mothtomidnight

[mothtomidnight]

i am the stranger that sent the request and omfg i love itttt!!!111 you handled soft Muji sooooo good and expanded the whole story itself!!! Love it love it loveeee it. It was soo hot and so cute, tysm and can't wait for your other works! keep writing ✨✨✨✨

thank you for your kind, kind words, and trusting me enough with your idea! i hope my next stories will be good enough for you to enjoy, too. ♡

[mothtomidnight]

[mothtomidnight]

the touch // choi mujin x og female character (18+)

music: lana del rey - yosemite

warnings: nsfw, soft choi mujin (wow), do not read if you are a minor

[as requested] she is bruised. he would heal her with his touches, if he could.

she’d been at his side for years, long enough to know the rhythm of his days and the unspoken rules he lived by. in a world where most people clawed for position or cowered in the presence of power, she did neither. she met him in the middle—sharp, steady, and impossible to shake. 

as his secretary, she was the first point of contact for everything that came through his doors: shipments, contracts, meetings that could shift the balance of an empire. she remembered details others forgot, caught mistakes before they cost anything, and handled problems with a precision that mirrored his own. 

there was no blurring of lines, no unspoken games. their relationship was professional, built on mutual respect. he valued her for her competence, her composure, the way she could read a room and adjust in a heartbeat. she, in turn, knew he trusted her judgment in a way he rarely extended to anyone. 

once or twice, she thought she’d caught his gaze lingering—steady, unreadable, just long enough to register before he looked away. if there was anything behind it, neither of them ever acknowledged it. 

it had been that way for years. solid. predictable. 

until the afternoon he came back from busan. 

his coat still carried the sharp tang of sea wind and cigar smoke when he stepped into the outer office, mind half on the deals he’d made. she was at her desk, typing, but her posture was different—straighter than usual, like she was holding herself together with invisible thread. 

it wasn’t obvious at first. not until he noticed the faint shadow at the edge of her jaw, barely visible beneath the fall of her hair, and the way her sleeve was tugged down just a little too far. the slight wince when she reached for a file told him the rest. 

the shipment had come in yesterday. dockside runs were usually routine—except when they weren’t. and from the way she held herself, he knew this one hadn’t been. 

he didn’t say anything right away. just crossed the room with that deliberate, unhurried stride that made people clear his path without thinking. he stopped at the corner of her desk, his shadow spilling over the papers in front of her. 

“what happened?” his voice was low, even—no bite to it, but no softness either. 

she didn’t look up, just kept typing. “nothing.” 

his gaze dropped to the faint bruise near her wrist where her sleeve had slipped. “that’s not nothing.” 

“i’m fine.” the words came too quickly, too lightly, the way people spoke when they wanted to end a conversation before it started. 

he didn’t move, didn’t blink. “try again.” 

that got her to look up, and for a moment she held his stare like she always did—steady, unflinching—before her eyes shifted just slightly to the side. “it wasn’t anything. wrong place, wrong time.” she let out a short breath. “there was a fight on the dock when the shipment came in. i stayed clear, but… not clear enough.” 

his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, but his tone stayed the same. “who?” 

she shook her head. “doesn’t matter. it’s handled.” 

for a long moment, he said nothing. just watched her, like he was weighing every word she hadn’t said, every mark he could see and the ones he couldn’t. 

she kept her gaze on the paperwork in front of her, pen moving steadily. 

“come to my office.” 

it wasn’t loud, but it left no room for discussion. 

she set the pen down, smoothed her skirt, and followed him in. the door shut behind them with a soft click. 

“who was it?” his tone was calm, almost casual—but she could hear the weight under it. 

“it’s not worth your time...” she began. 

“that’s my decision.” his gaze stayed fixed on her, steady enough that she shifted her weight slightly. “who?” 

silence stretched. she didn’t fidget, didn’t look away, but the pause was long enough to register. 

“one of the dock contractors,” she said at last. “new face. got loud with another crew. when it turned into a fight, i was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” she made it sound almost routine, but the faint shadow along her jaw told him otherwise. 

