#he’ll threaten to kick your ass but he’s too big a pussy to actually do anything about it

[buttl0rd]

I think Cartman would be so used to his eyes that he forgets other people don't see heterochromia often. So when he meets someone new he doesn't understand why they keep staring at his eyes

pov ur the new kid and u think cartman has cool eyes

[hartigays]

big brain thot: wheezie being the one to get rafebarry together👀👀

“wheeze, you can’t just show up here like this.”

she hasn’t even gotten off her bicycle yet, helmet still in place and everything. she looks up at rafe with big eyes, rolling them as slowly and dramatically as humanly possible.

“i just did,” wheezie points out, unclipping her helmet and setting it in the front basket of her bike.

rafe eyes her warily, then relaxes a bit. his eyes flicker back towards the trailer. “how’d you even know i’d be here?”

“topper,” she tells him simply, shrugging.

“topper?”

another overly-dramatic eye roll. “yes, topper. he came by looking for sarah and i asked him if he knew where you were. i need help with something.”

“and topper told you i’d be here?” rafe asks, brows raised.

topper is a lot of things, but is he the type of person to send a kid to a coke dealer’s trailer? no, absolutely not.

“i encouraged him,” wheezie replies, a little too vague for rafe’s liking. he narrows his eyes and she sighs. “fine, i kicked him in the crotch until he gave it up. happy?”

rafe snorts at the mental image.

wheezie finally climbs off her bike, standing in front of rafe with her arms crossed. “so, are you going to help me or not?”

he really doesn’t want to say yes. but he’s sort of always had a soft spot for wheezie - she’s one of two people who don’t make him feel completely homicidal.

(the other is sitting back in the trailer, smoking a joint and watching some boxing match on his old as shit tv. the thing has antennas, for fuck’s sake.)

rafe glances back at the trailer again, then turns back to wheezie, scrubbing a hand over his face. “fine. but you can’t come inside, wheeze, i’m serious.”

“why, because of drugs?” wheezie snorts, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “please. i’m pretty sure you smoked weed in my room when i was like, five.”

“that’s not the point,” rafe huffs, his fuse shortening ever-so-slightly. “just tell me what you want.”

for the first time since her arrival, wheezie looks mildly uncomfortable. she bites her lip, looking towards the treeline.

“i want to learn how to fight,” she says, and her voice sounds so small that rafe sort of feels… bad.

which is like a new milestone or whatever, so this is sort of a big moment for him.

“why do you need to learn how to fight?”

wheezie doesn’t say anything for a long stretch. then, her cheeks get red, and the words burst out of her. “i’m getting picked on at school, alright? this girl keeps saying she’s going to beat me up after class and i can only hide from her for so long, you know?”

rafe is mildly taken aback, never figuring wheezie for the type to get bullied. she always seemed self-assured and well adjusted, with a sizable group of friends and an active social life. for a middle schooler, anyway.

“what’s her name?” rafe asks, indignant on his sister’s behalf.

if he had to choose a sister to be the target of bullying, it’d definitely be sarah. wheezie, on the other hand, is just a kid. and if someone is threatening to kick her ass, rafe sure as hell is going to find out who.

“i’m not telling you her name, rafe,” wheezie says. “i don’t want you going and knocking her door down to threaten her or whatever. i want you to teach me how to fight so i can hold my own.”

rafe would probably just kill the kid, not threaten her, whoever she is. but he doesn’t tell this to wheezie, biting his tongue for once.

he rocks back on his heels, then sighs, and beckons for wheezie to follow him into the trailer.

wheezie throws her arms up as if to say fucking finally, following rafe inside.

barry is still smoking on the couch, but when he sees wheezie trailing after rafe, he has the presence of mind to put the joint out with an awkward cough.

“you gonna tell me who your little friend is, country club?”

“i’m his sister, wheezie,” she says before rafe can speak, rolling her shoulders back and holding barry’s gaze steadily.

“wheezie?” barry repeats, then laughs, wagging his finger in her direction. “you funny, kid.”

wheezie gives rafe a look, clearly judging him for his choice of company.

