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hyukalyptus · 21 hours ago

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office hours — professor!soobin x gradstudent!reader

cw. chubby!reader, reader is an adult grad student, minimal age gap, clear consent, petnames (babe, baby, honey, darling, good boy), mommy kink, face sitting, unprotected penetration, creampie, cunnilingus, handjobs, ending is cheesy, "epilogue" of sorts involves christmas vibes, kissing, please lmk if i'm missing anything. NSFW/MDNI notes. i would feel irresponsible if i didn't acknowledge this is a romanticized portrayal of a professor-student relationship. while the relationship in this story has clear consent multiple times, irl relationships like this can be inappropriate and exploitative bc of the authority imbalance. you deserve a healthy, consensual relationship. prioritize ur well-being and autonomy. relationships should be built on mutual respect, equality and clear consent. this is a work of fiction and should be read as such. shoutout to @silvergyus for sending the prof!soob pic <3 wc. 11.6k

“Which brings us to Le Chatelier's Principle in real-world chemical reactions,” Professor Choi says, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “This will be review for most of you, so I won’t go into too much detail.”

Chemistry is your favorite thing in the world. It’s real-life magic. And Professor Choi sees it that way too. His olive green chinos are wrinkled from walking from his office. The sleeves of his white button-down are pushed up so he can write freely on the whiteboard while his burgundy tie sways with his scurries.

Sparks of passion fill his eyes as he lectures. And he never disappoints with his cheesy jokes. Although you seem to be the only one that laughs at them—maybe you’re the only one that gets them. Not many students in his class are the experts in chemistry you are. You took it as a break from your intense course load and the elective credits are a nice bonus.

Most of your professors are so old they barely know how to turn on their laptop and are so deep into their tenure they’ve given up. If you bothered showing up to their office hours, you’d be lucky to find a professor, let alone a helpful one. So you’ve become a frequent visitor in Professor Choi’s office hours, talking about advanced chemistry he can’t wait to teach but it’ll be at least five years before he can. In the meantime, he’ll settle for nerding out with you in his office for a few hours every week.

“Great class today, everyone,” he says. “Have a great weekend and don’t hesitate to visit me during my office hours with any questions!” That sentence started out as a normal speaking voice but ended up a shout over the shuffling of the desk chairs and backpacks. You’re typically the last one out, but you save your questions for his office hours tomorrow.

“Hi,” you say, lightly tapping your knuckle against his office door.

Turning around in his chair, his lips form a pout in surprise at seeing you. “Were you waiting outside? Sorry that meeting ran a little long—” He shuffles to organize his desk.

“That’s okay.” Adjusting your bag on your shoulder, he rests his hands on his thighs and looks up at you. Did he just look you up and down? Don’t be ridiculous.

“What can I do ya for?”

“Right,” you start. “Can I…?” You ask, motioning toward the spare chair, waiting for his nod before sitting. “You know Professor Vaughn’s class?” You barely catch it, but his eyes roll. Professor Vaughn is the worst professor you’ve had. Boring, harsh, impatient. It doesn’t help he teaches one of the most complex forms of chemistry. “I’m not really getting this week’s content and was wondering if you could help me.”

“Of course.” He smiles. And it’s devastating. The sparkle in his eyes and those dimples. Craning his neck to look at your notes riddled with red question marks, he nods. As soon as he sees the title of your notes, he says, “Let’s think about this from a quantum mechanical perspective. If we assume that the π-complex is forming, we’re talking about a stabilization due to delocalization π-electrons, right?”

In what feels like no time at all, an hour has passed and the conversation has been the complete opposite of Professor Vaughn’s lectures. Questions led down rabbit holes, leading to other theorems and more questions. As he glances up at you through his glasses, there is an undeniable tingle in your stomach.

It’s not like you haven’t noticed how attractive Professor Choi is. He’s tall, lean but undeniably strong, he has the most perfect silky black hair and the prettiest brown eyes, and his pout—indescribably cute. And again—those goddamn dimples. He’s the perfect mixture of sexy, handsome, and pretty. You’d never think of doing anything with a professor, but you can’t help your mind wanders during the slower lectures.

How long have you been staring at each other in silence? Too long probably. He clears his throat. “Well,” he says, looking at his watch. “My office hours have been over for a few—”

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry,” you say, stumbling as you stand, attempting to gather your things as quickly as possible. But he shakes his head, trying to shrug it off.

“That’s okay,” he says. “I, uh, I just have my emails waiting for me.”

You nod, shoving everything into your bag and heading out the door. What was that? You’re probably overreacting, you think to yourself. He’s charming because of his looks, there’s no way he’d— No. Don’t even finish that thought.

"How is it that someone who scored the highest in my theoretical chemistry exam is turning basic lab work into a spectacle of incompetence?" Professor Vaughn boasts over your right shoulder. No doubt his thick eyebrows are furrowed.

As your hands tighten around the test tube, you know exactly what to do��you always do—but everything slips through your fingers in his class.

"I’m trying to get the reaction to stabilize," you stammer, eyes darting between your hands, the chemical reagents lined up on the table, and your notebook.

Professor Vaugn’s expression hardens as he steps closer, looking down his nose at your station. "Trying is for high school sophomores. If you’re still trying, you’re behind."

Taking a deep breath, you carefully add three more drops to the mixture but the reaction goes wrong. Again. A plume of white smoke rises from the beaker, and the liquid turns an unexpected, muddy brown.

"Unbelievable," Vaughn mutters loud enough for everyone to hear. Everyone knows you’re the best student in your class. Well, everyone except Soren, who’s so jealous of your intelligence they can hardly stand it. They simply smirk. "I expected more from you."

Your heart sinks. You checked those calculations three times. Maybe it’s your shaky hands. Or the pressure of him looming over your shoulder. Or the other stuff on your mind.

"Are you going to sit there and guess again, or would you like to double down on failure with your next attempt?" Vaughn sneers, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"I’m not guessing, Professor. I—"

"Can’t manage a basic reaction?" Vaughn interrupts with his icy voice. "I’m beginning to wonder how you even made it into this program."

"I’m perfectly capable. The solution is just—"

"Wrong. Yes, we’ve established that." Vaughn’s lips curl into a patronizing sneer. "Maybe chemistry isn’t the field for you if this is the best you can manage." That got everyone’s attention—it would be an interesting sight to see you fail. It so rarely happens. Sure, you’ve been doubted before but have always proven yourself. Today would be no different.

You take a deep breath and count to yourself, One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

As you block out Vaughn’s piercing gaze and the weight of the other students’ eyes, you carefully remeasure the chemical, adjusting the proportions this time, methodically double-checking your work. You add the reagent once more, slowly, and watch as the solution begins to shift.

A moment passes. The reaction stabilizes and the solution turns a clear, pale blue.

"Finally," Vaughn mutters. You don’t even have to look at him to know he rolled his eyes. He turns to walk away but pauses. "Barely acceptable. Next time, you won’t be given the luxury of so many failures."

Bursting through the door upon dismissal, you can’t get to the restroom fast enough, barely making it to a stall before tears stream down your cheeks.

“One. Two. Three. Four. Five,” you whisper to yourself.

Sometimes, chemical reactions need to be dealt with instantly, but that’s an overwhelming amount of pressure. You give yourself five seconds before you absolutely have to deal with it. Same thing here. Cry. Count to five. Wipe your tears and move on.

But it’s difficult to move on this time. You’ve counted to five a few too many times today. But the only person you want to talk about it with is—

Professor Choi, Are you available to meet me in Lab 270 tomorrow afternoon? I’ve been struggling with some reactions and could use some help. I’ll be there from 2:00—4:00. If not, no worries!

Sniffling, you hit send on your email app, shove your phone in your bag and head home.

The next day drags on and on. Did he even get your message? Expecting an empty lab, you’re surprised to find Professor Choi waiting for you behind a laptop wearing a cute tweed jacket with suede elbow patches. His eyebrows are furrowed as his focused eyes study the computer, but they brighten at the sight of you.

Initially surprised by your confusion, he squeezes his eyes shut and says, “I didn’t respond to your email, did I?” He’s already got the lab station set up. How long has he been waiting on you? “So, how’s Professor Vaughn’s class?” Did someone tell him about yesterday? God, you hope not.

“Fine,” you deadpan. Shaking your head, you say, “I’m sorry…I’m just kinda stressed.”

“I can go if you need some time by—”

“No,” you say, softening your tone. “I’d really appreciate your help.”

And he’s more than willing, letting you ask whatever you want, never interrupting or talking over you like most of the men in the program. He gives you space to explore ideas and theories, listening closely instead of answering everything for you.

And he’s so damn sexy when he’s the one doing the ranting. The way he talks with his hands, ones that are so big with fingers so long you wish he would wrap around your—

“Shut up.”

“Excuse me?” He asks.

Oh shit, did you say that out loud? What a fucking nightmare. “Uh, sorry, just…talking to myself. Too many thoughts racing around the ole dome.”

A slight pout forms on his lips as he continues his rant. Now, the only thing you can think of are his lips wrapped around your—

“Ah!” Your hand slips toward the Bunsen burner and, great, now you’ve got a nice burn on your thumb.

“Oh gosh, are you okay?” He stands quickly. “Let me see.” His fingers graze your palm, igniting a fiercer burn than the actual flame just did. “Run it under cold water, okay?”

In the meantime, he straightens up your station before meeting you at the sink. “Is something wrong?” His words make you jump. “You seem distracted.”

That’s all it takes. The floodgates open. You rant about the sexist piece of shit Professor Vaughn and his power moves to intimidate you when he knows you’re the best student in the program. About how embarrassed you were in lab yesterday. Last semester when you raised your hand to correct an equation on the board and he gave you a firm talking to about respect after class.

He watches you carefully, handing over a towel for your hands as you take a steadying breath, fighting back tears.

“Did I ever tell you why I started studying chemistry?” he asks. You sniffle, shaking your head. “My grandfather. He was a baker.” His voice softens, and you look up to find his eyes full of kindness. “Every Saturday, he’d make me work in his bakery. I didn’t mind—it felt like magic, you know? But really, it’s science. It’s all precision, measurements, timing.”

A smile tugs at his lips. “Once, I tried baking a cake for my mom’s birthday, followed his recipe exactly. Measured the flour, the sugar, the cocoa. When I pulled it out of the oven, it was hard. Flat. I was sure he’d be disappointed, calling it a waste of time and ingredients. I was terrified. But he looked at it, smiled, and told me to try again the next day. When I asked why it didn’t work, he said I needed to ‘feel my way through it.’”

You sit there, the sting from your burn now fading, but your heart’s still aching, wanting something from him—a hug, a kiss, even just a pat on the shoulder.

“If I’d gotten it right the first time, I’d never know what overmixed batter looks like. Or that I like more cocoa than he did. Or that you should coat berries in flour.” His smile creeps up to his eyes. “Seeing how failure could make you better—it made me curious. I wanted to understand why some things worked and others didn’t, why I needed to feel my way through it, to get into the details.” He makes eye contact with you again. “That’s why I went into chemistry. Baking taught me the magic is in the little things—if you’re willing to screw up and keep going.”

Nodding, you smile back. His words hang in the air for a moment, like they’re meant to settle, but something’s missing.

“All I’m saying is, its okay to fuck things up, okay?” he says, his candidness drawing a chuckle from you. “How else would you learn?”

The world’s drained of color—only hazy shades of grey and beige are left. Your palms press against a cold marble countertop with the faint sound of running water echoing in the distance. The reflection of the mirror looks like you, but not quite. The woman in the mirror has her lips painted a dark, sultry brown, a shade you’d never choose. And the outfit is far too dressy for a lecture. Shadows fall where there shouldn’t be any.

The hallways are unfamiliar, yet you know it's the same building you visit almost every day. It's blurry, like you’re walking through a memory that isn’t yours.

You look down at the saddle shoes on your feet clicking against the tile floor, unnervingly filling the emptiness. It feels like someone else is controlling your body but you don’t question it. You can’t. Your hand raises, knuckles brushing a wooden door before it creaks open on its own.

