floating in a most peculiar way

“No, listen,” you started, pointing at him with the pretzel stick you’d been nibbling on. “Yunho just has—”

“Yunho?” Wooyoung snorted, “You’re on first name basis with your physiotherapist?”

“Don’t make it weird, that’s just their policy and it makes it more comfortable too.”

“Mhm, right. Except you’re maybe getting a little too comfortable.”

Before you could retort, San let himself plop onto the empty chair at your table. “What did I miss?” He asked casually while scanning the drinks menu (as if he didn’t already know his order).

“Nothing much,” Wooyoung replied, “I'm getting a promotion and y/n wants to fuck her physiotherapist.”

“Woo!”

He looked at you with a raised eyebrow, “What, it’s true.”

“It’s not! He just—it’s not my fault that he touched my hips like that!”

“Y/n, honey, he was showing you an exercise.”

“Well, yeah, but his hands are just kinda sexy and—” you trailed off when you saw San pulling a face. “What?”

San shook his head with a sigh, “Girl, you want to fuck him so bad.”

Maybe your friends had a point, because despite your tiring work day and the way your joints were aching with exhaustion, you found yourself feeling giddy for your next appointment with Yunho. The only thing putting a damper on your mood was that after today you only had one more session left, when really you wished you could keep going forever. 

The clinic was rather quiet and the lights in the back were already off—you always had the last time slot of the day and you rarely met other patrons when you came in. Today was no different, the only people you could spot were Yunho and one of his colleagues.

“Hey,” Yunho greeted you with a soft smile, briefly looking up before focusing back on where he seemed to be typing something into the computer behind the counter, “On time as always.”

“Of course,” you replied with a smile, feeling your cheeks heat up for literally no reason at all. 

“Very commendable,” he grinned and then his eyes darted up to you once more, almost as if he was accessing you, “You can already get into room 2, I’m with you in a second,” he nodded towards a door before turning to his colleague, “Mingi, can you look this over for me?”

“Sure, no problem,” the other man replied, hovering over the screen of the computer too. Your gaze lingered on the scene a second longer, taking in how Yunho adjusted the glasses sitting on his nose, but when he looked up, meeting your gaze in a question, you quickly hurried into the room he’d pointed at. It was a smaller one than usual; the mirror, yoga mats and other equipment you were used to replaced by a massage table that you awkwardly sat down on while you waited. It only took another one or two minutes for Yunho to appear in the doorframe.

“You were looking kind of tired, so I thought it’s a good idea to do something more relaxing today,” he said as he walked in, closing the door behind him. He had your files in his hand, scribbling something down before leaving the clipboard on the little shelf in the corner, “But remember you still have to do the exercises at home though. And no slouching.”

“Aye, Sir,” you replied with a playful salute that got frozen mid-air when he met your gaze with a smile and a cheeky “Good girl.” Good. Girl. How the fuck were you supposed to survive this?

“Alright,” he continued, all professional, as if he hadn’t just hit you out of left field with his comment, “we’ll loosen up your muscles a bit, in the neck and upper back area, since that’s where you’re having the most trouble. Please lay down on your stomach with your head on this side,” he briefly tapped the head rest, “and it’d be good if you removed your top so I have access to your back—I can go out for a second if you prefer.”

You knew there were no hidden motives there, after all he was a professional and this was his job. But the thought of undressing in front of the guy you’d been having somewhat inappropriate thoughts of was still making your heart race.

“Uhm, no, it’s okay,” you stuttered, turning your upper body away from him as you slipped out of your shirt, holding the fabric close to your chest. “B—my bra too?”

“No, it’s okay, we can just—” he reached out and you felt his fingers gently brush your skin as he pushed the straps of your bra down your shoulders, “move them out of the way like this.” His touch left goosebumps in its wake and maybe it was your wishful thinking, but you thought his fingers lingered a second longer than necessary. Then he pulled away though, clearing his throat and stepping aside so you had enough space to lie down. He took a seat on a little rolling chair at the top of the table and you could see his legs through the hole of the headrest.

His hands felt warm and soft as he smoothed them over your upper back a few times before he started rubbing out the sore spots in your neck. You felt the way the tension was seeping out of you, making you feel relaxed and at ease. At least until he spoke up again with his sweet honey voice.

“It’s okay if it hurts a little, but if you’re in so much pain that you want to scream, do tell me. We don’t want that.” He let his hands move to your left shoulder blade, finding one of your pressure points, “For it to hurt that badly, I mean. I don’t mind if you scream.” He chuckled and you huffed out a laugh as well while your cheeks were heating up for nth time that day. It was a good thing he couldn’t see your face right now. “Uh, yeah, I’ll let you know," you replied but all you could think about was him making you scream. Your silly brain couldn't help but wonder if he liked a vocal partner. 

Yunho seemed blissfully unaware of your inner tumult, rubbing out the knots in your back completely unbothered. “This still okay?” He asked as he moved to another point and you felt yourself gasp a little at the initial pain. It wasn’t exactly a bad pain though. Something about the light sting was almost pleasurable.

“Still okay,” you assured and he hummed in affirmation as his fingers kept moving. He was skilled and precise in his ministrations, and you knew he had to be, with this being his literal job, but the thought that perhaps his fingers were skillful in other places too wouldn’t leave your mind for the rest of the massage. 

It was over too quickly for your liking, ended by him gently moving the straps of your bra back up your shoulders. “Alright,” he said, scooting away from the table to give you some space, “That’s it for today.”

“Thanks, I really needed that,” you mumbled as you sat up, just to immediately regret your words. You sounded like a pathetic, touch starved horndog. 

“Mhm,” he hummed and you couldn’t read his expression as he took a note in your files, “I could see that.”

“So, what if I do want to fuck him?”

Wooyoung let out a giggle, “Finally admitting to it, huh?”

“Just go for it,” San advised, “It’s gonna be your last appointment anyway.” 

That was a reminder you really didn’t want to hear, so you quickly shoved the thought aside in favor of more pressing questions.. “But what’s that supposed to mean? How would I even go for it?”

“Well, do it the way you normally would,” Wooyoung said matter of factly, “You know how to flirt, right?”

“I—I don’t. Not like that. I never really tried to get into anyone’s pants before,” you admitted.

San raised an eyebrow, “So you just had people coming at you without even trying? What a flexer.”

“Don’t tease me, Sannie, you know it’s not like that. It’s just that there’s usually dating involved. I’ve never slept with anyone I wasn’t at least casually dating.”

“Date him then,” San simply replied but Wooyoung shook his head. “Way too time consuming. She wants a quick fix, not a slow-burn romance. Take this as a learning opportunity, y/nnie.”

“Well, then teach me! What do I do?”

“Oh? Teach me?” San said with a smirk, “That’s kinda hot.”

“I gotta agree, but we’re getting off topic here.” Wooyoung fished a pretzel stick out of the glass on the table and took a bite of it before he continued, “So, the important thing is to show him you’re interested. But don’t make it romantic, you don't want a coffee invite."

"Actually I wouldn't mind a coffee—"

"Yeah, and you can have your coffee—after taking care of how fucking pent-up you are." He let the rest of his pretzel stick disappear into his mouth, still chewing as he continued, "He’s your physiotherapist, there’s gotta be plenty of chances for him to get his hands on you. Just subtly let him know you really like it.”

“Yeah,” San agreed, before coming back to his initial advice: “Just go for it.”

For your last appointment he sent you to room number 4, the one with the mirror and the yoga mats and other equipment that you knew all too well. After last week's session you found yourself filled with disappointment. For a moment you stood in the doorway, until Yunho came over, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Not going in?”

San’s words were ringing in your head: Just go for it. Wooyoung’s advice on subtlety must have gotten lost on you though, but who was Wooyoung to give that advice anyway?

“Uhm, I was thinking—you know I’m feeling kind of tired today…” You trailed off, your eyes darting over to room number 2, where the ajar door revealed the massage table.

He met your words with a chuckle. “Are you saying you want a massage for our last appointment? Did you like it that much?”

“It just seemed to really help with my sore spots…”

“Hmm,” he hummed, his arms crossed in front of his body thoughtfully, “I do think we should go through the exercises I taught you at least once—to make sure you remember them correctly and can do them at home. Don’t want you coming back here in another three weeks.”

“You don’t want me to come back?”

Yunho’s eyes widened for a moment there before he let out a chuckle, “Not if it means you’re in pain again.”

“Didn’t you say it’s okay if it hurts a little?”

He shook his head in disbelief, “I feel like I’m not getting anywhere here, so let’s make a compromise—first a quick run down of the exercises and then for the remaining time you can get on the table for me, hm?”

Get on the table for me. You tried not to think anything of the words he’d chosen, tried not to let your brain warp them until they held a different meaning altogether, but it was hopeless. The worst part was, that you couldn’t help feeling like he was doing this on purpose, reveling in the way your gaze turned feverish and your cheeks flushed red with heat.

The quick run down was almost agonizing. He did keep his promise to make it short, but every time he stepped into your personal space to fix your posture, you felt your skin tingling with anticipation and need. When you finally, finally went over to room 2, you were more than ready to skip the massage and go for other activities instead. You pulled yourself together though, and did not jump him the moment he closed the door. Instead, you took off your shirt and laid down on the table like last time. Yunho sat at the head end once more, working his magic on your neck and shoulders. When he moved his hands a little further down your back, they briefly got caught on your bra.

“Sorry about that,” he said, his voice calm and smooth.

You bit your lower lip. This seemed like a pretty good chance, didn’t it?

“You can take it off, if you want to. I don’t mind.”

He halted for a moment, and maybe if you could see his face you’d be able to read his expression, but with your eyes facing the floor you were stuck wondering what he was thinking.

“Are you sure?” Yunho asked after a moment and there was something in his voice that made it feel like his question wasn’t just about the massage.

You swallowed around the lump in your throat. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

It only took a second for him to unhook your bra, the fabric falling to the side of your body. His fingers seemed to trace the place where it’d sat, maybe following the light imprints it’d left behind. 

“You have pretty skin,” he said eventually, his voice just a whisper.

“Yeah?” Your heart was racing in your chest with nerves and anticipation of what could possibly happen.

“Yeah,” his index finger gently wandered over your spine, “It feels nice to touch.”

“It feels nice when you touch me, too.”

He hesitated for a moment and the brief silence was killing you. “I could do it more,” he finally said.

“I’d like that.”

“Turn around for me?”

He didn’t have to tell you twice, you immediately turned to lay on your back, losing your bra along the way. The moment you were facing up, he leaned down, crashing his lips into yours. The angle was kind of awkward with the way you were technically upside down from his point of view, but neither of you seemed to really care as you devoured each other in a kiss you’d been anticipating for weeks.

When he eventually pulled away, both of you breathless, there was a cheeky glint in his eyes. “Isn’t this kind of like spiderman?” he asked and you couldn’t help but chuckle.

“I didn’t know my hot physiotherapist was a nerd.”

“So, I’m hot?”

You rolled your eyes before your hand reached out to pull him close again, “Aren’t we kinda past that?”

“Right,” he grinned into your lips, “I guess so.”

He kissed you again before he pulled away to get up from his chair, the angle too awkward to really touch, and he was dying to get his hands all over you. You sat up on the table, letting your legs dangle off one side, and he swiftly moved to stand between them, caging you in with his hands  on either side of your hips. 

“We’re the only ones here, right?” you asked, just to make sure.

“Yeah,” he pecked the corner of your mouth before kissing his way to your jaw and then down to your collar bone, “Mingi left a while ago and the cleaning staff only comes in the morning.”

“Good,” you leaned back and tilted your neck to give him more access, reveling in the feeling of his teeth grazing your skin. 

His hands moved to your body, one of them keeping you steady as the other tugged at the hem of your jeans. “Can we take this off?”

You nodded a little too quickly, your hands immediately flying to the button to help him undo it. 

“So eager,” he commented with that smug smile of his before he helped you drag the pants off your legs, leaving you in nothing but your panties. He let his thumb lightly rub over the thin and embarrassingly wet fabric, smile growing wider as you let out a little whimper. “Why do I feel like you haven’t been focusing on treatment at all and were instead thinking of—” he flicked his thumb over your clothed clit, “something else?”

“I couldn’t help it,” you whimpered, “not my fault your hands are—like that.”

He cocked an eyebrow, “Like what?”

“I don’t know,” you whimpered once more when his long fingers started to run over your folds, pushing aside your panties to touch you directly, “sexy.”

“They are sexy? Like, when I fix your posture? Or give you a massage?,” he asked, leaving more bites and kisses on your neck, “Or when I do this?” He slipped one of his fingers into you without warning, making you gasp in surprise.

“Yeah,” you pressed out, your mind starting to lose focus as he was moving inside of you, “it’s sexy.”

“That’s good to hear,” he whispered into your skin before adding a second digit and curling them inside of you. You arched off the table at the sensation of it, your body instinctively trying to get away from the intense feeling, but his other hand on your hip kept you in place. He gradually increased his pace, his fingers mercilessly abusing the sensitive spots inside of you and you were already feeling like you were losing your mind. When he moved his thumb back to your clit, applying just the right kind of pressure, you snapped almost immediately, your high washing over you in a sudden and intense wave. Yunho wasn’t letting up quite yet though, still working his skillful hands and prolonging your orgasm until the over sensitivity made you whine. When he finally pulled away, he looked at his fingers for a moment, admiring your glistening juices on them before he licked them clean one by one.

“That was nice,” he said with a smile, as if you had just done him a service and not the other way round. Still, you agreed with a hazy nod. 

He pulled your panties back into place before leaning in for a kiss. “How about I take you out for a coffee sometime?”

“So, uh, what if I don’t want to just fuck him?”

“Weren’t we over this?” Wooyoung took a sip of his beer, before your words really registered, “Wait, are you saying you have feelings for him?!”

“I—I don’t know, he’s just—” you dropped your face onto the table with a sigh, “he’s just so charming.”

"See?" San said with a triumphant grin, "So much for a quick fix."

“Well, then I hope you at least got his number.”

Now a smile spread on your lips, too, “I even got that coffee invite.”

a desperate moan comes from him. “god, you’re so pathetic.” he buries his face further into your chest, but you can both see the way his ears burn red. “if i called him a little bitch enough times, do you think he’d come?” she asks against the back of your neck.

you cradle his head gently, “hwa, be nice to him.” your long nails scratch along his scalp, “he’s being so good.”

“you’re too nice to him,” she kisses down the side of your neck, “he never has to work for anything. you just give it to him.” her hand sneaks around your front, slipping past the waistband of your underwear, “make him wait a little bit longer.”

her finger slowly circles your clit, and you feel her smile against the back of your neck when you moan softly. yunho’s looking up at you again, but this time he’s not begging. he’s simply waiting. he wants to watch you come. when she sinks a finger in you, knuckle deep, you moan out her name.

it feels so sweet. gentle. the mixed scent of them both. the warmth of their bodies pressed up against yours. seonghwa’s domineering aura. the way you both submit to her. even if it feels like yunho’s under your control, he’s not. you’re both left completely up to her whims. at her mercy. the only difference is that you always come first. and she’s never afraid to punish him when he’s bad.

you come when she tells you to come. her voice soft and warm but never lacking in authority. you unravel around her, shuddering in her arms. yunho whimpers again, painfully hard in his sweatpants. you both notice the wet spot immediately.

you cup it. he’s already hard again. “puppy got a little excited,” you giggle, kissing his forehead.

seonghwa scoffs, “so fucking predictable. i bet we could leave him untouched all day, and he’d still find a way to make a mess.”

a little light goes off in your head, “actually, hwa? can we try something?”

you tried sitting on the bed and just... existing, prettily so. you're in one of yunho’s hoodies and nothing else, legs bare, socks with cute little hearts on them. usually that's enough to make him drop everything, usually he'd be on you within seconds, all long limbs and eager hands.

but valorant has your boyfriend in a chokehold tonight, and frankly, you're tired of competing with a video game.

so you wait, you watch, and you plan.

yunho's got this thing he always does when he's focused — his tongue pokes out just slightly, wetting his lower lip, and his eyebrows pinch together. he's so so beautiful like this, all sharp concentration, but you want him beautiful in a different way; you want him wrecked.

you slide off the bed quietly, padding across the carpet until you're right behind his chair. he doesn't notice. of course he doesn't notice; his friends are yelling something about a rotate, and yunho's voice is all clipped efficiency:

"i'm anchoring, i'm anchoring, just push—"

you drop your hands onto his shoulders.

yunho startles, just a little.

"oh—hey, baby. one sec," his eyes never leave the screen.

you don't say anythin, you simply start kneading the tension out of his trapezius muscles, slowly and cautiously. yunho’s shoulders are tight as rocks under your palms, and you feel him exhale as your thumbs dig into a knot.