“jury’s still out on you,” wheezie tells barry, eyeing him.

barry actually throws his head back when he laughs this time, and rafe can’t help but eye the line of his throat, his mouth going a little dry.

the worst part is, wheezie notices him staring. she raises a brow at rafe. he just coughs and looks away, regretting every decision he’s made in the last ten minutes.

“look, she wants to learn how to fight,” rafe tells barry. “i figured two heads would be better than one?”

“or you just a pussy and know you can’t beat nobody’s ass, rafe,” barry says, reclining back on the sofa, staring at him through heavily-lidded eyes.

“neither can you,” rafe reminds him.

always reminding him. where rafe has failed, barry has too. rather consistently, as a matter of fact.

“fair ‘nough,” barry says after a stretch, leaning forward again. “two heads, then.”

wheezie coughs, and they both turn to look at her. she gives them a bored look. “are you two done having a moment? or do you still need a minute? because i can step outside if- ”

“shut up, wheeze,” rafe groans, pushing her towards the couch.

they spend the next hour and a half discussing fighting techniques, and the cardinal rules of fighting. the ones rafe and barry abide by, anyway.

there aren’t many. they spend the majority of the time discussing technique.

when wheezie gets sick of listening to them yammer on about the different types of headlocks, she starts to get restless.

“oh my god, i didn’t come for the rules of fight club, alright? will one of you just show me how to punch this bitch in the face?”

both barry and rafe shut up immediately, barry’s mouth dropping open in mild surprise.

rafe just snorts, mumbling fair enough under his breath.

and that’s how rafe ends up watching barry do some sort of shadow boxing with wheezie in the living room. rafe re-lights the joint, watching the scene before him in amusement.

“no, kid, you ain’t gotta do all that fancy shit with your legs,” barry is saying at one point, then demonstrates some sort of kick for her.

rafe forgets sometimes that barry has military training, and despite the fact that he gets his ass beat on a regular basis, he’s a pretty damn good teacher.

the joint is long gone by the time wheezie looks at her watch, cursing.

“shit. rose is gonna kill me,” wheezie mutters, fumbling for her phone.

“just tell her you’re staying at a friend’s,” rafe suggests. “it’s too dark for you to bike back anyway.”

“you could always drive me, you know,” wheezie reminds him. then, her eyes flicker down to what’s left of the joint (basically, the filter) and backtracks. “well, he could.”

she’s pointing at barry, and barry shrugs.

rafe, however, finds himself wanting wheezie to stay. dare he say it, he might’ve actually missed his sister.

he’s pretty sure he’ll regret it later, but regardless he says, “we’ll get you something to eat and you can crash here if you’re too tired to go home after.”

something to eat ends up being freezer-burnt pizza rolls, but wheezie doesn’t complain. she eats her food while scrolling through her phone, glancing up at rafe and barry every now and then.

they’re conversing quietly about a drug deal they have set up later, a big one. rafe doesn’t think wheezie is listening, but he also doesn’t notice the way she keeps glancing up at them, her eyes flickering between them with an unreadable look on her face.

and then, out of nowhere, “are you guys dating?”

rafe looks at her sharply and he sees barry do the same out of the corner of his eye. barry’s mouth had shut so quickly that his teeth clacked together, and rafe can see him rubbing at his jaw.

“what the hell, wheeze?”

wheezie raises her hands in mock-surrender, but still rolls her eyes. “it’s just a question, geez. but thanks for the answer.”

“the fuck is she talkin’ about?” barry asks, his gaze flickering between rafe and wheezie.

“you two,” wheezie explains slowly, looking almost bored. again. rafe is starting to think he’s had a bad influence on her. “you’re dating, right? like that’s why you’re always here, right?”

the latter question is directed towards rafe, and he feels his stupid cheeks betray him, burning red.

“oh, right. you’re men, of course you haven’t talked about it,” wheezie sighs, then stands up and brushes invisible crumbs off her shorts. “well, i conveniently have to use the bathroom, so. use this time wisely, i guess?”

then wheezie disappears from the small kitchen, leaving rafe and barry sitting in thick, palpable silence.