“name,” he said. 

“sir—” 

“name.” he didn’t raise his voice, but the air between them sharpened. 

she gave it to him. crisp. unadorned. 

something in his face shifted—subtle, but enough to strip away that calm, unreadable mask he always wore. his jaw locked, his eyes gone dark in a way that made the room feel smaller. 

his hand yanked open the desk drawer. the pistol was in his grip before she could speak. 

“sir—” 

“that piece of shit put his hands on you?” his voice was low, but it wasn’t steady anymore—each word edged like broken glass. “breathing. walking. talking. as if he’s allowed to.” 

she took a breath. “it’s—” 

“don’t say it’s fine.” the words hit like a slap, sharper than anything he’d ever aimed at her. “don’t tell me to let it go. i should’ve put a bullet in him the second he stepped onto my dock.” 

he set the gun down on the desk, only to check the magazine with a click that made her stomach tighten. his movements were clipped, impatient—his control fraying with every second. 

“he thinks this place is a brawl he can wander into?” his gaze snapped to hers, hard enough to pin her in place. “he thinks you’re fair game because i wasn’t here?” 

“mister choi—” 

“he will not—” his palm slammed flat against the desk, the sound echoing in the closed room. “—repeat this mistake.” 

the anger rolling off him wasn’t for her—it never was—but it was raw enough to burn. he holstered the gun with a violent finality, already half-turned toward the door like a man who’d decided the outcome. 

that’s when he caught it—the way her breath hitched, the smallest flinch in her shoulders. not fear of him, not exactly, but the kind of deep, tight fear that came when the room felt too charged, too dangerous. 

his stride stopped dead. it hit him harder than the thought of the man’s name. 

when he turned back, the anger was still there, but its edge had shifted. he closed the distance with measured steps until he stood close enough for her to feel the heat radiating from him. 

his hand rose—not to grab, but to touch—the barest graze of his fingers over the faint bruise at her jaw. his thumb lingered, tracing the mark as if he could erase it. 

“i will never,” he said, voice low and deliberate, “let something like this happen to you again.” 

there was no heat in it now—only steel. a promise, as binding as anything he’d ever sworn. 

something in her eased, the knot in her chest loosening beneath the weight of his words. she leaned into his hand, letting him hold her there. his palm was warm, steady—the kind of steady she hadn’t felt since yesterday. 

for a moment, neither moved. his thumb swept over her skin once more, softer this time, and she felt herself melt—not from the gentleness alone, but from knowing he meant every word. 

his hand left her jaw to take her wrist, turning it carefully. the sleeve slipped back, revealing a darker mark. his expression didn’t change, but his touch softened even further, thumb brushing the edges as if gauging the pain. 

“where else?” he asked—not demanding, but with a quiet certainty that left no doubt he’d find out if she stayed silent. 

she hesitated, then pushed back her other sleeve to reveal another bruise along the curve of her forearm. 

he cradled that arm as though it might break, dipped his head, and brushed his lips over the mark—a vow more than a kiss. 

she exhaled, tension bleeding from her shoulders. 

he didn’t stop there. his gaze swept her with quiet precision, noting the way she shifted her weight, the careful way she moved her left side. he stepped in closer, one hand at her hip, guiding her to face him fully. 

“safe now,” he murmured, his voice low enough to barely carry. “i’ve got you.” 

it wasn’t something he said lightly. she felt the weight of it settle deep in her chest, steadying her in a way nothing else had since the dock. 

when his fingers found the faintest trace of another bruise just above her collarbone, he traced it slowly, then leaned in to press his lips there, softer than she would have thought possible from a man like him. 

she let him, not because she couldn’t stop him—but because she didn’t want to. there was something almost dangerous in the contrast: the same hands that could end a life without hesitation now touching her like she was something precious. 

he didn’t rush. 

each place he touched, he lingered—fingers brushing, tracing, committing the shape and feel of every mark to memory as though he could take them from her just by knowing them that well. 