"that's nice," he murmurs. "feels good."

you lean down, mouth brushing the shell of his ear.

"yeah?"

yunho shivers; you feel it travel down his spine, but his hands keep moving on the keyboard, and his brown eyes stay fixed on that glowing rectangle of chaos.

you could cry from frustration, but instead, you get creative.

your hands slide down from yunho’s shoulders, over his chest, dragging slow across his pectorals; you can feel his heartbeat under your palm — steady, but picking up just a little.

your fingers find the hem of his t-shirt and slip underneath, skating across the warm skin of his stomach.

yunho's breath hitches.

"babe, i'm in the middle of—"

"i know," you say sweetly against his ear. "you're doing so so good, yun."

his stomach tenses under your touch.

you slowly trace the lines of his abdominals, feather-light, watching yunho’s grip tighten on his mouse. his character on screen does something jerky — misses a shot, probably, and one of his friends groans over comms.

"yunho, what the hell was that?"

"nothing," he says, voice slightly strained. "misclick."

you smile, and your hands drift lower, thumbs hooking into the waistband of his gray joggers; they're soft, slightly worn, and they hang low on his hips, and it’s so fucking hot—

"baby," his voice has a warning edge now, but it's shaky. "can this wait? we're in overtime."

you don't answer, you simply slip one of your hand under the waistband, palm flattening against his lower belly, fingers trailing through the fine hair below his navel.

yunho is already half-hard; you can feel it, the way his cock twitches against your questing fingers, the way his hips push forward just a little, involuntarily.

"oh," you breathe. "someone's distracted."

yunho's jaw clenches. his character is standing still in a corner of the map, and his teammates are yelling at him.

"yunho! move! they're pushing A!"

your boyfriend forces his hands to move. you watch his fingers fumble on the keyboard, and something hot curls low in your belly. he's trying so hard to focus. it's adorable.

your hand dips lower, wrapping around his half-hard length through his boxers. he's warm, already leaking a little, and you stroke him once — slow, measured, from base to tip.

yunho makes a sound. it's barely a whimper, swallowed down fast, but you hear it, and your body responds instantly, a rush of heat spreading through your core.

"shh," you whisper. "don't want your friends to hear, do you?"

he shakes his head, a tiny, frantic movement. his ears are now completely red; you can see the flush creeping down his neck, disappearing under his t-shirt collar, and he's gripping his mouse so hard his knuckles are white.

you pull your hand out of his joggers, just for a moment, and yunho makes a confused, almost wounded noise — but then you're hooking your fingers into the waistband and tugging down just enough to free him.

yunho’s cock springs up, flushed and already leaking, the tip shiny and pink. he's not fully hard yet but he's close, and god, you love this part, you love watching him get there.

you spit into your palm, and you hear yunho's breath catch as you wrap your hand around him again, slick and warm.

"oh," yunho breathes. "oh—fuck."

"language," you tease, but your voice is lower now, rougher.

you start stroking him properly, slow and firm, twisting your wrist at the top the way you know he likes, and yunho's hips naturally buck into your hand.

his character is still standing in that corner, and someone on his team is screaming about a spike.

"yunho, what the fuck are you doing?"

"i—" his voice cracks. "i got—someone's at the door, hold on—"

he's lying, and it's terrible. you're both aware of how terrible it is, but you don't call him out, you just keep stroking him, steady and unrelenting, and watch him fall apart in real time.

yunho’s thighs are trembling; you can feel it through the fabric of his joggers, the way his muscles keep twitching, fighting the urge to just shove back from the desk and drag you onto his lap. but he doesn't. he stays in his chair, hands still on keyboard and mouse, because he's stubborn and competitive and he really wanted to win this game.

well… too bad for him.

you speed up just a little, and your thumb swipes over yunho’s slit, spreading the slickness there, and your boyfriend makes a sound that's almost a sob.

"baby, please," he whispers, just loud enough for you to hear.

"please what?" you ask innocently, still stroking, still watching the way his stomach is clenching and unclenching.

yunho doesn't answer, because he can't.

one of his friends is yelling something about a flank, and yunho forces his character to move, running him across the map in a straight line that makes no tactical sense. he's not even trying anymore, he's just going through the motions, and you can feel how close he is — the way his cock is throbbing in your hand, the way his breath is coming in short, sharp pants.

"you're gonna cum," you murmur. "aren't you, baby?"

yunho nods frantically.

his bottom lip is caught between his teeth, and his eyes are glassy, staring at the screen without really seeing it.

"not yet," you decide, and you let go.

yunho actually chokes; it was a desperate, punched-out sound that he tries to turn into a cough.

"what—why—"

"i want to taste you."

you don't wait for permission, you simply drop to your knees behind yunho’s chair, nudging his thighs apart with your shoulders, and then you're leaning in, your mouth closing over the head of your boyfriend’s cock. yunho tastes like salt and skin, that familiar warmth that makes your mouth water.

you swirl your tongue around the tip, lapping up the precum that's beaded just there, and yunho's whole body convulses.

"oh my god," he gasps. "oh my god, oh my god—"

"quiet," you remind him, pulling off just enough to speak. "mic."

yunho slaps a hand over his own mouth, and his pretty eyes are huge, panicked and desperate all at once, and you don't give him time to recover; you take him deeper, sinking down until he hits the back of your throat, and you hear the muffled sound of his scream behind his palm.

his hand flies off the keyboard. his character is running into a wall now, and one of his friends is saying something like:

"yunho, are you okay? your character's just—"

but yunho doesn't answer. hell, he can't.

you're bobbing your head now, setting a rhythm that's relentless, your hand wrapped around the base of his cock to stroke what your mouth can't reach. you're messy about it; spit is dripping down your chin, down his length, and you don't care at all. you just want to make him fall apart.

and he completely is.

yunho’s thighs are shaking violently, his hips jerking up into your mouth even though he's clearly trying to stay still. his hand is still clamped over his mouth, but the sounds are escaping anyway — whimpers, high and desperate, barely muffled by his palm. his other hand is still on his mouse, but he's not moving it; he's just gripping it like a lifeline, knuckles white, his whole arm trembling.

you pull off with a wet sound, just to watch him, just to see the way his chest is heaving, the way his eyes are screwed shut, tears clinging to his lashes.

"look at me," you say.

he does. yunho’s eyes open, and they're so blown out you can barely see the brown. his lips are wet and parted, and there's a tear already tracking down his cheek.

"so pretty," you tell him. "you're doing so well."

he shakes his head frantically.

"i can't—i'm gonna—"

"i know."

you take him back in your mouth before he can finish, and this time you don't hold back; you suck him like you mean it, hard and fast, your throat working around him, and you feel the exact moment he breaks.

yunho cums with a strangled cry, muffled by his own hand, his whole body arching up out of the chair. his release hits the back of your throat, hot and thick, and you swallow it down without stopping, without slowing, even as his hips are jerking and his thighs are trembling and he's making these broken, keening sounds that you know his friends can probably hear.

but you don't stop.

yunho's hand drops from his mouth.

"wait—wait, please, i just—"

but you keep going.

your tongue drags slow and flat over the head, and the noise yunho makes isn't human; it's a raw, punched-out gasp that cracks in the middle, and his whole body seizes — not just a flinch, but a real convulsion, spine bowing forward, shoulders hunching, his hips snapping back like he's trying to escape. but the chair traps him. there's nowhere to go.

"s’too much," yunho wheezes.

his hands fly down to your head, but his fingers don't push you, they just tangle in your hair, gripping hard, knuckles pressed against your scalp.

"s’too much, baby, please—"

you ignore him, and you suck gently, just the tip, and yunho’s thighs slam together around your ears; you have to push them apart again with your forearms, and you feel the muscles there jumping, spasming, completely out of his control.

"i can't—" his voice breaks into a real sob, wet and loud, and you hear one of his friends on the mic go quiet for a second.

"yunho? dude, you okay?"

you've taken him deeper again, and his hips are twitching in these short, jerky little thrusts that he's clearly not deciding to do. his body is just doing things now. his stomach keeps clenching and unclenching under his shirt, and you watch a bead of sweat roll down his temple, catching in his eyebrow.

you pull off to breathe, and the sound yunho makes is almost angry, and so so so desperate.

"please," he gets out. "please, it's so much—it's so much—"

your hand wraps around him again, loose and wet, and you don't move it, you just hold him, feel how hard he's trembling.

"i'm gonna die," yunho whispers, and his voice is tiny.

you laugh softly and lean back in, and this time you don't even take him all the way; you just mouth at the side of his shaft, lips dragging over the sensitive skin, and yunho jerks so hard his elbow knocks his water bottle off the desk. it hits the floor with a loud thunk, but neither of you look at it.

you can feel him softening a little, his body trying to retreat from the overstimulation, but you don't let up.

no, instead, you lick a slow stripe from the base of his cock to tip, and yunho’s breath hitches into a rhythm that's not breathing anymore — it's just gasping, open-mouthed and wet, his chest heaving like he's been running.

"one more," you say against his skin.

"i can't," he gets out, but his voice cracks on the vowel. "i can't, i literally cannot—"

you take him back in your mouth, just the head, and you suck.

it's not hard, it's almost gentle, but it's too much for him now, and you feel it the second his body gives up fighting. his whole frame goes rigid first — every muscle locked, his hands fisting in your hair hard enough to sting — and then he shatters.

it's not a normal orgasm; there's barely anything left, just a weak pulse, a few drops of fluid that you taste more than feel, but yunho’s body doesn't care.

he convulses like he's having a seizure, hips bucking off the chair, back arching so hard his shoulder blades press together. his mouth falls open in a silent scream, no air left to power it, and then the sound comes after — a raw, guttural cry that tears out of his throat and doesn't stop.

yunho’s legs kick out; one of his feet catches the desk leg, and the whole thing rattles.

his mouse skitters off the pad, his keyboard clacks as his chest slams into it, and he's still shaking, still convulsing, little aftershocks rippling through his thighs and his stomach and his hands, which are still twisted in your hair, holding on like you're the only solid thing in the room.

you stay where you are, mouth soft around his cock, but you’re not moving, you’re simply waiting.

it takes a long time for the spasms to slow down.

yunho’s breathing is all over the place — three short inhales, one long shuddering exhale, then nothing, then a gasp like he forgot how to breath. his long fingers loosen in your hair one by one, and his hand falls limp against the side of your face, palm sweaty and trembling.

you pull off slowly, carefully, and yunho’s whole body flinches at the loss of contact.

"hey," you whisper. "baby, you're okay."

he's not okay.

yunho’s is wrecked — tears and snot and spit all smeared together, his lips chapped and bitten raw. his eyes are half-closed, unfocused, the pupils still blown wide, and there's a wet patch on his shirt collar from where he's been crying.

you sit back on your heels and just look at him.

he's still shaking; little tremors, constant, running through his shoulders and his hands. yunho’s chest is hitching with these tiny, involuntary sobs that he doesn't seem to be aware of anymore. his character is dead on the screen — you notice distantly that his team lost, that the defeat screen is glowing on the monitor — but neither of you care.

finally, finally, you stand up.

you reach out and brush the damp hair off yunho’s forehead, and he flinches at your touch, too sensitive, still. but then he leans into it, just a little, his eyes flutter closed.

"baby," you say softly.

"you're mean," he whispers, his voice is completely destroyed, raw and cracked.

yunho just lies there, breathing in shaky hitches, while you stand up and grab a towel from the bathroom to clean him up. you're gentle this time, wiping away the mess, and he hisses when you brush against his cock but doesn't pull away.

you're tucking him back into his joggers when you hear it; a small, tinny voice from his headset.

"uh... yunho? dude, your mic is still on."

yunho's eyes snap open, and all the blood drains from his pretty face, then rushes back twice as fast, turning him crimson from his chest to his hairline.

"oh my god," he whispers.

you bite your lip to keep from laughing, you really do.

"oh my god," yunho says again, louder this time.

and you can hear his friends in the headset — someone is wheezing, someone else is saying; "i'm never letting him live this down," and the third person just keeps repeating "i heard everything, everything, i need therapy—"

yunho rips the headset off and throws it onto the desk, and he buries his face in his hands, shoulders shaking, and you can't tell if he's crying or laughing or both.

"i'm never playing with them again," yunho says, muffled. "i'm moving to a new country. i'm changing my name."

you climb into his lap, ignoring his weak little protest, and wrap your arms around his neck. yunho still trembling, still so so so oversensitive, but he holds you back, completely burying his face in your shoulder.

"you lost your game," you say, pressing a kiss to his temple.

"i don't care about the fucking game."

you grin. "good. because i want round two."

yunho groans, but his hips twitch against yours, and you feel him start to stir again, and you know he's definitely going to let you ruin him all over again.

You just needed release, honestly. It felt like it had been centuries since you had a nice, good fuck, and you were super pent up. However, a vibrator did nothing for you, and you didn’t have the energy to use a dildo. You struggled trying to get yourself to cum for a solid several minutes before officially throwing in the towel and calling it a day.

The second they heard the vibrator turn off, the men resumed their video game, all three of them trying their hardest to ignore the lewd sounds coming from your room just moments prior and their rock solid cocks. It certainly did not help when you joined them in the living room wearing nothing but shorts and a tank top— it was hot outside and in the apartment, and you weren’t about to sweat to death— and sitting down in front of the couch right next to Yunho’s legs.

You watched as the three of them fixated on their video game, unaware of the tension starting to build in the room. San was sitting in the arm chair and Mingi in the love seat, both of them stealing secret glances at you while Yunho did his best to keep his knee from bobbing up and down nervously as you rested your head against his leg, nor did he dare look down at you knowing that he would get an eyeful of your cleavage.

The second the round of the game ended, all three of them set their controllers aside and looked right at you. You, however, were still absentmindedly staring at the screen.

"Hey, roomie, you okay?" Yunho was the first to speak and somewhat hesitant at that.

He reached down towards your head and smoothed out your hair, making you tilt your head towards his leg. You let out a heavy sigh, your chest moving heftily, nearly getting all three boys to gag.

"Yeah... I'm fine..."

"That doesn't sound fine to me. Spill."

When you turned to look up at Yunho, your breasts pressed against his leg, making his entire body tense up and flush with heat. Then, you looked up at him with big, sad eyes that made him want to grab you and take you right there, but he held himself back because, oh dear Lord, you were his roommate for crying out loud.

"I'm just... Tired," you answered— and that was the truth. You were tired. You were tired of being so goddamn sexually frustrated, but there was no way in hell you were going to admit that to him or any of your other roommates. "Don't worry about it— It's not like you can do anything about it."

"Nuh-uh, don't do that girl thing where we ask you and then you keep deflecting and then get mad at us for not helping," Mingi spoke up, a little frustration in his voice.

"Yeah, plus, I'm sure if you told us, we could help in some way," San added, his voice nearly cracking as he realized the weight of his words.

"No, guys, seriously. I'm not doing that "thing", and I'm honestly just tired!"

"Would, uh, going to bed help?" Mingi asked while clearing his throat.

"You would think it would..." you muttered.

"Y/N, just tell us," Yunho prompted.

You pressed your lips together in a straight line then looked down at the ground. Oh, I'm just really fucking horny and frustrated and can't find a good guy to fuck is all. As if you could ever really admit that to your three male roommates.

"It's nothing," you said again. "I'm just going to go to bed. Good night, guys."

With that, you got up and left the three of them in the living room. You returned to your room, closed the door, and flung yourself onto your bed with a massive sigh. You stared at the ceiling while you tried to figure out what the hell to do about your fucking situation when you heard a light knock on the door.

"Come in," you said to the person on the other side.

Yunho walked in and closed the door gently behind him before joining you on the bed. You were still laying down and couldn't be bothered to sit up, so Yunho joined you and laid down right next to you, his body turned towards yours.

"Hey," he said softly.

"Hi..."

"Look at me," he continued while turning you over so that you were facing him.

His hand caressed your head as the two of you laid across from each other, the repetitive motion easing your anxiety slightly and also turning you on a bit.

"Tell me what's wrong."

"I can't say, Yunho..."

"Then... Can I say something?"

You blinked and nodded. Yunho pressed his lips together and closed his eyes for a brief second before trailing his hand from your head down your shoulder and to your waist, his fingers rubbing along the curve of your waist as he rested his hand there. You wanted to tear yourself from your roommate's touch, but he was just checking off all the boxes and making you feel just right that you wondered where on Earth he was going to go from there.

"We heard you earlier," he whispered.

He didn't need to clarify for you to understand exactly what he was talking about. Mortified, you covered your burning face with your hands and held back a scream, your entire body ready to burst into flames.

