for you.”
You snicker. “Bold of you to speak for both of us.”
“I know you,” he says, grinning. “We’ve talked about this for months. You’re ready.”
“Maybe.”
“No maybe.” His thumb taps your skin. “You’re ready in the way you always are. Nervous and excited at the same time.”
You raise a brow. “Since when do you read me like a book?”
“Since always. You forget how long we’ve been doing this.”
You give his hand a squeeze. “Feels like forever.”
“Exactly.” He rolls onto his back, still holding your hand. “I like that it feels like forever. Means we’re doing something right.”
You tuck yourself into his side. “You’re very calm right now.”
“I’m trying not to scare you.”
“You wouldn’t.”
He laughs under his breath. “I might. I’m thinking about everything at once. Names. Baby clothes. How we’re going to fit a crib in the apartment. Whether we need to move. Who we should tell first. Whether your mom is going to cry so hard she forgets to breathe.”
“She might.”
“She definitely will.” He turns his head a little to look at you. “But I’m excited. Very excited.”
“I can tell.”
“You should be excited too.”
“I am.”
“Say it like you mean it.”
You lift your head from his chest. “I’m excited.”
He grins. “There it is.”
You flick his forehead. “You’re annoying.”
“You love it.”
“I do.”
His grin softens into something warm. “What happens now?”
“We wait.”
“We prepare,” he corrects. “And we take care of you.”
“We take care of each other.”
“Always.”
He pulls you closer, forehead resting against yours. “Do you want to tell anyone today, or keep it ours a bit longer?”
“A bit longer,” you say. “I like having it just between us.”
“Good. Me too.” His fingers trace lazy shapes on your arm. “I want to enjoy this part. Just you and me and the quiet.”
“You’re never quiet.”
“I’m quiet right now.”
“You’re talking.”
“I’m whispering. It’s different.”
You laugh again, and he kisses the corner of your mouth, soft and sure. When he pulls back he’s smiling like he knows a secret. “You know what I’m thinking?”
“What?”
“That this kid is going to have your stubbornness.”
“And your height.”
“And your sarcasm.”
“And your dimples.”
He pretends to panic. “We’re raising a menace.”
“A cute menace.”
“True.”
You look at him for a long moment. His face is bright and steady, the way it always gets when he’s sure about something. You feel that certainty settle inside you too.
“Soobin,” you murmur.
“Yeah?”
“You’re going to be such a good dad.”
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look away. He just smiles like he’s been waiting to hear it. “I know.” He lifts your hand to his lips again. “And you’re going to be an incredible mom.”
“Think so?”
“I’m sure.” He squeezes your fingers. “We work well together. We’ve always worked well together.”
You rest your hand on his chest, right over his heartbeat. “Then we’re going to be fine.”
“We’re going to be great.”
Silence falls, but it’s comfortable. He shifts down a little and lays his ear on your stomach like he’s listening for something.
“What are you doing?” you ask, amused.
“Bonding.”
“They can’t hear you yet.”
“Not the point.”
“What is the point?”
“I want them to know I’m here.”
You run your hand through his hair again, slow. “They will.”
He closes his eyes, smiling against your skin. “We’re having a baby,” he says for what has to be the tenth time, but he still says it like it’s brand new.
“We are.”
He rolls back up to face you. “Say it again.”
“No.”
“Please?”
“You already know.”
“I want to hear it.”
You sigh, but he can see the smile you’re trying to hide. “We’re having a baby.”
“Good,” he whispers. “I like when you say it.”
He kisses you again, and when he settles beside you, he pulls you in with a confidence that feels like home.
“Get some rest,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”
“We’ve got each other.”
He nods, eyes soft. “Exactly.”
And for the first time since you found out, the world feels steady. Safe. Yours.
taglist: this form for kinkmas - this form for perm taglist - send an ask/comment
nets: @blossomnet @daydreamnet
genre: smut
synopsis: you help him unwind after a long exhausting day
warnings: shower sex, blowjob, dirty talk
pairing: bf!taehyun x fem!reader
wc: 1.2k
The steam wraps around you like a second skin, fogging the glass door and clinging to your lungs with every humid breath. You lean against the cool tile, just watching him. Taehyun stands under the pounding spray, head bowed, shoulders slumped with a day’s worth of exhaustion. Water sluices down the defined planes of his back, over the tight curve of his ass, tracing paths through the tired muscles you ache to knead.
“Long day?” you ask, your voice soft against the drumming water.
He doesn’t turn, just lets out a low groan that vibrates through the steam-filled space. “The longest. My bones feel like they’ve been replaced with lead.” His voice is a gravelly rumble, stripped raw from singing, from talking, from performing.
You step into the shower, the hot water a shock against your cooler skin. You press yourself against his back, wrapping your arms around his waist, feeling the solid, real warmth of him. Your hands slide over his stomach, feeling the taut skin jump under your touch. “Let me help.”
He finally turns, his eyes heavy-lidded, a faint smile touching his lips. Water droplets cling to his long lashes. “You’re the best kind of distraction.” His hands find your hips, his thumbs making slow, circular patterns on your skin.
