#pwp smut

[caffeinatedmunchkin]

Det. Roy Washburn x Fem!Reader ✦ 6.2k ✦ Explicit Tags:Dom!Roy, Sub!Reader, established relationship, rough sex, clothed sex, dirtyyy talk, unprotected p in v, sloppy oral (reader receiving), sexual over stimulation, forced orgasms, the man eats pussy aggressively

Summary: You visit your detective at work, after hours, and help him blow off steam

Note: When you watch a bad movie for an actor because of one The Character, and then you come out of it with another. Ain't that just the way. I'm getting too old for this, man. No idea where this came from. In my heart of hearts, I believe this bastard man to be vile. I think he’s down bad for darling reader, but he is Not Nice About it. Some domestic fluff sprinkled in for funsies. Otherwise pure, honest to goodness filth, no bullshit. A lot of wolf imagery and metaphors because I guess, for me, wolves and David Thewlis are inextricably linked. The title is taken straight from the Clutch song bc all my creativity is gone from writing this, believe it or not. God speed 🫡

{AO3}

It was unfair, really, the ease in which your ambush was set, and how willful he had you saunter straight into it.

Summoned to his office well outside the hours of operation. The rough edge snagging his timbre when he called you an occupational hazard for all the mind you paid it. Long days stalking the city, and later nights holed up in his office, slaving to piece together the puzzle.

Roy Washburn wasn't a subtle man, nor a patient one. A straight shooter of objective singularity - you knew his manner, his tells. Sarcasm wielded like seduction. Crass tongue waggled silver. An uncanny knack for getting his way.

"Hey stranger." You answered the phone with a smile in your voice. "I guess if you're calling this late I shouldn't wait up for you?"

Even when he told you not, you always did. Your bed too cold and empty for sleep without his lank sprawled across the lion share.

"Was thinkin' you could stop by, actually." Even under work related strain, his voice dripped through the speaker a slinking husk.

The rhythm of your heart skipped two beats giddy. "Oh? Is everything alright?"

He chuckled. A fleeting, haughty sound well suited to his rich and creamy tonality, caramel center decadent. Lupine charisma that trickled down your spine and pooled at the base, even as it crackled distant over the line.

"Of course, lass. I just want to see you." Tone kicked down chest deep. A suggestive drawl, hot and hazy. "Don't you miss me?"

The station quiet and emptied, all save for him. Detective Roy Washburn. Stolen away from you by the mistress that was his work.

Being top-dog had its draw backs, and this was one of them.

Fine-tuned to the needs of those above him, he was who they sent when a job needed doing - and done well. Nose to the ground, persistence weaponized.

He was nothing if not persistent, and he always delivered. A job well done because he kept himself hungry.

And he was very good at what he did.

The wolf at the door. A touch arrogant, though it wasn't unearned. He solved cases, double knotted loose ends. He knew who was dealt what hand, and called them how he saw them. A regular at the table. Keen eye and razor wit. Dumb as a fox.

A smirk that came too easy. Roguish eyes that gleamed too mischievous. Hands too elegant for his line of work. Sinful in their architecture, and the fantasies they insight.

Dead ends and trails gone cold the sort of challenge to light his fire - and Roy loved a good challenge - the sort he likened to his pursuit of you. Eat, sleep, chase. And fuck. That was his cycle, and he didn't like to break the chain. Air-tight intuition and a fierce right hook. For every punch he took, an answering one was locked and loaded. Thrown just as hard and twice as fast.

He'd been embroiled in a rough one. Worked over, getting as good as he gave. Keeping him from you for days and nights on end, each melding into the other, distinction lost to the hours he clocked. A captain adamant in staying with his ship, even as it sunk his time, and the opportunity for basic physical needs to be met.

A spread of manila folders flood his desk a sea of photo copies, witness statements and post its, and you find him wading through that mess. Furrowed concentration highlighted by the glow of his monitor, brows scrunched, lips pursed frowning.

Bone deep weariness creasing him at the edges. Shoulders drawn beneath his crisp pinstripe suit jacket, and the weight of the world he carries, a position that hurts your back just to look at. Despite how he contorts over the jigsaw of his current case, his look nothing short of dismal, you can't help but smile. A heart-beat that kicks instinctive at the sight of him, school-girl thrummed and fluttering.

Even dourness he wears as something close to handsome.

Slipped the rest of the way inside his domain quiet as a wraith, you catch the door on your heel and ease it clicked shut. However faint the clink of metal, the latch catches and breaks the spell. A fawn strutting aimless into the wolfs clearing, a twig snapped underfoot.

His eyes are on you so fast you doubt in that moment he remembered his work existed at all, let alone ensnared him.

A glaucous haze of steel blue, veined red and raw with exhaustion, magnetize to your entrance. Then bright and feverish, storm swell thunderous with implosion.

The hours he keeps and the distance of his job muzzling him restrained, it's whittled down to a matter of seconds before he chews clean through.

"Good evening, detective." You loll the title around the tip of your tongue, bubblegum sticky, sickeningly sweet. Flirtation in a three syllable press against the back of your teeth. You're still clueless, woefully so, to what you've wandered into. "How're you holding up?"

Propriety fading to a spec in his rear view as you shift into his sights. Your smell on the air warping his rationale warm vanilla sugar frosted. His world narrows down to you. Chest pulled taut, his tie a noose.

For a gentleman is no more than a patient wolf, and chivalrous is one such accusation he's never had to contend.

"Was Ferguson at his desk or has he gone home already?" Frustration a bed of gravel beneath his usual satin articulation. Teeth set on edge.

Cut to the chase so hard and fast you're left to stand there for a moment, reeling. Doe caught in headlights, blinking slow and dozy as you struggle to recall if he was actually gone, or if he wasn't just statue still and silent when you breezed on by to Roy's door.

A display he'd find almost adorable any time other than now. So unsuspecting it makes his teeth ache and his gums itch. Prodding his hunger, caged-beast riled. You stand there juggling fresh coffee and a bag of Chinese takeaway, the paper beginning to soak through with grease. He stares you down in the beat that follows, breath stuck in his throat, brows arched in wait. Set to pounce, your current meekness notwithstanding.

"Uh- no, I don't think I saw him out there."

It was unfair. But fairness counted for very little when you knew better.

Heedless, you indicate what you assume to be the point of your late-night appearance and lift the bag. Your smile small and ingratiating. "Brought your favorites." Lilted chipper and fawning. Your attention strays to the mess on his desk en-route to the clock face, hung above. Deductions that stir your habitual fussing - if you don't do it, no one else will - "You must be hungry."

He unfurls his height in full, haggard though imposing. It lengthens a stride that devours distance, consuming paces twice the amount of one average. He's around the other side of his desk before you've even finished speaking.

"Ravenous."

Deft hands disentangle yours from the gifts you come bearing, only to deposit them without much care to join his case file, relegated to similar abandonment. You're here now, after all. A new target acquired, his blood-lust pivoting. Confusion wrinkles so cutesy on you he nearly tackles you to the ground, lunging to get a taste.

Roy's descent is sudden; a summer storm brewed out of the blue on a clear midday. He swallows your squeak with an answering growl as teeth clash, and lips meet sloppy.

Large palms bombard your figure, dizzying assurance in the calloused digits that sweep up your back and thread your hair. Taking charge as he's want to do, he's a force of confident push and pull. Manipulation dressed like finesse, large hands and longer fingers positioning just how and where he likes you, and you melt under it. Under him. Warm and pliant. Mold-able and open for his choosing and taking.

His scent overwhelms, heady and indelible. Suffocating in masculinity, a smoky musk spiced oak moss and cardamom. Traces of the man, raw and unrefined, layered beneath cheap cologne and stale nicotine. Old, burnt coffee on his breath, bitter and black. Still detectable even through the wad of spearmint he's chewed to tasteless pulp over the long hours spent confined to these four walls.

One hand breaks course from stroking down your spine to grope your bottom. A generous palm full, he kneads your dreamy sighs to ragged moans, rolled against his tongue. Scraps for an appetite whet. That caged thing in him prowling and testing his restraint for give.

His assault only hastens as he maneuvers you around, herding you until the desk edge catches your low back. Only once he has you pinned helpless between his body and it, does he break the kiss. Desire a tidal wave to sweep you up and trap you under, you surface with a gasp for air, though Roy doesn't allow himself such luxury. One-track mind orders his busy hands to your skirt, hiking the fabric up your thighs. Growing frustrated at the long, loose length of it that keeps slipping through his fingers and back into his way.

He settles instead to paw at the thin outline of knickers he traces through them. His wants made plain. You claw him in kind, the room spun out of control around you. A tall, lean anchor dead center in the swirl.

"Off." His rasp impatient, the demand whipped and stinging, snapped rubber-band sharp. "Off. Now."

Voice honey-glazed, so dulcet it's obscene. So airy and gentle it distracts from the filth it often coats. The dominance that hides inside, biting and pressing. Elbowing the constraints of professionalism. Astringent aftertaste cold medicine sweet. Artificial black cherry, candied on the tongue, shuddering tart once it hits.

"Roy-"

"I'm not asking." A borrowed kindness in the warning you're past the point of deserving. He's scruffed you about the nape like an unruly pup caught nipping his heel. Disobedience chastised in the squeeze of spidery fingers. Your body, the traitors thing it is, proves its fealty to Roy before you, as it slackens limp to his firm hand. Guiding you up to tip toes as he leans down, noses bumping. "I want you to strip them off for me."

His subsequent release is just as abrupt. Sending you startled and stumbling back on your heels with a clack. The detective watches for your obedience, hawk-eyed. His restraint present in memory only.

Shaking fingers fish up your legs beneath your skirt, and drag your panties back down mid shin, the sides hooked by an index finger each.

"Atta girl." Whisper quiet adoration that buckles your knees. He catches your stumble - he always does - a display that spreads a lazy smirk tugged up at the corner.

No more than a scrap of clinging rayon cut to pattern lace, you have one foot stepped out before a wide palm juts forth. Turned open, cupped in wordless request.

You comply in similar fraught silence, and your cheeks dial from a modest blush to something furious.

"All dolled up for me, eh?" Insufferable cockiness twitches to a grin, lewd and lascivious. He's catnip to you when he's like this, so irresistible it's unbearable. A hand played against you as he rubs the scant garment between his fingertips. Halting with a sharp breath when his investigation proves fruitful, and he finds the gusset slippery. "I see I've ruined another pair of knickers."

His eyes burn through yours. A lurid cobalt smolder that flickers and gleams frenzied as he brings them to his face and takes a deep inhale. Scenting his prey up close and personal, unmistakably fresh and female - the aroma sends his eyes back, an indecent sound seething from the seat of his chest.

He stows his prize in his slacks with all the ceremony of pocketing loose change. Hands wrap your waist before you're snatched from your feet and dropped to his desk. Sending confidential records scattered. His pen cup tipped over, the few to fall out rolling across the surface. His lamp nudged precarious to the edge by your hip.

Unbothered to clear space himself, he assumes whatever gets caught in the crossfire will make itself scarce once he gets to rattling you proper. Desk-top casualties clattering to the ground as you wriggle and writhe. His hunger for you metastasized to starvation, ugly and unrefined. A desire that hurts. Splintering through him inside-out. Insatiability gnawing like shrapnel lodged deeper with every beat of his heart. His handling quick and jerking in appropriate agitation.

Skirt wrangled and bunched around your hips, knees pried open and guided apart. His stare falls to the mess webbing across your folds, smeared sticky within the hollows of your thighs.

Roy Washburn drops to his knees before you.

Broadloom carpet thin and punishing on his older joints. A click and a grunt, all the mind he pays as they catch the full brunt of his dead weight, dropped like rock to riverbed. Settling himself in for an extended stay; your first release likes to take its time, and he's in no rush. The journey is his destination, and he'll make himself right at home between your legs. Invited by the wet warmth leaking out of you. Never has he felt more obliged by such an offer.

The picture of you bared flush and puffy drains him of all strength. The fight in him quieted by even just the hint of slick. Discomfort no more a blip on his radar with the sight of you spread hypnotic for his observation. His look tweaks like a wounded man trying to mask his agony, but he licks his chops. Anticipation salivating. A low, libidinous rumbling up the back of his throat from his belly.

"This all for me?" He's pleased and it slips through his sharp teeth, whistled long and low, the pitch making you squirm. "Jesus fuck-ing Christ what a mess."

"Roy." A weak mewl of attempted protest, quivering to ball yourself up and hide from his appraisal. But oh no, that won't do. That won't do at all.

Unchecked greed and a quick draw, you jump when his fingers dig into your hips and force them open. Full on display, no amount of shifting is able to cover even an inch of your aching apex. Puckered peachy and glistening in the dim office light.

Exposed to the air and his white-hot scrutiny, you shiver and pout. He groans.

No time to waste, he bullies his way between your legs, shouldering your hips even wider. Until the joints twinge and the muscles burn through with a dull pinch. Head cocked and gaze fixed to the dew of your petals, he sways a little where he's knelt. Onset wooziness of blood-rush from one head down to the next.

Easy, old boy. He thinks in response to the nag of his length, straining against his inseam. You'll have to wait your turn.

"What a pretty sight." Stuck somewhere deep inside him, then shakes loose and rushes out in a heavy sigh. It's the closest he's ever come to reverence, your sex the only religion to which he's subscribed. He's not devoted, but indulgent. Gluttony without shame. Selfishness somehow gilded pious with how earnest he pursues. He shakes his head, his breath misting against your sopping heat. "You poor little thing. I mean just look at you, droolin' all over yourself like this."

