Consider The Big, Buff Man That Is Kim Mingyu Whimpering Underneath You. Completely Sheathed Inside Of

Consider the big, buff man that is Kim Mingyu whimpering underneath you. Completely sheathed inside of you and forced to feel every spasm, every twitch, every clench of your pussy around him after he's already cum inside of you. He's flushed and sweaty and so close to crying that it just makes you clamp down on his sensitive cock more. Fingers carding through his hair, telling him that you'll make him cum all he wants today since it's his birthday.

rj, you never fail to amaze me. seriously.

god, he’s such a BIG man and he knows he should be embarrassed about how easy he is for you, but he just isn’t. he isn’t ashamed of anything. especially not about cumming so many times.

but how can he not? you’re so tight and he can feel everything from the way your walls clench to the way you pulse around him every time he lets out a humiliating whine.

and not only that, but you’re so sweet to him. there aren’t many people willing to ride cock all night with a smile on their face or offer to make their big, dumb boyfriends cum countless times just because it’s their birthday. you’re truly one of a kind. that’s why all he can do is cum for you— fill you up load after load— till his hair is matted against his forehead. till he has hot tears rolling down his rose colored cheeks. till the only things he can say are your name and “cumming.”

and you love it. every second of it. you love the way he cries and begs and you love the way he fills you with so much of his release that it makes a sticky mess at the base of his cock. you love it and you love him. you don’t fail to tell him that, kissing his tear stained cheeks and running your fingers through his silk-like hair and murmuring on and on about how much of a “good boy” he is and how he can “let go” as much he wants. it’s his day and he deserves the best and absolutely nothing less.

Just Relax

Requested by Anon: So sorry if you get this more than once, tumblr mobile is being an ass. Could I please request a scenario where vernon’s girlfriend has been avoiding/putting off having sex with him because she has trouble making herself cum and is worried that he’ll be disappointed or feel bad if he cant do it either. Bonus if it ends with him slowly and patiently working her up to an amazing orgasm, double bonus for funny, goofy hansol

Hansol x Female Reader

Word Count: 1932

Contents: making out, slight dry humping, nipple play, fingering, oral, use of vibrator

Hansol’s grip on your hips tightened and he guided your hips to rock against his, his lips capturing your in yet another deep kiss that had your head spinning. You sighed against his lips, welcoming the friction as you slowly got more and more worked up. You felt his fingers toy with the hem of your shirt and broke the kiss to let him take it off. You couldn’t help the way your heart swelled seeing the giddy smile on his face.

You really didn’t want to stop this time. Every time you went a little further but you always stopped him before your pants came off. You knew he wanted to have sex with you, or even anything beyond playing with your boobs, but you hadn’t been able to let him.

Keep reading

tidal.

but vernon has a point to make, so that’s precisely what he does: “i don’t need a sales pitch. you will never — ever — have to convince me to fuck you.” 

pairing: vernon x afab!reader type: one-shot (fluff n’ smut) au: est. relationship wc: 4.8k rating: 18+ a/n: i didn’t plan this whatsoever, but i felt so weirdly compelled to write it that i avoided eye-contact with all of my wips, and now… here we are, lol. cw: pov switch, reader is afab + on their period, gender identity + pronouns aren’t designated, blood mention (obvi), unprotected p in v penetration (ill-advised!!), wee bit of dry-humping (ig?), a lil massage, pet names (baby, sweetheart), self-indulgent ref to a favorite docu of mine, and lastly — vernon (yes, this is a warning 🧍🏻) 🔞 MINORS WHO INTERACT WITH ME AND/OR MY CONTENT WILL BE BLOCKED, WHETHER OR NOT THE CONTENT IS NSFW. I’M AN ADULT WRITING EXCLUSIVELY FOR OTHER ADULTS.

Vernon isn’t blind. 

He can see you out of the corner of his eye, laying flat on your back, several unexplained centimeters away from his side. With the duvet clenched in your fists, you stare intently up at the ceiling, like you’re waiting for it to move — or trying to move it yourself, telekinetically. You keep your bottom lip pinched between your teeth, as if you expect it to make a run for it.

So, yes, Vernon can see you. 

He just can’t figure out what’s wrong with you.

For a few minutes, he attempts to pay attention to the documentary lighting up the screen on the wall ahead. You were the one that picked it — some wild tale about mother-daughter recluses in New York — and he finds it hard to give a shit about it without your usual commentary. Your hot takes are his favorite part of any movie night, after all.

He’ll be the first to admit that he’s never been good at keeping his eyes off you. Try as he might, he can’t glue his gaze to the television; each glance in your direction sticks longer than the one before it, testing the waters. Minutes slip away just like this until he completely caves, turns his head fully, and stares at you outright. 

You still don’t seem to notice.

His brow scrunches up as he watches you, caught in the middle between concerned, confused, and amused by how absolutely ridiculous you look right now. When he speaks, he tries to sound stern, like he isn’t fighting the urge to laugh.

“Baby?”

“Hmm?” is all he gets in response. 

You don’t even look his way. If anything, you tense harder now that his attention is on you. 

None of it makes sense. Not the weird gap you’ve left between your body and his, your total refusal to look him in the eye, or the fact that there wasn’t an argument to precipitate any of this distance. It’s a symptom with no apparent cause, and it’s totally baffling. Brain-breaking, even.

Frowning, Vernon scoots himself across the bed to get closer to you. 

You don’t reciprocate. 

He tugs gently at the hem of your sweatshirt in a silent plea for your attention and receives radio silence in response; unless he counts the way you swallow thickly.

Which, for the record, he does not.

This close, Vernon can feel the anxious energy pulsing out of your tensed-up body in waves, so he leans away and props himself up on his elbow. Desperate to know what broke you and how to fix it, he mutters, “What is happening right now?”

Ope. 

It comes out harsher than it was supposed to, reading more like annoyance than worry, so he immediately clears his throat. Gently and with a brush of his knuckles against your hip bone, he tries again: “Are you okay? Did I do something to make you mad at me?”

A fly on the wall might get the wrong impression and think he stroked you with a live wire instead.

