#Organic White Honey | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hyukalyptus · 3 months ago

Text

office hours — professor!soobin x gradstudent!reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What can I do ya for?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I’m not guessing, Professor. I—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can go if you need some time by—”

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

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

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

“Shut up.”

“Excuse me?” He asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The millisecond before your lips touch, you breathe awake.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is everything alright?”

“Yeah—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

be there in 45 :)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Neon’s a noble gas and oxygen is a—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Like what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kiss me,” you whisper.

And he does.

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

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

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

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

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

“What is it?” You ask softly.

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

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

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

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

“A year.”

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

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

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

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

“You touching my body or me touching yours?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mommy?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then it happens.

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

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

“What?” He chuckles.

“I wasn’t expecting that.”

“I told you I’m good at it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can you, uh…would you mind, um—”

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

“Yes, mommy…please, I’ve never—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is it, baby?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m embarrassed,” he whines.

“Huh? About what?”

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

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

“You weren’t just saying that?”

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

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

“Was it good for you?”

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

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

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

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

“Why am I not surprised?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

775 notes · View notes

gyeomsweetgyeom · 5 months ago

Text

[1:17 pm]

(cw: “ass”, parents!au, parental stress)

You felt like you were going absolutely crazy. You hadn’t had longer than 4 hours of sleep in weeks. You couldn’t remember the last time you had a proper shower, you’re pretty sure you had 3-day-old baby sick on your shirt, and the house was a mess.

There were mountains of laundry to be done, piles of dishes that kept growing, the trash was overflowing. The state of your home reflected how you felt. And it wasn’t your fault, and it wasn’t Jaehyun’s. It was a joint feeling of feeling like there weren’t enough hours in a day mixed with the overwhelming stress of having a colicky baby.

Your poor daughter, for days she had been crying and crying for no apparent reason. She was just a few months old, but her fits of distress were worse than normal baby cries. She had no fever, she was kept fed, her diapers were kept clean, there were no signs of teething. She just didn’t feel good and it broke your heart to see her in distress.

Jaehyun was out right now, on a mission to finally find a formula that would sit well with her in case it was the formula that was making her uncomfortable. You were trying your best to quickly throw a load in the washer while her tiny sniffles calmed down in her bouncer.

It had been 6 minutes since she had last let out a cry, 3 minutes since you set her down, and you were going to use this time to your advantage. You couldn’t handle the mess of the home on top of being overwhelmed with your crying baby.

You shut the washer, hitting start and immediately heard her poor cries, deep and throaty. She was wailing. Her tiny face was scrunched up and red. You cradled her, rocking her as you walked up and down the halls of your home. You shushed her to try to calm her, pat her bottom, swayed back and forth, and still her cries persisted.

You looked down at her, feeling helpless as you finally sat on the couch and let tears fill your eyes. You felt useless. You had tried everything to help her feel better, her pediatrician said there was no apparent cause for her discomfort, you had tried 4 different formulas, you tried various pacifiers, white noise machines, everything. The only other option was letting her cry alone in her crib, but you couldn’t bring yourself to leave her alone in such a state.

You kept her cradled closely to your chest as you cried, hot tears falling down your cheeks. Tears of frustration and your own distress. It felt like this stage was never going to end. It had been days of having a baby attached at your side or Jaehyun’s. Neither of you could be too far from her.

Jaehyun opened the door, kicking off his shoes, and immediately went to the kitchen ready to make a bottle for his daughter in the hopes that she would soon feel better. Her tiny cries broke his heart as he expertly made her bottle, warm water, a scoop of powder, mix. Before he left he grabbed a plastic syringe and filled it with gripe water, before finally making his way toward the cries of his daughter.

But he stopped upon seeing your overwhelmed face. “Honey, baby, what’s wrong?” He asked, taking the baby into his arms while he cupped your cheek with his free hand.

You shook your head, wiping your cheeks, “I can’t help her! She just keeps crying! The house is a mess, I’m a mess, I’m tired, I’m hungry, I stink, I feel like I’m going crazy, but I can’t rest until I know she’s okay.”

Jaehyun felt his heart break, he knew the feeling, he nodded thinking quickly on his feet, “you go take a bath or a shower. Take all the time you want, let me handle her, alright?”

“I can’t leave you alone-”

Jaehyun interrupted you, “you can and you will. You let me sleep in this morning and now I get to help you. I have more energy to deal with her. I got her a fancy ass organic formula, I have gripe water, I got this. We got this, honey. Go.”

You nod, pressing a loving, grateful kiss to his cheek as you leave the living room, hesitating because the baby continues to cry. Jaehyun shoos you away, finally turning to his daughter her had calmed down just a fraction. He gives her the gripe water, giving her the new formula as he hopes and prays that this will soothe her and get her through this colicky phase.

Her small sniffles calm down, tears no longer streaming down her small face, but he swipes away the streaks anyway. She drinks eagerly, her eyes drooping shut very slowly. The bottle is nearly empty as she finally falls asleep and the suckles on the bottle stop. Jaehyun props her onto his shoulder as he pats her back to burp her.

You come back out, hair wet and dressed in fresh clothes. You look so much more refreshed and alive. Jaehyun smiles at you softly as you settle beside him and lay your head on his free shoulder. Seeing you look worlds calmer than just minutes ago and the familiar sweet smell of your body wash, eased his stress and worries. He knows his family is alright, everything will be alright.

You stare adoringly at the two people you love most in the world, “thank you. I could never do this without you. And I’m sorry I freaked out.”