her blouse shifted as he moved, the fabric whispering against her skin. he found another faint bruise at the curve of her ribs where her arm had been, and his jaw flexed once before he bent, pressing his mouth there too. 

she drew in a sharp breath—not from pain, but from the care in it. 

when he straightened, his hand stayed at her side, thumb moving in slow, absent circles over the silk. “no one touches what’s mine,” he said, but the words weren’t a claim—not the way she’d heard other men say it. it was closer to a promise. 

the air between them had shifted—still quiet, still calm, but threaded through with something heavier. her pulse picked up, the sound of it loud in her own ears. 

he reached for the first button of her blouse without looking away from her, pausing as though giving her the chance to stop him. she didn’t. 

the button slipped free. then another. his knuckles brushed her sternum as he worked, careful, unhurried. when the blouse hung loose, he eased it down her shoulders, his eyes moving over her like he was still cataloging, still searching for every place she hurt. 

at her upper arm, a bruise was hidden in the shadow where the muscle curved. he lifted her hand, holding it steady, and pressed his lips there too—barely a breath, softer than the silk pooling at her elbows. 

her own hands had found his shoulders by then, fingers curling lightly into the fabric of his suit. 

“you’re safe,” he murmured again, tracing his fingertips down the line of her spine. “i’ve got you.” 

her breath caught when his hand flattened between her shoulder blades, holding her there as if to keep her anchored. his thumb brushed the ridge of her spine, slow, deliberate, the heat of it seeping through her skin. 

he didn’t speak again, but his silence wasn’t empty. it was weighted—like every motion was a choice, every inch of space closed between them something he’d decided on long before he moved. 

his other hand traced along her side, fingers slipping beneath the edge of her camisole until they found the faint tenderness at her ribs. he paused there, as if mapping the bruise by touch alone, then bent his head. the press of his mouth was patient, warm, almost reverent. 

she exhaled, the sound breaking in the quiet. 

when he lifted his head, his eyes searched hers, not asking, not demanding—just waiting. she didn’t answer with words, only let her hands slide from his shoulders to the lapels of his jacket, fingertips brushing the fine wool before pushing it back off his arms. 

that was all the permission he needed. 

his hand came up to the side of her neck, fingers splaying there, warm and steady as he leaned in. the first kiss was unhurried—deep, but not forceful—his mouth moving against hers with the same precision he used for everything else in his life. she leaned into it, her hands sliding up his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath the fine cotton of his shirt. 

his lips left hers only to move along her jaw, down her throat, and over the curve of her collarbone. the faintest scrape of his teeth grazed her skin before his mouth softened again, lingering there as if to soothe the mark. 

when her hands moved to his shirt, he stilled, letting her work the buttons open one by one. the jacket he’d been wearing earlier was already on the floor; now his shirt joined it, the heat of his skin seeping into her palms. 

his hands found her waist again, guiding her a step back, then another, until the leather sofa pressed against the back of her knees. without a word, he eased her down, following until he was braced over her, his gaze locked on hers. 

even here, there was no rush. he traced his fingers along the hem of her skirt before sliding it slowly upward, enough to feel the warmth of her thigh beneath his palm. she didn’t stop him, only let her knees part slightly, her breathing quieter now but heavier. 

he dipped his head again, kissing her with a steadier weight this time, the kind that left no doubt in its intent. his hands roamed with quiet certainty—up her sides, over the ribs he’d been careful with before, then down again to where her skirt was still gathered high. 

the rest followed without a word. her skirt and camisole, his belt and trousers—set aside in quiet, deliberate movements until there was nothing between them but heat and skin. 

he kissed her again, slower this time, and when he spoke against her lips, his voice was low, steady, and certain. 