You reach for the body wash, pouring a generous amount into your palm. The scent of clean sandalwood and something uniquely him fills the air. You start with his shoulders, working the lather into the knotted muscles there. He groans again, this time a sound of pure relief, his head tipping forward.
“Right there,” he murmurs. “God, yes.”
Your hands travel lower, down the grooves of his spine, over the firm mounds of his glutes. You knead the flesh there, feeling him gradually relax under your ministrations, the tension bleeding out of him and swirling down the drain. You sink to your knees on the shower floor, the water beating down on your back as you take the soap lower, lathering his powerful thighs, his calves.
When your fingers brush against the heavy weight of his testicles, he inhales sharply. You glance up. His exhaustion seems to have burned away, replaced by a new, sharper kind of intensity in his gaze. His cock, which had been soft against his thigh, is now stirring, thickening, rising with a swiftness that makes your own breath catch. It’s long and beautifully shaped, the shaft a smooth column of heat, the head already a dark, flushed purple, prominent veins mapping its length.
“I thought you were tired,” you tease, your voice barely a whisper.
A slow, wicked grin spreads across his face. “I found my second wind.” His hands slide into your wet hair, not pushing, just holding. “But you started this. You should finish it.”
You don’t need to be told twice. You lean forward, ignoring the water spraying your face, and take the broad head of his cock into your mouth. The taste of him is clean skin and pure, masculine heat. Your tongue flattens against the sensitive spot just beneath the crown, and his hips give an involuntary jerk. A low curse echoes off the tiles.
You take him deeper, your lips stretching to accommodate his girth. One of your hands comes up to cradle his balls, heavy and tight in their sac, while the other works the base of his shaft, pumping in time with the rhythmic suction of your mouth. His fingers tighten in your hair, his breathing growing ragged, echoing louder than the shower spray.
“Fuck, the way your mouth feels,” he grits out, his abdomen clenching. “So good. So fucking good.”
You pull off with a wet pop, looking up at him. “I want you inside me. Now.”
In one fluid, powerful motion, he hauls you to your feet and spins you around, pressing your front against the cool, tiled wall. The contrast of the cold on your heated skin and the hot water on your back is electrifying. He kicks your legs wider apart, his hand snaking around your hip to find your center.
His fingers slide through your folds, which are already swollen and slick, your arousal creating a silken heat that has nothing to do with the shower. “So ready for me,” he growls into your ear, his voice thick with want. Two fingers plunge into you, curling upwards, and you cry out as they brush a spot deep inside that makes your knees buckle.
He withdraws his fingers, and you feel the blunt, insistent pressure of his cockhead at your entrance. He doesn’t push in yet. He teases, rubbing the length of him through your soaked folds, smearing your combined wetness, the sensation making you tremble.
“Please,” you beg, pushing your hips back against him.
With a grunt, he drives into you, one single, deep, perfect thrust that punches the air from your lungs. You feel yourself stretching to take all of him, a delicious, burning fullness that makes you see stars behind your eyelids. He holds himself there, buried to the hilt, letting you adjust to the immense feeling of being filled.
Then he starts to move.
His pace is relentless from the start, a hard, driving rhythm that slams your body against the wall with every piston-like thrust. One of his arms bands across your stomach, holding you up, while his other hand finds your clitoris. His fingers are deft and knowing, circling the hyper-sensitive nub with a pressure that is perfectly, maddeningly precise.
The pleasure is a coil winding tighter and tighter in your lower belly. The visual is obscene and thrilling; every time he pulls back, you can see your glistening, puffy lips clinging to his shaft for a fraction of a second before he rams back in, the water making everything gleam. Your breasts slap against the cold tile with every impact, a stinging counterpoint to the deep, internal friction.
“You take me so well,” he rasps, his breath hot on your neck. “Watching my cock disappear inside you… fuck.”
His thrusts become harder, faster, a brutal, perfect tempo that has you mewling, your own sounds drowned out by the shower and his own ragged groans. The knot of pleasure winds to its breaking point. The dual stimulation—the deep, stretching penetration and the insistent circles on your clit—is too much. It crests, and then it shatters.
Your orgasm rips through you, a silent scream forming on your lips as your inner walls clamp down on him in a series of violent, fluttering spasms. The sensations are so intense they border on painful, a white-hot wave of pure release that leaves you boneless and shaking, held up only by his iron grip and the wall.
He fucks you through it, his movements growing more erratic, more desperate. “Gonna come,” he grunts, his voice strained. “Where?”
“Inside,” you gasp, the words a ragged breath. “Always inside.”
With a final, guttural roar, he slams into you one last time, and you feel the hot, pulsing release of his orgasm deep within you. His whole body shudders against your back, his grip on you vicelike. You feel each distinct jet, each throb of his cock as he empties himself inside you. He collapses against you, his weight pressing you into the wall, his breath coming in hot, ragged gusts against your shoulder.
For a long moment, there is only the sound of the water and your shared, gasping breaths. The steam feels heavier now, thick with the scent of sex and sweat and sandalwood.
