slut4hwa

[slut4hwa]

Omg congrats on 3k!! I'm so happy for you lovie!!🩷🩷🩷 So this is my first time requesting anything lol so bare with me 🥲 I'd love to see maybe a mean vampire seonghwa? Like mean dom? With all the filth you can add in! Like go crazy lol Again, congrats on 3k!! You deserve all the love and appreciation you get!🩷

🧋🩷

tysmm genesis !! that means a lot coming from you mwah >< <33 omg i’m so happy i can write your first ever request!! mmm filthy mean dom vamp hwa… yes yes, that’s something i can do~ i’ll def go crazyy (go stupid) don’t you worry about that hehe and i alsooo added san in there bc i’m weak kksjs ;;; i hope you enjoy my love 💞

⛧ seance smutfest ⛧

pairing: vampire lord! seonghwa x concubine! fem reader x vampire butler! san

w.c: 2.6k

warnings: mean dom! seonghwa (man’s a psycho fr), mean dom! san (follows his master’s lead <3), bratty sub! reader that fucks around and finds out, threesome elements, light mxm, sir kink, possessiveness, exhibitionism/voyeurism, manhandling, blood play, blood drinking (girlie needs a blood transfusion stat ^^’), biting/marking, pet names/name calling, praise/degradation, dacryphilia, face/pussy slapping, choking, oral (receiving), fingering, brief tit play, hair pulling, overstim, masturbation, cowgirl, creampies, back shots, cum eating

Masterlist

“Pssst,” your roommate murmured, reaching over to gently tug on your nightgown, wanting you to get closer so that you could hear her over the loud, overlapping chatter of the other individuals in your shared bedroom. “Who do you think Lord Park will pick tonight?”

You scooted closer to her, eventually shrugging your shoulders. “Depends on what mood he’s in.” 

She shuddered. “I hope he’s not hungry…” 

You bit your bottom lip slightly, unconsciously patting the girl’s thigh. “Me and you both.” 

She sucked her teeth, about to reply when a soft, though deliberate knocking sound interrupted her, followed by the distinct creaking of the centuries-old door opening just enough for you to see the castle’s chief of staff, Choi San, standing there with a candle in hand. 

“Good evening, ladies,” he announced, bowing at the waist, acknowledging a few of your roommate’s replies. “Miss Y/N,” the youthful man addressed you with his usual warm, dimpled smile, idly resting his gloved hand against his coat’s lapel. “Your presence is requested in the Headmaster’s bedroom.” 

The once lively room of concubines quieted down, their attention centered on you, a few of them swallowing nervously, despite not even being chosen themselves. 

“Oh…right now?” you asked dumbly, playing with one of the ribbons on your nightgown. 

The man nodded, taking a step back into the extravagant, dimly lit hallway. “Right now, I’m afraid.” 

The girl near you patted your thigh just as you had done to her, making you wonder if she was trying to comfort you or was simply sorry for what you were about to endure at the hands of the Headmaster. 

You followed San out into the hallway and began your journey to the grand master bedroom, requiring you to walk down the oddly long corridor and up a velvet trimmed staircase complete with a large painting of a strikingly handsome, forlorned man sitting at the very top, staring you down as you made your way up to it.  

“San…” you began, turning to look up at the young man’s face, his sharp features illuminated by the melting candle he held inside his gloved hand. “Is the Headmaster…” You bit your lip again, your pulse quickening. “…hungry?” 

San’s dark eyes twinkled for a second, before turning into crescent moons, his lips twitching upwards, exposing his elongated fangs. “Oh, Miss Y/N,” he tsked, doing a scan over your body so quickly it almost seemed to happen in your imagination. “You should know by now that Lord Park is always quite famished.” 

-

Seonghwa stood near his bedroom window, gazing out of it as if he were in a trance, his crimson eyes focused on the enormous, glowing moon that sat just above the dark forest below, almost appearing as though it were about to drop out of the sky at any second and destroy everything in its wake. When he heard a knock on one of his grand bedroom doors, he turned around. “Enter.”

“Pardon for the intrusion, my lord, but I’ve come to deliver your entertainment for the night.” San placed a hand on your back, coaxing you into the room. 

“Entertainment?” Seonghwa chuckled lightly, taking a few strides in your direction only to tower over you, reaching down to run his fingers through your hair. “I think you meant my meal, did you not?”

“I’d like to see you try,” you muttered, swatting his hand away, making the vampire let out a low growl. 

“Dinner and a show, sir,” San corrected himself, giving his Master a small amused smile, about to take his leave when Seonghwa snapped his fingers. 

“One that you’ll be the audience for, San.” Quite pleased with himself, Seonghwa grabbed you by the waist and tossed you like a ragdoll onto the bed behind him before you could protest. “Now, sit over there–” He snapped his fingers at San, as he climbed onto you, pinning your flailing arms above your head with ease, smiling at the other vampire. “–and look pretty.” 

“Yes, my lord,” San obliged, his dimples on display, sitting down in the large mahogany chair that was positioned near the edge of the bed and smoothing out his tailored coat. He smiled keenly at the sight and smell of your arousal now that Seonghwa’s hand was wrapped around your throat with his thigh shoved in between your thighs, your nightgown already torn from your body and tossed onto the carpet below. 

“Will you do me a favor and cum so we can get this over with, my lord?” you said as unamused as you could with cold fingers pressing into your throat, blinking up at the stern vampire hovering above you, your brain feeling delightfully dizzy. 

Seonghwa leaned in towards you and inhaled the scent of your pleasure, enjoying the way he could feel your pulse racing against his fingers. “Looks like I have to break you all over again, don’t I, sweet thing?” he exhaled near your ear, feeling your heated body shiver against his when he began to grind his knee against your bare cunt, delighted with the slick sounds it was already producing. “You always give me problems, but you love this, don’t you? Getting treated like a little doll made only for me? Just makes you want to cum, doesn’t it?” 

You felt Seonghwa’s fingers squeeze tighter around your throat, the deliberate rubbing of his thigh against your exposed clit making it hard for you to think straight. “I’m dryer than ever. There’s no way you’re–aaah–making me cum.”

“Oh, yeah? Watch me,” he whispered against your ear, shifting his fingers downwards just enough to sink his needle-sharp fangs into your neck, slowly gulping down your hot, coursing blood, his hand now cupped against your slippery cunt, your swollen clit rubbing relentlessly against the rough palm of his hand until you inevitably fell apart. Once you went limp underneath him, Seonghwa began to lick at the fresh bite marks he left with his forked tongue, chuckling at the small, withdrawn whimpers you let out when he reeled his hand back and smacked it against your cunt. “Hurts so good, doesn’t it?” 

“How does she taste, sir?” San interjected softly, already palming at the growing tent that sat uncomfortably inside his buttoned, tailored pants. 

“Delicious as always.” Licking his teeth, Seonghwa slowly climbed off of you and instead positioned you so that you were in his lap with your back to his chest near the edge of the bed, directly facing San. “On your knees, San.” 

Within seconds, San was on his knees before the two of you, watering at the mouth. “Now what, sir?” 

Seonghwa, who had his mouth latched back onto your neck and his hands exploring the expanse of your naked body, spit the blood out onto you, the three of you watching the crimson careen along your tits and down your middle, until it pooled near your pelvis, dripping onto your throbbing cunt. He bared his fangs at San, whose sharpened eyes were glowing brightly inside the dimly-lit room. “Lick.” 

As soon as he got permission, San dove straight into your pussy, lapping at it like it was his life’s mission, collecting the beads of blood in his mouth, along with your wetness when he sucked at your folds and clit, spitting the mess of blood and arousal back onto your cunt, before slurping it all up again. 

“Fuck,” you moaned, gripping San’s hair with one hand, encouraging the vampire to shove his tongue into your fluttering hole. You leaned your head back into Seonghwa’s chest, mindlessly grinding your cunt against San’s already messy mouth, your brain and body feeling too fuzzy to focus on anything. 

“What a little filthy whore you are,” Seonghwa sighed into your ear, one hand closing around your blood-covered tit to play with it, the other sliding down the middle of your abdomen until his fingers began to rub your clit in tight circles. “So willing to disobey, but so eager to feel pleasure, even from my own personal advisor. What am I going to do with you?” 

You turned your head to look at him, answering snarkily, “Make me cum already.” 

“I’ll make you cum, don’t you worry, slut.” Seonghwa bit at your earlobe, sending a few sudden harsh smacks to your clit, rubbing your stinging cunt afterwards, but being careful not to intercept San’s swiping tongue. 

It didn’t take long before you were tugging at San’s dark locks and writhing around against Seonghwa’s body, taking a few more smacks to your swollen clit, making you cry out involuntarily. 

“Well, would you look at that?” Seonghwa beamed to himself, licking up your release from his fingers. “How does the little whore’s cum taste?” 

“Delicious,” San sighed, once he was done drinking up your arousal, licking up your cunt once again, this time continuing upwards to gather the rest of the blood that Seonghwa had spit out onto your body, eventually settling near your chest, taking turns shoving your tits into his mouth. 

With his own mouth back on your neck, idly drinking more of your blood, and his fingers still rubbing at your clit, Seonghwa reached around your body to tightly grip San’s hair with his free hand, holding his head still so that he could watch San lick and suck on one of your spit-covered tits, making him groan.

San shoved two thick fingers inside your cunt and scissored them apart just to hear you whine, before steadily fucking you with them.

Seonghwa ran his closed hand up and down his slick cock, looking over your shoulder to watch as your hole swallowed up San’s ring finger. “Stretch her open so I can fit my cock inside, San.” 

The feeling of being filled and Seonghwa’s words alone made you tumble over the edge, causing you to toss your head back into Seonghwa’s chest and cry out. 

San grunted, thrusting his digits up into you a few more times, your abundant wetness dripping down his veiny forearm and breathless moans leaving him with a satisfied smirk. “She’s ready for you, my lord.” 

Whining at the sudden emptiness inside when San pulled his fingers out, you were immediately rewarded when Seonghwa lifted your hips up from behind, only to bring you down onto him, your cunt swallowing up his large cock inch by inch. “Oh, fuck–”

“God, you always take me so well,” the vampire praised, aggreisvely snapping his hips up into you, forcing you to bounce on his cock, punching short, airy moans out of you with each thrust. “That’s it, that’s it. You’re my perfect little cocksleeve, darling. Fuck, just for me.” 

The blood loss mixed with the relentless pleasure completely took over your mind and body at this point, leaving you in a fog. You wouldn’t come back to reality until Seonghwa sent a quick slap to your cheek, urging you to blow a few strands of wet hair out of your line of sight, gazing down at the grunting vampire below you, his fingers now rubbing over your stinging skin. 

“Now, now, don’t pass out on me yet, darling,” Seonghwa urged breathlessly, admiring the way you looked on top of him with your nails digging into the flesh of his chest, his hands cemented on your bruising waist, drilling up into your cunt, hitting your g-spot dead on. “I still have more cum to fill you with.” 

