I love getting comments and reblogs (with tags and comments!!), but I understand if you don't want filth on your blog, so feel free to simply like and/or leave an anon ask <33
Tags: SMUT, bondage, dollification, overstimulation, they're disgustingly in love (classics of seventeensrat) I'm not kidding when I say they're IN LOVE, no fluff unless you count the fluff in the sexy parts. Fingering, sex, oral sex, I cannot say these are healthy dynamics, there's a scene where she's super insecure except it dissolves into an interpretation of my own flaws so the ending may be abrupt, skip over that if it's triggering, they read slightly codependent icl, he found her crying, he crew too, they both crode together Wonwoo toes her boundaries in the last one but they're both very into it, tagging dubcon just in case.
credits to @cursed-carmine for the gorgeous dividers, and @pochaccoups and @cherrynpink for proofreading and support, because God knows how long I've been sitting on this.
A/n: this is actually the very first fic I wrote! This is a shameless self insert brought to you by a massive virgin so don't take anything seriously and stay safe. I can't say the dynamics are healthy but they are undeniably sweet.
Silent readers kill. Please reblog, leave a comment or scream in my inbox I love it.
Wonwoo loved his darling little doll.
Loved dressing you up in the morning, each piece of delicate clothing carefully selected and put on you. Loved pinning your curls back with dainty hair clips, making you look even more doll-like. Loved scooping you up and carrying you around in his arms whenever he moved from one room to another. Loved gently setting you down among the many plushies that littered your bed after a long day. Loved crawling in with you. Loved pressing you to him until you both fell asleep. Loved waking you up the next morning with his cock pushing into you, his lovely doll so small and beautiful, whimpering half asleep in his arms. Loved doing it all over again.
That wasn’t to say you didn’t love it either. In fact, it was you, late one night, who suggested the idea to him shyly, reddened face buried in his wide shoulder. Asked him to use you, make you his, in every way possible, from the way you dress to when you speak. When he was silent for a moment too long, your heart sank to your stomach. Too far, you'd pushed too far, this was the end, you ruined it all again, he’s going to leave, you lost another person too early —
Between the panic and the chasm cracking open in your chest, you didn’t register the way he cradled your frozen body closer, aligning you with him. Not until Wonwoo’s hips rolled up into yours, letting you know exactly how he felt about it. That night, he took you over and over again, held close to his broad chest, held with warmth and safety and care. Held close like a beloved doll.
However, a beloved doll never meant a fully passive one. Wonwoo likes to tie you up, not because you struggle (though he finds it adorable), but because it’s easier for him to do as he pleases with you. Which found you perched on his lap while he wrote lyrics, his other hand between your thighs, stroking your clit mindlessly. Your own hands were bound in front of you with the same meticulousness he performed every action with, then looped to the ring on your pretty collar. You squirmed against him, thoughts melting into oblivion with every gentle pass of fingers.
The scratch of pen against paper pauses briefly, and he hauls you back to better lean against him, the warmth of his chest seeping into your back.
“Where are you going, hm?”
You were trapped between his chest and the palm of his hand flush against your bare cunt. The soft sound that escaped you was almost pitiful. Wonwoo huffed a laugh against the soft skin where your shoulder met your neck, pressing a tender kiss there. His fingers speed up, work long forgotten, until you were trying to squirm away from the relentless pleasure. The arm curled around your ribs doesn’t let you get far. He unravels you like this, nosing at the plush of your cheek, as you moan and writhe, legs shaking on either side of his, unable to close.
You wordlessly turn your head in search of his lips, missing them twice in your desperation. Wonwoo smiles, catching your mouth in a deep kiss, hand still working you through your climax. Oversensitivity kicks in, and you whine against his mouth. Tears prick against your eyes when his fingers refuse to slow down, before they pull away without warning. You whine again, whether out of frustration or relief, you couldn’t tell.
He breaks the kiss, still with that same gentle smile that you fell in love with, so long ago. Adjusting you on his lap, he silently encourages you to lean back against his shoulder. Your eyes drift shut. The scratch of pen on paper starts again, and Wonwoo’s warm hand finds its place back between your thighs, fingers tracing through the mess.
Your eyes snap open. “Wonwoo-”
“Hush, baby.” You reluctantly quiet down, still shivering in his lap, still without use of your hands or legs, restrained as they are. Dolls shouldn’t speak, anyway. Wonwoo rewards you by dipping two fingers past your pliant lips, pressing down on your tongue until you couldn’t focus on anything but the taste of his skin, covered in you.
Of course, work wasn’t the only time he held you close and played with you.
Wonwoo sprawls across the couch, long legs spread wide. You sat straddling his thigh, nose buried in the warm skin above his clavicle. His large, pale hand spidered across your spine, gently caressing you, looking the very picture of relaxation as he lazily flicks through a book with the other.
The same couldn’t be said of you. For the past half-hour, you’ve been grinding desperately against the strong thigh pressed against your cunt, trying to get yourself off to no avail. It didn’t help that your hands were cuffed behind your back this time— Wonwoo’s arm wrapped around your waist was the only thing keeping you steady.
You briefly wonder about the image the two of you made: his tall stature folded elegantly on the couch, regal features set in unruffled neutrality, princely even in a shirt and sweatpants, and you, naked, golden skin covered in a sheen of sweat, face flushed and crumpled with pleasure as you writhed helplessly on his leg. The master and his pretty doll. The thought sent heat straight to the pit of your stomach, forcing a whimper from you.
It was at that noise the warmth of Wonwoo’s hand disappeared from your back and resurfaced on your chest, guiding you back carefully. Still, you barely caught yourself on his thigh. The change in position forced pressure off your clit—too much.
Indignation won over embarrassment,, only for it to turn to a soft moan when his thumb languidly brushed over your nipple. The touch was so light it could’ve been an accident. What was not an accident was the sharp pinch that followed, pulling a strangled wail from you. He soothed it with a firm swipe of his finger, before grabbing your whole tit. Hard. His sharp eyes didn't leave the pages once, even when he groped your chest. Something simply to keep his hands busy.
Wonwoo bounced his leg the same time he turned a page. The jolt of pleasure it sent through you— after so long denied— made you fall forward back into the crook of his shoulder with a small cry, pushing your breast into his palm.
Any semblance of shame was long cast aside, if your whimpers were anything to go by. He keeps you like that, hand palming the soft swells of your chest, bouncing his leg periodically, almost absentmindedly– just to hear your punched out whines against his skin. An adorable little doll that squeaked when he touched it.
To Wonwoo, there was no activity that could be done if it wasn’t with you. Gaming (the single player kind. He’d be damned if he allowed anyone else to see you this way.) was no exception. Some days you curl up on his lap like a cat, basking in his warmth while you snuggle deeper into his shoulder. Wonwoo pets the closest part of you he can reach during the lulls. Long afternoons stretch and wind like taffy, Wonwoo rocking the two of you back and forth until you drowse in his arms.
On others, like this one, you kneel between his legs, hands tied to the chair around his waist. He makes sure your head is comfortable resting on his lap, his cock half hard and heavy in your mouth. His long calves are firm against your back, caging you in. Safe. It was so, so easy to fall asleep like this, drooling around him, messy and ruined and loved. Wonwoo pets the soft top of your head, a proud owner with a devoted pet.
Surrounded completely by him, you doze, woken up every now and then by his hips bucking into your mouth– gently, gently because he would never hurt his lovely doll, who looked up at him with glossy, lovesick eyes. Lovesick eyes which mirrored his own. His perfect darling who looked the picture of debauchery, pretty dress rucked up around your thighs, knees splayed out on the pillow he specifically bought for this, arms around him in the mimicry of a hug, round mouth stuffed full with him.
