pairing : bf! james zhao x horny gf! fem! reader
content warning : smut, mdni, 18+ content, established relationship, very horny and needy reader, strict boyfriend! james, no contact, just humping, no penetration
word count : 2,913 words 16,849 characters
"just two lovebirds waiting for marriage ⋆˚꩜｡☁️"
you and james were ridiculously in love.
five dates and that's all it took before he asked you to be his girlfriend, and of course you said yes. the first kiss you had with him was still lingering on your lips, soft and almost shy. but after that, you couldn't keep your hands off each other…
you two made out everywhere. the photobooth at the mall, curtains pulled shut, his hands on your waist while the flash went off. the back corner of the movie theater, his fingers tangled in your hair, your heart pounding so loud you swore people could hear. on his couch after movie nights, bodies tangled together, kissing until you were both breathless and dizzy.
you always cuddled after movie nights always, with his strong arms around you, drawing lazy circles on your hip, your cheek on his chest listening to his heartbeat slow down. jamesie would kiss your forehead, your temple, the corner of your mouth, murmuring how beautiful you were, how much he adores you.
and you adored him too. god, you wanted him.
you learned exactly where to touch james. the spot behind his ear that made him shiver, the way he groaned when you bit his lip just right. his hands knew you just as well, slipping under your shirt, spanning your waist, pulling you closer.
but the two of you always stopped. james always reminded you about the conversation you two had about sex. no sex before marriage. you both agreed on it, wanted it, believed in it. but sometimes, when you were deep in it with his mouth hot on your neck, his body pressed flush against yours, your heart hammering in your ears… you'd feel yourself spiral, arousal pooling in your panties without him noticing, your hips moving on their own, seeking friction, seeking more.
and james always noticed that, every little squirm his girlfriend makes. then he'd pull back suddenly, breathing hard, his eyes dark and glassy. he'd seal the makeout session with one hasty, chaste kiss on your lips and it was almost businesslike, then james would roll onto his back, staring at the ceiling, hands folded over his chest like he was trying to hold himself together.
then there’s you, feeling the rejection sink in slow and sharp despite everything. you were the one who suggested waiting in the first place, and you were the one who wanted this. james was just doing his job, honoring the promise, being good.
but god, in those moments, you hated him for it a little.
hate wasn't right, but moreof you hated yourself because of it. hated how your body betrayed what your mind wanted, hated that you made him responsible for stopping when you clearly couldn't.
last night was no different.
you were on his bed after watching a movie, the tv screen was the only lights on, his mouth on yours like he was drowning and you were his air. it was one of that kind of kisses, hungry and desparate, it had been building for weeks. the tension, the wanting, the way you both went closer to the edge every time. his hands were under your shirt, rough and warm, and you were arching into him, breath coming in short gasps, your body speaking louder than your mind.
you reached for his belt. your fingers fumbled, clumsy with need, and you felt james freeze.
james pulled back, his hand tight caught your wrist, you saw it in his eyes before he even said anything — that same strict resolve, that same wall.
“baby, didn’t we already talked about this before?”
you kept reaching anyway, all because your body was on fire. your pussy was screaming for him, and you almost didn't care about the promise, didn't care about the waiting, you just wanted him now. was it because it was making you so horny? because the neediness was enough for you to forget your morals.
james suddenly flips you down to the bed, your back hits the mattress, breath knocked out of you. and for a second, you almost thought you had him. you arch up, offering, begging without words. but james lets go and pushes off you, and you felt the cold rush in where his warmth was.
you watch disappointedly as he grabs the blankets, then suddenly he's wrapping you with it, a cocoon of fleece and cotton, your arms pinned to your sides, your legs bound together. he tucks the edges under you like he's swaddling a baby, like you're something to be contained, protected from yourself.
“bad. horny girlfriend.” james tches at you playfully. you stare up at him with begging eyes, arousal still thrumming painful and unmet between your legs. you can't touch him like this, can't reach for him, can't tempt him or yourself.
he presses one hard kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering, his breath shaky against your skin.
"nice try though." he murmurs, and turns off the light and sleeps on the other side of the bed. you lie there, wrapped up and furious and so turned on you could scream, listening to him settle on the other side of the bed, as far from you as the mattress allows.
the morning came and you successfully got off the tight cocoon that loosened throughout the night. you went to the kitchen to drink some water because apparently you were still angry and frustrated with last night. your body still hummed with unspent need, your skin too sensitive, your mind replaying the rejection on loop.
you stormed back to the bedroom and still found james sleeping comfortably like an angel. chest rising slow and steady, face soft and unguarded, one arm thrown over his head. he looked somehow peaceful and innocent, like he hadn't left you wound tight and desperate like a devil monster just hours before.
like a thief, you made your way to his sleeping form. you climbed onto the bed, knees sinking into the mattress beside his hips, and straddled his lap. you hovered there and began watching him breathe, feeling the heat of him through the thin fabric of his boxers, your sleep shorts doing nothing to hide how much you still wanted him.
you leaned down and planted the softest, faintest kisses all over his cute sleepy face. jamie’s temple, jamie’s cheekbone, jamie’s corner of his mouth, jamie’s jaw. all featherlight and barely there, the kind of kisses that felt like tiny secrets. you traced his features with your lips, mapping him in the gray morning light, your anger melting into something softer, something needier.
he stirred beneath you, eyelids fluttering with a sleepy hum vibrating in his chest. his hands found your hips instinctively, gripping loose and warm, still half-drowned in dreams.
"mm?" he mumbled dumbly, eyes still closed, tilting his face toward you like a flower seeking sun. "s' that you?"
you didn't answer, and just kept kissing him. teasing, never quite giving him the full thing. you felt him hardening beneath you, his body waking up faster than his mind, you rocked down just slightly and testing, seeking friction for the nth time. because there’s nothing more mind challenging to men other than a morning wood where their adorable dumb brains still couldn’t process things. james’ fingers half-awakedly tightened on your waist. his eyes opened a little more, dark and confused and still heavy with sleep. and when the realization hit, his jaw tightened.
his hands moved to your shoulders instead, gentle but firm, holding you back from leaning in again.
"hey." he said, voice rough with sleep. "i told you. we can’t.”
“huh? we’re not? who said anything about having sex?”
you feigned innocence, your voice dripping with artificial confusion, but then you couldn't help yourself. you let out a soft desperate whine and rolled your hips down, feeling the hard line of his erection straining against his boxers, pressing right against your flimsy, soaked panties.
and that friction made you both gasp.
james's fingers dug into your hips with his knuckles turning white, his whole body going rigid beneath you. "don't-!" he warned, but his voice cracked, betraying how close he was to the edge himself.
"don't what? don’t do this?" you breathed, rocking again, slower this time, torturing yourself with the pressure. you leaned down until your lips brushed his ear, your voice dropping to a whisper that trembled with need. "don't feel how much you want me, jjami? don't you feel how wet i am for you?"
james’ chest heaved, his eyes squeezing shut like he could block out the temptation if he just didn't look. "you're playing dirty, my love." he gritted out.
"no i'm not." you countered, and there was real hurt in your voice now, vulnerability cracking through the seductive facade. "i just want you… and, i love you. why does loving you with my body have to be wrong?" you whined ever so reverently, and that whine went straight to his dick. you felt it twitch and it immediately poked your entrance, sending jolts of electrifying pleasure through your clothed core.
it made james groan so hard, his fingers dug crescent moons into your skin, his head falling back against the pillow, eyes squeezed shut as if he could somehow shut out the temptation.
"let me hump you, jamesss…" you reasoned, your voice barely above a whisper, trembling with how badly you needed this. "let me hump you pleassee..." you begged your boyfriend, rolling your hips in a slow, teasing circle that made you both gasp.
james looked so strained, his jaw tight, his face flushed a deep crimson, pupils blown wide with lust. he stared up at you like you were both his salvation and his ruin, ‘you really are so different when horny…’ he whispered to himself, almost in awe, watching how your eyes had gone dark and hazy, how your lips were parted, swollen from his kisses.
then, with a shaky exhale that sounded like surrender, james gave in. "okay, fine baby." his voice was rough, gravelly, thick with arousal. "but we take turns to be fair, okay?" he asks, his thumbs stroking soothing patterns against your hip bones even as his body betrayed his eagerness, arching up into you. "your turn first. then mine."
you immediately nod, eager and trembling, your hands bracing against his bare chest, feeling his heart hammering beneath your palms. "yes, yes, okay." you rushed out, already shifting your weight, positioning yourself so that your aching center aligned perfectly with the hard ridge of him straining through his boxers.
"easy…" james murmured, his hands guiding your hips, his touch gentle despite the tremor in his fingers. "go slow, okay? let me feel you."
you lowered yourself fully, pressing down until there was nothing between you but the thin layers of fabric, and the contact made you cry out, your head falling back, hair cascading down your shoulders. he was so hard, so hot, and the pressure against your clit was exquisite torture after weeks of denial.
"oh god!" you whimpered, grinding experimentally, a slow, deliberate roll that had sparks shooting up your spine. "james, you feel so good..." it was like a cry.
"shit-" he hissed, his hands moving to grip the sheets beside him, knuckles white, his whole body tense as he fought to stay still, to let you take what you needed. "that's it, baby. take your time… use me."
and you did. you set a rhythm, rocking against him in slow, sinuous movements, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. the friction was perfect, delicious, building that coil tight in your belly.
"this feels so nice-!" you panted, your hips moving faster now, chasing the release that had been denied to you for so long. "james! i'm so close already, i—i haven’t even barely-!"
"let go." he encouraged, his voice strained, his hips bucking up to meet your movements, adding pressure exactly where you needed it. "i've got you. cum for me, sweetheart. cum on my cock."
his words sent you over the edge, your orgasm crashing through you like a wave, your whole body seizing up as pleasure radiated from your core outward, a sticky substance blotched your whole panties. you cried out his name, grinding down hard against him as you rode out the aftershocks, your hips jerking involuntarily, seeking every last spark of sensation.
james watched you fall apart beneath his gaze, his eyes dark and worshipful, his chest heaving with restrained need. he held you steady as you trembled, his hands moving to stroke your back, your sides, anywhere he could touch, grounding you as you came back down.
"there you go, pretty." he murmured so supportively, pressing reverent kisses to your shoulder, your collarbone, your throat. "there's my girl. so beautiful when you let go."
you collapsed against him, boneless and panting, your cheek resting on his shoulder, your body still twitching with residual pleasure. but beneath you, he was still hard, still throbbing, his hips shifting restlessly, seeking friction you'd stopped giving.
"your turn." you whispered, your voice hoarse, and you felt him tense, his hands gripping your waist.
"we don't really have too– you seem tired already, baby." james stammered, ever the gentleman, even now.
"we always keep our promises." you interrupted, pushing yourself up on trembling arms, your eyes meeting his with a stubborn glint that made his breath hitch. "and you suggested it first."
james asks again, "you sure baby? that's what you want?" he asks, more like a warning, his voice dropping an octave, eyes darkening with something dangerous and hungry. wanting that freedom.
"yes, baby. keep your end of the promise." you said sternly so ironically.
"okay baby." james says unsurely, but then his expression shifted, resolve hardening into something feral. "but don't tell me i didn't warn ya."
james grunts and immediately switches places, his strength surprising as he flips you onto your back. he roughly rips your flimsy shorts into nothing, the fabric tearing like paper and sets his big dick free for the first time. it was all so fast that you didn't get to have a good look of it, but then james has his hard cock with precum inside your wet panties, his dick slipping in your slit like a hot dog in its bun, and starts to thrust without penetration so fast and so so needy.
"oh my god!" you gasped, your back arching off the mattress as the hot, heavy length of him dragged through your folds, the head of his cock catching on your clit with every desperate snap of his hips. james came in burning hot, steel wrapped in velvet, and dick so wet already, sliding easily through the mess you'd made, your arousal coating him, making every thrust filthy and slick.
and the skin of his dick, you can feel it in your clit and its exciting you so bad.
