Bite Me.

bite me.

a/n: you give in to the urge to bite minho, and quickly learn why that wasn’t a good idea.

warnings: contains smut - MINORS DNI. pet names, reader is called good girl, orgasm denial

the first time you do it, it’s really because you can’t resist the urge. you’ve been thinking about it lately, about biting his skin outside of leaving hickeys all over him just because you can. he’s sitting with you, your body curled up around his side as he reads a novel with gold rimmed glasses on his face and -

you can’t stop yourself from sinking your teeth into his bicep, the part you can reach right under the sleeve of the tight workout t-shirt he’s been in for the past few hours.

he looks at you with a side eye, quirking a brow at you as if he was amused. he very well could be, you’re sure you make quite the vision with your teeth still locked into his skin as you drool a bit. he goes back to his reading once you detach yourself and go back to playing games on your phone, and that was that.

except, it wasn’t.

it hits you again when you’re grocery shopping for dinner, right in the middle of the dairy aisle while he internally debates which non-dairy milk would make the best sauce for the pasta he’s chosen to make. he looks so cute, pretty lips pursed into a pout shrouded under the hood he has pulled up over his head, small tufts of hair peeking out around his eyes. you’re already standing so close, your head is practically over his shoulder and you lean in a little more and let your teeth latch onto his muscle. you mostly get a mouthful of hoodie material, so you bite just a little bit harder and he yelps a little, shuddering under you.

you let the material leave your mouth, spitting out bits of lint and frowning at the dryness. he looks at you as if to say it’s your own fault, and you stick your tongue out at him.

“really?” he says, his face stern but his tone teasing. “in public?”

“mm,” you admire the wet patch you left on his shoulder. “couldn’t help it.”

it’s his own fault he’s so biteable, is what you don’t say.

the last straw breaks when you’re washing dishes together after dinner. he’s soaping and you’re drying, and he’s teasing you with small flicks of water in your direction every time you turn. you retaliate by swatting him with a towel several times until he takes it from you and says he’ll finish it up himself if you’re going to be silly.

silly. as if he didn’t start it in the first place.

you resort to wrapping your arms around his waist from behind as he works, enjoying the flex of his abs whenever he has to scrub particularly hard at a certain spot. his neck is right there though, and you can’t be blamed for the way your mouth moves to bite at the vein there. this isn’t the first time you’ve bitten him today, but it is the first time he reacts to it.

he turns abruptly, ripping himself out of your arms as he calmly dries his hands with the towel you were using to swipe his ass earlier. he puts it down, stalking towards you like a predator.

“so you want to be playful tonight, kitten?” he says as he backs you up against the counter behind you. his hands come to brace either side of you. trapping you in place, and you’re mesmerized by the way the veins pop in his forearms. his eyes are dark, hooded and almost dangerous, and you can feel your own pulse skyrocket. “bad kitties get punished, you know that right?”

if he were a cat, his claws would certainly be out.

he dips in for a kiss, looming over you and making you arch your back to keep up with him. it’s deep, dirty, his tongue is prodding at your bottom lip and you can’t do anything else but let him in. his hands move to your waist, fingers digging in just right and he bends down a bit to hike you up onto the counter and you moan into his mouth and take his bottom lip between your teeth and -

he stops.

a whine claws out from the back of your throat and you stare at him in annoyance.

“you just can’t stop, can you?” he says, clicking his tongue while he looks at you in pity. his voice is sharp and mocking and it sends flames licking up your spine. “pretty baby can’t even control herself.”

oh. you bit him, again?

“in front of me.” he orders, guiding your body away from the counter to lean against his, your back flush against his chest. you can feel his hard-on against your ass, but he makes no move to do anything about it.

you gulp - it’s sinking in that this does not bode well for you.

he pushes his hands under your shirt, hands smoothing their way up your stomach to reach your breasts. he fondles your breasts a bit, pushing out a moan from you and you tip your head back to rest against him.

without warning, he pinches both of your nipples hard, making you gasp and double over. or, you try, but his strong arms keep you locked into place while he unrelentingly squeezes your skin between his fingers. it burns, the sensation taking over your entire body, making your eyes roll back.

“feels good?” his voice is dark and low and sickly sweet, right in your ear. you moan in response, squirming to get away. he squeezes harder when you don’t answer, and tears begin to prick in your eyes. “i asked you a question, didn’t i?”