Wonwoo’s heart shatters with the affection he feels for you then. Enough to pull you off him by the hair—gently, always gently— and lean down into a deep kiss you could barely reciprocate, breathless. He slides two fingers into your mouth, the other hand stroking your hair, your face, peppering your face with little kisses. Smiles into every one of them. Pecks the tip of your nose, and oh, your lips are right there, soft and wet and tight around his fingers as you sucked. Pushing down on your tongue, he licks into your open mouth, around his fingers, kissing the slick arch of your mouth and then between the vee of his fingers, eating up every soft noise you make, because it’s all for him, because of him.
Two fingers, as big as they were, weren’t enough to soothe the ache that had formed in your jaw, settled deep in your mind. You whine. Loudly. Wonwoo pulls back, smiling fondly, stroking the side of your head.
“You want daddy’s cock, babydoll? Yeah?” he coos at you. “My darling girl wants to be with me forever, right? Does she want me to take care of her everyday like this? ”
You nod quickly, eyes glistening, wanting him in your mouth, around you. Forget wanting, you needed him like air. More, sometimes. He obliges like he could read your mind, understand that porcelain heart of yours, legs pressing against your back, guiding your head back to him. One hand pushes your head down, until you feel him nudging the back of your throat.
Long hours spent training away your gag reflex (A mission taken on solely by you. Wonwoo spent most of it alarmed, concerned for your well-being and painfully hard) made it ridiculously easy to do fun little tricks like taking him in fully and staring up at him with dark, wet eyes.
Fun little tricks for you, that is. Wonwoo was actively losing it. You silently will him to look at you, but he pays no heed to your telepathic urging (how dare he), instead throwing his head back, eyes squeezed shut against the overwhelming heat of your mouth. You lick over his head, taking him even deeper. The groan he lets slip between the harsh breaths is enough to have you moan against him, the vibration making his hips buck up, his body becoming yours.
You bob your head once, twice, and let your teeth graze ever so slightly, and that was enough for him to come undone. You swallow every drop, admiring his lovely face in the throes of pleasure. His cheekbones shone like the moon lived under his skin, and his long neck gleamed with sweat.
Wonwoo knew there was something wrong when you stared at your breakfast glassily, and when you barely spoke to him through it, and refused to touch him after it. He knew it when he saw you gazing at the mirror with the kind of hunger only the eternally starving could have, the hunger of someone who could not eat. And he knew it when you shied away from the hands he placed on your shoulders, but he didn't budge, and you reluctantly let him.
"What's wrong, darling?"
"I'm fine." An answer too curt to be anything but fine.
He stayed silent, and it enveloped you like everything about him. The silence seeped into your skin and throat, swept into your head with the surety of a tsunami, sank into the orifices of your chest (you sometimes wondered if there was anything in there at all— it felt so hollow), reached the depths of your stomach.
The words left from your stomach too. Retching them out was really the right word, the way it came up, and out of your mouth in convulsions, the horrible things you harboured within you like a spider and it's eggs.
The truth was: you were a freak of nature. An anomalous result, a product of your circumstances like any other, the last connection you seemed to have with what it meant to be human. That's where it all stemmed from and now you've made him part of it, subjected him to you, the oddity, you, the less-than-human-more-than -doll sick in the head for all the things you were willing to do to be accepted, to win in relationships (there are 2 losers), to be home in her own skin. There were places his hands couldn't reach, couldn't cleanse and that made you angrier.
By the end of your tirade, shaking and crying and close to collapse, his silence remained. But so did his hands, moving from your shoulders to your back, keeping you up, you realised, from collapsing. Your legs felt numb. Truly a doll, you thought deliriously. All that was left was the two of you and his silence, now coating the sharp shards of glass you called a heart. The silence wasn't there to stay, because he'd leave soon, understand you were beyond help, save himself while he could. You wanted him happy. You wanted him all to yourself and that sent you into a fresh wave of tears, because it was all gone now, you've cut the final threads, cleaned it up like a seam in life. B.W, A.W. Before Wonwoo, after Wonwoo. The thought made you giggle, and you were sure he found you repulsive and frankly ill, and that sobered you up again.
His arms still haven't left their place around you. A croak of your name had you turning around to look at him, and your heart shattered at the tear tracks that mirrored your own. He shouldn't cry, people like him never deserved to know desperation or grief or sadness, you caused it—
As if sensing your thoughts, he scooped you up, interrupting them, and carried you to the bed, setting you on his lap comfortably. And his tears never stopped rolling, not when he buried his face in your shoulder and clung to you like he was afraid you'd be the one walking away. Maybe he recognized the sharp knife trying to glide through yet another relationship.
"Wonwoo?" You tried, placing a gentle hand onto his shoulder. He shook his head, still hidden in the crook of your shoulder.
"Don't leave me." The single sentence shattered you further, and you carded a hand through his dark hair, trying to envelope him like he always did you. You could always become better. For him, you'd force yourself to.
The door opened angrily. You could swear up and down the door could tell you what the person who opened it was feeling at the moment, and today it was frustration and ire.
You felt him before he entered the kitchen, all long legs and broad shoulders. His mouth was set in a tight line, and you could see the stress around his eyes, half hooded behind his glasses. Wonwoo crossed the distance between you in two strides, grabbing your face with one hand and tilting your head up before he caught your lips in a kiss that felt like he was trying to devour you. You whined into the kiss, out of breath.
"Wonwoo, the stove—” you gasped.
He chased your mouth again, one arm reaching past you to turn the stove off (insurance wasn't worth it). The kiss only seemed to get more desperate as he poured the frustration of his day into it, until it felt like your lips would bruise. You wouldn't mind that, you thought, you wanted his marks to be raw and aching and permanent.
Without breaking the kiss, he slid an arm under your ass, lifting you effortlessly. The walk to the bedroom was the longest 10 seconds of his life (not entirely true. There was that one time the two of you didn't make it to the bed), and he tossed you on it like you weighed nothing, hunger written all over his face. Wonwoo moved with the quick grace of a predator, sliding between your thighs and flipping your skirt up. Of course you weren't wearing anything underneath, his perfect doll.
The first lick had you crumbling, and he had you on the edge in minutes. A single devastating suck threw you over it almost violently, his tounge working you through it. You sighed, boneless on the mattress, tugging at his hair to pull him up and over you, but he simply pinned your hands to your stomach.
"Hands, baby." It wasn't often he got like this, so you lifted them up obediently. Wonwoo stroked over your clit, rubbing little hearts into it until you came again, dumb with pleasure. And again. And again. After the fifth or sixth orgasm, you couldn't take it anymore, pushing at his shoulders and pulling his hair, trying to close your legs, but Wonwoo was a monolith between your thighs. And determined to make you come over and over until overstimulation could barely describe what you felt, tears of pleasure edged with sweet pain rolling into your hair. You knew if you fought back more, he'd simply tie your hands up and away from you, and tie your knees apart, and give you one more just as punishment for misbehaving. Your pleasure belonged to him. You belonged to him. He'd care of you if you passed out anyway, why are you crying?
You’re a treasured plaything for him to touch and grope at his will, regardless of whatever he’s doing. Or whatever you're doing.
I love the vintage idea of hope chests and crocheting for your home and sewing your own clothes and collecting pieces for your future home and storing shiny things in a box that smells good. Marriage feels like propaganda but homemaking for yourself is top tier.
I love the vintage idea of hope chests and crocheting for your home and sewing your own clothes and collecting pieces for your future home and storing shiny things in a box that smells good. Marriage feels like propaganda but homemaking for yourself is top tier.
