#LITERALLY. ALL MY FUCKING MONEY. MY FUCKING TUITION MONEY.

[chrisbangs]

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[posallys]

help okay so my mom is going back to school online to finish her bachelor's (because she had me so she dropped out) and she just texted me that she wants me to help her write papers and like. girl i don't know if she's joking or not but knowing her she isn't. but i simply cannot. the extra time is nonexistent.

[hagravenholm]

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[steviescrystals]

i will never shut up about how much i hate the college system in the us and the way it’s all about money because i genuinely love learning and i miss being in school so fucking bad but i simply cannot afford the education i want

[qaanngi]

Scrolled to 2020 to try and update the file for Theo's birthday pic (HBD to him 💙) and that really was such a wonderful period for me in terms of drawing 🥲

[atozfic]

splish splash.

pairing. san x seonghwa x wooyoung x yunho x fem!reader synopsis. they’re out to prove who’s the best at the breast-stroke- gets dragged off stage as the people boo over such a terrible pun. warnings. no use of y/n, swim team au, lifeguard!reader, pro-swimmers!sanhwawooho, they’re all wearing speedos :), smut ( porn with unnecesary plot, degradation, m+f oral sex, piv sex, anal sex, double penetration, triple penetration bc u got 3 holes for a reason sweetcheeks, mxm interactions, dom/sub dynamics, spanking, hair pulling, way more warnings that there’s honestly no point listing, just know this is pure filth that covers most bases of stereotypical fanfiction smut, mother in christ what have i written? ) no verbal consent is given throughout this but all parties are willing participants !! word count. 20k+ ( of literal porn. i need to leave this physical terrain bc i am not worthy of existing after writing this i fear. ) hyde’s input. hey girlie pops, long time no see.

it’s crazy, what some people will do for money.

take, for example, your roommate. she’s a smart girl. a beautiful one, too. with a promising future in criminal law, once she gets herself that pesky little degree. and, yet, she’s funding her tuition with money she earns distributing high-end drugs on campus. rather counter-productive, most would agree. or, in a far less extreme version, there’s that overly-hyper frat boy, who can always be found doing the dumbest dares at a party, all for a few bucks and a keg of beer.

and then there is you.

you would have arrived home twenty minutes ago at this point, had things gone to plan, a backlog of neglected assignments and a baby bonsai tree in need of watering desperately awaiting your return. yet here you are, stuck in your ugly flip-flops and uncomfortably stale shorts, whistle around your neck and a look of exhaustion on your face.

the swimming pool had closed, technically, an hour and a half ago. the sports centre seems to believe, however, that certain members of the college swim team reserve the right to use the pool for however long they require and desire, even if it is at your expense. if you were being paid overtime, perhaps you’d have a more positive outlook on things and less of a frown creasing on your forehead.

if the swimmers weren’t so irritating, maybe you’d enjoy the view.

“all that height, and for what?” the sophomore boy’s voice- jung wooyoung? you aren’t overly familiar with him, seeing him only in sporadic flashes when you pass each other on campus or at some uncivilised frat party- echos through the large room, his hair a wet mess. if you were gaining anything from being here, you’d perhaps muster up the energy to remind the boy of how a swim cap is necessary at all times in the water. “can’t even out-swim me with those long legs!”

“wanna know what my long legs are for?” jeong yunho, a junior with the face of an angel and the body proportions of a sinner, pipes up from across the olympic length pool. unlike the other boy, a crimson cap keeps his own locks out of sight. “climbing up the stairs to go fuck your mom!”

it’s impossible to stifle your laughter, no matter how hard you try to just play it off as a tickle at the back of your throat, a cough forcing its way out. when your eyes meet those of the glaring senior, however, you’re wishing you hadn’t made a sound.

“even the lifeguard can’t take you seriously, yunho,” park seonghwa speaks, eyes not leaving yours as his muscled arms work to pull himself out of the water, before letting his well-rounded behind sit down on the edge. a breath hitches in your throat as his gloriously muscled thighs come into view, drops of water cascading down them in a pattern set to hypnotise you, keep you staring a little longer than is good for your health. “bet she’s heard all about you and the boner incident of 2019.”

truthfully, you have no clue what the dark haired male is on about. that doesn’t stop you from laughing again though, this time a little out of malice and a lot because it’s quite endearing to see a loudmouth like jeong yunho be silenced so easily, head bowed and ears a little rosier with embarrassment.

this small moment of peace is soon shattered by the reality that these boys can’t spend more than ten minutes in a room- particularly one that includes a pool- without arguing. while one boasts about his speed, the other begins to jab at his lack of endurance, and the remaining of the three reminds them all of the fact he holds the most medals amongst them.

“are they always like this?” you jump, surprised by the cold drop of water that lands on your exposed thigh, all courtesy of the boy who’s invited himself to sit down next to you on the bench.

“not always,” you bite at the inside of your cheek, willing yourself to not look at san in all his wet glory. you’re afraid that, once you start looking at him, you won’t be able to stop. it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve fallen victim to the crime that is his enchanting smile. “guess they’re feeling a little feistier than usual, with the district championship just around the corner. rumour has it one of you guys is risking his scholarship if he’s not in the top three.”

are you and san close?

that’s a good question. see, by social standards, you’re not strangers. you share several classes, you attend the same parties, you’ve even texted a few times- mostly on the days one of you miss class (read as: san misses class thanks to his swim-meets) and you need a copy of any notes taken that lesson.

but, you aren’t exactly friends either. you don’t go out of your ways to spend time together, you don’t know more than the surface level about one another, you don’t check-in with each other.

so, is acquaintances the best word to describe you two?

that depends on how common it is for an acquaintance to suck another acquaintance’s cock. granted, there had been a lot of alcohol in the mix, on both ends, with you drinking to forget a botched assignment and san drinking to forget how badly his voice had apparently cracked in front of his crush.

a few weeks have passed since the incident and things haven’t exactly been the same. you’ve missed class twice and ended up contacting heather- a sweet girl who sits down by the front and seems to live with her hand raised in the air- for any notes. likewise, san has found himself declining party invitations, the knowledge that you would be there all too prevalent in the front of his mind.

the irony is that neither of you quite know the reason why you’re avoiding each other, you just are.

or, were, until san had walked in with his swim team buddies- if they could even be considered that- and spotted you in your lifeguard attire. he hadn’t been as slick as he thought he was, sneaking glances at you between laps and even gaining an undeniable smile each time he watched you blow that stupid whistle at some misbehaving kids.

he was slicker with the fact he didn’t need to be here, at this hour. but, he figured staying gave him the chance to stare at you a little longer and, maybe, think up an excuse to talk to you.

“i should-”

“i missed-”

you both speak at the same time, minutes after watching the three musketeers disappear into the locker rooms, with the smallest of them continuing to dig at them for not being able to out-swim him despite their ample amount of height. san’s quick to signal you to go first, a dimple making itself known on his face and reminding you of the deadliest part of him: the false innocence that drips off him like warm candy.

sweet, sticky, making a mess all over the place.

“i should probably start cleaning up.” it turns out san also isn’t discreet when it comes to hiding the disappointment in his face, because no sooner than those words leave your mouth, the dimple is gone and he’s sat a little straighter, a little more ridged, like when the professor points him out in the middle of the class and the golden boy can’t stomach all the attention being on him. “but, what were you gonna say?”

“oh,” and it’s like he’s just remembered that yes, there is something he wants to say. “i missed you in class yesterday.”

it catches you off guard, leaving you to almost drop the whistle you’ve been fiddling between your fingers for the past few minutes. something about sitting so close to him while both of you are dressed so scantily has you feeling unnerved, like you need to run away as fast as possible, yet also wanting to plant yourself right in his lap.

“i didn’t think,” you’re cut off by your own throat, dry and desperate for a drink under his intense gaze. san is a walking contradiction, you think, with his sharp cheekbones and soft heart, his intense eyes and his easy-going smile. his presence gives you never-ending whiplash, never sure if he’s more angel than devil. “i didn’t think you noticed.”

“how could i not? there was no one to laugh with me at professor nam and his weird toe-shoes!” his laugh is infectious, willing your own to make an appearance. 

the sound of distant muffled yelling fills the air of the swimming pool and it isn’t hard to recognise wooyoung’s high-pitched laughter amongst it. clearly, their childish arguing has carried on into the changing rooms. it surprises you in no way, already more than used to their antics.

their rivalry is one for the ages, all of them constantly bumping heads for the spot of the top swimmer on campus, their sports scholarships becoming their pride and joy.

you suppose it doesn’t help that all four boys run in different circles, only really crossing paths when faced with swim-meets and days of practice. the senior, park seonghwa, runs with the richer kids of the college, all sharing their trust-funds and god complexes as a common interest. you’re not overly familiar with them, though you’re certain he and a particular blue-haired boy are rarely seen apart. jeong yunho, the tallest, is in with the jocks, which is mostly just because his taller friend is the captain of the basketball team. and jung wooyoung tends to surround himself with the stoners from the school, something you’d learned from kang yeosang, a dealer you shared a couple classes with back in your first semester.

san, ever the golden boy, drifts between a couple different groups but he can usually be found alone and enjoying his own company, if not being followed by a flock of his own little fan-club, men and women alike begging for just an ounce of his time.

your name echos around the room. your head snaps to the side and you find that san is now closer, staring at you in a way that’s making your insides knot up. you’ve seen that look only once before, and it done nothing but leave your knees and your ego bruised. “were you listening to me?”

“what? uh, yeah, i was,” you’re quick to lie, knowing it’s about to backfire when he breaks out in a challenging grin.

“really? what did i say?” he only allows you to stumble over words for a minute before cutting off your incomprehensible speaking when he grabs at your chin and tilts your head up, staring straight into your eyes. “that’s what i thought. you were too busy getting lost in that pretty little head of yours to pay attention to me.”

you stutter over a noise and settle for that as your response, though entirely incomprehensible and nonsensical. the way he continues to stare at you feels cruel, demons dancing around in those pretty eyes of his. demons that are telling him to tease, torture, torment the fragile eyes staring back at him, the same ones he’d delighted in watching fill up with tears a few weeks back, the pressure of his crown slamming against the back of your tight throat entirely overwhelming you to the point of crying, tears dripping down your cheeks and mixing with your own drool pooling over the swell of his balls.

“need me to repeat myself?” you’re slow to catch up to the fact he’s speaking again, and even slower to notice the hand resting on your knee. at first, you think you’re imagining things, the feather light tracing of nails over your soft skin a mere figment of your imagination. but, no, your eyes flash down to glimpse and his hand is there, fingers dancing over your naked skin like it’s their own personal stage and he’s intending to put on the show of a lifetime. he speaks your name. “questions are meant to be answered.”

“i-” san picks the perfect time to apply pressure on you, hand gripping the flesh on the lower end of your thigh. goosebumps spring to life at the feeling of his cold ring on your damp skin. it takes a shaky breath to try compose yourself but you do eventually manage to get a reply out. “sorry... please say it again.”

“huh,” he pauses to contemplate, slowly leaning his face closer to your own, giving you all the time to pull back if you want to. you stay still and his minty breath infects your senses while the hand on your leg replaces your thigh with your face, the grip he has on it forcing blunt nails to nip at your skin. normally, you’d worry about the marks it’s going to leave behind. right now, you want him to grip tighter, dig deeper into your flesh till he’s drawing blood and licking it off your cheeks. “how the fuck do you still sound so cute begging?”

“is that,” his other hand curls around the back of you, finding a resting place on your hip. the window of opportunity you once had to pull back or run away is slammed shut the moment he tugs you a little closer, the side of your body crashing into his naked chest. “what you said earlier?”

“oh, no.” san almost sounds like he’s cooing, a mocking tone in his voice that has your thighs clenching in a way you’re sure he notices. his eye flickering down to glance at them confirms your suspicions, the smirk taking over his features the metaphorical cherry on top. “i was just talking about how i’ve still not returned the favour.”

mind blanking out on you, you stare back at him in what you can only imagine to be a dumb-founded look, mouth slightly agape and teasing your answer.

what follows, however, is a resounding silence on your end.

“c’mon, princess, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten what happened the last time i got you alone.”

forget? it’s all you’ve been able to think of every time you’ve seen him since, whether he was a figure in the corner of your eye during class or making his way down the campus car-park in search of his beaten up mustang.

each time, like an old record player, your mind plays on loop the way he looked staring down at you, long legs spread enough to fit you between them, closing in on you to trap you in place each time you swallowed him a little deeper; replaying the symphony of whiny moans and airy breaths you’d pulled from him, lips swollen and red from trying too hard to hold back his cries of pleasure; reviving the memory of his vice grip on your hair, tugging at the roots to tilt you back into the perfect angle for his hips to piston into your warm mouth, meeting his own crescendo in one final pathetic whimper of your name.

a whimper that’s pushed you over the edge several times since, fingers soaked in your own sins and mouth biting down on your pillow to keep your poor sleeping roommate oblivious to your actions.

“no,” an answer escapes you alongside a shaky breath, something about the way he’s slowly trailing his fingers down your neck and the intensity he’s staring at you with hypnotising you into forgetting all about the boisterous boys and their changing-rooms chanting. “haven’t forgot.”

it’s his turn to stay quiet and you begin to wonder if he’s recalling it too, if he’s reminding himself of how easily your bodies melted together, like candle-wax meeting a flame. the question of if he’s thought about the exact scene, hands stuffed down his pants while a dull ache builds in his wrist, burns the tip of your tongue.

but his eyes burn you more.

they’re usually wide, bright, full of that bubbly nature san is known all over for. but, if what people say is true and the eyes are the mirror to one’s soul, then san’s soul must be a dark pit made up of lustful glares and hooded eyelids, resting so low his eyes almost appear shut.

“then, don’t you agree that it’s my turn to have a taste?”

it’s the question to end all questions, no time to even think of forming an answer when his fingertips are dancing over your skin so rhythmically, like a practiced choreography when they curl and wrap themselves around your neck. they rest there for a heartbeat, and then another, before you feel it begin.

the pressure is dull, at first, and you think you’re imagining it. but it grows, like a seed under the sun, blossoms into thorns squeezing around your airways, a deformed rose made from the red marks his fingers will be sure to leave behind.

you try to breath in, only for it to get caught somewhere between your lips and his tightening hold.

“you’re too fucking pretty, you know?” the hand on your hip has found a new home on your cheek, palm warm and thumb rough as he swipes it over your bottom lip. “all i can ever think about around you, even when you were drooling all over my balls.”

you want to answer, you really do. but between the hand around your throat and the heat shooting straight for your core, burning up in a puddle of arousal, you can’t. all you can do is watch the man before you, raven hair a beautiful mess just begging for some fingers to be ran through it and stare promising to ruin you in the best way possible.

the silence pleases him.

“y’know, it’s so hard to get you alone. always got someone wanting to talk to you, stealing your attention. do you even know how many stupid parties i had to attend to finally get the chance to talk to you?” san pauses, like he’s waiting for you to relay an answer, guess a number. he loosens up the grip on your neck, teasing your skin with a few soothing strokes of his slender fingers, lulling you into a state bordering insanity. “no answer, angel? or are you lost in that pretty little head again?”

“i’m,” your voice is but a whisper, raspy with your new found thirst. “trying to figure out what you want from me.”

if it’s the wrong or right thing to say, you’re soon to find out, the sharp faced boy releasing a dangerously low chuckle as he takes a hold of your chin. like a pretty doll, you move any time and any way his fingers command you to, finding yourself staring right up into his eyes, a swirl of melting caramel that reminds you of how sweet yet sultry every inch of him is. lips near touching, he refuses to break eye contact as he speaks up once more, sealing both your fates when his breath hits your face.

“then let me show you what i want.”

his mouth comes down on yours like it’s the answers to all your prayers and, yet, all your nightmares.

it excites you how easily he works his lips over your own, captivating every inch of you when he tilts his head to the right and deepens the kiss. the rhythm to his kiss is a mismatch of beats, where one moment your lips are moving in a sensual waltz, grazing tongues and dipping heads to get rid of that inch of a space remaining between your bodies, and the next moment your tongues are tangled in a tango, the kind where his teeth send blood rushing to your lips with every bite he drags over them and his hand drags shivers down your spine as it makes its way down your body.

yet it terrifies you how willingly you succumb to san’s touch, intoxicated by whatever witchcraft he currently holds over you. there’s a deadliness to the way his lips part from your own only to begin a seamless descent down your jaw and the expanse of your neck, a poisonous element to the way his hand once again finds itself clutching the meat of your thigh.

the moment his fingertips meet the bottom of your shorts, you’re wishing you’d never slipped them on in the first place, every fibre of your being growing angsty under the weight of his suddenly halted hand. it stays still for an immeasurable amount of time, grazing over the bottom of your shorts occasionally while he continues to mouth at your neck.

like mosses and the great sea, san parts your legs with little to no effort, creating a pathway for his fingers to travel further up your thigh. blunt fingernails drag up your skin, a trail of goosebumps being left behind, a visible marking of where he’s touching you.

his movements halt too soon for your liking, too much distance between his lithe fingers and your body’s very core.

“have you figured out what i want yet, pretty?” his voice is a stark difference to the usual light-hearted, almost squeak-like tone you’ve grown used to hearing from the smiley boy. right now, there’s no trace of humour in the thick rasp and there’s no time for smiling while he’s glaring down at you through hooded eyes.

something compels you to nod your head, even though you’re a little too lost in the thoughts concerning what you want, rather than what the devil incarnate by your side wants.

“you have?” the words come out in a layer of amazement, and you have to wonder if it’s because of the lie you’ve just told or the way your legs have closed in around his hand, trapping it between them. “i want to know what you want, though.”

you want his thumb to stop stroking over the flesh of your inner thigh.

you want his eyes to stop gazing down at you like you’re the perfect prey.

you want him to stop teetering your impending pleasure on a string.

you want-

“you.” is all you manage to breath out.

it seems to do the trick, however, your point getting very much across to him. a softness flickers over his features, brows unfurling and smirk curling up into a full smile for what feels like an eternity, but is actually no more than a couple of seconds before his devilish aura is back.

lips meet lips again, the desperation and force behind each stroke of his tongue against yours the same as before. san, much to your delight, seems to grow just as impatient as you’ve been since the moment he welcomed himself into the empty space next to you on the bench.

one hand still resting between your thighs, his other seizes the opportunity to drag your body closer, so close that you have no choice but to swing one leg over him and slot yourself in his lap.

there was one time, in the middle of what you’ve deemed to be the most boring lecture ever, that you had thought about what it would feel like to sit in choi san’s lap. unintentionally, of course, for how could anyone look over at him in those grey sweatpants, legs manspreading like it was nobody’s business and pen tapping away at the table in front of him, and not daydream about being perched in his lap, head resting somewhere between his shoulder and his soft hair?

you’d imagined him to be the embodiment of soft and comfortable, warm and reassuring the way he’d lazily lay an arm over your hip to make sure there’s no risk of you slipping out of your new seat. you never, for the life of you, imagined you’d feel the outline of his dick resting against your ass the first time you finally claimed your throne.

choosing to not dwell on the heavy feeling of him pressed against you, you choose instead to focus on the way his lips trail away from yours and make their descent towards the top of your chest.

his hand abandons post between your thighs and rises to the surface, where long fingers begin to pull at the straps of your red swimsuit, successfully manoeuvring the nylon material till it’s bunched around your midriff and your breasts are exposed to the damp air of the swimming hall. 

with no want left to play around, he dives right in to dragging his lips down the upper swell of your left breast. you imagine he can feel the beating of your racing heart beneath the goosebump littered skin. it doesn’t take long for his tongue to enter the scene, skilfully flicking over your hardened nipple a couple times before enveloping his mouth around the bud.

one, two, three sucks and he’s moving on to your right breast. there’s no lead up, this time, simply his mouth finding delight in toying with your body while he busies his hand with your left side, thumb and pointer finger rolling and tugging and spreading the remnants of his saliva over your heated skin.

the straw that breaks the camel’s back, and has you arching your own, is the faintest pressure of his teeth biting down on you. it dances on a thin line between pleasurable and painful, exhilarating enough to make you throw your head back as a moan slips past your lips. it echoes in the empty room, replaying your own sound for both of you to hear again and again before the chain is broken by a giggle.

his giggle.

“why are,” he picks the right time to trail his fingers down your body, dragging your swimsuit with them till it sits uncomfortably tight around the top of your hipbones, skintight fabric digging into the damp skin. “you laughing?”

“has anyone ever told you how pretty your tits are?” it’s crude and heartwarming all at once, quite like the man who says it and the little smile he shoots up in your direction as he rolls his tongue over your nipple once again.

