#blink x reader

[urdreamydoodles]

X-Men x Reader (Part.3)

You smacks their ass as they walk past (Part.3)

Each X-Man reacts with a mix of surprise and playful teasing when you smacks their ass as they walk past, leading to affectionate and mischievous moments.

Characters: Wade Wilson, Sunspot, Cable, Colossus, Charles Xavier, Hank McCoy, Lorna Dane, Magik, Domino & Dazzler

Wade Wilson (Deadpool)

Wade Wilson is the epitome of chaos wrapped in a red-and-black suit. You’ve been dating him for months now, and no matter how absurd or unpredictable things get, there’s one constant—you can always make each other laugh. Today, though, you’ve got something else in mind.

The two of you are lounging in his apartment—well, “apartment” is generous. It’s more like a collection of random objects held together by duct tape and a lack of responsibility. Wade, in full suit minus the mask, is rummaging through the fridge, muttering something about expired tacos.

“Damn it, even my healing factor can’t fix this,” he groans, pulling out a carton of spoiled milk and making a face.

You casually stroll behind him, biting your lip as you admire his figure. Wade may have scars that tell stories of countless battles and regeneration, but to you, he’s perfect. As he bends over to inspect the deeper horrors of his fridge, you decide to strike.

With a playful smirk, you swing your hand and smack his ass, a sharp, satisfying sound echoing through the room. Wade freezes for a split second, then slowly stands up straight, turning his head toward you with that signature Deadpool swagger.

“Did you just—” He breaks off, his eyes narrowing behind an imaginary mask. “Are you initiating some sexy roleplay? Because I am always ready for that.”

You laugh, giving him a sly grin as you cross your arms. “Maybe I am. What are you gonna do about it?”

Wade spins around fully, leaning against the fridge door with his arms crossed. His voice drops to a teasing whisper, but his grin is wide and wicked. “Oh, baby, you just opened Pandora’s box. And by Pandora’s box, I mean my pants. Wanna see what’s inside?”

You roll your eyes, but the heat between you is undeniable. His playful banter never fails to make your heart race, even in moments like this. He steps closer, his voice growing softer and more intimate, as if the whole world outside of you two didn’t matter.

“Careful, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his hand brushing lightly against your waist. “If you keep smacking me like that, I’m gonna have to make sure you pay for it.”

You raise an eyebrow, tilting your head slightly. “Is that a promise or a threat?”

Wade’s mouth curves into a dangerous smile. “Oh, it’s both.”

Sunspot (Roberto da Costa):

The sun was shining brightly over Xavier’s Mansion as Roberto da Costa strutted across the garden. Dressed in a sleek tank top and joggers, his toned muscles glistened with a faint golden glow—a byproduct of absorbing too much solar energy. You’d been dating Roberto for almost a year now, and one thing you knew about him was that he was as confident as he was powerful.

You were standing near the flower beds, watching him from behind as he headed toward the training grounds, admiring the effortless grace in his movements. He looked good, and you couldn’t resist messing with him a little.

Without thinking too much, you saunter up behind him, letting your fingertips glide along his back. Before he can react, you bring your hand down firmly on his ass, the sound of the playful smack hanging in the air.

Roberto stops dead in his tracks, turning around slowly with one eyebrow raised and an amused smile playing on his lips. His eyes smolder as they meet yours, and you can see the fire of his powers flicker briefly under his skin.

“Did you just slap my ass?” he asks, his Brazilian accent thickening just slightly. He looks equal parts shocked and entertained.

You grin at him, leaning casually against a nearby tree. “Yeah, I did. What are you gonna do about it, hot stuff?”

Roberto chuckles, his lips curling into a grin that could melt ice. He closes the distance between you with two slow, purposeful steps, his gaze trailing over your figure like he’s sizing up a prize. “Oh, princesa, you’re playing with fire,” he says, his voice a low, teasing rumble.

He steps even closer, his hand brushing against your hip, fingers gently squeezing your waist as he leans in. His breath is warm against your ear, and his voice drops even lower. “You think I’m just gonna let you get away with that?”

You smile, tilting your chin up to meet his eyes. “What if I do it again?”

Roberto’s eyes flash with amusement and heat. He pulls back slightly, running a hand through his dark hair before grinning at you. “You keep that up, and I’m gonna have to show you just how hot I can get.”

You bite your lip, enjoying the playful tension between you two. Roberto always knew how to turn a simple moment into something electric. His hand slips from your waist to the small of your back as he leans in once more, this time his lips brushing the corner of your mouth.

“Careful, meu amor,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “I might just burn for you.”

Cable (Nathan Summers):

Nathan Summers, or Cable, was a man of discipline. Everything about him was precise, methodical, controlled—even the way he moved through the halls of the X-Mansion was calculated. His towering frame and gruff demeanor had always been intimidating to others, but you’d gotten to know the man beneath the soldier—the tenderness hidden under the scars and metal arm.

He was walking ahead of you, carrying a stack of mission reports as you admired the way his broad shoulders stretched his worn-out tactical vest. His silver hair fell slightly over his brow as he made his way to the War Room, but you had other plans.

The idea strikes you out of nowhere. Without giving it a second thought, you quicken your pace and reach out, landing a firm smack on his ass. It’s a bold move—one that surprises even you—but the sound it makes is deeply satisfying.

Nathan stops abruptly. The air in the corridor feels charged, and for a moment, you wonder if you’ve gone too far. Slowly, he turns to look at you, his one good eye narrowing while the other—the glowing cybernetic one—flares slightly.

“Really?” His voice is a deep, gravelly growl, but there’s a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

You shrug innocently, biting back a smile. “What? Just appreciating the view.”

Nathan’s smirk deepens as he places the stack of reports down on a nearby table, his gaze never leaving yours. He takes a step toward you, and you can feel the shift in the air—the intensity radiating off of him. He’s always been a man of action, not words, and right now, you can practically feel his unspoken thoughts.

“You know, you just earned yourself some extra training,” he rumbles, his voice low and rough. His metal hand rests on your shoulder, the coolness of it contrasting with the heat that simmers between you.

“Oh?” You tilt your head up, grinning. “And what kind of training is that?”

Nathan leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “The kind where you won’t be able to walk straight tomorrow.”

You feel a shiver run down your spine, but you hold your ground, meeting his intense gaze with a challenging look of your own. “I’m not scared, Summers.”

His grin widens slightly as he straightens up, his large frame towering over you. “Good,” he says, his voice filled with a promise that sends your heart racing. “I’d be disappointed if you were.”

Colossus (Piotr Rasputin):

Piotr Rasputin was as gentle as he was strong. His towering, metal-clad form gave him an imposing presence, but you knew better than anyone that beneath the gleaming steel exterior was a heart of gold. Today, he was busy lifting crates in the garage, preparing for a mission with the X-Men. You watched him from across the room, admiring the way his metal muscles flexed with every effortless movement.

His back was to you as he carried one of the crates, and you couldn’t resist. With a mischievous smirk, you crept up behind him and gave his metal butt a solid smack. The loud clang of your hand meeting his metal hide was oddly satisfying, and you couldn’t help but giggle.

Piotr froze in place, the crate still balanced on one shoulder. Slowly, he turned his head to look at you over his massive shoulder, his silver face full of surprise. His steel-blue eyes blinked a few times, clearly processing what had just happened.

"Did you just… hit me?" His thick Russian accent carried a mix of amusement and confusion.

You grinned up at him, crossing your arms. "Sure did. What are you gonna do about it, big guy?"

Piotr set the crate down with a heavy thud and turned to fully face you, towering above you like a mountain of metal. A soft chuckle rumbled from his chest, and he shook his head, a playful smile spreading across his face.

"You are very bold, my love," he said, his voice deep and warm. He took a step closer, and even though he was metal, there was a tenderness in his movements. His massive hands reached out and rested gently on your hips, his fingers surprisingly gentle against your body.

"But be careful," he teased, lowering his voice. "If you start something… you may not be able to finish it."

You raised an eyebrow, meeting his playful challenge with a grin. "Oh, I think I can handle it."

Piotr chuckled again, his hands tightening slightly on your hips as he leaned down, his towering form enveloping you. His lips brushed against your forehead, a soft metallic kiss that sent a shiver down your spine.

"We shall see," he murmured, his breath warm despite his steel skin.

Charles Xavier:

Charles Xavier, the brilliant mind behind the X-Men, had always captivated you with his wisdom and charm. Though bound to his wheelchair, his mental prowess and calm demeanor always drew people to him, yourself included. You loved the quiet moments with him, where his sharp wit and gentle sense of humor made you forget the weight of the world.

It was a quiet afternoon in his study, the two of you enjoying a rare moment of peace. Charles was at his desk, reviewing files on potential new students, his brow furrowed in concentration. You watched him, a smile tugging at your lips as you admired the calm authority he exuded.

Feeling playful, you strolled up behind him. As you passed his wheelchair, you couldn’t resist giving his backside a light smack—just a gentle tap, but enough to break his concentration.

Charles’s hand paused mid-air over the files, and you saw the slightest flicker of surprise in his expression. Slowly, he turned his head to look at you, his sharp blue eyes filled with both amusement and curiosity.

"Did you just smack me?" His tone was calm, but there was a subtle smile playing at the corners of his lips.

You grinned down at him, leaning against the side of his desk. "Maybe I did. Are you going to reprimand me for it, Professor?"

His smile widened, and he raised a single eyebrow, the hint of a laugh escaping his lips. "That would require telepathic punishment, my dear."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Is that a threat or an offer?"

Charles placed the files down carefully, folding his hands in his lap as he looked up at you with a playful glint in his eyes. "I never make threats. Only promises."

He leaned back slightly in his chair, his gaze locking with yours. “But I should warn you—if you’re not careful, I may have to enter your mind and… change your attitude.”

The playful banter sent a thrill through you, and you bit your lip, feigning innocence. “You wouldn’t.”

Charles’s smile softened, and he tilted his head, his expression calm but full of affection. “No. I would never change anything about you, not even for a moment.”

His hand reached out and gently took yours, his touch warm and reassuring. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t get back at you in other ways.”

You grinned, knowing that even without his telepathy, Charles had plenty of ways to keep things interesting.

Beast (Hank McCoy):

Hank McCoy, was always buried in some kind of experiment in his lab. His brilliant mind and strong, furry blue body made for a striking combination, and over the years, you’d come to love both sides of him equally—the intellectual and the feral. Today, he was engrossed in yet another experiment, the scent of chemicals and the soft hum of machines filling the room.

You watched him from the doorway, his large blue frame hunched over a table, muttering to himself as he scribbled notes on a clipboard. His back was to you, and you couldn’t resist the mischievous urge bubbling inside you.

With a playful grin, you walked up behind him and gave his furry blue ass a firm smack. The sound was muffled by his thick fur, but the impact was enough to make him stop mid-sentence.

Hank straightened up immediately, his large, pointed ears twitching slightly as he turned his head to glance over his shoulder, his golden eyes wide with surprise. “Did… did you just swat me?” His voice held a mix of amusement and disbelief.

You crossed your arms and smiled sweetly at him. “Maybe I did. What are you gonna do about it, Dr. McCoy?”

Hank blinked a few times, his large, clawed hands still gripping the clipboard, before a slow grin spread across his face. He turned fully to face you, standing to his full towering height, and you could see the playful glint in his eyes.

“Well,” he rumbled, his voice deep and smooth, “I must say, this is certainly an unexpected interruption to my research.”

He took a step toward you, his large furry hand reaching out to gently cup your chin. “But if you wanted my attention, my dear, there are far more… civilized ways of asking for it.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, placing your hands on his broad chest, feeling the soft fur beneath your fingers. “And where’s the fun in that?”

Hank chuckled softly, his golden eyes gleaming with affection as he gazed down at you. “Ah, I see. A woman of action, not words.”

He leaned down, his warm breath brushing against your cheek as his voice dropped to a low, teasing whisper. “I should warn you, though… you may have unleashed a beast.”

You grinned up at him, biting your lip. “Is that a promise?”

Hank’s chuckle was deep and rumbling, and he leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “Indeed, my love. Indeed.”

Polaris (Lorna Dane):

Lorna is in the middle of assembling something mechanical in the garage, her green hair pulled back into a messy ponytail as she concentrates on manipulating the metal parts with her powers. You watch her for a moment, admiring how easily she bends the metal to her will. With a mischievous grin, you decide to get her attention in your own way, walking by and giving her a light smack on the ass.

The metal pieces she was working on clatter to the floor as Lorna whips around, eyes wide with surprise. "Y/N!" she gasps, though there’s a growing smile on her lips. "Did you seriously just do that?"

You shrug, unable to hide your grin. "What? I couldn’t resist."

Lorna raises an eyebrow, her lips curling into a smirk as she steps closer, her fingers beginning to crackle with green energy. "You forget I can control metal, right?" she teases, playfully levitating a nearby wrench into the air, spinning it lazily in her hand. "I could trap you in a metal cocoon right now if I wanted to."

You chuckle, stepping toward her. "But you won’t," you say confidently, knowing she’s more amused than mad.

She narrows her eyes at you, her smirk widening. "Oh, really?" she says, her tone teasing but her powers very much under control. She playfully pulls you toward her with a slight magnetic force, her arms wrapping around your neck as she leans in close. "Just don’t think you’ll get away with that every time," she murmurs before pressing her lips to yours, the slight hum of her powers in the air adding a spark to the moment.

Magik (Illyana Rasputina):

Illyana stands in the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets, clearly looking for something. You watch her with a smile, enjoying her no-nonsense attitude that contrasts with her ethereal, otherworldly beauty. As she reaches for something on the top shelf, you can’t help but walk by and give her a quick smack on the ass, a playful grin on your face.

She freezes, her hand still in the cabinet, and you can practically feel the shift in energy as she turns her head to look at you, her eyes glowing faintly with power. "Y/N," she says, her voice low, almost a warning. "Do you really want to test me like that?"

You chuckle, shrugging casually. "Just thought I’d see what happens."

Illyana steps down from the counter and turns to face you fully, her sword suddenly materializing in her hand in a flash of light. "You’re playing a dangerous game," she says with a wicked smile, her eyes filled with mischief. "I could teleport you to Limbo in an instant, you know."

You step closer, undeterred by her threat, knowing she enjoys the back-and-forth as much as you do. "And yet, I’m still standing here."

Her grin widens, and the sword disappears just as quickly as it appeared. "Maybe because I like having you around," she admits softly, stepping closer until she’s right in front of you, her fingers brushing your arm. "But don’t think I’ll let you get away with that easily."

Before you can respond, she pulls you into a kiss, her lips soft but commanding, a reminder of just how powerful she is and how lucky you are to have her by your side.

Domino (Neena Thurman):

Domino lounges on the couch, flipping through channels with a bored expression on her face. Her luck powers have a way of making life feel a little too easy sometimes, but you’ve always admired her laid-back attitude and sharp sense of humor. As you walk by, you decide to spice things up, giving her a playful smack on the ass as you pass.

Domino’s hand freezes on the remote, her mismatched eyes widening in surprise before she slowly turns to look at you. "Oh, so that’s how we’re playing today, huh?" she says, her voice dripping with amusement as she raises an eyebrow. "You’ve got some nerve, Y/N."

You chuckle, leaning against the back of the couch. "Just keeping things interesting."

Domino smirks, setting the remote down and shifting to sit up straight, her gaze locked on you. "Well, you just made things very interesting, sweetheart," she says, standing up and sauntering toward you with that confident, swaggering stride that makes your pulse quicken.

She stops right in front of you, her fingers tracing lightly along your arm. "You know, with my luck, I could turn this around on you in a heartbeat," she teases, her smirk growing wider. "But I think I’ll let you off the hook…for now."

Before you can respond, she grabs the front of your shirt and pulls you in for a kiss, her lips firm and full of playful energy. "Just don’t get too comfortable," she murmurs against your lips, pulling back slightly to give you a teasing grin. "Next time, I might not be so nice."

Dazzler (Alison Blaire):

Alison is sitting in front of her vanity, adjusting her makeup for the show she’s performing later. Her iconic silver jumpsuit glitters under the soft lights, and as she hums quietly to herself, she’s completely engrossed in her preparations. You smile, watching her for a moment, before deciding to stir things up a little. As you walk by, you casually smack her on the ass.

Alison lets out a surprised laugh, her brush slipping from her hand as she turns around to face you. "Y/N!" she says, her voice a mix of playful shock and amusement. "What do you think you’re doing?"

You grin, leaning against the doorframe. "Just appreciating the view."