“y-yes!” you push out, salty tears slipping out when he relents and lets go, rubbing at your stomach in an apology. your breath is trembling and your legs are shaking, and his touch grounds you as you calm down.

“are you going to be good now?” he says, hands drifting down towards your waistband. your breath hitches as you nod; it’s his way of asking are you okay? should we keep going? do you want to stop? “that’s my good girl.”

he nuzzles your neck with his nose as he pushes your pants down, fingertips creeping into your panties. his other arm comes up to wrap around your chest, and you reach up to grip at his forearm.

he starts slowly, parting your folds and sneaking his digits inside, the wetness you’ve accumulated helping them slide along your clit. you breathe out a moan when he circles around it in teasing circles, the pressure light against you.

“f-faster,” you croak, voice hoarse, “harder.”

you’re surprised when he actually listens. his fingers almost flutter with how quickly they work you, and with how turned on you’ve been since this started you’re close already. you clutch harder at his arm, moving it down and it brushes against your nipples, still sore and sensitive from his brutal treatment earlier. the feeling sends you over the edge, and you’re riding out the waves of pleasure and grinding down against his hand as they crescendo. you breathe harshly, waiting for him to stop moving his fingers so you could relax and bask in the afterglow of your orgasm.

except, he doesn’t stop. he keeps going, with more fervor than before, fingers moving to dip inside of you and curl into your heat at a brutal pace. he knows exactly where to move his fingers, knows the contours of your body better than anyone: a blessing and a curse. you can almost feel the smirk he’s wearing against your neck before he sinks his teeth into your neck.

you’re shaking in overstimulation, the feeling almost too much, on the edge of painful, until it slowly morphs back into burning pleasure. you’re panting against his skin, nails digging into his arm as you hold on for dear life. you don’t feel any part of your body that he isn’t touching, can’t feel how hard you’re holding onto him, can’t feel your bare feet on the floor. you feel your high coming up again, too much too soon, the lack of control leaving you reeling as he takes what he wants from you.

until he stops. again.

“no!” you cry out, slumping against him as the waves of pleasure weaned back. you let out a sob, utterly confused and desperate, in need of something. he slaps your pussy lightly, one, two, three times, punching cries out of you with every strike.

“oh, baby,” he croons, “you didn’t think your punishment was done, did you?”

BETWEEN

PAIRING: minho + chan x fem!reader GENRE: smut. fluff. f2l. roommates au. threesome/poly. CONTENT: 18+ minors dni. WORD COUNT: 5k

SUMMARY: Your two roommates are your best friends in the world. You’d also love nothing more than to be sandwiched between them. Queue tension and smut with feelings.

do not repost to other sites, including translations.

It’s laundry day, a day you’ve put off a little long. You end up grabbing a shirt from Minho’s clean clothing he’d left in the dryer to throw over your head as you wait for your own load to finish. Neither of them were around. You’re leaning over the counter to grab a paper towel when the front door opens. You peak around the corner just as Chris is throwing his shoes aside. Okay, this is fine. The shirt is just long enough to hang over the tops of your thighs, covering the pale blue underwear you’d slept in.

Keep reading

i think i could die for jeongin

lovesick (I)

— pairing: yandere ot7 x (f) reader — word count: 5.9k — warnings: yandere, stalking, obsessive behaviour, harrassment, mention of violence/bodily harm, 18+ — summary: You dreamed of the day you would get your very own soulmark. Though, you didn’t expect to wake up to a searing hurt in your arm, the phantom pain of your shoulder being dislocated and your forearm fractured. As if dealing with the worst possible soulmark ever wasn’t bad enough, you also have to come to terms with the fact that you’re being stalked. When the letters and gifts you receive begin to escalate and the police offers no help, you have no other option than to figure out who’s behind it yourself – and hopefully before it’s too late. — amazing cover by @leithold​!

Next

Your foot is throbbing – again.

You fall back into bed, lifting your leg up to rest it over your knee. You wince as you examine the damage, purple and yellow bruising covering your swollen ankle. Lightly pressing around the area, you’re relieved to find that it only seems to be slightly sprained.