“no, i can’t say they have.” the hands that have been resting on his shoulder, grasping them in a vice grip in fear of slipping off of him and and directly onto the concrete floor, gain enough confidence for you let one slide around to the back of his neck and thread your fingertips in the back of his locks, hair as soft as you’ve always imagined it to be. “you’re the first.”

“i’ll wear that title with honour,” he seems to delight in the way you’re carding through his hair, eyes closing while he tilts his head back further into your touch. a delighted sigh follows. “has anyone ever asked you to sit on their face?”

“again, no.”

“another honourable title for me, i guess.” san’s giving you whiplash, with all this switching between being his usual goofy self and the man that minutes before was speaking profanities on how you’d looked choking on his dick. he peaks his eyes open again, slowly, adjusting to the bright lights he stares up at each time he’s doing the backstroke. when he has the nerves to smile at you, all dreamy eyed and relaxed sitting beneath your body on the bench. “now, can you please stand up and get naked so you can fuck yourself on my tongue?”

this time, it’s your laugh that echoes in the air.

“stop, i’m being serious!” he seems to whine his way through his words, bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly in a way you’re certain is going to drive you insane. “i can’t go another second like this, you literally sitting on my dick, without blowing my load. and i really don’t feel like having to explain to coach kwon why my team speedos are stained in cum.”

“you’re so-” you give up on trying to find a single word to describe him, knowing there’s no word that can quite capture choi san’s essence. “okay, okay, fine, but you kind of need to let go of me for me to, y’know, stand up.”

“oh, sorry bout that.” san’s sheepish smile shouldn’t be this cute, not when it’s followed by him removing his hands from your half-naked body.

reluctant, your feet meet the ground and you stand up from his lap. he seems to move quicker than you, no hesitation to be seen as he twists his body around and lays along the bench on his back, eyes all the while watching you expectantly.

your fingers are far from as nimble as his, and there’s a shake to them, meaning you’re a lot less slick with how you pull the swimsuit off yourself. you opt for killing two birds with one stone, dragging your shorts down alongside the red suit, till both are pooled around your feet and you’re begging with every cell in your body that you look more graceful than you feel, stepping out of the leg holes.

in all honesty, you’re more embarrassed with the fact he’d watched you remove your clothes than with how you’re now stood naked, legs a little shaky and the wetness gathering between your folds you’re suddenly so much more aware of, the cool air fighting against your pulsating heat.

“well?” san speaks with expectation, legs bent at the knee while the balls of his feet rest on the edge of the bench. “are you gonna just stand there or you gonna sit on my face?”

“are you... sure you want me to?” even you feel the idiocy behind asking such a thing, when he’s laying right there with eyes full of glee and a raging boner pressed against his hip, nothing but the familiar colours of your college to stop you from seeing him all his naked glory. still, you can’t help elaborating. “i mean, the bench isn’t exactly sturdy and, i mean, what if i slip off of you?”

“y/n, are you joking? you have to be joking!” his offence is playful enough to ease a little of the hesitation inside of you. “do you see these puppies, baby? these are my mad gains from flailing my silly little arms around in a pool six days a week!”

you think this can’t be real as you watch the golden boy of the school put on a show, flexing his arms in an effort to display his muscles and voicing the most ridiculous words that not even he seems to be taking seriously, a bubble of laughter popping in every sentence.

“i’m not gonna let you slip, now hurry up!” again with the whining.

“god, you’re so desperate!”

“for you? always.”

the following minute is made up of wobbled steps and a poor attempt at amping yourself up, repeating mantra after mantra in your head that you are the sex goddess and no man is going to make you feel nervous. not even if that man has a jaw one could slice diamonds with.

he’s got a firm grasp of your thighs before you’ve even got the chance to get comfortable, legs a little shaky as you hover over his naked chest and will your knees to find grip on the bench beneath them.

“come closer, my tongue’s not that long!” san’s pulling you up, closer, all the way to where his wanton mouth awaits you. as if to give you a preview of what awaits you, the kisses from before reduced to nothing, his tongue pops out to run over the smooth of his bottom lip. you repeat the process of trying to find balance, a position in which you don’t need to worry about toppling overboard. though, with the way his finger squeeze into your thigh, you doubt you’ll have to worry about that truly happening. “comfortable?”

“as i’ll ever be.”

“all the people that would die to be in your position, and you say that?” he tsks, tongue hitting off the roof of his mouth before a blow of air hits against your folds and, though it’s faint from the distance still between his mouth and where he wants it to be, it sends a jolt of excitement up your spine. “i’ll just have to make sure i over-perform, make you more eager for next time.”

neither of you choose to dwell on the words next time.

him, too occupied with getting his first taste, tongue licking a strip up your core and coming to a stop as the tip of it bumps against your clit.

you, too busy having the air knocked out of your lungs, hand unconsciously finding safety in gripping his hair as you lurch forward momentarily, mouth falling open in a quiet gasp that echoes around and around.

“hmm, make sure you hold on tight.” you know he’s teasing you, with his words, and with his eyes, and with his mouth that seems to find enjoyment in trailing itself over your clitoral hood and up your pubic bone. “you smell mouthwatering, you know? enough to make a man go feral.”

the chance to reply never comes, not when san makes his way back down to your clit and greets it with the stroke of his flattened tongue. every tiny nerve sparks to life under his touch and you feel yourself grow wetter, a wave of warm arousal leaking out of your hole. his tongue dives down to welcome it, not allowing more than a single drop- landing on his chin- to go to waste.

you don’t even notice the lack of his grip around your left leg until you feel it: the first few seconds of his fingertips probing around your soaked cunt, coating themselves in your liquid pleasure until it’s dripping down the back of his hand.

the first finger to enter your hole is gentle, tentative to the way your body receives him, his pointer and ring finger keeping your folds spread and allowing him the full view of the middle one slowly disappearing from sight, burying itself in the warmth of your pussy. distracted, his mouth pulls back and his head meets the bench again while his eyes soak in the sight above him, flickering up to catch your reaction when another finger enters you, this time with a lot less care as it forces you open around it.

“so pretty,” he mutters the words, more to himself than to you, delighting as he witnesses you struggling to bite back a pathetic moan when his digits curl within you. he repeats the action a couple times, flicking his wrist back and forth, fingers brushing over your tight walls each time and culminating in a curl that has him pressing against the spongy-like flesh inside. “so, so pretty.”

your hips begin to rut against his hand, meeting every one of his thrusts with perfect timing that has him reaching deeper, further, better places inside of you. all the while he’s just watching and admiring the furrow in your brow and the way the swells of your breast bounce in sync with you.

your pussy clenches tighter and his fingers fight to reach deeper before spreading themselves wider in an attempt to scissor you open. he’s giving it his all, a third finger slipping in despite the dull ache setting in his wrist while he coaxes you closer and closer to the tipping point.

san takes just as easy as he gives, and it’s that fact alone that drives him to pull his hand back, fingers withdrawing from you and the pleasure you’re pursuing.

“why’d you-” you heave through heavy breaths, brain fuzzy from the unvoiced orgasm you were so close to having, every nerve ready to tingle, every muscle ready to tremble, every toe ready to curl. “stop?”

“because,” the wet smack of his fingers hitting against your clit is louder than the whimper that drops from your mouth. san hears both, however, and grins, quickly landing another smack against your engorged clit. “the goal is to make you cum on my face, not my fingers. consider them the appetiser, something to awaken your senses.”

his tongue licks in an upward motion, starting from the tip of your taint and ending at your clit, and you get deja-vu to just minutes before, when you’d first felt his tongue on your melting skin, the saliva it leaves in a trail behind it serving to cool you down. a shiver runs up your spine as he blows air onto your cunt, the pressure of it doing wonders to stimulate your clit.

“would you stop?”

“look who’s whining now.” san, despite what he says, does as you ask and puts an end what feels like unending teasing- really, it’s hardly been a minute but the pulsing of your heat and the loss of a climax leave you no room to think about something as abstract as time.

his lips make a victorious return, wrapping themselves around your clit and sucking against the pulsing nub. every so often, he delivers a couple kitten licks- ups and downs, sides to sides, figure eights- before swiftly returning to kissing your most intimate parts.

in an attempt to make your toes curl, he dips lower and teases the tips of his tongue over your entrance, wet muscle moving over wet skin and tastebuds covering themselves in your essence, till the moans echoing off the walls are indistinguishable between san’s and your own.

“you can move,” he grunts into you after a few minutes of repeated alternating between kissing your clit and tonguing at your hole. it’s muffled with the way he’s holding you down against his face and you feel his lips brush against your lower ones as he speaks. “need you to move. wanna see you use me, pretty.”

and, who are you to deny the man?

you’re hesitant at first, just like you were all those weeks ago as you sank to your knees for him. you test the waters and give a single roll of your hips. it feels good, great, especially when paired with his own efforts at dragging his tongue over you.

it takes a few more attempts, and san’s patience wearing thin to the point he resorts to grabbing a firm hold of your arse cheeks and planting you flat on his mouth, tongue flat and eyes staring up at you in a demand to move, goddamn it. 

move you most certainly do, grinding down on his tongue like you’ve done many a time with different men’s cocks. it’s messy, sloppy in the way that his spit mingles with your wetness, a cocktail of fluids sliding down his throat, and painting his lips, and dribbling down his chin as he eats you like a man starved that’s alas getting a taste of the sweetest fruit.

the rhythm of your hips is thrown off when the man beneath you switches from having you grinding down onto his flattened tongue to slipping the muscle inside of your hole, thrusting it as far as up as the length of it allows him to. with every time your body comes crashing down on his mouth, the tip of his nose bumps against your clit, forcing you to angle yourself upwards to gain more of the friction.

hands find hair, lips part in unabashed moans, thighs shake with the oncoming of an orgasmic state of mind.

the moment builds too quickly, too unexpectedly, like the ghost of your stolen climax is back with a vengeance and set on ensuring there will be no denying it this time.

“s-shit,” your eyes squeeze shut, too scared to look down at his ecstasy filled eyes in fear of it being what finally tips you over the edge. “i’m gonna- ah- gonna cum.”

san pays no mind to your warning. if anything, he takes it as a challenge, an invisible timer beginning in his head and forcing him to see how quickly he can get you to unravel all over his face. he’s getting everything he asked for, your naked body a mess above him as you fuck yourself on his tongue and your hands, with minds of their own, sliding up to grab and squeeze at your tits.

he watches how the pastel blue nail polish clashes with the darkened colour of your abused nipples, fingers working to pinch, and twist, and pull at them as you lose yourself in the moment.

when you cum, it’s with rolled-back eyes and shaky thighs, his hands gripping at you tighter to steady you as you sway above him, his tongue working at coaxing you through your high.

he licks up every drop of cum he can manage, until you’re cringing in overstimulation and reaching down to push him away. he let’s you move him, mouth moving to trail a couple kisses over your inner thigh, something akin to lipstick stains- yet so much dirtier in nature- being left behind on your soft flesh.

“told you i wouldn’t let you fall,” he’s the first to speak, partly because he correctly thinks you’re incapable of forming anything coherent in the afterglow of your orgasm, but mostly because he wants- no, needs to hear you praise him.

needs to hear you praise him like he’d done for you that night, eyes still hooded and chest visibly heaving as he finished processing watching you swallow every spurt of hot cum he’d shot down your throat. the praise never comes.

well, at least not from you.

at first he thinks he’s imagining the sound of clapping. it’s slow, and booming, and tinted with the slightest hint of sarcasm. it grows louder though, far too loud for it to just be in his imagination. the stilling of your body, going rigid as you fall back onto his chest, the sticky remnants of your orgasm cold against his heated skin, confirms that you hear the clapping too.

“bravo, choi. always thought your reputation with the ladies was a little overhyped, but i stand corrected.”

never has he hated the sight of park seonghwa so much, not even in the times they’ve been head-to-head in the final lap and the older male’s offensively bright swim-cap is all san can see every time he twists his head to catch a breath of air.

the three swimmers stand on the opposite end of the swimming pool, all in various stages of undress.

there’s wooyoung, who looks like he’s not so much as dried himself with a towel, still dressed in his team swimwear. and yunho, who’s got a towel wrapped around his waist messily, hair damp against his forehead and likely smelling of the cheap shampoo provided in the locker-room showers. lastly, seonghwa, who’s seemingly fully dressed spar for one of those irritating long coats san always sees him trailing around campus in.

one look into your panicked eyes is enough for san to spring into action, fumbling to sit himself up and pull your body flush against his, facing your naked back in the direction of his rivals.

he bites back a groan as you shift in his lap, unknowingly- or maybe you do know- pressing your soaked centre against his erection, which already strains inside the confines of the nylon material, leaving very little to the imagination.

“do you mind?” he’s glad the words come out clearly, booming across the pool at them and their unwavering staring.

“not at all.”

san holds you tighter against him, eyeing at your discarded swimsuit on the floor as he listens to a shuffle of footsteps. assuming the three men have made their way back into the locker-room, he’s speechless when he looks up to find them approaching the bench, seonghwa leading the trio with a secure grip on the back of wooyoung’s neck, whose eyes can’t seem to leave the floor, while yunho trails a little behind them, one hand grasping onto the towel around him.

“get your hands off her!” he leans back, pulling you with him, in an attempt to stray out of seonghwa’s reach as he extends his hand out. he fails, however, and the tips of seonghwa’s elongated fingers brush over your shoulder.

a shiver runs down you, one that san feels, the unexpected touch tickling your nerves.

“she’s a grown up,” the eldest of the men muses as he builds a rhythm out of how his fingers soother over your sweat slicked skin. “who i’m sure can speak for herself if she wants my hands off her.”

out of all the men, seonghwa has always been the one san despised most. between the constant boasting of wealth- money he acquired through labor, though not the working kind- and the disrespect he’s never had a problem showing towards others, he never fails to strike a nerve, awakening a dark part of san’s brain that activates his fight or flight response. by far, however, his arrogance is the worst, that sense of entitlement that drives him to think everything and everyone is a piece of clay for him to mold and manipulate till they fit his ideal shape.

the rich boy’s hand smoothes over your naked shoulder and san can’t resist glaring up at him.

“c’mon san, now’s hardly the time to be modest,” behind the oldest swimmer, yunho and wooyoung seem to be battling an inner conflict, yunho fighting to keep his towel in place and wooyoung fighting to keep the shame off his face while his dick visibly strains against the confines of his chlorine-covered swimwear. “not after the show you two just put on.”

“we didn’t,” it’s the first time you manage to speak since covering san’s tongue in your cum, breathing at last steady and face hidden from everyone’s view, much to san’s despair. “know you were watching.”

“and, if you had known, would you have stopped?” yunho is the one asking the question and, suddenly, san’s so much more aware of what exactly he’s hiding underneath his towel.

you give no answer.

“of course she wouldn’t,” seonghwa answers for you, hand moving to grasp the back of your neck. with no warning, he grips a little too tight for comfort and and yanks you backwards, till you’re staring right into san’s eyes and the only thing keeping you perched in his lap is seonghwa’s body pressed flat against yours. “there’s nothing a whore loves more than an audience, right?”

if put on trial in a court of law and sworn to tell the truth, and nothing but the truth, over whether or not you’d just clenched around nothing at park seonghwa’s degrading name, you’d plead that you never did such a thing.

you’d be found guilty.

“poor woo nearly came untouched just watching you two. isn’t that right?” the eldest turns to stare back at where you imagine wooyoung to be. “pretty boy nearly whined just at the thought of being in san’s position, a mouth full of cunt and someone using him like the fuck-toy he is.”

the air grows thick, between you, and san, and every other living being in the room. it feels like the walls are closing in on themselves with every second that passes, the sweat dripping down your back and coming to a rest between your arse cheeks evidence that the space is heating up. or maybe it’s just your body, hardly processing the high it’s just come down from and there’s already another source for a new-found arousal, a source in the shape of three muscular men stood behind you and one beneath you, eyes wary as he gazes into your own, like he wants to ask if you’re okay but all the blood is too busy circulating in his crotch for his brain to be productive.

“now, i hardly think it’s very nice of you to get our wooyoung all riled up and not even offer to help him out.” you decide you’re being lulled into a false sense of safety the second you feel the pressure of seonghwa’s hand leave your skin. behind you, there’s a shuffling of footsteps that call you to crane your neck and catch a glimpse of what exactly is going on but san’s eyes beg you to keep staring into his, to count the galaxies that dance within them while he grips at your waist. “so the chance to offer is off the table and you’re simply going to do as told. doesn’t that sound easier, hmm? no having to make pesky decisions, just spread those legs and follow orders.”

at last, you get your first glimpse at jung wooyoung.

he sits down on the bench, no more than a breath of space between where you and san are perched. he’s a vision in himself, shoulders hunched and embarrassed face the same shade of red as the tip of his cock, an angry looking bulbous head poking out the top of far-too-tight speedos.

san’s grip tightens the longer you stare at the other boy, gaze dancing over the shape of his body and mouth-watering as, for the first time, you see the appeal of jung wooyoung. never before have you understood why eyes follow him in the hallways, like he’s more than just another pretty boy on campus- something that’s in abundance. but you see it now, understand the appeal of his stand-out nose; and the veins that run down his arms; and floppy style to his hair, that seems to be calling out to have your fingers running through it. 

with no prior warning, the grip on your hips tightens even more, till san is digging crescents into the soft skin and he’s lifting you, off of his lap and right into wooyoung’s.

the usually boisterous boy’s eyes meet yours, no longer filled with that spark of defiance and, instead, glazed over in tears, a quiet pleading being exchanged between you.

only, you’re unsure what he’s begging of you.

“are you going to just sit there,” seonghwa speaks up, boredom in his tone that has you picturing him rolling his eyes and picking at his manicured nails. “or are you going to help the poor pup cum?”

“what?!” that certainly helps you find your voice, and the guts to turn around and look at the man.

you find him stood closer than you imagined, with tailored trousers hugging his thighs and a perfectly ironed shirt tucked into them, the last few messy buttons the only indication he’d rushed to dress himself. eyes looking past him, you find more of a friendly aura in yunho, who, despite fighting a battle against the towel wrapped around his figure, manages to shoot a smile at you.

and then there’s san, who stands with muscled arms crossed over his chest and a painfully obvious boner resting in the confines of his swimwear, though he’s done a better job at keeping himself concealed than the boy beneath you. his face appears indifferent, yet the twitch in his eye speaks of a tamed anger, a frustration he’s yet to unleash on the men who’d interrupted him amidst his feast.

“are you now deaf along with being dumb or something?” the eldest pulls your attention back to him with little effort, a smirk meeting the glare you shoot his way. “you made that brat hard, now do your job and fix the mess you’ve made.”

words of protest get lost in a surprised gasp as the boy in question takes your hand in his, veiny hand guiding you down to a veiny shaft. wooyoung wraps both of your fingers over his leaking cock, his holding yours in place around him while he ruts his hips up once, twice into your hold, the action sending his swimwear even further down the his length and exposing nearly the full sight of it to the swimming hall.

you don’t mean to compare, yet you’re incapable of ignoring the fact that while wooyoung may be on the slightly shorter side compared to san, he’s certainly leading in the thickness department, with a mushroomed head and the prettiest trail of trimmed hairs leading down his pelvis.

he guides you over his shaft a number of times, a little less shy now as he outwardly whines when your thumb runs over his tip, wiping away the fat bead of precum resting upon it. at some point, he moves his hand away, needing both of his free to lean back on the bench, yet yours keeps moving at it’s own volition, stroking him in a pattern of threes, interrupting every trio with a swipe over his tip or a fondle of his still-concealed balls.

“please,” the whine in his voice is so unlike the jung wooyoung you’ve watched week after week, hurling abuse and echoing boasts of his own talents while keeping himself afloat in the swimming pool.

“he asked nicely.” you’d just about forgotten about everyone else in the room, until seonghwa’s irritatingly unbothered voice serves to remind you of his presence. “rule number one: good behaviour is rewarded.”

“what do i,” you interrupt your own question to glance over wooyoung once more. “do?” you pinch your thigh, skin stinging as nails bite it, and confirm with yourself that this is not a dream but, in fact, very much real.

jung wooyoung is hard and begging you to do something.

“i don’t care how you do it, just put one of your holes to good use for once and make him cum.”

there’s still an echo of seonghwa’s voice by the time you successfully manage to rid wooyoung of his swimwear, the damp fabric clinging to the warm skin and the taut muscles of his thighs. the boy isn’t much help either, seemingly reduced to nothing but a writhing, panting mess instead of someone competent enough to raise himself off the bench just enough for you to undress him.

the sight is mesmerising, one you’re certain will remain ingrained in your memory till the day you die: wooyoung, disheveled and untouched, with his achingly hard cock pressed flat against his lower stomach, his swimmer-thighs spread with a set of balls between them that you find yourself near salivating over as a trickle of his own precum runs down them.

