THE STATUE : Lee Minho

THE STATUE : lee minho

kinktober

pairing: lee minho x afab!reader

warnings: predator/prey chase, manhandling, messy kissing, spit, unprotected sex, face slapping, thigh riding, creampie

a/n: despite the tags this is actually a lot more tender horny than you might expect LOL. i had soo much fun writing this one! i hope you all enjoy as much as i did. reblogs and comments are always appreciated :)

the grass is cool underneath your bare feet when you step through the second door. 

you didn’t change clothes when you opened the door back into your home hallway after your time with chan, but like magic, your attire changes right as you step into this particular world. you don a white sundress now, something flowy and thin and comfortable enough that you might try to sneak it back into your own closet when you get back home. 

it’s midday here in the garden. the sun shines brightly, and the flowers lift toward it with reaching petals and growing stems. 

the hedges are neatly trimmed, as always, snipped finely into squares and circles and — cats? it almost looks like a totem pole. it’s cute, a new addition to the garden that you haven’t seen before but will certainly never miss. the tall bush is sheared into the shape of three cat heads. they sit on top of each other, peering into the garden with pretty petal eyes and neatly pointed ears. 

there’s a quaint garden table set placed next to it, and you can’t help but laugh. of course minho would want to spend his time relaxing next to the cat bush after a long day filled with gardening, sipping a cool glass of ice lemonade and kicking his feet up in the chair opposite of him. 

you sit for a moment at the cute little bistro set, plucking minutely at the hem of your dress and taking in the beautiful efforts minho has made in the garden. it’s his pride and joy, his life’s work, and you are always able to see his dedicated endeavors in maintaining the greenery before you.

the garden maze is your favorite thing he’s created. it’s breathtaking - made solely of rows and rows of pristinely clipped bushes. they wind and swirl until you find your way to the eye of it, the middle, where a great fountain sits. 

the only fountain you’re interested in now though is the one sitting right across the garden. you can see it plainly from where you’re resting in the chair, you can hear the splashing of the water where it flows serenely from the tiers and into the receptacle at the bottom. minho’s there, as always. stone still and frozen in a kneel as the watering basin he holds pours endlessly into the fountain. he’s handsome even like this; his cast stone features still manage to make warmth bloom in your stomach just like his human skin does. 

it’s with said warmth blooming that you decide to make your way to the fountain. you stare at minho from across the water, the flow distorting his features before you. it’s blissfully cool when you lift your foot to step into the fountain, rucking up the bottom of your dress and clutching the fabric to your thighs so it doesn’t get wet. you walk slowly across the fountain, feet splashing in the water, until you reach the edge of it where minho sits. 

you lower yourself onto your knees in front of him. it doesn’t matter that the bottom of your dress falls into the water now, nothing matters but the statue in front of you. your fingers trail along his thighs first, his thick thighs that already have your mouth watering. they trace his shin, the top of his foot, the smooth plain of his stomach. a giggle floats between your teeth because you know he knows what you’re doing; you know he can feel your touch. 

the water sloshes lightly when you lean forward. his cheek is cool and hard against the pucker of your soft lips, a juxtaposition you’ve come to be quite fond of. your lips kiss his cheek, his neck, and it isn’t until your hand reaches between his legs for his cock that you kiss his mouth. it’s something chaste and sweet, as sweet as it can be to kiss a statue. he likes this though - the naughty game you play together, the fact that he turns you on even like this.

his cock is soft, hard as rock between your fingers but naturally soft, even though you know he won’t be for long. his lips are the same, but the smallest shudder of breath coming from between the thin seam of them has you easing back on your haunches. 

minho begins to thaw under your fingertips. you can feel the stone transforming into something softer, something human. 

when you look up and into his eyes, they’re brown and filled with mirth. his pupils shake when they search yours, and you grin at him before standing to your feet. 

it takes a while sometimes, this process does. every ounce of minho’s handsome body must turn from stone back into human flesh - you can hear the stone cracking and shifting slowly as it does. you were worried it was painful at first, but minho reassured you once that it was more of a nuisance than anything else, more painful of a wait than actual pain. 

you take a step back as his hair turns dark and silky and falls over his forehead. 

“hi, minho,” you say, a toothy grin still spread wide on your face. “i’d kiss you again, but i think you’re gonna have to catch me if you want it…” 

that’s when you break off into a sprint, feet high-stepping over the wall of the fountain and carrying you quickly to the mouth of the garden maze. you risk one look back, one look just to see how far his transformation has come and how much of a head start you have, and you see a sharp grin spreading over his softening features. 

adrenaline is already pumping hard through your body, so you turn around to hightail it into the maze. 

you’ve been all the way through it before — several times even — but the maze always seems to change. it seems never ending, impossible. you make it past the first swirl of bushes before you hear minho’s water basin drop to the ground with a heavy clang. it almost makes you squeal, fear spiking and making your chest hot to the touch where your heart beats frantically. you slap a hand over your mouth to keep silent and remain on the path, sprinting around bushy dead ends and past the curves and endless angles of the walls inside the maze. 

it almost feels like a scene from a horror movie, something you’d watch huddled under a blanket with a bowl of popcorn in your lap and a hand half covering your eyes when the music picks up. a damsel in distress, running panic-stricken through the woods and tripping over nothing while the slasher walks behind, slowly and sinisterly. they always get caught in the end, don’t they? 

minho cackles when he reaches the entrance to the maze - it sends another chill down your spine, heart pounding in your chest. it’s only a matter of time before he finds you, but you’ll make him work for it until he does. you take another hurried turn and run right into a dead end. there’s no time to think, not with minho catching up with you. he knows this maze frontwards and backwards and with his eyes closed. he made it with his own hands after all. 

you sprint through the maze as best you can until you’re nearly gasping for breath. the grass is cool and soft underneath your feet, soft enough that the rustle of them through the blades is quieter than it would be anywhere else. 

minho makes his presence known though, and he does it on purpose because he knows how much it makes your heart pound. you can hear that joyous, maniacal laugh every so often; his hands shake the bushes so that you can hear him coming. he’s closing in on you, he’s closer than you thought, and you can’t help the broken whimper you let out when you meet another dead end head on. a split second decision has you dropping to your knees and crawling underneath the wall of the bush, scooting deep enough under it that minho can’t possibly see the white of your dress, the color of your sweat-slicked skin. 

your hand comes to your mouth to stop the gasp you want to let free so badly. his bare feet walk slowly around the corner and he pauses where he stands. all you can do is lay there and wait with bated breath. it catches in your throat and your body locks completely still when he steps towards the bush you’re hiding under. 

