TL;DR RULES
1. post anonymously unless linking to a fill posted somewhere else
2. use the subject line to indicate pairing (in alphabetical order using stage names i.e.baekhyun/chanyeol) prompt details go in the comment.
3. use trigger warnings
4. do not embed on meme. link to images/videos. label nsfw content.
5. do not repost prompts
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Can be humor, romance, wutevs, IDC.
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jongdae's a little amazed when his doorbell rings promptly at 6:01. "figures the class president would be on time for his deflowering," he cracks, ushering junmyeon inside and up the stairs. he brought his fucking backpack with him, for reasons passing understanding: "did you really think i wanted to study afterwards?" jongdae asks, tugging it off his shoulder and tossing it aside. "sit down. on the bed."
"i -- there's -- i brought condoms," junmyeon says awkwardly. "i wasn't sure."
jongdae chuckles softly. "well… good thought, remember that for next time. i'm all set, though," he pulls out the top drawer of his bedside table and pulls a handful of brightly-colored foil squares out, lets them cascade through his fingers like individually-wrapped candies before he selects a purple one and tosses it into junmyeon's lap.
"are these good?" his voice cracks a little bit on the word goodjongdae laughs, barely resists the urge to parrot the question back at the class president just to see how it feels. "it'll do the job," he ( ... )
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"just -- you know, go easy, it's not a fucking race," he pants, beads of sweat trickling past his temples as he wraps a leg around junmyeon's waist and pulls him close. "i know you're going to blow your load in like, less than a minute, so let's just-- ah," his eyes bug out a little as junmyeon thrusts himself inside to the hilt and lets out a garbled string of syllables that might have been a coherent thought in his head, but it's been lost in translation on the way to his mouth, "jesus, relax--"
junmyeon's not easing up, though. he pulls out almost completely before he slams back inside so hard jongdae's seeing stars, the sharp smacking noise of skin on skin echoing in the quiet bedroom.
"fuck, jun--" he can't even finish his name he's so out of breath. they lock eyes for a moment: junmyeon's expression is one of pure concentration, one that jongdae's seen a thousand times in class, during exams, that little hint of a smile tweaking the corners of his lips upward when he knows he has the right answer. he's always been a quick ( ... )
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