“i’ll keep you safe.” 

it wasn’t a reassurance meant to calm her—it was a truth, heavy and unshakable. 

and then he was moving with her, guiding her into him, his pace unhurried but sure. each motion was deliberate, each shift meant to draw her closer until there was nothing between them but the warmth of skin and breath. 

she held onto him, her fingers curling into his shoulders, her body answering his with quiet, instinctive trust. his hand slid beneath the curve of her back, holding her there as if she might slip away otherwise. 

he moved with a precision that mirrored every other part of him—controlled, attentive, his focus entirely on her. when her breath caught, he adjusted; when she shifted, he followed, each change smooth, seamless. 

her pulse was loud in her ears, her eyes half-closed, but she still felt the weight of his gaze on her. not watching her like a man claiming something, but like a man making certain what was his could never be harmed again. 

the sound of their breathing filled the space between them, and when he finally let her reach the high, his mouth brushed her ear. 

“you’re mine to protect,” he murmured. “always.” 

and she believed him.

════════════════════════════

author's note: i've never written thee choi mujin so soft, i hope you like it. thank you to mother lana for keeping me in check.

and thank you to the kind stranger, who sent this request and let me experiment creatively. it actually sparked more ideas in my mind, which i hope i'll be able to write soon.

feedback always appreciated. if you have any other stories you would like me to create, feel free to share.

[mothtomidnight]

CHOI MUJIN | MY NAME 1.03

[mothtomidnight]

[mothtomidnight]

are the requests open? as i have one if you are ok with it, could you please write choi mujin x fem!reader where he is her boss and she's his assistant, just on professional terms, but when he is away there was a fight and she then has bruises and her body is a bit in pain and when he finds out he is furious but then he gets soft, reassures her, traces his fingers on her cheek and then slowly kisses her every bruise on her body and touches every part of her skin so smoothly, so delicate, to relieve the pain anddd smut at the end??? tysm!!!1

dear stranger, the requests are open indeed, for as long as my work lets my writing strike continue.

thank you for your suggestion and idea. i've never written soft mujin, but i will try and push myself creatively to fulfill your wish. sometime this week, hopefully. ♡

[mothtomidnight]

me and who?

[mothtomidnight]

the tease // choi mujin x og female character (18+)

music: fka twigs - two weeks

warnings: nsfw, explicit, do not read if you are a minor

[as requested] she wants to test his restraint. he lets her. to a point.

jeju wasn’t about rest. 

not for them. 

the villa was perched high enough that the sound of the waves never faded, the air sharp with salt, sunlight pouring through the floor-to-ceiling glass. every surface gleamed; every room was theirs alone. which meant every moment was private enough for her to play. 

the first move was small — a satin skirt the shade of deep wine, cut indecently high, paired with nothing but a gauzy blouse. she unpacked her suitcase without hurry, bending for longer than necessary to place things in drawers. when the fabric slipped over the curve of her thighs, she didn’t smooth it right away. not until she felt his gaze like heat against the back of her neck. 

“something wrong?” she asked over her shoulder, not looking. 

“no,” mujin said, voice even, too even. “not yet.” 

she left it there. 

dinner that night, she crossed her legs under the table, slow enough for the material to slide up her thigh. he was speaking to the sommelier when his eyes cut to her, down, then back up. he poured her wine without breaking the rhythm of his words, but his fingers pressed against the stem of the glass like it might shatter. 

the next morning, she was waiting in the living room when he emerged. a white slip dress — real silk, the kind that clung to heat and shadow — thin straps resting on her shoulders, the fabric whispering with every movement. no bra. no jewelry but the small diamond studs he’d given her years ago. 

“you’re dressed for breakfast,” he said, his tone almost amused. 

“or for something else,” she countered, not breaking his gaze. “depends who’s looking.” 

his eyes dragged over her, slow, deliberate. “i’m looking.” 

she only smiled faintly and walked past him to the balcony, the ocean light spilling over her bare skin. 

by the third day, her teasing was art. a pale champagne silk robe, loosely tied, with nothing beneath it. she sat on the balcony rail with one leg bent, the slit gaping high enough to catch the sunlight along her hip. steam curled from her coffee cup. the wind toyed with the edge of the fabric, and she didn’t fix it. 

he came to stand behind her, one hand braced on the rail beside her knee. “you keep this up,” he murmured, “and i’ll have to stop pretending i don’t know what you’re doing.” 

she tipped her head slightly toward him. “and what am i doing?” 

