xvmgnhao

[xvmgnhao]

sorry guys i just broke up with my boyfriend more fanfics coming soon.

[xvmgnhao]

shared spaces - hueningkai x fem!reader

genre: smut, office au

summary: after a long day at work, you and hueningkai get stuck in an elevator.

cw: pet names, dacryphilia, slightly manipulative tones, creampie, no protection, kinda exhibitionism?, dom! kai, swearing, dry humping, bulge kink, begging, praise, size kink, perversion, anything else i might’ve forgotten, mdni!!

wc: 2.6k

it had only been a few weeks since the new intern, hueningkai, had arrived at your company in search of a permanent job position. you had been assigned to supervise him along with a few other staff members as a part of your preparation for an upcoming promotion. he was quiet and reserved, but always displayed eagerness in doing his best in every possible task you presented him with.

he spoke only when necessary, always respectful, always focused, but there was something about the way he carried himself that lingered in your mind long after conversations ended. he never overstepped, never crossed a line.

but he didn’t need to. his presence was calm and consistent.

over time, you started to grow fond of him. when the workload wasn’t completely overwhelming, you’d invite him over to your desk for small, innocent chats over coffee and sweet bread. he always listened patiently as you vented about annoying coworkers, endless projects, or your creepy boss. he never judged. he just listened, with that soft look in his eyes like he understood more than he let on.

he was just so sweet. but oh, how he drove you crazy.

it became more and more frequent, that after long and dreadful day of work, you’d find yourself thinking about him as you entered your apartment complex. he was just so good at making you feel better, even if he didn’t say a word to you. you wished he was there with you.

what was worse is that you could never deny that he was your type. he was cute but masculine and his eyes were just so entrancing. his plush lips and nose were like no other. you wanted him so bad.

no, you needed him so bad.

but you couldn’t have him. that would ruin your image at the company and make it impossible for you to fulfill your dreams of making it big.

so, as a way to relieve the temptation, you’d touch yourself to the thought of him late at night, wishing he could hear the way you whimper his name on your bed.

————————————————————————

here you were.. clocking out late again, the building nearly empty, your feet sore from the heels that came with your uniform, and your skirt riding just a little too high from the long day. hueningkai lingered near the exit of the cube farm, bag slung over one shoulder, fingers tapping lightly against the strap as he waited for you.

“ready?” he asked gently, offering that same stupid smile that made your stomach flutter.

“yeah. let’s go,” you replied, trying to keep it cool while walking down the hall.

you both stepped into the elevator, the hallway light casting a soft gold hue over his face just before the doors closed. inside, it was quiet. too quiet. you stood beside him, hands clasped tightly in front of you, feeling the weight of every inch of space between you.

you watched as hueningkai pressed the button with the number 1, taking note of the numbers beginning to decrease after the elevator started moving.

suddenly, you heard a loud mechanical clunk. the elevator jolted to a stop.

you both stumbled slightly.

“what the hell…” you muttered, pressing the emergency button. nothing.

hueningkai chuckled softly. “looks like we’re stuck.”

he sounded way too calm. you tried not to show your panic.. or the heat rising in your chest. “of course we are,” you muttered, blowing out a breath. “great.”

you both knew you would be there for a while. aware that repairs in this building tend to drag on, you brace yourself for a wait. you quickly pull out your phone to dial 911.

he shrugged, then surprised you by slowly sliding down to sit on the elevator floor, stretching his long legs out with a sigh. he says, “guess we wait,” after you finish your call.

you hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to stand or sit, but your body felt too on edge. so you leaned back against the wall, staying upright.

you watched him—his straight black hair falling slightly over his eyes, the collar of his button-up loose, the rise and fall of his chest steady and relaxed. and something about the whole situation—his calmness, the intimacy of the space, the tension you’d been ignoring for weeks—it just snapped something in you.

time dragged on. you began to get bored, and really, what better way to entertain yourself than by having perverted thoughts about the person sitting next to you?

you take small glances at the individual so close in proximity, scanning the way his long fingers scroll on his phone.

the thought of him ruining you with those fingers turned you on. you couldn’t control it, you needed some type of relief.

thinking you could be slick, you pressed your thighs together. you shifted, adjusting your skirt again. but he noticed. his eyes went up to follow the movement. then they dropped—lower. and then he paused.

you froze.

you could feel it too. the heat. the dampness. your baby blue panties sticking to your entrance just enough to make it known.

his eyes darkened. he blinked once. slowly.

and judging by the small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips… he’d definitely noticed.

his voice was calm. “is that how you react to me?”

your heart leapt into your throat. “i—no, i’m not—”

his gaze didn’t waver. “you’re shaking,” he said casually, eyes still locked where they shouldn’t be. “you’re not very good at hiding it.”

you clenched your fists at your sides, feeling paralyzed.

“no.. i swear it’s not what you think..” you began. your voice fails and your words turn into a squeak. “i’m just scared of elevators. that’s all.”

kai doesn’t laugh. he doesn’t tease. he just keeps watching you like he’s seeing you for the first time. “you’re not very good at hiding many things, you know, i see the way you look at me all the time,” he says. his voice is still gentle, still sweet—but lower now. like he’s speaking only to you in secret despite you two being the only ones present. like he’s been waiting for this moment.

“now, tell me the truth. is that the kind of reaction i get out of you?”

you look down at the elevator floor. you could feel yourself getting red in the face, but you still make an effort to nod a microscopic nod.

huening chuckles, about to go back to scrolling on his phone when you interrupt him.

you don’t know why, but his reaction makes you want to explain yourself. you don’t want him to think lowly of you. maybe he thinks you’re a whore who wants the attention of just any guy.

“no, you just don’t understand..” you began. your legs felt weak and you began to shake more intensely. was it out of fear of disgusting him, or embarrassment? or what if it was just because you were claustrophobic and it felt like the elevator would fail and plunge a hundred feet, making it possible to crush you both in the process?

you bit your lip. the elevator felt smaller by the second.

“i just…” your throat tightened. “you make it hard to think straight.”

his lips parted at that, and you swore you saw the corner of his mouth twitch up again. just barely.

you contemplated saying your next words.

“i.. i um.. i need you,” you stuttered, your voice almost a whisper now. “so bad it’s starting to hurt.”

he raised an eyebrow. “do you really?” he tried concealing the tent forming in his pants. he was so glad to hear you admit that. were you aware of all the times he’s jacked off to the voice messages you send him for instructions?

you nodded, wide-eyed and heart racing. “yes, please!” you didn’t care if you sounded desperate.

he patted his lap, still lounging on the floor like he’d been waiting for this exact moment. “alright, baby. come get what you need.”

you hurried to slide down onto his lap facing him, knees on either side of his hips, skirt bunched up.

“use me,” he said innocently, blinking his eyes at you. “make yourself feel good.”

he didn’t move. didn’t even touch you.

“go on,” he said as he caressed you arm, tilting his head slightly. “you can use me.”

you, still feeling extremely embarrassed from your confession just moments prior, quickly started to rock against him, grinding slowly like an animal in heat trying to appear to have some sort of self control. your breath catching with every roll of your hips and your clothed cunt making contact with the bulge that was being restrained in his pants. you tried going faster as you became more desperate, but it was no use. you sigh in frustration, although you try not to make it obvious.

“you’re so adorable when you’re like this,” he whispers into your ear, “so needy. so desperate for me.” his hot breath sends chills down your spine.

you hated how much you liked hearing it, though.. it turned you on, but it just wasn’t enough.

you whimper softly, head falling forward as your hands rested on his chest, picking up the pace you were dry humping him at. “hah~” you pant, “need.. more…” you eventually upped your pace, practically clawing into him now.

hueningkai decides to free you from his teasing, swiftly picking you up from his bulge and sliding off his pants halfway before you’re crawling back onto him. he pulls down his boxers and his hard cock springs out and oh no.

to be quite frank, you didn’t know if it would fit. you hadn’t seen a cock as big and thick as his in real life. not to mention it was so pretty. so so so pretty.

“uh.. huening..”

“oh..! it’s okay. i’ve got you. i’ll be gentle.” he responds quickly as he sees the fear in your eyes for just a moment. he found it endearing how flustered you’d become in such a short amount of time. craving the feeling of him inside you, you nod quickly and lean down to give a kiss to his pink tip leaking with precum before aligning it to your entrance. he fights back a giggle. you’re just so sweet.

he feels so bad for what he’s about to do to you, but he just can’t control himself anymore. he grabs your jaw to push your lips into his and tries to create the appearance of slowly entering you before grabbing your hips and slamming you down onto him. bottoming out, he groans loudly.

“too big.. t-too much..!” you yelp, disconnecting your lips from his as you feel tears beginning to form. his method to keep you from yelling utterly failed..

he brings a finger to your lips to hush you. ”i'm sorry.. you’ll be okay.” he starts to slowly pull out and sink into you. “didn’t you want this, baby?” his tone had changed so quickly, making you realize that you had never imagined your once cool and collected intern to have such dirty and manipulative words roll off his tongue like it was normal small talk. he begins to move you up and down manually as you clench around him. “fuck, you’re so tight.” he plants a kiss on your cheek for comfort, feeling the way your walls were still tense around him. “just relax, you’re safe with me.”

kai, letting his curiosity get the best of him, brings one of his hands to your stomach, feeling the bulge he’s created inside of you and pressing down on it. you mewl from the new sensation.

it’s so overwhelming. you can feel his cock pulse against your walls.. and it’s a new feeling but fuck it hurts so good. “what happened to my greedy girl.. hm? i thought you needed me? and now that you have me, it’s too much? was this not what you expected? or is this not enough?”

“n-no! no. i can take it..” you explain hurriedly. “i want this! i want your cock.. so bad.. it’s—it’s just that i need to warm up! ngh—ah.. that’s all!” you try to prove yourself to him by riding up and down on him but he splits you open so much that you begin to tear up. he tries to hide how much it’s turning him on but he just can’t hold back his cute noises. “my sweet girl,” he begins, “you can take your time if you’d like.”

pfft. first he rushes to fill you up with his dick and now he’s talking about taking your time?

the pain eventually subsides, turning into pleasure and you decide to move more quickly. wanting to feel more intimate with him, you wrap your hands around kai’s head and breathe into the crook of his neck. ”hyuka! i mean kai! huening! fuck!” you try to muffle, your whimpers of his name catching his attention so he grabs your chin to make eye contact with him.

you stare at him as you feel him hit that sweet spot in your core. “what’d you call me?” he asks sweetly, still encouraging you to keep the pace that you were riding him at. he didn’t mind that you called him hyuka. it just wasn’t like you. you only ever called him his formal name.

“ngh, hyuka?” you reply with a confused expression on your face, too enamored by the way his tip was knocking on your cervix over and over again, not truly understanding the severity or significance of your own actions. the nickname didn’t mean much to you. but it meant so much to him. he loved it.

“mmm~ keep calling me that, baby, you sound so cute,” he coos. his thrusts from below you become more sloppy as he chases his own high. he brings down his hand to rub at your clit, making you twitch at his touch.

“ahh.. oh fuck!” you cry. the stimulation from his fingertips was everything you could ever ask for. his length ramming into you was just the cherry on top. “hyuka, we should’ve, ah—done this sooner!” you say with a genuinely giddy expression on your face.

you could see his stupid smirk begin to form once again. “it’s better late than never, no?” he says, fucking hard into your now dripping pussy. you had almost forgotten you were in an elevator until you heard a small creak come from the floor below you.

“shit, baby, you’re doing so well for me..” he groans. he was getting dangerously close to his own climax. “you look so perfect falling apart on my cock.. fuck, you don’t know how long i’ve wanted this.”

you’re overwhelmed now, every swipe to your clit making your legs tremble. you’re barely able to keep rhythm, breathing out “it’s too much! please, please let me cum!” kai listens to your pleas, fucking into you, telling you to “let go, i’ve got you.”

your peak finally crashes down onto you and you feel nothing but pure bliss. you cling onto hueningkai, hoping he would just spill his cum inside you right then and there. he reaches his orgasm only a few moments later, pounding his seed deep into you, making sure that you don’t spill even a single drop.. you don’t even realize you’re drooling on his shoulder at this point.

once you collapse over him, he kisses your temple and brushes your hair back. suddenly, though, another loud clank came from above, and a voice shouts:

“hey! you two okay in there?!”

your heart sank at that very moment. you both look at each other and freeze.

[xvmgnhao]

three days - patrick zweig

summary: patrick makes sure to fill his phone with content he can jerk off to because he can't even last three days on a game trip without sex. wc: 0.9k+ cw: fingering, filming

Your back laid flat against Patrick’s muscular chest, his arms lazily slung over your waist, one hand pressed against your stomach underneath your tank top, caressing the skin with his thumb. His other hand rested between your spread thighs, fingers lazily pumping in and out of your soaked cunt. Moans filled the small dorm as Patrick’s fingers continuously thrusted inside you, squelching sounds of your drenched pussy filling your boyfriend’s ears.

Head resting on Patrick’s shoulder, you exposed your neck to him, which he took advantage of by pressing sloppy kisses to, biting down teasingly just to see the way your hips thrusted upwards, desperately chasing his touch. Your legs were bent, feet pressed down on the bed on the outside of Patrick’s extended legs, stopping you from clamping your legs shut at any point.

Patrick’s computer was open at the edge of the bed, the film you were watching now an abandoned distraction. The computer only remained for its new purpose; to keep Patrick’s phone propped up, the camera open, filming everything. Your boyfriend’s gaze stayed glued between your face – screwed up in pleasure, mouth open to release high pitched moans – and your cunt, dripping proof of your pleasure onto the white bed-sheets.

