#i need him DESPERATELY

[m1rotics]

A lil mommy seonghwa fic because I need him more than air right now

It's around eleven when you make it home, you were supposed to get off at seven, but you got piled up and with extra tasks forcing you to work overtime, and traffic was bad on the way home. You can feel your bones get weighed down as you step through the door. The entirety of your body feels so incredibly heavy, you yawn, stretching your back. You slip out of your shoes, tucking them neatly in the corner. You hang up your keys and shuffle to the living room.

Seonghwa's strung across the couch, reading a book, and you collapse into his arms as fast as you can. Melting into him with a satisfied hum, soaking in the sweet scent of his cologne. He lets out a surprised noise, but he quickly relaxes, placing a hand on your back.

"hi, baby," he croons. The sound of his heart beating and the gentle rocking of his breathing lulling you to sleep. You drift between a limbo of consciousness and the sweet relief of sleep. You could pass out right here if he'd let you.

you mumble, "s been such a long day, mommy."

He rubs soothing circles onto your back, "I know, baby. You've been working so hard. You just want your mommy to take care of you?"

You mutter something incomprehensible, but seonghwa doesn't make you repeat it, he knows you do. He understands without you saying anything at all.

"poor thing, have you eaten?"

You shake your head, looking up at him with tired eyes and a pout, "skipped lunch.”

He tuts, "well, that won't do. C'mon let's go get some food in your stomach."

You open your mouth to protest, to tell him you don't need to eat, you just need him. But he hushes you with a kiss, and then he's ushering you off the couch and into the kitchen. You settle into a chair while he begins to whip something up for you. Usually, you'd spark up conversation and ask him about his day, but you can't bring yourself to speak. The two of you sit in comfortable silence.

He comes back with a bowl of noodles, setting it down in front of you and lowering himself into the chair next to you. And for a moment, simply looking at it makes you feel sick, and you hesitate to even touch your food. Seonghwa, however, doesn't bat an eye, taking matters into his own hands. He lifts the noodles to your mouth, and waits for you to take it. It turns into a routine after that: blow on it, then lift it to your mouth, and then he wipes your face when some broth gets on your chin.

He comes back with a bowl of noodles, setting it down in front of you and lowering himself into the chair next to you. And for a moment, simply looking at it makes you feel sick, and you hesitate to even touch your food. Seonghwa, however, doesn't bat an eye, taking matters into his own hands. He lifts the noodles to your mouth, and waits for you to take it. It turns into a routine after that: blow on it, then lift it to your mouth, and then he wipes your face when some broth gets on your chin.

If you weren't so exhausted, you'd feel childish. embarrassed even, and, to be honest, a piece of you does feel bad. Ashamed of the fact you can barely take care of yourself like a normal person, of the fact you need someone to do it for you.

But seonghwa's cooing at you the whole time, a pleased little smile on his face when you take each bite he offers, looking at you with such warmth. You try to remind yourself he wants to do this for you, but you can't help the way the doubts swallow you up like wildfire.

"Are you sick of doing this?" You manage to whisper as he prepares to feed you the last bite. He just looks at you, incredulous. "it's fine if you are, I won't be mad. Not at all actually. I...I could leave you alone. If you don't want me to burden you with my problems.”

Then he frowns, eyebrows knitting together, before sighing. He holds the noodles to your mouth, and you tentatively take it, chewing slowly.

"I'm not sick of doing this for you," he says, and it's painfully soft. "I enjoy taking care of you, I hope you know that. It's not a burden if I enjoy doing this for you, you understand that, right?”

You nod, slowly like you're unsure, like you're contemplating if he's telling the truth.

"I enjoy this just as much as you do, and you may not believe me, but I wouldn't be doing this if I didn't." He says this as he washes the bowl out, and you can't help but find the words slightly comforting.

You're not forcing him to do this for you. It isn't an obligation, nor an expectation. He simply does it because he can, because he wants to. That fact is jarring, hard to wrap your mind around.

You get knocked out of your thoughts when his hands rest on your shoulders, "now lets get you ready for bed, baby.”

It's easier to follow his lead after that. Let your mind get fuzzy at the edges while you take a backseat, and you fall right into the safe hold of his satiny, smooth voice. You trail him into the bedroom.

"go take a shower, I'll have your clothes ready when you come out."

You let out an affirmative noise, already heading straight to the bathroom. Once the hot water runs over your skin, you ascend. It soothes the ache hiding deep in your bones, and you catch yourself swaying. You hop out of the shower, wrap a towel around yourself, and drag yourself to the bedroom. Seonghwa glances up at you, "come here, stand in front of me."

You obey, coming to stand within arms reach of him. He picks up a pair of baby pink underwear, and you are now very aware of what he wants. He holds them in front of you and you step into them, pulling them up your legs; naturally, he does the same with the shorts he picked out.

He stands up, and you lift your arms. He slides the shirt over your head.

It's a cute sleep set, black and light pink. A little pocket on the breast. He takes a step back to admire the way it looks on you.

"you're so pretty, baby," he croons, and rubs his hands up and down your arms. Feather-light touches that make goosebumps rise on your skin.

"thank you."

His eyes meet yours, and he raises a brow.

"thank you, mommy," you're quick to fix your mistake.

He smiles, and it's so pretty your heart almost stops.

"Sit on the bed, I'll be right back."

You perch yourself on the edge, staring at your knees. Surprisingly, you're not thinking much of anything right now. Perhaps that's a blessing, a silent gift from seonghwa. You don't know how he manages to quiet your thoughts better than you do. You pray he never stops. You don't think you'd make it without him.

He comes back with lotion, and all too gracefully sinks to his knees. He squeezes some into his hand. He places your foot on his thigh, and rubs the lotion in. His touch is firm but gentle, massaging it into your skin. He takes your foot in his hands and kneads the lotion into your soles. More tension slipping out of you as the second fly by. The room smells like flowers, roses specifically. Fresh and bright.

When he's done, he kisses the top of your foot and moves onto the other leg. His lips are plump and soft against your skin. He repeats the process on the other leg, adding a kiss to both of your knees. He sits on the bed to do your arms. He finishes up with a kiss to both wrists, lingering a beat. He takes your hand, and simply holds it for a minute, staring at them with a dreamy look. He presses a kiss to the tips of your fingers. Delicate, barely there.

"I love you," he says, and you cup his cheek with your hand. He turns his head to press a kiss to your palm. Leaning forward, you plant a kiss on his lips, "I love you too."

"Let's lay down," he says, and with that all your exhaustion floods your mind again. you wiggle further into bed, rolling onto your side. Seonghwa crawls behind you. The two of you fit together like puzzle pieces, and he slings an arm over your waist, holding you close.

[frudoo]

Everything Zen

Ex's Dad!Kyle x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, mentions of cheating by ex-boyfriend. Cunnilingus. Hard and soft dom!Kyle. Daddy kink (I swear it came out of nowhere). Talk of protection but ultimately unprotected PIV, creampie. Breeding. Kyle taking things wayyy too fast. Partially edited?

The beer you’re nursing does little to calm the rage pulsing in your veins. Two years down the drain, all because your boyfriend—ex-boyfriend—decided to sink balls deep into some bitch he met on a dating app he promised you he’d deleted when the two of you got together. The lies and the cheating were bad enough, but worse is the fact that when you caught the two of them in your own bed, he tried to convince you to join. They didn’t even stop to try and explain, even as you screamed at the top of your lungs and threw whatever was in your reach at them. You made sure he was at work when you returned the next day to get your shit and trash the house—childish, maybe, but you were pissed. 