When more and more spurts of hot, milky liquid coated your inner walls for the nth time, your body felt so incredibly full, so intensely hot that you came again, so hard that you had fallen back into the other vampire’s chest, his soft, wet hair tickling the side of your cheek. 

“How many times was that, San? How many times did I make this poor slut cum?” Seonghwa playfully questioned the young man, who was positioned behind you, with his pulsing cock grinding against your ass, currently leaving a few more splashes of cum on your slick skin. 

“More times than I can count, sir,” San answered, out of breath, resting his chilled body against your overheated one. 

“You hear that, doll? Even my most trusted advisor can’t keep up with the amount of times I’ve made you fall apart on my cock.” Without gaining a response from you, the vampire smacked his hand down against your reddened, used cunt, a few dribbles of cum leaking out down your inner thighs. “Aww, look at you. Poor fucked-out slut can’t even form words anymore.”  

“T-too much,” you barely got out with the last of your energy, a tear or two escaping your half-closed eyes, dripping down your flushed cheeks.  

Seonghwa scoffed, pressing his thumb roughly against your clit, rubbing it so quickly, your body began to shake. “Oh, is that so? Feels so good, you’re crying for us, hmm?” 

“Uh-huh.” You nodded your head, sniffling, too blinded by pleasure to be bratty anymore. “It’s all your fault.”

Seonghwa suddenly sat up from his lying position, instead pulling you more into his lap, his cock now thrusting so deep inside you, you were convinced you might actually break. “You asked for this,” he huffed out near your face, taking a second to lick up one of your tears, squeezing and rubbing your puffy clit between two fingers so roughly it sent intense bolts of pleasure through your body. “–so you’re going to take it like the good whore you are, yeah?” 

“Yes, sir,” you gasped out, your voice and body quivering from how hard you were cumming, suddenly getting your hair tugged back by San, his fingers gripping your chin, feeling his snake-like tongue cascade over your face. He licked up each salty tear that left your tired eyes. 

“You’re so pretty when you cry, Miss Y/N…” He pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek, pleased with the sounds that left your drooling mouth while Seonghwa filled you up with yet another load.

“That’s it, this pussy’s stuffed so full for me now, everyone in the castle will know you’re my personal cumslut, won’t they? It’s going to drip out of you for weeks, darling,” Seonghwa exhaled, a few thick beads of his cum leak down the sides of his cock as he pulled out just to watch your hole flutter uselessly around nothing, having to grip his cock and guide it back inside due to how slippery the mess he had made was. “But, don’t worry, I’ll always be right here to fuck it right back in.”

You weekly nodded your head, accepting his fingers into your mouth after he reached down in between your messy bodies, tasting his salty release on his digits, his cock still pulsing inside your hot, cum-filled cunt.

San slowly zeroed in on the way the vampire’s split tongue lapped up the remnants of blood that decorated your bruising, bite mark-ridden neck, asking breathily, “May I have another taste soon, my lord?”

“Of course you may. There’s quite enough for the two of us.” He took your chin in his grip, pressing a kiss against your cheek, just near your mouth, pressing his thumb lightly onto your bottom lip. “Isn’t there, sweet thing?” 

“But,” you murmured, giving him puppy-dog eyes, your hand resting over his. “I’ve been good.” 

Chuckling lightly, Seonghwa leaned in to give you a chaste kiss, leaving you with a taste of iron, before gently nipping at your bottom lip with his fangs. “Oh, darling.” 

Just when you thought he had some warmth left inside his frozen heart, his pupils formed into slits, his voice lowering just enough to send a chill up your spine. “You really thought you would get away just because you finally decided to obey me? Don’t be daft.” 

Biting your lip enough to break the skin, you looked at him in silence, fear and arousal coursing through your body as Seonghwa moved down to your neck, hardly reacting when his fangs pierced into you once again, leaving a fiery, burning sensation in its wake. 

San watched delightedly from beside you with his hand eagerly stroking his cock, his smile reminiscent of the Cheshire cat’s, knowing the fun they were having was far from over. 

Seonghwa pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, your blood slowly dripping past his plump lips and down his chin. He gave you a soft, gentle smile, one that almost eased your rapid heartbeat until he reminded you of your fate yet again, his smile growing wider, his once shiny white teeth now stained with your life source. “I won’t stop until I have all of you, my dear…mind, body, and soul.”

You lowered your head down onto Seonghwa’s shoulder, blocking out the two salacious vampires for a moment in order to realize the extent of your pleasurable predicament. One thing was for certain — you were going to be devoured that night.

Apply for the taglist here ⇢ ♡

© kitten4sannie, 2023.

[slut4hwa]

disappeared for a bit but I’m back! thinking of writing something new

#slut4hwa

[slut4hwa]

[slut4hwa]

[slut4hwa]

i know it when i see it - part 2

read part one here (ao3)

pairing:  pornstar!joel miller x fem!reader

rating: explicit 18+ minors dni

word count: 8.6k

warnings: sex work, exhibitionism, voyeurism, literal porn, talking through it, oral sex, dirty talk, praise kink, masturbation, mild angst, more terrible porn puns, sex with other unnamed characters

summary: after your first scene with joel, you can't get him out of your head. it doesn't help that you keep running into him.

You spend the week waiting to hear from Tess.

You paint and repaint your nails. You go to the clinic and get tested, press your results in the book by your bed. You shake quarters out of slot machines on the pier to pay for laundry. You go to bars with the girls you live with and order cocktails you can’t afford, pretending that they taste better than the airplane bottles you buy from the liquor store. The next day, hungover and aching, you all climb up the fire escape and lay topless on the roof, letting the sun soak up the booze from your blood. 

You don’t think about Joel Miller.

You don’t, you don’t, you don’t.

Except for when you do. When you’re laying in bed, the day's heat still hanging heavy in the apartment. You think of his hands. The smooth scrape of callouses across your bare thighs. The slide of thick fingers between your soft folds. The grip on your jaw, on your hips, on every inch of skin. You think of his voice, the low tone of it in your ear, coaxing you to open up for him. The croon of baby in his thick Southern drawl. How he talked you through taking his cock, let you know how good you felt wrapped around him.

“Good girl. Good fucking girl.”

You come like that, hand between your legs, soaking the sheets, and you really can’t afford to do laundry again. 

No one has ever touched you like that, like every soft, sensitive part of your body was sacred. No one has ever looked at you with that kind of heat, that intensity. No one has ever gotten you there, again and again, and looked at you like he still wanted more.

It was so far beyond your teenage fumblings, all the boys you let pull you into the backseat. So much more than your muted, soft-focus fantasies. And part of you really hates that he was your first scene partner, because you’re not sure that anyone else will measure up.

But it was just a role. A part that you played, a face you wore for a little while. 

You can’t get caught up in the fantasy of it meaning more than it did. You can’t start yearning. You know better than that. It will crush you, stamp out the fragile future that you’ve wanted for so long. 

So you tuck the feeling away, shelving it with other fantasies you’ve outgrown. The pastor’s son who wore your ribbon around his wrist for a week. The prom date that promised to write when he went to college. All the old flings that festered in quiet corners of your heart until you got your feelings hurt.

Joel would have to stay there too. 

Your roommates throw a party that spills into every corner of the small apartment. It’s cramped, just shy of suffocating, with bodies splayed across the sofa and tangled together at the top of the stairs. A record plays and skips and plays again until someone flips to the B side.  You don’t think anyone is wearing a bra. You’re almost embarrassed that you are.

You’ve been offered weed by three different strangers, all with the vague promise of sensation — This one’ll take you to the moon — Body high like you won’t believe — Want to taste God? 

You think of Communion, tasting the body of Christ, the way it sat dry and stale on your tongue. You think of the way Joel tasted you, worshiped you, made you feel holy in a way that church never had. 

The thought makes you dizzy, so you politely refuse and sip at the sangria that’s more fruit than wine. 

The room is over-warm and slightly sweaty, still in the peak of summer, but it’s nice. Gone are the days of stilted conversations after Sunday service, a napkin folded in your lap, your mother’s hawkish gaze daring you to stay silent. Now you’re surrounded by art students and aspiring stoners, scattered talk of Hua Gofeng and the Nouveaux Philosophes; all the strange people and ideas that have crowded into your life. You can’t remember the last time you felt lonely.

Your roommate shouts your name over the din and waves the telephone in the air. For you, she mouths, red lips wrapping around the unheard words.

You force your way across the room, climbing over the sofa to get to her. You take the receiver and accept her air kiss. She’s whisked away by a pair of waiting arms, leaving behind the lingering scent of orange and incense.

“Hello?”

It’s Tess, though you can barely hear her.

“Jesus, kid, what the hell is going on over there?”

“Sorry, sorry,” you apologize hastily, gathering up the phone cord and crawling out the open window onto the fire escape. You drag the window shut behind you, muffling the sounds of the party. 

“Better now?” you ask, perching on the rusting metal stairs, watching the traffic rumble by below.

“Are you living in a brothel? Actually, don’t answer that.” You hear the sound of her long exhale, and imagine smoke curling around the receiver. “I got the cut of the scene you did with Joel.”

Your stomach flips, a nervous coil unraveling. 

“And?”

“And it’s good,” Tess says, “Really fucking good. You’re something else, kid.”

You bite your lip, digging your teeth into the smile that threatens to overtake your face.

“Really?”

“Really,” Tess says, “When this comes out, people are going to want more of you. A lot more.”

More of you. After so many years of being asked to be less. So many years wasted trying to make yourself smaller, to shrink into some acceptable size, folding yourself into nothing at the foot of a man’s bed.

You look down at the blinking city lights and feel like you could swallow the whole world.

“So let’s give it to ‘em.”

“Had a feeling you’d say that,” Tess says, and you can hear the grin in her voice, “I’ve seen a lot of girls come and go. But if you really want this, it’s yours.”

It’s yours. So few things had ever felt like they really belonged to you. Not the town that you grew up in that always felt too tight on your skin. Not the house you grew up in or the Bible by your bedside. None of the sturdy little status symbols that were supposed to mean so much. 

But this — this could be yours alone.

Tess tells you that she’s going to do some digging, rustle up your next role. The line goes dead, and for a long moment you stare out at the city. 

When you go back inside, sliding through the open window, you try to contain the giddy thrill coursing through you. You’re really something. People are going to want more of you. It feels like things are coming into focus, like you’ve been staring at a dark screen for so long and someone just stepped into the projection booth.

x x x x x x x x 

You do half a dozen films in a month.

They’re all small roles, short interludes in larger films. You slip into them easily, seducing someone for an afternoon and then stepping back into yourself.