On the other side of the door, Professor Choi faces a green chalkboard. Has that always been in his office? Hurriedly scribbling down equations, he glances between the board and the notebook in his hand. When he looks over his shoulder at you, his eyes soften and a slow smile spreads across his face. “Come in,” he says gently, setting his notebook aside. His voice wraps around you, making the room feel smaller, closer. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Your spine tingles. “I know,” you reply, but the words sound hollow, like you’re speaking from somewhere else.

“Here,” he suggests, holding a piece of chalk out to you. The way he gestures toward the board is magnetic. As you take it from his hand, your fingers brush his. “What do you think of this?” An unfinished equation waits to be solved. His presence looms behind you, close but not quite touching as you reach up to solve it. Your heart pounds, every stroke of the chalk on the board heavier than it should.

“Impressive,” he murmurs, his voice low, rough around the edges. You turn to face him and he’s closer than expected, his warmth radiating against your skin. The air is thick with something unspoken. You step closer, tentative at first, then quicker, more certain. Your lips almost brush his, but he pulls back, his breath catching.

He looks down, your name a whisper on his lips, soft and pained. “I—” His eyes flicker up to meet yours, then fall back down like the weight of your gaze is too much.

“What?” You ask, your voice barely more than a breath. Your eyes dart between his, lingering on his tempting mouth. He leans in again with desire in his eyes. He wants to kiss you. You can feel it. And for a moment you think he might.

But he pulls away, his forehead nearly resting against yours. “I don’t think we should be doing this,” he says, his voice strained, as if saying the words is physically painful for him.

“Why not?” The question slips from your lips before you can stop it, frustration and longing lacing your tone.

His hands flex at his sides, like he’s fighting the urge to touch you. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to, or—”

“Why would I feel like that?” you interrupt, your voice impatient. Your heart races, pounding in your ears, drowning out reason.

“I’m your professor,” he breathes out like it’s a curse. His words only fan the flames of the tension building between you. There’s nothing wrong with that, you think to yourself. It’s not like you’re fresh out of high school—you’re a grad student, close to starting the same PhD he earned barely three years ago. He’s no more than five years older.

“I don’t care,” you insist, stepping even closer, your lips a breath away from his. “I want you to kiss me.”

His eyes darken, his resolve faltering as his gaze drops to your lips. “It’s a mistake,” he whispers, but his voice trembles with indecision, trying to convince himself more than you.

“Make the mistake,” you urge, your voice soft but sure. Your hand reaches for his tie, tugging as light as you can just to bring him that much closer. “You said it yourself, it’s okay to fuck things up.”

There’s a beat of silence, so thick it feels as though the room itself is holding its breath, waiting. And in that moment, the space between you seems to collapse, the weight of everything unsaid pulling you closer.

The millisecond before your lips touch, you breathe awake.

You bolt straight up, feeling around your soft bed sheets, breathless as your heart pounds from the vividness of it all. For a moment, you linger in the feeling, brushing your fingers over your lips, feeling the warmth of the almost kiss. But reality sinks in and your stomach drops.

Reaching for your phone, you check the time. Great, it’s almost time for his class. But there’s no hazy world to hide in. Skipping class might be an option but an exam reminder drags you out of bed.

Trudging across campus, your stomach sinks lower with each step. How can you look him in the eye? Dropping your bag to the floor with a thud, you hang your head low. Let’s just get through this exam and get outta here.

“How’s your hand?” Professor Choi’s voice shakes you out of your thoughts. “Sorry,” he chuckles, holding his hands up. “Didn’t mean to scare ya.” Looking at you like you’re the cutest puppy he’s ever seen, you can’t bring yourself to speak, but you hold out your hand. The second his fingertips touch yours, you flinch and jerk it back.

“Um—” you start. “Better, thanks.” Turning away from him, you distract yourself with a random notebook from your bag.

“...You okay? You shouldn’t be nervous about the exam.” When you look up, you’re met with eyes that appear…hurt?

“No, it’s not that.” That’s not a good answer. “Just…” What would you even say? I had an incredibly vivid—and delicious—dream about you last night and now I need to know how your lips feel in real life? “Cramps.”

“Ah.” He nods and leaves you alone, awkwardly walking to the front of the class to make some announcements and general good wishes before the exam. With your fist pressed to your chin, you refuse to look up, hanging your head low even as he slides you your copy.

There’s a bright green post-it stuck to it with a note, It’s okay to fuck it up! Your heart races as your eyes dart around searching for him. When you find him, he gives you a soft smile. You return the smile but rush to unstick it before anyone sees, storing it in your notebook for safe keeping.

As you return to your apartment, the post-it stares back at you like you’re the guiltiest son-of-a-bitch in the world. It’s practically calling you a whore. And you can hardly take it anymore. You can’t bring yourself to face him for class a few days later—although skipping feels like a cardinal sin. Soon enough, though, your email dings.

From: Choi Soobin, PhD I noticed you were absent from class today. I hope everything’s okay. The lecture notes are attached for your reference. Feel free to stop by my office hours with any questions. Professor Choi

Did your heart just flutter? Why are you walking toward his office? When you knock on the door, he stands—more like stumbles—to greet you, “Hi!”

“Hi, Professor Choi…” You linger in the doorway, clutching your notebook tight to your chest. “Sorry I missed class—”

“Is everything alright?”

“Yeah—”

“You’re not overwhelmed with coursework, are you?” His eyes search yours, and there’s a softness in his voice that makes it hard to look away.

“No, no, I’m alright. I just…had a migraine this morning,” you say, shrugging slightly. “It’s gone now, though.”

He nods, easing into a warm smile. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.” His gaze doesn’t waver and the intensity makes your pulse quicken. “So, I’m guessing you’re here to go over questions from the lecture?”

“Actually, it’s Professor Vaughn’s class I’m struggling with. His lecture today was…brutal.”

“I’m shocked,” he says sarcastically. “The man’s got a gift for making simple concepts sound like Greek.”

“Exactly,” you laugh, the tension in your shoulders easing. “I thought it was me, but he seems to take pride in making everything harder than it needs to be.”

“Trust me, it’s not you,” he says, a glint of warmth in his eyes. “He’s terrible. And annoying. And boring. And I’d tell him that.”

You raise a brow, skeptical. “You wouldn’t.”

“Well…” He breaks into a grin. “Maybe after I reach tenure. Though he may be retired by then.”

“Or dead,” you say matter-of-factly. He looks at you awkwardly then you both laugh, genuinely. There’s an ease to it.

He gestures to your notebook. “Alright, let’s see what we’re dealing with.”

“I can’t believe I’m laughing at that,” you say, a giggle escaping your lips.

“You always laugh at my bad jokes,” he replies, staring at your face a little too longingly. If you were anyone else, he might find some excuse to touch you. Maybe brush a piece of lint off your shoulder, lightly touch your arm while he laughed at something you said, or something as casual as a fist bump.

If he were any other guy, you’d be much more obvious, making it crystal clear you want him to kiss you right now. But you can’t. You don’t even know how he thinks about you. You’re probably just another student to him.

“Well, those are all my questions,” you say, awkwardly packing your bag.

“Yeah, you can, uh…head out…” he trails off as you start to rise from your seat.

You’re searching for something to say, something to let you stay just a little longer. But nothing comes. He watches you walk toward the door, the silence hanging in the space between you.

“Pens!” His voice suddenly burst out, loud enough to make you stop mid-step. “They, uh—I went to a conference last week and they gave me a ton,” he says, scrambling to gather a handful from his desk.

You take them, your fingers brushing against his in a way that feels far too intimate. His eyes lock with yours, the touch sending a ripple of tension through you. “But you’re, uh…picky about your pens, aren’t you?” He asks, his voice softer now, almost unsure.

Laughing quietly, you say, “Yeah, but…that’s okay.” Your words are heavy with subtext you can’t bring yourself to say out loud. “Well, goodbye.” You offer him a smile, stepping back toward the door. “Thanks again.”

“Yeah. Goodbye,” he says, but his feet shuffle forward as if he’s moving without thinking. Awkwardly reaching for a handshake, he realizes your hands are occupied. Instead, he reaches around you for the door handle, but he gets a tad too close and your brain scrambles.

Before you can hold yourself back, you drop the pens, letting them clatter to the floor as your arms wrap around his neck. Your lips meet his in a rush, warm and soft. While your eyes close to savor the feeling, his widen in shock before he relaxes into your touch and wraps his hands around your waist, pulling you closer.

It’s everything you’ve been holding back—unspoken feelings unraveling in a heartbeat. His lips move against yours with a hunger that surprises you, the world melting away as you lose yourself in the moment. You feel weightless, your pulse racing as his hands grip your waist a little tighter, as though he’s afraid to let you go.

When you finally break apart, breathless and dazed, he presses his forehead to yours, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “You’re never gonna use those pens, are you?” he asks, his voice low and rough, like he’s trying to anchor himself in humor, trying to bring himself back down to earth.

You laugh, shaking your head. “No,” you admit, your heart still pounding. “They’re garbage.”

Before you can think, you kiss him again and this time, he doesn’t hesitate. His mouth crashes into yours with an urgency, like he’s wanted to kiss you since the second he laid eyes on you. His lips are soft, but his kiss is demanding, making up for all the lost moments between you. For those few minutes, nothing else matters—you bask in one of the greatest kisses either of you have ever had. But not for long.

Reality catches up too quickly. You pull away suddenly, breathless and wide-eyed. “Oh my god—” you gasp, backing up, your fingers graze your lips trying to make sense of what just happened. “I’m so sorry—”

“No,” he interrupts quickly, shaking his head. “Don’t be. I—” He’s stumbling through his words, just as lost as you are but neither of you regret it. “I wanted—”

“That was…” You can’t even finish your sentence. It was everything. Too much, too fast, too real. But you can’t take it back.

“I—” He’s trying to find the right words, to reassure you, to tell you he felt it too, that he wanted it just as badly. But he’s as flustered as you are, his voice rough and unsure.

“I’ll just…go throw myself off a bridge now,” you mumble. You can’t even look at him as you make a beeline for the door, your face burning with embarrassment. You think you hear him say something, but the blood rushing in your ears drowns it out.

You leave the room quickly, your heart about to burst through your chest, trying to process what just happened. The kiss lingers on your lips, a mix of exhilaration and terror swirling inside you. It’s too much to handle.

But, hey, there’s one bit of good news. At least he kissed you back.

What the fuck are you supposed to do now? Drop his class? It’s too late in the semester for that. And you need those credits. Wait until the end of the semester to talk to him again? Can you go that long without his lips on yours again?

Back at your apartment, you rummage through your books to find the university’s code of conduct, hurriedly searching for anything related to “appropriate relationships,” “faculty-student relationships,” “consensual,” blah blah blah, whatever the university has coded sleeping with a professor.

The University strongly urges those individuals in positions of authority not to engage in conduct of an amorous or sexual nature with a person they are, or are likely in the future to be, in a position of evaluating.

Your eyes read over the words, “strongly urges” once more. Not totally against the rules, you suppose. Even if you did wait until the semester was over, you’d need to report it. You wish you could talk with him about it, but bringing this up is tricky. Is it moving too fast? You can’t text him, you don’t have his number. And using your student email to send a message to his faculty email that says, “Oh, by the way, I checked the rules and we’re in the clear to have sex!” is a terrible idea.

Maybe one kiss in his office doesn’t mean anything. Oh, but it was everything.

After much deliberation, you convince yourself to attend his class a few days later. You’ve brought the code of conduct along, as well as a bright pink post-it sticking out of the book. To avoid any form of small talk with him, you wait outside right until the start of class.

Along the way to your desk, you silently plop the code of conduct on his desk and scurry away. When you work up the courage to look up at him, he’s flipped to the marked page. Highlighted on the page is the paragraph that “strongly urges” people in positions of authority not to sleep with students.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed. The message couldn’t be clearer, he thought. You’re practically telling him to leave you alone. But when he finally reads the post-it, his heart flutters. Written in your handwriting, it says, It’s okay to fuck it up! complete with a smiley face.

As much as he tries to fight it, he glances up at you to catch your gaze. And just as the slightest smile appears on his face, a big one appears on yours. You hide it with your palm as you start at the blank page of your notebook. Blinking, he shakes his head and begins his lecture. But how can you concentrate now?

You’ve gotta give it to him, he delivers his lecture perfectly. If it were you, you’d barely be able to think. Hell, you barely can throughout the whole thing.

Now that you’ve gotten that smile of permission, you finally let yourself daydream.

