NO SERIOUSLY WHAT THE FUCK - Tumblr Posts

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IM GUILTY IM GUILTY 🙆‍♀️🙆‍♀️🙆‍♀️

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WHAT THE FUCK EVEN IS THIS MASTERPIECE???

Actually though I expect nothing less from the author of into the aurora(which I didn’t know until I read the note) I’m obsessed with that story (found it on my old account)

This is so cute and soft but fun and teasing and HOT. FUCK

Thank you for this. I’m going to read this 24/7 just like ITA

early hours (j.yh)

summary: you run into him in the hallway of the hotel, it's late and you're exhausted from the concert, but he thinks you should grab a drink and you can't help but agree

prompt: Hi! Sooo it might gonna be a little similar to into the aurora, but I kinda let my mind wander about what would it be like (probably really really lucky) to bump into yunho after a concert (like you know as a fan) and eventually have a one night stand with him..

note: 18+ content, minors DNI. // i hope this is what you were looking for!! honestly it got away from me there in the middle, i'm just also very in love with this man. i hope you enjoy!! <3

warnings: idol!yunho, fem!reader, one night stand, slight injury and brief description of a bloody cut, oral (f receiving), protected sex, semi rough sex, free use kink, praise, *slight* brattiness / teasing, size kink, use of the pet name 'tiny', big dick yunho. please let me know if I missed any.

pairings: yunho x reader

genre: idol x non idol, self insert, smut-a-thon with some fluff

word count: 8.8K

my masterlist 

Everything about your night feels absolutely electric, the feeling of the music still buzzing in your skin, your legs exhausted from standing, your hands numb from clapping. Now, laying in your hotel room after the show on top of the

 comforter, you replay the little moments in your mind. It was lucky you were able to go, a ticket given to you from a friend who could not longer make it, a VIP seat almost at the barricade. It had been perfect, it didn’t even matter that you went alone.

Flipping over onto your stomach, you pull your phone back out and scroll through the videos you were able to take during the show – every second of footage shockingly good quality. They’re handsome, of course, but the power in their dancing and the magnetic charisma of each and every one of them is overwhelming, the videos paling in comparison to the feeling of being mere feet from the stage’s edge.

Glancing at the clock, you see that it’s already twelve-thirty in the morning. You have a bit of a long drive to make in the morning, especially if you’re going to make it back to your apartment to get some work done, and you really should get to sleep. If you didn’t start winding down now, you never would.

Despite your sore muscles, you drag yourself off the bed and into a warm shower, washing off the show and trying to relax. You keep your hair dry, already freshly washed and dried that morning, but take your time removing your makeup and refreshing your skin before you get dressed for bed. You’re tucked in already, cozy in your gray sweats and oversized black hoodie, when you realize how hoarse your voice feels after the show.

There’s nothing in the mini-fridge and no little bottles of courtesy water left on the dresser, so you’re stuck with tepid tap water. With a sigh, you pull on a pair of fluffy socks, pick up the small empty ice bucket, grab your room key, and head out into the hall. It’s late, and the hotel is quiet around you, everyone in their respective rooms fast asleep.

The ice machine is around the corner, down the hall, and set back in an enclave next to a vending machine. You fill your bucket up, stifling a wide yawn, before shaking off the sleepy feeling and closing the lid of the ice dispenser. Turning on your heel, you turn the corner and collide directly into a chest.

The man was walking at a good clip, turning the corner himself, so you rock back on unsteady footing, tripping backwards and colliding with the floor hard. The ice bucket in your hand slips, and the sharp metal edge of the lip of the bucket cuts across your palm, flaring a sharp line of pain in your hand.

“I’m so sorry!” the man exclaims, immediately reaching down for you.

“It’s okay,” you shake your head, brushing off some wayward cubes of ice that landed on you, “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

When you look up your breath catches in your throat.

“Still,” the man says, crouching at your side and softly gripping under your forearms to help you to your feet, “I was too busy looking at my phone. Are you okay?”

“Uh,” you fish in your brain for anything to say, “yes, yeah, I’m fine.”

Now on your feet, you realize just how tall he is, especially standing so close. His eyes are kind, soft and brown, an embarrassed blush across his cheeks, and he keeps his hands resting on your arms as he looks down at you.

“I really am sorry,” he says again.

The shock of recognizing him is wearing off and you take a small step back, waving him off, “I promise, it’s fine. Thank you for your help though,”

His eyes widen suddenly and he reaches for you, taking your hand in his and turning it over in his wide palm, “Your hand!”

Across the heel of your hand, a deep cut runs across the fleshy base of your thumb where the sharp edge of the ice bucket dragged across it. Blood wells over, smeared across your skin where you skidded on the floor when you fell. Looking at it now, you can feel it, a slow throb of pain radiating out.  

“Oh,” you manage, grimacing.

“Now, I’m really sorry,” he says, and when you glance up at him you can see how red his ears have gone.

“I think it looks worse than it is,” you pull your hand back and smile, “you don’t need to worry.”

His eyebrows are knit together in concern and as you lean down to pick up the discarded ice bucket, he glances down the empty hall, and then back to you. “Let me do that,” he drops down, gathering the ice that has scattered on the hotel floor and dropping it into his own empty bucket to discard.