All faux doting, Lancashire drawl spooled silken. Cruelty in how bold his leer forces your compliance. Delighting in how bashful he's colored you. Sparing no preamble, he steals his first taste. Prisoner of his grip and eye contact alike, as he works a flat, forceful stripe of tongue along where the throbbing is most intense.

He tastes your whimper just as much as he hears it. A shrill invocation the weight and shape of his name. Raw, as if he'd reached down your throat and pulled it free by hand. You toss your head back, breaking contact without express permission. His displeasure tuts.

"Eyes on me, love." Syrup glazed, thick and sticky on his tongue. Affection in the pet-name, his mouth hovering at your center sours the suggestion of romance. His smirk widens crooked - dangerous as one who knows the game well, and disregards the rules. "I want you to watch me eat this darling cunt of yours until you're unable to see through your tears."

The strength of the threat alone makes your eyes water, croaking a hushed; "Jesus." It's all your mind supplies.

He licks his lips preparatory. "Your cryin's not gonna stop me this time."

Signature bad cop-bad cop routine laid on charm thick, the silver streaked seas he has for eyes drag you in and hold you under, a gaze that drowns. His head dips and he blows on your folds, playful. A puff of air to rev you good and squirming. An excuse to dig into the meat of your hips until the grooves of his fingerprints are leftover in the skin.

"I'll make you a deal; if you're good for me, I'll reward you." He wiggles the fingers of one hand in emphasis, but you huff. Exasperation girlish enough to make a smile crack his face wide. You knew once he got started, his tongue wouldn't yield to share even with his own fingers.

"You're a bastard." A hot moan glides through your lips. Roy purrs like you've praised him.

"A bastard who licks your pussy like it's sacred."

Diving in nose first, he laps you hungry beast brazen. Huffed breath, and eager gliding muscle, velvety and limber. Suckling audible, groaning into your lips as they pucker swollen to his instigation. Bestial sounds of guttural approval penetrate alongside his relentless tongue. Forever hungry.

He is so very good at what he does.

You tell him so, or rather your body does on your behalf. Coherence leaves you. Reduced squealing and twisted under his mouth, every inch of you stained rosy. Tongue-tied to voice anything more complex than a whine. He's nothing if not thorough, though only due to his own greed. Twice as impatient and mean. The tip batters and flicks until clarity dissolves from your vision. Interrogative swipes of the muscle, you tug his hair and dig heels at his hunched back, but it hits him like a pebble lobbed at a stone wall for all it accomplishes.

He doesn't ease, he doesn't slow - he doesn't stop. Singular focus and the insistence of a blood hound caught on your scent, if anything your resistance eggs him on. Your pleas for mercy strangled hitched and sobbing as he wrestles you with a maw clamped to your cunt.

His grasp prevents your hips from gyrating against his face, from shying away from the chase of his tongue when the pressure builds too much, too fast. Unable to ease the speed of climax to something gradual, digestible. Roy holds you still and defenseless to his battery. Wiry scruff scratching and a mouth ruthless in pillaging, he has you careening towards a finish you're not ready to reach this soon.

The pit of your stomach clenches hard and low. A tremor possesses your left leg, thumping jack-rabbit wild, the violence increasing as he burrows flush and snarls.

The ebb and flow that had been needling at your peripheral then smacks you like a rogue wave. Joints locked, body seizing rigid above him. Color and light pops solar flare blinding behind the back of your lids. Your tongue stalls, unable to form even his name. All you can do is fall to pieces. Blindsided by the intensity, wailing something pathetic and unintelligible.

The bastard between your legs has the audacity to grin into you. Victory curled wolfish against your abused throbbing.

When your vision is returned to you somewhat intact, you find his self-satisfaction aimed your way, crinkled and glittering. Tufts of short auburn hair stick out on end from where your fingers tugged them erratic. Disheveled and smug.

And if it isn't the most devilishly toothsome you've ever seen him, even if only from the eyes up.

"Didn't make me work very hard for that one, did you?" His tongue clicks disappointed, but he couldn't be more impressed. Wrenched apart and flooded over in record time, all from his clever tongue lashed incessant. "Got another for me, pretty girl?"

The aftershocks aren't given a moment to deescalate once he starts up again. The tip of his tongue tracing in deliberate strokes, reminiscent of his full, God given name flowing in cursive fluidity. Turning your roused stimulation against you, as the wicked muscle cleaves your tender folds apart and begins sawing.

"Oh God - Roy please-," strangles out of you, the words shredding themselves jagged on the broken glass of shattered vocal chords. "I c-can't... -I can't-!"

The ridge of his nose nudges its prominence to the soreness of your bud, over-eager. "You can, and you will." Lips kiss swollen and messy. You're dripping down his chin, and dark in his mustache. Pupils bubbled over and spilled across the stormy pigment, a void of black blotting out the blue. "You're done when I tell you so."

He takes pause - a moment borrowed long enough to put you back into your place, and not a second more. Lips unfairly plush on a man like him, they seal back around the swelled bud of your clit and suck hard. A cheeky swirl of his tongue to echo the tattered scream it rips out of you.

Your spread thighs his confessional, he laves into you his transgressions. Sins of the past heavy and smothering. He loses himself in you, peaches and cream addictive. Heaven-sent distraction for the less-than-ethical lecher he is. Wants and needs from the darkest recesses of the self, he's unable to give them voice, so he huffs them into you instead. Rumbling penitent into your quivering sensitivity without mercy. Seeking to ease his burdens in where you've blossomed for him, lush and fragrant and his. All his.

Either a blessing or a curse, his nature is an obsessive one, and carnality was no exception. Another eruption tears through you not long after, a scorch that blisters, though he's too engrossed notice. To grace you with snark parading as bedroom talk.

You're weeping through the sweeps of his tongue, diligent and unyielding as the man himself. Nails rake his scalp to no avail. You'd have to hook a finger in the corner of his mouth to break his latch, and even then he'd just swoop right back in as if he'd never been interrupted in the first place. His unwillingness to let go a dog with a bone, any attempts to tug it away has him growling around the mouthful of his spoils.

He pries himself away only to take a much needed breath, and his true admiration for you makes a break for it.

"Fuckin' hell you taste amazing." Coarse sincerity suggesting he hadn't meant to let it loose. Didn't mean for you to catch on to just how whipped for you he is. Uttered devout against your plushness like a dirty secret he never meant to expose. Coaxed out of hiding by your ambrosia. Teased from him by how your body yields malleable to his whims. Unquestioning. Trust so absolute it would be nauseating if he was a humble man.

A moment tender, it was over just as soon. Two orgasms coat the back of his tongue, chin sopped and nose rubbed raw. Enough to sate the wolfs oral craving, he's now sporting raging arousal he needs somewhere to bury. The spasming of your lavished womanhood around it's own emptiness too enticing a request to stave off any longer.

Creaking joints signal he's raised to his feet, followed by a jingle you know to be his belt buckle. A bleary gazed veiled by lashes lowered, you're lured to the rip of his zipper just in time to catch his entrance.

He yanks himself out rough and impatient, hissing an expletive beneath his breath at first contact of brutish fondling to his stiff prick. Bruised in negligence and scalding to the touch. The hefty length weeps up at you from the strangle of his hold.

A 50/50 split of awe and intimidation, the juxtaposition an intoxicant to his ego.

"See something you like?" He makes a show of jerking it between your shaking legs, unable to deny himself the friction the tightness of his trousers only hinted.

Trembling and weak, he looms over you like the big bad wolf, though you don't cower. You don't flinch. You open your legs wider to urge him back between.

You catch the proud twinkle in his eye before he fists himself with one hand, and holds your thigh back with the other. Bracing his feet, he sinks forward, sheathing himself to the hilt in one stroke that hushes you both. Lip bitten, brow knit, both of you holding your breath. Once he's nestled inside he chuffs like a sick dog, stilted relief gravely in his throat.

You're well primed to take him, too swollen and slick to feel that pinch you usually do when he buries this deep, but his hefty tip bottoms out with the determination of a battering ram and you convulse reflexive. It sends pens scattered, his ashtray clattering to the ground at his feet.

Fighting for breath, you're fairly certain you feel him in your lungs, crowding the inside of you like the end game is to sprawl himself within every available inch and take root. Those fingers of his, slender lethality, dexterous that borders vulgar, knot in your hair at the base and gives one sharp tug. Neck bent and bared non-negotiable.

He leers down the vulpine bridge of his nose, eye lids heavy and voice plunged in his chest. His breath saturated with your headiness, panted hot at your cheek. "That tight little snatch of yours would be worth going to war, for. Y'know that?"

Eyes slicked like a dolls, smooth as glass and just as spacey, you shiver. "Sweet talker."

His mouth quirks amused. Predatory assurance coiled low, and tight enough to spring lose. "Yeah, and you can't get enough, you filthy thing."

Flesh slapping wet flesh is soon to echo, bounding off the walls of his office in salacious harmonization with his grunts. Hits the ground running, he's not one to hold your hand. Rutting like a feral mutt, unrelenting in both rhythm and force, chasing release by way of merciless grinding. Bruising and battering your walls sore. Rolling your eyes white.

Paperclips and an uncapped pen dig into your back, and you're then aware he's laid you down across his desk, flattening himself along your front to slide in deeper. White knuckles anchoring you at a hip, his other hand slaps around the edge of the wood above your head. His next thrust stutters a moan backwards your throat, choked silent. Keening into his stuffy office as the walls bounce it back at you.

"S'too much - too much," the conviction gets lost in your slurring. "You're t-too much."

As if he could grow harder.

He taunts through a croon, honeyed voice both salt in the wound and a balm all at once. "Oh come now, I know it's not so bad. You're a big girl, you can take it."

He rides into you with the explicit goal of crippled mobility come morning. A compulsion brought on perhaps by hitting middle-age, the image of you wobbling on your feet like a newborn foal spurs him harder. Harsher. Fiercer. "That little quim always take me so well, wrapped nice and snug 'round my cock."

His crown pierces what feels like your cervix, a delicious drag against your channel that throbs stretched and agonized as he re-seats himself at a depth that erupts your sight starry. Your fingers knot in the back of his jacket, snagged on your breath as he works that spot like a suspect. Brutal repetition. Punching out gasps of his name, reedy and broken.

"R-roy, Roy-Roy!" Breathlessness wrung shrieking, he punctuates every cry with a snap of his hips, jostling each syllable broken beyond distinction. His desk lamp surrenders where it teeters, and falls to the ground with a thud.

"There she fuckin' is." His praise swells with pride. Debauched beneath him, ruddy cheeks and vacant bliss glossy in your eye and on your lips, parted around your panting. The reek of sex in competition with the sounds of it. The creaking desk, his labored breaths. Your drenched heat run through by his girth, over and over and over again. "That's it, honey - let me hear you."

Each dictation holds carnivorous weight, shot straight down to the poor swell of nerves caught pinched between where you're joined. You're burning. A lick of fire curled taut where he's rubbing your tissue raw, a tendril breaks loose and coils throughout your core. Burrowed further still to thread between your hips, his brutal tandem of pressure and pace ignites a blaze that rages through you, wildfire destructive. Mindless consumption of good sense and resolve.

The soles of your feet tingle pins and needles indicative. Tremors wrack outward from the corner of your eyes, squeezed shut. Welled with fresh tears. A crest to ripple through you, waiting at the other end of your fast burning fuse. The summary of your dynamic; dry kindling, the prosperous compliment to the lit match that is Roy.

Walls spasm tell-tale frantic against his pistoning, having abandoned any semblance of rhythm in favor of force. Speed. A tight clench of muscle seizes him, desperate in its strength. Demands for more more more made of him in every twitch. One next contraction squeezes beseeching, stuttering his pace. A cry to be driven right through the wave as it builds to crash.

"Oh - you're gonna come for me again, aren't you?" His chuckle winded, forced out of him by the responding pinch around his shaft. "Yes you are, you good fucking girl."

Sweat beads and sinews pop beneath his shirt collar, his jacket straining at the shoulders as his body tenses, his own climax imminent. Pushed closer to the fore every time he spears you. When the third and final one rockets through you, it milks around him in a stranglehold, insistence tugging he follows after.

A glancing blow, he's able to absorb the blunt force and power through, if only for mere seconds more. His stance shifts, and he straightens back upright, leveraging his thrusts anew as he encircles your waist with both hands.

It's almost instant, the way his attentions drawn to your breasts, mounds bobbing with the motion he rocks you against. A rare appearance of regret sneaks up on him, hindsight remorseful he hadn't taken the time to pry your jumper off before he tossed you on your back.

Yours arms fly above your head, scrambling for purchase along anything within reach. Spine bowed, lips parting for the a silent scream the ridge of his cockhead pulls from the new path it carves.

You're looking up at him, his silhouette dark and ferine through teary-eyed obstruction. His head tips back, release dawning in the pulsation radiating outwards the heaviness in his sack. His thrusts turn loose and sloppy, groans seething at how well his shaft slots inside. Throbbing and tender as his whole lower half feels.

"Fuck- here it comes." He grits, using your pinhole channel to rub away the bloated ache of his length, pulsing root to head expulsive. "Where do you want it?"

"In-inside-," the word blurts free. A deep-seated, primitive urge that could only be dredged up by the man hilted inside you. Before you can bring it to heel, it darts away, presenting new prey for him to hunt, something in which to sink his jaws. Too juicy and tantalizing to ignore.