You’re a callgirl, leaning against a lamp post, the muddy light painting lurid shadows on your bare legs. You crawl across the front seat of a Ford Thunderbird, and maybe it looks sexy, but the angle is awful, all elbows. The camera man is crowded into the backseat, his lens only inches from your ear. The windows fog so thickly the director can’t be sure when to call cut.

You’re a virgin, mewling and earnest, oh-so abashed as you get on your knees. Debauched and delicate, blushing and batting your eyelashes. Your co-star comes early, semen splashing across your cheeks, and your ‘deflowering’ is delayed by fifteen minutes before he’s back at half mast. His embarrassment makes him overly attentive, and you leave the scene sore and satisfied in your scraps of lace.

You’re a schoolgirl, in your thigh-highs and tartan, gum popping between your glossy lips. You’re bent over a desk and a nun paddles your ass while you recite the rosary. You have to bite your arm to stop yourself from laughing and twice the director says you look a little too happy about your punishment. But the nun really isn’t much of a disciplinarian. She seems bored by the whole affair, slipping a cigarette from beneath her habit and smoking between takes. 

You get really good at it — the strange magic of making yourself desirable. And it’s liberating to lose yourself that way; to be seen by so many and belong to no one but yourself. To come home and take a bath and wash all the slutty little epithets off your skin.

Your roommates ask about the scenes, warm and wine drunk off a bottle that was left too long in the fridge. There’s a girlish, whispering thrill about the whole thing. Is it fun? — weird? — hot?

It is, you tell them. It’s all of it. 

It’s both less and more than what you had imagined all those nights in your childhood home, piecing together a future from the pictures you’d seen in dirty magazines. There was always an air of ambiguity when you imagined yourself in porn, when you tried to transcribe your face onto the moaning, writhing bodies you watched on tape. Now that you’re here, you’re in it, some of the mystique has melted away.

You like the sex, but there’s less of it than you might’ve expected. It’s mostly performance, the artful arrangement of limbs, wetting your lips and winking. Much of your day is standing at the edge of scenes, watching the set up, waiting for someone to wipe semen from various surfaces. So much of the world is a waiting room, lingering in doorways and hotel halls.

You see Joel sometimes, in those in-between spaces. The producer’s loft downtown. The seedy motel in mid-city. The house in the Valley that is used so often for porn that the neighbors have put up For Sale signs. 

It’s the nature of the thing, the concentric circles you travel in. The same parties, the same bars — the same co-stars sometimes. You do a scene with the housewife from Fix Her, Up Her and try not to think too hard about how Joel had been between her legs. 

Every time you see him, there’s that pull, that low simmering heat. And you have to stuff the feelings back on the shelf, relegate him again to the realm of the unattainable.

You’ll see him stepping out of an elevator, the neck of his shirt still damp with sweat, his hair mussed from someone else’s fingers. Or he’ll pass you in the hotel lobby, your cheeks flushed and eyes shining, bruises forming from someone else’s mouth.

It’s mostly just glances, the occasional nod, a murmured hello. 

You’re not really sure what to say after someone fucks your brains out. When they do it for a living and you’re just one of many. When you haven’t stopped thinking about him even though you know it’s a waste of time. When nothing has ever felt as good as his hands on your skin.

You’re a maid, and you don’t really revel in the cliche, but you’re having fun with it. Feather-duster in hand, strolling around the luxury estate that’s really a soundstage. Your scene partner is French, and sometimes forgets that the film is not. His low grunts of “oui, oui, oui” keep making you laugh, spluttering and coughing when you’re supposed to be sucking his cock. 

The shoot is going late, so you slip outside for a smoke break between takes.  

Dusk sweeps slowly across the parking lot, the hills reflecting the pink haze of sunset, casting the whole place in a rosy glow. It’s almost romantic, for a backlot in Burbank.

You’re pinning your stockings into place, a cigarette unlit between your teeth. You left your lighter inside, so it’s just sort of there, the paper stained pink from your lipstick.

You don’t pay attention when the truck first pulls up, the headlights silhouetting you against the cement wall. But you glance up as the driver steps out, and catch a glimpse of familiar boots.

“Hey.”

It’s him.

Standing in front of you, arms folded over the broad expanse of his chest, the sleeves of his flannel pushed up above the elbow. The set of his brow as unreadable as ever. Goddamn inscrutable, infuriating man.

“Oh,” you straighten quickly, slipping the cigarette out from between your teeth.  “Hi.”

Joel looks you up and down. You’re naked more often than not these days, but you don’t usually feel it. You’ve lost the scud of self-consciousness. But under his gaze you feel somehow exposed, strangely aware of all the skin he can see.

His eyes land on the cigarette in your hand. 

“Need a light?”

You do. He slips a zippo from his back pocket, the sun flashing against the silver surface. 

He flicks it open and offers it out. The simple gesture makes your stomach swoop, and you will yourself to get it together. You take a step closer, leaning forward to dip the tip of your cigarette into the flame. It ignites and you step back, leaving some distance between you. 

He pulls a pack of Marlboros from his back pocket and lights his own. 

For a long moment, you stand in silence, your smoke mingling with his in the air.

“Tess treating you okay?” he asks, flicking ash onto the asphalt.

“She’s great,” you nod, “I think this whole thing would’ve swallowed me without her.”

He glances at you, gaze sweeping over your exposed skin.

“Reckon you can hold your own.”

And you don’t blush, goddamnit. Not even a little. You suck down another lungful of smoke and hope he doesn’t notice the pink on your cheeks.

“That was your first scene.”

You look at him, frowning.

“What was?”

“When we — the cheerleader thing,” he says, not quite meeting your eye, “Tess said it was your first.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

Something you assumed was obvious from all of your blushing and breathless laughter. It wasn’t as new now, not as raw, and you wished you had kept it together a little better that first time. 

Joel frowns and drops his cigarette, grinding it into the ground with the heel of his boot.

“Should’ve told me,” he mutters, “Would’ve taken it easier on you.”

“Oh,” you swallow, trying to keep your voice level, “No. It — it was good. I liked it.”

His eyes go dark. 

And you thought maybe you’d imagined it, this thing between you. The way it rears up in your ribcage whenever you see him, writhing beneath your skin. You thought maybe you had let the memory of that first scene melt into something softer, imagined that magnetism, the pull to him.

But it’s there, in his gaze. Burning.

“And the others?”

“The — what?” you ask, finding it difficult to follow the thread of conversation when he’s looking at you like that.

“The other scenes,” he says, voice low, “You like them too?”

Suddenly your throat feels very dry. You lick your lips to wet them and you see the way his eyes follow the motion.

“Some more than others.”

A door bangs open behind you, and a voice shouts your name.

The moment is broken, and you glance over your shoulder, calling back that you’ll be right there. When you look at Joel again, some of the heat has gone from his gaze. 

You stub out your cigarette against the wall, leaving a black smudge of ash.

“Thanks for the light.”

“See you around,” he says, and the curl of his lip looks suspiciously like a smirk.

You tell yourself that it’s nothing. It’s nothing. It shouldn’t be a surprise that he’s charming. He fucks for a living. You're in the business of sex. Everyone can turn it on and off. That’s just the industry.

You’re still learning how.

x x x x x x

The next time you see him, it’s an accident.

You were given the wrong time — or place, honestly you’re not sure, but no one from the film is anywhere to be found when you arrive at the lot. It’s all sun-bleached and beige, an empty stretch of abandoned warehouses, most of which can be rented for an hourly rate. 

It’s how the whole area earned its unsavory nicknames.

Porn Valley. Silicone Valley. Valley of the Sex Dolls.

And so on.

You’re wandering the maze of unmarked buildings when you hear the moans. A good sign, you think. Usually that means you’re in the right place.

You find the warehouse with its service door rolled up, sunlight streaming onto the open set.

Inside, there’s a garage. Or, it’s supposed to be. A stack of tires, a messy workbench, the Pontiac Astre with its hood propped open. Spare parts spread haphazardly across the space. It looked enough like the real thing if you squint, which is the margin of error most erotic films operate on. 

The camera is set up to the left of center, the crew looking on. A slate board has the name Tune Her Up scrawled in chalk.

The centerpiece of the shoot is a bright blue Challenger with a half-naked actress sitting spread-eagle on the front. Her back is arched, hands gripping the edge of the hood. 

As you watch, her head drops back, and another low moan is pulled from her bright red lips.

“Fuck . . . just like that . . .”

You crane your neck, trying to see between her legs —

Where there’s a familiar head of dark curls, streaked with gray. 

Joel’s dark eyes are fixed on her, watching her writhe against his mouth, fingers pumping steadily inside her core. The pitch of her moans rises higher and higher, nails scratching against the smooth surface of the car. And then she’s coming, hard, a shriek of pleasure leaving her lips, legs shaking around his head.

Joel rises up from between her legs, beard shining with her slick.

He looks — fuck. He looks indecent. His white t-shirt smeared with grease, his jeans low on his hips, barely containing the thick press of his erection. 

Joel takes the hand that was inside of her, wrist still shining with her release, and smears it over her mouth.

“Open,” he says, and she does.

He takes her jaw in his hand, hinges it open even wider, and spits directly into her mouth. A filthy mix of his saliva and her own release. She swallows it greedily, gazing up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. 

“Fucking dirty girl.”

He presses her back so she’s splayed across the hood of the car, breasts spilling from the cups of her bra. It’s a stunning shot, and you admire it in a sort of detached way, even as your eyes trail over to where Joel is tugging down the zipper of his jeans, freeing his cock from the denim. 

“This what you want, huh? What you’ve been begging for?”

His hand strokes along his length, lining himself up against her entrance.

You press your thighs together, painfully aware of the arousal building in your core. It’s almost overwhelming, seeing him like this. Hearing the low rasp of his voice. The way he groans as he pushes inside her, filling her with the thick stretch of his cock. A stretch you know, an ache you miss. 

You watch him brace a hand against the hood, drawing his hips back so just the tip stays trapped in her soaking folds. 

Then he glances up — and locks eyes with you.

You stand, rooted to the spot, unable to tear your gaze away. He stares at you, and you stare back.

A manicured hand drags down the front of his chest, curling into his grease-stained shirt, pulling him back into the scene. He starts to move, grinding his hips into hers, feeding her the full length of his cock. But his eyes stay locked on yours.

“You like that?” he mutters, and you’re not sure who he’s talking to, “Like having that needy little cunt stuffed full?”

He doesn’t give her a moment to respond, pulling out, his cock shining with her slick, before slamming back in. She lets out a high, breathy moan, fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt.

And you know, if you reached between your legs right now you would be just as wet as she is, just as ready.

One of his hands is splayed across her hips, fingers indenting the soft flesh there. The other anchors him to the hood of the car as he increases the speed of his thrusts, pounding into her. 

And he doesn’t break eye contact. He holds your gaze, makes sure you watch as he ruins her.

Her moans fill the air, along with the sound of her slick, the thick drag of his cock inside of her. 

