#p1h x reader

[hyenalucky]

My drafts make me lol

[ruidupoison]

✧ SUGAR TRAP : haku shota

though he isn't the poetic sort, shota likes reminding you of the things he loves about you. but you appreciate your boyfriend's compliments a little too much—and he notices.

⊹ ࣪ ˖⠀────⠀~2.5k words⠀˖♡⠀req by anon

𝜗𝜚ㅤgn reader. fluff. suggestive. slight angst if you squint. established relationship. skinship. food. kissing + making out. references to sex. unresolved sexual tension.

💌 guess who stayed up until 2am to finish this smiles. the muses grabbed me by the throat and refused to let me breathe until i got this done. sorry if there are mistakes i am #sleepdeprived

Shota is a man of few words. He saves them for the people closest to his heart, or, in other words, you. 

Even then, his silence, though lessened around you, isn't novel. His difficulty articulating himself is just another part of him, as is his love for his dogs, as is his tendency to behave like an alien among humans. 

Not that you ever mind. You always know how to make quiet moments count. 

In many ways, you two are alike. Both of you are pretty reserved, sometimes hesitant and often unsure in the way you weave through life. Seeing those parts of himself in another person was an inescapable pull that drew him towards you. 

He's grateful for your seemingly endless patience more than he can verbalize, sometimes even more than he can handle. 

Nevertheless, he tries his best. You deserve to know, to be reminded. 

“Anyone ever told you that you're really patient?” he says in the middle of lining up wood blocks for the walls of your shared Minecraft house, dark eyes momentarily meeting your side profile. 

He catches the quirk of your eyebrow and feels himself grin. You scoff lightheartedly, then let out a quiet laugh. “If this is about that one time you decided to spawn a Wither because you were bored, just know you're lucky I love you.”

“I am,” he places an oak door between two wood blocks, “but I meant in general. You're really patient.”

The way he says it, so casually like it was just another regular set of words, sets a ticklish warmth alight in your chest. “You think so?” you ask, pausing the game to look at him. 

He nods, his eyes holding yours. They soften once your face is fully turned towards him. “Yeah, I mean… I don't know how you do it.” You don't like how his insecurity is rearing its ugly head during your Minecraft game. “I know I can be a lot.”

Your phone lies forgotten on your thigh, hands instead holding his face. Immediately his head relaxes, welcoming the warmth of your palms. “Listen, I know I'm not the best with words, but you're never too much for the right person, Shota. You're just right.”

His face slowly blooms like a flower in the sun. With a smile across his face and a light red painted on his cheeks, he turns his head to kiss your palm. “Maybe you're right. You're the right person, after all.”

The warmth in your chest is burning up towards your neck now. “Yeah?”

“Mhm. I'm sure.” With a few quick movements, he quietly saves his game progress before turning off his phone in favor of wrapping his arms around your torso. He presses his face deeper into your palm, taking a deep breath as he gently pushes you against the couch’s armrest. “No one else would let me get away with licking their hand.”

You blink. “Huh?”

Without breaking eye contact, he cheekily licks a small stripe up your palm up to your middle finger. 

Your hand recoils with inhuman speed, coupled with a high pitched groan. All the while, laughter erupts from Shota. 

Normally, it's a relieving sound—contagious, even—but now it's irritating in its audacity.

“I hate you,” you fight a smile despite yourself, furiously wiping your hand against the hem of his top. He doesn't even flinch. “I hate you so, so much.”

Shota has the nerve to stretch his grin wider. “I love you tooooo,” he coos, draping himself over you. With a resigned sigh, you allow him to use you as a makeshift pillow, fondly rolling your eyes when you feel his head rest over your chest. 

As if that wasn't enough, he takes your hand and places it on the back of his head. 

Does he really think you'll play with his hair after the atrocity he committed?

“I hate you,” you repeat under your breath. 

You feel his smile against your collarbone the moment your fingertips graze his scalp. 

To your misfortune, he's right. 

“I love you too,” he playfully says once more, hooking his index finger down the neck of your top to kiss your breastbone, “my beautiful, oh so patient spouse.”

God, why did he have to accentuate the words like that? It makes you want to punch his face just to kiss him silly after. Blood crawls up your cheeks. You avert your gaze. “That's not gonna work on me.”

“I like the way you smell?” he chuckles, nosing your throat before his lips attach to the skin, giving it a kiss. 

The heat on your face grows, and not because of the kiss. “Right, right.”

“Yeah, you're right. I love it, actually.” His hands have now made their way under your shirt, absently moving up and down the sides of your stomach. “Like is an understatement. Your scent is really comforting.”

You know that, which is why you wore the perfume he likes earlier. 

Your heart does that stupid thing it usually does whenever Shota tells you all the right things—it jumps beneath your ribcage, hard. 

Suddenly, he tenses. When you look down to check if he's okay, you notice his eyes have widened slightly. 

The hand you have in his hair stills.

Slowly, he looks up at you, raising his head from your chest slightly. For a terrifying moment, you thought you would break under his scrutiny. 

The silence, broken only by the drumming of rain across your roof, was skinning you alive. “All I need is an apology, you know.”

He narrows his eyes at you. You swallow, your own gaze faltering. 