“blossom,” he sings, something airy and faux sweet. your eyes squeeze shut. “where did my pretty petal go?” 

he laughs. you’re almost expecting him to peek under the bush to really get you shrieking, but he doesn’t — he steps away from the bush and keeps walking, rounds the dead end to keep on his way. you hold your breath even after his feet move from your sight and the sound of rustling fades from your ears. 

it’s completely silent, eerily so, but you finally let out a shaky breath when you feel like he’s off your trail. 

you should know better than that. 

it turns into a shrill scream soon enough; there’s a rough hand on your ankle and you’re being tugged out from underneath the safety of the bush before you can even inhale the breath you just let out. you kick your legs, digging your fingers into the grass as if it’ll save you from your captor. minho just laughs and blocks the frantic kicking of your legs with his strong arms. he pushes at your hip until you’re turned over on your back and that really gets you flailing, legs still kicking and arms now joining in the mix. 

the look on minho’s face is positively wild. his smile is wide, his eyes are wide, and the laugh coming from his mouth would probably scare any normal person. the adrenaline spikes again, but you’re more excited than anything now. he’s got you where he wants you. a fly in the maw of a venus fly trap. completely, utterly caught. 

your arms tire quicker than you like, or maybe minho’s just that strong. he pins them to the ground with an ease that has heat swirling in your gut, has your cunt clenching desperately already. 

it’s then that your legs give out. they spread on their own, without his insistent coaxing. it’s hard to keep up with anyway, the facade you put up… like you don’t want to be exactly where you are. like you didn’t want him to catch you in the first place. 

minho cocks his head and it has you whimpering. if you pout hard enough, your eyes will tear up. you know he’ll love that. 

he coos at you when your eyes begin to glisten. 

“pretty dew drops,” minho sighs. “in those teary little eyes…” 

you’re beautifully pliant when he fusses with your dress. minho loves sundresses on you, loves the ease they give him to get at your body and loves how they look on you in general. the white makes you look more innocent than the two of you know you are, pure, virgin white. esteemed lily of the valley, radiant gardenia. 

minho’s devilish grin softens as your body is bared to him. he eyes the swell of your tits, the softness of your stomach. minho kneads at your hips, digs his fingers into your skin until you’re writhing. 

“why would you ever run from me when i would find you anywhere?” he hums. “i’ll find you every time, no matter what. all i wanted was my kiss.” 

he gets it — takes it. minho blankets you when he leans down, and your lips are parting for him before his lips even reach yours. he surprises you then, a small ounce of payback for the little game you played, by taking your bottom lip between his teeth and biting. it’s hard enough that your eyes squeeze shut; it forces a tear to trail into your hairline and a pitiful whimper to leave your mouth. he tugs at it meanly with his teeth until finally letting go to kiss you for real. it’s rough from the start, all spit and tongue and teeth, and minho takes charge of it completely. you kiss him back with all you’re worth, arching against his body and circling his tongue with yours messily until he’s patting your cheek to get your attention. 

minho grips your chin with two fingers and uses his hold on you to open your mouth. your tongue lolls out because you know he wants, and minho sucks it between his lips. your stomach clenches and your hips roll, bucking wildly against his thick thigh that rests snugly between your legs. minho’s cheeks hollow as he sucks sloppily on your tongue. heat builds and builds and builds in your stomach at the noises it makes. his plump lips are slick when he pulls back, and you know what he wants before he ever opens his mouth to speak. you stick your tongue out of your mouth further just for minho to slap it with two fingers. it doesn’t take long for a glob of frothy spit to land on your quivering tongue — no sooner than it lands does minho lean in again with his lips pursed, spreading the spit on the pad of your wet tongue with his lips. it’s sloppy, so fucking sloppy, and spit trails down your chin when he pushes more saliva through the pucker of his lips and onto your waiting tongue. 

you only swallow the mess when he pulls away to see what he’s made of you. you make a show of it for him too, swiping your fingers against your sopping wet chin and pushing the remnants between your lips, sucking on your fingers. 

“you put up such a fight, but look at you now…” 

writhing on the grass, dress pushed over your tits and your fingers fucking your own mouth. call it what it is; you’re whoring yourself out for him. 

“i just wanted to play with you,” you whine, fingers slipping from your slick mouth. 

minho eases onto his elbows and cubs your cheek in one of his warm palms while the other places itself on the crown of your head. he’s always so warm, as bright as the sun, that’s why the flowers trust him so much. 

“playful petal.” 

he nuzzles his nose against yours, kisses your top lip before gazing into your bleary eyes. there’s a tender, closed-mouth smile on his face that he only reserves for the things he loves, and you’re lucky enough to be one of them. his eyelashes are so long, you’d count them one by one if you only had the wherewithal. minho’s thumb taps a rhythm against your cheek that has you gasping, and you nod your head earnestly because you know what he’s asking. 

his hand doesn’t rear back until your eyebrows furrow with want. 

you register the crack of the slap before you feel its sting, and both have you moaning into the air between you. the hit would have had your head shunting to the side, but minho’s hand on your head keeps you in place. he breathes in your moan, kisses it softly from your lips as his thumb caresses the heated skin of your cheek. 

“yes!” you warble, voice catching in your throat. “fucking- yes! please, a-again?” 

“i’m so nice to you, giving you everything you want,” he sighs like he’s put upon, but he’s far from that. the hand from your cheek reaches down to grip at your hips, pulling at it until you’re grinding against his thigh again. once the circling of your hips picks up in a frantic rhythm, he slaps you again. you clutch at his shoulders like your life depends on it, like he’s the only thing that can ground you. it feels too good, too much, the pain and the pleasure he so willingly gives you. “do you want to know a secret?” 

you nod. that’s all you have the power to do, but you want to know. you want to know everything that comes to his mind. 