“you want to see if i break.” his voice was quiet, but heavy with warning. “if i stop thinking about where we are, what time it is, who might hear you.” 

“maybe.” she sipped her coffee, eyes still on the horizon. “maybe i want to see if the stories about your restraint are exaggerated.” 

he gave a quiet, humorless laugh, the kind that had more promise than amusement. “careful. there’s only one way to find that out.” 

it wasn’t until dawn the next day that the thread finally went taut. 

she stepped outside and found him leaning against the low stone wall, cigarette between his fingers, the ocean a pale wash of silver behind him. the wind pulled at his hair, the sharp edge of his profile cut in cold morning light. 

he didn’t look over until she stepped close enough to take one from his pack. 

she put it between her lips — not lighting it, not even reaching for the lighter — just letting it rest there while she met his eyes. 

a long beat of silence stretched between them, filled with the sound of the sea and the faint crackle of his cigarette. 

“you don’t smoke,” he said finally, his tone unreadable. 

“maybe i do now.” 

his gaze dropped to her mouth, lingered there. “no, you don’t.” 

she tilted her head slightly, the silk of her robe shifting just enough to bare more of her collarbone. “maybe i want to try.” 

“maybe you want me to stop you.” 

her lips curved around the cigarette. “you’d have to touch me to do that.” 

the air between them thickened, the kind of silence where a single wrong breath would break it all apart. his eyes moved from her mouth to her throat, then lower, to where the robe clung to her body in the wind. 

“careful,” he said again — but there was nothing careful in his voice anymore, just the low, dangerous weight of inevitability. 

his hand moved before she could blink — two fingers closing around the cigarette, plucking it from her mouth and flicking it to the stones. 

“you think this is a game?” his voice was low, almost calm, but threaded with that dark undercurrent she knew too well. 

she smiled like she hadn’t just baited a predator. “maybe.” 

in the next breath, she was against the wall, her silk robe falling open from the force. the sea wind hit her bare skin at the same time his mouth did — hard, claiming, teeth catching her lower lip before his tongue slid deep. he kissed like he’d been starving for days. 

“i’ve been patient,” he murmured against her mouth, his palm braced beside her head, the other already sliding up her thigh under the robe. “but you don’t want patience, do you? you want to be ruined.” 

she gasped when his fingers found her already wet. “i want—” 

“you want me,” he cut in, wrinkling her robe in his hands. “you’ve been walking around this villa like you belong to me, daring me to prove it. so i will.” 

he turned her, pressing her palms flat to the warm stone of the wall. the sea spread out in front of her, endless, but all she felt was the heat of him at her back. he didn’t bother throwing his belt aside — just shoved his trousers low enough, one  hand gripping her hip, the other at the back of her neck, holding her exactly where he wanted her. 

the first thrust was brutal — deep enough to make her cry out, the sound whipped away by the wind. 

“that’s it,” he growled, hips slamming into hers. “louder. let the ocean hear you. let jeju know whose wife you are.” 

she pushed back against him, shameless, desperate after days of nothing. “yours — mujin, yours —” 

“say it again,” he ordered, snapping his hips harder, forcing her to take every inch. 

“yours — fuck — only yours —” 

his hand slid from her neck to her mouth, two fingers pushing between her lips. “suck,” he demanded, watching her obey, hollowing her cheeks around him. “good girl. now stay still—” he shoved back inside her, his pace relentless, the sound of skin on skin drowned only by the roar of the waves. 

her thighs trembled, slick dripping down both of them. “please — need it —” 

“you’ll get it when i’m ready,” he said, leaning down to bite her shoulder, hard enough to leave his mark. “not before.” 

she clawed at the wall, the stone rough against her palms. “then make me ready — please —” 

and he did. his free hand slid between her legs, thumb finding her clit in punishing circles, synced to the hard rhythm of his thrusts. she came with a cry that broke into something raw, her body locking tight around him. 

but he didn’t stop. didn’t even slow. 