“You don’t have to apologize, my love. You knew I freaked out yesterday and let me rest some more. We’re a team, we have to have each other’s backs for little miss over here. Do you feel better?” He asks you in a low voice.

“Much better. I folded a load of laundry so now you have some clean t-shirts and my shower was great. Thank you, honey.”

“Don’t thank me, I’m doing the bare minimum,” he stops his pattern of patting and rubbing his daughters back as she finally burps, “there we go.”

Jaehyun carefully sets her down in her bouncer and turns to you, whispering, “you take out the trash and I’ll start loading the dishwasher.”

You give him a mock salute, pressing a peck to his lips before heading to the kitchen. He turns to his daughter and watches her chest rise and fall for a few moments before heading off to the kitchen behind you.

That night you and Jaehyun are finally able to sleep through the night, your daughter sleeps peacefully in her bassinet. All thanks to that organic formula that costs more than a meal for the two of you.

#kpop imagines #kpop au #kpop scenarios #kpop reactions #nct #nct imagines #nct fluff #nct angst #nct x reader #jaehyun x reader #jaehyun imagines #jaehyun fluff #jaehyun angst #jaehyun scenarios #dad!nct

525 notes · View notes

kaisserin · 8 months ago

Text

Show me your nails

This is your first time visiting a beauty salon with Sebastian's money. Warning: age difference (student reader), Ferrari! seb, sugar daddy, beauty industry, jerking off to a man, 18+

You rarely visited any fashionable beauty salons. Or rather, never. All your concern for appearance was reduced to a pair of masks in the morning and before going to bed. You preferred to do your nails at a friend's place. The student scholarship did not allow her to look like a model from fashion week. But everything changed when Sebastian came into your life. Of course, you were embarrassed to ask him for a couple hundred extra euros. You didn't want him to think that you were with him because of his financial condition. Your shyness made the four-time champion smile every time. - Y/n, honey, why do I need a seven-digit number on the card if I can't spend it on the girl I love? So it is this time. You and Sebastian were going to another event hosted by Ferrari. And since this should be your first appearance as a racer's girlfriend, you should look the part. You refused for a long time before Sebastian literally put a wad of euros in your pocket and told you to spend every penny on yourself. You have no choice but to obey this man. Sometimes his persistence got on your nerves and in his desire to spend money on you, he turned into a pain in the ass. No wonder that by the evening you barely recognized yourself in the mirror: shining makeup, styled hair where not a single hair gets out of the hairstyle and of course manicure: scarlet nails with a small white "five" on the ring finger and index fingers painted in the color of the German flag, his flag. Sebastian couldn't help but look at you. Almost all the way to Maranello, he tirelessly kissed your hand, which seemed so small in his large palm, calloused from gloves and steering wheel. Suddenly, he braked a little more sharply at the traffic light. You swayed in the passenger seat and leaned forward slightly. You put your hand forward and by chance it clearly falls on the groin of the Ferrari racer. Sebastian looks down. Your delicate palm with those lovely red nails on his black trousers. He feels like he's starting to tense up under your palm. You've noticed it too, and you can't help but grin. - Sebastian? -Yes, honey? You lightly rubbed the fabric of his trousers, which got a guttural growl. - Sweetheart, we're halfway to the event, I can't just show up there with a boner. - That's right, you can't. You reached for the belt buckle, then for the zipper and his organ is already in your hands. His organ was almost completely ready for action. Your fingers are wrapped around the trunk. The darkness in the cabin made the color of the penis almost burgundy and more alluring. You swiped your finger up and down several times, making Sebastian literally growl with excitement. The red nails slid over the velvety skin, the thumb froze on the oozing head. Your movements were speeding up and slowing down. Sebastian has already started to enter you on his own, wanting to get the necessary release. Sebastian has already pushed into your hand on his own, wanting to get a discharge. Already in the parking lot in Maranello, he poured out, staining your fingers with his seed. He quickly cleaned himself of his tracks, but you didn't miss the chance to lick your index finger, as if there were still traces of your prank. An hour later, you were already beaming at the event as a couple. Sebastian possessively forced you to wrap your hand around his forearm and dozens of cameras captured the moment where your delicate hand with red nails was wrapped around a black jacket sleeve. And no one guessed what this hand with red nails was capable of.

#sebastian vettel #f1 x reader #sebastian vettel x y/n #sebastian vettel x reader #sebastian vettel smut #f1 smut

894 notes · View notes

cloudstrky · 5 months ago

Text

a long drive

after sun drabble

sum: yn can't drive stick so rafe drives her to the beach

warnings; none besides my bad writing xo

mlist

taking a deep breath, you walk towards rafe's room. there's no noise coming from the inside when you knock. his soft voice tells you to come in, well aware it's you standing behind that door. you open the door slowly, your eyes immediately falling on his figure. he's lying on his bed in his navy blue shorts, a white t-shirt covering his tan torso. his arms resting behind his head give you a full view of his flexed biceps and the veins covering them almost look like hieroglyphics the way they are so prominent.

"hi doll," he breathes, a warm smile on his face, "do you need something?"

you nod your head but your eyes stay roaming his figure. this wasn't very plan-getting-over-him friendly. before your imagination goes any further, rafe clears his throat as if he knows what you're thinking. a soft smirk evident on his face.

