thecinfulhours

[thecinfulhours]

It wasn't unusual for Ricky to take you to parties he was invited to. It also wasn't unusual for him to ignore you while there. When you take it upon yourself to find some entertainment in another man, he can't help but cut the night short.

He preferred being alone with you anyways.

[thecinfulhours]

i also keep thinking abt that one scene from s2 and he puts the gvn in his mouth with such a look and nsjxjdhskndk

Humiliating, isn’t it?

Pairing: The Salesman x Fem!Reader

Summary: “You could pay all your debts with this,” he said, his voice soft, almost enticing. His gaze shifted to you, sharp and calculating. “But it’s not free.”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. “What do you mean?”

A/N: This is probably wayyy out of his character, but I haven’t watched season 2 yet (I don’t have Netflix 😭) and just saw an edit with him on tiktok and suddenly my obsession with him came back from 2021. So there are no spoilers!!!

Warnings: blowjob (m receiving), cum swallowing

If you’re not 18 DNI BECAUSE I WILL HAUNT YOUR DREAMS🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️

The metro station was cold, the flickering overhead lights casting dim shadows on the walls. Your steps echoed faintly as you trudged forward, your head bowed to avoid the stares of passersby. You could feel their judgment, their pity, their disgust. You didn’t blame them—you looked like hell. Blood crusted your upper lip, the remnants of a nosebleed from earlier when some thug decided to teach you a lesson about unpaid debts. Your cheek stung, swelling just beginning to bloom.

You winced as you adjusted the strap of your worn-out bag. Your ribs ached, a dull, persistent throb that reminded you how low you’d sunk. Debt was a beast that refused to loosen its grip. It clung to you, suffocated you, and drove you into situations you’d never imagined.

As you shuffled down the platform, you barely registered the man who bumped into you until you staggered back, your body colliding with the wall. “Sorry—I didn’t watch where I was going,” he said, his tone oddly pleasant.

You blinked up at him, taking in his immaculate gray suit and perfectly combed hair. His smile was disarming, polite but sharp, like the edge of a blade.

“It’s quite alright,” you muttered, instinctively brushing yourself off despite already looking like a wreck. The man didn’t move on, though. Instead, he studied you, his gaze lingering on the dried blood and the faint bruise forming beneath your eye.

“Rough day?” he asked, a trace of amusement in his voice.

You gave a humorless laugh. “Something like that.”

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a neatly folded handkerchief, offering it to you. You hesitated before taking it, dabbing at your nose. The fabric was smooth, expensive, and it felt wrong to smear your blood on something so pristine.

“I have a game,” the man said suddenly, his voice lowering as if he were sharing a secret. “Would you like to play?”

The fuck?

You frowned. “A game?”

He nodded, his smile widening. “It’s simple. You could win money—enough to change your life.”

Your skepticism must have been obvious because he chuckled, a soft, almost paternal sound. “It’s harmless, I assure you. You look like someone who could use a bit of good fortune.”

You thought of your debts, the people breathing down your neck, the empty fridge in your apartment. Against your better judgment, you found yourself asking, “What’s the game?”

He gestured to a nearby bench, and you followed him, still wary. From his briefcase, he pulled out a folded board and a stack of rectangular tiles, explaining the rules of ddakji. It sounded simple enough: flip the opponent’s tile using your own. He placed a stack of cash on the bench beside him, its presence tantalizing.

You played your first round and lost. The second and third rounds went the same way. You were terrible at this game.

When you finally admitted you had no money to bet, his expression didn’t change. “Usually, I slap people when they lose,” he said casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “But…” He gestured to your bruised face. “It seems someone’s already beaten me to it.”

The absurdity of the statement caught you off guard, and you let out a startled laugh. “That’s generous of you.”

He smirked. “I do have a heart.”

With no stakes involved, you continued playing. You lost repeatedly, the man’s skill far outstripping your own. He never seemed frustrated, though. If anything, he looked amused by your determination. Eventually, your bruises began to throb, and exhaustion seeped into your bones. You tossed the tile onto the bench, letting out a defeated sigh.

“I give up,” you said, slumping back. “I’m not winning this.”

He tilted his head, considering you. “Pity. You were just starting to improve.”

“Sure,” you muttered, wiping your hands on your jeans. “So, what now?”

He placed the briefcase on the bench between you, opening it to reveal neat stacks of bills. Your breath caught in your throat. It was more money than you’d ever seen in your life, more than enough to pay off your debts and start over.

“You could pay all your debts with this,” he said, his voice soft, almost enticing. His gaze shifted to you, sharp and calculating. “But it’s not free.”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. “What do you mean?”

He closed the briefcase with a decisive snap, leaning in slightly. “I’ll give this to you if you… do something for me.”

Your stomach churned at the way his eyes lingered on you, his meaning crystal clear. Heat flooded your face, a mixture of embarrassment and anger. “What kind of something?” you asked, though you already knew.

His smile didn’t waver. “Let’s not pretend we’re strangers to desperation. You’ve been beaten down by the world, haven’t you? Cast aside, forgotten. This,” he gestured to the briefcase, “could be your ticket out.”

Your fists clenched, your nails digging into your palms. “You think I’m going to sell myself for money?”

He shrugged, unbothered by your indignation. “You’ve already sold your time, your dignity, your safety—haven’t you? What’s the difference?”

The words stung because they weren’t entirely untrue. Still, you shook your head, your pride warring with your desperation. “I’m not doing that.”

He leaned back, crossing his legs with an air of nonchalance. “Your choice, of course. But think about it. How long before your debtors come back? Before the beatings get worse? How long can you keep scraping by?”

The silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating. You stared at the briefcase, the money practically taunting you. Your mind raced, weighing the humiliation against the potential freedom.

“I… I can’t,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

He studied you for a long moment, his smile fading slightly. Then, to your surprise, he stood, gathering the game pieces and tucking them back into his briefcase. “Well,” he said, straightening his tie, “it was worth a shot.”

You blinked, caught off guard by how easily he let it go. “That’s it?”

He chuckled, the sound low and almost fond. “I’m not a monster. I made an offer; you declined. Simple as that.”

As he turned to leave, something in you stirred—a mix of relief and regret. “Wait,” you called out, your voice trembling.

He paused, glancing over his shoulder. “Yes?”

You hesitated, the weight of your situation crushing down on you. “Why me?” you asked, desperate to understand why this stranger had singled you out.

His smile returned, enigmatic and unsettling. “Because you’re interesting. And because I see potential in you.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small card and placing it on the bench. “If you ever change your mind, give me a call.”

Before you could respond, he disappeared into the crowd, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the card. You stared at it, the black lettering stark against the white background.

For a long time, you sat there, the sound of the metro fading into the background. The man’s words echoed in your mind, intertwining with your fear, your pride, and your unrelenting desperation.

And the card remained in your pocket.

—

You stared at the card for what felt like hours that night. The weight of its potential pressed heavily on your chest. In a world where every door seemed to slam in your face, this was the first one to open—albeit under circumstances you couldn’t fully comprehend.

The next day, after another call from a creditor threatening you with more violence, you finally gave in. Your pride was already battered, and your options had all but evaporated. With shaking hands, you picked up your phone and dialed the number on the card.

A smooth, professional voice answered. “Hello?”

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak. “I… I got this card from someone at the metro. I’d like to… take them up on their offer.”

There was a pause, then the faint sound of fingers tapping on a keyboard. “Ah, yes. We’ve been expecting your call. An address will be sent to your phone shortly. Be there within the hour.”

The line went dead before you could say anything else. Moments later, a text arrived, and you stared at the address. It wasn’t anywhere familiar to you, but the name of the street was in one of the wealthiest areas of the city. Hesitation gripped you again, but the bruises on your face and the weight of your debts pushed you forward.

The cab dropped you off at the gates of a sprawling villa. The sheer size of it was intimidating—tall wrought iron gates, a long driveway lined with meticulously trimmed hedges, and a house that looked more like a palace than a home. You adjusted your jacket, suddenly hyper-aware of how out of place you looked.

Before you could press the buzzer, the gates swung open as if you were expected. You walked up the driveway, each step feeling heavier than the last. When you reached the front door, it opened before you could knock.

A tall man stood there, dressed in a sleek black suit. His expression was blank, professional but cold. “Welcome,” he said, stepping aside to let you in. The foyer was just as luxurious as the exterior—marble floors, chandeliers, and artwork that probably cost more than your entire life’s earnings.

“Next time, a car will pick you up,” the man said, his tone brisk.

“Next time?” you echoed, your voice tinged with disbelief.

Before he could respond, the familiar voice of the salesman cut through the air. “Sorry, he’s—doesn’t matter. Just come on in.” He appeared at the top of a sweeping staircase, his ever-present smile intact. He looked even more polished than before, his posture relaxed.

You hesitated but eventually followed the man into what appeared to be a sitting room. The furniture was sleek and modern, the walls lined with bookshelves and abstract paintings. He gestured for you to sit, but you remained standing, your nerves making it impossible to relax.

“Drink?” he offered, motioning to a decanter of amber liquid on a nearby table.

“No, thank you,” you said quickly, your voice tight.

He tilted his head, his smile softening. “Suit yourself. I see your bruise is healing nicely.”

You instinctively touched your cheek, still tender from the beating. “Can we just… get to the point? What do you want me to do?”

The salesman’s smile widened slightly, and he leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. “Straight to business. I like that.”

He studied you for a moment, his gaze uncomfortably intense. “What I want is very simple. And, let me assure you, the reward will far outweigh the discomfort.”

You shifted uneasily, his words setting off alarm bells in your mind.

His smile took on a sharper edge. “I want you to use that mouth of yours for something other than talking.”

The room seemed to tilt, your stomach dropping like a stone. You stared at him, your mind racing to comprehend what he’d just said. “You’re kidding,” you said, your voice trembling.

“I never kid about business,” he replied smoothly. “You’ve seen the briefcase. You know what’s at stake.”

Your hands balled into fists at your sides. “You want me to—”

“To prove how much you want to change your life,” he interrupted, his tone calm but firm. “To show me that you’re willing to do whatever it takes.”

You took a step back, your legs bumping into the edge of a chair. “This… this is humiliating.”

“Is it?” he asked, his gaze never leaving yours. “You’ve already been beaten and left with nothing. What’s one more compromise?”

His words were like needles, each one poking at the fragile walls of your pride. He stood, closing the distance between you. “I’m offering you freedom,” he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “All you have to do is take it.”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry as sandpaper. Every fiber of your being screamed at you to leave, to walk out of this villa and never look back. But the image of that briefcase, the promise of a life free from fear and debt, rooted you in place.

“I…” Your voice cracked, the weight of the moment crushing you.

The salesman tilted his head, his smile softening ever so slightly. “Think of it this way,” he said. “This is the last time you’ll ever have to beg, to endure, to scrape by. After this, the world opens up to you.”

He stepped back, giving you space but keeping his piercing gaze locked on you. “But it’s your choice,” he added. “It always has been.”

“I—okay,” you murmured, barely audible.

His smile widened, not in mockery but in something resembling satisfaction. “Atta girl.”

The words hung in the air, and you immediately dropped to your knees, ready to get this over with. But his hand shot out, stopping you mid-motion. His touch was firm but not forceful, his fingers curling gently around your forearm.

“Not so fast,” he said, his tone light, almost teasing. “Let’s get you a bit comfortable first.”

You looked up at him, confusion etched across your face. “Comfortable?” you echoed.

He patted his lap, a small gesture that carried so much weight. “Don’t you want to loosen up a bit?”

“I—” The protest was on the tip of your tongue, but you stopped yourself. He tilted his head, his sharp gaze pinning you in place.

“Come on,” he coaxed, his voice soft but insistent.

After a long moment of hesitation, you stood and awkwardly settled onto his lap. The action felt unnatural, foreign. You perched on his thighs stiffly, your hands clenched in your lap, your body tense like a coiled spring.

He didn’t seem bothered by your discomfort. Instead, he rested his hands lightly on your waist, his touch careful and deliberate. His thumbs began to trace small, lazy patterns into the fabric of your shirt, the motion strangely soothing despite the situation.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said quietly, his voice low and steady. The words were meant to reassure, but they only made your pulse race faster.