“so… what the fuck just happened?” rafe asks when he can’t take the uncomfortable silence any longer, pointedly not looking at barry.

when barry shifts in his seat, rafe can feel it, and he realizes all at once just how close they’re sitting.

“she thinks… “ barry trails off, shifting in his seat again.

“that we’re dating,” rafe finishes, swallowing around the golf ball-sized lump that has mysteriously appeared in his throat.

rafe can feel barry looking at him. he can feel the heat of his gaze, and wow, wheezie is taking a really long time in the bathroom.

“that what we been doing, country club?” barry asks, and rafe looks over at him so quickly that his neck pops.

rafe searches barry’s face for any trace of humor, but comes up empty.

they’ve been practically living together for months, ever since rafe gave up trying to please ward and joined barry’s little side business. and if he really thinks about it, they have lapsed into something almost nauseatingly domestic.

it’s like. like rafe’s been in this weird, fucked up relationship this whole time, and he’s just now realizing it. and realizing, at the same time, that he doesn’t want it to end now that wheezie has gutted them both and laid everything out in the open, where neither of them can hide.

jesus fucking christ, is he in love with barry? barry the drug dealer?

well, rafe supposes that’s what he would call himself now, too, so. maybe it makes some sort of sense after all.

“i don’t think so, but i think we should now,” rafe finally says. he doesn’t know why he says that last bit, it just sort of slips out before he realizes what he’s saying.

but he doesn’t take it back either.

barry is too quiet next to him. the silence goes on for far too long, and rafe is starting to debate internally whether or not he should dump wheezie’s body in the swamp or somewhere off shore.

finally, barry speaks. “startin’ to think you may be onto somethin’, rafe cameron.”

“so is that a yes?” rafe huffs, already feeling exposed enough as it is. he doesn’t need barry speaking in shades of gray.

suddenly, there are fingers wrapping around his jaw, gentler than rafe would’ve anticipated, and then barry is turning rafe’s head and kissing him.

like, really kissing him. rafe feels like he’s being turned inside out, his insides shifting and adjusting, rearranging and adapting to make room for barry.

it’s not a particularly long kiss, but it’s sure as hell the best one rafe has experienced in his life.

“they teach you that in the army?” rafe asks when barry pulls away, aiming for nonchalant but failing due to the heavy rise and fall of his chest. and the fact that he can’t stop staring at barry’s mouth.

barry just smacks the back of rafe’s head, shoving him lightly. “get the fuck out my kitchen, country club.”

rafe is about to respond when the bathroom door opens, and wheezie pokes her head out.

“ugh, thank god you’re finally done. you should invest in a bathroom fan, you know,” wheezie tells barry, “i could literally hear everything.”

she shudders and gags, barry laughs, and rafe vaults himself out the nearest window.

well, he tries to. barry catches him by the waist easily, dragging him back into his seat. wheezie just rolls her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“okay, well, since you’re done being a drama queen, i think i’d like that ride home now.”

[gallavictorious]

So. Mickey as an unofficial and entirely involuntary role model for South Side queers.

Thing is, while Kev's assertion that 'no one cares who you bang' largely seems to hold true, I still can't see it not causing at least a tiny bit of stir when the news first hit. You know, in general everyone just seem to know a lot about everyone else in the neighborhood, and maybe they know an extra lot about the Milkoviches because they're pretty damned dangerous, and you'd do well to stay both informed and clear of them. Now, Mickey is the neighborhood thug of his generation: the son and likely successor of a violent and homophobic Nazi, so him coming out as gay at his son's christening is... Well. Word gets around, is my point, even if most people are too busy with their own shitty lives to pay too much attention to Mickey's, beyond a wry observation or two.

Except some do pay attention. Some keep all this in their hearts and think about it often.

The years pass; Mickey goes to prison and escapes and returns and gets engaged; Terry burns down the wedding venue and threatens to kill him, Mickey gets married all the same. Word gets around, again. Life goes on, still.

And then one chilly February afternoon Mickey is walking home from wherever when he's approached by a teenage boy asking: “Uh, hey. You're Mickey Milkovich, right?”