You rock back on your heels and watch him as he fusses around you, clearly embarrassed, and you take the moment to look him over. He’s much more handsome up close, but without the makeup and styled hair, he looks so real.

“I’m y/n, by the way,” you say.

He looks up, meeting your eyes again and smiles, “I’m Yunho,”

“I know,” you say, and now you know you’re blushing yourself.

“Oh,” he helps you to your feet again, “you’re a fan?”

“Kind of,” again, you wish for nothing more than a filter over your mouth.

His eyes widen a bit as he takes in your words, “Kind of a fan,”

“Sorry,” you shake your head, “my friend gave me her ticket, I only knew some of your songs before, but the show was amazing. I’m a fan now,”

He grins, “Oh, well that’s nice, thank you.”

There’s a bit of a pause between you, and you know it’s time to let him off the hook. You should go back to your room and figure out the cut on your hand and go back to your original plan of going to sleep. You should let him get back to his room and whatever his plans were for the evening. You should.

“Well, I should let you go,” you take a step away, and his hand leaves your elbow, “but it was nice to meet you, and really, the show was incredible.”

You start to step away, but he stops you, “Wait, wait,” Yunho steps in front of you, blocking your path back up the hall, “at least let me take care of your hand, I feel terrible.”

“Oh, no I think it’s honestly fine,” you smile, “like I said, it looks worse than it is.”

“You have a first aid kit in your room?” He asks, and something in his expression tells you that he already knows you don’t.

“Not exactly,”

“Then let me patch you up,” his smile is warm and inviting, everything about his presence easy and comfortable, “it’s the least I can do.”

“You travel with a first aid kit?” You raise an eyebrow, but let him take your hand again so he can take a look at the cut.

“No,” he shakes his head, “but our managers do,”

“Fine,” you concede, “I guess it can’t hurt.”

“Good,” he nods and gestures with his arm for you to follow, “my room’s just down here.”

A flutter of anxiety washes through you, the idea of being in his room strange and sudden. You had been minutes from sleep not that long ago, and now here you are walking into Jeong Yunho’s hotel room. It feels a little like a dream, but think that at least in a dream you wouldn’t have embarrassed yourself in front of him and cut open your hand, you would have said something cool and flirty, so definitely this is just reality.

He opens the door with a keycard and holds the door open for you, “Come on in,”

You thought he would have a roommate or at least a manager in the room, but when you step over the threshold and the heavy hotel door shuts behind you, you realize that his room is just like yours, empty with one queen sized bed and clothes and travel supplies littered around.

“Obviously I didn’t think I’d have company,” he jogs across the room and grabs the clothes up off the floor, tossing them into an open suitcase and flipping it shut. He sweeps away some wrappers off the counter top too and pushes them into a waiting wastebasket.

“Oh, it’s fine,” you laugh, “you haven’t seen my room.”

It’s cute how nervous he seems to be, and when he’s done clearing away the clutter he rubs a hand across the back of his neck. He looks up, and realizes that you’re still standing in the entryway. “Sorry, here, take a seat and I’ll get the first aid kit.”

He physically steers you into the room and back towards the edge of the bed. He ducks into the bathroom, and you hear him shuffle around, clearly digging through items, before he comes back with a handful of supplies. “This should be good,”

“I appreciate this, by the way,” you tell him, “I’m sure that you’re exhausted after the show.”

 He sits next to you on the edge of the bed and drops the first aid items between you, before taking your injured hand back into his and sweeping a warm wet washcloth across your skin. “Honestly, after a show I can never sleep.”

“Really?”

“I’m always too keyed up,” he shrugs, carefully wiping away the blood away from your hand, staining the washcloth pink, “it’s such a rush of energy and then suddenly nothing,”

“They have a word for that,” you say, hissing slightly when he presses a little too hard across the cut itself.

He lifts the cloth and looks up from his work to your eyes, “Sorry, sorry,”

“I’m good,” you assure him.

He nods and more carefully sweeps the cloth over your skin, “You were saying?”

“Oh,” you run back through the thoughts, the conversation from a moment ago, “Oh! Yes, that feeling, they call it post concert depression.”

“That’s accurate.” He says, pointedly.

“Everything and then nothing,” you nod, “it must be overwhelming for you.”

He shrugs, but you can see he’s nodding too, and as he squeezes out a bit of ointment to apply to your hand he says, “It can be. You go from thousands of fans telling you they love you to your own thoughts alone in a hotel room within an hour. Nothing can really prepare you for how that feels.”

“I’m sure,” you murmur. With a glance around the room you realize how empty it must be, on tour with no one but your crew and group mates, far from home in strange places, sometimes with a heavy language barrier. The words leave you before you can catch them, “It seems kind of lonely,”

His fingers still and he looks up to you, “Sometimes,”

This close, he really is just a boy. Your stomach flip flops and you lean back a bit, blush heating your cheeks again. You can’t quite stop thinking about his beautiful mouth.

You can almost touch the pause between you, the silence stretching out and enveloping you both, but he clears his throat softly and looks back down to your hand, “I think you were right, it’s really not too bad.”

“I thought so,”

“It doesn’t hurt, does it?” He asks, peeling open a bandaid.

“Not too much,” you shake your head.