Has his ass always been that cute? Has he always been that tall? Has his voice always been that deep and sexy?

You don’t even know what he’s talking about, but that’s okay, you can always stop by his office hours. “What do you think?” He asks.

Oh shit, he’s looking at you for an answer. He can always rely on you to keep class moving along when everybody else is dead silent. You shake out of your thoughts, panic-reading the board to come up with something. It's similar to your discussion you had the last time you went to his office hours. The time that ended in that gorgeous kiss. Throwing together an answer, his eyes brighten as he cheers, “Exactly!”

Oh my god. He’s the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. You could just gobble him up.

“So, I suppose we should talk about…” Professor Choi trails off, leaving the sentence hanging in the air like it’s obvious what he’s getting at. And it is. But you stay quiet. You wanna hear him admit it. You raise an eyebrow, playing coy.

You decided to press your luck by visiting his office outside scheduled office hours—right after class—to simply test the waters and gauge his reaction to the code of conduct and that kiss…that incredible kiss.

“You know…” He gestures vaguely between the two of you, sighing like okay, fine, I guess I’ll say it. “I like you and you like me, right?” His voice dips just slightly, enough for you to notice the hesitation. “Unless I’m totally misreading—”

“No! You’re not…misreading anything,” you’re quick to say, along with a chuckle. Phew—he was worried there for a second. So goddamn cute. “What do you wanna talk about?”

He exhales a small laugh, but his smile is strained, cautious. “I want to make sure you don’t feel…weird about this.” Hand sliding nervously along the edge of his desk, he traces the wood grain before his eyes flick up to meet yours. Truth be told, he’d never do something like this with a student. Never want to make anyone feel pressured. But he never thought he’d feel like this. Giddy and blushy like you’re his first crush.

“Why would I feel weird?” You tilt your head, genuinely curious. You’ve thought about this—about him—far too much for any of it to feel weird.

“I’m just terrified you feel like you need to do something about this.” You’re taken aback, confusion visibly etched across your face. “You know, because I’m your professor or because I’m in the department and I know your plans for a PhD here.” His voice softens, vulnerability creeping in. “I don’t want it to feel like I’m pushing you into anything.”

“I don’t,” you say gently. “It’s not like that.”

He nods, though the tightness in his jaw doesn’t disappear. “Because if you ever even remotely feel like I’m pressuring you, I want you to tell me. Immediately. I mean it.”

“No,” You shake your head, almost too fast. “I mean, it doesn’t feel like that. Not at all. I’ve thought about this…about us, a lot.” Your voice falters for a moment as his eyes widen, softening in a way that makes your stomach flutter. You weren’t expecting him to look at you like that—so open, so relieved.

His fingers twitch as if he’s resisting the urge to reach out to you. “Yeah?”

You nod again, more confidently this time. “But I think we should wait until the semester’s over. Before we…you know…do anything.”

He smiles gently and leans back, visibly more at ease. “I think so too.”

But you didn’t realize how fucking difficult it would be to get through the last six weeks of the semester. Every class you sit there, thighs pressed together thinking about the dirtiest things you want him to do to you. Every office hour you went to, you could practically swim through the thickness of the tension between you two.

It didn’t help how cute he was being. Post-its he’d leave on every exam of yours—You’re gonna do great! You’ve got this. Trust your instincts.—encouragement no other student got. You kept every one of them in your bedside table drawer.

When finals week finally arrives, it wasn’t just about exams; it was about counting the hours until you could finally be with him. Or at least talk to him like he wasn’t your professor. As he handed over your final exam, the familiar green post-it note was stuck to it: Happy Finals Week!

Your internal scream was so loud, you’re worried your classmates heard it. You’d pre-written a post-it to stick to it once you returned the exam. It had your phone number, a smiley face, and the words: Since you’re not my professor anymore.

After a full day of checking your phone every twenty seconds, you started to give up. Was he just playing you? Did someone else see the note? Did he change his mind? But finally, you receive a text.

hi! this is soobin (professor choi lol). i was wondering if you wanted to get dinner or something?

soobin!! omg yes i would love to get dinner with you :) how’s tomorrow?

how about right now? if you want, of course! no pressure we can totally wait until tomorrow it’s up to you

You squealed into your pillow, kicking and giggling like an idiot. Should you be flirty back?

i can be ready in 30 min. 364 oakridge drive. it’s an apartment building- i’ll meet you downstairs.

be there in 45 :)

Like a perfect gentleman, Soobin meets you at the passenger door, swinging it open with a charming smile before gently closing it behind you. The slow walk up to his front door makes your stomach stir. He has to fumble through his keys to unlock it.

Once inside, he slips his shoes off quietly, revealing cozy patterned socks that make you smile. Meticulously, he hangs his jacket on a coat tree and places his keys in a speckled clay catch-all that rests on a table next to a houseplant. As he walks toward the kitchen, he glances over his shoulder, his voice low and inviting. “Do you want a drink or something?” The warmth in his gaze makes your heart skip a beat.

You’re drawn to this softer side of him. In class, his tone is bright and dorky. In his office, it’s casual and laid-back. At dinner, it was sweet and charming. But now? Now it’s sultry, almost sexy. Like he can’t wait to be with you but would never, ever pressure you.

“Hot tea?” You suggest with a steady voice, despite the butterflies in your stomach.

“Sounds good,” he agrees, switching on his tea kettle. In the meantime, you take a look around his much neater than expected apartment.

The mid-century modern furniture is impeccably arranged—a sleek sofa, a low coffee table, and a stylish armchair with an even more stylish decorative pillow. Perfectly nurtured plants thrive around the room, adding a green vibrancy to the minimalist backdrop, breathing life into the space. A gallery wall above his expensive-looking couch features travel photos, beautiful art, and a few subtly science-inspired pieces. In the corner across the couch is a sleek electric fireplace underneath a huge TV.

“Who’s this?” you ask, your heart swelling as a fluffy gray cat glares at you through one half-open eye. Her perfectly groomed fur and regal posture make her look like she owns the place. Just then, Soobin steps into the living room, holding two steaming mugs of tea, filling the air with a warm spice.

“That’s Molly…short for Molecule,” he says. “Don’t worry, she’s sweet.”

Extending your hand toward the cat, he starts to sniff you. “Hi, M—wait,” you pause, looking up at Soobin with a teasing smile. “Molly, short for Molecule?” He nods, his grin widening. “You’re adorable,” you tell him. Has anyone ever blushed quite like he did just now?

He stares down at his feet, clearly caught off guard. “You’re,” he starts. “Well, you’re cute too.” His sincerity makes your smile grow even stronger.

“Can I sit?” you ask, nodding toward the couch.

“Oh,” his smile falters for a moment. “Yes, of course. Make yourself at home.” You plop down on his couch, settling into the surprisingly soft cushions. Molly clearly doesn’t think the couch is big enough for the two of you, so she strides over to probably the nicest cat tree you’ve ever seen.

You sip your hot tea and your body finally relaxes. As you reach to sit it on the coffee table, he politely asks, “I don’t mean to be a square, but can you use a coaster?”

“Of course,” you say, complying with the request. “So, tell me,” you begin, clearing your throat. “How’d I do on my final?” Humming, he stands to rummage through his messenger bag slumped over a dining chair. You gasp, “A ninety-seven?” Thumbing through the pages, you find a single red X on possibly the easiest question you’ve had on an exam since high school: What is the atomic number of oxygen? “Are you kidding me?”

Any attempt to mask your embarrassment is impossible. It only deepens when you look up and catch him already watching you—lips pressed tight, failing miserably to hide a smug, amused smile.

“I, uh…” You scratch the back of your neck. “I got that one wrong on purpose. You know, so as to not raise any suspicion.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, did you now?” You nod. “That was on the exam just so Toby wouldn’t get a zero.” You nod begrudgingly. “And you put 10! That’s not even close. That’s—”

“Neon,” you grumble. “Yeah I know…” you say, avoiding his eyes as he laughs playfully.

“Neon’s a noble gas and oxygen is a—”

“Reactive nonmetal,” you cut him off. “I know, okay?” You shove his shoulder playfully, but your grin betrays you. “It was a high-pressure environment. Sitting in an exam room with your professor watching you."

"I barely looked up from my laptop,” he reminds you.

"Your presence is distracting enough," you shoot back, eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Ah, so my intellectual aura threw you off?”

“I dunno…is that what you think, professor?” You ask cheekily. “Maybe it was something else.” You’ve tossed the exam onto the coffee table, moving closer.

“Like what?”

“Just…you. You’re distracting.” You smirk, the words slipping out almost involuntarily, like they’ve been waiting on the tip of your tongue.

Intrigued, he tilts his head and asks, “What about me?” There’s something magnetic in the way he looks at you—like he knows the answer but wants to hear you say it, to savor the way it sounds coming from your lips.

You hum, tracing the lines of his body with your eyes, mapping out uncharted territory before exploring it. You don’t want to move too fast, but every fiber of your being screams for more. He’s not lighting a fire inside you—he’s setting the whole forest ablaze. Sure, your imagination has been running rampant since he returned your feelings six weeks ago, but now that you’re here, he scrambles every thought.

“Your eyes…” you say while yours flick over his face, taking in every curve, every freckle, every lash. “They’re so pretty.”

A smile—small but real—tugs at the corners of his lips. The kind that’s private, meant just for you. His eyes darken as he leans in, the space between you shrinking. You glance down, noticing the way his long fingers curl around the mug handle. There’s something almost hesitant in the way he holds it. You take it from him gently, setting it atop a coaster as quietly as you can.

“Your hands…” you whisper, fingers barely brushing his knuckles, tension coiled under his skin. They’re hands that have worked, experimented, written things down—hands you want on you. Guiding one to your thigh, the squeeze he returns sends a shudder through you.

Everything between you is electric. Your breaths come faster now, more desperate. Every inch you move toward him is a test, a slow-motion collapse of restraint.

“Your legs…” A soft breathless chuckle escapes as you glance down. His lips part like he’s about to speak, but you don’t give him the chance. Boldness surges through you like a current and you hike one leg over both of his, straddling him. The shift is seismic. His hands move to your hips, gripping you, afraid to let go. The heat of his touch spreads through you, anchoring you in place, though it feels like everything around you is spinning.

“And your lips…” you murmur, leaning closer, your breath mingling with his. “Oh my god, those fucking lips.” You can’t stop staring at them, just a breath away now, soft and wet. Your pulse races.

You cup his face, lifting his chin until his eyes meet yours again. His pupils are blown wide, the desire in them unmistakable. Your thumb brushes his bottom lip, and the moment stretches, suspended. You lean in just enough to feel his breath on your lips.

“Kiss me,” you whisper.

And he does.

It isn’t tentative—it’s dam-breaking. Like he’s been starving for it, holding back for years. His lips are soft but urgent as his hands tighten around your hips to pull you closer. You taste jasmine tea on his lips, a subtle sweetness mingling with the spice of his cologne—clove, pepper, something dark and addictive.

“Holy shit,” you whisper against his lips. “I can’t believe I had to wait so long to kiss you again.” You kiss him again and he moans sweetly into your mouth. Just as the kiss deepens, he retreats, his breath ragged. “You okay?”

Nervously nodding, he says, “Yeah,” but his eyes flicker away. He tries to kiss you again, but you place your hand on his chest, gently stopping him.

“Wait,” you say, eyes searching his face. “What’s going on? Am I being too—”

“No,” he says, almost a little too urgently. “It’s not that. It’s just…” His hands fall to the couch. Bracing to tell the truth, he squeezes his eyes shut before adding, “I need to tell you something.” You sit back on your heels, still in his lap but giving him room to speak.

“What is it?” You ask softly.

“There’s this thing… I haven’t—uh…” He stumbles over the words, his fingers twitching at his sides.

“Soobin?” you ask, your voice gentle but steady. That’s the first time you’ve called him by his first name. It feels utterly…vulnerable. “Are you a virgin?” The question is delicate. Shutting his eyes again, he takes a deep breath.

“No,” he says. “Well, not exactly.” You narrow your eyes at him. What is that even supposed to mean? “It’s just…it’s been a while. And before then, I hadn’t had a lot of sex. And I haven’t had any…recently.”

“How long?” you encourage, your eyes softening.

