#mx ijmagine

There’s so many other reasons too, like how you hop on the counter in the mornings, watch him cook breakfast with your feet swinging, so many reasons that if he tries to feel them all he might burst so instead he moves his hand to your core, doesn’t touch you there, just waits, watches your face.

He smirks when you huff out a breath, roll your eyes and press his hand against you and you’re so hot you should burn him.

And fuck, you do, you burn him so deep he should have scars like brands over his neck and throat where you kiss him. He can’t stop kissing you, deep and slow and you keep breaking apart from him to gasp and he catches your mouth again, drags his teeth across your bottom lip.

When he heaves you up onto the counter one of those bowls you’d been arguing about for an hour crashes to the floor.

“We’re making a mess,” you complain, but there’s this hint of a smirk on your lips and fuck, he hates how much it makes his heart swell.

“I’m about to make a mess,” he murmurs, and you’re still in just his t-shirt after dinner, it barely covers your ass anyway. “You brat,” Kihyun mutters, staring at your thighs with something like awe and then he’s crouching to leave marks all over your skin, like you’re some canvas to paint pink and bruised.

He loves your hands his in hair, how you’re never gentle like this, how you tug and pull him where you want him and yet he closes his mouth, won’t kiss you where you want.

Kihyun tugs your panties aside, his eyes on your cunt, how your clit glistens and pulses.

You tug at his hair so hard it lifts his head, and it pulls a gasp from his mouth.

“Kihyun,” is all you say, in that tone like it matters, like he matters and goddamnit, he loves you and he hates it, takes it out on your swollen clit, his mouth like a vacuum as you whine and clench your thighs around his head.

He loves your dirty mouth, how you’re cursing him and bucking your hips, not enough room on the counter and more bowls are crashing around him but he can’t bring himself to care.

“Fuck,” you breathe, “baby,” when you cum and his heart aches and his cock is twitching in his sweats.

It’s awkward and there’s not enough room and he could fuck you deeper in the bedroom but he can’t wait, tugging down his sweats and kissing up your throat.

“You make me fucking crazy,” he breathes into your ear, and when he pushes into you hard and fast you don’t even blink, keep looking right is his eyes.

“You love it,” you murmur, using your legs to pull him deeper, sliding your ass further up the counter. “You love me.” 

His breath catches in his throat, because he does, he does and it feels like something is clawing up his throat when he says it but he makes himself do it anyway, pushes past that ache in his chest.

“I do.”

He kisses you so hard he feels like his lips are bruised, you clenching around him because you can’t give up control, not even for a moment, and neither can he.

It’s this dance you two do, and he hates it and he loves it and he nearly rips his shirt tugging it down to reveal your breasts, leaning down to catch a nipple in his mouth.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, want you deeper,” you groan, arch your back and nearly bump your head on the cabinets and he laughs and brings you closer. 

You rock your hips forward as he pulls you to the end of the counter to fuck up into you hard and fast and your nails are digging furrows into his back and shoulders.

Later, they’ll sting so sweet in the shower.

He can only say it when it’s like this, when it’s rough and hard and he’s not looking in your eyes but watching your tits bounce.

“I love you, I love you,” comes out, and he can’t stop it and when you laugh into his mouth he just wants you more.

It’s not enough, he can’t get deep enough on this fucking counter so he grabs your hips and slides you off the edge, your ass up against the fridge and you might have bruises there that he’ll kiss later, soft a sweet while the sunlight streams in through the window.

You cry out his name, chanting, “Yes, yes, yes” into his mouth because he can’t get enough of how messy and sloppy your tongue works against his.

The refrigerator is rocking as he fucks you against it, hard and rough and he can feel it when you cum again, pulsing around him so tight that it makes him cry out and bite your shoulder.

He cums so hard it makes him dizzy, gasping against your throat, and that’s when your fingers go gentle in his hair, threading through the strands instead of tugging, how you plant little kisses on the side of his face.

“We destroyed the kitchen,” you say, voice soft and lilting.

“Not the first time,” he mumbles against your throat, and fuck, he hates the way his breath catches when he looks at you smiling and soft after he pulls out of you and you cling to him anyway, legs shaky.

When you catch your footing you pull away, back a few steps away like it’s this dance you do, push and pull, and he loves you so hard it might break him.

“Probably not the last,” you tease, and crook your finger at him in a come hither motion toward the bedroom.

Kihyun shakes his head as he follows, catching you just as you get to the door and you squeal and laugh.