"And," he continued despite you praying in your head that he would not. "We would like to help... In any way..."

"Yunho, shut up," you nearly sobbed into your hands. "I'm literally so embarrassed right now."

"Y/N, I don't think you understand what I'm trying to say," Yunho let out a slightly exhausted sigh as he pulled your hands away from your face. "Whatever it is that's frustrating you, I'm sure we can help."

The second you looked into Yunho's eyes, your insides flipped. His eyes were usually soft and kind, but at that moment, he had the most intense gaze on you that made you feel like you were a piece of meat and he was starving to death.

That's when you did the unthinkable. You moved forward and left the lightest kiss on his lips before immediately moving back and looking at his reaction, your eyes darting back and forth as you observed every single detail on his face. Next thing you knew, Yunho's hand slipped to your ass, and he brought you forward, his lips meeting yours gently at first. It wasn't until you ran your fingers through the hair on the back of his head did Yunho get a lot more aggressive. He sucked hard on your lower lip before slipping his tongue into your mouth.

"Tell me," he breathed out, his hot breath hitting your neck. "What do you want?"

"I... I want to be fucked senseless," you responded in between kisses. "Until I can't cum anymore."

In response, Yunho pulled your leg over and around his legs, allowing him to press his crotch against yours, the large bulge sending shivers down your spine. You didn't expect him to be so packed, and he was still wearing his clothes, so it made you nervous to see exactly what he was working with.

"So, then," Yunho pulled back slightly, allowing you to breathe and regain the tiniest bit of sanity— he was an amazing kisser. "Will you let us help you?"

"God, yes, please," you agreed before the words could completely sink in. Gulping nervously, you asked, "What do you mean by us?"

You thought Yunho closed the door completely when he entered your room, but he didn't. Through the slight crack in the door, your other two roommates watched, their hard ons only getting harder and more painful. They wanted so badly to jump in and lend a hand, and they finally got that chance when Yunho turned to the door and said, "Don't just stand there and watch. Come help."

You sat up immediately and watched San and Mingi tentatively enter the room, their faces flushed, their eyes dark. They joined the two of you on the bed, all three men trapping you in the middle of them. Yunho was directly in front of you. He held your chin and tilted your head upwards.

"Suck my fingers, won't you?"

The filthy words leaving his mouth with the sweetest voice had your insides completely trembling. You took his hand in yours and slowly ran your tongue along his index finger before taking it into your mouth. Yunho's breath hitched as you looked up at him and sucked his finger so sensually. He was about to lose his fucking mind when you took another finger into your mouth, a slight whine leaving your lungs as your panties pooled with arousal and your hips moved back and forth impatiently.

San was the first to act. From behind, he reached in between your legs and started rubbing his fingers into your clothed crotch, your hips moving in sync with his fingers. But that wasn't enough. You needed more— way more.

Your hands hooked into the waistband of Yunho's pants and tugged down, his cock catching on the waistband before springing upwards. He was long and pretty, and you tried to calculate how big he actually was, but he barely gave you the chance to do so. He took his fingers out of your mouth and immediately replaced it with his cock. The tip hit the back of your throat almost immediately, making you gag. He placed his hand on the back of your head and guided you slowly until you bottomed out on his full length.

As you sucked Yunho's cock, San pushed you forward so that you were forced onto your hands and knees. He pulled your shorts down and immediately smacked your bare ass as if it was some sort of reflex, making you yelp and moan. His fingers rubbed along your wet folds a couple times before he sunk two of his fingers into your cunt, your toes curling as you felt him finger you roughly.

While San worked on you from behind, Mingi decided to work on your tank top. He scrunched up fabric in the middle and pulled downwards to release your breasts, the man inhaling sharply when he saw them jiggle slightly. He cupped your breast and massaged firmly before he rubbed and tugged on your nipples, your back arching as a result.

At that point, Mingi couldn't take it anymore. He pulled his own massive cock out and somehow moved your face towards his cock. When you took him into your mouth, you realized he was just as long as Yunho, but the corners of your mouth stung slightly because he was definitely girthier. A long, rumbling moan left Mingi's throat when you hollowed out your cheeks and began sucking obnoxiously loud. You were stroking Yunho's cock as you sucked on Mingi's, and San, who wanted some fun of his own, also pulled out his cock, willing you to stroke him too.

You took turns sucking all three men off, your saliva dripping off their dicks as your mouth watered more and more the longer you sucked. But, again, you needed more. You needed them inside you. You needed them to violate you.

Moments later, you were on your hands and knees on your bed once again. Yunho was lying on the bed underneath you, Mingi was kneeling behind you, and San was in front of you. They wasted no time in getting to work. Yunho slipped the tip of his cock into your cunt before holding your waist and sitting you down all the way.

"Oh, fuck! Yunho, you're too big," you nearly sobbed when you felt him hit your cervix when he bottomed out.

"Oh, then you're definitely going to lose it now," Mingi couldn't help but smirk when the tip of his cock prodded into your ass.

You cried loudly when Mingi forced his cock into you inch by inch, your tight hole spreading wide to fit his girth. Your cry was cut short when San stuffed his own cock into your mouth, the man shushing you as he did so.

"Yes, just like that," San groaned. "Fuck, you feel so good..."

You were so occupied by San's cock that you didn't realize Yunho was guiding your waist up and down. You only realized that you were bouncing when you felt Mingi's go deeper inside you. Tingles shot through your body as you felt their cocks rubbing and reaching all the right spots, and when Mingi smacked your ass before grabbing so tightly that his fingernails dug slightly into your skin, you felt tension build up in your stomach at an exponential rate.

Suddenly, San's breathing hitched. He grabbed the back of your head and pulled his cock, but before he could cum, you managed to take him back into your mouth. His cock twitched and throbbed as his cum spurt into your mouth, his eyes rolling to the back of his head and his jaw unhinging slightly as he came. After blinking the stars from his eyes, he looked at you and bit his lower lip while petting your hair, his cock still rock solid in your mouth.

You were quickly brought back to the situation when Yunho bucked his hips upwards, his cock practically ramming into your cervix as he came. Your legs trembled, and you let out a choked sob as you felt the tension snap within you. White filled your vision and pleasure swept through your body as you came hard. Yunho raised your waist off his hips entirely, and you squirted all over him and the bed when his cock left you, his own cum mixed with your arousal. Both his and your cum then rolled down your legs slowly, Yunho salivating at the sight and getting turned on all over again.

Mingi's cock was still deep in your ass, and he spread your asscheeks wide before pulling out, the sight of your gaping hole driving him insane. He just had to re-enter you because he was so close to bursting, and he desperately wanted to fill you up with his cum. He rammed his hips against your ass over and over again with so much force that you practically collapsed on Yunho's chest, and he was being so forceful that you were crying with pleasure so loudly that it echoed in the room. To make matters even crazier, Yunho sat up slightly so he could reach in between your legs and finger you quickly while San wrapped his hand around your neck and pressed into the sides lightly, choking you and making you feel absolutely wrecked.

Yunho's fingers curled inside you just right to the point where you came yet again, and this time you came so hard that you clenched tightly around Mingi's cock, the intense pressure making him cum with you. You gasped for air and moaned loudly when San let go of your neck to rest his hand on your cheek as if to praise you. He tugged on your lower lip with his thumb, making you instinctually take his thumb into your mouth and sucking on it.

Mingi pulled out and spread your ass once more to look at his work. He watched as your hole clenched around air several times before the cum he shot deep into you started coming to the surface and trickling out and rolling down your ass and leg.

"Shit, this is so fucking hot," Mingi uttered to himself as he couldn't tear his eyes away from you. "You're so fucking hot."

"Y/N is so fucking hot," San added as he tapped his cock against your cheek. "Very fucking hot... We should do this more often."

"What if..." you breathed out— you were still catching your breath. "What if I'm not done with you yet?"

"Hmm? You still don't feel good?" Yunho teased as he moved your hair from your face, willing you to look at him. "Do you want more?"

"Yes, please."

But he’d been bad yesterday, so Seonghwa had put him in the crate for the day while he was at work. He’d been left with nothing but one dildo, the smallest one in Seonghwa’s extensive collection. It was kind of sad, really, how little it managed to satisfy him. 

He was riding it as hard as he could, whimpering, when it hit him how much he had to pee. 

Hongjoong bit his lip, continuing to ride it, but he couldn’t ignore it now that he’d noticed it. Of course, if it were really an emergency, he could just reach out and unlock the crate himself, but it was the principle of the crate that really mattered here. If Seonghwa found out that he’d let himself out— and he would find out— Hongjoong would be ashamed, and he’d be punished. 

Hongjoong paused riding the toy. He wanted to keep going, but he also had to hold it until Seonghwa got home. 

He looked at the window. It was starting to get dark out, which meant Seonghwa should be home soon. 

He continued to ride the dildo. He wanted Seonghwa to be impressed when he got home.

By the time he heard the door unlocking from downstairs, he was so desperate for orgasm and to pee that he whined out, “Seonghwa!” 

He heard Seonghwa’s laugh from downstairs, and then his footsteps came up the stairs. Hongjoong ground his hips against the dildo in frustration.

Seonghwa smiled, loosening his tie as he walked into the room. “How’s your day been, puppy?”

Hongjoong looked up at him through the bars of the crate. “It was… alright…”

“You hated being trapped in there with nothing to play with, didn’t you?” Seonghwa said, faux-sympathetic. 

“I missed you.” Hongjoong said, putting on the biggest eyes he could muster. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Seonghwa walked into the closet. “I’m going to change, and then I’ll play with you, okay?”

“Yes!” Hongjoong smiled, entertaining himself with the dildo for a few more minutes. 

Seonghwa came out of the closet in jeans and a T-shirt. “Hongjoong, baby, be honest with me, did you open the crate?”

“No.” Hongjoong shook his head. “I didn’t, I was good.”

Seonghwa looked at him for a long moment, as if trying to discern whether he was being honest or not, and then smiled. “Good boy.”

Hongjoong smiled, proud of himself for earning his owner’s satisfaction.

“Now, let’s get you out of there.” Seonghwa unlocked the crate, and Hongjoong pulled the dildo out with a moan before crawling out. He stretched, letting his limbs relax. 

“I have to—”

“Not so fast.” Seonghwa said with a laugh that bordered on evil. “It’s been a long day, you know? I need my stress relief.”

“But— but I—” Hongjoong looked towards the bathroom, hoping Seonghwa would get his meaning.

“Oh, do you need to go?” Seonghwa said. “You’re gonna have to wait.”

“Wait?” Hongjoong whined. “But I—”

“You’re my good boy, right? Do what I ask.” Seonghwa’s voice left no room for argument. 

Hongjoong nodded, his eyes downcast. “Yes, sir.”

“Come on, puppy, get on the bed.” Seonghwa nodded towards his bed. 

Hongjoong got up, stumbling on his way to the bed. His legs were still wobbly from the crate. 

Seonghwa sat on the bed, patting the space beside him. “Up, boy.”

Hongjoong got on the bed, laying down with his head on Seonghwa’s thigh. He closed his eyes as he scratched behind his ear. 

“Is that good?” Seonghwa asked softly. 

“Yes.” Hongjoong whined. “Yes, it feels so nice.”

“Good.” Seonghwa cooed. “Good boy. So patient for me.”

Hongjoong kept his eyes closed as he heard the sound of a zipper, but he did smile. 

“C’mon, puppy, open your mouth for me.”

Hongjoong opened his eyes as Seonghwa guided him by his hair towards his cock. He scooted forward on the bed to take his tip into his mouth, moaning at the taste of his precum. 

Seonghwa sighed, his hands loosening in Hongjoong’s hair. Hongjoong loved this part, when he let himself relax for a moment, when he lost himself in his senses. As much as Hongjoong liked it when Seonghwa took care of him, he liked to take care of Seonghwa as well. Their relationship was a two-way street.

Hongjoong kept sucking, readjusting himself on the bed to be able to take Seonghwa’s cock deeper into his mouth. He closed his lips around him.

“Oh, good boy. Good puppy. My good little show dog.”

Hongjoong made a happy noise as he kept going.

As Seonghwa got back to himself after the initial pleasure of Hongjoong’s mouth, he put his hands back into his hair. “Can you take me deeper?”

Hongjoong nodded. 

“Good boy.” Seonghwa gently pulled him by his hair towards his hips, forcing Hongjoong’s head down onto him. Hongjoong repressed his choking, keeping himself relaxed and open for Seonghwa. 

Seonghwa kept him there for a few moments, until Hongjoong couldn’t take it anymore and began to make small noises. He snickered, letting his hair go. Hongjoong pulled away, letting himself breathe. 

“Ready to ride me now, pup?”

He still had to pee, which was a complicating factor to the plan of him riding Seonghwa, but he could hold it, surely. It would be fine.

“Yeah.” Hongjoong panted. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

“Good boy. Can you hold it for me for just a little bit longer?” It was like Seonghwa had read his mind.

“Mhm.” Hongjoong nodded. “Yeah, I’ll be good.”

“Okay.” Seonghwa got his pants all the way off and laid on his back, stretching his arms, smiling lazily. “Okay, get to it.”

Hongjoong got up, putting a hand between his legs to check if he was still wet (of course, he was. He always was.) He positioned himself over Seonghwa’s hips and put a hand on his cock to line it up with his dripping hole. 

“Come on. You can do it.” Seonghwa teased. 

“Yes, sir.” He began to push down onto Seonghwa’s cock. It was big, as it always was, significantly bigger than the dildo he’d been playing with all day. It felt like it was pushing the air out of his lungs as he sat down on it. He gasped as he settled onto it. 

The urge to pee was stronger than ever. Hongjoong whimpered. 

“Oh, does that feel good?” Seonghwa smiled. 

“Yes.” Hongjoong nodded. “I really have to—”

“I don’t care.” Seonghwa said, smiling meanly. “I don’t want to hear excuses, puppy. Ride me.”

Hongjoong swallowed, but he put his hands on Seonghwa’s chest and began to move up and down on his cock. 

“Good boy.” Seonghwa said. “But you can go harder than that.”

Hongjoong whined, but Seonghwa didn’t want to hear excuses. He rode him harder, squeezing his eyes shut at the discomfort on his bladder. 

“You okay?” Seonghwa said, mocking him. “Does puppy need to go?”

“Yes!” Hongjoong squeaked. 

Seonghwa put a hand on his torso, where his cock was inside him, and pressed down.

Hongjoong whined as he lost control, pissing all over Seonghwa. He could feel his cheeks heating up at the humiliation of it all, and of how he kept bouncing on Seonghwa’s cock through it. 

He hated it, but it felt good. It felt good to let himself go, to piss himself on Seonghwa’s cock.

Seonghwa laughed as he finished. “Are you having fun?”

Hongjoong squeezed his eyes shut, hiding from it, but he nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Do you feel better now?”

“Yes, sir.” He could feel how red his face and ears were, and tears were forming at the corners of his eyes.

“Such a dirty puppy.” Seonghwa hummed. “So desperate you just couldn’t wait, could you?”

“I— I’m sorry, sir.” Hongjoong said quietly. 

“Don’t apologize.” Seonghwa laughed. “You’re lucky that I like my puppy best when he’s lost control.”

“Mhm.” Hongjoong nodded, starting to move on Seonghwa’s cock again. He had barely noticed he’d stopped.

Seonghwa laughed. “Good boy, you still want to keep going?”

“As long as you want me to keep going.” Hongjoong said, tilting his head as he looked at him. “But neither of us has come yet, and I thought— I thought you’d like—”

“Yeah.” Seonghwa smiled. “I’d love to fill you up.”

Hongjoong sighed, closing his eyes as he bounced harder. Seonghwa snickered, but he didn’t say anything. He began to run his hands over Hongjoong, up his arms, across his chest. He twisted his nipples, pinching them and rubbing the skin to make them sensitive.

Hongjoong whined, but he didn’t flinch away. Seonghwa liked to watch him fall apart, he knew that. 

So Hongjoong put his hands on Seonghwa’s shins, leaning back onto them as he changed his angle. Seonghwa’s cock felt like it was going deeper than it ever had, and Hongjoong struggled to keep his breathing even as he rode him.

“You having fun?” Seonghwa sounded amused. 

“Yes!” Hongjoong was embarrassed to admit that after peeing on Seonghwa’s cock he was having more fun than he’d ever had riding him. Something about the relief and the humiliation that came with it was enough to light his skin on fire, to make him so needy for more that he was almost ashamed of it. 

Seonghwa smiled. “Puppy’s doing so good. Wish I had your leash right now.”

Hongjoong moaned. He did not need the leash, he was worked up enough already, but the thought drove him closer to his already approaching orgasm. 