In Mickey's experience that isn't the sort of question that leads to hugs and handshakes, so he's immediately wary, but a quick look at the boy dispels most of his concern. Sure, the kid looks nothing but South Side, scrappy like: can probably both take and dole out a beating, but he's clearly nervous – and not nervous in a way that suggests that he's about to do something utterly stupid like try to rob or murder Mickey. So, Mickey relaxes a little and lights a cigarette. Is maybe the tiniest bit curious, but mostly annoyed. “What the hell do you want?”

The kid hems and haws and Mickey is just about ready to walk away from this stammering snooze-fest when boy finally blurts: “I'm gay!”

What the actual fuck? Mickey stares. “Yeah? So fucking what? I'm married, asshole, and wouldn't be banging kids even if I wasn't.”

“No! Yeah, no, I mean – I know. I'm not... “ The kid's staring down at the ground. “I never told anyone before,” he adds softly.

Okay, that... does something strange to Mickey's insides, but he still has no idea what the hell is going on here. “You wanna talk to Ian?” he hazards. “Gay Jesus?” Riding out to save the day for troubled teens is Ian's thing, isn't it, but fuck, he really hopes he isn't starting with that shit again -

But the kid is shaking his head. “No, man, I was looking for you. 'Cause with your dad and everything I though that maybe... “ He pauses again, swallows. “I think my family's gonna be really angry if they find out.”

Ah. Still doesn't explain how that is any of Mickey's problem, but for some reason he can't find it in him to just shrug and walk away. He bites his lip. “They gonna kill you?”

“N-no. I mean... I don't think so. No.”

Then what the fuck are you whining about, you fucking pussy, Mickey doesn't say. He considers the kid, pale and damned near shaking before him, and wonders what he is supposed to say, what the hell the boy wants from him. Why the fuck isn't Ian here to deal with this shit? He'd be much better at it; he'd fucking love it, what with that goddamned Messiah complex he's got going...

But the kid hasn't come for Ian; he's come for Mickey and while Mickey isn't sure how the hell he came up with that brilliant notion it probably has something to do with the fact that Ian, for all he is as South Side as they come, still looks and walks and talks like someone who... well, whose homosexuality wouldn't completely shock you. This kid doesn't, and Mickey doesn't either. There's South Side and then there's South Side.

He gives a long sigh and tosses his cigarette butt to the pavement.

“Listen. I have no fucking idea if your family is gonna be cool with you loving cock or whatever, but if they're not, they're not, and that's not gonna fucking change, no matter how long you wait. Sooner or later you'll have to say something 'cause you'll be fucking miserable if you don't, and if it's gonna suck either way you might as well get it over with.”

He pauses, for a moment hesitating over what he wants to say next, because it's fucking soft and reveals way too much and... Fuck it. He clears his throat: “Fear's worse than whatever comes after anyway,” he says gruffly, not looking at the kid. Then, because this is the South Side and he ain't nothing but pragmatic, he adds: “You think it's gonna get violent, tell someone you think might roll with it first and bring them to back you up. Fuck it, pay someone to have your back if you have to. Or do it somehwere public so someone calls for help if it gets out of hand. Hit them back and hit them hard, yeah? Lots of people gonna think you're a pussy for taking it up the ass, or giving it or whatever, and you wanna shut that down real quick, or you gonna be having the same fucking conversation over and over. You hear me?”

The kid nods jerkily. He still looks slightly terrified – which is good because the last thing Mickey needs is some teenage queer running after him like a kicked puppy – but he looks strangely elated too. Hopeful, maybe; determined.

Mickey lets out a long breath, like a sigh. Can't quite belive he is doing this, but: “You have somewhere to go if shit goes sidways?”

A shrug. “I dunno. Maybe. I have an aunt down in Alsip. Maybe she'd let me crash there.”

“Give me your phone.” The kids looks surprised but does as he's told without comment. Mickey quickly enters his own number and hands the phonbe back. “Things go south, you text me,” he says. “I might know a guy who can help.” Though if that happens he is absolutely dumping this on Ian, who probably knows a lot of people who live for this short of shit. Fucking hippies.

“Thank you, man,” the kids begins. “I really - “

Mickey waves him away. “Yeah, yeah, get the fuck out of here.”