He laughs, breathless. "Come again?" Pulling back to get a better look at your face, unable to believe what he's hearing. Trying to savor the phenomenon that is catching Roy Washburn off guard, you mistake it for a withdrawal, and your thighs blur in blind panic. Ankles cross at the small of his back, crushing him in a desperate leg lock. He grunts, smile lopsided. "Want me to fill you up?" He taunts. "Want me to blow it all inside you, yeah?"

"Please." Cheeks aflame, you whine, the sound small and thin. He's never before heard you quite so submissive. His scrotum contracts tighter to his body in warning.

"Go on, let me hear you." He urges. A hoarseness shadowing the intonation that betrays him. That he's just as affected by the talk as you are. "I want to hear you say it."

"Please, Roy please-," you're babbling before he's even finished speaking. Broken beyond compliance. You'd agree with your whole heart to be kept chained about the neck, and naked, under his desk if he chose that moment to ask. "C-come inside me, Roy, please I want you to come inside me-!"

A direct hit to his virility, fluffed and fanned peacock feather proud. A miracle those words alone don't smite him where he stands. A miracle he's been able to last long enough to hear them, given the week he's just endured and your absence he's suffered.

He hushes you as a means to stall himself just a bit longer. A laugh in his voice even through his shuddering groan. "I'll just bet you do, you dirty girl."

You're shoved along the length of his desk first two, then three more times, before he topples. A bitten off howl announces him, spilled hot and thick inside you. An overabundance trickling back out murky white from the span of time since when last he had relief. His frame tenses through the initial brunt, and then gives like split thread. Loosening languid as the thrumming in his cock slows, and begins to go soft.

The aftermath is comparatively quiet. Just the sounds of the breath you're both trying to catch. The faded hum of what you assume to be a ventilation unit in the distance, beyond his office door. You make no attempts to peel yourself from where you slouch. Limp, quivering, sweat-dampened. Not that you could if you wanted to - Roy's still shoved inside of you, with no moves to disengage.

Your eyes shut, drowsiness keeps them that way. You gauge by feel, waiting for the moment when he pulls out. The moment that doesn't come. Instead, you hear the rustle of paper and the crinkle of plastic.

The takeaway, not far from where your head lolls, being rummaged through. Remarkable it survived the carnage that befell much of his other belongings in your tousle. Finding what he was after, Roy sets his weight back on his heels with a grunt, though joined at your center he remains. Your lips purse in a wry grin unbidden.

With your eyes still closed, you're unable to witness the way he marvels at your post-coitus serenity, your beauty. Hair mussed, hips tender - and utter calm. Humming, and sated. By him.

He gazes upon you, and his severity softens. Hard-edges dulled. A coarseness rounded and smoothed by your stunning vulnerability like sea glass passed through ocean waves.

Relaxation a systematic progression, his knotted posture unwinds opened, and lax. The molten-core of him quelled and beginning to cool, all thanks to your release of his pressure. The taste of you still strong on his whiskers.

His free hand falls to your thigh, slung low around his hip. Residual tremors greet his touch, and he strokes them soothed. His pattern absent and fond.

"You spoil me." Roy sighs something rhapsodic. Speaking to the fried king prawn he's unwrapped and poised to devour, as if he's referring only to the food. An unconvincing ruse, you decide not to call him on it.

He feeds himself in nonchalance with one hand while he continues petting you with the other. Groused appetite demanding instant satiation, his lips smack crude as he refuels.

Breaths slowing from gallop to cant, you lay still. Boneless around his intrusion, softened but not withdrawn. Eyes held shut, your smile spreads fuller. When you speak, it emerges a quiet simper, a tad scratchy from the heights your throat had been pushed.

"Still hungry?"

You're answered first by the crunch of deep-fried breading ground between his molars.

Where prior to your quick and dirty rendezvous he was nothing shy of feral, he now seems pacified.

Afforded the sort of contentment that comes as a reward for a job well done. An overactive mind then quiet. The wolf contended, circling before his slumber.

"Fucking starved."

Tagging: @daydreamandforget as per request😘

[tardisesandtitans]

Thought of a delicious, unrealistic pwp idea 🥵🥵🥵

[guanana]

beware the panty perv ♡ ldh x reader

genre: pwp smut, haechan x reader, f x m, college!au, crack

word count: 15.1k+

summary: there’s a mystery at hand! it seems like your panties have been vanishing into thin air whenever you need them most?

angry that your favorite pairs of panties are going missing, you decide to put on your detective hat in hopes of finding the mysterious lingerie bandit.

but between all of the guys that you sleep with— you can’t seem to pinpoint who the culprit could be.

it couldn’t possibly be your absolute geek of a tutor for calculus, right?

nah.

smut warnings: sub!haechan, features of other members (mentioned sex but no explicit scenes with them), panty sniffing, panty stuffing, oral (f receiving), overstimulation (m receiving), humiliation, degradation, masturbation, crybaby haechan, mc steps on haechan a lil, cum eating/swapping, light slapping

other warnings: mentions of menstruation (not involved in any smut scenes), very side character heavy but haechan is still the star

author’s note: try reading the warnings from overstimulation to the beat of dwayne the rock johnson’s rap

this one was a little bit harder for me ;; but an honest effort was made! i hope u enjoy <3

────── 〔✿〕──────

Day 1 —

“Babes, you know I love you. But you gotta hurry the fuck up,” Your friend snides at you. Her arms are crossed while you’re bent over at the lowest drawer of your dresser, scrambling through an almost endless abyss of clothes. She tuts when her remark falls on deaf ears, walking over to smack your exposed ass to get your attention.

You wince at the sharp pain, rubbing your aching cheek. “Ow! What was that for?”

She’s puffing her face out impatiently, pulling down the bottom half of your dress to maintain your decency. Tightly fitted bodycon short enough that the slightest of movements will cause it to ride up, she groans at your obliviousness. “I’m serious! We’re gonna be late,” She retorts. “What are you even looking for anyway?”

Kneeling back, you look up at your friend with glossy eyes. “My favorite pair of panties! Y’know the baby blue ones?” You start, feeling validated when she gives you an appeasing nod that screams ‘yes, I know the ones.’

“I can’t find them,” You whine before diving back into your drawers. Tearing it apart and flinging colorful pieces of fabric all over.

Unable to put up with your shenanigans anymore, your friend is pulling you by the collar of your dress.

You’re flailing your arms petulantly at your dresser, so close to a breakthrough but being ripped away at the last second.

“C’mon,” She grunts, hoisting you by the arm as she drags you out of your bedroom. You try to escape her clutches but she’s much stronger than you, grip like a vice as she trudges the two of you towards the front door. “Seriously! The party’s already started! All the drinks are gonna be gone by the time we get there.”

“But my pantiesss,” You mewled, poking at her waist in hopes that she’ll take some pity on you. “Just give me another five minutes! Jeno’s gonna be there and I wanna make sure he sees them.”

When she doesn’t budge you use your last resort and sit down, planting all of your dead weight onto the ground. Not even she’s strong enough to drag you in your rock-like state. Challenging her with a smug stare.

She drops her head into the palm of her hands in defeat, pinching her temples to ease the urge to throw you off a balcony. “You little— fine! Five minutes, okay? If you’re not back out here by then I’m leaving your ass home and you can get your own ride,” She bites at you, a heeled foot kicking your butt swiftly to get you moving like a horse.

“I’ll be quick!” You yell back as you scurry to your room, determined to find the pair as soon as possible. Nagging your friend when she yells something along the lines of ‘He’s already seen them anyways!’ behind you.

Tearing your room apart near and far in hopes of finding the accursed piece of lace. You feel like you’re in the midst of losing your mind. Swearing that you had just done your laundry last weekend, saving them specifically for tonight’s party. Within moments, you’ve flung nearly every piece of clothing in your dresser across your room.

Not in the dresser. Not anywhere in your closet. Wasn’t left in the washer or dryer. Not even in the dirty pile?

Wanting to shriek out in rage, you give up. Throwing a small tantrum on the floor in frustration. You get up before brushing your hair out of your face, grabbing your blush pink alternative instead. Exchanging the plain black cotton for the other before carelessly tossing it somewhere, probably landing by the frame of your room.

When your five minutes are up, you drag your feet childishly back out to the front door. Your best friend has her arms crossed as she looks you up and down. “Well?” She asks, tapping her foot.

You shake your head disappointedly, lifting the skirt of your dress up to flash her your second favorite pair instead. “These’ll have to do instead. I guess,” You huff irritably.

She coddles you with faux concern before linking your arm with hers. “It’s okay, babes. I’m sure he’ll like pink instead.”

The two of you are laughing as you step out for the night, ready to get absolutely fucked up and dicked down. Yet, as you walk out the door you look back with curiosity. Feeling something so amiss, yet unable to pinpoint the source of suspicion.

Where the fuck did your panties go?

——

Day 2 —

Your brain might actually implode, seriously. The big blob in your cranium might just deflate and wheeze out any remaining air it has left if Lee Haechan makes you do one more fucking derivative.

“Haechan, can we take a break? This shit’s not clicking,” You berate the boy that sits across from you. Pretty brand name pen twirling through your fingers expertly, you stifle a giggle at the way he jumps at your sailor mouth. Screeching your chair back, you splay your hands out onto your kitchen table and stretch out like a cat, finely manicured nails on full display.

He pushes his glasses up before looking down shyly, never capable of maintaining eye contact with you for more than three seconds. Hands are tucked in between his legs politely as he bobs his head in response. “We… we can take a break. If you want, at least.” Though it’s a suggestion, almost everything he says sounds like a question.

Lee Haechan was far from what you could consider your typical ‘nerd.’ Quite the opposite actually. He just so happened to be super smart, always landing the top grades amongst your classes.

Not one to keep to himself, he’s a complete social butterfly amongst those in his proximity. When he’s with his friends he’s fun, loud, and even confident. One could even describe him as the mood maker of a group.

Yet when you asked him to be your tutor for your calculus class, it seemed like he’d turned into a puddle of goop. Scene straight out of some cheesy 80’s rom com where he drops all of his materials upon your shameless request, fumbling papers everywhere as you look at him with glowing admiration– his friends pointing and laughing at him as you leave. He’s barely even able to form basic sentences or hold a conversation that doesn’t pertain to any academic related activities. The poor thing was absolutely under your trance.

You’d like to blame the complete 180° of his personality on some obvious crush. But for some reason you felt like there was something deeper, something that goes beyond the surface of admiration. Tacit, almost.

So this little rendezvous has carried on for a few weeks now. Meetings at your place after classes, he goes over the notes with you in detail while helping you with the assigned homework. In exchange, you treat him to a (very, very awkward and quiet) meal. Usually just you talking about yourself while he stares with intrigue, nodding with undivided attention but never inputting any of his own opinions.

Needless to say you had no complaints. Haechan was an excellent tutor, helping you with even the most difficult of concepts without overwhelming you. Despite the awkwardness, you were utterly indebted to Haechan for all of his hard work.

You’re interrupted from your thoughts when your phone on the table begins to vibrate. Text messages from Doyoung asking to come over within the next thirty minutes or so. A cheery grin takes over your features as you snatch your device, immediately messaging him back before remembering your guest.

“Oh, sorry! That was rude of me,” You apologize. To which Haechan waves both of his hands at you in a cartoonish fashion, the thought of you ever being rude to him being absolutely blasphemous.

“No, no! You’re okay,” He replies with the most vigor you’ve seen from him the whole session. You don’t miss the way he purposely avoids eye contact, rather seeking solace in the wall that’s next to you.

You were just too pretty. Such a dainty presence and such kind mannerisms were an absolute whiplash to your otherwise domineering aura, throwing him in for a loop that he couldn’t keep up with. He’s fumbling between stutters before he thinks of his next words. “So,” He clears his throat. “Did you want to end it here today?”

Having half the mind to turn down Doyoung, you’re about to decline Haechan’s offer. Finals season was approaching. So despite your complaints, you knew you’d have to suck it up and take all the extra hours you can get with Haechan to make sure you ace this exam.

At least, until Doyoung sends you a message with an image of some handcuffs and cloth. A little ‘;)’ attached at the bottom. Definitely indicating that he wanted something extra frisky today. The text has you dropping your jaw in surprise, not acknowledging the way Haechan’s shoulders droop at your lack of response.

Curse your libido. Seriously, Jeno had absolutely rearranged your guts at the party last night. Causing shivers to run from the bottom of your spine at the flashbacks, scalp still a bit warm from the way those veiny hands were throwing you around.

You unleash a dramatic sigh before ultimately texting Doyoung back, giving him the green light to head on over. When you look back up you see that Haechan is already staring right at you, waiting patiently and watching with intent.

Rubbing the back of your neck guiltily, you answer his prior question. “Yeah, sorry about that,” You apologize again. “I think now would be a good time to stop. But maybe I could see you tomorrow? Only if you’re not busy, of course!”

The fronts of Haechan’s teeth poke out adorably before it grows into a full on grin, pearly whites shining enough to rival the sun. You’d be a fool to deny Haechan’s looks— extremely handsome with an even cuter demeanor. Often wondering why he doesn’t attend parties or outings with mutual classmates.

You admit that you’d love to have him in many different ways. But you choose to maintain professionalism within your relationship as tutor and client— adamant about not coming onto him.

Unless of course, he were to make the first move.

Keeping your relationship to that of barely acquaintances, you make sure to limit the knowledge that the two of you actually have of each other. It’s no secret that you get around, but who doesn’t? Luckily, it’s never affected how Haechan treats you. Unknowingly coming to your defense when someone takes shots at your body count or your character as a person.