“You okay, Shota? I love you too. You know I was just kidding…”

His expression switches from searching to bright in less than a second. “Never better,” he beams, pecking the tip of your nose. Then, without explanation, he gets off you and sits back up to return to your Minecraft server, leaving you colder than you'd like. 

All you can do for the next few seconds is stare up at him, bewildered. You only regain focus when he gestures for you to do the same. 

“Come on, let's finish building our new house!”

Even after three hours of playing on the couch, the thunderstorm is still determined to trap you and Shota inside your home. 

It would be cruel to order delivery in this weather—and neither of you have the energy to talk to a stranger right now—so you opt for making dinner yourselves instead. You insist on making it yourself, since Shota had already tried his hand at cooking last night. 

However, he refuses to simply stand in the corner and watch you work. No, he has a plan. 

“You should make kimchi stew, get us warmed up,” he says, leaning against the kitchen island.

You hum in approval, opening the fridge to take out some necessary ingredients. “Kimchi stew it is. I missed having it anyway.”

Shota watches you prepare the ingredients with great amusement. With your back facing him, the sight of you nurtures his amusement until it evolves into mischief. 

As you slice some kimchi on your chopping board, he steps into your space, snaking his arms around your middle, pressing you against his chest. 

He looks down at your hands, at the way you rhythmically cut the kimchi into pieces. “You're really good at cooking, you know that?”

Your heart, ever the traitor, leaps behind your ribs. “I am?”

The words come out much more eager than intended. His plan is working. 

Shota smirks. 

“Of course you are. Only my parents can make better food,” he continues, his fingers cheekily making their way lower. 

“I can't possibly be good enough to be second to them,” you try to say, because now is not the time to get in your head; not when you have a knife in your hand. 

But Shota's stubborn. “Is it really that hard to believe? I love how your food tastes.”

“You know I wouldn't lie to you, honey.” Even with your back turned to him, you know he's pouting. That, as well as his breath fanning across your ear, does nothing to slow your heart rate. Fuck you for enjoying that endearment and fuck him for exploiting that weakness. “I never lie to you.”

You clear your throat, causing him to straighten up a little. Still, a good amount of his weight is plopped onto you as he allows you a moment of reprieve. 

Eventually, you relax into him a little more, giving Shota the green light to perch his head on your shoulder. His arms are content with hugging your waist for now, eyes fixed on the movements your hand makes while you mix the seasonings into the stew. 

Out of his desire to tease and touch, he puts his hand over yours, following your stirring. “Seriously, you're so good at this.”

Your head jerks to look at him. He raises a brow in silent question, and you answer, “I’m just mixing it together, Sho.”

He presses a lingering kiss against your temple. “And you're really good at it.”

Not wanting to mess up the stew, you force your attention up front, covering the pot with a lid. If you say anything now, you're afraid you'll say something stupid. 

Finally, you wriggle out of his grip. “Watch it for me. I'll be right back.”

Your feet lead you into the bathroom. You close the door behind you with a little more force than necessary, nearly going limp against it once locked. 

You spare your reflection a sidelong glance. I should not be getting this worked up over a few compliments. Sho’s just being sweet. 

And yet this is far from the first time your heart raced abnormally because he decided to ever so sweetly stroke your ego. It happened on your first proper date when he applauded your outfit choice; on the nights when you two would discover different planes of existence through interlocked limbs; even yesterday when he went on about how good you were at picking out Pokemon card packs.

You inhale deeply, sliding your palm down your face. “I'm fine. This is fine. Everything's normal.”

Still, the memory from earlier, when he suddenly felt the need to study your face as if he found something he shouldn't have, stayed lodged in the back of your mind. 

Maybe you were just a little disoriented from playing Minecraft for three hours straight. 

With a sigh, you push yourself off the door and head back into the kitchen. 

Shota's face visibly brightens upon your return as if he isn't keeping his intentions veiled. He steps out of your way with an all too toothy grin, his eyes following your every move. 

“Did you take a shit or something? You were gone for a while.”

You purse your lips, giving him your fakest smile before briefly checking in on the kimchi stew. “Very funny, Sho.”

The chuckle he lets out ends too quickly. “Please, we both know you're the funny one in this relationship.”

There it is again. 

“Okay. I don't know what's going on,” you point your finger at him, “but you're acting weird.”

Shota's face contorts into one of disbelief. “You're not used to me being weird?”

“That's not what I mean. You know that's not what I mean.”

He gives it one second, then three, then five, before his mouth breaks into a knowing smile. He shakes his head playfully, taking a step towards you. “Damn, I wonder what could've given me away.”

You sigh. You're a lot of things: socially awkward, aversive towards direct eye contact, and someone who enjoys their boyfriend’s compliments a little too much. But you weren't stupid. 

You slap Shota's shoulder without any real force, earning a theatrical whine from him. He makes a show out of rubbing the spot you hit and pretending to frown. 

Then, he strikes without warning. “You're really cocky for someone who had to go to the bathroom just to recover from my dumb compliments.”

“So they were intentional!”

Thanks for confirming my suspicions, he thinks.

He gives you a pointed look, fighting a grin. “Duh. I know I compliment you a lot, but not over everything.” He pauses, as if contemplating what he just said. “Actually, maybe I should, seeing as you like it so much.”

You groan into your palms. “Unless you want me dead, please don't.”

“Aww, too bad.”