“you think i’m finished?” he rasped, pulling her back against his chest, one arm locking across her ribs. “you’ve been taunting me for days. i’m going to fuck you until you can’t stand, until that silk sticks to your skin with sweat.” 

she could only moan, the fight gone, her head falling back onto his shoulder. 

“good,” he said, low in her ear. “now take it.” 

he didn’t push her toward the bedroom. instead, he sat back on the edge of the sofa and dragged her between his knees, his hands spanning her hips, pulling her close until the thin silk clung to her damp skin. 

“off,” he said, looking down at the robe like it was an offense to his patience. 

when she let it fall, his gaze swept over her slow, heavy, like a man committing a masterpiece to memory. then he was leaning forward, kissing her stomach, her hips, the inside of her thighs — everything but where she needed him most. 

she tangled her fingers in his hair, already shaking. “baby—” 

“you’ve been making me wait,” he murmured against her skin, his breath hot. “now you wait.” 

he hooked her knees over his shoulders, sliding lower on the sofa until her back arched over him, leaving her open to his mouth. the first slow stroke of his tongue had her gasping, her hands fisting in his hair like she could force him deeper. 

he didn’t rush. he licked her like he was tasting something rare, dragging his tongue through her folds before sealing his mouth over her clit, sucking until her hips jerked. when she tried to rock against him, his grip on her thighs tightened, holding her still. 

“stay right there,” he ordered, voice low, before pushing two fingers inside her, curling them until she was trembling. 

she could feel him — the heat of his breath, the slick slide of his mouth — everywhere. her head fell back, a broken sound spilling from her lips. “please—” 

“please what?” his tongue circled her slowly, cruelly, as if he had all the time in the world. 

“please, i need—” 

“you need me to make you come?” he asked, before pressing his mouth back to her, fingers stroking that perfect rhythm inside her. 

her answer came in a choked cry, her entire body tightening around him as the orgasm crashed through her. but he didn’t stop, didn’t even ease up — just held her down with one arm braced across her hips, his tongue working her until she came again, and again, until she was shaking and pleading for him to stop. 

only then did he lift his head, his mouth and chin wet, eyes dark with satisfaction. 

“you wanted to play games,” he said, standing and unfastening his belt. “now i’m going to fuck you on every surface in this villa until you can’t remember why you started.” 

he pulled her up from the sofa, her legs still shaky from his mouth, her body pliant against him. 

“bedroom first,” he muttered, walking her backward until the backs of her knees hit the mattress. he pushed her down onto the bed, climbing over her — the heat of his body settling between her thighs. 

the first thrust stole her breath. he wasn’t slow now — he fucked into her with that deep, even rhythm that made her feel every inch of him; his hands planted on either side of her head. 

her nails scraped down his back. “mujin —” 

“i’m not stopping until you beg me to,” he growled, snapping his hips harder until the bedframe groaned in protest. he caught her chin in one hand, making her look at him. “eyes on me when you come.” 

she did — shuddering around him, voice breaking on his name. but he didn’t let her fall into the afterglow. he dragged her up, still buried inside, carrying her toward the balcony. 

the sea air hit her skin as he set her on the railing, holding her steady as he slid back into her. below, waves crashed against the rocks; above, the sky stretched endless. 

“you think anyone can see?” he asked, fucking her harder when she bit her lip and shook her head. “doesn’t matter. let them. let them see what’s mine.” 

she clung to his shoulders, moaning into the wind — the sound of it only making him more ruthless, pulling another climax from her until she trembled. 

from the balcony, he took her to the kitchen — bracing her on the counter, sweeping dishes aside without looking. his mouth was on her breasts, biting and sucking until she gasped — before bending her forward, one hand fisted in her hair as he drove into her from behind. 