At the last second, he pulls out. Strokes himself over her stomach and then comes with a long, low groan. The white stripes of his release coat her skin, catching the light. 

Joel holds your gaze for a moment longer, breathing hard. Then the director shouts “cut” and the scene breaks. 

You quickly step back before anyone can spot you, slipping back down the alley. Your heart is in your throat, and it's like you can taste your own pulse.

That was — intense.

And you’re not sure what to make of it, what to think, so you try to shove it back down, but this time it won’t stay buried. You can feel it sprouting roots, tunneling deeper into your chest, into the very core of your being. 

Eventually you find the right warehouse. 

You’re five minutes late, but no one seems to mind. Most of the crew is still standing around smoking, a low buzz of late afternoon conversation, plans for the weekend. 

You try not to think about Joel as you strip down at the edge of set. Sex is so much easier when you don’t have to think, when you can release the tangle of thought that knots you up and just be a body for a little while.

But it’s almost impossible with what you’ve just seen — what you felt. What your panties are still wet with.

You’re a secretary, and when the boss bends you over his desk, he finds you dripping down your thighs. You can tell he’s flattered from the enthusiasm with which he fucks you. You moan and pant and come hard after a few clumsy strokes over your clit.

But none of it is for him.

x x x x x x

Tess sends you the first cut of the cheerleader film, along with an envelope of $200 in twenties.

You stare down at the bills strewn across the messy coffee table. It’s more money than you’ve ever had in your entire life, more money than you ever thought you could make on your own.

You think of how you used to beg your father for spare change to take down to the paper store on Sundays. How the nickel would sweat in your tiny palm from gripping it so tight. How you would agonize over which piece of candy you would choose, which treat would be worth parting with your precious coin.

You wonder what your father would say now, with more money in your hand than he made in a week. He would probably call you a whore, but the thought doesn’t sting the way you expect it to.

You wait until you're alone in the apartment to watch the tape.

Your roommates go to the beach with no small amount of fanfare, clattering and shrieking down the stairs, returning twice for forgotten sunglasses, a single sandal. You like them all so much it makes your stomach hurt sometimes. 

The tape is labeled Lucky No.7, and you smile to yourself as you slip it into the player.

You feel strangely nervous as the scene starts up. You’ve replayed the memory so often it feels frayed at the edges, bleeding into fantasy. You thought maybe you’d imagined it, let the memory melt into something more. 

But it’s all there. Caught in halide crystals, reduced to silver metal, the frames spliced together, taped carefully to create the scene. Every touch, every scrape of skin on skin. 

He’s there. All over you. Looking at you like nobody’s ever looked at you before. 

It’s the same heat that had been in his eyes the other day, when you saw his scene, when he wanted you to watch. And there’s a little thrill of vindication, satisfaction now that you can see it on screen. 

It’s hard to tear your eyes off of Joel. 

But once you see yourself, you can’t look away. 

The arch of your back, lips wet, eyes glossy. The shine of sweat on your skin, the loose furl of your limbs as you come for him again and again. The way your lashes flutter against your flushed cheeks.

You look —

God.

You look good.

All sex and skin and soft shining curls. Every curve correct, every angle alluring. Unposed, unapologetic. Beautiful without an asterisk, without a question, without waiting for anyone to tell you so.

And maybe Tess was right. Maybe you really are something. Maybe you’re exactly what you’ve always wanted to be.

You go down to the pier that afternoon and buy yourself a whole bag of taffy. You make yourself sick on the sticky sweetness, but smile all the way home.

x x x x x x

The apartment that Tess rents for the shoot is deep in the Valley, and it takes three buses to get there. 

A blue-shuttered single family home with a sundial in the front yard and a copse of coral trees in the back. It belongs to a pair of swingers who spend their weekends in Palm Springs.

There’s a familiar truck parked in the driveway.

And Tess hadn’t said anything about Joel being here, but you only make it a few steps off the sidewalk before the front door swings open and he’s there. 

He stops short when he sees you.

You shield your eyes from the glare, trying hard not to think about the last time you saw him.

You force a smile, “Hi.”

He nods.

“Hey.”

There’s an uncomfortable pause, and you search for a way to phrase are you here to fuck me without upsetting the neighbors.

“Did you — I mean, are we —”

“No,” he says quickly, “Air con’s bust. Tess asked me to come and take a look at it.”

“Oh, right.”

So, he’s not here to fuck you. Which you knew, because Tess had specifically said she wanted to do another solo shoot. But still. You can’t help but feel a little shallow tug of disappointment.

You wonder, for a moment, whether he’ll bring up the other day. Allude to your little slip into voyeurism, the way he let you watch.

Then the front door is pulled open, and Tess leans outside.

“Still hot as shit in here,” she says to Joel, “The hell am I paying you for?”

He turns, raising an eyebrow at her.

“You paying me this time?”

“Not if you can’t fucking fix it.”

Joel rolls his eyes, folding his arms over his broad chest. “Maybe you oughta start scouting your locations instead of striking deals during orgies.”

Tess narrows her eyes at him. “You’re lucky I like you, Texas.”

Joel shakes his head.

“Like my truck, you mean.” 

Tess spots you then.

“Hey kid. Fucking shit show over here.”

She waves you inside, and you have no choice but to step past Joel on the stairs. You can feel the heat of his gaze, the smell of sweat on his skin. Your breath catches in your chest but you keep moving, following Tess into the shade of the house.

It’s dated, but comfortable. Velvet poufs and faded pink curtains. The camera man sits on the sagging floral sofa, drinking a Coke and watching Barretta with the sound on low.

You follow Tess up the carpeted stairs. The walls are covered in snapshots of the owners on cruises or beach holidays, a few family photos. 

Even if the air is bust — and shit, it is hot in here — you like the house. Like that it feels real, lived in. And you appreciate that Tess cares about things like that. So many of your shoots are on shoddily constructed sets that always feel a little sterile, a little lifeless. 

The hall at the top of the stairs is small, only a few rooms branching off. Tess knocks against the first doorway as you pass it.

“Your dressing room.”

You glance into a small side room, see the lacy lingerie spread out on the bed.

“And we’re shooting in here.”

The curtains are drawn in the main bedroom, and Tess’s vision is immediately apparent — clean white sheets, a lace doily draped over the lamp to soften the light. It’s girlish and delicate. A kind of nymphic quality. 

“Really leaning into the good girl angle,” you muse, turning to her, “You know I’m not actually a virgin, right?”

Tess smirks.

“Oh, I know. I’ve got the tapes to prove it.”

It’s more of a production than your other solos. Cables running across the carpet. Lights pointed at the bed, illuminating the sheets in a soft glow. And it would be nice, exciting even, except it’s so goddamn hot you can’t think straight.

“Can we open a window or something?” you ask, sweeping your hair back from the damp skin of your neck.

Tess grimaces. “Sorry kid, no can do. It’ll fuck up our sound.”

You can already feel yourself starting to sweat, and you suppose it's a small comfort that you’ll be naked for most of the shoot.

“Go ahead and get changed,” Tess tells you, like she can read your mind, “We’ll finish setting up in here.”

You strip quickly in the spare room, but even fully naked, the heat is starting to get to you. The lingerie Tess picked out is pretty — a matching white set — but it sticks to the sweat on your skin. 

You can’t complain, though. Not after everything Tess has done for you. You’re not a whiner, you’re not going to bitch about it.

You step out of the spare room and almost collide with Joel. He catches you with a hand on your hip, fingers warm against your bare skin, but let’s go quickly. Like you burned him. 

He steps back so you’re standing on opposite sides of the small hallway. He’s ditched the flannel — it’s too fucking hot for it — and stands only in his grey t-shirt.  You see his eyes scrape over you, the way they linger on your bare legs.

“Just on my way out,” he says.

“Oh. Right.”

You feel a low sting of disappointment, and before you can stop yourself — 

“You can stay. If you want.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“You sure about that?”

And you are, even if it’s a bad idea. Even if it would be better to keep him at a distance. 

It’s his turn to watch.

You shrug. “Nothing you haven’t seen before.”

He swallows. Seems to think about it. Then nods.

“Alright, then.”

You let him follow you back down the hall, feeling his gaze on your hips, the top of your thighs.

The crew is finished setting up, assembled at the edge of the scene. Tess glances between you and Joel, raises an eyebrow but says nothing as she takes her seat beside the camera.

You sit at the edge of the bed, ignoring the way your skin sticks to the sheets, how the heat seems to swell in the small room.

Joel leans against the back wall, arms folded across his chest. And you try not to look at him, try to ignore the way his presence makes your skin prick, how it scrapes at a raw nerve. 

A bead of sweat slithers down your spine.

You turn and find Tess watching you, the whole crew waiting for their cue. 

“You good?” she asks.

And you are. You have to be.

Even though it’s too fucking hot, the room stuffy and sweltering. Even though you’ve never done a solo in front of this many people before, and you can feel the low burn of self-consciousness. Even though Joel’s eyes are searing a hole through the thin lace of your lingerie. 

You’re good. You’re great. You’re a fucking star. 

You settle back on the bed, stretching across the soft sheets. You meet Tess’s eye and nod.

“Give us three good ones.” she tells you, before sitting back and calling out —

“Action.”

You start slow. 

Teasing your fingertips along the lace of your bra, stroking down your sternum. Trying to ignore the sweat on your skin, the way every breath seems to stick in your lungs.

You let your head fall back, staring up at the ceiling. You try to focus, to conjure some sort of sensuality in the haze of suffocating heat. 

You trace your nipples through the fabric, seeking out the spark of arousal. You let out a breathy moan. Practiced, precise. Slide your hand between your legs where you should be wet —

Except you’re not. Not at all.

It feels — wrong. Off in some essential, deeply unsexy way.

It was easier when it was just you and Tess, a single camera, not so many lights. 

But now —

Now you can feel every set of eyes crawling over your skin, making it itch. You're embarrassed by your own breath, how loud it sounds in the silence. 

You press against yourself, start to grind against the heel of your hand. You’ve done it plenty of times before in the privacy of your own bedroom. But now — it’s not working. The angle is wrong, you’re wrong. 

A whine slips through your lips. Frustrated tears prick at the corners of your eyes. 

It’s too hot. And you don’t feel sexy. You feel frustrated and embarrassed, and you want to stop, to start over, but you can’t bring yourself to break the scene, can’t handle looking weak when —

“Honey.”

Joel’s voice cuts through the room, ripping through the thin fabric of the fourth wall. 

You freeze, eyes flickering up to find his. His gaze is steady, piercing, as he asks —

“What do you think you’re doing?”

You stare at him, breath caught in your throat. Because what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck — 

And then you realize what he’s doing, what he’s giving you. 

A scene. 

Something to play against, to build on.

He saw you drowning and he’s throwing you a lifeline. His eyes tell you to take it.