“i love you more than anything in this world,” minho whispers against your swollen lips. he kisses you then, a kiss so tender it makes your face crumple in a sob. 

“i love you,” you cry. your nails rake down his back as your hips swivel desperately against the meat of his thigh. “i love you, i lov- love you, minho. my minho, my- oh!” 

you freeze when you cum, body locking where you’re pressed tightly against him. you’re frozen still until he takes your hip in his hand again and forces you to move. you can feel the muscles in his arm bulging as you clutch at him, shivering apart with his help. 

“blooming for me,” minho coos, and he’s pushing the head of his cock inside your fluttering cunt before you’re done feeling the last of your aftershocks. you can cum again like this, you know you can, it’ll be so easy with minho’s cock spearing itself deep inside your soaked cunt. you can feel him all around you, you can feel him everywhere. inside and out. 

he cups both palms underneath your head so it doesn’t hit the ground when his thrusts sharpen. his teeth grit, and your eyes lock on his sweet, crooked front tooth. he’s so beautiful always but especially beautiful when he feels pleasure that your body gives him, that you give him. 

you don't have to reach down to touch your clit because the angle of minho’s dexterous hips has his pubic mound rubbing right against it. the coarse hair there gets your eyes rolling, and minho hums deep in his throat when your moans float into the air. 

minho ruts into you so deeply that you’re sure his knees will be stained green by the grass. 

“fuck me until you cum,” you cry. you want to get him there so badly after the chase you put him through earlier. you do everything you can, clenching your cunt until he’s sighing dreamily and running your hands over every bit of his body you can reach. somehow though, your efforts get you there first, along with minho’s cock bullying itself where you’re gummy and silky soft. you bloom for him again, like you always do, pulsing and throbbing on his cock that steadily pistons inside of you. 

that’s what ultimately gets minho there too, and he leans back on his haunches and pulls out far enough that only the tip of his soaked cock remains in the hold of your cunt. he jacks himself inside of you, twisting the base of his dick with a rough hand. 

“ask me for it again,” he grits. the knuckles of minho’s fingers lightly tap against your swollen labia as he polishes himself. “beg for my cum and i’ll give it to you.” 

your hips buck at his words. you reach for his arms, gripping onto his forearms desperately. 

“please give it to me!” he makes it so easy for you to beg. you want his cum more than anything, want him to empty himself somewhere warm and tight and wet. “please, i- oh, minho, my pussy wants your cum so bad. i want you to cum, i want it inside me- p-please, please cum inside me, baby, f-fuck!” 

you’re lucky he’s in a giving mood. he may have jokingly fussed about your little game earlier, but that’s all it was. he loves the chase, loves when you feel playful enough to mess around with him and have fun. minho dips his thumb into your mouth when he starts to cum, roughly jacking his cock until his cum spurts ropes inside of your clenching cunt. his stomach caves in and his thighs shake sweetly - they shake so hard that you move your hands to them to feel it, to feel the way you make his body react. 

his softening cock slips from your hole with a slick noise, and his cum follows when you make an effort to push it out. minho thumbs one of your puffy lips to the side to watch it drip slowly down to your asshole with a satisfied quirk to his mouth. 

you’re so focused on minho that it takes you several moments to notice something tickling at your back and sides. you only rouse from your daze when the feeling becomes more incessant, and that’s when you see that there’s a fresh bed of flowers blooming underneath and around you. beautiful reds and yellows and blues, whites to match your pretty dress that he likes so much. pinks and reds to match the flushing of minho’s cheeks. 

the flowers reach for you just as minho does, but the softness of their petals could never compare to the softness of his lips when he kisses you.

the rescue ; skz; aotm!hyunjin x reader

original ask: requested by @tattywood: ❛ i'm simply enjoying the view. it's not every day i get to fuck someone so pretty. ❜ would 100000% fit Hyunjin 🩶 + requested by anonymous: ❛ you're mine, and i take care of what belongs to me. ❜ with hyunjin? thank you

pairing: hwang hyunjin/reader content info: artist of the month!hyunjin was inspo here. gangster stuff, reader has been kidnapped and is in a see through nightdress, most violence off page though, bad guy hyunjin who is actually a good guy, arranged marriage, multiple smut scenes, not great communication but gets better lol. smut includes fingering, blow jobs, pussy eating, piv, spanking, light choking, husband/wife kink. word count: 6300 words.

masterlist. part of the valentine’s day stories series. credit to prompts. requests are closed.

enjoy! <3

-

“I’ve already explained,” you say, equal parts frustrated and exhausted.  “My husband isn’t coming for me.” 

The gangster cronies still don’t seem to understand.  You are tied to a chair in their basement (because they are preposterously corny goons, tying you up like a comically silly damsel in a ridiculous film) while they berate you for your husband’s tardiness.    

You have tried explaining, over and over, that Hyunjin is not coming, but they won’t accept that answer.  The fools try in vain to reach him again, but his line leads straight to a dial tone. 

He went radio silent after the initial video contact, when your captors demanded a price for your healthy return. 

Hyunjin was quiet on the call.  Your husband is a quiet man in general, though he knows how to use his charms and work a room, and he has certainly perfected the art of severe intimidation.  When your marriage was arranged, one mob family to the other, you mistakenly assumed you were marrying a monster. 

Hyunjin is very reserved when not conducting business.  He doesn’t engage in any of the more debauched sides of the business, unlike the men in your family.  Evenings at home are silent and still, the penthouse view of the glittering cityscape the only real bustle. 

Maybe that shouldn’t have surprised you.  When he took over his family’s business, Hyunjin altered a lot of their practices, cutting the crueler sectors, opting for illicit crimes of more practical varieties. 

The country is in a political chokehold, government affairs conducted none too differently from the criminal underworld.  The cops are all dirty, the politicians corrupt, the wealthy depraved.  Hyunjin has taken it upon himself to alleviate the pressure suffered by the regular people, the civilians who truly pay the price of a broken system.