"shit- shit!" james curses, his forehead dropping to yours, his breathing ragged against your lips. "pussy feels so nice, so wet for me."
his hands braced on either side of your head, caging you as his hips working in a relentless rhythm that had you a moaning mess. the friction was different from you humping him earlier. this was more intense, more intimate, the bare heat of him against just barely against your most sensitive spots.
"feels good?" james gritted out, his voice unrecognizable, all restraint shattered as he rutted against you like an animal, chasing his release with single-minded desperation.
"ohh yes!" you moaned , your legs wrapping around his waist, heels digging into his lower back, urging him deeper, harder. "james, please—"
he adjusted his angle slightly, and suddenly the head of his cock always hits directly against your clit on every upward thrust, the pressure perfect, relentless, driving you rapidly toward the edge again. you could feel him twitching, swelling, the vein on the underside of his cock pulsing against your slit.
"gonna cum-" he warned, his hips stuttering, losing rhythm. "baby, i'm gonna—"
"p-please cum!" you begged, your nails scoring his back, your eyes rolling back as your own orgasm built again, coiling tight and hot in your belly. "cum on me, james. please put it in!"
with a guttural broken cry, james buried his face in your neck, his hips snapping forward one last time, holding there as he spilled over hot, painting your stomach, your panties, your throbbing core with his sticky white cum. the feeling of his dick pulsing, the heat of it, the desperate sounds he made against your throat. gosh, it was too much.
james collapsed on top of you, both of you trembling, sweating, panting into each other's mouths as the aftershocks slowly faded. james was heavy and warm and perfect, his heart hammering against yours, his lips pressing sloppy, reverent kisses to your jaw, your temple, and so much love against your skin.
"no baby. i will not cum inside. after marriage, okay?”
Genre: nsfw, sexual content, mentions of alcohol, dubcon(?), biting,mating mark, romance, vampire au
Words: 3,458
Dividers by: @cafekitsune
🌱a/n: this was my promised smut fic i wrote like forever ago but never finished cuz i had some mental health stuff going on at the time. But here it is completed finally so I hope you guys enjoy!
There she was.
The pretty female he had been after for such a long time. Chris stood shrouded in shadows, his back against the brick of the alleyway as he watched her smoke at a table in the park just across the street from him. You were the complete opposite of Chris, your gorgeous long hair, wide doe eyes, and smattering of freckles across your nose giving you an angelic look while Chris looked straight from hell. Which he was.
Chris found it utterly thrilling that soon he would be able to corrupt the angel that walked among men, walked the streets and walked past Chris nearly everyday. She was too pretty to drain in some alleyway, no. Chan wanted to take her home and to bed, hear her scream in pleasure and then drain every drop of crimson life force from her veins, to feel her struggling grow weaker as he grew closer to death. It had been a long time since he held someone and experienced one of the few pleasures of man as no one had been deemed worthy enough for him. The beautiful angel however, had to be corrupted. In more ways than one.
Chris pushed off the wall and crossed the street, his eyes never leaving the younger woman as he crept along the tree line and emerged, standing a few feet from the other side of the picnic table. You looked up from your cigarette, pretty pink lips parted in a perfect O as you blew smoke out of the corner of your mouth, your eyebrow quirked as you take in the taller man with a white iris wearing all black.
“Can I help you?”
The angel’s voice was startlingly sweet, honey practically dripping off her lips as she smiled up at the taller man. Chris smiled slowly, reveling in the way that you blinked and seemed to be starstruck by the sight of him. Number one perk of being a vampire, humans found them extremely seductive and undeniably attractive. It was as if they wanted to die. Chan slid onto the bench across from you, deftly flipping open the top of your cigarette pack and lighting one up, blowing smoke into your face and grinning when you blinked slowly at him. You were just too adorable. The streetlight behind you lit your hair up like a halo, and the freckles on your cheeks resembled the stars in the night sky.
“I’m Chris,” Chan purred lowly, his voice smooth like red wine and sex on a summer night, his eyes raking over the woman across from him and his lips working their way into a grin at the way your ears flushed pink. “You’re absolutely gorgeous by the way. You look….” Chris paused for a moment, letting his eyes roam suggestively over your form. “Angelic.” You blush all the way down to your chest, your pretty freckled cheeks turning into strawberries. You fidget nervously with the lid on your pink lighter, the small click of the lid filling the awkward silence while you stare at something devastatingly interesting just behind Chris’s head to stave off the awkwardness. Chris shoots his hand out and clamps it over yours, cutting off the noise and making you let out a yelp of surprise. “Your partner must be pretty lucky to have such a pretty girl like you, don't you think?” Chris says, his voice resuming the deep sultry tone of earlier while his fingers ghost over the delicate skin of your knuckles. Of course Chris knew there was no partner, that you floated through life blissfully unaware of all the looks you received, how many girls and boys alike undressed you with their eyes, all the dirty thoughts that filled the minds of the disgusting older gentlemen. But you didn’t need to be aware of that fun little tidbit of information.
You look up immediately, eyes wide and innocent, and shake your head, your bangs bouncing around your cheeks. “No. No partner.” Chris tilts his head to the side and smirks, his hands circling your small wrists and bringing them to his lips for a gentle kiss. “No? Then maybe, I could interest you in going with me for a drink?” Chris wasn’t one to usually take his meals out for drinks, it tainted the taste of the blood. You had to be different, Chris reasoned. You were too sweet but not quite naive enough to willingly go back to a stranger’s apartment without at least getting to know them a little first.
Chris watches as you seem to lose the ability to form sentences, stammering incoherently and blushing furiously, the tips of your ears bright red. You fumble with the lighter, nearly dropping it when you try to shove it into the leather purse at his side. Chris rises slowly, offering his arm for you to take as he guides you away from the park and towards the city, the monster inside him howling with delight at the prospect of a future meal.
“Don’t you worry about a thing, pet. I know a place.”
After a short stroll through the downtown, Chris slows your pair to a halt in front of an upscale bar, smooth jazz and the scent of expensive perfume leaking from the doorway and offering customers a taste of high society. Chris guides you through the open doorway, cool air blasting them immediately and ruffling your hair, settling it around your ears and making you look more regal than ever. Chris swears under his breath, adjusting himself subtly. It had been a long time since a mortal had given his physical being a reaction. a rather strong reaction at that, with the way his cock gave an interested twitch in his slacks. He pushed those feelings aside for the time being, instead wrapping an arm around your waist and leading you to a secluded corner of the bar where he flagged down the bartender and ordered their drinks.
Chris could barely contain his excitement. It had been so long since he got to toy with his meals, especially one as beautiful as the woman sitting next to him who was trying and failing to hide her adoring stare. He couldn’t help but memorize every inch of you, watching the way your pulse fluttered under the pale skin of your throat, the veins that delicately wound up the side of your face like vines, the beautiful pools of blood that rose to the surface of the mortal’s cheeks whenever Chris embarrassed you. Chris’s very soul was clawing at him, urging him to take you apart piece by piece right in the bar, to rip open the gorgeous skin of your throat and drink the blood that poured from the wound. but still Chris sat patiently, watching the angel on earth ramble on about nothing while you sipped your cocktail and cast flirty, half-lidded glances at the man.
It wasn’t long before the glasses had been drained and all conversations had been had, the night seemingly coming to an end with you cuddled up to Chris, your back against his chest. Chris murmured in your ear, gesturing to the door and winding his hand with yours, tugging you back outside and into the street. The temperature had dropped, leaving the tip of your nose red with the cold. Chris found it adorable. Your pair walked leisurely, Chris's coat draped around your shoulders to protect you from the cold.
Chris came to a sudden stop in the middle of the street, gripping your arm tight and using it as leverage to turn you around, tugging you to his chest and causing you to gasp. “Come home with me tonight.” Chris purred lowly, his voice wrapping your brain like a warm blanket on a cold winter's day. You look up and nod, your gaze so full of trust that Chris had to choke back a laugh as he took you by the arm and slowly led you away towards his apartment building. You were sunshine incarnate, talking and laughing with Chris as if you had known him all his life. Chris felt- different. It felt like you had taken a hold of his heart and was dousing it in all the very things that Chris despised. Gentleness. Love. Happiness. He pushed the thoughts away and pulled you closer, cold fingers pushing up your shirt and brushing the bare skin of your torso, grinning as you jumped away, letting out a whine. Oh, how Chris desperately wanted to see what other pretty noises he could coax from your angelic throat. He herded you into the elevator, sliding his penthouse key into the slot as the doors slid closed before turning back to you who were now shaking, your nose bright pink from the cold. Chris moved closer, crowding your space and forcing you back against the wall, the slight dousing of freckles that covered your face on full display against the redness of your cheeks.
Chris ghosts a breath over your ear, large hands coming up to brush across your small hips and pull you flush against Chris’s thighs. A low needy noise escapes your throat, voice breathy and wrecked as you clung to Chris. “You know,” Chris started lowly, his lips brushing your ear, “I’ve been thinking about what pretty sounds you would make all night.” Delicate fingers brush along your waist, moving up along your sides to push up the fabric of your blouse up and over your chest, the vampire’s thumbs tracing gentle circles over your nipples. You immediately cry out, your back arching off the elevator wall and hands twisting in Chris’s shirt, pretty whines and moans spilling from your lips as you writhe under Chris’s skilled hands. Chris smirks and leans in, attaching his lips to your neck and fighting the urge to drink from you right there in the elevator as he sucks hickeys into your skin, deep purple and red blooming instantly across the pale porcelain.
The elevator opens to the penthouse with a quiet ding, and Chris lifts you, wrapping your legs around his waist and carrying you into the bedroom, dropping you unceremoniously on the bed. You look up at him, cheeks flushed as you lay sprawled on the bed, chest heaving and your hair flared out around your head like a halo. Chris pauses over you, tugging his tie loose and discarding it in the room. He ghosted his lips over the shell of your ear, nibbling at your lobe and smirking when you twitch, a surprised squeal escaping your lips. “Tell me you want this.” Chris pulled back, his hand on your chin. “Tell me you want it or I stop.” Chris may be a vampire, but he wasn’t an asshole. He wanted to hear how much his food wanted to be played with.
You look up and reach for him, your nails digging into the vampire’s shoulders and you pull him down to your level, kissing and licking across his neck while desperate pleas tumble from your lips. “please, please fuck me- Chris-” His name had barely crossed your lips before Chris was on you, yanking your hips down against his own while he shed his button-up, tossing it aside and leaning down to claim your mouth hungrily. You squeak, your voice raising in pitch with your growing desperation, clawing at the vamp’s back when Chris bites down gently on your lip. Chris pulled back, watching as small pinpricks of blood welled on the surface of your lip, leaning in to lick them clean and moaning from the taste as his hands ghosts up over your thighs, pulling them apart. Chris looked up, watching carefully as he slipped off your skirt and panties , whistling lowly at the damp spot on the cotton of your underwear. He leans in, spitting on your entrance and grinning wickedly when you keen loud, your hole fluttering around nothing. “Aw, yeah, does my little angel need something inside her?” Chris cooed, fingers rubbing gently at your clit while he gently presses two against your entrance. You nod, your hair sweaty and sticking to your forehead already despite barely being touched. Your knuckles were pale against the dark sheets of Chris’s bed from your tight grip, and your head thrown back against the pillows, tears smearing mascara under your eyes. You were quivering, already fucked out and you’d barely been touched yet. Chris smirked, his lips twitching as he finally pushed a finger into you, watching your face contort in pleasure at finally having something wedged deep inside you. Chris was throbbing in his slacks, desperate to finally slam home and feel you squeeze him tight, but still he worked you open slowly, his finger curling just right and pressing against where you were the most sensitive. You cry out and arch, your nails digging into the sheets and your thighs shaking as Chris rubbed your G-spot over and over, stretching you open just enough to slip a second finger in. Chris’s beast was screaming, salivating at the thrum of life flowing beneath the pale porcelain skin that made the thin skin of your throat jump with your pulse. He couldn’t eat you yet, not while his dinner looked so wrecked and gorgeous in front of him, waiting to be ruined even further with your pathetic gaze set on Chris, mascara running down your cheeks and your hair a mess.