You nodded, unable to bring yourself to speak. The air between you was thick with tension, the kind that made your skin prickle. You tried to focus on the patterns he was drawing, on the steady rhythm of his breathing, anything to distract yourself from the heat radiating off his body—or the unmistakable hardness pressing against you.

You froze, your entire body going rigid. He noticed, of course, but he didn’t comment. Instead, his hands stayed where they were, his thumbs continuing their soothing motions.

“You’re thinking too much,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. His breath ghosted over your temple, warm and inviting. “Just breathe.”

Easier said than done. You took a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. He shifted slightly, and your hands instinctively reached out, grasping his shoulders for balance. The movement brought you closer to him, your faces mere inches apart.

His eyes searched yours, his expression unreadable. Slowly, he leaned in, giving you every opportunity to pull away. When you didn’t, his lips brushed against yours, tentative and soft.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. The kiss was gentle, almost hesitant, as if he were testing the waters. His hands stayed on your waist, their grip light, giving you space to move away if you wanted to.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you sat there, motionless, letting him lead. When he realized you weren’t responding, he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. “Relax,” he murmured, his tone patient.

Tentatively, you leaned forward, your lips meeting his. The kiss was awkward at first, your movements hesitant and unsure. But he didn’t rush you. He let you take the lead, his hands remaining steady on your waist.

As you grew more comfortable, the kiss deepened, your initial hesitation fading away. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his suit jacket, grounding yourself as you tilted your head, pressing closer.

That’s when he took over.

His hands slid up your back, pulling you flush against him as he angled his head, deepening the kiss. The shift was subtle but deliberate, his lips moving against yours with a confidence that left you breathless. His tongue brushed against your bottom lip, a gentle request rather than a demand, and you parted your lips without thinking.

The kiss turned hungry, his movements more assertive but never forceful. His hands roamed cautiously, never straying too far, their warmth seeping through your clothes. Your senses were overwhelmed—the taste of him, the scent of his cologne, the steady strength of his hands.

You didn’t know when it happened, but your tension melted away, replaced by a strange sense of surrender. It wasn’t defeat—it was something else, something you couldn’t quite name. Your hands slid up his chest, your fingers brushing against the collar of his shirt as you leaned into him.

When he finally broke the kiss, you were breathless, your chest rising and falling rapidly. His forehead rested against yours, his hands still on your waist, anchoring you in place.

“See?” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “Not so bad.”

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you simply nodded. The reality of what just happened began to sink in, but before panic could take hold, he shifted again, his hands steadying you as he leaned back slightly.

“Take your time,” he said, his tone soft. “We’re not in a rush.”

You weren’t sure if it was the weight of his gaze, the steady way he held you, or the way his fingers brushed against you as if he knew exactly where your boundaries were but was waiting for you to decide whether they mattered.

He reached up slowly, his movements deliberate, and his hand brushed against your face before moving to your hair. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, as he pulled the tie from your hair. Your hair tumbled loose over your shoulders, and he twirled the hair tie around his fingers, his smile never faltering.

“You’ve sucked dick before, right?” he asked, his voice smooth, casual.

Your heart stopped, then resumed at a faster pace. You blinked, your cheeks flushing hot. “I—of course I did!” you replied defensively, the words tumbling out before you could think them through.

He chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. “Of course you did,” he murmured, his voice dropping as his gaze lingered on your face. “How could someone resist a pretty face like yours?”

The compliment sent an unexpected jolt through you, but you weren’t given time to process it. He gently took your hands in his, his touch light but firm, and began guiding them behind your back. You stiffened instinctively, your pulse pounding in your ears.

“Relax,” he said, his tone calm and soothing, as though he were coaxing you out of a tense state. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

You hesitated but allowed him to move your arms behind you, his grip steady and unthreatening. The hair tie you hadn’t noticed still in his hand came into view as he looped it around your wrists. The act was careful, the tie snug enough to hold your hands together but not tight enough to hurt.

“There,” he said softly, his fingers brushing against your skin as he adjusted the knot. “Don’t worry, I’ll hold your hair for you.”

You swallowed hard, your breath catching in your throat. He reached up, threading his fingers through your hair with the same slow, deliberate care he’d shown with your hands. His touch sent a shiver down your spine, and you hated how your body seemed to respond to him against your will.

“See?” he said, his voice low and steady. “No reason to be nervous.”

Nervous was an understatement. Your mind raced, trying to keep up with the situation. Everything about him was a contradiction—his words soft but commanding, his actions careful yet deliberate. It left you off balance, unsure of where you stood or what would happen next.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Down on your knees.”

You blinked, hesitating for a moment as the weight of his words sank in. Your body froze, torn between instinct and the promise of what you came here for. You must have looked as dumbfounded as you felt because his lips curved into that same infuriatingly knowing smile.

But then you remembered the briefcase—you couldn’t afford to hesitate, not now. Steeling yourself, you swallowed hard and did as he said, sinking onto the plush carpet beneath you.

He watched you with a calm, calculating expression, his fingers still lightly twirling the tie binding your wrists. When your knees touched the floor, he adjusted his posture, leaning forward slightly.

“Good girl,” he murmured, the words slipping from his lips in a tone that felt both patronizing and oddly reassuring. His hand left you entirely, moving to undo his belt. The sound of the buckle snapping open echoed faintly in the room, and you bit the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to remain still.

He slid the belt free and dropped it to the side, his gaze never leaving yours. His movements were slow as he unbuttoned his pants and let them pool around his ankles. Then came the boxers, and as he stepped out of them, his confidence radiated like a tangible force.

He looked down at you, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Think you can handle it?” he asked, his voice dripping with challenge.

You scoffed, narrowing your eyes despite the heat rising in your cheeks. “I’ve had bigger,” you shot back.

That earned a low chuckle from him, the sound rich and amused. He crouched slightly, bringing his face closer to yours as his hand reached out, cupping your jaw firmly but gently. His thumb brushed along your chin as he tilted your face upward. “Open up,” he said, his tone soft but leaving no room for argument.

You hesitated for a fraction of a second, your thoughts warring with one another. But then your resolve hardened.

You obeyed, parting your lips just enough to feel vulnerable.

The corners of his mouth quirked upward again, and his hand slid to the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair with practiced ease. “I’ll let you take the lead,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, “at least for now.”

His other hand rested lightly on your shoulder as he guided you closer, his movements careful.

With a deep breath, you adjusted, leaning in more and licking the tip. He groaned softly, the sound low and guttural. His other hand trailed from your shoulder to your neck, his thumb brushing against your pulse point in a way that sent a shiver through you. His cock was heavy on your tongue, and your mind blurred as he thrust himself further and further into your mouth—and you appreciated the slowness with which he did it—until he was fully inside. The rhythm was slow at first. Small bobbing of your head that was just enough to pull soft groans of from his lips.

You pulled back slightly and swirled your tongue around the tip, pleasantly surprising him enough to earn yourself a sharp tug at your hair and a guttural moan that sent a shiver down your spine and a sudden awareness of the need between your legs.

“My… it’s like you were made for this…” he tugged gently on your hair again, signaling for you to pause, you pulled back slightly, your chest rising and falling as you tried to catch your breath. His thumb brushed against your cheek, his touch light but grounding.

“Good girl,” he said again, his voice softer now, almost approving. He leaned down slightly, his hand cupping your face as he tilted your chin upward. “Messy, though…” he muttered, wiping a bit of drool escaping your open mouth. His hand moved from your chin to your hair again, smoothing the strands back as he studied your face with that same intense gaze.

“Let’s see how far you can go,” he murmured, his tone calm but laced with challenge.

And he fucking shoved you down on his cock.

You froze for a second, overwhelmed by the situation, but his voice cut through the haze.

“Don’t stop now,” he said, his tone still calm but laced with something sharper, something that made your heart race. “You want the money, don’t you?”

Your jaw tightened involuntarily, and he noticed. His smirk deepened as he adjusted his grip in your hair, guiding you with more force than before. It wasn’t painful, but it was clear he wasn’t asking for permission anymore. He was almost guiding your head at this point, fucking into your warm mouth with soft grunts as the hand with a grip on your hair directed you towards him in perfect timing. Your jaw was starting to ache and you could barely notice it with your thoughts suddenly one-track-minded. You were alternating torturously between sucking and lapping at his dick. He pulled out, and then fucked back in roughly, and oh, he knew this would be good—but not this good.

His hand in your hair tightened, and the calm, collected demeanor he had shown earlier began to crack ever so slightly. His breaths were heavier, his eyes darker, and the faint quirk of his lips had transformed into something far less controlled.

His need was pressing against the edges of his control. Your breath hitched as you tried to keep up, the pace leaving you off balance.

You pulled back instinctively, your body reacting to the overwhelming sensation, but his grip on your hair tightened, keeping you in place. “No,” he murmured, his voice low but firm. “Not yet. Breathe through your nose. Come on—work for it.”

The command sent a shiver down your spine, equal parts thrilling and intimidating. You tried to steady your breathing, inhaling deeply through your nose as he’d instructed. Your jaw relaxed as best as it could, though every muscle in your body felt tense.

“That’s it,” he said, his voice breaking slightly at the edges, the first real crack in his composure. His free hand braced against the back of the couch he was sitting on, his knuckles whitening as he gripped it tightly.

You glanced up at him through your lashes, trying to focus despite your racing pulse. His eyes met yours, and for a brief moment, the intensity in them made your breath catch. He was watching you so closely, as if every movement, every reaction, was feeding something deep within him.

“God,” he muttered, his voice hoarse, his head tilting back slightly as his grip in your hair eased momentarily. “You have no idea how good you look like this. Believe me—you could’ve gotten out of your debts a long time ago.” The sounds are indescribable, dirty and wet and so fucking hot as he continues to thrust into your mouth.

“Your throat,” he chokes out. He splays one hand over your throat and starts to fuck up into you at a different angle. “I can fucking see myself in you, fuck—“ There was a rawness to his movements now, a lack of the careful control that had defined him earlier. “Just a little more” he murmured, his voice roughened by something you couldn’t quite place. You could hear his breathing quicken, could feel the faint tremor in his grip as he pulled you closer still. His dominance over the situation was undeniable, but there was a vulnerability in the way his body reacted, a need that felt almost desperate.

When you hesitated again, instinctively pulling back just a fraction to catch your breath, his hand tightened slightly in your hair, holding you in place. “No,” he said sharply “stay fucking still.”

You wanted to punch his face. But you did your best to keep up—still thinking about the money—your breath hitching as he guided you, his need evident in the way he moved.

His groans grew louder, more frequent, and his grip in your hair tightened again as he edged closer to the brink. You could feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles tensed and his movements became more erratic. He was losing control, and the realization sent a strange thrill through you.

His orgasm washed over him and his body went still for a moment, his grip in your hair almost bruising as he held you in place. The sound he made was low and guttural, a noise that seemed to reverberate through the room. You froze as he held you there, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

Your throat burned, your body tensing as you fought the instinct to pull away as his fucking cum filled your mouth. He didn’t let you, his hand in your hair keeping you firmly in place as he muttered something under his breath—words you couldn’t quite make out over the pounding in your ears.

When he finally released you, it was abrupt, his hand loosening in your hair as he leaned back, his chest heaving. You gasped for air, your breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts as you tried to steady yourself and then started to cough. Your body felt heavy, your limbs trembling as you sat back on your heels, looking up at him with wide eyes.

He met your gaze, his expression softening as he took in your disheveled appearance. “You did well,” he said, his voice low and rough. His hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face with surprising gentleness. “Better than I expected.” And then he took the hair tie off your hands.

You didn’t respond, still trying to catch your breath as you processed what had just happened. The room felt stifling, the weight of his gaze pressing down on you as you struggled to compose yourself. You just managed to smear his cum on your face.

His smirk returned, though it was softer now. “I knew you had it in you,” he said, his hand trailing down to cup your chin again. His thumb brushed against your jaw, and his smile widened slightly. “But you’ve got to learn to pace yourself.”