She raises an eyebrow, a smirk forming on her lips as she turns back to the mirror. "Appreciating the view, huh? Well, next time maybe you could ask nicely."

She finishes touching up her makeup before standing and crossing the room toward you, her hips swaying just a little extra as she walks. "But you know," she says, her voice dropping slightly, "I can give you something even better to appreciate."

Alison steps up to you, her hands resting lightly on your chest as she looks up at you with a teasing smile. "But you’ve got to earn it, babe," she adds, her fingers trailing down your arm in a slow, deliberate motion. "You think you can handle that?"

Her playful challenge makes your heart race, and as she leans in to kiss you softly, her lips warm and sweet, you know that with Alison, there’s never a dull moment.

[fandomnerd9602]

Blink lands at her destination…

Y/N: hello Clarice

Y/N-Pool lounges on a nearby crate…

Blink: did you seriously make a Silence of the Lambs joke?

Y/N: it’s what I do. Sorry I’m just so excited for this team up. You’re gorgeous. What?

Blink shakes her head and blushes…

[tojisun]

simon’s so good at overstimulating, i think.

he would keep you on the bed, stuffed full and fucked stupid. he would keep you there until your throat is hoarse, and your knees are bruised, and your hole aches, and your insides feel like they’ve been turned into mush, and your back is screaming in protest because he’s had you in multiple positions now.

he becomes nonverbal when he gets like this; quiet grunts passing through his pressed lips when he fucks in deeply, rutting his cock in and grinding so insistently, it’s like you can feel him in the back of your throat — pressing and pressing and pressing. it’s almost terrifying when simon holds you like this.

he can go for hours — he will go for hours — and you feel your body crave the insanity of it. you feel yourself succumb to the overwhelming pleasure he douses you with. a baptism, of some sorts. born-again. you know you can never go back to how it was before.

his name loses meaning as you keep screaming it, and only through your delirium do you feel simon finally cum in you. he does not shoot it in your slack jaw or over your stomach, nor does he smear against your tits like he’s done in the previous rounds, but he pumps it deep in you, almost always like he’s making it take.

the aftercare is gentle and long and quiet, and it starts with a kiss on your palms.

[ceilidho]

ceilid. oil rig soap i am foaming at the mouth omg

he's covered in an ever present layer of grease and grime, stinking of sweat and rust. comes off as a cocky showboat when you first arrive on the rig, jokes about wanting to see you all messed up like the rest of 'em, but his jokes are barbed, electric blue eyes looking you up and down like he really can't stand how clean and neat you are compared to the men on board. like he wants to tear your ironed skirt down so he can drag his dirty paws all over your ass and thighs.

you honestly write him off; hard to see the laid back charmer as a genuine threat or even someone to go running to should something bad happen to you, but then everything on the rig goes to shit. something violent and hungry comes out of the water and you can hear the blood curdling screams from the men it catches as you sprint down the landing, the helicopter already starting to take off even as you yell for them to wait.

but then a man twice your size is suddenly pulling you into the shadows, covering your mouth and shushing you as the thing that came aboard the ship suddenly passes (and you think, wildly, that it would've been on you by now had soap not dragged you out of the way) and you watch in horror as it obliterates the chopper, the body of the chopper bursting into flames and going into a tailspin, crashing into the ocean below.

"keep the heid, bonnie," murmured into your ear, the hand around your mouth pressing harder and muffling your screams as he pulls you deeper into the rig, trying to find a place to hide, his arms like steel bands around you. "willnae let anything bad happen to ye."

[introloves]

can we talk about gojo who definitely plugs your nose when you're giving him head- pushes your mouth down against his pelvis and most definitely makes you gag for the fun of it :(

[hornychristianprincess]

wasted (leehan x fem reader) pt 3

paring: leehan x fem reader genre: smut, fluff, angst, fuckboy!leehan word count: 15k bc i'm a slut for this man SRFKLHSDLK summary: everything in your life is affected as your relationship with leehan progresses. warnings: explicit sex scenes, oral (male and female receiving), expressions of insecurity and self-esteem issues should you wish to read on ao3, click HERE.

At the library on a Saturday night, you, Leehan, Riwoo, and Giselle sit at the same table, studying for your approaching midterms. 

“Y/N,” says Leehan. “Can you send me the pdf file you found for the English textbook?”

You nod, quickly finding the file on your phone and airdropping it to Leehan the Lion . “Just sent it.”

“Thanks,” he mutters, before returning to writing notes on his laptop. 

This is about as exciting as your interactions get with Leehan when you’re among your group of friends, studying or going to the caf or finding some event on campus to go to. 

It was the ultimate whiplash, then, to experience Leehan when you were alone. 

Because in the month or so that’s passed since the night of the lunar eclipse, every few days you could look forward to the what are you doing? text that usually led up to some of the most satisfying, passionate sex of your life.

The friends-with-benefits arrangement the two of you were in had quickly become the center of your life. It felt like you were always in limbo as you awaited his latest text, and when you got it, it didnt’t matter what you were doing – you were always ready to surrender to him, to surrender to pleasure that was beginning to feel like the only thing that made you excited to wake up some days.

You had sex sometimes three, sometimes five times a week. Where it happened didn’t really matter to either of you — in the bathroom at a party, the confines of your dorm room, in the backseat of his car. 

Everything in your life had been shrunken to make space for what was now your top priority. 

And whatever negative impacts were to come of such decision-making were yet to be seen when it felt like the high you received from his attention was blinding everything else.

It was always weird to have to face him in settings like this the next day, to hear him speak to you so casually as if his face wasn’t buried between your legs less than 24 hours ago. Still, you kept up your end of this unspoken bargain to pretend as if you weren’t anything but acquaintances.

“I have midterms for every class. I’m feel like I’m gonna die of stress,” said Giselle, throwing her long brown hair over her shoulders. Giselle was one of the people who rode with Jaehyun during the lunar eclipse, and although you didn’t get much time to speak with her then, you’ve since gotten close by hanging out more. 

“That’s why you need to find the right vice. Food…drugs… orgasms, ” replies Leehan playfully, quirking a teasing eyebrow in her direction. He chuckles as Giselle rolls her eyes at him, and as much as you hate yourself for it, you can’t help but notice how his eyes linger on her even as she returns to her textbook.

Occasionally, you’ll observe the fact that the sense of humor and charm that made you fall for Leehan in the first place is not something that he reserves for only you, and it makes you just the tiniest bit sad. 

It’s nice to feel, even if it’s not true, like the moments you share alone in your bedroom are ones where he feels safe to show you things no one else gets to see. Like you hold the key to pieces of Leehan that no one else can access. 

So in times like these where you’re presented with evidence that says otherwise, it makes you feel like there is nothing special or significant about how you and Leehan got to where you were. Perhaps it was just a case of right place right time, like he could’ve met anyone – Giselle, even –  and done the same things he’s done with you.

Then again, the interaction you just observed could’ve been completely innocent and it’s you that’s overthinking it.

At the end of the day, if you were keeping score, the fact that you’re the first person with whom Leehan has offered up his body to on a regular basis feels like more than enough evidence that what you share is special.

In fact, you’re pretty sure he’s gonna fuck you after this.

You know because in the hour or so later when the library is about to close and you’re wrapping up your study session, he says, “Y/N, you live near the mail center, right? I’ll walk with you; I need to drop something off before I head home.”

It takes every bit of self control you have to not break out into a smirk – he knows exactly where you live, and it’s because you fuck there almost every time. “Sure,” you reply, in the most neutral voice you can possible muster.

“See you guys later,” you’re saying to Riwoo and Giselle as you pack up your things and head out. 

It’s past midnight and almost completely dark outside by the time you and Leehan leave, save for the few street lights that illuminate the sidewalk. For no reason in particular, it’s silent between the two of you. You might’ve found such an atmosphere to be awkward if it weren’t for the fact that your dorm was only a 5 minute walk away. And, when it comes to Leehan, you can never be too presumptuous in trying to interpret his moods; being the person that he is, something you’d usually interpret as disinterest could actually mean a plethora of non-threatning things for him.

On the way there, you approach what’s essentially an alleyway, a narrow space between two dorms that is deserted and dark. You don’t think anything of it until suddenly, you’re tugged inside of it and everything in your line of sight goes dark.

And before you can ask questions or react, your senses are flooded by the feeling of Leehan’s lips pressed against yours.

It’s amazing how your body adapts to the sudden gesture before your mind does. While it takes you a moment to internally acknowledge that you’re not in danger, your skin ignites with electricity the moment his lips touch yours. 

If a bystander were to observe the passionate, needy, almost desperate way he’s kissing you, they’d think that you’re someone he hasn’t seen in years, someone who he’s eager to make up lost time with. 

He doesn’t stop at just dominating your mouth with his tongue. His hands, like calloused vines, wrap themselves around your body, setting fire to whatever pieces of exposed skin he can find. And when you whimper against him, he adds to the sound with a groan of his own.

But no, this isn’t a kiss of two lovers who have been separated by time, or location. Leehan is just a person who is steadfast in his commitment to doing everything in his life earnestly. And it’s one of the many reasons why you are enamored by him.

When he pulls away to look at you, you can see even in the dark the expression of relief on his face. It’s as if kissing you was an urge he has been suppressing until now, and having gotten his fix, he’s left in a state of contentment.

“What was that for?” you ask, adrenaline and arousal running through your veins in such an fiery combination that you find your voice comes out weaker than usual.

“Just had to get it out my system,” is what he says indifferently in reply, and with his lips curling into a smirk, he heads out of the alleyway and continues on the path to your dorm. You follow him, feeling like the arousal you had been suppressing the entire time you were at the library with your friends has now doubled in a way that makes your knees wobbly as you walk.

It’s silent between the two of again as you approach the building to your dorm, although now you feel confident in assuming that it had always been searing sexual tension that was keeping him from being his usual talkative, bubbly self. 

It could be confusing to someone else, then, why — even as you’re locking the door to your room with him inside of it – you still aren’t all over each other in the way your earlier interactions might’ve preluded. 

But it’s because you just have one more confirmation you need to make before you can truly let go of your inhibitions, and that’s the question of, “Is your roommate here?”

Your roommate, lovely girl, would usually be here in the dorm at this time. But already having a feeling what you’d be getting up to tonight, you transparently informed her through text that im so so sorry but i’m out with you know who and i could reallllyyy use some dick tonight. buy you food to make up for it? just before you left the library.

“No. She’s out studying,” you tell Leehan. 

When you meet each other’s gazes, Leehan’s eyes sparkling as if he’s just been told he’s won the lottery, you can sense the exact moment when the both of you realize there’s no longer a need to wait. And so, like animals excitedly tearing up freshly-killed prey, it’s in a messy, rushed flurry of movements that you both take each other’s clothes off. 

Before Leehan, you don’t think you ever experienced an attraction for someone so intense that it caused you to push furniture over in the process of trying to get to the bedroom. But with him, the sound of a glass vase breaking doesn’t feel so concerning when you’re too busy trying to make it to the bed, take off his clothes, and not break your kiss all at once. 

There’s something so humorous about your shared vigor, causing you to both smile into the kisses you share, remaining playful even among such intensity. 

“You’re roommate’s a lovely person, isn’t she?” he remarks as he backs you up into your bedroom doorframe, throwing the jacket you had been wearing on your rug in the process. “I’ve gotta apologize to her one day. Poor girl’s had to hear so many things.”

You hate how much his words ring true, because truthfully, tonight was one out of several rare occasions in which you’ve been given enough foresight to warn your roommate before Leehan comes over. Other times, things between you two have blossomed too spontaneously for a warning, or, your phone died while you were out together, giving you no means to let her know he was arriving. 

“ Ew . Don’t talk about her like that. It’ll make me think you have a thing for her,” you reply in reference to the lovely person and poor girl attributions, and although you’re mostly joking, the insecurity from before about his interest in other women still remains present in the forefront of your mind.

And it’s not at all helped when, even jokingly, he makes remarks like, “Hey — I’d never say no to inviting someone else into our activities.”

At this point, you’re standing in nothing but a bra and panties in front of him, preparing to give your body up for his pleasure, which is why you think it’s fairly reasonable that you reach out to swat him in response to such cheekiness. 

But he seizes your wrists before you can make contact, laughing at your reaction in that way that, as annoying as it is to acknowledge right now, makes him look so, so sexy. “I’m kidding, baby,” he chides apologetically. “I’d never share you. Want you too fucking badly to even think about it.”

It’s in moments like these that you can’t help but get butterflies from Leehan, especially when he leans in to kiss you languidly right after. This habit he’s taken of calling you all sorts of pet names, from princess to baby to sweet girl, is something that has made your attraction to him increase tenfold. 

How could you help it, when his deep voice by itself is like a weapon specifically designed to torture you?

“Are you needy, baby?” asks Leehan teasingly, as his hand is now stuffed in your underwear, and his forehead is pressed against yours as he pushes you against the hard surface of your dresser and fingers you expertly. “Was what we did two days ago not enough? Did I not fuck you good enough?”

It’s actually because the sex from two days ago – and the day before that and the day before that and the days since you met him – was too good that you find yourself needing little stimulation to get wet at the thought of fucking him again. But of course, you don’t admit this, not needing his ego to get any larger than it is. “Shut up and fuck me.”

But Leehan doesn’t pay your cheek any mind, reacting only with a scoff as he busies himself with getting on his knees in front of you. Pressing his face against the skin of your bare stomach, he remarks, “You smell like me. It’s so fucking sexy.”

Leehan is the most wayward person you’ve ever met. But you can surely count on him in moments like these to make your entire body feel like it’s on fire, knowing exactly what buttons to push and places to touch to get a rise out of you. All he does is leave chaste, delicate kisses along the skin from your sternum to your belly button, but the fact that he maintains eye contact as he does it, and the implication that he makes when he says, “And I bet you taste like heaven, too,” makes you feel like you’re experiencing something so ethereal it’s as if you’re out of your own body.

You’re looking down at him as he kisses at the spot just above your pussy, and it’s at that moment that you decide you want him too badly to wait any longer. Fingers that had once laced themselves in his hair now tug on the strands, pulling him up and off of you. “Leehan. Inside of me. Now.”

You watch as his eyes scan your face to tell if you’re being serious or not, and if you could see yourself through his gaze, you know you’d be convincingly earnest in your desire to have him. Once he confirms this for himself, he pops up from his previous position kneeling on the ground, and looks at you with his head cocked to the side in a expression of challenge. Pushing you up onto the dresser, he quirks an eyebrow to say, “Have I ever told you that I find you sexiest when you’re telling me what to do?”

At this, you smile, playing into his confession by commanding, “Kiss me,” before leaning in to meet his lips. And when his hand travels between your legs, you know it’s not to touch you, but to reach into the top drawer of your dresser where you’ve allowed him to stash some condoms. It’s with excitment that you hear him tear open the package, sliding the latex onto his hardened cock.

There’s a moment just before he lines his cock up with your slit where he pulls away from your lips, reaching a hand out to hold your jaw in place so that your eyelines are level. And when he simply just stares at you silently, allowing his eyes to graze your features with an awe-stricken expression on his face, you can’t help but look away as the intensity of his admiration becomes overwhelming.

He chuckles at your obvious shyness, hand never leaving your jaw as he continues to view you like you’re a delicate statue he’s entranced by. “Don’t you think it’s too late to be shy after everything we’ve done together?” he says jokingly, and even though you feign disagreement with a roll of your eyes, you make no effort to suppress the smile that appears on your face as you bask in his teasing of you.

“I can’t help it,” you reply, comfortably meeting his gaze now. “You’re just really fucking handsome.”

You’re sure he’s heard these words hundreds of times in hundreds of ways, and yet you can see his eyes-widening as if you’ve said something sincerely touching. Perhaps the words hit differently when heard spontaneously, genuinely, without any pretense behind them.

It’s without any warning that Leehan pushes himself inside of you. Caught off guard by the feeling of his cock entering you inch by pleasurable inch, you can only make a mental note to apologize to him later as your fingernails dig into the skin of his back. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to mind, too focused on leaning his forehead against yours and watching with greedy eyes as his cock enters your pussy and leaves it with a creamy sheen. 

“Jesus fucking christ, Y/N,” he remarks in awe, managing the words through a shaky exhale as he moves to hook his arms underneath your thighs. He pulls your body closer to the edge of the dresser, bringing his cock even deeper inside of you. He hasn’t even started fucking you properly yet, and still you let out a series of elongated sighs and moans, wrapping your arms around his neck for a sense of comfort.