And when he replies so obediently and looks at you with such sweet and starry eyes, it’s hard to not imagine your head between his thick thighs. How they’d tremble and kick around for mercy. Or how those plump lips would look gawked open if he’s fucked ou–

“—you hear me?” Haechan’s voice cuts in, bringing you back to reality yet again.

“Oh! Oh god, I’m so sorry. I’m a mess today,” You splutter, tucking your hair behind your ear. Inwardly condemning yourself for fantasizing about your math tutor who is literally sitting right in front of you.

Haechan only shakes his head again in response. “You’re okay, I completely understand,” He chuckles. “Finals are coming in quick. I’m a bit stressed myself.”

He’s nipping at his bottom lip, walking on eggshells as you wait for him to repeat his initial thought. “Anyways, I was wondering if I could use your bathroom please?” He asks so politely, you almost melt at how cute he is.

“Yeah, of course! It’s just down the hall,” You lean over to maneuver your arm past the table, rounding around the partition of the kitchen to the living room to give him a general idea. Whether you’re aware that your oversized t-shirt is hanging dangerously low or not, Haechan doesn’t point it out. He also tries his hardest to deny the fact that you were most definitely not wearing a bra and that your breasts were definitely not open for show.

He nods at you frantically before pushing himself out of his seat, hurrying for the bathroom. Resting your head against the palm of your hand, you blink slowly at just how endearing the sweet boy is. Most people didn’t even have the courtesy to even let you know they’re about to raid your fridge for any leftovers or snacks. (That reminds you to hide your chocolate croissants from Doyoung before he comes in.)

A few moments pass by and you bring it upon yourself to heat up a pork bun for Haechan before he heads out as thanks for all of his work today. Peering your head down the hall to see that the lights are still visible through the creek of the door, you shrug at the time that he’s taking. Dude probably just ate well today or something.

Minutes after the beep of the microwave however, you begin to get a little bit concerned. His pork bun is already heated up and ready to go, but it's cooling down just as fast with every passing minute. The silence of the room is blaring aside from the vent that’s emanating from the bathroom. Would it be rude to check up on him? It’s not like you wanted to rush him or anything, but when you check the clock you worry that Doyoung could pop up at any moment. “Haechan?” You call from the end of the hall, deciding against knocking against the door in the unlikely case he really is tearing up your bathroom. At your call you hear some shuffling that causes you to jump a little, something akin to metal clanging and clothes rustling. “Everything alright in there?”

“Be out in a second!” Haechan practically squeaks from the bathroom door, and you swear that he’s probably toppled over the way you hear a loud crash against the wall.

At a loss you decide to just stay in your spot, only a tad confused at the string of events that are unfolding. You’re just about to take matters into your hands, taking the first step down the hall when you hear a knock at the front door. Whipping your head around, you groan when you walk over to the peep hole to see Doyoung at the other side.

“Ugh,” Your eyelids flicker, torn between rushing Haechan out for your dick appointment or to let Doyoung simmer out on the porch a little bit longer. When you don’t answer the door quick enough, Doyoung knocks at the door at a quick tempo before he calls your name in a whine.

“Let me innn,” The older male increases his incessant knocks. The worry of having Haechan catch Doyoung entering your dorm becomes your last priority. You open the door for Doyoung, glad that he at least had the decency to hide the ‘equipment’ in a duffle bag. Your senior is flashing you that sweet bunny smile when you make room to let him enter, greeting you with a sweet rub to your shoulder blade. “What took you so long?”

A bit frazzled, you take a spot behind him in order to get him to your room as fast as possible. Wanting to avoid any unnecessary interactions between the two males that are currently inhabiting your space. “Don’t worry about it. Just get to my room already,” You quip as you push him straight down the hallway.

Doyoung’s chuckling mischievously at your perceived persistence. “Well somebody’s eager tod—”

You were just about to reach your sanctuary when Haechan decides to whip open the bathroom door, looking absolutely frayed. Cheeks a blush pink when he catches the two of you at the frame of your bedroom door. When the two males lock gazes, you swear you’re about to explode in frustration because of your poor planning. Again, curse your libido.

“Haechannie?” Doyoung acknowledges his junior from his spot at the door frame.

“Ah, hyung!” Haechan replies, giving the older male a quick wave, his sweater covering half of his hand up to his fingertips.

The black haired male gives you a skeptical eyebrow, and you hope your challenging glare prevents him from saying anything stupid. “Didn’t think we were gonna have anyone join us today,” He adds huffily, not unfamiliar to sharing you in bed with someone else.

You face palm. Of course he was going to say something stupid.

Haechan creases his eyebrows together before he connects the dots, giving you a look that resembles that of a kicked puppy. Unable to handle this any longer, you give Haechan a sympathetic pat. You really do hate to kick him out, but it’s honestly his fault for taking too long in the bathroom doing god knows what.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” You ask, mustering up a soft smile.

He nods feebly, cheeks sucked in timidly as he’s yet again averting your gaze. “Yeah.. tomorrow.”

You walk him out after he bids Doyoung a respectful goodbye, waving him off as he leaves your field of vision.

Lost in your own thoughts you don’t notice Doyoung coming up behind you and planting his head on top of yours. He too looks at the fleeing Haechan, the younger male becoming smaller and smaller with every step he takes.

“So you added Haechan to your list?” He digs his chin into your scalp, eyebrows querking up curiously.

You shake your head before taking his hand in yours, leading him to your room once again. “Nope. Just having him tutor me for calc.”

He ‘ahh’s at your response, duffle bag flopping along with him as he follows you. “Figured. Pillow princess like you wouldn’t be able to put in the work for a baby like that,” Gummy grin flashing as he takes a firm grip on your waist.

You choose to not argue with Doyoung. Dick being a much higher priority than a petty argument regarding your status as an alleged pillow princess. Not like the information would do him any favors anyways, he doesn’t even know the half of it.

The way you fantasize of turning Lee Haechan into your little bitch. Have him cry out for you while you praise him and tell him what a good boy he is, it makes you smile dreamily as Doyoung pushes past your door.

So utterly lost in your daydreams that you fail to realize that your door had already been left ajar.

——

Day 3 —

The weather has been picking up recently, the sun beginning to emit waves of heat that have you sweating like all hell. You wanted to get out of the dormitory’s laundry room as fast as possible and return to your air conditioned sanctuary. The cesspool of dirty laundry mixed with the body heat of other attendees has you wanting to gag in disgust, wiping sticky beads of sweat off of your forehead while you try to fan yourself.

“Hey, you,” A voice calls for you. At their beckoning you look up to find Jaemin, radiant teeth happily on display when he greets you. You scoot to the side to allow him some room on the bench, more than satisfied with his company compared to the other sweaty jocks that are preoccupying the space.

You flash a grin that’s just a bit too eager as he takes your side, immediately curling in close to him when he wraps an arm around your waist. The two of you remain like that, engaging in casual conversation like the position the two of you were in was the most normal thing on earth. Checking your phones and scrolling through social media mindlessly. Jaemin was one of your favorite people– the kind of friendship that required almost little to no maintenance. Going weeks without speaking but remaining just as casual whenever you two encounter each other.

Which inevitably leads to him taking you back to his dorm and fucking your brains out.

“Doing anything later?” His fingers drum against your waist, picking at a loose thread that’s peeking out of your shorts.

“Mm, not that I can think of?” You respond, giving him a look of feigned curiosity. “Why? Got something in mind?”

He’s releasing your waist in exchange for leaning over, picking up a piece of racy lingerie that lays at the top of your underwear pile. You jab at his side playfully, laughing at how shameless he’s being.

“I’ve got a few things in mind,” He twirls the emerald green lace on his index playfully, not paying mind to any jealous or offset onlookers. “Get this pile done and then put it on for me?” He asks so easily.

“You’re so weird,” You snatch the piece from him before tossing it back into the pile. Unable to hide the bashful grin that encapsulates your features. “But fine.”

“Great.” He grins before leaning back on the bench.

An hour or so passes by, and the two of you are side by side while folding clothes. Piling them neatly on top of each other in your respective baskets. Aside from Jaemin’s risque comments that flew in passing, it was overall a peaceful time.

Most of the other people have already filed out, save for a few others. So the radio silence is immediately filtered out when the double doors fling open. You and Jaemin whirl your heads around, only to be met with a cozy looking Haechan. Circle framed glasses hanging low on the bridge of his nose, unable to push it back up due to the basket of clothes he’s holding in his hands.

Upon seeing you the apples of his cheeks immediately go red. Frozen at the double doors he’s only brought to action when someone asks him if he can move, causing him to scramble out of their way feebishly. The small ordeal earns a small giggle from you. Though at his expense, it’s enough to make him perk up in glee.

Quickly striding toward you, he completely disregards Jaemin who has gone back to folding his laundry. Setting his dirty pile down, he greets you with enthusiasm. Taking the spot on the bench to your left, you wave back at him.

Feeling especially playful, you refrain from being the one to initiate conversation. Head tilted while you bat your eyelashes at him daintily. You practically see the cogs turning in his head as he hurdles over every obstacle in his mind to think of something, anything to say.

He’s twiddling his thumbs before looking up at you with interest. “We’re still on for later today, right?” He asks with a small voice, and your eyes widen at the realization.

Oh shit, that’s right. You remember, seeing Jaemin’s head pick up in your peripheral vision. You’re a bit tongue tied, honestly not fretting if you and Jaemin don’t do anything sexual today. But it has been awhile since you had seen him last. You feel bad for both parties as you had forgotten your priority to Haechan but also strung Jaemin along with an empty promise.

Haechan seems to catch onto your inner turmoil, feeling a bit let down when he catches you craning your neck to look over at Jaemin who is only lifting an amused eyebrow at you. “I– hold on a second Haechan,” You hold an index finger up at him before turning back to Jaemin.

“Raincheck?” You mouth to Jaemin quietly, and his half lidded gaze has you wanting to jump his bones right in the middle of the laundry room. Lip worrying under your teeth at the prospect of disappointing your friend.

Lucky for you, Jaemin is as cool as always. “Can do,” He answers simply, unable to be bothered. “There’s always next time.”

Smiling in relief, you and Jaemin discuss the logistics of your next meeting. Completely unaware of Haechan whose eyes are dead locked onto your dirty pile of underwear. Pupils dilated to the point his eyes are practically black, he zeroes in on the basket.

A plethora of lace, polyester, nylon and the like are displayed like a candy shop just for him. Sports bras, push up bras, cotton panties, boyshorts… He might as well be in goddamn Disneyworld right now. If you turned around at that very moment you’d be face to face with the jittery Haechan who’s lost in his equivalent of heaven. Hands are itching in his lap, gulping down at a particular emerald green piece at the top.

“Haechan?” You call out to the brunette, and he’s immediately pulled out of his trance.

Head whipping at you in hopes that he wasn’t caught thinking about you in the prettiest lingerie in real time. The look on your face tells him that you’re none the wiser, still donning that sweet and gullible look. Inwardly sighing to himself he hums to you in response.

“I’m good to go,” You confirm with Haechan with delight, pattering his knee with feather-like touches. He’s about to combust on the spot, stomach doing backflips at how close you are. “Let me just finish these last few piles and then we can head up to my place?”

Jaemin’s eyebrow quirks up, not failing to notice the way Haechan’s jaw is slacked open at you. Ever devious, Jaemin scoots up closer before popping his head in the crook of your shoulder. He makes direct eye contact with Haechan. “So what are you guys up to, hm?” The orange haired boy asks before circling his arms around your shoulders, holding you close like a stuffed animal. His eyes narrow slyly at Haechan before licking his lips, taking amusement at the way the other male furrows his eyebrows. “Can I join?”

Haechan sucks in a breath, digging his nails into the palms of his hands. He would never tell you but it took quite the hit on his pride when he had found out you wanted to get rid of him just for Doyoung yesterday. Thinking today would be better, he was looking forward to having your unadulterated attention, to gather the courage to get even closer to you. “We’re studying for finals,” He says with finality, a soft hand coming in to trail along the knuckles that remain on his knee.

Your eyes widen in surprise at the forwardness, wondering what else your tutor had up his sleeve. Wanting to test the waters, you lean back into Jaemin’s chest, maintaining eye contact with Haechan. “Jaem has finals too. He can come up with us.”

You look back at Jaemin with a knowing look, the male already well aware of the game that you’re playing. More than willing to join you, just as mischievous as you are. “Pretty sure the premed student could be a lot of help in math, hm?”

The orange haired boy nods in response, challenging Haechan yet again. “Why not? The more the merrier, right?” He wiggles his eyebrows at his classmate.

“I think it’d be better if it was just the two of us,” Haechan tells you, lip quivering in fear of being shut down. But standing his ground as his time with you is beyond precious to him. “I’d actually prefer it that way.”

You had to admit that you were more than impressed with Haechan’s adamance. Liking the side of him that wasn’t so easily trampled over, quite familiar with this characteristic when you are out of his field of vision. Quite like the Haechan that clings onto and makes irritating his best friend Mark a habit. You’d like to see more of it, if he’d let you.

Haechan musters up the courage to stand up and try to size up Jaemin. Despite the small yet prominent height difference between the two, Haechan tries his damnedest when he puffs his chest out. “I want it to be just me and her. Alone,” He grits.