“A year.”

You hum softly in acknowledgement, watching his confidence falter. Instead of pulling back, you lean forward, trailing slow, deliberate kisses along his neck. He trembles under your touch, a soft gasp escaping his lips, your hands moving all over his body, claiming him.

“Oh, Professor Choi,” you whisper, your voice dripping with heat and promise. “We’re gonna have so much fun.”

As your breath slows, you sit up and let your hand linger over his chest, feeling his heartbeat under your palm. “Tell me,” you start. “What do you like?”

“Um,” he swallows, trying to force the lump down his throat. He’s so hesitant but he finally says, “Touching.”

“You touching my body or me touching yours?”

He exhales shakily. “The first,” he says, confirming with a squeeze to your hips.

You hum against his ear. What are you gonna do with him? Tease him forever? Let him have his way with you? You ask, “Why don’t you take my shirt off for me?”

Gracing his hands over your arms, he grounds himself again before asking, “You sure?”

“I’m sure.” You nod, guiding his hands to the top button of your blouse, letting him slip it through the buttonhole. One by one, he exposes more of your skin, his heart thumping harder with each passing second. Pushing the silky fabric past your shoulders until your top half is only covered by a bubblegum pink mesh bra, leaving almost nothing to the imagination—except for the red embroidered hearts over your nipples.

After easing the shirt out from your trousers, you reach back to pull at the sleeves, letting the shirt fall to the floor. He slips his finger under one of your bra straps, pulling it to the side, but you stop him. “Wait. It’s your turn.”

Tugging on his tie, you slip it through the collar and unbutton his dress shirt. Seeing his body bare in front of you for the first time, you’re practically drooling. You indulge in running your hands all over his body, lean with subtle muscles, from his chest to the bottom of his abs.

“How come you got to touch me if I didn’t get to touch you?” He asks innocently.

“You’re right,” you chuckle. “I’m sorry.” You smile and sit up to press your palms against his and let your fingers intertwine. Your heart melts and you fear you may throw up. “Did you want to take my bra off first?” He nods. Fumbling fingers reach behind you to snap it off, letting it fall to the couch. As he sees your bare tits, his eyes widen and he lets out the cutest little Oh.

He’s hesitant to do anything. You have to guide his hands to massage your tits—and they’re the perfect size for you.

“You’re so…soft,” he says, looking up at your eyes, like he’s not sure if that was okay to say.

“You like them?” He nods eagerly. Experimentally swiping a thumb across a nipple, it hardens at his touch while you let out a sharp gasp.

“You like that,” he says matter-of-factly. “Can I taste?” Nodding, you lean forward, welcoming his lips. His body finally relaxes as he moans against your skin. Circling the tip of his tongue around your nipple, he’s teasing you. And oh my god do you love it.

One of your hands threads through his hair and you stuff the other down your pants, but he grabs your wrist softly.

“That’s not fair,” he whispers and you concede, keeping your hands to yourself. With one hand, he stuffs your tit back in his mouth while the other plays with your other nipple. His hot, wet mouth on one nipple and his teasing fingers playing with the other sends waves of pleasure through you that may send you over the edge.

If you don’t do something to ease your need, you’re not sure how much longer you’ll be able to take this. You resort to grinding against his hard cock, making his hips buck.

Lifting your legs off his, you swing around to sit next to him, palming his cock over his trousers. Desperately clawing at the waistband, you unbutton and unzip his pants, encouraging him to kick them off. He stands to slip them off and as you reach for the band of his boxers, he stops you.

“Your turn,” he whispers. And you comply. But not without a show. Standing slowly, you push him to the couch and turn your back to him. As you push your pants down, your ass looks delicious in your thong that matches your bra—mesh bubblegum pink with red trim. When you turn back, he’s fisting himself over his underwear.

“Nuh-uh, that’s not fair,” you say. Returning next to him on the couch, you feel him over his boxers and your mouth waters. Goddamn you can’t wait for him to be inside you. “Do you have any lube?” He nods and shortly returns with a barely used tube.

While he stays standing, you sit up on the couch, running your hands across his muscular thighs and perfect pelvis. Looking up at him, his eyes are bright, darting all over your body like he’s afraid to miss something. He fiddles with his waistband, flipping the elastic over softly. A small smile flicks across your lips before you tug his boxers down his legs, leaving trails of kisses along the way.

Encouraging him to sit down, you look down at his cock, long and hard and dripping with precum. Finally, you drag your fingertips up and down his cock before squeezing him. He moans like you’ve never heard a man moan before. Laying your head on his shoulder, you sprinkle kisses all over his skin, finding a spot behind his ear that makes him squirm.

He hisses and—almost involuntarily—wraps one of his hands around yours to use his long fingers to guide your hand up and down. There’s something magical about someone with so little experience telling—no, showing—you what to do with his body. It’s electrifying. He hasn’t been touched in so long that he’s desperate to get off and can’t waste time with words. But no words need to be shared. His movements tell you what speed he likes.

Snaking his other arm around you, he stuffs his fingers in your hair and clenches his fist, subconsciously tugging the strands. His lips are right against your ear, breathing rapidly and heavily and he can hardly take it anymore. You watch his chest rise and fall as he clenches your hair, moaning getting quicker, he squeaks and whines.

Hurriedly pressing his lips to your temple, you can’t take your eyes off his cock as he shoots short spurts of cum all over his stomach. It takes a moment for him to catch his breath before he gives you a sweet smile.

You don’t let up with kisses all over his body. Sprinkling kisses here and there while he cleans himself up with a hand towel he’d brought with him when he got the lube from his bedroom. Once he’s clean, he slouches down the couch.

“Will you sit on my face?” His eyes are ever so sweet and innocent, like he’s finally able to test all his fantasies. “Please…” You hum like you’re only considering it, but we all know you’ll say yes. “Please, mommy?” Everything halts.

“Mommy?”

“F-fuck—” he sits up, ears turning redder than you’ve ever seen them—anyone’s ears for that matter. “I’m sorry, I should’ve asked first—”

“No, no…” you say gently, cupping his jaw to make him look at you. You can’t help yourself—you press your lips to his again and you lose yourself in his intoxicating kiss. But you break it and say, “Keep calling me that.”

“M-mommy?” You hum. Before you give him what he asked for, you shove your tit in front of his lips. He doesn’t need to be told what to do. His plush lips wrap around your hard nipple while he thumbs the other. It feels like fucking heaven.

“That’s my good boy.” He lets out the most pathetic whimper you’ve ever heard in your goddamn life. His eyebrows furrow, looking up at you through his lashes. “Are you my good boy?”

“Yes,” he says, nodding eagerly. “Yes, mommy. Of course.”

“Soobin,” you breathe in disbelief, dropping your head back. “You’re so sexy, I swear to god.”

“Nuh-uh,” he shakes his head. “That’s you.” He smiles. “Will you please sit on my face now?” He slouches down again without waiting for an answer. “Please.” You hike your leg up to rest your foot against the back of the couch, gently hovering over him. But he wraps his hands around your hips to yank you down. As he flicks his tongue over your clit, you might be embarrassed by the volume of your moan, but there’d be no reason to.

“I thought you said you didn’t do this a lot?”

“Well,” he takes a deep breath. “This was always what I was best at.” You chuckle. “Wait, no—” he shakes his head. “I’m good at the other stuff too. I hope.” Returning his tongue to your clit, you gasp and fall forward, bracing yourself against the back of the couch. He seizes the opportunity to get fully entranced in your taste.

There's an impossible contrast—your body melts, muscles soft and pliant as you surrender to the pleasure but, at the same time, goosebumps prickle along your skin, sharp and electric. Warmth and vulnerability layered with a thrill that leaves you shivering, somehow both at ease and on edge.

But then he snakes his hand behind your ass to tease your asshole with his pinky. And it's overwhelming. Your knees are so weak you can hardly hold yourself up. The way his hands feel on your body, touching you in all the right places, flicking his tongue perfectly, moaning so temptingly along with the built up tension—it is so much. So. Fucking. Much.

It builds in your stomach—teetering on the edge and god you only hope he doesn’t stop what he’s doing. But you can’t form words to tell him that. But he knows.

And then it happens.

You feel like you’re floating—or falling may be more accurate—as your orgasm washes over you, thighs quite literally quivering around his face as you come undone on top of him. For him. Unable to hold yourself up any longer, you roll and plop to the couch and he sloppily replaces his tongue with his fingers. You make a mental note to show him exactly where your clit is later. How is it that he found it so easily with his tongue but missed it with his hand? You guess he was right—oral is what he’s best at. Your chest heaves with your deep breaths as you come down from your high, watching him smirk at you.

“Oh my god,” you say breathlessly. There’s a beat of silence. “What the fuck?”

“What?” He chuckles.

“I wasn’t expecting that.”

“I told you I’m good at it.”

“Where’s your bedroom? This couch is too small for what we’re about to do.”

Once he shuts his bedroom door to keep Molly out, he pulls you by your waist to press his bare body to yours and kisses you again so romantically it takes your breath away.

“Wow,” he whispers against your lips. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Oh my god, shut up.” You go straight back in for more kisses. But you break it— “But not literally, though. Please keep saying stuff like that.” You giggle together, slowly falling toward the bed until you’re gently laid on your back and he’s over top of you.

“Can I, like, kiss all over your body?”

“Of course,” you say. “You don’t need to ask.”

And then he does exactly what he wants. Starting at your lips, he moves to the corner of your mouth, trailing behind your ear and down your neck. The way his breath tickles your neck sends shivers down your spine and you need more, more, more.

As you lay there, simply basking in the feeling of him taking his time exploring every inch of you with the softest lips you’ve ever felt, you can’t help but be giddy. He’s tentative in some areas and eager in others. After he kisses the sensitive skin under your breast, he carefully observes your reaction. When he delicately presses his lips to your pelvis, his eyes flutter up to yours nervously.

“Soobin,” you say breathlessly. He hums against your tummy, shaky hands running up your thighs. “I need you please.”

“You need me?” You nod. “Where do you need me, mommy?” You groan, arching your back, not even knowing where to start. You need him everywhere.

“Inside me,” you say. “Please, I’ve been thinking about it for so long.”

“Have you?” He asks innocently, using his fingers to play with the folds of your pussy so casually, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. “I should be the impatient one.” But you know why he’s taking it so slow. He’s nervous as hell right now.

Aligning his cock with your entrance, he slowly pushes himself inside you. And it's utterly exhilarating. For both of you. He falls forward, framing your face with his forearms, digging his nose into your neck.

“Fuck…” He whispers shakily. Your nails drag down his back at his inexperienced hip rolls. “Oh my god, what are you doing to me?” Despite his inevitable desperation, his thrusts are controlled. He’s trying his very best at least. But his cock is so fucking perfect, you figure he’d make you feel good no matter what he does. Although, a little part of you thinks about how good he’ll be at fucking you in a few months after a little practice. Or lots of practice.

He whispers swears, your name, and mommy…over and over again. Then he sits up, looking down at your body. Awkwardly fumbling as if he wants to say something, his mouth isn’t cooperating with his brain. He slowly comes to a stop, sliding out of you and barely touches your calf.

“Can you, uh…would you mind, um—”

"Do you wish to see me on my knees? Is that it, darling?"

“Yes, mommy…please, I’ve never—”

“You’ve never had someone on their knees for you?” You ask and he silently shakes his head. “You’ve been such a good boy for me. Of course I’ll get on my knees for you.” You oblige to his request, turning yourself around and arching your back to give him a perfect view of your ass. He groans at the simple sight of your body. He swipes his hands over the swell of your ass, squeezing here and there.

He clears his throat and asks, “What do I do?”

“Oh,” you chuckle lightly. “Just get on your knees and guide yourself in. Make sure it’s the right hole,” you say light-heartedly, trying to ease the tension a bit.

But when he’s finally inside you again, it’s heaven. And he indulges in himself a bit—thrusting faster, harder, making your ass jiggle. The lewd sounds of his cock in your wetness and his hips smacking your skin makes it all the more erotic. But it doesn’t take long before—

“I like it better the other way, I think,” he says matter-of-factly. “Is that okay?”