“P-please-“ you hiccup, reaching for the brunette between your thighs. “Need you now-“ Chris held up a hand to silence you and he smiled, canines reflecting in the dim lighting and making you whimper as he leaned in and licked a flat stripe up your pussy, circling your clit slowly with his tongue and dragging it down to press the tip inside you. Your hands fly to Chris’s hair as he eats you out, your nails digging painfully into the older’s scalp and tugging him closer to your hole. A deep groan spilled past Chris’s lips, vibrating through you and making you squirm, gasping for release as Chris thrust his tongue into you over and over, stroking your walls and coaxing you closer to climax by the second. It had been long, much too long since Chris’s body had any kind physical release, and the mere act of holding his meal down and hearing you scream out in pleasure was enough to have his balls drawing up tight. But he couldn’t come yet, not while the angel under his hands was still empty and wanting.
You squeak, giving no warning as you abruptly spill your release all over Chris’s hand and your thighs, your release dripping slowly while you hid your face in your hands, embarrassed. Chris slowly withdrew his tongue, smirking at your embarrassment and reaching up to gently tug his hands away. “Don’t be embarrassed baby~” Chris purred, brushing his fingers lower across the gentle fluttering of your pulse point, leaning in to kiss it gently. gentle teeth graze across your skin, drawing more moans from your throat, the soft clink of Chris’s belt coming undone filling the air, his hands grabbing your hips and pulling you closer. Chris spreads you open, whistling lowly as he rubs himself against you, his head thrown back as pleasure crawls up his spine and floods his mind, hips rutting faster of their own accord. You whimper under him, arching into the mattress and wiggling your hips, begging for more. Chris pulls back, looking down at you for a moment before lining himself up, slowly pushing into you who lay boneless on the mattress, your fingers flexing in the sheets as he stretches you open. Your mouth drops open, no sound coming out as you let Chris slide into you, burying you head into the mattress and moaning wantonly at how full you feel of the man above you. Chris laughed lowly, bending over you and dragging his lips wetly across your neck, tongue darting out to lap at your pulse. He dragged his hand up your chest to wrap around your throat, not choking but holding you steady, watching the way your eyes rolled back into your skull when he began to piston his hips, pushing all the way in slowly before pulling out, slamming home in a single thrust. You cry out, your body being pushed up the bed as you scrambled for anything you could cling to. Chris pinned your arms to the bed, his thrusts slow and deep, punching the air from your lungs every time he pushed deeper into you. He buries his face into your neck, closing his lips around the delicate skin of your throat and letting his fangs sink in deep, your piercing scream of pain falling on deaf ears as Chris drinks from you, his hands leaving finger-shaped bruises along your arms and waist. You convulse under him and shove at him weakly with your knee, but the more blood that the vampire consumed, the less you struggled until your vision was swimming around the edges and the world seemed drained of color. With one final effort you free one hand and yank at his hair, but Chris just laughs darkly and sinks his teeth in deeper. You feel his tongue on your neck as you slip into unconsciousness, and a hand closes gently around your throat.
“You’re never getting rid of me now sweetheart.”
You come to swaddled in blankets, still in the bed where Chris had laid you. Your neck throbs with each pulse of your heart, and you wince, clamping a hand over it to feel two small raised marks in the flesh. The bed’s been remade, fresh sheets and pillows replacing the ones from earlier and lit candles are dotted about the room. You grab a blanket and drape it around yourself, slipping out of bed and padding out into the living room where you spot the man from earlier cooking, the black satin sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up past his elbows. He turns at your arrival and gives you a once over, and seemingly satisfied, turns back to the stove.
"You're awake.”
His voice was low and smooth, somehow even richer than before, and you blink in surprise before stepping closer and pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders.
“Why didn’t you kill me? You could’ve, but you didn’t.”
You remember the feeling of being split open and drank from, the feeling of your veins being sucked dry like a raisin. You felt like you should definitely be dead. Chris turned to look at you, his eyes darkening and his lips curling into a smirk. He hums and abandons the stove in favor of pulling you close and wrapping a hand around your waist, tilting your chin to force you to look at him.
"Because, doll,” he purred, leaning in close to murmur in your ear, “in all my years trapped on this godforsaken earth, I’ve never met someone who entrances me quite like you do. Or tastes the way you do for that matter. In both regards.”
He pulls back to grin devilishly, and nips at your ear. You look up at him in shock, but find yourself leaning into his touch, the weight of his large palm on your waist somewhat comforting in the midst of your whirlwind of emotions. You stay quiet for a moment, processing his words, before looking back up at him.
“And what if I didn’t want that?”
Chris hums, reaching down to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, fingers trailing down your jaw to cup your face.
“But that’s not true, is it. You’re thrilled about this, aren’t you sweetheart.”
You blush down to your chest and wrap your arms around yourself, pulling the blanket closer with it. It was true you’d been waiting for the right person to enter your life, having gone through a series of partners but never feeling that rush you had been looking for. Chris certainly thrilled you, and you were interested to see what happened. So instead you just nod, sitting yourself at the counter and letting the vamp set a plate of food down in front you. He circles the counter and wraps himself around you, nipping at your neck hard enough that little drops of blood welled at the surface, his hand sliding down to intertwine with yours.
“You’re mine sweetheart. You’re never leaving me."
Martin groaned low in his throat as he rammed into you quickly, desperate to chase his release. His eyes squeezed shut, bangs sticking to his forehead from all the sweat. His hand slithered from your shoulder to your stomach, pressing down gently. Then, his pace slowed just a bit before picking up again as he pressed on that spot and his eyes fluttered open. He grinned, then caught his lower lip between his teeth.
“Oh, baby.. would you look at that.. my dick too big for you, hm?”
He’d grin even wider as he pushed down just a little harder on that bulge in your stomach, pushing deeper into you—balls deep. He laughed gently, cupping your face with his free hand and stroking your cheek.
a/n: pt ii to this. i guess im going with the moving feat. sex theme right now? i just filled up my car with my stuff and i had to sit down because its fucking HOT outside and then this was born. warnings: gn!reader, car/kind of public sex, smut - minors dni. 1k.
your car is full of boxes and clothes and kitchen appliances that are squished together so tightly that you’re surprised the doors haven’t popped open. moving has been an overwhelming task, but you’re finally on the road towards your new home and you’re excited and nervous and your stomach is full of butterflies from the anxiety.
and also from the way chan is pushing you into the steering wheel as he chases your lips in a kiss too dirty for where you are. the horn blares behind your back for a second and you startle, pushing him back so there is enough space between you and the wheel; you’re already in a public space, and even though it seems empty there’s a possibility that someone could walk by and see you.
the last five minutes feels like it’s passed by in flashes, from parking in the garage at the hotel you’re staying at on your way to your destination to him turning off the ignition and finally landing at you swinging over the middle console to straddle his hips.
the dim lighting from the garage lights makes it hard to see his face, but it doesn’t matter since your eyes flutter closed as his lips travel down your jaw towards your neck. he bites at your skin gently, pressing a fond shaped kiss to the burning spot before he pulls back.
“that eager that you couldn’t wait until we got to our room?” he asks, and you know his ears are burning red even though you can’t see them well.
“check in isn’t for another 15 minutes,” you don’t defend yourself because you kind of are eager, and instead you settle your hips down further into his. “what else are we going to do with that time?”
“i don’t know, wait in the lobby- mmph-“ you cut him off, returning your lips to his and starting a frantic rhythm that threatens to knock you off balance before he wraps his arms around you and pulls you closer into him.
you can feel his smirk against your mouth and you tilt your head just enough to bite at his lower lip, sucking it into your mouth a little too harshly and letting it go with a wet pop. you almost feel guilty when a whine escapes the back of his throat but you stop yourself from saying sorry.
he always prefers his pleasure with a cherry of pain on top, after all.
you reward his good behavior of shutting up and letting you have your ways with him with a slow roll of your hips. you can feel his growing length through his sweatpants between your legs and your body responds in kind, pulsing around nothing as you move.
“fuuuck,” he groans when you start up a steady pattern of movement, throwing his head back and exposing the milky column of his throat. you take his unspoken invitation and mouth at his pulse point, enjoying the way his heart beat jumps every time you grind against him. you’re throbbing alongside him, a growing wetness hidden in your pants, but you ignore it for now. as much as your body wants you to, you aren’t getting off right now; you refuse to take off your clothes in the middle of the day in a public space, but you know that chan is ready and willing to do any humiliating thing at a moment’s notice. he doesn’t even get off on it, he’s just weird like that.
“that’s it, channie,” you coo, your mouth close to his ear as you nose at his cheek. “let me make you feel good. i bet you’ve been thinking of doing this all day.”
“n-no, you freak,” he stutters out, and his hips jerk up to meet yours. “you’re the one who comes up with these weird ideas. i was going to-to fuck you in the- ah, the hotel bed like a normal pers-ah-“
the way he’s trying to talk with his mind clouded in pleasure is unbearably cute. so cute that you forgive him for the blame he tries to place on you for having a dirty mind. before you met him you were as vanilla as plain ice cream, he’s the one that made you like this with his weird smooth talking and long list of kinks you’ve slowly been discovering together.
“keep talking and i’ll leave you like this,” you reach a hand between your legs where your body meets his and wrap a hand around his hard cock through his clothes. you bet he’s leaking, already on edge enough to come soon, and even though you started it you’re grateful that he decided to wear black today.
you don’t know if you could have had the strength to suffer that kind of embarrassment if he had been wearing something lighter that would show undeniable proof of what you were doing minutes before entering the lobby.
“no,” he uses his grip on you to pull you impossibly further into him, crushing your hand between your bodies and sending a shuddering gasp through you both. “you’re finishing this.”
his hands move to your hips and he curls his fingers into your skin as if he thinks you’ll run away if he doesn’t hold on hard enough. he starts moving you back and forth, setting his own rhythm without any help from you, grinding you back and forth as if you were inanimate. no matter how many times you’ve been intimate with him, the moment when he switches from subby and pliant to taking what he wants has always given you whiplash.
you wrap your arms around his shoulders and enjoy the ride, a little overwhelmed by how good it feels and too lightheaded to really argue. it doesn’t take him long to reach his climax with the way he’s bucking up against you and panting into your shoulder. he jerks you towards him in one final pull before his entire body tenses and goes taut and his breath catches in his throat.
you can feel his dick twitch in your hand once, twice, before he relaxes into a puddle against the driver’s seat. his breaths are slow and heavy and his heartbeat is still pounding, and there’s a small line of sweat that trails from his temple to his jaw that you lean in to lick away.
“you’re going to have to go check us in, baby,” he thunks his head against the headrest, sighing deeply. “i can’t feel my legs.”
Genre: soft, fluffy, angst, marriage, Christmas, character death(I’m so sorry), romance, idiots in love
Words: 1,486
🌱a/n: so I lowkey forgot that this account existed….but to make up for it ima start posting hopefully more frequently! Also found a draft from Christmas that I never posted so I’m so sorry in advance.
Dividers by: @cafekitsune
“C’mon, c’mon!”
Chan laughs as you tug him into yet another department store, your gloved hand in his as you stop in front of the jewelry case, looking in awe at all the sparkly earring sets and matching necklaces. You ramble on about which ones your friends would like, and how you couldn’t wait to see them again, but Chan wasn’t listening, not really. Chan wraps an arm around your waist, the department store noise fading away as he watches the gentle curve of your cheek, the way your bottom lip was slightly larger than your top one, the freckle that was just below your eye. Christmas was your favorite time of year, and Chan couldn’t be happier to spend it with the person he loved more than anything else in the world.