He nuzzles the side of your neck, his voice a drowsy murmur. “Best… shower… ever.”
apologies for disappearing on you all, life grabbed me by the ankles and dragged me away, but I finally escaped. The good news is I’m back, and I’m gonna try to write, maybe even get something out tomorrow if the universe is kind. who knows you might even get a double update… 🤭
genre: smut
synopsis: you help him unwind after a long exhausting day
warnings: shower sex, blowjob, dirty talk
pairing: bf!taehyun x fem!reader
wc: 1.2k
The steam wraps around you like a second skin, fogging the glass door and clinging to your lungs with every humid breath. You lean against the cool tile, just watching him. Taehyun stands under the pounding spray, head bowed, shoulders slumped with a day’s worth of exhaustion. Water sluices down the defined planes of his back, over the tight curve of his ass, tracing paths through the tired muscles you ache to knead.
“Long day?” you ask, your voice soft against the drumming water.
He doesn’t turn, just lets out a low groan that vibrates through the steam-filled space. “The longest. My bones feel like they’ve been replaced with lead.” His voice is a gravelly rumble, stripped raw from singing, from talking, from performing.
You step into the shower, the hot water a shock against your cooler skin. You press yourself against his back, wrapping your arms around his waist, feeling the solid, real warmth of him. Your hands slide over his stomach, feeling the taut skin jump under your touch. “Let me help.”
He finally turns, his eyes heavy-lidded, a faint smile touching his lips. Water droplets cling to his long lashes. “You’re the best kind of distraction.” His hands find your hips, his thumbs making slow, circular patterns on your skin.
You reach for the body wash, pouring a generous amount into your palm. The scent of clean sandalwood and something uniquely him fills the air. You start with his shoulders, working the lather into the knotted muscles there. He groans again, this time a sound of pure relief, his head tipping forward.
“Right there,” he murmurs. “God, yes.”
Your hands travel lower, down the grooves of his spine, over the firm mounds of his glutes. You knead the flesh there, feeling him gradually relax under your ministrations, the tension bleeding out of him and swirling down the drain. You sink to your knees on the shower floor, the water beating down on your back as you take the soap lower, lathering his powerful thighs, his calves.
When your fingers brush against the heavy weight of his testicles, he inhales sharply. You glance up. His exhaustion seems to have burned away, replaced by a new, sharper kind of intensity in his gaze. His cock, which had been soft against his thigh, is now stirring, thickening, rising with a swiftness that makes your own breath catch. It’s long and beautifully shaped, the shaft a smooth column of heat, the head already a dark, flushed purple, prominent veins mapping its length.
“I thought you were tired,” you tease, your voice barely a whisper.
A slow, wicked grin spreads across his face. “I found my second wind.” His hands slide into your wet hair, not pushing, just holding. “But you started this. You should finish it.”
You don’t need to be told twice. You lean forward, ignoring the water spraying your face, and take the broad head of his cock into your mouth. The taste of him is clean skin and pure, masculine heat. Your tongue flattens against the sensitive spot just beneath the crown, and his hips give an involuntary jerk. A low curse echoes off the tiles.
You take him deeper, your lips stretching to accommodate his girth. One of your hands comes up to cradle his balls, heavy and tight in their sac, while the other works the base of his shaft, pumping in time with the rhythmic suction of your mouth. His fingers tighten in your hair, his breathing growing ragged, echoing louder than the shower spray.
“Fuck, the way your mouth feels,” he grits out, his abdomen clenching. “So good. So fucking good.”
You pull off with a wet pop, looking up at him. “I want you inside me. Now.”
In one fluid, powerful motion, he hauls you to your feet and spins you around, pressing your front against the cool, tiled wall. The contrast of the cold on your heated skin and the hot water on your back is electrifying. He kicks your legs wider apart, his hand snaking around your hip to find your center.
His fingers slide through your folds, which are already swollen and slick, your arousal creating a silken heat that has nothing to do with the shower. “So ready for me,” he growls into your ear, his voice thick with want. Two fingers plunge into you, curling upwards, and you cry out as they brush a spot deep inside that makes your knees buckle.
He withdraws his fingers, and you feel the blunt, insistent pressure of his cockhead at your entrance. He doesn’t push in yet. He teases, rubbing the length of him through your soaked folds, smearing your combined wetness, the sensation making you tremble.
“Please,” you beg, pushing your hips back against him.
With a grunt, he drives into you, one single, deep, perfect thrust that punches the air from your lungs. You feel yourself stretching to take all of him, a delicious, burning fullness that makes you see stars behind your eyelids. He holds himself there, buried to the hilt, letting you adjust to the immense feeling of being filled.
Then he starts to move.
His pace is relentless from the start, a hard, driving rhythm that slams your body against the wall with every piston-like thrust. One of his arms bands across your stomach, holding you up, while his other hand finds your clitoris. His fingers are deft and knowing, circling the hyper-sensitive nub with a pressure that is perfectly, maddeningly precise.
The pleasure is a coil winding tighter and tighter in your lower belly. The visual is obscene and thrilling; every time he pulls back, you can see your glistening, puffy lips clinging to his shaft for a fraction of a second before he rams back in, the water making everything gleam. Your breasts slap against the cold tile with every impact, a stinging counterpoint to the deep, internal friction.