He turns your hand over in his, the back of your knuckles resting in his palm, and you realize just how large his are and how small yours looks held in his. “Did you come to the show with someone?” he asks suddenly.

“No,” you shift, angling towards him a bit more to make the position more comfortable, “I came by myself, my friend only had the one ticket.”

              He hums in acknowledgement and pauses briefly before he says, “Did you travel far? By yourself?”

You catch his eyes, your eyebrows raised, “Not too far, and yes. It’s only a three hour drive, I just didn’t want to drive back so late in case I was tired.”

Yunho nods, and refocuses on his task to apply two large bandaids over the cut, his long fingers smoothing out the edges of the adhesive tightly over your skin. He examines his work carefully to make sure it fits comfortably over your hand and murmurs, “There we go,”

You pull your hand back, flexing your fingers and testing out the feeling, “That’s perfect, thank you so much.”

“It was my fault you got hurt anyways,” he smiles, “I’m just glad it wasn’t too bad and I could help.”

You’re pretty sure you should get up and leave, but his smile is kind and warm and you can’t quite make your legs move. His eyes flick over you, his fingertips lingering on your injured hand, and when his ears flush red again he stands and clears his throat, “Well,”

“I should get back to my room,” you interrupt, jumping up and pulling down the sleeves of your hoodie, “but thank you so much.”

He steps back and towards the door, pulling it open and holding out an arm to let you pass through it into the hallway. When he follows you out into the hall and shuts the door he says, “Let me walk you back to your room, it’s late.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you tell him, but you smile up at him anyways.

 “I want to,” he assures you.

There’s a pause, and you remember yourself, “Oh, right! It’s this way,” you wave him to follow you and start down the hallway back towards the ice machine, walking in step with each other slowly.

“So,” he glances down at you, “what do you do?”

“I’m a student,” you tell him, “in graduate school.”

“Oh,” he nods, “that’s impressive.”

You shrug, “I wouldn’t say that,”

“I would,” he shakes his head, “I was never very good at staying attentive during school let alone doing post grad. I had too much energy,”

“It makes sense you’re a dancer then,” you note, and with every sidelong glance up at him your stomach flutters. He isn’t flirting with you, he’s just being kind, but he’s still just as charming and it makes you wish for just a little more time with him.

“Mm,” he nods, “I have to be moving, I can’t help it.”

You’ve noticed that already, in the short time you’ve spent together. Even after the long show it seems like he is overflowing with energy. His leg bouncing, his fingers dancing, something unconscious vibrating under his skin.

Now that you’ve turned the corner on the hotel floor, you can see your door just ahead and you wish there was just a little more hallway. “Do you leave soon?” You ask him.

“Tomorrow afternoon,” he nods, “you?”

“Sometime in the morning, I think. I have some work to get done tomorrow and shouldn’t leave too late,”

As you approach your door, you slow your steps and he realizes you must be at your room. “This is me,” you gesture towards the door and turn to face him, “thank you for everything.”

He waves your thanks off and smiles, “It’s really the least I could do,” he says again.

“It really was nice to meet you,” you tell him honestly, “I’m just sorry I ran right into you to do it.”

“Oh, I’m not,” he says, and then you watch his expression shift as he backtracks, “well, I’m sorry I knocked you over, but I’m not sorry I met such a pretty girl.”

Heat flushes your face instantly at his words and you glance down, fighting a smile.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he clears his throat and shifts from foot to foot, “I’m sorry, it’s late and I’m clearly making a bit of a fool of myself.”

 You laugh immediately, looking back up to him, “Hardly. You’re actually very charming, it’s kind of annoying.”

He laughs, covering his mouth with one hand and taking a step away, “I’m annoying you, am I?”

“No, I just meant,” you sigh, covering your face with your hands, “I really just don’t think before I speak, I swear.”

“y/n,” your name on his lips sends a chill through you and you look up at him, “Don’t be embarrassed, I like it.”

“You like me calling you annoying?”

Something passes over his face at your words, a shift, and he says, “I do, it’s cute.”

Your stomach clenches, the conversation drifting into a new space you feel wholly unprepared for. You cross your arms, tucking your hands away and looking up to him, “You’re not what I expected,”

“No?” He grins, leaning on the wall next to your door.

“You don’t seem like an idol,” you explain.

He shrugs, “We are just people,”

“I’m getting that,” you say honestly. At a beat between you, you sigh, “How late is it?”

He pulls his cellphone out of his sweat pants pocket and checks the time before quickly returning it, “Almost two,”

You sigh, nodding and reach into your pocket for your keycard, “It’s late… I should go,”

He nods and watches as you swipe your card over the door lock and prop open the heavy door. Something is stalling you, pulling you back into the hall, but he makes the leap for you. He reaches out and gently touches your forearm, “Maybe I’m feeling bold because it’s so late,” he says and you look back to him, “but I’ve enjoyed talking to you, if you’re not too tired maybe we could have a drink or something?”

“You want to have a drink with me?” You can’t help the look of shock that crosses your face.      “Well, yes,” his hand rests more comfortably on your forearm now, his thumb stroking your skin softly, just once, “if you want to.”

You shift back towards him, the door closing behind you now that you’re no longer propping it open, “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” he nods.

“Do you want to have a drink with me because you want to have a drink with me, or because you don’t want to be alone after the show?”