"i'm sorry this is bad timing, you're resting," you say at last.

rafe doesn't waste a second, "no it's okay," he reassures you, "whatever you need" he softly lets out.

he is well aware of how whipped he sounds. honey dripping from his voice, he's ready to say yes to anything you ask of him. he is ready to give you the world if you asked for it. thoughts of his conversation with topper suddenly fill his head and he tries to push them away. not good for her.

he is well aware.

"this is stupid but can you drop me off at the beach? sarah borrowed my car and I don't know how to drive stick..."

there was a moment of silence before a warm chuckle erupted from his chest, "you don't know how to drive stick?" he asks surprised.

"uh huh" you nod, nervously looking around the room.

"want me to teach you doll?" he asks softly, bringing his right arm to rest on his lap. his long fingers start pulling on the string of his shorts and your eyes follow their every move.

"sure," you reply mindlessly, not having paid too much attention to the question.

"yeah?" he rasped. your knees almost gave out at his tone.

"not now obviously," you laughed, snapping out of your thoughts. no crushing allowed. "i really need to get to the beach now."

he nods at your words, getting up. "okay, let's go then."

you watch him walk around his, surprisingly, clean and organized room. his scent immediately rushing towards you when he stands in front of his AC. it smells just like the cologne you got him last year as a birthday present.

after he puts on a pair of white socks he leans over to grab his car keys from his nightstand. you both walk in silence to his car, your backpack hanging over his right shoulder after he had insisted you give it to him.

when you both get in the car you speak, "sorry for making you drive right now. you're supposed to be resting, hangover and all."

it takes a moment for him to reply. you think it's because he's tired, he knows it's because the closed space of his car allows him to smell your perfume, a sweet fruity scent, and it takes almost all his self-control to not try and taste it off your neck where it bounces off your skin.

"i told you doll," he pauses to reach over you, his breath softy hitting the left side of your neck causing your cheeks to flare up unwillingly. he pulls on your seatbelt, fastening it with a click. your body is tense and so is his. "anything." he finishes.

and the thing is, you know he means it.

"are you going surfing? is that why you're in a rush?" he asks when he finally gets on the main road.

"yes." the beach is only a ten minute drive and you silently wish it was longer. he silently wishes the same.

"alone? want me to join you? haven't caught a wave in a long time i'm getting rusty." he chuckles and you almost agree without thinking.

"no uh, actually," you pause clearing your throat, "jj is waiting for me."

you miss the way his hands tighten around the wheel and the way his fingertips briefly turn white. you miss the way his jaw locks or the way his eyes darken at the mere thought of you alone with maybank.

"is that right?" he asks, faux interest lacing his voice. he gives you no time to reply. "am i driving you to a date then?"

he's fishing. and he knows he should stop before his apology is nothing but empty words and before you go back to hating him.

"no, not even. just two friends surfing rafey." you make your defense quickly, adding his favorite nickname. he thinks it should be illegal for you to say his name like that. especially when he's driving.

"right," he stops at your drop-off spot but you don't move as you wait for him to unlock the doors. "let me know if you need me to pick you up later, i'll be home."

you smile and he swears his heart skips several beats. he sees the glistening in your eyes and the redness of your cheeks, show and tell you felt the same tension he was feeling. in a moment of weakness, he lets his hand reach out for you and to his surprise, you don't move. his long fingers guide a strand of hair away from your face and behind your ear.

if you thought your cheeks couldn't get any more red you were wrong.

he watches your lips tremble with anticipation as his fingers ghost down the side of your ear and down the line of your jaw. his eyes fall to your lips when his fingers slightly point your chin upwards. your sharp breath breaks him out of the trance and he pulls his hand away so fast you almost worry you hurt him.

he wanted to disappear. he doesn't know what's happening. he can't comprehend why he's feeling like this and why his fingers are aching from the loss of contact.

he should know better than to act like this. you were soft and sensitive and kind and so many things he wasn't. he was, among other things, not good for you.

rafe recollects himself quickly, snapping his gaze away from you and back on the road. his voice wasn't cold but it was distant, "don't leave a man waiting then, doll."

and you nod, still in a haze, you thank him quickly before climbing out of his car. you don't dare look back as your eyes search for the boy you were meeting.

you can still smell him, you can still see him and you can still feel his burning touch when you hug JJ.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x reader #rafe imagine #rafe x reader #obx imagine #obx #rafe cameron smau #after sun smau

495 notes · View notes

bumblebeesfromvenus · 6 months ago

Text

TF141 taking you on a picnic date 💐

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

They're a little very all over the place because I wrote all of them on different days lol

I hope you'll enjoy it anyway <3

Some NSFW for all of them, but it's just a little bit at the very end, the rest is sweet fluff!!

Lmk who you would go on a picnic date with!

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

John is such a romantic.

Maybe not the flashy kind, but in subtle and sincere ways. He would absolutely love to take you on a picnic date, he might even be more excited about it than you are.

You know how girls have those dreams of specific dates or scenarios??? Well, boys have that too, and this is John's. He finds the perfect spot, a secluded park with a field of wildflowers that bloom beautifully in the summer.

As ready as he was to organize the whole thing himself in the matter of a day, he'd adore to organize it with you. Write a grocery list, make some homemade goods, pack up the car. The domesticity makes his heart do flips.

"Do you reckon champagne would be too over the top?"

"John, honey, we're going on a picnic."

"Touchè."

And it's 100% fool proof.

This man has something planned for every single scenario because nothing will ruin this for him. He'll hold your umbrella while he gets soaked if he has to.

He hasn't asked you to marry him yet, but this seals the deal for him. He's already imagining going on a picnic like this on every single anniversary until you're physically unable to.