In a world with no good guys, sometimes only villains can be heroes.    

You think of his face now, how he certainly looked the part of a villain on the video call.  Hyunjin has a very austere demeanour, exacerbated by his severe appearance: sharp marble features and dark, vicious eyes often further darkened with heavy lining, sleek black hair, scattered scars and tattoos, and the sort of regard that judges at a glance.  He is young, but he has the air of a man who has already traversed the universe and found it wanting.       

You think of his face now, the silent perusal he gave your bound body on that video call.  You are dressed in your favourite nightgown, your underthings partially visible through the light material, but it was not willingly donned.   At the time of your kidnapping, you were attired appropriately for the wealthy wife of a famous gangster.  You were returning from a family visit when your captors intercepted you in transit from the airport. 

Either to intimidate or threaten or just because they could, they made you remove all your jewelry and fine clothes.  They rifled through your luggage and demanded you change into the nightgown. 

Hyunjin recognized the nightdress, realized you must have been stripped, and likely inferred the very worst. 

“Address,” was the only word Hyunjin said.   He ended the call seconds later.    

“Oh, he’ll come,” your captor says.  He points at you with a hand that feels more threatening than a knife.  It makes your terrified heart leap into your throat.  “Or else.” 

“He won’t, though!” you exclaim.  “You’re wasting your time!”

They are not listening.  They leave the basement, slamming the door behind them.

You huff and settle back in your bonds. 

It is only a matter of time before they realize you are telling the truth.  Hyunjin will not waste the money or resources to rescue you.  He has always been respectful of the marriage arrangement, but your husband is not sentimental.  There is a professional distance between you.  His decision will be based in the logic of all his strategies: nothing personal, just a matter of business. 

You sometimes see a different side of him, something buried under that quiet intensity.  He collects fine art and spends hours poring over his favourite pieces, listening to music, losing himself to artistic fantasies.  He always comes back, but you know there are other worlds in his mind. 

Every attempt to bridge the gap has been gently rebuffed, but there have been moments when your husband seems curious about you.  You often catch him staring.  He gets a wistful look that softens his face, even with that shield of make-up.  His eyes are gentle when you talk about your passions.  You never let his quietude deter your friendly penchant for chatter.   He seems more than content to listen.  He remembers everything too. 

You know he finds you attractive, if nothing else.  He has caved on that front several times over, though not right away.  He didn’t touch you on the wedding night, nor the honeymoon.  He left your beach holiday early to return to business, leaving you in a villa with security and his credit card.  It was the first time you realized the material world was no replacement for true companionship.  You missed his dark eyes.

Your family also had expectations.  There would be consequences if the marriage fell through.  You would be blamed, not him.  Worried he would renege on the nuptials, you did everything to try and seduce him. 

He politely rejected you at every turn. 

Just when you were resigned, he arrived home after a job.  It was almost three in the morning when he entered the penthouse.  You have separate bedrooms but they share a connecting bathroom.  You could hear him cursing above the running water. 

You only meant to peek.  The sliding door on your side was partially ajar so you tip-toed over. 

Hyunjin was standing in front of the mirror, shirtless, pressing a rag to his wounded shoulder.  There was a mess of blood streaked down his back, making you gasp at the terrible mosaic of pain, his body littered with violent scars. 

That gasp contained multitudes, for the horror, for his beauty.  His dark eyes were as severely lined as ever, expression intense as he breathed hard through the pain.  Smooth black hair fell across his face when he tipped his head. 

He froze at the sound of your gasp.  His turn was very slow, eyes peeking through the curtain of his short hair.  They captured yours.   

You held your breath. 

Eventually, he straightened, flicking his hair out of his face.  He looked in the mirror and sighed.    

“You can come in,” he said.   “This is your home too.” 

You slid the door open, just enough to squeeze through.  Your attention was utterly transfixed on his bleeding shoulder.  You could see the wound was a thin stripe.  It was not deep so stitches were not necessary, but it was slightly out of his reach as it sloped towards his back.

“Oh, Hyunjin,” you said, thoughtlessly taking the rag right out of his hands.    

In spite of the violence that raised you, or maybe because of it, you can’t stand to see suffering.   You and Hyunjin have had that in common from the start.  You were quick to help him clean the wound, wordlessly wiping all the blood then applying cream across the clotted cut. 

He flinched when the stinging cream made contact.  You went to apologize but your words evaporated when your eyes met through the mirror.  You were surprised to find him already looking at you, that expressive gaze as thoughtful as ever. 

“How did this happen?” you couldn’t help but ask, eyes rivetted to his reflection.   “You – you have people to protect you.”  You managed to rip your gaze away, looking at your task, feeling hot in the face. 

“I do,” he said.  “But I’d never ask someone to do something I’m not willing to do myself.” 

This did not surprise you to hear.   It is obvious that Hyunjin cares very deeply about the wellbeing of other people.  It is a fact known to few.  It aggravates you at times, but his reputation does not seem to bother him.  He would rather people think him a monster while he secretly does good rather than be praised in public while cruel in private. 

You have never known another man like him.  Looking at that scar that night, the realization truly struck you. 

Your fingers began to tremble where they brushed his bare skin, your eyes widening as you looked at the scar and many others.  If something happened to him, what would become of you?  Certainly, as his widow, you would be financially sound, but what did that matter?  This world would lose something irreplaceable if it lost Hwang Hyunjin.  This penthouse could be brimming with silver and gold and it would be empty, worthless. 

Tears in your eyes, you succumbed to desire, kissing him very gently on his hurt shoulder. 

“Hyunjin,” you said, your eyes closed, lips grazing his skin as you spoke.  “Please make sure you always come home, okay?” 

He did not answer at first.  When you lifted your eyes and looked in the mirror, those dark eyes were so enflamed that you were surprised nothing caught fire. 

“Hyunjin?” you said softly.   

“You mean that,” he said, not quite a question, more like a realization. 

“Of course,” you replied. You looked at his scarred back again, let your fingertips brush down the length of his spine.  It made him stand a little straighter.  “Have you ever known me to lie?” you asked. 