“You take me so well,” he rasps, his breath hot on your neck. “Watching my cock disappear inside you… fuck.”
His thrusts become harder, faster, a brutal, perfect tempo that has you mewling, your own sounds drowned out by the shower and his own ragged groans. The knot of pleasure winds to its breaking point. The dual stimulation—the deep, stretching penetration and the insistent circles on your clit—is too much. It crests, and then it shatters.
Your orgasm rips through you, a silent scream forming on your lips as your inner walls clamp down on him in a series of violent, fluttering spasms. The sensations are so intense they border on painful, a white-hot wave of pure release that leaves you boneless and shaking, held up only by his iron grip and the wall.
He fucks you through it, his movements growing more erratic, more desperate. “Gonna come,” he grunts, his voice strained. “Where?”
“Inside,” you gasp, the words a ragged breath. “Always inside.”
With a final, guttural roar, he slams into you one last time, and you feel the hot, pulsing release of his orgasm deep within you. His whole body shudders against your back, his grip on you vicelike. You feel each distinct jet, each throb of his cock as he empties himself inside you. He collapses against you, his weight pressing you into the wall, his breath coming in hot, ragged gusts against your shoulder.
For a long moment, there is only the sound of the water and your shared, gasping breaths. The steam feels heavier now, thick with the scent of sex and sweat and sandalwood.
He nuzzles the side of your neck, his voice a drowsy murmur. “Best… shower… ever.”
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genre: smut, fluff?
synopsis: After teasing your boyfriend Heeseung relentlessly during a romantic dinner at a secluded cabin in the woods, he finally snaps
warnings: Rough sex. Manhandling / physical control. Dirty talk / explicit language. Deep, intense eye contact. Growling / possessive behavior. Power imbalance in a consensual context. Highly descriptive sexual detail. Overstimulation. Pet names (good girl, baby), sarcasm
pairing: bf!heeseung x fem!reader
wc: 2k
You never understood why Heeseung insisted on driving you two hours into the woods for dinner. He claimed it was a surprise, his voice all mystery and half smiles, which usually meant he was up to something. But when he pulled up in front of the small cabin tucked between tall pines, golden light glowing through the windows, you had to admit it felt like stepping straight into a moment designed just for the two of you.
Inside, the space was warm. Cozy. A long table was set for two. Candles flickered everywhere and soft music drifted from a speaker tucked out of sight. Outside the windows, night had swallowed the forest whole.
Heeseung helped you out of your coat, brushed a kiss against your temple, and pulled out your chair. You gave him a look, amused.
“You’re laying it on thick,” you said as he poured the wine. “Should I be suspicious?”
“You should be grateful,” he replied, lifting his glass with the faintest smirk. “I worked hard on this.”
You clinked your glass against his.
And that is where it started.
The candlelight flickered, casting dancing shadows across Heeseung’s sharp features.
You traced the rim of your wine glass, your bare foot sliding slowly up his calf under the table.
“You’ve been staring at me all night,” you purred, letting your voice drop to a husky whisper. “Something on your mind, baby?”
Heeseung’s jaw tightened, his dark eyes following the movement of your fingers. “You know exactly what’s on my mind. You’ve been putting on a fucking show for the last hour.”
You gave a lazy, teasing smile, swirling the deep red liquid in your glass. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m just enjoying my dinner.” You brought the glass to your lips, taking a slow, deliberate sip, your eyes never leaving his.
That was the final straw.
In one fluid, startling motion, he was up. His chair scraped back violently as his hand clamped around your wrist, pulling you to your feet. The world tilted, and a second later your back was pressed firmly against the rough-hewn log wall of the cabin, his body a solid, unyielding barrier pinning you in place.
The air vanished from your lungs. His forearm was a band of steel across your collarbone, not enough to hurt, but enough to make you profoundly aware of his strength, his control. His other hand gripped your hip, fingers digging in possessively.
“The teasing is over,” Heeseung growled, his voice a low, vibrating rumble that went straight to your core. His face was inches from yours, his breath hot against your lips. His gaze was locked on yours, intense and blazing, refusing to let you look away. “Look at me. You wanted my attention? You’ve got it. All of it.”
You tried to shift, to regain some semblance of control, but he pressed harder, his hard thigh wedging between your legs. A soft, involuntary gasp escaped you as the pressure ignited a spark deep within your belly.
“That’s it,” he murmured, a dark, sensual smile playing on his lips. “That’s the sound I wanted to hear. Not your clever little remarks. Just you, losing that fucking composure for me.”
He leaned in, his nose skimming the sensitive skin below your ear. “You’re mine. Every inch of you. This smart mouth,” he growled, brushing his thumb across your bottom lip. “This perfect neck.” His lips followed the path of his thumb, leaving a searing trail. “These gorgeous tits I’ve been watching you barely contain in that flimsy little dress all night.” His palm molded over your breast, his thumb circling your nipple through the fabric until it pebbled into a hard, aching point.
“Heeseung,” you breathed, your head falling back against the wall as pleasure began to coil tightly inside you.