“Shota!” Another weak slap to the shoulder followed by another feigned display of pain. 

With a quiet laugh, he fully presses against you, gently sending you two against the counter. As his head makes itself home on your shoulder, you begrudgingly loop your arms around his neck. 

“I still hate you,” you mutter. 

His only response is a pinch on your hip and a peck on the corner of your lip, but it isn't enough to satisfy you. You chase after his mouth, moving your hand up to keep him in place to give him a full kiss; a proper taste of how he's made you feel. 

He returns the kiss just as hungrily, arms lifting you onto the countertop. Your fingers lose themselves in Shota's hair with ease, drawing a groan from him. Taking advantage of his parted lips, you slide your tongue between them, only for him to push his into your mouth. 

His hands have found your waistband, and he’s just about ready to get it out of the way, but not before his lips trail down your neck, and showering you with compliments between kisses just to get you more worked up, and—

An incessant beeping noise cuts through the heat, making you both flinch. 

It's coming from the small timer you stuck to your fridge. 

Only then does the pot of kimchi stew step back into your peripheral. “Shit.”

You scramble off the countertop and turn off the stove, removing the lid from the pot and putting sliced tofu over the now cooked stew with shaky hands. Seconds later, Shota materializes beside you to kill the timer, nudging you as if to ask if you're okay. 

You weakly nod, slumping against his side. Even with spit slicked lips and a dopey smile, you have the sense to say “I told you to watch the stew.”

You feel him shrug, then put an arm around your shoulder. “It’s hard to do that with you moaning into my ear.”

You would've hit him a third time if your knees didn't feel so wobbly. “Let's just wait for this to cool so we can eat.”

“Or,” Shota clicks his tongue, “we can continue where we left off.”

Apparently, you didn't have the energy to smack him, but you did have enough to roll your eyes. “A tempting offer, but maybe after dinner.”

He smiles, tugging you closer. “Good idea!” He maneuvers you in front of him, head going straight to your nape to give it a teasing kiss, a preview of what's to come. It makes you shiver in anticipation and relax into his chest all the same. 

“I wanna see just how far your praise kink goes.”

❪ ✦︎ ❫ㅤ@jiungbbl @keymeadoww @imthepeanutsauce @teasuree @nota10butadefinite8 ㅤ🏷️ㅤjoin

💌 woaw first piwon req ❤️ thank u anon ueueuue i'm really happy i was able to write a proper oneshot again <3 this is my first fully written oneshot in so long oml… i hope you liked it! feel free to send more reqs (read my rules first) while they're open!!

© ruidupoison — do not plagiarize, steal, copy, edit, translate, repost, or feed my works into ai. reblogs are appreciated ! 

[yourkushii]

Where are all the P1h writers at, there’s a drought with the fanfics :((

[hyenalucky]

Lemme get y'all's opinion on this first.....

......Dom Jongseob with slight puppy play?

Im already writing smth but i wanna know what yall think tooooooooo

[hyenalucky]

Thunder

Keeho x Reader

Summary: In the midst of a loud thunderstorm your fears get the better of you. You text your boyfriend for comfort.

Genre: Fluff, Comfort

Warnings: mention of Astraphobia, slight self deprecation (reader)

The storm wasn't letting up. It started as a nice way to end the night, sheets up to your chin and the faint noise of rain pattering on the windows. However, it quickly turned into sudden defining crashes of thunder and bright streaks of lightning. You knew it was silly. You knew that the storm couldn't harm you at all, but it made you nervous and full of anxiety. It would get quiet and calm, then suddenly strike loudly, causing you to flinch at the booming sound.

You live alone, so there was nothing to even distract or comfort you in the meantime. Getting desperate, you shakily reach for your phone on the nightstand and send your boyfriend, Keeho, a text.

Y/N: Babe? Are you awake?

Y/N: I'm sorry….I don't mean to wake you up if you are sleeping

Almost a minute -that felt like an eternity- later, your phone pings with a notification

You find the corner of your mouth lifting at his care. He was always double checking you were alright

Suddenly your phone vibrates and the screen lights up with a call from Keeho. You quickly answer and put the phone to your ear

"Hello?"

"Hi babe"

You hear his slightly groggy voice over the line, butterflies erupting in your stomach even after all this time you've been dating.

"Thank you for calling. I just-"

A loud boom sounds from the sky, and Keeho hears a small whimper of fear from behind the phone

"What's the matter baby? Hm? Talk to me"

You put the phone on speaker and set it on your pillow, swallowing and closing your eyes from the bright light coming into your window

"It's just....the storm tonight is really bad. I don't do too well with the thunder mostly because of how loud it is. I know it's stupid but I just-"

"It's not stupid. Stop dumbing down your feelings okay?"

Keeho interrupted you. His voice now more determined.

"Hey, how about I stay on the line with you tonight m'kay? Get those noise cancelling headphones you have and put them on"

You did as he said and grabbed them off of the nightstand, putting them over your ears. You sigh in relief already at the deafened thunder.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. I just put them on and I already feel a little better"

"Good. How about you listen to me talk to keep your mind off of it?"

You hum in agreement and pull the covers up once again. He starts to talk about schedules, a funny story about what happened backstage with Jiung, how he almost slipped during their performance....and suddenly you start to feel better, and even more drowsy. He hears your breathing start to slow, so he quiets his voice but keeps talking until he's sure you're asleep.