[ID: the Bugs Bunny in a tux meme, edited to say “I wish all LGBT+ folk who live in countries where pride is banned, illegal, or unwelcomed a very I love you, stay safe, Happy Pride (red, orange, yellow, green, blue heart emoji). The edited text is in all caps, with LGBT+ in rainbow lettering. End ID.]
cw/tags: ot13 x reader (not all at the same time no one can do that), overstim, bondage, tickling (blink and you'll miss it), tummy rubbing, fluff but in a sexy way, sexual acts but in a fluffy way, cunnilingus, groping, thigh riding, fingering, somnophilia in jeonghan's, svt is referred to as brothers (how mahabharatha really should've gone), reader is "picked up like a little kid" in joshua's,(no pedophilia), innocence kink, slight petplay in jun's, reader wears cat ears, heavy objectification, exhibitionism, excessive use of commas.
EVERYTHING IS CONSENSUAL but negotiated off screen uhhhhh its just free-use on 300% softness
a/n: this is just svt brainrot I wrote at 1 am okay pls bear with me this is unedited and grammer is a foreign concept I was straight up jorking it in the stripped clubr to this I wanna be their pretty doll so fucking bad.
Oh, to be Seventeen's little free use doll, whom they treat like their own sex doll and comfort plushie at the same time. Minding your own business, writing or scrolling or reading? Not anymore :333 you're always getting swept off your feet— literally— because there is someone's strong arms wrapping around your waist and lifting you off the floor to be carried off to cuddle and touch. You can count on one hand the number of times you've been left alone without someone's hands on your skin. They pass you around, not just to be fucked dumb, but because everyone wants their turn to squeeze and play with their little dorm doll.
Movie nights would always end up with you stretched over multiple member's laps like a cat. Gentle hands draw up your arms above your head, half pinned down, half entwined with theirs. Your head is on one lap, your torso stretched over the next, legs in another's. In the darkness only lit up by the glow of the TV, it's hard to make out whose hand is petting your tit, pressing thumbs into the arch of your foot, or stroking the flat of your tummy. It's also hard to make out who's sliding fingers down your throat to keep your little whines muffled. Can't have you distracting them from the movie, right?
Seungcheol would be forever breaking up petty little fights that started from bickering over whose turn it was to have you (looking straight at bss) and taking it as an excuse to neatly pluck you from their arms and set you on his lap and wrap his arms around you. No amount of struggling will get you out of his grip, even though he finds it sooo adorable that you have to try so hard against a fraction of his strength. The squirming inadvertently makes him hard, so he flips you over so you're sideways on his lap, held up by one arm banding around your ribs, while he strokes along the curve of your back and gropes the flesh of your ass. Cheol is content with the softness of you on him, more than any completion.
Jeonghan thinks it's cute to ambush you. A midday nap is often interrupted by Hannie flopping on top of you and pressing his face into your back, sliding the point of his nose up the divot of your spine. Any and all activity is interrupted by him sliding behind you, hands sneaking under your shirt (if you're wearing one in the first place), squeezing your waist. He firmly believes there's no better place for his hands than the dip of your waist. That's where they end up even at night, sliding behind you on whomever's bed you're sleeping on for the night, his cock pushing into your warm, still wet heat. Fucking into you while wondering how many of his brothers had used you before he did.
Joshua, our resident sweetheart. He scoops you up like a child, both of you giggling, and sets off on little "adventures", as he was so fond of calling them. He affectionately pulls pretty clothes over you, dressing you how he pleases, then takes you shopping for more. Each outfit you try on earns you a little kiss. Shua thinks you're adorable in soft sweaters cropped too high, swishy floofy skirts that barely cover anything, cute stockings that hugged your thighs. He parades you around svt, forcing you to show off your new clothes, ignoring the blush high on your cheeks. No, his focus was completely on his teammates, watching their eyes darken at the glimpses of skin where delicate fabric rode up, where the pudge of your thigh stuck out over the lacy edge of the stocking. Later, he sets you on his lap— in front of everyone's hungry gazes— and knocks your knees open over his legs. Warm fingers soon find their place on your clit, further down to your hole. It's utter filth, the way his large hand stretches the fabric of your panties. Vulgar, really, when it's so obvious it doesn't belong there, but nothing feels more right when you fall apart around two of his fingers, his brothers' hands aching along his with the ghost of your release.
Junhui treats you more like a house cat than a sex doll. Always picking you up at random times of the day and carrying you to the couch, petting your hair, rubbing your back. He pokes your ribs and sides, just to see you twist away and push his hand down. Once, inexplicably, he grabbed your entire face as you would a cat you wanted to bother. The resulting cat fight (hehe) led to you straddling his face, your hands pinning his wrists down above his head. It was all a show really; he could push you off, flip you over, pin you down and have his wicked way with his dear kitty, all in the span of a breath, and you both know that. Yet, he let it happen because he loved the weight of you on his face, your pretty, breathy sighs and whimpers, your mewling when he didn't, wouldn't stop licking at your cunt. Jun loved when you initiated anything, cupping your pussy and affectionately calling you his "little cat in heat", scratching behind the cat ears he bought for you. He loved putting you face down ass up on the living room rug, where anyone could walk in on Jun slamming into you, one hand between your shoulder blades, the other pinning your wrists behind your back. If anyone walks in? Well, it's so commonplace they barely take note of it anymore, but sometimes—after a long day, or a hard practice— they push your teary face between their legs, cooing at how you rub your cheek against the bulge in their pants. Nothing relieves their stress and frustration like pushing your head down, large hand between your cat ears, seeing drool and cum and tears mix on your pretty face, but you curling up on Jun’s lap like a content cat comes in as a strong second.
Hoshi . Is bitey. Half man, half tiger, half toddler is really the only way you could even somewhat adequately describe him. He's forever teething against the soft inside of your thigh, licking at you until you cry, fucking into you like a rabid animal, pinching your cheeks and cooing over you, before burying his face in your neck and mouthing at the skin there. The other members teased you about the marks he left, pressing gently down on bruises new and faded. There was no embarrassing Hoshi, not when he proudly showed them off when he could, yanking your head back by the hair, exposing the delicate arch of your throat. His tongue laved over the bites, tasting the salt of your skin, and he paid no heed to your incessant squirming. Your shoulders are always adorned with perfectly circular bitemarks, to the point where the others were concerned by them. What they didn't know, not until Hoshi walked out smug and shirtless after a shower, was how much you marked him up as well (to Mingyu's scandalized gasp). You were usually so pliant underneath them, your hands always pinned out of the way and held down, but Soonyoung adored when your small hands tried to grasp onto him, when your pretty, sharp nails clawed at his back and shoulders, struggling to withstand the onslaught of pleasure. The result? Long, fine scratches adorning his spine, shifting under the toned muscles of his back and biceps. He wears them proudly like his own tiger stripes.
Wonwoo is a cat maid enjoyer trustttt. He is also a little shit. Even without the frills of the costume, the cat ears and his hand are permanently on your head. Number 1 headpat giver. Reading? His hands are stroking your hair. Sleeping together? His thumb is brushing over the arch of your ear. You do something mildly cute (breathe)? Pat pat pat. Loves cuddling you like a plushie against his chest, both while lying down and sitting up. The cuteness aggression is unreal. At least, it is until the sadist in him takes over. He loves nothing more than locking a remote controlled vibe against you and making you do menial household chores like dusting and scrubbing in your pretty, too-short outfit that did nothing to hide whatever lacy thing you had on underneath. His favourite is when you are on your hands and knees, pretending to scrub the floor, the ridiculously frilly uniform soaked through with water, skin slippery with suds, smelling like soap and desperation, all because he turned the vibe up too high, too quickly. He makes you come like that, shaking and crying on the floor. Once. Twice. You were well on the way to the third when he gathers you up in his arms and sets you on his lap, uncaring of the water soaking through his clothes. He presses a firm hand over your pussy, forcing the toy against your clit, and lets you sob your way through your climax. Wonwoo is gentle when he cleans you up after, undoing the ties of your dress with nimble, long-fingered hands, lowering your spent body into a hot bath, cradling you until you fall fast asleep against his chest. Of course, not without innumerous headpats.