“Of course that’s okay, babe,” you say, flipping back over and spreading your legs. And he slides right back inside you, letting his head fall back. But your tits bouncing are simply too tempting not to look at. They’re why he prefers it this way, so why not look at them as much as he can? He retreats a bit, opening his mouth like he wants to ask you something but he’s too shy.

“What is it, baby?”

“I was just wondering if you…if you could—would you want to be on top?” His tone is genuinely sweet. “Like what position do you like?”

“Missionary’s my favorite too,” you say. “But I would, hm, I would really like to be on top for a bit.” Switching quickly, you align yourself over his cock and sink down on him so, so, so slowly, letting out a big sigh of relief. “Oh my god, Soobin. Are you fucking kidding me?” You don’t think you’ve ever felt so full before. The feeling stretches all the way to your toes. “I need to hump you like crazy for a bit,” you say with a chuckle. He nods like that’s perfectly fine with me, mommy.

And you do exactly that—bounce on his cock as fast as your body lets you, relieving that built-up tension. Over the last few months, you wanted to jump his bones every time you were in the same room and that feeling never let up, like there was a tension thermometer in your body that was constantly stuck at boiling.

But perhaps it was a bit more painful for him because an occasional rut up into you isn’t enough anymore. He holds your hips to keep you in place, fucking up into you as fast as he can. Head dropping back, he groans, your name leaving his lips.

“Mommy?” His eyebrows furrow, looking utterly pathetic. “Let’s switch back. Please.” Hiking your leg over his hips, you land roughly on your back. Gently grabbing your hands, he pins them above your head, aligns his cock at your entrance, and slides inside you, rolling his hips so deliciously. As he kisses you, he swallows your moans. Trailing down your neck, he whispers, “Please tell me I’m making you feel good, Mommy.”

Your eyes roll back in pleasure and you say, “Fuck, you’re making me feel so good.”

Slowing his thrusts, he asks, “What else would you like me to do?” Smiling up at him, you rub his thighs. Waiting for an answer, he covers your collarbone in kisses, making his way back to your ear. After nibbling gently on your earlobe, he whispers, “Tell me how to make you feel even better.” Oof. Shivers.

“Rub my clit,” you say. He sits up, fumbling with his fingers. “Use your thumb,” you giggle. “Wait.” Reaching for his hand, you let spit pool in your mouth before wrapping your lips around his thumb. Sucking on it, he looks at you like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Then he follows your instructions, rubbing your clit with his thumb while he fucks you, listening intently to every instruction, every a little to the lefts, up a little bit mores, and he never gets impatient.

Your back arches impossibly high and you say, “I’m close, babe. Don’t stop.” You rub your own nipple, but he moves your hand out of the way, wetting his thumb with his own spit before circling it for you.

Everything has been building to this moment. Staring at him in every lecture, longing for his touch. That kiss in his office was just the start of your addiction. Attending his office hours didn’t help, but you couldn’t stay away. You needed to be closer to him. To feel heat radiating off his body. To smell his spicy cologne. To watch his fingers wrap around his pen and wish they were wrapped around something else.

All of it was for this moment right here. Cumming around his cock for the first time. You can’t wait any longer. There’s a white hot burning in your belly that’s getting more furious by the second. His name leaves your mouth in a yelp before fireworks explode inside you.

Your legs shake around his waist as he fucks you through it, not changing a single thing. Overwhelmed with pleasure, you grab his wrist to stop him from rubbing your nipple to make sure it’s the most perfect orgasm you’ve ever had—not too much and not too little.

And it’s neither. Instead, it’s perfection. You knew it would be. It seems to last forever but somehow not long enough. As soon as you finish, you miss it.

Catching your breath, your vision clears up as you look up at him with a smile. He shyly asks, “How was that?”

You take a deep breath and say, “Oh my god, that was so good.” Rubbing soothing strokes up and down your thighs, you can tell he’s getting impatient. But still—he’d never pressure you in a million years.

Bending to kiss your neck again, he whispers, “Can I cum inside you?” You nod frantically.

“Please.”

“I have condoms if you want.” You think about it for a second. Really. You would love nothing more than to feel him fill you up. But it’s risky. “Mommy…” His hips slowly start moving again, encouraging a decision from you. “What are you thinking?”

“Cum inside me, please. Wanna feel all of you,” you say, rubbing his back. He smiles, pressing his lips to yours in a passionate kiss that sends your head reeling. He sits up and squeezes your thighs over and over, adoring the way your body feels in his hands. Soft and squishy and intoxicating. Licking your own thumb, you pinch and rub one of his nipples, making his mouth drop open. He didn’t even think of having his own nipples played with.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—” he gasps. You praise him, Cum inside me, baby. You’ve been such a good boy for me. I want you to feel so good for me, okay? And he’s rutting his hips into you roughly, using your body for his own pleasure. You simply can’t get enough. You want him inside you forever and ever. “You’re…” he trails off. “You’re gonna make me cum, Mommy.”

“Go ahead. Cum for me.” Like it’s a command, his hips stutter and his cum fills you up, warm and sweet and heavenly. Swears and other inaudible words you hope are compliments spill out of his mouth. Falling forward, he digs his face into your neck once more, twitching until he comes to a stop, taking deep breaths.

You expect a warm smile to echo his warm cum filling you up but he stays put. In fact, he doesn’t move or say anything for quite some time. So much time passes that his cock has slipped out of you on its own, his cum leaking down the swell of your ass.

You finally break the silence, “Are you okay?” He nods awkwardly. “Look at me.” He shakes his head. “What’s wrong?” He still won’t budge. “Soobin, what’s going on?”

“I’m embarrassed,” he whines.

“Huh? About what?”

“Calling you mommy,” he finally sits up. “I was just caught up in the moment—I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have—”

“Honey,” you giggle, sitting up with him. “I told you I liked it.”

“You weren’t just saying that?”

“I don’t think I would’ve came that hard if I didn’t like it.”

His eyes brighten before adding, “I guess so.” It genuinely was one of the strongest orgasms you’ve ever had. Surely, he has to know that, right? But wait—

“Was it good for you?”

“Oh my god,” he’s finally relaxed a little, peppering your face with kisses. “That was the best orgasm I’ve ever had, I swear.” He stands, walking into his en-suite to get you a towel, damp with warm water. “So…” he starts awkwardly. “Should we, like, report this to the dean?”

“Is that your way of asking me to be exclusive?” He blushes as you brush some of his hair behind his ear. “Because my answer is absolutely.” You press your lips together. “Although, can we hold off for a while? Just until next semester starts?”

“Be in our own little world for a bit?” He smiles, wrapping his arms around your waist. “You’re taking a break until next semester, right? Are you working right now?”

“No,” you shake your head. “I got a bunch of scholarships to pay for school,” you say proudly.

“Why am I not surprised?”

“Because I’m the smartest person you know,” you say cheekily.

“No lectures until next semester, so I’m pretty much free.” He smiles, clearly wanting to say something more, but bites his tongue. “Can I ask you something?” You nod. “This may be moving way too fast, but do you maybe wanna spend the holidays here? With me?”

The next few weeks are a whirlwind. Both of you admit it’s too fast. But neither of you care. The fireplace roars as you decorate his Christmas tree together, wrapped presents, baked cookies, everything you could think of that ooey-gooey couples do.

And of course, nightly sex is a bonus. You simply can’t get enough of each other. And you just about lose it when you walk into the kitchen on Christmas morning. He’s standing at the counter wearing a Santa hat, flannel pajama pants, and a black tank top making your favorite tea.

“Ah, there she is! Good morning,” he says with a smile. You take a plate full of chocolate chip waffles from him. But not before he kisses you. Cupping your cheek, he pulls you into perhaps the sweetest kiss you’ve ever had. You can feel his smile on your lips.

And everything feels absolutely perfect. You think you may be dreaming, but he feels so very real at this moment. And his voice is clear as day, “Merry Christmas.”

#hp's writing 🪲#soobin smut #soobin hard thoughts #soobin hard hours #txt smut #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #choi soobin #chubby reader #soobin x reader #soobin ff #soobin fic #soobin fanfic #soobin x chubby reader #kpop ff #kpop fanfic #kpop fic #kpop smut

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noforkingclue · 1 day ago

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Hi there! I know I’ve already sent a few in, but I have to send just one more since you’re closing your requests soon …

Would you be willing to write something for Tommy Shelby using the prompt: “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” ?

Thanks so much if you choose to!! 🥰

Note: requests are now closed

Thank you so much for the request. I'm sorry that it took so long to write. Hope it was worth the wait

Title: Consequences

Prompt list: link

Tommy paused briefly when he spotted you in his office chair. You took another sip of the whiskey you had stolen from him as your gazes locked. Tommy didn’t speak to you as he walked softly across his office. Your gaze followed him as he poured his own drink. He took a sip of his own drink and looked around his office, much to your annoyance.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

It was you who shattered the silence, finally sick of it. Tommy finally looked over at you. He studied you intentionally as you took another swig from your drink.

“You look good there,” he commented at last, “behind my desk. Although I’d prefer it if you were on my lap.”

“Fuck you.”

“In time,” he commented, as he walked around his office, “now tell me, what is it that I’ve meant to have done.”

You slammed your drink down on the desk with such force that you were surprised the glass didn’t shatter. Tommy raised his eyebrows at your reaction.

“What you’ve done,” you hissed quietly, “what you’ve done is going to get us all killed!”

“I haven’t managed that so far.”

“This is London you’re expanding into, Tommy!”

“And I’ve done business in London before, despite everyone’s protests. No one is yet to die.”

“Well last time you didn’t end up killing, how many people was it?”

“Don’t know.”

“Why? Didn’t keep count?”

Tommy gave you a blank look as he slowly walked closer to his desk. You stood up from his desk and hugged yourself tightly as you turned your back on him. You looked out at the dark night, watching Tommy approach you in the dark reflection until he was directly behind you. He had put his glass down next to yours and gripped your shoulders tightly. You winced under his touch but he turned you around, pressing you against the window.

“I’ve lost count a long time ago,” he said, leaning closer, “what happened in London doesn’t make me any worse or any better. So why are you acting this way.”

His lips brushed against yours.

“Is it because it was your family?” he asked

“My family-”

“Are now the Shelby’s,” he interrupted firmly, “you knew that would happen when you married me, Mrs Shelby. You knew this was going to be a risk. You knew we were going to expand into London, your family’s territory. You always knew that this could happen when we made our expansion.”

“Our marriage was meant to unify our families. A slaughter-”

“We were attacked first, love. What were we meant to do? Give up? Surrender? You should know that’s not what we do.”

“That’s not what I-”

Tommy’s grip on you tightened painfully and you let out a hiss in discomfort. Immediately he loosened his grip but never broke eye contact. You could feel yourself getting lost in his blue eyes. Those eyes that had drawn you in since the first time you’d met him.

“You need to remember where your loyalties now lie,” he continued quietly, “so where do your loyalties lie, Mrs Shelby?”

“Where do you think?”

“I want to hear you say it.”

“With you.”

“That’s what I thought.”

He cupped your cheeks and pressed a kiss against your lips. He only ever acted like this with you and when it was just the two of you.

When it was just the two of you, he could allow himself to be soft. To show you the love he felt for you.

When it was just the two of you, you could ignore the taste of blood on his lips and the red under his fingernails. Because you knew that he ignored the same things on you.

#fanfiction #peaky blinders #reader insert #request #thomas shelby #tommy shelby #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x reader

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mykuup · 5 hours ago

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Λ𝘋 𝘓𝘐𝘉𝘐𝘛𝘝𝘔 (toward pleasure) PART II

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My Masterlist | PART I

Summary : After your night at the palace, you return to your life and to your husband. But if rumors and whispers are tough to cease, it's even impossible to stop an emperor.

wc : 4.1k

Warnings : No spoiler from the movie // angst // fluff // mention of cheating // mention of violence // threat with a dagger // possesive!Geta // soft!Geta // married!reader // afab reader (but no description)

A/n : You asked, I delivered 😎 Ty ty ty ty for your appreciation for Ad Libitum pt I !! I never thought you would love it that bad! I really hope this part II will satisfy your appetite. Sorry I took my time but I'm also working on another story for our beloved emperor.