You glared at him faintly, though the effect was ruined by the flush in your cheeks and the way your body still trembled. “Maybe you should pace yourself,” you shot back, your voice hoarse.

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Fair enough,” he said, his hand falling away from your face as he leaned back, his posture relaxing for the first time since you’d arrived. He looked down at you for a moment longer before reaching for his discarded boxers, slipping them back on with a casual grace.

“Go clean yourself up,” he said, gesturing toward a door off to the side. “The bathroom’s through there.”

You hesitated for a moment, your body still tense, before nodding and pushing yourself to your feet. Your legs felt unsteady beneath you, and you had to grip the edge of a nearby chair to keep your balance. He watched you with an amused expression, his smirk widening as you stumbled toward the bathroom.

When you closed the door behind you, you leaned against it for a moment, letting out a shaky breath. Your reflection in the mirror caught your eye, and you winced at the sight of your flushed cheeks and disheveled hair. You looked like a mess, and you weren’t sure how you felt about that.

As you splashed water on your face, trying to steady your nerves, you were almost on the verge of crying. It’s disgusting—it’s disgusting that you’re wiping his cum off your face and out of your mouth.

When you finally stepped back into the room, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, his expression unreadable as he watched you. The briefcase was sitting on the nightstand beside him, and he gestured toward it with a lazy wave of his hand.

“Your reward,” he said simply, his smirk returning. “You’ve earned it.”

You hesitated, your gaze flickering between him and the briefcase. “That’s it?” you asked, your voice still hoarse.

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “Unless you’re looking for another round,” he said, his tone teasing.

You rolled your eyes, stepping forward to grab the briefcase. The weight of it felt solid in your hands, a tangible reminder of why you’d agreed to this in the first place. “I’ll pass,” you muttered, turning toward the door.

As you reached for the handle, his voice stopped you. “You know where to find me if you change your mind.”

You glanced back at him, your heart pounding in your chest as you met his gaze. His smirk was still in place, his eyes gleaming with amusement and something darker. You didn’t respond, pulling the door open and stepping out into the hallway.

The air outside felt cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the suffocating heat of the room you’d just left. You took a deep breath, the weight of the briefcase grounding you as you made your way down the hall and out of the villa.

[thecinfulhours]

Sub hyunjin with a breathplay kink uuhhhhhhhh 🥴🤭😰

YAAAY!! GIVE ME MORE ASKS ✨

Thank you for sending this in! Some elements of breath play are a bit extreme for me, so I avoided things like masks and latex and asphyxiation devices… remember kitties, this stuff is very dangerous and shouldn’t be taken lightly!!

Gasp!

💕 Pairing: Hyunjin x Reader

💕 Length: 2K (see? I’m good at ACTUALLY WRITING a reply to these asks)

💕 warnings: smut, femdom, anal play (male receiving), piv, asphyxiation (choking and compression), slight impact play, bondage.

Hyunjins arms are chained behind the chair, bound to the back of the seat which makes his long limbs stretch out in an uncomfortable manner. But it makes the arch of his back all the prettier, his head angled back, chest forward with his pink little nipples peeking upward. Below that, his slender and willowy figure was corseted, making his waist seem even more fragile, so small you felt you could snap him in half.

And even further down, his pretty leaking cock still a bit soft, and those beautiful long legs compliantly exposed and bare, each tied to one of the front legs of the chair. Beyond this beautiful sight, you were further enticed by the fact this his little ass was currently prodded by the dildo you had stuck on the seat, and every little squirm from him would make it rub his prostate, but not enough to get him off.

The position was so uncomfortable, so restricting, but to Hyunjin it somehow made everything feel better, all this discomfort only highlighted every ounce of pleasure.

He felt his chest restricted from the position, his torso forced tight by the black corset and the laces you adjusted with so much care.

You cup his face with one hand, he sighs into the touch, and the other hand rubs his powdery thigh soothingly.

“Are you sure about this, bunny?” You ask for the hundredth time.

“Yes miss, please.” He quietly pleads, his voice coming out airy and full of lust. “Please…”

You were so so careful of doing this, absolutely terrified of hurting your precious boy, but you both agreed to keep it as basic as possible, not doing anything too extreme after knowing how dangerous it was. The thought of you caring for him so deeply, being so careful and reluctant made Hyunjin feel so loved and adored, he trusted you completely and let you decide the extent of the activity.

“You let me know if anything doesn’t feel right, ok love? You know how, right?”

He looks into your eyes for a while, smiling to himself, as if he’s just woken up from a nice dream. “Of course baby. I love you.”

He puckers his lips, asking for a final soft kiss, and you happily give it to him. You cup both of his cheeks, gently rubbing and squishing them before trailing one hand down to where he wanted it most. That suddenly got him back in the mindset of the scene, his head falling back with his pretty long hair falling behind and accentuating the line of his neck and shoulders.

Your fingers timidly wrap around his thick neck, fingers pressing into the right spots… a moderate squeeze that you know will be enough and safe enough. He sighs, and it’s like you slowly feel him melt like jelly. You feel him breathing beneath your palm, his chest rising and falling more intentionally now. Before he’s too far out, you take one of his pink little nipples and pinch it, and playing with the bud immediately makes him gasp.

You let go, soothing over his neck with the back of your wand and with hot kisses, cupping his head so he can look up at you.

“Is it ok Bunny? Does my bunny feel alright?” You ask full of worry and love. It makes him whimper and you worry that you’ve done something wrong until he opens up his dreamy eyes and nods as well as the position allows him.

“You have to talk, bunny…”

“I’m good momma.” He says in a small and whimper voice - one that makes you mewl at how adorable and arousing it is.

You kiss him as you give the next squeeze, wetting his pillowy mouth and observing his breathing through his nose. You can’t help but try to rub your chest against his, supporting yourself by placing your knee on the space left between his legs on the seat. He lets out a little moan at the closeness, and you’re hyper aware of how naked you are in your bra and panties - and how much you just want to tear it all off and ride him.

You don’t let your mind slip though, and you let go of your hold over his throat and separate from his lips.

He gasps a big breath in, opening that pretty mouth of his out, chest heaving as he recovers.

You rub his thighs and his arms reassuringly until he starts to softly smile again, and when he leans his head toward you you cup his cheek and his his temple and forehead.

“More?”

“More, mama…” oh he’s using his pretty baby voice… now you feel like you need to poke and prod him a little harder.

The next squeeze is accompanied by more kisses, all over his chest until you latch into his nipples, sucking and nibbling… and the moment you let go of his throat you grab his semi erect cock and begin to stroke it. You anticipate the rush of blood back to his head, and can imagine how both of these opposite sensations must be overwhelming him now. The moan he lets out is choked and uncontrolled, you stroke and stroke until the initial rush of dizziness fades and he begins to giggle at the sensations.

“Mama! Mama! More, more please!” He isn’t desperate or begging, he’s happily encouraging you now that he knows the thrill of the feeling.

This time you stroke him through the asphyxiation, being much more careful now, if it were even possible, and as soon as you let go you jerk him off harshly. He’s a screamer, and his moans become a loud mess of gasps and yelps and memes as his thighs tense and his legs test the restraints.

You can see some tears in the corners of his eyes and it makes your heart swell.

“One more bunny… just one more.” And he nods with your statements.

You lean over him to watch his face carefully and keeps his eyes on yours as you rub over the most sensitive pets of his dick with conviction. Just as he gets that tucked out look you remove your hand from his throat and cradle his hand as you fuck his cock with your fist.

He cums so hard he can’t even make a noise, nothing but silent and choked creams coming from him as his cock spurts semen upward. It’s cute how much he cums and the mess he makes, you giggle as you soothe over his pulsating penis a few more times.

You’re quick to work on the restraints, letting everything loose as swiftly as you can. He slouches over and hisses, letting his limbs stretch until he finally whines again, albeit a different kind of whine.

Damn - you had almost forgotten the dildo in his ass.

“Poor bunny!” You coo as you rub his back while pulling the laces of his corset loose. You undo all of the laces until you can pull it off, and you slide your body beneath his so you can hug his waist and help him get up, pulling his jelly-like form with you. He hisses when the dildo leaves his ass and you can hear the slight sticky pop.

He’s all long limbs that have gone limp.

“Bunnyyy! Help me get you to bed!”

“Can’t!” He mumbles, but he does stand up with more strength, “‘mmm smpaghetti…”

“What??” You giggle as you guide him to lay on the mattress with a slight bounce as he flounces backwards.

“I’m like spaghetti…” he says, jiggling one arm and flappy wrist in the air. He means he’s gone limp, it’s a cute way of saying so.

“Oh nooo… poor stupid fucked out bunny!” You tease, crawling over his worn out body. Your hands rub the red marks left along his abdomen by the corset, and kiss all over his neck and chest. “Poor poor bunny boy…”

“Nuh-uh… lucky bunny boy.” He argues.

“Lucky bunny…” you keep cooing, looking down at his dreamy eyes and fucked out face, petting his hair as you both fall into a loving silence.

“Mama…?” he calls after a while.

“Hmm?”

“It’s your turn.” He knowingly smiles, one of his long fingers already slipping into the hand of your panties, stretching it out to then let go and let it snap back against your hip. You playfully smack his arm in response but suddenly your fucked out bunny is full of energy again, slowly turning the two of you so he’s on top.

You scoot back onto the pillow as he kisses you, and you can tell he’s still a little tired and weak but his erection keeps rubbing against your tummy and you are by far too needy yourself.

It’s a matter of seconds until the two of you have pulled your undies off and he’s slowly slipping inside of you, his bulbous head nestling into your hole and sending shivers throughout you. Just a few moments of slow rolls of his hips against yours while you get comfortable, and then he’s eagerly fucking you. It’s very tender, and he lets you lay back and holds your hand as his body rests on yours and he just tufts his hips into your cunt.

For such a small baby attitude, it’s surprising how little Hyunjin has to do to get you off on just the feeling of his cock. And for him, to be nestled in your warm and wet walls, every ridge sucking his cock in as his body is pressed to yours, it’s absolute perfection. It’s the peak of intimacy - well, him penetrating you and you penetrating him. And above all it just lets him be so close to you, putting him in the arms of the person that makes him feel so safe and loved. Oh, sometimes he just wants to muzzle into your embrace and have you carry him around and let him all day as if he were a kitten. He wishes he never had to tear away - so he’d do everything he could to make you happy enough to keep him,

You feel that jolt from his head poking all over those sweet spots, and you give his perky ass a little snap as a sign that he should speed up. He keeps his thrusts gentle, but now they’re quicker and he lets his pelvis smack against yours so your clit is teased with each bounce.

As if he hasn’t been rewarded by you enough, you slip your fingers into his tiny lubbed hole, the pads of your fingers rubbing his walls to find the best spot to touch him, and your other hand…

You reach for his neck again and he moans so desperately, you don’t even get the chance to squeeze before he’s spilling inside of you.

But you’re not done yet, and despite the sensitivity he keeps going, crying your name in shaky whimpers as you gently press his neck and finger his ass. He’s a good boy that always does what his beloved tells him to, or doesn’t tell him, as long as it makes her happy. So he’ll do everything he can … as long as he can… being a good little service top for the beautiful woman squirming beneath him… to make her proud, make her cum…

“Aaah… mama!”

He comes a second time, his entire body on overdrive from so many points of stimulation.

Spaghetti boy collapses on you, completely limp and warm and wet. He keeps whimpering into your ear because your cunt finally began to clench around him now that he’s spent, and your fingers still twirl in his ass. You sigh in pleasure as your body rolls beneath him, taking advantage of the last moments of firmness from his erection.

“Thank you… thank you momma.” Is the mantra he whispers into your ear as you finish your session. It’s what he keeps saying until his limp body falls asleep atop you, and he’ll stay put all night and keep you warm like a blanket and she softly purrs and snores into your neck.