You hesitate for half a second, your gaze darting to Tess. She gives you a look that makes it clear — I’ll stop this if you don’t want it. Say the word and this ends now.

But you don’t. 

Your eyes slide back to Joel, where he stands just behind the camera. Arms folded, jaw set. Ready to give you what you need.

You bite your lip. 

“You’re home early.”

He takes a step forward, but stays behind the camera. Out of sight. Just a voice. The unseen narrator of your scene. 

“Figured my girl might need some attention. But I guess you got started without me.”

He’s building out the scene, slipping into a role. And it’s so much easier this way, when you’re playing a part. When you don’t have to think. 

You pout, pushing yourself up to your elbows. 

“I missed you.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah? Missed me so bad you started playin’ with yourself?”

He’s positioned himself so your eye-line stays just above the lens. It looks like you’re talking into the camera, speaking directly to someone watching at home.

“Wanna tell me what you were thinking about?”

That low timbre of his voice, the way it scrapes down your spine, slots itself in the spaces between your ribs. It settles something in you, softens that edge of anxiety.

“I was thinking about you,” you say softly. 

He tilts his head. “Is that right?”

You lean back on your elbows. Looking at him. At the camera. At him.

“About your cock. The way it fills me up. Stretches me so fucking good. Feel so empty without it.”

And it would be so easy for any man watching to imagine that it’s him you’re talking to. His cock you’re begging for. Staring down the camera lens, speaking the words directly into some stranger’s living room. 

But you’re talking to Joel.

And he fucking knows it.  

“That got you all worked up, huh? Thinking about me filling up that tight cunt?”

Your fingers drift over the tops of your thighs, sliding along the lace of your panties. You bat your eyes, but the blush that colors your cheeks is real, his effect on you immediate. 

“I wanted to wait for you. But I needed it so bad.”

You tug on your panties, threading through your swollen folds, letting him see that you’re wet, the flash of shining pink.

“I know, darlin’. Such a needy pussy,” he says, “But I’m here now. Just tell me what you want.”

You suppress a shiver. You can feel the heat beginning to pool low in your belly. It’s indecent, what he’s able to do to you with just a few words.

“I want to come,” you murmur, “Want you to make me.”

You can see the way his jaw clenches, and it gives you a little thrill of satisfaction. 

“How about you start by showing me those pretty tits.”

You slide your hand up to your chest. Teasing it out, stroking your nipples through the lace, raising them to stiff peaks. 

You play with the hem of your top. Slip a strap off your shoulder, but keep yourself covered. Drag your fingertips across your chest, teasing along the edge of your bra. You linger there, waiting for permission. 

Joel nods, then seems to remember he needs to speak. 

“Go ahead, honey,” he says, “Want to see you.”

You slide down the other bra strap, allowing your breasts to spill out from the cups. You watch the way his eyes rove over your exposed skin. Heated. Hungry.

You roll a nipple between your fingers, feel the zap of pleasure shoot to your core. This time, the moan that slips through your lips is real. 

Your arousal has returned in full force, safe in the heat of his gaze. Every soft touch sends a thrum of pleasure straight to your core. 

Your free hand comes up to grip your other breast, as your fingers continue to pluck and tease.

“That feel good?” Joel murmurs.

“Mhmmm.”

You reach back to unclip your bra, baring your full breasts. You stroke across your sternum, down your stomach. Letting your fingertips play along the hem of your panties. 

Joel’s eyes follow your fingers as they move closer and closer to your sex.

“Can I touch myself?” you murmur, “Please. Need it so bad.”

“Through your panties,” he instructs, “Want to see you soak ‘em.”

You slide your hand between your legs and press your index finger against your clit. You raise your hips at the sudden sensation, craving the friction. You’re so aroused, so fucking keyed up you can tell you’re already close.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you let out a low moan.

“You close already, baby?”

Your gaze meets Joel’s over the camera lens. He’s watching you so intently, and the heat behind his eyes is so intense, it pushes you even closer to the edge.

You bite your lip and whine, fingers moving even faster over your clit.

“Gotta ask for permission, darlin’,” Joel tells you.

And you're not above begging, not when it's him.

“Please.”

He nods, satisfied.

“Go ahead, baby. Finish what you started. Show me how pretty you come.”

Your climax hits you hard, a tidal wave of pleasure coursing through you, forcing the air from your lungs until it feels like the only thing left inside you is Joel’s words, honey-thick as they flow through your veins.

You melt back into the mattress. You don’t mind the heat so much now. Your insides are molten, skin feverish from your orgasm. 

When you open your eyes, Joel is staring at you. 

He cocks his head to the side. Raises up a finger. It takes you a moment to parse his meaning. 

That was one.

And Tess told you to give them three.

Fuck.

When he sees the realization flicker behind your eyes, something like a smile tugs at his lips. 

“Did you make a mess?”

You can’t find the words through the fuzz of pleasure still fritzing the wires of your brain, so you bring your knees to your chest, the fabric of your panties pulling taught against you. The wet patch of your release catches the light. 

“Take ‘em off.”

You slip the lace down your legs and consider, briefly, flicking them across the room at him. 

You wonder what he would do. You imagine him holding the soaked scrap of fabric in his hand. Maybe bringing it up to his face to smell the heady scent of you, tongue slipping out to taste you on the fabric. 

The idea makes you dizzy, but it might just be the heat.

You drop back into the pillows and spread your legs wide. All your earlier inhibition is gone now, flooded out by your first orgasm. 

You reach between the V of your thighs and spread yourself apart so he can see. Your slick shines in the light, and you can see the way his eyes darken. Devouring the sight of you.

“Shit, honey. Such a messy pussy.”

You meet his gaze. Waiting for instruction, for him to tell you what to do. 

“Want to watch you fuck it.”

You bite back a moan at his words, the fucking filth of them, but you don’t hesitate to touch yourself. You slide fingers through swollen folds, tease your fingertips at your entrance. You’re so wet, slick dripping from between your legs, soaking the sheets beneath you. 

“Go slow, baby,” Joel tells you, “Start with one.”

You slide a finger inside yourself, feeling the feverish heat, starting a slow rhythm. You feel the way you clench, the tight grip of your cunt, the ache for more.

The low buzz of pleasure is already building back up. Your hips cant up to meet your hand, and you whine when your clit rubs against your palm, chasing the friction. 

You hear Joel groan.

“Fuck. Still need it so bad don’t you?”

“Please,” you whimper, not even sure what you’re asking for.

But Joel knows. 

“Give yourself another one,” he says, “Fuck that little hole for me.”

You slip another finger in beside the first and moan at the sensation. 

“That's better, isn’t it?”

Your gaze flits up to meet his. And you’re feeling bold, or stupid, or too fucked out care.

“Want yours,” you murmur, “Want you to fuck me with your fingers. Feels so good when you do it.”

His fingers flex against his arm, and you wonder if he’s remembering. If he’s thinking about how he fingered you in that hallway, how he made you come for him again and again.

"Yeah? You want me to stretch you out?"

And fuck, he's filthy. It shouldn't feel as good as it does.

You can feel the heat of your next climax licking up your spine, filling the spaces between your ribs, every drag of your fingertips bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

"Oh, fuck," you moan, "I'm so — please, I'm almost —"

You can't get the words out, but Joel is already giving you permission.

“Good girl. Come for me.”

Your back arches off the mattress, vision going white. You feel your walls clench, and a wave of release flowing over your fingertips. It drips down the inside of your thighs, messy and wanton and raw.

You collapse back onto the bed, legs still trembling from the force of your second orgasm. There’s a faint ringing in your ears. And you’re so warm, limbs soft and sleep-heavy. You could just curl up for a little nap but —

“You’re not done yet.”

You look at him from under your lashes. And you know you must be a mess, cheeks flushed, hair sticking to the sweat of your skin.

He holds up two fingers. That was two.

“Gotta give me one more.”

You whine, so fucking overstimulated. And all you want is him to fuck you, really fuck you, but that’s not how this works. You’re not in charge here, not anymore.

“Turn over,” he tells you, voice coaxing, “On your knees.”

You do as he says, rolling over and presenting yourself to the camera.

You know the view must be obscene. Your back arched, the wet spread of your sex on full display, lips swollen and dripping. Your hole clenching around nothing, aching to be filled. 

Which is exactly why he told you to do it. 

Motherfucking money shot. 

You press your cheek against the mattress, staring back at him. Waiting to be told what to do.

“Go on, honey. Rub your clit for me.”

You do as you’re told, snaking your hand between your legs and pressing against your clit. It’s already so sore, so sensitive, and you almost choke on a whimper.

“That’s right, good girl,” Joel says, “Give me one more.”

And you want to, want to be good, want to get there. But it’s so much, the feeling rising up again, clawing at your insides.

“Fuck —” you whine, “It’s fuck, it’s —”

“I know it’s a lot, baby,” Joel says gently, “You’re doing so good, being such a good girl for me.”

And you melt a little at the praise, the warmth that fills you at his words. So you keep going, rubbing firm little circles on your aching clit, your fingertips flashing between your soaking folds.

Joel’s gaze stays steady on yours.

You don’t have the words to ask for what you want, what you need. But he just nods.

“It’s okay. Go ahead, baby. You can come.”

Your mind goes blank as the slow, aching pulse of your third orgasm overtakes you. All you can feel is the blistering heat, the white hot buzz of pleasure that burns away everything else. Your mouth falls open as you moan. Sweat-soaked. Glossy-eyed. Gazing back at the camera.

At him.

“Alright, let’s cut it there.”

Your knees nearly give out, so you roll onto your back, breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. Distantly, you hear the door open and shut. 

When you look up, Joel's gone. 

Your gaze goes to Tess. She just shakes her head.

“Not even gonna ask.”

She stands up and hands you a robe. You take it with trembling fingers, threading your arms through the sleeves but not bothering with the sash. It’s hard to think straight, to focus on anything but the slow ebb of pleasure in your veins.

It takes a second to find your voice.

“Was it — I mean, that wasn’t what we talked about,” you say, “Is that okay?”

She gives you a long look, then her lip curls into a smile. 

“You’re gonna make me rich, kid.”

She squeezes your shoulder.

“Just try not to kill the old man while you’re at it, alright?”

x x x x x x

The sun is just starting to set when you step outside, and Joel is waiting in the driveway. Leaning against the truck, a nerve ticking in his jaw, his profile outlined in the sky’s orange haze. 

For a moment, you simply stare at each other across the lawn. The air is still thick with the summer heat, and the only sound is the hiss of sprinklers on distant lawns. 

“Come on,” Joel says finally, jerking his head, “I’m taking you home.”

The ride back is silent, the air between you tense. He asks for your address, but otherwise says nothing. Doesn’t even turn on the radio to ease some of the tension, just lets you stew in it.

And you know he’s angry, but you don’t know what exactly you should be apologizing for, so you stay quiet, keep your gaze out the window. 