In the screen’s reflection, Patrick groaned at the sight of his cum-coated fingers, a reminder of the orgasm he had already pulled from you several minutes ago. Your breath hitched as his fingers grazed the same spongy soft inside you; one he can so easily reach, but avoids just to keep you on edge. The rough palm of Patrick’s hand pressed against your clit, making you squirm in his arms, legs fighting to shut as you whined loudly.

“My sweet girl, keep those legs open for me.” You whined loudly as Patrick’s free hand travelled from your stomach to gently grasp one of your thighs, pulling it to the side to make more space for his hand. Patrick slid his fingers out of your cunt and you whimpered, looking into your reflection on the phone, watching as he brought his fingers to your clit, rubbing it harshly in quick circles. “Oh, Patrick.” You panted, back arching against his chest, just barely feeling his erection poking into your lower back.

“I love you so much.” Patrick mumbled, pressing his lips against your temple. “I love you too.” You replied in between choppy breaths, gasping as he pushed his fingers into you again. You bucked your hips against his fingers, desperate for him to curl his fingers into you just right and bring you over the edge.

“Patrick” You whined, a hand clasping around his wrist, trying to push his fingers deeper into you. Patrick chuckled, free hand pinching your cheeks between his fingers, pushing your head in the direction of his face so he could slam his lips onto yours. You whimpered at the feeling of his lips onto yours, mouth parting as he pushed his tongue between your lips, meeting yours in a sloppy kiss. Down below, he curled his fingers into you, pushing them inside you to the third knuckle so they grazed your sweet spot just right.

Moaning incoherently, you instantly fell apart on Patrick’s fingers again, one hand gripping his thigh as you came, legs trembling as hot pleasure shot through your body, lips separating from your boyfriend’s to rest your head on his shoulder again. Patrick removed his fingers from your cunt slowly, teasing you by running his wet fingers up your slit, dragging them over your clit. You gasped loudly, thighs attempting to clamp shut, but Patrick eased his legs open even wider, pushing your feet further apart to make more space between your thighs.

“Nuh-uh, Patrick.” You pleaded, fingers desperately tugging his hand away from your cunt. “Shh, don’t worry baby.” He told you, staring into the phone’s screen as he gathered the remnants of your orgasm, spreading them around your cunt. “Need something to look at when I go for the game tomorrow.” Your thighs twitched, and you followed Patrick’s gaze, your face going hot at the realisation that you’d soaked the sheets below you, your cunt glistening with wetness.

Patrick grinned widely as he separated his fingers from you, bringing them up to his mouth to suck on them eagerly, eyes fluttering shut as he tasted you. “You’re only gonna be gone three days.” You finally said, bringing your shaky legs between Patrick’s so you could extend them on the bed with a weak flop. Patrick let out an exaggerated sigh, wrapping his arms around your torso to bring your in a rib-crushing hug as he turned onto his side. You squealed as you were manhandled onto your side, breathing becoming heavier as Patrick began leaving kisses on your neck again.

“So you don’t love me?” Patrick asked, pressing himself as close to you as possible, letting you feel the exact imprint of his cock. “I do! It’s just- You can go three days without sex.” Patrick ignored your words, one hand leaving your waist to trail down your back. His fingers played with the hemline of your top, and he tugged it upwards until you took pity on him, helping him take it off. Patrick hummed, pressing his cock into your ass and groaning softly.

“Think you can take another one?” He asked, but didn’t give you any space to answer as he was already tugging his shorts off, sitting up for a brief moment to grab his phone and move it to get a better angle of you.

“Never mind what I said about lasting three days without sex, you can barely go thirty min-oh Patrick!”

taglist: @animalcrossingshameless

[xvmgnhao]

i just know lara is so good at eating pussy would literally beg to eat reader out

you noticed that lara’s oral fixation started a little bit after she ate you out the first time. i mean, of course you knew she would enjoy it; the way she’s been begging you to finally taste your pussy made it pretty obvious that it would be something she would like. you just didn’t expect her to like it that much.

every time she would come home from practice, baby would practically beg for you to sit on her face for hours on end just so she could take her mind off of her stressful and tiring day. lara would unironically make you cum in her mouth until you felt dizzy; listening to your moaning and squirming would make her reach her high as well. her favorite thing in the world would be touching herself as she buried her face on your pussy so you both could cum together.

[xvmgnhao]

YESSS

Do u have any perv g!p loser Sophia thoughts u want to share? 👉👈

cw: riding.

sophia with the concept of a perverted loser is something so charming and adorable because she gives me this sweet and romantic girl vibe that in turn turns into a bit of a virgin loser too 🥺 she is a charismatic girl but she can’t help but become somewhat awkward when it comes to feelings!

about to sleep with her until you realize that she really doesn’t know what to do, absolutely nothing! sophia is a loving lover and the fact that she is stupidly romantic and cheesy excuses her for being somewhat pathetic. if it were someone else you would probably have ended things a long time ago, but since it’s this sweet and weird girl you have more patience with her <3

and she really doesn’t know what to do 😭 how every pervert she is can just watch you do things while she feels her cock harden in her pants, doing absolutely and without even caring how noticeable her erection is! sophia is fulfilling her fantasy of being about to fuck a hot and gorgeous girl, and no matter if she would have to put on an act to impress you and give her best, she can’t think coherently at this moment

the moment you take off your clothes in front of her eyes 🫠 at first it started with something more basic like climbing onto sophia’s lap and grinding against her crotch until you had her whimpering beneath you and moving her pelvis against you in search of more contact and friction, immediately bringing her hands to your hips to dig her fingers into your hip bones and try to move you so you keep grinding against her, and of course you do! but closing your lips on sophia’s because we’re all dying to kiss those full lips that always have the most beautiful lip gloss 😍 she has no problem kissing you while you two are practically fucking with your clothes on because she can do more than one thing at a time! it’s no problem at all that your ass is literally on her cock because sophia can handle it — of course, until when you finally start getting rid of the clothes; sophia would immediately try to complain because you moved away from her and stopped kissing her, opening her eyes and finding your bare chest because you’re literally taking off your shirt in front of her 😳 and i’m a believer that she would definitely love to leave a trail of open mouth kisses and hickeys all over your neck, collarbones and chest because she is a kisser

she definitely deserves the best ride but above all because she lets out the most beautiful sounds 👌🏻she is not so much foul–mouthed and demeaning buuut rather mixes curses with praise and pet names. sophia may be down but she is still the pathetic loser who is eager to fuck you and looks desperate, so you have to keep in mind that she will be fucking you from below to do some of the work even though you’re riding her! she is just a desperate baby who can’t get enough and can bred you all day long if you give her the signal

[xvmgnhao]

SAY IT — L.R

you gon' have to do more than just (say it) you gon' have to do less when you (do it) so mama, you know I (show it) always want you to (prove it)

⌗ LARA — fem!reader, smut, a bit of fluff, swearing, oral ( lara receiving ), scissoring, softdom!reader, stress, etc...

⌗ SYPNOSIS — after promoting in Inkigayo, lara seemed extra tired and stressed — she deserved a well needed rest and maybe something more

⌗ CUPID — requested by my mootie @sourb1tter

the promotion for gnarly in korea has left you and the rest of the girls restless — practice here and then outfit fitting there, you all barely got a break

especially lara, the girl has been so out of it recently, she performed so well though always giving her best which you admired the girl for — lara always acted like she was okay, acting strong rather than being vulnerable with the other members

yet she was different with you, you two were closer than the rest, you were lara's rest person — you help her feel calm and loved

while fitting the outfits for the last performance in korea, you noticed how the desi girl barely spoke, and was so silent that even sophia noticed joking about it too, lara only chuckles a bit, one that you can tell was forced — lara was so drained her eyes heavy as she tried to compose herself

finally time to perform you all got into position, your eyes kept going to the vocalist, worry clouding your mind as you see her taking deeper breaths and looking stressed — the final chorus comes and lara winces as she gave her all, that's when you really snapped — she is overworking herself

after you and the girls take a few pictures and finally go back to your respective hotel rooms — you wait until it was 1 am, texting lara you'll be coming to her room, “i'll be at your room in a minute, are you awake hun?” you send — a minute later she responds, “mhm, why?” you took it as a sign and walked a few rooms over knocking at her door

the girl opens in her robe, her hair messy and make up removed, in your opinion lara looked gorgeous especially with her bare face — “why y/n?” lara asks softly yawning towards the end of the sentence — “i know your stressed, let me help you” you mutter

you went in, sitting at her bed — you pat the space beside you which lara sat on, “how'd you notice?” lara ask, her voice was small and fragile unlike the one she uses with others — “how can i not, lay back for me hun” you replied softly pushing her down the bed, lara obeys grunting softly as her head meets the pillows

you tap her thighs signalling her to spread them, afterwards you sit in between them tracing circles on her inner thighs before kissing on them whispering praise towards the woman, “you've been so incredible lara, I'm so proud of you” you mumble into her skin, sucking a particular spot leaving a pinkish mark that will soon bloom into a dark purple mark — lara whimpers, already needy and worked up

“where do you need me princess?” you ask not wanting to force lara, “please” lara begs and it's all the confirmation you needed — you removed her robe met with her naked form, her tattoos decorating her skin so beautifully — her core was glistening with arousal as she looks down on you with those pleading eyes, it was hard for you not to just bend her over the bed, but this was for lara not for you

you lick over her thighs, hands putting her thighs on your shoulders to give you deeper access, finally you lay your tongue flat on her cunt making her whimper silently, you tease her clit sucking on it softly hearing her small mewls and moans as she begs you to go faster, you then move to her entrance, “fuck you taste amazing” you mumble pushing in your tongue into her cunt her back arched off the bed, “y/n!” she whines bucking to your face, you thrust in and out seeing lara satisfied and clearing her mind made you so happy

you move back to her clit sucking it with urgency coaxing loud yet so addicting moans out of the girl above you — “please I'm so close” lara manages to say before she convulses and gushes into your mouth, you continue lapping at her cunt softly helping her come down from her high, “shit — so good” she mutters as you pull away

her chest heaved as her breathing eventually was even

“thank you so much baby” she whispers smiling softly, you smile back crawling back up to kiss her lips, she melted into you, she was so sweet like honey and sickeningly addicting — “you've worked so hard my love” you praise as lara's hands wrap around your waist making you sit atop of her

“can we?” lara asks shyly, knowing what she was implying you immediately nod happy to do anything to make her satisfied — you shed of your sleep shorts and underwear throwing it somewhere in the hotel room, you climb up at laras body laying your thighs over hers

you shudder feeling her warm skin on yours as she looks at you like your a masterpiece in a gallery — slowly you lower yourself onto lara's awaiting cunt — when the first few moments lingered lara sweet voice filled the room as you groan softly as she practically vibrated under you

slowly lara grinds on your cunt signalling you to start too — you held onto laras thighs moving at a restless speed, it was smooth and fast, feeling your clit bump into lara's had to be the best thing ever, her small moans when you grind just a bit harder was one of the best things you've heard ever — you bit your lip as you felt the knot in your stomach slowly tightening

“i love you so much” lara mewls as you felt her getting close again, “baby i love you more- fuck” you stammer as you let go convulsing on eachothers core — lara whines feeling your slick arousal coat hers

after you two stayed in the moment for a few minutes, you stood up and cleaned up, bringing water and a few snacks to the girl on the bed, “feel better?” you asked as you wiped lara's legs, “so much more better” lara whispers already getting sleepy, you hum in response laying next to her, lara immediately cling to you her head resting on your chest which you smile softly at — you brush her hair using your fingers humming a lullaby as you start to fall asleep as well

wc: 1.1k words

[xvmgnhao]

Hi hi hi! Could you do a manon fic where she’s in the live where she’s reading wattpad stories except she sees fics where people are shipping the reader with everyone BUT her and she’s like “so where’s the manon x y/n? fics?” “where my writers at? can we get onto that?” An y/n is in the comments like “??? Don’t say that??? You’ll give them ideas?” Idk something silly like that haha. Thank you!

In Between Lines

Manon was in her room, hair tied up in a messy bun, makeup off, hoodie slightly too big. She was scrolling through Wattpad on her iPad like it was the most casual thing in the world. A bag of chips beside her. Her knees tucked up.

“Okay, okay…next story,” she mumbled, eyes squinting. “Oop, wait, this one’s Sophia x Y/N. Alright.”

The chat was already unhinged.

“NOT YOU READING FANFICS OF YOUR GROUPMATES”

“this is so wild help”

“i’m wheezing this is real??”

Manon kept going, fully entertained, reading out dramatic lines in an overly serious voice.

“‘Sophia pressed her forehead against Y/N’s, her breath catching. “I’ve waited so long to tell you,” she whispered—’ oh my god this is intense,” she laughed, tossing her head back.

Another few minutes passed. She flipped to a different story.

“Okay, okay, this one’s Megan x Y/N. Let’s goooo.”

She gasped mid-reading. “Y/N cooked for her?? Ugh I’m jealous now.”

The chat blew up.

“girl you’re not subtle 😭”

“this is fanfic not manifesting”

“we see you 👀”

Then came the kicker.

She tilted her head, scrolling again. Her face started scrunching up in mock confusion.

“Wait. Hold on.”

Scroll. Tap. Scroll again.

“I’ve seen Sophia x Y/N, Megan x Y/N, Daniela x Y/N, EVEN Lara x Y/N, but where’s the Manon x Y/N content, hmm?”

She raised her eyebrows dramatically at the camera.

“Where’s the Manon x Y/N fics, guys?? Like… hello?? Am I not fanfic material??”

She paused. “Where my writers at?? Can we get on that?!”