You resist the urge to whistle at the display of bravery. Flattered at the adorable show your knight in shining armor has performed for you. Jaemin merely chuckles before releasing his hold on you, throwing his hands up in mock defeat. “You got it, boss,” Jaemin whistles.

There’s a victorious gleam in Haechan’s eyes now, and you resist the urge to pinch his cheeks silly. With the verdict of your afternoon set in stone, the three of you attend to your laundry.

Jaemin is the first one to finish, standing up to take his leave. You choose to see him out when he walks over to the exit, and the two of you are ignorant to the sudden gleam in Haechan’s eye.

As the two of you reach the doorframe, he turns to you with that same troublesome grin. Bending down to your ear he whispers, “I think someone has a little crush on you.”

Flickering your eyelashes at the male, you give him a light shove. “You think so? It’s not like he’s making any moves.”

“I know so,” He winks at you. Looking behind you to see Haechan shuffling with what seems to be his laundry. Though it didn’t seem like anything out of the ordinary, he gets a weird gut feeling upon Haechan’s position that’s bent over suspiciously low. He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t pay it any mind, not wanting to involve himself any further.

“Jaem?” You call for him in his sudden silence.

“Oh, nothing,” Jaemin shakes his head. “I’ll head out now. Text me?”

You hum enthusiastically in response, “Definitely. I’ll see you soon.”

After bidding Jaemin goodbye, you run back to Haechan who scrolls aimlessly through his phone, seemingly done with whatever he was doing seconds ago. He’s already caught up on his folded clothes and is now waiting on his last pile. In your presence he gives you a small smile. “You really have a lot of clothes,” He comments passively, which causes you to snort.

“Making fun of my crippling shopping addiction?” You bring a hand to your heart with an exasperated gasp, and he’s babbling apologies at the prospect of offending you. “Didn’t know you could be so mean, Haechannie,” You say before taking a seat dangerously close to him.

“N-no! I just meant—”

His constant stutters have you laughing joyfully. Completely entranced by his sweetness, you place your hand on top of his. “I’m joking! You’re okay,” You grin. “You’re so cute, you know that?”

He rubs at his cheek to make sure he’s actually awake. The sound of your laugh has a perfect timbre to make his heart float away. “Oh…”

When the washer dings, you put a pause to your teasing. Leaving Haechan to his tongue tied vices, you get up. Throwing the wet pile into the dryer to its right, you bend over to grab your last pile. Mindlessly tossing it into the washer before pouring in your floral scented detergent.

Haechan croons at the sight of your ass that’s bent over him, basketball shorts loose enough to leave the crease of your cheek visible to his unwavering stare. The heat of the laundry room has caused your exposed legs to perspire just a tad bit, giving it a glow that has Haechan reeling in his seat. Tightening his legs together in hopes of hiding the quickly forming tent, he digs his fingers into his thighs to maintain sanity.

He really can’t get a read on you— were you just playing some sick mind game on him or were you wholly as oblivious as you let on? Either way, he couldn’t get away. Like a fly to a spider he’s already been caught in your web.

Hours later the two of you find yourselves back in your dorm, and you’re proud of Haechan for breaking out of his shell. Laughing a bit more freely and even exchanging jokes between the two of you. It seems that you like it most when he smiles, the way your eyes glow joyously at the way his nose scrunches in delight.

He really hopes you don’t realize the absence of those emerald green panties.

——

Day 4 —

Your friend comes up to you with a pint of your favorite ice cream. Leaving it at your night stand, she takes a seat at the foot of your bed. “So I guess you’re not coming tonight?” She asks.

You groan at the thought of socializing with anyone at all, much less at a party. Using your pillow to cover your ears dramatically, you start. “I can't. These cramps might actually just fucking kill me.”

She coos at you before massaging your exposed calf. “Poor baby,” She coddles you sincerely. “You haven’t started yet though, right?”

Her expert hands earn a grateful hum, shaking your head as a reply. “No, but I can tell it’s coming. Felt like I got stabbed in the gut during econ today.” A pillow meets your tummy for comfort when you curl into a fetal position. Another pang of pain shoots through your abdomen, and you dig your head further into the plush of your pillows.

“Do you need me to pick anything else up?” Your friend asks you seriously, smoothing hands caressing your hip for comfort.

You reject the offer, already overwhelmed with gratitude for the ice cream. “Mm-mm, I’ll be okay,” You groan before rounding up the strength to sit up. “You go on ahead without me. Be safe, okay?”

She only smiles in response. Giving your hand a squeeze in reassurance, she gathers her things before stepping out for the night.

In her absence you’re suddenly reminded of the ice cream that needs to be put into the fridge. With a reluctant groan you begrudgingly get up to trudge to your freezer. Once the seemingly impossible task is completed, you decide it’s best to change out of your clothes and run a bath before your period actually hits.

Scratching at your stomach mindlessly, you lazily drag yourself to your dresser. After picking out a random mismatched set of pajamas, you open your underwear drawer. Better to use your uglier cotton panties just in case. Reaching to the back you have your plain black cotton panties in mind.

Reminiscent to the night of the party from a few days ago, your choice of underwear is nowhere to be found. “The hell?” You mutter to yourself. Plucking away at the layers with confusion, you peer your head into the drawer to make sure you’re not going crazy.

Absolutely nothing. You rub at your temples to try and retrace your steps, recollecting the last time you had seen them. Realizing that it was the pair you were wearing before the party you went to three nights ago.

So how come it wasn’t in your dirty pile the other day? You perk up at the thought of your baby blue panties as well. Thought bubbles pop around your head comically and the dots begin to align like stars.

Wait a goddamn minute.

You squint your eyes when it all comes together. Feeling like Albert Einstein himself, you’re exaggeratedly gasping at the conclusion. Everything dawns on you like a flick of a switch.

Someone’s been stealing your fucking panties.

——

Day 5 –

“Why do you have a detective hat on?” Doyoung asks when you march over to him at his spot in the library. Quickly shrugging you off when he recoups his attention back to his assignment, you invade his personal bubble by bringing your face jarringly close to his. He tuts at your silliness, patience just the slightest bit slim with the impending doom of your approaching exams. Shoving your face back with his large palm he asks, “Seriously, you creep. What do you want?”

“Oh, you know what I want,” You snide against his palm, pointing an accusing finger at him.

He rolls his feline eyes at you, forgetting how impossibly ridiculous you are at times. “I can’t come over today. Even if I could, I don’t think I’m into this Agatha Christie roleplay thing you’ve got going on.”

“Agatha Chr– No, you fool!” You smack his wrist away before clicking your tongue at him. Squinting your eyes at the student next to you that shoots you a glare at your lack of tact. Lowering your voice an octave lower for him to hear, “Give me back my panties, you pervert!” You hiss.

It’s Doyoung’s turn to forget about your guys’ current setting, a disgruntled ‘HUH?’ booming across the quiet room– quickly followed by a chorus of shushes from other students. He’s folding into himself in embarrassment before trying to figure you out. “What the hell are you on? Are you drunk right now?”

“Only a little. But that’s beside the point,” You deflect immediately, raising another pointed finger at him along with the closest thing to a threatening face. “But I know you stole my panties, you perv.”

“Do you hear yourself right now? Like, do you actually hear what you’re accusing me of right now?” He completely turns towards you, hoping that you realize that you’re actually batshit insane. The black haired male is inhaling a deep breath before exhaling slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose before pandering you with an appeasing hand. “Where– no, how did you come to the conclusion that I stole your panties?”

You squint at his coyness. Steam begins to figuratively come out of your ears. Standing up straight, you cross your arms and pop your hip out sassily. “It’s elementary, my dear Doyoung.”

“Oh, god–”

“Shut up,” You cut him off. “How could it not be you? You’re the last person I fucked, and that was the day you brought the blindfold and whips and shit.”

He can only drop his face into his hands when the girl next to you sneers at your crudeness. Forcing the poor lad to suffer from both first and secondhand embarrassment. You continue to present your points to Doyoung like the absolute genius you were, “Thus, whilst I was blindfolded. You took advantage of my vulnerability and stole at least two pairs of my panties. So cough ‘em up,” You puff your chest out in triumph, cornering your culprit into a resolute checkmate.

At least you think so. Until he retorts, “How could I have found the time to steal your panties if I was fucking you the whole time?” All qualms have been thrown out of the window, and he stops caring about the girl nearby that most definitely hates you guys. “I took it off as soon as we were done because I had a club meeting, remember?”

Suddenly at a loss for words, you try to formulate an objection before he stops you from speaking again. “And out of all the guys that you fuck, I’d like to think of myself as the most normal one. Yuta and Jaemin are weird,” He emphasizes. “Jaemin is definitely a panty sniffer. Have you seen him when he’s with Jeno? He practically looks like one.”

Doyoung’s words strike a chord in you, and you’re suddenly brainstorming all of the possibilities that could lead to Jaemin being the panty napper. Though he hasn’t been over for awhile, it is true that he had an all access pass to your underwear the other day at the dormitory laundromat. Tapping at your chin, you raise a skeptical eyebrow at your senior. “You raise some points, dear Doyoung.” Pulling out the detective pipe prop that you had bought online, you inhale deeply before looking deep into the horizon of the library. And Doyoung is wondering why he’s ever slept with you, even more so why he’s even friends with you. “I hope you know that you’re actually insane,” Muttering beneath his breath that panty stealing is so unsanitary.

You nod your head slowly in agreement, eyes closed as you take in the solemn atmosphere while you take a deep inhale of your fake pipe. Theatrically you blow out an imaginary puff of smoke. This mystery has just gotten much more intense. “Looks like you’re in the clear, Lee,” You conclude. Walking off, you flip your index and middle finger from your eyes to him with a suspicious glare. “You’re still on thin ice, though. I’m watching you.”

As Doyoung tries to respawn the remnants of his sanity, an evil light bulb goes off in your head. Pulling him by the arm he’s crying out in surprise when you drag him out of the library with you. “What the hell?!” He trips over his feet as you rush to the door. The girl next to him thanks high heavens as you two take your leave. “Where are you taking me you psycho?!”

“Let’s find Jaemin, Watson!” You cheer as you take obnoxious steps down the corridor with Doyoung reluctantly following close. Squeezing his face in anguish, he reminds himself to cut you off as soon as possible.

He says this every time, but he never actually does.

–

“Na!” You bellow from across the canteen, spotting the absurdly bright orange hair from tens of feet away. Your cries go completely unheard by the absolute hermit, making you huff in annoyance. Doyoung tries to reason with you to handle this professionally, but you’re already scurrying over to the other male.

Upon your arrival you notice the airpods that are lodged deep into his ears. Yoinking the one that’s closest to you out, his eyes immediately dart between you and Doyoung in confusion. “Can I… help you?” He blinks, taking in your ridiculous attire. “And why are you wearing a detective hat?”

You tut disapprovingly, shaking your head with condescension. “Yes, you can help me,” You reply before presenting him with the palm of your hand. “Give me my panties back, you perv.”

The younger male deadpans at you. “I’m sorry?” He blanks, making eye contact with Doyoung behind you. The latter male mouthing ‘I don’t know,’ with an exasperated expression, twirling his index fingers in circles by his head to mock at your insanity. “Give back your what now?” He repeats your question for clarification.

“My panties,” You say slower for him, and he’s raising an unamused eyebrow at the way you berate him. “I know you took them when we were doing laundry the other day!”

Much like he always does, he speaks with his hands when annoyed. “So you’re telling me that your underwear is missing,” He states slowly rather than asks. Upon your nod, he continues. “And now you think I took them. Did you physically see me taking them?”

“I mean, no, but,” You fumble between your words. “Who else could it have been? It wasn’t Doyoung.”

Jaemin’s about to speak until a fourth party joins the conversation. A wild Jeno pops into the conversation, setting his lunch tray down before taking his spot next to Jaemin. “Hey guys— oh, hey it’s the detective hat you wore last Halloween,” Jeno points to the cap that sits on your head. “Do we have a mystery at hand?”

The other two males blink at him slowly. Disregarding Jeno’s nonchalant attitude, Jaemin is the first to point at you with his thumb. “So apparently Nancy Drew over here lost her panties. Now she’s interrogating us,” He explains to his best friend like you’re not even there.

Jeno merely nods in understanding before Jaemin continues. “Sounds like to me someone just hasn’t cleaned up their messy ass room,” He sings songs with a thrum of his fingers against the edge of the table.

“It is pretty messy. You should really take out all of those water bottles,” Jeno adds, Doyoung wholeheartedly agreeing alongside them.

Huffing irritably, you shake your head. “I’m serious! I’ve looked everywhere and they’re missing!” You whine. “Plus, you guys are the only ones who could’ve taken them.”

Jaemin rests his chin against the palm of his hand. “Are you sure it couldn’t have been anyone else?” He asks boredly.

You nod. Still skeptical of the men who now sit in a single file line next to each other, Doyoung squeezed in between them like a sandwich as they try to treat him to snacks from their lunches. “No one comes to mind,” You shake your head and cross your arms.

“How about Haechan?” Jaemin suggests, and the table goes quiet. The three of you look at the orange haired male like he’s just committed treason, scandalized at the thought alone. “What? Why are you guys looking at me like that?” “Haechan?!” You bawk at the accusation. “Lee Donghyuck? No, no. There’s absolutely no way.”

“Yeah, Jaemin. Haechan’s like, super cool.” Jeno butts in, and his best friend rolls his eyes at the lame defense. Doyoung agrees with a quiet nod, now intrigued with Jaemin’s pitch.