Woozi has 3 loves in his life: music, working out, and you. According to him, there was no reason not to combine any of the three, which found you in his studio, curled up on his lap. His hands absentmindedly kneaded at your flesh, sliding from your chest down to the curve of your waist, palming at your ass, then up and over your thigh, to the round of your calf. Even the delicate swell of your ankles and the arch of your foot was not untouched, pale, elegant fingers stroking the skin and squeezing the entirety of your foot. Between the quiet of the studio and his warm hands, you barely notice the haze of dreamland drawing its veil over your eyes, or soft cushions meeting your back. You wake up to the soft click-clack of the keyboard. stretching, you watch your lover work.
One moment, you had been lounging on the studio couch— the next, plucked from it by a Jihoon that seemed to stomp in from thin air. His face, bright like the full moon, hovered directly over you, eyes meeting yours, glinting with quiet mischief. You blinked, and then you were weightless, rising, and your usually reserved Jihoon? Doing barbell curls of all things, using you as an exceptionally surprised piece of gym equipment. Usually, gym equipment did not stare at him with wide eyes and a mildly confused expression. Usually, gym equipment did not fist his shirt and cling to him. Usually, gym equipment was not this fucking adorable. What was Woozi to do with you, other than to set you on his cock and show you his new hip thrust PR?
Dokyeom gave Seungcheol and Hoshi a run for their money when it came to sheer clinginess, what with how you're folded into his side all the damn time. He's forever squishing you into his broad chest, arms and legs thrown around you, head buried in the crook of your neck. Rarely would you get to cuddle him back, because he seemed to have made it his life mission to bring any straying limbs back to your body and make you as compact as possible. Slender, long fingers wrap around your delicate wrists and pin them down, with seemingly little effort, but you can't move an inch. Forget being a plushie— you act as his living, breathing body pillow, always warm to the touch. Your skin? Free real estate. His hands are always roaming, cupping the curve of your tit, pinching your nipples and tugging until you arch against him. Further down, squeezing the softness of your stomach and pinching the narrowest part of your waist. Further, and he's stroking your thighs almost reverently, higher and higher until his palm is flush against your cunt, and he pets that too. It seemed like sacrilege to call it dirty, sexual; the slow drag of his finger against your clit was worship, your whimpers hymnal, your pleasure his offering. The scrunch of your face when you come is enlightenment to him. When he flips you over and pins you underneath him, Dokyeom can't help but think you're his own miniature goddess stolen straight from the altar, come to life and flushed and demanding under his reverent hands. When he's through with you, after carefully shaping your body into his, pressing you down into the mattress, bouncing you on his hips, drinking and eating from you until he can finally call himself somewhat sated, he cleans you like a devotee, presses his forehead against your sweat-damp stomach, and breathes you in, more fragrant than any incense.
You are Seventeen's doll, and Mingyu is their housewife. That's why he's always setting you on the counter next to him while he cooks, lovingly feeding you the first bite by hand. You looked so fragile to him like this, his oversized shirt falling off your shoulder, riding up your thighs, exposing impossibly soft skin. While dinner cooks, he spreads you on the counter as his appetizer, licking at you until you're begging him to let up, to give you a break. He finds your thrashing impossibly cute, how your thighs can't close around his shoulders, your helpless crying because it's too much for your little body to handle. It's so easy to manhandle you into whatever position he wanted, to hold you up and against him while he fucks into you. Some days, when he has too much energy, when practice and working out and taking care of others weren't enough, he would lift you up into the air and take you like that, your feet dangling off the floor. Out of everyone, you were the most doll-like with him, limp in his muscled arms while he uses you to his heart's desire. It had taken you so long to take him fully, needing days of prep before the first time. Days of him holding you down while he fingers you open, the pads of his fingers flush and rubbing against the soft, sensitive spot in you that your fingers could never reach by themselves. Days of Seventeen surprising you in the middle of the day by pushing a toy into you and forcing you to warm it. Days of Mingyu easing in inch by inch, making you come with each one, until you could finally, finally take his cock, flushed with pleasure and fullness and the endless praise spilling from his lips.
Minghao loves aesthetics. He asks you sit with him during his tea ceremonies, noting your perfect posture and neatly folded legs with an approving gaze. Everyone else is always bending you in half, but Minghao appreciates the neatness of your movement, the straight, elegant lines of your body, even in the mundane everyday— writing at your desk, molding the shape of your figure against one of his brothers', the swish of your skirt around your legs when you walked. It was in the smallest details to him— the tendons shifting under your hand, the stretch of an affectionate arm, the gentle arc of hipbone, the arch of your back off the bed when you come undone underneath his lips, his fingers, his cock. As far as Hao was concerned, this beauty was all the more perfect bound in cherry red rope, crisscrossing the narrow of your wrists and waist, digging into the fat of your hips and thighs. He spends hours with you in his studio, entwined together under warm afternoon sunlight, testing different patterns across your torso while your head leans against his chest. Every day was something different— arms tied to your ankles one day, calves and thighs bound together, forcing you to kneel, once tied to him while straddling him on a chair. The boundaries between his own touch and the bite of rope blurs, until the pinch of rope and the nip of teeth are one and the same.
You often called Seungkwan your "adorable boo bear", complete with holding up strands of his hair into fluffy bear ears. And indeed, he looked like a cartoon baby bear with his big eyes and clingy, soft tendencies. Evenings with him were always spent with you straddling him on the couch, your face buried in the crook of his neck, arms wrapped around each other, breathing the other in. He cared for you in a way that was softer, warmer, care which seeped in through your pores until you glowed from the inside out. Beyond nagging you to eat and drink water 2982139 times a day, he fetched you meals himself, held bottles to your lips, and scolded your ear off. When you were on his lap, however, the praise was endless. He didn't fuck— he rolled his hips into yours slowly, hands grasping yours, pinning both of you down, kissing the planes of your face slack from pleasure. It wasn't a powerplay like with the others, either. His hands are exceedingly gentle on your skin, holding you close, and closer, trying to merge the two of you together. Your own hand stroked his round cheek, resting soft against your palm. You were his doll and he was your boo bear, and that's all that mattered sometimes.
Vernon is the most peaceful of them all, never given to throwing you around like the others (or gnawing at you like Hoshi). It's simply enough to share company, and occassionally, cat reels. He holds you as casually as he does his phone, manspreading on the couch and setting you on his lap, wide hand palming the fat of your ass. The unspoken order—grind—hangs in the air, and you obediently oblige, pushing your hips against the seam of his pants, head falling into the perfect curve of his neck. He captures your lips with his, a soft, slick meeting. Unhurried, calm, like everything else was with him. He wasn't particularly inclined to pin you down and fuck you senseless (not that it didn't happen), but enjoyed the pressure of you on him, the gentle press of your hands against his chest. Afterwards, the two of you fall asleep together, hand in hand, space between your bodies like open fields ready for sowing.