You watch the suburbs slide by, the hills rising up and falling back as you drive through the canyon. The lights of the city glow in the distance, that smoggy haze you’ve come to think of as home.

Only when the truck rolls to a stop in front of your apartment, do you risk a glance at him. 

“Thank you,” you say quietly, “For — you know.”

Joel doesn’t say anything. His fingers flex against the steering wheel.

“I don’t know what that was,” you swallow, “It just — it won’t happen again.”

Joel scoffs. 

“Course it will.”

You stare at him. “Excuse me?” 

He turns to face you. 

“Would you have stopped it?” he asks, voice low, “If you didn’t want that, would you have said no?”

You blink, taken aback. 

“I did want it.”

“That ain’t my point.”

There’s an edge to his voice, a sharpness that’s so different from the way he spoke to you earlier. And it stings of condescension, scrapes at an old wound. 

You rise to it, defense mechanisms snapping into place, walls resurrecting themselves.

“Then what is?” you ask. 

Joel shakes his head.

“You can’t let anyone make those calls for you,” he says, “You need something, you ask for it. Something ain’t right, you say stop.”

And, God, you really don’t need this right now. You can’t stomach a lecture right now, when there’s still sweat drying on your skin and you reek of sex. Not after you’ve let him strip you down, let him pull you apart piece by piece until he can see your soft, sensitive core. 

“I don’t need you to fucking manage me,” you snap.

“Then what was that, huh?” he demands, voice rising, “Looked a whole lot like me managing, ‘cause you didn’t say a goddamn thing.”

And you want so badly to scream, to shout him down, tell him how wrong he is — tell him that you didn’t want to look weak, were so scared of saying something that could ruin everything. But he keeps going, cuts you off before you can speak.

“If you’re not careful, you’re gonna give the wrong kinda person the right opportunity.”

You glare at him. 

“Well, I won’t make that mistake again.”

He drops his gaze, seems to deflate slightly. When he speaks next, his voice has softened some. 

“You gotta have your own rules,” he mutters, “Otherwise you’re gonna get hurt.”

And you don’t know what to say. Don’t know why he bothered to step in at all if he was just going to chew you out for it. You feel chastened, you feel fucking embarrassed, and you hate him for it. 

“We done here?” you ask.

When he looks up, his gaze is hard again.

“Yeah. We’re done.”

You get out of the truck and let the door slam shut behind you.

You don’t look back. Not as you dig in your purse for your keys, hands trembling when you turn the lock. Not when you shove the door open, shifting aside the mail scattered in the front hall. Not even when you hear something that sounds like your voice, shouted behind you, just before the door snaps shut.

And when the phone rings, hours later, you don’t answer it.

You don’t have anything to say.

[slut4hwa]

"Of course I know the ateez lore. They're pirates and-" *looks at notes* "rebels and time travellers and cowboys and drug dealers and- *sweats nervously* "delivery men"

[slut4hwa]

you’re the one that i want masterlist

badboy!seonghwa

you expected to spend summer the way you always did: holed up in your aunts beach house hosting friday night bingo and sunday afternoon barbecues. instead, you find yourself pulled into a summer romance with the first boy to make your heart flutter despite the darkness and mystery that surrounds him.

you expected to start at a new school that upcoming fall on a clean slate, your head still swarming with the boy who left you with a kiss on the lips and a promise to see you soon. but apparently, sooner meant in homeroom, your eyes meeting and the familiarity flashing in them immediately.

you expected his smile to be as bright as yours so why was he looking at you like he never wanted to see you again?

❥ part 1

❥ part 2

❥ part 3

❥ part 4

❥ part 5

❥ part 6

❥ part 7

❥ part 8

❥ part 9

❥ part 10

❥ part 11

❥ part 12

❥ part 13

❥ part 14

❥ part 15

❥ part 16

❥ part 17

❥ part 18

❥ part 19

❥ part 20

❥ part 21

❥ part 22

❥ part 23

❥ part 24

❥ part 25

status: complete

[slut4hwa]

you’re the one that i want masterlist

badboy!seonghwa

you expected to spend summer the way you always did: holed up in your aunts beach house hosting friday night bingo and sunday afternoon barbecues. instead, you find yourself pulled into a summer romance with the first boy to make your heart flutter despite the darkness and mystery that surrounds him.

you expected to start at a new school that upcoming fall on a clean slate, your head still swarming with the boy who left you with a kiss on the lips and a promise to see you soon. but apparently, sooner meant in homeroom, your eyes meeting and the familiarity flashing in them immediately.

you expected his smile to be as bright as yours so why was he looking at you like he never wanted to see you again?

❥ part 1

❥ part 2

❥ part 3

❥ part 4

❥ part 5

❥ part 6

❥ part 7

❥ part 8

❥ part 9

❥ part 10

❥ part 11

❥ part 12

❥ part 13

❥ part 14

❥ part 15

❥ part 16

❥ part 17

❥ part 18

❥ part 19

❥ part 20

❥ part 21

❥ part 22

❥ part 23

❥ part 24

❥ part 25

status: complete

[slut4hwa]

HURRICANE (18+!)

Day 17 of CHRISTMAS EVEL (17/12/22) // Halsey - Hurricane

SYNOPSIS: Freezing in your apartment due to a heater problem, it seems as if only one person can save you - your enemy Felix

GENRE: smut, a bit of fluff, enemies to lovers

WORD COUNT: 4.3K

CONTENT INFO: felix x afab!reader, college!au, enemy!felix, friend!jisung

CONTENT WARNING: a snow storm, toxic positivism, bottled up and unspoken feelings

SMUT WARNING: dom!felix, sub!reader, oral (m receiving), piv, unprotected sex (pls don't be stupid), praise, choking, creampie, name calling (doll, slut, baby)

The characters do not portray any of the skz members in real life, the names are just used for fiction. Also minors do not interact, this post contains mature themes. By clicking on “read more” you consent to nsfw content.

SERIES MASTERLIST

-

-

-

While the kettle is busy boiling water for your hot tea, you’re simultaneously trying to get the heater working – until your phone startles you with a loud vibration sound, dragging you out of your focus.

The screen enlightens, your eyes shoot right at it, finding a notification from your friend:

Jisung: sorry I can’t make it, Felix will bring the cookies to you instead, hope the heater will work soon xoxo

For fuck’s sake. As if today didn’t already go down the drain, you’re digging even deeper, close to the earth’s core by now. You’re aware that Jisung is busy at the moment, finals are trying to catch him with it being the last few weeks until Christmas and the end of semester and he’s just trying to make the best of it, not wanting to break the promise.

You’ve messaged him this morning, telling him there’s a problem with your heater on this cold winter day and the landlord won’t pick up your calls. To lighten up your mood and help you deal with the problem together, he’s promised to visit you in his study break but it seems as if everything is turning out a different way.

Instead his roommate, also known as your enemy, Felix will bring the goods to you. Half an hour later, said guest is knocking on your door, making you wonder why he can’t just use the bell like any normal human being but you still allow him entrance.

The both of you don’t talk, just as you usually avoid any social interaction with him, wanting to keep your sanity. It seems ridiculous, almost incomprehensible to other people how anyone could not stand Felix. He’s a cute guy, really, always in a good mood and hyping up his friends but it’s just different for you.

As weird as it sounds, that’s exactly the problem you have with him. He’s just – too friendly and kind for your liking, in a way he’s avoiding drama and you can’t stand people like this. By now, the both of you have come to terms with it and just accepted it. Felix and you will never be friends or anything close to that.

“Can’t believe he’s making me go all this way to the end of this city just to bring you cookies,” Felix complains under his breath. He’s still wearing his jacket, just like you do. 

“You’re also here to help me with the heating situation.” Felix turns his head towards you, looking quite a bit dumbfounded as if this wasn’t in the contract. “Says who?” His arms find their way in front of his chest, being crossed like a fed up toddler. “Jisung.”

Felix scoffs, as his jaw clenches, “Is he for real?” The question is rhetorical, you know it, still you decide to reply, “I wouldn’t challenge it– or do you want to disappoint your friend? The sooner you help me, the sooner you can leave and do us both a favour with that.”

He rolls his eyes in disbelief but decides to give in anyway. Playing with the trust of his friend is the last thing he wants, especially when he wants to keep his sunshine image up. 

To your surprise, Felix is a natural when it comes to repairing things and a few minutes later he fixed the heating problem, allowing the temperatures in your apartment to rise – finally.

Just when Felix has gathered all his stuff, already putting his shoes on, he glances through your huge living room window. Following the direction his eyes are darting, you get aware of the chaos now as well.

The blizzard they’ve announced this morning has finally found the part of your city as well, making it almost impossible to leave the house. A vibration sound echoes through the room and in an instant you read the news’ notification on your phone.

Weather App: Please stay inside today. Leaving the house under these conditions is extremely dangerous. 

You get a bit closer to Felix now, shoving the device in his face and once he reads the sentences, his eyes roll to the back of his head again. “Fuck.”

♡

“Aren’t you hungry?” You ask Felix. A few hours have passed, mostly filled with the both of you ignoring each other and paying attention to the apps you’ve been scrolling through. You’re glad the heater is finally working, still, Felix’s presence freezes the apartment with his coldness.

“Thank you, I don’t want to be poisoned,” he replies. You scoff at his reaction, still making your way to the kitchen.

His loss – you’re still gonna make yourself some food. Entering the kitchen, you rummage through the upper cabinets, searching for some ramyeon packaging. Once you find the objects of your desire, you place a pot on your stove, only adding a little bit of water to it since you’re way too hungry to wait any longer. Your kettle is your best friend again, already heating up the remaining liquid you will need in order to cook the food quicker.

A few minutes later the food is ready and for a second you contemplate just eating in the kitchen but decide against it. Felix is still busy scrolling through his phone but the boredom is plastered all over his face. In a moment of silence, you hear his stomach growling, which makes you chuckle.

“Sure you don’t want any food? I made an extra portion.” He looks your way for the first time in a few hours now, laying his phone aside, “Why would you take the time for that?” You take a bite from your food. “First, it doesn’t make any difference if I boil one or two packages, second, just think of it as a thank you for helping me.”

He scoffs, “You’re thanking me two hours after I helped you repair that heater? You could have saved that.” He’s right, kinda. But you won’t give that to him. Instead, you get up from your seat and bring him a bit of the food. He nods as a thank you and starts eating.

♡

“Wanna help me clean that up?” You ask Felix once he’s finished his meal. 

“Why would I?”

You scoff, “Because you have manners, perhaps.”

“I thought that’s what you detest the most about me. That I’m always too friendly, too kind,” he teases you, one corner of his mouth slightly up, letting a smirk erupt on his face and it views him in a light you’ve never seen before. 

But you’re doing everything to get that image out of your head– what image even?! Felix looking absolutely hot you could burn– STOP IT, Y/N!