The chat completely combusted.

“MANON STOPP”

“WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT”

“not her begging for fanfiction omfg”

“girl you KNOW they’ll take that as a challenge 💀”

And then, right in the chaos, one comment slipped through.

“Y/N: don’t say that??? you’ll give them ideas???”

Manon saw it. Froze.

Then her face slowly lit up like she’d just hit the jackpot.

“Wait wait wait, Y/N’s here?!”

She leaned closer to the camera with the most chaotic grin. “Heyyy, Y/N. 👀 I see you.”

You commented again, rapid fire:

“NO YOU DON’T”

“LOG OFF RIGHT NOW”

“THIS IS ILLEGAL”

Manon giggled, collapsing dramatically into her pillow.

“Oh it’s so over for you now,” she said, eyes twinkling. “You know what you just did, right? You gave the internet a mission.”

She sat back up, totally smug. “Anyway, I’ll be patiently waiting for my slow-burn, friends-to-lovers, enemies-to-lovers, whatever, Manon x Y/N fic. You guys better deliver.”

Then she winked.

“I’ll even leave comments.”

[xvmgnhao]

Could we please have face riding with Vernon and squirting on his face and him being like ‘omg that was the hottest thing ever’ if this is too much that’s ok but love your writing hope your having a good day xx

Can you handle it? || Vernon Chwe

Word count:650

Notes: of course I can do this anon thank you for requesting hope you enjoy!

As you enter the apartment with Vernon, he immediately pushes you against the wall. His hands grip your hips possessively, while his lips find your neck.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you all night," he whispers against your skin, grinding his hardness against your thigh. "You look so good in that dress." His fingers trace the hem of your dress, playing with the edge of your underwear. "But I want to see more of you." Vernon takes your hand and leads you towards the bedroom, his eyes dark with desire. Once inside, he starts removing his clothes while watching you expectantly.

"Strip for me," he commands huskily. "Slowly." Vernon lounges on the bed, his gaze intense as he watches you begin to undress. His cock stands proud against his stomach, already hard and throbbing.

"That's it, baby," he encourages, stroking himself lazily. "Take your time, let me enjoy the view." As you slowly peel off your dress, revealing more skin inch by inch, he bites his lip. His free hand clenches the sheets in anticipation.

"God, you're so beautiful," he groans, his eyes roaming hungrily over your body. "Come here and ride my face."

"Are you sure?" you ask, taking a step closer to the bed. "I might suffocate you." Vernon grins, spreading his legs wider and patting his chest. "I'll take that risk," he says, his voice rough with desire. "Come here and sit on my face. I want to taste your pussy."

His hands reach for your hips, guiding you closer to him as he positions himself beneath you. The hunger in his eyes leaves no doubt he's ready for this. Vernon pulls you onto his face, immediately attacking your folds with his tongue. His strong hands grip your thighs, holding you in place as he devours you.

"You're so wet already," he moans against your skin, his nose buried in your folds. "I can smell how much you want me." His tongue circles your clit before thrusting deep inside you, alternating between the two motions while keeping you steady. The sight of you above him drives him wild. Vernon can feel your thighs trembling as you grip the headboard for support. His tongue works faster, spearing into your entrance while his nose rubs against your clit.

"Grind on my face," he commands, digging his fingers into your thighs. "Use me however you want, I can take it." The combination of his tongue's skillful movements and his words sends waves of pleasure through your body. Your hips start moving on their own, seeking more friction.

"Oh god, Vernon!" you cry out, your grip on the headboard tightening as your orgasm builds. "I'm so close..." Your thighs clench around his head as you grind harder against his face. His tongue moves in perfect sync with your movements, knowing exactly what you need.

"Cum for me," he growls, the vibrations from his voice adding to the pleasure. "Show me how good I make you feel." Vernon's eyes widen in surprise as you squirt, your juices coating his face and chin. He continues licking and sucking through your orgasm, drinking up every drop.

"Holy shit," he gasps, finally releasing you from his grip. "That was the hottest thing I've ever seen." He wipes his face with the back of his hand, a mix of pride and satisfaction in his expression. "You're amazing, baby." Vernon wipes his mouth with his thumb, still smirking up at you from his position on the bed. His face glistens with your wetness, and he seems completely unbothered by it.

"You made such a mess," he teases, his cock still rock hard and leaking against his stomach. "But I think it's my turn now." He sits up and pulls you into his lap, wrapping his arms around your waist. "I want to be inside you so bad," he whispers against your ear.

Vernon's hands roam over your body as he asks, "Can you handle it?"

[xvmgnhao]

Nct hard hours/cockwarming!Johnny

You were sitting on Johnny's lap as he was watching some shitty porn on the laptop. Not exactly sitting on his lap. Sitting on his cock precisely.

"Gosh john-johnny..." you moan around his neck as your hands cling around his neck. Eyes closed trying hard to adjust his girth.

"Mmmh baby..too big for yah?" he rumbled. One of his hands found your breast and cupped them rough. His fingers pulled your tits making you hiss and moving your ass.

"Ah-ha!no movin sweetie.." he whispered with a smirk. A tight pinch added on your tits as a punishment.

"John-hurts.."

"I guess im just too big for my little girl,hm?" he chuckles pushing his cock a bit deeper making you jump in shock.

"Silly girl" he chuckled and spanked you two times.

Your pussy was crying in pain, begging you to move over his large cock. But you knew not to anger your Johnny. He could feel your pussy juicing up around his cock. He smirked,"I didn’t even got to ram your pussy and its already soaking me wet,naughty girl"

"Johnny please-please can-can I move?"

"No moving baby girl. Daddy trying to open up your greedy little pussy,mmmh?" he mumbled taking one of your tits in his mouth sucking them hard.

"Johnny~~" you moaned loud as he pushed the whole length inside then keeping it deep in your cunt.

"Such a greedy pussy...need to train this pussy,mh?"

"Yes daddy"

"

[xvmgnhao]

thinking about bucky finding nearly all shapes, sizes, and color of women attractive-- but specifically having a thing for curvy women / curvy!reader (as I mentioned in A New Kind of Love)

holy fuck I got carried away LMFAO OOPS, explicit content under the cut!! mdni!!

he was an avid bachelor in the 40s, and some things never change. he may not be as good as he once was when it comes to flirtations, but he's still got charm and he knows it. what has changed is the women who walk down the streets of new york city.

women wearing trousers was not unheard of, but was unusual. now, women wear clothes that are skin tight and accentuate all the right places.

bucky considers himself a respectful man, but even he is not above temptations.

his eyes would be trained on your figure as you walked around the apartment in your sleep shorts and a fitted tank top. you weren't intentionally trying to tease him--in fact, this was simply the most comfortable thing you had to wear around the house on a hot spring day. new york weather is temperamental; one day it's 80 degrees fahrenheit and sunny, and the next it's high 50s with rain for 5 days in a row.

humidity is also rampant, given the city is essentially interconnected islands. the climate is humid subtropical, meaning there's spring tropical storms as well.

put all that together and you get humid, hot days where a thin sheen of sweat coats your skin near permanently. you're sweating in places you didn't even think you could sweat in before. your thighs are chafing from the moisture combined with friction, the undersides of your breasts cling to cotton as you forego a bra. your ass is damn near eating your shorts with how they ride up, but you could never be bothered to find ones that fit loosely.

bucky, however, is too damn caught in how you must've been carved in venus' image. your skin glistens as if it were tempting him to have a taste, your clothes cling to your curves so beautifully that he might as well already have you nude beneath him. he's already painfully hard at the thought of fucking his cock in between your closed thighs, abusing your body's natural lubricants. his hands would grip the fat of your waist, clinging on to your softness like a lifeline.

he'd absolutely eat your pussy like a man starved, reveling in the salty addition of the sweat mixed with your slick that had been gathering from the minute you saw his dark, lazy gaze roving over your shape. his hands would knead the plush fat of your stomach as he dips his tongue inside of you. he gets so worked up over how sexy he finds your full figure that he'd have to grind against the sheets to relieve some of the pressure.

bucky still worries about losing control over his strength during sex, but the natural padding of your body eases a lot of that concern. he allows himself to get lost in the act--he knows that you can take him. one hand is calloused and hot against the expanse of your belly, the other cold and hardened, gripping the sheets tight enough to rip apart seams by your head. his hips piston into yours as he sheathes his length into your wet, aching heat. he adores the whines and gasps he forces out of you--he knows that he's the only one who ever has, and ever will, fill your cunt so completely that you can feel him all the way to your cervix. most men simply don't have the equipment to do so with your body, and he loves that thought.

when he knows he's getting closer to the edge, he'll wrap his arms around the curve of your back, slotting them between the pillowy rolls of skin and lift. it comes at no strain to him; his only goal is to press the soft curves of your figure as close to the hard, muscled planes of his own as he can. the change in angle has him hitting right into that special spot that makes you keen and arch into him even further. he'll press his temple into the space between your neck and shoulder and become very vocal all of a sudden, grunting and groaning by your ear. but, it isn't because of the effort it's taking him to hold you up, oh no--it's because he's trying not to blow his load before he's made you come one last time.

"Need you to come, baby-" he'd hiss, "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

he genuinely might tear up because he's unintentionally edging himself while trying to make sure he gives you the pleasure you earned by doing absolutely nothing but being so goddamn pretty.

he'd thank you for letting him worship you as he cleans up his spend from your thick thighs with a warm rag. you're just a bit confused because all you did today was clean up around the apartment in the loungewear you've probably worn for three nights straight and he's acting like you gifted him the sun and stars.

[xvmgnhao]

A chubby fem reader summoning a large muscular extremely scary demon way out of her league. He usually kills people that don't offer enough. Fortunately he falls in love at first sight so he makes a deal with her that he knows she won't be able to uphold. Fast forward and she has to uphold her end of the agreement for her failure which is becoming his spouse.

I would like groping, breederism, innocence kink, and dubcon. Can you also name him?

my bride

demon x chubby female reader nsfw

You had no idea what you were doing when you whispered the forbidden name.

Azrael.

The demon summoned from the darkest depths of the Abyss, a towering force of muscle and menace, with skin like molten obsidian and eyes glowing like hellfire.

Legends said he destroyed anyone who didn’t bring enough tribute.

You weren’t prepared. Not at all.

But when the shadows warped and twisted, and he stood before you—hulking and terrifying—you couldn’t look away.

Your breath hitched.

“You…” his voice was like thunder rolling through a canyon, low and shaking the ground beneath your feet.

You swallowed hard, cheeks flushed beneath your curls.

“Please,” you whispered, “I just need your help.”

His gaze swept over you—soft curves wrapped in innocence, wide eyes shining with fear and something else… something softer.

“Foolish mortal,” he rumbled. “Most come with offerings. What do you bring?”

You shook your head, heart hammering. “Nothing.”

He stepped closer—close enough that you could see the veins rippling beneath his arms, feel the heat radiating from his body.

His massive hand shot out, roughly cupping your cheek.

“You’re so small. So soft,” he growled, thumb brushing over your full lips.

The raw power in his touch sent shivers through you.

“I… I’m no one special,” you stammered.

He laughed—a deep, shaking sound that rattled your bones.

“That’s what makes you perfect.”

You blinked, confusion and awe mingling in your chest.

“I make a deal with you,” he said, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “One you cannot keep.”

You bit your lip.

“What… what kind of deal?”

He stepped back, towering over you, shadow swallowing the room.

“You will be mine. Your body, your soul, your fate.”

Your pulse fluttered wildly.

“You’ll fail.”

“And then?”

He smiled—a twisted, wicked curve of lips.

“You’ll become my spouse.”

Weeks passed, and the deal haunted your dreams. You thought it was impossible, that somehow you’d escape his grasp.

But fate had other plans.

One stormy night, the shadows gathered again, and Azrael returned—more terrifying than ever, but now, a hunger in his eyes you’d never seen before.

“You failed,” he said, voice low and possessive.

Before you could protest, his hands grabbed your hips, pulling you against his rock-hard chest.

“You belong to me,” he growled, fingers roaming over your soft curves with a possessive hunger that stole your breath.

You whimpered, body trembling beneath his touch.

His massive hands cupped your breasts, thumbs rolling over your nipples until they hardened beneath his palm.

“You’re mine,” he repeated, voice thick with lust. “My sweet, innocent prize.”

He crushed his mouth to yours, biting and sucking until your knees buckled.

His hands roamed lower, sliding beneath your skirt to grip your thighs, lifting you up against him.

You gasped as he pressed his hard length between your legs, teasing you relentlessly.

“I’m going to breed you,” he promised, voice rough. “Fill you until you’re dripping with my mark.”

His hips rolled against yours, slow and deliberate, pressing you open.

You moaned, body aching for more.

“You’re so soft,” he murmured, fingers gripping your waist tight enough to leave bruises.

He pushed inside, thick and heavy, stretching you wide.

His growl filled the room as he began to move—deep, hard, relentless.

“You’re made for this,” he said, voice almost tender beneath the dominance. “Made to take me.”

Your body shook with every thrust, the pressure building until you were trembling on the edge.

He tightened his grip, voice low and commanding.

“Come for me, my sweet.”

You shattered, calling out his name as waves of pleasure consumed you.

He followed, hips pulsing deep inside you, filling you with his heat.

As he collapsed against you, breath ragged, his hands still roaming your body possessively, you knew you were truly his.

Bound by a devil’s bargain, and yet… utterly, irrevocably loved.

The moment Azrael’s hulking frame filled the doorway, your breath caught in your throat.

He wasn’t just a demon—he was the demon. A nightmare clad in muscle and flame, skin black as abyssal night, eyes burning into your very soul.