“Oh, my god. No!” You sputter with a jolt, shifting gears quickly from vaguely on-edge to horrified. You shake your head so frantically that Vernon fears you’ll detach it. “No, you haven’t done anything. I’m fine, I just —”

He interjects with a laugh, “— I don’t necessarily believe that —”

Visibly cringing with every muscle in your body, you cover your face with your hands. Not long after you take a deep breath does a meek voice slip out through your fingers, sounding beyond embarrassed.

“I’m so incomprehensibly horny right now that I can’t even look at you.”

For a second, it’s dead silent because he can’t quite process how much of a weirdo you are, or how completely and hopelessly enamored he is with you. But then the dam breaks. His laugh comes out so forcefully that you pull your hands away from your face, eyes wide.

“Is that so?” He smirks, nodding his head towards the television. “Grey Gardens really gets your motor running, huh?”

Absolutely aghast, you swat at his bicep. Then, you sling your arm over your eyes and groan, “I got my period. It has turned me into a sex-crazed monster, I fear.”

Vernon nods in understanding, even though you can’t see it, and hums, “Ahh.”

And he leaves it at that, only because you seem to have more that you want to say. Something you want to ask, maybe, or a reason you may want to give for not jumping his bones at the first opportunity. He’s down, he thinks without hesitation, so long as you are.

But you don’t say anything.

Maybe you aren’t actually down after all, and that’s why you won’t look at him. Shit, are you embarrassed? Should I say something? Silence falls overtop like a weighted blanket, smothering the two idiots who can’t tell whose turn it is to talk. 

Do you or do you not want this right now?

You mumble something that he can’t catch, so he nudges your side gently with his knuckles to encourage you. Just as nervous, you repeat yourself without looking at him, “Period sex is supposed to help with cramps, I think.”

He thinks he’s read the exact same article you have. More than that, he wishes you’d look over at him and see for yourself how completely unbothered he is by this concept.

“If you think about it, it’s kind of like a natural lubricant,” you add in a voice that’s even smaller than before.

Your shyness really might kill him, so he reaches over to grab your hand and gently pull your arm away from your eyes. It’s the first time you’ve looked at him since you laid down — since you put your self-imposed no-contact order in place — and he feels his stupid heart swell.

For what it’s worth, he feels his dick twitch, too.

You open your mouth to speak again, likely to continue your unnecessary campaigning; Vernon is having none of it. He tugs your wrist just enough to tilt you inward, then he kisses you hard enough to shut you up. A tiny whimper slips out of your lips when he pulls away, and it almost makes him regret his decision to do so. 

But Vernon has a point to make, so that’s precisely what he does: “I don’t need a sales pitch. You will never — ever —  have to convince me to fuck you.” 

Your eyes crinkle at the corners, like this is somehow news to you. It shouldn’t be. He’s told you a thousand times in as many different ways how thoroughly crazy you drive him just by existing so closely to him, but maybe you didn’t take him seriously then.

To emphasize his point, he slips his hand under the hem of your sweatshirt and finds your bare waist with the pad of his thumb. It spirals slowly against your warm skin, making both of you dizzy. Then, sick of the distance, Vernon dips his head down to press a kiss to your temple. 

“Like, ever,” he murmurs, lips following the curve of your jaw. 

Soft, slow kisses trail behind him as he travels down to your lips. Your head tilts further backwards with every single one, providing him with more and more access. 

He states it matter-of-factly because, to him, it is. “I’m down so bad for you that it might be terminal.”

“Oh?” 

You try to laugh but turn to putty when his palm rests fully on the curve of your waist and pulls you flush against him. The surprised gasp you let loose confirms his suspicion: You can feel how serious he is, affirmation throbbing against your abdomen in time with his heartbeat. 

Vernon smirks to himself, relishing your reaction, and bypasses your mouth entirely. A moan escapes from you, soft like an exhale, as his lips move slowly down the length of your neck. Every so often — just to feel you shiver — he flicks the tip of his tongue along the delicate skin he finds there.

“It might be messy…” 

The rest of your needless warning gets lost in a dreamy sigh as he suckles at the spot where your neck meets your shoulder. Shifting even closer, your desperate fingers reach out and cling to his t-shirt.

Vernon licks a stripe over the galaxy blooming on your skin. He hums, hand traveling upwards from your waist, “Don’t care about a mess.”

And he means it. 

Mindful of any soreness, he smooths his hand over your left breast and massages it tenderly, swearing to himself that he’ll throw the whole fucking mattress out if that’s what it comes down to. For you, he’ll race across town on foot to buy another one, and — fuck it — if the store is closed, he might just break in.

You’re growing impatient; your fingers let go of his shirt and tangle themselves in his hair.

“So needy,” he chuckles low in his chest, teasing. “You know, I think you’re lying. I think it is this bat-shit insane documentary that’s driving you wild, and you’re too embarrassed to admit it.”

“Stop,” you whine, dragging out the vowel sound. 

You don’t, though; you throw your left leg over his right thigh and shimmy forward until your cunt grazes his dick. Involuntarily, he groans at the warmth radiating off your core. Every part of you drives him just the slightest bit insane. You seem to know it, he thinks as he watches your pupils dilate in real time.

But he can play games, too, so he rolls his hips forward and grinds against you. He pushes you further, “Don’t get me wrong, baby. I’m not kink-shaming you —”

“Hansol Vernon Chwe!”

Oh, shit. Government name?

“— I’m just a little surprised, I guess.” He sighs with a shrug. “Think you know somebody…”

Your impatience is scribbled all across your scrunched up face. It seeps into your voice when you crash back against the pillows and huff, “Can you please stop fucking with me and start fucking me?”

“Sex-crazed monster, huh?” Leaning over, Vernon punctuates his question with a quick press of his lips to yours.

You whimper, “I’m so serious. I might explode.”

“Then go take care of whatever you need to take care of.” He kisses you again, smiling so fondly that his eyes may even be twinkling. “And I’ll go get a towel.”

You wait until Vernon clears the threshold before launching yourself out of bed at breakneck speed. Stumbling all the while, you race off to the adjoining bathroom and shut the door forcefully behind you. When it clatters against the frame, you finally admit to yourself that you might be a little bit eager.

Maybe.

Opting to keep your baggy, bleach-stained sweatshirt on, you wiggle out of your shorts and — what he refers to as — your crisis diaper. The high-waisted, frumpy, beige panties are utilized exclusively during your period, and to your surprise, they’ve remained spotless. It’s only ever the pretty and expensive pairs that wind up as collateral damage, isn’t it?