It’s when you’re completely pressed together in a skin-to-skin embrace that he finally begins to thrust inside of you at a pace that you’re used to. As clumsy and unsure as he can sometimes be, Leehan never fucks you erratically. It’s always with a controlled, focused pace that he pistons his hips into yours, knowing your body so well that you never have to tell him when to slow up or go faster. 

When you first met Leehan, you couldn’t understand the concept of kissing being considered an intimate act between two lovers. 

But now, as he leans in to press his mouth against yours, his tongue exploring the depths of your mouth, it’s with suprsing clarity that you realize why some people like to refrain from kissing entirely when they hook up with someone. 

You’re at your most smitten when being passionately tongue-kissed through an unforgiving onslaught of thrusts, a part of you wishing that this sex could become a permanent fixture in your life and not just a transactional, temporary high.  

It’s only when he slots a hand between your bodies to tweak at your clit that it becomes impossible for you to meet his kiss, feeling too much pleasure to hold back your open-mouthed cries. Leehan then moves to kissing your neck, and it’s some of the most sensual affection you've ever received as he allows his tongue to drag across your skin, suctioning his lips on sections of your shoulder where you’re sure he’s leaving hickies. 

He goes up your body in this sequence until he reaches your ear, mumbling, “You take care of my cock so well,” as he licks at the shell of your ear and sinks his teeth onto your earlobe. “It’s why I’m never coming off of you. It’s too fucking good for me to stop.”

Transfixed by the sound of his voice, the feel of his cock, and the stimulation you receive on your clit, you can feel that it’s only a matter of time before your pleasure reaches it’s crescending point. “Leehan,” you mumble out, grabbing onto fistfuls of his long hair as if it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to Earth. “Come with me.”

He denies this request with a click of his tongue, mumbling the words, “You first,” into your ear as his thrusts increase in impact. It’s in a sad attempt at a kiss that you press your mouth against his, feeling his intensity and passion just as the same even as you devolve into just grazing your tongue against his mouth. 

Your orgasm hits you in a feeling that’s akin to a bunch of puzzle pieces fitting perfectly together at once; the combination of his cock, his closeness, and his endless circling of your clit leaves your body seizing with what is surely one of the most pleasurable feelings of your life. 

And as you feel his movements becoming rapid and untethered, knowing that the feeling of your tighetning cunt will soon become too pleasurable for him to bear, it’s with satisfied foreboding that you watch him give you his last, hard thrust. 

There are a least of couple minutes that pass where neither of you move, the only sounds being your successive heavy breathing as you both come down from intense highs. Leehan makes the first move by carrying you your bed, where he plops you down on your back and makes a very sexy whimpering sound as he’s forced to pull out of you. 

Even once you’re separated, he still plops down on the bed to rest next to you. A forearm’s length apart, you long for him to touch you, even if just for a moment.

“Shit,” he mutters, an outburst that has you confused until you notice his eyes and their fixation with your bedside alarm clock. “I didn’t realize how late it is. I really don’t want to drive back to my apartment at this time.”

Then stay, is what you think to yourself, but these are words that you would never dare to actually vocalize. 

There was truthfully one instance just a month or so prior when you suggested he might leave a bookbag in your room so he didn’t have to walk home with it in the rain. Not too soon will you forget the way a usually upbeat Leehan turned cold on you within seconds, neglecting to say more than a see you later as he almost sprinted to leave your apartment.

You’d be lying if you said his eagerness to leave after the sex is finished wasn’t at least the slightest bit dismaying. 

The delusional part of you wishes he could at least pretend like he didn’t just come here to fuck you and nothing more. 

It would be nice to believe that the sheer enjoyment of your company would be enough to make him want to stay afterwards.  

And what’s worse is that every time, he comes up with some way to express how much he probably should stay. Like just now, how he mentioned how late it was. It frustrates you more than anything. 

Because no matter how much he says he doesn’t want to leave, he always does. 

And at this point, you wish he would just do it decisively instead of trying to soften the blow. 

“Did you hear about the party we’re having this weekend?” you hear him ask suddenly, his body in a sitting position as he gets up to put on his clothes. “Ha. We . Well, really Jaehyun.”

Though you find it difficult to have casual conversation with him when your mind is elsewhere, you indulge him with a truthful shake of your head. “No. What’s it for?”

“Halloween. He’s asking everyone to dress up,” says Leehan, having already made it to the other side of your room. If you were in more of a spirited mood, you might laugh at how he mentions dressing up for Halloween as if it’s something that’s beneath him. “Don’t worry that he didn’t tell you. He just came up with the idea yesterday. 

The fact that Jaehyun hadn’t mentioned the party to you wasn’t even a thought that occurred in your mind. You were more so concerned with the logistics of deciding to throw a party during midterms. Stressed beyond relief with your own course load, you couldn’t imagine deciding to attend anything extracurricular at this time of year.

But then, the idea of making such plans seems a lot more plausible when Leehan says, “Are you coming, pretty? I think it would be cute if we went with with matching costumes.”

It’s because of moments like these that your feelings for Leehan can be so conflicting. At the beginning of your day today, he sat around you with your other friends and acted as if you were nothing more than acquaintances. Followed you to your dorm and fucked you as sensually and passionately as a boyfriend would. Is getting dressed and preparing to leave within minutes of reaching his climax. And now, he calls you pet names in a non-sexual context and tells you he wants to wear a couple’s costume with you. Constantly affronted with gestures that are both hot and cold, you can never be too sure whether it’s you that’s delusional or him that’s sending mixed messages.

Nonetheless, you cannot help yourself from replying, “Sounds fun. I’ll be there,” even though you know you that you shouldn’t. Even though you know you have far too much on your plate academically to be going to a party on a school night. Even though you know your actions should not be so predated on his. Knowing all of this, you still find yourself not the least bit concerned, only excited, as you think about attending the party together.

“See you then, gorgeous. Have sweet, x-rated dreams about me,” is what he says as he finishes putting on his discarded clothes, standing in your bedroom doorway as he prepares to leave. His silhouette casts a shadow over your dimly lit room, covering your naked, vulnerable body. 

“Shut up,” you mumble weakly as you move to throw a pillow at him, a part of you wishing that all of your interactions felt as sweet as this one did.  

>you: hey i’m at the halloween store picking out costumes, what were you thinking?

Five minutes before you were planning to head out to Jaehyun’s party, you reread this text from two days ago over and over, the delivered in the corner almost taunting you. Just 13 words took you at least an half an hour to send because you couldn’t stop wondering if it was too vague or too forward or if you shouldn’t have even said anything all. 

And now, as you sit on the cold bench outside of your dorm waiting for your Uber to the party, wearing a cheap angel costume, you realize now what a mistake it was to send that text. 

You suppose the misunderstanding you’ve found yourself in started with your assumption – based on Leehan’s last words to you as he left your dorm just a few days ago – that you’d be shopping together to find matching costumes for Jaehyun’s party. 

But when the party was inching closer and he had yet to reach out, you ventured to a PartyCity on your own. It was then that you sent the text after much internal laboring, ultimatley thinking that maybe he was busy with midterms and would be grateful that you had taken the initiative on both your behalf's to buy the costumes.

Even as you were halfway through the checkout line and still nothing from Leehan, you bought a matching devil costume for him anyway, plastic red horns to match your sparkly halo. Maybe, when he was less busy, he’d eventually reach back out, still interested in going to the party with you and grateful you saved him the trouble of picking out a costume. 

In your mind, there were a billion rational possibilities for why he wasn’t responding that would still ultimately end in your original plans to attend the party and dress together.

It wasn’t until an hour before the party and still no response from Leehan that you were forced to accept you’d be going to this party yourself. A billion questions arose in your mind. Was something wrong, explaining why he had been M.I.A after making plans with you? Had he forgotten about the party entireley? 

Did he just…no longer want to go with you anymore?

As you stood up to enter your approaching Uber, you try to remind yourself that the party was being thrown at Leehan’s apartment – there was no way that he was oblivious to what today was. If he hadn’t responded to your text, it didn’t necessarily have to be for malicious reasons. Maybe he just genuinely forgot, or was one of the many people who went offline during midterm season.

Either way, you were beginning to think that you were worrying too much for no reason. After all, it isn’t the end of the world that you aren’t arriving together in matching costumes.

Or, maybe it’s the couple of shots you took while getting ready finally kicking in and causing your rationality to dissipate.

Arriving at Jaehyun’s apartment, you already knew that knocking on the door would be futile; without entering, you could hear the loud sounds of bass burning through a speaker that you could guess would make any outside noise intelligible. Instead, you took your chances at twisting the doorknob, and sure enough, it was unlocked. It seemed dangerous to you, but you walked in anyway to find a cacophony of purple, green, and orange strobe lights, illuminating the sizeable crowd of people filling the space. 

Decorations of cobwebs and skulls adored almost every surface, and as you walked further inside, you noticed the array of drink bowls spread out against a long table. 

You observe impressively that Jaehyun went as far as hiring a DJ, a guy dressed in a vampire costume who jerks his upper body back and forth to the rhythm of the music. 

It’s almost like a scene in a coming-of-age-film come to life, mountains of young adult bodies bouncing in a hypnotic fervor while drinks in red solo cups are sloshed up and down in the process.

Making your way through the crowd, you spot several of your newfound friends, plus others Jaehyun introduced you to at the lunar eclipse. You wave particularly to Riwoo, Giselle, and Sungho – dressed as an elf, cat, and fireman respectively – but really , who you’re looking for is Leehan. 

In the first five minutes or so of your search, you have no luck in finding him. You do, however, run into Jaehyun, whose sleeveless jean vest with no shirt underneath immediately gives away his costume as Ken from the Barbie movie. You giggle at the realization, taken aback even more when Jaehyun drapes an arm clumsily over your shoulder, bringing you in closer.

“I’m so glad you could make it, Y/N!” he shouts, competing with the loud music, and just barely – you almost want to drag him somewhere quieter, away from the DJ booth, but the longer you look at Jaehyun, taking in his wobbly, red-faced disposition, you realize he must be drunk. Trying to force him into any extended movement in his current condition would be futile.

“Thanks. Hey, have you seen Leehan?” you ask, skipping any pleasantries. You want to get an answer from his as quickly as possible before he becomes incoherent.

To your dismay, he shakes his head no. “He’s not coming. Told me he had a study date he was going to.”

You hope the absence of light outside from the shitty strobes obscures the expression of disappointment that is surely on your face right now, or even better that Jaehyun is too drunk to remember you asking this at all tomorrow morning. 

“You’re not still interested in him, are you?” asks Jaehyun, the smallest glimmer of rationality breaking through his drunken fervor as he seems to be sincere in asking. You force a smile, wanting to get away from him as quickly as possible before he’s able to notice the difference.

“No, of course not,” you dismiss with a small laugh. You give Jaehyun a friendly pat on the arm before identifying where the drinks are so you can head there next. “Thanks for having me.”

Beelining for the punch table, you fill a red solo cup with a mixture of liquids from all three bowls and throw it down without investigating what you’ve just ingested. To your dismay, rather than dulling your emotions, the alcohol brings out your festering resentment. Towards Leehan, towards this entire situation.

Truthfully, with your own midterms looming and a mountain of late assignments you’ve allowed to pile up over the last few months as you prirotized sex with Leehan, it was against your every best interest to show up tonight. 

You had checked your assignment-board this morning to discover that two essays worth 40% of your grade were due at 11:59 tonight. 

A class you were already failing with a 60 was requiring you to submit revisions for a paper tonight, too.

And yet, you made the decision to come out tonight – promising yourself you’d make it home at a decent enough hour so that you could at least submit something – because of Leehan. 

You were encouraged to wake up this morning and the morning before this morning because of your excitement at the notion of coming to this party with him by your side, wearing matching costumes and sharing drinks and hopefully spit by the end of the night, too.

If you were being completely honest, all of your days were beginning to feel like that — like the only thing you had to continuously look forward to was seeing or experiencing Leehan in some way shape or form.

Experiencing his laugh and his weird habit of bringing up the most random topics at the drop of a dime. Seeing his dimples pop out when he smiles at you and feeling like it’s the cutest thing in the world.

It’s becoming clear to you now that his absence has just as big — no, a bigger emotional impact that his presence does.

You’re angry because you know you didn’t create this excitement out of nowhere: he told you he wanted you to come to this party. You went solely because he said he was going to. If he didn’t want to come tonight, if he had plans, he could have warned you.

You’re angry at yourself for believing him. 

Worst of all, you’re angry because he’s on a date and it confirms all of your biggest insecurities about you not being enough for him.

And it’s at this point that you acknowledge how woefully unequipped you were to say yes to the proposition he gave you the night of the lunar eclipse. Because if it means having to experience the profoundly soul-crushing reality of his disinterest in anything having to do with you other than quick, indulgent sex, you’d rather die a million times. 

You feel your phone buzzing and reach into your bag to grab it unfeelingly. It’s a notification from Leehan. And as if you needed one more reason to feel like shit tonight, the nofication reads, Leehan questioned your message: hey i’m at the halloween store picking out costumes, what were you thinking?

You’re so tired of trying to analyze Leehan’s every action and gesture in an effort to convince yourself that maybe there’s some large reasoning behind his indifference. Instead of searching for any additional explanation behind in the question mark, you simply decide that he’s an asshole who had no intention of going out with you tonight.

And it’s with that steely acknowledgement that suddenly, you feel like you’re about to throw up all of the liquor you’ve just consumed. Taking a deep breath to stop yourself from spilling your guts right then and there, you decide it’s time to go home.

In your haste to leave the party, you don’t bother to try and yell excuse me to the 20 or so people blocking your way to the exit. You simply squeeze past who you can and push past who you can’t, not even caring to look back at those you shoulder check until you’re turned around by a pull against your forearm.

Face-to-chest with a figure you don’t immediately recognize, you body seizes up in fear, a condition that’s only slightly alleviated when you recognize the person’s voice as they exclaim in a deep voice, “ Whoa, whoa whoa . Hey, Y/N.” 

It’s in slight annoyance that you look up to meet Leehan’s gaze, finding him staring down at you softly. It appears that he’s just walked into the party. In a space  full of people dressed as mythical creatures, he looks out of place in his leather jacket and jeans, but also oh so attractive. His hair gathers in front of his face messily, the dark brown locks in a rare state of curliness. He doesn’t have to wear plastic horns to look devilish. 

“Are you okay?” you hear him ask loudly over the sound of the music, his hand now resting on the apex of your arm. Feeling both defiant and embarrassed to tell him the true answer to his question – that no , you’re not okay because you foolishly thought you could count on him to be there for you when he said he would – you don’t answer. 

And in a move that only contributes to the growing feeling that all Leehan truly cares about when it comes to you is sex, he doesn’t even allow you the time to answer, even if you wanted to. “You look pretty, angel ,” he says only seconds after his last remark, using both of his hands to smoothe down pieces of your hair messed up by your headband. 

A compliment that would usually cause sparks to fly throughout your stomach now only annoys you, especially as you catch a whiff of fruity, feminine perfume on his body. 

“You smell like someone else,” you tell him plainly, too drunk to hide what it is you’re thinking. And you can see that the remark and the resentful tone in which you say it takes him aback, even as he chuckles in an attempt to remain composed. 

“Because I was driving for Uber, tonight, pretty,” he says, and before you have a chance to question his excuse, he continues by asking, “How much have you had to drink?”

“Why does that matter?” you retort with a scoff, convinced he’s about to try and spin this on you by suggesting your valid anger is a result of your drinking. 

But then he puts on that signature smirk of his, those wretched dimples of his coming out as he leans down into your ear to say, “Because when I ask If I can take you to my room in about five minutes, I want to make sure I’m not taking advantage of you.”

Yout hate that those words and the implication of sex have you immediately aroused and pliant, even as you grapple with the feeling of being just a physical object to him. 

Because as much as you dislike him right now for what he’s put you through emotionally, his renewed attention feels like the perfect solvent to your wounds.

“You wouldn’t be,” you reply softly, your voice coming out small and weak as you maintain unbroken eye contact with him.

“Yeah?” he replies almost mockingly, bringing a hand up to stroke your cheek. “Why do I get the feeling that you want me to take advantage of you?”

It feels like your mind and heart are on two different accords as your face remains passive and unaffected yet what comes out of your mouth is, “Take me to your room and find out.”

It’s less a feeling of shame but more like acceptance that comes over you as you follow Leehan back into the throes of the party, his hand leading you through the crowd of people and towards his bedroom. 