“Is it really that far off?” Jaemin continues curiously. “We know the dude’s into you. Plus he was also there during laundry day.” “He was also over at your house the other day, too,” Doyoung adds before an imperative thought hits him. “Wait a second. Didn’t you say that he’s been tutoring you? That means he’s been coming over often?”

You’re glaring at the two, appalled that they’d even think to accuse Haechan of all people. “Yeah, he has. But he’s still the last person on earth that could’ve taken them!”

“I don’t know about that,” Doyoung replies. “Mark told me that he’s into some pretty weird stuff.”

Jeno furrows his eyebrows at that, still trying to serve as the angel on your shoulder. “What would he even do with the panties anyways? It’s not like–” When Jaemin places a sympathetic hand on his shoulder, Jeno’s mouth forms into an ‘o,’ and immediately shuts his mouth. The other two nodding solemnly at the horrible visual that invades his mind.

You deflate at the thought, and the three boys are looking at you inquisitively. Suddenly just as invested in the mystery as you are. When you come back to your senses, you square up to the three who are sitting across from you. Glaring particularly at the black and orange haired ones with curious smiles.

“So,” You conclude with a dramatic sigh. “You swear on everything that it’s not you two.”

“No shit it’s not me,” Doyoung quips.

“No shit, Sherlock,” Jaemin tops with an evil grin, earning two handshakes from the other two men. Jeno looks at him with a look of absolute admiration, a small ‘bro’ escaping his lips as they join hands in solidarity. “Plus, why would I wanna sniff your panties? I could just get it straight from the source,” He wiggles his eyebrows at you flirtatiously.

After a well deserved whack has been delivered, you take their words into consideration. Could your sweet, soft spoken, and quiet Haechan really be the panty thief?

Worst of all– if it is him, how would you even react?

——

Day 9 –

Days have passed since the group’s epiphany, and you’ve been anything but calm. The days until your finals are quickly dwindling, and you have to gear up if you want to maintain your GPA.

That involves interacting with Haechan. Quite closely, might you add. The past few sessions have you calculating his every move like a hawk. Taking great care to constantly check your inventory of panties, watching him to make sure he actually goes to the bathroom— even going as far to look through his backpack when he leaves it unattended.

Despite your efforts, nothing comes to fruition. Everything remains the same, mundane. While you feel guilty for being so skeptical of Haechan, you just don’t have it in you to confront him like you had the other two.

Still, the fact that no panties have gone missing is suspicious in itself. So conveniently as well. A flurry of routes cloud your mind, pondering which one to take in order to get to the bottom of this case. Do you press Haechan? Maybe raid Jaemin and Doyoung’s apartments to see if they were lying? No, you trust them more than that. Shit, maybe it was Jeno? No, get a grip, that doesn’t even make any sense.

Absent-mindedly twirling your pen in your hand, you think about how much you miss your baby blue panties. Whoever the creep that took your panties is, whether it’s Haechan or not, they better be taking great care of them.

At a particularly exhausted sigh, Haechan calls your name softly from his spot next to you. When you bring your attention back to him, you’re met with a small smile. Waving long fingers in front of your face to bring you back. “Don’t space out on me now. You still have a few problems left,” He cheekily grins.

“I definitely have some problems,” You mutter under your breath. He only laughs at the comment, taking it as reluctance to do homework rather than the nuanced meaning that lies underneath. His laugh is sweet, breathy with the tiniest wheezes in between. It has your heart tied up in conflict, causing you to worry your lip in between your teeth.

The past few sessions have had him gaining a bit of confidence lately. The constant exposure makes him more comfortable in your presence. Unabashedly getting physically closer to you, initiating conversations, even teasing you when you have a hard time solving a problem.

You can’t say you aren’t fond of it— in any other circumstance you’d be over the moon, wanting to get closer to your tutor for a long time now.

But that nagging feeling is eating away at you, a particular gut feeling that you didn’t get when halfheartedly interrogating your two friends. How could you just shamelessly accuse Haechan without any concrete evidence, much less when he’s done nothing but treat you so well?

You’re trying to finish the rest of your work but you’re way too distracted by Haechan. His bigger hand lays on the table next to yours, and you can physically see the way it wants to outstretch and touch you. Legs that are snug in his black jeans are bobbing up and down to maintain poise. Side eyeing him in your peripheral, you find that he’s lost in a world of his own.

The elephant in the room needs to be addressed. The silence you were once able to endure now becomes unbearable. Unable to put up with this any longer, you let your instinct win.

Placing a hand on top of his, you rip him out of his daze. He forgoed the glasses for the session, setting them down next to him in order to rest his eyes. Pretty irises are on full display, the light that permeates from your windows reflecting them and coating them honey brown. A lovely mole that you’ve never seen before rests on the apple of his cheek now that it’s not obscured by the thick frames. He really is a dream, you come to realize.

“Haechan?” You call to him with curiosity.

His attention flits between your face and the hand that’s holding his, and if you knew any better you’d say he was malfunctioning. “Yeah?” He responds with as much control as he can, a throbbing still evident in his tone.

You bring your face impossibly close to his, trying to assess him. His shoulders curl in just a tad, feeling your breath fan against his face in slow exhales. The more you lean into him the more he feels like he’s about to be devoured whole, fangs ready to engulf him at any given moment.

Cocking your head at him ever so slightly, you ask: “What’s your favorite color?”

It’s the most innocent question ever, but between the two of you, your intentions are obvious. Golden skin goes pale at your inquiry, and he’s snatching his hand back from beneath yours.

"Well?”

“I—”

He squeaks when you cage him against the table, blocking any exits. A thin sheen of sweat coats his hairline. Hands are grasping at air as he realizes the situation he’s really in.

You’ve found him out.

If you were to move even a centimeter closer, the two of your lips would graze against one another. And he absolutely hates himself, the way the trepidation shoots a rush of blood straight to his cock. He prays to any higher being that you don’t look down, hoping you don’t find out how pathetic he really is.

“C’mon Haechannie,” You tilt your head, angling your lips adjacent to his. So close yet too far for him, too ethereal for him to touch. A hand trails up his neck, fingernail dipping just a bit too deep into every mole it stops at. “Tell me? What’s your favorite color?”

He’s gasping when the thumb of your hand presses in the crook of his jaw, thrown for a loop by your forcefulness. “Black..,” He answers feebly, eyes squeezing shut.

You hum in response, nodding your head in satisfaction. “How about blue?”

“I.. I like blue.”

One look into his eyes is all you need. The swirling guilt drenched in self loathing, the way his lip quivers under your condemning stare. He doesn't need to say anything, the humiliating beads of sweat that run down his temple speaks multitudes.

Checkmate, you think to yourself. A sly smile adorning your features.

You wonder why you aren’t pissed off, why you don’t chastise him for his obvious wrongdoings.

It almost feels like a game to you, knowing that you’re so close to your destination yet still not close enough.

You want to catch him in the act, like a game of cat and mouse. You wanted to see him crumble beneath you as he begs for mercy. If he likes you as much as everyone says he does, then of course he’d do it for you. When the realization that Haechan really is your panty thief hits, you shudder at the fact that you’re not upset at all. In fact, you’re flattered.

Letting your bottom lips graze over his own in something that’s barely a touch, he gasps in his seat. His hands are gripping onto the armrests for dear life as he tightens into himself, fearing for his life on what you’re about to do.

Haechan’s eyes open once again, only to be met by your half lidded stare, looking right through his very being. And just when he thinks you’re about to seal your lips against his, you pull away. Standing up straight and giving him the distance he most definitely doesn’t want.

When you look down at him with mirth, he’s at a loss for words. Just when he’s about to ask you what just happened, you interrupt him. “Let’s call it here today, yeah?”

“But, we have a few more problems to go,” He protests, not knowing exactly what he wants but knowing that it’s even more of what just occurred.

You shrug in response, “I can handle the rest of them myself. You just head home, okay?”

It’s not until he’s about to get up from his seat that he sees that your eyes are locked onto his very prominent erection. Folding his hands to shield himself from further humiliation, he scrambles away before quickly packing his things. Nodding his head with blushed skin all the way up to his ears, he scampers out your door without so much as a goodbye.

Left to your own devices, you let out a laugh you were fighting hard to keep in when the door slams shut. Pulling out his glasses that you so carefully swiped when you had him cornered, excitement brews in your stomach. The circular brims gleam back at you, so well kept. Surely he’ll be needing these, right?

—-

Day 10 –

A little less than twenty four hours have passed since your stunt with Haechan yesterday. Despite the apparent absence of his glasses, he still hasn’t contacted you or even bothered to come back for them. It didn't matter though, it made things even easier for you. Your operation was now set in motion.

When you reach Haechan’s apartment, you revel in the fact that your predictions were right on the dot. With a rhythmic knock against the door, you’re met with his roommate Mark. Clad in a white t-shirt and really baggy shorts, you assume that he just woke up. A pierced eyebrow furrows at you in confusion at your unannounced appearance. “Oh, hey? Didn’t know you were stopping by. I thought that Haechan usually goes to you,” He drawls slowly, rubbing the back of his neck.

You wave him off casually, shaking your head to ward off any doubts he has. “He forgot something at my place,” You shuffle through your bag to pull out the glasses, and he nods with his mouth in the shape of an ‘o.’ “Could I come in to drop them off? I’ll be quick.”

It’s then that there’s a sudden shift in Mark’s demeanor, probably waking up all the way at your request. He’s a bit frazzled, looking behind him before snapping his head back at you. “Oh! Yeah, about that... I could take them off your hands! I’ll let him know you stopped by,” He tries to pluck the glasses from you before you swipe them away. “Is he not home?” You ask with faux curiosity, hoping that the male realizes that you see Haechan’s go-to pair of shoes visible at the entrance. “If not, I can just come back,” You give him a lopsided smile.

For as long as you’ve known Mark, despite how little information you actually had, you knew that the dude was absolute dog shit at lying. When you’re about to turn your back and take your leave he calls for you. “It’s not that! It’s just– he’s really busy, y’know?”

“Really? Then I’ll be in and out,” The subtle euphemism doesn’t fly over his head as his jaw drops open, ears turning pink at how bold you are. You come to realize that Mark and Haechan are two peas in a pod, because Mark is spluttering over his words as you stalk closer. Fight or flight races through his veins when you try to break past the barrier, and he really has the audacity to try and slam the door shut on you. Luckily you wore a thick pair of sneakers today, shoving a foot in the crevice of the frame before he can close it all the way.

Big eyes are bulging out at you as you let yourself in, giving him a respectful nod before passing him up. You take in the setting of their apartment. It’s cute, very boyish and full of instruments and video game consoles. Taking a look back at Mark who is still at a loss for words, he can only muster out: “You’re insane.”

Giving him a light shrug in response, you make yourself at home when you kick off your shoes. Mark’s behind you trying to stop you, arms flailing exasperatedly in hopes of trying to get you to stop. Calling out your name the further you walk into the apartment. “This is seriously an invasion of privacy, man.”

“I told you I’ll be quick,” You pout at him. “It’s really important that I’m the one that gives it to him.” “Then do it later!” He snaps, uncharacteristically upset at your stubbornness. “You really don’t want to go in there right now.”

“What’s your problem? I just want to see him,” You snap at him.

“It’s because it’s not a good t—”

Right when he grabs the crook of your arm to pull you back, a sound reverbs down the expanse of their halls.

Your ears perk up to take in one of the softest, most delicate moans you’ve ever heard in your life. So whiny and needy but with such a raspy timbre.

When you look back at Mark to make sure you weren’t imagining things, he’s already scrunching his face in embarrassment. Letting you go he holds his hands up defeatedly. “I told you,” He groans while rubbing his face. “Now’s not a good time.”

His words don’t stop you one bit. Sealing your fate as you walk down the corridor to reach his room. Mark’s already given up, shaking his head.

Face to face with Haechan’s door, you can hear more of the soft moans that leave his lips. Whatever happens next, you decide the least you could do is be courteous. “Hey, Mark?”

“Yeah?”

“Might wanna take a walk,” You wink at him before placing your hand on the door handle. The last thing you see before pulling the handlebar down is Mark gagging dramatically, leaving the vicinity just as you told him.

Pushing the door open without a creak, you’re met with a jaw dropping visual.

Haechan sat up against his bed frame, eyes shut tight and face scrunched up in his ministrations. Too lost in his pleasure to even notice you at the frame of his door, hand bobbing up and down against a lubed up cock. And right in the palm of his hand to aid in his perverse acts—

—those baby blue panties.

“You actual sicko,” You laugh incredulously.

Eyes are snapping open to make out your silhouette at the door. In your presence his ears blare with radio static, darting at each and every corner of his room to plot an escape. Tossing the panties to some forgotten corner he tries to protect his decency, asking every single higher being out there why his dick is getting harder rather than deflating.

Sweat is falling down the sides of his temples at an alarming rate. Pulling his briefs back up he’s quivering with every step you take towards him, your bag long forgotten as you toss it down. “I… I can explain,” Haechan sputters, his feet getting caught between the comforters as he scooches back into the corner of his bed.

“Explain what?” You scoff before trapping him against the wall his bed lays against, straddling his lap to make sure he has absolutely no way to leave. “That you’re a sick panty perv? That you’ve been using my dirty panties to get off?”

Tears are pricking at the edges of his eyes, and you coo at the sight. “You have the other ones, right?” Trailing a hand through his hair, shushing his quickly quivering cries to calm him down. “Where are they, Haechannie?”

Unable to handle the shame, he raises a pathetic finger towards the top drawer of his night stand. You look at him with an amused smirk. “Not the most discreet about it, are you?”