Did he overdo it a bit with the outfit? Maybe, but he couldn't care less about potential grass stains when his white button-down shirt and his beige slacks basically make you drool.

John insisted on a classic picnic basket, but he'll accept input regarding the pattern of the blanket. He's so utterly in love with you it's ridiculous. And when you come down the stairs in a flowy and floral sundress the blood in his body doesn't know where to rush first, his heart or his cock.

"Fucking hell, dove. You look divine."

He makes heart eyes at you but also has a raging hard on. What can he say? You keep him balanced.

John has to try so hard not to drop to his knees in front of you and beg. For what? He doesn't even know. It just feels like the right thing to do with you looking like a goddess. He loves it when he can press his nose against your soft mound all while his forehead rests on your pudgy tummy and your fingers card through his hair.

The drive there is lovely. The sun is out, it's a comfortable temperature, and the mood is high. The windows are rolled down, and you both sing along to music while his hand is planted firmly in yours. The location is even more beautiful than you thought. There's willow trees and all kinds of sweet smelling flowers accompanied by the symphony of busy bees and chirping birds.

After everything is set up, it's the best day of your life, probably. It's so so so nice.

And yes, he did bring the champagne.

Your head is in his lap while he strokes your hair and feeds you bits of cake. It's so romantic that it's sickening. SICKENING, I say. He's just so perfect. You talk and laugh, and it's so fun. T

he day goes by in the blink of an eye, and suddenly, it's golden hour, and John swears you're heaven on earth. You're so pretty, and he wants nothing more than to kiss you silly, frankly.

So he does.

Just bristly and sloppy kisses wherever he can reach, your cheeks, jaw, neck. You shift your position, you're now lying down on the blanket, facing each other. The tips of your noses touch, and you're a tangled mess of limbs.

John wants to fuck you more than he ever wanted anything in his life, but he's a man of style, so rubbing you through your panties until your hips buck away from his hand will have to do until you get home and he can take care of you properly <3

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Johnny only wants to spend time with you. He doesn't care how.

He'll do anything to be by your side. Such a clingy bastard but we all love him for that. He loves being outside, and now he gets to let out his romantic side, too???? He's sold.

I'm also firmly convinced that he listened in on what his sisters gushed about in books or movies, and he uses that as his guideline for dates.

He makes sure there's a variety of different foods. Let's be honest he probably packed way too much, but he just wants to have options! Frankly, Johnny's is positively buzzing with excitement to get to spend such a lovely day with you.

As much as he loves to laze around with you on the couch, he needs air to breathe. So anything that's outside is an immediate yes from him. He's so so so excited that he doesn't shut up about it for days before the actual date.

Johnny is 100% one to overpack. He takes absolutely EVERYTHING, and you end up not even using half of it.

"I- Johnny??"

"Yeah, bonnie?"

"Why, for the love of God, did you bring a hazmat suit???"

"Ya never know!"

He will pack so many outdoor activities, like frisbee, badminton, a football, literally so much but you don't end up using any of it because he'll doze off as the sun shines down on the both of you.

He just can't help it! Your pudgy tummy is such a nice pillow, and the way your fingers rake through his mohawk and over his scalp nearly make his eyes roll into the back of his head.

He doesn't notice the smiles and nice looks the pair of you get from bypassers, but you can't help but giggle. It makes your belly jiggle, which in turn makes Johnny smile, still face down in your soft fat.

After he wakes up, though, there's a lot of talking that you'll happily listen to.

Corny jokes, overexaggerated stories from missions or his family, and from time to time, he'll get distracted by your pretty face with all its soft edges and kiss you.

Constant snacking. I mean, we all know the boys can EAT, but Johnny is such a foodie. Will eat everything and anything.

He also LOVES Irn Bru. It's definitely more of an... acquired taste, shall we say, but I think it's also very nostalgic for him.

He doesn't care what you wear. However, there are some things that get him feral. Sundresses are obviously on the list, but he adores long skirts. He likes how they flow when there's a nice breeze, and he thinks they make you look very elegant.

He will play into the whole Princess charade with long skirts or dresses.

"There's ma princess. Are ya ready to depart, m'lady?"

He will also bow very dramatically.

Undoubtedly, his favorite part of those skirts is when he gets to push them up your plush thighs and bury is face in your sweet cunt while the fabric is bunched up around your wide hips and fiddles with the hem because his goal is to bring you to bliss with his tongue only <3

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Kyle loves the water.

I don't know why, but I feel it in my bones. From streams and lakes all the way to the great big ocean. His casual style in the summer would definitely be coastal grandson, too.

So your picnic date would obviously take place in the vinicty of water. It's somewhere in a small park that has a nice big lake with lilypads and ducks swimming across it.

You'd be right by the shore, feet in the shallow water while you enjoy your lunch. Kyle is so sweet and considerate!

He'd bring you a bouquet of daisies and lovingly hold your hand in his. If it gets a little too breezy, he'll tuck you into his side and stretch his jacket over the both of you as much as he can.

He always brings you a new rock from that lake when he comes home from his morning run, and when you two are at the beach, he'll collect seashells with you.

It's all about balance and teamwork with Kyle. He makes the sandwiches while you whip up a quick sweet treat. You carry the basket while he has the blanket slung over his shoulder and your drinks in the other hand!

I feel like he'd really enjoy picnics, but they're not his favorite activity. He likes to explore a bit, just sitting around isn't quite his style. But it's nice to just sit and breathe sometimes.