[thecinfulhours]

Strawberry Milk

cw: sub!Felix; dom!reader; reader - unspecified pronouns/gender/junk; kink awakening; under-negotiated kink; cock-stepping; dacryphilia; cross-dressing; cock spanking; degradation; humiliation; exhibition; cumplay - cum drinking, snowballing; sexting; public masturbation/hand job; mentions of underwear theft, omorashi/piss kink; pet names - baby, kitty (for Felix); we start out mean but get a lil gentle towards the end, also we nearly veered into genderfucky territory, but i don't think we really went there, do with that what you will

wordcount: 4,807 words

posted for @skzseasons !S Week event!🌸💕

“I think I’m a pervert.”

Hyunjin makes That Face when you finally make your admission. It’s one you’re used to seeing—the expression he has when Jisung spills another iced coffee all over himself or Changbin breaks the knob off his internal volume control for a moment. It’s the face he makes when the world has disappointed, but not surprised him.

You’re a little offended, honestly—you think your degeneracy could merit at least a little shock—but you press on anyways.

“I think—I think I might have done something fucked up. And I think I liked it.” You leave out how you’ve been sitting on this revelation for nearly a week now, lying awake in your bed with a hand shoved down your underwear and the sight of Felix on the ground playing on loop behind your eyelids.

“Hmm. ‘Fucked up’ how?”

“I-I don’t know, I… didn’t mean to? But…” You really hadn’t. High off the rush of winning, you hadn’t wanted to hurt him or scare him, you were just so caught up in having the upper hand. But the sight of him wide-eyed and fearful, tears welling up in his eyes, had made your stomach twist with as much desire as guilt. “…but-I-think-I-like-making-boys-cry?”

“Well. Yeah.”

“What do you mean, ‘yeah’?”

“You watch reality tv, don’t you?”

“What—what does that have to do with anything?”

“You like seeing people suffer. Obviously.”

“Look—schadenfreude isn’t the same as, as sadism, I—” You don’t know how to put words to the memory—Felix laughing and squirming, sprawled out on his ass and elbows in the wet grass beneath you—you wobbly, out of breath and off-balance, as the foot you’d meant to plant on his chest comes to rest square on his crotch.

“Hyunjin, I don’t think you can compare stepping on someone to watching people have meltdowns on TV.”

“Wait, you stepped on someone?”

“No! Maybe?” The recollection of it snares you at the most unexpected moments—sunlight caught on the fat teardrops welling up in his eyes, blush blooming across his freckled cheeks, the heat of his cock growing fat and stiff under your bare foot. “Kinda…”

“Ha. Step on me, mommy?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

And he does, and for a while you think that’s it. Until Hyunjin’s soft voice breaks the silence again.

“It’s not a big deal, you know? Loads of people are into that kind of thing.”

“Whatever…”

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Look, you—you don’t really know what’s going on.

For the past couple weeks, you’ve been trying to keep a respectful distance from Felix—you tell yourself you’re being considerate, giving him space, but you can’t deny the way your stomach twists when he catches your eye. It’s good manners, you tell yourself, not avoidance.

Right now, being ‘respectful’ mostly just means staring at your phone while you pretend you don’t notice Seungmin slowly hiding everyone’s keys and earbuds in the hood of your sweater.

When Jisung drags Felix out of the room, crowing about “winning the bet”, you don’t think much of it. If anything, you relax for the first time since you walked in the door. The tension melts from your shoulders as you burrow deeper into the sofa, huffing out a little laugh as Seungmin tugs his hand away with a yelp.

It’s possibly the most peaceful ten minutes you’ve had, until the door to Jisung’s room slams open again to reveal Felix in a schoolgirl’s uniform.

No one questions why Jisung just has one on hand. It’s not one of those cheap, costume-y ones either, not some shapeless and skimpy thing made from oddly shiny polyester in generic white and blue. You make a note in the back of your mind to look it up later—there are endless things to tease Jisung for, but any addition to your pile of ammunition is welcome.

The funniest part—because this is funny, right?—is how good it looks on Felix. The cream-colored sailor collar makes his tawny skin glow and the dark green pleats of the skirt swish around his lissome legs with every step he takes. As your gaze makes it’s way down, you realize Jisung even completed the look with a tiny little pair of socks—knobby ankles framed by frills of white lace that make your jaw go slack and your brain fizzle with static.

When you drag your eyes back up to his face, Felix’s gaze is locked on you.

Your ribcage feels too tight for your lungs.

You’re not doing this.

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As soon as Minho and Seungmin start squabbling over what movie to put on, you bolt for the kitchen, mumbling some excuse about getting snacks. You don’t bother to flip the light switch, just tuck yourself out of sight and bury your face in your hands.

Deep breaths, in and out.

You’ll go back once the lights are out, you decide. Lights out, movie on, and maybe then you’ll be able to keep yourself from staring like a creep. You drag in one last deep, shuddery breath to settle yourself, tip your head back and groan, before pushing yourself off the wall.

Only to find yourself face to face with Felix.

His expression is open and guileless, eyes intent on you even as he gnaws at his lip and fiddles with his sleeves. And he’s still wearing that goddamn school uniform.

“I thought… you might need some help…?” His voice is low and clear against the din of your friends in the next room, and you swallow hard.

“Sure.” You clear your throat, push past him to rummage through the freezer. “Yeah, sure, whatever…”

For a while, you almost feel normal again—preheating the oven and dumping pizza rolls onto a baking sheet, pawing through the cupboards for chips and microwave popcorn. Felix doesn’t help so much as get underfoot, though, trailing after you so closely you’re surprised he isn’t tripping over your heels. He keeps reaching for things a little too late when you ask for them, just before you reach for them yourself, hands colliding as he mumbles apologies into your ear. The constant proximity, the heat of his body, his breath in your ear, it’s all fraying at your self-control one thread at a time.

When his fingers brush along the back of your hand for the third or fourth time, it snaps, sending you whirling around to back him into the counter.

“What is wrong with you?”

He shrugs listlessly, gaze drifting to the side to avoid yours, and something knots up in your chest. You’re winding a hand in his hair before you even realize, dragging his eyes back to meet your own. He’s biting his lip again, and it makes you want to replace his teeth with your own, makes you want to make him cry again.

There’s an infuriatingly calm, almost expectant look in his eyes, and you realize… Felix followed you in here.

When you drag him in for a kiss, it’s less like two puzzle pieces slotting together and more like a car crash—messy and crude, open-mouthed and hungry as you push your tongue into his mouth, curl it against the roof and swallow down his gasping little whines. You withdraw just long enough for him to keen like a little animal, his breath hot against your lips, and you reward him by digging your teeth into his lower lip and snaking a hand up his skirt.

Even through the soft cotton of his boxers, he’s hot in your hand, cock already stiffening as you cup and squeeze it experimentally. It’s more an inspection than it is an attempt at real stimulation, but his hips jerk under the attention anyways.

“You’re really getting hard from being pushed around, huh?”

His face scrunches up at your words, but he nods frantically. Something feral and mean inside of you rears up at the sight of him, lips shiny with your spit and twisted in a grimace, eyes already glossy with tears.

“Lift up your skirt.” The speed with which he follows your instruction goes to your head like champagne on an empty stomach, bright and bubbly and warm.

Felix makes such a depraved little picture for you—hair mussed, face flushed under the constellations of his freckles, hands trembling just a little as he lifts his little schoolgirl skirt up to show off the outline of his cock. It’s straining against his plain grey boxer-briefs, a damp spot slowly darkening along the front—all at once, you think of working him up and making him cum all over himself like a pervert, of making him wet himself like a desperate little girl, of watching it run down his slim thighs onto the floor and pushing his face down to lick his own mess off the cold tile like a dog.

“Did you like it, when I stepped on your little cock?” You squeeze hard, watch the way his lips part with a tiny little gasp, then pull your hand away. “Well?”

He nods, brow furrowed, but that’s not enough—you bring your hand down against his cock, quick and sharp. A ragged gasp tears it’s way out of his throat, his hips jerking under the punishment.

“Use your words, baby.” You spank him harder, a second, then a third time, laughing with disbelief at the way his cock twitches under your palm, at the way his head tips back and his eyes flutter shut. Tears glisten along his lashes, salty on your lips when you lean in to brush a kiss against them.

“I-I did, I liked it, I… I…” Words failing him, he drops down to his knees, nuzzling into your thigh as he fumbles with the waistband of your shorts. For just a moment, the thought of fucking Felix’s face with all your friends just one room over sends wild thrill skittering up your spine, has you nearly ready to let him do as he pleases.

Instead, you slap his hands away and grab him by the hair again to drag him upright, his hands scrambling to grab onto your sweater as he half-climbs up your body.

“Don’t you fucking dare. Did I tell you that you could touch me?”

“N-no…”

“You can touch me when you’ve earned it, do you understand?”

He nods, and you tighten your grip, pulling a whine from him as the motion tugs at his scalp.

“I’m going to give you a chance to earn it. And to calm down, because,” you draw back to look him up and down with an arched brow. “I’m sure you don’t want to walk out in front of everyone looking like a desperate little slut, do you?”

“No—no, please…” He shakes his head, and you loosen your grip on his hair with a smile.

Abandoning him to make your way to the fridge, you rummage around with a gentle hum, taking your time as you listen to him rock nervously back and forth against the counter. You resurface with a carton of milk in one hand and a bottle of syrup in the other, return to set them on the counter on either side of Felix, trapping him in your arms at the same time.

“You’re going to make strawberry milk for everyone. That is why you’re taking so long. But first…” You reach past him into the cupboard, pull out a glass and a straw twisted into the shape of a heart and filled with silver glitter and hold them up with a wry smirk. “…you’re going to jerk your little cock off into your cup and then fill it up the rest of the way with milk. When you’re done making enough for everyone else, you’re going to bring them all out to us, and you’re going to drink yours in front of everyone. Understand?”

He nods again, before he catches himself—“yes! Yes, m—yes, I understand— ”

“Good.” You file away the little stumble in his words for later, and then a wicked thought occurs to you. “Hm. Before you finish your glass, you’re going to do one more thing—you’re going to offer me a sip, so I know you made it right.”

It takes a moment, but you watch as Felix’s eyes go wide, lips parting, as your last order slowly settles in. Not even the shriek of the stove timer cuts through his hazy expression, and once you’re done pulling out the pizza rolls and shutting off the oven, you give in to the urge to drop a quick, smacking kiss onto his worried little mouth before you leave him.

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When Felix pops back out of the kitchen, only one glass in hand, a part of you wilts a little in disappointment—only to perk up like a seedling in the rain when you realize he’s making his way toward you, sparkly little straw twirling between his fingertips.

“Try it?” There’s a sly little smile curling up the corners of his mouth as he holds the drink out; it makes you want to bend him over your knee to spank it off his face, almost as much as you want to thread your fingers through his hair and drag him in for a kiss.

You let him lift the cup to your face, angle the straw to your lips himself, and you suck. Syrupy strawberry and bitter cum bloom across your tongue, so cloying and filthy it makes your heart nearly skip a beat, sends a rush of heat straight between your legs. Looking up at him through your lashes, you barely notice as Jisung whines for a taste and Felix tells him snottily that he can wait with everyone else.

“How is it?” Felix’s eyes are intent on yours, and you can’t hold back—don’t want to hold back—the stupid grin that paints itself across your face.

You catch his wrist in your grip carefully, lean in to steal another sip.

“It’s perfect.”

“This is nepotism,” Jisung declares indignantly, and you laugh as Felix skips back to the kitchen.

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Even with the lights off, you can tell how restless Felix is. He’s always a little fidgety, a squirmy, squeaky little duck of a boy, but he’s in rare form tonight—you can see him twirling his straw and wiggling into the couch cushions even as you keep your eyes trained on the movie. When Minho smacks his knee, scolds him for thumping his ankle against the sofa, you have to struggle to tamp down your smile. No one’s really noticed, you’re sure, but it’s so obvious—he’s a mess, and it’s all for you.

A spark of inspiration hits, and you slide your phone out of your pocket to tap out a quick message.

You: are you enjoying your drink?

You can tell the moment he gets your message, eyes widening as he hops up in his seat. He fumbles at his pocket, glass thumping down hard on the side table as he drags his phone out, and when his eyes dart up from your message to meet your own, you don’t shy away. It’s only when he shrinks down, curling in on himself as he clutches his phone like a lifeline, that you let your focus drop back down to your own.