“No more talking,” he commanded, his voice rough with want. “You’ve done enough talking. Now you’re going to listen. You’re going to feel.” His hand left your breast and snaked under the hem of your dress, his fingertips skating up your inner thigh. “You’re going to come apart on my fingers first, baby. Then you’re going to come all over my cock. I’m going to fuck you until you forget your own name, until the only word you remember is mine.”
His fingers found the soaked silk of your panties. A low, approving sound rumbled in his chest. “Fuck, you’re drenched. All this for me? My good girl was so desperate she made a mess for me.” He didn’t pull them aside. He simply hooked his fingers into the fragile lace and tore them away with a sharp rip. The sound was obscenely loud in the quiet cabin.
You cried out, not in protest, but in sheer, overwhelmed need. His fingers were on you instantly, no barrier left. His touch was demanding, knowing. Two fingers plunged deep into your slick heat without warning, and your back arched off the wall, a broken moan tearing from your throat.
“So fucking tight,” he breathed against your mouth, his fingers curling, stroking that perfect, hidden spot inside you that made your vision blur. “You clamp down on me like you’ll never let me go. Good girl. Take my fingers. Show me how much you needed this.”
His thumb found your clit, a swollen, hypersensitive jewel, and began making slow, torturous circles. His eyes never wavered from yours, watching every flicker of pleasure, every wince, every silent plea that crossed your face. The stretch of his fingers, the relentless pressure of his thumb, the raw possession in his gaze—it was too much and not enough all at once. Your hips began to move of their own accord, riding his hand, chasing the precipice he was dangling you over.
“That’s it, baby. Fuck yourself on my hand. Use me. Take what you need,” he urged, his voice gravelly and thick. His breathing was ragged now, matching your own. “You’re gonna come for me. Now.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a decree. And your body obeyed. The orgasm crashed over you with violent, stunning force. Your internal muscles clenched and fluttered around his buried fingers, a pulsing, rhythmic grip that milked his hand. A raw, guttural scream was ripped from you as your head slammed back against the wall, your entire body seizing up in a wave of ecstasy so intense it bordered on pain.
Before the last tremor had even subsided, Heeseung was moving. He withdrew his glistening fingers, brought them to his mouth, and sucked them clean, his eyes rolling back slightly at your taste. “So sweet,” he groaned.
Then his hands were on your hips, spinning you around to face the wall. Your cheek pressed against the cool wood, your exposed ass tilted up towards him. You heard the frantic rustle of his clothes, the harsh zip of his fly, the crinkle of a foil packet.
A moment later, the broad, flushed head of his cock nudged against your soaked entrance. He was thick, the prominent vein along his shaft pulsing against your sensitive outer lips. He gripped his length, smearing your own slickness up and down his rigid flesh.
“Look back,” he demanded, his voice a harsh whisper. “Look back and watch me take what’s mine.”
You turned your head, your eyes fluttering open. The sight was devastating. His cock, hard and eager, poised at your dripping opening. Your own pussy lips, glistening and puffy from your climax, stretched invitingly around his tip. He held your gaze as he began to push forward, an inexorable, breathtaking invasion.
The stretch was immense, exhilarating. You felt every inch of him, the way your inner walls had to yield and accommodate his girth. A low, continuous moan spilled from your lips as he sank in to the hilt, his hips meeting your ass with a soft, final slap. He stayed there, buried deep, both of you panting, feeling the intense, full connection.
“Fuck,” he exhaled, the word shuddering out of him. “You feel like heaven. You’re gripping my fucking cock like a fist.”
Then he moved. He pulled back almost all the way, until just the head remained nestled inside you, then drove forward again, a deep, punishing stroke that knocked the air from your lungs. He set a relentless, deep rhythm, each thrust a claim, each withdrawal a tease. The sound of skin slapping against skin, of your wetness coating his every movement, filled the room.
His hands were everywhere—gripping your hips hard enough to leave marks, sliding up to fist in your hair and pull your head back, skimming down to rub frantic circles on your clit, pushing you swiftly towards another peak.
“You like this, baby?” he grunted, his thrusts becoming harder, faster, losing their rhythm as his own end neared. “You like it when I fuck you like this? When I take what I want?”
“Yes! Yes, Heeseung!” you sobbed, completely mindless, your body a live wire of sensation. The overstimulation was exquisite agony, every nerve ending screaming for more even as it begged for mercy.
“Gonna fill you up,” he promised, his voice straining. “Gonna pump my cum so deep inside you, you’ll feel me for days. Come with me. Now.”
The command, the feel of him hitting your deepest spot, the rough graze of his thumb on your clit—it was all too much. Your second orgasm detonated, a silent, screaming convulsion that locked your body rigid. Your inner walls clamped down on him in a series of violent, milking spasms, and that was all it took.
With a guttural roar, Heeseung shoved into you one last, final time, hilting himself completely as his own release tore through him. You felt the hot, pulsing jet of his cum flooding you, wave after wave, each spurt a tangible proof of his climax. He collapsed over your back, his sweaty chest pressed to your spine, his breath coming in ragged gasps against your neck. His softening cock twitched inside you with the last of his release.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of your heavy breathing and the crackle of the fire. The cabin wall was the only thing holding you up. His weight was a comforting, crushing pressure.