His eyes flick away, and you can see him think before he looks up and says, “Can it be both?”

His honesty makes this easier, knowing that he wasn’t feeding you a line just to be a flirt or trick you into something. You smile, “Yeah,”

“What about you?” He asks, taking a step towards you and closing the space between you, “If you say yes is it because you want to have a drink with me, or because you’re alone in a strange hotel room?”

He has a warm, flirtatious smile on his lips, and you’re suddenly extremely aware of the proximity between you both and between you and the door behind you. “Both,” you answer. It’s entirely possible you’re reading into things, but it’s also entirely possible Yunho is making a move and this night might end with him inside you. Warmth curls in your belly at the thought.

“So, what do you say?” He shifts a little closer, and you press a hand to the center of his chest to keep him where he is.

“Let’s have a drink.” You agree, “But I don’t have anything inside.”

He steps away and thinks a moment, “Give me ten minutes and I’ll come back,”

“You’re not going to disappear on me, are you?” You tease with a sly smile.

“Definitely not,” he squeeze your arm softly before he drops it, “I’ll be right back.”

 He steps back and you move to open your door again. His eyes flick up to the number on your hotel room door and you watch him silently repeat the number to himself and commit it to memory. He tells you he’ll see you soon, and you watch him jog down the hallway in the direction of his room.

Once he disappears and you slip back into your own room things feel suddenly incredibly surreal. Meeting him like this felt like meeting anyone, bumping into a stranger and making a connection just like you would at a bar. The ten minutes between your door closing and Yunho knocking is fast, and you spend it picking up your space and cleaning up the bedding, quickly brushing your teeth, fluffing your hair and discarding the oversized sweatshirt.

His soft knock on your door has you jumping out of your skin, but you pull the door open and can’t help but laugh. He’s holding up a six pack of obviously cold light beers, and two bottles of soju, an incredibly cheeky grin on his face. He’s a flirt, then.

“Come in,” you wave him in, and he crosses by you to set the drinks on the desk and turn back to you. It doesn’t escape your notice that his eyes flick over you, your body more on display in a fitted tank top now that your sweatshirt was off.

“I’m not sure what you like,” he pulls a beer from the sleeve and holds it out to you, “but this is pretty light,”

“It’s fine,” you tell him, popping the top off the beer and discarding the twist off in the trash, “where did you get this anyways? It’s two in the morning.”

“The downstairs bar is open until three,” he explains.

“Ah,” you take a swig of the beer and watch him follow suit. It’s easier to watch him now that you both have acknowledged the heat between you, and you find yourself appreciating a lot of little things. His hands are large, making the bottle in his grip seem smaller. You find yourself staring at the soft edge of his jaw when he tips his head back for a drink, and noticing the broad set of his shoulders when he stands at his full height.

Yunho takes a few more sips of his drink, and once he’s had about a third of his beer, he reaches for a bottle of soju to mix in a shot. You hop up from your perch on the dresser and reach out to him, “Oh, wait, let me.”

His brow is a little furrowed, but he hands the unopened bottle of soju to you. “Okay?”

“I’m not a very seasoned drinker,” you explain, “but I do have a party trick or two. I think everyone should,”

With practiced hands you flip the bottle quickly, the alcohol inside spinning quickly into a whirlwind. Taking the neck of the bottle in one hand, you tap your opposite elbow firmly on the base of the bottle before twisting it cleanly around in your hands, all the while untwisting the cap. You present the open bottle with a flourish, the soju still whirling inside, and take a small playful bow. He’s grinning, and he claps at the trick, “That’s expertise,” he says.

“In opening bottles, maybe,” you pass it over to him so he can add his shot, and then add one to your bottle too, “in drinking, not so much.”

“Me either,” he confesses, “a drink here or there, but I’m not really one to overdo it.”

“You’re probably too busy,” you take a drink, and sidle closer to where he sits on the edge of the hotel room’s desk.

He shrugs, “it’s that, but also it makes your body feel terrible. If I don’t have a clear head it shows up on stage.”

“That makes sense,”

“Yeah,” he takes another drink, but you can see he’s already slowing down, “we have to be very conscious about our health, so drinking occasionally is fine but I don’t normally do it.”

“But you wanted to drink with me?” You ask, turning towards him more fully.

He smiles, “I thought it might be weird if I asked you to just keep talking in your room at two in the morning. Drinks are a good excuse,”

His honesty strikes you again, “I think I still would have said yes.”

“Really?” He raises an eyebrow.

You nod, taking another drink, and say, “Maybe I’m reading this wrong, but I don’t think you’re here just to talk, right?”

Yunho is quiet, his eyes flicking over you, “You’re very direct.”

“I’ve been told,” you smile, shrugging.

“I like direct,” he clarifies.

“Yunho,” you murmur, and you watch his eyes flicker at the sound of his name, “what do you want?”

He swallows, takes another drink, and swallows again, his throat tight, “If you’re saying yes, then I’d like to fuck you.”

The bottle in your hand slips a little and you grip down on it to keep it from falling, Yunho watches and smiles at your reaction. It cannot be overstated that this is not how you thought the night was going to go.

“Yes,” you decide not to think.

His hands are on you in a moment, one braced on your hip and the other cupping the back of your neck so he can drag you forwards along the desk and crash his mouth into yours. You like direct too.