It’s hard not to hold your breath as you wait for the buzz of your phone, hard not to immediately pop it open when the notification pops up on your screen. Just because he’s the most interesting part of your night—of your month, honestly—doesn’t mean you need to act so eager for him.

felix🐣: i wish it tasted like you 🥺

It would be annoying, the way six words and a stupid emoji knock the breath of your lungs, but you’re too preoccupied with the image of him on his knees, tongue out and eyes hazy and hungry for you, too preoccupied with nearly regretting your choices back in the kitchen.

You squeeze your thighs together and draw in an unsteady breath. You don’t look up at Felix.

You: you don’t even know what i taste like, tho

You: or do you?

You: have you been bad, kitty? have you been pawing through my things, sniffing at my underwear like a filthy little animal?

Maybe you’re imagining the way his hands tremble, as you watch him from the corner of your eye, but you’re sure you aren’t imagining the way the whites of his eyes catch the light as they widen, or the bob of his throat as he swallows.

felix🐣: i haven’t

You cock your head to the side as you look down at your phone, tap your glass to your lip thoughtfully—putting on a mean little show of doubt for him.

It’s only seconds before your phone is buzzing again.

felix🐣: really i promise i haven’t

felix🐣: really really really reall

felix🐣: :((

There’s something in his frantic denial that tastes like blood in the water to you, your typing barely keeping up with your thoughts as you put your autocorrect to the test.

You: i bet you’ve thought about it at least

You: don’t lie to me, kitty

You: have you?

As you tuck your phone back into your lap, anticipation thrums through your veins, so heavy it feels like it could push you right out of your own body. Around you, your friends laugh at some joke you missed, and you feel at once claustrophobic and terrifyingly adrift from the world.

Then your palm is tingling with the vibration of a new message, and your whole world narrows down to one point of focus.

felix🐣: maybe

felix🐣: yes

felix🐣: yes yes yes im sorry

felix🐣: pls don’t be mad :(

felix🐣: im sorry im gross

When you look up, Felix is avoiding your gaze, face tucked into his knees as he keeps his gaze trained blankly on the movie. The sight squeezes at your heart, makes you want pet his hair and kiss his freckles one by one.

You: it’s okay

You: i don’t care as long as you’re honest

You: tell me how gross you can be, baby

For a long while, there’s nothing. Disappointment sets in—you were trying to be gentle, but did you push him too hard? Was this what was too much? The high of completely unsupported confidence fades, and you’re just about ready to start doubting everything about the night…

Then your phone buzzes. And buzzes. And keeps on buzzing.

felix🐣: i wanna sniffyourunderwear

felix🐣: wanna know what it smells like after it’s been pressed up against you all day

felix🐣: wanna taste it wanna lick your cum off it want you to gag me with it please

felix🐣: i wanna jerk off with them get them all messy

felix🐣: want you to catch me and yell at me and

felix🐣: rub my face in my own mess and tell me ive been bad

felix🐣: sometimes i even think about you making me wear them while you spank me

felix🐣: making me spread my legs for you and

felix🐣: and calling me stupid and useless and slutty and

felix🐣: and making me do othergrossstuffforyou

You read Felix’s messages, and then you reread them at least three more times, thoughts a riot of impatience and want. All this time you’ve spent knotting yourself up with guilt and shame, when what he wants is for you to be even crueler to him, when it seems he’s been wanting this for longer than you could have imagined. You’re going to ruin him.

(You’re going to have to keep ‘other gross stuff’ in mind while you do it, too.)

When you finally look up, he’s curled as small as he can make himself, lanky limbs tucked in and eyes scrunched shut as if he’s bracing for something. You’ve never seen a sight that’s so pitiful, and it tempers the wild, mean thing he’s set loose in you, just a little.

You: oh, kitty

You: you’ve been so good for me. you’re gonna get everything you want, i promise.

You: <3

With that last message, you slide your phone back into your pocket and settle in to pretend to pay attention to the movie. And if the fists curled into your hoodie don’t unclench for the next hour, no one notices.

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After the movie, there’s a wave of drowsy murmurs as the lights flip on and your pack starts settling on what’s happening next. Pretty much everyone is going to crash right here, and most nights you would as well, but… you think that tonight, you’d rather end up in your own bed. And that you’d prefer to not end up there alone.

You stand up to stretch, satisfaction coiling low in your belly when you catch sight of Felix straightening up at your movement.

“I think I’m gonna walk home.” Your voice is just loud enough to carry across the room, a little unsteady, but that’s fine considering half your friends are still blinking the sleep from their eyes. “The weather’s been nice lately, there’s been shooting stars all week.”

“It’s too late to go out alone.” Of course, Chan objects. You’d almost feel guilty, you know he worries—but you have plans for the night, and not even your resident Dad Friend is gonna throw a wrench in them now.

“I’ll walk, too!” It’s an admirable show of restraint, that you’ve managed not to look at Felix until he’s already hopped out of his seat, volunteering himself as tribute.

“There! I won’t be alone!” You flash Chan a shit-eating grin as you hook your arm through Felix’s, dragging him towards the door before your second favorite Australian has a chance to argue. “We’ll be by with donuts in the morning, yeah?”

Behind you, you just barely catch Changbin’s voice, “wait, is Felix still wearing—”

Then the door shuts behind you, and the two of you are alone, set loose into the night.

It really is a gorgeous evening, cool and breezy, with only the faintest promise of summer thickening the air. Felix’s hand is a welcome warmth when you catch it in your own, swinging it as he matches his pace to yours. You pretend not to notice the way he rubs circles into the back of your hand with his thumb, just like you pretend that you aren’t grinning like an idiot.

There’s a calm that settles over you, with the city around you so still and hushed, with Felix’s shoulder nudging into yours as your footsteps echo along the street. It feels like no one exists but the two of you, like you have all the time in the world.

The tension that had you all twisted up, like a rope swing ready to spin out of control, eases into something lazy, almost leisurely. You have the whole night ahead of you, and you intend to take advantage of that. When you come up to a bus stop, you lean into his side to steer him into the flickering light. He’s meek as a kitten, letting you gently crowd him into the corner with no question.

“Hey.” You know you still have that goofy grin on your face, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Hey.” It's not as embarrassing, you figure, when the look on Felix's face is just as dumb as yours.

“Do something for me, baby?”

“Anything.” His answer is immediate, breathless, and it’s as sweet as the fake strawberry that’s still lingering on your tongue.

“Get your cock out for me.”

There’s only a moment’s hesitation as his eyes flick past your shoulders, then Felix is hiking his skirt up and tugging the front of his boxers down to show himself off for you—he’s still soft, his cock looking so small and chubby and sweet in his hand, little pink head peeking out from his golden brown foreskin. He can’t look you in the eyes, shrinking in on himself even as the cock in his hand stiffens under your gaze.

“Look at me…” Your voice is low and lilting as you lean in, drunk on the cool spring air and the power of making someone commit public indecency with just a few words. When he obeys, you continue: “You were such a good kitty tonight. I have something for you.”

“You do?”

“Mhmm. Hold out your hand for me.”

Felix lifts a shaky hand, palm up, and you pull your own out of your pocket to carefully tuck your underwear into it. The absolute absence of comprehension in his expression is so precious, you drag him down for a kiss, soft and warm as you swallow down his breath, nip at his lower lip just before you pull away.

“Wha… How? When?” You take his hand to wrap it around his cock, which seems to have caught up to things much faster than his brain, the solid heat of it through your underwear a wanton contrast to the dreamy urgency in his voice.

“I went to the bathroom, before the movie ended.” Slowly, you guide his hand in slow, measured strokes, watching the way his eyes flutter shut and he bites his lip to try and fail to hold back a groan. With your other hand, you cup his balls, squeezing and rolling them gently.

Under the flickering fluorescent of the bus stop, the delicate angles of his face look nearly too perfect to be real—with his skirt bunched up around his hips and his hair a tousled halo against the grimy plexiglass, you could almost believe it was an angel you were ravishing.

Eyes focused on his expression, you squeeze his balls a little tighter, curl your fingers to stroke behind them and grin like a shark when the motion has Felix dropping his mouth open to let loose a shameless moan. Carefully, you feel around until you find the spot that drags a high-pitched whine out of him, and massage it mercilessly. His breathing quickens, chest heaving under his rumpled sailor collar, and you speed up your strokes to match it.

When you finally feel his balls tighten in your palm, you angle his twitching cock to make sure he cums all over your hand. His release comes in weak, uneven spurts, but it drags on longer than you expected, runs down your skin like warm, sticky ribbons of cream as you milk him dry. You don’t let him go until you’re sure he has nothing left in him, thighs trembling around your wrist and hands pawing desperately at your shoulders.

Being careful not to let any go to waste, you lift your hand up—your kitten knows what you want before you even say a word, meeting you halfway with his tongue already out.

“Don’t swallow yet,” you warn him, and Felix hums against your skin in acknowledgment. His tongue is hot and insistent as he licks your skin clean, laps his own cum out of your palm, cheeks hollowing as he takes your fingers into the heat of his mouth one by one to suck them clean.

“Open up, baby, let me see.”

Rosy lips stretch wide for your viewing pleasure, to show you pearly white cum pooled on his pink tongue. You lean in to dip your tongue into his waiting mouth, his release briny and bittersweet as you finally get to taste it undiluted. Lips working hungrily against his, you coax his tongue into your own mouth, swallow down his cum and suck at the hot muscle until he’s limp and shivering against you.

When you’re finally satisfied that you’ve had every last drop of him, you pull away and tug him into your arms, petting his hair and cooing sweet nonsense into his ear until his shivering slows and he’s nuzzling sleepily into your neck. You go about setting him to rights, tucking his limp cock back into his boxers and straightening out his skirt, before uncurling his fingers to take your cum-stained underwear back.

A quick glance around to make sure the coast is clear, and you’re shimmying out of your shorts to drag your cum-stained underwear back on. They’re sticky and warm between your thighs, and you cringe at the thought of doing your next load of laundry, but it’s worth it for the dazed, slack-jawed look you get from Felix as you tug your shorts back on.

He twines the drawstring of your shorts around a finger, eyes boring holes into the ground, and it takes you a moment to realize he’s pouting.

“I wanna… I wanna make you cum, too…” His voice is low and even, but undeniably sulky, and a sudden rush of affection courses through you as you grab him by the face to force him to look you in the eye.

“Just wait, kitty. We’ll be home soon.” You plant a kiss on the tip of his nose, then grab a sticky hand to drag him back out into the night. “I’m not done with you just yet.”

[thecinfulhours]

Minors Do Not Interact.

CW: Humiliation, Degradation, Dildo Sucking + Choking, Oral fixation, Pillow Humping, A little Dacryphilia (Crying), Voyeurism, Dumbification(?).

Summary: Vyn is being punished and can't have you.

:) I don't know how people write this much.

Vyn knew it would come to this, he did set this up with this ending in mind, but he's starting to regret it just a little bit.

Of course he wanted you to find him hopelessly masturbating in your room. The punishments you give were always top tier, but this. . .

He needed more, anything more than this. Vyn thinks about what could be possibly happening right instead of his current position on the ground, pathetically humping a pillow while licking a dildo just barely out of his reach.

"P-please. . I'm sorry. .mmm." Vyn gives a particularly hard thrust against the pillow and looks up at you sitting a couple of feet away. You're eyes felt so intense, it made him shudder and struggle finish his thoughts. It doesn't click in his mind that you dismissed what he was saying.

Back and forth, he continues to grind for more friction that he wished for.

"Why'd you stop? I told you to suck the dildo." He immediately goes back. sucking at it's tip and giving licks along down the shaft.

He couldn't help but moan at having something in his mouth. His thrusting become more intense as he takes in the dildo more.

Vyn closes his eyes. He can still feel your gaze intensely. Oh god, he wanted to cum so much, but he wasn't told to yet. So he started slurping and making his sounds more pronounced and enticing.

He moans and takes deep thrusts against the now messy pillow. If he can convince you through seduction maybe then- maybe then he can-

He feels his head shove further down, tears elicited from his eyes, taking in most of the Dildo if not all. "You think that's going to work on me?"