He smirked down at you—an ugly, beautiful thing that promised pain and pleasure in equal measure.

“You look so damn innocent,” he growled, voice thick and dark.

Innocent. You.

Your body trembled beneath the weight of that word, and his gaze dipped to your full curves, slow and possessive.

Without warning, his massive hand shot out, yanking you by the wrist and dragging you across the room.

His grip was bruisingly strong as he pressed you against the cold stone wall, fingers digging into your hips.

“Such softness under my hands,” he whispered, thumbs tracing the curve of your waist, squeezing hard enough to make you gasp.

“Do you know what’s coming?” His breath fanned over your ear, warm and rough.

You shook your head, voice barely a whisper: “No.”

His grin widened, dark and cruel.

“That’s what I want. Your pretty, untouched innocence.”

His hands slid beneath your dress, fingers rough and eager as they cupped your breasts, kneading them with a possessive hunger that made you whimper.

“You’re mine now,” he growled. “I’ll take everything—your body, your soul, your sweetness.”

His lips crashed down on yours, biting and sucking, claiming you like a savage beast.

Your knees buckled as his large hands found your thighs, lifting you up without effort.

He pressed you hard against him, cock grinding between your slick folds, thick and unforgiving.

“You’re tight,” he murmured, voice low and predatory. “Made to take me.”

Slowly, torturously, he pushed inside you, stretching you wide.

You gasped, every nerve on fire as he filled you utterly.

His grip tightened on your hips as he began to thrust, hard and relentless.

“You’re going to take my seed,” he snarled, voice rough with lust. “Fill yourself with it.”

You trembled, overwhelmed by his rough touch and fierce dominance.

“Please,” you begged, voice raw. “I want it.”

He growled, fury and desire mixing as he pounded into you.

“Good girl,” he snarled. “That’s exactly what you are.”

His hands roamed over your body, groping and marking you like a beast claiming prey.

“You belong to me,” he hissed, lips biting down on your shoulder.

The pleasure and pain mixed, raw and endless.

His hips slammed into yours, each thrust deeper, harder, pushing you closer to the edge.

“You’re made for this,” he snarled. “Made to take my pups, my mark.”

You cried out, body shaking as he bred you fiercely, his claws digging into your flesh.

He roared your name, voice breaking as he spilled himself inside you.

Holding you close, he whispered, “You’re mine. Forever ruined. Forever mine.”

You trembled, lost and found in the darkness of his arms.

[xvmgnhao]

https://x.com/antonleeface/status/1904505707967455343?s=46

hey so this is kinda crazy. why'd he do that. the lip bite? the look up to the camera? ok. he hates me.

(sorry anon i just saw ur other ask i thought i posted this but it was in my drafts💀)

WAIT A DAMN MINUTE THIS IS SO CRAZY. was the lip bite rly necessary omg 😒 /lh /POS ,,, so many thoughtzz ughhgjghjgj

link

you're on top, anton still buried deep inside you, both your satisfied heavy breaths filling the silence as you come down. you're both literally still twitching from your orgasms but you can't get enough, he's been on tour for too long and you need him all night at least "another round?" you smirk down at him and this is the exact look he gives you with "you're gonna be the death of me" before he picks you up and takes you to a different room to go again

or...

aauaaughhrh i just have such a thing for brother's best friend anton idk

playfighting anton over something silly like you beat him at a game or you both just tease eachother a lot and of course he lets you win plopping himself on the couch looking up at you while you're laughing at him triumphantly but he wants nothing more than to see if you'd still be laughing if he pulled you onto his lap, you're the forbidden fruit and he needs a bite

or....

cocky roommate anton playing games and you walk in to ask him if your outfit looks good and you give him a little twirl, he's always had a thing for your thighs so he can't help his eyes travelling along with a smirk and a lip bite "you better hurry or else i'm gonna have to tell your date you aren't gonna make it"

[xvmgnhao]

I was the Megan anon and ong you delivered. Actual perfection. Thank you for doing my request!

Ofc I love doing requests!! Send more pls

[xvmgnhao]

genuinely all i can think about rn is a drunk hookup with kyo and he suddenly gets so subby and impatient & starts begging and pleading for you to hurry up so you guys can fuck😵‍💫😵‍💫… soooo not okay rn

-🪐

pretty boy | y.kh

pairing: dom!reader x sub!keeho

warnings: friends to lovers, drunk sex, p in v, no protection, breeding kink, overstimulation.

you and keeho sat on his couch, boisterous laughs emitting from both of you. the two of you were feeling the effects of the spiked lemonades you shared—eventually forgetting to care about how loud you were.

“y/n you’re so fuckin funny man. i think you’re the only person who’s funnier than me.” keeho said, calming down from his laughing fit. a few small giggles continued to pour out from you as you remembered the joke you told minutes before.

“i just love seeing your pretty smile.” you spoke before registering your words. you’ve always found keeho attractive and thought about sharing a kiss with him, but you never acted on your thoughts. you opened your mouth to try retracting your statement—knowing you’d sound stupid in the process, but you didn’t want to make keeho uncomfortable.

“kyo i didn’t mean it like that—like i did but-“

“you think i’m pretty?” keeho’s words were slightly slurred and his voice was teasing—putting emphasis on ‘pretty.’ he dramatically batted his eyes, before locking with yours. he smacked his plump lips together a few times, before licking and glossing them in his spit.

his gaze was different from a few seconds ago. his sharp eyes pierced into yours, yet his look was equally soft. he looked beautiful. your eyes unintentionally started trailing his body, taking in his beautiful state. his brown hair was split down the middle, he wore a white fitted tank top and grey sweatpants. such a cliche. you took in every detail of his, admiring all his features. his eyes blinked slowly and his cheeks were dusted a light pink, from drinking. you cut your staring short, realizing you hadn’t answered the man.

“uhhh pretty? yeah…yeah i think you’re really pretty.” you obviously gained some courage from drinking and the words just started spilling from your mouth.

“pretty eyes, such a pretty voice, pretty lips—and from what i can see, your body is so pretty baby.” your words continued to surprise you and so did your actions as you brought your hand to rest on his toned chest. you looked back at keeho, checking to see if he’d object but he just stared back at you. his breathing picked up and you smiled to yourself. you scooted closer to the boy and experimentally started moving you hand down his body.

slowly trailing down to rub his waist, and rest on his thigh. keeho let out a loud breath, and you didn’t let the way he flinched a bit go unnoticed.

“you gettin’ excited hmm?” you asked, teasing him back. you saw keeho slowly growing harder in his pants the more you spoke and touched him. he dumbly nodded his head and swallowed.

“can you kiss me?” his voice was low and airy. you felt yourself clench around nothing, finding it hot that your best friend asked you to kiss him. when you didn’t move to fulfill his request, he moved on his own. keeho clumsily grabbed for your wrist, firmly gripping it in his big hand. he paused for a moment, looking you in the eyes to see if you’d stop him. you nodded at him, encouraging his actions, curious about what he’d do next. when he resumed moving, your eyes followed and a gasp left you when he placed your hands on his hardening cock.

if him asking you to kiss him wasn’t enough to get you moving, that definitely was. you hurriedly leaned forward, closing the space between you and keeho. your soft tits pressed against his hard chest as you supported yourself on your knees. keeho opened his mouth, tongue pulsing as he waited for your mouths to make contact.

the moment your lips touched keeho’s, he was a whining mess. you took charge of the kiss, biting and sucking at his lips. the further it went on the sloppier it got. your tongues clashed, leaving strings of spit to dampen keeho’s shirt. whenever you pulled back for a breath of air, keeho would whine desperately, begging you for more. you kissed him once more, squeezing his fully hardened bulge before pulling back completely.

you took in keeho’s current state, relishing the way you made him. the way his spit glossed lips hang open, his low eyes full of want, and his hair messier than before—a cause of you pulling at it.

“how you feeling, kyo?” your voice touched his ears gently, it made his heart flutter.

“i-i feel fine.” he shuddered when one of your hands touched his neck, slightly caressing him. you nodded at his words and smiled goofily. you enjoyed the power you had over him in this moment.

“mmm, that’s good. what do you want from me? hmmm, what else can i do for you?” both of your hands were on either side of his neck now, slowly rubbing and massaging him. a low moan passed through his lip and his eyes closed.

“i wan’ you. wanna fuck you so bad y/n please.” you could feel yourself getting wetter at his forwardness and you nodded, placing a peck to his lips.

you started wordlessly undressing the man under you. starting from his top. you peeled it from his chest, noticing the wetness the two of you created seeped onto his skin beneath the fabric. more wet, open mouthed kisses were placed on his pecs—you felt his abdomen contract under your lips as you moved lower. you lifted yourself from the couch and settled onto floor, knees folded beneath you. your fingers hooked under the fabric of his sweatpants.

“lift your hips for me, baby.” keeho quickly followed your orders, and you swiftly pulled down, leaving him in his boxers. you swallowed in the sight of his hard on straining against the fabric, begging to be let free.

“please…” a single plea that made heat pool between your legs. you tsked at him, looking up him through your eyelashes. your head shook slowly, teasing the man.

“not yet, sweetheart. soon though.” you licked your lips before abruptly placing your mouth on keeho’s clothed dick. the sudden contact drew a high moan from his throat and his hips bucked up. you sharply looked at him and shook your head again, silently warning him. your lips were pursed on the tip of his cock, teasing him. you could see the wetness spots of pre staining his underwear. you sucked him through the fabric, feeling even more precum leak through the fabric and onto your tongue. your thighs rubbed together, getting off on having him in your mouth. you collected saliva to the front of your mouth and slowly slicked his mushroom tip. you stuck your tongue out, mixing both of your fluids onto him. keeho spoke up once again, not being able to be patient longer.

“please y/n i really fucking can’t. i can’t wait, i need to fuck you.” you needed him just as much, getting up from your knees to stand completely. you took your panties and shorts off embarrassing quick, removing his soaked boxers after. you straddled him, placing one hand on his chest, and reaching the other down to grab his length.

he was thick and you could feel him pulsing in your hand. he let out an indescribable noise, reminding you of his need. you placed another kiss on his cheek before moving his dick under your warm pussy. you swiped it over your entrance, and keeho immediately reacted to the action.

“you’re so wet…” his eyes fluttered and his words fell short, getting quieter as he spoke. you repeated the action, this time rubbing his head over your clit. keeho watched with hungry eyes, watching as he became slick with your wetness. you moved his dick once more, lining it up with your entrance, before letting yourself sink down onto him. your arms wrapped around his neck to support yourself and he quickly let his hands reach for your waist.

his head threw back in pleasure. bliss was written all over his face and he already looked completely fucked out. you giggled as you watched him, grinding your hips down once before stopping.

“why’d you stop?” his voice came out higher than normal, sounding like he was on the verge of tears. you smiled again before speaking.

“you have to do the work for us, pretty boy. you said you wanted to fuck me so…” your words stuck in the air, and you inhaled sharply. keeho started thrusting into you without warning, and you felt the desperation in his movements. despite his drunken state, he kept a steady pace, bouncing you on him with ease. you could feel the copius amounts of precum leaking into you and you unintentionally clenched around keeho.

his stomach tightened and he picked up his speed, fucking you faster. his hands moved from your waist, to grip your ass and your back arched. your breasts pushed plush against his face and keeho whined against them.

“you wanna suck ‘em? yeah?” your voice was so sweet and keeho quickly nodded his head. you quickly removed your shirt and brought your hands behind you to undo you bra. you felt keeho’s thrust slow down as he made an attempt to help you. you smacked his hands away and resumed taking the garment off.

“be good and keep fucking me.” he dumbly nodded his head, quickening his movements again and he felt his heart rate rising as your tits fell in front of his face.

his hurriedly latched onto your right nipple, moaning at the overwhelming pleasure he was feeling. you moaned in return, welcoming the feeling of his warm mouth over your nipple.

“good boy, keeho. you’re making me feel so good.” keeho removed his mouth from your boobs, only to silently beg for a kiss. you complied, running your fingers through his hair and pulling it. you felt his thrust become harder and slower, signaling he was close.

“are you about to cum already?” you asked teasingly. keeho nodded, embarrassed and let out a pathetic whine. you don’t know if it was the alcohol that prompted you to say your next words, but you didn’t care anymore.

“you wanna cum inside me, kyo?” one of your hands dropped to rub his cheek, full of care and affection. keeho felt like he was going to explode.

“yes! oh my fucking god, yes.” he found his original pace, fucking you fast again, sloppier this time. he watched through blurry eyes as his dick slipped in and out of your pussy. the noises—his noises, the sounds…they were so lewd and keeho could barely hold on anymore. he wrapped his arms around your torso, holding you like you’d disappear into thin air.

“so do it. breed my cunt, baby. wanna see you leaking out of me.” your eyes rolled to the back of your head at your nasty words, paired with the way keeho was fucking you.

“okay fuck i’m cum-i’m cumming y/n.” keeho thrusted into you harshly, one last time before releasing. he let out a plethora of beautiful sounds. so pathetic though—cumming inside you, and you let him. you could care less. you squeezed your pussy around his cock a few more times, helping milk him. his movements began to slow down and you could feel his cum leaking onto your inner thigh.

“you did so good-“ before you could finish praising him, he began thrusting into you again, catching you off guard.

“you didn’t get to cum.” his voice was tired and his faced was scrunched in pain. he was overstimulating himself to make sure you orgasmed. that only made you hornier and you could feel yourself close to cumming. keeho’s head lay against your chest again, his breaths heavy as he whined. his brought one of his big hands between the both of you, and proceeded to let his middle fingers press against your clit. the sensation ran through your body and gave you chills.