As they pool around your ankles, you can’t help but think that Vernon’s nickname for them is pretty spot on. That’s partly why you figured he might need to be talked into this. Unsated arousal aside, you feel as far from sexy as you can possibly get.

You shake your head to clear your thoughts, kick what you’ve discarded into a pile near the hamper, and let your sweatshirt shift down to cover as much of your ass as it’s capable of managing. You grab a square of toilet paper; then, you go to work excavating the wad of cotton that separates you from everything you want in this life. 

It is within the realm of possibility that you’re a little bit eager and a little bit dramatic. 

Perhaps.

After discarding the evidence in the small trash can under the sink, you wash your hands as if you’re about to step into an operating theater and not the bedroom you spend half your life in. When you finally feel sterile, you lift your head and catch your reflection in the mirror. Instantly, you make eye contact with the painful, hormonal pimple on your chin — the one you’ve been waging a retinoid war against for days.

“Bitch,” you mutter, like calling it names will be the one thing that finally gets it to shrink. Of course, your plan doesn’t work, but you feel a little less powerless. That’s good enough, you think. At least, as good as it’s going to get.

Now half-naked and certifiably unobstructed, you tiptoe back to your bedroom much more carefully than you left it. Vernon enters from the opposite doorway at the same time, jumping slightly the second he notices you. You ignore his frightened eyes and glance down at the crisp, white towel he’s clutching.

You open your mouth to suggest anything otherwise, but he beats you to it. His eyebrows shoot up his forehead as his mouth widens outwards, a self-aware rectangle. Otherwise expressionless, he lets go of an atonal, “Aaaaaaah”, that tells you he’s caught on.

He says nothing else before turning around and walking back the way he came. You have to bite down on your lips to keep from cackling.

That one’s mine, you think, still as infatuated as you were at the start. I chose that one.

While he’s gone, you try not to move, not to breathe too heavily. Vernon said he didn’t care about a mess, but when he said it, he was speaking theoretically with his hand on your tit. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d spoken recklessly with your body melting under his touch.

As far as you know, he hasn’t had any experience with this mess in practice. He could wind up finding you about as sexy as you currently feel — to wit: not at all. So, erring on the side of caution, you turn yourself into a statue and wait for the boy and his towel to find you again.

When he comes back, he plants a drive-by kiss on your unsuspecting mouth before skirting right around you. With shocking finesse, he grabs the corners of the — thankfully — black towel, which unfurls in the seconds before he flicks it upwards. It lands perfectly in the center of the bed, flat without needing to be fussed with.

“Wow,” he mutters to himself, taking in his clean work with raised eyebrows.

The impressed look is still on his face when he turns around, but you don’t have time to comment on his feat because he laughs as soon as he sees you.

“Kinda look like Donald Duck with the whole top-on, bottom-off situation.”

I chose this one?

You pout with an indignant gasp, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m not wearing a sailor hat, so…. bad analogy. Rude, even.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs as he snakes his arms around your waist and pulls you in close. You stumble a little on your way into him; the jury’s still out about whether it’s his hushed tone or the sudden movement that trips you up.

Between his thumb and index finger, he gently captures your chin. You follow along with his unspoken direction, tilt your face up to meet his. This close, you can see your own reflection in his pupils, black dilating against the warmest shade of brown you’ve ever seen.

Vernon takes a moment of silence as he takes in your features, and he studies them so intently that his eyebrows crinkle on their own. He sighs, sounding so completely serious. “You might get prettier every time I look at you.”

It’s unclear if you’re melting, or gushing; and if it’s the latter, you can’t say which biological process is at fault. Thankfully, the hand at the small of your back keeps your weak knees from buckling when his lips brush over yours.

“Even if you’re dressed like Winnie the Pooh.” 

You feel him smirk even before you hear him laugh at his own joke. Then, you feel his hand slide down to cup your bare cheek, squeezing affectionately. You want to tell him that this analogy is still inaccurate because you’re not wearing a crop-top; but he gently instructs you to ditch the sweatshirt and get on the bed, and your body moves automatically. No questions asked.

Carefully, you crawl up onto the mattress, then you center yourself on the towel. Still on your knees, you tilt your head curiously and ask, “Where do you want me?”

“Anywhere,” he breezes, pulling his shirt off and tossing it onto the dresser nearby. He amends, “Everywhere. All the time, and then some.”

“Better be careful,” you tease. “Talking like that might have consequences. You may never be able to get rid of me.”

His joggers are the next to go. Your sanity follows shortly thereafter, hungry eyes lingering on the imprint of his cock underneath his boxer briefs. You have to clamp your mouth shut to keep from drooling.

Brown eyes sparkling, he steps closer to you, kicking his pants aside as he goes. “Be careful,” he echoes, not a hint of cockiness to be found — just softness. “Saying it like a threat doesn’t make me wish it’s not a promise.”

I choose this one.

Crossing all the way to you, Vernon reaches the bed and climbs up with significantly more grace than you did. The mattress dips under his weight as he kneels right in front of you, mirroring your posture and causing your stomach to flip with anticipation.

You can’t help yourself; you lick your lips and look up at him with half-lidded eyes. “Naked, please. Like, right now.”

“Damn, I gotta do this myself?” Incredulous, he holds his hands up while glancing pointedly down at his underwear, then back at you. 

You arch an eyebrow, unfazed. 

“Depends.” You shrug. “Do you want to keep them? Because I really will rip them off of you.”

He concedes quickly; he always does. Sighing, he shakes his head and tuts, “Sex-crazed monster,” before pushing his briefs down his thighs. His length hangs heavy between you, but you swear you can feel its perfect ache inside you already.

You have a one-track mind, so you don’t hesitate to reach out and wrap your hand around him. A groan crawls up from the bottom of your chest when you feel the weighted warmth of his cock in your palm. You don’t hold that back, either.

“Fuck,” he sighs, head tilting as far backwards as it’ll go. Unexpectedly, he laughs. He doesn’t catch the quizzical look you shoot him, though he explains himself anyway, “Your hands are so fucking cold, but it feels so good.”

Swiping your thumb over his tip, you spread the pre-cum you find there down his shaft and stroke him slowly. He grows harder with every gentle squeeze, every pass of your fist. 