For dates, he prefers the classic going out to dinner. Getting to see you all dressed up in the gentle atmosphere of a cozy restaurant makes his heart swell. But he won't ever deny you anything. Definitely not something as simple as a picnic.

A big smile stretches across his cheeks when he sees a little duck family waddling along the shore before they glide into the water.

"You think we'll have little ducklings of our own one day?"

You can only match his smile as you follow his line of sight.

"Who knows, maybe."

He pulls you close and presses a kiss to your temple. The picnic is starting to grow on him.

"... did you mean actual ducklings, or was it a metaphor for kids?"

"Both?"

As badly as you want to call him ridiculous, the mental image of Kyle with a duckling or a baby makes your heart beat with affection.

Also does not care what you wear, but he, too, has a weakness for sundresses as all men do. The way it hugs your ass, your tummy, and your supple tits makes him want to sink his teeth into your soft flesh.

An absolute sucker for a square neckline. No, I can not elaborate. You'll just have to take my word for it.

You watch the sunset together, the park becoming emptier as the light fades. He loves how you look during the golden hour and will gently hold your face to admire all your pretty features. Kyle likes that the park now only has the both of you and a pair of swans that swim over the lake like lovers.

What he loves even more is making you ride his slender fingers while the only sounds that fill the air is the chirping of cicadas and your heavenly moans while the remnants of the golden sun shine down on you making you look like a dream come true <3

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Simon isn't thrilled, let's say.

When he thinks of picnics he thinks of big open spaces, obnoxious people with annoying kids and uncomfortable wooden benches. Of which none are his cup of tea.

So you make compromises. Talk about it and ask what he would be okay with. He isn't the biggest fan of PDA, he's stuck between wanting to show off his love for you to the whole world and keeping it close to his heart like the sacred thing that it is.

But Simon perks up when you mention something about a lovely forest that's pretty secluded. Now that he can work with. Even though he's a born city boy, he'd much rather take a walk in a forest or on a little trail than on the busy streets of Manchester or London.

So he agrees, deciding that your excited reaction and thank you kisses were already worth it. He watches as you prepare the lunch you're taking with you, answering all your questions on what he'd prefer.

The truth, he'd eat rocks if your lovely hands prepared them.

He packs up the car and drives to the car park nearby, grumbling over the fee before it all melts away when he sees your smile.

The walk there on its own is nice. Holding your hand and listening to the birdsong that echoes along the tall trees. Of course, he's carrying everything.

You will never ever have to carry anything with him around, not on his watch. It's his way of repaying you for taking care of him and loving him. He would've carried you as well if you weren't so fussy about it.

When you set up the blanket and just lay down, it's the first time you think you've ever seen his shoulders untense on their own.

Simon's eyes even flutter shut, and his breath evens out.

It's just the two of you in a little glade with the vast green of the woods making your own little sanctuary.

Your head is on his shoulder, and his nose is buried in your hair.

"This.. this is nice."

He speaks so softly as if not to disturb the peace of nature. You can't help but smile and press a kiss to his cheek.

"I'm glad you think so. It is really nice."

It's mostly pleasant silence after that with the occasional short conversation, but that's how you like it best.

When you hand him his lovingly prepared sandwich, he catches your chin between his fingers and kisses you so softly that you melt right into his touch.

"You're so patient with me, love. I appreciate it."

"Of course. A few compromises aren't the end of the world if it means you're happy."

He's a fucking goner, okay.

He loves it when you wear one of his sweat jackets or flannels over a nice dress. It's so obviously not yours which signals to other people that you're taken.

And considering the size and color of the thing, it's safe to assume it belongs to that hunk of a man always by your side.

He lays back onto the soft blanket and pulls you onto his chest, wrapping his arms around you. There are a few sun spots shining through the thick canopy of leaves, warming your skin.

You're half asleep, dozing off, ignoring the way he fiddles with his trousers until he pushes your panties to the side and sinks his thick cock into your pussy, having you warm his length. It makes him feel so impossibly close to you and his brain melts and before you know it, he's snoring beneath you, his dick buried inside of you <3

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

I hope you liked it! <3

More CoD and other works -> 💫

502 notes · View notes

keyaho · 1 month ago

Text

Hematology

The request: @nayaesworld psycho!surgeon terry richmond x surgeon!black oc

To Terry, blood had a particular hold on him. The warmth, the metallic scent, the sticky texture as it begins to oxidize and harden as he fisted his dick with a bloody hand soothed a beast in him he let free on Saturday nights. Another successful night out and he was back in his penthouse apartment, jacking off to a photo of a recent hire in the hospital. The laminated photo was stuck to his shower wall, a hour glass figure in a white sting bikini taunted him. Long lean legs, tits he knew would fit in his palms perfectly, and a smile that reeled him in. He walked the halls when he wasn't scrubbed in for the chance to see it in person.

He got lucky this morning, the young anesthesiologist in training was doing her clinicals and had been assigned to his OR team, by a stroke of luck and a few long deep strokes to the head of human resources. She was an easy fuck but not one he enjoyed. A part of him had been craving for more lately.

"Shit,' he hissed, his cum spurting out his tip and mingled with the blood on his hand before disappearing down the drain. He had a much better place in mind to dump his load.