“fuck keeho i’m gonna cum.”

“yeah me too.” he came again as he spoke, filling you with his seed again. a few more sloppy thrusts later and your orgasm came crashing down onto both of you, literally. you squirted on keeho’s cock, unintentionally clenching around him. you felt the both of you stiff as you ground yourself against him. riding out your orgasms.

the two of you tiredly sat resting against each other, not even noticing you fell asleep in your drunken state.

my gosh…🪐anon i’m so sorry😭😭😭idk if ur even still here with us lmaooo i hope so tho! the funny thing is that i started writing a draft of this the same day you sent it and then i took a break and it just kept getting burried in my notes. but i was going through my asks and saw this and i said “didn’t i start writing this…?” AND IT WAS LITERALLY IN MY NOTES IM SO SORRYYY😞this is kinda good though cause p1h is releasing a song called pretty boy hmmm wink wink. also i migjt have gone a little off script and showed my freaky side here but someone’s gonna eat it up ANYWAY HOPE YOU GIYS ENJOY 🪐ANON I MISSED U. i was too lazy to end this properly too my fault.

[xvmgnhao]

TURN THE PAGE TO US

YOU ANNOTATED MY SOUL

In Focus: Mark Lee × Reader

Synopsis: You and Mark Lee: two English Lit majors, one department, zero peace. You can quote The Waste Land by heart, and so can he—but your shared talent for verse usually ends in verbal warfare. Forced to co-lead a competitive research project, Mark’s infuriating intelligence and maddening focus drive you up the wall. Yet, rivalry softens into playful banter, and late study sessions stretch longer than expected. Turns out, the line between rivalry and something softer is written in pencil—easily erased, effortlessly rewritten.

Warnings: Rivals to lovers, Explicit sexual content / verbal kink, Mentions of sexual tension, arousal, and suggestive dialogue, Dom/sub implications (voice kink, praise/degradation mix), Consensual power play, Intense academic rivalry dynamic, Emotional repression / internalized longing, Some strong language (casual swearing), Alcohol (minor party scene), Academic stress / intellectual elitism, Brief reference to being interrupted post-kiss, Heavy use of literary references / sarcasm / metaphor, No actual smut scenes occur, but it’s very hot

Author’s Note:

This is the first footnote in TURN THE PAGE TO US—because nothing screams ‘healthy coping mechanism’ like falling for the one person who annotates your entire existence.”

I didn’t mean to write something this long, but apparently, Mark Lee + academic rivalry + literary thirst = me losing all control. This ended up way longer than planned, and I still haven’t finished it—so I’m posting it in two parts.

This is Part 1, guys

This is for the girls who annotate their fantasy smut and the guys who smell like books and think arguing about Kafka counts as foreplay. This fic is messy, wordy, and borderline unhinged in the best academic way. To everyone who's ever caught feelings during a debate—this one's for you. Engagement means the world: likes, reblogs, comments, screams in the tags.

Please be 18+ if you’re reading.

"You underlined metaphors. I read between the lines. Somewhere between ink and irritation, we annotated each other."

Third coffee of the day. And I hate coffee. It tastes like existential dread steeped in burnt hope. But like Gregor Samsa waking up as a bug, I didn’t choose this life—I just…adapted. Caffeine is my metamorphosis.

Sips, grimaces, and watches Mark Lee walk in, perfectly on time, of course.

And there he is. Mark Lee. Human punctuation mark. Probably thinks the sun rises because he quoted Woolf at it. He writes like he’s got a personal vendetta against mediocrity and walks like he’s never been told he’s wrong. Spoiler alert: I’ve told him. He didn’t listen.

The academic rival I never asked for but somehow ended up stuck with since freshman year. Ever since our first clash over whether The Waste Land is genius or just a fever dream with footnotes, it’s been intellectual warfare. I don’t know why, but every time I see him, I feel this irrational irritation—like my brain knows it’s about to be challenged, and my ego's already rolling up its sleeves.

And of course, can't forget to mention his group. The ever-infamous Dream boys. The campus golden group. Seven of them, like some mythological fellowship but with more hair gel and less emotional regulation. A cocktail of charisma, chaos, and misplaced confidence.

Professor Jung walked into the classroom with the kind of smile that only meant one thing: chaos was coming. Not the scream-and-run kind. The academic kind. The kind that ruined friendships, ignited crushes, and made someone cry in the hallway after overanalyzing Jane Eyre.

“Let’s start today with a wonderful question,” he said, practically rubbing his hands together like a Bond villain with tenure. “Fate versus free will in literature.”

Of course. Of course. The kind of question that turns polite English majors into caffeinated gladiators wielding highlighters and wounded pride.

“Think Kafka’s labyrinths of absurdity or Austen’s cages of etiquette,” he continued, eyes gleaming like this was the TED Talk he'd been preparing his whole life for. “Who really writes the story—the characters, or some invisible puppeteer called fate?”

Naturally—and I mean this with every ounce of disdain in my soul—Mark Lee’s hand shot up. Instantly. Like he had been waiting for this moment since the womb. Like fate had chosen him, which is ironic, considering he clearly sides with it.

He wore that insufferable smirk—the one that made girls sigh and me want to throw a Norton Anthology at his face. His glasses glinted like they were part of some book-boy cosplay, which, tragically, only made him hotter. Tragic for me, I mean. Not the population of people who thirst after tortured literature boys who quote Woolf on first dates. (Yes, he did that. I overheard. He used To the Lighthouse. Someone really should’ve drowned him there.)

I raised my hand too. Because if Mark Lee was jumping into the ring, I was showing up with verbal brass knuckles and annotated Kafka.

We both started speaking—of course—and Professor Jung smiled like his plan to cause chaos was going exactly as intended.

“Y/n, go ahead,” he said. And I did. With glee.

“Fate? Please. That’s just what authors use when they don’t want to admit they wrote themselves into a corner. The Trial isn’t an ode to inevitability—it’s a primal scream from a man being smothered by bureaucracy and desperately trying to claw meaning out of the absurd. Free will exists. It's just ugly and panicked and gets drowned in paperwork.”

Mark’s smirk—God, that smirk—deepened. Probably because he thought he was about to say something clever. Spoiler alert: he wasn’t.

“Delusional,” he said, all smooth confidence and unjustified cheekbones. “Austen’s characters are textbook fate victims. Emma? Lizzie? They ‘choose,’ sure but only within the bounds of societal programming. It's not free will, it’s conditioned responses. Fate, just wearing a petticoat.”

I rolled my eyes so hard I saw my ancestors. “You’re reducing character arcs to algorithms. Emma isn’t doomed—she’s flawed. And she changes. Growth is a choice, Mark Lee. Free will is messy, but that’s what makes it beautiful. Fate is a cop-out for people too afraid of consequences.”

He leaned back like he was lounging in a coffee shop, not verbally brawling in front of thirty people. “And yet the greatest tragedies rely on fate. Romeo and Juliet, Gatsby… Doomed from the start. Fate is the poetry of inevitability.”

I gave him a smile that could peel paint. “And maybe you just like sounding poetic while ignoring the fact that most tragedies are people screwing up, not the stars aligning. Gatsby wasn’t doomed. He just made garbage decisions and idealized a girl who liked shiny things.”

He adjusted his glasses like he was preparing to deliver an epiphany. “So you’re saying free will is just people being dumb?”

“Exactly,” I said, triumphantly. “Free will is people being dumb, brilliant, selfish, selfless, human. Orwell’s 1984? Winston tries. He chooses resistance. That’s the whole point. Even a doomed choice is still a choice.”

Mark tilted his head, all faux-curious. “And he’s crushed. Crushed by the inevitability of the system. Free will doesn’t win. Fate does.”

I could practically hear the air crackling. Our classmates were silent, hanging on every word like this was a courtroom drama and someone’s scholarship depended on it. Maybe mine did.

Professor Jung finally clapped his hands, grinning like a man watching two tigers fight over a Shakespearean soliloquy. “Exactly what I wanted. Good. Very, very good.”

I slumped back in my seat, heart thumping, and glared at Mark’s profile. He looked entirely too pleased with himself. His smirk. His glasses. His perfect posture, like he didn’t just ruin my blood pressure for the day.

After the verbal warzone had been declared over by Professor Jung, I packed up my notes with all the casual serenity of a boiling kettle. Mark was still smugly tucking his glasses into his collar like he hadn’t just played devil’s advocate for fate, of all things. Fate. I mean, who chooses to side with destiny in 2025?

“Y/N and Mark, please stay back,” Professor Jung said, just as I was plotting the most satisfying way to avoid him for the rest of my life.

I glanced sideways at Mark—or as I affectionately referred to him in my mind, the walking thesis footnote of my irritation. His brow arched, clearly intrigued, and I hated that it looked good on him. Could someone’s face be grammatically correct? I didn’t want to talk about it.

Once the last student dragged their bag out and the door clicked shut behind them, Professor Jung beamed like he’d been waiting to drop a literary bomb.

“I like the way you both think,” he began, steepling his fingers like some benevolent academic overlord. “You don’t just read literature—you wrestle it. Respect it. And occasionally stab each other with it.”

I said nothing, just nodded politely while standing as far from Mark as physically possible without flinging myself out the window.

“There’s an international literary conference hosted by the University at Veritas,” he continued. “It’s prestigious, competitive, and… paired.”

Mark straightened beside me like someone had just offered him a sonnet and a scholarship. I, on the other hand, was already sensing doom wrapped in MLA format.

“It’s on the notice board, but I’m telling you two specifically,” Professor Jung went on, smiling that same evil-genius smile he’d worn this morning. “Because I think—no, know—that if you teamed up, your chances of getting accepted are incredibly high.”

My brain short-circuited.

Team up?

With Mark fate-is-a-poem Lee?

We’d kill each other before we even chose a font.

“That’s… very kind of you, Professor,” I said, my voice politely strangled.

Beside me, Mark let out a soft, amused hum. Like a man already composing the opening paragraph of our academic obituary.

“I’m in,” he said. Instantly. No hesitation. Of course.

I looked at him like he’d just offered to co-author my nightmare.

“I mean,” he added, shooting me a sideways glance that felt like a challenge dressed as a compliment, “if Y/N can handle it.”

Handle what? His metaphors? His smugness? His perfectly organized notes that somehow always smell like cinnamon and ink?

“Oh, I can handle it,” I said sweetly, a dangerous smile curving on my lips. “Just don’t start talking about Austen like she’s a 19th-century NPC again and we’ll get along just fine.”

Professor Jung clapped once. “Perfect. Submit a proposal by next Friday. Surprise me.”

As we stepped into the corridor, I could already feel the words crawling up my throat like they were too irritated to stay inside.

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself,” I muttered. “This isn’t a prize. It’s community service.”

Mark had the audacity to laugh. “I don’t know, I think we might actually work well together.”

I stopped walking. He did too, turning slightly with that same irritating eyebrow tilt like he thought this was a scene from some academic rom-com. It wasn’t.

I crossed my arms. “Meet me at 4 p.m. in the book cafe outside campus. We need to figure out a topic before your ego writes a paper all by itself.”

He gave a mock salute. “Wouldn’t dream of being late.”

Then he walked off, all easy strides and unbearable confidence, like we hadn’t just declared a ceasefire for the sake of intellectual dominance.

I stared after him, jaw clenched.

This was going to be a disaster. A well-researched, peer-reviewed, highly-cited disaster.

I walk toward the field where my so-called friends are lounging like overfed cats under the sun. Chenle’s playing basketball, all fluid limbs and annoying laughter. The rest? Already grinning like they know something I don’t. Which is impossible. Unless…

“Hey, Mark Lee,” Haechan calls, eyes glinting like he’s logged into my brain. “You look like someone tore your ego again today. Was it our Lit Queen?”

I flop down onto the grass beside them with the dramatic energy of a tragic Greek hero. “Today’s topic was free will vs. fate in literature,” I mutter, tugging blades of grass like they personally offended me. “Obviously, I sided with fate—because hello, I’m not naive enough to believe I have control over anything in life—but now I don’t know if I won or if she did or if I just got verbally suplexed by a girl in winged eyeliner.”

Haechan snorts. “Verbal suplex. That’s a new low, even for you.”

“It’s like she thrives on chaos." I continue like a man possessed. "The moment the professor mentioned fate, her eyes lit up like she was summoning literary demons just to argue.”

“She probably lives in hell, Mark. Maybe she’s just giving you directions,” Renjun says without looking up from his notebook.

“The worst part isn’t the debate,” I mumble. “It’s the fact that I’m teamed up with her. For the inter-college conference.”

That gets them. A collective gasp like I just announced I’m marrying her tomorrow.

“Oh,” Jaemin says, eyes wide. “You mean her? The girl who corrected Professor Kim when he misquoted T.S. Eliot?”

“She’s the same one who once sent Sunwoo a list of grammar corrections when he asked her out,” Haechan adds, cackling. “Imagine trying to flirt and getting a red-inked Google Doc back.”

“She brought up Plato at that party last week,” Jeno says, shaking his head. “And they were literally talking about their dating lives. I think someone asked what her type was and she went ‘philosophically or emotionally?’”

Chenle jogs up just in time to drop the final blow. “Rumor says she turned a guy down by sending him a bibliography on why she’s emotionally unavailable.”

“A bibliography?” Jisung blinks. “Like… with citations?”

“I think there was APA and MLA formats involved,” Chenle grins.

I sigh, dragging my hands down my face. “You guys don’t understand. I notice… things now. Like—like the way she rolls her eyes every time I speak. Which is always. She does this dramatic slow blink and I swear, I hear ‘disappointment’ in 4K.”