He hums quiet songs through the phone as he hears your breaths. As much as he would love to stay on the line, he knows you hate when your phone battery dies so early in the morning, so he decides to hang up. But not after he says a quiet:

"I love you. Sleep well okay?"

With a little kissy sound. Oh how he wishes he could have been there to comfort you in person. He sighs and falls to sleep himself.

A few months later, Keeho is about to go on tour again. Both of you decided to meet up at your place to have breakfast before he leaves. A knock at your door indicates that he finally got here.

"Coming!"

As you open the door, you find him standing there with a box in hand and a big smile

"Heyy!"

He puts it down and gives you a hug, kissing the top of your head.

"This is for you"

He reaches down and picks the box back up to give to you.

"Aw Steph, you didn't have to"

"I wanted to. I feel bad I'm not going to see you for a while"

You walk to the couch and sit down, Keeho following suit. You shake the box experimentally, giving him a jokingly questioning look. He rolls his eyes and motioned with his hand

"Just open it, c'mon"

You giggle and open the box up. Once you do, all the giggling stopped and your mouth opens slightly.

"Steph..."

Inside was a variety of things that would be useful during storms. A white noise machine that can hook up to your headphones, blackout curtains that you can put up to cover the bright light, an extra charging battery for your phone just in case, a few snacks he knows you love and a cute stuffed animal.

"I just thought it would be there for you while I couldn't be. Don't get me wrong you can still call me, but in case I'm too busy I wanted something to be there for you."

Your eyes started to get glossy, and he quickly sat up straight

"Is..is it ok? I can always return it if you think it's too much-"

"I love it. All of it. I can't believe you'd do this for me..."

His face softened and he scooted on the couch so he can be closer to you and gives you a hug. You bury your face in his chest, hearing his heartbeat. He kisses your hair and rubs your back soothingly.

"Im glad. I always want you to feel safe and be comfortable. I love you y'know?"

"I love you too Kee"

Hiiiii clovers!!! 🍀I finally found an app for texting parts lol. Much easier than typing it out in a paragraph. I hope you liked this! I have experience with Astraphobia, so I hope somebody can relate to this and feel better! If you'd like to be added to any taglists, refer to my pinned post under 'taglist'!!! (⊃｡•́‿•̀｡)⊃

[aeringz]

“struck gold” (explicit)

where you meet an open-minded frat boy that exceeds your expectations

mdni, intak x (m) reader

includes: oral (m receiving), dubcon (drunk sex), sweat, unserious vibes

5.1k words

a/n: you’ll never take frat boy intak away from me idc that he’s lowk a loser. its my style

.

It’s all become pretty routine for you, fixing up your makeup before going out with your girls to some frat party only they were invited to. Becoming a party animal wasn’t particularly a goal of yours when you first committed to university, but it was more of a natural consequence of the people you met during welcome week. You spend some time checking for flaws in the different lighting of the ring light you bought, but you’ve been out enough to know that any mishaps will inevitably get lost in the dim lighting and drunkenness of a college party.

You’re also pretty used to awkwardly standing there as your best friend argues with the amateur bouncer at the door about letting you in. The guy is quite literally guarding this house as if he were a top-ranked Navy Seal, but the combined pretty privilege of the company you keep is hard to argue with. You wonder what type of conditioning these frat brothers go through that makes them take such a decisive stance against letting gay people in, and then you wonder what type of conditioning you’ve gone through that makes you still want to even come to these parties where you’re clearly not wanted.

Like clockwork, you and your group make it in and immediately forget all about the spat at the front door. It almost always gets lost in the booming music that makes you totally unable to think— that, or the alcohol which has fully settled in by now, or maybe the euphoric high of community when everyone is even drunker than you were when you first came in. It seems like only the brother at the front gives you any shit about coming in, but once you surpass that barrier, you’re just another guest in the masses. It’s oddly comforting, though no amount of intoxication could make you forget your place in the hierarchy at these types of parties. Above all, you just try not to interact with any of the frat brothers because they travel in night-ruining packs that almost always get you prematurely kicked out. Of course, you stick to that principle as the night goes on, sticking to your girls to drink with or their boyfriends who couldn’t be openly homophobic with them around. It was definitely wrong to prey on couples to get male attention at these parties, but it was the only way to safely do it. When you think about it, is there any real harm in having a guy pour you a shot just because he couldn’t say no in front of his girlfriend? It’s kind of a loyalty test, like ‘can your man let go of his prejudice and have a normal conversation with a gay guy?’—except you’re not doing it to benefit the girl in any way. You just know that nothing would ever progress past the supervision of her, so there’s basically no foul. You deserve to have some fun too, right?