“your cock’s...” you begin to speak, yet trail off as your digits wrap themselves around his shaft, just to delight in the way his breath jumps when you drag your hand upwards and give a soft squeeze as you reach the head. “so pretty, woo.”

“youngie.” seonghwa cuts in from behind you. “he prefers to be called youngie when he’s getting his cock teased.”

“yeah, youngie?” you try it out.

instantly, he nods and something akin to a whimper flies out of him.

fascinated by his shaky breaths and his pretty chest, where warm, tanned skin appears to be near glowing under the swimming halls bright lights as his cheeks flush a palette full of reds and pinks, your eyes are completely fixed on him. there’s something vulnerable and breakable about the way he’s looking at your with the widest of eyes, his eyebrows furrowed and bottom lip receiving countless abuse from his teeth.

never have you been so desperate to push someone past their own limits.

officially running on nothing but pure instincts, you close your mind off to thoughts, like how the boy you’d spent weeks avoiding and missing is stood only metres away, witnessing the way the tip of your finger teases over the slit of his sport rival’s cock. or like how park seonghwa, perhaps the campus’ most infamous trust-fund baby, seems to have complete control of the situation at hand, yourself and jung wooyoung nothing but idolised dolls he’s moving into whatever obscene position he wants you in.

instead, you focus on how wooyoung’s eyes roll back and he lets out a gasp when you gather up fluids from within your salivating mouth and part your own lips, watching how your own spit drips onto his lower stomach, and your hand, and his painfully hard cock.

the saliva serves not only as a visual pleasure, something that’s awakening inside of you at the sight of it leaving you with whole new kind of excitement bubbling along your body, but as a physical pleasure for wooyoung, who seems to have no protest to how much easier it is to slide your hand up his length with the added lubrication of your own spit. 

“fuck...” he curses under his breath and his hands find purchase on your body, one gripping your hip while the other grabs at your forehand, like he’s scared you’ll release the grip you have on him and strip away the sweet release of friction. “don’t just focus on the tip- shit, ah- play with my balls too.”

“wooyoung!” ready to oblige, ready to give the pretty faced boy anything he demanded of you, you’ve no time to think of a reply before the ringmaster of this circus reminds you of his overlooking presence behind your back. “stop speaking like an ungrateful brat and take what you’re given. or else... well, i’m sure you don’t need reminding of what happens to pups that misbehave.”

the way jung wooyoung’s whole body grows rigid beneath you, paired with the countless times park seonghwa has butted in to speak on the boy’s sexual preferences, leaves you with the sense that the two are not only acquainted with how each other’s bodies move underwater..

“s-sorry,” this is not the voice of boastful jung wooyoung, who near bounces down the college halls and airdrops nudes in class because he’s bored. this is a voice that’s soft and meek. like a beady-eyed puppy, so quick to submit to it’s owner. “just feels too good. i’m sorry”

“yeah, you will be sorry.” seonghwa’s hand is cold against your back and it lulls a shiver out of you as fingers trickle down your spine like water off a duck’s wings. part of you hates him for stealing wooyoung’s attention off of you just as you were beginning to revel in it, a larger part of you wants to know why the sternness in his voice is enough to have your clit aching to be touched. “spitfire, be a good cocksleave and sit on his dick.”

“ok, stop!” a sense of shame comes over you when it takes hearing san’s outburst to remember the fact he’s watching the scene unfold. “don’t you think you’re taking this too far now, park seonghwa? i know you and wooyoung have your... agreement on how you treat each other, but don’t drag someone else into it. not when she never even asked for this.”

“you had your tongue tasting the eighth wonder of the world on that bench twenty minutes ago, both of you knowing there was a chance you’d be caught, and you want to tell me no one was asking for this?”

“that was private! you guys are the ones who-”

“there’s no such thing as privacy in a public area. besides, it’s hardly like she’s not enjoying this. if anything, i think spitfire doesn’t like the way you’re getting in the way of her teaching youngie a lesson in obedience.” you’re naive to think no one would notice the way you’ve began to grind down on wooyoung’s cock, stealing whimpers out of him as the soaked lips of your pussy rubbed up against him and holding back your own moans each time his tip meets the bundle of nerves that make up your clit. “choi, if you’re that much of a pissy pants that can’t enjoy himself even just this once in life, then feel free to leave. i’m sure the four of us will be too occupied to notice your absence.”

you’re not paying close enough attention to figure out if san’s newfound silence is due to his departure, or if he’s simply too stunned to speak, your eyes focused on nothing and no one but the boy at your mercy.

the initial burn of wooyoung breaching your entry reminds you of how long it’s been since you’d been stretched open by something other than someone’s cold fingers or wagging tongue. it’s been more or less three long months of juggling test after test, assignments piling up on your desktop and a relationship with your now ex-boyfriend being tossed completely into the gutter.

not once had you thought your return to the world of sexual bliss would be in front of an audience, much less at the very place you work.

doubting that it’s been as long for him as it has for you, wooyoung still spares nothing when it comes to reacting to your touch. with eyes squeezing shut, head rolling back, abdomen muscles flexing along side every shaken intake of breath, the boy puts on a show so pornographic it puts the professionals to shame. a whine exits his lips, lips that carry marks of his own teeth and look like they’re in need of a healthy dose of chapstick, and look so disgustingly kissable that your own tingle at the thought.

all those rumours of jung wooyoung being a camboy rush to the forefront of your mind, feeling truer than ever when your eyes take in the bob of his adam’s apple, and the perfectly timed run of his tongue over his lower lip, and the pretty way in which the prominent veins in his hands looks as he clamps his grip down on your hips.

he’s a sight worth paying for. 

“are you okay?” not the first thing you’d imagined saying after sinking all the way down on his cock, the need to check up on him taking over before you’d even noticed it’s existence.

“yeah...” he sighs his way through the word, eyes still closed and grip still very much tight on your skin, blunt fingertips likely leaving crescent moons you’ll find yourself staring at for days to come, memories of this moment replaying in a rose-tinted haze. “just need a second, you- you feel good, fuck me.”

“i’m kinda already doing that, youngie.” you giggle, like a lovesick adolescent speaking to their crush of the week, but the boy’s instant smile upon hearing it puts out the fire of shame building in the pit of your stomach.

“hmm,” he hums back, acknowledging your words without giving you the satisfaction of hearing him tell you how you’re correct. “are you okay?”

wooyoung flips the question on you and it parallels with the way he pulls the rains in physically, lithe hips thrusting upwards in search of feeling more, reaching deeper inside of you. in the back of your mind you already picture a look of displeasure on park seonghwa’s face, scowling lips loading up to berate you and demand you take repossession of jung wooyoung’s sanity.

“yeah, i’m-” with the eldest man in mind, you stop and compose yourself, as well as you can while wooyoung’s mouthing at your neck, your collarbones, the tops of your breasts. “i’m wondering who told you you were allowed to touch me?”

control is easily regained, all it takes is your hand squeezing around jung wooyoung’s throat and your soaked walls clenching around his aching cock and he’s melting like ice cream on a warm summer’s day, leaving behind a sticky mess.

satisfaction and pleasure come crashing in tandem, wave after wave moving in motion with each lethargic roll of your body against the swimmer’s, who seems to be a quicker learner than you’d believed him to be, hands flying off your body like it was made up of hot stones and, instead, now holding a firm and grounding grip of the bench beneath you both.

“harder.” you feel a hint of emotion within park seonghwa’s voice this time he speaks. it’s fleeting, and hard to make out quite what feeling it is he’s experiencing, but it’s there and it’s certainly a step up from the usual shameless, egotistical, megalomaniac tone he takes on. “squeeze his throat tighter.”

under the possession of his commanding tone, you find yourself caving into his command, fingers pressing a little harder into wooyoung’s warm skin. the boy gulps down whatever pride he has and delivers a pleasured whine. you grind down harder and an evil, twisted part of you you’ve never met before longs to laugh at the way he so desperately is struggling to keep his composure, fighting back the urge to meet your hips with his own upward thrusts.

so, you do. 

“hear that, youngie?” seonghwa’s voice becomes less grating each time you hear it, once an unwelcome and intrusive thought but now a second voice and a valued player in a game of wreck the wooyoung. “you’re being laughed at. isn’t that just pathetic?”

“y-yes, fuck-” he falls victim to your walls clenching around him, gripping his cock in a vice grip. the image of confidence withers away so easily to reveal a teary-eyed, pretty-faced, cum-desperate man. “i’m pathetic.”

“yeah, you are.” seonghwa circles his way around the rocking bench, no longer out of view hidden behind your back but, instead, staring you down with piercing eyes that cut through you like a knife to hot butter. “he’s getting close. never lasts long, really, even seen him cum untouched just from giving me head. but that’s okay, isn’t it youngie? you’re a slut for having your sack drained, huh?”

the swimmer beneath you has never looked redder than he does right now, secrets of his sexual nature getting exposed to the people he likely considers his biggest athletic competition. though you probably should, you don’t push him away when his face finds safety in the crook of your neck, parted lips covering your burning skin in sticky drool.

“don’t let him fool you guys, he’s into the degrading nature of it all. trust me.” you wonder if it should concern you the way seonghwa speaks about jung wooyoung as though he’s nothing but a pet, a possession of which he just so happens to have complete control over. you’re more concerned with the fact it excites you. “call him a good boy, i dare you.”

the words haven’t even formed in your throat and the boy between your thighs is gripping onto your waist a little tighter, lips near pouting and eyes screwed shut in uncontrollable pleasure, burning down his spine and threatening to push him over the edge of sexual bliss.

you consider having mercy, the inexperienced side of you thinking the boy looks like he’s full of shame and embarrassment. the throbbing of his rock hard cock repeatedly stuffing your aching cunt reminds you he’s getting off on the humiliation.

“is he a good boy, though?” you stare up at park seonghwa, not even sparing a whimpering wooyoung any attention as he begins a rambled protest to defend his good behaviour. “i mean, i don’t remember telling him he could touch me. do you, hwa?”

the hands that grip you tightly let go quick, like your skin were an unexpectedly warm stove, scorching his skin right off him.

“i don’t remember either,” the eldest’s agreement has you reeling in a way you never expected, filling you with a new found sense of control.

a control that is ripped away far too quickly, like park seonghwa sensed you growing falsely confident over the situation at hand.

like a shark circling it’s prey, the tall man makes his way back around the bench, each fall of his shoe-covered feet echoing in the quiet swim hall. click, click, click, and he’s right at your back, not a word uttered as the soft of his palm lands on the nape of your neck. achingly slow does it travel down the expanse of your back, not a single noise filling the space other than the rise and fall of your body on top of wooyoung’s and the same boy’s poorly contained moans and mewls of pleasure.

the silence is interrupted by your own shocked gasp, mouth falling agape in shock as your movements come to a complete halt. his hands, no longer soft and delicate, grip you in an iron-tight hold, fingers greedy as they dig into your meaty flesh with no mercy or regard for the pain it may inflict on you.

“no, get up,” like a switch was flipped in as little as a minute, park seonghwa’s voice has lost all sense of the excitement it had whilst he spoke on jung wooyoung’s dirty endeavours and has returned back to the cold, callous, commanding tone it had originally.

he sounds angry, feels angry in the way the fingers of his free hand tangle themselves in the hair at the back of your head and give a harsh tug, forcing your head back till you’re met with his scowling face and perfectly groomed hair, even in it’s dampened state it seems to frame his face perfectly.

“what?” you babble out, dumbstruck, much like the desperate boy beneath you who’s began to mutter apology after apology between pleadings of please no don’t do this and i promise i’ll behave, i’ll keep my hands to myself.

none of it works.

“you heard me. get. up.” the fingers on your waist tug, pull, drag you away from the quivering mess that has become of jung wooyoung, who near sobs as the cool air hits his now painfully hard cock, tip redder than the bottom of your favourite heels and a vein more prominent under his sensitive skin than the ones on his muscular arms. you’re not given much of a chance to process what’s happening before seonghwa speaks again. “wooyoung, up, now. you’re not getting to cum, so get off the bench and make room for someone else.”

the boy makes no further attempt to protest, cheeks painted pink in shame and chest shining with sweat as he shakily rises to his feet, head hung low when you watch him walk out of your line of sight.

then, your knees meet the floor.

park seonghwa chuckles as you go down, hands finding grip in your hair and forcing you to sit up right. heart beating faster, your mind begins to race with questions of what comes next, who comes next.

what dirty desires are about to be unveiled within you, forced into the unforgiving fluorescent lights of the swimming hall?

“jeong, you’re up,” seonghwa’s knee digs into your back and his fingers tug until your scalp begins to sting a little. you don’t want to like it but, in life, you don’t always get what you want.

there’s a series of shuffles behind you, followed by heavy footsteps. there’s no rush, yet no hesitation, just calm and collected footsteps of someone making their way over to do god knows what with you.

when jeong yunho, with his towel that’s looking a lot tighter around his crotch still around his waist, steps into frame, an inexplicable sense of comfort washes over you.

maybe it’s the way he smiles down at you, or the fact his hands brush seonghwa’s off of you, or the way his fingers take a hold of your chin once he’s seated in front of you.

maybe it’s just the fact he’s jeong yunho, campus himbo with a reputation for walking girls home at night just to make sure they’re safe and for singing britney spears with no shame each time the karaoke mic gets passed around.

whatever it is, it’s turning you on.

your knees are burning with fresh pain as park seonghwa shoves you closer to the mammoth of a man and you can’t help but swallow down the ball of anxiety growing in your throat.

everything about jeong yunho’s demeanour has always seemed large, with powerful arms that drag his body through the weight of water and large hands that effortlessly carry countless textbooks through the university halls; a tall frame that helps him stand out in any crowd and a personality loud enough to set off alarms; his thighs a muscular stairway leading up to a well rounded, remarkably defined posterior. it’s safe to say he’s carried a reputation for some time, one that consists of whispers between girls on campus who recount just how well endowed he really is. 7 inches, 9 inches, 12 inches, you’ve heard it all, each girl claiming it to be bigger than the last.

unfortunately, there’s no ruler at your disposal to uncover the truth of the rumours, but you confirm he’s certainly large as you watch him undo the towel. larger than you’ve ever seen before, with a thickness to match, and two heavy looking balls decorating the base.

he wraps a hand around it and you watch how he gives a light squeeze at the head, slowly sliding down the length of it till he reaches the tuft of groomed hairs on his pelvic bone. one of his hands alone holds half of his cock, leaving you almost certain you’d need to use both hands on him.

“d’you want it, sweetheart?” his words are teasing but his voice is soft, a complete one-eighty to the verbal berating you’ve been receiving- and enjoying- from park seonghwa.

you’re sure he notices the way you clench your thighs as he slaps his cock once, then twice against his stomach, the precum leaking out on to his tanned skinned.

there’s an itch inside your throat, one you imagine only he can scratch.

“you wanna taste it?” he’s still speaking to you through the arousal that fogs over your brain, commanding your tongue to swipe over your bottom lip as you burn your gaze at the glistening liquid on his warm skin, tastebuds aching to have him paint them in white.

you nod your head.

his own throws itself back, a chuckle rupturing out of his chest as he continues to tease himself with his hand.

“fuck, yeah, bet you can’t wait to taste my cock, feel it stab the back of your tight throat.” a smile should never look so sweet while it’s part of the same mouth spewing out such filth. somehow, jeong yunho makes it work. “gonna get it nice and wet for me, yeah? make it sloppy, i love it when a pretty thing like you gets all messy over my cock.”

the knee that’s suddenly digging it’s way into your back has no mercy. you wince, pull in a sharp breath and inch just that little bit closer to the bench. like a glove fits a hand, you slip right in between the muscled tree trunks that make up jeong yunho’s thighs. 

you wonder, if only momentarily, what sweet a death it would be to be crushed between them, taut muscles constricting the flow of air to your lungs like a boa with its prey.

but there’s a far more preferable way to be choked by the man before you, body carved out in such definition you fear michael angelo himself stands in admiration of it.

his hand snakes its way around your body, warm and heavy and imposing with the grip it settles for at the base of your neck. in spite of the sharp stab coming from behind- where you have no doubt one park seonghwa stands with disgruntled impatience written all over his irritatingly perfect face- there is no doubt in your mind that the man in front of you holds the reigns. with eyes of honey and lips of velvet, he peers down at you with a tendered expression, saying nothing yet everything with the gentle, repeated sooth of his thumb over your skin.

you need no verbal instructions this time around.

a hand grips the base of him as the other squeezes the flesh of your own thigh, piercing your skin with just enough pressure to assure you this is the reality you find yourself in, rather than some twisted, substance influenced dream.

the first taste is the sweetest, tongue a missionary sent into the foreign land of his body to discover the way he reacts as you drag it over the tip. he gives nothing but a squeeze to the back of your neck; and that crumbles you under his control.

with a few more kitten licks- for good luck, if anything,- the show begins with the parting of your lips, the widening of your mouth, the burning of your skin as you struggle with your ability to swallow him whole. you make it no further than a third of his length before he’s tugging gently on your roots and bringing you back to the surface of existence.

“breathe, okay,” his voice is gentle, calming your nerves yet sending your heart into a fit of patternless beats. “inhale, exhale, got it? through the nose, that’s gonna help you relax.”

doing as he says, you swallow three whole breaths. shaky, ragged, each feeling hollow in your chest in comparison to the weight of his cock on your tongue.

“pretty girl,” he practically coos, hand cupping your chin as his thumb smoothes over the swell of your bottom lip. it’s tender, sweet, and almost enough to make you forget the sight of his engorged cock that sits angrily between his tree-trunk shaped thighs, crying out for the return of your mouth’s affection. “someone’s gotta teach you to not be greedy, hmm? small little mouth of yours is no fit for me, don’t go choking on it.”

heat flashes between your thighs, your heartbeat dropping right down to your clit and leaving you with a burning ache, the kind only a gentleman like this could soothe. your fingers may have to do, however, if the stubborn arsehole behind you would be so kind as to let you enjoy yourself.

the way park seonghwa curls his hand round the front of your neck and flexes his nimble fingers- that goddamn family heirloom ring a punishing cold to your warm skin, near brandishing you as touched by some nepotism child- when you do so little as clench your thighs together to relieve the pressure, or lack-there-of, between your thighs tells you he’ll grant you no such fun.

“you’d need to have something big enough for her to choke on,” san, precious san. still here, still somewhere beneath this god-forsaken tin-can roof swimming pool, watching you bruise your knees and your ego for another man, another one of his team-mates. what must he think of you? has he lost whatever respect he may have had? does he think he’d been just another body to exchange fluids with, that night at the party? if you could just see his face, you’d not need to wonder all these things. his eyes, they always give him away, too earnest and pure for his own good.

“shut it, choi,” yunho’s bark isn’t half as loud as seonghwa’s booming commands have been, and are nowhere near as malignant. if anything, the gentle giant is humoured by his team-mate’s words, as if he knows they’re a preposterous thing to say about him. then again, you can’t imagine any man remaining humble about themselves if they were so well-endowed. “or do you wanna crack out the measuring tape again and remind yourself of just how much of me there is to choke on?”

silence.

it takes a few moments for the spotlight to return to you, a gradual shift from playful to lust driven energy encapsulating the broad frame of the man before. he cups your cheek, feather-light touch smoothing over your skin while his eyes burrow daggers into your soul.

why must his shoulders be so wide? it almost angers you as much as it sends a wave of heat between your legs.

almost, but not quite.

“‘s cute,” he half mumbles, distracted by the sight you paint below him on your knees, bruises already forming and thighs clenching for some relief of pressure. “your little pussy’s all wet just from having my cock in your mouth.”

“i think you’re forgetting she was bouncing on woo’s dick a few minutes ago, yunho,” the devil on your shoulder won’t let you rest, hand snaking through the threads of your hair and tugging on your roots. not enough to hurt, just enough to sting. “have some modesty.”