The rest of the red liquid of life had been rubbed into his chest and abs though washed away by the steaming hot shower. He damn near wanted to taste it but that would not be very smart of him. This particular strain of neanderthal DNA had crossed him and his decision to remove it from existence was instant. It dared to touch Yara in the club. She had been too shy to deny his advances, but he could see she wasn't interested. Good. For him at least. Not so much for the man who had pleaded for his life before Terry severed his trachea with a scalpel in size ten. The cut came swift, the manish screams barely registered in the night. He followed the cut vertically and grinned as crimson stained the concrete where he had left the body. Terry carefully collected blood in a specimen cup and placed it in a yellow hazard bag, alone with the scalpel.

He'd seen the reports, saw the bodies as they passed through morgue. He even harvest a few organs from his victims, further enjoying how their blood pooled in their supine state. He spoke with Detectives from the Seattle PD, encouraged them to look into someone with military training as the cuts were not typical of medical personnel. He only gave that information because he slipped up once seven months ago and left behind the blade of a scalpel in a victims neck. Terry was fucked up in the head, but he wasn't that fucked up to make that mistake again.

Terry's walk down memory lane was interrupted by his alarm. He stuck his head under the shower, cleansing himself with antibacterial soap he swiped from the hospitals inventory. Like always he poured the remaining blood down the toilet, careful not to splash it. He'd dispose of the container as he always did. At the hospital. The scalpel joined the others, labeled with the date and name of who he killed only to be locked in a safe he kept behind a large oil painting in his bedroom above his bed. Trophies he once jacked off too. Now, his nights of staining his bed with cum was because of Yara.

He gathered himself soon after, scrubs, phone, keys. All lined up in his closet as usual. He was trying to pace himself, there was no need to rush. Yara, work, would be there when he got there.

"Dr. Richmond has been looking at you since you clocked in."

Yara looked up from her charts behind the nurses station. As an intern she had limitations on what she could and couldn't do, so she was doing menial tasks until she was able to scrub in and observe Dr. Richmond in a routine appendectomy. She had been excited to see it on her rotation and once it was complete she was free to leave for the day.

"He's not." Yara replied. "I'm just a new face and I'll be in his OR today, he's probably just wanting to put a face to the name."

Honey. Sweet, thick, and antiseptic. Terry sipped from a black mug of earl grey tea with a large dollop of honey in his office. He had a view of the nurses station and Yara, whom he kept his eyes on as much as he could. Until another nurse noticed. They were important, sure, however, right now, Nurse Carmen was a nuisance. An observant nuisance.

"Whatever you say,' she hums, picking up her charts and signing out her COW to begin her shift. "He's fine as hell though. If you hit that let me know,' she winks and Yara tosses a pen her way, trying not to look scandalized.

She turned back to her charts, inputting information into the patients portals for their viewing. A moment passed when she needed to look at something other than the computer and her eyes locked with Dr. Richmond's. He was standing outside his office, staring directly at her. A second later he tilted his head towards his office.

"Dr. Matthews,' he called, 'we need to discuss the appendectomy."

She nodded and shut down the portal, logging out to keep the information secure. Wiping her hands on her marron scrubs, she pushed chair back and stood, his eyes watching her as she walked around the station. He took another sip from his cup as she stepped into his office, the door clicked shut behind them afterwards.

"Have a seat,' he says from behind her.

Vanilla. Something in him softened as his dick hardened and strained against the two pairs of briefs he wore to hide it.

"Tea?" He asks, his back to her as he walks to his small kitchenette.

"Oh, no, no thank you. I just finished a cup of coffee and the last thing I need is more caffeine." She replied, a smile spreading across her lips.

Terry refilled his own cup, honey followed, but what surprised her was the flick of vanilla he added. She watched him take a sip, the steaming liquid seemingly not bothering him. Yara's eyes roamed over his tall figure in the standard teal colored scrubs. His badge was clipped to the pocket on his shirt, his face plastered over it.

"You'll be scrubbing in with me and my team in a few hours." He walked to the desk with the cup in one had and the patients thick file in another. "This particular patient is young, no previous health concerns. The procedure is routine and in this case preventative. They are an athlete and well, a burst appendix is worse than just removing it."

"I didn't think people could just remove body parts,' Yara said, though she knew they could. Medical studies had proven that.

Terry smiled, his eyes crinkling around the edges. "Money talks, sweetheart."

He opened the chart and pushed it towards her. Terry slide a notepad across he desk to her and she looked up at him confused.

"I won't be putting him,' Yara stuttered, she was not prepared to actually perform the anesthesia.

"No, no, no, but at the bottom are the supplies I will need. Can you gather them? About an hour before the schedule scrub in time I like my OR set and ready. Minus, taking the materials out of their packaging."

"Of course, Dr. Richmond."

He noted her bubbly handwriting. The way it looped as she scribble in cursive short hand. A bright one she was.

"Why Anesthesiology?" He shook his head. "Please, Terry is fine. Dr. Richmond is a formality I tend to not adhere to."

"I mean, you've earned that title. I'd use it all the time." She thought about his question while he thanked her for the slight compliment. "Um, other fields didn't grab my attention. I wanted a challenge and for some reason anesthesiology just stuck out to me."

"I used to think that as a surgeon I held life in my hands,' he spoke casually, "until Dr. Ramos kicked my ass and reminded me that she and you are keeping that patient alive and sedated."

"You still do life saving work."

Terry mused over her words while taking another sip of his cooling tea.