Chan thinks you're the cutest ever, especially when snuggled up on his chest. He also thinks you're the cutest ever when you're overwhelmed and half dazed, making adorable little faces of pleasure and unable to speak from overstimulation. He likes making you whine into his neck and chest when his wandering hands squeeze a little too hard at your waist, ass and tits. Chan was always using his strength to his advantage, knowing it drove you insane, grinning cheekily when it did. Your pleasure was his, and he carved that knowledge in your mind until you knew it better than you knew yourself. Eye contact is a must for him, to the point where he stops moving if your eyes fall shut from the pleasure. His favourite activity? Placing you on one strong thigh, supported only by your entwined hands, and forcing you to grind and look at him until you're sobbing into his shoulder from exhaustion and frustration. His pants are soaked through, but you still couldn't find completion, needing more from him. Chan loved the desperate tears tracking down your face. Once he takes over, you wish you did it yourself— he's relentless, bouncing you on his thick thigh until you're cross-eyed and stupid from how good it feels. He keeps going, long after you've turned completely limp, using your body to vent his energy out. Afterwards, he collapses next you, and spoons you until you both fall asleep and wake up again, though you are significantly worse for wear. It's hard to stay mad when he flashes that boyish smile at you, with sweet kisses and promises of food.
a/n pt 2: if you see me post more fics with the same themes no you don't
feel free to ask if you want to see more from this universe (ot13 or member specific) because I have MULTIPLE scenarios that I haven't included here. Both fluff and smut reqs are accepted!
please send me asks/feedback/criticism/dms I do not bite
Tags: SMUT, bondage, dollification, overstimulation, they're disgustingly in love (classics of seventeensrat) I'm not kidding when I say they're IN LOVE, no fluff unless you count the fluff in the sexy parts. Fingering, sex, oral sex, I cannot say these are healthy dynamics, there's a scene where she's super insecure except it dissolves into an interpretation of my own flaws so the ending may be abrupt, skip over that if it's triggering, they read slightly codependent icl, he found her crying, he crew too, they both crode together Wonwoo toes her boundaries in the last one but they're both very into it, tagging dubcon just in case.
credits to @cursed-carmine for the gorgeous dividers, and @pochaccoups and @cherrynpink for proofreading and support, because God knows how long I've been sitting on this.
A/n: this is actually the very first fic I wrote! This is a shameless self insert brought to you by a massive virgin so don't take anything seriously and stay safe. I can't say the dynamics are healthy but they are undeniably sweet.
Silent readers kill. Please reblog, leave a comment or scream in my inbox I love it.
Wonwoo loved his darling little doll.
Loved dressing you up in the morning, each piece of delicate clothing carefully selected and put on you. Loved pinning your curls back with dainty hair clips, making you look even more doll-like. Loved scooping you up and carrying you around in his arms whenever he moved from one room to another. Loved gently setting you down among the many plushies that littered your bed after a long day. Loved crawling in with you. Loved pressing you to him until you both fell asleep. Loved waking you up the next morning with his cock pushing into you, his lovely doll so small and beautiful, whimpering half asleep in his arms. Loved doing it all over again.
That wasn’t to say you didn’t love it either. In fact, it was you, late one night, who suggested the idea to him shyly, reddened face buried in his wide shoulder. Asked him to use you, make you his, in every way possible, from the way you dress to when you speak. When he was silent for a moment too long, your heart sank to your stomach. Too far, you'd pushed too far, this was the end, you ruined it all again, he’s going to leave, you lost another person too early —
Between the panic and the chasm cracking open in your chest, you didn’t register the way he cradled your frozen body closer, aligning you with him. Not until Wonwoo’s hips rolled up into yours, letting you know exactly how he felt about it. That night, he took you over and over again, held close to his broad chest, held with warmth and safety and care. Held close like a beloved doll.
However, a beloved doll never meant a fully passive one. Wonwoo likes to tie you up, not because you struggle (though he finds it adorable), but because it’s easier for him to do as he pleases with you. Which found you perched on his lap while he wrote lyrics, his other hand between your thighs, stroking your clit mindlessly. Your own hands were bound in front of you with the same meticulousness he performed every action with, then looped to the ring on your pretty collar. You squirmed against him, thoughts melting into oblivion with every gentle pass of fingers.
The scratch of pen against paper pauses briefly, and he hauls you back to better lean against him, the warmth of his chest seeping into your back.
“Where are you going, hm?”
You were trapped between his chest and the palm of his hand flush against your bare cunt. The soft sound that escaped you was almost pitiful. Wonwoo huffed a laugh against the soft skin where your shoulder met your neck, pressing a tender kiss there. His fingers speed up, work long forgotten, until you were trying to squirm away from the relentless pleasure. The arm curled around your ribs doesn’t let you get far. He unravels you like this, nosing at the plush of your cheek, as you moan and writhe, legs shaking on either side of his, unable to close.
You wordlessly turn your head in search of his lips, missing them twice in your desperation. Wonwoo smiles, catching your mouth in a deep kiss, hand still working you through your climax. Oversensitivity kicks in, and you whine against his mouth. Tears prick against your eyes when his fingers refuse to slow down, before they pull away without warning. You whine again, whether out of frustration or relief, you couldn’t tell.
He breaks the kiss, still with that same gentle smile that you fell in love with, so long ago. Adjusting you on his lap, he silently encourages you to lean back against his shoulder. Your eyes drift shut. The scratch of pen on paper starts again, and Wonwoo’s warm hand finds its place back between your thighs, fingers tracing through the mess.
Your eyes snap open. “Wonwoo-”
“Hush, baby.” You reluctantly quiet down, still shivering in his lap, still without use of your hands or legs, restrained as they are. Dolls shouldn’t speak, anyway. Wonwoo rewards you by dipping two fingers past your pliant lips, pressing down on your tongue until you couldn’t focus on anything but the taste of his skin, covered in you.
Of course, work wasn’t the only time he held you close and played with you.
Wonwoo sprawls across the couch, long legs spread wide. You sat straddling his thigh, nose buried in the warm skin above his clavicle. His large, pale hand spidered across your spine, gently caressing you, looking the very picture of relaxation as he lazily flicks through a book with the other.
The same couldn’t be said of you. For the past half-hour, you’ve been grinding desperately against the strong thigh pressed against your cunt, trying to get yourself off to no avail. It didn’t help that your hands were cuffed behind your back this time— Wonwoo’s arm wrapped around your waist was the only thing keeping you steady.
You briefly wonder about the image the two of you made: his tall stature folded elegantly on the couch, regal features set in unruffled neutrality, princely even in a shirt and sweatpants, and you, naked, golden skin covered in a sheen of sweat, face flushed and crumpled with pleasure as you writhed helplessly on his leg. The master and his pretty doll. The thought sent heat straight to the pit of your stomach, forcing a whimper from you.
It was at that noise the warmth of Wonwoo’s hand disappeared from your back and resurfaced on your chest, guiding you back carefully. Still, you barely caught yourself on his thigh. The change in position forced pressure off your clit—too much.
Indignation won over embarrassment,, only for it to turn to a soft moan when his thumb languidly brushed over your nipple. The touch was so light it could’ve been an accident. What was not an accident was the sharp pinch that followed, pulling a strangled wail from you. He soothed it with a firm swipe of his finger, before grabbing your whole tit. Hard. His sharp eyes didn't leave the pages once, even when he groped your chest. Something simply to keep his hands busy.
Wonwoo bounced his leg the same time he turned a page. The jolt of pleasure it sent through you— after so long denied— made you fall forward back into the crook of his shoulder with a small cry, pushing your breast into his palm.
Any semblance of shame was long cast aside, if your whimpers were anything to go by. He keeps you like that, hand palming the soft swells of your chest, bouncing his leg periodically, almost absentmindedly– just to hear your punched out whines against his skin. An adorable little doll that squeaked when he touched it.