“We’re learning a lot of new shit about each other today.” You lean forward to pepper kisses across his collarbones. The hum of your mouth against his skin when you talk makes his cock twitch in your hand. “You might have a temperature kink and a thing for Winnie the Pooh.”

He snorts, nowhere near serious, “Shut the fuck up.”

“Make me,” you counter smugly, and you do mean it.

Vernon tilts his head forward to stare back at you. You’re already turning into a puddle, but if the look he gives you says anything, it’s that your melting isn’t enough for him. His voice is low and velvet-lined when he responds, “How about I just make you cum instead?”

“That could work, yeah.” You shrug.

He runs the pads of his fingers down each side of your waist to your hips, then back again; and each time he does it, you shiver. Reflexively, your back arches, chest pressing against his.

At this, he smirks, “It could? Maybe?”

“We can workshop it.”

“Or,” Vernon so generously offers, “You can turn around and lay down on your stomach. You know, if that’s sufficient.”

It’s not until you whip around and flop down onto the towel that you realize you never responded with words. Oh well. You figure he gets the point, judging by the quiet laughter you hear as he settles with his knees on either side of your upper thighs.

You don’t know what his next move will be — you don’t care, either, as long as he moves in your direction — so you don’t anticipate his palms flattening against your bare back, applying perfect pressure with his thumbs while he rubs away the soreness at the very base of your torso.

“Oh, shit,” you moan, eyes fluttering shut as the heels of his hands work out the tension in your muscles. “Have you always been good at this?”

You feel his chest brush against your shoulder blades when he hovers over you. Against the nape of your neck, he murmurs, “Nope.”

He kisses down your spine, mouth trailing after his hands as they work their way back down your body.

“Lemme guess — you read an article? Studied up?”

You get a snicker, then an affirmative hum, then another kiss. This time, it’s at the curve of your spine, just above your ass. Seconds later, he’s kneading the doughy flesh of your cheeks until your whole fucking body tingles.

That’s when it hits you:

Under normal circumstances, Vernon would be face-first in your pussy by now. Devouring you in earnest, like he’s starving. He can’t do that now — and you don’t blame him — so he’s making up for what you both view as a loss.

God, you want him.

One hand disappears from you, but you don’t have to guess where it went. You can hear the barely-there hiss of breath through his teeth when he takes his cock in that hand; as well as the very faint shift of his palm while he pumps himself.

“You’re gonna have to navigate, baby. I dunno how sensitive you are like this, what’s too much — any of that, so you need to tell me how you want me to move.”

Suddenly dizzy over how badly you need him, all you can muster is a nod. Vernon must want a verbal acknowledgment, though, because he leans back over you with one hand bearing his weight beside your head.

He kisses your shoulder and urges you, “Please say so if you need to stop or switch it up. Don’t wanna hurt you, sweetheart.”

“I will,” you breathe. “But I can’t even articulate how much I need you inside of me right now, so please — pretty please — fuck me.”

The tip of his nose bumps your temple affectionately. Right beside your ear, he teases, “With a cherry on top?” And it vibrates down your whole goddamn spine.

“Vernon!” You whine, burying your face in the comforter. It’s muffled, but you warn him nonetheless, “Don’t make me come back there.”

“Aish. Calm down, sex monster.”

The instinct to twist around and glare at him over your shoulder is strong, but every feral urge you feel is stronger. So, when he tells you to spread yourself open for him and tilt your hips back, you do so without even a hint of complaining.

With the crown of his cock slipping through your folds, inching towards your entrance, you hear him curse under his breath. Suddenly self-conscious, you finally crane your neck to the side and glance back at him. 

“We don’t have to,” you whisper. “If it’s gross and you don’t want to anymore, I get it —”

He balks at your suggestion without letting so much as a beat pass. “None of that, sweetheart; no spiraling. I’m just trying to figure out the logistics of, like… how to survive how good this already feels.”

Struck dumb, all you can muster is a peep, “Oh?”

“Shit, yeah.” His response comes in a low groan. “Can you take a deep breath for me?”

It’s a good call on his part, a suggestion you’re glad to have taken, because the pressure of him entering you is intense enough to knock the wind out of you. Empty lungs likely would’ve led to your untimely demise.

You whimper, already overwhelmed with the combination of pain and pleasure; the best kind of ache. The little, breathy moans must freak him out, however, because his fingertips caress your waist as he checks in: “This okay?”

Your limp arm lifts off the mattress, which you’ve melted fully into, and you form a circle with your index finger and thumb to indicate that you’re okay. The light is bright fucking green; you’ve just maxed out your capacity for speech.

Vernon continues his slow thrust forward, giving you ample time to adjust to his size.

“Oh my god,” he grunts, “This is — shit, I can’t believe we haven’t done this before. If I knew how good you’d feel like this, I wouldn’t have waited around for you to ask me.”

That hits like a truck.

He was waiting on you. 

You spent months convincing yourself that he’d need to be convinced, and chickening out before you could raise the idea. Months, and months, and months, of craving him during your werewolf transformation; wasting away over a shitty assumption that Vernon is anything like the people you’ve been with before. 

Christ. 

His credit for putting up with you is long overdue.

Too tongue-tied to speak any of that out loud, you settle for a summary that you hope conveys the message: “I love you so fucking much.”

Mindful of how deep it will push him into your cunt, he leans down over you carefully. Weight balanced on his knees and forearms, he envelopes you in his body heat, trails kisses across your shoulder, and echoes your words back at you between each one.

“Is this too much?” He whispers, rolling his hips slowly.

You feel him everywhere, with every drag of his cock along your walls; and you can’t tell where that throbbing sensation is coming from, him or you. 

You shake your head and sigh, “‘s perfect. You’re perfect.”

Like he knows it’ll unravel you, his large hand comes to rest over the back of yours. His fingers slip through the spaces between and squeeze you much more gently than the vice grip you hold on the bedding below you. He keeps holding you — just like this — through every movement.

The sensation of being this surrounded, this loved, this whole crashes over you like a wave and knocks you off balance.

“I’m so close,” you pant, voice as ragged as your breathing. There’s nothing that he isn’t already giving you with every deep, deliberate thrust into your heat; but you beg nonetheless, “Please, please, please —”

His speed doesn’t increase, but the intensity does. The smack of his hips colliding with your ass does, too, and you feel it reverberating in your bones. Buried as far inside of you as he can be, cock tip kissing your cervix with every high tide, length rolling across your g-spot with every low.