He can't answer obviously having a huge fake dick shoved down his throat.

"You should have known I don't fall easy to your tricks. Why try?" Yes, but he was too focused on not cumming. Both of you knew that. Despite his little spurts of rebellion, you both knew he would still try to follow orders.

There was something else you also knew, as you look at the desperate man on the floor. His thrusting had long stopped, his body now twitching and showing signs of clear pleasure.

"Off and look at me." He lifts his head up and lingers just atop of the dildo. Vyn felt some sense of fear seeing the smirk on your face.

"Did you know I was gonna make you do this?" Gulp.

"Did you love chocking on this thing like a slut?" His throat feels dry.

"Look at it. Your mouth is wanting right? But, I told you not to cum. That's why you stopped humping your pillow." He's dizzy, it's too much, can't think.

"Hey, tell me. Does thinking of your oral fixation alone make you want to cum?"

His breathing is labored. Vyn imagines it. He imagines having the dildo back in his mouth, reaching the back of his throat. It was too good.

"Hey. I asked you a question."

He looks up you, face flushed and clearly a bit dazed.

"Yes. Please can I have more?"

[thecinfulhours]

I just want to ruin a bratty seungmin(skz). That's all my mind can think about lately lol

and y'know what? that's fair.

because he'd be so pretty all ruined, and it's kind of unfair. like more than any other member i want to ruin him when he's wearing make-up - like fresh off stage all dressed up and seeing him fall apart please and thanks.

and the best part of him coming straight off stage is him being super into himself, feeling like the shit, and then getting to break that all apart would be perfect. reminding him that he's all yours, fuck. like letting him whore himself out on stage and then fucking him to remind him he belongs to you, please. ugh.

turns out i really cannot write brattiness bc i am so far from a brat, so apologies if this a bit shit

bad puppy

wc: 0.8k

cw: sub!seungmin x gn hard dom!reader, heavy degradation, denial, spanking, bruises, dacryphilia, pet names for seungmin (puppy, pup), imma say pet play because of that, references to anal play and ownership, i also refer to seungmin as broken and i wanna warn y'all of that too, yeah, intense.

'only i get to see you like this, puppy'

'all mine to break, to ruin, yeah pup?'

'acting like such a slut on stage tonight, bet you wanted to be punished, wanted me to cover you in pretty bruises'

'pathetic'

you say as you spank him again, the boy beneath you shaking both with sobs and the exhaustion in his body. his ass red from your hand, with various purple bruises appearing from the harsh bite marks. as beautiful as they'd look on his neck and chest, those were never an option for the two of you so you'd litter them on his hips, ass, and upper thighs - reminding him that he can parade around on stage all he likes but he, in the end, is simply your puppy.

'bet you thought you could flash everyone with that pretty body of yours without any consequences, right pup?

'your body is mine, remember?'

'you belong to me, and you love it'

and there it was, a pathetic shake of his head as he continued to deny you his submission; despite how exposed he was for you right now.

'n-not y-yours'

'you're not? really? why are you letting me do this to you then pup?'

'i-i-i...'

'because you're all mine, aren't you?'

'n-n-noooooo-'

his denial turns into another sobbed whimper as your finger brushes his puckered hole for the dozenth time that night. playing with his hole was something new you'd begun experimenting with over the past few weeks, never getting much further than this - not that you needed to because even just a simple touch there ruined your puppy in the prettiest way.

removing both hands from him, you step back a moment, admiring him as his trembles, the ache of being on all fours surely painful in his arms and thighs - yet he hasn't moved an inch since you manhandled him into the position a while ago, with threats of ruined orgasms and not cumming at all.

leaning into his ear, after brushing his damp with sweat hair away, you said in the most neutral, unaffected voice;

'prove it then, puppy, prove you don't belong to me'

'go on, if you don't belong to me then you'll be able to make yourself cum'

'prove it'

so he tried, reaching one hand down to his cock, red and dripping precum all over the bed. it had been abandoned after a few edges a while ago after some bratty comments of seungmin's insisting you were doing a bad job of pleasing him, that he could do better by himself.

the wobble of his frame was obvious, making you laugh, muttering under your breath how pathetic he was being. as he put his hand around his shaft he let out a broken moan, letting you sit back and watch him try to finish himself off.

very quickly though he realised it wasn't going to work, his attempts going from controlled and calm to some mix of desperate rutting and pumping. very quickly his satisfied moans became sobs; loud, wet, desperate sobs.

'oh? what's that? my puppy can't finish without my help?'

'do you need my hand? pathetic'

'you need me, pup, clearly'

and it was this that breaks him, this physical reminder that he was trained to only ever cum with you, with your permission, with your voice, with your touch. the reminder that he is completely yours.

'p-p-please' he whispers, hiccupped.

'be a good puppy for once and roll over' you say, calm as ever, with a small click of your fingers. what you see when he settles on his back makes your heart skip a beat;

ignoring the desperately red and constantly leaking cock between his legs, and the mix of red slap marks and purple bruises around his crotch, his face was beautiful. art, really. his stage makeup smudged everywhere, mascara stained tears still wet on his face, his lipgloss smeared all over his cheeks, his eyeshadow somehow smudged everywhere. ruined, so perfectly ruined.

'tell me what i want to hear puppy'

and the small portion of silence between your statement and your answer is always your favourite part of the night, where you can watch your boyfriend break before your eyes, see him give in to his role.

'i-i-i'm j-just a p-puppy... j-just your p-puppy... y-yours to u-u-use... p-please u-use you-your p-puppy... y-your puppy-y'

his comments falling off into a mix of sobbing and begging but what you had heard was more than enough for you to help him out with his little predicament. curling up next to him so you could whisper little praises into his ear as you wrap your hand around him, letting him rut into your palm.

'there's my good puppy, good puppies get rewarded, see?'

'see what happens when my puppy behaves'

'my perfect broken little pup, all mine'

'cum whenever you need to'

'make a mess for me, my puppy, mine'

'y-yours, a-all y-yours'

[thecinfulhours]

Can this be us pls

[thecinfulhours]

you breed them ㋡

[3:16] now playing: back door - stray kids

[a/n] to clarify: reader is afab using fake cum from a strapon! I had a lot of fun writing this so I hope y’all enjoy it <3

requested 💟

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙ ⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

—chan ✩

it was a surprise. you had borrowed his laptop and found his porn stash. it wasn’t much, just the videos he really enjoyed, and one of them was titled baby boy gets filled with mommy’s cum <3. you just knew you had to try with him. chris has been needing a bigger dildo anyway and he loves when you have a trick or two up your sleeve. so the next time you pegged him, you waited until his chest was heaving from his orgasm to at look him beneath you with evil written all over your face. “my turn,” you lean in and whisper into his ear before releasing the pearly liquid inside him. chan gasps, his body tensing as he’s filled up until suddenly another round of cum spurts from his tip, joining the puddles that were already on his abdomen. “oh my god,” he pants after finally coming back to reality. “you should do that more often.”

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙ ⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

—minho ✩

surprise, surprise. minho’s being a brat. you’d dragged him into a random public bathroom and locked the door, then pushed him against the sinks. he laughed at you as he watched you unzip and pull down his jeans through the mirror. “it was that easy?” you spanked him and pulled down your own pants to reveal the strapon you were already wearing. “you’re gonna wish it wasn’t. now keep quiet and look at yourself.” minho rolled his eyes at what he thought was an empty threat. this is exactly what he wanted—how is he gonna regret it? little did he know that the dildo was filled with fake semen waiting for your click on the remote, and about 2 minutes in to you pounding him, you let him have it. minho’s girlish moan breaks off into a gasp when he feels the liquid inside him, now suddenly shy. “what’s the matter, slut? I thought you wanted it.” you taunt him and fill him up with more liquid. it’s now dripping and spilling onto the floor, along with minho’s tears that occasionally splash on the sink. he feels so embarrassed, but this is what he wanted; for you to fuck him and let everyone know that he belonged to you. the breeding was the icing on the cake.

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙ ⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

—changbin ✩

you were putting those muscles of his to test by making him ride you. you watched as his thigh muscles tighten everytime he lifted himself up from your strap, occasionally grabbing onto them and giving them a squeeze. but you were also testing his restraint by making him edge himself until he had your permission to cum. “that’s it, baby, keep going. make mommy breed you.” changbin keeps riding you, occasionally pumping his cock and letting out frustrated groans when he has to stop or slow down his movements. your encouragement is what keeps him going—and the thought of being bred. “mommy’s cumming now,” you tell him, and he bounces on your cock faster, making skin slapping noises echo throughout the room. changbin whines when he feels it hit his walls and sees it leak down the dildo onto your straps. “so pretty,” you coo, then grab his cock so he could cum too.

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙ ⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

—hyunjin ✩

“fuckkk,” hyunjin cursed. he was close. you could tell by the way his hands balled into tight fists in the cuffs and his moans broke into whimpers. “sounds like you’re ready to be bred,” you chuckle. he whines at your teasing, and pushes back on your strap, impatiently. you spank his ass, “fuck yourself then.” instantly, he starts rocking his hips back into you to chase his orgasm, his moans increasing in volume. “please,” he whines, “fill me with your cum.” you laugh again and spread his ass, “as you wish, darling.” hyunjin peers over to watch you the best he can through his disheveled black hair, whimpering when he feels cum spill out of his hole. “you made a mess, hyunjin. be a good boy and clean it up now.”

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙ ⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

—jisung ✩

it was so filthy. the sound of lube squelching everytime he bottoms out the monster dildo, the sound of his asshole gaping when it reached the tip. not only did han hear it, but he had to see it. he watched you jab the dildo in his ass from beneath him, your hands firmly on his hips as you lifted him up and down; the bulge forming in his tummy. he felt so small, so fragile, and so completely helpless. his mouth could barely form words at his orgasm approached, and it was the perfect opportunity for you to take advantage of the fake cum dispenser. as soon as he felt the warm liquid fill his insides, his voice broke into a gasp that ends on a long moan as his own cum shoots out onto his stomach.

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙ ⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

—felix ✩

the little bells on his cat ears clinked and jingled with every thrust. felix’s arm buried in the sleeve of his pink sweater, his blonde hair tussled in different directions. “my poor kitty is so needy,” you say after he pushes his hips back to meet yours. “please,” felix whines, “please fill me up. I wanna hold your kittens, please!” he nearly screams, tears spilling onto his sleeve. “you want my kittens, baby? okay, love, I’ll give you kittens.” and with a push of a button, cum is squirted inside of him. felix whimpers as the thick liquid covers his walls and spills out of his hole, his own cum followed afterwards.

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙ ⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

—seungmin ✩

your puppy was in heat. constantly touching himself and humping everything, including you. obviously, his only cure was for you fuck him and stretch him out, and it was also the perfect opportunity to try out something he’d recently brought up. by now, seungmin had came three times. puddles of semen had collected underneath him on the floor. his thighs were shaking from the overstimulation, on the brink of collapsing every time you teasingly entered him only to pull out. “good puppy, taking me so well. I’m gonna give you my knot.” seungmin moans and his thighs shake once more. you continue to thrust into him, picking up the pace until his legs give out and he chokes on his moans then give him your cum. you make sure the strap is as deep as it can go, making him clench around the toy momentarily before relaxing and spilling cum from his hole. “mm, so full. I want more.” you were in for a long night.

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙ ⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

—jeongin ✩

“you’re mine,” you growled in his ear. he was spending too much time with his boys, and not enough time with you. even at home he was yelling and hollering at them over his mic. how is that fair? “I’m sorry,” jeongin cries, his eyes fully filled to the brim with tears that rapidly spilled down his red cheeks. you’re fucking him so fast, he couldn’t stop the moans and sobs from flowing out of his mouth, especially when he could see the anger in your eyes while he laid on his back. “sorry isn’t enough, I need to breed you so you know who owns you.” more tears stream down jeongin’s face, his mouth getting dry from his jaw being slack. “breed me, mommy. I won’t forget if you breed me, I promise.” you push your hips inside as far as you can—balls deep—and jeongin yelps, “I know you won’t, baby,” then fake cum is released in his ass. he’s overstimulated, and his hips fly up and his dick twitches out his orgasm. cum now drips onto his stomach and out of his ass. “there, now you’ll always be mine.”