The kid does and Mickey remains standing there for a moment, staring after him and wondering what the hell just happened. This is all Gallagher's fault, he decides. Shit like this you can always safely blame on Ian. Not that he'll mention any of this to him, because fuck no.

And if few days later there is a text from an unknown number, saying just: “talked to my family they're pretty freaked but it went ok thanks” and if Mickey does feel a small surge of something not entirely different from satisfaction reading it, well... Whatever. It is what it is. Not like it's gonna be a regular thing or whatever.

But once more, it seems, word gets around, because there will be others. Not too many of them, but enough that it does become a bit of a thing; kids showing up outside his home or his work, or on his way to and fro. Mostly they just want to talk; want some kind of reassurance that there's a way to be gay and South Side, and you can still be a tough motherfucker while sucking some other dude's dick. Mickey primarily provides such reassurance by being a tough South Side motherfucker who swears and scowls and glares at them, but apparently this kind of works? There's a bit of practical advice at times, like “listen, if you brother can't accept you like banging guys he doesn't really give a crap about you so just cut him out” or “don't fucking hesitate, they start with that shit you punch them in the throat, like this”, and maybe a few instances of Mickey hunting down and kicking the shit out of some bullies or family members, if he decides that the kid isn't likely to manage it on their own and deserves a hand.

Now, Mickey doesn't exactly hide this shit from Ian, but he doesn't really mention it either because... Well, he just doesn't. The whole things is fucking weird, anyway. He doesn't know why he puts up with these stupid brats and he sure as hell didn't ask to be anyone's fucking guardian angel.

But of course Ian finds out eventually, and he is absolutely torn between mercilessly teasing Mickey about it (aaaaaw, Mick, it's so sweet that you care!) and just covering Mickey's entire body in kisses because he's so damned delighted and proud (I mean, it is sweet that Mick cares; hot too). In the end he probably goes for both, but pretty gently, because he knows Mickey and knows that making too big a deal out of it might freak him out. Or not. It's always hard to tell when Mickey will be embarrassed about something and when he'll just declare that liking what he likes doesn't make him a bitch. Ian figures it's better not to take the risk, though, not when they are teenagers in need out there! So, a little moderate ribbing, a lot of particularly attentive sex, and Mickey finds that he doesn't mind Ian knowing so much after all, because there's something about that stupid redhead looking at him like he's a fucking wonder that feels pretty good.

So maybe he'll keep on helping the kids, if they keep on showing up. You know, out of pure self-interest.

---

A/N: I'm still not sure if this idea is my own or if I've seen it discussed elsewhere, which seriously bugs me, but I was too invested in the notion to let it lie. If you happen to know of a fic or meta discussing similar themes, I'd love a link. Also tagging @sickness-health-all-that-shit because you expressed an interest. ;)

[domjiwon]

Play with me | Jung Chanwoo [M]

Pairing: Reader/Chanwoo Raiting: 18+ Word count: 1,8k Warnings: Spanking, throat fucking, oppa kink, light D/s. if ur looking for fluffy sex this ain’t it Notes: for the lovely mal @chanuontop, i will write u all the smut in the world if it’ll make u feel better

Summary: Chanwoo spends his free day playing games instead of hanging out with you, so you show up in his room and turn off his computer without warning. You quickly realize you’re gonna have to pay for that mistake.

Chanwoo hasn't answered any of the texts you've sent him in the last couple hours, which wouldn't be weird except you know today is his free day. Why he isn't spending it with you is a mystery.

The KakaoTalk chat looks like this:

‘chanuuuu, how r u? im bored can i come over?’

'babe??’

'lmk when you see this i miss u’

Then an hour had passed.

'BaBe WheRe r U :(‘

'chanu istg if you're ignoring me cuz ur playing games imma go kill you’

‘ugh im so horny too, i need you so bad don't leave me hanging like this’

‘should i send you pics so you can see for yourself how wet i am’

The sexting wasn't in your plans, it just kind of happened. You haven't seen each other for more than a couple hours in weeks though, so it's not surprising how needy you got just by texting him.