Deep down, you know that the excuse he gave you earlier about his whereabouts was bullshit. Never once before has Leehan mentioned driving for Uber, and even if he did, it still wouldn’t justify his complete lack of regard for the plans you made and his lack of regard for you , refusing to notify you in advance that he wouldn’t be available.

But when faced with the proposition of sex, it seems foolish to deny it so that you can… what ? Continue to stew in feelings that will just leave you feeling empty, hurt, and worthless? Question him about being on a date when you know you have no right to?

Having sex will at least guarantee you a few moments of mind-numbing bliss, even if only a temporary high. Better that than have to face the reality of your own complicated nest of delusion.

As you’re let into Leehan’s room, hearing the sound of him closing the door shut behind you, you’re hit with the sudden realization that in the three months or so you’ve known him, you’ve never been in here before. 

His room has all the markers of a college boy’s sense of taste – dark colored furniture and bedsheets, posters scattered on the wall with no real order, random piles of mess occupying corners of the room. 

In a space that is otherwise unremarkable, your attention is piqued by a square, rectangular tank on top of his dresser.

“You have fish ,” you remark in a tone that is both matter-a-fact and questioning, something about your drunken state making you more curious than ever about the tank and it’s inhabitants. 

Throwing his jacket onto a random chair, Leehan comes up next to you and lets out a chuckle as he takes in your awe-stricken expression. “For some reason, I forgot you haven’t been in here before,” he observes, and when he watches you just continue to stand still, eyes transfixed on the fish but still remaining a few feet away from the tank, he gestures for you to follow him to it. “C’mon. Sit.”

You can’t help the way that your limbs move eagerly and excitedly towards the tank, where Leehan pulls up two extra chairs for you both to sit and view it together. 

Fish of all different sizes and shapes swim around in vibrant blurs of pink, orange and beige. You watch it all in awe, not sure if it’s because you’re tipsy or simply curious, and as Leehan explains what each type of fish is called, you hang onto every word.

“...this one is called a corydoras catfish. The rest of them are shrimp,” he explains, pressing his finger up against the tank as he points out each fish and the attributes that differentiate them from one another. 

In one corner of the tank, a group of fish swim frantically around each other, as if fighting.

“Usually they come right up against the tank when I sit in front of them like this. I think they’re mad because I haven’t given them any fish food.”

“Don’t you need to feed them?” you ask in genuine concern, turning to look at Leehan who only smirks.

“Are you trying to imply that I’m a negligent father, Y/N?” he retorts dramatically, his body tensing in mock offense before he relaxes and explains, “Don’t worry. They’re supposed to eat the algae on the rock. For some reason, they’re just being hesitant.”

“Maybe the algae isn’t what they want,” you chime in with a reasoning tilt to your quiet, contemplative voice.

“Just because the fish food is what they want doesn’t mean I should give it to them,” Leehan retorts simply, and maybe it’s the drunk, cynical part of you that thinks he’s making reference to your relationship. That you’re the fish who just can’t help but want something it can’t have, and he’s the sensible overseer that remains in control of what you will receive. 

But if Leehan is making some sort of larger, metaphorical reference to your relationship, he surely moves on from it quickly, becoming wistful and contemplative as he says, “I’ve been raising fishes all my life. Sometimes when I’m stressed I’ll just sit in front of the tank and talk to them.”

He presses his hand flat against the tank, his lips twitching into a prideful, paternal smile. “Because I know that unlike humans, they’ll never judge me.”

You find that your eyes never stray from the side of Leehan’s face as he talks, feeling almost like you’re a purveyor to this private, intimate moment he’s having. It feels like a privilege to be able to observe Leehan in moments like this where you’re given a genuine glimpse into his inner personhood.

But you’re pushed out just as quickly as you’re let in, watching as he promptly gets up from his seat by the tank and makes his way over to the bed. You turn your body in your chair to face him, and find that he’s now staring at you lustfully, gesturing for you to join him.

And as dismaying as it is to see him abandon the brief moment of emotional vulnerability just as quickly as it began, you stand up anyway, making your way to him.

Your movements toward him are slow, shy almost, and you can tell it pleases Leehan as you stand between his legs and are brought forward by his hands pushing at your lower back. He looks up at you, communicating wordlessly with just his sensual gaze how much he wants you. Your lingering anger from before stops you from making the first move, but even so, you don’t resist when he leans in to press a soft, steady kiss against your lips. Finding something almost apologetic about the innocent gesture, you put aside all of your inhibitions and decide to deepen the kiss, leaning your body fully into his and relishing in the groans he makes against your mouth. 

Passion quickly bleeds into the both of your movements until you’re kissing in a crazed, frantic manner. His hands that previously only looped your hips now wander across the expanse of your back, and with one forceful tug, your zipper comes down your dress. You’ve only just allowed the fabric to slide down your shoulders before he’s pulling the dress down himself, exposing your nipples to the cold air before covering them with his hot mouth. Tongue swirling around your hardened nubs, you nuzzle a hand in his hair and throw your head back in contentment. 

It’s with a wet pop that he pulls off of you, leaning upward to lock your lips once more. But because you're both incredibly and overwhelming horny, the kiss lasts for barely a few seconds before he’s pulling away to voice his plans for your body. 

“Want you to sit on my face,” he mumbles, voice gruff and deep and dripping with desire. “Wanna put that pretty pussy of yours in my mouth.”

Smirking in reply, you rest your head against his, eyes closed as you weather the currents of several shocks of arousal that travel up your body and make your legs feel like jelly. “I want that, too,” you confess, your voice sounding wispy as your body loses the strength to be assertive. “Also kinda want your dick in my mouth.”

His eyes light up at this, and with a hand on your chin that brings your face level with his, he says, “How about this: You hop on my face, and I’ll let you suck my cock. Sound good?”

Something about Leehan’s enduring leadership has the effect of making you feel intimidated, so much so that all you manage is a shy nod in response to his words, which he luckily accepts without any further prompting. You’re better at speaking with your actions, anyway, knowing that there’s a wordless understanding in the way that you kiss him hard and passionately while your hands push him onto his back.  

It’s with greedy, fast-moving hands that you strip him of his clothes, desperate for the instant bliss that is his mouth against your clit, the instant satisfaction that is his cum shooting down your throat. Once you have him fully naked, the fuzzy halo headband you’ve long forgotten about the only shared item of clothing between the two of you, you begin to adjust so that you may assume the required position. 

But your movements are suddenly halted when Leehan sits up suddenly, muttering the word “Wait,” as he maneuvers the both of your bodies so that you now lay on the complete opposite side of the bed. 

“That’s better,” he mumbles contentedly.

“What?”

“Just don’t want the fish to see what I’m about to do to you,” he replies, an answer so baffling that all you can do is laugh in reply. Your reaction barely phases him as he moves to drag your body onto his, and just like that, his kookiness is forgotten and your focus becomes tethered to the feeling of his breath against your awaiting pussy. 

He blows a few teasing, cool breaths against your dripping core, and before he has the chance to make you succumb to the pleasure of his mouth, you reach out to begin your own enjoyment of his heavy, hard cock. 

His member is veiny and substantial in your hands, reddened tip dripping with beads of precum that you lick away without thought of how it will impact Leehan. You feel his body seize with a jolt of pleasure from the direct contact with his most sensitive body part. 

And as if trying to get payback, he begins his assault on your pussy by sucking your clit into his warm, wet mouth.

From there, it becomes a competition of wills, a battle to see who can be least distracted by the pleasure they’re receiving in order to make the other fold, or at the very least, reach their climax. 

It’s a war you feel yourself pitifully losing as your drunken fervor somehow makes every casually overwhelming sensation feel 10x more heightened. You feel yourself inching closer and closer to release with each blissful flick of his tongue against your clit. 

Still, not forgetting about Leehan and his pleasure, you fight through the mental haze of your own gratification and concentrate on making slow, purposeful pumps of his cock within the ring of your hand. 

Sucking Leehan off is an activity you’ve gotten more than enough experience in to know what it takes to make him come. You gather all of the moisture in your mouth and wet his shaft with your spit. You press teasing, chaste kisses on his sensitive tip. You swirl your tongue in circles and continue stroking him with your hand. 

And then, when you can feel his thighs tensing as he grows tired of your teasing, you offer him relief in the form of taking him fully in your warm mouth.

Leehan’s self control is impeccable, even as you’re bobbing your head up and down his cock. He drags his tongue through your folds and finds himself at your hole, licking up the arousal there and fucking you open with his tongue. The only sign he shows of his own impending release are in the groans that he lets out against your mound. You can feel something overwhelming begining to build in your stomach, and though your body tries to squirm away from it, he holds you against his face.

You pitifully moan with his cock fully lodged in your mouth, and with a few final thrusts of his tongue, the knot in your stomach comes undone. As your orgasm overwhelms you, it’s difficult to continue moving your head. 

But Leehan’s too close to let his climax slip away from him, so it’s in desperation that he begins bucking his hips into your mouth at the same time he’s licking you through your orgasm. You just relax your jaw and let out restrained whimpers as Leehan fucks your mouth, not stopping until he finishes with a groan.

“My god, Y/N,” Leehan mutters breathily, turning you both on your sides, unraveling his limbs from yours until you’re no longer skin to skin. “We should do that position more often.”

You nod lazily in agreement, and with the little strength left in your limbs, you sit up to meet Leehan in the middle of the bed for a wet kiss. 

The position is slightly awkward, the two of you laying in opposite directions, twisting your bodies unnaturally, but kissing each other is a habit so addictive that even as you’re pulling away, he pulls at your hair to bring you back in for just a few seconds longer.

It’s comforting to fall back down onto the bed and feel Leehan’s fingers gently caressing the skin of your ankle. In your sleepy, post-orgasm haze, you’re filled with a sudden surge of contement in regards to your decision to come here tonight. 

You feel the fabric of a blanket kissing the sides of your body, and when you look over to find Leehan getting comfy in bed, it’s with satisfaction that you begin to do the same.

But then, the blanket you were just about to pull onto your body is snatched off of your skin, and when you look over at Leehan, you see him tucking himself in with a sleepy, content smile on his face. It’s just as you’re sitting up that he flutters his eyes closed, and with a sleepy tilt to his voice he says, “Hey, if you see Jaehyun on your way out, can you ask him to call me? I wanna know what time he plans on ending this.”

There’s a second after those words hit your ears where you’re not sure if you misheard him, slow to move from where you are in his bed. But as the implications of the statement hit you horrifically and all at once, it’s with a heavy feeling of shame weighing down your body that you reply, “Sure,” going to gather your discarded things from the floor.

The humiliating act of putting on your clothes after being dismissed so casually is almost instantaneously sobering. You catch a view of yourself in the display of your phone and notice that your plastic halo headband has been bent 90 degrees, likely from how rough you were. Your hair is strewn in every direction. Your mascara is smeared and ruined, running down your cheeks in squiggly, broken lines. 

You’re a mess. He made you a mess for the sake of his pleasure. And instead of cleaning you up, Leehan has essentially just kicked you out onto the street.

Only Leehan could cause such a dramatic shift between feeling like you were safe and desired to feeling like you’re just a worthless speck of nothing attached to the bottom of his shoe.

It’s just as you’re about to open the door to leave that you hear him call your name, and with your back turned to him, a hopeful part of you thinks that maybe, just maybe, he’ll say he changed his mind and wants you to stay.

But instead, as if to turn the knife in more, when you turn around, you find him staring boredly at his phone. 

Instead of regret on his face, you see neutrality. 

And instead of asking you to stay, he just says, “Thanks so much by the way. For the sex and the favor.”

It’s with a forced, robotic sense of calmness that you’re replying. “No problem, Leehan.”

And then you leave his room, never feeling so profoundly insignificant than you do in this moment.

There’s nothing quite worse than waking up with a terrible hangover, a panging feeling of emotional emptiness, and then having to send a string of desperate emails to your professors asking for deadline extensions. But that’s exactly what you do in the aftermath of the Halloween party, and by the grace of all things holy, you’re granted an extra few days to get your assignments in.

So grateful for the chance to resuscitate your failing GPA, you focus your efforts on finishing your assignments and almost forget about the cause of such misfortune, until you’re reminded when your phone suddenly buzzes with a text.

>leehan: what are you doing?

Messages of this sort usually have the effect of leaving you excited and giddy in anticipation of Leehan’s inevitable arrival to your doorstep. But now, all you feel is annoyance as you read the text and plague yourself over what to say. 

You type and delete several versions of a response that ultimately boils down to i’m too busy trying not to fail all of my classes which i wouldn’t be failing if it weren’t for all of the time i spend either thinking about you or fucking you , but in the end, you resolutely decide not to respond at all. 

In fact, in a move surely colored by the resentment you’ve allowed to grow for far too long now, you turn on read receipts so he knows you chose to disregard him on purpose.

You then continue typing away at one of the three essays that are past due, hoping you can forget about Leehan and return to the focus you had before receiving the message and being reminded of the past week’s events. You’re pleased when you look up after a few moments to see that an hour has passed and your attention hasn’t lingered. 

Just as you open a new tab to begin the reading for your second essay, the indistinguishable sound of a knock at your door stirs your attention otherwise.

You look around your shared dorm space. Your roommate went home for break already and hasn’t been here for the past few days. Assuming she communicated that to her friends, you know whoever’s on the other side of the door shouldn’t be for her. 

It could be an RA, though you couldn’t imagine why. 

Deciding to confront your curiosity head on, you get up to open the door and feel your eyes widen when it’s Leehan leaning against the doorframe.

Dressed comfortably in a hoodie and cargo pants, he looks up to greet you, smirking at the sight of your looming silhouette. “Hello,” he says casually, as if his sudden appearance was known to you before now.

There’s a strange mixture of excitement and dread that swirls inside of you the moment you see him. Because on one hand, just a look from him is something that gives you uncontrollable butterflies. You truly do like being around Leehan. But you feel like you have no control over the fact that you will let him in, even though you have every reason not to. 

He’ll fuck you, give you some of the best pleasure of your life, and will leave right afterwards, making you feel shitty. 

You’ll exerience the greatest high followed by the greatest low. 

And already in anticipation of how terrible you’ll feel in the aftermath of this inevitable scenario, it’s as if you’re body is already making space for the knife that will surely tear through your heart when this ends.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, though you already have a strong feeling what the answer will be. 

He’ll play coy, changing the subject by asking another question in response to your question.

“Aren’t you gonna let me in?” he says next, even though you both know the true reason why he’s come.

And because you like to feel like you have even the smallest semblance of control over the situation, you don’t give in to him easily, making a face of mock contemplation before replying, “Not if you don’t answer the question first.”

“Did you know that peppermint dwarf angelfish require a very specific type of fish food?” he asks, and because you’re so used to these divertive, weird diatribes he’s always so inclined to go on, all you can do is try and follow along. “I had to come all the way up here to find the only shop in Korea that sells it. And while I was already up here, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to stop by your dorm and say hi.”

You tilt your head as you stare at him, considering bitterly whether he could be telling the truth or not. 

But of course, his serious expression quickly melts into a smirk as he explains himself. “I’m kidding, Y/N. Not about the fishes, but about why I’m here. I wanted to see you, so I came.”

There’s something that’s really disgustingly cocky and self-centered about him just showing up to your door without warning with the unsaid though obvious expectation of sex. 

And yet, would he be wrong to have that expectation, when so many times before you’ve let him for that exact purpose?

He must be able to see the conflicting thoughts you’re having reflected on your expression, because from behind his back, he reveals a bouquet of flowers. You don’t know how you didn’t notice he was holding them until now, a colorful array of peonies and roses with, upon further inspection, a bunch of cardboard fishes placed among the petals. 

You can’t help but smile as you take them from him.

“I brought flowers?” he says, his voice titled in an expression of this being an olive branch, his way of expressing apology, though for what you don’t know. For showing up here unannounced? For putting you through so much obvious emotional turmoil? You’re not sure. 

There is something at least a little romantic about him boldly showing up at your doorstep instead of waiting for you to respond to his text. Though, through another, more cynical lens, you could also call it kind of creepy. Should you go with the latter interpretation, you know you would be sending the worse kind of message by letting him in anyway. You’d essentially be confirming to him that this relationship is on his terms, that he can show up to your place whenever he wants to get his dick wet, regardless of if you’re busy like you are now.

But isn’t that what this has always been between the two of you? Once again, you feel helpless in the face of the unbounding energy his presence causes. You can only watch the rest of the nights events play out like a bad movie you’ve seen far too many times, like you’re a witness from outside your own body and life.