“Cat got your tongue, huh?”

Your eyes shoot open, revealing you’ve been daydreaming but you’re brushing it off, “No, just thinking about the fact I’ve been right all along.”

“Could you elaborate, perhaps?” The usage of the last word is his way to imitate you, make fun of you in a way that can't be turned against him.

“You’re not as kind as you always pretend to be. That’s why I don’t like you but I'm sure you know. I see through that facade of yours.”

You know this is a huge accusation but you’ve never cared about how Felix thinks of you. 

And similar to your expectations, it’s not a big reveal to him either, “Hm, I do know. Still, that thesis begs to differ.” Felix chuckles and he has that unreasonably distracting smirk on his face again, still, you want to get to your point.

“Ugh, as if. You can’t convince me you’re always like this, happy whenever you want to– that’s just so annoying,” you say, aware of the fact you haven’t put any actual arguments into your words to support your allegations.

“Why is that?” He’s calm. Way too calm for your liking and it makes you even more furious. Why is him being so quiet, happy and harmonious such a pain in your neck?

“Because– for instance,” you don’t care you’re pouring your heart out to him now, it’s time to reveal what you really think, “whenever we’re in the group together and I complain about god knows what, you’re playing my sorrows down. That’s fucking… offensive.”

“It’s offensive?”

“Yes– in a way that it makes me feel stupid, especially in front of the others. You make me feel small. I hate it. I hate you.” There it is. You said it. You said everything. A huge weight drops of your shoulders in that second.

“No you don’t.”

How dare he contradict?! Where is he getting the audacity from to speak against your feelings?

“I do.”

Felix takes a deep breath and it annoys you even more that he is still so calm even after you confessed to hate him. He gets up from his seat on the couch and sinks down on the chair next to you.

“Okay, listen,” he begins, placing his hands on the table, as his palms meet each other, his fingers entangled with one another. “I’m deeply sorry for making you feel that way, especially in front of our friends. I apologise for that and even though I know it’s not an excuse, I didn’t mean it this way.”

The audacity once again. You make sure to add the name ‘Lee Felix’ on the S-Tier level of most annoying people in the universe.

“I don’t believe you. Why would you play my problems down then, huh?”

Your voice is gruff and it breaks with every syllable that escapes your mouth. How fortunate – now he’s got another reason to not take you seriously. The fact the tears are pricking on your lower lash line makes everything worse.

“I wasn’t trying to, I swear. I wanted to lift up your mood, bring some joy and tell you to not take life so seriously, that’s all I wanted,” he explains, keeping his eyes on your face but your gaze is focused on the wooden material in front of you.

“Toxic positivism.”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s toxic positivism,” you repeat. “It’s why I don’t feel comfortable around you. I wanna be able to complain when life is falling apart or even when it isn’t. That’s what I don’t like about you – you ignore actual problems with that attitude.”

Felix’s face soften, right before he scrunches his eyes together, knowing he’s fucked up big times. 

“That was never my intention, I’m sorry, Y/N.”

His voice is honest and they have a different tone attached to them now. There’s a lack of his calm attitude, he’s not hiding behind a mask anymore and you know it. You believe him. Still, you can’t deal with more of this now. It’s just too much.

“Whatever, I’ll get the dishes cleaned up,” you say, before leaving your seat, heading towards the kitchen. 

Felix stands up in an instant, following you, “No, wait– let me do this.”

“You don’t have to– just wait in the living room–“

“Please, it’s the least I can do to–“

“Just fuck off, okay?”

The words echo through the room and he halts in place. Just now you realise how much you’ve raised your voice at him but you’ve had enough. 

It’s all your landlord’s fault for not picking up that stupid call.

It’s all Jisung’s fault for procrastinating and not managing to get to your apartment on time.

It’s all Felix’s fault for being so god damn annoying.

But, it’s also all your own fault for letting him get under your skin like that.

Why do you even care in the first place? Why does it matter anymore now that you’ve spoken out loud what’s on your mind? Just leave it there and go on with life. Why do you still think about it?

“Please,” Felix hasn’t given up yet, “wait in the living room and let me take care of it for fuck’s sake.”

Oh, his voice is louder now, too. You know he’s had enough of you, so you let him. The atmosphere is tense, you could definitely cut it with one of the knives from the kitchen and Felix tries to hurry up, until he comes back to the sofa you’re sitting on.

“So, first of all,” he begins. “Don’t tell me to fuck off when I’ve been nothing but kind to you this whole day.”

Fuck. This new attitude makes ideas slip into your head that shouldn’t be welcomed under any circumstances.

“What about the accusations of me poisoning you?” You ask, leaning back on the soft cushions, unable to shut your mouth.

“That’s on you. I wouldn’t be surprised if you did.”

“Wow, Lee Felix, look at you participating in a fight. I didn’t know you were capable of that,” you chuckle, as your tongue brushes over you upper teeth and you could swear he takes note of it.

“Speak when you’re spoken to, okay? It was my turn.” 

Oh, god. You don’t like the direction this conversation is taking – read as ‘it makes your head spin’.

“Go on, Lixie,” you tease him with the nickname he hates hearing from you – read as ‘it makes him absolutely delusional’.

“I apologise for hurting your feelings, I swear that wasn’t my intention. But you’ve built walls so high around you, it’s kinda hard to conquer them,” he sighs, as his eyes find yours.

“Anything else you want to complain about? Guess it’s really your turn now, glad we’re speaking up about this.”

“Okay, before I keep going, I’m aware of my mistakes, just want to emphasise this once more. But how come you’re telling me this all now? I know you’ve never liked me per se, but have you ever thought about how I felt all this time? Stepping in the dark and unaware what’s the reason for your hate.”

“I-I… I didn’t–“ your words cut off before making their way out of your throat.

“Yeah, you didn’t. The world doesn’t revolve around you, okay? Don’t make stupid fucking assumptions about me just because you have problems of your own. It’s not my fault.”

You scoff once again, “You’re making assumptions yourself now! I've never asked you to deal with my troubles.”

“You’re a fucking hurricane, like the weather outside.”

“That’s a blizzard, Lixie,” you correct him, adding the nickname yet again.

He rolls his eyes. As if that’s what matters right now.

“I don’t care– stop calling me by that name, it makes my knees go weak.”

He said it. He finally did. There’s no going back anymore.

“It– what?” Your voice is quiet, so quiet you could hear a pin drop on the floor.

“You don’t get it, don’t you?”

You shake your head no, looking at him with puppy eyes and it makes him lose even more sanity. 

“You make me crazy– and the– the fact you hate me, it makes me feel so small, so sad when all I want is to be around you.”

Wow. You wanna be shocked but deep down it – makes so much sense?

“I-I don’t know w-what to say.” You’re honest for once.

“You don’t have to. Just forget what I said. I’ll go to the kitchen and leave you alone, that’s what you wanted anyway.”

Before he’s able to escape, you capture one of his wrists and pull him back, his nose almost crashing into your own.

Only a few inches away from him, your eyes flicker down to his lips before your own smash into them. 

Felix doesn’t react for a second and you fear you’ve read the situation wrong, so you scoot a bit back again.

You can’t tell if it’s been a few seconds, a minute or an hour until he crashes his lips on yours again, first staying pressed against yours until they evolve into a heated kiss. It’s as if he’s taking all the pent up tension out on you, when he guides his tongue inside your mouth.

It’s fast, it’s full of passion and you get completely absorbed in his movements, when he goes in for a bite, your lower lip experiences a stinging feeling that turns into arousal.

“Can’t believe it took you so long,” he whispers in between kisses, as his hand comes to seize around your throat and when you let out a moan at the pressure he puts on, Felix smirks once again.

“Can’t believe you actually like me,” you counter, before you go in for another kiss. Felix helps you on his lap, as you’re straddling him now. You’re already grinding on him and you couldn’t care less that everything’s happening so fast.

“Can’t believe you actually like me back, doll,” he says, emphasising the pet name. You feel arousal leaking at your entrance, spilling down into your underwear and the fabric clings onto you. Squeezing your legs together, you shake your head no at his assumption, but Felix doesn’t care. He’s finally got you right where he wants you.

“I– Don’t, I don’t like you back.”

Felix chuckles about your painfully obvious lie.

“Let’s see if you’ll still hold on to that belief, if I do this,” he challenges, as his hand crawls under your sweater, finding you bare underneath.

“Didn’t take you for a slut. No bra on this whole time?”

You scoff, right before you press your lips on his again.

“Don’t let this get to your head, Lixie.”

His hand is cupping one of your breasts now, pinching the nipple between his fingers and you moan against his lips, a bit louder than you wanted.

“Don’t call me by that name, doll.” His lips trail down your neck, close to his hand now. “You’re gonna regret it, I’m serious.”

Gaining a bit of confidence – you don’t even know where from – your hand wanders underneath his sweater as well and you have to calm down for a second. 

God, you haven’t expected Felix to be so – firm?

“But you enjoy it. Does it make me seem all cute and innocent, hm? You like me being obedient to you for once?” 

The teasing gets to his head, creeping into the depths of his mind and he’s unsure if he can do this any longer – hold back, fight back, bicker back.

"You're such a brat.”

Your sweater gets thrown over your head, your naked tits on full display for Felix now and he licks his lips at the sight.

“I’m not a brat– you just can’t handle criticism.”

Felix scoffs, right before his lips land between your breasts, his face buried deep between them, as his hands keep squishing and massaging the soft flesh. Your head falls back in pleasure, as another moan escapes your lips.

“You’re a brat. Face it– you’re a brat that keeps on lying, instead of finally confessing that you actually like me,” he says once his head gets back to the previous position.

“I swear I’m not a brat,” you pout, “let me make up for teasing you, okay?”

Felix would be an idiot to decline that offer. Especially when you’re looking at him like that.

“If that’s your way of showing affection, I’ll gladly let you.”

You slip down from your seat – his lap – before your knees hit the fluffy carpet. Spreading his legs a little, your hand finds his crotch, palming him through his jeans. Felix takes a good grip of your hair inside his own hand, making you look up at him.

“What are you doing, huh? Do you really think this teasing will get you somewhere?”

You chuckle, adoring the fact he’s so impatient. He must have really wanted this all along. You help him out of his pants next, the clothing pooling around his ankles, as he simultaneously throws off his sweater.

“You’re pretty,” you say, looking up at him.

“Pretty?” He repeats.

“Hm, pretty, handsome, attractive. I can’t deny it.”

The compliments are instantly getting to his head, you can tell by the way he’s looking at you now and that’s when you take your chance. Small kisses are placed on his lower stomach, as you keep stroking him through his underwear.

Felix lets out a tiny whimper, it’s muffled but cute. 

“Why are you telling me all this now?” The boy gets second guesses, especially when your fingers slip under the hem of his boxers.