He finally turned around, looking at you with an long-engrained wariness, but also a hunger.  He was a starving man presented with a banquet, but one who did not easily trust when sitting at someone else’s table. 

“You’re a smart woman,” he said.  “I know that.  And I know that you’re – good.” 

Good was an exhale, like the word was too heavy for his tongue.  You realized that his wariness was less suspicion for you than hesitation regarding himself.  He was only starving because he though himself undeserving of the meal he wanted. 

“You’ve seen – and done – many bad things tonight, haven’t you?” you asked. 

Having the full force of his gaze was overwhelmingly heady.  You remember how it made your heart race like you were being chased, your breath catching over and over until you were almost panting. 

Arousal struck quickly, a sensation like you never experienced before.  You thought you understood attraction, but not until that moment when he released a breath, so close to your face, and you became truly aware of his proximity.   Of him, of all that he was, all that he did.  His character, his hidden depths.

Your husband. 

It made your racing heart thunder something fierce, your blood pumping hotly, throbbing places you did not know were so sensitive. 

You desperately wondered what was on his mind.  The gears in his head were spinning and whirring, delaying his response.  Was he feeling the same tension?  Were his thoughts the same realization?

 My wife.  

“Yes,” he finally said. 

“Is there something I can do to help?” you asked.

His tattooed hand cupped your head, tilting it just so.  It made your lips part with a gasp, eyelids heavy with anticipation for a kiss. 

He took his time looking at you, like he was scrubbing all those bad memories away, replacing them with the flustered look on his aroused wife’s face. 

“Yes,” he said again, and kissed you for the first time. 

You were so glad he rebuffed your previous half-hearted advances, clumsy seductions made out of obligation rather than desire.  It was so different to that kiss.  You would not have known how to even ask for a kiss like that.  You never knew what you were missing. 

Your quiet husband and his multitudes.  All that simmering intensity, hot just below the surface of his icy demeanour, burned right through his skin.  His kiss was ravishing, entirely possessive, like he wished to take your whole essence into him and hold it forever. 

He walked you backwards.  With a snap of his wrist, he slid the door open the rest of the way, so sharp that it tried to bounce back.  He continued onward, kissing you until you were dizzy with it.   

He picked you up just to put you on the bed himself.  Your kiss separated only then as you landed with a bounce and a breath. 

He loomed over the edge of the bed, this man who was both stranger and husband, hero and villain.   He looked at you like he already loved you.  He looked at you and saw the reciprocation.  You had fallen for him without realizing you had ever even stumbled. 

He ran his hands through his hair, the sleek black locks fluttering back into place.  His eyes were still rivetted to your face, to your body.  You were wearing the nightdress you are wearing now.  It is why it became your favourite. 

He looked down at you, the material translucent enough to see the details of your body.   It broke through that last layer of ice.  He surrendered with a choked breath. 

He unclasped a holster on his thigh, dropped a knife that was hidden in a pocket.   Once unarmed, his hands went to his belt.  You watched those nimble, efficient fingers, swallowing hard.   You were aching to an embarrassing degree, undoubtedly obvious in your desires.  No one ever warned you it would feel like this, just being looked at, never mind touched.

Then his belt was on the floor and he touchedyou for real.   His calloused hands moved up your thighs, pushing the nightdress up and out of his way.  He climbed on top of you, swift as a feline, mouth descending onto yours with that same desperate hunger as before. 

Recollection makes you crave another kiss.   You think you will always be starving for more. 

“Hyunjin,” you whispered, hands on his face, his shoulders, down to his chest. 

He took your hands and laced your fingers with his, pinning those hands to the bed.   He kissed you again, long and slow.  It was all more sensual than desperate.

His voice, however, was desperate when he begged, “Let me make you feel good, please.”  He kissed down your face, your jaw, your throat.  “Please, my wife.”  He kissed further down still, through your nightdress, tracing the curve of your breast with his tongue, wetting the material and awakening every nerve beneath it.   “My wife,” he repeated. 

“My husband.”  The words left your lips in a dizzy, delirious whisper.   

It was all the confirmation he needed.  Those deft and skilled hands, so quick to assemble weapons and pull triggers, applied themselves with a startling gentleness.  He took you apart and put you together with the same efficient ease.   

He hooked his fingers in the only material between him and his desire, tugged it out of his way.  His fingers went to you, slipping through all that wetness.  Those intense eyes rolled back even though it was just his fingers inside you, then he closed his eyes like it was too much, and it seemed he had to temper himself, murmuring nonsense as he let his fingers sink into you. 

He kissed you again, drinking down every sigh and gasp and moan while he fucked you with his long fingers.  It was like he could taste your pleasure, like he was trying to get drunk on it, every noise you made filling his mouth.  He gave them back and brought you over a peak, first with his hands, then with his mouth.  He laid between your legs and put your thighs around his head, losing himself entirely in you. 

He did not remove a single article of your clothing nor his pants, not that first time.  He simply held the material to the side as he unzipped and finally got inside you.  It made your whole body keen, coming to life like it never had before.  You forgot all your sensibilities and let every wanton sound and action loose.

He responded in kind.  His kiss tasted like your pleasure, his heart pounding as fast as yours where your chests pressed together.  You were careful near his injured shoulder, fingertips dodging scars.  Your soft touch made him whimper, this powerful man entirely undone by a few caresses. 

His skin was hot and he worked up a sweat, but his stamina seemed endless.  He always wanted more. 

You fell asleep tucked in his arms, content to believe the walls had crumbled.   However, they revealed themselves in the morning light, as concrete as ever.  He slipped away and left a note to excuse his absence as he was called away to business.   You thought about phoning or messaging him, but those lines were not always secure, not for such intimate conversations. 

When he returned a few days later, he hid behind those concrete walls, but too much had changed.  There was now an awareness of your proximity and your distance.  The lack of intimacy was not called into question before, the absence of something being a nothing.  But now that nothing was something, or had been something for a moment, and it made you both very aware of how it was now missing – and anticipating always when it might again appear.

He tried very hard to keep away, to stay cordial at best, his habitual quietude even heavier than before.  But while his silence was significant, so was his glance.  Every time you turned around, he was already looking at you, a longing in his eyes and a thought on his lips that he never dared to speak aloud. 