You glance over at your bedside table as your alarm goes off again, the framed picture next to your phone catching your attention as you silence the shrill sound. It’s a photo of you and Heejun, your next-door neighbour turned best friend. This particular one was taken on the night before he turned eighteen, your grinning faces showing off the pure excitement you both felt at the time.

Ever since you were little, even before you met Heejun, you’ve always dreamed about meeting your soulmate. You’ve lost count of the endless nights you stayed up imagining what kind of mark you would find once you woke up on your 18th birthday. Your favourite was always discovering a note written on your arm – the same as your parents. A close runner-up was the countdown mark Heejun had, you always made sure to check in with him every day to watch as the time suddenly decreased or increased. You’ll never forget the day he called you, voice choked up with tears and joy as he told you he had finally bumped into his soulmate.

With thousands of different variants of soulmarks and new ones being reported every day, you always thought you would end up with something sweet, something fitting to the fairy tale you always wanted. You certainly weren’t expecting to wake up to a searing hurt in your arm, the phantom pain of a dislocated shoulder and forearm fracture sticking with you for weeks afterwards.

Keep reading

lovesick (ll)

— pairing: yandere ot7 x (f) reader — word count: 4.5k — warnings: yandere, stalking, obsessive behaviour, harrassment, mention of violence/bodily harm, mild blood, 18+ — summary: You dreamed of the day you would get your very own soulmark. Though, you didn’t expect to wake up to a searing hurt in your arm, the phantom pain of your shoulder being dislocated and your forearm fractured. As if dealing with the worst possible soulmark ever wasn’t bad enough, you also have to come to terms with the fact that you’re being stalked. When the letters and gifts you receive begin to escalate and the police offers no help, you have no other option than to figure out who’s behind it yourself – and hopefully before it’s too late. — amazing cover by @leithold​!

Previous – Next

“Delivery for Y/n!”

The harsh knocks at your door make you flinch. You eye the rattling handle warily, feet rooted to the cold floor as you debate whether or not you should open it. You know you’re being paranoid, that there’s no way it’s him waiting on the other side of your door, but you can never be too careful. While your stalker has only been hiding behind letters and gifts so far, there’s no telling what he’ll do when that isn’t enough anymore. Truly, what scares you the most is that while he seems to know so much about you, you don’t know anything about him. You have no clue what lengths he’s willing to go to get you, and you’re not about to start taking risks now.

Yeah, you’re not opening that door.

You listen intently as someone shuffles around outside, their heavy footsteps moving back and fourth for a few seconds before they pause. There’s a loud thud, something being placed on the ground before you hear a muffled voice grumble out, “I don’t have time for this.”

You stay still as their steps recede down the hall, biting your tongue until you hear the familiar groan of the janky elevator doors sliding shut. You count to ten, giving the elevator enough time to go down two floors before you can find it in yourself to move. Wrapping your hand around the door handle, you slowly begin to open the additional locks you got after your visit to the police station a few days ago. He knows where you live, and if Officer Park can’t help you, then you just have to do your best to make it as difficult as possible for your stalker to get to you.

You exhale, gathering your focus as you draw the last bolt back. You’re on high alert as you fling the door open, poking your head out to frantically scan the hallway for any movement. It’s quiet, empty, the long corridor having no dark corners for anyone to hide in. Deeming it safe enough – you let your eyes drift to the floor, gaze locking on to the item that was left behind.

Flowers.

So many flowers.

Keep reading

everything for your golden touch.

word count: 2.1k

warnings: fem!reader (reader is called good girl), slight restraint, new kink discovery, unprotected sex. smut - MINORS DNI.

synopsis: you didn't know how to tell minho you wanted him to pin your wrists down and ruin you.

you love minho. you love every single thing about him, from the freakish facial expressions that he makes when he wants to annoy you to the soft sound of his voice when he’s talking to his cats. you loved him so fierce that you ached with it, the knowledge that he is yours inflating your head to the point of almost bursting.

you loved having sex with him almost as much as you loved loving him. you craved the way he would untangle your body with his fingers, the dark and twisted way his eyes would bore into yours as he slid into you, the near animalistic way he would drive into you when he was close to his high.