Please, interact with this I would love to see your reaction to this ending! (Also it makes me happy to see that you enjoyed my work 💜)

Sorry if you spot any mistake

Taglist : @byronking @stardancerluv @preparedfruit @userchai @helsa3942 @preparedfruit @analves @silentwhisper666 @deliciousfestsalad @saphirmoraitie @justnobodynothingmore @claudialioncourtdulac @phobobobophobia @koshkahhhh @noblenighttime @moon-390

Dalia was the first to work this morning. She had already prepared pressed fruit juice and arranged bread and cheese plates with a watered-down wine carafe. As she walked in the long corridors to bring it to Caracalla’s quarters, she noticed a half-naked woman heading out of Geta’s bedroom. Dalia saw how her hair was tangled and how she was handing her dress to hide her modesty, walking hurriedly towards the empress’s quarters. It wasn’t hard to understand the whole situation. A wide, evil smile enlightened her as she returned to the kitchen. She had to tell everyone that Geta spent the night with a concubine.

You exhale in relief as you enter the empress’s quarters. The walk of shame from Geta’s bedroom to this little chamber where you had changed earlier, happened without crossing anyone. Well, you thought you heard something but it was just your foggy mind playing tricks as no one was around. You tried to stay silent as much as possible as you were changing to your original dress. Images of Geta’s chocolate eyes were on your mind on repeat and guilt flooded your entire being.

How did you end up in this whole situation? You were happy, living a peaceful life with your husband. Speaking of, how could you explain this to him? Well, do you really want him to know? You weren’t a liar, he knew you had spent your childhood in this palace and that your parents were still working there. And even though you spoke to him about how you used to play with the young emperors when you were a child, he knew you weren’t friends with them. You never were. Your mind was racing so you didn’t notice the soft ruffles of Julia’s nightgown and you were startled when she cleared her throat. You turn to look at her and she instantly notices the turmoil inside you. She stepped closer and hugged you.

‘Rome will always be grateful for what you’ve done,’ she said softly as she pulled off. ‘I’ll be sure to send you a gift to thank you.’

You shake your head. ‘I don’t need any gift or reward Your Highness,’ your voice was firm. ‘I just want to go back to my life as if nothing ever happened here.’

Julia’s heart shattered. She really liked you and she genuinely thought you would be the perfect partner for her son. But she couldn’t say that. She respected your choice, and the fact that you already endangered your marriage for her made her keep her thoughts to herself.

As you walked away, she couldn’t fight asking you a question.

‘Are you feeling alright?’ You turned back to look at her, arching a brow. ‘Was he gentle with you?’ You could see in her eyes she was genuinely concerned to know if her son hurt you in any way possible.

But what Geta did to you tonight was totally opposite from hurting you. Memories of the tenderness he showed you invade your mind again and you smile.

‘He was the best lover I ever had,’ you simply answered before you left. You didn’t want to lie to her, and even though it was hard for you to admit it, this simple statement was the pure truth. Never the few men you had known worshipped you the way Geta did. Even your husband, who was caring and in love with you, never showed you how you truly deserved to be loved…

When you finally reach your little cottage, you spend your entire day thinking about what you did and how your life is now going to be different.

The sun rising casted soft lights through the heavy curtains seams, softly warming Geta’s face. Half awake, he shifted under the blankets and reached out for you. But all he could feel under his fingers was the coldness of the empty linen sheets. He rose abruptly, looking for you in his quarters. But you were nowhere to be found. He hastily put on his robes and stormed out of his bedroom, reaching directly to his mom’s. He crossed paths with several servants on his way and almost missed their whispers and giggles. Something was happening but he couldn’t mind less as his panic started to rise.

‘It was you right?!’ he asked without any form or greeting. His mom's eyes went wide as she wasn’t expecting to see her son this early. In front of her silence, Geta spoke again. ‘You did this, didn’t you? And now she’s gone!’ Different feelings were colliding in Geta’s heart and mind.

Panic, fear, rage, and desperation.

The empress saw the distress in her son’s eyes and tried to reach for him. But Geta stepped back. ‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘Wh—what have you done?!’ His voice trembling, betraying him. Julia tried to reach for her son again, hugging him as he let her approach this time. His fists and jaw were clenched tight as his mind was clouded.

‘I’m sorry,’ Julia whispered, trying to soothe her son. ‘Don’t be mad at her. I was the one asking—’ Geta pulled out from his mom’s embrace, eyes wide.

‘What. Have. You. Done.’ his tone was as cold as ice as rage flooded his entire being. Julia stepped back and stumbled over her chair and then the little table as Geta was slowly walking toward her, a menacing look in his eyes.

But Julia knew otherwise. She was the empress of Rome and even though her sons were now ruling, she understood the importance of the citizens’ opinion. She stood in front of her son, her feet firmly on the ground. ‘I asked her to make you a man so you can satisfy your future wife and rule this city as you are destined to,’ her voice calm but firm.

‘You… you were ashamed of me…’ Geta realized, disgust and disappointment in his voice. Julia’s heart falls on her stomach at the statement.

‘I’ll never be ashamed of you. You’re my son, my beloved son,’ she added as she cupped his face. ‘But those rumors were deteriorating faith citizens had in you so—’ Geta cuts her off.

‘So what? You’ll make a public announcement saying I shared my bed with a woman?!’ The young emperor was annoyed that this was his mother’s plan. Of course, he knew about the rumors, it was the first thing he talked about to you last night. But a part of him wanted to believe you were there because you actually cared about him. He even hoped you would love him. But it was foolish of him to even think of it.

‘In a few days, you will meet the Princess of Galatia (modern Turkey).’ Geta froze in place. ‘Her father and yours were old friends. We agreed this would be the best option as she’s still young and you needed to be experimented for her.’

Geta's eyes went wide, his pupils fully blown out, and no brown was left. Veins could be seen on his forehead and neck as his jaw clenched tight, his teeth almost shattering at the strength. His pale complexion was long gone, deep red now adorning his face. A single tear fell from the corner of his eye as rage consumed him.

‘Where is she?’ He managed to speak, his fingers bruising his mother’s skin as he held her by the shoulders. ‘They will arrive soon—’

‘NO!’ Geta screamed, cutting his mom’s off. ‘WHERE IS SHE?!’ And Julia figured out he was talking about you. ‘Please she—’ But the look he gave her sent a thrill down her spine. He made it clear she would not dare to make him repeat himself.

Julia gulped, now a bit afraid of her son. ‘She’s gone, Geta. You can’t have her… she’s married.’ Her last words felt like a punch in the guts. Geta let go of his mother and, without a word, as she thought, he walked away. When he reached the big wooden door to exit his mother’s quarters, he stopped.

‘I am the emperor,’ his voice surprisingly calm and steady. ‘I can have whatever I want.’

A few days have passed since you ran off the palace. Your husband was back from the countryside with new fabrics to sell at the market. It had been two weeks since he last saw you so when he noticed you were home, waiting for him, he couldn’t stop himself. He was too excited.

‘I missed you so much,’ he said as he was kissing your lips and caressing your body under his. You shivered as your mind was elsewhere. As you closed your eyes, flashes of deep brown eyes flooded. You could hear his voice whispering praises. You imagined it was him kissing you right now. You snapped your eyes open, ashamed of thinking about someone else while your husband was making love to you. But it didn’t felt the same anymore. He tasted different, his touch wasn’t enough. Even when he dived inside of you, your pussy was aching, not feeling full enough. You hated yourself right now. And the feeling lingered as your life kept going.

Guilt, shame, and irritation followed you for days. Your husband noticed something and tried his best to understand what was going on but you shut yourself, not letting him in. You didn’t wanted to hurt him, even though you knew you already had and he had no clue.

At the end of the week, Rome was celebrating. It was announced that the royal family of Galatia was there. Games would be played in the arena and tons of merchants were in the flooded streets to sell pastries, exotic fruits, and other things to the citizens and guests. To get a better chance at selling more, your husband asked you to accompany him.

As you were behind your stand, you caught a woman staring at you. You didn’t pay attention at first but then you noticed she was talking to other women around her. All of them looking at you and giggling. As you stared back, you recognized their outfit and then, it snapped at you. They were all servants at the palace. And the way one of them looked at you with a devilish smile, you understood. That night when you were towering back to the empress’s quarters, you heard something. You heard footsteps but saw no one. But this girl, you knew she saw you.

It couldn’t be otherwise.

You wanted to do something. But what? Confronting them could pull out the truth and your husband would know. The worst thing would be for the entire city to know that you, a married woman, ended up in the virgin emperor’s bed. It could bring shame to the entire royal family and you would be sent to exile if not killed in a public place.

You felt sick, bile stinging in your throat. You had to do something, to find a solution. The servants scattered and you wondered how much time it would be left for you until the rumor spread and landed in Geta’s ears. You looked around you, it was late in the afternoon so you could pretend you needed some rest and go home alone and figure it all out there.

‘Are you alright dove?’ your husband asked you, worried in his voice as he looked at you. He saw the panic in your eyes, you couldn’t hide it.

‘I’m just… I don’t feel well. I think I need to rest.’ Your husband tilted his head, trying to understand your late behavior. But he remembered his father teaching him how women could be very mysterious creatures and that sometimes, a man should know when to let go.

‘Right, why don’t you go with Orina? Her husband told me she also wanted to leave the market early.’ You nodded as he kissed your forehead and you walked toward Orina.

She was older than you, her husband was a spice seller. Convenient for you, she went to the marker with her horse. So you ride behind her until you both reach her house. She offered you to stay but you declined politely and walked toward your little house. The sun had disappeared when you pushed your cottage’s wooden door. You sigh, your mind racing with thoughts. You felt your headache growing and then an idea came out.

You had to disappear.

Julia did her best to not let her son comb through the entire city to find you. When the royal family of Galatia arrived, Geta was trapped. He had to stay at the palace for his guests but he was boiling inside. His mother’s plans felt like betrayal and in his rage, he thought for a second to punish his mom for this. Even when he was in the arena, watching the games, his mind was elsewhere. He was obsessed with you, the souvenir of your lips on his haunting his every thought. His mother tried to force him to get closer to Princess Nazenin, but Geta only stayed polite, his coldness toward her barely hiding.

The fight down in the arena was almost finished when a servant sneaked in to whisper something to the king. His eyes went wide and his fist landed abruptly on the arm of his chair. Everybody was startled and turned around to look at him. Anger was written on his face as he first looked at Geta and then at the empress.

‘You lied to us!’ he screamed and Julia rose from her throne. ‘Your Highness I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ her tone was desperate as she was lost, not knowing what was happening.

‘You told us we would come here to marry our children but it came to my ears that your son is already engaged to an insignificant whore?!’

Julia’s eyes went wide but it was nothing compared to Geta’s. He grabbed his dagger from his golden belt and aimed at the king, his blade stopping at his throat, dangerously close to cut through his skin. Everyone on the balcony was shocked and Geta spoke, his voice trembling with hate and rage.

‘Never call her that again.’ He took a look around, noticing everyone's reaction. Caracalla was bouncing on his throne, thrilled to see his brother kill someone. His mother was mortified, silently pleading for the king’s life. The princess was kneeling before him, also praying for the emperor to let her father go. And finally, he noticed the servant hiding behind a collum. He let go of the king, not even listening to the relief and complaints of what just happened and walked toward the servant.

‘Who told you that?’ Geta asked, gripping firmly at the collar of the servant’s tunic. She was so scared of him that nothing came out of her throat. ‘TELL ME! He shouted and the servant babbled her answer.

‘Da-Dalia, she saw the concubine at the market selling fabrics, and she—’ Geta didn't let her finish her explanation. He let her go and, without looking back, left the coliseum. He took a horse and rode to reach the marketplace. The streets were still full of people but he didn’t mind, hurrying the animal to go faster. When he saw the first fabric stand, he looked around to find you. But you were nowhere to be found. He noticed that the sellers were often couple or at least two for one stand. So when he found one with only a man behind his display, he reached for him.

‘You!’ Geta called, pointing at the man. The seller bowed before him and tried to hide his nervousness. ‘Are you alone?’ The man rose to look at the young emperor, not really sure why he could ask him such a question. ‘Don’t make me repeat myself,’ Geta’s impatience showed in his tone.