     You still are. That’s why, when your friends called and begged you to quit sulking and finally go out with them again, you begrudgingly agreed. The best way to get over him is to get under some other guy or whatever Lydia had said. As much as you hate to admit it, the idea of finding a good fuck with no commitment does sound like just the remedy you need. 

     The music is far too loud even for you, and it makes your head ache with irritation. You’ve been here for the better part of an hour and somewhere in that timeline Lydia and your other friends had already found someone to take home. Here you were, still on your first beer of the night, alone and attempting not to scare off every potential hookup that walks by. Fuck, maybe your best friend is right—you do need to work on your RBF. 

     Perhaps not too hard, though. 

     “No’ one f’pickup lines, dove, but y’look too perfect t’be sittin’ here all by y’self.”

     Sliding into the empty seat beside you is the most gorgeous man you think you’ve ever seen. Deep brown eyes laced with mischief and clean, straight teeth peeking through plush lips—you can’t help but wonder how they’d feel against your neck, or your stomach, or lower—and a neatly trimmed beard, mostly dark but with streaks of stark white scattered about. You always have had a thing for the silver foxes. 

     “And you look too important to be talking to someone like me,” you furrow your brow but can’t hide the way your eyes rake over his body. 

     “Agree t’disagree,” the beautiful stranger lifts his hands in faux surrender, that brilliant smile widening. “I’m Kyle.”

     You take a long swig of your beer, tossing back the rest of the amber liquid, before deciding that it won’t hurt to give him your own name. He nods in approval, offering to buy you another beer. Sighing heavily, you stand to face him completely, slithering your way between his spread thighs. You hear his breath hitch as you lean in closer to his ear, lips brushing against his soft skin.

     “Look, Kyle, I’m not one to play around. If you don’t wanna take me home, push me away right now,” you hum, offering him an out, but he shows no resistance. 

     “And if I do?” His voice darkens while large, warm hands grab onto the backs of your thighs, thumbs grazing right below the curve of your ass. 

     Playfully nipping at his lobe, you respond with a purr. 

     “Then you better show me one hell of a night.”

     You barely make it into the Uber before he’s kissing you nasty, sucking on your tongue like he did the cherry in his old-fashioned. He still tastes like bourbon. The driver pretends not to notice the scene in her backseat as she asks for directions to Kyle’s house, which he gives her between sharp nips to your neck. You bite your lip to stifle a moan when he pinches at your hardened nipples through your dress, averting your wide eyes to focus on the scenery surrounding the moving car. 

     When you finally arrive at his house, Kyle carefully drags you out of the car by your bicep, but not before sliding a nice roll of cash to the driver who yells after the two of you in appreciation. As you giggle against his lips, the man pushes you against his front door, fumbling around in his pockets in a search for his keys. Once he finds them and unlocks the door, he tosses them aside and hoists you up into his arms, coaxing you to wrap your legs around his waist. 

     “Mind the mess,” Kyle murmurs, plopping your ass onto his couch. “I’ll be righ’ back.”

     Just like that, he leaves you with a heaving chest and a persistent throb between your legs. It’s a nice enough house, you ponder, just lacking a woman’s touch of warm, homely decor. That’s comforting—easier to believe you’re not going to be the reason a marriage gets destroyed. His lack of a ring doesn’t mean shit these days. 

     You can still hear him moving around somewhere in the back, and you take the opportunity to take a closer look at his living room. Above the fireplace are a few pictures that look a few years old. He has children, it seems, but they’re all grown. You grab what looks like the most recent picture and bring it up to your face to observe more closely. You count three girls that look a bit younger than you, but when you see the man on the end, your heart drops. 

     Right beside Kyle is your ex-boyfriend, with an arm around the aforementioned’s shoulders and an eerily similar complexion that you somehow missed when you first started flirting with the older man. 

     Motherfucking fucker. You just made out with your ex’s dad. You have to get out of here. 

     With trembling hands, you place the frame back onto the top of the fireplace and smooth out the wrinkles in your dress, shaking your head to try and clear away the shame brewing in your brain. You make a beeline for the front door but the second your hand closes around the handle, Kyle clears his throat.

     “Leavin’ already?” 

     Startled, you turn around to face him, met by the sight of him shirtless with two towels draped over his shoulder. He’s changed into nothing but a pair of grey sweats, the cheeky fucker. You frown, hiding your hands behind your back—despite the fact that there’s nothing in them—like you’re a child who just got caught stealing from the cookie jar. 

     “Y-yeah, I- um, I forgot I have… uh, my cat needs to be fed,” you cringe and pinch the bridge of your nose—all the excuses in the world, and that’s what you come up with?

     Kyle cocks an eyebrow and slowly strides over to you, caging you against his body with those strong arms. Your breath hitches in your throat as you try to ignore how warm he is, how fucking good he smells, the gentle touch of his hand on your waist and fingers lifting your chin. 

     “Righ’. Y’gonna tell me the real reason or is Cinderella jus’ gonna run from me?” 

     You curse under your breath, fists clenched by your sides. You knew you should have just stayed home, but no. Here you are, about to explain to what would have been your one night stand that he fathered the man who broke your heart.  

     “I… I, erm… I dated your… your son,” you hesitate, unable to meet his eye.

     “Oh.” 

     You think that being eaten alive by a pride of hungry lions would be less uncomfortable than this very moment. 

     “Yeah. I’m just… gonna go n-”

     “No’ anymore, eh?” Kyle interrupts, fingertips squeezing the plush of your waist. “Lemme guess—fucker cheated on ya.”

     “How did you-?”

     “Tha’ wanker’s always been a bloody git. Doesn’t know a good thing when it’s in his grasp,” the older man sighs. 

     “Now, y’can leave and pretend this never ‘appened,” he trails off, leaning down to press his lips to the skin behind your ear. “Or y’can stay and find out ‘ow a real Garrick treats a lady.”

     One swipe of his tongue across your jawline and you’re folding.

     “Show me.”

     Kyle hums in satisfaction, those huge paws hoisting you up into his grip once again. You wrap your arms around his neck and your thighs around his middle, moaning softly as he buries his face in your neck. He maneuvers his way through the hall without so much as a stumble, tossing you on his bed and chuckling at the way you bounce. 

     “Was gonna take ya in the shower, first, bu’ m’afraid tha’ would deter my little tickin’ time bomb,” he teases, climbing on the bed and settling on his stomach between your legs. “Unfortunately, m’not as patient as Prince Charming was, dove. We’ll jus’ find a different use f’these towels, then.” 

     He lifts your hips and lays out one of the towels beneath your bottom, then spreads your luscious thighs with a quickness that makes your breath stutter. Your hands fly to his curls and grip them tightly for leverage as he shoves your dress up to bunch around your waist, chuckling lowly when he sees what you’re wearing beneath—or what you’re not wearing, rather. 

     “Naughty girl. Expectin’ this, were we?” Kyle runs his thumb through your folds, licking his lips at the slick that coats the tip. 

     “I-I wasn’t-”

     “Mm, I ge’ it, princess. Needed t’ take ya mind off things, eh? Forget all abou’ tha’ bastard son o’mine.”

     You whimper at that, much to the older man’s amusement. He leans down to sink his teeth into the delicate skin of your inner thigh before soothing the mark with a kiss.

     “Did he ever ge’ ya this wet, pretty girl?” Kyle drags his plush lips higher up your thigh, closer to the spot that’s begging for his attention. 