“sure, let’s act like i’m not the one who had her cumming all over my face a while ago.” san mumbles a string of words you wish you could unhear, face heating up as the shame burns through your bloodstream.

how had you gotten here?

you’re allowed no such freedom to ponder over previous actions as jeong yunho’s all encompassing frame works to remind you of where you find yourself: on your knees dressed in nothing but your own shame- shame which seems to slip off of you, piece by piece, baring you shamelessly to this pack of wolf-eyed boys’ for their eyes to feast upon.

strong, veiny hands reach out and drag you forwards, just an inch yet it’s all you need to feel the weight of park seonghwa’s domineering figure float off of you, rendering you under the control of this much larger, far smilier looking man. “eyes on me, okay? don’t wanna miss the way i’m about to make them roll back.”

there begins a game of push and pull, where jeong yunho pushes you closer and closer to his evident arousal, all the while teasing you as he pulls his hips back, keeping your waiting mouth open and empty, and oh-so frustrated at the feeling of being so close yet so far away from his dripping tip.

the first real taste you get of him does, in fact, nearly have your eyes rolling back. a kitten lick, barely there yet fully felt, running over the underside of his cock, a taste of salted skin, and musky sweat, and stale chlorine mixing in with the warmth of him flooding your senses. his reaction is no more composed than yours, blatantly parting his lips in a gasp and bucking his hips up, forwards, any direction they need follow to chase after your mouth.

happy to comply, you take pride in tasting him a second time, this time right over the growing drop of pre-cum pebbling on his tip. white flashes behind your closing eyes as his grip in your hair tightens, a pulse of heat firing straight down your spine as your mind floods with images of what it must be like to watch this man, this gentleman, this figure that so wholly encompasses what it means to be a himbo in this day and age lose his cool and revolt into his most carnal, basal instincts to take whatever pleasure he needs from you with a reckless abandon, burrow his throbbing cock down your throat till the beat of his heart takes over your own.

instead, you settle for wrapping your lips around him, at last, and letting him guide you just that little bit down his length. the weight of him feels nice, a strange sense of comfort birthing in your bones as you grow used to feel of him taking up your palate. his breaths seem to run in tandem with the inches he sinks deep between your parted lips.

a deep breath, he lowers you further, till your left cheek begins to bulge out.

tongue pinned to the floor of your mouth, you make use of it as best you can, rolling it over the bottom of his shaft and earning yourself a plethora of gratifying sounds, each deep and desperate and crooning straight out of jeong yunho’s broad chest. 

another deep breath, another inch.

for all the false dominance you wield over the situation, with the heat of your mouth and spill of your own saliva slickening his cock, his real and visceral dominance doubles it by tenfold, with a hand on the back of your neck, guiding your every move, and a knowing, gentle look cast downwards at you from where he sits propped on the bench, thighs a heavy mass to case your body between. a silly little voice in your head whispers a seductive tale of how easily this man could get you in a headlock and suffocate your fragile windpipes. a wave of heat, this one going right down to your core and forcing you to pay attention to it, shifting awkwardly and clenching the muscles in your own legs in hopes of getting some pitiful amount of pressure.

all breathing stops as he hits the back of your throat.

hands pulling tight, a biting pain ripping through your hair and a tired gag creeping out of your constricting throat, yunho holds you still and strong, as unmoving as the mountains that fill the horizon from your bedroom window.

he’s not even fully in, an arguably obscene amount of him still awaiting some form of attention beyond the spill of the spit filling up your mouth. but there’s nowhere for it to go, not within your mouth at least, and so you manoeuvre your hand up and grip the neglected inches, the tip of your pinkie teasingly brushing over the swell of his balls.

he lurches forward, gasping in a breath of air at last. “fucking christ- shit,” he grits his teeth. “her mouth’s warm.”

“well, obviously. this your first time getting a blowjob or something, jeong?” god, the reminder of seonghwa being here, somewhere behind you, fox eyes judging your every move and keeping his cool, no matter how hard you’d seen his cock straining in those ridiculous pant-suit trousers he sports. it’s sickening.

“yeah, yunho, watch out before you have a repeat of 2019.”

if the taller jeong wants to snap at the other, you never find out, instead dedicating yourself to the glory of worshipping him between your parted lips and tight throat, jaw ready to lock itself in place so long as it keeps him inside.

you treat him differently than you’d treated san that night. you’d been tipsy then, buzzing off the colourful shots of who-knows-what you’d been conned into downing a half hours before, mind hazy as you kneeled between him and teased your tongue over every crevice of him it could reach, dripping him in drool and working an ache into your overused tongue by the time you got watched him spill over the edge of ecstasy. that wasn’t even about san’s pleasure, no real care put into getting him off, your own selfish need to indulge in the pleasure of feeling, tasting, worshipping him taking precedence.

but, right now, you’re overwhelmingly sober, mind hazed only by a cloud of inexplicable lust that rolled in the moment san shot you his stupid smile, and you care about making jeong yunho cum. in fact, it’s the only thing on your mind as you bob your head up and down, letting his own hand guide your pace.  

“shh, shh,” he’s hushing your own struggles for breath and carding his fingers through the tresses of your hair, his legs clamping down on either side of you, pinning you in your rightful place. “taking it so good, baby. so fucking good.”

good’s not good enough.

you want to leave him mind-blown, exhausted, unhinged. you want him clenching his jaw, and baring his teeth, and stuttering over any praise he tries to give you. in fact, you need it, need that thrill-driven lust of collapsing the sanity of a man as broad and strong and capable as him.

so you pick up the pace, fight against the steady up-and-down of his grip and try to take just that little bit more of him in your mouth and down your throat, till you’ve no doubt there’s a visible bulge of where he sits down your windpipe. you think back on what he said- i love it when a pretty thing like you gets all messy over my cock- and work towards doing just that, mouth a fountain of over-flowing spit that paints lines down your chin and over his heavy balls. the hand at his base lightly drags the tips of its nails over his burning skin and you physically feel the way his cock jumps in your mouth, head twitching as his hips involuntarily jolt forwards.

eyes as wide as a deer in headlights, you glance up to stare into his own, only to find they’re rolling back in his head, too caught up in the headiness of having your mouth on him to visually focus. it’s erotic, tracing your eyes over the protruding vein in his neck and the unrhythmic heaving of his chest- like every breath he pulls is a rare gift and a miracle- and the straining of his muscled thighs that hold back his urge to buck freely into your mouth, use you as nothing but a hole to get himself off with.

your free hand stakes claim over your own sexual frustration, nimble fingers rubbing tight, slow circles over your clit in an attempt to just ease that heat burning you from the inside out.

“she’s touching herself, jeong,” not even the irritating, grating voice of park seonghwa’s unwanted commentary can take away the kick you’re getting out of working this man into a frenzy. “are you just going to let her, without your permiss-”

“shut up, park,” yunho is wrecked, voice divulging so far from that loud, boyish charm into a dark, broken sort of gruffed out thing, echoing straight out of his chest. but, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t listen to the other man, doesn’t force his eyes open to glance down in a hazed daze to witness your pathetic attempts to work your fingers over yourself.

only, he doesn’t tell you to stop.

he just... watches. and then smiles, squeezes out what can only be described as a broken whine, and tilts his head back once more, relinquishing all control of his body over to you. the scene divulging into a chorus of mumbled words, fuck and please and yes becoming the only word yunho knows, the only three you hear. 

only as he cums does jeong yunho regain that bit of self-control he’s lost, ripping your mouth off him- a stuttered mumble of i wanna paint that pretty face- and erupting in a mess of grunted moans, cock twitching in his palm as rope after rope of white, hot fluid shoots out of it. it’s messy, and disgusting, and sticky, marking the skin on your cheeks, nestling in your hair, dripping over your shut eyelashes.

the last drops land in your parted mouth as his grasp shakes and you regain the right to wrap your lips around his mushroomed tip.

lips stained in pearly white, cheeks and neck matching too. the throb of your neglected cunt, clenching itself around nothing but the mere thought of having jeong yunho stuff you full, break you in two and leave you spent.

the man in question is in a no better state, head thrown back and chest a heaving mess glistening with the shine of his own sweat. his mouth hangs open, near heaving in breaths of air and his hands, adopting a mind of their own, grip harder in your hair and hold you firmly in place, tongue laving over his sensitive tip, pushing him closer and closer to the ledge of overstimulation.

“fuck- uh, fucking look at you,” sweet voice, foul words. two fingers drag over your cheek, coating themselves in the sticky substance he’s painted you in. “drooling all over me.”

he’s right, you are drooling. down your chin, an uncomfortable damp coat covers your overheating skin as you continue to stretch your lips around his length, ready to rip another thigh-shuddering orgasm out of the man.

yunho grants you no such pleasure.

instead, a grip tugs back on your hair and, before you can feebly attempt to catch your fleeing breath, he’s pulling you up into his lap, straddling you across the well-defined muscles of his thigh. those big, capable hands he pushes himself through pools, and rivers, and all other bodies of water manipulate your limbs however he likes, a rag-doll free for him to toy with for as long as he sees fit.

“yun-” you don’t even manage to say his name properly, not when he grinds you down into his lap, smothering his tanned skin in your juices. the friction runs straight for your pulsing clit and you’re rendered to sinking into his welcoming arms, head collapsing into the crook of his neck, parted lips panting up a storm against his sweated skin.

“that nice for you, angel?” the soft words, the rough hands, the perfect roll of your hips. you feel like you could sob, break apart completely. yunho tracing a hand up the curve of your spine and soothing his long fingers over a knot in you back doesn’t help your case. “bet it is. little bit of release to all that tension you’ve been feeling, yeah?”

you think you nod.

it’s hard to tell.

sparks fly within your loins, heating you from the inside out. yunho, at some point, has wound his fist into the tresses of your hair, nails scrapping along your scalp. it’s pleasurable, all over, soothing you into a state of utter relaxation, a being with no purpose other than to take whatever this mass of warmth and muscles and width offers you.

his hand makes a fist and gently tugs, forcing a whine out of you as you’re faced with the bright lights once more. traces of his own cum stain the very place your face had lay. it’s erotic to see, drying up your tongue with a need to lick it clean.

“no, no, focus, right here,” a single finger taps at your cheek, followed by the tilting of your chin that forces you to stare back at the hungry eyes of jeong yunho. “eyes on me. want a front row seat to watching your eyes roll back.”

god, he’s filthy, and delicate, and that just makes him all that more filthy.

swiping his digits through the remnants of his sticky cum, he makes sure you’re staring right back at him as those same fingers snake their way down between your grinding bodies and burrow themselves deep in your soaked heat. shallow pumps of his hand fuck his cum-coated fingers deeper, long and lithe enough he barely needs to move to have you feeling him all over, everywhere.

by the time he curls them, pressing against that spongy wall, you’re just about ready to cry.

“think she’s gonna cum,” oh god, no, why must he remind you of your audience? why does it no longer frighten you to have eyes watching you be defiled but, rather, have you clenching around him tighter, chasing that fever-like ecstasy the man means to deliver? “she’s gripping my fingers so tight- shit, almost makes me wanna bust my load just thinking how warm her pussy would feel round my cock.”

“don’t let her cum,” you vow, some day, to wring the neck of park seonghwa. “just cause she’s gone all cockdrunk doesn’t mean she’s earnt-”

“shut up, hwa,” the boy’s thumb pokes up and you can’t help the way you grind down into it, smothering your clit in whatever pressure you can get. “pretty baby’s more than earned it. stop being bitter that i’m the one who’s gonna give her it.”

give you it, he does.

three fingers deep, the cocktail of your wetness mixing with his cum-cated digits aiding the ebb and flow of his rhythm, jeong yunho has your toes curling, eyes rolling, thighs shaking. you blackout, for only a moment, lost in the wilderness of pleasure.

the aftershocks are barely kicking in when you’re suddenly ripped away from yunho’s hold. the sounds of your beating heart and heaving chest muffle the disgruntled exchange of words between the swim-team, inhibiting your ability to stay clued-in on the events that surround you. all you know is that when your body meets the bench once more, on all wobbly fours, jeong yunho no longer sits tall and proud.

a sharp sting hits your rear- a smack, that echoes in the empty space of the swimming hall. the only appropriate response is the shriek you let out, twisted in your own conflicting emotions of pain, and pleasure, and painful pleasure. a second smack meets the other cheek. this time, there’s no doubt a wanton whine escapes you.

“since the rest of them can’t take orders,” you’d already known it was seonghwa whose hands were suddenly all over you, pinning you in a position of submission. the sound of his grandiose voice sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine, top to tail. “i’ll have to do it myself.”

with no word of warning, he smooths his hands down the globes of your ass, teases the crease of skin where your inner thigh meets your dripping heat, and fucks two whole fingers into your sensitive core. knuckles deep, they sit still upon initial intrusion, basking in the warmth of you and coating themselves in the essence from an orgasm you’ve yet to even fully recover from and the cum yunho’d scooped off your own face.

then, at last, when your nails dig marks into the wood below, he curls them a come-hither motion.

with shame painted on your skin, you toss your head back and release an inhumane cry, eyes hazily gazing up at the horrendous white lights above. “oh god!”

“not quite. i do appreciate the flattery though,” there’s no need to glance over your shoulder to know that pompous, trust-fund baby is wearing the most earth-shattering smirk, some stupid strand of his perfectly groomed hair dangling over one of his eyes, like some 90s heartthrob boy-band member. you do it anyway.

park seonghwa is an unfairly attractive man, sporting a beauty so ethereal it almost makes you angry.

that anger seems to dampen the wetter he gets you.

his touch is slow, but by no means is it gentle. calculated and malevolent, he plays with your insides like they’re nothing but the strings to your puppet. a curl of his fingers and one of your hands shoots forward. the torturously slow pace that he pumps his digits in and out, and your jaw falls slack. his thumb bumps and grinds against your throbbing clit, and your elbows give out, sending you crashing face-first down onto the bench.

his free hand presses down on your lower back, bending you deeper, hiking your ass up higher in the air. and, at first, you think you’re imagining it, that trickle of warmth against your other entrance, believing it nothing but a trick of your melting brain.

you’re who-knows how many hours deep in a whirlwind of pleasure and penetrative stares, people have been driven to the brink of insanity over far less in the past.

but then seonghwa’s fingers leave your cunt, warm and wet trails following their journey over your skin. there’s no imaginative mind great enough in this universe to conjure up that initial shock to feeling how he prods and pokes at your puckered hole, lubricating it with the dirty mixture of both you and yunho’s cum and his very own spit.

the tip of his pointer finger ventures onward first, breaking through the surface of your tight muscles in a shallow intrusion.

the feeling has you frozen, frightened, intrigued. eyes widening, moans dying, pussy pulsating in an empty need.

“don’t go getting shy on us now, spitfire,” the collective language he uses brings back the weight of all the boys’ eyes on you. hesitantly, you angle your face off the bench, and regret it the instant you meet the brown comfort of his eyes. “fun’s just starting. ain’t that right, san?”

a tense energy takes over the large room, with san’s shoulders tensing, and yunho’s feet fidgeting, and wooyoung’s cheeks blushing. seonghwa seems impervious to the shift, whether voluntarily or not, and instead invites himself to further exploring the limits of your body.

he’s kind enough to spare a bit of care into the way his finger sinks deeper into your unexplored hole. another dribble of his hot saliva lands messily onto you, aiding the slip and slide of his hand. two, or three, or four strokes of his finger and you’re submitting to the intrusion, hips rutting higher and presenting yourself more to the man.

“come here,” the command calls over your body and, at first, you think its aimed at you. so you try scooting further back, only to be halted by seonghwa speaking once again. “yeah you, choi. come get under her.”

for the first time since this all began, you’re on the precipice of saying no.

they’d listen, all of them. wouldn’t push you, pressure you or force you to keep going, not if you truly voiced your negation. even park seonghwa, as big an arsehole as he may be, would have no qualms ending his fun and agreeing to never speak of this again.

and it’s not that you don’t want choi san under you. far from it, as you’ve already made pretty clear earlier, thighs his personal ear-warmers while his tongue delved deep for your honey-suckle glory. you’re hardly uncomfortable at the thought of him under you, chest rising repeatedly in frantic breaths and legs bent at the knee to give him just the right leverage to fuck up into your messy cunt-

it’s not till he’s three feet away from you, hands fidgeting by his side, eyes looking anywhere but you and your compromising position, and the world’s most obnoxiously boner-strained tent in his swimming gear that realisation washes over you. you’re hesitating because of him, because of his possible discomfort.

what if he wants to say no? what if he doesn’t want to get under you? what if his eyes will never look into your own again, too shocked and disgusted by all the things you’ve let be done to you? by his own team-mates/rivals, too?

hell, you’ve shocked yourself even, never in a million years had you pictured a day you’d be at the mercy of some rich prick, overdressed for every occasion and looking like a vogue-cover-model reject. but when he’s edging another finger into the already-tight squeeze of your ass, and pushing your buttons just enough to nudge you towards an edge that never seems to arrive, how could you ever dream of being anywhere else?

a hand touches your cheek.

soft. tender. it takes the extra time to soothe the pads of its fingers against your burning cheek.

“you feeling okay?” san’s quiet tone, meant only for you, is enough to move you to near-tears. you crave his hug. the position you find yourself in only allows you to reach out and grasp at where his knee bends as he crouches down to your level. it’s all the same, san knows. san understands. his own hand lands on top of yours, messily threading digits.

“she’s literally stuffed with another man’s cum and you’re worried about her? well aren’t you just the sweetest.” a cheap remark from seonghwa.

san purposefully ignores it, and everything about the man, instead choosing to keep his focus on what matters.

you.

“think you could make some room for me down there?” your nose wrinkles at his choice of words.

his giggle echoes.

“no, no, not... like that,” he guides you as he talks, grip moving to your shoulders and coaxing you up into a seating position. somewhere along the way, seonghwa’s hands leave you. he doesn’t stray too far, however, and your back soon collides against his chest. “here, pretty. want you to make space for me down here.”

within seconds, choi san’s back in his rightful place: splayed out beneath you, body fit snug between your parted legs and hair an unruly, sweated mess against his forehead.

no clothing sits between you both, blessing you with the mouthwatering drag of his cock through your folds. hard, and red, and leaking at the tip, a slight curve to the right, dribbling precum against his well-toned stomach. you’re biting your lip before you fully register your own thoughts, body a mind of its own as you grind down onto him.

control is limited and fleeting, that of which seonghwa reminds you without uttering so much as a word. instead, he clamps a harsh grip down on either side of your hips, rucks you up to where he needs you and guides you down onto san’s cock.

it’s thick, imposing and something that seonghwa blesses you no time to ease into things. instead, you’re slammed down, san buried to the hilt inside of you.

“hey there,” delicate fingers skim up the tense muscles in your thigh and find pleasure in delivering a teasing tickle to your sides. “come here often?”

the cheeky grin, the double entendre, the way san looks so goddamn proud of himself for saying it. you can’t help it, you wind up giggling uncontrollably.

wrong choice. bad idea. danger zone.

san contorts in pain, and lust, and something else you’ve never seen behind his eyes before, hissing through his teeth like some feral cat. his eyes match that of a feline too. “you trying to squeeze my dick off or something?”

you compose yourself upon the reminder of that san can feel you tensing around him, pull in a deep breath and find your voice again, at last. “or... something.”

maybe you’re a little out of breath. maybe you’re a little hoarse. it doesn’t seem to matter to the boy below, his only response being to cant his hips up and lick at the fire burning in your insides.

“you two are disgusting,” once again, park seonghwa wins gold in the nobody-asked-for-you-bum-ass-opinion olympics. let’s see if he’ll continue his winning streak and go for gold in the hypocrite-athon too!

the hands on your sides begin you guide you, with seonghwa squeezing his perfectly manicured nails into your plush skin and bouncing you down onto san. up, down, up and down, repeated strokes like the ones their hands deliver each time they breach the surface.

it’s easy, this pleasure. it’s a gift, hand-delivered by two god-like men that sandwich you between them- one a mass that fills you, the other a weight that controls you. liberating in every sense, you can’t help the way your head rolls back to find purchase on one of seonghwa’s shoulders, completely melting into the ways he winds you over san.

“shit, yes, you feel,” san’s no better than you, mouth agape and hands unsteady as they trace every inch of skin they can reach: the dimples of your back, the swell of your breasts, the hood of your clit. his hips are the only steady thing about him, not a falter in the way they grind up to kiss your dripping pussy with his cock. “so good. so warm, tight. love it.”

a hand curls round your front, travels up between your breast and over your sternum. it settled for a grip a round your throat, no pressure applied, it simply exists against your windpipe, a silent threat.

“look what you do to him, hmm,” a squeeze around your neck. seonghwa’s warm breath fans against your ear, taunting you. “look what you’re doing to them.”

through your glossed-over gaze, you trail your way past the sight of san and all his captivating beauty, settling instead on the equally erotic, not-at-all surprising image that stands just past where his head rests at the edge of the wooden bench.

a sweaty wooyoung, bent at the waist and whining up a storm, while a far more composed yunho pounds his hips into the boy’s arse.

your walls clench and san whimpers, a string of curses and pleads leaving him.