Quickly looping an index finger around the handle, you obnoxiously force the drawer to slide open. The booming noise caused Haechan to cower, and you’re absolutely astonished at the sight. “Holy shit, Haechan.” His apologies come in erratic waves, but you couldn’t even begin to fathom the amount of panties that rest in the drawer. Black cotton, emerald green lace, a whole lingerie set that you'd only worn once… “I didn’t even know I was missing these ones,” You lift a red cheeky up like a fish out of water, stretching the material between your hands to let it bask in the light from his ceiling fan. “What is that… Oh my god.”

When he tries to cover his face with his hands, you’re quick to rip them away with a grab at his wrist. Shoving the material in his face, beyond crazed at his reactions. “You’ve been cumming in my panties?

“I’m sorry!” He cries, tears now falling freely at the way you’re tutting at him disapprovingly. If you yelled at him, screamed at him, called him the most vile of names– he’s sure that he would be fine. But, the idea of being the subject of your hatred, it causes his stomach to flip in anguish. Regretting every decision he’s made, stealing each piece with stealth when you weren’t looking.

How couldn’t he? It’s your fault that your hamper was so close to your bedroom door. It’s your fault that you were so oblivious to your surroundings, panties always left so carelessly for the taking. And it’s most definitely your fault that your smell was so alluring, unable to help himself each time he inhaled your heady scent.

He can’t regret it, reminiscing every time he fucked your worn panties against his cock. The way that the fresher panties would still be slick with your wetness, the fabric sliding along the expanse of his length so languidly.

You click your tongue, in awe at the way he still has the audacity to rut against your crotch that lays on top of his groin. “And here I thought you were my sweet boy.”

“I am!” He argues, wiping his tears sweetly with the backs of his hands. “I do it because I like you!”

You’d be a liar if you said that the sudden confession didn’t have your heart tightening, rough exterior softening just the tiniest bit at how sickeningly adorable he is. “You like me?” You hum, grazing the drying tears that leave his cheeks a deeper golden.

He’s nodding with vigor. “So, so much.” And when you free his hands they immediately seek purchase at your hips.

Placing your hands atop his, you close the gap between your faces. Noses barely grazing against each other, lips only a breath away. He’s taking in everything, the scent of you everywhere and invading his every sense. He wishes he could pinch himself, being under you like this has been a dream of his for a long time.

“Does that mean you’ll do what I tell you to do?” Your eyelashes are batting against his forehead when you angle into him.

Another nod.

“Anything?”

You feel the way he trembles beneath you, but the glazed and cloudy look in his eyes lets you know this is the most sure he’s ever been. “Anything.”

At his answer, you shove him into the mattress. “Then lay down,” You command before climbing up the expanse of his body, pushing his shirt up to reveal gorgeous skin. Tufts of brown hair fluffily framing his face when you throw the material behind you. His mouth is slightly agape when you strip yourself of your own clothes– the meat of your legs so appetizing as you unbutton your jeans.

The both of you left in just your underwear, you tilt your head at him when he tries to find the words. “You’re so pretty…” Cheeks blazing when your nails trail up his chest.

“Not as pretty as you,” You lilt, trailing down his body, kissing at every destination you meet. That same sweet moan permeates against your ears, and you shudder at the wetness that pools between your thighs.

When you’re met with the tent of his underwear, you grin up at him. The way he eagerly anticipates your next move has you feeling extra mischievous. After all, you couldn’t let him off the hook that easily.

Your nose grazes the fabric that covers his member, nuzzling into it deeply. Gasping at the contact, he bucks into your face. “You do this because you like me, right?” You lick against the material, creating a damp spot against the material.

“What do you mean?” He gasps, when you tongue at him with greed.

Plucking at the waistband, you let it slap against the skin. “You know,” You hum. “Use my panties.” When he doesn’t respond you take the reins, inhaling the scent of his damp underwear, bottom lip popping against the bulge. Eyes rolling to the back of your head at the lewdness of the whole situation. “I guess I like you too, then.”

It’s too much for Haechan. Your teasing, the way he’s so close to having you, and now the reciprocation of his feelings. He’s reeling– ready to do anything for you at your beck and call.

“But I still have to punish you, you pervert.”

And even if everything comes crashing down, even if you treat him like the scum at the bottom of your shoe, he’s still willing to do it all.

“Get up,” You stand up and bring him along with you, dragging him with alarming ease before shoving him by the shoulders. “Kneel.”

Just like a dog, he does so with obedience. Doting gaze staring up at you, eager for your next command. You smile down at him before turning your back, unclasping your bra before disposing of it next to where he’s sat. Peering at him over your shoulder, you see that he’s staring at the black push up bra so fondly before looking up at the expanse of your body, left in nothing but your panties.

The angle from where he kneels has you looking like a goddess. Bare back cascading into the length of your lustrous looking legs, and the most beautiful matching black lace panties hugging your ass cheeks so nicely. He doesn’t even notice the trail of drool that falls down his lips.

You saunter back to his bed, taking a seat at the edge before crossing your legs. Breasts now on display for him, so close yet so far away. Wanting nothing more than to get up and have a touch for himself– but he knows better, he’s your good boy. Your foot meets the bottom of his chin before lifting it up, allowing for your eyes to meet. “Did you really think you could get away with this?” When he shakes his head, you click your teeth. “Don’t lie to me. You probably thought you were so smart, right?”

“I’m…”

“You’re what?” You say before the foot that’s at his chin travels down to his chest, kicking him down with only enough force so he topples onto his bottom. “Sorry? That doesn’t answer my fucking question, Haechan. Do you think I’m dumb?”

“N-no!” Fear broils in his system when you bring a foot to his erection, stepping lightly against his member at his feeble responses. “You’re not dumb! I just thought you wouldn’t notice,” He whines at the weight that’s being laid onto his cock. He winces in a worrying mix of both pain and pleasure, jutting his hips up into your touch rather than running away. At his rutting you let out a noise that’s in between a laugh and a scoff, amazed at how pathetically desperate he is for you. Pressing down even harsher, rubbing your sole against what you feel is the shaft.

“God, you’re so embarrassing,” You guffaw at the way he squeaks beneath you. “Are you that much of a freak? Can’t get a girl the normal way so you have to fuck her panties instead?”

It is embarrassing. He wishes he could crawl into a hole when your insults cause his cum to spurt in his underwear. Your voice was too much on its own, his lower half now feeling unbearably hot and sticky under the confines of his boxers. You realize what happens quickly, the way his legs spasm and the mouse-like moan that reaches the furthest parts of the room.

Lee Haechan is absolutely amazing. Everything you expected and even more, the epitome of your fantasies. The fucked out expression he gives you is beyond pornographic, and you practically feel the stickiness that emits from his boxer briefs. “No fucking way you just came from getting stepped on,” You mock him, retreating your foot with a feigned look of disgust.

“I’m sorry,” He apologizes for the umpteenth time. Tired of hearing the excuse you stand up and grab the back of his head roughly. Forcing your positions and turning the two of you around so his neck is now painfully craning against the edge of his bed. “What do I have to do for you to forgive me?” He begs.

“I can think of a few things,” You croon at him, left hand still lodged into his locks while the right aids you in stripping yourself of your panties. His eyes trail towards the fabric that makes its way down your thighs, widening when you dispose of them onto his sheets. He’s in awe when your pussy meets his view, glistening folds already wet– for him, because of him. “You’ll be my sweet boy and eat me out, right?”

You really didn’t have to ask him twice, tongue already out as you lower your cunt onto his waiting lips. A sigh escapes the both of you when your lips meet his awaiting muscle, immediately darting for your clit to stimulate you.

“A-ah, you’re eager aren’t you?” A moan escaping you when he hums in response, spreading your folds eagerly. You steady your hold with a hand in his hair and the other gripping his sheets. Grinding against him to navigate where you want him most. “Fuck, right there.”

He’s greedily taking you in. The scent that he’s only been able to experience offhandedly is now being reaped at the source. He wouldn’t tell you that he heard your entire conversation with the boys the other day. Jaemin be damned— he’ll make sure that you’ll want him and only him, he’ll be your only sweet boy. The spout of jealousy at the memories of the others has him digging himself into you even deeper, nose bumping into the hood of your clit as his tongue laps against your entrance. The tip is able to break inside, pussy juice tasting like an absolute delicacy he wishes to get drunk off of forever.

“I love how you taste,” He groans against you, and your knees are buckling before your chest topples over onto the bed. Wiggling your hips into him, a particular flick of his tongue has you heaving in delight. “Real thing is so much better,” He practically sings.

“Haechann,” You whine, your climax coming in quick. Despite his antics he was amazing with his tongue. Incoherent thoughts flash through your mind, wondering why the hell you haven’t done this sooner. “You’re so good at this.”

He relishes in the way you moan his name and your praises, seeking to please even further as he reaches the furthest parts of you with the pink muscle. Tongue darting in and out mimicking the motions of sex, a hand coming up to flick your clit in figure eights. Unable to hold yourself back any longer, you scream his name before cumming all over his jaw.

Falling slack into the bed, you look back at Haechan who’s maneuvered his way from between your thighs. “Fuck, Haechan.”

“Did I do okay?” He asks you with big eyes, lip slightly pouted as he licks the remnants of your cum that shines against his chin.

“Did absolutely amazing, baby,” Taking a seat at the edge of the bed, you’re pulling him in by the waistband of his boxers. Grabbing his bicep before pushing him down the bed quickly. Desperate for more, you get to work on his boxers. Ripping them down his legs to reveal a half chubbed up cock that’s resting in a puddle of his own cum. Before tossing them you make sure to take in a deep inhale of the material, scent of cum so potent that it has you yearning for more.

Haechan moans at the sight, bursting in adoration at your sign of affection. You really did like him, and you accepted him for who he is.

The underwear is quickly forgotten however when your objective subverts to his member. “You made such a mess,” You tease when you bring your hand to bob up and down the member, wanting to poke fun at him. “Is this really the biggest you can get?”

He sits himself up with his elbows, face flushed red at the accusation. “Of course not! You just made me cum a few minutes ago,” He groans, eyebrows are creasing in a mix of pleasure and offense. “It’ll go back up, I promise,” He defends himself with a whining lilt to his voice.

“It better,” You lick up a bit of the cum that sits at the tip, collecting it in your mouth. He really came so much, droplets sticking from his shaft all the way to the bottom of his tummy. “How am I supposed to cum on your cock if this is all you have to offer?”

Whether it’s out of spite or an unadulterated amount of lust, his cock grows with every pump of your hand. Springing back to life quickly at your touch, cum aiding as a lubricant to pleasure him earnestly. “I promise I’ll make you cum. I’ll be such a good boy for you, fuck you so well. I promis—”

You cut him off with an abrupt kiss, your lips connecting for the first time. Though he’s imagined your lips for the first time one too many times, it usually took place after a nice first date, or when the tensions in a romantic moment are high— but this one is domineering and unforgiving. Tasting his own cum from your lips as you exchange it for yours, the taste of your pussy still fresh on his tongue.

Spitting the remaining cum that you had collected from his crotch into his mouth, he’s moaning when you shove your tongue deep down his throat. A mixture of nasty liquids coagulating as your wet muscles weave against one another. Stabilizing him in place with a hand to his throat to make sure he knows who’s in charge, you inhale every gasp he emits.

After a harsh bite and suckle against his bottom lip, you separate with an obnoxious pop. Haechan lays below you absolutely frenzied, hair splayed out in all directions with plump lips beyond swollen. “Good boy,” You praise him breathily, only to be met with loving and fucked out eyes. “Gonna fuck you now.”

A hand reaches out to touch the side of his face dotingly, trailing down as you align his cock with your entrance. Chests are heaving quickly against one another in anticipation, gazes unable to falter as you tease his tip against your hole. He whines your name so softly with every tease, letting it slap against your clit just when he thinks you’re about to put it in. “Please fuck me, please,” He begs for mercy.

“Beg a little harder for me, baby,” You coo at him. The eager male much too beautiful to resist when he’s in this state, you’re sure you could get drunk on the visual alone.

“I need your pussy,” Haechan whines. “Need it so bad I might actually go crazy. Like you so, so much. Please, please, please give me your pussy,” He cries before you finally sit back on his desperate cock, spasming as your walls encapsulate him.

Length hitting your g-spot with alarming precision, your eyes are bursting wide open at how surprisingly thick he is. “My fucking god, Haechan,” You cry, adjusting to the length with experimental bobs of your hips, letting it reach midway before dropping your ass back down. “Feel so good for me.”

Planting his feet into the bed, he tries to assist you by meeting you halfway, trying to thrust up into your core. You couldn’t have that though, hands immediately trailing back and planting on the tops of his knees. With a rough push you put him down, making him your fuckdoll for the taking. “Let me help you!” He shouts, struggling against the grip you have when you lean back to support your weight. “Want to fuck you, please.”

Despite his pleas he can’t help but be entranced at the way you adjust your position, feet planting at either side of him when you now use the strength of your own calves to bounce up and down on him. Core on full show, everything from your clit to folds exposed for his eyes. Wet pussy taking in every inch eagerly as it sucks him up, so wet that a thick layer of arousal leaves his cock shining.

As much as you adore his whines and even more so the way his cock reaches your sweetest spots, the incoherent babbling begins to annoy you. Too many ‘please’s’ and ‘wanna fuck you’s’ cramping your mood as you just want to fuck him until he knows no words but your name.