You cum so hard — so completely, invoking every single muscle you have — that you forget how to breathe. With a choked-out gasp, you squeeze your eyes shut and let your orgasm devastate you. 

“Fuck!”

Vernon gets caught up in the current, too, grinding desperately against you until he’s swept up in your wake. You feel him twitch inside you as his release floods, leaving you so lost in his warmth that you feel boneless underneath him.

His face winds up hidden in the crook of your neck, somewhere amidst the baby hairs that cling to the sheen of your sweat. You feel his lips fluttering against your skin when he laughs, “Oh…my god.”

“Mmphf.” You nod weakly in agreement. Beyond blissed, your body still tingles too much to move.

Slurring, you add, “‘s good. ‘s really…”

The rest of that thought dissolves into something between a moan and a yawn.

Just as tired, Vernon pats your ass cheek affectionately and mumbles, “Well said. No notes.”

You tilt your head far enough to free your face from the sheets. When you do, you find your boyfriend fighting a losing battle to keep his eyes open. In the rare seconds he can, he looks back at you in a daze that seems even more adoring than it does fuck-drunk.

“I think I need to hibernate now,” you announce. “Think you just fucked me so well that I need to take a sabbatical.”

He counter-offers, “Shower first, then sabbatical?”

You wiggle so that you can pull your joint hands to your mouth. You can’t kiss him properly while he’s laid out on top of you, but you can press your lips to the back of his hand and hope he feels how much of you that you pour into it.

“Okay, but, like…. who’s carrying who?”

giving vernon hickeys as he gives you some of the most beautifully worded compliments inbetween desperate moans in his deep voice🤭

“you’re the most amazing lover i could ever have,” he whispers, groaning when your teeth graze over sensitive skin, “you’re so perfect. I can’t resist what you do to me.”

he hears you giggle, knowing you take great pleasure in make him a wreck. he still can’t help going on and on about how much he loves you, wreck or not.

“i swear, baby,” he rambles, “there’s no one else in this world who could make me feel so good. you’re too good to me.”

you find a new spot, right at the crook of his neck, to place your mark. he wonders for a moment if you’re a vampire with how sharp your teeth feel. he’s just so vulnerable like this. he whimpers softly (and beautifully).

it only turns him on to realize that he is truly at your mercy like this. your hands hold his shoulders down, body caging him on. his hands are tied above his head, and that rope is tied to the bed. he really couldn’t do anything even if he tried.

as if you’ve read his mind, you move to whisper in his ear while he moans at the things you say, “i’m going to keep giving you hickeys until all you can think about is how much you belong to me. and then i’m going to fuck you so good you won’t even be able to think.”

Nothing But Love Part II | jww x reader

Rating: M (18+) | WC: ~3.5 | Pairing: jww x reader | Genre: smut, romance

Wonwoo dazedly remembers he had something to give you, something to show you, but for the life of him, he can’t remember what. 

Part I

Warnings: inexperienced/shy wonu, reader kinda calls the shots but it doesn’t feel like dom/sub (imo), naked wonu clothed reader, big dick wonu (what’s new), oral m. rec., dry humping but it’s not dry but i simply cannot just say humping so dry humping, fingering, piv sex, creampie

Reader Notes: has breasts and a vagina, wap, still shorter than wonu

Wonwoo dazedly remembers he had something to give you, something to show you, but for the life of him, he can’t remember what. 

Your heels came off as soon as you stepped through the door, and before he knew it, you were kissing him. It took him little to no time to kiss you back, even with a voice in the recesses of his mind saying there was something he wanted to do first. 

It’s just so easy, too easy, to get carried away with you, especially when you’re the one making the moves. Having you in control means he doesn’t have to worry about overstepping his bounds or doing the wrong thing, soothing much of his anxiety around being intimate. He’s not a virgin, and he wasn’t when you started dating, but beyond you, he doesn’t have a lot of experience and he’s still not confident about taking charge. 

Which is why you deepen the kiss, you move it over to his couch, you push him down to sit on it and kneel between his legs. His gaze immediately goes to your mouth, your bottom lip swollen and juicy and reminding him of what’s waiting for you in the kitchen. But honestly, flowers and strawberries couldn’t be less important to him right now. 

You’re all he can focus on, your bright eyes and the curve of your smile and the delicate press of your fingers as you glide them up and down his thighs. He can’t tell if you’re teasing him or if you’re just easing him into it, but either way, your touch has him burning up inside. 

He’s taking measured breaths in an attempt to keep from hyperventilating when you push his legs wider apart and scooch closer. He wants to offer you a pillow to kneel on but he fears he’ll moan if he opens his mouth, the sight of you on your knees for him in your pretty dress enough to unravel him completely. 

“Can I suck you off?” You ask quietly, trailing your eyes up over his sprawled body to meet his gaze before leaning down to drag your tongue over the thick print of his cock in his slacks. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he murmurs to himself, swearing you were built by the devil specifically to lure him into sin as his dick throbs. You arch an eyebrow and he rushes to say, “Yes, please, fuck,” watching as you smile a pleased little smile and start undoing his pants. He lifts his hips when you tug, swallowing when you pull them and his boxers clean off, leaving him in just his sweater. 

That feels wrong, weird, so he swiftly sheds his top, his nerves flaring and his dick getting harder at the thought of being completely naked while you’re fully clothed. It’s hot but it leaves him vulnerable too, makes him feel like he’s literally laying himself bare for you to do with him what you wish. 

But he trusts you, and he knows you won’t intentionally do something he doesn’t like, so he takes a steadying breath and leans back against the couch, his hands folded at the base of his spine and his body yours for the taking. 

He’s tempted to close his eyes too, give himself up to you completely, but he can’t deprive himself of this view. Your face is inching closer and closer to him, your plush lips parted and your eyes hungry as you stare at his rapidly hardening cock like it’s a present, a treat. You glance up at him as you take hold of it, and he can’t bite back the groan, can’t hide the way he melts under your touch. 