“think you’re finally ready for me?” the devil on your shoulder- at your back, more truly,- smirks into your skin, careless enough to not even feign it being anything but a rhetoric question. ready or not, park seonghwa is going to finally get his own fill of the thrill, his own satisfaction, beyond mere observation and controlling.

the spill of your own wetness slips down your thighs as san continues to fuck himself deep. it doesn’t travel far as seonghwa coats himself in you, wetting his fingers before they slip back inside your ass. a few generous, tempting pumps into your ring of muscles, fingers spreading a little further apart each time, till he decides that’s enough, he’s ready, you’re ready.

the unbuckling of a belt.

an unzipping of trousers.

trousers bunched down muscled thighs.

the first cut may be the deepest, but you highly doubt it’s as deep as seonghwa feels feeding his cock into your arse, stretching you apart to make way for him. a part of you feels like it can’t breathe, impaled on both these men who sit so deep inside you, you fear you’ll feel the ghost of their touch for weeks to come.

but what does it matter, really, when seonghwa pulls you back against him and whispers filth against your ear? 

this is all you’re good for. cock-drunk whore. gonna let us cum inside?

and san’s coaxing you down to trail his mouth over your chest, the tongue flicking over your nipple a terrible juxtapose to his crooning words?

taking it so well, baby. so tight, and perfect, and god. ‘s that what baby needs, huh, for me to touch her little clit?

the two men find a rhythm, a synchronised routine to how they pull and push you around. their thrusts ebb and flow, no moment existing where you sit empty. they treat your body like they treat the pool, swimming through your waves of pleasure and effortlessly advancing to the finishing line, the winning stroke. then, san’s hand meets your cheek and your thoughts are dragged underwater, muffling the sounds of everyone else- the shlickt sound that echoes with each inch of cock fucked into you, the high-pitched whimpers of a fucked out wooyoung, the slapping of skin against skin- as he pulls you in for a kiss.

it’s a hungry one, all teeth and tongue and swollen lips. you pull away more breathless than before and fighting back a big dopey grin, toes curling as the swell of one of their cocks hits a nice spot inside you, body too on fire to know just exactly where the new wave of heat is coming from.

“h-how d’you do it, hm?” it’s almost a whisper, something meant only for your ears, yet you hear him loud and clear, voice stuttering off in a mess of whines and moans. “still got that pretty-girl smile, even while getting fucked silly.”

it almost makes you shy, till you remember what you’re doing and who you’re doing it with. you settle for a quick, short answer. mostly because you fear you’re losing the ability to think in full-sentences, much less speak one out loud. “can multitask.”

like your own words are the key to pandora’s box, your eyes widen, and your mouth dries, and your heart reels as a new desire burrows itself somewhere between the parts of you owned by san and the parts owned by seonghwa. the desire makes room for more, for someone more, and, without much chance for second-thoughts or hesitation, you find what little stability you can manage with one hand pressing down onto san’s toned chest and reach forward with your free hand.

fingers, light as a feather, curl around wooyoung’s solid shaft. the man’s hips stutter at the unexpected contact, eyes flying open to glance down in time to watch you reach out your tongue, licking up the droplets of precum that threaten to spill from his mushroomed tip.

“please, god, please!” he’s beyond the point of sense, poor baby, struggling to keep up with yunho’s hips’ repeated slamming into his tight ass. so, you can’t really blame him or shame him for the way he hastily rips his hand through your hair, tugging your mouth as far down his cock as the angle allows.

a few hairs rip from your skull in his grip. you reward him with a pleasant hum, moans muffled with the mouth-full he’s providing you. 

“shit- look at that,” seonghwa pipes up from behind you, the motion of his hips never faulting or failing as he continues to take part in the filthiest three-way tango known to man, hands bouncing you down to meet each raise of san’s hips, plundering the other man’s cock deep, deep, deep, till he’s kissing your cervix and you’re seeing stars before your eyes. “should cup youngie’s- fucking christ- his balls, san, cup ‘em.”

you’re vaguely aware of his compliance, hand lifting off whatever part of you it was touching- your nipple, your hip, your jaw, it’s hard to tell when you feel like san’s everywhere, all over you, part of you- to graze the set of well-groomed spheres that threaten to slap your chin each time wooyoung thrusts forward.

barely two seconds, hardly any pressure against them, and the youngest of the four is nearly in tears, wailing and begging over broken whines that it’s too much, can’t take it, don’t stop.

there’s a ringing in your ear. because everything is becoming too much: wooyoung in your mouth, san rutting up into you and seonghwa’s hands clawing and pulling your body back into each of his overpowered thrusts. the boy in front of you is the first to fall apart, twitching in your mouth and, without a warning, choking you on the cum he shoots down your throat. a hand pulls you back, just enough to paint your face in the final drops released from wooyoung.

one of the other men is next, a string of curses and grunts filling the air. there’s a new stickiness between your legs, gooey white staining your skin. it’s all building up, and up, and up, until you topple over and are sent reeling into wave after wave of blinding pressure, toes cramping up and muscles spasming as you shoot off into another astral field, creaming around san and chocking seonghwa’s cock.

you don’t register the release of your hips nor the crash-down of your body. one moment, you’re pressed back against seonghwa, mouth dropped open in a silent scream for merciless pleasure, and the next you’re cradled in san’s warm embrace, a crooning tone to the way he hushes and calms you, unheard i got yous, and did so good for us, babys, and just let me hold yous falling on deaf ears.

for a moment in your own history, time ceases to exist.

there’s no ticking of the large clock on the wall, reminding you of how long ago your shift had ended. there’s no thoughts of your plant friend drying out in the staleness of your room, desperately awaiting you to revive it with some h2o. there’s no consequences awaiting your actions, no shame to be feared and leaving you unable to look any of the four swimmers in the eye ever again.

instead of being crashed against choi san’s body, a mixture of his, yours, and several other people’s bodily fluids serving as the adhesive that keeps you stuck together in your mess, you’re floating in space, not quite alive but not quite dead, just there. 

nerves tingling, body aching, mind switched off.

four, or five, or ten, maybe even fifteen minutes pass by the time you regain focus on your surroundings.

your name, whispered. it’s his voice that pulls you back, sweet and soft and oh so like the san you’re used to, the one that sends teasing winks your way when your eyes happen to meet his in class, and the one who has the prettiest notes you’ve ever seen, a colour-scheme for his every highlight and the cutest of doodles to go along with the topic on the paper.

the one who’s hand is currently brushing through your hair, fingers careful as they catch on the tangles near the split ends.

“hmm,” you swear you want to say his name, say more than that, but there’s an ache in your jaw that hinders you from even attempting, your voice-box likely having taken a beaten in the throws of your pleasured moans.

“you okay there?” he giggles over the end of the sentence, and you feel your slowing heartbeat stutter at the sound.

he feels you nod into the crook of his neck and lets his free hand find perch against your hip, moments before giving it a light squeeze. 

he’s warm, and pleasant, and soft.

and moving you both into an up-right position, hands splaying flat against your back and keeping you secure against him, your legs wrapping around his slender waist. you drift off again, between time and space, and come to at the first drop of water that lands on your back.

one drop, two drops, and then a downpour of heat crashing onto both of you.

you can tell from the colour of the pinkish tiles along the communal shower floor that you’re in the women’s changing room, and mentally note to thank him, even if he’s not aware, for bringing you somewhere you won’t have to shamefully stumble out of in the nude, your change of clothes safely tucked away within one of the lockers.

“i’m gonna put you down now, okay?” he speaks so gently that it overwhelms you, answering him only with an affirmative nod of your head.

neither of you speak while he lathers shampoo into your hair, nor when he’s dragging his soap covered hands over the cum that stains your skin, wiping it away and leaving nothing but suds where the liquid once was. he doesn’t speak while covering your eyes with his hands, blocking the sting of the shampoo. you don’t speak when you inch closer, head falling forward to rest against his chest.

when he does eventually speak again, both of your fingertips are wrinkled and bodies are clean, the water of the shower serving as nothing but a way to keep warm.

“you’re, uh, not” the echo of his voice in the empty lockers feels so much more intimate than how his cries sounded by the pool. “doing anything on wednesday, right?”

too lazy to move, you angle your face to stare up at him from his chest and take a moment to just stare, look at the way his hair is sticking to his forehead, at the way his eyes are back to being wide, at the way the marks you’d littered along his neck are becoming more prominent.

“how’d you know?” your question confirms his own, and a tenseness you’d not noticed melts off of his shoulders.

“wednesday is race day. you never work race days.”

it’s such an odd detail to have noticed, and it’s making you question everything you thought you knew about your relationship with san. do acquaintances remember each other’s schedules? do acquaintances bring each other soothing teas when they notice the other developing flu symptoms? do acquaintances waste time pulling faces at each other in lectures they should probably be paying attention to.

“i’m not taking part in the race this time, by choice. my grades are good enough, don’t need to worry about winning some championship to keep my education.” san is speaking unpromptly at this point, rambling in a way you’ve only seen him do when he’s nervous, or excited, or both. “it’s okay if you don’t want to, or you have better things to do or places to be! but, i was just thinking, maybe you’d wanna spend some time with me? there’s this medieval market down on main-street, it’s meant to be really cool, and i just think it would be even cooler to go with you? but, again, you don’t have to. forget it, actually, i’m being stupid and assuming you’re not doing something with your friends or your-”

the kiss you interrupt him with is far more innocent than the one you shared earlier, no hands rushing to touch and tongues desperate to taste, just two sets of lips moving as one.

you pull back and he chases after you, lips landing another peck before you’re grasping his cheek in your hold and forcing him back.

“i think you could have asked me to come help clean your apartment for you and i’d still say yes, just to spend my day with you,” you say, and he smiles as if on instinct, unable to stop it even if he tried.

“really?”

“really.”

“good, cause i already bought us two tickets and i really didn’t wanna have to go alone.” there’s drops of water dancing on his eyelashes, and laziness in his every movement, and you’re both still very much naked, but none of that seems to matter when he gives you another peck, like he’s awakened an addiction and your lips are now his favourite vice. “but, now that you mention it, my apartment could do with some cleaning. and i bet you’d look amazing in a maid outfit.”

a slap echoes in the showers.

“hey! don’t worry, i’ll be wearing a matching one!”

[juyeonszn]

CLUMSY

PAIRING ju haknyeon x f!reader

WORD COUNT 6.03k

GENRES smut ﹒fluff

WARNINGS 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, mature language, reader and juhak are bio lab partners, juhak is lowkey a bit of a loser BUT DW HE REDEEMS HIMSELF, mentions of alcohol, a game of rage cage…, he’s down insanely bad, the flirting goes kinda crazy, someone calls the cops, they run from said cops, reader is Nawt wasting any time, pet names (juhak calls reader princess), tbh they’re both switches in some ways, kitchen sex, oral sex (f!receiving), fingering, edging, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, creampie lol

SUMMARY when haknyeon ran into you at a tbz party for the first time, he didn’t think he would fall for you so quickly. or literally. or both simultaneously. but there’s a first time for everything, he supposes.

MORE andddddd here we go 🫡 second fic of the black out or back out collab 🙏 i forgot to link the masterlist in the last one so im gonna link it in this one in case u wanna read any of the others!! ANYWAY i had such a fun time writing this one, any excuse i get to write for juhak, i will take trust <3 if u enjoyed, don’t forget to reblog! and pls check out the other fics so far!!

PERM TAGLIST @winterchimez @maessseongs @itsbeeble @zzoguri @deoboyznet @cloverdaisies @vernyangel

TAGLIST @millksea

SERIES MASTERLIST

Okay. So maybe trying to secure a girlfriend at a party wasn’t exactly Haknyeon’s best idea.

But, hey. You had to give him some credit. At least he was making an attempt. Most of his other frat brothers weren’t even making an effort. They seemed perfectly satisfied with charming their ways into random girls’ pants every weekend. Unfortunately, or fortunately considering he was a gentleman, Haknyeon wasn’t into that sort of thing.

It was just a little embarrassing that Kim Sunwoo’s love life had more progress than his own. Sunwoo was literally the resident loser bitch boy of the TBZ house. How was he closer to getting a girlfriend than he was? It made absolutely no sense.

Ju Haknyeon thought of himself as a catch. He was pretty neat, his room was cleaner than most guys’ his age. He knew how to cook basic meals, again, more than the average college sophomore. His car wasn’t on its last leg. (Cough cough… Kim Sunwoo, I’m looking at you.) He was a decent dude. He supported women’s rights and wrongs!

Apparently that was not enough these days.

“…And I need you to make sure the fridge is stocked completely. I’m not trying to drink my coffee without cream tomorrow morning because some idiot drank it while they were drunk.” Sangyeon commands, typing something furiously on his phone as some of the other guys move around the furniture.

“Bruh, I was in charge of buying everything last time. Why can’t someone else do it?” Kevin groans. Something else that wasn’t Haknyeon’s best idea? Walking into the kitchen during this very conversation. “What about JuHak? He looks like he has nothing better to do.”

“Yeah, whatever. That’s fine. Hak, I’m airdropping you the list.” Sangyeon waves his hand in dismissal, returning to his extensive presidential duties.

The sophomore deadpans, but doesn’t have the energy to argue back. You know, the usual fraternity was just a bunch of rich guys with more money than the tuition of each TBZ brother combined. However, the Tau Beta Zeta house was not your usual fraternity. It really was just a bunch of normal dudes thrown together. Though, Lee Sangyeon ran it like it was the fucking Navy.

Haknyeon accepts his defeat and grabs his things, heading out to the supermarket to shop for tonight’s party. Alcohol duty sucked more than door duty, in his opinion. You were sent out all alone, tasked with bringing back enough liquor and beer to last until early hours of the morning. It was a near impossible mission, unless you were Kevin Moon and good at practically everything in the world.

He pushes around the shopping cart mindlessly, though he knows he’ll have to make another trip. A long sigh leaves his lips as he enters the alcohol aisle. He fills the bottom of the cart with different cases of beer until he thinks he may drop one, and then starts to place things in the basket. He feels like a dumbass hauling it over to the registers, like everyone can see right through him.

He has to remind himself that this is for a good cause, that it’ll be worth it when everyone is enjoying themselves at the party. His actions won’t be in vain. Even after the second trip with another cart full of beer and various liquor bottles, Haknyeon keeps repeating affirmations in his head. This has to be the party.

In fact, he thinks his thoughts have manifested into reality when he sees you walking into the grocery store at the same time he’s leaving. You’re his pretty Bio lab partner. He’s always too nervous to hold a substantial conversation with you, so he settles for the bare minimum, which is unfulfilling small talk during your labs. It’s never what he needs though. Aside from your name, Haknyeon knows nothing about you.

“Y/N?” What he wants right now, however, is to shoot himself in the foot for sounding so unsure.

You glance up from your phone, a smile lighting up your face when you recognize him. “Haknyeon! Hey! What’s up?”

“Last minute preparations for the TBZ party tonight,” he gestures at his shopping cart with pursed lips. “You?”

“That’s so funny that you say that! My friends and I are going—“ You eye his cart with confusion. “Wait, I didn’t know you were in Tau Beta Zeta.”

“Yeah…” Haknyeon laughs awkwardly. “Surprise!”

You giggle, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t seem like the frat boy type. Then again, TBZ isn’t your average frat so, I guess that kinda adds up.”

Haknyeon’s not sure if he should take that as a compliment or not, but since it’s coming from you, he decides that he will. The realization that you mentioned you’d be attending the party finally sets in at that same moment. “So, I’ll see you later, then?”

You nod, smile widening. “Yeah, I’m just grabbing a bottle for us to bring with. But I’ll be there. Maybe we’ll bump into each other.”

God, he hopes so. This is the perfect opportunity for him to swoop in and learn everything he’s been dying to know about you. His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek. “I don’t know… I’m a busy man. It might be a little hard.”

That cute little laugh of yours makes another appearance. “I’ll be on the lookout, don’t worry. See you tonight, Haknyeon.”

Ju Haknyeon thinks that he must’ve done something monumental in a past life, like saving a dog from a burning building or stopping a world war. How else would the universe reward him this kindly? All he can do is wave as you maneuver around an elderly couple passing by into the store.

Maybe Kevin Moon wasn’t that bad. And maybe Lee Sangyeon wasn’t as big of a tyrant as he made him out to be. He could actually kiss the ground they walked on for forcing him into alcohol duty. If it weren’t for them, he wouldn’t have ran into you and he wouldn’t have known you were attending the party. Now he has something to look forward to that isn't getting shitfaced.

“What the hell are you wearing?”

Haknyeon looks away from his mirror, Hyunjae standing in the doorway. He has a cringe on his face at the sight of his outfit. It wasn’t the worst thing he’s ever worn, but it was… a bit too much. A black button up and black slacks was admittedly not the best frat party fit. The only good thing he had going for him was his hair that was styled for once, parted so his bangs framed his face nicely.

“This girl I’m kinda into is coming tonight. I need to look irresistible.” The younger explains, arms flailing at his sides.

“Okay, well you won’t accomplish that in this,” Hyunjae snorts, digging through his closet. “If she’s into you too, she won’t care what you’re wearing. Just throw on something you’d normally wear. Like… this! This is nice.”

Hyunjae holds up a black t-shirt and a black-washed denim jacket. Haknyeon hums. It was simple, but also once he put it on he wouldn’t feel like a douchebag, which was the whole goal here. Paired with some khaki cargo pants, he’s found a winner. He begrudgingly thanks his senior for the assistance, shooing him out of his bedroom so he can mentally prepare for the night ahead of him.

He doesn’t even know what to bring up now that he really tosses the idea around in his head. Yeah, he wants to learn more about you and what you’re like outside of your Bio lab, but specifically what he couldn’t say. Haknyeon was starting to feel like a lost cause. He had to clutch up tonight. He had to woo you so much that you had no choice but to fall for his cute face and endearing personality. But how was he meant to do that if he couldn’t even come up with topics to talk with you about?

Maybe he was just thinking too far into things. Perhaps he should just let it all go with the flow. Moving at an au natural pace was probably his best bet in comparison to Sunwoo’s soccer ball plan. (He’s still confused how that worked in his favor.)

Before he knows it, the party is swinging into full effect. This is the first time Haknyeon’s ever been so socially aware of his surroundings. He had a habit of blurring his atmosphere at these things, more interested in getting drunk with his buddies than paying attention to the attendees. As he stands in a corner of the living room, listening to Chanhee complain about treasurer stuff, he watches each and every person who enters the house.

When you finally do walk in, he has to physically stop himself from choking on the beer in his cup, biting the rim of the plastic in a weak attempt to sedate himself. If he thought you were gorgeous before in a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt, he doesn’t know what to call you now. You’re laughing at something one of your friends said, dolled up in a black mini skirt and a black cropped halter top while hugging a bottle of Pink Whitney to your chest. He could probably pass out right here right now.

He almost does, but then Chanhee is slapping his back aggressively. “Wipe the drool off of your chin. God, am I the only one who still has a brain?”

“Shut the fuck up, Chanhee, go cry about your life somewhere else.” Haknyeon dismisses his senior, downing the rest of his drink for some liquid courage. Though he is, he doesn’t want to seem too desperate, so he’s not going up to you this quickly. Instead, he heads into the kitchen to get another drink, rolling his neck like he’s preparing for the biggest win of the century.

It’s as he’s pouring some jungle juice into a fresh cup that you see him. A smile similar to the one from the store graces your features. There was only one person with a back like that, and it was your cute lab partner. You keep an arm wrapped around your bottle, tapping his shoulder lightly. He spins around confusedly, but the expression morphs into pleasant surprise immediately after.

“Pink Whitney? Easy choice,” he points at the bottle in your grasp. “Are you a lightweight, Y/N?”

Your cheeks warm up at the teasing remark. Upon first meeting, Haknyeon’s been an awkward mess around you. You can only assume the confidence stems from the fact that he’s within his element. “That’s for me to know, and you to find out.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were implying that you want me to get you drunk.” He tucks a hand into one of his jacket pockets, the other bringing his cup to his mouth. He’s unconscious of the source of this sudden bravery, but he prays it doesn’t fade off anytime soon.

“Maybe I do…” You bite your lip, undoing the seal of the Pink Whitney bottle to take a sip. It burns your throat slightly. “I’ve never hung out with a frat boy before. I kinda wanna see what the hype is all about.”

Haknyeon thinks he might pass out again, because if he wasn’t so acutely aware of your entire interaction, he would think you’re flirting with him. Friendliness was a double edged sword in this day and age. But who knows, maybe you are flirting. You showed up with your friends but they were nowhere to be found now. He needed to take advantage of the opening.

It’s around this time that Younghoon and Juyeon are bringing out the fated beer pong table, a crowd already beginning to form nearby. He feels sorry for the poor suckers who have to play Changmin and his girlfriend.

“We should play beer pong!” You suggest, watching the pair of taller guys setting up the cups over his shoulder. Haknyeon can sense the color draining from his face. If it had been anyone else, he would’ve shut the idea down insanely fast, but because it was you, he was genuinely contemplating. Those who went up against the infamous TBZ party beer pong champions were in for a rude awakening, but if you wanted to...

“Uh—“ He starts but then he’s interrupted.

“Yo! Who’s down to play Rage Cage?!”