Inventory was checked bi-nightly, and Yara was thankful the restock had been complete prior to gathering supplies for surgery. Gloves, scalpels, gauze, among other items necessary fill her hand basket. She'd pass it over to the surgical technician for set up while she would be scrubbing in. Yara could hardly contain her excitement and as soon as she passed over the equipment, she went to the staff shower and 'dorm' area to switch into different scrubs. She always kept a pair of the rough standard issue scrubs in her locker along with shoe covers and a head wrap she'd have on under the surgical cap and face shield. Seeing it was empty, she pulled out scrubs and kicked of her shoes, shimmying out of the scrub pants she had on, completely unaware of the eyes trained on her.

He'd already been in the showers, hands full of his dick, when he heard her come in. Terry showered briefly before each operation, not wanting to carry the previous hours of filth into the OR. He'd already cum once and th thick ropes of his semen had coated the drain at his feet before sliding down into the pipe system. He thought that would have been enough, but Yara's voice as she talked to herself stiffened his dick in seconds.

Terry rolled his tongue around his mouth, the vanilla from his tea lingered and he swallowed, imagining this was what she tasted like. He was in the farb ack shower, hidden by the stall's silver wall, but able to peek around it just enough to see her bent over at the waist as she stepped into her pants. Black thong on display, he couldn't help but notice the way her pussy swallowed the fabric.

His hand slipped and rubbed harshly against the tip of his dick and he grunted. He wanted to taste that. Vanilla in his coffee wasn't enough. He needed her on his face in his bed and beneath the shrine of scalpels dedicated to keeping her safe. That white boy wasn't the first and until he had Yara, it wouldn't be the last person.

B cup. At least. Her slim fingers smoothed over her breast as she adjusted her sports bra, the racer back hid a moon phases tattoo he wanted to lick. The curve of her back and the plumpness of her backside made his hand move faster, the water just enough slip he didn't give himself a friction burn. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as he came, busting a strong nut on the shower stall. He had to angle the shower to clean it up and missed Yara leaving for his OR.

He joined them later, just outside the OR where they began washing their hands and forearms. Dr. Ramos was showing Yara how to prepare the IV for intravenous induction.

"You'll be right beside me. I'll have you monitor vitals and assess accordingly." She explained, her eyes flirting over to Terry who was being helped into his smocks and gloves.

Another nurse had already placed on his surgical cap and face shield. He said nothing as he walked backwards into the OR, hands up as he greeted the patient warmly.

"I love watching that man work,' she mumbled, though her eyes were downcast on his ass. She looked to Yara with a half smiled. "You're in for a treat."

And a treat it was. Yara had noticed, twenty minutes into the procedure, there was a rupture in the colon. She tried to motion towards it when Terry's snapped his head up to her. His eyes were wide, then narrowed slightly.

"Is there a reason you're about to reach over, Dr. Matthews?" His voice smooth and inviting, but she knew not to lie.

"I…I just saw a,'

"She's an intern, you know they get ahead of themselves." Dr. Ramos interjected. "Come back over here and watch his vitals."

Yara looked down at the open body on the table. Terry's eyes followed and he let out a laugh.

"You just save this patient another trip to my OR, Dr. Matthews."

"What,' Dr. Ramos flustered her next words, "what are you talking about?"

"Our patient has a tear in his colon. About half an inch, but a tear nonetheless." Terry looked up to Yara as she stepped back. "Good eyes, you can see that through all the blood. Come, suction it away, repair the tear."

"Shes not,' Dr. Ramos began, but Terry silenced her with a look.

"My OR, my rules. She caught it so she will repair it."

Yara stepped up to the operating table on the other side of Terry. He instructed the surgical tools to be pushed to her side and she stared down at them.

"Ridiculous!"

Terry ignored her and shifted his focus to Yara. To him they were the only two people in the room.

"This is medical school 101, over and over continuous stitch. You can't mess it up."

"Okay,' she exhaled and reached into the body cavity after watching the suction remove the blood blocking her vision.

"Easy,' he whispers, "take your time."

"You what!" Carmen said, pulling Yara into the staff lounge just behind the nurses station.

"I repaired a tear in a colon. Dr. Ramos hates me now."

Carmen rolled her eyes. "She's been sniffing behind Terry for months now, long before you got here and he turned her down."

"Yeah, she's still trying her luck with him. Some of the things she said about him were down right, gross."

"We can talk about it over drinks,' Terry stepped into the lounge with a smile on his face. "Carmen." He nodded. "Are you okay, Yara?" He tilted his head towards the door. "I overheard Dr. Ramos speaking to you. Is everything okay? Should I handle her?"

If only she knew what he meant. Yara was lucky he kept his thrills from work property and employees. However, he'd make an exception if Yara even felt discomfort with Dr. Ramos.

"Oh no, I mean, she's not a issue. I just brushed it off,' Yara folded her arms over her chest. "I was called up to pediatrics and I don't know how long I will be there."

Carmen gave Yara a squint before leaving the two in the lounge. "Call me later, girl,' she says, pursing her lips in jest. As the door shut, Terry dropped his arms and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"You did good in there. I haven't seen a stitch that clean in a long time. You sure you don't want to be a surgeon?"

Smiling, Yara shook her head. "That was stressful. I've practiced on cadavers, but having my hands inside of a live body is different. I think I will stick to putting them to sleep."

Bergamot.

She liked to layer her scents he noted and his mouth water. He moved closer, under the guise of grabbing an apple from the counter, and their arms brushed as he passed. This close he could smell all of her. Honey. Vanilla. Bergamot. A peculiar combination, but one he'd gladly stick his nose into inhale.

"So that's a no to the drinks?" He asks. "Your first surgery deserves a celebration."