“Fuck,” he curses softly when he breaks the kiss, “I’m sorry, I was going to be cooler about this, but you’re very cute.”

You hum a laugh against his mouth, feeling his smile, and shake your head a little when you break away, “I really don’t think we have to pretend if it’s just tonight,”

“Yeah?”

“Be yourself,” you kiss him again, “I’ll be myself. It’s only one night, so why be nervous the whole time?”

“I like you,” he grins, “I’m really glad I met you,”

“Ran into me,” you tease him.

“Ran into you,” he nods, “now come here,” The way he kisses is fast, firm, and insistent, his tongue dipping into your mouth and running along yours, a huff of warm shared breath between you. His hands hold you perfectly, fingers applying perfect pleasure as he squeezes you and it sends a dizzy rush through your brain when you realize just how small you are in his grip.

When you shudder a moan against his mouth, heat pooling in your core, he pulls back and stands up. Moving in front of you, he hooks his fingers in the top of your sweats and yanks down, taking your underwear with them. You brace your hands on the desk to lift your hips up so he can pull them all the way off and toss them to the side.

“Arms up,” he says, soft and firm, when he starts to pull your shirt over your head, and you comply immediately.

You can see the outline of his hard cock through his own sweatpants, and your mouth goes dry at the sight. He takes a step back to regard you and smiles, reaching down and catching one of your feet in his hands, still wearing your fluffy, colorful socks. “These are too fucking cute,” he teases you, and you blush.

“Stop it,” you laugh.

“I don’t know,” he drags a hand up your calf, under the hook of your knee, the top of your thigh, “Maybe you should leave them on, they’re kind of hilarious.”

“I clearly wasn’t expecting to get laid,” you start to say, but when his fingers dip down and brush your inner thigh, mere inches from your core, you gasp a breathy inhale.

“Still cute,” he smirks, and before you can retort he’s on his knees.

Looking down at him sends a rush of instant heat through you, and you barely register the fact that he’s slipped your socks off now and tossed them aside, leaving you fully naked and exposed to his gaze. His hands grip your backside and drag you forward on the desk, lining your hips up perfectly with the edge, and he pushes your thighs open to move forwards between them.

He’s moving fast, rocketing past teasing kisses and harmless groping, but you don’t seem to care. There’s a time clock on the night, and you’re sure once he’s had his fill he’ll leave and move on with his tour and his life, but you’re oddly okay with it. He dips low, hooking your legs over his shoulders, “Lay back,” he instructs.

You ease back on the desk, still staying propped up on your forearms so you can look down between your legs and see the dark mop of his hair, but providing him the access that he needs. He presses close to the apex of your thighs but doesn’t quite touch you, softly he blows a stream of cool air over your exposed clit and you jolt. “You have the prettiest cunt I’ve ever seen,”

His words make you arch your back just slightly, involuntarily, and you let out a breathy moan, “Oh my god,”

“Do you want my mouth on you, pretty girl?” he asks, pressing wet kisses to your inner thighs.

An image of his mouth flashes in your brain, his plush bottom lip, his perfectly curved cupid’s bow. The way his tongue juts into his cheek when he’s teasing. You’re surprised at how easily you beg for him, “Please, please,”

He chuckles, bringing his arms under your thighs now and reaching around to brace your hips. His hands settle over your stomach and lower ribs, and he presses firmly down with his hands when he realizes you’re still propped up and not laying flat like he wants you. You drop back, letting your head rest against the hard desktop, the cool chill of the wood adding to the prickling sensation of goosebumps across your body.

“Say please again,” he tells you, and your words catch in your throat when he licks a firm stripe up your slit.

“P-please,” you shudder, and he listens.

He devours you, hungry for every drop of your slick arousal, and desperate to hear every little pant and moan you make when he focuses on sucking softly at your swollen clit. He dips his tongue inside you, hot and pulsing, and you groan, trying to rock your hips but finding that his hands are holding you exactly where he wants you.      

When he delivers a sharp suck, your brain whites out, “Fuck, fuck,” you’re reaching for something to grab, to hold, and you desperately grip one of his hands. He twists it, catching your hand in his much larger one, intertwining your fingers and keeping it pressed to your stomach as he works you.

“There you go,” he pants when you arch against his tongue, flicking your clit perfectly from side to side.

“Yunho,” his hands grip down on you when you say his name, and pleasure curls tight inside you, ready to burst. “Yunho, I can’t,”

He doesn’t respond, simply works his mouth against you faster, firmer, his nose bumping your clit. Your free hand laces into his hair, gripping tightly and he groans against your heat. Your hips are bucking softly, chasing the sensation, and he shifts the tempo of his tongue to match your needy thrusts and perfect the pace you need. It’s seconds before you’re about to fall over the edge, your thighs shaking and your legs tightening around him. You pant his name again, and he presses closer, the added pressure tipping you over into a tidal wave.

The sound that leaves your lips is desperate, a crying choke of pleasure as you arch back, legs locked tightly around him, and your hand slipping out of his hair to come down hard on the table and brace yourself there. When your moans turn to soft whimpers, he slows, lapping at you softly through your aftershocks and pressing kisses to your inner thighs.

“Oh my god, you’re good at that,” you manage, recovering your breath.