You walk away from Leehan, leaving your door open so he knows he can come in. You place the flowers neatly on the table next to the entrance. It’s when you face the kitchenette of your dorm that you realize just how cluttered the place is; too stressed about your schoolwork, you haven’t put any thought into keeping it clean.

“Sorry,” you mutter sheepishly under your breath as you hear Leehan come in and close the door behind him. “It’s kind of a mess in here.”

He chuckles, as if to agree without having to say it plainly and hurt your feelings. You turn to face him and find that he’s already looking at you, a penetrating expression on his face as he asks, “Are you okay?”

You’ve never found that question as hard to answer as it is right now, especially when it’s his voice doing the questioning. 

Should you say that you’re on the verge of failing all of your classes, a circumstance you’ve never once had to worry about until he came into your life, causing a whirwhild of uncontainable emotions to take over your life? 

That you’ve been questioning everything when it comes to your own self-esteem and worthiness because it feels like you’re nothing if you’re not validated by the fleeting yet addicting warmth of his gaze and attention?

In the time that it takes you to think, you realize that Leehan has come closer, his body in front of you so that now you can’t escape from the kitchen counter against your back that blocks you in completely. Dazed by the proximity of him, you forget what you were asked, and are grateful when he doesn’t press you for an answer. It’s better for both of you if you don’t respond, anyway, because your honesty would surely kill the mood.

“You know what might make you feel better?” he asks, and you fight back a cynical giggle at the fact that he doesn’t even have to hear you say it to know that you need to be made better. “Fucking the shit out of me.”

As always, his moments of sudden candor simultaneously make you laugh and cringe because of how ill-fitting they are to the persona he occupies in your mind. You’ve always liked how awkward and strange Leehan is, which is why his fuckboy tendencies have always landed uneasily for you. 

It becomes too easy, then, to tease him by pretending you didn’t hear his outward expression of desire. “I don’t like the way you look at people,” you say, trying your hand at his usual divertive tactics. “It’s like you can see through them.”

You can always appreciate how even when you sidestep his advances, Leehan always plays into your banter, never pressuring you into action. “It’s because I can. BOO!” he exclaims, mouth open in an o shape as he childishly expresses fright. You muster a laugh at his playfulness.

After that, you’re both silent, and you know it’s because you’re both tired of playing games. You’re at the point now where it becomes obvious in both of your piercing gazes that you want to fuck, and now it’s just about who will make the move first. 

Suddenly conscious of Leehan’s long hair and how it hangs over the sides of his face, you reach your arms up to take pieces of it into your hands. There’s a rubber band on your wrist that you use to try and put it in a ponytail so you can see his features better, but before you can finish, he takes the opportunity of your increased closness to kiss you. 

The intensity of his kiss knocks the air out of your lungs, and you let go of his hair before you can finish tying it up. Because of your close proximity, it falls over the sides of your own face, obscuring the rest of the world from you so that it’s just him in your vision. 

His hands rest on the apex of your hips, and he pushes you slightly so that you’re completely backed up against the kitchen counter. You’d thought you’d feel more urgent, but your movements are leisurely as you bring your hands to his hoodie and begin to pull at the buttons holding it together. As the fabric begins to sag off his arms, he starts kissing at your neck, and you tilt your head to the side to accommodate him.

Once his shirt has fallen to the ground, you then work to release his cock from the confines of his pants, pushing at the thankfully loose waistband until it springs out against his naked stomach. You jerk him slowly and leisurely but it causes him to groan into your mouth just the same, and soon he’s moving to unbutton your own t-shirt until you’re both naked from the waist up.

“Leehan,” you whimper, as he cups your tits with both hands, “Bed.”

“Which one? I take it your roommate’s is empty?” he replies jokingly, and when you stare at him scathingly, he chuckles. “I’m kidding. Don’t look at me like that or I’ll come in my pants.”

You have no chance to scold Leehan for his teasing any further before he’s picking you up off the ground, your legs wrapping around his waist and hands around his neck as he walks habitually to your bedroom. He’s still on top of you even as you feel yourself being lowered onto your bed, mouth on yours in a sloppy kiss while his hands rush to get your pants off. He sits up to kick his own off, and now the two of you are left completely naked. 

This would usually be the point where the two of you would become like animals and rush to fuck as soon as possible. But while standing above your body, you watch as Leehan just stares at your still figure on the bed, taking in every detail with his penetrative, admiring eyes.

“I find you so beautiful,” he softly confesses, caressing the skin on your hip before looking up to meet your shy gaze. “Do you know that?”

It’s unclear whether he’s asking if you know that you’re beautiful, or if you know that he finds you beautiful. Either way, it’s in a moment of sincere honesty that you reply, “Only sometimes.”

Because there are days when you look in the mirror or put on your clothes on your way to campus and feel like your body is less of a home, but a prison that you’re forever doomed to occupy.

And with the emotional rollercoaster that is having sex with Leehan only for him to completely ignore you afterward, you’ve naturally found yourself wondering if the only alluring thing about you is that you’ll let him fuck you with no questions asked. That in a school full of beautiful girls with actual self-esteem, he’s settled for you so long as you continue to provide him with pussy.

Leehan furrows his eyebrows at your response, and with a corrective tone of voice replies, “ Always .” In movements that are slow and gentle, he leans down to lay a chaste kiss on your forehead. Another on the top of your cheek. Another on your ear. And then on every single part of your face that you’d normally consider insignificant. And then slowly down your rising and falling torso. 

“Everything about you. I couldn’t pick a favorite thing because I love every single part of you,” he confesses in a whisper-like tone against your skin. Finally reaching your pussy, he places one last gentle kiss at the top of your mound, something about the gesture making your pussy clench, espeically as he says, “You’re my favorite girl.”

To be affirmed by Leehan in this way is something that causes both your heart to swell and your body to pulse with arousal. But it’s also with a surge of sadness that you wish these words didn’t affect you so monumentally. 

A part of you wants him to stop making remarks of this sort to you during sex because you can never be sure that he truly means them.

But if that’s the case, then why do they feel and sound so genuine?

It’s with shaky resoluteness in your voice that you sit up to look at Leehan, replying, “Then show me.”

And, as if spurred on by the challenge, you can see Leehan’s expression changing even with half of his face obscured by your pussy. “How?” he asks, leaning in to lick teasingly against your clit. “Like this?” 

When he doesn’t wait for your answer and continues sucking and licking against your clit, you throw your head back as you enjoy the physical manifestations of Leehan’s attraction to you. 

If there is any time when you feel most desired and liked by him, it’s when he’s in between your legs, devouring you whole like a man starved. 

He uses his mouth not to tell you sweet-nothings, but to give you some of the best pleasure of your life. And it’s in gestures like these where you can wordlessly understand his devotion to you. 

It’s in your desperation to reach your peak that you begin to buck your hips into his mouth, wanting more of him, but he stops it with both hands that snake up your body and press down on your boobs. He tweaks at your nipples in a way that makes your back arch, but in a gesture that surprises you, he also just rests his hand over your chest, right where your heart is. You wonder if he can feel the fluctuations of your pulse, how it speeds up when his tongue does. Dreamily, the thought of him being so in sync with you that he can feel the intimate beatings of your inner organ sends you into a spiral of heightened satisfaction.

“Leehan, I’m gonna come.”

Even with your eyes closed, you can almost hear the smirk in his voice as he says, “My favorite four words in the world. Go ahead, baby. I’ve got you.”

Somehow, you think your body needed that permission, because it’s only moments later that your orgasm takes over your body. 

Your eyelids are covered with dancing spirals, your spine bends as you arch up into the air, and your body vibrates with a feeling so pleasurable it’s like an addiction, something you’d endure the greatest emotional lows to receive on a regular basis.

As you still, Leehan gets up to sit on his knees, looking over at your bedside dresser. “Still have the condoms where I left them?”

“Top drawer,” you confirm.

“Good girl,” he praises with a smile, reaching over you to rummage through the drawer and coming out of it with a silver packet between his fingers. 

It’s just as he’s finished putting it on and is about to slide in that you raise a hand to stop him, saying, “Leehan wait. I wanna ride you.”

His eyebrows raise at this, but he nonetheless maneuvers so that he’s in a criss-cross position, saying with a grin, “Woah. I feel lucky. You never get on top. Make me do all the work.”

“Shut up,” you grumble, making your way over to him and holding onto his shoulders as you hover over his hardened cock. But before you can take him, he roughly grabs your chin, squeezing your face in his hold in a way that forces your eyes on his.

“Make me,” he asserts, staring at you so intensely that it makes your stomach swoop. Reaching between your bodies, you grab hold of his pulsing erection and line it up with your hole, sinking down on him and loving the way it makes both of your mouths instantly open on impact.

It feels like you’re being split open in the most pleasurable way as you sit down fully on Leehan’s cock and allow the satisfcation of being filled by him to consume you. Driven by the pursuit of your own pleasure, you bounce, swivel, and thrust yourself against him. And when Leehan throws his head back, beautiful neck on display as he growls, “You’re so tight, Y/N,” you’re motivated to go even harder.

Sex with Leehan has never felt more intimate than it does now, when you’re above him and able to catch every small distortion in his gorgeous expression as he gets taken away by the gratification of this sex. Mantaining eye contact with him is nothing new to you now, but even so, you find yourself feeling like his eyes are admiring your soul more than they are your body or face as you bounce up and down for his viewing pleasure.

With your arms wrapped around his neck, you’re skin to skin, heart to heart, and in a way you almost feel like the closeness grants you the telepathic ability to know what he’s feeling and thinking. If there were to be a physical manifestation of the word yearning , it would be this exact moment between the two of you. 

Your expression melts into a smirk as you continue to ride him, and you feel almost motivated to giggle as the pleasure you’re experiencing makes you feel deliriously satisfied and happy. Leehan, with his hands leisurely rested at his sides, scans your face as if trying to memorize every detail, saying, “You make the prettiest expressions when my dick is inside of you. I truly can’t – nphhh – get enough.”

It’s as you begin to set a pace that has the tip of his cock kissing your g-spot with every bounce that you yearn for him to touch you, to light your skin on fire with the warmth of his touch. Anywhere. Everywhere. “Leehan, touch me .”

And it’s because he’s come to know your body so well, know exactly what makes you tick and what places to touch that have you crying in pleasure, he brings his hand to your clit and starts rubbing incoherent shapes into your swelling bud. Your body feels like it’s on fire, so much so that you begin to lose strength in your trembling thighs, something Leehan picks up on as he says almost desperately, “Faster, Y/N. Take it.”

You have to fight through the strain in your legs and the building tension in your stomach in order to begin bouncing on Leehan so hard it’s as if your life depends on it. And though it feels like it’s taking all of the energy in your body, you do it because you want to make him feel good. 

You do it because you want him to continue thinking of you as his favorite girl, even though that statement in itself implies the existence of other girls. 

Even though it feels like every morsel of your self-esteem is shattered in the process, you do it because his attention means so much to you that it blurs everything else.

“ Fuck , I’m gonna come,” you cry out as the pleasure becomes too much, as it begins to feels like everything else in your vision is obscured except for Leehan.

“Open your mouth,” you hear him say, and although your sex-crazed mind can barely comprehend why he’s asking you that, you comply anyways and feel your arousal growing stronger when, to your surpise, he tips your head back with a hand on your jaw and spits into your mouth.

The gesture is dirty and lewd and yet a moan rips out of you just the same, and the closer that your orgasm inches, the less you feel like you’re in control of your body or your reactions. Every thought and will in your brain has been diluted so that your only objective is to reach your peak.

“You like that, pretty?” he asks teasingly, his own orgasm approaching in a way that causes his voice to come out strained and tight. “Let me see what a dirty girl you are. Come all over my cock.”

Whimpers of his name leave your mouth in broken succession, the robustness of your orgasm milking you until your body quite literally collapses against his. And it’s after giving everything that your body could give, your legs trembling and your body screaming out in exhaustion, that Leehan takes over by thrusting wildly up into you. In search of his own climax, you can only whimper weakly into the skin of his neck and allow him to manhandle your limp body up and down his cock.

“I know, I know,” he coos apolgetically in your ear, fucking up into you hard and firmly. “I”m close. Gonna come inside your pretty little pussy.”

With a last thrust so impactful that it resonates throughout your entire body, Leehan releases into his condom, twisting his hips inside of you before pulling out with a groan. You collapse onto the bed together, and even though you can barely feel anything in the bottom half of your body, even though you have the foreboding inclination that it’ll be hard to walk later, you still can’t help the foolish smile that appears automatically on your face. There is no greater high than basking in your post-orgasm haze.

The stillness of the moments you share after sex is something you cling onto every time, wishing that the universe would mercifully turn those seconds of blissful and intimate silence between the two of you into minutes. But like the distant sound of thunder that lets you know that it’s going to rain, you feel the bed dip with the weight of Leehan sitting up, knowing that it’s only a matter of time before he sees himself out.

“You made a mess,” you hear him say as he picks at the fabric of your sheets where, sure enough, the white sheets have been soiled grey. The comment gives you slight butterflies, and as you manage a weak smile, about to reply with something snarky, he says, “Want me to stay behind? Do your laundry?”

If only for a few seconds, you allow yourself to consider the possibility that he’s being serious. That for the first time since you met him, he’s actually going to stay behind and take care of you instead of leaving you wet and limp and naked and sad. You hate how good those few seconds of belief feel. That just the idea of how doing something as simple as your laundry could make you feel so fulfilled and wanted.

At first you’re not sure what to think when he leans down to gently caress the hair on top of your head. But then, with an almost pitying expression on his face, he replies, “I’m just joking. If I hang around for too long, how would you miss me?”

There have been lots of times when Leehan has shown his lack of regard for you in his actions, but never in his words.

So to hear him plainly confirm to you that this is all a game to him, that it’s always been his intention to leave you strung out and wanting more, that he knows the emotional impact his absence causes, hits you like a slap in the face.

He doesn’t have to hide how little he cares about you because he knows that no matter how he treats you, you’ll always come back.

Haven’t you proven that exact notion to him time and time again?

“See you later, Y/N,” he says as he’s leaving your bedroom, a statement that he can make with confidence because you’ve shown him time and time again that he can walk all over you and still be guaranteed access to your body, mind and soul.

And as the reality of the situation that you’ve found yourself in hits you all at once, it’s at the sound of your front door closing that you begin to cry on impact.

Tears that feel endless begin to pour out onto your cheeks until you’re open-mouthed sobbing, and because you’ve spent so long holding these emotions back, they wreck your body until you have no energy left and devolve into soundless heaves.

You fall asleep like this, so emotionally wrecked and confused that you forgot about the three essays you were supposed to submit. 

You’re on the verge of tears as you enter your advisor’s office, sitting down across from the older woman whose passive expression tells you everything you need to know about the sort of news she’s about to deliver to you. But it’s with surprising clarity that you react to her saying, “Y/N, you’ve failed almost every single one of your classes this term.”

You stare blankly at her, processing the emotions that come over you at this news. It’s suprsing to say that the immediate feeling that comes over you is relief, but you owe it to the fact that you’ve been struggling this entire semester, plagued with anxiety as to whether or not you’d fail. And so, to have it finally confirmed after months of stressing about it feels similarly to being in the eye of a storm. 

After struggling for so long, you’re at a vantage point where it feels more comforting to be able to say that all that’s left is for you to fight your way out of the storm entirely. 

“Typically, when students have such large and sudden drops in performance like this, it’s because of some significant life event,” she explains, tilting her head as she looks at you pitifully. “Given that you’re a transfer student, I’m wondering if the transition from your old school to this one had an impact on your performance. Are you finding the academic rigor here harder?”

“No, maam,” you say, shaking your head. Academically, this school has been everything you had been hoping for and more since deciding to transfer. You couldn’t have expected to meet someone who so greatly turned your life around within a matter of months. 

Not sure how to explain the unique set of circumstances leading up to this moment, you vaguely answer, “I’ve just…transparently had a lot going on this semester in my personal life. So I haven’t been as great at prioritizing my classes.”

Humming in understanding, your advisor moves to face her computer. “Well, I’m afraid the next steps are to put you on academic probation for the rest of this semester. Are you aware of what that all entails?”

You shake your head no. Your advisor goes on to explain it to you. “You’ll need to maintain at least a 2.5 grade point average moving forward. Additionally, you’ll be given a tutor – another student who you’ll be mandated to meet with at least once a week to get your grades up.”

There a few telltale clicking sounds from her computer before she’s speaking up again to say, “It looks like the only available tutor for this semester is a student named Han Taesan. Do you know him?”