"I'm not sure if that's appropriate Dr. Richmond."

Terry squeezes the apple in hand as he brings it to his mouth. It's unnoticed by her as his face doesn't give away his budding frustration at her refusal. He chews and swallows, then smiles.

"It was just an offer for drinks, but I understand."

Said offer had been on her mind through her two hours in pediatrics. The small babies she got to met didn't distract her from how Terry had offered to take her out. It was clear her was flirting; his sly smile when they were in his office, how he looked at her while she stitched up the colon, even back in the lounge as he ate the apple. Fraternizing with a surgeon was the last thing she needed to be doing, but he drew her in. She wanted to know more and it didn't help that Carmen was urging her to go. It if sucked she could just request a department change to avoid the awkwardness.

Dr. Ramos was heading to her car. She tapped her unlock button on the keyfob and timed perfectly, her scream was cut off by the sound of the car unlocking and the engine starting. Tossed into the hood of the car, Dr. Ramos scrambled to her feet, shouting for help.

She knew she was done when she felt the prick of a needle in the side of her neck. Not that he was delicate with his female victims, but he liked to watch the life leave their eyes as he cut open their necks. In disguise, Terry, laid her on the ground behind her car. His multi-gloved hand and arms had been secured as if he was headed into surgery. Done from the confines of his car, placed in a camera blind spot, he stepped into the elevator as normal. Only to come out masked, and unrecognizable.

Dr. Ramos laid there, paralyzed and and scared. Unable to speak her eyes only watered as they pleaded for her life. The scalpel pressed to her neck, the tip cutting into her neck with ease. Yara didn't want him to do anything, but he couldn't help himself. He needed to. No one slighted his girl.

"You knew I didn't want you."

Dr. Ramos's mouth dropped open as he pressed the scalpel into her neck, he twisted once and used her coat to block the blood from splattering against his clothes. He did watch the light leave her eyes and the last breath as it left her lungs. She'd be found in the morning and by then, she'd be another scalpel in his bedroom.

"You blood isn't even worth jacking off with."

She found him packing up in his office. His back was to her, but she could see him gathering his things like they all were. With her shift finally over, Yara had talked herself into going for those drinks. She knocked on his open door.

"Dr…I mean, Terry?"

He looked up, surprised on his face, the specimen cup slipped down into his bag with practice ease.

"You changed your mind?"

Nodding, Yara fiddled with her hands. "Yeah, I mean, it's just drinks right?"

It should have been just drinks. She ended up at his apartment beneath him in his bed. His hands were wandering beneath her shirt, hands tugging at her bra. Alcohol was on his breath, but the surgeon was sober and planning to get intoxicated on her pussy.

"You smell so fucking good, baby," he moaned, his mouth traveling from her mouth to her neck and down her shoulder. "So fucking beautiful,' he hummed.

His hands tugged down the cup of her bra and she arched her back as his thumb swiped across her nipple. Yara braced her hands on his shoulders and pushed.

"Wait, Terry,' she whimpered, eyes clenching as his mouth wrapped around her nipple and sucked.

His tongue was cold and wet, creating a matching wetness in her panties. His hand was so close to sliding into the black thong that had teased him earlier. She pushed against and he lifted his head, concern etched in his forehead.

"I'm not hurting you am I?" He asked.

He knew he was being rougher than he intended to, but he didn't think it was painful. Terry didn't want to hurt her but he was so excited to have her. He glanced up at the oil painting. All his hard work.

"No, I'm not, it's just,' she flustered, tugging her shirt down after fixing her bra. "It's embarrassing,' she admitted, reaching over the side of his large bed for her shoes.

He reached out and grabbed her arm. "What's wrong I thought you were into it?"

"I am…I mean I want to be,' she stood up with her shoes in her hands, hot cheeks, and embarrassment creeping up her chest. "I've….neverhadsexbefore…"

That truth slammed into his chest hard. A part of him growled in appreciation for the information. The fun he had planned for her was magnified.

"I wasn't expecting that." He admitted.

"It's nothing against you Terry, I just wanted my first time to be more….special."

Special. She was already special. Yara was the object of his desires and if she wanted to feel special then he'd do just that. Terry crawled off the bed and stood in front of her.

"I'm sorry,' she said, "I should have said no to coming to your apartment."

Terry shook his head. "I invited you here. I wanted you here. Had I known I wouldn't have been so eager." Her took her shoes and dropped them on the floor by his closet. "You want something to eat? I know a few places that are open this late."

Yara knew she should leave. "You want me to stay? Even if we don't have sex?"

"I'm not some horny teenage boy, Yara." He reaches around her for his phone off the dresser. "Think of it as our first of many dates."

"Dates,' she repeated, more to herself.

"Don't worry, I'm going to make you feel more than special, sweetheart."

@nayaesworld @peachbuttetfly @heauxvibez @avoidthings @mymindisneverhere @eilujion @heytaewrites @insidefeelingofanadult @captainwithoutmakingitlove @kindofaintrovert @jimmybutlrr @beenathembo @virgomess @theereina @randomhood @ash-ketchumzzz

@wabi-sabi1090 @iterum-incipi @liquorlaughslove @eilujion @taureanstargirl @mzv11@Disc0fair @prettyfilmz @simplyzeeka @heytaewrites vivaalenaa theogbadbitch

@insertcatchynamerighthere @writingsbytee @pocketsizedpanther

#terry richmond x black!reader #terry richmond x black oc #terry richmond fic #terry richmond x black reader

206 notes · View notes