     You shake your head, hips bucking up in a desperate attempt to get his mouth on your pussy. 

     “Answer me and you’ll ge’ wha’ ya want.”

     “No, he never- never got me this wet,” you whine, tugging at his hair. “Please, just- I want your tongue. Please.”

     “Fuck, y’beg so pretty, dove. C’mon then, ge’ those legs over m’shoulders.” 

     When you comply, he wastes no time before laving his tongue over the hood of your clit, tantalizingly slow. So slow it almost hurts. 

     “Kyle-”

     You don’t even get to finish your sentence before the man between your thighs retracts his tongue and replaces it with a sharp slap to your cunt. You yelp and stare down at him in shock, equally as surprised and embarrassed at the way the action makes you gush.

     “Tha’s no’ m’fuckin’ name,” he grunts. “Try again.” 

     You furrow your eyebrows, shaking your head in confusion. 

     “I don’t-”

     “Tell Daddy wha’ it is tha’ ya want.”

     Oh. Oh, fuck, that’s not what you expected, but it’s not unwelcome. At all, much to your own surprise. Kyle gives your cunt another sharp smack with a flat, dry palm, snapping you back to reality. 

     “Come back t’me, princess.”

     “Daddy, please, I want you to- need you to eat my pussy,” you breathe, fingers moving to cup the back of his head. 

     “There’s a good girl,” he hums his approval, then shows it by shoving his tongue right into your sloppy hole. 

     Surreal—having the man who broke your heart’s dad eating you out like it’s the first meal he’s had in weeks. You’re out of your fucking mind, you’ve got to be, but fuck, the way Kyle’s wet tongue sends shockwaves all throughout your body dissolves any doubt you were entertaining. You always had to beg his son to go down on you and when he did it was half-assed, just a way to get you wetter so he could stick his dick in you sooner. Fuck, he definitely didn’t get you so close this quickly.

     “Oh shit, gonna- Daddy- gonna cum!” You slur, fists hitting his solid shoulders as you near the brink.

     Kyle looks up at you, eyes squinting with mischief, and sucks on your clit hard. When he feels your legs about to give out, he stops altogether, interrupting the absolute bliss you just dipped your toe into. You let out a sob, hips rocking against nothing but air as you try to get stimulation on your cunt once again. 

     “N-no! Fuck, why?” You rasp, pushing yourself up on wobbly arms. 

     “Ya didn’t ask permission first, princess,” the older man shrugs, and were you not still hazy from your ruined orgasm you would’ve cussed him out. 

     A tear slips down your puffy cheek and Kyle sticks out his bottom lip, mocking your pout. He cups your face in his hands and wipes away the moisture.

     “Oh, poor li’l love, lookin’ up at me with those pretty eyes,” he tuts, pressing his forehead to yours. “Ya wanna cum, dovie? Wan’ Daddy t’make ya feel good?” 

     “Please,” you murmur breathlessly, leaning up to try and capture his plush lips in a kiss to which he pulls back teasingly. “Wha-?”

     He raises a single eyebrow.

     “Please, Daddy, make me cum.” 

     “Mm, good girl. Fast learner, y’are,” Kyle finally gives in to your plea, running his fingertips over your arms until you lift them so he can remove your dress completely. 

     He groans lowly at the sight of your completely bare body, your dress long forgotten somewhere on his bedroom floor. His hands are on you again in an instant.

     “Fuck me,” Kyle grunts, tweaking one pert nipple between his thumb and forefingers, observant eyes locked on every reaction on your face. “These tits, dove… bloody ‘ell. Perfection.”

     He doesn’t allow a word to slip out of your mouth before he’s leaning in to lick a wet path on the valley between your breasts. His beard is still damp with your slick, coating your delicate skin with both himself and you. Only when he sucks your nipple into his mouth do you let out a whimper, hands desperately trying to find the hem of his sweatpants to pull them down. 

     “Hey. I jus’ complimented ya on y’learnin’ skills,” Kyle chides with no true disappointment and a breathy chuckle, swatting your hands away. “Ya wan’ somethin’, ya ask.”

     “Can I… please, can I take these off? Fuck, wanna see it, need to see you, please-”

     “Go on, then.”

     With a nearly silent gasp, you do as he says, shoving down the one layer of fabric keeping him hidden. A borderline pornstar-esque cock greets your eyes, which widen up at him in shock. He’s long and fairly girthy, curved at the pretty red-tinged tip, with a perfectly plump vein hidden beneath the base. It twitches when you get closer, a pearl of precum beading at his slit. 

     “Go’ a li’l drool runnin’ down ya chin there, princess,” Kyle snickers, running his thumb over your bottom lip. 

     You push his hand away in embarrassment, yelping when he places his fingertips on your chest and pushes you back down onto the bed, climbing right on top of your lush body. His lips capture yours once again in a hasty, desperate kiss, one that has you panting into his mouth as you try to speak. 

     “D-do you have a condom?” 

     “Mm, ‘fraid I don’t, dove. Don’t do this very often,” Kyle admits.

     You frown, but the man is quick to remedy your hesitance with another short peck.

     “M’clean. Can pull up m’records if-”

     “No, no, it’s fine,” you breathe, your fingers clasping behind his neck to convince him to stay put. “I am too.”

     “It’s settled, then,” he grins, nuzzling his nose against yours. “Jus’ relax, lemme take care of ya.”

     The tip of his cock slides through the cleft of your pussy, melting whatever tension still remained in your muscles. You sink into the pillows, just as soft, and watch as Kyle lines himself up with your entrance. There’s a bit of resistance at the first push, making you wince. He coos down at you apologetically, brows furrowed as he gives a little more force to his actions. When he finally slips inside the both of you gasp in sync, and your legs instinctively wrap around his slender waist. 

     “F-fuck, princess, you’re so bloody tight,” Kyle groans, resting his forearms on the pillows beside your head and feeding your cunt another inch of himself.

     All you can manage is a whimper, nails clawing at the bedsheets in an attempt to distract from the burning stretch. Your eyes shut until he bottoms out, hips flush against each other, one.

     “Y’with me, dovie?” He questions in a murmur, grinning contentedly when your eyes open and meet his own. 

     “Mhm,” you nod, allowing your hands to rest on his shoulders, massaging gently. 

     Kyle wastes no more time. You feel every ridge, every vein of his dick as he slowly pulls out until just the tip remains inside of you. There is no tenderness in the way he shoves back in, all primal need and unsatiated lust. Your yelp of surprise only fuels him, giving you another sturdy thrust which results in your nails digging into his skin. For all of his effort, the pace is still leisurely, spaced-out, leaving room for protest need you give him one.

     “All good?” He asks gently, a jarring contrast to the force of his hips rocking against yours. 

     “Yes. Fuck, please, need more,” you babble, little whines leaving your lips every time he fills you completely. 

     “Speak up, pretty girl, can’t understand ya when y’mumble,” Kyle coaxes you, stopping all movement until you give him what he wants. 

     “Daddy… faster, please,” you whine, voice morphing into a squeal when he snaps his hips back against yours. 

     “Atta fuckin’ girl,” he hums proudly.

     Kyle might be older, but he isn’t afraid to put his entire body into it. You don’t think you’ve ever been fucked so deep—certainly not by his son—in your life, but like hell you’re complaining. He intertwines his fingers with yours and pins your hands beside your head, holding you in place so you can look him in the eye while you brave every one of his devastating thrusts. It’s so intimate despite the quickness of the act, and it makes his efforts that much more satisfying. 