Admittedly only familiar with the few people who Jaehyun’s introduced you to, you shake your head no. You then have to try and push off the dread that builds inside of you at the thought of having to meet with a stranger once a week for the next two or so months until the semester ends.

You perk up as you watch your advisor’s eyebrows lift in surprise at something on her computer “It looks like he actually has office hours open right now until three. So, after this, I recommend you go see him and introduce yourself. It’s important that you get started right away so that you can begin correcting this situation. The last thing we’d want is for your financial aid to be affected, which – I should mention – will happen if you fail your classes again, Y/N.”

It’s at this warning that the reality of the situation finally hits you. 

As stupid as it now sounds, all of the times when you allowed Leehan to take up so much of your time in lieu of submitting your assignments were aided by a blind faith on your part that everything would work out in the end. 

But it’s in grave realization that you see how much you were gambling with your future by making such poor decisions. 

And with that feeling of shame and embarrassment weighing down on you so heavily, you leave your advisor's office a few short moments later, heading to the library to meet Taesan. 

As you’re leaving, you feel your phone buzzing in your pocket and unlock it to read a text that could not be more ill timed:

>leehan: what are you doing?

There couldn’t be any worse moment now than to receive such a message, after you’ve just been told that you could potentially lose your scholarship over your mindless decision making in regards to this man. And for perhaps the first time since you’ve met Leehan, you decide to let go of this manic-pixie-dream-girl image you’ve created for yourself, typing out a message that relays the completely honesty of your current situation.

>you: leehan, i failed my midterms. They’re putting me on academic probation and i might lose my scholarship. I don’t know that i’ll have much time for our “arrangement” anymore.

You stuff your phone back in your pocket right after sending it, caring little to know what Leehan will say in response. 

It’s in realization that you finally decide that making Leehan’s every thought, feeling and desire a priority in your life is a luxury you can no longer afford.

Arriving at the library a few minutes later, you wa;lw inside and observe how empty the place is. You suppose it makes sense given that most students have left for their fall break by now, not beholden to stay behind because of failing grades like you are. There’s a boy sitting by himself at one of the many tables in the library, a laptop and a few books surrounding him. You decide he’s the most likely to be the person you’re looking for and go up to approach him.

“Excuse me, are you Han Taesan?”

The boy, whose hair is uniquely marked by a streak of blonde in the back of it, looks up at you and nods.

“I’m not sure if you got the notification,” you say, pulling at your fingernails nervously. “But I’ve been assigned a tutor and you’re it. My advisor told me to meet with you today.”

Understanding finally dawning on the boy’s face, he puts down the screen of his laptop so he can fully pay attention to you and your presence. “Okay. What’s your name?”

“Y/N.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/N,” he says, and even though everything from his voice and manners should have you inclined to feel less nervous, there’s something about his facial features that have you feeling intimidated. 

He’s quite good looking, but in a way that makes him seem unapproachable. 

“If you’ve been assigned to meet with me, that means you’re on academic probation, correct?”

Something about hearing those words, the assignment of your name next to the phrase academic probation , feels like a knife to the stomach. Still, the only thing you can do is nod grimly, and without intending it, you launch defensively into an explanation. “It’s not something I’m in the habit of, if that’s what you’re wondering. This is my first time, truly, and it’s just because I had a lot going on this semester.”

You expect Taesan to appear annoyed with you, just as you are with yourself when you hear those words leave your mouth. But you’re surprised when instead, he smiles. And when he does, it’s like the intimidating persona you built of him in your head immediately shatters and in place of it, you’re introduced to someone that seems really sweet.

“Listen, I know you’re probably feeling like a total failure right now. I know cause I’ve been there. But you don’t have to explain yourself to me, Y/N. The last thing I want to do is make you feel judged for something that so many students go through,” he explains, shrugging his shoulders to further communicate how little of an issue this is for him. 

“Most of the time, the people I tutor don’t even need me. They’re not dumb, they just were going through something that made them deprioritize their classes. We’ve all been there before. I’m just here to be an accountability partner and help you manage the stress.”

Fighting against all the parts of you that have been feeling shame in response to today’s development, you allow Taesan’s reassurance to wash over you like a cold drink on a swelteringly hot day. 

“You’re…really nice, Taesan,” you reply, thinking of no better way to express your gratitude. “I really needed to hear that.”

“No problem. If you’re free, we can go somewhere else and begin working on those late assignments. I don’t really like staying at the library because we’ll be forced to whisper like this the whole time.”

It’s only at his observation that you become conscious of the fact that you have been indeed whispering this entire time, and it is in fact, very burdensome. “Yeah, you’re totally right. Are you cool with coming to my dorm? I live on campus, in Commons.”

Grabbing his things, he gets up to follow you, and it’s at that moment that you realize just how tall Taesan is. “Sure. Let’s do it.”

Just as you’re about to leave with Taesan, you feel your phone buzzing in your pocket once more. And because you completely forgot about your earlier exchange with Leehan, you don’t even consider that the message could be from him until a picture that you’re immediately swiping out of lights up your phone screen.

>leehan: he misses you :((((( [img_6785]

The image in question is a dick pic, a full frontal image with Leehan’s smartly masked face just barely peeking out at the top as he angles his phone downward. 

You go from surprised to disgusted as you remember what the picture is in response to – a candid expression of anxiety about your academic probabtion – and suddenly, you couldn’t be more sure of the negative impact that Leehan has had on your life.

More sure that if you never heard from him after today, it would be the universe's greatest gift.

“Are you okay?” asks Taesan from beside you, and it’s with great gratitude that you observe his reaction is not that of someone who accidentally saw a dick pic on someone elses phone. Steeling yourself from the shock of the unexpected message, you hum an affirmative sounding noise in reply, and with that, you exit the library. 

You walk together to your dorm that’s only 5 minutes away from the library, and as you walk, you discuss a variety of things. How and why Taesan became a tutor, the circumstances which led to you transferring from your old school, and observations on how empty campus seems to be right now. Taesan, a music major, became a tutor once he learned he could get paid for what he already liked to do, which was teach people. The more you talk to him, the more assured you feel about this arraignment and your situation at large. 

More importantly, Taesan has the ability to do something you thought no man or object could be capable of – he takes your mind off of Leehan, and moreover the picture you just received from him.

Arriving at your front door, you can feel Taesan’s eyes on you as he says, “When I started my day today, I would’ve never guessed it would lead me to a girl’s dorm room.” You giggle at the genuinely funny joke, and now, you’re looking up at Taesan as if you’re fully seeing him for the first time. 

In just a short amount of time, you’re learned that Taesan is handsome, smart, nice, and funny. 

Perhaps something other than good grades could come of this time you’re about to spend together. 

In the time that you spend looking at Taesan, still smiling in the aftermath of his joke as you let him into your dorm room, you don’t notice the fact that Leehan is waiting for you down the hallway, armed once more with a bouquet of flowers. 

After last time, he figured surprise visits would be his thing now, especially since he knew your roommate wouldn’t be there to stop him. 

He wasn’t expecting, though, that there would be someone else who would act as a barrier between the two of you. 

Someone who causes unexplainable anger and resentment to blossom unusually in his chest. 

It’s in a blur of confusion – both at himself for reacting this way and at you for being with someone other than him – that Leehan turns around and rushes for the building’s exit before either of you can see him.

part 4 can be found HERE

taglist: @lailols @papichulomacy @0310s @softiwoon @gardenforwon @cherrytaesan @mryuyux @saintriots @lonelylandofan @cyber-tiny @keyywrld @isabellah29 @amarecerasus @cadidupped

comment or send an ask to be added to the taglist!

[giraffenamjoon]

wherever you are (jihoon x f!reader)

summary: when you notice your boyfriend struggling during his recent tour, you fly across the ocean to surprise him.

word count: 5,097

genre: PWP, my usual mix of fluffy smut

warnings: established relationship, unprotected sex, oral (f. receiving), overstimulation (m), dirty talk, romance, fluff, idol!Woozi, Soonyoung and Seokmin are affectionately annoying. There's not much to warn about here, it's just pretty standard romance. :)

read on AO3: wherever you are

playlist: Home - Seventeen | Crave You - Clazziquai | Heaven - Tomorrow x Together | Wherever u r (ft. V) - Umi

Happy Woozi Day!!!! 🎊 As always, comments and reblogs are super appreciated! 💕

[prince-jjae]

heh, so for kinktober or just a regular fic atp. Can u do toxic relationship w/ yeonjun. Like reader and yeonjun are in a situationship and yeonjun says that him and reader can’t have any strings attached if they’re just gonna have sex. But like reader rlly doesn’t care so they just keep having one night stands with random people at the club. And one day, yeonjun catches her and gets jealous and BOOM raw sex. But then angst bc reader says he doesn’t love her so they’re free to hit on whoever they want. So they argue and reader never sees yeonjun again. BUT LIKE IF U DON’T WANNA MAKE THIS ANGST THEN U CAN MAKE IT A HAPPY ENDING :3 heh, my brain is going brr brr rn. Ok ty! 💕

Escapism.

mdni, nsfw!!

pairings: choi yeonjun/reader

genre: smut, angst. hurt/no comfort??

warnings: fwb?yeonjun, meandom!yeonjun, mentions of beomgyu, mentions of club bathroom sex (Dont!), name calling (slut, whore, etc), unprotected sex (Dont! pt2), gender neutral reader but they have feminine anatomy, jealousy, anger, kinda dubcon if you think too hard about it, player!reader, if i forgot any lmk!

jjae's comments: this is.... insane. I sat down to write this thinking itd be like.. 1k? around the same length of my other fics? but no... welcome to 3k words of pure smut and sadness. i made yeonjun a lot more pathetic in this fic than i think the ask originally intended, but i hope it still reads well!! enjoy!

“No strings attached.” he had said. No strings attached. If that's what he wanted, then why was Yeonjun acting this way? He hadn't the faintest idea, but the sight of you dragging a puppy-looking guy to the bathroom with your finger hooked into the front of his jeans made his chest cave in.

He thought this was a good idea, months ago. Back when you were only focused on him with your puppy-crush. Maybe it was the power he held over you back then that convinced him to do this. The strength he had over your every move made his head too foggy with desire to see the fatal error of his ways. Back then you seemed like just a nerdy college student, out of place and quiet. Just his type. He was glad the work of approaching you had been done for him, smirking at the board with your name scrawled next to his. ‘Just how cliche would this get?’ He wondered at the time. It was practically fate. He spent weeks breaking through your cold and bitter exterior, dead-set on tasting the sweet softness that he knew you kept well-hidden. It was the thrill of the chase. The promise of something forbidden, off-limits. Sure, he could give any excuse he wanted, but getting into your bed with you was always his goal. You were a sweet poison, he soon found. You were the sweetest of nectars, yet shockingly deadly. He was in bed with you, his plush lips pressing open-mouthed kisses to your heated skin. He drank in the quiet whimper you let out when his teeth scraped at you with the sharp promise of his canines marring your soft skin. 

“No strings attached.” He had whispered to you huskily, and you dumbly nodded along, eager to please so he would keep going. So he would consume you like the fire you knew he was. He said it more for his own sake than yours, he thought. He knew from the first time he had you under him, obscene sounds coming from where your hips collided, mouth spilling rivulets of drool around his fingers which pressed and prodded at your tongue, that he was thoroughly fucked. 

But now, after months of being your.. What was the right word for it? Was this a situationship? Was he your friend-with-benefits? You two had never talked about it. Hell, you hardly did anything more than moan into each other's mouths and skin. Neither of you were next to one another by the time the sunshine graced your apartment windows. He knew better, now. If he was going to continue drinking in your poison by the mouthful, he needed to be careful. Precise, even. 

Yeonjun sighed, watching you go as he swirled the drink in his hand. You didn’t know he was there. You didn’t even see the text he had sent you 2 hours prior on your phone, you were too busy scanning the crowd. He had texted you the second he walked through the doors into the club he knew you frequented. He was perhaps a little desperate to see you, but he would never tell you as much. Hell, it was hard to even admit it to himself. He craved you like he craved air. 

But you didn't care. You didn't even react to the buzzing in your pocket, sharp eyes intent on finding your next victim. This club was your web, and you were a black widow. He hadn’t known it when he stumbled into your trap all those months ago, but you were vicious. You took control of him like a possession, the thrum of your power over him was buzzing under his skin constantly. Your kiss was a brand, ruining him for anyone or anything else. 

The great player, Choi Yeonjun, reduced to a simpering, desperate boy. How far he had fallen in pursuit of you.

He recognized the man you had picked - your victim for the night - as Choi Beomgyu. He was a friend of Yeonjun’s, actually. They bickered a lot, but they got along well enough. He recalls mentioning you to him before.. Had Beomgyu sought you out because of him? The thought made his stomach churn. Jealousy cut through him like a searing hot knife, the jagged edge catching his anger in just the right way. His eyes remained fixed on the bathroom door, sipping away at his drink the entire time you occupied it. He wasn’t stupid. He knew what you were doing in there, but he needed to see it. He needed to know that you were really doing this. 

He had no right to be jealous, he knew that. Rationally, realistically, this was none of his fucking business. He was the one who suggested you two wouldn’t be exclusive. Why should he be upset now that his own words were haunting him. Was it because he never expected to get this attached? Or was it the realisation that you didn’t feel the same? It was obvious that you didn’t care for him the way he cared for you. He could live with that, he thought. He could live with you not loving him back, but seeing you sneak off with someone new right before his very eyes? This was an anger he was unfamiliar with. He was never on the receiving end of this. Perhaps this was karma, finally catching up to him and providing him the pain he usually dished out freely. Perhaps he deserved this.

When you finally emerged from the bathroom, makeup smudged and clothes wrinkled, his heart plummeted to the floor. He glanced behind you, watching Beomgyu walk out with a dazed look in his eyes, shirt halfway undone and hair a mess. You loved pulling on his hair when he gave you head, He thought. The memory of him being the one between your thighs finally snapped the cord in him. 

He slammed his drink down onto the table next to him, ignoring the way the other patrons flinched at the loud crack the glass made against the worn wood. He was already halfway across the floor. You didn’t even notice him until he was on you, grabbing your wrist and dragging you out of the club with the shadow of his rage hanging over him like a cloud. He barely registered you tugging at his arm, trying to get him to let you go, trying to ask him what was going on. Your questions fell on deaf ears. He was on a mission as he dragged you to his apartment for the first time, only a few minutes walk away from the club.

He was going to prove he was better. No one else could have you the way he could. 

Yeonjun liked to believe that he was a gentle lover. That he could be mean when it was required or requested of him, but for the most part, he was a giver. Full of plush words and promises that usually held no actual weight. A phrase echoed in his mind at that, something about truth being singular, and lies being words, words, words. In that case, Yeonjun guessed he was a liar of a lover. It tracked, if he really thought about it. Like now, when he had you pressed into the door the second you two were beyond the threshold, kissing you like a man starved. His hands were possessive, gripping onto your flesh wherever he could. He wasn’t sure what he was trying to prove- actually, scratch that. He did know. He wanted to erase every memory of Beomgyu’s touch, He wanted to burn it away with his own until only his touch remained on your skin. 

You weren't sure where this animalistic side of Yeonjun came from, but you hardly had it in you to complain. You should probably push him away, demand answers, but you couldn’t bring yourself to deny him. The knowledge of this made yeonjun grin against your neck before sinking his teeth into the soft junction between the column of your throat and your shoulder, pulling a pleasured scream from your lips. He practically growled against the skin, fingers trailing down to push aside the skimpy shorts you wore. 

“You let him finish inside?” He grit out, fingers sliding easily through your soaked core. The sound of Beomgyu’s cum leaking onto Yeonjun’s hardwood floor should have made you embarrassed, but instead of shame burning through you, only lust remained. You shivered, nodding at Yeonjun like a bobblehead, mind swirling in the wake of his rough handling of you. He just laughed, but the chuckle he released was devoid of humour. He was angry. You let him fill you? Did you let anyone else do the same?

“Dirty fucking thing.” He spat at you before hauling you up, legs around his waist. He carried you to the bed, flinging you unceremoniously onto the covers. You were still bouncing on the mattress from the sheer force he used to toss you onto it when he descended on you. He was all tongue, teeth and rage as he practically tore your clothes off of you. He hardly gave you any space to breathe, let alone think. Your mind was a useless puddle of mush as he manhandled you, adjusting your body the way he wanted. By the time you could gather the mental presence it took to move your eyes downward, His breath was already fanning hotly at your still-sore cunt. Your eyes widened comically, but he only laughed at you before diving in and eating you with the crazed frenzy of a man who had never eaten before in his life. He had to clean you, had to rid you of any evidence of his friend. You had to become pure again, only for him to defile you himself, make you his the way you had made him yours. He had to show you, even if he couldn't bring himself to say it out loud. Surely, you'd understand, right? You understood him. He was sure of it.