“count,” he ordered — punctuating each word with a thrust. “every. single. time. you. come.” 

she lost track before she even reached five. 

by the time he finally carried her back to the bedroom, her voice was gone, her body spent, her skin marked with his hands and mouth. he laid her down, crawling over her — one last time. 

“done?” she whispered — barely able to keep her eyes open. 

he smirked, kissing the corner of her mouth. “not even close. you wanted to see how long i could hold out? now you’re going to see how long you can.” 

and then he slid back into her — slow and deep — proving every word.

════════════════════════════

author's note: i may have gotten carried away. but this sunday was just so hot. feedback always appreciated.

thank you to the kind stranger, who requested this story, i hope you like it. if you have any other ideas, don't be shy and share. as you can see, i'm pretty shameless.

[mothtomidnight]

— sylvia plath (via letsbelonelytogetherr)

[mothtomidnight]

[mothtomidnight]

Details from Bacchus and Ariadne

[mothtomidnight]

I was curious if you could make a one shot or scenario where Mujin x F-Reader (wife) are in Okinawa or Jeju for a week getaway. Reader has been teasing Mujin the past few days (eg; wearing short skirts, no bra under thin tops ect) one of the mornings reader goes out and sees Mujin smoking, (she never/doesn’t smoke) she grabs one as if she is going to light it but doesn’t. It of course catches Mujin attinion, then smut ?? (Love your work)

dear anonymous creative soul, thank you for your appreciation and your suggestion! i definitively can write this scene, this sunday being a perfect opportunity to be dirt... productive. i will most likely publish it next week. feel free to throw in your other ideas, suggestive, sultry, teasing. i am in my writer's era.

[mothtomidnight]

Ceremonial dagger with sculpted reaper hilt, mid 1800's, Italy

[mothtomidnight]

Sorrow

Source: †

[mothtomidnight]

the morning // choi mujin x og female character (18+)

music: rihanna - needed me

warnings: nsfw, explicit, do not read if you prefer fluff

they wake up in a hotel room after a wild night. neither of them is sated enough.

they wake tangled, bruised from pleasure, the air thick with what they did last night—how many times, how many ways, neither of them counting, only the endless ache in their muscles a testament. the morning light slices across the bed and he watches her stretch, bare and glorious, body carved to perfection by years of war and discipline and desire, muscles tight, skin radiant, every line of her impossible not to touch. his eyes rake her shamelessly, letting his hunger show—he never holds it back with her. 

she rolls onto her stomach, perfect ass in the air, glancing over her shoulder, hair in glorious disarray. “you’re staring,” she says, the tease ripe in her voice, but there’s a challenge, a dare—can he take it, can he take her, again? 

“did you think i’d be done with you? did you think you’d walk straight today?” 

she’s half laughing, half keening, a wicked, taunting gleam in her eyes. “you call that punishment, boss? i thought you said you could break me.” 

he answers her with a slap to her ass, hard enough to leave a handprint blooming pink, and his voice is all venom and worship. “i could fuck you through the floor if you keep running that pretty mouth, wife.” 

she feels the mattress shift, the weight of his gaze pressing into her even before his hand wraps around her ankle, yanking her beneath him, mouth pressed to her spine, biting, sucking, marking her as his own. she arches, rolling her hips back, inviting, demanding—her pride, her iron will, all of it surrendered in the hungry hush of their room. 

he flips her, her legs splayed, wide open and wanton, hips pressed hard against the edge of the bed, one leg up over his shoulder as he pushes in, the thrusts merciless, relentless, his hand fisted in her hair, dragging her mouth to his, biting at her lips until she moans, until she curses him in every language she knows. 

“look at you,” he growls, forcing her to face the massive mirror set across from their bed—he wants her to see, wants her to see how ruined she looks for him, how her body bows, shudders, how her eyes roll back. “look how fucking pretty you are when i split you open like this. tell me who you belong to.” 

she meets her own gaze, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy, lips swollen from his kisses, voice hoarse and filthy, “yours, mujin. only yours. no one else could ever take me apart like this. only you.” 

his palm lands hard on her ass, the sound echoing like a gunshot, and she gasps, legs trembling, “say it again.” 