Seonghwa hooked two fingers into Hongjoong’s collar, tugging him down to him. Hongjoong yelped, losing his balance and falling on top of Seonghwa.

Seonghwa laughed. “Oh, puppy.”

Hongjoong kept moving his hips. He had to feel Seonghwa’s cock moving in and out of him, or he’d lose his mind. All day cooped up in that crate with a small toy had driven him a little stir crazy.

“Keep going, Hongjoong, I’m close.” Seonghwa said softly. Hongjoong could tell he really was close, the cadence of his voice changed just a little bit.

“Yes, sir!” Hongjoong kept going, wrapping his arms around Seonghwa’s neck and hiding in his shoulder as he rode him furiously. 

“Oh my god— oh, Hongjoong, oh my god.” Seonghwa gasped. His hands came down, clumsily grabbing Hongjoong’s hips, pulling him down on his cock as he came. Hongjoong gasped, too, as he felt Seonghwa fill him up with his warmth. His eyelids fluttered shut with the sensation.

Seonghwa let him go, sighing. “Oh, pup, that felt so nice. Your hole is always so good around me.”

Hongjoong hummed, happy. “Yes, sir, whatever you want.”

“You’re so good.” Seonghwa reached up to scratch behind Hongjoong’s ear. “So good, just for me.”

Hongjoong held him closer, nuzzling into his neck. “I love you, owner.”

the town you both live in is small, but lively. main street’s bustling, and the farther out you go, the more common it is to have a backyard that touches thick treeline. you’ve got one of those backyards (mingi knows this because of normal reasons—you’d invited him over a few times, nothing major). and recently there’s been murmuring of a bear wandering about. no casualties, no verified encounters, just claw marks in trees too high and large for a raccoon or even the neighbor-down-the-street’s fat maine coon.

bear sightings weren’t out of the ordinary. in fact, the town’s bulletin board’s been issuing a warning around the same time every year. you hadn’t noticed, not until your next door neighbor (widowed, deep smile lines, wispy grey whiskers) made you aware. was standing on his porch, looking out at nothing. you had on pajamas, aiming to empty your mailbox, barely made it out of your indoor slippers. he told you matter-of-factly, hands on his back, how they’d been doing this since he’d got here (he’d attended the community college nearby). how it’s never been a bear, but that’s the safe explanation, the thing that won’t make people panic. how he’d seen the “bear” with fresher eyes—an idiot college kid, he called his former self—stalking past the thick trees. had the height of a ceiling. bipedal, he’d hoped. he hoped that wasn’t how tall it was on all fours.

you’d told this to mingi over coffee on the first warm day in february. you were smiling as you sipped. mingi was white-knuckling his latte.

mingi’s “condition” was like a cough. it felt better to let it take it’s course than keep it contained, straining against his throat. and he was content to race squirrels through the woods in the dead of night. catch a few deer, scent a few trees, roll around in a stream, whatever. it was a freeing feeling in some aspects, freeing the way skinny dipping felt. mingi had gotten used to the transformation process over the years. he found that, the more he accepted his predicament, the less he stressed about it, the less he felt the way his bones would pull like like hot plastic.

rutting season was always bad, no matter what he did. mingi woke up from his first ever rut naked, covered in wet dirt and drying blood that wasn’t his, surrounded by nothing but the wind whistling through fans of oak leaves. his stomach ached like he’d gorged. to this day, he doesn’t know whose blood stained his fingernails.

over the years, mingi made a point to instill preemptive measures. he’d gotten into a rhythm, familiar with the telltale signs: hot flashes, mild fevers, impromptu pulsing between his thighs. he’d spend the entire night before sprinting in the woods; knocking into trees, shaking the birds awake, carelessly cutting himself against branches and bark. he’d come home smelling like worn earth and paper cuts, still a whole 4 feet taller than normal and dusting the carpet and floor in sheddings. mingi would hunch over his bed, pillow between his talons, and hump it so hard it’d ruin the shape. it’d take a full hour before he even felt fatigued. would call up his boss when he got lucid enough and tell him he’s not coming in tomorrow or the day after. spent the rest of his time stinking up his bedroom—his whole house—leaking through every pair of boxers and briefs available to him. mingi stopped wearing clothes altogether, just made more of a mess. he’d only bothered changing because being exposed to air meant there were less objections to him fisting his cock.

and then night would roll around, and it’d get worse. felt like he was dying, like his entire body was doused in gasoline and he’d rolled over a lit match. but at least the blackouts became rare. if he felt his vision blurring, he’d lock himself in the basement. he had one of those doors that locked from the outside, convinced himself it was enough to keep him contained. sometimes he’d get free. mingi wondered if he’s smart enough to have cleaned any blood before resurfacing. he didn’t like to think about it. 

his repeat “unsuccessful” ruts have at least resulted in shortened cycles, an odd biological quirk. however, these shortened cycles also meant an intense hangover awaited him the following morning, leaving him weary and bedridden the rest of the day.

but mingi was content. he’d grown accustomed to it.

you were a new problem, however.

mingi hadn’t realized he’d been isolating himself until you came along, a fresh face all those months ago. it was autumn, a wet october, though you scheduled your move in for the one dry day. mingi carried your couch in—it was his job, good use of his wolf strength. not many people close to his age were buying homes, especially homes in this town, more for budding families and retirees. you’d said you liked the quiet.

offered him a snack from your bag during his break. apparently you’d prepped them for the move, had about 4 bags of miscellaneous snack items tucked away. apple slices, store-bought cookies, a sandwich. you handed mingi one of the cookies. it was soft in his palm.

mingi liked you. he liked you a lot. you were nice, smiled a whole bunch. smelled like fresh bread and the eggos you’d make for breakfast. you were the one who kept in touch, though it wasn’t hard to run into familiar faces. you’d invited him over to celebrate the final box being unpacked while the sun was still up. you made a salmon dish—sweet, sugary balsamic glaze. mingi had to fight himself from drooling.

there had been a few times where mingi found his thoughts drifting to faces in town; a swirl of heat clouding his vision, a hand tip-toeing towards his waist. there was this older guy who worked with him, liked to pretend mingi was some helpless damsel and cart the heavier boxes away as a favor. had grit in his voice and hair decorating his forearms. there was the other time, when mingi and two other guys had been called out-of-town. the kid paying them was tall, but not taller—early 20s, reminded mingi of a boy he knew back in college. mingi felt eyes on his back the entire move. his coworkers verbalized it on the way back, joked about pushing him to his knees to see what he’d do. mingi nearly fucked a hole into his mattress when he got home, thinking about the college kid’s cupid’s bow stretched around the thickest part of his cock.

mingi could tell this was different. was lying on his back, blearily staring at his ceiling fan. he had three more days till it’d start, but he was already feeling the effects. had a hand cupping his enflamed knot, the grit of his paw pads bordering on painful.

mingi thought of your soft hair. one of those spinning seeds had landed in it as you both walked, and mingi tried to verbally guide you to it, your fingertips missing by centimeters. decided to pick it out himself—quick and simple. you thanked him. he didn’t hear, too focused on the warmth emanating from the crown of your skull. no one could have caught the way your scent lingered on his hand the rest of the day, but mingi did.

in that moment, it was innocent. it made him blush, the way such a simple thing made his heartbeat stutter. but now, in the haze of animalistic desire, all he could think about was sifting his claws through your locks and tugging.

in his mind’s eye, mingi saw himself throwing his hand off his cock and fisting his sheets like a lifeline. instead his hand grasped and pumped. precum pearled, leaking, wetting his fingers like a confirmation.

mingi was supposed to grab breakfast with you the next day. two days before his rut. he cancelled last minute, said he wasn’t feeling too hot. you understood, made him swear to make it up to you. mingi wished you knew he did it for your own safety. had a vivid image of him tackling you to the floor, the scent of syrup and berries on your breath as he dove in. onlookers would gasp. you’d have no air left to do so. the fantasy kept him going for about an hour.

mingi spent the rest of sunset buried in his bedsheet, eyes wired shut, desperately attempting the stave off the image of you (in his bed, on his couch, on his floor, in the backseat of his movers van). time passed in delirious blurs, vague sensations of maybe-climax and probable edging just to feel like he wasn’t an absolute pervert. before mingi knew it, his bones were creaking beneath his skin, bright bursts of pain like he’d never felt before.

when he woke up, the sunlight just peeking past his window, he was covered in shreds of fabric. he jolted upwards. his bed was lopsided, the bottom of the mattress kissing the floor. his sheet was in tatters. he turned and saw dirt tracks on the floor—wide and paw-shaped. mingi ran a sweating hand through his hair.

mingi called in sick. leaving his house was not an option.

you called. everything in him howled to answer. he did not pick up.

the first three hours awake weren’t as bad, like a medicine steadily wearing off. cleaned up the best he could. he wondered if it’d end up the exact same way by nightfall. and by 11am, like clockwork, mingi had already sweated through his newly placed fitted sheet.

he felt nauseous. an empty kind of nausea, like when you’re so hungry it makes your stomach start to dissolve itself. he reached down and grasped his cock, moving on pure instinct, fingers stopping just below his red tip. near immediate, a sharp pain shot up his crotch and into his stomach—prickling lightning strikes. mingi’s body jumped up and off his pillow, then careened back down.

he clutched at his abdomen. what the fuck.

mingi had to rediscover his body once his condition had made itself known at 18, just when the normal changes were supposed to settle down. there were no leading studies on werewolves, so he’d resigned himself to fun facts about grey wolves. of course, it was never one-to-one. everything was new and unfamiliar, and mingi had no real reference points. but it’d been so long since his first shift, his first rut, his first shed, his first kill. he thought he was done with firsts.

when night fell, mingi was curled in a ball on the basement floor. his breathing was erratic—borderline panting, swells of saliva building in the back of his throat. he wondered absentmindedly if popping a tylenol would work. his body lurched. no, it won’t.

mingi closed his eyes, running circles behind the skin. his body twitched.

he thought of you.

when mingi came to, he was standing in a bedroom. his forehead grazed the ceiling, ears flicking to ground himself in the texture. this room was shorter than anything he was familiar with. the bed was smaller than his, sheets patterned instead of plain white. he was standing atop a rug, laid over carpet. ovular in shape, ringlets going further in. 

there was a smell in the air—twists of cinnamon and yeast and the sticky aroma of warmth. filling him like a pitcher of milk to caffeine or hot chocolate. the deeper he sucked in air, practically tasted it, the more his body would recognize it, could feel his tail perking upwards behind him.

below was a person, sound asleep. the blinds were drawn, the moonlight trapped behind the window. everything seemed to glow in mingi’s vision—the peek of fingers against the pillow, the valley of shadow right at the center of the curled body, where knees reached to meet elbows. a hiding fawn.

that was your scent.

that was your sleeping body. he was in your house.

it hit him like scalding water—a bright blazing flash ripping through him, and he stumbled backwards. saliva pooled in his jaw. his teeth ached.

and then he was doing it again—fighting that urge swelling behind his adam’s apple, trying to keep it stuck in the back of his throat. mingi’s body would surge forward, close to trembling from the struggle, the pulsing in his crotch like an alarm bell. you were so close. you smelt like you were right under his nose. his cock peeked and dribbled onto the rug below—fuck.

mingi backtracked, one leg behind him, whining in pain—the sound pitched and broken.

you shifted in your sleep, your hand landing upright on the colder side of your pillow, splayed; your fingers, your palm, your neck, your ribs. all your sensitive bleeding organs bared. 

mingi lasted about two seconds before he was lunging.

he nosed at the expanse of skin right below your belly button, heat coming off you in thick sheets. i’m sorry, he thought, a voice floating faraway in the back of his mind as his talons slipped over and under your waistband. and the scent exploded in his face like shrapnel, swore he took psychic damage from it, could feel something in his brain dying and be replaced by one-track thoughts: inside. inside. inside.

he throbbed hard enough to make him gasp, then growl, a sound low and rumbling in the center of his chest.

soon you were squirming, still unconscious as he lapped into you. kittenish at first. he could claim it was for your benefit, to make everything slide in easier, but he knew it was purely selfish. wanted to taste you on his tongue, sneaky bites of dessert before dinner.

it’s like you were asking for it; fabric parting like tender flesh under the points of his nails, syrupy scent clogging his nose, fogging his mind. your faintly parted lips, the gentle swoop of your fanned lashes, that flash of hair peeking out from your waistband. you should’ve been ashamed. you were lucky it was him and not some stranger. the thought made his gums itch. he’d never let that happen. never. mine. mine. mine. had to stop himself from sinking his teeth in your neck. he focused instead on working you open, still mostly unresponsive, still sleeping soundly.

by the time you were enveloping him—mingi’s knees dipping into the mattress, yours curled around his waist—all the doubt cleared from mingi’s mind. he wondered why he hadn’t done this sooner. you were perfect—a welcomed respite from his countless dry ruts, his cock practically singing as he shallowly thrusted, trying not to disturb you too much. he wanted to nuzzle into your neck. he wanted to lick stripes along your neck till he reached bone. he wanted to bite down as hard as he could on your throat. wanted to see the whites of your eyes as his knot plugged you up, the first sensation you feel being his cum shooting inside of you.

you cracked your eyes open around then, and mingi couldn’t help himself. he shot seconds after you met his eyes, yours bleary and squinted, fixing your mouth to speak, to question him, then getting cut off by your own sob as you were filled. wanton sound, made mingi twitch and his hips sputter. he had his paws on your hips now, groping you freely, carelessly. his claws scratched and poke and caught. you’d yelp and he’d crane his neck down and lap at the cuts.

“whuh—?” you could barely get it out over the hiccups from each of his thrusts, mingi growing eager.

“don’t worry,” mingi said, wavering slightly, regaining his composure. recognition flickered in your face, even through the snarl in his voice.

“m—?”

his ears flicked upwards at the sound. your eyes followed the movement.

“mi— mm— m-mingi?”

his tail beat against your mattress. he answered with a nod.

“sorry. you smell so good. can’t help it.”

each word was punctuated by wetness and the feeling of his knot bumping against your ass. he pressed another dog kiss to your cheek, sitting back up and thrusting like he hadn’t just cum moments ago. you’re left floundering. your hands reached for anything. they landed on his perched knees, threading into the fur there. made him thrust a bit deeper, the bulb on his cock catching slightly. you gasped, and mingi’s heart sang.

“gonna fill you up nice n’ full. gonna take care of you.”

he could already feel another orgasm building (second for you, fourth for him).

mingi wondered how much it’d take to get you fat and plump on his spunk. how many times he'd need to fill you, breed you for it to show. he'd didn't care if it leaked—he'd just pump you full again. he could do it. of course he would. keep you nice and warm and full. full of him and no one else.

he wondered if you could even take it all. take him to the hilt, take his knot. mingi slowed, gave an experimental roll, pressing it deep into you, not yet inside. a test. your body convulsed, fluttered around him. let out a little punched out sound.

mingi grinned, full of serrated canines.

of course you could.

“You think you deserve that? After the stunt you pulled?” You didn’t expect to hear the stern, annoyed tone woven into the words even as they fell from your own lips, especially not with how debauched you know you already are. Fake it till you make it, you suppose.

Of all the vitriol and insults you’ve strewn at each other throughout this whole thing, he looks the most heartbroken at the denial of your pussy. “C’mon, you were bein’ mean, too, ‘n still, here I am trying to make you feel good.” Even as he attempts to convince you you’re the one desperate for his lips on you, the way he attempted to lurch forward to taste you again gives him away.

You shove harder at him this time, and the way those glossy eyes peer up at you tells you how much he really craves you. “I think I deserve an apology.”

“Ugh, always such a fuckin’ drama queen, can never just—“ His grumbling is cut short by a sharp gasp when his hair it pulled taut through your fingers, his head bowing in the direction of your hand. There’s still a spark of defiance in his eyes, like he can’t believe you of all people have the audacity to pull his hair.

“You want to taste this pussy or not, Wooyoung? Fucking apologize.” It was fun toying with him this way, especially when he did the same to you.

“Fuck, fine,” he breathes, shifting on his knees as he looks up at you through his eyelashes, pink flush dusting his cheeks. “‘m sorry, okay?” It’s impossible to gauge how genuine his apology is once his eyes drop from yours to level at your pussy, a hazy look in his eyes. He gulps down the drool pooling in his mouth, “Fuck, ‘s a pretty pussy.” He goes to close the distance again, but you’re on too high of a power trip to let an apology suffice if you can’t tell it’s genuine.