While you choose some jewelry pieces and move to the counter to pay, Chan steps back, slipping his hand into his coat pocket and closing his fist protectively around the small velvet box he’d been hiding all day. He’d made sure you looked nice, that you had your hair and nails all done just the way you liked. He couldn’t help his smile, glancing over to the way you bounced on your toes at the counter while you dig through your purse for cash. He could practically hear you scolding him if you looked anything less than gorgeous for your proposal. He always thought you looked beautiful of course, but he wanted everything to go just the way you wanted. The photographer was already waiting, the snowfall was about to start, and Chan was starting to shake with nerves. Your relationship was strong, he loved you as much as you loved him, but there was still a small nagging part of him that worried you’d say no, that you’d reject him. Chan didn’t know what he would do without you.
You turn and smile at him, grabbing your bags off the counter and walking back over to him, slipping your hand in his as you drag him back out of the store, and onto the snowy street, Christmas music filtering softly through the outdoor speakers. Chan had led you to believe that your next stop was dinner, and it was. But he had one more thing planned before that.
You gasp in delight as the snow starts to fall, the Christmas lights reflecting in the snow and illuminating your face. Chan leads you gently by your elbow as you talk about the snow fall, rambling on about different facts about clouds and cold fronts, and he looks toward the horizon, the sun starting to dip and casting everything in a pink light when he stops the both of you in front of the outdoor skating rink, where families and a few professional looking skaters are out on the ice. You instantly zero in on a young female doing spins in the middle of the rink and sigh, leaning against Chan’s arm as you watch her intently.
“One day, I’ll be able to do that too.”
You murmur softly against the soft corduroy of Chan’s jacket, and he smiles, tucking a strand of hair behind your earmuff. Figure skating was more than a hobby for you. Chan had witnessed how you transformed into someone else on the ice, the exhilaration on your face when you were able to complete a new trick. He was shit at it of course, but he loved seeing you happy. Chan wanted to see you succeed at everything you had ever wanted. He would erase the seasons and make it winter eternally if you had asked.
You turned back to the rink to watch and Chan stepped back slowly, slipping the velvet box out of his pocket while he sunk down onto one knee. The photographer slowly crept out of her hiding spot and your friends that had begged to come along were pretending to be at the skating rink on coincidence and had skated up to you, chatting with you conversationally while Chan mentally prepared himself.
He had nothing to worry about honestly. He loved you, it really was as simple as that. He wanted to protect you and keep you safe from everything wrong with the world, help you excel at anything you wanted. Maybe start a family with you one day. Chan knew he had his short comings. He was a bit of a perfectionist, had to have things a certain way, worked tirelessly at his company to make sure everyone was doing their best. But the best part was, you loved him for it, helped him work through it, showed up at 2am to pull him home. Chan wanted to be there for you too. For as long as he lived, and maybe even after he died.
Chan cleared his throat softly, and you turned, eyes instantly filling with tears when you spot Chan looking up at you like you hung the stars. soft Christmas music filled the air, the lights strung above the rink casting a soft golden glow over your face making you look like you’d just descended from heaven. And to Chan, you had.
“My love, the day that I met you, I knew. I knew instantly that you were the one for me. I watched you walk into that room with the biggest smile on your face and enough positivity to make up for the entire room.”
You laugh through your tears at that, and Chan smiles at you before continuing.
“I don’t think I could live the rest of my life if you weren’t there. You’re the very air I breathe, and as long as you’re with me, I could live without seeing the sun for the rest of my days. I want everything with you, those lazy mornings when I’ll get to roll over and see you sleepy, your hair a mess while you’re cuddled up next me. Those days where we’ve been arguing over stupid shit but still find it in us to call each other pet names mid argument. Every single day I want that with you, I want that for the rest of my life. Please, marry me?”
Chan barely has time to finish his question before you’re nodding and flinging yourself at him. Chan catches you, toppling over into the snow with you in his arms, laughing while you pepper his face with kisses. You pull him to his feet and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down into a long kiss.
“I wouldn’t want to spend my life with anyone else,”
you murmur against his lips, and Chan just holds you tighter, pressing you against him as the sun sets behind you.
“Merry Christmas my love,”
Chan murmurs, the wind biting into his skin as he shoves his hands deep into his pockets. The rink is closed, has been for a while, and the only sound out on the street is the howling wind. All the lights are burned out or gone, yet Chan can still see you standing there like it was yesterday. Your smile, the way your nose wrinkled when you laughed. Your exclamations of happiness at all the Christmas lights and decorations. You loved Christmas.
Chan hated it.
You were gone. Nothing mattered anymore. The world kept on spinning, kept changing and progressing, but Chan’s world stopped the day you fell lifeless under the car that had spun out on the ice and hit you on the sidewalk. Chan had been with you, held you in his arms and sobbed into your hair while waiting for the ambulance to arrive. It hadn’t mattered. You had been dead on impact. Chan’s heart ached for you, to see you again. The world had been drained of all its color the second the light drained from your eyes, and Chan hated the world. You’d been engaged only a week and that same evening you’d died you’d been talking about your wedding plans that you’d never get to experience. Chan stared out at the empty rink where you’d never get to skate again, looked at the jewelry store where you’d never shop for your friends. And worst of all….
Chan looked down at his engagement ring that he still wore that would never get to hold hands with its match again. The days were getting shorter, the nights getting longer, and Chan couldn’t move on without you. Chan could still feel your warmth in his arms, and longs for that day in the winter when you were smiling and laughing, your hand wrapped in his. Instead you lay buried in the very darkness that you hated, Chan’s engagement ring still on your finger.
Chan looks up as the sky opens up, frozen flakes drifting down and settling in Chan’s hair.
changbin's folded completely in half, his legs pushed so far back his knees press into the mattress on either side of his head. he's flexible from years of dance practices but you're sure he'll feel the burn tomorrow.
"you can take it," you grunt, driving your strap deeper with a wet squelch. it sinks in without resistance, his rim puffy and loose from his previous orgasms. "that's it, pretty boy."
his answer is a broken whine, high-pitched and desperate. his cock twitches against his stomach and leaks pathetically. precum pools in the dips and folds of his tummy, cock jumping every time your strap hits that spot that makes him see stars.
"f-hnng, hh —"
"what's wrong, bunny?"
drool slips down changbin's chin, his eyes hazy and unfocused. seeing him like this, unable to form a coherent thought, makes your core clench. you grip his pecs and squeeze, kneading the soft muscle. he keens as his oversensitive nipples brush against your palms.
"such a pretty thing," you coo, leaning down to mouth at his chest. "you'd look so gorgeous all swollen... round and full with my cum."
changbin sobs. his cock twitches, another bead of precum oozing from the tip. he's already so empty but the thought of you breeding him — filling him up until it takes — has him clenching around your strap.
"want it," he slurs, "please, wan' — ahh - wanna be yours, breed me, please —"
you push his legs down even further and pick up your pace. wet, filthy sounds bounce off the walls. "yeah? is that what you really want? want me to knock you up? keep you stuffed until you're dripping?"
he nods frantically, tears streaming down his flushed cheeks. his cock pulses, on the edge of cumming dry, and you know it must hurt. he bites his lip to stop himself from making a sound, but you shake your head.
"let me hear how badly you need it, pretty boy."
there's no stopping him now. changbin wails, and you squeeze his pecs one more time as his orgasm crashes over him, nothing but a weak twitch and a pathetic dribble of cum. he's never looked more wrecked — skin flushed and sweaty, his damp hair sticking to his forehead and his eyes rolling into the back of his head. shameless sounds spill from his lips as you fuck him through it, hole clenching so hard around your strap you're sure you can feel it, already begging for more.
Martin loves bubble baths after sex, always making sure his partner is well cleaned and taken care of after making love to them. He loves to cuddle too, along with little kisses and whispered praises of how you did so good and you're so good for him. He almost never asks for care for himself after, unless he physically can't move because he came so hard. He'll hold you close against him, burying his face into the crook of your neck while he whispers to you.
"You did so good, baby. You took it so well. You ight?"
He's a worry wart, always checking in every now and then to make sure he didn't hurt you or make you uncomfortable while he stares at you with those pretty brown eyes of his.
B = Body part [their favorite body part of theirs and their partner's]
His favorite part of his own body is his hands. He adores them, thinking they're his best feature especially for sexual reasons. We all know he loves to paint his nails, and he thinks that adds just the perfect topping of swagger and coolness to his look.
As for his partner? He can't bring himself to pick a favorite part. In his brain, every little inch is perfect on his lover. If he absolutely had to pick, he loves the hips. He doesn't care how thin, how wide, the hips are his love handles. He can't help his hands drifting to hold them no matter where you two are.
C = Cum [anything to do with cum]
His favorite place to cum is on his lover's lips, thinking it looks absolutely gorgeous when his partner licks it off and smiles at the taste. He loves to eat too, so he always loves when his partner cums on his tongue.
D = Dirty secret [pretty self explanatory]
Martin secretely loves being put in his place. Since he's much taller than most, having his partner force him down on his knees and look up at them gets him off perfectly. Not that he'll ever admit it, he loves being a good boy for his partner and loves pleasing them.
E = Experience [how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing?]
Martin is mildly experienced when it comes to sex. Fingering, eating, kissing, he's good at all that. As far as the real thing? He's a real freak, but he doesn't really know what he's doing. He can fuck off instinct, and he's a real fast learner. But he is a little clumsy, constantly slipping out or losing his rhythm because he gets so lost in it.
F = Favorite position [this goes without saying]
He LOVES missionary. If he could marry the position he would. He loves pushing his partner's legs back against their shoulders and getting all up in their face, as well as kissing them whenever he gets the chance.
"Hold your legs for me, mamas. Cmon, you got it."
He'll help of course, and if he's feeling rough he'll hold them back himself while he rails into you.
G = Goofy [are they more serious in the moment? are they silly?]
Martin's a goof during sex, cracking jokes whenever he can to make his lover feel safe with him. He loves hearing his partner giggle, it makes him fall deeper in love every time he hears the sound. However, if he's fucking his stress out, he's definitely more serious. No time for jokes after a hard day at work.
H = Hair [how well groomed are they?]
Martin is smooth as fuck, absolutely no hair anywhere but his head. He hates the feeling of it, and assumes everyone else will too. He shaves consistently, but sometimes will leave a little happy trail just for the fun of it.
J = Jerk off [masturbation headcannon
He can't get off without some form of his partner, like literally can't. That's why whenever he knows his partner is free, he asks for audios or videos of them masturbating and moaning his name. He uses fleshlights more often than his hands, and he loves to tease the slit of his tip when he's edging himself.
K = Kink [one or more of their kinks]
Hair pulling. Martin is a sucker for having his hair gripped and pulled during sex, it makes him infinitely harder and there's really no specefic reason why. The rush of the pain is enough to make him cum on the spot.
L = Location [favorite place to do it]
At home, in bed. He loves to have those moments private and to him and his partner only. He also loves that everything feels so familiar at home and it comforts him to do it there. He's up to do it in a bathroom at the studio or a resturant if he or his partner really needs it, but he prefers to be at home.
M = Motivation [what turns them on?]
Teasing. Martin is an absolute sucker for getting teased with a bra strap or waistband of his lover's boxers. It makes him so hard when you leave it to his imagination all the things he could do if your clothes were off.
Or trailing your fingers over his skin so lightly it tickles, brushing over every sweet spot on his body while you two lie in bed together. Be careful though, he's ticklish and it will lead to tickle fights.
N = No [turn offs]
Anything to do with him being tied down/bound to something where he can't escape. He doesn't like the idea of not being able to escape if he really needed to in case of emergency, it makes him anxious and will get him softer than butter.