     “So deep,” you murmur, lifting your head so that he’ll kiss you. 

     He delivers, of course, licking into your mouth with a fervor that matches your own. He grins against your lips as you lock your ankles around his waist, egging him on. 

     “Yeah? Tha’ feel good, dovie?” Kyle teases, nipping at your bottom lip. “Daddy hittin’ all the righ’ spots?” 

     “Mhm!” Your eyes squeeze tightly shut, and Kyle grunts in disapproval. 

     “No, no, ya look at me, princess. When I give ya this big fuckin’ dick, ya look at me, and ya thank me f’it,” he growls, lightly smacking your cheek with his fingertips but not enough to hurt. 

     “Thank- thank you, Daddy, m’sorry,” you open your eyes, barely able to see through the film of tears that’s formed. 

     “No apologies,” Kyle wipes away the moisture with his knuckles, leaning down to touch his own sweaty forehead against yours. “Matter ‘fact, I don’ even wan’ ya t’think.” 

     Before you realize what’s happening, Kyle has your knees pinned to your chest, engulfing you in a tight bear hug. Fuck, you thought he was deep before—now you can’t even figure out where he begins and you end. There’s no more practiced, random rolls of his hips. Now he pumps into you with vigor, all power and rhythm, forward and back like clockwork. You’re entirely surrounded by him and his warmth, utterly full of everything he has to give and it still doesn’t feel like enough. 

     Your arms wrap beneath his so that you can rest your hands on his broad back, keeping him as close to you as possible. He buries his face in your neck and hums contentedly, sucking your supple skin between his lips, no doubt leaving a pretty purple mark. It doesn’t bother you, not when you’re almost positive he’s got nasty scratch marks from your nails somewhere on his body.

     Your legs bounce uselessly in the air until Kyle decides he’s had enough of that, leaning up to rest his hands in the crook of your knees, calves settled over his shoulders. He’s got all the leverage now, those  eyes half-lidded and staring down at you intently. A cocky smirk curls at the corner of his mouth at every little ah! ah! ah! that he fucks out of you, the obscene sounds of his cock ruining your sopping wet cunt a delightful symphony in the room. 

     “Mm, ya hear tha’ pussy talkin’ t’me? Practically screamin’ at me, dove,” he chuckles, mocking the shy little pout you give him. “Wha’ d’ya think she’s sayin’, huh? Think she’s askin’ me t’fill ‘er up?”

     “Daddy-!”

     “Yeah, I know, princess, can feel ya chokin’ my damn cock. Cum f’me, go on, know ya need to. Let all those thoughts slip righ’ on outta tha’ pretty li’l head o’yours, babe.”

     You can’t stop the screams that leave your aching chest. Your eyes pathetically roll into the back of your skull, it seems, as all the pleasure that had been building comes to a head. Your walls contract around him and your back arches, entire body trembling with the force of your orgasm. Kyle looks down to where the two of you are connected, groaning deeply at the sight of your slick, creamy  release coating the thick base of his shaft and the skin surrounding it. 

     “Fuck, dove, m’close,” he pants, movements turning erratic the closer he gets to his end. “Where d’ya wan’ it?”

     “Inside,” you rasp through a dry, raw throat. 

     “No’ the time f’jokes,” Kyle huffs impatiently, sucking a string of dangling saliva back into his mouth. “Where d’ya wan’ this cum?”

     “Want you to cum inside of me,” you huff right back, trying your damnedest to cross your ankles around his head. 

     “Bloody ‘ell.”

     Kyle’s hips snap once, twice, thrice more before he holds himself still, buried deep enough inside you that you can feel his throbbing tip pressing up against your cervix. The pinch is dulled by the warmth of his semen and the pretty whimpers that leave him, raw and unbidden. His hot, labored breath gently whisks across your face when he carefully readjusts your legs off of his waist, laying beside you and pulling you into his arms. Once you’re both comfortable, you giggle, and he pulls his head back to look at you amusedly.

     “My skills tha’ laughable t’ya?” He teases, hissing playfully as you give a smack to his chest. 

     “Shut up,” you breathe through a smile. “Just… didn’t expect that.”

     “Fuckin’ ya ex’s dad?”

     You wince, giving him another sharp slap.

     “Any of it, you asshole,” you laugh.

     There’s a beat of silence as you snuggle up closer to him, comforted by the feeling of him pressed right against you. Kyle hums quizzically, resting his cheek against the top of your head. 

     “D’ya regret it?”

     “I don’t,” you answer instantly. “This is, like, crazy bragging rights.”

     “Mm, righ’, righ’. Talk o’the town, ya are,” he grins, peppering your hair with kisses. “Think I’m gonna keep ya, dovie.”

     “Keep me?”

     “Yeah. Pu’ a ring on tha’ pretty finger, baby in ya belly. No’ gettin’ any younger, y’know,” he sighs dreamily, running his fingertips in random patterns along your back.

     “I just met you!” Disbelief laces your voice.

     “Maybe, bu’ imagine the look on my son’s face when he finds ou’ you’re his stepmum.” 

     Now that is a delicious thought.

     “I like how you think, Mr. Garrick.”

[lilly-of-the-vale]

Knight!suguru refusing to let you give him head because "it's MY job to kneel. not yours, your highness"

-> knight sugu fic!!

[scrambledslut]

i want to know whose idea it was to add this slutty choker to his character design

[middlearthxsun]

He’s never beating the ‘most devastatingly good looking side profile I’ve ever seen on a man’ allegations I’m afraid

[pizzaapeteer]

Gentle lover - MR nsfw

I can’t stop thinking about gentle Mattheo. Who after a nightmare craves your love and attention, wanting not only to nestle into the comfort of your arms but your pussy. He wants nothing more than to be as close to you as possible. His heart swells when you agree knowing it will give him the distraction he needs; and you’d do anything to make him feel better. Even when it’s the middle of the night, you’re half asleep and aching from the orgasms he bought you early in the day, your willingness warms him.

Tender kisses, soft caresses he’s sure to be the gentlest of gentle with your tired body, restraining himself from fucking you into the abiss. He’s so grateful for you in times like these, when he needs you the most. The love and warmth he feels when he slides into you, body hovering over you. His eyes watching the way your eyes remain closed, small tired pants of breath exhaling. His lips brush against yours with a tenderness you’re not used to, releasing deep sighs from your throat.

The relief and clarity he feels from gently fucking into you, seeing the pleasure rise up in you, as your hold tightens. Louder whimpers leaving you as he nestles his forehead in the crook of your neck, lips kissing, marking your skin. “So good for me”….. “I just needed to feel you Angel”….. “so much better when I’m buried in you.” It’s a contrast from his usual manner, but it just makes you fall more in love, seeing the depth of his two sides. He’s quick to fall apart, continuing to be the sweetest of lovers as his hands grip your hips with a gentle touch.

And with a glowing heart he moves once again back into his fetal potion, arms encapsulating around you. Pulling you tightly towards his chest, he’s lulled back to sleep by your shallow breathing and warmth. The last thing you recall is being fed a sweet whisper of love and devotion. A man who loved you with everything that made him, deeply, truly and utterly.