To Wonwoo, there was no activity that could be done if it wasn’t with you. Gaming (the single player kind. He’d be damned if he allowed anyone else to see you this way.) was no exception. Some days you curl up on his lap like a cat, basking in his warmth while you snuggle deeper into his shoulder. Wonwoo pets the closest part of you he can reach during the lulls. Long afternoons stretch and wind like taffy, Wonwoo rocking the two of you back and forth until you drowse in his arms.
On others, like this one, you kneel between his legs, hands tied to the chair around his waist. He makes sure your head is comfortable resting on his lap, his cock half hard and heavy in your mouth. His long calves are firm against your back, caging you in. Safe. It was so, so easy to fall asleep like this, drooling around him, messy and ruined and loved. Wonwoo pets the soft top of your head, a proud owner with a devoted pet.
Surrounded completely by him, you doze, woken up every now and then by his hips bucking into your mouth– gently, gently because he would never hurt his lovely doll, who looked up at him with glossy, lovesick eyes. Lovesick eyes which mirrored his own. His perfect darling who looked the picture of debauchery, pretty dress rucked up around your thighs, knees splayed out on the pillow he specifically bought for this, arms around him in the mimicry of a hug, round mouth stuffed full with him.
Wonwoo’s heart shatters with the affection he feels for you then. Enough to pull you off him by the hair—gently, always gently— and lean down into a deep kiss you could barely reciprocate, breathless. He slides two fingers into your mouth, the other hand stroking your hair, your face, peppering your face with little kisses. Smiles into every one of them. Pecks the tip of your nose, and oh, your lips are right there, soft and wet and tight around his fingers as you sucked. Pushing down on your tongue, he licks into your open mouth, around his fingers, kissing the slick arch of your mouth and then between the vee of his fingers, eating up every soft noise you make, because it’s all for him, because of him.
Two fingers, as big as they were, weren’t enough to soothe the ache that had formed in your jaw, settled deep in your mind. You whine. Loudly. Wonwoo pulls back, smiling fondly, stroking the side of your head.
“You want daddy’s cock, babydoll? Yeah?” he coos at you. “My darling girl wants to be with me forever, right? Does she want me to take care of her everyday like this? ”
You nod quickly, eyes glistening, wanting him in your mouth, around you. Forget wanting, you needed him like air. More, sometimes. He obliges like he could read your mind, understand that porcelain heart of yours, legs pressing against your back, guiding your head back to him. One hand pushes your head down, until you feel him nudging the back of your throat.
Long hours spent training away your gag reflex (A mission taken on solely by you. Wonwoo spent most of it alarmed, concerned for your well-being and painfully hard) made it ridiculously easy to do fun little tricks like taking him in fully and staring up at him with dark, wet eyes.
Fun little tricks for you, that is. Wonwoo was actively losing it. You silently will him to look at you, but he pays no heed to your telepathic urging (how dare he), instead throwing his head back, eyes squeezed shut against the overwhelming heat of your mouth. You lick over his head, taking him even deeper. The groan he lets slip between the harsh breaths is enough to have you moan against him, the vibration making his hips buck up, his body becoming yours.
You bob your head once, twice, and let your teeth graze ever so slightly, and that was enough for him to come undone. You swallow every drop, admiring his lovely face in the throes of pleasure. His cheekbones shone like the moon lived under his skin, and his long neck gleamed with sweat.
Wonwoo knew there was something wrong when you stared at your breakfast glassily, and when you barely spoke to him through it, and refused to touch him after it. He knew it when he saw you gazing at the mirror with the kind of hunger only the eternally starving could have, the hunger of someone who could not eat. And he knew it when you shied away from the hands he placed on your shoulders, but he didn't budge, and you reluctantly let him.
"What's wrong, darling?"
"I'm fine." An answer too curt to be anything but fine.
He stayed silent, and it enveloped you like everything about him. The silence seeped into your skin and throat, swept into your head with the surety of a tsunami, sank into the orifices of your chest (you sometimes wondered if there was anything in there at all— it felt so hollow), reached the depths of your stomach.
The words left from your stomach too. Retching them out was really the right word, the way it came up, and out of your mouth in convulsions, the horrible things you harboured within you like a spider and it's eggs.
The truth was: you were a freak of nature. An anomalous result, a product of your circumstances like any other, the last connection you seemed to have with what it meant to be human. That's where it all stemmed from and now you've made him part of it, subjected him to you, the oddity, you, the less-than-human-more-than -doll sick in the head for all the things you were willing to do to be accepted, to win in relationships (there are 2 losers), to be home in her own skin. There were places his hands couldn't reach, couldn't cleanse and that made you angrier.
By the end of your tirade, shaking and crying and close to collapse, his silence remained. But so did his hands, moving from your shoulders to your back, keeping you up, you realised, from collapsing. Your legs felt numb. Truly a doll, you thought deliriously. All that was left was the two of you and his silence, now coating the sharp shards of glass you called a heart. The silence wasn't there to stay, because he'd leave soon, understand you were beyond help, save himself while he could. You wanted him happy. You wanted him all to yourself and that sent you into a fresh wave of tears, because it was all gone now, you've cut the final threads, cleaned it up like a seam in life. B.W, A.W. Before Wonwoo, after Wonwoo. The thought made you giggle, and you were sure he found you repulsive and frankly ill, and that sobered you up again.
His arms still haven't left their place around you. A croak of your name had you turning around to look at him, and your heart shattered at the tear tracks that mirrored your own. He shouldn't cry, people like him never deserved to know desperation or grief or sadness, you caused it—
As if sensing your thoughts, he scooped you up, interrupting them, and carried you to the bed, setting you on his lap comfortably. And his tears never stopped rolling, not when he buried his face in your shoulder and clung to you like he was afraid you'd be the one walking away. Maybe he recognized the sharp knife trying to glide through yet another relationship.
"Wonwoo?" You tried, placing a gentle hand onto his shoulder. He shook his head, still hidden in the crook of your shoulder.
"Don't leave me." The single sentence shattered you further, and you carded a hand through his dark hair, trying to envelope him like he always did you. You could always become better. For him, you'd force yourself to.
The door opened angrily. You could swear up and down the door could tell you what the person who opened it was feeling at the moment, and today it was frustration and ire.
You felt him before he entered the kitchen, all long legs and broad shoulders. His mouth was set in a tight line, and you could see the stress around his eyes, half hooded behind his glasses. Wonwoo crossed the distance between you in two strides, grabbing your face with one hand and tilting your head up before he caught your lips in a kiss that felt like he was trying to devour you. You whined into the kiss, out of breath.
"Wonwoo, the stove—” you gasped.
He chased your mouth again, one arm reaching past you to turn the stove off (insurance wasn't worth it). The kiss only seemed to get more desperate as he poured the frustration of his day into it, until it felt like your lips would bruise. You wouldn't mind that, you thought, you wanted his marks to be raw and aching and permanent.
Without breaking the kiss, he slid an arm under your ass, lifting you effortlessly. The walk to the bedroom was the longest 10 seconds of his life (not entirely true. There was that one time the two of you didn't make it to the bed), and he tossed you on it like you weighed nothing, hunger written all over his face. Wonwoo moved with the quick grace of a predator, sliding between your thighs and flipping your skirt up. Of course you weren't wearing anything underneath, his perfect doll.
The first lick had you crumbling, and he had you on the edge in minutes. A single devastating suck threw you over it almost violently, his tounge working you through it. You sighed, boneless on the mattress, tugging at his hair to pull him up and over you, but he simply pinned your hands to your stomach.