O = Oral [preferences]
He loves to eat, absolutely adores it. He loves making his partner feel good no matter what, wanting to worship them for all they do to make him feel amazing. His favorite is rubbing his parters clit/tip with his thumb while his tongue is buried deep in their hole, lapping away like a man starved.
He enjoys receiving, although he definitely prefers to give.
P = Pace [are they fast and rough? slow and sensual?]
Martin, being as hyper as he is, has to let his energy out somehow. A quick, deep pace is always his favorite to go for since he has so much energy stored in his body even after a long day. He enjoys to make love and go slow occasionally, especially if his partner wants to feel special and loved.
Q = Quickie [their opinions on quickies]
Martin likes his quickies without penetration, just desperately fingering his partner while they jerk him off and make out. He loves the rush of potentially getting caught, even though if he really did he'd be so embarrassed he wouldn't leave his room for a week.
R = Risk [are they game to expiriment? do they take risks?]
Martin loves to take risks and try new things, always up for a new position or kink. He likes to try everything at least once, since that's just how life goes for him.
S = Stamina [how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?]
Surprisingly, he doesn't last very long. Maybe three rounds if he's feeling extra hyper, but usually only one or two. He tries his hardest to hold his cum back the moment he slips inside you, and it's obvious by the way his cock throbs and his hips still against yours. He can't help himself, you just feel so good.
T = Toys [do they own toys? do they use them?]
Martin does have a few toys, but not many. He likes fleshlights for his own personal use but he prefers to be the one touching his lover in the bedroom. Occasionally he'll ask to use toys like vibrators for extra stimulation for his partner, wanting them to feel as good as possible.
U = Unfair [how much they like to tease]
Martin's too impatient to tease, wanting to be inside you as soon as possible. Foreplay wise? He'll tease like no tomorrow, but the moment you two are behind closed doors the clothes are on the floor before you two even get on the bed.
V = Volume [how loud they are, what sounds they make]
Martin is very vocal, especially when he's inside. He tries to shut himself up by burying his face into the crook of your neck but it isn't very effective once he starts thrusting. He loves to dirty talk, always reminding you how much he loves you and how gorgeous you are.
"Fuuuckkk bae.. You're so pretty for me, you're mine.. I'm so lucky to have you."
His eyes roll back all the time during sex, and his volume getting louder is an indicator that he's about to blow his load.
W = Wild card [a random headcannon for the character]
Martin is incredibly tight since he doesn't usally bottom unless his partner implies it. He likes the idea of being stretched out by his lover, thinking about it turns him on enough to get him in the mood to be a good boy.
X = X-Ray [let's see what's going on under those clothes]
Martin isn't very thick, but he's long. 7" at least, uncut and has a vein on the underside of it. His balls are cute, not very big but not tiny. He compares his dick to his hand at least once a week, as that's his way of measuring it as almost every man on this planet does.
Y = Yearning [how high is their sex drive?]
His sex drive isn't very high, but it also depends on his partner's sex drive. He doesn't prefer sex all the time, but if his partner does he's down for it all day all night. That is.. if he doesn't pass out.
Z = Zzz [how quickly they fall asleep afterwards]
Martin doesn't tire out easily, he always stays up to make sure his partner is okay and asleep until he falls asleep. He usually talks himself to sleep while holding his partner tight against his chest as if they'll disappear if he doesnt.
Juhoon isn’t very familiar with aftercare. He’ll tell you how good you were for him and give you a nice cuddle session, but most times he won’t think about really cleaning up or having a praise session unless his partner asks. He’s shy about the topic, since showing affection isn’t exactly easy for him. He’s always been more kept to himself before getting into a relationship and is still learning how showing affection consistently can be important for the relationship to last. He does his best, especially when it comes to romance.
B = Body part [their favorite body part of theirs and their partner's]
His favorite body part of his own are his lips. They’re used for lots of things. Kissing, eating his lover out, speaking, etc. He likes when people comment on them even if he acts like he doesn’t, he knows they’re pretty and he knows how much you love them.
His favorite body part of his lover’s is their neck. He LOVES to mark, and he’ll always make it known that you belong to him and him only. Biting, leaving hickeys, doodling with markers, anything. He absolutely loves your neck. It doesn’t even have to be marking, just reaching up to hold your neck in his hand to feel your pulse while you ride him makes him absolutely lose his mind.
C = Cum [anything to do with cum]
Juhoon doesn’t really know what to do with cum, he’s never thought about it. He thinks about it as just another bodily fluid. He doesn’t necessarily like to cum inside, he prefers to pull out and cum on his partner’s ass/stomach. He’ll occasionally lick it off if he’s feeling freaky enough but other than that he has no idea what to do with it.
He doesn’t cum very much, he shoots cute little ropes while his legs tremble and his eyes roll into the back of his head. His cum couldn’t fill a shot glass in one load, that’s how little he cums. But it’s still cute to watch him cum all over his little tummy.
D = Dirty secret [pretty self explanatory]
He absolutely adores sucking on his lover’s nipples. He can’t help himself, he just gets so desperate and needy to suck on something because of his oral fixation. He’ll only bite if he’s feeling bratty, but never hard enough to hurt.
E = Experience [how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing?]
In Juhoon’s head, watching enough porn means experience, but that’s not at all true. He doesn’t really know what he’s doing, he goes off instinct or what his partner asks for. He follows commands, and he doesn’t do anything he’s not told to. Sex to him is purely about what his partner wants or needs, never about him since he never really craves sex in the way other people do.
F = Favorite position [this goes without saying]
Juhoon loves cowgirl, mostly because he can see every part of his lover on top of him and he likes the view. He always lays there and drools like a feral dog at the sight, unable to control his lips falling agape and saliva pouring out of the corner. His hands always rest right on your hips like they belong there and his eyes always rake over you with each movement, his eyes never leave your figure. He does like other positions like missionary or sideways occasionally, but it always leads back to doggy eventually because that’s the position he feels the most comfortable in.
G = Goofy [are they more serious in the moment? are they silly?]
Juhoon is 100% serious in the moment, never cracking a joke unless prompted. He’s too focused on making his partner feel good to make a joke, too focused on trying to do everything right. Occasionally, while teasing, he’ll crack a stupid joke just to hear your giggle that he loves so much. Outside of that, he’s always serious because he doesn’t wanna ruin the mood or vibe for his partner in any way shape or form.
H = Hair [how well groomed are they?]
Juhoon usually keeps himself well trimmed, not necessarily clean shaven but smooth enough that he won’t get irritated when it rubs on fabric. It’s like when a guy has stubble on his face, he has stubble on his pelvis. He gets frustrated with the feeling whenever it gets too long, so he shaves every so often just so it won’t overstimulate him during concerts or even just walking through the house. However, body hair doesn’t really bug him as a whole, down there just seems to be a bit of a sensitive area.
J = Jerk off [masturbation headcannon]
Juhoon jerks off, but not for pleasure. He does it when he’s trying to practice his rhythm and angles, fucking into his fist and desperately trying to hit that angle that you so desperately beg for. He gets frustrated sometimes and ends up calling you just to hear your voice while he does it as if that’ll help him get more experienced with his hips. It’s cute to listen to him grunt and whine while he’s desperately fucking into his hand while imagining you’re under him.
K = Kink [one or more of their kinks]
Juhoon has a few kinks.
Hair pulling. He loves when you grab his hair and tug it just hard enough to pull his head back, it makes his cock throb so fucking hard. He doesn’t know why, but the subtle sting turns him on quicker than getting flashed. He also enjoys you just gripping at his hair from the sheer amount of pleasure flushing through both of you, the need to find purchase on something to control yourself. The idea of you holding yourself back makes him really hard.
Crying. Juhoon is an absolute dacryphiliac. He loves to see tears streaming down his partner’s face while he’s teasing them, and loves to hear the sweet sobs that escape their lips. It's one of the main things that turns him on during sex—knowing he’s good enough in bed to make his partner cry from the amount of pleasure.
L = Location [favorite place to do it]
Any place where he can sit down and lean back against something, he’ll do it. He doesn’t care where. As long as you’re riding him and you both feel good, it doesn’t matter to him. If his partner has a preference, he’ll stick to that preference to make them happy.
M = Motivation [what turns them on?]
Whispering turns Juhoon on like no fucking other. He loves when you sit on his lap and lean in to whisper in his ear or whisper as you’re walking past. It doesn’t have to be sexy, it could just be affirmation and he’ll be hard as a rock in his jeans needing to run to the restroom before a music bank. Ear biting/licking too, it makes him unimaginably horny. Whenever you bite on his ears while you’re making love, a shiver runs down his spine and he lets out the cutest whimper ever.
N = No [turn offs]
Juhoon does not like being physically overpowered, it makes him feel trapped and he absolutely despises that feeling. He won’t get into anything that has to do with him being tied up, pinned down or physically restrained in any way. It scares him knowing he couldn’t get out in case of emergency.
O = Oral [preferences]
Juhoon doesn’t really care for head, it’s not his favorite thing in the world. He’ll occasionally ask for a quick blowjob or for you to just lay back and let him eat you, but outside of that he never really has a preference. Giving or receiving, he’s just happy that his partner is happy.
P = Pace [are they fast and rough? slow and sensual?]
Juhoon always starts off slow, grinding his cock in and out of you just to make sure you feel every inch and vein on his cock. He loves to make you whine for it, he thinks you look so beautiful whenever you do. He keeps a slow, steady rhythm until he can’t handle it anymore and picks up his pace. He slams up into you faster and faster, chasing his release while his hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise.
Q = Quickie [their opinions on quickies]
Juhoon doesn’t like quickies. Cumming too fast makes him lightheaded, usually causing him to panic a bit—not that his nonchalant ass will show it. It’s a really big turn off for him, if he’s that needy he’ll ask for head. He also doesn’t like having sex if he doesn’t have time to appreciate his partner’s beauty because to him that’s important to help him get off.
R = Risk [are they game to experiment? do they take risks?]
Juhoon prefers to keep a sexual routine, he doesn’t like going outside his comfort zone when it comes to sex. It can be a sensitive topic for him. He’s bold, always voices opinions. But when something sounds too dangerous or uncomfortable for him in bed, he backs out and makes a strong point that it won’t happen.
S = Stamina [how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?]
Juhoon does NOT last long at ALL. He can last maybe two. MAYBE. He’s all talk, teasing until you’re both vibrating with need, whispering in your ear while you ride him. But the moment he’s blown a load, he’s tapped. He can’t usually handle cumming more than once because he doesn’t like to have sex often, so his stamina isn’t very high. He admires high stamina, and encourages you to keep riding him even if he does end up falling asleep.
T = Toys [do they own toys? do they use them?]
Juhoon doesn’t like to use toys because he feels it’s unfaithful. In his opinion, fucking a toy is the same as cheating. He’s absolutely loyal to your hole and it’ll never change. Why use plastic when he has a perfect partner to please him? It just sounds absurd in his head. He can’t help but wanna glare at the silicone every time you two go into Spencer’s for graphic tees, just to let you know how truly loyal he is.
U = Unfair [how much they like to tease]
Juhoon LOVES teasing. He’s horribly unfair. His favorite thing is to lay you back on the bed and lick from your ankles to your jaw, then trail his fingers down the middle of your body. He’ll nip at his favorite spots, ghost his breath where he knows will make you shiver the most, brush his lips just over your hole then pull away. He’s cruel when it comes to teasing, and he’ll smirk down at you if you whine about it then cup your face.
“What’s wrong, doll? You can’t handle it?”
He’ll whisper, dragging his fingers over your stomach and to your little hole. He can’t help himself, you just look so adorable when you squirm and beg for it.
V = Volume [how loud they are, what sounds they make]
Juhoon isn’t very loud, but he does whimper. He’ll whine and occasionally ask you to do the work, but he always whispers how much he loves you and how happy he is to have you. He keeps himself relatively quiet, wanting to preserve every silent moment for your inevitable moans.