Juyeon’s voice is somehow louder than the music, carrying into the kitchen where the two of you stand. Haknyeon wasn’t the greatest Rage Cage player, but he enjoyed it a hell of a lot more than beer pong. Especially when he stood beside people who didn’t understand the concept of the game.

You chug some more Pink Whitney, batting your eyelashes up at Haknyeon. “I’ve never played Rage Cage. Is it fun?”

“If you’re next to the right people it can be, but if you aren’t, then it’s a whole lot of drinking. We haven’t played Rage Cage at a TBZ party in a while, but the last time we did Eric Sohn almost had to get his stomach pumped.” He laughs a little at the memory of his friend spending the rest of his night cuddling with a toilet seat. The mental picture overshadows how enticing you look right now.

“Do you think you can teach me?” You ask sweetly, hoping that he takes the hint. He seemed like the type of guy who wouldn’t make the first move unless you forced him to, so it appeared that you had your work cut out for you.

“You wanna play?” He turns to you with wide eyes, almost as if he hadn’t expected you to show interest in the game. You give him a small nod, tucking some hair behind your ear. The truth of the matter was that you were a fucking liar. You’ve played Rage Cage plenty of times in the past. You were actually pretty decent at it, too. You just needed an excuse to spend the night around him.

“We better head over there now. It looks like the table is filling up.” You jab your pinkie in that general direction. Haknyeon blows a raspberry and leads you that way, his hand resting on the small of your back so he won’t lose you in the pack of people surrounding the table.

“Forewarning, my rap sheet doesn’t really read World Class Rage Cage Champ,” he laughs nervously, the anxiety beginning to eat at him all over again. “But I promise, I won’t let you get stacked.”

When Haknyeon said he wasn’t the worst, but wasn’t good at Rage Cage, you took his word. Except he severely overplayed his own skill. Maybe he was just extremely on edge and it threw off his game, but the amount of times he was stacked on was a little comical. At the very least, he kept his promise. You hadn’t got stacked once, but that was also only because Haknyeon would drink for you every time you almost did.

The room is sort of spinning by the time the first game has finished. Playing a drinking game while he’s trying to get to know you better was probably at the higher portion of his ‘BAD IDEAS!!!’ list. If he wasn’t so eager to please and followed along to each of your suggestions, perhaps he’d be having a different conversation. That was not the case, though.

You can’t help but feel a little guilty for the turn out. All you’d wanted was to flirt with your lab partner, possibly end the night with some making out. As it was looking, that’s not the path you were heading down, but rather towards the kitchen for some water to sober him up some. Your bottle of Pink Whitney is long lost, replaced with a bottle of H2O. You hold his chin, tilting it back slightly to pour some into his mouth.

If he hadn’t already had the fattest crush on you, he definitely did now. Pretty and nice? You were the total package. Here you were, nursing him back to sobriety when you could’ve been out and about enjoying yourself with your friends. Up this close, he gets a detailed look at you. It’s so weird for him to think about how much he’s pined after you since the start of the semester, how much he’s admired the face that’s looking at him with this unfamiliar tenderness. He never thought he stood a chance. You know, that whole ‘nice guys finish last’ pick me boy vibe.

“Y/N—” He’s cut short, Juyeon’s voluminous voice resonating throughout the house again, sans the music.

“Everybody who isn’t Tau Beta Zeta, get the fuck out! Someone called the cops!”

Of course. Nobody ever calls the cops on a TBZ party but of fucking course the one time Haknyeon gets shoot his shot with you, someone narcs. He actually thinks he might die. He might keel over and die in the middle of this party while the cops are raiding the place. Lee Sangyeon is gonna be thrown in the back of a police cruiser for letting people drink underage and then send them his way because he bought all of the alcohol. This was just his luck.

Without a word, you grab his hand and drag him out through the back door. You follow the flock of other party goers escaping the wrath of the police. It’s difficult to run in a mini skirt and strappy heels, but you don’t really have room to whine about it. Haknyeon doesn’t know if there’s ever a right time to tell you that you could’ve just gone up to his room, but figures it’s too late when you're hopping the short fence that goes out to the main street of Greek Row.

One would think that he’d sobered up at this point since he was, you know, on the run from the law. Yet for some reason Ju Haknyeon himself doesn’t even know, he’s still feeling the effects of the alcohol, tripping over that stupid fucking fence and falling flat on his face. Thankfully, he lands on the grassy part just before the sidewalk, but it doesn’t make the situation any less embarrassing.

You don’t give him recovery time, pulling him to his feet. He holds a hand to the side of his face that received the harshest of the impact, expecting to wake up to a nasty bruise tomorrow. He’s also unsure where exactly you’re taking him, but is afraid of asking out of fear that you’ll send his ass back to the frat house and have him arrested or something. (He had a bad habit of over complicating situations and coming up with the worst possible scenarios.)

Once the commotion has died out and there’s no one else around, you slow your pace. You turn to face him with a grin, holding both of his hands in yours as you walk backwards. “Are you cool with staying the night at my place?”

Truly, Haknyeon needs to know what act of nobility he committed in his previous life. He needs to go back in time and thank himself for whatever it was. Even with fumble after fumble, he was somehow bouncing back and receiving major compensation for sticking it out. He swallows thickly, nodding dumbly when he realizes he hasn’t given you a proper response.

“Um… Yeah— I mean— yes. That’s fine. That’s totally fine.” He word-vomits, stumbling over his tongue rather than his feet. Being down bad was one of his strongest personality traits. And being clumsy was second strongest, so you don't even have to imagine how terrible a combination of both would be.

The walk to your apartment knocks any lingering inebriation out of his system. He’s entirely too hyper aware of what’s happening as you guide him in that direction. It’s cooler out, the temperature dropping in the nighttime as the end of the semester approaches. If there was another reason to be grateful for this party, it was because he no longer had to worry about not making a move before your last lab together. As much as he despised Biology, he’d take it every day if it meant getting to see you.

He actually feels like he may throw up as you reach your place, his hands sticking into the pockets of his jacket to hide the clamminess of his palms. His nerves are creeping up on him once more, a dark cloud looming over him. He shouldn’t be this jumpy at this point of the night. He should be composed, prepared to sweep you off your feet after spending so much time with you. Why the hell is he sweating bullets right now?

“Welcome to my humble abode,” you curtsy. “Would you like something to drink? Water, maybe?”

“Th-That would be great,” Haknyeon forces out, waddling behind you into the kitchen like a baby duckling following its mother. “You have a nice apartment.”

“Really? Thank you!” You can’t help but giggle at his jitters and the way he keeps rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. A sense of déjà vu rushes over you when you pass him a cup. “Living alone has its perks, I guess. I like that I don’t have to argue with anyone about how to decorate and things like that.”

“It sounds a lot more enjoyable than living with a bunch of men in their early twenties,” he smiles weakly as he accepts the glass of water from you. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how thin the walls are in that house.”

“Do they have sex often?” You ask him bluntly, head cocking to the side almost innocently. He chokes on the water he just sipped, nearly spilling it onto the floor.

“W-What?” He sputters.

“I’m assuming that’s what you’re talking about,” you shrug, facing away from him so you can grab yourself something to drink, also. “We should get back at them.”

You don’t know how many more bones you can throw for him to understand what you're insinuating. Even the frat boy comment you made earlier was intentional. Haknyeon’s mouth goes dry and his eyes widen like a cartoon character’s. What the fuck?

“I’ve never brought a girl back to the house before, because I don’t want them to make fun of me or something— not that I’m saying I would take you back to the house! I mean I just would feel bad if you also got made fun of— not that I’m referring to having sex with you or anything!” The glass in his hands is on the verge of slipping from his grip. “Not that I don’t want to have sex with you— oh my god— um wow, that’s a very lovely fruit bowl you have there I—“

“Hak,” you interject his rambling, wearing a mischievous smile.

The nickname drives him fucking insane. Scratch him possibly dying. If he isn’t dead by the end of the night, he’ll be shocked. Perplexed. Perturbed. Puzzled. Any shock-adjacent synonym you can think of. That will be him. “Y-Yes?”

“Can you shut up and kiss me already?”

Honestly, you don’t have to ask him twice. His lips are on yours in seconds, fingers fisting the material of your skirt at your hips to steel himself. You moan in response to the sheer frenzy behind his actions. It’s so easy to lose yourself in the haste of it; the way you tug at his hair, the blunt edges of his nails digging into your sides, the near clashing of your teeth. He nibbles at your bottom lip, sighing when you allow his tongue to permeate your mouth. He’s content to do nothing but this, kissing you is enough to satiate the desire he’s harbored for you for months. However, with the franticness of your kiss, he knows you want more.

He inches you both backwards until your lower back hits the counter, and then he’s cupping beneath your thighs to hoist you up. His strength sends tidal waves pulsing throughout your whole being, hurriedly pushing the material of his denim jacket off of his shoulders and letting it fall to the floor without a care. Your hands travel south as his lips trail along your jaw and neck, sucking and biting your supple skin wherever he feels fit. He hisses into the dip where your collarbone meets your shoulder when you palm him through his pants.

“Fuck, babe, you want me bad, don’t you?” He mutters into the column of your throat, teeth sinking into the flesh after.

“Mhmm,” you whine, craning your neck to give him more access to the surface. It’s like a switch has flipped in him and it turns you on unbearably. This is what you’ve been trying to coax out of him all night.

Haknyeon pries apart your legs, slotting himself between them so he can sneak his fingers beneath your skirt. His thumb rubs tight circles into your clothed clit, the lace of your underwear damp with your arousal. He connects your lips again, groaning into your kiss when he moves the fabric aside and slides his knuckle through your folds. You buck up your hips, whimpering when he holds them down with his forearm.

“Want more,” you gasp when he applies a bit of pressure to your sensitive bundle of nerves.

“‘More’ what? Use your words, princess,” he instructs, tracing your entrance with his ring finger.

You shake your head because you’re not even sure what it is that you want. You just know that this isn’t enough to quell the hunger burning at your chest. It’s not nearly sufficient to fan the flames in the depths of your heart or the ache in the pit of your abdomen. You need him everywhere. It’s beyond him being your cute Bio lab partner now.

He urges you onto your elbows, pecking the plane of your stomach. He pushes up your skirt and discards your panties, baring you to the cool air of your apartment. Your eyes flutter shut when he kisses your clit gently. Your head is light and airy and it’s like you’re on cloud nine. Haknyeon hums against you, pulling off to scold you.

“Eyes open, baby,” he nudges his nose on your pelvic bone. “Want you to watch me eat you out.”

The moan you release is strained, like it had been confined in the back of your throat for ages until this moment. He flattens his tongue and licks a line from your hole to your clit, suckling the engorged skin and repeating. Your eyelids are heavy, keeping your intense gaze on him as he all but makes out with your pussy. He focuses his mouth on your clit and slips his middle finger into you. He pumps it in and out languidly, setting a rhythm that matches each swirl of his tongue around your clit.

The whole scene still feels unreal to both of you, like you might wake up from a wet dream or something. How was it possible that Ju Haknyeon was finger fucking you on your kitchen counter? Just a couple days ago, you were sitting side by side in your Biology lab, too nervous to initiate a substantial conversation. You’d think it would be harder to slob on someone’s knob than it would be to talk to them while wearing a fuckass lab coat and goggles.

Haknyeon works his forearm up, pinning down your thighs so your cunt is fully accessible. He adds a second finger to the mix, thrusting them at a higher speed and increasing the unrelenting sucking of your bundle of nerves. He can tell you’re creeping closer towards your climax with the way your walls clench around him and your hips continue to jerk up. And considering the kind of person he was, you figured he would aid you rather than hinder you. But you figured wrong.

He slows his assault, removing his mouth from your clit and leaving the stimulation at just his two fingers. You whine, lip quivering when he looks up into your eyes.

“W-Why are you— what are you doing?” You plead, hating the tone of your voice. The tables have turned, with you sitting beside desperation. This is so unlike you— so unlike the usual domineering aura you exude during sex— your body reacting differently to the power falling through the cracks within your grasp.

“Don’t you wanna savor the moment, princess?” He sounds so cocky, a far cry from the wavering confidence you’d always seen out of him. He kisses the skin of your inner thighs, moving closer and closer to the area you need him most, all the while he continues curling and uncurling his fingers.

The precipice of your orgasm is right there, you can almost taste it on the tip of your tongue. But Haknyeon holds it just out of reach, dangling it in your face like teasing a dog with a chew toy. Tears prick at the corner of your eyes, a false sense of hedonism building and building, then slowly ebbing away each time he retracts. You open your mouth, but no sound comes out.

Just when you’ve given up hope, he adds a third finger and wraps his lips around your clit, sucking harshly. The sudden and unexpected intrusion snaps that familiar cord in half, blinding you with white hot pleasure. The groan that escapes from the base of your chest is guttural, echoing throughout the kitchen. You don’t have it in you to worry about waking your neighbors, especially not when you feel the curve of a smile against your cunt, such an uncharacteristic response from Haknyeon.

Your legs spasm as the height of your orgasm calms. You pull him down for a wanton kiss, tangling your fingers in his hair. He laughs at the role swap, hands flat on the counter to hold him over you. “Feel good?”

“So good, Hak,” you murmur into his lips. “Think you can fuck me like that next?”

“So impatient,” he snickers, pecking along your jaw once more. “But since you’ve been so good for me, I think it’s only fair that I return the favor.”

You clumsily undo the button and zipper of his cargoes, pushing them down with your foot. He steps out of them and kicks them away while simultaneously removing his t-shirt. You take your top off and shimmy out of your skirt, raising an eyebrow at the narrowed look in his eyes. “What?”

“Do you have a condom?”

“No,” you poke your cheek with your tongue. “But, I don’t care if you wear one. I’d rather feel you raw, anyway.”

His forehead drops to your shoulder. “God, you’re killing me. Okay.”

He shoves down his briefs and you have to stop yourself from gawking at his size. While he wasn’t the biggest, he was definitely bigger than anyone else you’ve ever been with. He pumps himself a couple times, guiding his length to your entrance and throwing his head back when the tip presses into you. This was really happening, holy shit. Ju Haknyeon was actually having sex with you.

Your toes curl and you stab your nails into your palms to distract from the stinging stretch. He eases into you with the occasional grunt, minding your expressions for any signs of discomfort. When all he sees is your features contorted to display pleasure, he resumes. By the time he’s bottomed out completely, both of you are moaning messes. You feel so full, stuffed to the brim with the weight of his cock.

“I’ve wanted to be inside of you for so fucking long,” he admits, speaking the words into your sticky skin as he drags himself out only to piston back in. The action throttles you a bit, your eyes tempted to roll to the back of your head from how fucking good it feels. You can’t conjure coherent thoughts to properly convey how many endorphins are coursing through your veins.

Haknyeon sets a pace that combines the perfect amount of speed and depth, the tip of his cock brushing that spot deep in your cunt. Your brain is hazy and your vision blurs, hardly able to see anything in front of you. His mouth attaches to the pulse point on your neck, ensuring he bruises the area.

“Y-You’re— fuck— you’re s-so deep, Hak. I can feel you all over,” you wail, bringing one of his hands to tamp your lower stomach. The pressure contributes to the growing tension of your second orgasm, something you know will collide into you with even more exertion than the first.

“Yeah? You’re taking me s-so well, baby. No one else has ever fucked you this good, right?” Sweat beads on his hairline, dripping down his temples with every thrust of his hips and every drive of his cock into your sweet pussy. Even if he really did somehow manage to die tonight, he could do it with integrity. He could go out with the honor of a fallen soldier knowing that he got to experience this at least once in his life.

He hikes one of your knees up to your chest, burying his dick deeper if humanly possible. You arch your back, pushing into his chest to minimize the space between you, antsy at the promise of another release as mind blowing as the last. He brings you to the edge of the counter so you’re now hip to hip. Haknyeon snakes a hand in the middle of your bodies, using his thumb to rub circles into your clit. That stimulation coupled with the depth of his cock encourages the fluttering of your walls, in turn drawing out the state of bliss you’ve been chasing.

Your vision goes blank, stars painting the behinds of your eyelids. A second orgasm crests upon you and evokes a moan so pornographic, it sounds far away from you. It’s a dreamlike euphoria, an almost out of body experience that puts every other orgasm to shame. The surface of your skin is hot to the touch.

“Where do you want me, princess?” Haknyeon asks breathily. In the calamity of your own release, you nearly forgot about his until you register the twitching inside of you. It pauses the static in your ears, returning the volume of the world to its normality.

“Cum inside of me,” you whine, the overstimulation becoming too much to handle. He doesn’t need to be told another time, grip tightening on your thigh as he spills into your cunt.

The two of you stay still for a moment, allowing clarity to flow into your brains. You wince when he finally has half the mind to pull out, his nose scrunching up at the sensitivity. He slides his underwear back on, extremely conscious of how naked he is right now. He has an inkling that you were anticipating that this would happen, because why else would you ask him to stay over tonight? But, he is the Ju Haknyeon that you’ve sat next to this entire semester in your Biology lab. So he couldn’t just march forward without a little overthinking and self deprecation.

“Do you still want me to stay?” His voice has reverted back to that small, unsure tone. You sit up quickly, alarmed by the twinge of disappointment underneath it.

“Of course, I do,” you pout, kissing his cheek and lacing your fingers together. “I’ve had a crush on you since the beginning of the year, Hak. Sure, maybe I skipped a couple steps in between, but I have wanted this so badly— I have wanted you so badly— for you don’t even know how long.”

He chuckles, tucking some hair behind your ear. He leaves a sweet kiss on your lips, softer and gentler than the ones from earlier that night. He’s intentional with the way he glides them in harmony, like he was following the melody of the most beautiful song. “Oh trust me, I think I have an idea.”

© juyeonszn. do not steal, claim, or repost.

[edytae]

Spoiled (smut-mature) ft. Kim Taehyung x Reader

pairing: Taehyung x (female) reader        

summary: Taehyung loves providing you.

rating: 18+, smut, mature, do not interact if you are underage

genre/warnings: Taehyung speaks filthy but he is whiny at first.

word count: 2112

A/N1: this to everyone who are thinking to print their own money as the tuition fees are ridicilously high.

A/N2: I CANNOT believe how many people enjoyed my last fic :(( Thank you everyone. Please check out my latest work: Puppy Daddy and my all Taehyung-smut masterlist.

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Taehyung sighed deeply as his hips rutted against you desperately. “Baby… baby…” He whined and whined. 

You tried to carefully hold your champagne glass filled with sparkling water. “Taehyung! I am gonna spill this all over you.” You tried to stop his needy hips but oh boy he was turned on.

“Baby… Give me a kiss.” He was sitting on top of you, clearly not minding his tall frame, facing you with his dreamy eyes and shaky hands. Even though his weight made you stay underneath him, you enjoyed how much he was turned on. 

You gladly gave him the kiss he asked for. He gently kissed around your lips before delving into your mouth and taking it more steamy. Meanwhile, he kept a firm hold on your face and kept moaning into the kiss. 

“Please… Please, baby…” He whispered in almost a cry. You looked up at him chuckling, “Since when you are a whiny boy for sex?” His manner was a little different than normal. Usually, he would be less whiny and more leading. 

“Let me pay for it…” He whispered when you thought he was breathless. His breath on your ear was very stimulating to your core. You looked up at him in confusion. Was he in role-playing mode? You were definitely not ready to get your dom act together. 

“Baby boy…” You murmured. 

Taehyung painfully laughed. “No.. Not like that…” Your confusion grew larger.

“Let me pay for your degree.” He offered and went back to kissing you. Now, you were properly confused. Why was he offering this? As if he could actually read your mind, Taehyung explained while his hips got quicker against your hips. He was literally a horny teenage boy. 

“You are so fucking hot and so fucking smart. Baby… Please let me pay for your school. Ughh… Please… My baby…” His hands grabbed your glass and put it aside.

“Taehyung, are you okay,  baby?” You asked, laughing at his needy moves. He joined you in a pathetic smile, “No… Yes? I am so fucking horny….”

You laughed even harder, “Because that I got into graduate school?” 

His eyebrows creased in an adorable pout. “Don’t make fun of me. I am so fucking hard because of you. My lovely fiancée got into one of the best schools in the world…” 

Taehyung kissed up from your chest to your ear and gave you one of the best cheesy lines you ever heard. “And now I want to get into you, baby.” 

It was fair that you let out a cringy laugh, Taehyung took that with pride. “I want to be your sugar daddy, come on. I will pay for it, babygirl... Mine…” He cutely growled at the end. 

“Mmmh, sure…” You pretended to be his spoiled girl and he fucking loved it. “Yes, be my naughty girl. My spoiled babygirl… And I will discipline you, okay?” He could if he had stopped shaking like a leaf from how much turned on he was. 