“She probably keeps a thesaurus in her bag just to judge your vocabulary,” Renjun mutters.

“And the eyeliner,” I continue like I’ve lost control of my mouth. “You know? That perfect little wing at the corner of her eye? Like she’s ready to slice me with it.”

“Oh my god,” Jaemin groans. “He’s noticing eyeliner. This is terminal.”

“She bites her pen when she’s thinking,” I say, ignoring them all now. “Like the cap is a life-or-death decision. And when she drinks coffee, she winces. She hates it. I know she does. She drinks it like it’s a punishment, not a preference. That’s not someone who likes caffeine. That’s someone who’s forcing herself to function in a coffee-drunk world.”

“You’re in deep, man,” Jeno laughs, clapping my shoulder. “You’re starting to sound like her.”

“I am not—” I stop, because, okay. Maybe I am. Maybe the worst part isn’t even being teamed up with her. Maybe it’s the fact that I can’t stop thinking about how her voice sharpens when she’s passionate about a book. Or how her handwriting looks like it belongs in some old library archive. Or how her smirk makes me want to argue with her just to see it again.

“She’s going to destroy me,” I say aloud.

“She already has,” Haechan smirks. “And we’re just here for the literary funeral.”

I walk into the book cafe and spot Mark Lee instantly—half-slouched in a corner booth, dressed like a Pinterest board for "hot literature major energy" and scrolling through his phone like he hasn’t been waiting here early on purpose.

He looks up the moment I sit across from him and slides a caramel frappuccino toward me like it's a peace offering.

“I don’t drink frappuccinos,” I say, pulling out my laptop and notebook. “Especially not ones pretending to be desserts.”

“You should,” he says smoothly, “it’s better than wincing like you're in physical pain every time you drink coffee. Just spare the Americano your judgmental stare.”

He says it like he’s read the last ten pages of my life.

Which is the worst part.

Because he kinda has.

“I’ve already chosen our topic,” I announce, ignoring his smirk. “‘The Quiet Catastrophe: Literature as a Witness to Absurdity and Human Frailty.’ It’s in line with the conference theme and—”

“Of course you chose that,” he cuts in, leaning back like he’s bracing for impact. “Tell me, what’s your word count goal this year for Kafka-Dostoevsky Existential Crisis Essays? A hundred thousand?”

I glare. “It’s a strong theme.”

“It’s a recycled theme.” He raises an eyebrow. “I'm just saying… have you considered that Franz and Fyodor might want you to move on?”

I open my mouth, then close it. Because damn it, he’s not wrong.

“I was thinking,” he continues, voice casual but eyes very not, “what if we pitched ‘Ink as Ammunition: Literature as Resistance in Postcolonial and Feminist Texts’? It’s bold, fresh, and maybe—just maybe—you’ll meet authors who don’t end their novels in total despair.”

I hate that it’s a good idea.

I hate that my face reacts before my pride does—because he sees it.

His smirk deepens.

“I don’t want to waste time arguing,” I mutter, crossing my arms. “So fine. We’ll go with your idea.”

“Wow.” He places a hand over his heart dramatically. “Mark this day, for she has spoken the word: fine.”

We fall into a silence so deep it might as well have its own heartbeat—the kind of silence that says.

I catch his brown eyes catching the light every time he lands on a good point, like he’s just uncovered some secret cheat code for the paper. His eyebrows furrow into that “serious genius” crease, and of course, his damn glasses betray him by slipping down his nose as he leans in to sneak a peek at what I wrote. The way he pushes them back up with one lazy finger? Too casual, too precise—like he knows exactly how distracting he looks.

Focus, Y/N. Focus on the paper, not the guy who plays basketball to ease his tension and somehow looks like he just walked off a runway. And yes, he looks damn hot when he plays, but this is strictly an academic observation, no judging.

Mark’s voice cuts through my thoughts.

“Handmaid’s Tale?”

I nod, trying not to make it obvious that I’m really thinking about how his hair falls perfectly messy when he pushes it back, and how the sleeves of his shirt roll up just enough to make me wonder if he knows the effect he’s having.

“What’s running around in that head of yours?” he asks, eyebrow raised, suddenly silent like he’s waiting for some grand revelation.

Definitely not how good you look right now.

"Oh nothing"

“And seriously,” he adds, eyeing my pen like it’s a secret weapon, “you should stop chewing on that thing. I know you’re hunting for a sentence to obliterate me with.”

“I’m not,” I snap, yanking the pen away like it’s a live bomb.

We’re both silent for a while — a rare event, considering we usually argue over everything from font sizes to who gets top billing on the title page. But right now, it’s just the clack of keyboards and the soft hum of the café.

“I don’t like this,” he says suddenly.

I glance up. “What, being productive?”

“No. You being quiet. It’s weird. It’s like I’m watching a thriller with no plot twist. Where’s the snark? The dramatic sighs? The eye rolls?”

I shrug. “Maybe I’m saving all my energy for the bibliography.”

He grins. “Oh, I get it now. You’re lulling me into a false sense of security before you hit me with the footnote from hell.”

I sip the Frappuccino — the one I swore I wouldn’t drink. He notices, of course.

“It’s good, isn’t it?”

“It’s tolerable.”

“You say that about everything you like. Just admit you love it.”

I raise an eyebrow. “That line working on anyone else?”

He leans back, smirking. “Only the ones who can spell ‘conscience’ without autocorrect.”

I can’t help the laugh that slips out. He notices that too.

“You laughed,” he says like he just won a bet.

“Congratulations. What do you want, a trophy?”

“No, just acknowledgment. It’s rare. Like finding a happy ending in an existential novel.”

I grin. “You’re really trying to make metaphors happen today, huh?”

He shrugs.

We fall back into silence.

Two weeks had passed since our abstract got the green light from Mr. Jung. Since then, it felt like we’d been living in a war zone—bickering over everything from fonts to spacing, to whose point held more weight. Every tiny detail turned into a battlefield.

“I’m taking you to the party,” Giselle declared, even though I was standing right next to her.

“I’m not coming,” I replied, flipping through Onyx Storm. Honestly, can you blame me? The ending was right around the corner.

She rolled her eyes. “I’m taking you. That’s not a request, Ms. Litlady. And please, don’t start in on Plato or whoever. People are still talking about that.”

“They asked me a question,” I shrugged, marking my page before closing the book. “I just answered.”

“It’s a party, not a philosophy lecture. Dress up and come with me. Jungwoo’s picking us up.”

“It’s not like I hate parties.”

She grinned. “Exactly. You like parties—you’re not one of those typical bookworms who lock themselves away all weekend.”

“Yeah, well, I like finishing Onyx Storm more.”

“Whatever. You can finish it later. You’ve been working on that paper with your academic rival nonstop. You need a break from that hot nerd.”

“He’s not hot. More like a mosquito buzzing in my ear and I'm just tolerating him.”

“Speaking of that hot nerd, only you can hold a conversation with him. I heard Jia finally snagged a date with him last month, and he went on about the Renaissance and its impact on literature, the printing press, the first Bible—all that jazz.”

A small smile spread across my face. “That sounds exactly like him,” I said, walking to my closet.

“The red one or the black one?” Giselle asked.

“I like the red one. It looks good on you.”

“Done and done.”

The music was loud, the air smelled like cheap cologne and spilled cider, and the lights were dim enough to make everyone look ten percent more attractive than usual—which meant nothing to me, obviously. I was here for a drink and maybe a reason to leave early.

Then she walked in.

Giselle first—grinning, glossy-lipped and glitter-eyed. Jungwoo next, bouncing like the Labrador he was. And then her, in black. Not the mournful academic black we lived in, no. This was dangerous black. Skin, collarbone, the glint of a necklace that caught the light every time she tilted her head and laughed.

And she laughed.

At him.

Jaehyun.

The golden boy. Soccer star. Her brother’s best friend. The type of guy who didn’t have to work for charm—he just breathed and people adored him. She was leaning in, brushing his arm, and throwing her head back like he’d just told the best joke in the world.

I hated it.

I didn’t even know what he said, and I hated it.

Haechan appeared next to me with a red cup and a knowing look. “You’re staring.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re glaring.”

“Same thing.”

“She looks good tonight,” he said. “Not that I noticed. I mean, Jaehyun noticed. And half the team. But not me. Just saying.”

I rolled my eyes, took a swig of something that burned, and tried not to look back. Failed.

“She laugh like that with you during group projects?” Haechan smirked, the devil in a hoodie.

“She doesn’t laugh with me. We argue.”

“And yet,” he drawled, “here you are. Third drink. Sixth stare. First stage of denial. Classic.”

I turned away. “Shut up.”

“She’s just talking to Jaehyun, man. Your crush is allowed to talk to people.”

“She’s not my—”

I paused.

He grinned.

I hated him.

____

I walked into the room after attending a call from Renjun. She was laughing again. That sharp, carefree kind of laugh that somehow always managed to echo over the music. And of course, it was Jaehyun standing next to her. She tilted her head slightly when she laughed, like whatever he said was the cleverest thing she’d heard all night. Whatever.

I made my way to the bar. Not toward her — just the bar. The fact that she was already there? Unfortunate timing.

I stepped into the space beside her, nodding at the bartender. “You do remember our submission’s due next week, right? Or is your strategy just charming Jaehyun into doing it for us?”

She turned toward me, a slow, amused look crawling up her face. “Mark Lee at a party and talking about work? I’m shocked. Blink twice if you’re being held hostage.”

I grabbed my drink. “I just figured your attention span might need the reminder.”

Her smirk widened. “Worried I’ll outshine you again?”

“Again implies it happened once.”

“You’re right. But let’s not forget all those other times I accidentally outdid you — it’s kind of a pattern by now.”

I took a slow sip. “Delusions are getting bold these days.”

She laughed under her breath. Not the same kind of laugh she gave Jaehyun. This one had teeth. “The cafe’s closed tomorrow,” she said, casually, like it was no big deal. “So if you want to get this done before the deadline, you’ll have to come to my place. I’ll text you the address.”

I raised an eyebrow, letting a beat of silence stretch before answering. “You sure your Wi-Fi can handle all that ego in one apartment?”

She looked at me over her glass. “Guess we’ll find out.”

And just like that, she turned back to her conversation — not sparing me a second glance.

Fine by me. I got what I came for. A drink. And a reminder that this partnership was going to be the end of one of us.

Probably her.

___

She said her place. Her place. I didn’t ask questions—just said yes like a man trying to win a debate by proximity.

But now I’m standing in front of her door with a backpack full of citations and a mouth that can’t stop thinking about hers. This isn’t about the paper anymore. Not really.

She’s let me in—literally. And I don’t know what I’ll do when she forgets I’m the enemy and starts looking at me like I’m something else entirely.

He stepped into my apartment like he owned the place, tossed his bag onto the floor beside the low table in the hall, and sank onto the opposite side without a word. We didn’t need pleasantries—not in our world of rivalry laced with disdain.

I shouldn’t have said my place. I could’ve picked the library. A cafe, The quad. Literally anywhere that didn’t have soft lighting and shelves full of books that double as secrets and i didn't realise it tho.

But the way he looked at me—like he knew something I didn’t—made my mouth move faster than my brain. And now we were meeting in a space where my defenses didn’t work.

My apartment wasn’t neutral territory. It had favorite pens and worn notebooks and a bookshelf I’d never let anyone touch. Not even the friends who knew what I read when I wasn’t trying to impress professors.

He pulled out his laptop and the familiar clack of keys filled the silence as we settled into rhythm, working through the final citations. I was focused, eyes scanning a paragraph on postmodern consumption—but I felt it the moment his attention drifted.

Not to me. Not yet.

His gaze had shifted—toward the corner.

Bookshelf.

I followed it too late. He was already rising, curiosity pulling him like a magnet to the shelf I usually guarded with selective disclosure. His fingers grazed the spines, pausing over a particular set of titles that didn’t exactly scream Kafka.

Twisted Love. Fourth Wing. Iron Flame. A Court of Thorns and Roses.

I didn’t have to look up to know the smirk forming on his lips.

“Interesting collection,” he murmured, voice laced with something that wasn’t entirely mockery.

I turned my face toward him slowly, schooling my expression into bored defiance. “It’s called research,” I said coolly, though I could feel the heat creeping up the back of my neck.

He pulled a book halfway out. “For our project?” he asked, taking a step closer.

“For the sake of literature as a whole,” I countered, folding my arms across my chest.

Another step. “Didn’t know you were into… dragons, morally grey men, and explicit tension.”

I didn’t move. “Didn’t know you had time to read spines while pretending to be better than me.”

That earned a short laugh, rough and low. He closed the distance until he was standing right beside me, the book still in his hand, his fingers brushing the edge of the cover like it was a dare.

“I guess I underestimated the kind of stories that get your attention,” he said, his voice quieter now, deeper.

I tilted my head. “And I overestimated your sense of boundaries.”

His gaze flicked to my lips for a fraction of a second too long before settling back on my eyes. “So… which one’s your favorite?”

I reached out, plucked the book from his hand with deliberate slowness, and placed it back on the shelf.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” I said, and turned back toward the table and settled into the chair.

I could still feel his stare on my back. Heavy. Unspoken.

The citations could wait a few seconds more.

He didn’t come back right away.

I could feel him still standing there. The air around the bookshelf was thick—static, electric. His presence dragged across my skin like a storm waiting to break.

And then he came back after grabbing another book from my collections.  Not quietly. Not carelessly.

He sank into the chair like he owned it. Like he owned the moment. Like he’d found a secret and was now deciding just how deep he wanted to bury it in me.

No glance at the screen.

Only me.

His eyes were darker than before. Focused. Sure.

“Research purposes, huh?”