He whines, actually whines, when you yank his head back from your cunt with all the confidence you can muster as you grow needier at the sight before you. At your clipped and pointed ‘Wooyoung’, he starts to ramble, voice an octave higher than usual, “You’re so mean, fuck, please, okay? Said I’m sorry, was such a fuckin’ dick to you, wasn’t I? Lemme make it up to you, I can make you feel so, so good.” Your restraint was already ran thin, but once he’s started to ramble, you can’t make him stop.

“Please? I’m sorry, so sorry, c’mon,” It doesn’t seem all that genuine at first, an impatient lilt lacing his words. It takes all your willpower not to pull his mouth onto you when his tongue is lolling out of his mouth, coated in saliva. “See? Mmm, look,” After every few words, he’s opening his mouth to show you his tongue again as if you hadn’t seen it the first time, “Droolin’ for you, want it so bad.” He moves closer to your core, eyes staring up at you as he inches closer, “Jus’ wanna taste you, baby, let me. Let me show you how… how sorry I am, lemme prove it, I promise I—“

As much as you’re reveling in how pathetic Wooyoung is for a taste of your pussy, the frayed edges of your restraint finally snap and you yank him forward by your grip on his hair. His open mouth meets your core, his tongue licking a long stripe up your slit, and the vibrations from the moan he lets out against you are so strong they make your legs twitch.

“Fuuuck,” Wooyoung manages to moan out between greedy slurps, huffing hot breaths against you, “S’fuckin…” He’s lapping at your cunt like a man starved, and the way you deprived him, it’s how he feels.

Your breath catches in your throat because fuck, he really did know how to use his mouth. It’s like you could feel him everywhere, he didn’t leave a trace of your pussy untouched. “Such a sweet cunt, tastes s’good,” He slurs against your entrance, tongue darting to trace it between words, “Could do this all fuckin’ day.” He pushes deeper, tongue slipping into you and his nose nudging persistently at your clit.

“Fu— Fuck, Wooyoung,” you gasp out, fingers tightening in his hair as you try to pull him closer. Through bleary eyes, you think you see his free hand drifting down out of your view, and your theory is confirmed when he lets out a strangled groan against your pussy.

Your hips jerk up despite yourself when he lands a sharp suck on your clit, and you feel more than hear the chuckle that falls from his lips. “Mmm, needy cunt, too, just like I thought. She wanted this jus’ as bad as I did, hm?”

You’re too lost in pleasure to really listen, eyes hazy and breathing labored as your hips squirm against his forearm splayed over your hips. Wooyoung tears your attention back as he sinks his teeth into the fat of your inner thigh, making you gasp and scramble against his hold. He only tightens his grip and yanks you back down the mattress, “The fuck are you running from? I’m fuckin’ talking to you. Answer me.”

“G-Gonna… fuck, can’t— Woo, was so close,” you whine out, trying to twist in his hold to no avail.

“Aw, yeah?” There’s a tinge of arrogance in his words, but he mostly just sounds broken, panting and the slightest bit whiny, “If you wanna cum, you’ll fuckin’ answer me. You wanted my mouth just as much as I wanted to give it, yeah? Tell me.”

His tone sparks that familiar annoyance that reminds you this is the guy you hate and you have half the mind to kick him out and get yourself off, until that pout is pulling back at his lips, “C’mon baby, I know it’s true, just tell me so I can make you cum for me. You want that, don’t you?” His inflection tells you he’s mocking you, but his words only serve to make you needier and suddenly you can’t be bothered to care that this is the Wooyoung who has done nothing but constantly annoy you since you met.

“‘m just…” You start, and as if he wanted to make it harder for you to answer him, he slips his fingers past your entrance, curling them. The words tumble from your mouth before you can mull them over, “P-please, Woo, lemme cum. Wanted your mouth so bad, jus’, mm, wanted to give you sh-shit for being mean.”

“Aw, I know, angel,” He lets out a breathy chuckle, “My baby can’t help but brat out, can she?” His words come out airy and soft, lidded gaze back on your pussy as his fingers slide in and out, “‘s not your fault, just that stupid brain of yours leadin’ you astray.”

In any other headspace you’d probably chew him out for that, but you’re starting to babble, willing to say anything to cum at this point. “Mhm, y-yeah, not my fault. Please, Woo, wanna cum.”

You catch a glimpse of that infuriating grin again before his mouth is back on you and your back is arching into him. “Oh, fuck, please,” you whine, head digging into the mattress as your hips roll up to meet his lips.

Wooyoung works his fingers faster, sucking and slurping at your clit. “Cum for me, lemme taste it, come on.” He whines against you, nipping at your clit and ignoring the way it makes you jolt, “C’mon, don’t make me beg, baby, please cum on my fingers.”

A stream of moans falls from your mouth as you grind against his face, whimpering, “Gonna cum, s-so close, please—“

He seems even more eager than you, interrupting you, “Yeah,” He sounds thrilled and pathetic at the same time, his fingers picking up the pace, “There you go, come on, make a mess. Let me taste it.”

Your eyes roll back and your joints lock, ripped under a wave of pleasure as Wooyoung slides his fingers out and replaces them with his tongue, moaning at your taste. He slurps and laps at your cunt, not willing to waste a drop even as you start to scramble up the mattress from overstimulation.

“Mmmno, stop, come here, don’t run, please,” he whines as he tugs you back down to his mouth, moaning into your core. It’s safe to say he’s officially pussy drunk, even at your expense. You let out a dry sob at the overstimulation, hands coming down to make an attempt to pry his arm off your abdomen to no avail. He groans brokenly, huffing into you between licks as his other hand catches your wrist, pinning it to your stomach.

“Too much, Woo, ‘s too much—!”

“Y’said you wanted to cum, didn’t you? Be grateful ‘m giving you even more,” He admonishes, nipping at your clit, before he giggles, lapping at you again, “‘s more than you’re used to with your exes anyway, right?” Of fucking course he’d bring that up now. San can be such a loudmouth sometimes, even if he doesn’t mean to be, and it’s somehow always at your detriment.

As he continues eating you like a man starved, it’s like your thrashing barely bothered him so long as his mouth was still on your cunt. Eventually, pain turns into pleasure, whimpers falling from your lips as Wooyoung works you closer to the edge.

He shifts as he readjusts, and you hear the clink of a belt somewhere in the distance through the haze. You can’t pay that too much attention, though, as the pleasure builds dangerously quickly, “C-Close, ‘m close, Woo.”

“Yeah? Come on, you know what to do.” He sounds almost as broken as you, his fingers replacing his mouth to rub fast at your clit, other palm pressed to your abdomen to keep you still. “Cum for me, come on.”

You squeal, thrashing against the sudden onslaught, but he doesn’t let up, eyes trained on your face as he pushes you over the edge. You twitch, letting out a sob as you cum, but of course Wooyoung doesn’t let you come down before he’s sliding deep inside your still twitching cunt in one rough thrust.

He lets out a broken moan, the most debauched you’ve heard him so far, biting hard into the meat of your shoulder to stop himself from finishing right then. He whines, not daring to move as you gasp and moan underneath him. “Fuuuck, so fuckin’ good. ‘S so tight for me, baby.”

Your voice warbles, tears welling in your eyes, “Y-You, fuck, could’ve wa-warned me,” The pain lingers where he’d sunk his teeth into your shoulder, but it seems so dull compared to the feeling of being so full so suddenly.

Wooyoung pants against your collarbone now, little broken sounds slipping through his lips as he tries to find his way through the brain fog. “Mm, I know,” he exhales hard against your skin, pausing for a moment before you feel a smile curl against your collarbone, “Just couldn’t wait anymore, ‘m sorry. You’ll forgive me, right, mommy?”

Jesus Christ, that was probably the last thing you expected, and based off of his annoying little giggle, he could feel just how much it affected you.

“Mmm, ha, you clenched so tight. How’d I know you’d like that?” He questions aloud to no one in particular, letting out amused little breaths like he’d just been told the funniest joke but knew laughing too much would get him in trouble. “Nasty little slut, ‘course you like it.”

Your jaw tightened and you reach to yank at his hair again, rewarded with a delicious little whimper and his hands squeezing at your hips, “J-Just shut the fuck up and move already.” Your legs wrap around him, trying to tug him impossibly closer. “You can be so annoying sometimes, seriously, if you’re not gonna fuck me just get ou—“

Of course he uses now as an opportunity to pull back and thrust deep inside, so sudden and harsh that it causes you to scramble slightly up the mattress, only to be yanked down again, “How many fuckin’ times do I have to tell you not to run? You wanna beg for it then run away? Don’t be ungrateful.” Wooyoung breathes heavily, bracing his weight with a hand beside your head, looking down at you with an expression so vicious you think even you have never been at the receiving end of. “I was gonna be nice, too, but you wanna call each other names, huh? You wanna be mean?” He thrusts again, starting a rhythm that’s slow but every bit as rough, jaw tightening as he glares down at you.

“I was gonna fuck you so sweet n’ slow, show my pretty mommy we don’t always have to be mean. But no, want me to fuck you like a slut instead, huh?” He’s more rambling to himself now as his eyes drop from yours and trail down to where you connect every time he sheaths himself fully inside of you.

You can’t help but squirm, noises slipping from your mouth that you’re sure you’d be embarrassed of later. You let your eyes flutter shut, thighs tightening around his waist, reluctantly content with letting him have the upper hand so long as he keeps fucking you like this. He doesn’t seem as content with that, though, you realize, when his hand comes up to slap your cheek. It wasn’t rough enough to hurt any more than a slight sting, but the shock of his audacity has your eyes shooting open, brows creased.

“Hah, don’t tell me you’re done already, baby,” His voice is softer than you expected, that bite from before nowhere to be found. How quickly he changes from soft to rough makes you think it might give you whiplash, but honestly, you find yourself kind of liking it. He leans down to nudge at your nose with his, a gesture sweeter than you’d expect from him, “I asked you a question, c’mon. How do you want me to fuck you, mommy?”

You whine at the name, not finding it in yourself to be embarrassed anymore, “Don’t— just, just please don’t stop, Woo.”

You expect him to make fun of you again, maybe tease you for how far gone you seem, but he just coos softly and presses a gentle kiss to your cheek as he fucks into you, “So cute, can’t stay mad at you like this.” To the surprise of both of you, that makes you clench harder than any of his dirty talk before, and he lets out a strangled moan at the feeling, stilling inside you for a moment. “Fuck, you feel so good, baby, so pretty for me. I won’t last when you’re like this.”

You let out a whimper; the lack of movement from him is enough to push the tears over your lash line, your hips trying their best to grind up into him. “Please, please, don’t stop. I don’ care, just don’ stop.”

Wooyoung lets out a groan that makes you think he’s just as affected as you are, pulling out again before pushing back into the warmth of your pussy, “M’kay, just ‘cause you asked so nicely, and—“ He sucks in a sharp breath as he studies your face, tongue gliding across his lips so fast you almost miss it in your haze, “a-and ‘cause, fuck, you look so pretty when you cry, baby.” He punctuates his sentence with another rough thrust, finding his rhythm again as he leans over you, closing the distance to catch your tears with his tongue.

Fuck, that shouldn’t be as hot as it is.

“Fuck, right there, right—“ You didn’t need to say more before he got the message, pounding relentlessly into your cunt, causing your hands to scramble for purchase on his shoulders, digging your nails into his shoulders.

Wooyoung moans at that, his pace faltering, “Please, more,” the plea was so breathless that you almost missed it, but his pinched expression and whiny tone made it impossible to ignore.

“Y-You like when it hurts, Youngie?” you manage, breathless and more pathetic than you’d like.

“Yes, yes, mommy, please,” If you thought that name from his lips was dizzying before, the whiny, sincere way he said it this time was downright intoxicating. Wooyoung whimpers when you tighten around his length, gripping tighter onto your hips as he slams himself harder into you.

As hard as it is to be dominant when the pleasure is this overwhelming, you weren’t going to miss an opportunity to have some control over Wooyoung. “Such—mmnh— such a good boy, Youngie,” you breathe into his ear, raking your nails along his back and savoring the way his moans pitch higher.

“Y’so pretty, wanted to do this forever, s-so bad, please,” If he wasn’t pussy drunk before, there’s no denying it now as whiny ramblings fall freely from his mouth, “Mmnh, mommy, ‘m gonna cum, please cum with me,” Wooyoung mewls as he drops his weight from his palm to his elbow, his pace faltering as he brings his free hand to rub at your clit.

Your body tenses up without your permission and you have half the thought to reprimand Wooyoung for rushing, but the pleasure is building too fast and you’re desperate for release. “Fuck, Youngie, c’mon, make me cum, please.” Your voice sounds utterly pathetic but it seems to spur him on more, biting down into that same tender flesh of your shoulder. His rhythm falters as he lets out his most pathetic moan yet, and, not that you’d ever admit it to him, but that’s what drove you over the edge yourself, clenching down hard on his length. Your eyes roll and you sink your nails deeper into the skin of his back, legs tightening around him.

A myriad of whimpers and groans slip past his lips and into your shoulder as he finishes, pressing himself impossibly deep inside of you like he never wanted to leave.

You both heave as you come down from your highs, slowly blinking as you rejoin the land of the conscious. The thought creeps up on you as he collapses on you, pressing soft kisses into your shoulder along the marks of his teeth:

“…Did you just cum in me?”

Silence, for a moment, before he replies, “‘m sorry, mommy, y’just felt too good. Promise I’ll get you the pill?”

WIND WHIPS AROUND YOUR HAIR AS YOU LEAN ON THE BALCONY RAILING. with it carries the bustling noise of new york’s night life: drunk pedestrians, cars honking, and if you really strain enough – you can just catch a distant ‘thwip’ on the horizon. a smile graces your lips at the recognition. 

you pull out your phone, bright screen still open on the last text yunho sent: be there in 5. it’s been much longer than just a mere five minutes, but you know to take his ETA estimates with a grain of salt. he can get so easily caught up, your boyfriend. especially on a chaotic friday night in the heart of the big apple. 

you sigh, breath turning to fog in the cold air. in the thin cotton of your pyjamas, all that’s really keeping you warm out here is the buzzing under your skin – the excitement of your boyfriend finally coming home. 

these days, he’s been crawling into bed beside you at ridiculous o’clock, cuddling into your snoring body. and by the morning, you wake up to his side of the bed cold, a love note stuck to your phone and some breakfast kept warm on the stove. it’s been too long since he’s just held you – not just a hug goodbye, but a hold that swallows you into his arms until your bodies are tangled as one. a touch that crawls up, that blooms inside you.. 

you flinch when your vision is suddenly cloaked in black – gloved hands cupping over your eyes from behind. your initial surprise quickly slides back into excitement, and you can’t help yourself from reaching up and hooking your fingers around his pinky. 

“guess who?” comes a muffled voice from behind you. even under the mask, you can hear the giddy grin on his face.

you giggle, deciding to play into it. “spiderman?” you faux-gasp, “but i didn’t call for any help..”

he hums, palms sliding down your cheeks, fingers splaying across your chin and neck. you sigh into the touch, head leaning back and bumping into his forearms. that’s when you realise the angle – this show-off is hanging upside down. 

“well, i didn’t come because of any danger, miss..” he says lowly, tilting your head back to stare at him. he inches further down on the string, mask hovering at level with your face. you can hear the way his breaths turn heavy, no doubt his eyes taking in your body. you’re proven right when his hands creep further down, just resting above your chest – fingers twitching over the dainty straps of your pyjama top. your lip quirks over how well you know him. he’s like a dog to a bone. 

“but– my boyfriend’s coming home soon,” you bat your lashes at him, fully committed to the bit. 

he chuckles, removing a hand from your chest to reach for his mask, pulling it up over his mouth. he licks his lips, smirking. “i’ll keep it quick then. he won’t have to know.” 

then he kisses you, soft and hot, inhaling sharply like your mouth is the air he breathes. you kiss him back harder, a noise slipping from your throat in desperation, and it only serves to spur him on. his mouth moves in a hurry against yours, tongue tasting every corner of your mouth. your nose nudges his chin from the angle. 

gloved hands run down your body; one stopping to grope a breast, the other reaching for a handful of your ass. you lean in, instinctually chasing the feel of his body pressed against yours in a kiss, yet finding nothing but the thin air from how he’s hovering above you. you whine from the unfairness – and you feel the way his lip curls into the kiss over the noise. 

“you’re so cute,” he coos as he comes to hold your chin, a stark contrast to the way his fingers pinch your nipple. you squeak, which he quickly smothers with his mouth on yours, fingers continuing to rub at the bud until it perks through the fabric. 

he pulls himself further down on the string, mouth mapping a path down your jaw and neck. nipping with his teeth and soothing with his tongue, eliciting little gasps from you into the night. he kisses all the way down to your chest, pulling your top down enough to free your tits – his mouth latching onto a nipple. you whimper, putty in his hands from how long you’ve been waiting to have your boyfriend like this. 