You granted him some distance for a time.  When it became abundantly obvious he was holding himself in check, you realized that your own vulnerability was required to bridge the gap. 

One night you crossed through the bathroom, slid open the door on his side.  You found him at his desk, dressed down in a white dress shirt and pants.  His blazer was discarded on the floor, his face still made up. 

He stood quickly when you entered, though he didn’t say anything. 

It was strange to imagine this man would need any reassurance, but you felt that was the case.   His fingers fidgeted at his sides, his roving eyes studious.

You said nothing.  You approached him, laid your hands on his chest, and gently guided him back into his chair.  He sat slowly, his eyes on your face the entire time, even when he had to tip his head back to peer up at you. 

You ran your fingers through his hair.  When you entered the room, his face was tightly screwed in an expression of aggravation, but all those harsh lines softened as you traced a thumb down the sharp slope of his cheek. 

There were some wipes on his desk.  You took one and began to carefully remove that shield of dark make-up.  His hand lifted but not to stop you, simply to rest his palm on your waist.  He began to really touch you, feeling the shape of your body through your robe as you helped him come back to himself. 

“Hello,” you finally said, looking at his bare face.  Still impossibly beautiful.

“Hello,” he replied. 

His fingertips dipped towards the hem of the robe.  Before he could distract you with your own pleasure, you sunk to your knees in front of him.  This startled him, his hand frozen in the air as you fit yourself between his open knees. 

He caught your hand, his reflexes fast, before it could reach his fly.   You could see he was already affected, a heavy bulge in the black material making your mouth water and core tighten. 

He squeezed your hand and you looked up at his face.   He tipped his head, blinked rapidly, an expression of mild confusion.

You took your hand back and unknotted your robe.  The silk fell from your shoulders and down, sliding like water right off your body.  You were completedly naked underneath. 

It clarified everything, his confusion gone, replaced with surprise.

“You—” he began.  It was interrupted when you put your head in his lap, resting on his thigh.  You led his hand to the back of your neck and kissed him through his pants.  It made his fingers clasp tighter around you.  

“Please,” you said. 

He would never deny you anything.  Not the smallest gift nor grandest gesture.  When you started a new charity to further your combined philanthropic efforts, he spared no expense in aiding the endeavour.  You shared passions, and now you shared this.

He was stiff at the start, but gradually let himself go lax in his seat.  His hand kept a steady grip on the back of your neck, not guiding but holding, like he thought you might disappear otherwise.  He murmured your name, letting his head fall back as you worked him in your mouth. 

You intended to make him finish like that, seeking nothing for yourself at that precise moment.  He had other ideas, needing more of your shared pleasure to take him over that brink. 

He lifted your face, adjusted his pants, and was on his feet in a matter of seconds.  That hand on your neck dragged you up, up, up until your naked body was pressed against his clothed one.  He clung to you needily, claiming your mouth in a wanting kiss. 

His hands moved over you, every new inch of skin making him moan as he walked you towards the bed.  The kiss only broke when you both sat down, his lips against yours as he breathed, almost smiling, “My pretty wife.”

“Hyunjin,” you said, shaking your head, feeling suddenly shy just because of a simple compliment. 

He did not allow you to curl into yourself with any shame.  When you tried, he seized you, pulling you onto his lap so you straddled it.   His eyes moved up and down your body, hands following, from your thighs to hips to waist and up. 

 “What are you doing?” you said, laughing helplessly when he kissed somewhere ticklish on your throat.  The sound made him smile, even softer than before, though it turned a little wicked as his mouth went lower. 

“I’m simply enjoying the view,” he said, then wrapped his lips around the stiff peak of your breast, ran his tongue up and over.  He licked and kissed back up to your mouth.   “It’s not everyday I get to fuck someone so pretty.” 

As he said this, he opened his pants again, eyes on yours as he grabbed your thighs and moved you so he could thrust up into you.  His hips moved with a slow roll, letting you adjust to him.  It had been a little while, and this angle was different.

And Hyunjin is not small.  Your husband is built in perfect proportion, his body a long, hard, slender build – everything inside you at that moment was no exception.   This angle made you whimper, clinging to him like  he was a life preserver in a storm.  The roll of his hips kept coming like waves and you were sure you would drown otherwise. 

Your arms were around his neck, his graceful but strong hands digging into the meat of your thighs as he fucked you.  He felt impossibly deep, every upward stroke feeling like it was bursting past something, pushing everything inside your body up to your throat. 

You swallowed again and again, the taste of him still on your lips, the feel of him inside every inch of you.  You clenched and tightened involuntarily, just pure animal reaction, and it made him moan and find all those sweet spots to make it happen again.    

“Help,” was your somewhat nonsensical request, blurted in the midst of some moaning babbling.

Fortunately, he was and is a smart man.  He understood.  He clasped you tight to his body and fell back on the bed, thrusting up into you with sharper, more focussed determination, faster until you were weeping on his chest, delirious with pleasure.  His shirt was unbuttoned and you accidentally ripped a few buttons right off, trying to press your face to bare skin. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” you said as you tumbled over a height you never reached before.  You never knew you could come just from that, stimulated somewhere so deep inside you, but it made you come undone in his arms. 

He watched you unravel and it made him follow, clinging to you as he just barely pulled out before coming between your dripping thighs.  It was all so messy and wet, your legs trembling, but it felt so good that it hardly mattered. 

He caught his breath, then looked at your face just lose that breath again.  He moaned and dragged you in for another kiss.

Then you were on your back, the night far from over. 

That second night is the one that truly opened the door to more.  Though your husband can be reticent in other regards, he is not quiet when he is inside you.  You have come together again and again, a conversation with your bodies as you look for pleasure in a dangerous world.   You always find it, tucked in the protective circle of his arms, wrapped around every inch of him. 

You have been out of his arms for too long.  Your visit to your family grew tedious before long.  Your home is with Hyunjin now and you were eager to return. 

Now it seems you may never see it again.  You may never see him again. 

No.