Low. Laced with something that tasted like trouble.

I didn’t flinch. “You know—methodology, citations, critical discourse—”

“You mean your collection over there?”

He jerked his chin toward the shelf. “Looks a hell of a lot more like late-night escapism than anything academic.”

My throat tightened. “You’re making assumptions.”

He smirked. “Am I?”

Then he leaned in. Slow. Measured. His voice dipped into something filthy and deliberate.

“You’re the girl who quotes Barthes in class, who sighs at Kafka like he ruined you—but you’ve got a whole row of books with titles like Thorns and Temptation, Credence and Twisted series.”

I blinked.

He didn’t stop.

“Let me guess. The main guy’s always a tortured immortal. Says he’s a monster. Calls her little mortal, my mouse, my princess or butterfly, before bending her over a throne.”

“That’s not—”

He cut in, brutal and soft. “You like that shit.”

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.

“And I bet you read it one hand on the page, the other under the covers, acting like you’re too good for it. Telling yourself it’s just fiction. Just tension. Just... literary curiosity.”

He grinned. Dark. Triumphant.

“But you keep going back to the same scenes, don’t you?”

I crossed my arms. “So what if I do?”

“So nothing.” He shrugged. “Except you walk around like your head’s above it all. As if you wouldn’t come apart if someone actually pressed you up against a wall and whispered the things you pretend you hate.”

He was too close. I could smell his cologne—woodsy, dark, intoxicating.

“You think that’s all it takes?” I tried to say it steady, but my voice betrayed me. Too tight. Too breathless.

He tilted his head, eyes on me like a predator amused by how long his prey thought it could pretend.

“No,” he said. “I think you want someone who gets it. Someone who won’t judge you for reading smut dressed in metaphors.”

His hand reached forward. Not touching. Just close. Suggestive.

“I think you want someone who’d highlight those lines with you. The ones where she begs. Where he growls. Where the line between danger and desire blurs and she likes it.”

I felt heat rush to my face. My stomach twisted. My legs didn’t move.

“And I think,” he continued, “you’ve spent so long playing the good girl with her annotated classics and tragic quotes... you’ve forgotten how much you crave someone seeing you. Really seeing you.”

“You don’t know me,” I whispered.

“I do now.”

His voice was a promise. A threat. A challenge.

“And you know what’s wild?”

He leaned in just enough to ghost his lips near my jaw. “I’m not judging you. I’d read them with you. Out loud. Every filthy line. Make you admit which parts made your thighs press together. Make you say it—this one, this is the line that made me want to be ruined.”

My breath shuddered.

His knee slid against mine again. Pressed there. Solid. Heavy.

“You still gonna act like you’re above it?” he whispered. “Or are you gonna let me peel that good girl persona off you page by page?”

I didn’t answer.

Because if I did—I wasn’t sure if I’d stop.

Because the thesis wasn’t the only thing unraveling.

I was.

And God, maybe I wanted him to keep pulling.

He didn’t pull away.

He leaned closer.

Still no contact—just his presence, thick and heavy and humming with a kind of heat that felt almost unfair.

“You’re really going to sit there and act like your thighs haven’t been pressed together for the last five minutes?” he murmured, voice low, velvet over something razor-sharp. “Like you’re not wet under that skirt and trying not to squirm in your seat?”

I raised a brow, careful. Steady. “You always talk like this during research sessions? No wonder your GPA’s hanging by a thread.”

He smirked. “Cute. Deflecting.”

He dragged his chair an inch closer, the scrape of wood jarring in the silence. His knee bumped mine. Intentional. Firm. And then his fingers tapped the table, slow and steady, inches from where mine rested.

“You know the parts you reread the most?” he said, gaze dropping to my mouth. “The ones where he doesn’t even touch her yet. Just tells her what he’s going to do. How he’s going to make her lose control.”

“Sounds like someone’s projecting,” I said coolly, even though my pulse was sprinting and I could feel the heat crawling up my throat.

He leaned in further, his breath brushing my cheek like a secret I wasn’t allowed to hear.

“I bet you love the build-up. His mouth at her ear. The words he says when no one else is listening. You’re already soaked for me, aren’t you? Look how easy it is to make you squirm.”

I didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Because if I did, he’d know.

“You act like you’re above it,” he said, voice going lower. “Like none of it gets to you. But I see the way you shift in your chair. How you stopped breathing when I said ‘wet.’”

I scoffed, leaned back just a little. “You’re giving yourself too much credit.”

“Oh, I haven’t even started,” he murmured, eyes locked on mine. “Want me to read aloud your favorite passage? The one where she’s told to shut up and take it? Where he pins her wrists and tells her, You’re not going anywhere until I’ve ruined every part of you?”

I stood abruptly.

His eyes tracked every inch of the movement like a dare.

I didn’t speak. Just reached for the book near his elbow—my copy, spine cracked, pages dog-eared and traitorous—and walked to the nearest bookshelf to shelve it. A small act. Simple.

But it was enough.

He was behind me in seconds. Catching my wrist to turn me towards him.

His hand landed on the shelf above mine, boxing me in. His body close. Too close. Heat radiating from his chest to my neck, not touching, but god, it felt like he was.

“You’re not fooling me,” he said, voice dark against the shell of my ear. “You can act cold all you want. Witty. Detached. But you’re the kind of girl who reads the dirtiest pages twice, then closes the book just to sit there and feel it.”

I gripped the spine of the book tighter.

“You want someone to make it real,” he said. “To tilt your chin up, press their mouth to yours, and say, Don’t run. Take it.”

My chest rose too fast.

“You’d hate how much you’d love it,” he whispered. “How fast you’d fall apart. How easily you’d beg when I tell you, Keep your eyes on me while I make you mine right here.”

I should’ve told him to back off.

Should’ve moved. Should’ve breathed.

Instead, I froze.

And that’s when he kissed me.

Hard. Fierce. Like he’d waited too damn long and couldn’t hold it in any longer.

His hand slid to my waist, dragging me closer. His mouth crushed mine, no hesitation, no apology. Just fire and hunger and everything we’d been pretending not to want.

I gasped against him, hands fisting in his shirt as his body pressed against mine, pinning me lightly to the shelf.

He groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating between us, his mouth moving over mine with brutal precision. Tongue teasing. Teeth grazing. Every second pulling me deeper, tighter, unraveling something I hadn’t even realized was wound that tight.

The book fell from my hands, hit the floor with a thud I barely heard.

“You feel that?” he breathed against my lips. “That spark when I touch you? That ache? You think I can’t tell how wrecked you are right now?”

He kissed me again, slower this time, more purposeful. Like he wanted me to remember it later—alone, frustrated, aching.

“I could fuck you with just my voice,” he whispered, mouth trailing to my jaw. “And baby—don’t lie—you’d let me.”

The bell rang.

Sharp. Final. Echoing down the hallway.

“Y/n?” My brother’s voice, too close.

I jerked back, panting.

His eyes were wild. Lips swollen. Still breathing hard.

I wiped at my mouth with the back of my hand, heart pounding out of rhythm. He didn’t say anything. Just watched me.

“Y/n?” Louder now.

“I’m—coming!” I shouted, hating how wrecked my voice sounded.

I didn’t look at him as I turned.

But I felt his stare all the way to the door.

And long after I left, his kiss still burned like it hadn’t finished yet.

“The problem wasn’t that he kissed me. It was that I kissed him back.”

or

“We were supposed to write a paper. Not rewrite every boundary I ever built.”

___

Author's note:

Well, if you’ve made it this far, congratulations—you survived Part One of You Annotated My Soul without throwing your device across the room. This story is basically my caffeine-fueled brainchild, packed with all the awkward academic tension, chaotic vibes, and just enough cursed chemistry to keep you hooked. If you liked the drama (or even just the mess), drop a comment or reblog—it’s like digital high-fives that keep me writing.

Part Two is brewing, and spoiler alert: that kiss? Just the appetizer. Stay tuned for the main course.

Thanks for sticking around—and try not to ship them too hard.

Now, I see this fic is not that long.

[xvmgnhao]

high on it

stoners!bffs!nomin x innocentish!fem!reader

words: 3.7k

warnings: heavy dubcon, very much bordering on noncon, forced intoxication, drug use (weed), manipulative nomin, mean doms nomin, they’re very condescending, infantilising language, they are not good people. reader does end up enjoying it but absolutely cannot consent in this state. this is dark content by design. i’m not your babysitter and i’m not responsible for your triggers nor for what content grown adults consume. hate is deleted and blocked. also: unprotected sex, mentioned double penetration, sir kink, pet names, praise and degradation etc.

—

“One more.”

The blunt presses against your lips, demanding access again. You shake your head weakly; pathetically. “J-Jeno,” you hiccup. “Enough, please.”

He doesn’t respond, as you knew he wouldn’t; just grips your jaw between long fingers and pries your lips apart with force. “Open.”

“Come on, pretty.” Jaemin’s voice is softer, a gentle presence behind you. His words are whispered, lips grazing playfully along the back of your neck and trailing across your skin like he’s trying to get a taste of you. “You said you wanted to feel good, didn’t you?”

You did. You do. You do want to feel good, of course you do—the problem is that you don’t feel good. Not at all.

You feel…terrible, really. Too much. Sick. Dizzy. Dazed. Your limbs are weak and fuzzy and your head is like a deadweight on your neck, too heavy to hold up on your own. It all feels wrong.

They don’t care, though; they like it, in fact. That much is plain.

They like it because it gave them a reason to pull you down into Jaemin’s lap, cooing over how weak you are, how precious and perfect you look with your eyes wide and your body limp and helpless.

And when you start to squirm again as Jeno swipes his thumb across your bottom lip, it gives Jaemin a reason to tighten his grip on you until it’s almost painful; to snake his arms around your waist and let his hands wander closer and closer to where they’ve been dying to go all night. All night, every night, for longer than they’d ever care to tell you.

The movements are slow now; careful, like you’re a tiny animal he’s trying not to spook. It’s overly cautious, he knows that—he could do pretty much anything right now and you’d do nothing but take it—but he’s always had a weakness for you. A good thing, perhaps; a softness to temper Jeno’s harder side. A balance to keep them both in check when it comes to you. Strictness without abject cruelty and kindness without undue leniency.

Like this though, his softness is purely out of kindness. Being fairly fucked up already you hardly seem to notice his hands on you; don’t feel or understand the heaviness or the possessiveness behind his touch enough to form your own opinion on whether you actually want it or not. And if you do—well, you’re tripping. Who’s to say what’s real and what isn’t. All they’re doing, as far you’ll be concerned tomorrow, is taking care of you like they always do.

“Open your mouth,” Jeno says again. His posture has tightened now, body tense. Restraint weakening. “Don’t be a brat.”

The whine you let out is guttural; you hate when Jeno calls you that word, when he scolds and chides you like a little kid. It always makes you feel so small, so embarrassed and ashamed.

And it’s even worse at times like this; when it seems to do something else, too. Something that can’t be soothed no matter how much you squirm on Jaemin’s lap, seeking a relief that doesn’t come to a discomfort you can’t place.

Hjs hold on you tightens again, and his grip feels a little more protective now. It probably is, actually; he more than anyone is familiar with Jeno’s quick temper and heavy hand and he doesn’t want to see you on the receiving end of it tonight. You’re too tiny and precious and pliant in his lap to allow that. “Ay, Jeno, she’s not a brat,” he tuts. “Don’t be so hard on her. She’s just a little dazed, aren’t you baby? Natural for a first timer.”

You nod your agreement, bobbing your head back and forth; you don’t realise you haven’t actually stopped nodding until Jeno grabs your head firmly and holds you steady in his hands. He looks…enthralled. “Fuck, you’re out of it aren’t you?” He says. His tone has softened just enough to satisfy the other man. “Little baby. Can’t handle anything. Do you even know what I’m saying right now?”

You pause for a moment, mulling it over then nod again, just once this time. “Yeah,” you breathe. “Jen, I feel weird.”

“Oh I know,” he croons. “Why don’t you have another, baby, you’ll feel better.”

Another? Feel better? You doubt that, somehow. Before you can think to reply, though, the blunt is pushing at your lips again, even firmer now. Still you try to resist it, stubborn to the end; there’s a noise of frustration, then Jaemin pinches your nose just enough to restrict your breathing until your mouth finally opens of its own accord, desperate for air and the blunt finally slips inside.

“Good girl.”

After a few more seconds, a few deep breaths guided by Jaemin’s quiet, murmured praise, it’s over; Jaemin takes his hand off your nose as the blunt is pulled away, and you can finally breathe again, unimpeded by smoke or substance. He pats your back soothingly, rubbing small patterns while you cough and splutter in his lap. “Poor darling,” he mutters. The excitement in his voice is unmistakable.

It doesn’t take long—a few minutes, maybe—for it to finally take hold. On a beginner like you the effects are delightfully obvious; eyes drooping further, body relaxing and sinking deeper into Jaemin’s hold and you stop squirming too; any ability or will to resist still lingering in your little body now finally flushed out. Now there’s nothing left but them. Their voices, their touch; their whims.

You’re not certain how you feel right now—distant, maybe? Detached—not relaxed, but not scared either. Just…

Soft lips press against your crown, breathing you in. The thoughts fade out as quickly as they came. “Poor girl,” Jaemin mumbles. “Can’t even think straight. You really are easy for it, huh?”

“How do you feel?” Jeno asks. “Can you talk?”

It takes you a moment to respond and even then your words are slow; slurred. “Yeah, I— yeah.”

“I think she’s done, Jen,” Jaemin says; he nibbles at the top of your ear, dragging his tongue down to your neck and nipping at the soft skin. “She’s shaking.”