and yet, your greedy little mind couldn’t help but want something else. despite the love and care and attention he gave you so freely, you held this small bundle of disappointment deep inside of you, locked away and begging to be set free: 

you wanted him to pin your wrists down - to the wall, to the bed, behind your back, anything. you wanted to see the veins in his hand bulge from holding you down, you wanted bruises painted on your skin for days that you could look at as evidence of his passion for you. you wanted to be rendered immobile, you wanted to thrash around with no chance of escape

you think about it more frequently than what is probably normal; when you try to not think about you end up thinking about it more, and it turns into this vicious cycle that you can’t leave. in bed is one thing, but daydreaming in grocery stores? when you’re out at dinner with your friends? even now, when you’re sitting with his head in your lap watching a movie?

in truth, this one wasn’t your fault, really. one minute you were watching the two leads dance around each other in a frustratingly awkward flirtation and the next they had peeled each others’ clothes off and were engaging in some heavy petting that you had to admit was a tad too much. usually when corny sex scenes took place during movies you watched together, you both laughed about it, giggling at how unrealistic it was. but this one…

the man takes both of her wrists in one hand and presses them to the mattress above her head and she moans, and despite how pornographically fake it sounded you still found yourself pressing your legs together just slightly. minho’s head shifts with the movement and he huffs, fidgeting a bit before settling back down. 

the camera pans to the woman’s wrists, and you can’t help the way your pussy clenches around nothing, an embarrassing gush of wetness seeping out of you. you haven’t been turned on this quickly by something other than minho’s lips in so long and you wish you could hide your face away from him. 

“he’s not even pressing that hard, she could get free so easily,” minho snarks, complimenting his words with a bark of laughter before looking up at you for a response. 

he doesn’t go to the gym like you do, is what you would likely say if this wasn’t affecting you the way it was. she’s pretending to stroke his male ego.

“yeah,” you say instead, and it comes out shakier than you wanted it to. he notices, of course he does, and before you could brush it off he sits up and scrutinizes you with narrowed eyes. 

“are you-” he cuts himself off, pausing to look down at your lap and back up to your eyes. “are you turned on right now?”

“shut up,” you drop your hands to your lap in an effort to cover up something invisible, something that he clearly already knew about. 

“don’t hide from me,” he teases, taking one of your wrists into his hand to move it away from your lap. “you’re turned on by a cheesy porno scene, this is so funny.”

“it’s not that,” you try to defend yourself when he bursts into delighted laughter. you try and move your hand out of his grip, but he keeps it strong, and that makes the pulsing between your legs even worse.

he notices, of course he does. he notices everything about you, whether you like it or not. 

“oh,” he breathes out, eyes wide and mouth dropped open, his tongue poking out to lick at his bottom lip. you can see the wheels turning in his head as he arrives at the answer to a question you didn’t want him to ask. 

“let’s just go back to the movie, okay?” you tug again at your hand but he doesn’t budge. his eyes are transfixed on the way his fingers look wrapped around the delicate skin of your wrist.

“you want me to do this?” he breathes out, taking your hand and leading it up to the back of the couch, right by your head. he positions your hand in place delicately before pressing down, so far that you can feel your heartbeat thrumming in your fingertips.

“god, yes,” you moan out, too far past being embarrassed to hold anything back. you can feel each one of his fingers pressing into your skin, and you buck your hips up into him when he moves to slide a knee in between your legs. 

“how long have you been holding this back from me, hmm?” he asks, leaning forward so that his words glide right against your ear. he presses a kiss to the top of your jaw before pulling back a bit.

“wasn’t holding it back,” you gasp out as he pins your other wrist to the opposite side of your head, trapping you in place. 

“i think you were,” he brushes his lips against yours and you try and chase him when he moves back but you can’t with the way he’s holding you back.

he guides you up, his grip still strong on your wrists, and oh. he’s walking you to the bedroom with your wrists trapped in his grip and this is something you hadn't ever imagined - it was somehow better. 

you move as if in a daze, the air around you moving away like syrup as he pushes you into the mattress underneath him. everything was happening too quickly, not fast enough, just right in the space and time he’s given you. 

he releases your wrists so he can undress himself, and you already miss the warm weight of him on you as if you were missing a limb. 

he doesn’t make you wait too long, climbing over you with a predatory look in his eyes, pressing just enough of his weight onto your body to make your breath catch in your throat. 

“my pretty girl wants to be held down, doesn’t she?” he teases, his voice deep against your skin as he trails his fingers against the veins on your wrists. 