He leans back, untangling his hand from yours and gently unhooking your legs from his shoulders. He holds you up, since you had wriggled off the edge of the desk a bit and helps ease you up to a sitting position again. He looks overwhelmingly pleased with himself, a wet glisten of your arousal across his mouth and chin. His hair is mussed from where you grabbed it, his cheeks flushed pink, and you want nothing more than to tackle him and kiss him soundly.

Yunho stands to his full height and offers you a hand, “Let’s move somewhere more comfortable,”

“Yeah,” you nod, a little breathless still.

He steers you to the bed, tipping you backwards so you can collapse onto the mattress and you watch him as he undresses. He pulls the loose tour t-shirt over his head and you can’t help but admire him, watching him carefully as he moves to shuck off his sweats. He’s incredibly lean, taut sinewy muscles that jump with every flex of his hands or shift of his body. Bruises litter his shins and knees, and you catch more along his elbows and forearms, a collection you suspect is from how hard they dance.

When he drops his boxers, you can feel your eyebrows jump up and he laughs at your expression. “What?” he teases.

“Oh please,” you roll your eyes, “you know exactly what.”

He blushes, his ears running red, and he clears his throat a little awkwardly before moving forwards to kneel on the mattress between your open legs. He sweeps a broad hand up your thigh, kneading your skin softly and says, “You still good?”

He’s nervous, you realize. You suspect that in his past he’s had a few negative experiences given his expression, girls who maybe shied away or feigned some excuse to end things early. Despite his intimidating size though, you’ve never wanted anything more, and you can feel the low throb of your core return as you look at him.

“I’m still very good,” you assure him, reaching up a hand.            

His expression clears slightly, “Yeah?”

You change tactics, shifting up fully to a sitting position and reaching up to catch the back of his neck and pull him down, “Don’t be so full of yourself,” you tease him, hoping to lighten the tension, “I can take you just fine.”

He smirks, falling over you easily and holding himself suspended above you, “you think so?”

You really hope you can, but you double down, “Easy.”

The head of his cock connects with your entrance suddenly with a shift of his hips and you jerk, surprised at the sudden sensation, and he pushes forwards just enough to slip the head of him inside you, a hungry sly smile across his face now that he knows you’re back to playing. He pulls back when you gasp, a laugh on his lips and shakes his head, “You’re not ready yet.”

You want him so badly it makes you feel needy, a squirming urge to rock yourself against his cock until you come or until he fucks you into the floor, and you push him back with a hand on his shoulder just slightly so you can better meet his gaze, “Yes, I am,”

He smiles down at you, pleased with your bratty insistence, and shifts back up to kneel between your open legs again. He pulls you up by your hips, dragging your body into a better position, and for a moment you think he’s about to throw hesitation out the window and do it, but he doesn’t. He strokes himself with one hand as he looks down at you, and then lines your hips together, positioning you so he can let the hard straight length of his cock rest on top of your mound.

From here you can feel the hot length of him, from the base against your pubic bone to the tip that just covers your navel. Yunho squeezes your hips in his hands as he looks down at you, “You really think you’re ready for this, tiny?”

The nickname has your muscles clenching around nothing, your fingers tightening in the sheets, and a breathy groan slips out of your lips.

“Oh,” he smiles, “you like that, don’t you?”

Before this minute you didn’t, but here with him above you, proving with every inch of his body just how much larger he is than you? You want nothing more than to be caged in by him and used just the way he wants you. “Yes,” you manage, “please,”

“Please?” He chuckles, sliding back.

You nod, your hips jerking up and trying to catch some friction against your clit as he drags his cock back off you.

He shakes his head, “I’ve got to work you up to it, tiny.”

You want to respond, you want to say something teasing and clever, but the words die on your lips when he dives two of his long fingers inside you. He reaches the tender soft spot inside you easily, something that you could only hit just right with your favorite vibrator, but he catches it with ease and flicks his finger against it perfectly, his thumb landing on your clit to deliver punishing circles.

Your hips work against his hand, grinding down desperately for more pressure and he delivers it, picking up your needs immediately.

“Please,” you blink up, catching his eyes, “please fuck me,”

He shakes his head, “Only if you come again,”

“But,” you start to say, but a firm push of his hand and the addition of a third finger has you choking back a moan and arching into his hands.

“Are you close, pretty?” his low voice sparks pleasure up your body.

All you can do is whine a yes, nodding as you press your eyes shut and let the sensations roll over you. Heat flushes your chest, spreading a blush up your neck and face, and all you can hear is the wet sounds of his fingers working your sopping core. He hums softly in approval and it sends you over again, wrenching your body tight and up, your hips raised and bucking as you crest into your second orgasm.

Yunho’s wide palm comes down quickly over your lower stomach and he presses you down hard to force your hips back to the mattress and he continues pumping his fingers, holding you steady through your release. You barely register it when his fingers leave you, your head spotty and dazed, but you come back to yourself at the feeling of his cock nudging your clit.

“Wait, wait,” you’re panting, clearing your vision with furious blinks, “condom?”

“Shit,” he backs up immediately, “of course, I’m sorry,”

“It’s okay,” you shake your head, “I’m on birth control, we should just… we don’t really know each other,”

He hops off the bed, reaching down for his discarded sweatpants and searching through the pockets. “No, no,” he tears open the foil packet in his hands, “I have one, I just got a little carried away.”