[thedrawingwolfie]

harvey x farmer doodles because I’m insatiable

September Greenthorne (my farmer) (have i mentioned her on this blog before?) is absolutely WHIPPED for her husband in 4k and plans to wife him up severely. does she also dance to femininomenon??? yes obviously. im REALLY debating making a side blog for writing bc i wanna write her and harvey as well as sdv headcanons and yeah

more doodles that i wasnt as happy with under the cut :33

she’s 5’7” and he is 6’2” 🫶🫶 stupid straight people (kidding!! i headcanon them both as bi)

[thicc-ray-of-sunshine]

I need Cooper Howard biblically, clinically, in a way that's desperately concerning to feminism in a way that I won't be telling my therapist.

[blackberryhexee]

Dr. Popee PLZ SAVE ME🫦

[m1rotics]

half-hope, half-agony (stay soft, get eaten)

pairing: necromancer!wooyoung x fem!undead!reader

word count: 5.9k

warnings: wooyoung is a warning in himself, mean dom!wooyoung, pwp, pinv, choking, pussy slapping, sadism, dacryphilia, ingesting blood (both her and wooyoung), heavily implied dom/sub dynamics, not exactly dubcon but she does try to set boundaries but gets ignored, unhealthy attachment, power imbalance.

your body is numb.

it's unnaturally heavy. you feel wrong like your skin doesn't fit quite right, your nerves don't feel connected to your brain. it's almost like you're stuck in space, drifting in a place you can't wrap your head around. your nakedness is secondary to what ever limbo you're stuck in.

The first thing you feel is pain. a scorching pain beneath your ribs, white lightning. like something is pressing on your chest, your heart strangled by some unknown force. the first pump of your heart is agonizing. then heat floods you, a slow process. your body is tingling, pin needles prickling at unused limbs. it's agonizing. you twitch, squirm, jerk. you uselessly scratch at the table your strapped down to.

finally, your eyes crack open.

The first thing you see is him. his smile is sharp like broken glass. he cradles your cheek, unusually cool. it feels good against your too warm skin.

he's saying something— a lot actually —words fall from his mouth faster than your brain can pick up on, and you attempt to reply, but it comes out like a drawn out groan. this causes him to stop his spew of thoughts, looking at you for a moment.

his thumb runs over your bottom lip, and he pauses, thinking. he disappears somewhere off to the side, and you try to turn your head, but your neck throbs. a warbled cry spilling out of you.

you try your best to call out for him. the words come out sloppy. your tongue is too swollen and heavy to provide any use. no matter because suddenly he's looming over you again. you let out a murmured plea– for what you do not know– and it sounds more like a wet gurgle. he chuckles as he presses something to your lips. it's cold and slick. he slides it over your lips, lets the liquid roll down the side of your cheek.

"open," you don't know how you hear it through the fog in your head, but it reverberates through you.

it takes an incredible amount of will power to force your jaw to move, but at some point you manage. he carefully pushes whatever it is into your mouth. it sits comfortably on your tongue, providing relief you hadn't realized you needed. you no longer have cotton mouth, but swallowing down the liquid collecting in your mouth proves to be a challenge, so you sputter.

your throat feels clogged, backed up, like you don't have control of the muscles there yet.

you try again, and again, and again until the liquid trickles down the back of your throat.

vaguely, you find that you recognize it as water. he's given you an ice cube. it gets easier after that. letting the ice slowly melt on your tongue while you gulp down the excess. you hadn't realized how parched you'd been. he busies himself with petting the top of your head, eyes lingering on your face for the most part but occasionally trailing along the length of your body.

when the ice is all melted, he presses his lips to yours. it's soft, tentative. his lips are plump and moving against yours. naturally, you follow his lead, letting him set the pace. his tongue drags over your bottom lip and you allow him entry without hesitation. it's odd at first, feeling his tongue against your own, flicking against the top of your mouth– warm and wet. you welcome it, tangling your tongue with your own, trying to make up for your lack of experience with enthusiasm. his teeth sink into your lip, and you can taste the iron on your tongue. the sting making you whine, but you don't want him to pull away. everything feels right like this, like you were made for him.

you're pretty sure you are. it aches when he pulls away, enough to make you want to pull him in for another.

"almost done," he says. you don't question it, you just want his mouth back on yours. instead, he cuts his thumb and holds it against your lips. you freeze, and he tuts, "c'mon, open up."

he pushes the bleeding digit past your lips, smearing it on your tongue, "suck."

he smiles when you comply, and you can't help but preen under the attention. you'd do anything if he'd smile like that forever.

you chase after him when he pulls his thumb loose, but he presses a hand to your chest, keeping you down. he leans in close, and you can feel his lips brush against yours as he speaks, "you're mine. body and soul."

You nod emphatically, but he huffs, gripping your face between his fingers, “say it.”

You have to choke out the words, “i- I’m yours, fuck— I'm yours. body and soul, whatever you want.”

they're slurred, but they're good enough for him because his smile after that is beyond ominous.

the pain after that is indescribable. searing, curling up in the pit of your chest. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. you can feel your skin splitting, somewhere on your chest, blood dripping down your sides, around the curve of your breasts. It pulses, throbs. you instinctively cry for him— for his touch, his lips, his anything—and he lets out a dark chuckle.

you don't know how long he spends watching you convulse, arching off the table trying to get to him. the relief that you don't know how you know he could provide. you simply feel it in the hollowness of your bones, something whispering your ear that he is the reprieve. that he could help you.

all you know is that when he touches you, the feeling is instantaneous. a coolness dripping down the curve of your spine, wrapping around your ribs. his hand settles over your heart, and the skin there is tender now but his touch soothes it like a balm.

gratitude spills your lips like prayer. sleep creeps into the back of your eyes, making your eyelids heavier. you whisper his praises as you drift off.

the next time consciousness comes, you're far more comfortable, somewhere soft and warm. no longer naked but instead in an oversized shirt. painless as far as you know, and your hand wanders to mindlessly rubs at your chest—over your heart. the skin there is raised and sore, but it's not too bad. however, you're confused. so confused. why are you here? why can't you remember how you got here?

you try to remember, but it's like trying to grab water, slipping through your fingers. the memory is nebulous, bits of it fading in and out, blurring into each other. yet, you could remember him so crystal clear. you remember his smile, his touch, the way his lips felt against yours. the ache in your chest worsens. your scar throbs.

you're sick with yearning. you need him. the feeling hits like a tidal wave. all encompassing, drowning you in its intensity.

it's like a missing piece, a hollowness in your chest– in your very soul. it aches like a phantom limb.

seeking him out comes instinctively. you stumble out of bed, balancing yourself on shaky legs before wobbling to the door. you wander through the halls aimlessly. it's all well decorated�� he must be the homemaking type– but you don't stop to admire any of it. you keep opening doors and leaving them behind whenever the figure you're looking for is nowhere in sight. his home is vast. it takes ages to stumble into the living room, only making it because you came across stairs to the first floor, but the difference is immediate.

it's warmer than the rest of the house and coated in orange lighting from lamps, smoke curling in the air from incenses. lavender scented. beautiful artwork hung on the walls, mahogany engraved with intricate patterns. whirls and leaves. a bottle of whiskey sitting on a table next to a deep red accent chair. that's where you find him, cross-legged with a glass pressed to his lips. he dons a deep red button up with black dress pants. his silver earrings glint when they catch the light. your eyes meet and you shudder, glued to your spot in the doorway.

"lost?" he purrs. his voice rolls over you. smooth and languid. almost teasing.

you shake your head, "was looking for you."