Thing is, Chanwoo is nowhere to be found and you're not about to waste his only free day until who knows when. He can play Overwatch literally any other day.

Donghyuk lets you in the dorm, chuckling and mumbling something like, “I thought you were in his room already, he's playing games isn't he?” at which you roll your eyes in annoyance.

Usually you'd knock on his door out of respect, but right now respect don't mean shit.

When you open the door you find him, indeed, with his headphones on, laughing and talking on the mic as he presses keys at the speed of light.

He doesn't even notice you come in.

Your blood boils- and your underwear gets wet just by looking at him, but that's not important right now- and in a moment of courage you walk over and press the power button of the computer, making the screen turn black.

“What the–” Chanwoo starts turning towards you.

“Don't you dare. I've been texting you for hours and you were holed up here playing games?”

Chanwoo frowns. “I didn't get any notifications, I was gonna call you to come over at 3 anyway.”

“Chanwoo,” you deadpan. “It's almost 5PM.”

Chanwoo looks surprised at that. “What?” He checks his phone and, just like you said, it's 4.53PM. The KKT notifications are also there.

Chanwoo bites his lip, looking at you with puppy eyes. “Babe, I'm so sorry, I didn't notice the time at all.” He gets up from his chair, his hands wrapping around your neck to bring your face closer to his.

“I missed you,” you say, the anger dissipating at his touch and sincere apology.

He kisses you sweet and slow, his hands stroking your skin.

When the kiss is over you move to sit on his bed as Chanwoo goes to finally check his phone.

He's standing next to the computer, reading through your conversation, and you can tell where he reaches the dirty bits by the change in his face.

Chanwoo lays the phone back on the desk, walking towards you with a cold face.

You're smirking and jittery with anticipation, knowing it never takes him much to want to fuck your brains out.

“Wipe that smile off your face,” he says harshly, and it dawns on you you’re gonna have to pay for what you did.

You drop the smile, laying your back on the bed as Chanwoo gets closer to you.

“Who do you think you are?” He grabs the buttons of your jeans and almost rips them open, the zipper following next. “What gives you the right to interrupt me?” He asks you as he yanks your pants down your legs.

You're not breathing anymore, your throat is closing up with excitement and the mix of vulnerability and fear that's actually arousal.

“I'm sorry,” you answer just to realize a second too late you said the wrong thing.

“You what?” Chanwoo manhandles you so you're lying on your stomach, he grabs you by the hips to get you on your knees, ass in the air and face down in the mattress. “Count them and thank me.”

“Yes, oppa,” you answer correctly this time. The first slap makes you clench your entire body, your pussy dripping. “One. Thank you, oppa.”

“Louder,” he says as he smacks your other cheek.

“Two. Thank you, oppa.”

“Maybe this will teach you where you belong.”

A third slap. “Three. Thank you, oppa.”

You're already moaning with each spank, arching your back in reflex as Chanwoo slaps your ass again and again.

By what you think is the fifteenth slap your skin is burning, tears forming on the corners of your eyes. But the most intense feeling right now is the need to get fucked, and knowing that might not happen at all makes it so much worse in the best of ways.

"How many?"

"Fi- Fifteen. Thank you, oppa."

Your voice keeps cracking, your throat hurting from all the whining.

Chanwoo seems to take pity on you. He's definitely going a bit harder than most days- probably all the pent up sexual frustration- but he knows the second it gets too much you'll stop him.

"Lie down," he tells you.

You let your hips hit the bed, exhausted and worn out and so sensitive you think if Chanwoo so much as touches your clit you'll come on the spot.

Chanwoo massages the backs of your thighs, teasing your skin and brushing closer to your pussy every few strokes.

You're shaking, trying to stop from squirming because you know you have to be a good girl now, and Chanwoo won't like it if you try to move away, let alone try to get some friction.

"Turn around," he orders you next. He helps you out, careful with your stinging ass.

He stands on all fours above you, pinning you down with his gaze. "Have you learned your lesson?"

"Yes, oppa."

"You'll behave from now on?"

"Yes, oppa."