‘Yes, Your Highness I’m alone. My wife just left to get some rest—’

‘What’s her name?’ Geta cuts him off and confusion could be seen on the seller’s face. When he told Geta your name, the emperor saw red. He was your husband. How could you be with such a simple man when you deserved the entire world?! This man couldn’t even afford golden threads for his fabrics. Or worse, he couldn’t even protect you from those horrendous rumors. He could get rid of him so easily, but this would be for later. Right now, Geta needed to find you. ‘Where is she now?’

‘Home, she was—’

‘Where?!’ Your husband gave him the information and Geta didn’t waste a second, his horse galloping as fast as it could.

Your house wasn’t far from the city and when he saw the little cottage with two pine trees as your husband described it, Geta felt some relief for a short second.

But panic started to get over him as he saw no fire or candlelight from the little window. You weren’t there. He crossed the little bridge and hurried to your front garden. He climbed out from his horse, attached the leash to the wooden hedge, and started looking for you. At first, he tried to broke into your house but the door was locked and he could guess you weren’t inside anyway. But when he looked around, he noticed a little dot of light moving further on the unpaved path.

A candlelight.

You were grabbing your cape tightly as you were walking away from Rome. You decided it was best for you to leave this place before it could go out of hand. You didn’t wanted your husband to be shamed, and you wanted to avoid your head to end up on a stick. But as you were running away from your life, you heard someone shout your name and heavy hooves hitting the ground. When you turned around, Geta was there, slowing his horse as he got closer to you. You let go of the little candle you were handling and started to run but he was faster, getting in your way.

‘Where do you think you’re going?!’ Geta said, his tone harsher than he intended. You took off your hood and looked at him, wondering how he ended up here. Why did he came after you after all these days? Wasn’t he supposed to get married to whatever child this royal family brings?

‘Your Highness you—’

‘Stop calling me like that,’ he cuts you off. ‘Stop pretending nothing happened between us.’ You swallow hard. Of course, you couldn’t act like he wasn’t on repeat in your mind. That is why you were leaving in the first place.

But your ego was also big and you didn’t wanted to show him how much you were affected by him.

‘This is the only way… Your Highness,’ you dared and turned back to walk away. Now you were getting on his nerves and he hated this attitude of yours. He grabbed you by the arm to stop you, bringing you close to him. You tried to set free in vain. He was strong, his grip already bruising your skin but not in a sweet way. You cried out, pleading for him to let you go. Geta grabbed your face with his other hand, making you look at him, his pupils all blown out.

‘My mom told me I can’t have you but I told her otherwise,’ he stated with gritted teeth. ‘So stop playing games. Let me take you back to the palace.’

‘I don’t care what you told to your mom. I’m married, you can’t have—’

‘STOP IT!’ Geta shouted, and you stopped fighting, stunned by his loud voice. ‘Stop telling me that I can’t have whatever I want. I am the emperor, I take what I please. Your husband? I can get rid of him so easily, you have no idea.’ Your body shivered. You couldn’t let him kill your husband, it was too extreme. Geta saw the panicked look in your eyes. His grip on you loosened but he made sure to keep you close, his arms now encircling your body gently. He offered you a smile to ease the tension between you and he spoke again, his voice soft and calm.

‘I almost killed a king for you today. And I would kill anyone if it’s the only way to have you by my side.’

His eyes locked on yours and you noticed how serious he was. Of course, he had to go for the most intense way. His gaze softened as you were still silent and he softly called out your name.

‘Please, come with me. I—I don’t even know how you did this to me. All I know is that I can’t live without you. I need you more than a starved man needs food I… I need you more than a fool needs guidance from the Gods.’

‘Geta please, we can’t—’ you tried but he cupped your face, his rings cold against your hot cheeks. ‘I would burn Rome and the entire world if you ask me to,’ he whispered, and you could feel his breath on your lips. ‘Please,’ his words only a gentle murmur now. His lips crushed on yours and you melt at his touch, your body entirely burning for him.

Everything around you disappeared as his embrace tightened around you. You hummed when he tried to play with your tongue, and your hands instinctively went to get tangled in his ginger locks. His hands were roaming on your body, making you feel safe, loved, and worshipped. You gently pulled out to get some air and you looked at him. Geta’s cheeks were all flushed, his deep brown eyes falling to your lips before locking his eyes in yours.

You took a deep breath, thinking about what you would say to him. But before you could say anything, he took out his golden-leaves crown to put it on your head and fell to his knees. His arms still encircling you, he looked at you one more time before nudging his face at your belly, his hot breath fanning over your core through your dress. He inhaled your scent and hummed in satisfaction before pulling away to lock his eyes into yours again.

‘Please, let me make you the greatest empress Rome has ever known.’

At this moment, it felt right to nod your head in approval. You couldn’t refuse him anything with the way he was staring at you. He never looked so desperate yet so hopeful. His grip around you was soft yet strong and you realized how madly in love Geta was. You cupped his face to bring him back close to yours as you sighed, still thinking about your decision.

‘Geta,’ you spoke softly as you got lost in his deep chocolate haze. ‘I—What will happen next?’

You were waiting for something, a reason to say no, or maybe something that doesn’t sound crazy. But the truth was that you wanted to be his as he stole your heart in the sweetest way possible. He might had a sixth sense because his answer reflected what you were thinking.

‘You stole my heart the moment I saw you in the palace. And for as long as I remember, you were the only one visiting me in my dreams. If you agree to go back to the palace with me, I promise you only glory and happiness. I want you to be the empress of Rome. I want you to be my wife. And I want you to be the mother of my children. Because you deserve the world, I will bring it to you, fighting and winning every battle I can to show you that I’m worthy of your love.’ He kissed you on the corner of your lips and added in a whisper. ‘That’s what will happen, I promise.’

Without thinking twice, you crushed your lips on his, gripping his robe to get him as close to you as possible. Your kiss was wild, full of hope and desires, the moon and stars the only witnesses of this raw love you showed him. When you pulled out to breathe, Geta’s eyes were full of spark and lust, mirroring yours. You both didn’t ride back to the palace, spending the night entangled in each other’s arms, making love under the moonlight.

When the morning sun rose up, and after putting back your clothes on, Geta offered you his help to get on the horse. ‘Your Highness,’ he said with a very distinguished tone. ‘Your throne awaits.’ You giggled at his sudden playfulness, surprising you with a new side of him you know you will be more than happy to discover. As you encircled your arms around his waist, he caressed your hand and softly ordered the horse to walk.

‘I can’t wait for Rome to see you, my empress. ’

#mykuup #ad libitum #emperor geta x you #emperor geta x reader #emperor geta #joseph quinn #joseph quinn gladiator ii #joe quinn #geta x f!reader #jquinn

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valeskalikespickles · 3 days ago

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SEX POLLEN

request by anon

word count: 941

summary: Eddie and reader were locked in a room with a scientist who died from a major heart attack. When reader knocks over a jar of sex pollen she and Eddie can't hold back anymore.

DISCLAIMER: I don't usually write smut.. so i'm terribly sorry if this is bad. I did enjoy writing this though, it was a fun experiment. Whoever requested it thank you!

Gender: FEMALE

Eddie Diaz X fem! reader

Warnings: SMUT MDNI

So being locked in a room with Eddie after being exposed to sex pollen was not on my 2024 bingo card.

We were helping this scientist who had a major heart attack, I turned around too fast and knocked over a small jar. Eddie yelled at me but how the hell was I supposed to know it would just make us horny as shit? The victim died, we were doing cpr for about 25 minutes and Eddie ripped me off of the guy after saying he was gone. I never do well when we lose someone. Kind of makes me feel like I failed at my job. When I tried to kick out of his arms, that's when I knocked the jar over. We went to leave and found that it was completely locked down. Dude had like 6 million different security measures and the team was working to get them down. We put him under a sheet and slid him into a different room so we wouldn't have to stare at a dead body for God knows how long.

About twenty minutes after I knocked it over I rolled my head back, I could definitely feel the effects. I was trying not to pay attention to it, the burning sensation in my core but to be honest it was getting harder and harder. My cunt had never been this soaked, looking over and seeing Eddie with his head thrown back as he also tried to fight it didn’t help. My hand reached down, slipping into my pants and into my panties.. Slowly working around my clit. Eddie was staring now, looking at me with a look I’d never seen on his face before. “May I?” He made his way over to me and I nodded, he slid his hand into my pants and let out a quiet groan.

“Shit you’re so wet.” He whispered, I reached over and palmed at his bulge. “What if they find us too soon?” I moaned out quietly as he stuck a finger into me as I jolted backwards. “I don’t even care.” He whispered, kissing my neck slowly.

“You- You're supposed to be mad at me for this.” I stammered, hands finding their way into his dark hair. He shook his head against the crook of my neck. “I can’t be mad when the only thing I’m thinking about is fucking you senseless.”

He removed his hand and I let out a small whine. “Hold on, sweetheart. I’m just getting you more comfortable.” He slid my pants off along with my panties. He grabbed me by the waist, picking me up from the ground and sitting me on the counter, positioning himself in between my legs and throwing each one of my legs over his shoulders. He slowly licked the slick off of my cunt, looking up at me as he did so.

“Look at me, amor..” He whispered, the vibrations of his voice sending a shiver down my spine. I looked down at him, I swear I could’ve came right fucking there. His eyes were brown but they were always the prettiest eyes I’d ever seen.

He held eye contact with me, licking and sucking at my clit. I closed my eyes for a moment and he stopped, “Fuck.” I whispered, looking back down at him. “Keep looking at me, I wanna see those pretty eyes when you cum.” He spoke softly, his voice rugged. I nodded weakly, looking into his eyes as he continued to suck on my clit. He slid his tongue into me and I yelped, “E-eddie.” I whispered, grinding against his face. Before I knew it I was sweating and I was pushed to my max. My back arched and my mouth flew open, a loud moan leaving my mouth as he continued to tongue fuck me while I rode out my high. I pushed his head back with a shaky breath. He looked up at me, his mustache soaked with my slick.

He stood up and immediately started kissing me, making me taste me on his mouth. I moaned against him as he slid his belt off with ease, he took his cock out and pumped it a few times. “What do you need?” I whispered, taking his cock in my hand. “Your mouth or to be inside of you.. I don’t even care.” I could’ve sworn he whimpered a little bit. “How about both?” I lowered down to my knees, “Just this first because I need to taste you.” I licked the head of his cock, his head lolling back and I stopped.

“If I had to look at you, you have to look at me.” I licked at the large vein in his dick, him whimpering again and nodding as he maintained eye contact with me. His eyes were enough to make a girl weak in the knees.. If I wasn’t already. I took as much as I could of him into my mouth as possible, bobbing my head as his large hand entangled into my hair.

At some point, he was a moaning mess, “I’m gonna cum.. Please.”

I gave him a look of ‘do it’ and he did, his cum shooting into my throat in warm ropes. He decided he wanted to fuck the shit out of my on the counter, which I let him do but shit he was so pretty when he came.

Eventually we finished and got dressed, I walked over to him and kissed him slowly. “We should do that again sometime.” I laughed and he rolled his eyes. “Let me take you out on a date first.”

#911 imagine #eddie diaz x reader #smut #female reader #one shot #straightsmut

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muzzlemouths · 1 month ago

Note

/slides into inbox and strikes a pose/

looking at u with big eyes

Okay <3

#Lunar I'm stealing that pic omg #DFtR au #DFtR au spoilers #snippets #also I'm SO sorry for how long it took to get this to you #I said ''hey send me some crumb requests please?'' and then immediately discovered that the first #NINE PAGES of the chapter #are nothing but heavy spoilers lmfao #had to find something that didn't give too much away

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seventh-district · 2 months ago

Text

Could've left me just the way you found me, but you came and put your wings around me. You went out of your way, to fix what you didn't break.

This song is so incredibly Sam & Darlin' coded and no one can tell me otherwise.

[lots of lyrical analysis below the cut] [there's also a short little fanfic blurb of them stargazing down there too (this post got really out of hand lmao)]

For those not fully caught up, note that the following commentary contains various spoilers for Sam and Darlin's stories.

Note: Unfortunately this song is gendered, using the word 'girl' several times. Which sucks a little bit for immersion purposes, not only for keeping Darlin' gender-neutral, but also because I see this song as a duet between them, and Darlin' obviously wouldn't be addressing Sam with the word 'girl' either. So! As with most songs on their playlist, we're just gonna mentally omit any gendered terms we come across.