Literally, he melts into the couch, his chin tucked to his chest as he watches you through bleary, heavy lidded eyes. He feels drunk somehow, on you, on the feeling of your warm hand wrapped around his dick, on the sight of you guiding it to your mouth. He’s a bit nervous you’ll do the same thing you did for his first blowjob - swallow it whole - but you kiss the head instead, laving your soft tongue over his sensitive crown before licking a fat stripe up the side. He shivers at the sensation, his gaze tracking your every move and his mind fighting to commit them to memory. 

You pull away to spit into your hand and even that’s hot to him, but he shouldn’t be surprised. Everything you do is sexy or cute or beautiful to him, and maybe that’s because the relationship is young but Wonwoo prefers to believe it’s just because you’re the perfect fit for each other. 

You feel like the perfect fit, at least, your wet hand surrounding the base of his cock and your pretty mouth suctioning around the first two inches. There’s a good six more and he knows from experience that you can take it, but he’s not in a rush, and more than that, he’s not inclined to dictate how you enjoy his cock. 

He can tell that this is just as much for you as it is for him, in the way you indulgently suckle at the head, the way you keep letting out mewling little moans, the way your eyes leave his every so often to trail over his abs and chest and biceps. That’s part of what makes it so fucking good, the fact that you like it almost as much as he does. 

Almost, but not quite. 

He doesn’t think you could like it at the same level because he absolutely fucking adores it, cherishes every second that you touch him, treasures every bob of your head, reveres your mouth and the things you can do with it. 

His hands clench behind his back when he feels your throat open up for him, the muscles relaxing so he can get even deeper. He bites back a groan, a wild sound that would surely startle you, and lets out a shuddering breath instead as his eyes start to flutter closed. He forces them open so he can keep watching you, the image too entrancing to miss for even a second. 

He can see your eyes watering, knows you’re pushing yourself to your limit, more than half his cock in your mouth by now and just a couple inches left to spare. 

He doesn’t want you to endure discomfort just for his pleasure, but he can’t say the fact that you’re willing to do so doesn’t make him want to fuck your throat until your voice is hoarse and then treat you like a princess to make up for it. 

Maybe another time, he concedes as you pull off and pump his length with your hand, panting to catch your breath. Your breasts rise and fall beneath the silk and Wonwoo wants to see them, wants to see all of you. 

“Baby, can you take your dress off?” He gasps out, not expecting to be breathless himself. 

You answer by sitting up on your knees and gathering the fabric in your hands, pulling it up and over your head before tossing it to land next to him on the couch. He fights the urge to lay it out for you so it doesn’t get wrinkled, returning his focus to you and finally, finally letting a noise loose when he sees you. 

You’re clothed in nothing but panties and the necklace he bought you, your hands resting on your thighs and your eyes waiting to find his. Your lips are swollen, your lashes are wet with tears, your chin is coated in a mixture of spit and precum, and Wonwoo has never wanted to kiss you more. 

He leans down, takes hold of your hands and starts pulling you up, murmuring, “C’mere,” over and over until finally, you’re in his lap, your legs straddling his waist and your warm palms flat on his chest. 

He cups your face with both hands, drawing you into an open mouthed kiss and sucking your tongue into his mouth, a sigh escaping when he feels you relax against him. He loves feeling your body pressed to his, loves feeling your racing heart and soft skin, and he loves even more when you’re on top. Your body weighing him down makes him feel safe, secure, like even when he feels light as a balloon, you’ll never let him float away. 

Wonwoo’s grateful, honestly. You brighten all of his dark corners, paint new colors when his palette gets dull, shine him up all nice and new when he’s feeling tarnished. He can only hope he does the same for you, and when you wrap your arms around his neck and press even closer to him, he thinks he just might. 

One of his hands leaves your cheek to vine around your waist, holding you tightly as he kisses you, your fingers playing with the ends of his hair and sending a shiver down his spine. He doesn’t know how long you stay like that, making out in the low light of his living room, just that he’s almost heartbroken when you start to pull away. 

Your lips leave his and your hands slide back down to his chest, stopping him when he tries to follow you before you climb off of him altogether. The sudden lack of your warmth and weight leaves him feeling bereft, adrift, and despondently, he asks, “Where are you going?” 

You smile gently and take his hand, tugging insistently until he rises on trembling knees, “We are going to bed.”

“Oh,” he breathes, relieved beyond belief and more than a little lightheaded as he watches the way your ass moves under your panties as you walk with him to his bedroom. You turn when you cross through the doorway, walking backwards and leading him to the bed, smirking when he can’t seem to take his eyes off the minute bouncing of your tits. 

“Lay down for me?” You request, gesturing toward the bed and waiting for him to get settled. His hands clench into fists at his sides when you push at your panties, letting them fall to the ground and stepping out of them before climbing onto the bed so gracefully, he wonders if you practice or if it’s just natural talent. 

He watches as you crawl towards him, your eyes meandering over his body, lingering on his cock. There’s a curve to the shaft, not sharp but enough for you to feel it, and it’s hard enough to cut diamond, throbbing and leaking and twitching in the air. When you arrive at his side, you sling a leg over his hip and straddle him again, pushing his dick to his stomach and taking a seat before leaning down and pressing your lips to his. 

The wet heat of your cunt is scalding on his aching cock, makes him shiver and drop a hand to your hip, pulling you even closer until his dick is fully nestled between the lips of your pussy. 

You roll your hips, grinding your clit against the head of his cock and gasping into his mouth when he starts helping you, the hand on your hip gripping tight and dragging you back and forth. Even like this, you feel so fucking good, your cunt silky and dripping and searing hot on the underside of his dick. 

He can feel every wave of arousal as it hits you, your entrance flush to his cock and your wetness seeping out to coat the base of him before it gets smeared up to the head. Soon enough, you’re gliding, slick sounds following every grind of your hips into his as you start to shake above him. 

“Can you cum like this?” He asks desperately, his lips brushing against yours and his grip like iron on the flesh of your hip. 

“Let’s find out,” you gasp, shortening your movements and concentrating them at the head of his dick, using the slight ridge to stimulate your clit as he feels you grow wetter and wetter. But there seems to be something missing, your breaths growing quicker and your face scrunching up as you teeter on the edge. 

Wonwoo’s not positive but usually, you like to cum on something, like something filling you up, so he offers, “Fingers?”