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙ ⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

[thecinfulhours]

just been thinking about puppy hybrid sub!seungmin and wanted to write a little something to see how i like it

*also my first time writing smut so beware*

warnings: sub!seungmin, praise kink, mistress kink, mommy kink, dry humping, hybrid au

description: owning a puppy hybrid is a bit of work. especially when their heat comes along

                             <><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

You just came home from an appointment, taking off your shoes at the doorway and making your way into the house. You called out to your pet hybrid.

“Seungmin, I’m back!”

You were met with silence but thought nothing of it. You walked into your kitchen and grabbed a bottled water from the fridge, looking through to see what you could prepare for dinner. Slowly, footsteps are heard behind you.

You opened the water without looking back at Seungmin. “Did you behave without me?”, you jokingly asked.

Keep reading

[thecinfulhours]

When they say “please” in that embarrassed needy voice before hiding behind their hands o a pillow, you have to pin their hands above their head and tease them so they say it again.

[thecinfulhours]

could you do a audio of hyunjin getting deepthroated for the first time ? 🤭

hyunjin smut audio || deep throating hyunjin for the first time after he wakes up in the middle of the night due to a wet dream of you ;3 enjoyyy!

remember i always take requests! never be shy! i’ll always figure out a way to come up with your request :3

also just a note, but i feel like hyunjinnie would be so whiny in bed, just me?

kiss kiss, mwah mwah

link to my other audios:

my audio master list

[thecinfulhours]

Could i request a moaning/whimpering audio of seungmin from stray kids🫠🫠

seungmin smut audio || seungmin jerking off after seeing you in your bikini <333333 enjoy!

pervy seungmin is my fav ☺️ him trying to control his obvious weakness didn’t work out this time…

check out my other smut audios ⇊

smut audio master list

[thecinfulhours]

seungmin being drunk on eating you out.

pussy drunk seungmin who takes every chance he gets to taste you. his eyes getting all sparkly and big when you deny him.

you'd remember how it had all started when he wanted to try out face sitting. at first being very hesitant until he actually got the feeling.

the feeling of not being able to breathe. your pussy leaking all over his mouth and nose.

had he really been missing out on the good stuff? how could he let it all go to waste?

he doesn't even want to cum, he just wants to eat you out and make you cum. he'll make you cum over and over again until you actually have to tug a handful of his hair to pull him back.

he's the type to walk in behind you when your leaning against the counter.

an innocent smile on his face and his not so innocent hand slipping down your pants. before you can even utter another word, he's on his knees. fingers playfully tugging at the waistband of your panties.

sometimes you'd wake up feeling completely dazed. an unexplainable sensation. but its all explainable when you see his head between your legs. face buried in your cunt. seungmin doesn't even try to hide how desperate he is.

you worry about how he'd breath when you can feel his nose rubbing against your clit harshly while his tongue is all over the place. licking you completely. swallowing whatever he can take.

"seungmin..hah-" you'd whine, closing your thighs around his head. he'd moan, panting against you. he'd want you to do that. so he could get breathless and only smell your sex. your essence. seungmin wants you to push his mouth against your cunt. use him for your pleasure. make him your toy. your bitch.

"what is this for?"

seungmin smiled, unbuckling the thick collar and fastening it around his neck. 'puppy engraved into the light blue collar in gold.

"so you can control my pace"

by now you had figured he knew your pussy from the inside and out. his tongue finding all your spots in quick successions.

other times he'd make a peace sign and stick his tongue through it playfully when y'all were in public. just to tease you.

.

.

"i just don't understand how people can be so stupid" you frustratedly, holding your head in your hands. today was a bad day. everything was pissing you off.

"couldn't you wait until i was done ranting?" you sighed out airily. looking at the boy who was sitting on his knees, lazily mouthing at your heat. he locked eyes with you, obviously not hearing what you asked him.

"kim seungmin." you hissed out, tugging the chain that was attached to his collar.

he jerked forward, a whiny 'sorry' leaving him.

[thecinfulhours]

How do you expect me to stop overstimulating you when you make such pretty noises

[thecinfulhours]

A submissive boy sending me whimper audios in my dms while he touches himself to my posts would fix me 😩😩

[thecinfulhours]

diesel is desire (we were playing with fire) ; sebastian sallow

pairing sebastian sallow x f!reader word count 4k synopsis sebastian sallow is a good friend. so good, in fact, that when you find yourself under the ungodly influence of a lust potion, he's willing to help give you some relief. content contains seventh year au, dubcon (under the influence of lust potion), darker take on seb's character lol <3, breeding kink, creampie, possessive!sebastian, possessive sex, virginity loss, babytrapping

“Why did you go out of your way to avoid me?” 

An accusatory voice momentarily breaks you free from the overwhelming feelings you were struggling to deal with, but the voice is too familiar.

The source? Sebastian Sallow — a very disappointed Sebastian Sallow, which after two years of friendship (and the lingering what-if of becoming something more), you’re able to identify as a Sebastian that you would much rather not be dealing with. Particularly because, try as hard as he might, he’s rather prone to saying harsh things and treating you unkindly whenever he gets into one of his moods. The hurt expression on his face is barely concealed by the scowl that mars his otherwise handsome features. 

Don’t think about how handsome he is!

Instead of replying to him, you’re quick to turn your head to the side, trying to focus on the curtain that separates your cot from the others in the infirmary. It’ll do no good to engage with Sebastian right now — not whenever the reason you’ve been compelled to check yourself in to the school nurse is purely because you’re not sure if you have enough self-control to stop yourself from literally ripping his robes off of him.

But it’s not like you can tell him all that. Lying would be preferable, if only Sebastian wasn’t so attuned to you and every single one of your tells. If you attempted lying to him, who knows what more damage you would cause? Then again, blatantly ignoring him also seems equally dangerous, especially with how quick to irritate he’s been lately. Ever since you witnessed him literally murdering his uncle, the relationship between the two of you has grown stronger — being practically partners in crime will do that to a friendship — but also more… volatile. The charming fifth-year you met on your first day of school still remains, but you have long since realized that there’s more to him than meets the eye.

On the surface, he’s nothing but affable. Maybe a bit of a rebellious streak, but it’s all in good nature. In the beginning, it was fun being with him. Exciting, even. Then you started following him on the dark path he paved all by himself, and before you could realize that you were in too deep, it had already been too late to turn around. Now, the seventh-year boy standing by your cot seems so different from the one who lives on only in your memories.

“Don’t ignore me.” He means to make the words come out sharp, irritated. It resembles more of a plea than anything, and you shut your eyes, willing him to leave. It must be all in your head, but you swear you can smell the familiar scent of him: cool mint mixed with the light musk of whatever cologne he’s been favoring since the fifth year. 

“Sebastian, I’m not feeling very well.” You mumble, hoping it’ll be enough to get him to leave you alone. It’s not a lie. You aren’t feeling great whatsoever. Not even the nurse, bless her heart, can figure out what’s become of you. She gave you a pitying look and an almost amused smile as she explained that — in her words — sexual urges are very normal for girls your age. 

If your body wasn’t already overheating, you’re certain your cheeks would have instantly turned hot from sheer embarrassment. 

“Well, why wouldn’t you tell me that instead of abandoning me the whole entire day?” Sebastian is many things with different people. With you, he is both guarded and vulnerable. Some days, when you’re not feeling your best, his emotions versus his actions can give you whiplash. He has the audacity to say something like that all the while, he sounds absolutely tortured over the fact that he had to go eight hours without your presence. 

As if realizing the harshness of his attitude, he softens his tone as he asks, “Are you feeling any better?”

You had gone to the Great Hall before him because you needed to review your History of Magic notes before the test today. All you had was a bit of pumpkin juice and toast, and all had been well until you started feeling warm underneath your robes and sweater. As the heat began to travel through your body, you found it hard to concentrate on your notes. Not because of the heat, but because of the many thoughts swirling around in your head. Flashes of Sebastian that started innocently enough and quickly morphed into daydreams of him without his uniform. Sebastian with his hair messed up from the way your fingers tugged at the strands as he satiated his thirst with the juices flooding between your legs. Sebastian who would prioritize your pleasure over his and could make you cum multiple times before even thinking about getting his dick wet. Sebastian—

—who you share most of your classes with! 

You knew right then and there that something had to be wrong with you. Sure, you’ve thought about him sometimes, but never to that degree. And certainly never at seven in the morning over breakfast and history notes. 

That’s how you ended up lying in a cot in the infirmary, trying your hardest to ignore the intrusive thoughts of Sebastian fucking you ‘til you can’t walk anymore. 

“No.” You practically moan out the word, and you’re hoping to play it off as just you being a baby about being “sick”. 

You don’t expect him to turn your head so that you’re staring up at the ceiling, and you certainly don’t expect him to press the back of his hand against your forehead. His hands are cold, but surprisingly enough, it brings you some sort of relief from the fever that has seemingly overtaken your body. You bite back another moan. 

“You’re burning up.” Gone is his attitude. Instead, it’s been replaced by your favorite Sebastian — the kind, caring one. The one that resembles the boy you first met. Sometimes, his care can be suffocating, but when you find yourself craving nothing but him and his touch, you don’t mind his invasion of your personal space at all. “Are there any other side effects? Does your throat hurt? Stomach? Tell me what’s the matter.” 

You know how Sebastian must feel when it comes to people he cares about falling ill. His sister has only made him more paranoid about the severity of sickness and curses, and the concern and fear etched upon his face makes your hardened resolve of keeping the sordid details of your affliction to yourself melt away.

“Don’t laugh…” You warn him, but your voice seems so small and maybe even a little scared that his expression turns even more serious.

“Never.”

“I think… I think something happened to me. A charm…” You’re careful to dance around the word curse, lest Sebastian accidentally blows up the whole entire infirmary due to his emotional state. “I just feel very hot. And, um, I think the only relief would be to—”

You can’t even say it. You can barely even explain it since you don’t really know what’s happening either. 

“I’mfeelingverysexuallyfrustratedandIhavenomeansofrelief!” 

The two of you know that you’re never going to repeat that phrase ever again, and you’re practically near tears after that little confession. 

“Oh.” He says, as if this is nothing more than a simple, casual conversation and not the most humiliating situation ever. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” 

“Be-because it’s embarrassing!” Has he really no shame? Who would willingly admit that out loud? 

“You know, I’ve heard rumors of some sixth-years trying to pull pranks by spiking the juices with love potions. Just really gimmicky concoctions, truly. Nothing too severe. Hmm… You must have a sensitivity to it, though.” Sebastian’s musings do nothing to bring you reassurance. If anything, it just makes you want to hide. If the universe is truly kind, a sinkhole will emerge from nowhere and swallow you whole. Yes, that sounds lovely right now. 

Instead, the universe is sick, because what else could explain Sebastian telling you, 

“If it’s relief you need, I’d be happy to help.” 

Sebastian is many things to you — a dear friend, a confidant, a literal partner in crime — but none of those things involve him having sex with you, even if the offer only came from some odd sense of duty. 

And that’s what this is, isn’t it? He probably feels indebted to you since the fifth-year. Maybe even anxious, too. You could expose him at any given moment, and maybe that’s why he’s been so keen on attaching himself to your side ever since. This is a humiliating predicament to be in, and Sebastian doesn’t seem like the type to kiss and tell — considering that you don’t even know the names of girls he’s been with before is evidence. 

Besides, you’re only feeling incredibly needy for one person. You can accept his offer, but you’re certainly not going to let him know the truth: that only he is the one who can help you. 

“Don’t be embarrassed.” His cool hand is now cupping your face, thumb brushing against your cheekbone in an almost gentle manner. Sweet Sebastian is making an appearance, perhaps to try to put you at ease. You like this Sebastian. “Just let me take care of you.” 

When the haze of lust clears from your sex-addled mind, the rush of consequences will burden and crush your very conscience. 

Fortunatenly enough, consequences are clearly the last thing on your mind.

It would appear that the only thing you can truly focus on is Sebastian and what his idea of ‘taking care of you’ is. 