“You smell so good, baby. My love, you are the most amazing woman I ever met. Fuck and you are so soft…” He sighed while caressing your thighs. 

“Taehyung, please get off my lap, my legs hurt!” You complained as his frame on you started to hurt. 

He didn’t oppose and quickly sat next to you. “Come on, lay on my lap…” He tugged your arm hurriedly. You kept giggling, “Do you want to spank me?”

As he pulled you onto his lap, “Later, later… Just me and you. My good babygirl.” He rubbed his face into your neck, almost like a cat. “Oh, baby…” He sighed. “You are so brilliant… I am so proud of you.” 

“Thank you, Taetae. I am glad my acceptance letter got you this hard.” As you rolled your hips over his thighs, you felt how ready he was. Taehyung nodded as he kissed your chest over your shirt. 

“My smart babygirl… You are my sweetest.” His hands easily grabbed your tits over your shirt. His large warm palms made you shiver.

He undressed you smoothly as he kept sweet talking to you. He was gentle and calm but still desperate. 

When you were completely naked on his lap, his desperation really kicked in. You couldn’t help but comment on his low grunts and groans. You caressed his chest, “Sir is horny because of me?” Your fake innocent voice made Taehyung’s eyes roll back. It was funny how easily you could feed him into his kink. 

“Fuck, baby…” Taehyung threw his head back on the couch as your hips worked over his crotch, smearing your stringy juices to his pyjamas. “Yeah… Sir is ready for his babygirl. I want to spoil my babygirl.” His hand landed on your ass, “Of-fuck!” You breathed into his mouth.

“Spoil my babygirl… Buy her clothes, jewellery…” He listed as you sloppily kissed around his mouth. “Take care of my love…” He let you kiss down his neck while he continued, “I will pay for your tuition. I will pay for everything because you are mine. My babygirl, my girlfriend, the love of my life… Y/N,” He slurred.

“Now, take my cock out, baby. Come on, ride me like a good girl.” He patted your ass and looked at you with gentle eyes. He was always weighing your reactions.

You gulped when you fished his dick out from his baggy bottoms. “There you go, he is yours to play with…” Taehyung whispered into your ear as you looked down while biting your lips. 

“Sir gave you a large toy, huh?” Taeahyung’s chest vibrated with a low chuckle as you gave him little tugs. 

“There you go, start slowly…” Taehyung melted into the couch as your hands did wonders on him. He could genuinely cum just from this slow, impeded pace. 

“Tae…” You weren’t in the mood to jerk him off. You needed that cock in you right away. As if Taehyung could read your mind, he nodded when you dropped your wet cunt over his shaft. 

Taehyung hissed loudly, you jolted away. “You- you’re just so wet.” Taehyung kept a firm hand on your hips and brought you back to him. 

“Because you made me so wet.” You pouted while bouncing yourself over his long shaft. As he was sitting down, it wasn’t easy to feel him rub against you. If he was laying down, you could feel that long dick rub onto your clit his best glory. Taehyung saw your attention to get the best stimulation.

“Why don’t you sit on it, baby? Take me in and swirl your hips around it, mhmm? You like that, don’t you?” He offered. 

“Let’s do it slowly. You aren’t stretched very well. Go slow… Baby-” You weren’t seemed to care about his calm guidance. So Taehyung stopped you firmly, one hand on your hips and the other one on your face. “You are going to listen, Sir, okay? Do what he tells you…” 

Taehyung placed a wet kiss on your puckered lips when you nodded. 

“Now, take it slowly.” His arms returned to the back of the couch, spreading his arms cockily as you desperately tried to take his cock in. 

“Yes, just like that babygirl. Take the tip in only. Tease yourself nice and good. Hah, look at yourself dripping onto my thighs… You are a messy girl, aren’t you? No, don’t apologize. You better drip on me, paint me in your juices.” 

You spurred, hiding your face into his neck. “You are already huge and you keep making it difficult with all that dirty talk…” You groaned. 

“You are a sucker for my dirty talk, baby.” Taehyung rolled his hips slightly up, just enough to dirty your skin with his precum. 

“Fuck, yes I am.” You confessed breathlessly and continued where you left off. 

“There you go, yes, that’s amazing, babygirl. You are doing so well.” This time you were more comfortable with taking him in. 

“I can already feel that warm cunt… Good girl. You are listening very well. Now, try going deeper, baby. Can you do that for me? Just a bit deeper… There you go, yeah fucking whine for me.” 

You stopped holding his dick and dug your fingers into his shoulders. It helped you have a better balance and get closer to your smoking-hot boyfriend. 

“Bounce for me, baby. Come on you know you can take all of this cock. It is yours…” He uttered his words to your ear with his warm breath on your shoulders. He knew how to get you excited only with his words. You gave him back by following his words. You sat above his dick, placed your hands on his shoulder and started to bounce with half of his dick in you. The pleasure kicked in seconds later. “Taehyung! Baby…” Your back arched on his lap, tits rubbing to his chin as he spread his thighs. 

“Look at yourself… Fuck, baby, you are so hot. Keep going, keep riding.” He helped you bounce on him with his generous hands on your ass. “Go at your own pace. Don’t force-” Taehyung groaned halfway through his sentence when you decided to take him deeper and deeper with every bounce. 

“Y/N…” He sighed when he was covered by your walls. “You are such a nice girl for me. Nice, spoiled girl.” He kissed your shoulders.

“Tae…” You let a warning moan for him. 

“Yes, baby?” He rubbed your ass. 

“Can I cum?” You asked with a bounce. He was hitting where you needed him, and it showed on your face. How could he say no to you when the pleasure already painted your face? “Please, I have been a good girl for you…” You tried to persuade him by swirling your hips around him. 

“Yes, baby. Use my dick to get yourself there, okay? Don’t even hesitate…” Taehyung gave himself to you and get ready to support you. 

After that, only your screams and slurs filled Taehyung’s ears. You bounced around him at the angle you wanted as he sat under you, clenching his stomach, trying not to cum before you. 

Seconds later, you started whining.

“Oh, do you like my dick that much? Are you gonna cry on my cock like a slut? I thought I trained my babygirl better than this?” Taehyung’s fake pity made you even whinier. 

“But, it goes so deep, Sir…” You whined because your sensitive walls needed a release.

“I know, baby. You only take it the way you feel comfortable…” Taehyung brought his hands to your tummy and caressed it lovingly, but you shook your head to the sides violently. 

“No! No, I want it all the way in. Taehyung, please, let me have it.” You begged him even though you were in the power to take whatever you wanted.

“Oh, baby… You can just take it as much as you can.” Taehyung tried to remind you as you continued begging him sweetly.

“Or you just want to be spoiled, huh? Is that you want? Is that why you cry like little whore? You just want me to give it to you.” Taehyung sighed lovingly as he thrust up to your figure on him. “I will give you all the cock you need, baby. Keep yourself nice and steady, and Sir will give you everything you want. There we go… Take it nice for me. Come on scream for me Y/N…” His hands returned to their previous places, but this time he had his hand wrapped around your throat. 

“Aahh, I feel that cunt squeezing me dry… Such a nice, tight, warm pussy you have for me, baby. I want it to cum for me. Can you do that, baby? Can you cum on my dick nicely like a spoiled girl you are? Let it go for me. There you go, cum for me.” 

Your back arched back as your high approached you. He was thrusting up to get you there, “Cum for me, you little horny slut.” As you got closer, Taehyung squeezed your neck slightly.

“My babygirl, taking my dick that she can’t handle. But look at you going crazy for my dick. You gonna cum on it, baby? Cum for me, give it to me. Give me fucking show, come on.” 

It sting when you dug your nails into Taehyung’s shoulder and came in a violent shudder. You shook on his lap while his dick stood planted inside you. Your quick breaths and tight cunt easily made him ooze his load into you. 

“You did amazing, Y/N… Shh, stay here.” He caressed your shaking back as he hugged you into his chest. You indulged in his scent for hours after.

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If you liked this, you might also like Puppy Daddy and Best Dad-dy.

[qqueenofhades]

as a starting history major i wanna ask how do you read/evaluate academic history papers/books? i'm trying to avoid just blindly agreeing with whatever the author is writing because it seems correct. how can you tell what is good scholarship and what is more shaky?

This is a great question for you as a freshman history major to ask (many of my toiling colleagues and I can attest that we wish more of you would!) and shows that you're already taking initiative and investment in your studies and want to be the best prepared you can. So truly -- thank you! Us on the faculty/staff/administrative end of academia can feel as if we are pouring into an empty bucket at times, and it's always gratifying to hear otherwise. We really appreciate it.

As a college freshman and/or underclassman (or so I'm assuming) your first job is learning how to collect basic information from the things you read, collate and cite them accurately, and make them converse intelligently with each other in an entry-level piece of academic writing (such as an essay responding to an assigned prompt). So before you have to worry about understanding complex nuance and granular-level fact-checking, the first step is just getting comfortable with academic forms, styles, and conventions. There's an occasional anti-intellectual strand of thinking that pops up on Tumblr, basically insisting that everyone everywhere should be able to understand everything in fifth-grade words and if not then it's Elitist Gatekeeping, but this is a symptom of TikTok brainrot where people's brains have been literally rewired to only process spoon-fed chunks of incredibly simplistic (and uh, often wrong) information, and literally can't parse anything longer, even if it's written in accessible language. Yes, many academics are not necessarily great writers, but you also have to let go of the mindset that you can speed-read once and understand everything. You will need to slow down, take your time, and make a note of concepts that are confusing or that you want to double-check, words you need to look up, and things that make you say "hmm I should look into that more," whether because you're interested or they seem questionable. I always read academic texts or papers (I prefer hard copy, because I am Fucking Old) with a pen in hand, because if I don't, I often feel like I didn't read it at all.

Basically, this is an interactive process between you and the text, and requires you to develop a different kind of reading mentality than just buzzing through a novel or fanfic for pleasure. You have to expect that it will take time and that if you regularly skive off the readings, you won't be prepared for class, your professors will be annoyed, and you won't be able to write good essays, because you haven't engaged with the material. In your case, it sounds like that will be less of a problem, because you are eager to know how to do it right, but I can tell you from my experience that nothing frustrates us more than students who just won't do the reading (and you know, use ChatGPT to write their essays) because then what are you even DOING here? What do you want to get out of this? Why are you wasting your precious tuition money like this? Yes, you probably have to fill a requirement, but STILL. It's disrespectful to your teacher, who has invested a lot of effort in being here to help you with this and doesn't want you to just quit because it looks hard, and your peers, and to you. So anyway, /Captain Holt voice/ apparently that's a trigger for me. Basically, if you learn nothing else from this ask: please do the reading. Even if it's only to admit you need more help or want to talk about this concept in class or otherwise take advantage of all the structures that are in fact there to help you understand it! Thankee.

Likewise, because you're an underclassman, you have an advantage in that your teacher will select the class readings for you ahead of time. That means you will be receiving things that a professional has already checked, decided are useful and trustworthy, and you don't have to do independent research and vetting yourself (that will come if you decide for some godforsaken reason to pursue graduate and/or doctoral study). So you don't need to spend tons of extra time and effort deciding if the sources given to you in class are reliable on a basic and functional level; your professor has already done the work for you to make sure that they are. Your job is now to read those sources, keep a record of what they say (hence the aforementioned pen or other way to make quick notes) and figure out how to put them together in an essay. For example, if Author A cites Factor A as, say, the main cause of the fall of the Western Roman Empire, and Author B insists that Factor B was in fact more critical, what is your best approach to reconciling that information? You would search in the rest of those texts to see what else they say in support of their position, and you would probably end up with a qualified statement to the effect of, "While Author A argues A, Author B thinks B, representing the lack of consensus and the difficulty in attributing one single cause to an event as complicated as the fall of Rome." (And then because you're smart, you would go on to mention Byzantium and the Eastern Roman Empire and show that you are aware of the further context.) All of which is true! Historians do that all the time! You don't need to select THE RIGHT ANSWER and vigorously discredit all other theories, ever, and we tend to look suspiciously on people who do (cough cough Philippa Langley).

In other words, we are certainly not expecting you as a freshman, and even as a more advanced student, to be able to pick out ONE ANSWER from the material. We just want to see evidence that you have in fact read it, are able to evaluate and place theories side by side and possibly make a judgment as to which one you find more compelling, and also to properly cite where you got that information. We've seen a lot recently about plagiarism and that being the pretext on which Harvard president Claudine Gay was forced to resign (which is a whole other can of worms, but never mind). A lot of professors think that saying "Don't Do Plagiarism" is enough, but then don't explain what it is and the different forms it can take. It's not just a matter of copying verbatim chunks of someone else's work (or you know, ALL OF IT, like certain recently discredited YouTube scumbags) and acting like it's your own. If you are relying substantially on someone else's work, whether in their wording, arguments, conclusions, structure, or anything else, even if you've changed some of the words (yep, still plagiarism!), that needs to be cited appropriately according to the relevant style guide. Direct quotes from anyone need to go in quotation marks or indented blocks and have the author cited immediately afterward. History usually uses Chicago, MLA, or MHRA, and you can find cheat sheets for how to do that online. It's a pretty simple and straightforward style, and your professor will be extra impressed.

If you're expected to do an independent project or a senior research thesis, as some undergraduate history students do, then it will come when you have already had three years of experience in reading, evaluating, and writing historical scholarship, you will probably have a faculty member assigned to you for one-on-one mentoring and personalized feedback sessions, and they will be able to provide suggestions and support for useful sources. So even then, you still don't have to do it entirely on your own. They'll probably also be MORE than happy to debate with you which ones are good and which ones are suspect, because it's all a part of developing your ability to flex that muscle for yourself. (And as noted, faculty members Will Have Strong Opinions.) That likewise doesn't mean you just have to copy whatever they say (at least if you have a good teacher who wants you to think for yourself and not just be a mini-clone of their pet theories), but it means that by the time you reach that stage, you will have been prepared enough to feel confident in taking more steps on your own. I think not enough people realize that studying history (or anything, really) isn't just throwing you out there and being like "tough luck sucker, do it all yourself."

That's why academia is so collaborative, why plenty of historians with doctorates and tenure will still have to say "I don't know, let me get back to you" when someone asks them a question at a conference, and you don't have to fear that if you don't have The One Right Answer, you will be immediately exposed as a fraud and thrown out. History as a discipline is also moving away from the 19th-century German approach that attempted to systematize it as a singular social science with One Right Answer, and to focus more on multiple perspectives and incomplete answers. That's why the goal is not necessarily to know everything (which alas, is impossible), but to make better sense of what we can know and search for ways in which the existing record is flawed and needs to be revised, expanded, or reworked with new perspectives (which have existed all this time, but haven't been privileged by the white male western academy for the obvious reasons). And that work is fun and important! I don't want you to be scared of getting to that point, because someone will be there to support you the whole way and by the time you do, it will make sense to you in a way it probably doesn't right now, just because it's a new skill and like any new skill, it takes a long time to learn and to be able to apply confidently, consistently, and at a high level. And plenty of us who do it as a career still often have to say "I don't know, let me ask Dr. So-and-so who specializes in this," so yeah. It's a process of becoming comfortable with both learning how to answer what we can, and to ask others for help with that, and it never really ends. Which is the fun part. There's so much more to do.

Good luck!

[andhumanslovedstories]

sorry if you’ve answered this before, but what made you go into nursing?

In 2016 Donald Trump got elected, which was not what I was expecting to happen and a bit of a disappointment, to put it very very lightly. I was 25 and basically been bumming around my parents' house working as a barista when me and Cyrus weren't traveling and living in a van. We had plans for the future, but they were more "where do we wanna live" rather than "what do you wanna do?" Once he got elected, it didn't feel right sticking to the same plan. I felt I had to do something different with my life, something that mattered and helped people and offset the harm that would come and that had already come.

So I thought about the stuff that I valued most (having a job that helps people, having a concrete positive effect and being able to see it, maintaining access to care, reproductive health, advocating for people who aren't in a position to effectively advocate for themselves, intersectional feminism), and I thought about the stuff that has always interested me intellectually (public health, narratives of caregiving and illness, the history of the AIDS epidemic, people I don't know anything about, how people behave in extraordinary moments, my mom and aunt's nursing stories), and I thought about a bunch of practical concerns (didn't want to take work home with me, good paycheck, good job security, a lot of different uses from one degree, I'd be able to get my nursing degree in an accelerated second degree program for very cheap if I arranged things right*, worst case scenario it would give me something to write about).

It also matters a lot that my mom is a nurse and so fucking passionate about nursing, and that I admire my mom tremendously. Meanwhile my aunt, who I also admire, was an ESL teacher in an underfunded district, and I saw how passionate she was as well, and I saw how much work she took home every night and weekend and how much of her personal money she poured into her work. Seeing the life of teachers up close eliminated teaching as a career course. So nursing made the most sense. I was in community college taking my pre-reqs by the time Trump was sworn into office.

I did home health nursing because that's what I could get hired for as a new grad, and now I do bedside hospital nursing because it pays more, it's easier to get time off, I get to talk to other people, and it gives me a lot of skills I can take to wherever I go to next. I've been a nurse now longer than I was in school to become a nurse, which was one of my most basic career goals, and I have a lovely apartment, and don't worry too much about day-to-day finances, and when I come home from work I'm usually proud of what I've done that day. And best of all, it's literally impossible for me to do my job from home. They can't make me. The patients aren't in my lovely apartment. On the whole, I'm very satisfied with how all this has been working out.

(*I'm very sorry to say the circumstances which allowed me to do this are basically unrepeatable for the layperson and rely heavily on your mother being a nursing school instructor, and your family being willing and able to support you as you completely cease making money so you can become a legal dependent again and be eligible for your parent's tuition reimbursement. I can offer no advice here, just gratitude to my parents for helping me out so much.)

[nananarc]

Gonna disclose my income as a freelance artist because I feel like it might give some perspective. And mostly bc I'm feeling a bit burnout and I want pity points ok? Lol.

Context 1: For sake of simplicity, all figures are net income (minused all fees, charges, insurance, benefits, etc)

Context 2: I live in a big city in Việt Nam and the cost of living is relatively low. A salary of 1000$/month is considered really good for someone living alone with one pet, no family or children, no debt or other liabilities. Entry level jobs usually start at around 200-300$/month.

.

Let's start in 2021 because that's when it can be considered when I started doing art professionally.

In 2021 and 2022, I was juggling between art school, a part-time online side gig, building social media for my art, and of course try to get commissions. But coms were few and far between, mainly because I didn't have an online present before and I only hang in relatively small fandoms. So all I earn through side gig and art were only some change, in total avarage to about 40$/ month. Some months made up for no income months.

In 2023, things starts to be a bit better as I get more confident in my skill, but coms are still few and far between and months with no income is still common. Side gig was few and far between too and pay less. Overall I'd say it goes up to about 80$/month.

This year 2024, art school is done, I can finally do art full time. But I was severely burnout because all the accumulated stress since waaaaay before catch up with me and i couldn't cope anymore. I have to spend a lot of time resting instead. Fortunately, I received a decent amount of coms each month, and the new patreon surprisingly got a few supporters (I fully realistically expected it to sit at 0 for at least a year). Overall, I have an 8 hours 4 days work week: 4 hours a day on com and managing social media and other stuff that actually makes money; 4 hours a day on my own projects and personal indulgence that doesn't directly make money. As of now, my income is about 180$/month.

.

You are probably wondering how the fuck do one live like this in this economy.

It's because my family is middle class and can afford a freeloader like me in their house, receive their pocket money and tuition fee. I'm privileged.

But of course my family isn't rich and if just one catastrophic event happens to us, we'd be in bad shit. I'm constantly in anxiety of money, work, and the future. It doesn't help that I'm late 20s and many people around keep reminding of how I'm not making money yet still leeching off parents. It doesn't help that, for years all i hear about art is it will just lead to failure and no money.

.

But still, I am thankful of my family for letting me stay here. And all my friends and supporters for giving me money oc lol, but more importantly, believing in me more than I ever do in myself. I read all of your little tags, your keysmash and compliments, and I keep them all dear to my heart, and I went back to them everytime I need motivation. I can't see where my future as an artist will be, but I cling to your support and love as the will to keep going. Thank you all so, so fucking much. I'd have been literally dead in a ditch somewhere without you guys.

Anyway, idk, I've always been adamant about wage transparency (especially in a corporate setting) but I rarely see this in freelance artists. except to flex, to promote the hustle culture, or to sell some courses they made. Most of us don't want/can't subscribe to the grind and have nothing to flex either. All we have is this shit economy. I'd wish we could have been more open about this and many of us wouldn't have to feel so lonely and despair all the time.

[catboybiologist]

Random actual vent that is probably more venty than my usual random little things, but occasionally I have to step back and think how asinine the salary system for PhD students can sound to people outside of academia. I really just want to like... lay it on the table, because it really is fucking dumb and I occasionally want validation that its fucking dumb.