“Yes, yes, yes, fingers,” you cry out, stilling your movements long enough for him to slide two digits inside you, pressing and pushing until his knuckles are flat against you. Your pussy hugs them snugly, your walls fluttering around them before he pulls them out to the first knuckle and thrusts back in. 

Your cunt clamps down, attempting to hold them inside of you, but he knows you like the friction, like when he bullies past your tightness to fuck you with his fingers, so he doesn’t stop, filling you again and again as your hips buck in sharp little bursts. When you let out a broken whimper and freeze on top of him, your undulating cunt and beating heart your only movements, he grins, rubbing his dick against your clit and curling his fingers in pulses to carry you through to the other side. 

He watches as you recover, your chest expanding against his with your gasping breaths, your eyes clouded with pleasure and need, your lips shiny and puffy from so much kissing. He expects you to take some time, maybe get a sip of water or at least let your heart return to a normal speed, but you whisper, “Inside. Wonwoo, get inside me.”

He would ask if you’re sure, but he’s done that before and you told him you wouldn’t say it if you weren’t certain, so all he does is withdraw his fingers and wait for you to sit up on your knees so he can position his dick for you. He jumps at his own touch, used to your warm hands and body and much preferring them to the chilliness of his own. He doesn’t suffer long, your blazing heat engulfing him as you slide down slowly, making his head push back into the pillow and his hands fly to your hips. 

He just holds you, supports you as you take his cock, sure that your thighs and knees must be aching by now and wanting to carry some of the load for you. Gravity pulls you down and lets every inch of him fill you until he’s inside you to the root, until your hips are pressed to his and your arousal is trickling out onto his pelvis and balls. You shudder when he bottoms out, a full body shiver wracking you as you brace your hands on his chest and breathe through the stretch. 

His hands make a circuit up your thighs, over your hips, and along your sides, trying to soothe you even as you feel like rapture around him. Maybe because you feel like rapture around him. He feels a bit guilty, knowing he’s experiencing so much pleasure while you’re still struggling to adjust to him. 

You’ve told him you like it, like the challenge and the absolute fullness and the perfect soreness after, but still, he only wants you to feel good when you’re with him like this. So he slips one hand between your legs, finds your clit with his agile fingertips, circles it until your muscles untense and the line between your eyebrows disappears. 

When you’re ready, you get one foot under you and then the other, and Wonwoo wraps his hands around your ankles, holding you steady as you begin to rise and fall. He can’t hold back his noises now, groaning freely and openly into the quiet of his bedroom, the only other noises being the wet slap of your hips against his and your little huffs of exertion. 

Soon, there’s a squelch too, a slick burst of sound every time he meets the end of you, and it makes Wonwoo’s cheeks and ears flush but it also makes his dick harder, the thought of you getting wet enough for him to hear it. He loves any evidence that you want him, loves feeling your eyes tracing the breadth of his shoulders and your hands trailing over his abs and your lips pressed anywhere you can reach, but he especially loves this. 

“Fuck,” he swears brokenly, his cock twitching and leaking precum inside of you, only adding to the fluids seeping out. He’s getting close already, and he reminds himself that if he withstood your mouth and your pussy on him before, he can withstand this. Until you settle back down on your knees and drape yourself over him, your breasts pressing against his chest and your lips on his neck. 

Then, it’s all he can do to keep from cumming as you roll your hips into him, the closeness making him feel dizzy and the clutch of your cunt making him feel nigh incandescent with desire. Your teeth drag over his collarbone, your mouth suctioning to the side of his Adam's apple, and he’s almost convinced himself he can last when you drag your lips to his ear and whisper, “Cum, Wonwoo.”

The pleasure is kaleidoscopic then, light whiting out his vision and blood rushing in his ears as he drifts in the space between the stars and the sky. Distantly, he feels you cumming around him, hears your whines and cries through the static in his head, and gathers enough of himself to wrap his arms around you and hold you close, his feet shifting on the bed as his knees bend to cradle you against his body. 

You stay like that, your cheek pressed to his chest, his cock still buried inside you, for what feels like hours, until you inch up to kiss him. His softening dick slips out, cum flowing in its wake and oozing onto his stomach, but he barely even registers it. His brain is too fried to think about more than kissing you back, his lips as gentle as yours as he feels a syrupy sweetness come over him. 

He wants to take care of you now, wants to wash you with soft hands and dry you with softer towels, wants to help you brush your teeth and put your pajamas on, wants to tuck you into bed and slide into his spot beside you. 

First, he needs to disentangle himself from you, which is easier said than done. You’re clingy (in the best way) after sex, and it actually pains him to release you and tip you over onto your side so he can escape. You pout and hug his pillow, making him frown dramatically and jog away, starting the shower and grabbing his other bedding set from the closet before returning to the bed. 

“Baby, I have a surprise for you. But you have to get in the shower for me first, okay?” He says quietly, helping you when you hold your hands out and escorting you to the bathroom when you don’t let go. He tests the water temperature and, finding it to your liking, gestures for you to climb in. 

“I just need to change the sheets,” and set up the flowers and strawberries. “Then I’ll be right back.”

“Okay, Woo, be quick,” you sigh, letting the water pound against your lower back to soothe the ache he knows you get there. 

I love you, he would say, but he doesn’t know if four months is too fast to be confessing like that. Maybe he’ll save it for your six month anniversary, for the surprise trip he’s planning, the one based on your pinterest boards and commentary from your best friend. 

You gasp, eyes wide when he shows you the flowers. Your eyes rove over every bloom, your mouth forming around their meanings as you tear up, and Wonwoo discovers four months isn’t too fast, thanks to your watery, “I love you, Wonwoo.” 

He’s sure the bouquet has already told you how he feels, but he says it back anyway, feeling you burrow ever deeper into his heart as the words cross his lips. He’s never said them romantically before but they feel right, true, honest, and as he chats with you over bites of chocolate covered strawberries, he hopes they’re words he’ll be saying to you for the rest of his life. 

AN: yayyy part 2!! i hope you enjoyed, i feel like there's a bit of a different dynamic between idol x reader than what i normally do and it was fun to explore! it was also fun picturing how a shy/inexperienced wonu would react hehe

pls reblog if you enjoyed! it's even better if you leave me a comment or some tags 😍 sometimes when im sad i go back and reread them so pls know how much i value and appreciate your thoughts!