When your eyes find the black panties that lay next to his head, a light bulb goes off. Grasping at the piece you immediately shove it into his mouth mid-moan, grinning like a mad woman at your work when muffled cries escape him. “Be a good boy and shut up for me,” You laugh before riding him with much more vigor. “Don’t look at me like that, you love having my panties down your throat.”

Fucking down into him so harshly that the slaps resound around the room, all that can be heard are his wistful moans. When his tip kisses a particularly sweet spot deep inside of you, you cry out in bliss as you change the trajectory of your bouncing, seeking to find it with accuracy.

When your hands trail down to his tummy, you don’t miss the way it tightens wantonly. “Are you about to cum again? Already?” You emphasize with a particular squeeze of your cunt, causing him to squeal against the material, coughing up when it blocks his airway. You wouldn’t know how thankful he is though, the way his tongue licks around what he can. Sticky arousal is still potent on the fabric as his senses are overloaded with you. “You’re so bad at this, Haechan.”

He looks at you with worried eyes, and you’re flattered at his sweet concern. Parting the hair that sticks to his forehead and flipping it back, you kiss against each beauty mark of his with mirth. “It’s okay. You can cum in me, sweet boy.”

Straightening your back out you bring your middle and ring finger to your clit, circling in a clockwise motion to chase your high. Your own moans overpowering Haechan’s as the girth of his cock drags against your walls deliciously. Crying out his name like a mantra when your thighs begin to ache from the work you’re exerting, the burn adding to the pleasure.

Taking some mercy on the poor male, you rip the panties out of his mouth. With an exasperated gasp, he coughs out something along the lines of your name. Noticing that tears have begun to fall again, you fall against his chest to lick the salty liquid up.

“Such a crybaby,” You mock him, letting him thrust up into you as he is now fucked beyond control. Brain full of thoughts of nothing but your tight pussy and beautiful gaze.

“Y-your crybaby,” Haechan pleads, seeking the validation he needs so badly from you. Eyes that are swirling with a mixture of emotions, he hopes that someday you’ll want to be his as much as he’s yours. “I promise I’ll do whatever you want, fuck you better than anyone else. Please let me be your fuck toy,” He begs, wanting to steal you away from anyone who’s ever had you.

You hum at his proposal, beyond satisfied with him more than anyone else. “It’s okay, cum for me now,” You give him permission, giving him a chaste kiss against his lips. Whispering into his ear, “You’re mine now, sweet boy.”

Ass cheeks are clenching when he thrusts up into you one last time, the hilt of his cock meeting your pussy balls deep. The angelic mewls are like a song. You throw your head back in euphoria when he spills into you, emptying his balls to paint your insides just like the countless panties he’s violated.

When he thinks he’s been granted his greatest wish, you remind him that you’re the one who holds all of the power.

Still seeking your own high, you dig your thumbs into the sides of his waist for stability. Bouncing much faster, ignoring the pain that surges and the sweat that forms down your back. He’s crying as he doesn’t know if the overstimulation is too much for him or not, “W-wait!” His cock tightening impossibly as you milk every last drop with greed. “Too much!” He screams, his cum forming at the hilt as it spills out of you with every bounce.

When he tries to grab at your ass to stop you, you lightly slap his jaw, enough force into your fingers to make him look the other way. “You aren’t in charge,” You moan, orgasm merely centimeters away. “You will never be in charge. You understand?”

When he bobs his head at your commands, he screeches when you grind into him. Clit now rubbing against his groin as he reaches the deepest parts of you, much further than any angle before. With a cry of his name you topple over, cum coating his cock.

You’re sure your ears are deceiving you, but you swear he just told you that he loved you. Hugging you close when you topple over and plant your full weight onto him. Both gasping desperately for air, he takes the opportunity to smooch you messily. Room pungent with the smell of sweat and sex, you return the affection with a shower of kisses along his face.

“Everyone told me that you’re a pillow princess,” Haechan sighs, nuzzling his forehead against yours as he rolls you to the side, long fingers grabbing your hips to squish the flesh. “Didn’t think that you were a fucking monster.”

“Only for you,” You reply, eyes closing as the soreness in your legs begin to settle in. Fuck it, it was worth it. You’ll regret it tomorrow. “You’re just too cute.”

He grins happily at the special treatment, but quickly frowns at the realization. “Wait, you said that I’ll never be in charge. Does that mean I’ll never get to be on top?”

“Of course you can,” You roll your eyes. “Riding dick is hard work. That’s what makes you so special,” A kiss is delivered to his eyelid. “I’m willing to do some cardio for you. You’ll still do what I tell you when I tell you, though,” Making sure to add the stipulation.

Cuddling into you lovingly, he’s beyond the moon. Despite what it took to get in this position, he’s only half guilty because of his crimes. You aren’t aware of the thoughts that swirl through his head– does that mean he doesn’t have to steal your panties anymore? Can he just ask for them? Will you stop seeing your other friends?

He opts to not ask these questions now, taking what he can get with gratitude. Willing to work his way up to your heart, he’ll demolish all competition by catering to your every need.

Suddenly he’s ripped out of his thoughts when you pinch harshly at his nipple, going as far as twisting the bud painfully. “Ow! What the hell?!”

The sex crazed cloudiness has left your eyes, now replaced with an abnormal sharpness. Brought back to earth now that your horniness has been satiated, you remember clearly why you were here in the first place.

“Give me back my panties, you perv!”

He squints his eyes at you ridiculously, and you challenge him with your own intimidating stare, and he immediately backs down. That’s another thing your friends had made clear on multiple occasions.

You were insane.

—-

Epilogue

“So it was you,” Jaemin tuts at Haechan from across the table. “I’m not gonna lie, I kinda just pulled that out of my ass so she’d get off of our backs.”

The brunette resists the urge to throw his lunch straight at the other’s face. Even if Jaemin was a snitch, it was because of him that Haechan is now where he’s at with you. “You fucking suck, Jaemin.”

“Hey, you do what you gotta do. You know how she is,” Jaemin wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, Mark spreading your rendezvous around like wildfire. Coming home to a terrorized household sprawled with panties and disorganized furniture. “I’m guessing she took them back?”

Haechan nods in response, deflating a little bit. The two of you had been fucking quite often since the ordeal, but admittedly the chase added onto the tension. Getting flashbacks of how you threw him around, shivers run up his spine at the thought.

So when he catches you walking with your friend across the hall, his heart swells at the memory. When your eyes meet, he looks past Jaemin and waves with so much energy those same dopey glasses slide down his bridge, causing you to giggle into your hand. “God, you’re a simp,” Jaemin cuts in, earning a glare from him. “Well, I don’t blame you. Looks like you’ve been able to tame the beast.” Haechan hums at the comment in confusion, “What?”

“She hasn’t been seeing any of us like that ever since you guys started fucking,” Jaemin tilts his head disappointedly. “It’s a shame, really. Her pussy goes crazy. But hey,” He shrugs. “I wish you guys the best of luck.”

“She what?” Haechan is unable to form a coherent thought when it comes to you, the realization hitting him like a truck.

Jaemin finishes his lunch and takes his leave, plopping an insouciant pat on Haechan’s shoulder to bid him goodbye.

The words have Haechan beyond elated, feeling like he might have heart palpitations if he didn’t pace his breathing. Grasping at his shirt he plants his head against the table, not wanting you to see him in the midst of his malfunctioning. When he looks back up, he sees you scurrying over with the biggest smile, calling his name with glee.

Like a dream, he hopes these moments never end. Sneaking his hand in his pockets as you take the seat where Jaemin originally was in, he shoves them in as deep as possible as he tries to maintain his cool.

The lace that tangles around his fingers feels scandalous, fisting it in his pockets to keep himself from looking suspicious. Stealing this particular pair from your dirty pile when you were asleep next to him the other night. He prays that he doesn’t get caught, much too in love when you tilt your head so prettily at him. Not wanting to ruin everything that he’s built up until now.

But god, you were so amazing when you punished him.

It wouldn’t hurt if you caught him again, right?

end

────── 〔✿〕──────

author's note: i swear i don't have a thing for feet, i swear.

[bedeliadih]

you gasped as your eyes rolled back a bit, you have no idea how you ended up like this. few minutes ago you were just sleeping comfortably on your stomach and later you woke up to see mark lee humping you, rubbing his dick into your ass while crying and whining like a dog. "M-mark stop-" you complained as he turned your around and hovered on top of you.

"Y/n baby pleaseee~ I can't control myself, ride me please~" he whined as you stared at his hard dick which twitched inside his sweatpants. "No mark. I'm too worn out." he whined your name loudly and that always made you rub your thighs together.

his nails were gripping your thighs as he started crying while sitting between your legs. "you're such a brat mark lee." you said and, moved closer to the bedstand table and opened the drawer, pulling out your silk handkerchief as mark snatched it away from you.

"MARK? give it back." you said as he shook his head and tied your wrists together. "Please I've been fantasizing this." alexa playing music on a really low volume as you squimered around under him, while he pressed your legs apart, making them wide open.

"You're- what the fuck- dripping- I haven't even touched!" He exclaimed cutely as you bit your lip and closed your eyes. he then lowered his head down, dipping it down between your legs as he then started lapping at your heat.. sucking and licking your pussy, loud moans leaving your mouth.

"GOD- Mark..." you moaned. he was eating you like a hungry man, biting, sucking, licking, kissing and doing everything he could possibly in a fast pace. He was impatient.

No matter how horny mark was, and how much his dick was hurting... he never forgets to pleasure you because he remembers how much you hate selfishness. "Mark stop- Just get to penetration-" He knew you were too tired to suck him off so he shushed you.

"Just enjoy." he whispered against your pussy, making vibrations go through your body. you whined, wanting to complain but everything that left your mouth was moans as he thrust his tongue into you.

GOD. That was so new, and you were crazily moaning and it took you a few minutes to come on his tongue as he whimpered and licked you. "You- taste so good-" he whispered submissively and cleaned his chin using his hand. "I need you.." he whispered softly.

Those words always made you lose your mind, you then pushed him to the headboard using your tied hands - didn't help much but well he moved himself - and pressed your pussy to his hard on.

"wait." you said and slowly took him inside with a moan, he was huge, so the pain made sense. "oh god mark i-" you slowly started to bounce and move your hips in a rythmic motion as he threw his head back, moaning like an idiot while your eyes rolled back.

mark was so euphoric that drool was coming out of his mouth as he watched your breasts bounce. "I love you." he whispered as the two of you kissed, enjoying the night even though the house smelled like sex (every day story).

not proof read.

[saunne]

Yinyue-jun had been an almost-god, a draft nearing inking, an ersatz deity who had collapsed its pedestal to walk among mortals, pushing the joke to the point of becoming a devotee itself. Because what else could one call this obsession bordering on the maniacal, which had chained this superior being to a little thing of fleeting existence like Yingxing ? Dan Feng had made Yingxing's body a temple, an altar, and an idol all at once, transforming every kiss and caress into an offering, every whisper into a prayer, every breath into a plea. 

They had wrapped the very meaning of their existence around that of Yingxing, just like ivy wrapped itself around a tree, depending on the trunk’s steadiness so as not to collapse. But just as a tree aged and rotted, collapsing under the weight of the ivy that smothered it, Yingxing had fallen, dragging Dan Feng down with him.

Blade was what had remained of this sacrilegious act, of this tragedy and hidden even deeper within its cracked psyche, there had been Ren. 

Ren, who wasn't completely Blade but not entirely Yingxing either.

Ren, who was the edge of a blade, the dividing line between past and future, between emotions and irrationality, between love and hatred.

Ren, torn apart between Yingxing's desire to live for Dan Feng and Blade's desire to die because of Dan Feng. 

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[bam-stroker]

LET'S GO LESBIANS!

[intermundia]

hi hello will I was looking at the boy toy photo shoot and my fiancé looks over my shoulder and goes “is that hayden christensen” so now those photos are going to be living in my head rent free thanks. also i would read the shit out of a fic where obiwan is a fashion designer and anakin is his muse(cough boy toy). u rock thanks for fueling this fandom with your hot takes, fics and various hcs. ❤️

Prompted 18: "Boy Toy"

Guess what I finally finished!! That photoshoot lives free in my mind, to the degree that I bought the actual issue of CR Men to have for... scientific purposes

Enjoy 7k of fashion designer Obi-Wan and first-time-model Anakin trapped in an elevator 😏

[saunne]

Amusingly, with his libido under control and his thirst quenched, Yingxing was even more efficient and productive than he was before, scaring the shit out of his fellow artisans as his already unbeatable talent seemed to double overnight.

The Preceptors hadn't been happy about this development because how could they spit on a genius like Yingxing without coming across as the bitter assholes they were desperately trying to appear not to be ?

Dan Feng sighed in relief as his clepsydra signaled the end of the time he had given himself until his break. 

Setting down his brush, he took a moment to stretch his wrists before grabbing the replica box lying a little further away, smiling softly as he felt the walls vibrate faintly against his hand. 

Today was his and Yingxing's first anniversary so Dan Feng had kindly implied their near murder to anyone trying to force him to work this particular evening. His “fuck you kindly customer service smile” as Yingxing called it had reached levels of industrial saccharine of such intensity that even Lady Xuepu, the most annoying of his Preceptors, had made a hasty retreat when she saw it directed towards her. He knew she would come back to piss him off a little before his scheduled departure time, like she did every time, but for now he was peacefully left alone.

Which turned out to be perfect for teasing his lover thoroughly throughout the day.

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works