You’re four shots in, not including whatever unmeasured concoctions were poured back at the pregame, and you’re starting to let loose a little. Taking up more space, talking a little louder, getting a little bolder, dancing more, and then your vibe is entirely killed by some loud ass hacking cough behind you. Instinctively, you whip your head around and cut your eyes at the group of guys that are in a half-huddle around the heaving dude doubled over. Then, your sense settles in. You have no idea where any of the people you came into the house with went and you’re right in the field of vision of a group of frat bros with their shirts off with no girls on their shoulders to stop them from getting ignorant. This is usually the end of the routine that you’re shamelessly addicted to. You’ll get kicked out and your girls won’t notice until after they decide to head to the club, at which point you’ve already gotten home or found a hookup or random group of people to continue the night with elsewhere. Surprisingly, though, not a single guy in that group is paying you any mind. They’re all just laughing at the coughing dude until he recovers and stands straight up again. He notices you standing beside him and sticks his hand out, offering the vape pen to you to continue whatever chain the boys had going on before you came. Your eyes meet those of the brother standing in front of you. He strikes you differently than the rest of them, somewhat softer yet similarly imposing. His hair is a sweaty mess on top of his head, but you find the unkemptedness surprisingly charming. He has the same golden tan as the white guys he hangs around (which makes sense considering the sameness that being in a fraternity requires), but it suits him well— like a natural cloak he drapes over his skin to give him a masculine edge despite the undeniable boyish energy he presents. You keep standing there, just taking him in. He just looks so refreshingly natural compared to the guys he hangs around, like an organic source of testosterone that you’ve yet to encounter until now. Even his muscles seem more imposing than his brothers’, despite their softer nature. His arms look more edible than rock-hard, the type of biceps you can knead. Without realizing it, you’ve been totally staring at this guy for a while now, but everyone there is too out of it to realize. Instead of being berated, you zoned back into words of encouragement. “Come on, bro,” a deep voice rang. “Yeah, don’t be a pussy, dude!”

You remembered where you were, snapping out of the trance that this guy’s presence put you in. You’d been taking in the view for so long that the guys around you were just assuming you didn’t want a hit of the vape. That realization made you scoff, snatching it from the hands of the frat bro you were just secretly worshipping. The guys huddled around you, cheering loudly as you began to place the pen on your lips. The body heat was palpable, but for some odd reason, you felt that of the golden-tanned boy who passed it to you the hottest. It was as if the sweat on his skin was evaporating from the immense surface heat his body carried and then condensing back onto your own skin, and that possibility didn’t totally disgust you. You inhale deeply, holding the strawberry cloud in for just enough time to wow the crowd, before letting it back out through your mouth. You tried passing it to whoever was on your left, but he refused. “Nah, bro. You probably got that zesty-ass lip gloss all on it now.” The group laughed while you obviously deadpan. Not only was the joke tired, it places you in an awkward position because you don’t know who the hell’s vape this is and you’d be dead wrong to just walk off with it, too. Luckily, the guys come up with a solution, even if it is technically at your expense. “Pass it back to Intak, bro,” some guy nods his head over to the right where the original guy was standing, who you now know is Intak. “This is your punishment for bitchin’ about it earlier. Now you gotta suck the same tip as a gay guy.”

You flippantly pass it back over. If it were up to you, you’d skip the humiliation ritual part of meeting a guy with all of his friends and go straight to business, but at this point you haven’t even gathered enough information to gauge whether he’d even link up with you. Unfortunately for you, that means you have to sit through the degenerate locker room talk if you ever want to see it through with Intak, which you absolutely do.

“C’mon, purse your lips around that tip and suck, dude!”

Rolling your eyes doesn’t even begin to alleviate the annoyance settling deep within your bones from hearing the guys speak. At the very least, you revel in the knowledge that he hasn’t laughed at any of their quips yet— you might actually get somewhere with him. Just in case you don’t, though, you’re extremely tuned in for the scene that’s unfolding ahead of you. As he holds the pen up to his mouth, the soft definition in his arms hardens just a little bit, the faint grooves deepening in a way that nourishes your curiosity for how a full bicep flex would look. Then, he actually inhales, and you watch his soft pecs expand outwards. Even if the movement is slight, nothing about this man could escape the hawk-like eyes you have on him now. It’s as if the alcohol in your blood has completely drained, and you’re just drunk on the sight of him alone. Truthfully, you’ve never been so turned on before, and he’s done absolutely nothing to deserve this. It makes you wonder if you’re secretly a wild animal with some sort of primitive affinity to his pheromones, because it’s getting increasingly harder to not jump out and take a bite wherever you land. As you were enjoying your show, your drunk friends made their way back to you and pulled you away for another shot. You whined and tried to stay, but you were outnumbered. Succumbing to peer pressure is a real problem for you.

・・・・・

One more shot turned into at least three, you couldn’t shake the pounding headache that you’re starting to develop, and you’ve clocked at least five dirty looks from people who you’ve bumped into in the house. The most dangerous part of frat parties is the lack of authority there to officially cut you off— the only thing they’re looking for is vomit. Unfortunately for you, you hold alcohol notoriously well, so you’ve raised no red flags amongst your similarly drunk friends.