"really," he doesn't sound surprised. he sets his cup on the table with a purposeful clink, "come closer, I don't bite."

walking to him is automatic, so you get close enough that you can inhale his cologne. sandalwood. it makes your head a bit fuzzy. you want to touch him. the urge comes like an itch you can't scratch. you ignore it to focus on what matters. he's so unbelievably pretty up close. honey-skin and wine-red lips. his eyes are dark and playful. his voice light and sugary. a rouge strand of hair sits on his forehead, the rest pulled back in a ponytail.

now that you're here, you're not sure what to say. you're not sure what you wanna ask first, what you even want to hear.

he chuckles, a bright smile tugging at plump lips at your inaction. "ah, I've been rude, haven't I?"

you don't respond.

"I'm wooyoung."

you nod, "and why am I here?”

he tilts his head, not confused, but amused, "because you're mine.”

definite, leaving no room for argument. his tone is light and carefree but it's said like a fact. indisputable.

your eyes narrow, "what?”

"you're mine. do I need to spell it out?"

"I'm...yours?"

"exactly! you're such a quick learner."

you fall hush. words fizzling out on your tongue. it's strangely not unpleasant to be called his. it's almost... nice. which brings you to another question.

"why do I want you so much?"

"why wouldn't you? a pet needs their owner. I made you, I own you. needing me is simply expected."

it's a casual omission. so possessive it makes your skin tingle, your heart speeding up an uncomfortable degree. you flush, skin turning hot. your eyes find their way to your feet. you don't know what to say, where to go from here. you have more questions left unanswered, and the most important one sits on your tongue, what does he mean by made you?

but then he's beckoning you closer with a wave, and like a moth to a flame, you follow. mindlessly, helplessly. logic filters through you like water. he tugs you into his lap and you ragdoll into him, pilant in his hold. soft as putty in his hands. he presses a kiss to your temple. your inners warm at the gesture, despite the confusion, despite the vague nature of this situation. you feel good.

being in his arms feels right.

a cold hand slips under the baggy shirt you have on, settling on bare skin. it's reminiscent of the ice he'd given you earlier, and you struggle not to shiver. casually, he runs his hand up and down your side. your skin prickles, tingles, aches at the contact, at being so close. you don't really know what to do with yourself.

he offers you no instructions, just keeps you there. like a doll, or maybe a lapdog. pretty and perfect, something to hold and pet. you find the thought less insulting than you should. he resumes what he was doing before, lifting his cup to his lips once more, takes a long sip— humming something you think you recognize but can't quite place. you can't help but squirm in his grasp, and you don't think you're being too disruptive because he doesn't say anything.

until he does.

“settle down,” it comes out light and velvety. an order wrapped in a silky bow, but it still holds immediate weight in your head– and without you realizing, he's ironed out all the tension in your muscles, the ache to move dissipating into smoke.

you can hear the smile in his voice when says, “there you go, doesn't it feel nice to be good?”

you can't help but nod. you'd agree to anything he says if he keeps talking to you like that.

his hands drop to your thighs, massaging them in his hands, “you're mine, right?”

the sound of his voice is so much closer now, and you can feel his breath brushing your skin. he licks a stripe up your neck, all the way to your ear, catching your earlobe between his teeth.

“right?”

his grip on your legs tighten, an edge in his voice that wasn't there before has you scrambling to answer.

“I am– I'm yours!”

“you're such a good pet,” he croons, and snakes his hands around your waist, pulling you closer. he kneads your waist, squeezes it so hard you think it'll bruise.

“so warm,” he hums, moving up to grope your chest. he rolls your nipples between his fingers, pinching and tugging at them, “so obedient.”

your head falls back onto his shoulder, your eyes fluttering shut, small puffs of air escaping you. for some reason, everything feels like a lot– bordering too much. it's overwhelming, it's addicting. you're spinning, whirling, twirling into a big mess of nerves and want. mushy gushy in his deft fingers. even if you're not sure what you want– you can't tell if you want him to stop or keep going, to slow down or speed up.

so you just take it. you steel yourself to endure everything he's dishing out because that's what you feel like you should do. because maybe that would make him happy, and you want to make wooyoung happy. that's all you really want.

leisurely, one of his hands trails down, past your stomach, to knock your legs open and cup your cunt through your panties. pressing his fingers against the fabric, he whispers a curse at what he finds. you're soaked, ruining the probably expensive fabric. although he doesn't seem to care.

“be good and keep your legs spread, don't you dare close them,” that’s all the warning you get before he yanks your panties to the side. plunging two fingers in your pussy with a wet squelch. his fingers are thick and long. he's in so deep, it makes you gasp, back arching off his chest.

his free hand squeezes your waist in warning.

they slide out to smear your wetness around. his finger traces from your slit to your clit, occasionally dipping a finger in. he does this until you're shaking, your eyes glazed over, lips spit-shiny. your clit throbs.

“you're s’wet,” he all but groans, “can't help but drip all over yourself, huh?”

embarrassed, you say, “m sorry. didn't mean too”

wooyoung hips buck up, and a low groan erupts from him, “s’okay, make a mess for me.”

he's not wrong. you are dripping, soaking his pants and coating the inside of your thighs. arousal glides out of your cunt. syrupy, thick. he pinches your clit and you jolt, thighs twitching, but they stay open. you're still being good. his hand pulls away, and you almost whine, raising your head to see where it's gone– but you don't see nor expect the wet smack when he slaps your pussy. you yelp, toes curling, your hands flying down to hold your legs in place.

you can do it, you can push through it.

“fucckkk— look at you, still trying to be good for me. trying to take it to make me happy.” you barely hear because he strikes your pussy again, harder this time and your cunt clenches around nothing, another wave of slick gushing out of you, “you'd endure anything for me.”

it's the third strike that breaks the dam, and uncontrollable sobs wreck your body– and he moans, mumbling curses, places a chaste kiss to your sweaty temple. brings his hand down again just for the fun of it, nips your neck when you let out another broken cry. three more. it's odd. the pain merging with the zap of pleasure sent through you. it's confusing. runs circles around your brain, makes you dopey and confused. tears drop off your lash line as a shriek is pulled out of you. it's all too much.

“you're so pretty when you cry,” he murmurs sweetly, “and it's all for me, all because of me.”

his hand lifts again, and you jerk, more tears roll down your cheeks. you look a mess. “no, I can't– I don't think I can't take more.”

wooyoung coos, plys your neck with sloppy kisses, “just one more. you can do that for me, one last time and I'll stop. okay?”

you fall silent, eye brows knitting together. you want to make him happy, and it's just one more. you can do that. you do another one for him.

“okay,” you whisper.

“good girl, you're making me so happy.”

it feels so slow when his hand lifts, like everything is in slow motion, your breath stills. you catch the flex of his arm, the straightening of his fingers. it speeds up again when his hand comes down. maybe, the anticipation makes it hurt more, but it knocks a gasp out of you, leaves you twitching uselessly as you let it sting. you don't scream, the air stalls in your throat, effectively choking you. your mouth hangs open.

he doesn't give you any time to settle. his fingers slipping back in your cunt with a deafening squelch. your cheeks burn, slick leaks out of you. it sounds waterlogged, like he'd splashed water around in a pool. it embarrasses you being so vulnerable, letting him feel your need materialized. you look desperate; you are desperate. he hones in on your clit, rolling it beneath his thumb. using his other hand to reach around and pinch it.

his fingers bend, curling, pressing into that spongy spot inside you, and you whimper. your hips bucking up to gain more friction, to push his fingers in deeper. your orgasm barrels at you. it's quick. snake fast. you don't even realize what hit you. you melt in his hands. you turn molten, sticky and pilant. butter in a pan. your eyes rolling so far into the back of your head, you think you catch a glimpse of the inside of it. the world crumbles away– leaving you held up by his comforting hold, and this loitering feeling of ecstacy.

in this pleasure, there is heat. very similar to the one that flooded you when your eyes first opened, but this is different. this heat feels good. it's tepid, lukewarm. like a gentle embrace, it lingers, encasing you in its comfort and its warmth. no pin-needles, only pleasure. his fingers slide out slowly, and your eyes follow the movement as he raises it past the space between your thighs, past your chest, to the wetness of his mouth.

he groans. a rolling vibrato, stemming in his chest. Indulgent, seductive. his cheeks hollow as he sucks on his fingers. it's sensual in ways you've never seen. plush lips wrapped around the soaked digits. red and plump and beautiful. he tugs them out with a pop. his smile is lazy, feline-like. coy. his eyes lazer into you.