W = Wild card [a random headcannon for the character]
Juhoon loves back hugs. Whether giving or receiving, it’s something that makes him extremely happy. He doesn’t know why—nor does anyone really—it’s just something that’s always comforted him with partners, friends, and family.
X = X-Ray [let's see what's going on under those clothes]
Juhoon isn’t very long—average at best—around 5 inches but boy is he GIRTHY. He’s thick as hell and can stretch you wider than a dildo ever could, that’s why his cock is so addictive. It takes a lot of prep to get in, and he loves to grind his girth up against your hole just to make you shiver. The way you arch for him makes his cock throb.
Y = Yearning [how high is their sex drive?]
Not very high. Juhoon prefers to let sex happen naturally rather than ask for it or think about it too much. He prefers romance over sex. Little things make him happier than consistent sexual activity, mostly because he isn’t used to being seen the way he needs to be. He only ever gets really needy when he’s away for concerts and can’t watch you sit on his cock at least once over the two weeks or however long he’s gone.
Z = Zzz [how quickly they fall asleep afterwards]
Juhoon is quick to fall asleep, always knocking out after whispering praise in your ear about how good you did and how pretty you looked. Right before he falls asleep, he whispers up at you.
It was always obvious that your boyfriend was really good with kids. And kids were equally attracted to him as well.
Jeongin loved interacting with the tiny humans, letting them poke his deep dimple, play peek-a-boo with little babies or babysit toddlers. The man was a born father, his paternal instincts were strong and sharp.
You on the other hand were quite the opposite. You didn't hate kids of course, it's just they made you nervous. And their cries kind of annoyed you too as much you tried to hide it.
So what happens when he sees his girlfriend interact with a kid like you were always meant to be a mother?
"Oh god—Innie, I—" your moans tore out right as another slam knocked the air out of your lungs.
Jeongin had you folded in half, in the meanest of a mating press, your knees kissing your chest and him towering over you, rutting his thick cock into you in brutal thrusts.
"Yeah, that's right mama, ye feel me? Huh? Feel me right—there?"
Your nails clawed his shoulders, the stretch of him burning and blissful, every thrust punching sounds out of your throat that weren’t even words anymore. He kept you folded tight, pressing you deeper into the mattress, his hips snapping forward with merciless precision.
“Answer me, baby,” Jeongin growled, his pace not slowing down making you squeal and clench him tighter. “You feel me splitting you open, yeah? Taking it like you were made for me?”
Your head fell back, tears slipping from your lashes as you whined, “Yes—fuck, Innie, yes, I feel you—”
His smirk was dangerous, feral. He shifted just slightly, angling his cock so that every thrust ground against the tender spot deep inside you that made your legs shake violently. The wet slap of skin-on-skin echoed, obscene and loud, mixing with the filthy squelch of your arousal.
You sobbed out his name, clenching around him like your body itself was begging.
His hand slipped down, pressing over your lower belly, right where his cock was pistoning in and out.
“Ah fuck” he whispered, almost reverent, then groaned when you whimpered.
“That’s me, so deep inside you. I’m gonna fill you up until you can’t take it anymore. Gonna make sure it sticks.”
And he continued, drilling and abusing your slutty hole, tearing moan after moan, erratic scream after scream until you flooded around him and his cock throbbed fiercely, a volcanic eruption like release climbing up his spine.
"Fucckkk, oh shiittt," he growled harshly, thick ribbons of his hot cum gathering up inside you, he released so much that the white substance slid out the corners of your swollen cunt.
Your voice cracked in an attempt to word something when he pulled out with a filthy string of cum sticking from your pussy onto his swollen tip.
Both of you were breathless, hot and drenched in sweat.
Jeongin stood on his knees, strands of hair sticking on his damp forehead as he watched you biting his bottom lip, still spread wide, cum dripping out of you and down to the sheets.
A low tsk escaped lips as his calloused hands squeezed your thighs, squeezing the soft flesh, making you whine.
Two slender fingers scooped the sticky mixture, spreading it nastily over your puffy folds then circled your sensitive clit. You squirmed, still recovering from the aftermath but Jeongin had no plans on stopping.
"One more round okay, mama? Just one more f'me?"
He cooed, stroking your cheeks while his cock stood hard and proud against his abs. You tried to close your legs, only for him to yank it open with a smack to your thigh.
"Innie please—m'so full," you squirmed, eyes glassy, face flushed and hair in a tangled mess.
"I know baby, but your pussy is begging for me, see," he said, sliding two fingers into your soaked cunt. You gasped, eyes fluttering shut when he curled them just right making you moan erotically and clench without thinking.
He leaned down, brushing his lips over your heated cheeks, scissoring his digits faster, drenching his fingers with your mixed juices.
His mouth landed on yours as he withdrew his coated fingers, shifting your body as he positioned himself back between your legs. Your moans were muffled and swallowed with his bruising kisses as he pushed back into you again, this time sliding in without much resistance.
His hips moved, balls slapping against your skin, your fingers raking his hair to pull him back to find him fucking feral.
Pupils blown, jaw stiff, beads of sweat formed on his forehead as he drilled his way back into you.
"Gonna make you a mom, kay? Fuck, can't wait"—thrust—slam—"to see you full, swollen and leaking mmfh."
The words pouring out of his mouth was outright dirty, making you think how he looked like a softie in front of others but had an uncontrollable kink behind the closed doors.
“Yeah—mama, taking me so good,” Jeongin grunted, rutting into you with every ounce of desperation in his body. Your walls fluttered around him, wet and swollen from his pace, clinging to him like neither of you both wanted to let go.
His thrusts grew sloppy, hips snapping forward as the filth poured out of his mouth. “Gonna pump you full again—fuck—"
You gasped, body shaking, tears streaking your temples into your hair as the coil in your stomach finally snapped. You screamed his name, clenching so tight around his cock it made him choke out a guttural moan, his body collapsing over yours.
“Take it, take all of it,” he growled through clenched teeth, his hips jerking violently as he spilled into you, hot and thick, flooding you to the brim.
He didn’t stop, not right away, kept grinding his cock into your raw, overstimulated cunt as if he could mold you around his release, make sure it stayed.
By the time he finally stilled, his chest was heaving against yours, his lips brushing your temple. His hand smoothed down to your stomach, pressing over it reverently, still panting.
“We did it, mama. Fuck, I just know I did it. You’re mine. You’re gonna carry my baby.”
And he meant it.
~
A few months later...
The front door swung open, Jeongin finding you sitting on the couch. His face bloomed into the widest smile seeing you, eyes immediately falling to your belly.
He came over and knelt in front of you, his huge hand splaying over the swell, thumb stroking the curve of it with care.
"Hi baby," he whispered, voice soft but trembling with joy. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your bump, then another, before resting his cheek against you. “It’s dada. Can you hear me in there?”
Your heart melted at the sight, his dimples showing as he grinned at your belly like it held the whole universe.
When you threaded your fingers through his hair, he looked up at you, eyes glassy but sparkling. “I told you I’d fill you up, didn’t I?” he teased, dimples deepening as his hand rubbed gently over your bump.
You laughed, swatting at his shoulder. “God, you’re unbelievable.”
He chuckled along with you, pressing another kiss to your bump before coming up to sit next you, his hand never leaving it.
You rested your head against his shoulder, placing your hand on top of his on your belly and you knew, Jeongin was never more himself than he was right now.
ahhhhhh, my first time making a character-inspired set ! thank you, Kisa for dropping the request. :’)))
I have a few more Wind Breaker sets that I wanna share with you all in the next little bit ( I’m behind on the manga, no one spoil me 🙇♀️ ! ), but for now, please have a lil Suou 🤍🥀
Genre: mentions of Minho’s cats, cuddling, fluff, Minho being a softy(he’s so cute I wanna explode), soft reader, idiots in love
Words: 836
🌱a/n: here’s a short oneshot I wrote while I’m finishing up a longer story that I’ve been working on for a while(it’s gonna be my first published spicy story so bear with me if it’s absolute trash). I really need to get better at naming my stories cuz they feel really lackluster but honestly I don’t have a single clue what else to name them. Anyways, here’s Minho being a huge adorable softy in the snow <3
Dividers by: @cafekitsune
“Minho!”
You duck behind your protective wall of snow, crashing into the soft power that lay dusted across the packed snow, soft flakes drifting into your hair and eyelashes. You hear a soft thump, and powder flies into your hair as Minho tosses another snowball at you, missing and lobbing it over your head.
The weather was perfect. The sun peaking through the puffy white clouds scattered across the sky, snow drifting off the tree branches every so often with the breeze that ruffled Minho’s hair and flinging your hair into your face. You couldn't have asked for a more perfect vacation.
You peek over the edge of your defenses, and seeing Minho without amo, you toss your own snowball, giggling gleefully when it collides with the back of his head and sends him careening to his knees. He turns around and glares at you, rubbing the back of his head before tossing an armful of snowballs at you, all of them colliding with you at once and knocking you flat onto your back. Minho’s head appears over your snow wall after a few minutes when you don’t get up, his lips pursed together as he looks at you with concern.
“Did I hurt you jagiya?”He crawls over the wall and lies down next to you, wiping the snow off your face and smiling when you stick out your tongue and let the snowflakes melt on your tongue. You shake your head, piling the loose powder onto his leg and laughing when he shoots you a look. He slips your glove off, shaking his head in disapproval at your fingertips tinged with blue. He raises them to his lips, blowing warm air over them and rubbing them furiously between his gloved hands to try and return them to normal.
There was no denying Minho had a soft spot for you. despite his sarcastic and witty exterior, Lee Minho was a huge softy. The attention he showered his cats with was enough to attest to that, not including the soft smiles he gave you whenever you caught his eye, the way his thumb rubbed over the back of your hand when he had your hand in his, the way he held you close despite his insistence that he hated cuddles.
He slips your glove back on and wraps a hand around your waist, pulling you to your feet and tugging your beanie down over your ears.
“Let’s go inside jagi,” He says, slipping his hand into yours and tugging you close to his side, heading back to the cabin you had rented for the weekend.
“I’ll make you some hot chocolate and get you warmed up.”
After you had swapped your snow clothes out for fuzzy pajamas and one of Minho’s hoodies, Minho had sat you down on the couch and swaddled you in multiple blankets to make sure you were warm enough, even setting Soonie down in your lap to make you more comfortable.
“Minho I’m fine I promise!”
You protest as he grabs another blanket, debating wrapping you up before deciding against it and disappearing into the kitchen to make the hot chocolate he had promised. you watch from your position on the couch and tuck Soonie closer to you, something oddly domestic about the way Minho moved about the kitchen. You couldn't deny that you loved this side of him, the way he liked to take care of you. It was nice.
Minho returns from the kitchen with two cups of hot chocolate and sets them down on the coffee table, sitting down next to you and resting his head on your shoulder, his fingers wandering over your hands before lacing them with his own. He looks up at you, lips quirking up into a small smile as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
“You look happy.”
Wasn't it so painfully obvious that you were? That as long as you were with him you were going to be happy no matter where you were? He was your heart, your soul, your happiness. Life could never go back to the way it had been now that you had met him. You smile, looking down at him and kissing him gently on the nose. “That’s because I am.”
Minho smiled softly, tugging you to his side and sipping his hot chocolate slowly, his fingers carding through your hair. you sit in comfortable silence, your head on his shoulder staring out the windows at the snow covered hills while he rubs your back gently, his fingers dancing over your spine and across your shoulders. Nothing would ever be better than quiet days at home with Minho. When it was just the two of you(and the cats of course), enjoying each others company and being together just as you liked, your arms around each other. He loved you, and nothing would ever change the way you loved him just as much.
SUMMARY:
you're a simple woman. when stray kids come to town, you dress to impress. and, well—you're good-looking. what happens when an attractive individual attends the concert of her favorite band and catches the eye of the man she loves most?
TLDR: a classic idol x fan where felix decides he needs to fuck you, and does.