Admittedly, there is one other authority to sober you up here. Intak. After being separated some time ago, you’ve been lowkey whining to your friends about missing him in between shots. Anytime you got a chance to lean against a wall, you somberly longed for him as if he’d gone away to fight in a war before someone would come rescue you with another shot (or surprisingly, some actual water). He was always with that group of guys who you definitely had no chance assimilating into at your current state. Just as you had finally accepted that you’re going to have to drag that one interaction to yourself as you fall asleep tonight, your eyes focus in on him as he’s shotgunning a can of beer. Now, if watching him struggle to hit a vape was hot, seeing him chug the beer so effortlessly was pure ecstacy. When he finishes the can, he locks eyes with you. At least, you think— considering his eyes were half-lidded and intentional eye contact was unlikely for someone as many drinks deep as he was. He seems to sort of stumble towards you, but the strides he took still gave off a level of confidence that would’ve existed regardless of his intoxication. It wasn’t cockiness or entitlement, but something intrinsic to his being. He wasn’t thinking about how attractive he looked because that was his body’s natural baseline. When he did reach you, you noticed the striking absence of any annoying frat guy by his side. He spoke first, but all you could do was cock your head in confusion as his slurring speech was inaudible over the booming music. He bends over to your ear, cupping a hand over it to further amplify the sound waves of his voice. Instinctively, he rested his other hand on your shoulder, completely oblivious to the effects the skinship would have on you. It took everything in you not to wrap your arms around him and turn this into a full hug, but the fear of having him realize how gay this seemed outweighed the primal urge you had to bury your face in the pecs that were less than an arm's length away. Instead, you choose to relish that same sensation from a half hour ago when his sweat formed that humid bubble around you, except now it’s a thousand times more potent. Before, you felt the sweat. Now, as close as he had you, you could smell it, too. It was more of a sharp cologne than an unpleasant odor, but the cologne did little to mask what would’ve naturally been there besides that tingly feeling in your nose. Though it felt like he had you in this compromising position for an eternity, it was really only for the duration of the sentence he called into your ear. “Bro, come take a shot with me,” he invited. The warmth was endearing, but you knew your limits. Even shaking your head “no” caused the room to spin, but luckily, you had this wall of meat in front of you to keep you upright. “I’m good,” you chuckle. You slur out an explanation, something about how the music wasn’t your vibe and how you had too much already, but Intak just perked up and spoke back into your ear, “I know the guy on aux, dude,” you hear the grin in his voice, clearly happy to have a possible solution to one of your grievances. “C’mon, let’s go tell ‘em what you wanna hear, bro.”

If his body heat wasn’t already burning you up, your deep attraction to him definitely was. You physically feel your own body temperature rise beyond reason for no other reason other than carnal need. Even the way he says “bro” was different from his brothers. It didn’t feel condescending, it was inviting. He genuinely sees you as an equal man to him, even though you plan on completely disproving that if you’re able to have your full way with him tonight. Even so, you know that he’s the only one likely in that entire frat that’s willing to give you a chance, so you protest when he grabs your arm and tries to lead you towards whatever guy he knows that’s controlling the music. “No, it’s okay…” you slur. “He won’t, wouldn’t listen. I’m okay.”

Though Intak isn’t entirely sure how you can be so certain, he doesn’t push. “Hmm, if you don’t like the music, let’s, uh..” he trails off, trying to compute a solution with a brain that’s half-functioning. “Follow me, okay?”

You don’t really have a choice in the matter (though you would’ve followed him regardless) considering the tight grip he had on your arm in an effort not to lose you through the crowd. You remember stumbling up the stairs, Intak failing to open one door as it was already locked, and then stumbling into the next room over. He closes the door behind you, leaving the two of you in pure darkness. He clumsily pulls out his phone, turning on the flashlight and stumbling towards the lamp that was in the room. He turned that on and his flashlight off, shining a golden yellow beam on both of your bodies. You flopped on the bed as soon as you could see where it was, leaving Intak the job of sitting you up. Your head spun and spun, the only grounding factors being Intak’s body heat. When it calms down, you rest your head on Intak’s shoulder and watch through blurry vision as he scrolls on his phone. The two of you stay like this for a while, both untalking and unmoving, until his presence sobers you up enough to contextualize what’s actually going on. At that point, you start to take deeper breaths, trying to draw in as much of that boyish scent as you could while it was at its most potent. Before, it was faintly masked by the cologne he sprayed on his chest. Where your nose is buried, right in the crook of his neck, you get the most natural pull of him. It’s a familiar twinge of masculinity with unique notes that are inexplicably Intak. What eventually became lungfuls of him plus the proximity you had to his body fried more of your logic than alcohol ever could. You start to grope rather recklessly across his whole torso, starting with cupping one of his pecs and squeezing. It was plush, reminiscent of a memory foam pillow. You spend some time kneading at the two, soaking your hand all in the sweat he had on his skin. He was surprisingly receptive to this touch, letting you explore as he continued on his phone. Once you began squeezing his arms, he put a little effort into flexing. He’d finally set down his phone, using one hand to guide yours along the bulk of his other arm. He lets that hand go, instead opting to grab your head and lightly nudge it back into his pecs. At this point, his testosterone has completely eroded any semblance of composure you could’ve hoped to maintain. You’ve decided to accept whatever depraved version of yourself that you’re destined to become after being greenlit to indulge. You start with kitten licks, lapping up whatever salty sweat you can from this living furnace, but they get more intense once you realize how he’s enjoying it. He’s starting to grip your head tighter, making little grunt noises out of the pure pleasure he gets from his nipples being stimulated by your velvety tongue. It doesn’t take too many licks to lap that area clean, at which point you move on to the valley between his pecs where excess sweat naturally pools into. Though this jarrs Intak, who was increasingly warming up to the nipple licking, he finds that any sort of licking can get the job done for him. He takes special notice to how you respond to his sweat specifically, realizing how eager you seem to lap it up diligently. With that, he presses down on your skull to push you flush against his body, using his perspiration as a lubricant to glide you across. After a quick swirl, he can’t help but chuckle as he pulls you back. “You liked that, bro?” he prompts, already assuming that you did. Your nod came as no surprise. “You got it, then. Keep going,” he lifts his arms and rests his hands behind his head, giving unrestricted access to his entire torso. From this position, you could see his triceps bulge out, still oddly imposing despite lacking the typical bulk one would expect from someone as charged as Intak. There’s a noticeable absence of cockiness on his face. Instead, you just see amusement. To him, this isn’t a matter of “hell yeah, he knows his place”, but rather “no way he’s into this”, mixed with a bit of shock that he himself is into it too.