“you taste so sweet,” he mumbles, nuzzling your cheek, “but I want to taste it from the source. you'll let me, won't you?”

it's a whispered curse; a sweet damnation. poised as a request, but he knows that you won't– more like can't– turn him down. forcing you to indulge him yet again.

meekly, you nod, swallowing down the lump in your throat. in one quick movement, your back is no longer leaning on his chest, but the chair he once occupied. it's barely warm, the only sign of his presence on it is the faint scent of his cologne. his mouth catches yours in a deep kiss. hot and hungry, his tongue presses against your front teeth, drags over to your molars. prying, probing. he nudges your tongue with his own. traces of whiskey flood your taste buds; strong. when he pulls away a string of spit connects you, breaking off when he drops to his knees.

“can't wait another second, I want you now,” he says, biting into your thigh. “need to taste you. i wanna devour you whole.”

his tongue laves over the indents left behind. a dog-like apology for his earlier transgressions. he sucks and nibbles at the rest of your unmarred skin, leaving spit and bruises in his wake. again, he sinks his teeth into the tender skin of your thigh. harder this time, and it draws blood. you gasp, eyes wide and dumb. it drips down your thigh but this time he doesn't run his tongue over it, but suckles instead. like a leech, like something parasitic.

all your questions flatline when he looks you in the eyes as he does it, and you wonder, fleetingly, if this is what he meant by devouring you. it scares you that you don't mind. in fact, it excites you. the idea of being eaten by him, of being swallowed whole. bit by bit.

you're already panting when his tongue sweeps over your cunt. his mouth latches onto your clit, ignoring the lace of your panties that act as a barrier. he groans into you, gravely, hands coming up to grip your ass, pushing you harder against his face. you throw your legs on his shoulders, and he hums in content. your hand shoots to his hair, taking a handful of it, tugging him closer. he shudders, moans. his eyes roll into the back of his head.

“taste so good, just like I knew you would,” he mumbles, muffled by your pussy, and the vibration sends ripples of pleasure through you. your thighs squeeze around his head, acting as impromptu earmuffs.

he only pulls away long enough to haphazardly drag your panties down your legs, leaving it dangling off your ankle. wordlessly diving back in between your thighs. it's different without the layer between, it's more intense this way. the pleasure turning sharp; knife-edged.

it rips through you like a hunter's blade, womb to sternum: a proper gutting.

he's messy too– slurping, smacking, and moaning into your skin. his nose bumps your clit every time he sticks his tongue deeper inside of you, fucks you on it like he's trying to dig your brain out through your cunt. his mouth finds your oversensitive, swollen clit and you keen.

“woo– it's too much,” you shrill.

your voice high and probably annoying, wooyoung's eyes are dark when they meet yours. hadal, pitch-black like coal. his eyelids at half-mast, drooping like he can barely keep them open.

he lets out a throaty growl when you attempt to dislodge him, pulling his hair and trying to squirm out of his grasp. his fingers tighten their grip, impossibly so, and you cry out in discomfort. wooyoung groans, tongue swirling around your clit.

“please, please, please,” you babble, tearing up, your bottom lip wobbling.

he doesn't let up and you know what that means. shut up and take it. there's nothing you can do besides take the assault in stride, let him take what he wants. even if it leaves you weak and trembling. you could fight him off, kick and scream, yank and tear.

but you don't.

you can't bring yourself to fight him off, so you let him take, and take, and take. you'd let him rip you asunder with only a whimper and a thank you on your bloodied tongue. he could leave you to rot, and the sick part is that you would let him. you'd let him leave you disemboweled and empty; you'd let him turn you into carrion.

happily too, but only if he smiles at you while he does it.

it's unfair, you think, how you let him dismantle and desecrate you and be okay with it. you don't understand your compliance or your incessant need for him in his entirety, and you…can't quite figure out why. it's like a dead-end. no man's land. unseen, untouched territory. you can't remember anything besides him.

still, he does a damn good job at picking you apart and cramming himself into gaping hole in your chest. he draws his tongue from taint to clit, sucks at the swollen bud like hard candy. he makes out with your cunt like he's in love with it. your hands have fallen to your side, twitching with the need to tear him away, but you've resigned yourself to his whims. as mean as they are.

his hands slide under your thighs, pushing them up, up, up until your knees touch your shoulders. they drop down to peel you open, spreading your pussy so he can reach deeper. he talks to it too, sweet murmurs and hushed praise. the words are inaudible to you, unable to be heard over the obscene noises. you're hot, too hot. a bundle of heat simmers in your tummy, almost boiling, but not there yet.

it's so close. rushing at you like wildfire, threatening to overtake you.

he doesn't stop until you're gushing on his tongue, and only after lapping it all up does he truly pull away. you can't deny, like this wooyoung is gorgeous. his cheeks flushed pink, lips shiny and swollen. the bottom half of his face is covered in you. black eyes staring up at you.

it takes him a minute to lift himself off the floor, and he practically has to wrench his gaze from your glistening cunt. he's surprisingly calm as he peers down at you, face neutral. carefully, you close your legs, putting them down so you aren't such a vulgar display. there's a bulge in his pants, you'd already known without seeing it, you'd felt it pressed against your ass moments ago when you were seated in his lap. he was big. thick. long. you see the hint of a smirk on his face when you look back up.

“are you,” you pause, sniffling, “are you done..?”

“of course not, silly girl,” he croons, tilting his head, “you're not very smart, are you?”

the words send in a tizzy, and you flush at how condescending he was being. gawking, you open your mouth to reply.

“it's okay, pet, you don't need to think when i’m here. you don't need to be smart to be good.”

the whine you let out is entirely involuntary, and you have to squeeze your legs together to attempt to relieve any of the warmth between them. your complaints snuffed out in an instant.

“jus’ wanna be good for you,” you admit and wooyoung swallows thickly.

“I know,” he rasps, words stretching like taffy, and tucks his hands under your arms raising you from his chair. he hooks an arm underneath your legs, towing you to what you assume to be his room. similar to the living room, his room is warm and spacious, and much like his home, it's well-decorated too. a painting above his large bed, deep red sheets with fluffy covers, more pillows than logically needed. an empty glass and a lamp sit on his bedside drawer. unlike the living room, his room smells like jasmine and bergamot.

it's surprisingly gentle when he sets you down on the bed; a complete juxtaposition to the dark expression on his face. you go stock-still, mannequin, glassy eyes and all. wooyoung brings his hands up to cradle your face. his eyes are dangerously dull, and he leans in slowly. his lips ghost against your skin, almost kissing it but not, then his tongue is dragging up the length of your cheek, collecting the leftover salt of your tears. you shiver, and wooyoung groans, pulling away. his hands find your waist, and push. dazed, you clumsily scramble backwards until your back hits the pillows.