“Perfect,” you sigh.

He rolls the condom over his length, checking the tip and smoothing down the base to fit snugly around him before tossing the empty packet back over the side of the bed and returning to his original position.

“Ready?” He presses the tip of his cock to your entrance again.

“Yeah,” you grip his shoulder, “yeah, I’m good.”

He nods, and seems focused. He takes one of your knees and presses it up, folding you back and opening you up wider, and then lines up his hips perfectly. “Fuck,” he breathes, shifting forwards and pressing into you just a bit, “you’re so tight,”

The press of him already is overwhelming, and it’s no longer his length that you’re focused on but how thick he feels, stretching you wide and sending a hot flush of pleasure up your chest. “You feel,” you stutter out, unable to finish your thought.

His hips jut forwards again and you whine, his forehead dropping against yours for just a moment as he holds himself controlled and steady, “Tell me,” he prompts you, moving in deeper.

“It’s so much,” you manage, and he smooths the damp hair back from your face to get a good look at you.

“Too much?”

“God, no,” you didn’t know it could feel quite like this.

“Yeah, tiny?” He sinks in further and groans.

“Please,” your hands shift down and you pull him closer, your nails digging in to his firm backside, “more,”

He’s losing his composure now, and his eyes roll shut when he finally thrusts forwards more sharply, sinking his entire length inside you and bottoming out. He’s stretching you fully, filling every little warm place inside you that you didn’t even know you had, and fleetingly you wish you could feel him more fully, no thin latex separating your warm wet walls from him.

“Fuck,” he starts to roll his hips, fucking you softly as he works your body up to taking more, “tell me how you feel, baby,”

“Full,” you answer immediately, “I can feel you everywhere,”

“God,” he chokes, his hips stuttering, “can you take more?”

“Yunho,” you catch his cheek in your hand and bring his eyes to yours, “I need it,”

“Yeah, tiny?” He teases, thrusting just a little more firmly.

The need inside you for more is deep though, and you can’t wait any longer. “No, Yunho,” you level him with your look, clenching your muscles tight around his hot length, “Fuck me, do whatever you want to me, I just,” you search for the right words, “just please,”

He answers with a firm thrust, and when he watches your eyes roll back and hears the moan that leaves your lips he understands. “Is that what you need?” He holds you firmly and ruts into you, “you like it harder?”

You’re sure you answer him because you hear him laugh softly in response, but your mind is hazy and disconnected, nothing but the feeling of his thick heat hitting every place you need it to, bringing you up faster than ever.

“Yeah, pretty?” He’s everywhere, collapsed over you and desperate, one hand on your thigh to hold you open, the other locked now in your hair, his breath hot over your damp skin, his pace never faltering, “you just want me to use you?”

Your body arches deeply, shifting the position of him inside you and you choke a whine out, gripping onto him tightly, “Please, please,” you can’t stop.

“Shh, shh,” he kisses you hard, his hands holding you roughly, “you’ll take what I give you,”

You nod against him, unable to find anything but pleasure and the tight feeling inside you. He dips his thumb into your mouth, running the pad of it along your tongue, and you suck his digit gently, before he pulls his hand back and firmly flicks his wet thumb over your pert nipple.

“God, Yunho,” you thrust up to meet him, your hips connecting fast and firm, “I’m- I’m,”

“Come for me,” he directs, “come and I’ll fill you up,”

Your brain shorts out, and the hot sensation that you’ve been chasing turns stifling, crashing into you and turning you into a quivering mess, your muscles locked and jerking against his hold as you come hard and fast.

He tumbles over behind you, the feeling of your walls pulsing down on his length sending him into a spiral, and you hear him curse, panting, losing his grip on you and fucking into you desperate and fast until he comes, collapsing over you and pressing your cheek into his sweaty chest.

His heart is beating hard and fast against your cheek, and it takes a moment before you both recover and he can ease himself off of you, out of you. He discards of the condom in the waste basket, and turns back to you, realizing you haven’t so much as moved an inch since he left you.

“Hey,” he sighs, sweeping a hand through his damp hair, “you okay?”

“So perfect,” you sigh.

He smiles, “Can I get you anything?”

Your limbs start to come alive again, and you ease yourself up into a sitting position against the headboard, pulling the sheets over you, “Water?”

“On it,” he slips his boxers back on and returns with a glass of cool water.

You’re not sure what his next move will be, staying or going, but you know what you wish he would do. He surprises you when he collapses back onto the bed next to you with a sigh, resting a wide hand on your thigh and squeezing you, “You’re amazing,” he says.

“You did all the work,” you chuckle, “I feel like I should be telling you that.”

He shakes his head, “No, it was great,” you look down at him and his eyes are gently shut, his mouth open softly as his breathing evens out.

You watch him for a few minutes, and it’s clear he’s not going to be moving any time soon, he looks spent, a second away from sleep, and judging by the late hour you figure it’s better to let him stay if he wants to. You grab your phone off the nightstand and start to set an alarm.

“Yunho,” you murmur, prodding his shoulder gently, “what time do you need to be up?”

He hums, shrugging.

“Hey,” you nudge him again, “you can sleep here if you want, just tell me what time to get you up.”