With one long lick stemming from his pit up to the the underside of his tricep, you get the bitter and chalky taste of deodorant caught on your tongue as well. You instinctively gag and Intak groans in pleasure, offering clear directions on your next move. Seeing him so obviously into whatever worship ritual you had going on lit a fire inside of you to push it further, so it didn’t take long before you had fully lunged in for some kisses right at the same concentrated spot on his neck you’d once laid on. You took your time drawing whatever you could from that area with a hard suction on your lips, letting your hands roam all across what you could no longer be sure was his sweat versus your spit any longer. Meanwhile, he lost the composure required to maintain the flexing position he previously held, meaning he’d dropped his arms and was now doing the same harmonious caressing and burying his own nose into your nape. If the rocking got too aggressive, his nose would land right in the spot at the back of your neck where you’d sprayed your perfume and give him a huge whiff of straight alcohol instead of the normal warm, sweet scent he’d get whenever he was positioned just right. Either way, the proximity to you was doing just as much to him as it did for you when you’re near him, and it’s making him nearly want to claw off whatever shirt you’re wearing. At some point during the haze you both found yourselves in, you’d completely repositioned. He was now laying on the bed, pressed down by the force of your deepening makeout session. He has both hands sprawled across the back of your head, pushing you down into his face as well as he tries to keep up with your vigorous lip movements. If he pauses for even a moment, it seems like he’s bound to get devoured. Finally, he feels you start to lightly pull back and he releases the clumsy grip he had on your head. Through the entire session, you had been feeling that pulsing heat between his legs, and each pulse only seemed to engorge his junk more with each second you dragged it on. You figured now is the time to finally help him relieve that pressure, so you drag your face down his torso until you reach the waistband of his mesh shorts. When you’re there, you take your time stretching the band and turning the theatrics all the way up as a way to tease him before finally pulling the shorts down. When you do, you’re left face to face with an impressive, thick bulge covered thinly by his white briefs. It’s clear by the downward tugging that the fabric was weighed down by the cock he had tucked inside, and the thought made you salivate.

You spend some time revelling in just the sight itself. It was more than just an outline, it seemed more like an idol of worship on its own. You realized while gawking at the bulk of it all that this was where that unshakable sense of dominance he radiated was coming from. Despite how much kinder he seemed than the other frat guys, how much less rugged and toned he was, his dick was what really caught him up to speed with the guys he hung around. And right now, it’s your sworn duty to handle. You grab the outline through his briefs, tracing along the length as you start to size up what you committed too. Hearing his labored grunts as you do so only confirms that you’ve got him way too riled up now to turn back. His body has clearly allocated too much towards his erection to get no return on its investment. It’s not that the desire left— quite the opposite, actually. Being this close to the burning source of his manhood makes you feel a sense of belonging right between this random guy’s legs. Any apprehension speaks more to your body’s natural priority of self-preservation over any actual reluctance, but you knew you’d fold eventually. Finally, you bring your hand up to the waistband of the final barrier between your face and its object of worship, pulling it downwards with half-excitement and half-worry. Instead of springing up how you’d grown accustomed to seeing, his dick stayed engorged against his thigh. It continued the theme that the rest of his muscles seem to follow— an almost squishy density packed into plush, golden and sweaty skin. This was the most natural part of him yet. There was no cologne or deodorant to mask what had built up from the manliest part of him, just the faint smell of soap completely overhauled by the purest scent he could offer. The air was like if a sauna of over-exerted men was made into a candle that was lit right in front of your nose, showing no mercy for the already commanding sight of his length. Of course, like the scent he carried on the rest of him, it only served to excite you more. The sheen of sweat was enough to comfortably begin jerking your hand up the shaft, though the movement started to build nervousness inside of you. It was not only just getting real, but the reality of the impossibility of what you have committed to was settling in, too. As you glided your hand down, you watched what started as a bead trickle out as a streak of pre-cum drop from his engorged tip right down the shaft, pooling at your cusped hand. You let the ooze trickle out, collecting as big of a sample as you can before bringing it to your lips and licking off the liquid. As you focused your eyes on Intak, you noticed just how much pure bliss he was in right now. He could hardly even face you or mutter out praise, even though you can tell he tried to. All he can do is scratch your head, offering non-verbal encouragement through his moans as you continue to lap up whatever you can from the tip. It was a salty and slightly gel-like liquid, not something you’d be lapping up if he didn’t derive so much pleasure from seeing you do so.