“you're driving me crazy,” he says, almost mindlessly, staring at you laid out before him. you feel vulnerable, exposed like an open wound. he looks at you like a slab of meat; a feast for no one but himself. his tongue swipes over his canines; wolfish. his hands make quick work of his top, fingers fast and efficient. there's thin scars littered across his skin, but that's not what catches your eye. it’s the wobbly line that cuts down the length of his torso. old and gnarled. you ache to run your fingers along it, the feeling buzzes in the scar that notches your own chest. if he notices your staring he simply refuses to acknowledge it.

after ridding himself of his clothes, he slots himself between your legs, presses his nose to the softness of your stomach and bites. you jolt, yelping. wooyoung giggles. he creeps up, sucking at various places on your tummy, digs his blunt nails into your skin as he holds you down.

once he reaches the valley between your breasts, he trails his tongue up and past the bump of your collar bone, all the way to your neck. right to your pulse point.

you squirm, “woo, that feels weird.”

he doesn't grant you a reply. rather, you fill the tip of his dick prod your entrance. it's not painful when he pushes in, it's more of a pressure. a slight burn. you can feel yourself stretching to accommodate his length, and how incredibly deep he is inside of you. you're pelvis to pelvis now, and you have to take a moment to note how full you feel.

“god, you're so tight,” he groans, dropping his head to rest in the crook of your neck, “it's like you were made for me.”

you can't help the way joy bursts inside of you at the words. your heart bleeds, bursts, plummets out your chest with a wet splat and lands right into wooyoung's hands. the words bounce around your head, slowly warms in your chest like wax. it turns your heart all gooey and soft. wooyoung's hips leisurely draw back. then slam forward.

it jolts you forward, and an embarrassing yelp is kicked out of your throat. something between a choked whine, and a call of his name. it knocks the thoughts out of your head, leaves you dazed and dumb.

“y’so big,” you mewl, wrapping your arms around his neck. holding onto him for dear life. wooyoung pulls away, and you whimper, clearly wanting to keep him close. he ignores you. you try to pull him back down to no avail. wooyoung head ducks down, his mouth latching onto your breast. his tongue roves over your lips, circling around it. his teeth follow after, sinking into the supple flesh. you gasp, cunt quivering around his cock, nails digging into the muscles of his arms. he lifts a hand to pay your other nipple some attention, rolling it beneath the pads of his fingers, pinching and twisting.

his balls slap against your ass, and he's drilling into you so hard it almost hurts. the pleasure of it all bordering on excruciating. you're like one giant open wound; gushing, tender, and aching– and he keeps prodding, keeps pushing you to your limit.

wooyoung's hand snakes down to your clit, until his fingers are rolling quick circles over your sore clit. another orgasm hurdles at you. its speed break-neck. pleasure searing through your worn, little body. you buck like a frantic bull, hands pushing at his chest. your nails catching on his skin in your desperation, they leave behind red scratch marks on his skin.

his hand grips your waist holding you still. his hold is firm, unyielding. you couldn't squirm away if you wanted to, but you try.

“s’too much– ah,” you wail, tears reappearing in your eyes. some fall down the sides of your face, over your temples, others stick to your lash line.

“aren't you a sight for sore eyes?” he mumbles, swiping at a vagrant tear, “you're a mess. a pathetic, little mess.”

wooyoung swims in your vision, everything blurry. you can imagine him in vivid detail though, and even in your mind the picture is sinful– his tar-black eyes, the sheen of sweat on his forehead, the wicked grin you know he has right now, and that shadowy expression like he wants to rip you apart.

“slow down– fuck, please. don't have to stop, jus’ slow down,” you whine. it's a shoddy attempt at bargaining, and it fails. pitfully, at that.

wooyoung laughs, which comes out more as a loud moan than anything else. in spite of your pleading, his thrusts speed up. hips snapping into your cunt wig more fervor than before.

perhaps you're more out of it than you thought because you don't notice the hand wrapping around your throat. well, not until it's far too late and he's already wrenching the life of you.

you writhe, wriggling around. your hands tugging at his arms, his wrist, his fingers– anything you can reach.

wooyoung tsks, “quit it.”

and like the obedient pet you are, you stop. your struggle regresses to involuntary twitches, your mouth falling open in an attempt to find air.

“you'd do anything for me, huh?” he says, in sick awe, tightening his grip around your neck, “you'd let me hurt you, you'd let me kill you.”

you can't respond besides letting out choked whines, gasping for air. your chest tight. wailing and shaking, your cunt squeezing his cock. out of fear, out of pure adoration. his words ring true, and it chills you down to the bone.

you would let him kill you.

the thought sends another orgasm careening towards you. it hits hard, like a punch to the gut, like a full-on collision with an eighteen wheeler. it knocks you off kilter. the entire world spins off its axis.

wooyoung’s dick twitches, and he's panting like a wild dog. his pace going sloppy, more erratic. smooth strokes getting interrupted by the stuttering of his hips. his tightens up like a noose, unceasing and unrelenting. you try not to struggle. your hands screw up the sheets.

“you’d die for me,” he breathes, “you'd kill for me.”

he says it with a hint of marvel, sick adoration in his voice. sweet like brown sugar. an unholy glint in his eyes.

he fills you up with a staccato groan, hips stuttering, fingers twitching. his grip loosens and you sigh out of sheer relief. he doesn't remove his hand, just holds it there. like a collar, like he's staking a claim on you. the bruise left behind almost feels like a brand.

immediately, your eyes close. you're not asleep yet, simply resting a bit. you feel the bed dip, and you assume he's left. you sigh. you'll clean yourself tomorrow.

the feeling of something warm and wet brushing over the skin of your inner thigh startles you. you jump up with a start.

wooyoung looks back at you, “I don't like dirty toys, lay down and let me clean you”

you collapse back onto the bed. the bed is soaked beneath you, but it doesn't matter right now. you focus on the feeling of wooyoung wiping you down. it's relaxing. he's methodical with it, starting from the bottom and working his way up. he gets gentle around the spots he bit and your aching cunt. it's surprisingly intimate, and you'd almost describe it as heartwarming. it gives you whiplash. your head spinning at the sheer duality of the man. how hot and cold he is.

wooyoung snuggles up beside you when he's done, throws the wash towel to the side, and pulls you into his arms. he's still cold, which is odd but you don't mind. honestly, it helps cool you down. you seem to run far too hot for your own good.

“I thought you left,” you mutter, pressing yourself harder against him.

“I wouldn't,” he replies, “you're far too fun to leave alone.”

it's not the normal comfort you expected, but it's something and you drift to sleep faster having heard it.

[chains4w-gutzfuckk]

no lube, no protection, completely raw, rough, steamy, from the bedroom to the living, from the kitchen to the bathroom floor, in public, on the train, sideways, front ways, upwards, downwards, left to right, northeast, southeast, southwest, northwest, the most toe curling, back arching, sheet gripping, shoulder scratching, screaming, moaning, whimpering, hollering, screeching, yelling orgasmic intercourse ever

[vilecarnival]

i love lawrence so much i need to gut him and touch his insides while he squirms :((

[middlearthxsun]

yep. that’s how I feel.

[no-see-um-incorrect]

“or you’ll likely be staring down the maw of my own beautiful mate”

[melodychocolat]

ian mcculloch!

[lemonisherelol]

I wanna go back to sleep