“please..” you whine, hands trying desperately to grab at the muscles in his back as he leaves a path of lovebites from one nipple to the next. he hums, listening but not stopping. “please, yu–”

you gasp as you hear a snapping sound from above you. you blink, and you’re being pushed into the balcony railing, your boyfriend standing before you – mask off, face flushed, eyes wild. you don’t get to take in the sight of his pretty face you’ve been missing like hell for long, before he’s crashing his mouth back onto yours. the kiss feels even more impatient than the last, and the groan that leaves him is like a spotlight on the bulge pressing into your thigh. 

“let’s take this inside–” you plead through the kisses, about two seconds away from ripping his damn suit off and jumping his bones. 

“got no time, baby,” he mutters as he licks into your mouth. a thought forms, and he chuckles. “what about your boyfriend?” 

you roll your eyes at his sass, rocking your hips forward just to watch the way his face crumples as you rub up against his boner. you repeat the action, drawing out the rolls of your pelvis, feeling your panties grow damper as they rub up and down his clothed length. yunho’s heaving at this point – he always loses it over a bit of grinding – before he’s stopping your hips, biceps tensed from the force. 

“baby..” he exhales, smiling in disbelief but also in pain of not being able to take you the way he so desperately wants to right now. “i still gotta get back out there. i’ll ruin the suit–”

intent on convincing him otherwise, you wedge a hand between your bodies to just grip him through the material. he keels over, face falling onto your shoulder. 

he groans, dick pulsing in your fingers. “you’ll get me fired one of these days.”

“fired?” you snort. “since when do you have a boss?”

yunho bucks his hips into your palm, sighing onto your neck. “since you.”

you crane your neck to kiss him at that – revelling in how he’s unrestrained with all the noises spilling out into your mouth. you remove your hand, and he’s quicker to press his heat back up against yours, both of you sighing in tandem from the relief. 

you stay like that for a while, getting lost in the warmth of each other’s mouths, in the pressure of his clothed cock rubbing into the damp ridges of your panties. your grips on each other’s bodies turning increasingly rough, moans increasingly eager. 

“take the night off?” you plea, guiding one of his hands to your breast for some extra convincing. you stifle a giggle at how he gets immediately hypnotised, kneading the flesh between his gloved fingers. 

he smiles at you, all dopey and in love. “you’re the boss.” 

🥮 seonghwa

slow, languid laps into your heat; nose pressed into your cock, absolutely buried in you—moans along with you

fucks his tongue into you, holding you still with his arm draped across your midsection

if you'd allow it, he’d stay down there for as long as he wanted, till you were so worn out you couldn’t even shake from overstimulation

sucks on your t-dick like it’s fucking huge; bobbing his head for emphasis, swirling his tongue around it (understands if you must throw your head back at the sight of it)

never takes his eyes off you, refuses to—makes sure to watch every little reaction you have to everything he’s putting you through

makes sure you do the same, tone sweet yet commanding: “eyes on me, honey.” / “it’s okay, you can do it.”

hongjoong 🍢

genuinely could suffocate himself in you if he wanted—you pull him off you and he gasps like he was drowning; mumbling, panting, moaning into you as he goes on

like a fucking. piranha attack. like fucking jaws. eats you out like he’s a goddamn zombie trying to rip you to pieces

not super coordinated, might graze you with his teeth a little (who knows, you might be into that), but his passion makes up for any mistakes he will make

is trying to make you cry tbh. brings you there quickly and efficiently, will only slow down/stop if you ask

and if you do, he’s all smiles, cocky—”petting” you with light slaps on your boycunt; “was it too much for you?” / “you need a break, baby?” / “was it that good?”

if you push his head back down he’ll get right back to it, with more vigor (not before flashing you a dark look from beneath his lashes)

yunho 🍜

"you gonna eat that?" *pointing at your dick* *stomach rumbles*

doesn’t start off holding onto you, gradually snakes his hands into place when you start fidgeting a bit more frequently, trying to squirm away from his tongue

“relax,” he coos, craning down to capture your cock in his mouth, simultaneously working you open with his fingers

will only tap your cunt if you do the opposite of relax (lightly, not cruel)

do not. bring up the fact that his hips buck when he licks into you. do not do it.

“you like this?” / “yeah? how about this? do you like that?” (he says like he’s unsure, but he just wants to hear you confirm what he already knows)

licks you clean, your cum sitting on his tongue, and then crawls up to make out with you so you can share

🍘 yeosang

messy. so messy and you don’t even know if he realizes (and he doesn’t, until he pulls back, his mouth drenched in you and his own spit)

works you with his mouth and fingers, precise, controlled curling and thrusting

holds you in place with one arm, full concentration on your heat

will pull away to finger you as he attempts to shake his hair out of his face (will quietly thank you if you tuck it for him)

ends that sweet moment by sucking your wetness off his fingers before diving back in

not super talkative (too busy plunging his tongue as deep as it can go); “is right here good?” (he says while swirling around your t-dick, making sure you, also, cannot speak)

san 🥟

you are not moving—his arms are locked around your legs, grip firm but not bruising

short but wide tongue lapping at you like a popsicle—long strokes pronounced by kitten licks in between

closes his eyes when he concentrates, eyebrows furrowed like he’s trying to identify all the flavors on his tongue

plump lips suckling on your dick, encapsulating it in warmth, all while he peers up at you, seeking approval in your reactions

“like this?” / “am i doing good?” / and muttering a string of ‘i love you’s’ and whatever compliment his gradually melting brain can come up with

wants to make sure you know he’s strong enough for you to trap him between your thighs: “you won’t hurt me.” / “i can handle it, sweetie.”

mingi 🍣

slow, long, lazy strokes of his tongue; deliberately prolonged yet deep, pressing as he drags up to your cock, popping it into his mouth momentarily to make you squirm

decides to leave his rings on (cold metal latched onto your thighs as he presses in, leaving you open for him)

his moans rumble through you, encouraged by your hands gripping and petting at his hair

his fingers are a complete 180—hard, quick pumps into your heat, the jewelry tapping your lips in an almost painful experience

bruising grip, like he doesn’t realize his own strength—holding you in place, rings creating divots in your skin where he holds on for dear life

oh so encouraging; strings of “yeah?” whenever your moans pitch and you try arching away from him; “c’mon, do it for me. please.”

wooyoung 🍤

pinches at your clit, just to see what you’d do (laughs if you jump, short and high)

strokes your dick with his fingers while he laps into your cunt, making sure he’s buried deep enough that his nose is flush with you

lightly taps your cunt with his fingers, for good measure, in part to get a reaction and almost to say "good job"

talks you right along your orgasm; short, quick, repetitive, “mhm,” “yeah,” “there you go,”—“c’mon, pretty boy, you got it,” fingers aiding in the process

immediately pressing to see if you can do it again, yanking you back into his hot mouth

suggests you sit on his face next time (or now. for your third round)

jongho 🍥

makes sure you know he is not letting you go (hands on your thighs, holding you apart, keeping you in place)

quiet when he works, silently locking eyes with you to confirm he’s making you feel good

likes wrestling you into embarrassing positions (i.e. him sitting upright while still buried in your boycunt, your legs resting on his shoulders, back flush with his front, you nearly upside down, helpless)

furrows his eyebrows with effort as he presses as deep as he can go—diving in wholly, tongue flattening against you

has you sit on his face, once again locking you in place as he sucks on your hole like he’s trying to wring you dry

only speaks if you start begging / crying out his name; “hmm? what was that?” / “you can get a little louder. the others won’t mind.”

it didn’t mean he stopped asking. his strains always made you muddy-brained, incapable of rational thinking. you preferred to smoke alone, in the secluded quiet of your bedroom, where you could melt into your sheets without a care in the world.

another thing you wouldn’t tell him, his weed makes you extremely horny. and you have no idea why. god forbid you smoke with him and then try to jump his bones before the blunt touches your lips.

he’s too pretty for his own good, and he knows it. he loves to tease you, giving you watery looks that made your bones go a little weak.

when he’d hand you things and his fingertips would brush your knuckles, entirely too intimately.

he was the best plug you’d ever had, and you didn’t want to fuck it up over some hormones. always on time, well, mostly. insanely good product, that satisfying feeling of consistency he always provided you with.

one wrong move and something could change, then you won’t be able to cling to that familiarity you found yourself tethered to, which wasn’t a good thing either way.

and after months of his trademark wooyoung nagging, you finally agreed. you had a shitty week, and you honestly did not want to smoke alone. the smile on his face when you finally agreed to share a sesh with him should have raised alarms. he was too happy about it. he sat on your bed with you, a blunt pinched between his fingertips, unable to hide the pure, unadulterated joy in his face.

“i knew you loved me.” he said cheerily, whilst passing the blunt to you. you crossed your legs and took a hit, rolling your eyes.

“i can just tell i’m going to regret this.” you groan around an exhale, and wooyoung wiggles his eyebrows as he takes it back from you.

“not if you don’t want to.”

funny thing is, wooyoung wasn’t being entirely truthful with you. i mean, you didn’t expect him to be open and honest with you on everything. he was a distributor after all. but he failed to disclose a couple of things to you, things that might be important to know.

you would find these facts out eventually, but only while he’s fucking you so slowly it was like with every stroke he was gradually becoming one with your body.

he had your legs pressed up to your chest, his hands pressing down on the backs of your thighs to keep you folded beneath his body. his smile made your gut twist, a very heavy fog settled over your brain, a muted heat that made every movement you made feel like it was weighted. every moan he forces out of you feels like it’s soaked in thick honey.

he looked borderline wicked, his own eyelids low and sultry, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek, his glinting canines on display as he slowly drags his cock in and out of you.

you shivered every time he kissed that spot so deep, every sensation was heightened to a point of near concern of sensory overload. wooyoung’s moans sounded like heaven's trumpets, the slick sound of his cock sliding against your gummy walls so sticky and gross. "fucking finally..." he snarls under his breath, and you feel your stomach flutter.

the feeling of his hot palms against your thighs and his sharp nose brushing against yours each time his hips pulled back and forth. his breaths fan over your parted lips in heavy pants, his eyebrows knitted together. he looked like he could barely keep his eyes open, but he didn’t want to miss a second of your pretty little blissed-out face.

you knew this was gonna be a bad idea.

“fuck… is she always this wet?” he shudders out, moving his eyes down and catching the glinting sheen of wetness you’ve left on his cock when he slides out of your cunt again, just enough to where his tip nearly pops out of you.

when he thrusts back inside, it’s deep and insatiable, and your back arches lazily and your lungs shake.

you’re both a cloudy, hazy, turned-on wreck. you’ve made such a mess on his dick, making it so easy to glide in and out of your pussy with concerning ease. your hands fist the sheets on either side of your head, and you felt as if you let go, you just might hover off the bed with how good you were feeling.

“it’s good, i know baby,” he mutters against your mouth, opening his lips with a low inhale and kissing you into a soaked mess, his tongue filling your mouth and muffling your quiet moans.

“can i tell you a secret?” he whispers around your tongue, and you moan lowly in response. to help distract you, he pulls his hips back, and this time he rolls them, nice and deep, so his fat tip presses against that spot harsh and heavy, he can feel your legs shake under his hold.

he pulls away from your lips and slots his face into the crook of your neck, littering it in saliva-dripped kisses. while his cock turns your cunt inside out, he mutters out a confession laced with shaky moans and hazy breaths.

“i found out a way to grow my bud incorporated with a natural aphrodisiac. cool shit huh?” as he says it, he thrusts into you especially hard, a surprised, choked moan falls from your lips.

“w-wooyoung-!” you cry out, but he only shushes you.

“a little tweaking here and there, and now smoking it makes you feel a little horny. is it working? are you horny baby? is that why you never want to smoke with me?” he teases you while never stopping the grueling movement of his hips, and you find your words lost in your throat.

“probably why you’re-“ he leans back again and looks down at where he was sheathed inside of you, the strings of slick that clinged to his v-line sending a shiver down his spine as he punctuates each word with a roll of his hips. “so… fucking… wet.”

“woo-“ you moan pathetically, and he brings his eyes up to look at you, a high, sad mess underneath him. his palms kneading the soft flesh of your under thighs, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth, and moaning low in his chest. “‘s not… okay.”

your words are empty, your pussy telling him all he needs to hear. wooyoung smiles and shakes his head.

“shh. no talking.” he patronizes. “your job is to lie there, be dumb, and fucking take it.” he groans when he feels you clench around him, your head lolls back against the mattress when you feel the thick veins of his dick drag inside of you. every sensation has your body feeling like it’s buzzing, and the longer he fucks you, the more you begin to lose all remaining coherency.

“yeah, just like that,” wooyoung bites out with a purr, lost in the warmth of your body. “shut that brain off for me, pretty.”

you’re barely on earth enough to notice as one of his hands moves away from your thigh and grabs the disintegrating roach that sits in the ashtray on your bedside table.

he lifts it to his lips, slowing his hips to deep, slick strokes as he inhales one last time, dropping it back into the ashtray. without a word, he leans back down and presses his lips to yours in an open-mouthed kiss.

you moan as he speeds up his hips, fucking you full of him so much so you feel like your body is not your own.

“breathe in, baby.” he mutters into your mouth, and you do. you inhale in the wisps that drift from his mouth, and your brain fogs over again as the secondhand smoke fills your lungs.

you’re cumming so hard you actually black out for a moment, and wooyoung watches every second of it like it was the most addicting things he’s every seen.

he doesn’t stop moving his hips, riding you out on his cock while you seem to have a never-ending high. your entire body shakes and the remaining tendrils of smoke float over your lips while wooyoung moans greedily.

“no wonder you didn’t want to smoke with me. just look at you baby, i think i’ve ruined you.” he pouts, and then his moans trail off into a broken whine when you clench and gush around him uncontrollably.

“we should make this a habit… fuckkkk me.” he trails off as he loses himself to your cunt once again, sliding his hands up the backs of your legs and pressing down on the backs of your knees.

“look so pretty folded under me. dumb girl. couldn’t connect the dots herself, needed someone to tell her she wasn’t smoking normal shit.” he grins and leans down, dragging his tongue up the slope of your jaw, kissing below your ear.

“my favorite customer.” he coos by your ear, sinking his teeth into your lobe. “don’t be mad at me, please?” he whines, and then growls low by your ear when you tighten around him once more.

“if you’re not mad at me then cum on my cock again, pretty girl. let me feel that pussy forgive me.”

you don’t even mean to, and you are in fact upset that he never told you his weed has aphrodisiac effects, but your body has a mind of its own. overstimulated and fuzzy, your entire body feels like it’s being shocked as you fall apart around him, your limbs twitching as the slick sound of his dick working you out grows louder as you squirt all over his lower stomach.

“holy shit- holy shit- holy- fuck…” he moans, slowing his thrusts to languid, absorbed strokes that help drag the cum out of your body until you’re squeezed dry.

“woo…” you whine pathetically, your whines breaking in your throat, tiredness seeping into your bones as you start to lose consciousness beneath his warm body.

“i’m right here, baby, just a l-little longer, okay? okay? let me fuck you a little longer…” he trails off again and resumes being laser focused on feeling your warmth swallow his cock whole.

he makes no indication that he plans to stop anytime soon, and all you can do is lie beneath him, a fucked out, helpless, high mess while he rides the waves of his own high with your sweet body. it took him so long to finally reach this milestone, hes going to savor it.

well things have changed, alright, and you had a feeling that a new addiction had bubbled to the surface, one that, unfortunately, both of you would not be able to quit cold turkey anytime soon.

“I just think a front loading one would be more efficient,” he had said. To which you disagreed because you didn't want to have to deal with how easily mold would grow on the door. Cleaning it would only add another task to the never ending list of chores. Another thing you would have to keep up with, and if you're being honest that might be the one thing that launches you into psychosis.

The thought of him turning out to be right after making a big fuss makes you all the more determined. You pull yourself up using all the strength in your arms and bend your torso over the washing machine, letting your feet dangle off the floor.

You're finally close enough to the sock where you can snatch it up between your pointer and middle finger.

“Ha! Got you, you little bastard- hey!” A firm strike to your ass cuts your victory shout short and makes the damn sock fall back to the bottom again.

You turn your head over your shoulder with a glare already aimed at your husband and blow the strands of hair across your eyes out of your face, “The hell?!”

Seonghwa’s hand is still resting on the ass cheek he slapped, but rubbing it to soothe the sting he left. 

“You expect me to see your cute butt in the air while you’re bent over the side of the washing machine, the one you so badly wanted by the way, and not give it attention?” He asks through a laugh.