"Hands, baby." It wasn't often he got like this, so you lifted them up obediently. Wonwoo stroked over your clit, rubbing little hearts into it until you came again, dumb with pleasure. And again. And again. After the fifth or sixth orgasm, you couldn't take it anymore, pushing at his shoulders and pulling his hair, trying to close your legs, but Wonwoo was a monolith between your thighs. And determined to make you come over and over until overstimulation could barely describe what you felt, tears of pleasure edged with sweet pain rolling into your hair. You knew if you fought back more, he'd simply tie your hands up and away from you, and tie your knees apart, and give you one more just as punishment for misbehaving. Your pleasure belonged to him. You belonged to him. He'd care of you if you passed out anyway, why are you crying?
You’re a treasured plaything for him to touch and grope at his will, regardless of whatever he’s doing. Or whatever you're doing.
Tags: SMUT, bondage, dollification, overstimulation, they're disgustingly in love (classics of seventeensrat) I'm not kidding when I say they're IN LOVE, no fluff unless you count the fluff in the sexy parts. Fingering, sex, oral sex, I cannot say these are healthy dynamics, there's a scene where she's super insecure except it dissolves into an interpretation of my own flaws so the ending may be abrupt, skip over that if it's triggering, they read slightly codependent icl, he found her crying, he crew too, they both crode together Wonwoo toes her boundaries in the last one but they're both very into it, tagging dubcon just in case.
credits to @cursed-carmine for the gorgeous dividers, and @pochaccoups and @cherrynpink for proofreading and support, because God knows how long I've been sitting on this.
A/n: this is actually the very first fic I wrote! This is a shameless self insert brought to you by a massive virgin so don't take anything seriously and stay safe. I can't say the dynamics are healthy but they are undeniably sweet.
Silent readers kill. Please reblog, leave a comment or scream in my inbox I love it.
Wonwoo loved his darling little doll.
Loved dressing you up in the morning, each piece of delicate clothing carefully selected and put on you. Loved pinning your curls back with dainty hair clips, making you look even more doll-like. Loved scooping you up and carrying you around in his arms whenever he moved from one room to another. Loved gently setting you down among the many plushies that littered your bed after a long day. Loved crawling in with you. Loved pressing you to him until you both fell asleep. Loved waking you up the next morning with his cock pushing into you, his lovely doll so small and beautiful, whimpering half asleep in his arms. Loved doing it all over again.
That wasn’t to say you didn’t love it either. In fact, it was you, late one night, who suggested the idea to him shyly, reddened face buried in his wide shoulder. Asked him to use you, make you his, in every way possible, from the way you dress to when you speak. When he was silent for a moment too long, your heart sank to your stomach. Too far, you'd pushed too far, this was the end, you ruined it all again, he’s going to leave, you lost another person too early —
Between the panic and the chasm cracking open in your chest, you didn’t register the way he cradled your frozen body closer, aligning you with him. Not until Wonwoo’s hips rolled up into yours, letting you know exactly how he felt about it. That night, he took you over and over again, held close to his broad chest, held with warmth and safety and care. Held close like a beloved doll.
However, a beloved doll never meant a fully passive one. Wonwoo likes to tie you up, not because you struggle (though he finds it adorable), but because it’s easier for him to do as he pleases with you. Which found you perched on his lap while he wrote lyrics, his other hand between your thighs, stroking your clit mindlessly. Your own hands were bound in front of you with the same meticulousness he performed every action with, then looped to the ring on your pretty collar. You squirmed against him, thoughts melting into oblivion with every gentle pass of fingers.
The scratch of pen against paper pauses briefly, and he hauls you back to better lean against him, the warmth of his chest seeping into your back.
“Where are you going, hm?”
You were trapped between his chest and the palm of his hand flush against your bare cunt. The soft sound that escaped you was almost pitiful. Wonwoo huffed a laugh against the soft skin where your shoulder met your neck, pressing a tender kiss there. His fingers speed up, work long forgotten, until you were trying to squirm away from the relentless pleasure. The arm curled around your ribs doesn’t let you get far. He unravels you like this, nosing at the plush of your cheek, as you moan and writhe, legs shaking on either side of his, unable to close.
You wordlessly turn your head in search of his lips, missing them twice in your desperation. Wonwoo smiles, catching your mouth in a deep kiss, hand still working you through your climax. Oversensitivity kicks in, and you whine against his mouth. Tears prick against your eyes when his fingers refuse to slow down, before they pull away without warning. You whine again, whether out of frustration or relief, you couldn’t tell.
He breaks the kiss, still with that same gentle smile that you fell in love with, so long ago. Adjusting you on his lap, he silently encourages you to lean back against his shoulder. Your eyes drift shut. The scratch of pen on paper starts again, and Wonwoo’s warm hand finds its place back between your thighs, fingers tracing through the mess.
Your eyes snap open. “Wonwoo-”
“Hush, baby.” You reluctantly quiet down, still shivering in his lap, still without use of your hands or legs, restrained as they are. Dolls shouldn’t speak, anyway. Wonwoo rewards you by dipping two fingers past your pliant lips, pressing down on your tongue until you couldn’t focus on anything but the taste of his skin, covered in you.
Of course, work wasn’t the only time he held you close and played with you.
Wonwoo sprawls across the couch, long legs spread wide. You sat straddling his thigh, nose buried in the warm skin above his clavicle. His large, pale hand spidered across your spine, gently caressing you, looking the very picture of relaxation as he lazily flicks through a book with the other.
The same couldn’t be said of you. For the past half-hour, you’ve been grinding desperately against the strong thigh pressed against your cunt, trying to get yourself off to no avail. It didn’t help that your hands were cuffed behind your back this time— Wonwoo’s arm wrapped around your waist was the only thing keeping you steady.
You briefly wonder about the image the two of you made: his tall stature folded elegantly on the couch, regal features set in unruffled neutrality, princely even in a shirt and sweatpants, and you, naked, golden skin covered in a sheen of sweat, face flushed and crumpled with pleasure as you writhed helplessly on his leg. The master and his pretty doll. The thought sent heat straight to the pit of your stomach, forcing a whimper from you.
It was at that noise the warmth of Wonwoo’s hand disappeared from your back and resurfaced on your chest, guiding you back carefully. Still, you barely caught yourself on his thigh. The change in position forced pressure off your clit—too much.
Indignation won over embarrassment,, only for it to turn to a soft moan when his thumb languidly brushed over your nipple. The touch was so light it could’ve been an accident. What was not an accident was the sharp pinch that followed, pulling a strangled wail from you. He soothed it with a firm swipe of his finger, before grabbing your whole tit. Hard. His sharp eyes didn't leave the pages once, even when he groped your chest. Something simply to keep his hands busy.
Wonwoo bounced his leg the same time he turned a page. The jolt of pleasure it sent through you— after so long denied— made you fall forward back into the crook of his shoulder with a small cry, pushing your breast into his palm.
Any semblance of shame was long cast aside, if your whimpers were anything to go by. He keeps you like that, hand palming the soft swells of your chest, bouncing his leg periodically, almost absentmindedly– just to hear your punched out whines against his skin. An adorable little doll that squeaked when he touched it.
To Wonwoo, there was no activity that could be done if it wasn’t with you. Gaming (the single player kind. He’d be damned if he allowed anyone else to see you this way.) was no exception. Some days you curl up on his lap like a cat, basking in his warmth while you snuggle deeper into his shoulder. Wonwoo pets the closest part of you he can reach during the lulls. Long afternoons stretch and wind like taffy, Wonwoo rocking the two of you back and forth until you drowse in his arms.
On others, like this one, you kneel between his legs, hands tied to the chair around his waist. He makes sure your head is comfortable resting on his lap, his cock half hard and heavy in your mouth. His long calves are firm against your back, caging you in. Safe. It was so, so easy to fall asleep like this, drooling around him, messy and ruined and loved. Wonwoo pets the soft top of your head, a proud owner with a devoted pet.