Note that this is all coming from a traditional lab sciences, in the US perspective. Also, I'm really fucking ADHD and have a really, really shitty brain for bureacracy, so this is a rant and isn't really intended to be informative and might be wrong in places, its just me word vomiting.

Let's start with something straight off the bat- grad school isn't really school. It's work that creates value for the university, and you happen to take one or two courses on the side that the university has determined will make you better at that work (your mileage may vary). It's an entry level job, essentially. You create value for the university in one of two ways- you either contribute to research that gets them grant money, or you teach undergrads that pay tuition. We'll get back to how that affects you later, but first lets talk about something else: what the university claims they pay you vs what you actually get paid.

On paper, my income is approximately 3 times as much as my actual, take home income. There's two reasons for this. The first is that I am technically charged tuition by the central university, which is then immediately paid off by the source of my income. In official job titles, that's technically included in what you're getting paid, although most universities don't even bother advertising that. The other confounding factor is that you're literally always considered part time. The exact % time varies depending on your exact schedule, and of course your university, but its actually weirdly consistent even between universities. Technically, the work you do on your thesis isn't "work", and the university doesn't technically pay you to do it. Even though the work you do on your thesis literally generates revenue for the university in the form of grant overhead. But we'll get to that. If you're a researcher for a given appointment term, you're expected to also do research activities that are unconnected to your thesis- which is ridiculous, because there's no lab in existence where the work isn't all interconnected in some way.

Half time appointments are common, but lots of different percentages exist.

So, if you ever see a figure that says that a grad student position is paid at about $80k a year, that's whats going on. The highest take-home income I have EVER heard of in the US for PhD students is $54k, at Stanford neuroscience. I think its a bit higher now, but that at least gets you a ballpark. Most STEM PhD students on the high cost of living coasts are paid 30-40k ish, and in cheaper areas you can expect to take 5k off of that. These are for degrees that usually make six figures on the job market.

And then there's the other convoluted problem- the source of the funding. This is where the academia salary model really has a unique brand.

Basically, when you're a PhD student, you're not working one job for the full 5-7 years. You're constantly flipping between job titles within the university, and who exactly is paying you changes as a result.

The most basic distinction is researcher vs teaching assistant. TA is easy- you work "part time" (but oh my god those workloads are not part time sometimes [although the class I'm TAing now is very chill so its w/e][fuck you molecular genetics at my master's uni tho]), and the department you're teaching for pays for your tuition and your salary as a result.

Researcher is a bit weirder. Basically, each lab is conducted as its own independent financial unit, managed by a Principle Investigator (PI, or to any grad student, the professor/boss/research advisor/liege/monarch/authority of the lab). The PI is constantly writing lab wide grants to supply the core funding of the lab, including the salary of the grad students. Grants can be pretty general, but there are also very specific ones that check in how the money is being spent. These include training grants/fellowships/tbh the name is arbitrary for a lot of these. Those are grants that are written to supply the salary of a specific grad student.

Couple things to note- the university charges the PI in a lot of ways on this. Notably:

They charge tuition on every grad student, as mentioned previously, which under a researcher appointment is paid from the PI to the university.

They charge overhead on grants- basically, they take money out of every grant the PI gets.

If the previous two sources aren't enough, oftentimes universities will pay rent on the amount of building space a lab takes up (although this is very inconsistent between universities)

Researcher appointments are considered favorable to teaching appointments, because they mean you can spend more of your time on your thesis. But, its dependent on whether your PI has the funding to pay you all that, which is a big if. So, every quarter or semester or year or however much your university decides to renegotiate it, you essentially switch jobs, in a way. Obviously its a lot more simple and streamlined than actually switching jobs, but your title, responsibility, source of income, and sometimes your actual pay changes constantly.

And to anyone who has been through a PhD, you're nodding along like this is all the basic stuff, because all this is so NORMAL. Like this is all the normal system, and this is the bare basics of it as well. And it's weird that it's normal, right? Like, most of my career has been tied to academia, so I don't have a fantastic benchmark for this, but this isn't how it works outside of academia like... at all.

Over the course of late last year and bleeding into this year, multiple graduate student unions have had strikes or negotiations regarding pay scale, but its been a very difficult situation for the average grad student to untangle because of how weird the source of pay is. Because technically, even though you functionally work a single, salaried job with slightly changing obligations, what's happening behind the scenes is that you're essentially hopping between jobs every couple of months. In an ideal system, those jobs always have the same pay, but that's increasingly becoming not the case. Sometimes that means getting paid more overall, sometimes slightly less. Union negotiations have made this pay slightly higher overall, but its still a mess of a system.

And obviously, there's paperwork associated with so many of these steps.

So in my last post, when I said "getting a grant", that was what I was referring to- applying for training grants that will guarantee that I don't have to teach extra or get extra money from my PI for the time I'm here. I'd love to get more teaching experience, but ofc I want to do it when I want to, not when I have to. I'm applying for multiple training grants over the next couple of months that will hopefully fund my salary specifically, and hopefully I'll get at least one of them. And tbh, I don't even care that much about teaching, I more want them because it'll dramatically simplify all this for me.

I love what I do to death, but untangling this shit is what gives me imposter syndrome more than anything. I think my arrogant streak shows when I can genuinely say that I've never felt imposter syndrome based on my scientific knowledge. I have felt it over two things- my motivation/productivity (which is a different rant entirely), and the fact that I am really, really bad at untangling the level of bureaucracy required to just... exist here. Just give me my fucking paycheck and let me do my science, and tell me when you want me to teach.

[gretahayes]

Give me the greta content please im starving

THANK YOU okay she’s my silly rabbit and i warned you this would be self indulgent. sort of an expansion of this.

it’s very important to me that she cries easily.

also v important that she’s prone to mood swings & yj just roll w/ it cause they’re used to it and love her.

her anita (because i’m a kidparents hater. they were only babies for a year or so then aged up rapidly to adulthood again. amen) and cissie go to the same university and cissie gets an apartment near campus. anita moves in because convenience. they knows damn well greta, their dear, very emotional girlfriend, won’t last long at a dorm with a regular roommate so cissie asks greta to live with them but greta insists she wants to be Independent and live at a dorm.

she lasts half a semester and anitacissie very kindly don’t say anything and move her into the apartment. yj had a betting pool on how long she’d last—they all knew it wouldn’t be a full semester.

she’s a lesbian but also on the aroace spectrum so double comphet was involved in her “crush” on tim. she knows she loves all of yj very strongly but knows what she feels for cissie anita and cassie is distinctly different. not more, not less, just different.

oh yeah i did say she’s anitacissie’s girlfriend. cissiegretacassieanita is real. to me.

i do think the thing about her is she’s got a few core beliefs and convictions (knows her friends are good, knows she wants to be human, knows she loves her friends) but the rest is all ?????. she’s drifting. or would be if yj didn’t take care to steer her in a direction she’s agreeable with.

like. i think her life is so greatly influenced by them. she is deeply and thoroughly codependent, they all are, and it’s unhealthy but it’s keeping her from shattering so who gives a fuck if it’s unhealthy. she studies photography because she knows tim likes it and she wants to bond with him over it. explodes.

tim pays greta's tuition in full, because he’s got the money easily and literally why wouldn’t he she’s his friend. she sobs all over and clings to him for a good five hours afterwards in gratitude.

winter time, she’s always bundled up in many layers, and always holding something warm because she hates the cold. heating on full blast, because cissie’s got celebrity money, she can afford it.

she can hold a grudge like a motherfucker. forgive and forget? unheard of. they may fade & she doesn’t hold any serious grudges against her friends, but trust the grudges are still there.

she’s a girl but in a distinctly non-human way. girl if there was something deeply Off about it. a girl in the same way destructive forces are given female names.

she’s a lot, and she’s too much, and she’s a burden. she’s a burden yj gladly bear because they love her.

just greta 👍 love her so much

[deliciousangelfestival]

You wanted some ideas for stories.

1. Two are from two different dimensions. Land in a mysterious third one, and the both of them have no idea how to handle it.

2. A woman in her 50s ends up finding out that she's actually a dragon and she literally has to up root her whole family including her very much adult children to go live with dragons.

3. Poor vampires working dead end jobs.

Idk if any of these will help. But sometimes I take two genres that might not go together and see what happens or I try to write something under 1k words. I hope you get rid of writers block soon.

Wow, this is really challenging. To anon who gave me this writing idea. Thank you !!!

1. Different Dimensions

Character: Steve Rogers x Female Reader

Y/N woke up in a mysterious land. Did she just sleepwalking? She only took a nap after taking care of the farm. Suddenly, a screen appeared in front of her.

Y/N L/N

Age: 25 Years Old.

Occupation: Farmer

Skills: Irrigation, Soil Management, etc.

What the heck is this? Did her brother put a VR headset on her head?

She touched her head, but there was nothing.

Y/N read this kind of novel when she had free time to read, and now she got sucked into this book, or she got transported to another universe?

Shit.

Suddenly, the screen appeared again.

Task 1 for player Y/N

Plant corn and potato.

[Equipment: shovel]

[Finish this will get 100 exp]

"....."

Damn to this world. She wants to go home. At least there's a cabin near her. Inside, there's a bed, fireplace, and kitchen. She has a place to stay. Y/N rolled her shirt. "Well, it's time for me to work." She planted the vegetable like the screen told her and saw her EXP bar fill.

On the third day, she saw a portal open. A screaming voice, "Ahhh."

'THUD.'

A person appears. He wore a blue suit. It looks like an armor. And he holds a shield with a star on it.

Wow, he came here more prepared than her.

He looked around and saw her.

"Ma'am. May I know where this is?"

Y/N shrugged her shoulder. "I want to know too. I found myself here when I woke up from my nap."

He was taken aback by her answers.

He murmured, "Damn you, Strange. You sent me to an unknown location again."

"My name is Captain Steve Roger from The Avengers and the supervisor of SHIELD. May I know your name?"

Never heard of that institution. Perhaps a secret organization.

"Y/N L/N, just a farmer." She raised the shovel in her hand.

Suddenly, they saw a light coming from beside the cabin.

Y/N rolled her eyes. "What is this time?" She went to the source of light, and Steve followed her lead.

There, they saw a plant coming out from the soil. Oh, it's a flower.

"What the fuck?" Steve cursed because a transparent screen suddenly appeared in front of him.

Class S Task.

Protect the flower for 100 days from sickness and monsters.

[This flower's main ingredient for eternal life.]

Protect it for 100 days, then both players could return to their own world.

'Go home.'

That's the two words Y/N and Steve like to hear. 'Growl.' A growled voice was heard near the tree. Y/N as a farmer, Y/N could find out what the creature is, and Steve, too, since he used to live in the forest because of World War II.

Y/n lifts her shovel and looks at Steve who raises his shield "Well Captain Steve. We need to work together so we could go home."

2. Dragon Birthday

Character: Female Reader

"I'm exhausted..." Today's work from your boss drained all your energy.

But she needs the extra money for life expenses and her son's college tuition. Since her messy divorce, her husband doesn't really care about them.

So she needs to do it alone. Before, she always went home after work, but now she's going to visit her mother's grave.

Before Y/N's mother died of old age, her mother told her to visit her grave on Y/N's 50th birthday.

Today is her 50th birthday, so she visits her mother's grave.

Deep down, she hoped her mother had a gift for her, like money? She really needs that right now.

Y/n put down the flower to her mother's tomb. "Mom, just like you said you want me to visit you on jy 50th birthday. Im alone, I didn't bring your grandson, and your son in law well... we separated."

Her husband choose work than his family. He didn't even say anything after signing the divorce paper and left for Egypt.

Y/N sighed. Sometime she wish that she could be awesome like her mother. But she's nothing like her mother.

Suddenly, the temperature at the graveyard turned cold. It's impossible when it's still summer.

"Who dare for disrespecting with my descendants???" A loud voice echoes in her ears.

What?? A dragon? Are you hallucinating because because you got overworked?

"Y/N L/N, one my of descendants."

Wow, the dragon really talks towards her.

"My descendants will get their power when they reach age of 50."

"What will I get if I accepted the power?" If she didn't get any gold today, at least she got a superpower.

"Strength, wisdom, and giving order."

She raised her eyebrows.

"I'll give you this power for 3 days. If you like it, come back here again. If you don't like it, just ignore it.

The next day, she tested the power. Y/N doesn't know how effective the power is. Her boss, who always gives a ridiculous task, she finally talks back, "You do it."

Her boss didn't say anything and did the job. When she called her ex-husband to pick up his stuff, he did. Even though he was in a different country when she called him, the next day, he was at the house carrying a moving box. Her ex is an archeologist, and his stuff removes all her space.

Y/N never thought this power could be helpful. So, on the 3rd day, she saw the dragon again. With this power, she loves the feeling of being confident.

"I'll accept the power."

"Excellent. If you want to make the power last longer you need to find other follower."

"There's more?"

"Yes."

"Where can I find them?"

Suddenly there's a stone appears on her hand.

"If you getting closer to the descendant the stone will glow. I gave you my blessing."

This means Y/N will go on an adventure; she could feel her blood boiling. It's time for her to be selfish; all this time, she always gives in and has low esteem. She never thought the gift when she reached 50 could be this good.

3. Poor Vampire

Character: Bucky Barnes x platonic!reader "Uh, Excuse me..James." A nervous blue collar holding a document towards his co-worker. "Yes?" "The deadline for this already passed but could you do this?" "Fine." The co-worker accepts the file without looking at the other person. "Fiuh, I thought he's going to kill me." "Ah yeah, our gatekeeper accountant. He always been like that but he does his job really well. I think he sleep at the office." "I never see him go home after 5 p.m." "Ouch, Y/N." Both employees touched their heads because someone hit them with a document.

"That's because he's fixing all the mistakes you guys made."

Y/N returned to her seat; she has worked in this company for 6 months. She notices one particular co-worker, James Buchanan Barnes. He's the most hardworking employee in this company and always works overtime. Y/N felt bad about him because others were taking advantage of him. Y/n wishes James could say no when people shove their work on him. She has seen bullying in the office multiple times. "Ehem, Y/N?" Speaking of him, James suddenly called her, she answered "Yes?" James talks without lifting his head from his monitor. "I've sent the file to your e-mail. Could you check it?" "Give me a minute." "Take your time." James, or his nickname Bucky, is blushing. He doesn't know if he wants to laugh or cry. The truth is that Bucky is a vampire, and he has a superpower: reading someone's mind. He could read everyone's thoughts, including Y/N. In this office, only she felt sorry for him and never asked him to do her job. But he wants to tell the truth to Y/N that he works overtime because of the extra money. He's poor as f**k. Vampire is a nocturnal being, so he doesn't need sleep. The reason why Bucky went bankrupt is because he trusted the wrong person. His butler, or the perfect word to describe it, is a thief. Bucky, a former butler, stole his money when he went to sleep for 30 years. When Bucky woke up, he owned nothing. Bucky's only goal is to save money and get revenge on his former butler, who stole his fortune.

[theresa-of-liechtenstein]

sighing like an old dog

literally nobody gets it. nobody gets it and i can’t even put it in words properly so nobody gets it even more. i really planned to go to school A four years ago but my current school, which i had only applied to as a backup plan and that people generally see as inferior to others in the system, gave me the scholarship that essentially covered half my tuition—the most money i had ever had in my whole life. i would have been stupid not to take that, even though i secretly wished someone else had given it. and when school A offered nothing, it was even clearer which one i should take. i went into this all thinking of it as the economic choice, the practical choice; i didn’t follow my heart to my current school and i just resolved to do my best regardless of my feelings.

but now school A is fully funding me to come to them and keeps fucking bothering me to submit my statement of intent to register and sign up for housing that doesn’t have air conditioning and they won’t publicly show on their website, and i know that 2020 me would be jumping at the opportunity to get out, but 2024 me does not feel that way. four years and i have come to like my current school, come to appreciate the chance it gives to underrepresented students to shine and succeed. sure, many of my peers came to my current school as a backup plan and are vocal in their indifference to the community, but so many others are first-generation students, undocumented, came from backgrounds far from privilege, were given the opportunity to study at the university and seized it with both hands. i’ve met so many professors who made their home here and are so excited about the work they do, about outreach and lifting students up and making a difference in a community that is so often the butt of jokes about our politics or not being as bougie as other regions or whatever

it’s not being prideful that is making me think about how school A did not at first offer me funding and now gives it to me. i mention it because i am consumed by how my current school started out as the economic choice and ended up being like a home. and even though picking school A would be the choice of my younger self, would not make it look like my current school was the only one to take me, and would result in the lesser amount of scrutiny from people who think i settled for less when i picked my current school—i don’t know if i could make it feel like home. i never know if i don’t try, but…

i was born near school A. i’ve been back there almost every summer. the area of my early childhood no longer feels that way. it’s gotten overgrown, sprawling, urban; teslas on the streets, luxury cars everywhere, exorbitant housing prices that would make it impossible to live anywhere but on campus. designer clothes, fashionable, consumerism. which exists elsewhere, but it’s not the place i remember from when i was a child. not the place i played in with my best friend who moved away to england for uni. i wondered why she didn’t stay. i wonder if she’ll come back.

i don’t know. i just want to lie down and cry. why must this be so difficult

[shellxrls]

Whores in this house

There's some whores in this house

There's some whores in this house

There's some whores in this house (hol' up)

I said certified freak, seven days a week

Wet ass pussy, make that pullout game weak, woo! (Ah)

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

Yeah, you fucking with some wet ass pussy

Bring a bucket and a mop for this wet ass pussy

Give me everything you got for this wet ass pussy

Beat it up, nigga, catch a charge

Extra large, and extra hard

Put this pussy right in yo' face

Swipe your nose like a credit card

Hop on top, I want a ride

I do a kegel while it's inside

Spit in my mouth, look at my eyes

This pussy is wet, come take a dive

Tie me up like I'm surprised

Let's role-play, I wear a disguise

I want you to park that big Mack truck right in this little garage

Make it cream, make me scream

Out in public, make a scene

I don't cook, I don't clean

But let me tell you, I got this ring (ayy, ayy)

Gobble me, swallow me, drip down the side of me (yeah)

Quick, jump out 'fore you let it get inside of me (yeah)

I tell him where to put it, never tell him where I'm 'bout to be

I run down on him 'fore I have a nigga running me

Talk yo' shit, bite your lip

Ask for a car while you ride that dick (while you ride that dick)

You ain't never gotta fuck him for a thing

He already made his mind up 'fore he came

Now get your boots and your coat for this wet ass pussy

He bought a phone just for pictures of this wet ass pussy

Pay my tuition just to kiss me on this wet ass pussy

Now make it rain if you wanna see some wet ass pussy

Look, I need a hard hitter, I need a deep stroke

I need a Henny drink, I need a weed smoker

Not a garden snake, I need a king cobra

With a hook in it, hope it lean over

He got some money, then that's where I'm headed

Pussy A-1, just like his credit

He got a beard, well, I'm tryna wet it

I let him taste it, and now he diabetic

I don't wanna spit, I wanna gulp

I wanna gag, I wanna choke

I want you to touch that lil' dangly thing that swing in the back of my throat

My head game is fire, punani Dasani

It's going in dry, and it's coming out soggy

I ride on that thing like the cops is behind me (yuh, ah)

I spit on his mic' and now he tryna sign me, woo

Your honor, I'm a freak bitch, handcuffs, leashes

Switch my wig, make him feel like he cheating

Put him on his knees, give him some' to believe in

Never lost a fight, but I'm looking for a beating

In the food chain, I'm the one that eat ya

If he ate my ass, he's a bottom feeder

Big D stand for big demeanor

I could make ya bust before I ever meet ya

If it don't hang, then he can't bang

You can't hurt my feelings, but I like pain

If he fuck me and ask, "Whose is it?"

When I ride the dick, I'ma spell my name, ah

Yeah, yeah, yeah

Yeah, you fucking with some wet ass pussy

Bring a bucket and a mop for this wet ass pussy

Give me everything you got for this wet ass pussy

Now from the top, make it drop, that's some wet ass pussy

Now get a bucket and a mop, that's some wet ass pussy

I'm talking WAP, WAP, WAP, that's some wet ass pussy

Macaroni in a pot, that's some wet ass pussy, huh

There's some whores in this house

There's some whores in this house

There's some whores in this house

There's some whores in this house

There's some whores in this house

There's some whores in this house

There's some whores in this house

There's some whores in this house

There's some whores in this house

There's some whores in this house

There's some whores in this house

There's some whores

no real bcuz tmi but i do actually carry around a super soaker w.a.p everywhere. truly one of my greatest insecurities bcuz i can't live without literally soaking through all my underwear 💔.