“Sorry for thinking you had a modicum of self restraint.” You counter while beginning your descent back to the ground, but halted by your husband's hands on your hips, keeping you folding over the edge of the machine.

“Hwa,” you breathed out, throwing out your arms to grip either side of the edge to keep from toppling head-first into the basin. “What are you doing?” 

He hums as he gives your hips a strong squeeze, sliding his hands down to your exposed outer thighs in your lounge shorts and giving a squeeze there too, “We’ve fucked in pretty much every room in this house, every surface too. But not in here yet…”

“On the washing machine? You're such a freak, I-” the feeling of long, delicate fingers playing with the edge of your shorts at the back stops you from finishing that sentence.

“I was thinking about the laundry room in general, but I’ll never turn down a request from you, wife.” 

You focus on the path his finger ran, along your back right underneath the waist band of the loose, white cotton shorts. It tickled, raising tiny bumps across your skin that made you shiver. 

One thing that shocked you when you first started seeing Seonghwa, before marriage was even a blip of a thought, was for all the strictness he had about keeping a clean space, which luckily you shared even though you weren’t nearly as anal about things, he had a very spontaneous spirit. You often found yourself going on road trips without prior discussion, having the thought to go to a town 5 hours away for a unique sightseeing experience in the morning and leaving within the hour. It was something you had to get used to, you were not a spontaneous person by nature and felt sick to your stomach doing anything without a plan, but his excitement about how much fun it would be to go and do this one thing was enough to see it through every time. 

And this spontaneous spirit clearly extended to bedroom activities as well. That was made clear on your wedding night when he fucked you within an inch of your life at the hot spring you snuck into way past operating hours. 

Fuck it.

You brought your feet up and curled them around the backs of Seonghwa's lower thighs to pull him closer. He grunts in surprise but it melts into a deep chuckle, “Oh, okay then.” 

Your shorts are yanked roughly off your hips and down your legs, unhooking your feet from him to let them fall to the floor.

“Look at that, what a nasty little wife I have.” Seonghwa speaks low and slow, like he's seeing the eighth wonder of the world and not the lack of underwear gracing your bottom half.

You turn your head around the best you can to look up at him innocently through your lashes, resting your chin on your arm to pout, “It's laundry day, I didn't have anything clean to wear.”

He just hums like he doesn’t believe you, a noncommittal sound that makes you feel silly for even trying to defend yourself. But there’s no time to dwell on the thought, because your husband is already working two fingers inside you. 

Instinctually, your body lurches forward, the edge of the washing machine rolling against your abdomen a little too hard with the force of his fingers pushing deep inside you. You let out a whimper, but when he pulls out and thrusts them back in, rolling the edge harder into your stomach it's clear to you that in theory this is way sexier than it was in practice.

“Wait, Hwa. Wait, wait,” you kick your foot out, tapping his leg three times with it in quick succession of one another. He immediately stills, gently removes his fingers and holds you by the hips again.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?” he asks, keeping his cool but very obviously worried he’s done something wrong.

You wiggle your way down back to your feet, his hands steadying you on your descent, warm and firm against the bare skin. Only removing them as you turn to face him, but reattaching them like magnets were embedded under his hands that forcibly pulled them back to their rightful place. 

Two lines are etched between his brows, the corner of his lips pulled down the tiniest bit expressing his worry. You smile up at him, trying to ease his spiral before it begins. He was such a caretaker, always fussing about your comfortability. It became apparent to him early on in the relationship that you didn't like disappointing people and often did things you didn't want to do to appease those around you. He nipped that in the bud quickly. He learned to read every micro expression in your face and every warble in your voice, becoming an expert in detecting lies before they even made their way out of your lips. Not that you lie often, but sometimes you sugar coat the truth to avoid hurt feelings, downplaying your personal feelings for the comfort of another’s. So a promise was made when talking about marriage- you’d always say how you felt and he would never take anything personally. 

“That position was hurting my stomach,” you speak honestly, stretching your arms up and curling them around his neck, “still want you though.” 

He presses his lips to your forehead, leaving them there for a few seconds while he encloses his arms around your waist, pulling you flush to his front. Your bare lower body comes into contact with the soft cotton of his sweat pants and a hand comes up to cradle the side of your face, bringing your eyes in line with his. “Do you want to go to the bedroom?” 

You shake your head quickly, “If you don't set me on top of this dryer right now I’m hiding the lint rollers.” 

Seonghwa’s mouth dropped open with a click of his tongue and a feigned gasp. Your squeal ends in a giggle as his hands shoot down and grip your waist, you bounce on your feet to help as he lifts you up and sets you on top of the dryer.

“You’re so mean,” he groans as he goes for your neck, pushing his tongue against the sensitive skin near your ear and giving it a pinch with his teeth. “How can my wife be so cruel,” he whispers, spoken close enough to your ear that the sounds of his words shoot straight down to your core and have you throbbing.

“Mm,” you hum as you bring your legs back around his hips and dig the heels of your feet into the firm muscles of his ass, pulling him closer between your legs. “Sounds like grounds for a punishment.” 

He lifts his head up and away from your ear, smiling a little too wide. Your brows twitch with confusion as an arm comes up behind your back, pressed parallel to your spine with his hand cupping the back of your skull. 

“You would like that too much.” He states and he wraps his other hand around your upper thigh to yank you down to the edge of the dryer. You squeak as you fall backwards, protected from slamming your head into the dashboard of the dryer controls by the hold he has on you from behind. 

Your heart thumps and you feel tears sting your water line. The forethought he puts into your safety is something that makes your heart clench every time. Attentive to every microscopic possibility that could put you in harm's way, he is always ten steps ahead of it with five other backup plans lined up, just in case. It’s always a stark reminder that he loves you so bad. Not only in the way he’s sure to tell you he loves you, even if he’s just walking outside to cut the grass while you mop the floors. Or the way he has your favorite tea brewed to the perfect strength and at the right temperature ready for you downstairs in the mornings. Or the way he has cut fruit waiting for you when you get home from work, so the both of you can share it while you talk about how each other's workday was. It’s the way he so obviously wants to have as much time as he can on this Earth with you that lets you know how honest his love is.

Before he can get the chance to clock the sudden emotional shift you pull him back to your lips to whisper an “I love you so much,” and seal your lips to his. You pour all the love you can into every motion your lips make against his, using your tongue to make sure it sticks. He pulls his head back, smiling down at you softly as he slips his arm out from under you and brings his hand up to your cheek. Using his thumb, he gently brushes it underneath your lash line where a tear must have fallen. 

“Happy tears or should I be concerned?” he asks.

“Definitely happy,” you answer, turning your head into his hand and giving it a kiss, “now please,” you whine into his palm as you begin pawing at what you can reach of his sweatpants like an attention starved cat.

He shushes you sweetly, less condescendingly and more in the way of letting you know there’s no need to worry, he’s going to give you what you want. He kisses you stupid, making you focus on catching up with his lips and tongue instead of his hands pulling the band of his sweats down to midthigh. At the feeling of the heaviness falling onto your bare pussy you turn your head away from him and look down with a raised brow, “And you get to be free of nasty little husband allegations?” 

A laugh punches from his chest, caught off guard that you could even pay attention to detail right now let alone the lack of boxers under his sweatpants.

He shrugs one shoulder and responds, “Laundry day,” before diving back into your mouth. With both hands free now he grips the backs of your thighs to push them up, out, and back towards your chest. “Hold’em” he mumbles and you immediately obey, your brain not needing a second to process what he said, just knowing what needs to be done. He keeps one hand gripping one thigh alongside yours and the other leaves to run his cock through the length of your slit, pushing down and circling your clit with the head after every few passes.

You squirm your hips trying to get him inside you, but he clicks his tongue against his teeth and removes the hand on your thigh to press his forearm across your pubic bone like a seatbelt, “Still,” is all he says and your body locks up, hearing a command and following accordingly. 

“Good girl, such a good little wife. Lemme use you just how you like,” he coos into your open mouth, purposefully far enough away that you can’t reach it with your own. 

And use you he does. Where you expect him to continue the tortuous drag along your lower lips he pushes into you, long and slow, making sure you feel every second it takes for him to fill you up. You don’t even recognize the sound that leaves you, some kind of mix of a sob and exhale an of relief. From there he saws into you relentlessly, hips angled to grind into your clit with every thrust. You squeeze your thighs hard with your hands, trying to keep yourself open so he can reach every delicious part inside of you, afraid that if you let go the high that’s approaching so rapidly will evaporate. 

Seonghwa lifts the seatbelt like hold away from you and uses it to snake around your back to put you into the same protective hold from earlier, except this time he did it to bring you up and press you against his chest, tucking your head into the crook of his neck with his hand cradling the back of your head.

“Fuck, I love you so much.” he speaks into the crown of your head, pressing a barely there kiss to it that contradicted the way he was fucking up your guts. 

“You too, fuck- you too, love you so much. Feel so good, so so good,” you sob into his neck, finally letting go of your thighs to wrap around his neck and press him as close as possible to you, despite him being inside you already. Unable to keep your mouth closed from the pleasure rocketing through your body, your tongue lolled out and pressed against his neck, the taste of Seonghwa’s skin and your tears flooding your mouth. 

“Gonna come, can’t- shit- can’t hold it,” Seonghwa groans, laying you back down flat on top of the dryer and straightening up right. “No, nonono” you begin to protest, reaching out with one arm in a plea to have him come back and flood your personal space again. While the other hand flies back to hold onto the top of the dryer and attempt to stabilize the way your body is being jostled by his quickening thrusts. “I know baby, one second, wanna make you come too. You want that, right? Wanna come with me like my good, nasty, little wife.” He’s talking fast, desperate. It’s the only way you can tell that he’s just as delirious as you. You switch from begging for him to come back to pleading for an orgasm. The pleas become more and more pitched as he presses his thumb into your clit and circles it in sync with the hard drive of cock inside you. On the fourth rotation, your back bows and your legs kick out straight, toes pointing until they ache as you come hard enough that you think you might’ve blacked out for a second. The pitchy moans cut off into silence before you let out one last, long groan.

You feel yourself tightening around Seonghwa, making it so your pussy grips him hard enough he can’t move. He powers through two drives of his cock in you before the grip becomes too much and you're flooded with sticky heat inside. His groan vibrates through his chest into yours as he falls forward and he’s pressed against you again. His head hangs over your shoulder, allowing you to plant a kiss to his hair and bring an arm up to rub his back. 

After a well needed system reboot, he brings his head up and pecks your lips, “Think that crosses off the last room on our sexy time bingo card, right?” 

You let out a loud laugh, “Considering I’m drawing the line at linen closets and the pantry, yes. Bingo.” 

“Boring,” he sighs and begins pushing himself up and off you. He gently pulls himself out of you, trying to ignore the sudden emptiness that always follows, and he tucks himself back into his boxers. “Let’s clean up and I’ll make you anything you want for lunch.” He says as he holds his hand out for you to take. You push yourself up on your elbows and grab his hand, sliding off the dryer onto wobbly legs. As you begin to follow his lead to the bathroom you halt, pulling his arm back with you, “Wait!” 

-

You don’t know where else to turn.

It’s been on your mind for a while— this fantasy. This game. You don’t know why, or how, and you’d never, ever admit it, but it plagues your thoughts, day after day, haunting your dreams night after night without respite. You’re too ashamed to even say it.

You never told any of your previous partners; you’d hint, maybe, suggesting weaker, milder things to nudge them the right direction, but they always shied away, got scared about three miles south of what you actually wanted, and ran screaming. You know it’s wrong. If anything, the fact that they ran away should have been a green flag. But it wasn’t. Not to you.

You make the account around 3am. Your username is nondescript, profile photo grainy and blurred, showing just enough to attract someone who might be able to do this for you. You write the post with trembling hands; the words come easier to you than you’ll ever admit.

I want to be forced. I want to be raped. I want to be punished for resisting. I imagine a stranger, maybe one I’d only seen in passing. He can’t get enough of me. He needs me. He’ll have me. He follows me wherever I’m going, lying in wait. It doesn’t matter how much I resist. I’m going to be his. He. Will. Have. Me.

As expected, your phone is blown up by the time you check it. Hundreds of old, gross, sleazy men desperate to get a taste of your — shudder — young pussy, as one called it. You hadn’t given a specific age, just that you’re in your 20s, but they all seem content to run with the idea of you being on the lower end, rather than the higher. Perverts.

You scroll through the messages. each one confirming the rational part of your brain that says this is a stupid, dangerous idea and you should forget you ever even had it.

It’s the one at the bottom that stops you. Sent not long after you’d gone to sleep, but they’d liked the post almost instantly. The profile picture is like yours — grainy, blurred, but suggesting a toned, young-ish, large body — and he too is in his 20s, if he’s telling the truth. His message is short and respectful— a breath of fresh air.

youknowme: Nice post. Do you really want that, or do you just like imagining it?

You bite your lip. You don’t know why, but this person feels… different. Exciting. You want to know more.

rosedepths: i really want it. can you give it to me?

youknowme: I could. Would you take it all?

You chuckle— you know what he means, but you figure you’ll have some fun. See if he’s expecting a sweet, scared little doe who’ll be quick to submit; or if he’s expecting a fight. If he’s expecting you.

rosedepths: nope.

The typing button appears and disappears a few times. You assume he doesn’t like your response, and he’s not as exciting a match as you’d hoped, until his next message comes through.

youknowme: Yes, you will.

Oh, fuck. You feel yourself leaking as you read it over and over. You’re desperate to know more.

rosedepths: have you done this before? raping a stranger?

youknowme: I hope you’re talking about CNC, Rose. If you are, then yes. I have.

rosedepths: you any good at it?

youknowme: I’ve subdued much feistier things than you. I can give you what you’re asking for. Do you want it?

The need in your stomach is so profound you think you could keel over. You’ve never found it easier to type something out.

rosedepths: yes.

You talk until you sleep, and you’re optimistic about this guy. He’s careful and meticulous with your kinks and limits, guiding you through the details while still retaining the mystery and allure you’re craving. Despite your protests, he insists on a safeword, but assures you that that’s ‘the only thing in the world that will stop him.’

As you become more familiar with this site, designed solely for this purpose it seems, you see this man is… popular. To say the least. He even has what looks like a review section from other women he’s fucked and oh, there’s pictures. Not of him— but of the deep bruises and stinging cuts he’s left behind. You click through the reviews, pupils dilating the longer you stare the screen down.

He fucked me so good.

He put me in my place.

He’s brutal.

No one’s ever made me cry like that. Or cum.

When he proposes a meeting, you don’t think twice.

By the time next Friday rolls around, the knot in your stomach is a constant; it follows you around, heavy and aching as it trails behind every step. You know it’s just nerves, excitement, the thrill of knowing you’re about to do something very, very wrong. But some part of you does wonder if it’s doubt— are you being stupid? Is this a bad idea? Well, yes. You are and it is. But is it… too bad? You don’t know. As the clock ticks slowly towards your ‘appointment’, you feel more and more anxious to find out.

You clock out at 5, hurrying down the stairs of your office building to dash home. You’d prepared your bag already, shaved this morning and placed your fanciest, laciest set of lingerie under your work clothes. You take a second to freshen up, touch up your makeup and dump your work bag on your bed before you’re hurrying out the door again.

The hotel he’d booked is downtown, shiny and new and well beyond your price range. You wonder for a moment what this man does for work. Your knowledge of him is very, very limited— by design, of course. This whole game, this whole exercise hinges on him being a total stranger. But still, you can’t help but be curious. The one clue you have is the name the room was booked under— Yunho. You must have said it to yourself a thousand times; trying it out, the sound, the feeling. It tastes tantalising on your tongue and you’re bubbling with need by the time you make it to your room.

You hesitate when you reach the door. He’d told you he’d arrive later, at an undetermined time, but you can’t help but wonder. Is he in there, lying in wait? Will you open the door to find him sat on the bed, or hidden behind a corner, or, your heart races at the thought, right there on the other side? You breathe, in, out, in, out. You can do this. There’s nothing you could find on the other side of the door that you wouldn’t beg for another day.

You’re almost disappointed when you walk into the room to find it totally empty. You check the bathroom, the corners, the cupboards, half hoping to find him looming there, waiting to strike. But you don’t. You sigh, sitting down on the bed and sliding off your shoes. You’re not really sure what to do now. You suppose you could touch yourself, you doubt he’d blame you for being excited, but over the past few days, without realising you’ve found yourself almost saving yourself for him; each time your hands had wandered down there, you’d stopped yourself. He’ll take care of it.

Sighing, you decide to turn on the TV, flicking lazily through the channels until you find something that entertains you until he arrives.