“I’m not good with…being honest with feelings, you know. I’m gonna go one step at a time.”

Felix nods, allowing you to do the work, but still guiding your head a bit. You slide down his remaining clothes, finding his grown erection underneath and the sight makes you drool. Maybe a little above average, but the head prettily glistening in precum – it makes you eager for more.

“Go on, show me how you feel about me.”

In an Instant you’re getting back to your task, pumping his length a few times with your hand, spreading his juices over it. Your mouth adds a kitten lick to his tip but once the strict look on his face comes back, you stop with the teasing. Taking him all in now, your head starts gliding up and down, his warmth spreading through your mouth.

He tastes so delicious and you can’t wait what he’ll feel like buried deep inside your cunt instead. It makes you go dizzy, get lightheaded and once Felix tightens the grip around your hair, turning it into a makeshift ponytail, you believe you’re losing your mind completely.

Your free hand finds its way inside your sweatpants, passing the fabric of your underwear and you find yourself absolutely drenched underneath. Pushing the laces aside, you smear your precum over your folds, all while still pleasuring the boy who’s sitting in front of you.

“Can’t wait anymore, hm? Does my cock taste so good, you can’t help yourself, doll?”

You moan against him, nodding quickly and the vibrations almost make him tip over the edge. Felix has to do something about this growing feeling now, there’s no way he’ll waste his climax in your mouth when he could cum inside your pussy instead.

“Then why don’t you get up and ride me instead, hm? How’s that sound?”

Your closed eyes shoot open, looking at him dumbfounded.

“You’ve heard me. Come on. Or do you think you can’t handle me? You think it’ll make you confess or what are you afraid of?”

He pulls himself out of your mouth, only a string of your saliva mixed together with his precum connecting your bodies now and Felix could cum at that sight.

“I’m not afraid,” you scoff, before you get up from the floor. 

A few seconds later, you’ve freed yourself from the training fabrics, witnessing Felix chuckling at the little wet patch in your underwear but you decide to ignore it, not wanting to seem even more pathetic.

Positioning yourself on his lap, now straddling him again, you slowly slide down on his length, taking him all in and the stretch is a bit overwhelming at first but you get used to the feeling soon. Luckily, your own juices coat him enough to make it all easier.

“Then, go on. Show me what you’ve got.”

Contrary to your expectations, he leans back in his seat and actually allows you to guide him through the movements. With his previous fixation on your breasts, you would have thought he’d at least touch you a little bit and you feel unsatisfied because of the lack of touching.

Still, you manage to find your rhythm, bumping up and down on him and making sure to grind from time to time, making it easier to hit that spot inside you. Felix seems to enjoy it but more in a way that you’re enjoying yourself.

“Hm, just like that. You’re doing so good for me. Think you can make yourself cum on my cock, hm?”

You nod hastily, picking up the speed and his hand finds your throat again – the first touch within what has felt like eternity.

“The closer you get, the more I’ll touch you. I know what you’re craving, doll.”

So you follow his advice, your movements getting floppier and his fingers start massaging one of your nipples again, his lips landing on your neck. 

“K-Keep clenching like that– such a good slut– come on, I know you’re close.”

And he’s right. A few seconds later, you cum all over him, holding onto his shoulders for dear life as you let your orgasm wash over you. He helps you ride out your high, when his hands grip your hips and once you’ve come down again, he picks you up, switches your position and places you underneath him.

“Fucking good girl,” he says, before thrusting into you now, a squelching sound echoing through the room.

“Allow me to cum inside you, baby?”

Baby. Hearing that nickname for the first time makes your heart melt.

“Yes– please– inside me.”

His hand captures your cheek, softly stroking your skin.

“I’m not sure. You still have a confession to make, baby.”

Your eyes roll back in pleasure and you know you can’t deny it anymore, not when he’s fucking into you with that ungodly speed. His length brushes over that spot again and you believe you will see stars again soon.

“I like you– okay– I fucking like you.”

You can’t take it anymore – you’re overwhelmed, overstimulated in any sense of the word possible. You’re legs are shaking, your head is spinning and you thank Felix for it. 

“Hm, I knew it. A bit more,” he says, picking up his pace. “Tell me who’s making you feel that good, who’s taking good care of you. I know you’re close again.”

His fingers find their way between your legs, circling over your sensitive clit.

“It’s you– I like you, Felix and i-it’s you who’s making me f-feel so– fuck– s-so good.”

That’s all he needs to bring you to your second orgasm that day, your walls keep clenching around him, triggering his own climax. Hot white spurts of cum fill you, marking you as his.

“I like you too,” he says, before placing his lips on yours.

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© j-0ne25 2022 | copying, translating or stealing my work is prohibited

[slut4hwa]

pretty (m) (f)

pairing: ex boyfriend! hyunjin x f!reader

cw: nsfw mdni, unprotected sex, spit play, mating press, creampie, swearing, sucking fingers, a little dumbification, a little praise kink, pinch of angst, slightly toxic

edit: can't stop thinking about how baekhyun's love again is perfect for this small fic <3

"Don't you want me back? want my cock?" Hyunjin coaxes you, rubbing the fat tip of his cock against your folds, coating himself with your slick.

"I'll give you anything you want," he murmurs. You feel the stretch of his tip inside your pussy, making you throw your head back, eyes rolling from pleasure, because it's been too long—too long without his perfect cock teasing your aching cunt.

Hyunjin's eyes doesn't leave your face as he caresses your cheek endearingly, pressing his forehead against yours. "Tell me you want me back," he whispers softly against your lips.

You mewl and claw the sheets, still not giving him an answer.

But Hyunjin is patient. He's gone without you for months—he wouldn't mind waiting a few more minutes for you to take him back, he just needs to convince you with his cock.

"C'mon baby, hmm? tell me," he says as he presses his lips on your hot skin, giving into your pleas, wanting to spoil you rotten by slowly slipping the head of his cock in your pussy.

"H-Hyunjin please," you hiccup, your nails clawing into his biceps.

"It's Jinnie," he corrects.

"J-Jinnie—" you rasp, as you suddenly feel his dick twitch against your folds.

"Want you, please?" you plea, your pussy clenching around the tip of his cock, cunt hungry for Hyunjin's dick.

Hyunjin grunts and kisses your cheek. "Good girl," he praises you.

He grips the back of your thighs, folding your knees to your chest as he slowly sinks his thick cock inside your warm cunt.

"Oh fuck—s' fucking tight," Hyunjin groans, the familiar feeling of being buried in your perfect pussy turns his brain into mush. "missed this so much--" he chokes out.

You whimper, your body shuddering as he bottoms out and you feel his balls slapping against your ass.

"L-Love you," you babble without thinking, wrapping your legs around his waist, the feeling of being full with his cock turning you into a horny mess.

Hyunjin's expression softens, momentarily forgetting how dumb you can get on his cock.

"Love you more," he sincerely says, coming down to your face to give you a kiss, dick twitching at your sudden declaration. He breaks the kiss, pushing back strands of hair sticking to your pretty face as he looks at you with pure adoration.

You whine and tighten your legs around his waist, wanting to leave no space between your bodies.

"Love you so much," he coos, dragging his dick against your walls to slam his cock back inside your pussy. "gonna—fuck—gonna give you everything,"

Hyunjin looks at you endearingly as he pumps his cock deep into you, your eyes brimming with unshed tears and your lips quivering.

He loves this position, he realizes. He could see every detail of your pretty face—and it filled up every sense of yearning he had for you when you left him.

A tinge of possessiveness creeps over hyunjin, the thought of you leaving him again making him want to bury his cock even deeper into you, wanting to make you drunk on his cock to even think of leaving him. Hyunjin's hands move to your jaw, prying your mouth open.

Your body responds quickly without him having to tell you, your lips parting and mouth hanging open, welcoming hyunjin's silent request.

Hyunjin gathers spit on his tongue, letting strings of his saliva fall onto your mouth. You swallow with delight, and Hyunjin almost cums at the fucked out look on your face. His hips stutter against your clit, making you moan.

"You're mine, right? mine," Hyunjin drawls out.

"J-Jinnie—" you gasp. "Almost there," you let out deep sighs, toes curling as you feel your release building in your stomach.

"Cum, baby," he coos, fingers going down to rub your clit. "Make a mess on my cock for me, hmm? you're so fucking perfect,"

You wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him as you feel your release. You huff in his mouth, whimpering at the feeling and clenching hard on his cock.

"Oh fuck—fuck, too tight, fuck," Hyunjin looks down to see your sweet pussy milking his cock, hypnotized by the sight of your slick streaking down your cunt as your pretty pussy continues to swallow the whole of his dick.

"C-Can't—I'm cumming," he moans, hips rutting into yours in a fast pace.

After your body settles down from your orgasm, you look at Hyunjin's pretty face, adoring the way his eyebrows scrunch in desperation and how his plump lips part. You absentmindedly run your thumb across his plump lips.

Hyunjin sucks on your thumb lewdly, tongue running over your fingers, as his hips begin to stutter.

"Cum inside," you say without giving it any thought, holding your legs wide open for your ex boyfriend.

He whimpers as he licks his lips and nods desperately. "Anything--Anything for you," he says, as his eyes start to burn up, the overwhelming feeling of finally filling you up making his cock twitch.

"Feels so good, fuck—so good—" he cries.

You shudder as you feel spurts of Hyunjin's hot cum fill your pussy. Hyunjin's hips stutters as he stills, making sure to give you every drop of his cum. "F-Fuck,"

Hyunjin is out of breath as he collapses on top of you, wrapping his hands around your figure with his cock still inside your pussy. He suddenly lifts his head to look at you, a tinge of panic in his features.

"We're back together, right?" he presses. " It's too late to take back what you said," he huffs.

You give him a sweet smile, wrapping your hands around his body and nuzzling your face on his neck.

was this too nasty? i have nastier works here! ♡

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[slut4hwa]

jongho ⟡ 230108 ⟡ halazia ⟢

[slut4hwa]

tw: threesome, fingering, pussy slapping, squirting, manhandling, degradation, dacryphilia, dom!seungcheol, dom!mingyu, sub!fem reader

“Aw, look at her making a mess again, hyung”, Mingyu chuckles right in front of your face as you cry once more, the puddle between your legs growing larger as you squirt again all over his thick fingers.

“P-Please- It’s t-too much-”, you sob, thighs still trembling from your - you’ve lost count at this point - orgasm, but the two men don’t seem to be nowhere near done with you.

A sharp slap on your clit makes you whine and squirm against Seungcheol’s body, but the older man is strong enough to keep you in place. 

Keep reading

#omg #this did smth to me

[slut4hwa]

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[slut4hwa]

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video download link kindly provided by @hwanwooyoung <3

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When you’re in the presence of an Angel… Jongho • Kcon Japan Backstage Behind

© Clip from @woochwe on twitter

[slut4hwa]

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