“ngh, min,” is all you can let out, all the thoughts leaving your head with every touch of his fingers on you. he nuzzles his nose into your neck, an impossibly sweet gesture that makes you relax into a boneless puddle of spilled bones on the mattress. 

“i’ll always give you what you want,” he yanks your hands up above your head in one split second, a wicked grin on his face as he crosses them and pins them to the pillows. his other hand trails down to the waistband of your shorts, teasing them against the elastic before creeping further down. 

you’re already so turned on, so close to the edge that the first brush of his fingers against your clit makes you jump underneath him. your hands start to move to wrap around his back, wanting to hold him even closer to you, but you can’t. you let out a dry sob, so overwhelmed with how this was impossibly good, how such simple actions from him effected you so intensely. this was so much more than you could ever have imagined in the darkest parts of your head.

his fingers pause on your skin and he looks up at you with alarm, an are you okay? at the edge of his tongue.

“off,” you say before he could, wriggling your hips and hoping he would understand. 

“okay, baby,” he does, of course he does. he helps you kick off your shorts and panties, and it’s a little bit of an awkward affair but neither of you could think to care about that. every bit of his teasing from earlier was gone, the reactions he pulled from you making him desperate to do it over and over just to hear the way you gasped so prettily around his name.

his hand flies back to your cunt, keeping your wrists secured above your head as he rubs circles around your clit over and over until you’re shaking apart under him. your hips buck up when you come and he works you through it, finally stopping when you start to whine in sensitivity.

he lets go of your wrists to cup your face in his hand, latching his lips onto yours in a sloppy kiss that leaves you panting into his mouth. you leave your hands where he had kept them, still crossed over your head, and when he notices he groans at the sight. 

“you’re so hot,” he says reverently, the possessiveness in his gaze making your heart skip a beat. “you’re so good, my good girl, all mine.”

“yes, god, i’m yours-”, he doesn’t let you finish, flipping you over onto your stomach so quickly that you felt weightless. he paints himself onto your back and you can feel how hard he is, his cock brushing against your thighs. he takes your wrists in his hands again and twists them to rest at your lower back, securing them in his hold.

he ruts into the space between your thighs once, twice, three times before positioning himself at your entrance and burying himself inside of you. you’re so wet that the slide is almost too easy, he fits himself into you like he was made to be there always.  he stays there for a moment, nosing at the back of your head before drawing out and snapping his hips forward so quickly that you can hear his thighs hitting your ass.

“ah!” you cry out, the aftershocks of your previous orgasm giving away to the feeling of him gliding in and out of you. you feel so impossibly small like this, pressed underneath him and unable to move - not that you would want to if you could. 

he keeps you restrained under him as he drives into you, ignoring the way your hands clench and unclench into fists every time he hits that spot deep inside of you that makes your entire body sing with pleasure. 

he presses wet kisses to the back of your neck, the side of your ear, the crown of your head as he fucks you; the only sounds echoing through the room are his breathless pants and the little ah-ah-ah’s you let escape into the pillow under you. 

you come together, the rhythmic squeezing of his hand around your wrists and your cunt around his cock creating the perfect rhythm for both of you to ride until climax. he stays buried inside of you for a moment, releasing your wrists to intertwine his fingers with yours instead. 

when he pulls out to collapse on his back next to you, you whine a bit, and he shushes you and pulls you into his chest. he’s still catching his breath and you can hear his hummingbird heartbeat under your ear as he tilts his head down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. 

“why didn’t you tell me this was something you wanted to do?” he asks, trailing his fingers through your hair. 

“i didn’t want you to think i wasn’t satisfied with what we do already,” you mumble, addressing his chest more than him. “because i am, truly.”

“baby, you don’t need to be afraid to tell me these things,” he soothes, his voice so soft in the night air. “i can’t say this was something i’ve thought about before, but i very much enjoyed it. we discovered this together. i want to keep discovering things with you.”

“will you stop being so emotionally intelligent all the time?” you slap his chest, a light thing, but he grabs your wrist in his hand to stop you from doing it again anyways. there’s redness there from the way he had been gripping it and he rubs his thumb against your skin to soothe it; even so, you hope you can see the marks of his fingertips there tomorrow.

“you wouldn’t want me any other way.”