Slowly, he slipped out of you, a shiver wracking your body at the sensitive, empty feeling and the slow trickle of his warmth escaping you. He turned you gently in his arms, his gaze softening as he took in your blissful, dazed expression. He brushed the hair from your forehead, his touch tender now, a stark contrast to his earlier ferocity.
“My good girl,” he whispered, his voice hoarse but filled with something that sounded suspiciously like awe.
You snorted before you could stop yourself. “Wow. One compliment and you’re already getting sentimental?”
Heeseung pulled back just enough to give you a look. “I whisper one nice thing and this is what I get?”
“You started it,” you said, nudging his shoulder. “Don’t get all soft on me now. I’ll start thinking you actually like me.”
He let out a tired, disbelieving laugh, running a hand through his hair. “I literally just proved that I like you.”
“Proved?” you echoed. “Big word. Bold claim.”
“Oh my god,” he groaned, dropping his head against your collarbone. “You don’t quit.”
“Nope,” you said proudly. “High stamina.”
“That is not what I meant.”
“That’s what it sounded like.”
Heeseung lifted his head just to glare at you, though it lacked any real bite. “You are impossible.”
“You keep saying that,” you reminded him, tapping his cheek. “At this point it sounds like a pet name.”
He scoffed, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
“You know what?” he said, voice low, fingers tracing your hip with lazy familiarity. “One day, I’m going to catch you off guard. Completely mute you.”
You laughed outright. “Yeah. Good luck.”
His eyes narrowed, and that spark returned. “Oh, just wait.”
You raised a brow. “Is that a threat?”
“It’s a guarantee.”
“You’re adorable when you make bold promises.”
He groaned again, dropping onto his back dramatically. “Why did I fall for someone whose only hobby is annoying me?”
You climbed over him, poking his chest. “Because I’m lovable.”
“Debatable.”
“Liar.”
Heeseung sighed, defeated but smiling. “Yeah. Fine. Liar.”
You settled beside him, your head on his arm as the room fell quiet, warm, and dim again.
His breath evened out.
Your grin did not.
Because whatever came next, you were absolutely going to make it difficult for him.
genre: smut, fluff
synopsis: you both celebrate your surprising announcement
warnings: birthday sex?, blowjob, pregnancy, pet names (baby, mama), unprotected sex, praising, making out, soobin has a big dick, multiple rounds, stomach bulge
pairing: husband!soobin x fem!reader
wc: 2.5k
The blanket is soft beneath you, the sound of the waves a gentle rhythm against the shore. You hold the little plastic stick between your fingers, your heart hammering against your ribs. Soobin’s eyes are wide, fixed on the plus sign, his glass of wine forgotten in the sand.
“Is this…?” he whispers, his voice thick with something you can’t quite name.
You just nod, a tear finally escaping and tracing a warm path down your cheek. “It’s real.”
A slow, dazzling smile breaks across his face, so bright it rivals the stars beginning to pepper the twilight sky. He doesn’t say anything else. He just moves, his body covering yours with a tender urgency, his mouth finding yours in a kiss that tastes of salt, wine, and pure, unadulterated joy.
His hands frame your face, his thumbs brushing away your tears. ”My beautiful girl,” he murmurs against your lips, his breath warm. ”My beautiful, glowing mama.”
The new pet name sends a shiver straight through your core, a liquid heat pooling low in your belly. You moan into his mouth, your hands tangling in the soft fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. His kiss deepens, becoming less about celebration and more about possession, a claiming. His tongue slides against yours, and you can feel the hard line of his excitement pressing against your thigh.
He breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against yours, his eyes dark with desire. ”I need to taste you,” he says, his voice a low rasp. ”Every part of you. Right now.”
He guides you back onto the blanket, his movements reverent. He kneels between your legs, pushing your sundress up around your waist. The cool evening air kisses your skin, raising goosebumps, but his gaze is a brand. He drinks in the sight of you, your body already changing, your skin flushed.
”Look at you,” he breathes, his fingers tracing the waistband of your panties. ”So perfect. All for me. All for us.”
He hooks his fingers into the lace and pulls them down your legs, his eyes never leaving the apex of your thighs. When you’re bare to him, he lets out a soft, appreciative groan. ”Fuck, baby. You’re already so wet for me. I can smell you from here.”
He leans down, but not to your center. He presses a soft, open-mouthed kiss to your lower belly, right where your womb is growing. ”Hello in there,” he whispers, and the intimacy of it makes you ache.
Then he shifts, his focus dropping lower. His thumbs part your folds, exposing the slick, glistening pink flesh within. Your outer lips are already plump and swollen with arousal, and your inner lips, a darker shade of rose, are slick and parted, begging for attention. Your clit, a hard, eager pearl, pulses under his scrutiny.
”This gorgeous pussy is mine,” he says, his voice dropping to a possessive growl. ”And this,” he adds, his thumb brushing lightly over your clit, making you jolt, ”is my favorite thing to worship.”