With every unexplained noise, every creaking of a neighbour’s door, you look up eagerly, hoping to see Yunho looming in the doorway. But you don’t. Hours go by, your hope fading more and more, until you accept that he’s just not coming tonight. Tomorrow, maybe. You hope.

By the time you’re ready to sleep, you’ve passed several hours in front of the mindless reality show you ended up settling on. Trying to ignore the crushing disappointment that Yunho hasn’t shown up today, and the fear that he never will, you turn the TV off and settle into the sheets.

He’ll come tomorrow. He has to.

Eyes adjusting to the darkness, you make yourself comfortable in the cool, fresh sheets. The only sounds in the quiet room are your slow, steady breaths and the low hum of the air-conditioning. As your eyes begin to droop, you feel yourself relaxing into the memory foam, wondering and hoping he’ll be there when you wake up…

Click.

There’s a hand on your mouth. The lights are on.

Your eyes snap open and your body jolts, adrenaline flowing instantly. The hand is large, covering your mouth and nose and you can’t breathe.

As you adjust to the light you get a good look at him, and you’re so shocked that for a moment you forget you’re supposed to struggle. Yunho is gorgeous. Fading blue hair, dark enough to seem black from a distance; features gentle, eyes dangerous and all blending perfectly together. He’s wearing a white shirt and pinstripe waistcoat that struggles against a broad, toned chest that seems to be trying to escape and his large hands are covered by a pair of thick, leather gloves.

Fuck. You’d beg for this man any other day, happily and eagerly. But you can’t do that now. You have to fight. You thrash against him, legs flailing but his body holds you down, pinning you in place and oh, he’s large, too. He could incapacitate you now and be done with it, but it seems he wants to play.

“Well, aren’t you sweet.”

His voice is low and rough and addictive, dripping with want and danger. He stares you down, eyes narrowed, blank, burning.

“Gonna be a good girl for me?”

The pressure of his hand has eased enough for you to breathe and you lie still for a moment, gauging your next move. You nod, slowly. I’ll be good.

He smiles, not really believing you, and then his hands are off you. For one second, they’re off of you and you take your chance— you jump up and bolt out of the bed, dashing in the direction of the door. You hear him curse, but you know he’d chosen this room, large enough to practically count as a suite, specifically to give you more room to run. And run you do; you’re still half-asleep — you’re not quite sure if you did fall asleep, in the end, or if he got to you just as you were drifting off — but the adrenaline pumping through your veins is enough to carry your feet towards the exit.

You hear him on your tail but he’s not running— no, his steps are leisurely, like he knows he’s going to catch you and is merely amused by your idea that it would end any other way.

He lets you get to the door and pull it halfway open, just enough to think you’ll make it out into the hall, before it slams shut in your face, only just missing your fingers where they’d lingered in the doorway. Then there’s strong arms on your body, slamming you with full force, your body colliding painfully with the heavy wood. You struggle pitifully in his hold and as the lock clicks shut above you, you hear the barely restrained anger in his voice.

“And where the fuck are you going, bitch?” He growls. He grabs your hair and tugs your head backwards, sending a painful sting through your scalp then slams your head back against the door. “You tryna get away, pretty girl?”

You grunt, pushing back against him as hard as you can, but with his firm grip on you all you manage to do is push your ass back against his crotch. He groans, the grip on your hair tightening. “Fucking tease,” he mutters. “Bet you’re wet already.”

He spins you around, holding you by the neck against the door, his body caging you in as his other hand roams across your breasts, squeezing them just short of painfully. You struggle fruitlessly but you’re completely trapped and you know it.

You feel his knee nudging at your closed legs, clenched together to keep him away from your heat as if it’s not aching for him already. “Open,” he says.

“Never.”

“Fine.” His leg draws back and lands a kick between your knees and you yelp, legs forced apart; he shoves his thigh into the gap, holding your legs open and your pussy exposed as his hand runs up your bare thigh and slips beneath the silk slip you curse yourself for wearing to bed. Could you have made this any easier for him?

His fingers tease the edge of your cotton panties, pulling it back and slapping the elastic against your skin and all you can do is stay in place, held under his weight as he toys with you. But you’re not done and this isn’t over. You’re just biding your time. You just need an opportunity; a moment of carelessness for you to slip away.

He runs a finger softly across your covered pussy, and the smug expression on his face tells you exactly what he finds there.

“For someone who doesn’t want this,” he says, “you’re awfully fucking wet.”

“Fuck you,” you spit.

He’s quick to react; a heavy slap lands on your face, turning your head forcefully to the side and leaving a lingering ache.

“Wet and mouthy,” he says. “I wonder how quickly you’ll break.”

Your stomach twists but you give nothing away; you’re enjoying the back and forth, the game, too much to give up yet, no matter how desperately you want him to just fuck you alrady.

“I’ll never fucking break,” you snap.

“Oh, you’ll break.” He leans in closer, enough for you to feel his breath on your face as he speaks. “They always do.”

You can hear your heart beating wildly, pounding against your ribs and your breath stutters. “And if I don’t?”

“If you don’t…” He lets the words hang in the air, gaze flickering across your shivering form. His mouth curls into a thin smile. “I’ll just have to hurt you real, real bad.”

You swallow thickly, tension caught in your throat. You wish that didn’t sound so enticing.

“Now,” he says. “Open your mouth.”

You force yourself to laugh, amused despite your terror by the notion that you’d just give in and obey. You purse your lips, sealing your mouth shut— directly defiant. His eyes flash and his hand tightens around your throat, cutting off your airflow as he presses down on the sides of your neck. You manage to hold out for a few seconds until you feel your eyes bulge and you gasp, mouth opening in a desperate bid for air. He loosens his grip, grabbing your chin and pushing his thumb in just far enough to hold your mouth open for him to spit into it. The saliva lands on your tongue and he pushes your mouth closed, pressing his hand over your mouth and nose again. “Swallow.”

Knowing he won’t let you breathe until you do, you swallow the spit; it feels disgusting and degrading sliding down your throat but the humiliation burns with pleasure and you’re desperate for more.

“Good girl,” he smiles. “Not that hard to listen, is it?”

You scowl, squirming under his hold. Yes, it is that hard. You manage to wring your arms free enough to grab at his arm, trying to pull his hand off of your face. In the panic one of your nails digs into his forearm and he growls, pulling you forward just to slam you backwards again. Your ears are ringing and his hand is pressed even tighter across your mouth and nose.

“Disobedient little bitch,” he hisses, “you want me to fuck you up?”

Yes, fuck, please, your mind says. But you keep that on the inside, and instead of begging or submitting or doing any of the things your body is screaming and pleading for you to do, you bite down. You bite down hard.

The taste of blood is a small victory as he shouts, snatching his hand away from you but this time he doesn’t give you the chance to get away; you make it a few steps before he grabs your wrists, clutching them easily in his injured hand, forcing them behind you back and twisting them painfully to hold you in place so he can backhand you again— and again, and again. You scream in pain, but if he notices, he doesn’t care. His expression is livid, eyes black and burning with rage. “Fucking. Little. Bitch.” Each word is punctuated by a hard slap, knocking the wind out of you over and over.

“Someone needs to put you in your fucking place,” he growls. “Dumb little sex slave.”

The word hits you somewhere deep, stomach twisting into knots as wetness pools. Slave. Fuck.

“I’m not your fucking sex slave,” you bite back and he laughs.

“You don’t know what the fuck you are. Stop squirming.” He twists your arms a little further, teetering on the edge of too far. You whine, straining against him and he cooes. “Hurts, baby?”

“Yes it fucking hurts,” you snap.

He snorts, amused. His eyes darken again as he leans in closer. “Any more attitude and I’ll fucking break them.”

You can’t help the gasp that escapes you, fear pushing through your veins again. His grip on your arms is iron and you know he could snap them with ease. But would he really? You say nothing, staring up at him with wide, pleading eyes. He grins.

“Don’t think I won’t,” he laughs. “I’ll break every bone in your body if it’ll keep you pliant.”

“I’ll do it one by one,” he continues. His grip on your wrists tightens again but he doesn’t twist any further; still toeing the line. “Nice and slow so you feel it all,” he smiles, and you know he’s imagining it as he speaks. You wish you could say you weren’t. “Let you hear the crack of each bone snapping in half until you’re completely destroyed. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You shake your head, voice quivering. “No.”

“Good.”

You scowl, squirming again to show your displeasure. “Let me go, Yunho.”

He hadn’t told you what to call him, but you decide to take a gamble that he doesn’t want you using his name and you’re right— he grabs your neck, pressing down hard enough to make you dizzy. “Call me that again,” he hisses, “and I’ll slit your fucking throat. Got it?”

You catch the whimper before it leaves your throat but you can’t stop your pussy from leaking even more than it already was. You didn’t know you could be so terrified or so horny. But you’re not giving up yet.

“You call me sir,” he says, “is that clear?”

You smile thinly. “Yes, sir,” you say, so sweet and polite that he sees right through it. He raises an eyebrow, waiting for your next move and it comes in the form of a wad of spit, landing like a bullet between his eyes.

Then you’re on the bed. You’re landing on the bed, shoved down and he’s crawling over you, holding you down with his weight and— there’s a knife on your throat.

Your eyes widen, all your blood rushing to your head at once. A knife… he’d never mentioned a knife. On your profile you’d said you were open to knife play, but he was so meticulous when he went through all the kinks he was planning that you thought… Well, you didn’t think he’d have a knife.

“Oh, that got your attention, didn’t it?” He grins. There’s a fire, a dangerous gleam in his eyes that hadn’t been there before and you feel it in the deepest parts of your body. You feel something else, too, and it burns just as brightly as your arousal. As he presses the knife down just enough to sting, you realise you are genuinely, truly afraid of Yunho. And yet…

Yunho sees it too; “fucking gushing,” he spits. “You’re more sick than I am. Don’t act like a victim now.”

You whine, squirming slightly and he hums thoughtfully.

“Or do,” he decides. “Actually, I’m sort of hoping you don’t do what I tell you. I’d love to watch the light leave your eyes when you finally stop struggling.”

Your breath hitches, caught in your throat. You don’t… you don’t know how you feel about this. You knew he’d be intense; the reviews had painted a clear picture of just how much he feeds off of fear. But there’s a wild, uncontrolled look in his eyes as he threatens your life so casually, so smoothly, that makes you wonder…

No. You know it’s fake. It’s all fake. You know it’s just a game and you know he’d stop if you said the safe word he gave you. But the knife at your neck is real. The darkness in his eyes is real. The fear is real. And he sees it in your eyes, his lips twitching into a small smile as though he can tell the exact moment you accept it. “Good girl,” he purrs. “Are you ready to listen?”

You say nothing, glowering up at him. He smiles, tilting his head.

“Open your mouth.”

Fuck no. This isn’t over. You meet his eyes with your mouth firmly, resoundingly shut. You purse your lips for good measure, determined to disobey.

His hand collides with your face again; the back of it, this time, and the feeling of his knuckles against your cheek makes you cry out before you can stop yourself. He seizes the opportunity of your parted lips and plunges two gloved fingers into your mouth. You choke, spluttering and he tuts, looking disappointed. Even with fingers in your throat, you feel like a naughty, scolded child beneath his firm gaze.

“See,” he says, his voice low, “I could make this so much worse for you. It’s in your best interest to do what I tell you.”

His fingers push in deeper and you feel the bile rising; you thrash and panic in his hold and he snorts, finally easing up. As you gasp for breath, he pulls his fingers away, a string of drool following him from your mouth and coating his fingers. He wipes them down on his pressed pants, looking disgusted. “Fucking mutt,” he spits. “Let’s put you to good use.”

Before you can register what’s happening, his dick is pushing into your mouth and fuck he’s massive. You can hardly hold him in your throat and your vision blurs with tears even before he starts to move— when he does, he wastes no time starting slow; he goes straight to fucking your mouth with hard, deep thrusts and you feel your tears and saliva cascading down onto your chest. You must look disgusting, but you’ve never heard anyone sound as feral as he does.

Just as you’re getting used to the feeling, he pulls out. His cock slaps against your face before he flips you over, bending you painfully over the edge of the bed. He doesn’t waste time prepping you — not that he needs to with the way you’re dripping — before forcing himself into your tight hole. You scream, feeling yourself being torn apart and he laughs, pushing your head into the mattress. “Fucking bitch,” he growls. His low voice is barely heard above the slapping of his skin on yours and the lewd squelching of your sopping pussy. You burn with humiliation but you can hardly think of anything but the pain of being stretched open and the force of his thrusts. You sob into the sheets but he doesn’t care, only getting rougher each time you cry out.

“Take it,” he barks, “you’ve been waiting for this dick your entire fucking life. So fucking take it.”

“S-sir,” you gasp. You thrash as much as you can under his iron grip, dizzy with pain and pleasure.

He snarls, hand landing hard on your ass. “Drop the act, bitch,” he growls. “I know you fucking love this. Clench.”

Still sobbing, you do your best to obey, clenching your pussy around his dick and it sends a jolt of electricity through your body. He groans, movement stuttering slightly under the new pressure on his dick.

“Fuck,” he grunts. “Such a pretty little victim. With a tight fucking hole.”

You feel his orgasm approaching; all the pent-up energy and frustration of fighting and subduing you pulsing through his dick as it pounds against your walls. His grip tightens on your waist, other arm coming to wrap around your neck, holding you in a chokehold as he finally releases inside you.

He grunts and moans through his orgasm and you feel the warmth of his cum filling you up before he finally collapses on top of you, pulling out quickly.

“Good girl,” he breathes. “It’s over, baby.”

The dam breaks. Your low, desperate sobs give way to full blown weeping, your whole body shivering with each cry. A million emotions, previously drowned out by pain and fear and pleasure, are suddenly at the surface, pushing against your skin and desperate to break through. You couldn’t name or number them if you tried but you don’t have to, because Yunho is there— his hands are on your skin, voice in your ear as he soothes you with whispered words you can’t comprehend.

“I’ve got you,” you finally make out. He says it again and again, over and over. It forms a familiar rhythm you can follow and cling to as you come back down to earth.

I’ve got you.

I’ve got you.

I’ve got you.

He’s there when the fog clears, cradling your aching body in his arms. His smile is soft and fond but there’s a concern in his eyes as he looks you up and down. “How do you feel?” He asks.

You open your mouth but no words come; you make a soft, content-sounding noise, the best you can do for now, and he chuckles. “I’ll take that as ‘you’re fine’, then.”

He shifts slightly, adjusting you to hold you closer to his chest. You follow his heartbeat as it thuds lowly in his chest. You hadn’t expected this, really; he’d said aftercare was a non-negotiable for him, so you knew he wasn’t going to just fuck you and dip, but the care and tenderness with which he cradles and soothes you is almost as electric as the brutality of before. It’s as funny as it was, you suppose, inevitable— this man has violated you in every way, and yet you’ve never felt more safe than you do in his arms. Two separate faces; opposing but inseparable.

A while later, he asks if he can give you a bath and you nod. You’re strangely embarrassed as he lowers you into the hot water, quietly soothing you when you hiss as it touches the wounds on your ass and thighs; maybe it’s the tenderness of his care or the knowledge that every mark on your body was put there by him, but you feel oddly exposed.

Still, he’s careful as he holds you still, letting your aching joints soak as he cleanses you of the remnants of what he just did to you. When he lifts you out, wrapping you in a soft towel and carrying you back to bed, you feel like you’re floating on a cloud.

Your voice returns soon enough, and quickly something pushes through to the front of your mind. Still slightly in the haze of subspace as the last drops of adrenaline dissipate, it seems like a reasonable, if not pertinent question.

“Yunho,” you say. He makes a ‘hm?’ noise, squeezing your thigh in recognition. “Would you really have broken my bones?”

He laughs, and you feel his body shaking slightly. It feels… warm. Familiar. “No,” he says. “That’s just part of the game. My favourite part, actually.”

“What part?”

“Making you wonder if it’s really a game.”

Through the aching pain of your pussy, you feel a slight twinge, making you clench unconsciously. Oh.

“You had a safeword,” he says. “So I knew I could push you. But I didn’t do anything I wasn’t sure would make your little pussy throb.”

You can’t help but blush at his words, mewling slightly as you snuggle further into his hold. You could stay like this, wrapped in his strong arms and held securely against his chest, for a long, long time. You wonder if he could, too.

“Yunho,” you say softly.

“Will you stay?”

You glance at him nervously, afraid of his answer. He smiles, holding you closer. “As long as you need,” he says.

-

thank you for reading! comments/feedback/reblogs are appreciated! requests are open! love🖤🖤🖤