My Masterlist

my favourite person | joshua hong

prompt | i'm not a lot of people's favourite person

word count | 1.3k

genre | angst & (mostly) fluff

author's note | ugh i haven't written a longer fic like this in a while, i've missed this

Joshua was that type of person who never wanted to bother you with his own problems. He cherished you and your happiness way too much, so what would be the point in sharing his own worries with you?

He was a big boy, he could take care of himself, no matter how much he wanted to find peace and comfort in your arms.

You knew something was wrong, despite him insisting he was fine. You knew him like the back of your hand and something has been clearly bothering him.

His bright smile was gone and even if he did smile, it didn’t reach his eyes, like it usually did. He didn’t share any funny stories from the practice room, he went to bed without giving you your mandatory good night kiss and you woke up to his side of the bed cold and empty.

“Joshua, you really have to tell me if anything is bothering you,” you said and squeezed his arm. “I’m here for you.”

But the only response you got was a small smile and a “I’m fine darling. Don’t worry about me,” which didn’t make the case any better.

You decided to let it go and wait for him to come around. Especially, because he had a company dinner soon, which you hoped would cheer him up a bit.

Perhaps a talk with Jeonghan or Seungcheol wouldn’t hurt as well.

Leaving with a quiet goodbye and a kiss to your forehead (like he always did before leaving), made you hopeful you were slowly getting your Shua back.

Some of the boys posted a couple of pictures of them together, before the party even began and Joshua was in every single one of them.

He seemed fairly happy, but you knew very well he could have been pretending.

Nonetheless, you decided to put your phone away, there was no point in dwelling on whether he was fine or not.

He wouldn’t be coming back to your apartment tonight anyways, he never did after big parties. He was always afraid that he’d make too much noise and wake you up, so he always went back to his own place after a night of drinking.

Settling down for the night, you unawarely stroked the pillow on your boyfriend’s side, where his head would usually be. He had never told you this, but his heart always skips anytime you run your fingers through his hair, as a warm feeling settles in his tummy.

He was always convinced that love was an emotion that he’d never be able to describe, but the genuine care in your eyes and the happiness in your smile could make him talk about love for hours.

“Fuck.”

You tiredly rubbed your eyes with your (Joshua’s) sweatshirt, trying to pick up where the sounds were coming from, while still being half asleep.

You stumbled out of bed, not so gently running into your dresser, while trying not to freak out over a thief who's probably robbing your apartment right now.

Finally, reaching the kitchen, you exhaled in relief as you saw that it was only your boyfriend, trying to take off his shoes.

But then you realised something. Why was he here? And then you realised something else.

He was definitely not sober.

Seeing your boyfriend drunk was nothing new, but seeing him wasted was something you thought you’d never get to see.

“Honey, are you okay?” you asked, quickly grabbing his hand to get his attention. You couldn't help thinking that something bad had happened, as his eyes were wide and he seemed almost… scared?

Shaking his head, he clumsily grabbed your other hand, putting them on his cheeks.

For a second you thought about calling Jeonghan. You’ve never seen your boyfriend in such a miserable state before and it was scaring you. The light in his eyes was gone and his beautiful face showed nothing but pain.

Nothing about this was good, but the worst was that you still had no idea what had happened.

As you got lost in your own thoughts, you felt something wet hitting your fingertips and that was when you realised Joshua was crying.

“Oh baby,” you whispered, as he collapsed into your arms. His sobs echoed through your quiet apartment, while his shoulder shook with every breath he took.

He held tightly onto you, almost as you were his lifeline - the only thing keeping him alive. Your own heart was breaking with every cry that he let out, the sound shattering any ounce of hope that you had that he’d be all right.

You lowered both of you to the ground, so you could sit in the dark curridor, illuminated only by the moonlight coming through the window.

Taking a shaky inhale, he put his head on your lap, while you gently stroked his head and placed small kisses on his forehead, to let him know that you were there with him.

“I’m not a lot of people’s favourite person.”

The not so comforting silence of your apartment was finally broken by your boyfriend, who seemed to have calmed down, even though he still struggled to take a deep breath.

“What did you say honey?” you said quietly, brushing his hair away from his face.

“I think I’m not a lot of people’s favourite person,” he repeated, slowly pushing himself up to seating.

You looked at his tired expression, wanting nothing more to take all of his burdens away from him.

He was usually very good at avoiding the hate he got online, but from time to time, it could really get to him. It was unavoidable, you both knew that, but sometimes he wanted nothing more but to talk to his fans and have a good time with them.

But because a lot of people want to harm him, his reputation and his feelings, it wasn’t easy to manoeuvre between the good and the bad comments.

It seemed like this time he stumbled upon some really nasty shit.

“Why do you say that? Where did it come from?” you asked rhetorically, voice laced with concern.

He didn’t respond, only put his head on your shoulder, putting all of his weight onto you.

Not wanting to dig deeper, you put your arms tightly around his shoulders, and placed one of your hands on his tear stained cheek.

“You know,” you muttered so as not to startle him. “You might not be a lot of people’s favourite person, but you’re definitely my favourite person,” you kissed the side of his head, as you felt more tears rolling down his cheek.

“I have no idea how you’re feeling right now, nor will I ever get to experience what you’re experiencing, but I want you to know that despite all those horrible people that want to cause nothing more but pain, there are thousands of people who love you and cherish you.”

“Take a look around you. You have me, you have your brothers and you have your true fans that want you to be happy,” you whispered into his hair.

“I think that’s more than enough,” he said quietly, lifting his head to look at you.

His eyes were red, but to you they were the happiest they’ve been in a while. Even the corners of his lips were slightly turned upwards, to which you couldn’t help but smile.

“You cannot make everyone happy, Shua. There are going to be people that’ll want to hurt you, but remember that you’re always surrounded by people that love you,” you said.

He turned away to wipe his wet cheeks, feeling slightly embarrassed about his emotional outburst.

Usually, he’d go to his own apartment and cry himself to sleep, but tonight something made him come back home to you.

“Joshua,” you put your hand on his shoulder. “Next time, please talk to me before it gets that bad. I know that you don’t want to burden me with your worries, but I can't stand seeing you like this.”

“I love you so much, and I want us to go through the good and the bad together.”

He nodded and took your hand in his.

“Together.”