Side note: Frustratingly, this is one of those songs that didn't really even need to gender the subject in the first place. No part of the story or message is lost without it. But alas, many songs are like that, and so the playlist-makers of the world shall continue to suffer. [/lh]

Anyways, preamble's over. It's lyric time now yay!

Sam's Part

I was a ten-year train wreck

Technically for Sam I suppose it was 13 years, but ten is close enough (and 'ten' admittedly flows a lot better in the rhythm of the song than 'thirteen' would.) Anyways, we're not here to split hairs, (I have to remind myself), we're just here to point out similarities.

In Sam's Dec. '22 HBW, he says "For the last 13 years or so I haven't had to care too much about how I look. Seemed a little redundant after turnin', considerin' I didn't wanna be around much'a anybody anyway."

I think he's mentioned or alluded to that roughly 13 year period of time more than once, but that's the one I remember best so it's the example I'm using. There's still about 4 Sam audios I've yet to listen to as of making this post, so if I'm missing some Key Lore I'll edit this later. But for now, I don't think Sam has given many specifics on exactly how bad things got during that time. Luckily, 'train wreck' is a pretty broad and subjective term, so it easily covers any degree to which he may have fallen apart during those years.

It also feels like a very 'him' way of quickly brushing over the details of his past/his hurt, as he seems to tend to do with Darlin', (not all the time ofc but it's still something I've noticed) putting his own hurt on the backburner to prioritize and attend to theirs. Even outside of his dynamic with them, I think as a healer, it's something he learned to do. And now he does it with everyone. Put on a brave face, compartmentalize things and unpack them later, etc. I could go on and on but there'll be time for that in other posts I'm sure. For now, lets get back to the song at hand.

With a last-call longneck

Due to personal reasons, I've yet to decide if I want to HC him as having used alcohol as a coping mechanism during that time. I don't recall him having mentioned alcohol much, if at all, (maybe one mention of whiskey that I don't have time to find right now) so I don't think it's necessarily canon that he did, but it's certainly possible. My personal preferences aside, I'll admit it makes for some good additional angst. (And- self-indulgently- it makes some other songs on my playlist for them more fitting.) So, for the sake of this song, let's imagine that he did.

I was searchin', I'd been hurt real bad

This one feels pretty self-explanatory given what Alexis did, (and, if you wanna get even angstier with it, whatever his family did earlier on in his life) so there isn't much commentary to add on my end.

I HC that in spite of 'not wanting to be around anybody', he- like Darlin- still had a tiny part of himself buried deep down that was, in a way, 'searching' for someone to find solace in. (No this isn't me projecting onto them both haha what are you talking about-)

Movin' on, gettin' sidetracked One step forward and five back

This is generally applicable enough that I don't feel the need to give too much of a specific example. Anyone who's recovered or is recovering from trauma knows this non-linear, back-and-forth struggle well already, and I'm sure he was no stranger to it.

If I were to give some examples though, I could point to Darlin's (and subsequently, Sam's) encounter with Alexis at the summit, or the shit that Quinn dredged up about Fredrick and threw at Sam in the interrogation room. Those are both more recent examples and I imagine these lines of the song to be coming from a place of him prior to meeting Darlin', but still, they're some instances where I'm sure he felt like the past was pulling him back in. I'm sure that there's been many throughout those 13 years that we were never witness to.

Not your fault, I was scared to fall

This line reminds me of their 'Cuddles and Confessions' audio. I don't think he ever explicitly said he was 'scared' per se, so afaik there's no specific line I can quote, but in that and every audio prior, he was obviously hesitant to admit, perhaps even to himself, that he was gradually falling for them. Even after the initial confession, there's certain limits of his (e.g. biting) that he carries for far longer, and some that I (and others) HC that he'll carry forever. So this line feels to me like him reassuring Darlin' that his reluctance isn't the fault of them, but his past.

Darlin's Part

You were the star in the pitch black Shine the way on the way back

We don't have any canon instances of them comparing Sam to a star, but I can see it being something they'd say (perhaps less poetically, but the sentiment would be there) one night while laying up on their roof watching the stars with him. Maybe they're dead-tired, talking nonsense with lidded eyes at the end of a long day, fighting sleep in favor of more time spent with him.

"What- what're you pointin' at Darlin'?"

Their hazy focus is trained on the brightest star visible in their line of sight, arm stretched out to the sky above them. "That really bright one, to the... to the left."

Sam does his best to follow their less-than-specific directions of 'to the left', their pointed finger doing little to help given the difference in perspective. Luckily, after all these years, he knows this stretch of night sky like the back of his hand, so it isn't hard to locate the brightest one. Ghosting his fingers up along their arm, he takes their hand in his and brings it back down to earth. "Okay, yeah, I see it now. What about it though?"

"That's you." They say, matter-of-factly.

"That's me?" He questions, humor in his tone.

"Mhm." They nod with finality, blinking slow.

Sam considers the odd statement for a moment before gently correcting them. "I'm uh, I'm pretty sure that's Sirius, actually."

They scoff. "I am being serious."

Sam stifles a laugh into their hair. "No- no I mean- like... what's another name for it... Oh! It's also called the Dog Star."

"C'mon Sam, at least call it the Wolf Star if you're trying to turn this around on me..."

He shakes his head and readies himself to explain further, but they cut him off before he can start. "But no- no, this one isn't about me. That's you."

He decides to play along, finding something endearing in their overtired nonsense. "Okay... then would'ja be so kind as to explain to this confused old man just how, or why that star is me?"

Their frown is audible in their voice as they latch onto the wrong part of his sentence. "You're not old, Sam. ...Do I need to tell Asher to kick the jokes down a notch?"

He smiles at their over-protectivity. "There'll be no need for that, now. Was just a joke, darlin', I promise."

They huff, but thankfully shift focus back to the prior topic. "It's... I dunno. It's just you, Sam. It's... bright. Light. Something warm, out there in the cold dark. Standing out amongst all the rest. Calling to me, stealing my attention. I... I didn't come out here looking for it, but there it is. ...There you were. In the dark. The only bright thing I'd seen in... fuck, in years. Years of chasing fleeting warmth, tripping over myself in the pitch black, falling into... places 'n people I shouldn't have. You were the light in that darkness. Even there, surrounded by the ghost of him. You outshone it. Your warmth didn't hurt. I didn't have to squint when I looked at you. You weren't the blinding sun. You were the brightest star I'd ever seen. You guided me back home."

In the back of their mind, they recall something they once heard, something about light, and time, and distance. Space. Something about... how you can see a star that's already burnt out, because it's light hasn't reached earth yet. The ghost of a star that's already died. Only still perceptible thanks to time, and distance.

They remember Sam's words, once whispered to them on this very roof.

"Whatever your choice is... I'm not gonna live forever. I made that decision a long time ago."

They think about dead stars.

They think about time.

"...-lin'? Darlin'?" Sam's calloused hand slides up their forearm, pulling them out of their thoughts. "There you are. Think I lost ya' for a minute there... you good?"

They look up at Sam, concern creasing his features, shadows cast across his face from the light of the dying stars above him.

They reach out, pulling him down into them. Burying their face into his collar, Sam's concern grows when he feels it saturate with tears. A human might struggle to hear their words, muffled against the thick fabric, but his hearing catches it just fine.

"Don't burn out too quick. Please. I still need you here. I don't- I don't wanna be left in the dark again. Please, please Sam. Don't leave me here. I'm not selfish enough to ask you for forever, but please. Not yet. Not yet. Not yet."

.......Whoopsies! Really, genuinely didn't mean to improv an entire scene there, good god. Also didn't mean to swerve hard into angst at the end but uh. that's what came out! so I'm rolling with it lmao. Aaanyways let's move on, it's getting late and this is a song analysis post, not a fic.

Out of nowhere, answered all my prayers

'Out of nowhere' reminds me of Sam's words from the same HBW video I referenced earlier. "You came into my life like a damn wreckin' ball. There was no preparing for that, clothing or otherwise." While those were Sam's words, not Darlin's, I still feel like they feel similarly to how suddenly Sam came into their life as well. (Not in a bad way, mind you!)

[the significance of 'answered all my prayers' edges into my own personal more headcanon-y/personal/OC-ified Darlin' territory, so we can just gloss over this one for the sake of at least attempting to keep this more universally applicable]

Picked up the towel that I threw in Took in a heart that was ruined

Again, largely self-explanatory I feel. (*proceeds to explain anyways*) I imagine that Darlin' was at the point of throwing in the towel, hellbent on a solo-mission to find Quinn regardless of the danger it posed to them. I doubt they were looking toward the future anymore, (to reference Sam,) fully willing to throw themself at their problems until they really did break.

The specific use of 'ruined' hits hard here, because after everything they went through with Quinn, and especially after he recounted it all to Sam in that interrogation room, I imagine that they really, truly did feel ruined.

Showed me the past ain't a tattoo Loved me even when you didn't have to

These lines in particular make me sick with emotion every time I hear this song, because I feel like they hit the nail on the head for how Darlin' feels.

I'll be here citing various quotes all night that I feel showcase that sentiment, but we don't have time for that! So instead I'm just pointing to the entirety of 'Quinn's Aftermath' video, and leaving you with this single quote from it.

"Everything that he said reflects nothin' on you, and everything on him."

Equally Applicable Lines

And I don't know why Why you saw something in me, baby But you saw right through All the pain, and you came and saved me Yeah, I know you didn't leave me lonely Weren't the one that put the heartbreak on me Picked up the pieces It wasn't the mess that you made Could've left me just the way you found me But you came and put your wings around me You went out of your way To fix what you didn't break

Again, I think these lines are all pretty self-explanatory, and are just as accurate coming from either one of them. To me, at least, their entire dynamic is that they saved each other, in their own ways.

(But I will admit, the final verses about 'going out of your way to fix what you didn't break' are definitely conjuring up memories of Sam in the early days, literally going out of his way to visit and heal Darlin' after their fight with the two vamps. In general, his continued/repeated healing of them after they once again hurt themselves is the very literal definition of fixing what he didn't break.

But! While we may have more blatant examples of Sam being 'the fixer' so to speak, I think he'd argue that Darlin' has done plenty fixing of their own. Physical wounds aren't the only things that need healing, after all.)

-------

[shameless self-promo of my Sam & Darlin' playlist for those few of u interested enough to make it to the very end of this wall of text. if u liked this then u might like some of the other songs on there soooo maybe go check it out and maybe perhaps give it a follow so i can get a little serotonin boost or dopamine or whatever the chemical is that's released when Number Go Up. ...okay that's it i hope u enjoyed my fixation-induced ramblings! thank u and goodnight]

#redacted audio #redacted sam #redacted darlin #redacted playlists #redacted asmr #redactedverse #music stuff #Spotify #Seven's Blorbo Songs #<- starting a dedicated tag for these kinda posts bc i feel like there will be. Many more #gotta go dig up the few i've made in the past and retroactively tag them. they weren't as Involved as this one but i'll still include 'em #good fucking god this post got long. i started it at like 2pm and now it's almost 8. i've been locked in on blorbo analysis for 6 hours #don't ask why it took That long to make this post okay i am. very slow. but i had a good time so it's all good #there's like 10 other things i needed to spend my free time on today but this post Demanded to be made asap so here we are #i've been stewing on this song for several days since i found it and i literally had to make this post to get it out of my system #i was gonna make One Big Post to discuss the entire playlist at once but it's got 80+ songs on it by now...#and i like to Yap if u cannot tell so it literally wouldn't even all Fit in a single post. so i'll probably just do individual songs #or maybe a few per post if they all fit a certain theme and aren't enough to justify their own post #anyways i. am so very very very in love with Sam. if you. cannot tell. from the entirety of this post. and the state of my blog #about halfway thru this post i realized i perhaps should've just written a songfic but those take so much more effort and time #and i'm already editing two that'll come out later this month. with two more in the wings. so i can't afford to start another #(not Redacted fics btw sorry but in spite of the little drabble i did on this post i'm actually scared to write for this fandom)#i don't feel confident enough not to mischaracterize them. plus i'm already juggling more than i can handle anyways #anyways the drabble + this post in general probably isn't very good lmao i Should like. draft it and edit it tomorrow with fresh eyes #but i wanna go ahead and send it out into the world and just let it be. it's not that big of a deal

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