Your hands instantly tangled in his silky locks, tugging harshly enough to pull a hiss from his lips the second his tongue made contact. You squealed, body still sensitive from your previous orgasm with Beomgyu, but Yeonjun didn’t care. He wasn't doing this for pleasure, he was doing this to make a point. To make you his. He ate you with fervor, a mix of your arousal, Beomgyu’s release and Yeonjun’s drool making his face a fucking sopping mess. It dripped onto the sheets below, but he paid it no mind, allowing you to rock your hips desperately on his tongue and nose as he worked you up again. You were sobbing, fat tears streaming down your face and clumping your pretty lashes together. All he could think about while you bumped your swollen clit against his nose was how badly he wanted to ruin you once he was done. Your wails and pleas fell on deaf ears. He had no plans on slowing down, giving you any breaks. You had teased him enough, he thought, parading around with Beomgyu’s cum still stuffed inside you. He was intent on replacing it with his own. When you finally came, sobbing out his name into the silent, cold air of his apartment, you collapsed, boneless onto the sheets. Your hand clasped at your naked chest, sweat cooling your skin as you scrambled to catch your breath. You couldn't remember a single time when Yeonjun behaved like this, did things like this, ate you like this. Sure, he loved having you on his tongue, but he was always so sweet, drawing out every little hum and movement out for your pleasure. This shift in his demeanour left you confused, for sure, but you found it so hot that you couldn't stop to ask any questions. Your eyes flew open again, desperately clawing at his arms when he shifted your body again. He lifted you with ease, flipping you onto your stomach like you weighed nothing. 

“Can't- jjunnie, please!” You cried, voice slightly muffled by the pillow he shoved your face into. He just sneered down at you, dragging his drooling cock through your soaked folds. He had no mercy for you, not anymore. He leaned down, smirking at the way your breath stuttered when the head of his cock caught your entrance. The feeling of his hot breath on your skin paled in comparison to the mean words he spat into your ear. 

“You’ll fucking take what I give you, slut.” 

You couldn’t bring yourself to feel any shame at his words. In fact, you revelled in them, pushing your hips back against him. It caught him by surprise, and you were so wet that he sunk into you with ease with that simple movement alone. A punched out groan fell from his pouty lips, one of his hands gripping your hip in a bruising hold. You were sure his fingertips would leave bruises for you to press on by tomorrow morning. 

“God- You’re so fucking desperate, arent you? Just got your pussy stuffed with cum and you're already begging for more?” He laughed, the sound mean and cruel in your ears as he set a brutal pace. You were so slick that the sounds that reverberated in yeonjuns bedroom was fucking obscene. You felt filthy, dirty, used- and you loved it. You weren’t sure how, but Yeonjun could tell. You knew he could. Maybe it was the way your walls fluttered helplessly around his fat cock, spearing into you with no mercy that gave you away. It didn’t matter, though. You hardly had the mental presence to care about anything beyond the way he stretched you out so so well. “Look at you, fucking pathetic. So eager for dick. Do I not give you enough? Huh? Do I need to stuff you full every hour of the day for you to be satiated?” 

All you could do was claw at his sheets, nodding pathetically along to his words. He scoffed, reaching up to grab your chin and forcing your mouth open. “Speak, whore.” 

You scrambled for words, but the syllables fell through your fingers like grains of sand. Your mouth opened and closed a few times, reminiscent of a fish out of water, before you finally managed out something akin to verbal language.

“Need- please- more- jjunnie-!” Your voice quickly dissolved into a chorus of pornographic ah, ah, ah-’s, and it sent a thrill through Yeonjun’s body. He was doing this to you. In this moment, right here in his bedroom, you were his. He shoved his fingers into your still open mouth, keeping your head thrown back as his hips ploughed into your sopping heat from behind. His thrusts were so intense they were punishing, sure to leave you sore and wobbly on your feet for days. Thinking about you stumbling around, needing his help to walk only made him growl and fuck you harder. He was far too drunk on you, on your moans, on your pussy. He couldn’t help himself.

“Need-? Getting fucked so good you cant speak, huh? Don’t worry, baby.” He grinned, but the smile was sharp and cheshire. It held no warmth for you, not that you could care or open your eyes long enough to even see it. You could feel it in his words, though, in the way he nibbled at your earlobe before shoving you down into the pillows again. “Daddy’s got you.”

He was entirely right, really. You were fucked positively stupid on his dick. You couldn’t deny that. In fact, you wouldn't. “Daddy-” you whined, voice barely audible over the lewd sounds of Yeonjun’s cock sinking into you and his hips snapping against the plush of your ass. “‘s fucking good- fuck!”

Yeonjun let out a breathless laugh before he pulled out of you. You hardly had time to whine at the loss, the aching empty feeling he left you with, before you were being moved again. Now you were on your back, and before you could even get your vision to focus on him, Yeonjun was already balls-deep in you again. With your head thrown back in bliss, throat bared for him, he couldn’t help but sneak down and leave angry, splotchy hickeys along your soft skin. 

“That’s right, baby- fuck… take it. Take it. Gonna fill you up better than he did- fuck!” His hips were beginning to stutter, but his mouth kept running. He was dissolving into horny babble, but he had the presence of mind to sneak his hand down, fingers drawing rough circles on your clit that had you spasming underneath him. 

He had slept with you enough times to know your tells, to know when you were going to finish. The way your head fell back, eyebrows drawn up, pretty lips making that pretty ‘o’ shape- the way you fluttered around him wildly, trying to milk him dry- you were close. He knew it. Just a few more thrusts, a slight change in angle and-

God, you were so beautiful when he had you like this, crying his name again, nails clawing uselessly against his back and leaving angry marks that he loved. 

“That’s it, baby- shit. Take it, slut. Fucking take it-!” He gripped your hips firmly in both hands, using them to move you on him. It made his thrusts hit deeper, and- God, were you squirting? If anything, the revelation only made him rougher with you despite your protests that you couldn’t take it, that you needed him to slow down. He wouldn’t, though. You knew he wouldn't. He only grabbed you harder, cock slamming into your cervix in a way that made you wince before he finally filled you, pressed as deeply into you as he could manage. He pressed into you over and over, as if trying to force his seed even deeper into you. As if he could fuck it right into your little womb. 

After a few more mean thrusts, you began to squirm and whine in his grip. Only then did he snap out of his jealousy-filled rage, looking into your eyes with his own so wide and pretty. There he was, that was closer to the Yeonjun you remembered. You smiled lazily at him, lifting your arms to him. With no prompting, he fell into your embrace. He peppered kisses along any skin he could reach, sighing happily into your skin when your fingers ran through his hair, nails scratching at his scalp in the way you knew he liked. You chuckled, but made no move to push him away. That was all he needed for hope to bloom in his chest again. You understood him, right? You knew what he was trying to do, what he needed. He needed you. He needed you more than air. He looked at you expectantly, hoping that you would say what he did not have the courage to. 

But you didn’t say anything. 

You didn’t say anything when he cleaned you up. You didn’t say anything when he carefully brought you to the bath he drew for you. You didn't say anything when he gently scrubbed your body. You didn’t say anything when he helped you back into your clothes. 

You only opened your mouth to deny him when he suggested you sleep over. He didn’t know his heart could shatter so easily with just a few words. He supposed he had this coming. Yes, he was right, earlier. This was karma for all his previous misdeeds. You were karma, and you were cruel.

“No strings attached, remember?”

[i-love-you-just-the-same]

thinking about the 141 being cuddlers. pulling you close, rubbing your back, kissing your forehead (and nose and neck and..), muttering a sleepy "good night, lovie" as he watches your eyelids start to droop. always has a body part touching yours, sleeps so much better when you're around.

[houseofpsychoticwomxn]

Linecook!Scott Miller — idea from this post by @glossykissies <3

his obsession was obvious — tired eyes steady on the sizzling pan in front of him, casual as ever even while you hounded him over a dish you’d eventually realize you forgot to put in. cursing under your breath and apologizing to the cook who seemed unbothered apart from the scolding glance in your direction.

he’d argue over it with anyone else, call them some mean name unapologetically and borderline torment them for the rest of the shift, prioritizing other orders just so their tables would stiff them, ignoring every qualm or complaint they’d run in with. it wasn’t like they could really do anything about it anyway. he’s organized, fast, calculated, all results of a well-seasoned history in the business of burns and cuts and smoke breaks. too good to find a replacement for even if he was an asshole.

in the same way he kept his station clean — focused mind evident by the knives sharp and gleaming, sleeves neat and rolled up under the contrasting apron littered with the marks of hard work — he held out a sort of reverence for you. whether it was letting fries cook for a few seconds too long to pass them off to you after an offhanded comment about ‘not having time for breakfast that morning’, or just the subtle reassurance that someone was listening to you, he was warm in his own ways.

𓆩♡𓆪

the cold air hitting your skin after standing and serving for hours felt like both much needed relief and a slap in the face. catching yourself not un-pleasantly surprised to see Scott taking a break himself, finding respite on an old milk crate, cloud of smoke drifting away from him as he looked over.

“bad day?”

“bad week.” you corrected, hesitating for a second before shaking your head when he held out his hand, cigarette held loosely between his middle and pointer. a gesture he wouldn’t think to share with anyone else, the same one you’d declined times before.

you smoothed yourself down the wall behind you, sitting on the cold concrete and listening to the slow, quiet breaths of the man across from you. it was easy to talk to him about shitty customers, easy to get pissed off at him over something you’d forget all about at the end of the night, easy to watch him cleaning up from the spot he reserved for you on the counter, and even easier to sit with him and say nothing at all.

you sighed when you checked your phone, the time telling you your break was just about over. you let your head fall back and watched as Scott stepped on the remnants of his peace and walked over to you, hand outstretched for you once again.

“hungry?”

𓆩♡𓆪

[improper-use-of-germx]

Aliens with feline characteristics are SUCH a guilty pleasure for me. Eyes that dilate when they spot their favorite crewmate, the tendency to sneak up from behind and pounce on top of you, purring when you start to laugh and fight back.

Even if you're both busy all they need is a few slow blinks back and forth to get through the day. Don't get too affectionate though, they're not above asking you for pets in front of your coworkers.

[urdreamydoodles]

X-Men x Reader (Part.2)

You smacks their ass as they walk past (Part.2)

Each X-Man reacts with a mix of surprise and playful teasing when you smacks their ass as they walk past, leading to affectionate and mischievous moments.

Characters: Ororo Munroe, Rogue, Emma Frost, Mystique, Kitty Pryde, Jubilee, Wanda Maximoff, Laura Kinney, Psylocke & Blink

Ororo Munroe (Storm):

Ororo stands by the large bay window, her presence always commanding yet graceful as she gazes out at the darkening sky. There’s a calmness about her, an ethereal quality that never fails to leave you in awe. As you pass behind her, unable to resist the temptation, you give her a playful smack on the ass and then continue walking as if nothing happened.

Ororo freezes for a moment, the shock evident in the way her body stiffens ever so slightly. Then, with a quiet chuckle, she turns her head, one elegant eyebrow raised in amusement as her striking blue eyes lock onto yours. “Y/N,” she says in that soft, velvety voice, though there’s a teasing tone underneath. “Did you just…?”

You try to play it off, shrugging innocently. “What? Just passing by,” you say, though the grin on your face betrays you.

Ororo smiles, shaking her head as she walks over to you, her every movement fluid and effortless, as if she’s floating rather than walking. “You’re lucky I find your mischief endearing,” she says with a light laugh. “But you should know better than to provoke someone who controls the weather.”

She reaches out, her fingertips lightly brushing your arm, and you feel a faint static charge beneath your skin, a subtle reminder of her power. “Next time, I might let a little thunder roll just to make my point clear,” she teases, though her tone is warm and playful.

Ororo’s presence is so strong, yet there’s always this underlying softness in her touch, the way she leans in, her lips brushing your cheek as she murmurs, “Just be glad the skies are clear today, love.” There’s a lightness in the air around her, and you can’t help but smile at the playful energy she exudes, even when she’s reminding you not to test your luck.

Rogue:

Rogue is lounging on the couch, flipping through a magazine, her southern drawl humming softly as she reads aloud to herself. You’ve always loved how at ease she looks in these quiet moments, her usual tough exterior softened when it’s just the two of you. As you walk by, you decide to break the silence with a cheeky smack on her ass.

Rogue’s eyes widen, and she lets out a surprised yelp, dropping the magazine as she twists around to look at you, her mouth hanging open in shock. “Well, I’ll be damned,” she says, her voice filled with laughter. “Did you just smack my ass?”

You grin, shrugging nonchalantly. “Maybe.”

Rogue narrows her eyes, though the smile playing at the corners of her lips betrays her amusement. She stands up, crossing her arms as she saunters toward you, a challenging glint in her eyes. “You’re really askin’ for it now, sugah,” she teases, her voice low and full of playful threat. “Y’know, I don’t take kindly to people sneakin’ up on me.”

She’s close now, so close you can feel the warmth radiating off her body, her green eyes flashing with mischief as she tilts her head. “What are you gonna do if I get payback?” she asks, her voice dropping into a sultry whisper, her southern accent drawing out every word in the most enticing way.

You smirk, meeting her gaze with confidence. “Maybe I’m counting on it.”

Rogue grins, stepping even closer, her gloved fingers tracing a light line down your arm. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” she murmurs, her lips hovering near yours, her breath warm against your skin. “But don’t think for a second I won’t get you back when you least expect it.”

She winks, pulling back with a laugh, but you know she’s already plotting her next move, and with Rogue, it’s never just a harmless game.

Emma Frost:

Emma sits at the dining table, her poise as perfect as ever, a glass of wine in her hand while she flips through a business report. There’s an aura of icy elegance about her, as always, but you know better than anyone how to get under that cool exterior. As you walk by, feeling a little mischievous, you reach out and give her a playful smack on the ass.

Emma doesn’t flinch, but her eyes flick up from her papers slowly, her lips curling into an amused smirk. “Darling,” she purrs, setting down her wine glass with deliberate precision. “Did you just lay your hands on me without permission?”

You grin, knowing exactly what game you’re playing with her. “Maybe,” you reply, feigning innocence.

Emma rises from her seat with the grace of a queen, her icy blue eyes never leaving yours as she glides over, each step measured and confident. She leans in, her lips brushing your ear as she whispers, “You forget who’s in charge here, don’t you, love?”

Her voice sends shivers down your spine, and before you can respond, she steps back, her hands brushing lightly across your chest, a faint smile playing on her lips. “You’ll pay for that little stunt,” she teases, her tone dangerously sweet. “But I do admire your audacity.”

Emma always manages to keep you on your toes, and as she walks back to her seat, she throws a look over her shoulder. “Next time you feel like testing boundaries, darling, remember—I’m far more dangerous than you give me credit for.” Her playful smirk leaves you both excited and just a little nervous about what she might have in store.

Mystique:

Mystique is leaning against the counter, her sharp eyes scanning the room as she absentmindedly fiddles with her gun. You’ve always loved her commanding presence, the way she takes charge of any situation without blinking an eye. As you walk by, you can’t help but playfully smack her ass, testing the waters with a woman who’s known for her lethal skills and quick temper.

She stiffens slightly, and before you even take another step, she’s shifted into someone else—her body changing shape with the speed only Mystique possesses. You turn around to find yourself staring at your own reflection, a mirror image of yourself standing there, arms crossed, eyes narrowed in amusement.

“Well, well,” she says in your voice, her lips curling into a smirk that looks disturbingly familiar. “Feeling brave, aren’t we?”

You chuckle, meeting her gaze. “Couldn’t resist.”

Mystique shifts back to her usual form, her golden eyes gleaming with both mischief and warning. She steps toward you, her finger trailing down your chest as she speaks. “You know, I could be anyone, at any time. You’d never see it coming.” Her voice is low, dangerous, but laced with that familiar seductive charm that always draws you in.

She leans in close, her lips brushing your ear as she whispers, “But don’t worry—I’ll let you live. This time.” There’s a teasing edge in her voice, but you know better than to push your luck too far with Mystique. She always has a plan, and you’re never quite sure what she’s capable of next.

Kitty Pryde:

Kitty is sprawled out on the couch, working on her laptop as she types away, her brow furrowed in concentration. She’s completely absorbed in her work, so naturally, you can’t resist the urge to tease her a little. As you walk by, you reach out and smack her ass, grinning as the sound catches her attention.