Surrounded completely by him, you doze, woken up every now and then by his hips bucking into your mouth– gently, gently because he would never hurt his lovely doll, who looked up at him with glossy, lovesick eyes. Lovesick eyes which mirrored his own. His perfect darling who looked the picture of debauchery, pretty dress rucked up around your thighs, knees splayed out on the pillow he specifically bought for this, arms around him in the mimicry of a hug, round mouth stuffed full with him.
Wonwoo’s heart shatters with the affection he feels for you then. Enough to pull you off him by the hair—gently, always gently— and lean down into a deep kiss you could barely reciprocate, breathless. He slides two fingers into your mouth, the other hand stroking your hair, your face, peppering your face with little kisses. Smiles into every one of them. Pecks the tip of your nose, and oh, your lips are right there, soft and wet and tight around his fingers as you sucked. Pushing down on your tongue, he licks into your open mouth, around his fingers, kissing the slick arch of your mouth and then between the vee of his fingers, eating up every soft noise you make, because it’s all for him, because of him.
Two fingers, as big as they were, weren’t enough to soothe the ache that had formed in your jaw, settled deep in your mind. You whine. Loudly. Wonwoo pulls back, smiling fondly, stroking the side of your head.
“You want daddy’s cock, babydoll? Yeah?” he coos at you. “My darling girl wants to be with me forever, right? Does she want me to take care of her everyday like this? ”
You nod quickly, eyes glistening, wanting him in your mouth, around you. Forget wanting, you needed him like air. More, sometimes. He obliges like he could read your mind, understand that porcelain heart of yours, legs pressing against your back, guiding your head back to him. One hand pushes your head down, until you feel him nudging the back of your throat.
Long hours spent training away your gag reflex (A mission taken on solely by you. Wonwoo spent most of it alarmed, concerned for your well-being and painfully hard) made it ridiculously easy to do fun little tricks like taking him in fully and staring up at him with dark, wet eyes.
Fun little tricks for you, that is. Wonwoo was actively losing it. You silently will him to look at you, but he pays no heed to your telepathic urging (how dare he), instead throwing his head back, eyes squeezed shut against the overwhelming heat of your mouth. You lick over his head, taking him even deeper. The groan he lets slip between the harsh breaths is enough to have you moan against him, the vibration making his hips buck up, his body becoming yours.
You bob your head once, twice, and let your teeth graze ever so slightly, and that was enough for him to come undone. You swallow every drop, admiring his lovely face in the throes of pleasure. His cheekbones shone like the moon lived under his skin, and his long neck gleamed with sweat.
Wonwoo knew there was something wrong when you stared at your breakfast glassily, and when you barely spoke to him through it, and refused to touch him after it. He knew it when he saw you gazing at the mirror with the kind of hunger only the eternally starving could have, the hunger of someone who could not eat. And he knew it when you shied away from the hands he placed on your shoulders, but he didn't budge, and you reluctantly let him.
"What's wrong, darling?"
"I'm fine." An answer too curt to be anything but fine.
He stayed silent, and it enveloped you like everything about him. The silence seeped into your skin and throat, swept into your head with the surety of a tsunami, sank into the orifices of your chest (you sometimes wondered if there was anything in there at all— it felt so hollow), reached the depths of your stomach.
The words left from your stomach too. Retching them out was really the right word, the way it came up, and out of your mouth in convulsions, the horrible things you harboured within you like a spider and it's eggs.
The truth was: you were a freak of nature. An anomalous result, a product of your circumstances like any other, the last connection you seemed to have with what it meant to be human. That's where it all stemmed from and now you've made him part of it, subjected him to you, the oddity, you, the less-than-human-more-than -doll sick in the head for all the things you were willing to do to be accepted, to win in relationships (there are 2 losers), to be home in her own skin. There were places his hands couldn't reach, couldn't cleanse and that made you angrier.
By the end of your tirade, shaking and crying and close to collapse, his silence remained. But so did his hands, moving from your shoulders to your back, keeping you up, you realised, from collapsing. Your legs felt numb. Truly a doll, you thought deliriously. All that was left was the two of you and his silence, now coating the sharp shards of glass you called a heart. The silence wasn't there to stay, because he'd leave soon, understand you were beyond help, save himself while he could. You wanted him happy. You wanted him all to yourself and that sent you into a fresh wave of tears, because it was all gone now, you've cut the final threads, cleaned it up like a seam in life. B.W, A.W. Before Wonwoo, after Wonwoo. The thought made you giggle, and you were sure he found you repulsive and frankly ill, and that sobered you up again.
His arms still haven't left their place around you. A croak of your name had you turning around to look at him, and your heart shattered at the tear tracks that mirrored your own. He shouldn't cry, people like him never deserved to know desperation or grief or sadness, you caused it—
As if sensing your thoughts, he scooped you up, interrupting them, and carried you to the bed, setting you on his lap comfortably. And his tears never stopped rolling, not when he buried his face in your shoulder and clung to you like he was afraid you'd be the one walking away. Maybe he recognized the sharp knife trying to glide through yet another relationship.
"Wonwoo?" You tried, placing a gentle hand onto his shoulder. He shook his head, still hidden in the crook of your shoulder.
"Don't leave me." The single sentence shattered you further, and you carded a hand through his dark hair, trying to envelope him like he always did you. You could always become better. For him, you'd force yourself to.
The door opened angrily. You could swear up and down the door could tell you what the person who opened it was feeling at the moment, and today it was frustration and ire.
You felt him before he entered the kitchen, all long legs and broad shoulders. His mouth was set in a tight line, and you could see the stress around his eyes, half hooded behind his glasses. Wonwoo crossed the distance between you in two strides, grabbing your face with one hand and tilting your head up before he caught your lips in a kiss that felt like he was trying to devour you. You whined into the kiss, out of breath.
"Wonwoo, the stove—” you gasped.
He chased your mouth again, one arm reaching past you to turn the stove off (insurance wasn't worth it). The kiss only seemed to get more desperate as he poured the frustration of his day into it, until it felt like your lips would bruise. You wouldn't mind that, you thought, you wanted his marks to be raw and aching and permanent.
Without breaking the kiss, he slid an arm under your ass, lifting you effortlessly. The walk to the bedroom was the longest 10 seconds of his life (not entirely true. There was that one time the two of you didn't make it to the bed), and he tossed you on it like you weighed nothing, hunger written all over his face. Wonwoo moved with the quick grace of a predator, sliding between your thighs and flipping your skirt up. Of course you weren't wearing anything underneath, his perfect doll.
The first lick had you crumbling, and he had you on the edge in minutes. A single devastating suck threw you over it almost violently, his tounge working you through it. You sighed, boneless on the mattress, tugging at his hair to pull him up and over you, but he simply pinned your hands to your stomach.
"Hands, baby." It wasn't often he got like this, so you lifted them up obediently. Wonwoo stroked over your clit, rubbing little hearts into it until you came again, dumb with pleasure. And again. And again. After the fifth or sixth orgasm, you couldn't take it anymore, pushing at his shoulders and pulling his hair, trying to close your legs, but Wonwoo was a monolith between your thighs. And determined to make you come over and over until overstimulation could barely describe what you felt, tears of pleasure edged with sweet pain rolling into your hair. You knew if you fought back more, he'd simply tie your hands up and away from you, and tie your knees apart, and give you one more just as punishment for misbehaving. Your pleasure belonged to him. You belonged to him. He'd care of you if you passed out anyway, why are you crying?
You’re a treasured plaything for him to touch and grope at his will, regardless of whatever he’s doing. Or whatever you're doing.