Chanwoo smiles, but it's not sweet at all. He brushes his finger on your slit through your underwear and it's so unexpected your legs almost kick him. "What do you wanna do next?"

It's a trick question. "Whatever you want, oppa."

"Good girl. Get on your knees and open up, I wanna fuck your mouth."

You obey, opening your mouth wide and taking your tongue out, waiting while Chanwoo unzips his jeans and takes his hard dick out, though he doesn’t take off his pants.

Chanwoo pumps himself a couple times before resting the head of his cock on your tongue, getting it wet, filling your mouth with his taste before pushing inside.

"Fuck, baby. Always so wet and warm."

He gets a hold of your hair right by your scalp, pushing your head back and forth as he starts thrusting.

You're gagging already, his cock still getting harder and bigger in your mouth.

"Take it, baby, I know you can." You relax as he thrusts in again, hitting the back of your throat easily. "Yeah, that's it. You love this, don't ya?"

You mumble an answer around his cock. "I love it. I love your cock."

Chanwoo pushes you down on his cock until you're gagging, spit falling from the sides of your mouth, and keeps thrusting in and out as he pleases.

"Fuck, baby. So good." He pulls out then, pushing you lightly so you lie on your back again. "Suck on my fingers."

You do, getting them wet and begging internally this means he'll touch you.

And he does. He moves your panties aside, not even bothering to take them off, and slips two fingers easily inside you.

You arch your back, holding back a loud moan that threatens to announce the entire dorm of what's going on in Chanwoo's room.

"Fuck, you're so wet," he says curling his fingers inside you. "You really want this, huh?"

"Yeah. Yes, oppa. Please," you whine. If begging is gonna get you fucked, begging you will.

"Hush, babe."

Chanwoo takes his fingers out, holding your stare as he brings them to his mouth to taste you. You can't help but moan at the sight, your legs rubbing together in search of friction.

Next thing, he's spitting on his hand to stroke his cock, spreading your legs with one hand. The raw need that runs down your spine has you whining again, your pussy throbbing.

"Chanu..."

"I'm right here, babe," he says. He lowers his jeans barely enough to get comfortable, then takes his dick in his hand to rub the head through your slit, then moves away to see a line of wetness connecting you both.

"Chanwoo, please," you beg again.

"Ask me nicely," he says as he rubs your clit with the head of his cock. "And I'll fuck your brains out."

You're trembling under him, so strung out you're about to break. "Please, please fuck me. I'll be good, I'll do whatever you want, I'll be your good girl, just please, plea--"

Chanwoo chooses that second to thrust into you, making you choke on your words.

He doesn't waste a second either. He fucks you fast, not even waiting until you adjust, then bends down to lift your shirt and bra, licking and biting your nipples.

"Fuck," you moan. "Fuck, that's good."

"So tight," Chanwoo says. He reaches down to rub circles at your clit, carefully slipping a finger inside you next to his cock for a few seconds to get your clit wet.

You're a mess underneath him. Your tits are bouncing with the strength of his thrusts and the thumb on your clit is driving you crazy. You're too close to cumming already.

Chanwoo leans down to kiss you, and you grab him by the back of his head to tongue at his mouth. "You gonna cum?" He asks you.

You don't even have enough strength to answer, so instead you nod your head, eyes watering with how intense everything feels.

"Cum for me, babe. I wanna see you lose it."

You almost scream, Chanwoo barely catching it on time to block your mouth with his hand as you tremble and squirm and cry under him.

"Fuck," Chanwoo says as he feels you clench around him. "Fuuuck, baby, I'm gonna cum if you keep doing that."

So, obviously, you do it over and over, even as the post orgasm tiredness hits you, until Chanwoo is pulling out to come all over your body- on your pussy, your stomach, your tits.

He throws himself on top of you when he's done, a bright big smile on his face as he kisses you everywhere.

"Shit," you say. "Goddamn, that was something."

Chanwoo giggles. "I know, right? Try not to piss me off again, though."

You roll your eyes, knowing he doesn't mean it at all. You know Chanwoo is gonna get up any second now to look for a cream for your abused skin and do some aftercare, so you take advantage of him being here now and cuddle close to him, relaxing in his arms.