Just like the night when you took control for yourself, you must take control now.  You realize if anything is to happen, then you must take the reins of your own rescue.  You would not want Hyunjin to compromise himself or his important business.  You know if something bad happened to you, it would weigh on his conscious, even if it was the better business decision.  You must eliminate the need for choice. 

It turns out, comical rope bindings are truly best suited for silly movies.  When the men come to check on you again, you have slipped free of your bindings.  There was an array of weapons in the room, so carelessly disposed because the assailants never assumed you would get free – or, if you did get free, that you would not know how to use them. 

It is true, you do not like violence. 

That does not mean you do not understand it. 

You leave the two men unconscious in their basement.  Unfortunately, you cannot find your suitcase and you do not want to hang around, so you venture outside in your nightgown.  You are debating your next move when a car pulls into the driveway. 

You back away quickly, raising the gun you stole as more men get out of the vehicle.  You only stay your hand because you recognize one of them, though it takes a second to place him as one of Hyunjin’s lieutenants. 

Then Hyunjin emerges.   You have seen your husband before and after a confrontation, but never during it.  If you thought he was an intimidating figure in the aftermath, he is all danger and darkness as he storms up the driveway now.   There is such an energy radiating from him, it makes you stumble and forget yourself entirely. 

Then he stumbles, recognizing you.  You are both startled, staring at each other with the gun raised between you. 

He looks nowhere but your eyes. 

“Hyunjin?” you finally say. 

“I—”  He looks at you, the gun, the nightdress.  He shakes his head.  Some of that bravado returns when he says, “I’m here to save you.”

“Ah,” you say.  You slowly lower the gun, at a loss how to reply.  You were so resigned to the idea this was all still business.  The reality of your husband risking himself to rescue you from unknown hostiles is making your heart pound.  

In the end, all you can think to say is, “Sorry.  You’re late.” 

That wicked smile crosses his face, his tongue pushing at the corner of his mouth.  He is suddenly nothing but amused, looking at you, then at the house.

“I can see that,” he says. 

He whistles sharply and gestures to the house with a gloved hand.  His lieutenants run past you and charge the door, no doubt heading inside to finish the job you started.        

You turn to watch them go.  In your distraction, Hyunjin grabs your arm.  He is fast, effectively disarming you.  He catches the gun with a twirl before tossing it aside.

It is not the gun he wants; it’s you.

Still holding your wrist, he tugs you into him.  You throw your arms around him.  The hug is surprisingly chaste, his face in your neck as he squeezes you like it is the only thing keeping him alive and standing.

“Are you hurt?” he asks. 

When in his arms, it seems impossible to consider you could ever feel any pain. 

You shake your head, daring to kiss his cheek.  He turns his face to yours, your lips close enough to brush in a swipe. 

“I’m all right now,” you say.  “Sorry I beat you to the punch.  I – I wasn’t sure if—”

His brow crinkles.  That gloved hand goes from your wrist to your chin, seizing it between thumb and forefinger.  He tips your head so he can look at your face.  He always regards you like he does one of his masterpieces, like he can never get his fill, like there is always something new to find.  He is enchanted every time. 

“You’re mine,” he says.  “And I take care of what belongs to me.” 

You gasp when those fingers go from your chin to your throat, just enough to pull you in that last breath of a space.  He kisses you there in the sunlight, utterly shameless. 

“Do not ever doubt that,” he says.  His eyes are soft with his affection, but his voice is hard, skirting the edge of a threat he would issue an adversary.  It makes you tingle from head to toe.  “Do I need to remind you?” 

You never actually answer.  You are not sure if your answer would have made a difference, as Hyunjin is determined to show you the very second you are home. 

You reach the penthouse. There is no time to shower or decompress once you cross the threshhold.  He sweeps you off your feet, your arms around his shoulders and your legs around his waist.  You are wearing his blazer over your nightdress to preserve your modesty – not that it will last long.

He carries you to the bedroom where so many slow and subtle exchanges took place.  Now, he is not slow or subtle.  He is a force of nature.   He tells you that he held no greater fear than losing you and he tried to keep his distance, but he regretted it the moment he saw you on that video call. 

“You’re my wife,” he says, peeling his blazer off your body.  “I’m your husband.  There is nothing I should be holding back.” 

“Yes,” you say, running your fingers through that smooth black hair.  You shiver as he bunches the fabric of your nightdress, the material spilling over his fingers.   “Don’t hold back,” you say, mouth open against his, stealing his every breath.   “Do whatever you want.” 

He tells you exactly what he wants, using his words for a change, finally letting those walls come down.  He whispers every filthy thought into your ear, between kisses, between bites.   You shiver at every suggestion. 

And so, moments later, he is sitting on your bed.  He arranges you to lay across his lap, facedown in the pillows while he runs his hands down your spine and over the curve of your ass. 

“You’re my wife,” he says.  The first tap of his open palm is through the thin material of your nightdress.  It is truly just a warning tap, just enough to make you bounce.  “Don’t ever doubt me again,” he says, swinging that strong hand a little harder.  

This time a yelp escapes your lips.  You wriggle until he pins you down, a hand on the back of your neck and the other lifting your dress.   He already stripped your underthings, his open palm smoothing down all that bare skin.  

You tingle with anticipation, braced yet still unprepared for the sharp smack he next delivers.  You feel it tingle all the way up to your head, as well as the next one, and the next.   You squirm under his firm grip, groaning his name as your thighs get tense and press together. 

“Don’t say my name,” he says, and smacks you again.  “Who am I?”

“M-my husband,” you say, practically mewling like a kitten when he next brings his hand down.  “My husband,” you say again. 

“And you are—”

“Your wife,” you say, though it comes out almost like a sob, a desperate gasp as he slips his fingers between your thighs and finds a new way to torture you.   With your backside hot and stinging, the pleasure of his hand in that sensitive place feels amplified by a tenfold. 

“Husband,” you say, hips bucking.  His free hand goes from the back of your neck to your lower spine, holding you in his lap as he slowly finger-fucks you.

“Yes?” he says.

You do not even remember what you were going to say, or beg, or plead.  You are overcome with sensation, tingling all over, intensifying the press of his fingers as he curls his fingers into that soft, soft place.  Then you are really squirming, helplessly, instinctively, whining into the pillows. 