Once he’s been cleaned (and in between the onset of another inevitable spurt), you take the chance to taste just the skin, licking right below the underside of the tip. You taste a variety of notes from that little lick, each one a disgusting thought when separate but an absolutely delicious harmony when blended. You lap there again and again, completely uncourteous to how sensitive Intak is in that spot. As his pre-cum continues to drip out, you begin the cycle of licking the tip clean and continuing at the frenulum where you left off. The flavor of this spot wasn’t from the sheen of sweat that once covered it, which means it never lost its potency. You realize by your repetitive licks at the expense of completely overstimulating this poor frat brother that you could suckle his dick for hours on end and draw out the same masculine flavor as you are right now simply because the flavor is intrinsic to the organ. It’s the result of dead skin cells, dried sweat, and hygiene that was just lacking enough to make it pleasurable and not a deterrent. After a while, though, you deign to show mercy on him by finally letting him enter your mouth. You open your lips wide and sink downwards. You don’t get very far unassisted, just barely past the tip and right on the spot you were licking anyways. Just that alone takes up the entire room of your mouth, his dick leaving hardly any room for air before it’s even entered your throat. You’re content with just sucking right at that part, but you do stop to pity the man that the dick belongs to. Judging by just how long he’s been able to hold back from forcing anything, it’s clear that he doesn’t have the balls to actually force it down your throat (metaphorically speaking, because physically, his balls are just as daunting as the rest of the package) but that he really wants you to fit it in. To show some grace, you decide to try and choke down a little more, hoping you can just squeeze around the shaft and mold the malleable shaft to accommodate your tightness, but instead you just end up making loud squelching sounds from your throat physically rejecting the intrusion and having to guzzle more pre because the sounds turn him on too. You pull off, partially for some unobstructed air, partly because you feared if you swallowed too much pre everything would come back up, and mainly because you knew you needed a different strategy to tackle this beast.

You tried slapping it against your cheek like how you did with other guys, but the dense weight of it just left actual marks instead of hot stings that’d fade away quickly. You lasted maybe three slaps before feeling like it was more self-harm than pleasurable. You tried just inhaling up the shaft, but that only settled you deeper into the cockdrunk haze you were already in. Each inhale contained more of him rather than oxygen, so it wasn’t too long before you started to feel suffocated by him. You knew to stop specifically when you sniffed at a potent spot right at the intersection of his balls and shaft where his pubes clung on tightly to some funk that hadn’t been properly washed away. That stink, while euphoric in the cockdrunk state you were in, caused a coughing fit that nearly brought the alcohol right up. You made a note to come back to that when you weren’t at risk of vomiting, if you too ever linked up sober again. Finally, you make your choice to suck along the girth rather than the length, tilting your head sidewards and clamping your lips around the width of his dick as if it were an ear of corn. It wasn’t the most comfortable position. It meant that his pre-cum would flow onto your face instead of conveniently into your mouth, so you’d have to collect it with your fingers every now and then and just let the hot fluid sizzle on your skin in the meantime. It was the only way to accommodate this size, so you did what you could. Deep down, you felt embarrassed to be giving this guy probably the worst blowjob of your career. Luckily, you can rest assured he won’t go telling all his friends what a terrible suck you were considering this is most definitely meant to remain confidential, but it still was a strike straight to the ego to not have your throat fully stretched out by objectively the hottest dick on campus. As you slurp at the flavor and stroke what you can, the immense gravity of Intak hits you all at once. This meaty cock belongs to the goofiest, most aloof guy in the frat. Never in a million years could you have ever guessed that this guy would be the one to outsize what you thought was your master throat. That absurdity stays on your mind as he releases, shooting out his full course after pumping you full of that clear appetizer. He’s asleep before you even finish lapping up the sticky substance from the puddle on his skin, the rise and fall of his chest bringing you back to that second inhale he did after you’d impressed him with the vape. For potentially the last time, you suction hard on the tip and end it with a kiss, tucking his cock back into his white underwear and watching as your spit darkens the outline to a wet gray. You position yourself right underneath his arm, draping it over you while you let the heat from his body and the pattern of his freshly relieved breath lull you to sleep.

[hyenalucky]

NDA : Upcoming One-shot

Keeho x Reader x Intak

- 18+

Summary: After the concert, you're approached by staff to sign an NDA, but not just one. What happens when they find out the girl they wanted is the same person?

I hope I can get this out by Saturday 🤞

Comment to be on the taglist, or refer to my taglist link on my pinned post!!!!!

☆ ～('▽^人)

[archiveofandy]

wait just asking… what roles (dom switch sub) do you think piwon enjoy in bed 🤔

AHH OKAY OKAY THANK YOU FOR ASKING ANON!!

theo - hard dom duh. i can NOT read fics of him subbing and just find it overall taboo (no hate to subby tae lovers tho!!)

keeho - switch but dom leaning, honestly the type to do whatever his partner pleases imo

jiung - SWITCH (duh) how can someone see him as only one?! i feel he naturally is more subby but can sometimes get in a dom space

intak - dont castrate me but switch, I LOVE DOM INTAK and his solo stages sometimes js give off dom fuck boy ifykwim

soul - dom. not hard or soft just your average dom but willing to try whatever you want whether it be subbing or domming!!

jongseob - again dont kill me but SOFT dom. heavy emphasis on soft. im trying so hard to see him as a bondage freak but he will always to me be such a sweet and chill boy 😭