He doesn’t wait for a reply. He lowers his head and his tongue, broad and flat, licks a long, slow stripe from your entrance all the way up to your clit. The sensation is electric, a direct current of pleasure that makes your back arch off the blanket. ”Soobin!”
He groans against you, the vibration intensifying everything. ”You taste like heaven, mama. Sweet and sharp. I could live between these legs.”
His worship is methodical, expert. He circles your clit with the very tip of his tongue, flicking it with a rapid, gentle precision that has you gasping. Then he sucks it into his mouth, applying a steady, rhythmic pressure that makes you see stars. One of his hands slides down, two fingers sliding through your copious wetness, gathering the fluid that’s dripping from you. He pushes them inside you, and your inner walls, already sensitized, clench around him immediately, gripping his fingers in a tight, hot fist.
”You’re so greedy for it,” he murmurs, his words a hot puff against your wet flesh. ”Taking my fingers so deep. Your body knows what it needs.”
He crooks his fingers, finding that rough, spongy spot inside you that makes your vision blur. He presses against it, again and again, while his mouth continues its devastating work on your clit. The dual assault is too much, and not enough. You’re climbing, your hips rocking against his face, your hands fisting in his hair.
”I’m close, I’m so close,” you beg, your voice cracking.
He increases the pace, his fingers pumping into you, his mouth sucking hard. The orgasm crashes over you without warning, a silent, seismic wave of pleasure that locks your breath in your chest before tearing a ragged cry from your throat. Your entire body convulses, your pussy fluttering and squeezing around his fingers in rapid, intense pulses. He doesn’t stop, drawing out the sensation until you’re whimpering, pushing at his head from the oversensitivity.
He finally pulls back, his lips and chin glistening with your release. He looks utterly debauched, and utterly in love. He sits up, pulling his shirt over his head. His own arousal is obvious, straining against the fabric of his jeans. The thick outline is unmistakable.
”My turn, baby,” you say, your voice still shaky.
You push him onto his back and make quick work of his belt and button. You pull his jeans and boxers down his hips, and his cock springs free, hitting his stomach with a soft thud. It’s magnificent, just like the rest of him. Long and thick, the shaft is a smooth column of heat with a prominent vein running along the underside. The head is a deep, flushed red, already beading with moisture at the tip. His balls, heavy and drawn tight, are nestled in a dark thatch of hair.
You lean down, not taking your eyes off his. You swirl your tongue around the broad head, collecting the salty, musky pre-cum. ”You’re so big,” you whisper, your breath ghosting over his wet skin. ”I love how you feel in my mouth.”
You open wide and take him in, sinking down until you feel the head nudge the back of your throat. His hips buck off the blanket and he lets out a guttural groan. ”Fuck! Yes, just like that, mama.”
You bob your head, establishing a rhythm. You use one hand to cup his balls, rolling the heavy orbs gently, while the other hand strokes the base of his shaft in time with your mouth’s movements. Saliva drips profusely from the corners of your mouth, coating him, making obscene, wet sounds each time you slide up and down his length. You look up at him, and the sight of his face, clenched in ecstasy, his eyes burning down at you, sends another thrill through your well-fucked body.
”I need to be inside you,” he grits out, his control fraying. ”Now. I need to feel you.”
You release him with a pop and move to straddle his hips. He doesn’t even let you guide him. His hand wraps around his cock, aiming it at your dripping entrance. You sink down onto him in one smooth, slow motion.
The feeling is unparalleled. The way your body, already stretched and sensitized from his fingers and your orgasm, has to accommodate his girth. The initial resistance gives way to a perfect, filling stretch. Your inner walls mold around him, gripping him tightly as you take every inch, until your hips are flush with his.
”Oh god,” he moans, his hands gripping your hips, his knuckles white. ”You feel… you’re incredible.”
You begin to move, a slow, rolling grind of your hips. Your full breasts sway with the rhythm, and you watch the way his eyes darken as he watches them. He sits up slightly to capture a nipple in his mouth, sucking and laving it with his tongue, his hips meeting your downward strokes.
”Lie back,” he commands gently, and you do, settling onto the blanket. He hovers over you, his arms framing your head. This position feels deeper, more intimate. He can see all of you, and you can see the raw love and lust in his eyes.
He begins to move, slow, deep thrusts that are less about frenzy and more about connection. Each inward stroke is a deliberate claiming, a nurturing push. You can feel the broad head of his cock rubbing against that sweet spot inside you with every plunge, the sensation building from a simmer to a rolling boil. Your swollen, sensitive tissues stretch around him with each entry, the friction a perfect burn.
”You’re taking me so good,” he whispers, his voice strained. ”My perfect girl. My strong, beautiful mama.”
His words fuel your own rising climax. You wrap your legs around his waist, locking your ankles at the small of his back, pulling him even deeper. The new angle makes him groan, his thrusts becoming more urgent, his rhythm faltering.
”I can feel you,” you pant, your nails digging into his shoulders. ”You’re so deep. I can feel you everywhere.”
”Cum with me, baby,” he urges, his breath hot against your ear. ”Let me feel you cum on my cock.”