WORD COUNT: 4.0k
ꨄ︎: not even gotta hold you guys i saw that video on tiktok (pictured on the far right) and was like shit i GOTTA write abt this guy getting that NDA. fawk dude he's so fine like i don't even have anything else to add. anyway enjoy i hope i wrote felix good enough cus this is my first time writing abt him. happy reading! xo
WARNINGS: smut, nsfw, protected sex (wow guys look at me go amirite), riding, (implied?) slut shaming, idol x fan, felix x stay, mentions of alcohol, fingering
“You’ve been requested to go backstage.”
Your face contorts, pale, wearing the shock that came with the security guard’s words. He pulled you aside, waited for there to be fewer people near, and just bluntly said it, like it meant nothing. You stand off to the side as the fans trickle out of the pit, staring blankly at the man before you.
When you showed up at the venue this morning, you didn’t think you’d even get a spot at the barricade. The chances were slim—they always are. But you managed, and soon you were leaning against the metal, looking directly up at them. Needless to say, it paid off. The members saw you, spoke with you, and gave you small interactions that made your heart flutter in every way. Something you’ll never forget.
But he was different. He wanted more.
Stolen glances, winks, walks to the edge of the stage in front of you, watching you watch him. The tips of his blonde strands of hair soaked with water from the spray of other members. He’d turn to you, smirk, make sure you knew it was you he was looking at. Lift his shirt, show off the abs beneath it. And when he came down to the floor, walked by hundreds of screaming fans, clawing at him and holding his hands, he stopped. Short and only for a moment, but in front of you, smiling.
When you practically whispered I’ll sign one, you didn’t think he heard it. Hell, even if he did, there wasn’t a chance he’d actually do it.
But here you are, letting a random security guard lead you down the tunnel behind the stage after waiting twenty minutes for the crowd to clear almost entirely. After watching him approach that same guard just before he climbed back up on the stage half an hour ago, saying something that you only figured out once you were pulled aside while exiting the pit.
Now you’re simply following, because you’d be a fool to pass up the opportunity.
What a nice room. Not a dressing room, not even a small room—a green room. A lounge. The lights are dim and cool, leather sofas set up in the corner, and a wet bar sits off to the side. A large flat-screen television hangs above the black countertop.
And a tall blonde man stands beside it, waiting.
“Hi,” his smooth, deep voice breaks the silence, and you look behind you. The guard is gone, and the door is shut.
“Hey,” the greeting leaves your lips sounding sheepish. You’re not shy, you’ve never been. You take tentative steps closer, briefly introduce yourself, let the corners of your lips relax into a faint smile.
“Felix,” he says back, like you don’t already know, and motions for you to sit with his head. You do. He turns his body to yours, still wearing the last outfit from the show. He didn’t bother to change—didn’t see it fit. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“What do you have?” you counter. He opens the wine cooler’s door for you. You carefully inspect its contents, crossing your legs. His eyes travel down, drawn to the movement, and linger there. You don’t regret opting for the fishnets. “My eyes are up here, and Merlot.”
“Good choice,” he smiles, voice silky, and grabs two glasses.
You watch him with his small, toned figure, hair dry and reaching just above his shoulders. He opens the bottle with ease, pouring it into the two glasses in equal parts. His method is so natural, like he’s used to it. You know he’s rich—he always has been. And it doesn’t always show.
But with his smooth voice and relaxed demeanor, paired with his practiced mannerisms, you quickly realize how that very fact is true.
He’s expensive. His aura is.
When he gingerly hands you the glass, you mutter a soft thank you. He sits just beside you, leaving almost no space between, and proves that belief, his scent so intoxicating, despite having been on stage so soon prior. Leans back against the leather cushion with the freshly-poured glass in one hand as the other arm stretches out atop the back of the couch behind you. He’s classy and composed, contrasting his personality on the stage. One leg drapes over the other, and his eyes scan you—your outfit, chosen just right after months of trial and error. You’re certain now that the careful consideration paid off.
“So,” you take a sip, marveling at the rich taste, “why did you bring me back here?”
“A few reasons,” he replies, eyes trained on you as he, too, sips his wine. “I’m attracted to you,” he starts. “Saw you once and couldn’t keep my eyes off.” His lips press into a grin when he notices the shift in your expression—subtle, but enough to tell him that whatever he’s doing is working. “And you implied that you’d do this.”
Your eyebrow twitches. “So, you did hear that.”
“Of course,” he confirms, voice inviting, flirtier, his accent thicker.
You scan the room, notice how dark it is. The mood is set almost perfectly, the faintest noise of some wordless jazz playing from somewhere in the room. The door is locked, and you wonder how he managed to lock it. You figure you were too mesmerized by him to notice earlier. The way he walked around so confidently, each stride smooth, almost calculated.
It’s all so intricate, like it was set up this way intentionally, as if this wasn’t the first time any of the eight members had brought someone inside somewhere like this before. And oddly enough, none of them have passed by, or knocked, or shown signs of concern. Like it’s an unspoken rule. All in all, it’s only you and Felix in this room for the foreseeable future. It’s perfect for—well, what you’re about to do.
Or hope to.
He’s calm, too calm. So relaxed in his demeanor, like he’s either done this before or is just that confident. Though you’re also quite comfortable, at least to some extent, you know it’s the opposite deep down. You’re not exchanging flirtatious words with some guy. It’s Felix Lee—someone you’ve pined for and worshipped for years, yearning for the opportunity to be this close to him, to be so close to making your little fantasies come true. As your leg bounces up and down, he knows. He knows you’re putting up a front, and it’s almost obvious.
“You nervous?” he asks, the tips of his fingers tapping on the cushion. The soft noise as they hit the leather rings in your head.
You chuckle. Take a sip of your wine. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
He laughs. “Alright, then,” he grins, tongue poking into his cheek.
“Yeah, Sherlock. I’m nervous,” you finally add. You turn your head, study his face, let your eyes linger on his before you look away and tap the rim of the glass with your nail. “You’re unattainable to anyone in that crowd. To me. Have been for years,” you take another sip. “But once, for a split second, you’re not. You look at someone, and they think they have a chance.”
He doesn’t speak. You turn again.
“And then, you look at me,” your finger keeps drumming on the glass. The sound prevails. “I might be a fan, but I’m not delusional. There’s no way in hell,” you tilt your head, “right?”
Still, he’s quiet. Working on his drink. Staring.
“Wrong,” you narrow your eyes. Tilting your head back, you finish off the wine. Place the empty glass carefully on the table. Your eyes drift back to his. “That security guard pulls me aside, and suddenly—oh,” you gasp and raise your eyebrows for emphasis, opening your mouth to feign surprise, “there is a chance. And it’s not a delusion.” You watch him swallow. “So yeah—one could probably say I’m a little on edge.”
Something shifts in his eyes.
He sets the drink down. He doesn’t break eye contact. He’s studying. Making sense of everything you said, everything you admitted. Your body language—how, at some point, you gained enough confidence to point out how obvious it is.
Now, silence. You know what he wants, what he’s thinking. You want it, too. He already knows. He’s known since he first spotted you. Since he spotted the small, yellow BbokAri dangling at your waist.
Since you told him you’d do whatever he wanted and sign the right to talk about it away, no questions asked.
He leans in, slowly, giving you an out. But you don’t take it. You let him kiss you, soft at first. Feel the warmth as you adjust to it—his lips on yours.
Without warning, it deepens. His head tilts further, tongue brushes against your lips. Pushes past them. Your hand reaches for and grips his shoulder, tight, as his arm slides down the cushion and pulls you in by the lower back. You’re in his lap, hands on his shoulders, and you can feel the tips of his hair brushing against your fingers. He’s kissing you like it means something, desperate, but not messy—just hard, like you’ll disappear if he lets up. Like he has something to prove. He’s not rushing, not itching to get you out of your clothes.
Well, he is, but he can restrain himself.
The wine was liquid confidence. Just enough to keep you on top, in control of yourself, wanting more without fixating on how unfathomable it all is. Who you’re grinding your hips on, humming against his lips while his hands keep you firm in your place by the waist.
It’s hot. You can still hear the crowd filing out of the stadium. You wonder if anyone saw. If anyone noticed the guard taking you back here. If they’d keep quiet or take to social media and spill every last detail they know and put you both in jeopardy. You don’t care.
His hands smooth over the black tube top adorning your torso. The fabric stretches. Your hands find a path of their own, running down his chest, fingertips grazing and loosening the buttons holding his vest together. They stop at his belt. Leather. Metal gems cold to the touch.
“You know,” you hum against his mouth, “this vest is practically useless with nothing under it.”
He laughs, breathy, hand toying with the plush attached to your waist. “Do you have a problem with that?”
“Of course not.”
“Exactly.”
His eyes scan your body again. His lap is warm. Firm. You feel it beneath you, straining, growing. You know. He knows. Maybe you don’t need to ditch the clothes. They look good—really good. God knows they served their purpose, because they got you backstage and wrapped around his finger (or thighs, for that matter).
He bunches up the black pleated skirt, lifting it just enough to reveal what’s under it, or the lack thereof. Stockings. Garters. They fuck with his head—perhaps even more. He grins, sticks his tongue in his cheek, huffs out a laugh.
You reach for your shoulder shrug first.
“Leave it on,” he says. “All of it.”
You figured he was done with the clothes. Now, you grin—he likes them. Maybe too much. Oh, well.
Then, his hand is between your legs, and his eyes are back on yours. His fingers slip beneath you, feel the warmth and arousal bleeding through the thin black fabric. His lips press into a smirk, downturned—proud. All the while, his eyes fixate on your face, tense and flushed. For him.
God, he’s hot.
You notice he’s not particularly vocal. You’re okay with that. You’re wet, needy, grinding against his hand for friction, and he doesn’t need to say it out loud to make it true—you both already know it. There’s nothing else you can do to relieve the ache with your legs so spread apart. And then, his fingers are pulling the panties aside. They’re dragging along you, bare. Coaxing more from you.
Your hands fumble with his belt. You kiss him again, alleviate some of the tension, pull the belt from its loops, and toss it aside. Unbutton his checkered jeans and unzip them, just enough to get at his cock. Stroke it once, twice, still rolling your hips into his hand until his fingers push inside. Your free hand runs along his front and up to his shoulder, palm grazing the abs beneath it. Then, a moan. Deep. And you’re kissing him harder.
His fingers are pushing in and pulling out, slowly, deliberately. His other hand shoves into his pocket, searching until it comes out with something between his index and middle fingers. You don’t see it, but you hear the crinkle of a wrapper, and you know what it is. It doesn’t take rocket science to figure it out.
He removes his hand entirely, and you whine. You break away and sit up, watch him secure the condom, swallow thickly. You’ve already gone too far for second thoughts.
He grips your waist, and you look down at him. A few strands of hair stick to his forehead. You tug at the red knit shrug on your shoulders, smooth your hands over the skirt.
“Won’t this be bad for your back?” you note, pointing out the way he’s sitting, how you’re on top of him.
“Someone did their research.”
You roll your eyes. “Everyone knows about it, Felix.”
He laughs. “I’ll be fine.”
Then, he lifts you, lines himself up, and lets you sink into his lap—he’d rather show than tell. Your mouth hangs open, eyes shut, breaths leaving heavy. You hear him, too, senses heightened.
“Shit,” you whisper and lean forward, opening your eyes, staring at him. Through him. Pleading silently, not knowing what for—something, anything, just to distract from everything overwhelming your mind and body. He shrugs the vest completely off.
He moves you. Slow at first, a guide. Helping to give you the strength you need to continue, to do it yourself. You’re quick to adjust. Experienced enough to take the wheel from there. Reality washes over you, forcing you to realize what you’re doing, what you’ve become in such a short time, no more than one hour. You push it down; it’s not going to spoil the moment.