The Sebastian staring greedily at you is an unfamiliar Sebastian. You’ve become accustomed to the many variations of himself: Angry Sebastian, who says the most vile things out of spite and usually misguided anger; Remorseful Sebastian, who is quick to grovel (he’s quite good at groveling, really) and wants nothing more than to be back in your good graces; Happy Sebastian, although there are variations upon this very variation — the trick to seeing whether he’s pseudo-happy or not is all in his smile (the fake one is eerily perfect, the real one is crooked and a rarity). This Sebastian, though…

Hungry. 

The word doesn’t quite explain the dark glint in his eyes or the way his hands are almost reverently stroking your body. Your skin felt so, so hot just a few minutes ago — then again, just a few minutes ago, you still had your school jumper and blouse neatly intact. Now, you’re laid practically bare, prey to Sebastian’s more-than predatory gaze. 

If the two of you weren’t such great friends, you might have had enough sense to be scared.

The only articles of clothing left to protect your dignity and shield you from his eyes are your skirt (which is already riding up to expose your thighs due to his wandering hands), your white cotton panties, and the matching bra. 

“How do you feel now?” He asks, and you want to tell him you’re still feeling embarrassed, but his hands feel surprisingly nice on your skin, and you can’t help but hunger for more. Perhaps the look in his eyes, the one you couldn’t quite find a proper name for, is the same look you’re giving him. 

“More.” You whimper out, not caring if you sound selfish or impatient. This is awful. The two of you should put a stop to… To whatever the hell this is! This is a horribly unbecoming, unsavory situation you are in, and if things progress like how you think they are going to (how you want them to), then you’re both dead once all the adults find out. Professor Weasley would probably force the two of you to be wedded within the next day of her finding out, not to mention that the headmaster would probably have the both of your heads on sticks.

But you don’t tell him to stop because your rational thought is slipping, much like your bra. You’re viewing everything almost as if in a trance, almost as if this is happening to someone else and not you. But it is very much you; it’s your nipples hardening after being exposed to the cool air of the infirmary. It’s your bra that Sebastian tosses to the side. He’s licking his lips, eyeing the expanse of skin that has been revealed to him. In ordinary circumstances, you’re certain you would make all attempts to cover yourself up and try to regain some sense of modesty.

In these circumstances, you practically arch your back and mewl out for more, more, more.

More touching. More skin-to-skin contact. More of Sebastian. You want him. All of him. Every part of him. You want his cock ramming into your cunt, you want his hands wrapped around your throat, his mouth spewing out words of filth right into your ear. Most importantly, even though all you can seemingly focus on is having him ravish you, you can’t help but to be greedy and dare to hunger for more. You want his secrets — all of them. You want to know the nightmares that plague him, and whether he’s full of regrets, just like you. You want to have a claim to his soul, just like how he already has a claim to yours. You want to know that when his heart beats, it is calling out for you. 

“I’m going to kiss you now.” He announces, like he’s waiting for you to protest. He’s not directly asking, but the question is still there, as is the warning. Can I kiss you? If you let me, there’s no going back. 

“Please.” You whimper, completely and entirely at his mercy.

“Say it.” Sebastian swallows hard, almost as if he’s also nervous and too charged up with desire. His fingers are loosening his tie. He has already shrugged off his robes. 

He doesn’t tell you want to say, but you already know what he wants to hear. The words have been resting on the tip of your tongue this whole entire time, anyway. 

“I want you to— to kiss me, and more…” You look into his eyes. The lights in the infirmary make them appear a lighter color than usual. “I want more. I want you, Sebastian.”

The moment the last confession slips from your soft lips, Sebastian’s mouth descends upon your own. His body is angled awkwardly, trying not to crush you with his weight, but you can feel the heat emanating from him all the same, even despite the layers of his clothing that separates the two of you. 

You think the world stops spinning when his lips slot against yours. He tastes like the pumpkin juice from this morning, sweet and refreshing. There’s a lingering taste of spearmint toothpaste. You want to keep kissing him forever. You want him to kiss you everywhere else. When breathing becomes a necessary thing, he stops. You frown. You didn’t want him to stop. Oxygen is overrated, anyway. 

He lays a hand against the pillow you’re resting on, staring down at you, want clearly displayed on his visage; desire is etched onto every facial feature, and his eyes are gazing so intently into yours, you wonder if he’s a Legilimens. 

“Promise me you won’t regret this. Swear that you truly do want this.” 

He must not be a Legilimens, then. It’s so clear you’ve been in… It feels odd to admit it. Wrong, even. But it’s the truth—

—you’ve been in love with him since the fifth year.

You don’t keep someone’s secrets, their crimes, to yourself when you don’t love them. You let him perform Cruciatus on you, and you forgave him. No — you didn’t. Because you asked him to. There was nothing to forgive. You would endure it, over and over and over again, just for him, only him. And to think, you’re flooding your panties just at some simple fantasies of him, and he has the nerve to believe you don’t want this? Don’t want him?

“I promise. I swear it to you. I want this entirely.” And maybe liquid courage had been slipped into the juice you’ve consumed as well because you find yourself admitting, “I’ve always wanted to do this with you. If it… If it had to be done the first time around, I would always dream of you doing it to me.” 

He stops breathing, just for a moment. Gapes at you, even. 

“Y-you’re a virgin?” 

You wonder if you’ve gone off and ruined the mood. You wonder if you should take it back, say you were just joking, but before you can, his lips are pressing against yours once again. This kiss is even hungrier than the last, and you’re not quite sure how that’s even possible. It’s almost as if he wants to devour you whole. 

“Thank you.” He gasps out, so close to you that his breath tickles your nose. “Thank you for entrusting me with this, love. I promise I’ll make it good for you, just as you deserve.” 

And suddenly Sebastian is just everywhere. His sweater is discarded on the floor, right next to your bra and his tie. His belt is unclasped; he hasn’t even bothered to remove it entirely, just displaced it enough to where he can unbutton his trousers, and he’s pulling it down — his pants, that is. And the briefs. He hasn’t entirely disposed of everything, just partially. Meticulous Sebastian Sallow who is now so far gone into lust and depravity that he cannot even handle wasting another second by removing himself entirely of his clothes. You have made a man into a beast.

But you see the way he’s eyeing you — all dark hair and sharp teeth. He flips your skirt up, exposing your damp panties to him, and he licks his lips again, and you realize — perhaps too late, or perhaps you’ve known all this time — that Sebastian has always been a bit of a beast. A wolf only coyly imitating domesticity. 

“You’re so wet.” He brushes a finger against your cotton-covered folds, and you shiver. 

Yes! Your body seems to cry out. More, more, more! Your back arches, keening, craving his touch. You’re soaking through the fabric, making it practically translucent. You’ve never been this wet before in your life. You’ve never wanted his touch more badly than you do now. 

“For me.” He mutters, but in the silence of the infirmary, you hear him all too clearly. “Is this all for me, love? Have you been like this all day?”

You nod, not trusting yourself to form coherent sentences. Even if he’s not staring at your head, far too fixated at what’s between your legs, he hums his approval. 

“Don’t worry, my love. I’ll make it all better.” 

He’s kissing you. He’s got your panties only pulled to one side, and you think he’s muttering apologies against your saliva-coated lips. Something that sounds awfully like sorry, so sorry, but I can’t wait, and I don’t think you can, either. You barely catch a glimpse of his cock before you can feel the sharp heat of his length against your inner thigh. You would have thought that there would be some preparation, especially since this will be your first, but you’re thoroughly soaked. You’re aching for a sensation you have never felt before, but the animal inside of your brain is telling you, instinctually, to seek Sebastian out. That Sebastian will make it all better. That’s what he said he’ll do, and he’s kissing you, and he’s apologizing, and—

—and the world stops spinning.

No. There’s some slight resistance at first, your poor cunt protesting at the intrusion. A second later, and he’s slipping in half of his length with considerably more ease. A few inches more, and his hips are pressed against yours, and oh— Oh, it’s like you’re made for him. There is no resistance. There is no pain. There’s just you and him, and your body is welcoming him home. Where has he been? It seems to ask. Please don’t ever leave again. 

“Fuuuuck.” He hisses it out, and his teeth are gritted, and he’s admiring you. His eyes flicker to your face, down to your breasts, down down down right to where the two of you are connected. The word comes out broken, and yet, drawn out. As if he’s struggling to speak. 

Then he starts thrusting, and suddenly you realize that the world hasn’t ceased its spinning. No — now it’s moving entirely too fast. It must be off its axis. You feel otherworldly. You feel like this pleasure, this overwhelming, absolutely delicious pleasure, cannot simply exist on earth. It should be impossible. It should be impossible to find comfort and rapture in the way the tip of his cock seemingly kisses your cervix. You expect pain. 

You only find mindnumbing, earth shattering pleasure.

You feel stretched beyond your limits. You hear his pants and his groans, and you’re moaning, too. Calling out his name, which is so silly, he’s right there, he’s right there. There, at that special spot, at the spot you’ve never been able to discover on your own. You now know why adults advise so heavily against these type of relations — it’s simply addicting. You don’t think you can stop; you don’t think you want to stop.

“Oh, fuck. Fuck, you’re so good f’me. Such a good girl. My good girl, aren’t you?” He’s rambling. His thrusts are considerably sloppier, and you feel his thumb brush against your clit, and you arch your back some more, practically screaming out his name. The stimulation is too much — it’s not enough — and you will always crave him. “Tell me. Tell me that you’re mine.”

There’s something so, so addicting about his possession. About being treated like his possession. 

“Yours. M’yours, Seb. All—” You can’t finish your sentence. The pleasure is becoming too much, and you’re too sensitive, and he’s doing this thing, this absolutely amazing thing, where he rubs circles on your clit in tandem with his harsh thrusts, and you’re cumming. You don’t ever want to come down. 

He feels you cum, sees your juices drench his cock as he pulls out, only to push right back in, relishing in the feeling of your contracting walls. He leans down, biting on your neck, and you take a hand to grip his dark hair, still cumming, and now he is, too. Spurts of his cum are flooding into you, painting your walls, successfully staking his unrivaled claim on you. You have been compromised. If anyone were to find the two of you out, you would have no other choice but to take his hand, his ring, his family name, him. You would have to take it all.

Coming down from his high, he has enough kindness left in him to lick at the wound he’s left on your neck. Your eyes are fluttering close, the intensity of it all thoroughly exhausting you. You don’t know the thoughts swirling in his mind. You don’t sense the longing behind him stroking your stomach, wondering if the Felix Felicis — his bottled Liquid Luck he’s spent forever brewing — has done its job. It would surely be very lucky, indeed, if his seed takes this first time around. 

Your breathing slows, and he feels your heartbeat even out. You’re exhausted, poor thing. Perhaps he had been too rough.

He’ll apologize, he decides, by doing something that’ll benefit the both of you. He ought to clean you up, get you tucked in, and when you wake, he’ll go down on you. He bets you taste so sweet, so innocent. He had known, of course, that he was your first — that he was always going to be your first. Your only. 

He wonders if the effects of the lust potion will still linger in your system even after you wake up. Probably so — he did it brew it quite strongly.

But the adoration, the love, in your eyes is something no amount of skilled potioneering can create. No; your feelings for him are real. You just needed to lower your inhibitions to get to the confessional stage.

And now that you have confessed… 

Sebastian Sallow can rest well after confirming what he’s known ever since he first laid eyes on you:

You’re his.

[thecinfulhours]

NSFW Enhypen Audio

Sim Jaeyun

It's late, and your phone buzzes, you ignore it and go back to sleep but then it happens again– and again. Over and over, until a tone plays–your voicemail tone. You realize upon picking up your phone that it was Jake, your best friend of 4 years, who was calling you at this ungodly hour.

You press play, and Jake's moans fill your ear. He's desperate, horny, begging for you. Wow thats new...

The sudden realization of his once-secret admiration for you was shocking. Jake– your Jake– your best friend– was now moaning your name, calling you mommy. It was unsettling to be honest, but you couldn't stop listening, something inside of you awakening at the sound of the longing in his voice ever so strong.

"Please pick up, I wanna be a good boy for you..."