It’s all the permission you need. The tension snaps. Your orgasm rips through you, a silent, powerful wave that makes your entire body stiffen and then shudder uncontrollably. Your pussy convulses around him, a series of intense, milking contractions that grip his shaft like a velvet fist.
The feeling triggers his own release. With a broken cry, he drives into you one last, final time, burying himself to the hilt. You feel the hot, pulsing jet of his cum flooding your depths, each spurt a warm, claiming rush that seems to go on and on. He collapses on top of you, his full weight a comforting blanket as you both ride out the aftershocks.
For a long time, the only sounds are your ragged breathing and the crashing waves. He shifts slightly, still buried inside you, softening. He nuzzles your neck.
“We’re having a baby,” he says, the wonder back in his voice.
You smile and run your hands through his damp hair. “We are.”
He breathes out like he just unlocked a secret he’s been carrying for ages. “I thought I’d be calm when you told me. Turns out, no. I’m a mess.”
“A cute mess.”
He nudges your knee with his. “A very composed, extremely handsome mess. Get it right.”
You laugh. “Fine. Handsome mess.”
“That’s better.” He shifts onto his side so he can look at you fully. His eyes soften when he sees your smile. “You doing alright?”
“I’m good. You?”
“Better than good.” He lifts your hand, kisses the inside of your palm. “We planned this. We hoped for it. But hearing you say it out loud… it hits different.”
“Good different?”
“Perfect different.” His fingers trail to your stomach, gentle but sure. “Hey you,” he murmurs, “your parents are ready for you.”
You snicker. “Bold of you to speak for both of us.”
“I know you,” he says, grinning. “We’ve talked about this for months. You’re ready.”
“Maybe.”
“No maybe.” His thumb taps your skin. “You’re ready in the way you always are. Nervous and excited at the same time.”
You raise a brow. “Since when do you read me like a book?”
“Since always. You forget how long we’ve been doing this.”
You give his hand a squeeze. “Feels like forever.”
“Exactly.” He rolls onto his back, still holding your hand. “I like that it feels like forever. Means we’re doing something right.”
You tuck yourself into his side. “You’re very calm right now.”
“I’m trying not to scare you.”
“You wouldn’t.”
He laughs under his breath. “I might. I’m thinking about everything at once. Names. Baby clothes. How we’re going to fit a crib in the apartment. Whether we need to move. Who we should tell first. Whether your mom is going to cry so hard she forgets to breathe.”
“She might.”
“She definitely will.” He turns his head a little to look at you. “But I’m excited. Very excited.”
“I can tell.”
“You should be excited too.”
“I am.”
“Say it like you mean it.”
You lift your head from his chest. “I’m excited.”
He grins. “There it is.”
You flick his forehead. “You’re annoying.”
“You love it.”
“I do.”
His grin softens into something warm. “What happens now?”
“We wait.”
“We prepare,” he corrects. “And we take care of you.”
“We take care of each other.”
“Always.”
He pulls you closer, forehead resting against yours. “Do you want to tell anyone today, or keep it ours a bit longer?”
“A bit longer,” you say. “I like having it just between us.”
“Good. Me too.” His fingers trace lazy shapes on your arm. “I want to enjoy this part. Just you and me and the quiet.”
“You’re never quiet.”
“I’m quiet right now.”
“You’re talking.”
“I’m whispering. It’s different.”
You laugh again, and he kisses the corner of your mouth, soft and sure. When he pulls back he’s smiling like he knows a secret. “You know what I’m thinking?”
“What?”
“That this kid is going to have your stubbornness.”
“And your height.”
“And your sarcasm.”
“And your dimples.”
He pretends to panic. “We’re raising a menace.”
“A cute menace.”
“True.”
You look at him for a long moment. His face is bright and steady, the way it always gets when he’s sure about something. You feel that certainty settle inside you too.
“Soobin,” you murmur.
“Yeah?”
“You’re going to be such a good dad.”
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look away. He just smiles like he’s been waiting to hear it. “I know.” He lifts your hand to his lips again. “And you’re going to be an incredible mom.”
“Think so?”
“I’m sure.” He squeezes your fingers. “We work well together. We’ve always worked well together.”
You rest your hand on his chest, right over his heartbeat. “Then we’re going to be fine.”
“We’re going to be great.”
Silence falls, but it’s comfortable. He shifts down a little and lays his ear on your stomach like he’s listening for something.
“What are you doing?” you ask, amused.
“Bonding.”
“They can’t hear you yet.”
“Not the point.”
“What is the point?”
“I want them to know I’m here.”
You run your hand through his hair again, slow. “They will.”
He closes his eyes, smiling against your skin. “We’re having a baby,” he says for what has to be the tenth time, but he still says it like it’s brand new.
“We are.”
He rolls back up to face you. “Say it again.”
“No.”
“Please?”
“You already know.”
“I want to hear it.”
You sigh, but he can see the smile you’re trying to hide. “We’re having a baby.”
“Good,” he whispers. “I like when you say it.”
He kisses you again, and when he settles beside you, he pulls you in with a confidence that feels like home.
“Get some rest,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”
“We’ve got each other.”
He nods, eyes soft. “Exactly.”
And for the first time since you found out, the world feels steady. Safe. Yours.
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