“Nine?” he blinks his eyes open, “I can go if you’d be more comfortable,”

“No, no, stay,” you ease down into the covers, and he shifts to slide in beside you, “I’d like it if you did.”

“Good,” he sighs again, reaching across the empty space between you and pulling you back into his chest. He snuggles into you, spooning you close and relaxing against you, “because I really hate sleeping alone.”

Warmth heats your chest, and you finish setting the alarm before you relax back into his embrace, “Me too.”

You sleep, but you wake twice before the alarm, the first time to Yunho’s hips rolling against your backside, his cock hard again and straining against his boxers and looking for friction. He fucks you soft the second time, spooning you still and holding you open, gentle thrusts and his fingers massaging your swollen bud until you come gentle and easy against the warm plane of his chest.

The second time he’s gone, and you think for a moment that he’s left entirely. You’re not necessarily surprised, but he had seemed nice enough to at least say goodbye after fucking you twice and holding you all night. 

The sound of your hotel room door makes you jump, and you pull yourself up, holding the fluffy white comforter to your front and running a hand hastily through your hair.

Yunho’s back, freshly showered and already dressed for the day in stylishly baggy light wash jeans and an oversized blazer. “Oh,” he smiles, “you’re up!”

In the light of day, seeing him cleaned up like this has the reality of the evening crashing into you sideways. You had made fun of him, flirted with him, begged him, fucked him, and now you’re still sitting naked in front of him like a mess while he’s looking like what he is, an idol.

“Hey,” you manage.

He holds up a hand and you see now that he has a coffee cup and a small white pastry bag, “I brought you some breakfast,”

You’re really not even sure what to say he’s being so sweet, but you smile, watching as he drops the bag and coffee cup off on your side table. “Thanks,” you take the coffee happily, and he pulls a few packets of sugar out of his pocket.

“I didn’t know how you like it,” he says, a little sheepish, “but I didn’t want to wake you,”

“No, no, this is perfect, thank you so much.”

“I have to get going,” he sits on the edge of the bed, turned towards you, his hand resting on your knee with such easy familiarity, “but I wanted to make sure you got up too, I know you have a long drive back.”

Something inside you melts, “Thank you, Yunho, that’s so nice of you,”

“I also,” he shifts, a smile on his lips, “I had a lot of fun last night.”

“Me too,” you nod, resting your hand on his.

“It was really nice getting to know you,” he leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, his other hand coasting down your bare back.

You sigh against his lips. It had been a long time since you had had a soft morning like this, and the feeling of his hands on your skin again and his warm kiss on your lips has you feeling weightless and dizzy.

Yunho leans back and squeezes your knee gently, “I really do have to go,”

“It’s okay,” you smile, “I get it, but yeah, I had a good time too.”

Yunho takes your hand in his and turns it over, “How’s this feel?” he nods his head towards your injured palm.

You had honestly forgotten about it, “Completely fine, don’t worry,”

“Good,” he drops a kiss to your palm with a teasing eyebrow raise and stands, smoothing down his jacket.

“Well,” you would get up and see him to the door, but you blush and hold the comforter a little higher over your chest, “have a safe rest of your tour,”

“I will,” he nods, “you have a safe drive,”

You nod, and you expect him to go, but he shifts, glancing at the floor for a moment and then back up to your eyes. “I put my number in the bag,”

The sentence doesn’t quite make sense to you, “You what?”

“My number,” he explains, looking at you a little more clearly as if that will explain, but he says, “if you want,”

“Want to what?”

He laughs at your expression, “Text me, if you want to message me sometime.”

“Oh!”

“Only if you want,” he says, and when you start to open your mouth to respond he gestures for you to stop, “otherwise we can leave it here. Either way, I’m glad I met you.”

“Me too,” you nod earnestly.

His phone dings in his pocket and he sighs, his eyes closing in annoyance for a moment, “Okay, that’s my cue. Drive safe,” he says again and starts to slowly head for the door, “and maybe I’ll talk to you,”

“Maybe,” you respond, noncommittal but you already know your decision.

He smiles, “Okay,”

“Okay,”

He pushes himself towards the door with a groan, “Alright, I’m going. You look pretty in the morning by the way,”

A laugh breaks out of your chest, “Thank you?”

“I just thought you should know,” he shrugs, flirtatious and teasing, but with the sound of the door opening and swinging shut you know he’s gone.

It takes you about three seconds to tear the bag open and see if he was being serious. Tucked into the pastry bag, nestled on top of the wax paper, is a little card with his number written out and his name, Jeong Yunho, as if you wouldn’t remember his name.

You key it into your phone immediately, a message open and waiting. You bite your lip, nervous and unsure of what to say, but then you hear his parting words ringing in your ears again. You type the message out and send it immediately, not pausing long enough to think too hard or overanalyze the decision.

You look handsome in the morning too, just so you know.

You toss the phone aside and leap out of the bed, needing suddenly to walk far away and clear your head. You pull the hotel robe around yourself and sigh into your hands, recounting the night and the way his soft sweetness made your stomach flip flop. You start to walk towards the bathroom, ready to start a warm shower and clear your head, when you hear the soft ding of an incoming message, and you can’t help but smile.

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So… What the fuck, right?

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