“I make you feel good,” he says.  “I take care of you.  You, who are so good, and so smart, but so—”

You cry out when he angles his hand just a little differently.  Your vision swims with stars as he speeds up. 

“So soft,” he says, his own voice going soft, just a whisper as he makes you come all over his hand in a throbbing, aching, desperate wet mess.  “Just for me,” he says in that whisper.  “Just for your husband.” 

“Mmmf,” is all the response you have left in you. 

Your thighs are trembling and your pussy throbbing with aftershocks when he picks you up.  He stands and turns, laying you on your side in the bed.  You are grateful, as your backside still stings, though you suspect he is not done yet.

He strips out of his clothes, tearing through his shirt, leaving the pants in a heap.  He forgets to remove his necklace.  All that silver is cold against your hot skin as he lays down behind you.   You do not have time to linger on it, as he gathers up the hem of your dress and adjusts himself behind you. 

He has taken you many times, in many ways, many positions.   When you are on your hands and knees, he is overtaken by a primal urge, your hips as leverage in his hands as he pounds into you like it is a chase.   When you are on your back, he sinks into you slowly and deeply, rocking his hips into yours like he intends to fuck you forever.  When you are in his lap, he rolls his hips in steady, needy waves, captivated by the sight of you in his arms. 

He lays behind you now and wraps his arms around you, coaxes your thighs apart.  Your nightdress is bunched every which way, leaving nothing to the imagination, and you feel especially exposed and vulnerable in this position somehow.  Perhaps it is the fact he is the one holding you open, keeping you in position so he can take you.

You let yourself fall into it, fall into him.  You let him tell you, with words and actions, exactly how he feels. 

Before it ends, you change position.  He lays back and you straddle his hips while stripping off your dress entirely.  He keeps rolling up into you, only stopping when you plant your hands on his chest to slow him down.  Then he practically sinks in the mattress, murmuring your name.  His make-up is smudged, his calloused hands rough on your body.  Whatever pains you experienced have been overtaken by his hands, by the smarting on your backside, still tender as you bring your body down onto his again and again.  He has completely claimed you for himself and you take the same in turn. 

“Hyunjin,” you say.  “My husband, oh—”

He kisses your hand, long and hard, like he needs his mouth on some part of you desperately.  Your fingers are curled into his pretty mouth when he comes, his hands on your hips and his cock buried inside you. 

“Oh,” is your final sound before you slump on top of him, skin to skin. 

He rolls you onto your side, though he keeps you wrapped around him, his arms around you in turn.  His hair is already a sweaty mess and you rub your thumb through some of his shadowy make-up, but those familiar dark eyes are gazing at you with so much warmth.   There is no more ice, no more cold concrete. 

“I should let you rescue me more often,” you say with a laugh. 

He doesn’t laugh back, but he does smile softly.  It should be incongruous with his severe appearance, but it somehow comes together, layers of him exposed all at once as he strokes your cheek.

He looks at you like his favourite work of art. 

“You were the one who rescued you,” he says.   “Just like you rescued me.” 

You cannot find the words to reply, so you kiss him.  It speaks volumes, and he replies, kissing back. 

You lose yourself to the sweetness, to the heat, to the passion, to all those things more, knowing there are many more to come with this man as your husband. 

Hiii I had the urge to tell you this, but these days ive been reading a book called signs by Laura Lynne Jacksn. The autor is psychic medium and there are stories of ordinary people experiencing like signs from spirit guides and their loved ones who have passed to the other side. It really made me think of you and witch boy. I dont know what you believe in but I found it really healing so i just had the urge to let you know About it. Maybe you would find it healing as well even tho you might not be into that stuf (i’m still figuring stuff out too, im that anonym who has reached out to you due my struggles with being inexperienced with dating). But I really got strongly reminded of four of wands and I find is so comforting i would say.

Hello my beloved~ I do remember you, you know! Is there an emoji or nickname you would like me to tag your asks with? ^^

Thank you so much for reaching out. What an interesting ask.

I don't know myself what I believe in. I think I'm a very grounded and realistic person. Then once in a while, I hear and feel Gustav, my sweet kitty that unfortunately passed away two years ago now, jump onto my bed like he used to do always. I feel his steps next to me and then it vanishes—when I had him, he would then go lie down on the pillow next to me and bury his face into my neck. I tell myself my brain is sending me these "hallucinations" because I miss him too much, so maybe it tries to compensate. He was special to me. He was my soulcat. I wrote Aris as a tribute to him...

But I don't know.

We just don't know, do we?

Thank you so much for sharing this with me, and for reading the story in the first place. I'm honored you'd be reminded it of it while just living your life. Thank you for keeping a place for it in your heart, and thank you for speaking so sweetly 🤍

How have you been?.. I hope life has been treating you kindly. And I hope the book keeps comforting you. Don't overthink it—you don't have to have it all figured out. Your faith, your spirituality, it's normal that it changes. You're allowed to change your mind. In fact, it's a sign of growth. Ok?

Take care 🤍

This is probably just me having social anxiety but i sometimes feel anxious to reply to people on social media because i often don’t know how to reply to the comment so i just heart it 😭😭

🩶

Wait I’m the exact same way and it makes me feel SO bad bc I’ll sit on a response or a message for so long trying to think how to respond to it, and then I FORGET TO and then I just look like a terrible person 😀 why is forming human connections so hard. I always come off as too nonchalant or literally insane and I’m like NOOOOOO COME BACK LETS BE FRIENDS PLEEADRKEKKDD BE MY BEST FRIENDNSNSJFNF

current fan creation landscape is kinda like if you went to a party with a homemade cake and everyone takes a slice and silently thumbs up at you with no attempt to start a conversation except for occasionally some guy sits in the corner with a tape recorder critiquing the cake as though he was a restaurant critic and another guy is handing the cake to an uber driver like "yeah i need you to find a restaurant that makes cake like this so i can have more of it" and the only person that's talked to you in 30 minutes is a very sweet little guy who was like "hey i liked your cake" and then ran away apologizing for bothering you the moment you said thank you.