Kitty lets out a surprised yelp, her laptop nearly falling off her lap as she twists around to look at you, her cheeks flushing pink. “Y/N!” she exclaims, her eyes wide, though you can tell she’s trying not to laugh.

You lean against the arm of the couch, shrugging casually. “What? Just keeping you on your toes.”

Kitty narrows her eyes at you, clearly trying to come up with a witty comeback. “Oh, you think you’re funny, don’t you?” she says, but her smile is already starting to break through.

She stands up, facing you with her arms crossed, but there’s a playful glint in her eyes. “I could phase you through the floor, you know,” she teases, stepping closer. “Or maybe just leave you stuck halfway through the wall. How’d you like that?”

You chuckle, raising an eyebrow. “I’ll take my chances.”

Kitty rolls her eyes, though you can tell she’s enjoying the banter. She steps even closer, her hands finding your waist as she looks up at you with a mischievous smile. “You’re lucky I love you,” she says softly, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your lips. “But don’t think for a second I won’t get you back for that.”

She winks before turning back to her laptop, leaving you wondering just what kind of payback she has in mind.

Jubilee:

Jubilee is sitting on the kitchen counter, eating a bowl of cereal as her legs swing back and forth, her energy always infectious and bright. You love how her smile seems to light up the entire room, and as you walk by, you can’t help but be a little playful. So, with a quick flick of your wrist, you give her a light smack on the ass as you pass.

She nearly chokes on her cereal, eyes wide in surprise as she turns to look at you with a mock-offended expression. “Oh, no you didn’t!” she exclaims, her voice filled with that familiar spark of mischief.

You can’t help but laugh, shrugging innocently. “I’m just keeping you on your toes, Jubes.”

Jubilee sets her bowl down, hopping off the counter with her typical bounce, a smirk playing on her lips. “Oh, you think you’re funny, huh? Well, guess what, buddy—two can play at that game.”

Before you can respond, she raises her hands, and you’re momentarily blinded by a series of colorful fireworks that burst into the air. You blink away the spots in your vision as she stands there, arms crossed, a smug look on her face. “That’s what you get for messing with me,” she teases, though you can see the laughter dancing in her eyes.

She steps closer, her grin widening. “But you know, I like a little trouble now and then,” she says with a wink, leaning in to give you a quick kiss before darting back to her spot on the counter. “Just don’t be surprised if next time, the fireworks are a little bigger.”

Wanda Maximoff:

Wanda is sitting at the table, quietly flipping through one of her many old, leather-bound books, her fingers tracing the pages delicately. She’s always so focused when she’s studying, her concentration and grace mesmerizing. But as you walk by, you can’t resist the urge to inject a bit of playfulness into the moment, giving her a gentle smack on the ass as you pass.

Wanda’s eyes widen in shock, her hand freezing mid-turn of a page. She slowly lifts her gaze, her lips parting slightly in disbelief, though there’s a glimmer of amusement in her deep, mysterious eyes. “Y/N…” she says, her voice soft but carrying that hint of danger that sends a shiver down your spine. “Did you really just do that?”

You grin, leaning casually against the table. “Maybe. What are you going to do about it?”

Wanda closes her book carefully, setting it aside with deliberate slowness. She stands, her movements graceful and fluid as she steps toward you, her fingers lightly grazing your arm. “You do realize who you’re teasing, right?” she whispers, her voice smooth as silk.

Before you can respond, you feel a slight shift in the air, and suddenly you’re weightless, floating just a few inches off the ground. Wanda’s power surrounds you, holding you suspended in the air as she looks up at you, a smile playing on her lips. “Perhaps I’ll keep you like this for a while,” she teases, her fingers tracing your arm as you float. “Just to remind you who’s really in control.”

Her touch is warm, electric, and you feel your pulse quicken as she lowers you back down. “But,” she says softly, leaning in close, “I’ll let you off the hook this time.” She presses a light kiss to your lips, her magic still humming in the air between you. “Just remember—I always have the upper hand.”

X-23/Wolverine (Laura Kinney):

Laura is sharpening one of her many knives at the kitchen table, her expression focused and serious as she drags the blade across the whetstone. She’s always had that intensity about her, a fierce and determined energy that’s hard to break through. But as you walk by, you decide to try anyway, giving her a playful smack on the ass.

Laura immediately stiffens, her hand pausing mid-sharpen as her head snaps up to look at you. Her eyes narrow slightly, and for a moment, you wonder if maybe teasing a trained assassin wasn’t the best idea. “Did you just smack my ass?” she asks, her voice low and dangerously calm.

You hold up your hands in mock defense, grinning. “Maybe. What’s it to you?”

For a second, you think she might leap across the table and pin you to the floor, but then you see the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “You’re lucky I like you,” she mutters, setting the knife down with a soft clink. “Otherwise, I’d be tempted to teach you a lesson.”

Laura stands up, walking toward you with that predatory grace that makes your heart race. She stops right in front of you, crossing her arms as she looks up into your eyes. “You know, not everyone gets away with something like that,” she says, her voice still holding that serious edge, though there’s a flicker of amusement in her gaze.

Before you can respond, she leans in, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispers, “But I guess I’ll let you off the hook this time. Just don’t make a habit of it.” There’s a teasing note in her voice, and as she pulls back, you catch the slightest grin on her face before she returns to her sharpening, leaving you both relieved and intrigued by her reaction.

Psylocke (Betsy Braddock):

Betsy stands in the training room, her katana slicing through the air with deadly precision as she moves through her forms, each step graceful and controlled. Her concentration is razor-sharp, her purple hair swaying slightly with each movement. You watch her from the doorway, admiring her strength and elegance. Feeling a bit mischievous, you walk past her and, with a swift hand, give her a playful smack on the ass.

The reaction is immediate. Betsy’s katana comes to a halt mid-swing, and she turns to look at you, her eyes narrowed but not without a hint of amusement. "Y/N…" she says, her British accent soft but carrying a warning edge. "You have a death wish, don’t you?"

You chuckle, stepping closer. "Just trying to get your attention."

She raises an eyebrow, her gaze steady as she studies you, clearly deciding whether to indulge in this game. Slowly, she sheathes her katana, her movements deliberate as she steps toward you, her expression calm but mischievous. "If you wanted my attention, love, all you had to do was ask," she murmurs, her voice smooth as silk.

Betsy closes the distance between you, her fingers lightly trailing across your arm. "But you’re not getting away with that without a little…payback." Before you can react, you feel her telepathic presence in your mind, a light, teasing brush that makes your head spin. She smirks, clearly enjoying the effect she has on you. "Next time, be prepared for the consequences," she says, her voice low as she leans in and kisses you softly, a warning and a promise wrapped in one.

Blink (Clarice Ferguson):

Clarice sits cross-legged on the living room floor, her portal-creating daggers resting beside her as she meditates, her eyes closed in peaceful focus. You’ve always admired her calm nature, the way she can find serenity amidst the chaos of mutant life. But today, you feel like breaking that tranquility, if only for a moment. As you walk by, you give her a playful smack on the ass, grinning to yourself as you wait for her reaction.

Blink’s eyes shoot open, and in an instant, one of her pink, glowing daggers is in her hand. She turns her head to look at you, her expression caught between surprise and amusement. "Y/N!" she exclaims, her lips quirking into a smile despite herself. "What was that for?"

You shrug, feigning innocence. "Just wanted to see if I could get a rise out of you."

Clarice stands up, twirling her dagger effortlessly in her hand before making it disappear. She walks over to you, her green eyes shining with playful intent. "Well, you got your wish," she says, her voice soft and teasing. "But don’t think you can just get away with it."

She steps closer, her smile widening. "Maybe next time, I’ll open a portal and drop you somewhere far, far away," she jokes, though the glint in her eyes tells you she might just be serious. "Or maybe…" She leans in, her breath warm against your ear as she whispers, "I’ll let you wonder when I’ll get my revenge."

Before you can respond, she gives you a quick kiss on the cheek and phases through a nearby portal, leaving you to contemplate just how she might retaliate.

[6ronze]

i fear zayne and sylus are the type to carry you mid-walk back home after your date. Wearing heels? He’ll settle you down on his lap once you reach home and start massaging your feet, soothing your tense ankles and all. Zayne would pay extra attention to where it hurts for you, his fingers rubbing firm yet tender circles on the parts that ache

[theghooligan]

aegon to the next person to enter his chambers if aemond keeps coming to “visit” him:

[vanyatas]

omg hii !! can you write a clapton smut where the reader (a girl) turns him into a pathetic whiny mess ? like overstim or violently riding him im begging you 😭 ik he seems to talk a lot when hes around ppl but i think he would be sooo obedient during intimate moments 😵‍💫

no ur so true say it with UR CHEST !!!! FUCK !!!!!!!

EDGING.

Clapton davis x Fem.Reader

tags: Whiny Clapton (😋), Blowjob/Handjob, Dom Reader (MUAHAHAHAH), Edging, Overstimulation, Begging, Cum eating.

Always let me know if i forgot anything!!

Clapton Davis was probably the most popular guy in school, Already naturally gorgeous, Laid back hipster with no fucks to give, Kind and charismatic, it’s hard not to be when it comes to him naturally, Bold and optimistic, usually just confident all around.

He knew all of this about himself but. Here he is out of breath, tears threatening to leak out of his eyes, gripping onto your forearm as you’re repeatedly swiping your thumb across his already pleading cock head. Whines and whimpers, Pleads and cries for you to just let him cum as he’s doing everything in his will not to twitch and thrash around.

He remembers how he got here, he remembers hearing the teacher praise you about how you have the highest test scores of everyone in the class. How his ears rang when Mr.Kendall said Clapton should start taking after You.

At the time he was too busy trying to make Ione laugh and trying to impress her. Lighting the beaker in front of him, just for the fire alarm to go off and soaking the entire class in water.

At first he just laughed. It was a bit silly even if he knew something stupid, Then a bright smile etched his features as their teacher placed the graded test on his soaking wet desk. A blocky A was shining directly in his eyes. “Woah an A, Thank you!!” However as soon as he spoke those words the teacher leaned down to erase it into an F.

A defeated look replaced his features. His eyes lingered over to you as you try to wring out your jacket and save your homework and papers.

Another smile fell onto his face, The bell rang and he skipped his way over to you, a slightly startled expression he was met with.

Conversing with you, his mind was stuck on one thing. This was going to be too easy.

Yet here he is, Notes and practice tests scattered across the bed and floor as he’s staring directly at you. His mouth was completely soaked from his own drool, No matter how bad he wanted to cum it felt so fucking good being edged.

You’re cooing in his ear about how good he was doing and how gorgeous he looked being this slutty mess for you, your free hand wiped his drool away placing a kiss on his mouth and on his face.

Immediately he had reciprocated but stuffed his face in your neck, gripping onto your waist and your arm. “Mmmfmf Fuck Please. I wanna cum. I wanna cum so baddddd! Please please p-please let.” interrupted by his own loud whimper hiding his face deeper into your shoulder. “Y/N. Please ffuck. Please let me cum.”

His voice was strained, his neon teal shirt was soaked in his sweat. You’ve been at this for hours. He genuinely can’t believe he’s losing his mind over someone who he initially wanted to convince to cheat off of. You were pretty, You had the nicest voice ever, You were sweeter to him than any other girl he’s met. Easily he was slipped into this sort of submission after he kissed you. Felt your hands gently pawing at his chest and arms. Which lead you to your current situation.

“Clapton you’re doing so well for me.” You purred into his ear. Another swipe at his tip and he gasped grabbing at you tighter, if he even could. “You’ve held out for so long I think I can spare a bit of mercy.” you teased which made him feel even more light headed if he even could.

He felt you remove your hand off of his dick and he whined softly at the loss of contact. You gave him a small kiss on his nose and whispered. “Lay on your back.” he was at the start but he has found himself on his side trying to buck his hips into your hand.

Doing as he was told he felt his face get hot. He was still hard. It didn’t help to see you moving between his thighs which made him whine at just the sight. His body shivered as you started to place kisses against his length. One of his hand moved to hold your head very softly, just petting your hair and moving it out of your face. You were very pretty and he couldn’t help but bend to anything and everything you did.

Your hot mouth had encased itself around him and he let out a loud yelp. Your tongue softly flicked and moved around his weeping tip. “PleasePleasePlease Fuck.” he cried covering his eyes with his arm as his grip on your hair tightened. Tears spilled from his eyes, This feeling was too much but he didn’t want it to stop.

Your head bobbed lower taking in a majority of him in, with every move of your own he let out loud moans and pants, he doesn’t know how much more he could take.

You could tell, the way his hips bucked into your mouth out of instinct and his dick twitching and leaking unholy amounts of precum against your taste buds wasn’t unnoticed. You pulled your mouth off of him for just a second, soft kitten licks against him. “You can cum anytime you want gorgeous.” you whispered loud enough for him to hear, your mouth instantly wrapped back around him.

Clapton wasted no time, Gripping your head with both of his hands his eyes shakily stared at you as his bottom lip quivered, “Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Oh my god!” he basically shouted out as he finally was able to finish. he threw his head back and let out a soft whimper almost filling your mouth too much.

Wiping away your drool you swallowed before pushing yourself up to lay right next to him. He was still breathless. you wrapped your arms around him which he, without a second of doubt shoved his face between your chest and curled into you.

This made you giggle softly, stroking the back of his hair you kissed him all over his head which he leaned back to let you kiss his face, placing a million everywhere he just smiled at you lazily obviously exhausted from the relentless teasing you gave him.

“Can we study tomorrow? I’m so tired dude.”

Another giggle.

“Of course Clapton.”

————————

i need him so fucking bad chat i want him to skate across my mouth with HIS.

[mystictf]

In the Blink of an Eye

Reader x Bucky Barnes

531 Words

A/N: So this idea came to me as I was sorting through my daughters clothes (she's not a newborn but still makes me emotional every time she outgrows her clothes).

Banner/Dividers by: @saradika-graphics

You sat cross-legged in the middle of the cosy living room, surrounded by a colourful array of tiny clothes that your newborn son had already outgrown. The soft, ambient glow of the lamp on the side table cast a warm hue over the scene, and despite the tender chaos of it all, the room felt serene. Each little onesie and tiny sock in the pile seemed to tell a story of firsts - the first day home from the hospital, the first smile, the first time he wrapped his entire hand around one of your fingers. 

As you lifted a small blue romper from the pile, your heart swelled with a mix of warmth and nostalgia. Tears welled up in your eyes, not from sadness, but from the overwhelming rush of emotions that came with watching their baby grow so quickly. Moments were passing like sand slipping through fingers, and you were caught between pride and longing for time to slow down. Just then, Bucky quietly entered the room, having just managed to lull their little one to sleep. His super-soldier training had taken a back seat to learning the art of gently rocking a fussy baby to sleep, and tonight, he’d succeeded a little sooner than usual. As he approached and saw you sitting amidst the woven memories of the past few months, he immediately sensed the wave of emotions enveloping you. “Hey,” Bucky said softly, kneeling beside you and draping an arm around your shoulder. “What’s going on?” He gently brushed a tear from your cheek with his thumb, his eyes reflecting a familiar understanding and empathy. You let out a small, tender laugh, wiping at your eyes. “I didn’t think it would happen so fast,” you admitted, gesturing to the little clothes. “Just look at how tiny he was. And now -” your voice caught for a moment “- he’s already too big for these.” Bucky nodded, pulling you closer. “Yeah, I feel it too,” he whispered, resting his chin on top of your head. “Every day he’s doing something new, and it feels like it’s all happening in the blink of an eye.”

You sat together in a comfortable silence for a moment, absorbing the bittersweet nature of watching your son grow. Then, Bucky spoke again, his voice laced with warmth and reassurance. “But you know, we’ve got so many more firsts ahead of us. First steps, first words, first time he asks for the keys to the car,” he chuckled softly, trying to lighten the mood. You chuckled too, feeling a sense of reassurance anchored by his presence. “You’re right,” you agreed, the tears subsiding as gratitude took its place. “And right now, he’s tucked safely into bed… our little miracle.” “Yeah,” Bucky echoed, his gaze drifting towards the soft glow coming from the baby monitor. “He’s our future.” With that, you leaned against Bucky, feeling his heartbeat sync with your own - a steady rhythm that suggested you were both exactly where you needed to be. Together, you began folding the clothes, not as mere remnants of the past, but as cherished memories you would always carry with you, looking forward to all the stories yet to be written.