“i’m yours, oppa. all yours. fuck—harder—don’t you dare stop.” 

“louder, baby.” his hips slam forward, her moan echoing off marble and glass. “let the whole world know who fucks you like this.” 

she cries out for him, shameless, “yours, mujin—fuck, all yours—nobody else, just you, only you.” she’s writhing, desperate, her hands scrambling for purchase, for him, for more. he bends over her, pinning her throat with one big hand, squeezing just enough to steal her breath, and growls into her ear, “that’s right. mine to ruin. mine to fuck stupid. mine to love, when i want. beg for it.” 

she is past pride. she sobs his name, begs for more, for harder, her words a garbled, wanton litany—please, mujin, please, harder, want it so bad, need you to fill me up, want to feel you dripping down my thighs all day, don’t stop, don’t you fucking stop—her voice breaking with every slam of his hips. she’s soaked, messy, smearing slick over his cock and balls, dripping onto the sheets, her orgasm already winding tight in her belly, but he’s relentless. 

he drags her up, bends her over the dresser, face inches from the mirror. “watch,” he commands, holding her hair so she can’t look away. “look how you take me. watch your mouth, all drooling, watch how you break for me.” 

she obeys, wild-eyed, teeth bared in something like a snarl, a moan, lips parted. “god, mujin—look at me, look how filthy i am for you. fuck me, just—fuck me, please—” 

he cracks his palm against her ass again, marking her. “look at those tears, princess. never seen you so wrecked. i want more. tell me you’re mine, say it till you can’t breathe.” 

“i’m yours,” she chokes out, voice trembling, eyes glassy with pleasure and pain, “always—fuck, always, always, always—” the dresser rattles under them, her breasts pressed to the glass, his hips snapping viciously, their combined moans and grunts a symphony of ruin. 

he grabs her chin, forcing her mouth open, spits into it, watches her swallow, then kisses her, biting her lower lip till she whimpers. “good girl. i want you ruined for anyone else. only i get to see you like this.” 

she sobs for him, trembling, the orgasm tearing through her, her muscles clenching around him so hard he curses, thrusts stuttering. he doesn’t stop, even as she shakes, even as she pleads—more, don’t stop, please, fill me, make me yours, make me wear you all day. 

he pulls her off the dresser and throws her onto the bed, flipping her onto her back, fucking her open again, her legs spread wide, knees pushed back, so deep he’s nearly cruel, but she’s greedy for it, taking everything. he slaps her clit until she screams, messy, desperate, making her come again, and again, until her body is boneless, her voice gone. 

and still, he isn’t done. he takes her on the edge of the bed, against the wall, in front of the mirror, makes her ride him until her thighs are shaking, begging, tears and sweat mixing as she gasps his name, hoarse, possessed. 

“want to be my good little wife?” he mocks, filthy, pulling her hair so she arches, tits in his mouth. “look how you come for me, how you beg. you’d let me fuck you anywhere, anytime, wouldn’t you?” 

“yes—yes, fuck, mujin, anywhere, want to, want to—please, please, give it to me—” 

he spills inside her, rough and deep, groaning as he fills her, marking her, then shoves his fingers inside, scooping his come and making her taste it, telling her she’s the best thing that ever happened to him, his queen, his whore, his everything. 

they collapse in a heap, ruined and breathless, the room a disaster, furniture askew, the mirror fogged with their heat, the only sound their ragged breathing, her small, blissed-out giggle as she murmurs, “you’re going to have to buy them a new dresser.” 

he only laughs, pulling her close, kissing her sweaty brow. “let them send the bill. you’re worth it. now turn over. i’m not finished with you yet.” 

and she does, grinning, knowing she’ll always belong to him—every filthy, desperate, sacred part.

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author's note: forgive me father, for I have ovulated. feedback always appreciated.