“Shaking?” Jeno echoes, raising an eyebrow. His gaze flickers down to your hands, gripping Jaemin’s forearm and, yes, shivering just as he said. “Oh princess,” Jeno smiles. “You’re gone.”

Jaemin laughs from behind you, deep and familiar; he grabs your waist to turn you on his lap and adjust your position so you’re perched sideways, allowing him to grab your chin and turn your head to face him. His fingers dig into the skin of your waist, possessive and painful but the only thing you’re even faintly conscious of is the way he’s looking at you.

Completely and utterly crazed.

“Look at you,” he coos. “All drugged up. That feel good, honey?”

You blink, dumbfounded—you don’t even know what you want to say, let alone how you’d go about saying it. Your head is a mess, thoughts blurred and hazy and falling into each other and their voices and hands feel strange and foreign; touches distant on your skin and permeating beneath it at the same time. You’ve never felt anything like this. You didn’t know this was a feeling you could feel, so faintly and powerfully at the same time.

“Oh dear,” Jeno smiles. “Silly girl forgot her words already.” He grabs your face and pulls you forward so your forehead is pressed up against his; inescapable. “Say ‘yes sir, it feels good.’ Can you do that?”

You nod, swallowing dryly. “Yes sir.” Your gaze is locked on Jeno even as you’re speaking to Jaemin, as though your words will fail you the moment you look away, and your eyes are glazed over and empty and dumb. “It feels…feels good.”

“Oh, good girl,” Jaemin says. He pats your butt fondly, squeezing the flesh just firmly enough to make your breath hitch. “Answering me so politely. Such good manners. Doing so well, isn’t she Jen?”

Jeno grunts, fingers combing through your hair. “She is,” he says. “Should be rewarded.”

“What are you thinking?”

He’s silent for a moment; his eyes graze over your body and linger on your chest; on the flushed skin that rises and falls with each slow, laboured breath.

Then they go lower—to your little legs perched on Jaemin’s lap; clenched together like you’re desperate to keep them shut—like you’re trying to keep a secret from him. He doesn’t like that. He wants to know—to see, to touch—everything.

His hands come to rest on your knees and your eyes widen a little at the contact but you say nothing; just stare down at him with parted lips and pliant limbs as he slowly spreads your legs.

He almost wishes it was summer, so you’d be wearing those slutty pink pyjamas that you like to pretend cover your ass properly—but this blue silk number is sweet enough for him too. They’ll have it off of you soon, anyway.

“Jen,” you mumble; faintly aware, apparently. “What are you—”

“Shh,” he soothes. “Be a good girl, stay still now.”

His hand trails upwards towards your core; your breath stutters and you’re squirming a little, whining softly but he just ignores you. His hand stops just short of your pussy, squeezing and pinching at your thigh while Jaemin’s hand trails downward again; he fingers at the hem of your pyjama pants, trailing across the skin of your tummy hidden just beneath them. “So soft,” he murmurs. “So good. You like it when we touch you, honey?”

Maybe if you were sober you’d try and deny it, but in this state you—and they—know you can’t. Because their touch feels good; feels warm and comfortable and familiar even though you’ve never quite experienced it in this way.

You’ve cuddled them before, of course; you’re a touchy person, so are they and you’ve spent many a night curled up in their arms while they run large, soft palms up and down your back. The feeling of Jaemin’s fingers on your neck isn’t new, either; when you’re particularly stressed or irritable he likes to push them into your skin, rubbing at the tender flesh and fingering at your pressure points until you calm down. Even your ass is no stranger to it; Jeno in particular always seems to find his way towards it, from soft squeezes while you snuggle against his chest to accidental brushes as he walks by to a painful swat when he thinks you’re misbehaving. He says it’s not serious, that if he really wanted to punish you he’d be turning you over his knee and spanking you properly, but it hurts all the same.

And if you were a little less dumb maybe you’d see the way his eyes flash when you cry out at the pain—or the way his palm twitches at his side, desperate for more.

He’s not stupid, though—he knows you spook easily, knows you’re closed off and hesitant and he has enough composure not to break and scare you off and ruin everything they have planned for you.

Everything he does, with you in particular, is measured; planned out to the letter. He knows when to push you and when to stop.

He doesn’t stop now. He lets his hand brush across your clothed pussy, light enough that he could claim it’s accidental and he hears you gasp softly; feels your body tense at the sensation. “What, baby?”

“Jen,” you mumble. “I—”

“Hm?” He raises an eyebrow, trying to appear firm but he can’t stop the smile pulling at his lips; this is exactly how he’s always wanted you. How he knew he could get you—tiny and pliant and desperate no matter how much you try to hide it. “I’m trying to give you your reward, remember? Don’t you want it?”

“No I do, I just—”

“Jeno is trying to do something nice for you.” Jaemin’s voice is crooning, one hand gripping your jaw to force you to look into his soft but stern eyes as he speaks. “Are you being ungrateful?”

You shake your head, tears brimming again; you’re not ungrateful, of course you’re not ungrateful—you’re just high and confused and you don’t understand what they’re doing or what they’re planning or why you so desperately want more of it. They must see you starting to break; must know your composure is weaker than normal in this state because they soften quickly, stroking your flushed skin as Jeno slides your pyjama bottoms down your legs.

The chill hits you at once, cold but not quite biting but Jeno’s hands are warm as they rub up and down your thighs with feather-light touches. His pupils are a little dilated, lips parted slightly and he looks…you don’t know. You don’t know if you need to know. If you need to know anything now.

“Pretty panties, baby,” Jaemin says. He sneaks his hand around your waist to press against the thin material, right on your clit and you squeak in surprise. He raises an eyebrow, all innocence. “What’s wrong, pet? Am I hurting you?”

“No,” you say quickly. “No, it— I like it.”

He hums. “Want more?”

Yes.

“Let’s lie her down,” Jeno says. He doesn’t wait for either of your agreements before lifting you off the other’s lap and setting you down on your back, splayed across the soft couch. So far beneath them and so out of it, the sight of them standing above you, looking down with intense, predatory eyes, is as intimidating as it is thrilling.

Jeno is the first to move; he straddles you without word or fuss, cupping your head in his hands and pressing his bulge against your clothed pussy. The sensation makes you squirm, even more intense than the feeling of Jaemin’s finger earlier and the sight makes him laugh quietly. “Desperate,” he scoffs, and then his lips are on yours.

The kiss is rough and messy but there’s a tenderness behind it that could only come from them; could only come from your two best friends who have always done everything for you. They’ve never denied you anything—even things you didn’t even know you wanted.

Already you scarcely remember how scared and unsure you were earlier, how wrong it all felt. How could you remember, when the feeling of him on top of you, hands and lips trailing across every inch of your skin with fervent desperation, feels so right?

And more than that—he feels big too.

You’ve never been a particularly sexual person; you’ve only ever had sex with boyfriends, and even then, it was much more for them than for you. You assumed you were just asexual or something; that sex just wasn’t something you’d ever enjoy or crave and it’s a fact you’ve made peace with over time.

But now. Here. With them. You can’t think of a time you’ve ever wanted something more.

Your body is responding of its own accord; your hips lift up to press harder against Jeno’s bulge and your hands reach pathetically for him, wrapping around his waist with an iron grip. He grunts, a satisfied sound and tilts your chin upwards with a long finger. “You want me?” He breathes. “Say it.”

You just moan, already too overwhelmed to talk but the feeling of a hand in your hair, yanking your head back painfully, sobers you slightly. Jaemin’s eyes are stern, staring down at you from above. “Jeno asked you a question,” he says. “What do we do when someone asks us a question?”

You swallow, flushing slightly; this isn’t the first time you’ve been chided for this. “We answer,” you whisper. Just as they taught you.

“Good,” he says. “Answer him, then. Nothing happens until you do.”

You nod, mumbling your apology and he releases his grip; you turn back to Jeno and force the words out from your tight, scratchy throat. “I want you,” you say. “Please, Jen.”

“Good girl,” he smiles. “There’s those manners. Jaemin, why don’t you get behind her? We’ll wanna keep her still if she starts squirming.”

“I’m sure she knows better than that,” Jaemin says, the warning obvious in his tone, “but good idea. Greedy little sluts need a firm hand sometimes, don’t they? Especially stupid, drugged up little sluts.”

You’ve never heard him speak like this; even Jeno raises an eyebrow, taken aback. Jaemin fixes him with a look in return that almost seems challenging. “What, Jen?” He smiles. “Think I can’t be tough like you? I know exactly what she needs.”

“I’m not complaining. Let’s get her settled now.”

You let them sit you up—though you’re unsure how much resistance you could put up even if you didn’t want this now—and Jaemin’s body is a warm presence behind you as you sink back into it. “Hey, pretty baby,” he mumbles, lips pressed against your crown with returning softness. “Be good for us, yeah? We’ll look after you.”

“Okay,” you whisper. “Nana, please.”

“Nuh uh,” he tuts. “Tonight you’re gonna call us sir, okay bunny? Can you do that?”

“Yes sir.” The word feels natural on your tongue now and the pleased noise he makes is a reward in itself.

“Good girl,” he says. “Fuck, so good. How long’s it been since you got your little pussy filled?”

Your heart could jump out of your chest now; entire body buzzing and blurred. Your breath stutters. “A while, sir.”

Jeno grunts. His voice is hoarse, breaking under the weight of you—of his need for you. “Bet you’re tight, huh?” He rasps. “Better be.”

“Take her panties off,” Jaemin says, all authority. His thumbs trace small circles on your hips, soothing and electrifying all at once. “Sweetheart,” he mumbles. “D’you want us both in your pussy, or d’you want me in your ass?”

You blink. “My ass?”

“Whay, you never done that before?” Jeno asks. You shake your head and he laughs. “Cute. We’ll have to try it. You’d take it, right? Like our good girl?”

“Of course she will,” Jaemin answers for you. “We’ll both have her pussy for now, though. She’ll need her asshole trained if she’s never done it before. Wouldn’t wanna hurt her, would we? Not our little girl.”

“Course not,” Jeno smiles. “We’ll stretch her out some other time, then. I’m not feeling that patient today.”

You feel Jaemin’s smile against the skin of your neck as it stretches into a grin. “You think I am?”

He doesn't reply; just yanks your panties down your legs, dangling the soaking material dangling from one of his fingers like a trophy. “There,” he hums. His gaze turns back to you. “Gonna be good?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good,” he purrs. “Keep those legs spread for me. You’re gonna make us proud now.”

“Close your eyes,” Jaemin whispers. “Jeno’s a bit big, don’t look, hm? He’ll be inside before you know it. Breathe with me, baby.”

The feeling of Jeno’s cock prodding against your entrance makes you jolt, gasping slightly but Jaemin’s grip is as firm as it is comforting. He keeps talking, soft words you barely understand as the other pushes in and fuck, Jaemin didn’t lie—Jeno is huge. Stretching you so far it feels more like splitting. You’re whimpering, faintly aware of the tears welling in your eyes and you’d be a little worried that he’s actually hurting you were it not for numbing, dizzying pleasure pulsating through you as he finally starts to move. Everything feels good, feels present, feels alive and feels right. Even the pain of the stretch fades so quickly that you can’t help but feel like you were made for this; for him. For them.

“Fuck, good girl,” Jeno groans. He’s obviously just as affected, eyes squeezed shut like he’s trying to get ahold of himself. “Jesus Christ. How are you not a fucking virgin? I feel like I’m—fuck, like I’m breaking her, Nana.”

“You’re not,” Jaemin says. He presses a kiss to your cheek, listening to your soft, sharp gasps as his friend fucks into you harder. “Look at her squirming like she’s trying to take you deeper. She fucking loves this shit. Don’t you, baby?”

By now Jeno’s fucking you so hard you can barely think, let alone answer; the noise you make is somewhere between a moan and a sob and he laughs, mocking, and slaps your cheek. “Don’t go dumb yet,” he says. “Need you to feel every fucking inch of me. Need you to know exactly who’s fucking you. Tell me, baby, tell me who’s breaking you like this.”

The tears are falling freely now, sticking to your flushed cheeks, the pleasure and pain and the feeling of their attention and control almost too much to take. Not to mention the foul, filthy words coming from their mouths like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

They’ve never spoken to you like this before; never even hinted at a proclivity for that sort of thing. They like to tease, sure, but this isn’t teasing; it’s degrading, objectifying, and the way Jeno thrusts into you with every word makes you somehow feel like this is how they wanted to treat you all along.

And what’s worse, what’s even more humiliating, is how electrifyingly right it feels to be treated like this. How it lights you up; like this isn’t just how they wanted to treat you but how they were meant to; how you always needed and wanted and craved to be handled.

You’re sobbing their names, over and over like a prayer and you don’t know if you could stop even if you wanted to. Nor do you know exactly what it is you want; what you want beyond them, them, them.

“Jeno.” It feels like every time you speak your voice is smaller and weaker and more strangled.

“That’s it,” he grins. “Yeah. I’m doing this to you. We are.”

The next thrust is the deepest yet; he holds it there for a moment, dick pressing against your cervix, relishing in the way your cries get louder and more desperate. “God,” he moans. “Perfect. Perfect pussy. Shit, Jaem.”

Jaemin’s grip from behind you has tightened immeasurably, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. The feeling of his bulge pressing against your lower back tells you he’s going to be just as difficult to take as Jeno; you let your head fall back to rest on Jaemin’s shoulder, eyes closed and he wraps his hand around your neck, warm and firm.

“There we go,” he coos. His grip tightens, just heavy enough to notice; it feels steady and comforting and warning all in one. His voice drops. “Now. Are you ready for both of us?”

—