You’re gripping his shoulder again, bare, warm. Fingers threaded in his hair, needing to be closer. Soft, small hands staple to your sides, digging into the black fabric stretching around your midsection, causing it to lift, exposing more skin. His palms slide down, feel it: its warmth—he groans.
His mouth envelopes yours, tongue shoves past your lips, gives you no room to breathe. Still, it’s not hurried—it’s just deep, hungry, yet slow. Matching the pace you’re moving at. Tentative rolls of your hips, offering just enough of a tease to count it as such, but not enough to make the need for more painful. Enough for him to pull back, catch his breath.
You’re riding him, thoroughly, for real. Not in a fantasy, a daydream, a daze—it’s real, him grinning proudly up at you, knowing the shortcomings of breath and small whimpers are yours, because of him. Half-lidded eyes staring up at you, every last sensation and emotion showing behind his gaze. Freckles bleeding through the faded makeup in the soft glow of the light. He’s beautifully quiet, taking you in, no need to speak.
You know he loves it—he doesn’t have to say it.
He shifts beneath you, and you moan. “Fuck, right there,” you whisper, and he smiles. He already knew before that it would evoke that reaction, almost like some sort of fucked up muscle memory.
“You knew I’d come back here and do this, didn’t you?” you accuse, droplets of sweat dripping down your face, mascara threatening to run, lipstick nearly gone but slightly smudged. “You knew from the start.”
“You looked the part,” he simply replies like it’s normal, like he isn’t admitting to categorizing you as someone he could score with from the moment he first saw you in the crowd.
“Are you calling me some kind of slut, or something?” you furrow your brows, smiling slightly, almost amused.
“When did I say that?”
“You basically implied it.”
“Enough talking,” he sighs and kisses you again, harder, rougher. A hand moves to your knee, wrapped in the fishnet pattern, and tugs it closer. Pulls you in, sinks you further, forces your body to practically fall on top of his. It strains his back—you hear his soft intake of breath and feel him try to adjust, but he doesn’t let you protest.
Instead, he moves. Starts pushing his hips up to meet yours. It’s something he doesn’t typically do when he’s got a girl backstage—put in work. He doesn’t have to, not when they’re so disgustingly obsessed with the idea of him that they’ll do anything just to get themselves off. And especially not with the back pain that comes with it. But you’re pushing it. Since you walked through the door, you’ve acknowledged the irrationality of your being there, how reckless it is, pointed out the power dynamic, and clocked him for pushing a stereotype on you that, frankly, isn’t entirely wrong. You’ve proven you’re more than just a pretty face—you have a brain up there. Thoughts of your own.
Ones that challenge him and force him to take matters into his own hands, because if he doesn’t, he and you will run out of time.
So he grabs you tighter, fucks you harder, and lets his fingers threaten to tear the stockings on your legs from the pressure he puts on them. You breathe heavier, grip his hair tighter, press your nails—dark red, chosen specifically for the tour—into his shoulder, grounding yourself, grounding him.
Finally, you hit your ceiling. The feeling overwhelms your body, a mixture of pleasure and pain from him still moving, despite the orgasm shooting through you. A soft, choked-out Lix comes from your mouth, amongst various strings of profanities and noises akin to whines. He doesn’t let people call him such, especially not some girl he brought backstage for a quick fuck, but the desperation and satisfaction in your voice let you become an exception. And truthfully, it was only a result of you choking on your words. All in all, it brings him with you—the nickname, and the pressure from you tightening around him. You wish you could’ve felt more—all of him, but unless you want to be in deeper shit, the pulse alone will have to do.
You collapse. Head buried in his shoulder, arms resting where they lie, unmoving. The room is silent, save for breathing, raw and loud, and the jazz that still plays from the non-located speaker. You’re brought out of the jaded state when you feel tugging at your waist, not directly, but you feel your skirt shifting.
Felix is tugging at the plush again. He looks down, chuckles to himself as a thought pops into his head. He moves back up, fixes his gaze on your face, flushed.
“You think he liked the show?”
You scoff. “What an odd thing to ask. And wrong,” you roll your eyes, “everyone knows BbokAri is a girl.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you echo, and he silences you by kissing you again. It’s soft and lasts for a few moments. Almost intimate. And then he pulls away. Slowly. Like he’s savoring it.
You lock eyes with him. The smile you once donned fades. You notice something in his eye, a flicker. Something unknown, but nothing you’re willing to explore. Nothing you want to get yourself wrapped up in. You clear your throat, and the trance breaks.
“...You should go,” he finally says.
“Yeah,” you nod.
You carefully climb out of his lap, hiss at the emptiness, and slide your feet down to the floor. And you stand. Fix the practically discarded underwear, covering the mess beneath it. Enough to feel when you stand or walk, but not enough to be visible when the skirt is pulled down. You smooth it down. It does the job.
In the same fraction of time, he fixes himself up, stands, and disposes of the waste. You’re brushing through your hair with your fingers absentmindedly, lost in thought, when you feel his presence beside you again. He doesn’t come back empty-handed. Papers. A thin stack. You know what they are. What it is. You swallow.
He wordlessly hands you a pen. You take it and the papers. Place them together on the coffee table. Kneel beside it, read through the words. It’s a jumbled-up string of complex terms and phrases—a fancy way of saying you’ll never speak a word of what happened to another person. That this, for all intents and purposes, didn’t happen.
Your eyes flash up at him. His expression remains intact. There’s no sign of regret, no remorse. No emotion. His eyes are blank. No life like they had for the split second before you stood. He’s waiting, plain and simple.
You look back down and sign your name in smooth, black ink. It looks back at you almost tauntingly. Proof you’ve done something that could take down a reputation, a career, a company. Written on paper, set in stone.
You slide the contract forward, and he takes the pen. Signs his own name alongside yours without hesitation. You study it, eventually making out the Y and B amongst the swirls. You breathe, making brief eye contact once more, and reluctantly stand up.
“I just go now, right?”
“Mm,” he hums.
“Okay.”
You can’t find your footing to walk off just yet.
The adrenaline has worn off. The wine has run its course. All that remains is the vulnerability you’re trying not to show. But you know it does, and you don’t want it to. Just for a few minutes more, you need to keep the facade up. Be okay with giving him all of you and walking away, never to mention it again.
Yet no matter how much you’ll try to forget, with every photo you see, every video you watch, and every moment you lay eyes on him, you’ll remember.
He takes a breath and turns around, walking toward the sink. Your eyes don’t follow him. You keep staring forward. Let yourself fall back into a daze. Lost in your head, yet no thoughts come to mind. Plain emptiness, like a prison.
He suddenly comes back into view, and you don’t know what he did, why he went over in the first place. You snap back into reality. He’s silent, looking into your eyes with a somber expression, one you haven’t seen, nor do you expect to. You feel him place something in your hand, warm, slightly damp. You look down. A towel—rag, more like. Brows creased, you look up.
“There’s a bathroom around the corner.” His voice is soft. Comforting. “If you’re not comfortable with that, you can use it to clean up at home, or wherever you need.”
Your lips twitch, almost into a smile.
“Thank you.”
He steps closer, and his hand makes its way up the right side of your face, fingers settling beneath your ear and thumb on your cheek. His gaze shifts between your eyes. He leans down. Slots his lips with yours gently, and again, intimately. Like it means something. And he breaks it as slowly as it began. Keeps his eyes trained on yours.
You see it again. The flicker.
Again, you ignore it.
“I don’t do that for anyone.”
His voice is soft, sincere. You let the words hit you, process entirely, resonate in your mind. Let them linger in the air between you as his hand slides down your face and hangs back at his side. He won’t say anything more. You won’t respond. You’ll take the kiss for what it is—an anomaly. Acknowledge it and walk away, because you refuse to let yourself believe you can truly stand out from the rest.
You give him a confirming nod and make way for the door. Unlock it and turn the knob. Step into the doorway. For a moment, you contemplate just going. But you turn back. He hasn’t moved, hasn’t changed his expression. Hasn’t spoken. You give him a final look. One he solemnly returns. A goodbye.
Genre: fluff, merman Lix, reader is clumsy, first meeting
Words: 875
🌱A/n: one of my fave looks on Felix was from the Lmb era and I was looking at some of the outfits when all of a sudden I was possessed by the most wonderful idea to have him be a merman. So that’s what this is. Merman Felix my beloved. Enjoy <3
Dividers by: @cafekitsune
you had never seen anything more beautiful in your life.
The moonlight cascaded across the tide pool, half hidden by the large outcrop of rocks that held up the pier hanging over the water, droplets of water shining like opals on the sand in the soft light. You had happened upon him by accident, going out to walk on the beach when the moon was at its highest, looking for shells in the small pools of water created by the previous high tide. You'd waded behind the pier, your pants rolled up above your knees to keep them from getting wet, your shoes dangling off your fingers when you spotted a pool larger than the others, shells scattered across the rocks and starfish just barely visible above the soft lapping of the waves.
You creep closer, clinging to a support beam of the pier as you crane your neck, eyes widening in surprise when you spot a man sitting in the water. He was beautiful, soft silvery blonde hair tucked behind his ears and brushing his neck, face dotted with freckles, a hair comb with small shells and pearls perched just behind his ear. Strands of pearls were hanging delicately from his ears and off his shoulders, circling his torso and disappearing below the waves. He was examining himself in a small compact mirror no bigger than his hand, fussing with loose pieces of hair that clung to his face persistently when you step onto the beach and nearly slip, startling him and causing him to slip back into the water.
You hurry to the edge and fall to your knees, calling after him quietly and dipping your hand into the water with one of the shells you had found earlier on the beach in an attempt to bring him back. You feel his fingers brush your own and he surfaces, water clinging to his lashes and his wet hair framing his face. that's when you finally notice it; the long silvery blue tail occupying the place where his legs should have been, more strands of pearls wrapped around his waist and down his tail, the scales catching the moonlight and glinting like small mirrors when he shifts. You can’t help the way your mouth falls open in shock, the shell slipping from your hands into the waiting hands of the merman who slips it into a small woven bag at his side that you hadn't noticed before, glancing up at you through his lashes as he leans against a rock.
“You’re….” You gesture vaguely at his tail, but all you get in response is a quiet giggle and water being splashed onto you by the smallest movement of his fins. He rests his head on his arms, looking up at you with a curiosity that you had never seen anyone look at you with before.
“We’re not supposed to talk to you,” he says, his voice startlingly deep and out of character for someone with such an angelic face, voice bouncing off the rocky edges of the pool and echoing into the night. He pulls out the shell you had given him, running his fingers over the coral covered ridges, humming quietly before slipping it back into his bag.
“you seem…different from the others though. You’re like me.” He points to the bag you have at your side, shells and small pieces of coral peeking out of the opening as he lifts his own bag to show you various hair pieces and other human artifacts he had come across. You look down at him, at the being you thought was a story made up for children floating in the water before you as real as any other ocean creature, but by far the most beautiful, looking up at the sky, stars reflecting in his eyes.
“You’re not going to try and kill me are you?” The merman blinks at you surprised before smiling and holding his hand out for you to take, his skin much smoother than you had anticipated, something akin to a sea lion. You intertwine your hands with his, noting the plethora of rings adorning his fingers, the pearls draped around his wrist,the necklaces around his neck.
“I’m not a siren if that’s what you’re asking.” You flush, cheeks tinted pink with embarrassment at having had such a ridiculous notion, your hands twisting one of his rings nervously around his finger. He really was breathtaking, the soft rhythmic swish of his tail filling the otherwise quiet moment as you study his face, trying to count the freckles dusted on his cheeks, like stars that had aimed for his eyes and missed.
“You’re really beautiful,” you admit finally, ducking your head and studying the way the sand swirled across the ocean floor from the currents made by his tail, hearing him hum happily as his thumb strokes over the back of your hand lazily, thanking you with his voice barely above a whisper.
“I’m y/n by the way.”
He looks up when you speak, a gorgeous smile spreading across his features and revealing dimples that you hadn’t noticed before.
snowghoul
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